He hoped so.

He strode into the bedroom. Ignoring her indifferent reception, he asked, “Did you get my message?”

Ally curved the ends of her hair around a brush, held it against her chin and moved the dryer back and forth. “All six of them,” she answered, sounding distracted.

Okay, so maybe he’d been a little eager to talk with her. But it had been thirty-six hours since they had seen one another. He had missed her. Had she missed him?

Aware that Ally hadn’t exactly invited him in, Hank folded his arms and lounged against the chest of drawers. He was beginning to feel a little defensive, which seemed unwarranted, given all he had been doing behind the scenes on their behalf. “Why didn’t you call me back?” he asked quietly.

Ally brushed her hair into place and spritzed it with hair spray. She steadfastly averted her gaze. “The message that you were coming home by six this evening didn’t exactly warrant a reply.”

Annoyed that he’d fallen so hard and fast for a woman who seemed easily able to do without him, Hank lifted a brow and said nothing in response.

Still doing her best to ignore him-although he was pretty sure she could see him out of her peripheral vision-Ally grabbed a dress out of her closet. Chin high, she headed for the bathroom across the hall. Over her shoulder, she added, “And I was busy.”

Irked by her swift, inexplicable change of attitude toward him, Hank waited for her to come back out.

She looked as incredibly sexy as he expected in a cranberry-red dress. The V-neck exposed the lovely slope of her throat and the hint of décolletage; the fabric clung closely to her breasts, waist and hips before flaring out slightly. Ally rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a package of panty hose. “As were you, I take it.”

He had been, with extraordinarily good results.

Not that she wanted to hear about it. At least not yet…

Ally disappeared into the bathroom again. When she emerged, she wore a pair of black stilettos that made her legs look spectacular.

Which made him wonder what else she had on under that sexy dress. And how hard would it be to get her to take it off for him.

Ally applied lipstick in front of the mirror. Then mascara, eyeshadow and perfume.

She was so beautiful. And clearly, so determined to make him jealous.

Despite his pique, he couldn’t stop watching her, couldn’t draw his gaze from the loveliness of her features.

When she opened a velvet case and removed a gold pendant necklace, he finally gave in to curiosity. “I presume you’re going out this evening?” he drawled.

“Yes.” Ally fastened the clasp around her neck and let the teardrop pendant fall between her breasts. She returned to the box for matching earrings and put those on, too. “My dinner companion should be here shortly.”

“Dinner companion,” Hank repeated.

Finished, she gave her hair a final pat and turned to him. Her green eyes held a glacial frost. “Was there something you wanted?”

Yes, Hank thought. You. But aware how that would likely go over, he decided to cut to the chase, and asked instead, “Just for the record. Are you angry with me?”

“Why would I be angry with you?” Ally replied sweetly.

I have no idea. Wanting peace between them, Hank guessed, “For leaving you alone with Duchess and the puppies?” And not getting you extra help with them despite the fact you insisted you did not need it?

Ally shot down that theory with a decisive shake of her head. “I adored being with them.”

So… “It’s me you’d rather not spend time with,” Hank concluded.

“Bingo.”

Another silence fell between them, and then the doorbell rang.

“That’s for me!” Ally grabbed an evening bag and a black velvet jacket and headed for the stairs.

Hank ambled after her.

He was not happy when he saw her “date” for the evening.

Judging by the determined look on her face as she sailed out the door, Ally knew that.


“EVERYTHING OKAY?” Graham Penderson asked Ally as they took their seats in the Lone Star Dance Hall.

I wish you had chosen another place to dine, she thought. But it was no surprise-Greta McCabe’s restaurant, with its lively atmosphere and superb food-was the place to spend a social evening in Laramie. And it was clear that Graham Penderson-and by extension, Corporate Farms-were now going all out to woo her, just as Hank had predicted they would.

“Everything’s fine,” she answered. I just wish I’d had time to quiz Hank about his trip with Lulu. It would have been interesting to hear what he had to say.

Not that she wanted or needed to know, since she and Hank were history.

Still…

“We’ve had a chance to review the initial property assessment on Mesquite Ridge and think we might have come up a little short in our first offer,” Graham said.

No surprise there, either.

Ally turned her full attention on her dinner partner, adopting her most hard-edged business demeanor. “I’m not going to be pushed into responding to any offer from Corporate Farms.”

“We realize that was a mistake.”

“Any future offer that comes with a timeline will be immediately rejected.”

“Understood,” Graham assured her.

Ally folded her hands in front of her. “That said, I’d like to talk with you about what figure might be acceptable…”

The CFS agent pulled an envelope from his pocket, and handed it to her. Inside, typed on their letterhead, was an astounding figure. One that would leave her set for a good while, job or no job…

Throughout the rest of the meal, Graham spoke with her about the benefits of a sale to Corporate Farms, and the various ways they could accommodate her to make the transition easier. Despite herself, Ally was impressed.

She knew what the impact on the community would be, should the company get a toehold in the area with the acquisition of Mesquite Ridge. And while the sentimental, compassionate side of her would not even consider such an offer, the businesswoman in her knew she would be a fool not to.

What happened to the other ranches in the area was not her responsibility. Her own future and financial security was.

And yet…

“Naturally,” Graham concluded with finesse, “although we want you to have as much time as you need, we are going to want to follow up on this…”

“And I,” an oh-so-familiar male voice said, “ would like to speak with you about your dessert options for this evening.”

Ally’s heart skipped a beat. She turned and saw the familiar red shirt, blue jeans and black Lone Star Dance Hall apron on a very fine male form. Already knowing which handsome face she was going to see, she lifted her gaze and looked up into Hank McCabe’s midnight-blue eyes.

Hank ran through the options with the finesse of a guy who had grown up waiting tables in his mama’s restaurant. “We’ve got a fine cranberry-cherry pie, as well as a chocolate peppermint torte that is out of this world. And of course, the traditional banana pudding, pecan pie and peach cobbler. You can have ice cream with all of those. Coffee, too.”

“What are you doing here?” Ally snapped. And why did he have to look so superb? She couldn’t help but note he had gone to the trouble of showering and shaving before coming in. He’d even applied the brisk, wintry aftershave she liked so much.

Hank ignored the glare he was getting from the agent, and pointed to the black change apron tied over his jeans, and the Lone Star Dance Hall badge that bore his name. His smile widened. “I’m helping out. My mom’s shorthanded tonight.”

Helping out, my foot! Ally lifted a brow in wordless dissension. It looked as if they had plenty of waitstaff, as usual. “Um-hmm,” she said.

“Good to see you have a job to fall back on, McCabe,” Graham Penderson said. “You’re going to need it, since the ranch where you house your cattle is about to be sold out from under you.”

Hank locked eyes with Penderson, all tough ex-marine and veteran cowboy.

Talk about a Renaissance man, Ally thought.

Hank smiled. “I wouldn’t count on it if I were you.”

Penderson ran a smug hand across his jaw. “I would.”

Wincing, Ally squirmed in her seat.

Given the high-stakes volatility of the situation, she wouldn’t have been surprised to see Hank forget his manners and pull Penderson out of his chair by the knot of his necktie.

But as it happened, his expression did not change-if you discounted the slight darkening of his irises. He merely stepped an inch closer. Flashed a dangerous crocodile smile. “Still waiting on that dessert order. Penderson.”

Ally swallowed. She could see this situation fast getting out of hand.

She stuffed the papers the agent had given her into her handbag and shut the clasp, then held up her hands. “Actually, I don’t think I want any dessert,” she told them both.

“I do,” Graham said. “And I want McCabe here to bring it to us, since he’s so eager to help.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Ally saw Hank’s mother step out of the kitchen. Greta sized up the situation, hands on her hips. Sighed.

“Why, it’d be my pleasure,” Hank drawled. “But…” He turned with a flourish and signaled the DJ running the sound system.

The man nodded and promptly started a song by Lady Antebellum entitled “One Day You Will.”

“Well, what do you know, Ally.” Hank slid his order pad and pen back in his apron pocket. He reached down and took her hand in his, and in one smooth motion, drew back her chair and pulled her to her feet. He winked at her. “They’re playing your song. Sorry, Penderson.”

The next thing Ally knew they were on the dance floor. Hank’s left hand splayed warmly across her spine, and his right hand clasped her fingers as he two-stepped them around the floor to the strains of the romantic ballad.