“It’s great to see you again,” Cash said, fondly remembering the sweet sisters. “You’ll see Chloe and Derek and their kids at the Fourth of July barbecue. It’s on my ranch this year.”
“We can hardly wait,” Diane said and clapped her hands.
“We called Chloe to tell her we won the first two spots in your contest,” Joyce told him.
Cash personally escorted Diane and Joyce to their cabin. With the van unloaded, Jacob drove it back around to the front of the ranch where there was plenty of parking allotted for guests. Cash had counted and there were only eleven women. When Jacob returned with his duffel bag, Jeff joined him, ready to walk him over to the bunkhouse.
“Wait.” Cash held up a hand and asked Jacob, “Aren’t we one lady short?”
“Right. That would be Tracy, the journalist who’s writing the story,” Jacob said.
Donna nodded, saying, “She missed the van and had to drive.”
No sooner had the words been spoken than a shiny red, brand new, if Cash had to guess, Ford Mustang with tinted windows sped around the house and skid-marked to a stop three feet in front of him. Cash clenched his jaw. The driver’s door opened, and a pair of black stilettos swung out of the car to the blacktop. There was movement behind the car door and then a female wearing a black Panama hat and large black sunglasses looked directly at him over the top of the door. Stepping from behind the car door her body, snug in a short black dress, was killer. He figured she was five foot five, hundred and ten pounds. Half his weight. She swept off her hat and dropped it on the driver’s seat of the Mustang, then casually flipped her sunglasses to the top of her head. Full lips, a shimmering cinnamon color, tilted up in a radiant smile, as she strolled toward him, car keys in hand and hips swaying. A drop-dead gorgeous redhead. Damn. When her big turquoise eyes trimmed with thick black lashes met his gaze, Cash inwardly groaned.
“Tracy, I presume?”
CHAPTER TWO
“Hello,” Tracy replied, hoping he couldn’t detect the tremor in her voice.
Cash Cooper was even more strikingly handsome than his photograph on the Triple C Ranch-East Internet website.
“Hello,” he replied.
“Sorry I’m late,” Tracy said to the cowboy who had not flinched a single inch when she’d nearly plowed into him.
“Uh-huh.”
Mirroring her voice, her body trembled over that skiddingly close call. At least six foot four, the powerfully built man stood unmoving in the middle of his blacktopped drive. The dark-brown cowboy hat didn’t quite conceal the frown creasing his forehead. Broad shoulders and bulging biceps filled out the snug, button-down, light-blue shirt he wore with sleeves rolled up his tanned forearms. Large hands with long fingers splayed at his tapered waist where a brown belt and large silver buckle rode low on a pair of jeans. Those jeans hugged his muscular thighs and pooled around dark-brown cowboy boots. Suddenly realizing this man was waiting for her to confirm her identity she snapped her head up and looked into eyes. Cobalt blue.
“Tracy Dalton, the journalist.”
“Cash Cooper, the owner.”
“Also, I apologize for almost running into you, Mr. Cooper.”
“It’s not like you meant to, Tracy.” Donna stepped up beside her and smiled at Cash Cooper. Divorced, Donna was a platinum-blonde, with brown roots and brown eyes. She was the first to claim her ample bosom was her best feature which she admittedly drew attention to via her jiggles, low décolletages, and accidentally-on purpose-brushes. Looking at Cash Cooper, Donna shook her head and breasts, assuring him, “Tracy’s just a terrible driver.”
“That’s not true,” Tracy said. Donna initially seemed like a friend but more often of late she was a mixed bag of tricks. “Well…maybe in this particular instance it’s true.”
“Well…” Cash Cooper echoed. “Here on Triple C Ranch-East, we don’t race our vehicles around folks and horses, Miss Dalton.,” he said, hands remaining on his hips.
“Duly noted,” Tracy replied. He wasn’t a pushover.
With the guests settling in their rooms, Jacob pulled out his camera. Jacob, single and reliable, possessed an easygoing and friendly personality. He had done his college internship atRanchers and Rangesand had been hired by the magazine’s owner even before he graduated. As intelligent as he was helpful, Jacob knew all the ins and outs of his job. Tracy was grateful to have him as her photographer on her first big assignment. Jacob was already busy snapping photos of the surroundings. Perhaps taking that as a hint to perform her job as their assistant, Donna removed Tracy’s bag and purse from the Mustang. Apparently, Tracy was in the middle cabin as Donna placed her bag on that porch. She wondered if there was any remote possibility that Donna was not her roommate for the next week. Tracy rebuked herself for the unkind thought and remembered she had her own job to do. Jacob smiled and snapped a picture of Cash and Tracy’s conversation.
“Please call me Tracy, Mr. Cooper.”
“You can call me Cash, but first things first, one of us isgoing toslowlydrive your car around to the front of the property where guests park away from our horses.”
Tracy reached out and at chest level, dangled the car keys. To her utter dismay, her hand shook so when Cash held out his steady hand, she quickly dropped the keys into his big, square palm. Though it was not her intention, she got the feeling he had taken her actions as a direct challenge as his thick fingers snapped shut around the keys.
“It’s a Ford Mustang Dark Horse 500-horsepower with a 5.0-liter V8 engine,” Tracy said in explanation of her inept control of the vehicle. “It’s a six-speed manual. And for the record, its official color isRaceRed. If you’re going to attempt to drive it, this, I have to see.”
“Okay,” Cash replied nonplussed. To Jacob and Donna, who were nearby, he said, “Excuse us.” He walked to the car and opened the passenger’s door. The passenger’s door? Tracy was confused and didn’t move until he said, “You have to see this. Right?”
“Right.” Tracy walked to the car and slipped into the passenger’s seat. Her heart began toraceas Cash closed her door and then swaggered around the front of the car. She snatched her hat off the driver’s seat before he slid behind the wheel and handed her his cowboy hat. When he adjusted the rearview mirror, she asked, “Ever driven a standard transmission, Cash?”
