Читать книгу Cowboys and Cabernet - Margot Dalton - Страница 10

WINTER SUNSHINE, as pale and sparkling as good champagne, spilled over the rolling hills and valleys of Central Texas. The cool afternoon light sparkled on the bustling city of Austin, glinted on lines of brisk-moving traffic and brightened the windows of downtown high-rise office buildings.

Inside Austin’s Mueller Airport Tyler McKinney shifted restlessly in a hard vinyl chair and glanced up at the arrivals board, checking on the business shuttle flight from Abilene. The plane was already a half hour late and the arrival time had apparently been shifted back again. Tyler muffled a groan, aching with frustration and impatience.

Of course, he told himself, trying hard to look on the bright side, it was probably better that the flight was delayed. This way, he wouldn’t have to search for ways to entertain the woman until it was safe to take her home.

“Don’t you dare turn up here with her before four o’clock,” Cynthia had warned him darkly, her beautiful face comically stern under the navy-blue bandanna that she’d tied over her hair. “If you do, Tyler McKinney, I swear I’ll skin you and set you out for the coyotes to finish off.”

“My, my! Such gruesome violence,” Tyler had teased her wickedly. “And from a Boston blue-blood, at that.”

“Oh, shut up,” Cynthia muttered, swatting his arm with a wallpaper roll and whirling off down the cluttered hallway.

Tyler grinned, remembering.

All the women were in an uproar over the renovations currently under way at the Double C. And, being women, they wanted to have it all. They wanted the place redecorated, but they also wanted to impress the visitor from California with how elegant and smooth-running the household was.

“But, darling,” J.T. had protested mildly over his breakfast coffee, “it just can’t be helped, can it? She’s bound to notice that things aren’t exactly neat as a pin around here these days.”

“I know that,” Cynthia said. “But if Tyler can hold her off till four o’clock this afternoon, at least the painters will be gone and we can lift some of the drop sheets in the lower rooms, get the paint cans out of the hallway and the ladders put away….”

Tyler grinned again. He couldn’t deny that it was entertaining to see his usually poised stepmother getting a little flustered. For some reason it mattered terribly to Cynthia, this hastily planned visit from Ruth Holden, who was the daughter of one of her husband’s oldest friends. There seemed to be something mysteriously female about Cynthia’s anxiety, some kind of need to prove herself as mistress of the place….

An expressionless, disembodied voice, announcing that the flight from Abilene would be slightly delayed, interrupted Tyler’s thoughts.

He groaned again and shifted his broad shoulders wearily, wondering if the plane had even left Abilene yet. If it hadn’t left, wouldn’t they know? And if it had, shouldn’t they know when it was going to arrive? Abilene, for God’s sake, was only a few minutes away by air.

Maybe the plane had been hijacked. Tyler chuckled suddenly, his quirky imagination supplying him with an image of a hard-bitten Texas farmer, calf halter in one hand and pitchfork in the other, holding the crew at bay and demanding to be flown to Fort Worth for the Fat Stock Show.

When he laughed, his tanned sculpted face lightened and his dark eyes sparkled warmly. Tyler McKinney was a tall man in his midthirties with a lean muscular frame, dressed in jeans, riding boots and tweed sport jacket over a casual open-necked white shirt. His pearl-gray Stetson lay on the seat across from him, and his crisp dark hair kept falling down across his forehead no matter how many times he brushed it back.

A small child wriggled quietly in the seat next to Tyler, a boy about three years old with a manly clipped haircut that was neatly parted and slicked back with a wet comb. The little fellow, waiting with his mother and baby sister in a stroller, was trying hard to be good, but Tyler could see that the long delay was starting to get to him as well.

The child gripped the metal chair arms with his small hands and slid way down on his spine, legs stiffly extended, seeing how low he could go without falling off the chair. His mother, who was busy with the baby, whispered to him sharply and he sat erect, peeking up at Tyler with cautious interest. Tyler grinned down at the child, slipped him a couple of peppermints from a roll in his jacket pocket, then returned to his thoughts.

His face darkened as he brooded over the impending arrival and what his responsibilities were going to be toward this visiting scientist. “You’ll pretty well have to take care of her,” his father had told him casually. “The girls are busy with all this damn decorating, so they won’t have much time to entertain her.”

“Me?” Tyler said blankly. “What am I going to do with her?”

“Well, talk about wine making, of course,” J.T. told his son impatiently. “You’re the one who wants to start this business, aren’t you? And she’s an expert. She’s a qualified chemist with a list of college degrees as long as your arm.”

“Oh, great,” Tyler had muttered rebelliously, feeling about eight years old. “That’s just what I need, to spend a week listening to some California scientist with thick legs and a mustache, lecturing me about temperature variations and pH levels.”

“I haven’t seen Ruth Holden for quite a few years,” J.T. said with an amiable grin. “But near as I recall, she didn’t have thick legs or a mustache.”

“I’ll bet,” Tyler said grimly. “I’ll just bet.”

He didn’t really know why he’d formed such a negative mental image of the woman. Maybe it was his recollection of that one time he’d seen her, years ago. He remembered her as a mousy quiet child with a skinny awkward body and teeth covered in ugly braces.

Of course, she’d really suffered badly in comparison with her friend. Tyler smiled, remembering the ripe body of that other girl, the silly blond one. Misty? Molly? Whatever her name was, she’d certainly made an impact on his raging young hormones.

No wonder little Ruth Holden, sulking in a chair behind a book, had seemed so homely and unappealing. Tyler could just visualize the kind of woman she’d turned into. He pictured her with thick ankles and a severe look, her colorless hair hanging lank and unwashed around her ears. She’d be wearing thick glasses and carrying a clipboard at all times, and she’d probably be dressed in a white lab coat over a baggy gray flannel skirt.

This image had grown so real to him during the past few days, ever since he heard about the woman’s impending visit, that now, as Tyler glanced frequently into the arrivals area, he expected to see her come marching up the ramp, clipboard and all.

But the lounge was mostly empty, except for a few long-suffering people who were still waiting for the flight from Abilene.

Tyler became aware of a small movement beside him, a sudden charged air of expectancy.

The little boy was gazing up at him with wide eyes, holding out his hand. A tiny object rested on the small damp palm, and Tyler bent closer to look. It was a futuristic warrior figure, beautifully detailed, complete with small swords and laser guns.

Tyler nodded solemnly and smiled down into the sparkling blue eyes, understanding that the figurine was just being displayed for his enjoyment, not offered as a gift.

“That’s real nice,” he murmured to the child, who grinned happily.

Tyler smiled back and dug into his jacket pocket again, taking out his keys and snapping a small object off the key ring. It was a tiny leather saddle, no bigger than the end of his thumb and intricately crafted with miniature swinging stirrups and a little horn and cantle. He placed the saddle on his hard callused palm and held it out for the child’s inspection.

The boy gasped and stared at this enchanting object, then looked up at Tyler again, holding his breath and putting two fingers automatically into his mouth.

“Take it,” Tyler whispered. “You can have it.”

His seatmate gazed at him with astonishment and growing wonder. A small hand crept out cautiously and touched one of the little stirrups in an agony of longing.

“Michael!” the harried young mother said abruptly, turning away from her crying baby in the stroller. “What are you doing?”

“It’s all right, ma’am,” Tyler assured her with his most engaging grin. “I told him he could have it.”

The woman glanced uncertainly at the tall, handsome rancher, then at her little boy, who was now holding the miniature saddle, his face pale with tension.

“Well, all right,” she said reluctantly. “Michael, say thank-you.”

“Sanks,” the child whispered, drumming his feet on the chair and gazing ecstatically at the tiny object in his hand. He balanced the saddle on one small finger and set the stirrups swinging gently, his pink face rapt with happiness.

“You’re welcome, cowboy,” Tyler said cheerfully. The woman smiled, then gathered her children and hurried toward a short cheerful man in a crumpled suit who stood waiting by the entry gate.

While Tyler watched, the young father gathered the baby into his arms, kissed his wife and caressed the shining head of the little boy, who was joyously hugging his legs. The man bent to hear what his son was saying, then knelt and studied the tiny saddle that was held up for his inspection. He listened, smiled briefly over the child’s head at Tyler and turned back to his family.

Tyler smiled automatically in return, feeling a familiar vague sorrow as he watched this small tableau.

Nobody would ever know how much Tyler McKinney longed for children of his own, how deeply he yearned for the love of a small son like that little fair-haired child. This emotion was something Tyler hid from everybody, even his family and closest friends, most of whom considered him ambitious, cold and clearheaded, probably even a little ruthless.

But Tyler knew himself better, knew that he had great depths of tenderness to give the right woman, though he’d never managed to find the one he dreamed of. Dark or fair, short or tall—her looks didn’t really matter—but she’d have a sweet voice and gentle hands and a tender caring manner similar to his mother’s. Tyler knew this was an old-fashioned picture, and that women just weren’t like that nowadays. But still, he longed to find a woman who fulfilled his fantasies, who’d give him love and support and some little children to hold.

But his soul mate never seemed to come along, or else he’d just never found time to search for her. Tyler had been so busy during his college years, driven by his need to excel both scholastically and athletically. Then there’d been the absorbing interest of his new position as a full partner in the ranch, trying to use his training in business to develop methods of making the huge unwieldy operation more efficient and profitable.

And then, as he was trying to contend with the economic slide that followed the sudden crash in oil prices and threatened to drag the whole state of Texas into poverty, Tyler suffered the dreadful agony of his mother’s death.

The past five years in his life hadn’t been a real good time to think about building a relationship, Tyler reflected bitterly. In fact, there’d hardly been time to think about himself at all. Mostly he’d just passed those years putting one foot in front of the other, getting from day to day as best he could, hoping for some kind of light at the end of the tunnel.

Lately, Tyler had begun to hope that he’d found that light. His idea of building a winery on the Double C had thoroughly captivated him, and the more he researched the concept, the more excited he got. Miraculously, he’d even managed somehow to get Cynthia on his side, and now she was also exerting her considerable influence over his father.

But this damned Holden woman could throw a monkey wrench into the whole works, Tyler thought miserably. J.T. McKinney had tremendous respect for his old friend Don Holden, and for the success Don had had with his wine-making business. He was sure to pay some attention to the man’s daughter, possibly even to be swayed by her opinions. And if she was one of those carping, scientific doom-and-gloom types…

Tyler was so absorbed in his own gloomy thoughts that it took some time for him to remember that he and the woman with her children had been waiting for the same plane. He sprang to his feet, feeling embarrassed, and looked wildly around the receiving area.

But there was no woman anywhere who looked at all like Ruth Holden. Tyler moved uncertainly out into the lounge, hat in hand, wondering what could have happened to her.

Likely, he told himself with a wry grin, she was already in the washroom doing preliminary tests on pH levels in the Texas water.

While he was enjoying this uncharitable thought, he noticed a young woman near the luggage carousel who stood gazing at him with shy intensity. Tyler caught his breath and stared.

The woman was lovely. She wore a fitted suit of winter white with a cropped jacket and short skirt that showed off a slim, well-proportioned body and a pair of fantastic legs. Her brown hair, cut quite short, was casually windblown, and she had a beautiful complexion, creamy and warm, with the biggest, sweetest brown eyes he’d ever seen.

She paused uncertainly, a tan leather bag slung over her shoulder and another at her feet.

When Tyler gave her a startled grin of admiration she smiled back, an engaging nervous smile that tilted up on one side, causing a dimple to appear in her cheek. Tyler swallowed hard and found himself battling a crazy masculine urge to stride across the room, gather her into his arms and kiss that dimpled face.

To his astonishment, this lovely apparition lifted the bag at her feet and came toward him, extending a small hand. Tyler shook it, still surprised by her approach, and was further amazed by how hard and firm her hand was. The rest of her looked so deliciously soft, but she had a palm almost as callused as those of the Double C ranch hands.

“You must be Tyler,” she said in a low husky voice. “You look just like your father.”

Tyler, who heard this observation all the time, merely nodded and stared at her, his mind slowly absorbing the wonder of this situation.

“My God,” he said at last. “You’re not…you can’t be…”

“I’m Ruth Holden. Sorry the flight was so late,” the woman added cheerfully while Tyler stood gazing at her like a schoolboy. “They couldn’t leave Abilene because they were waiting for some kind of delivery, and apparently nobody could find it. They kept running back and forth from the terminal to the…excuse me, Tyler, are you all right?”

Tyler gathered himself hastily in hand and bent to lift the case at her feet. “Sorry,” he said, smiling down at her. “You’re just not quite what I expected, Ruth. Where’s the rest of your luggage?”

“This is it,” she said, surprising him further. “I’m only staying a week or so,” she added casually, “and Dad assured me that you people don’t dress for dinner. Mostly I just brought some jeans and shirts. I hope that’s all right.”

“That’s fine,” Tyler said, still feeling dizzied by her smile. “That’s just fine. Everybody wears jeans most all the time.”

In fact, Cynthia had made a few attempts to initiate the habit of dressing for dinner at the ranch, but the suggestion had been met with general indifference from the rest of the family, and such caustic scorn from old Hank that she’d backed off, at least for the moment.

“So, what did you expect?” Ruth asked, walking beside him to the entrance door.

“Beg pardon?” Tyler fitted his Stetson on his head and held the door for her, moving behind her into the pale sunshine.

“You said I wasn’t what you expected. I wondered how you’d pictured me.”

Tyler hesitated, his tanned cheeks flushing a little as he remembered the dowdy woman he’d visualized. “Just…different,” he said lamely. “More like a scientist, I guess.”

Ruth chuckled. “Well, it’s been a long time since we saw each other, and back then,” she added, giving him a cheerful yet pointed glance, “I’m not sure you even knew what I looked like. You spent the whole time drooling over my friend.”

Tyler grinned. “Yeah,” he said, reminiscing fondly. “What was her name? Milly?”

“Mimsy,” Ruth said dryly. “Mimsy Muldoon.”

Tyler chuckled and gazed with narrowed eyes across the parking lot, trying to bring his dazzled mind back to earth and remember where he’d left the car. “Mimsy,” he echoed. “Whatever happened to that girl?”

“Oh, Mimsy came to a bad end,” Ruth said, walking beside him. “She married an older man for his money, and now she lives a captive existence in Bel Air with a dozen fur coats and two Porsches and diamonds the size of hazelnuts.”

“But no real happiness,” Tyler said solemnly.

“No real happiness,” Ruth agreed. “Poor thing,” she added soulfully, sparkling a glance up at Tyler that made him burst into laughter.

They paused beside the car and he opened the trunk to put her suitcase inside, fighting another powerful and irrational urge to take this delectable woman into his arms and kiss her, right there in broad daylight.

“Wow,” Ruth said thoughtfully, gazing at the gleaming Cadillac. “Is this what cowboys drive around in down here?”

“They made me bring it,” Tyler said. “Mostly to impress you, I guess. Usually I just drive one of the pickup trucks.”

“Well, that would have been more my choice, too,” Ruth said, her tomboy expression belying the stylish elegance of her suit. “I’ve spent most of my life riding around in pickup trucks.”

Tyler hesitated, wondering what to do. The prospect of filling in an hour or so with this visitor didn’t seem nearly as awful as it had just a short time ago, but he couldn’t decide where to take her.

“Are you hungry, Ruth?” he asked.

Ruth shook her head. “They served lunch on the plane, and it was really good. Besides, the lady in the next seat gave me all her peanuts.”

Tyler nodded, moving slowly around to let her in the car. Ruth glanced up at him. “You seem thoughtful,” she said. “Is something the matter?”

“I’m not supposed to take you home yet,” Tyler confessed, pausing with his hand on the passenger door. “The women said they’d kill me if we arrived before four o’clock.”

“Kill you? That seems a little harsh.”

Tyler grinned. “Yeah, well, they’re a harsh bunch, those women.”

“But I don’t understand. Why can’t you go home?”

“They’re doing a whole lot of renovations out at the house. It’s a real mess these days, and they don’t want you to get there till they’ve had time to tidy away some of the painting stuff.”

Ruth smiled. “I see. Lucky the plane was late.” She glanced at her watch. “How long does it take to get to Crystal Creek, Tyler?”

Tyler grinned back at her. “Depends who’s driving. For my brother, Cal, about half an hour. For most everybody else in the world, forty-five minutes or so.”

“Well, it’s just after two o’clock now,” Ruth said. “How about if we drive out there and have a cup of coffee somewhere in Crystal Creek before we go to the house? Is there a restaurant in the town?”

“You bet. It’s called the Longhorn, and it hasn’t changed one bit the past half century. Its owner, Dottie, serves the best doughnuts in Texas.”

“Great.” Ruth smiled up at him, then drew back in surprise as his hand brushed her shoulder.

“What’s this?” Tyler asked, holding up a bit of rusty fluff.

Ruth peered at his tanned fingers, then smiled awkwardly. “It’s cat hair,” she confessed. “I hugged my cat this morning when I said goodbye, and that’s how he rewards me.”

Tyler let the bit of silky fluff drift away on the afternoon breeze and found himself envying the damned cat who had so recently been in her arms. “You like your cat?” he asked, holding the door open and helping her inside, then leaning in to look down at her.

“I love him,” Ruth said, smiling and gazing up with wide brown eyes dazzled by the sunlight. “I miss him already.”

She waited silently in the car as Tyler came around and unlocked the driver’s door. He folded his long body behind the wheel and turned to smile at her, feeling almost weak with pleasure at her nearness, the delicate fragrance of her perfume and the sweetness of her face, enclosed next to him within the intimate luxury of the big car.

“You know, I’m really worried about him,” Ruth said in an abstracted tone, gazing out at the crowded parking lot.

Tyler turned the key in the ignition, puzzling briefly over this statement until he realized that she was still talking about her cat. “Why?” he asked, resting an arm along the back of the seat and backing expertly into the slow-moving lines of traffic.

“Our housekeeper is just so awful,” Ruth said. “She’s always threatening poor Hagar with all kinds of horrible things, like putting him in the clothes dryer and turning it on. I don’t what she’ll do to him when I’m not there to protect him.”

“She sounds pretty awful, all right,” Tyler said, fascinated by a vivid image of the cat in the dryer.

Ruth told him about Mrs. Ward, with her bossy forcefulness and grumbling accusations, her motorcycle and her knitting and the mysterious little man she lived with.

By the time she finished he was shouting with laughter. Ruth, too, had begun to smile again, her worries apparently forgotten for the moment as they left the city behind them and the quiet Texas countryside began spinning past the windows.

RUTH GRIPPED her hands tightly in her lap and looked out at the rolling hills and valleys dotted with grazing livestock, brightened by the occasional glimpse of a deer flashing though the brush.

“What kind of trees are those?” she asked.

“Mesquite. Probably the most genuine native vegetation we have around here. It grows a long pod that fills up with beans, and the cattle love ’em. The branches get big enough that the wood’s sometimes used for furniture, and old-timers say the roots can grow sixty feet long, looking for water. It’s a great wood for barbecues, too.”

Fascinated, Ruth peered out at the tangled thickets. “I think there’s mesquite in Southern California,” she said. “But I don’t recall any of it growing up where we live. Of course, the land is pretty thoroughly cultivated.”

They fell silent again, and Ruth stole a cautious glance at her escort.

She didn’t really know what to think about Tyler McKinney. He was certainly as handsome as she remembered, with all of his father’s easy cowboy charm and sculpted good looks. But she noticed something else about this man. There was a hard, modern edge to J.T.’s elder son, a firm set to his jaw and a crisp look about him that spoke of a cool-headed businessman, somebody who certainly didn’t suffer fools gladly.

Normally, Ruth wasn’t attracted at all by that kind of man, the type who exuded power and confidence and an easy arrogant control of all situations. But Tyler McKinney seemed different somehow, hard to put a label on.

Just when Ruth thought she had him figured out and was ready to dismiss him, she’d catch a disturbing sparkle deep in his brown eyes, a flash of gentleness and winsome humor that was both surprising and unsettling. And when he threw back his head and gave one of those hearty, infectious laughs, Ruth found herself smiling all over in response, as warmed and delighted by his company as any fluttery, teenage girl.

“Well, how do you like it so far?” he asked cheerfully when she turned to gaze out the window again. “Is it like you remembered?”

“I really don’t remember much of anything from that visit,” Ruth confessed, “except you and Mimsy playing all day in the pool, and Cal bringing a live rattlesnake into the house.”

Tyler roared with laughter. “God, I’d forgotten that snake. Didn’t my mama have fits? I thought she’d die on the spot.”

When he realized what he’d said, Tyler fell abruptly silent. His face paled beneath the tan and he gripped the wheel silently, his jaw knotted with anguish.

Ruth reached over and touched his arm gently. “We were so sorry when we heard about your mother, Tyler,” she said in a soft voice. “I know that it was terribly hard for all of you.”

Especially Tyler, she recalled. Don Holden had confided to his daughter that in his opinion, Tyler had suffered more than any of the McKinney children from the loss of his mother, though he seemed least able to express his pain.

Tyler turned to his passenger and tried to smile. “It was all a long time ago,” he said lightly. “And now there’s a new woman redecorating my mama’s house. Life goes on, I guess.”

“It must feel so strange,” Ruth commented shyly.

“What’s that?”

“Having a stepmother close to your own age. Isn’t it hard to adjust to?”

“Lots of things are hard to adjust to,” Tyler said with his eyes fixed on the winding road ahead of him. “But that’s part of life, too, isn’t it? When you come right down to it, life is just a long series of adjustments.”

“I guess so.” Disturbed by the air of tension in the car, Ruth steered the conversation back into safer channels. “You know,” she commented, “I think this could probably be wine-making country, after all. It actually reminds me of some of the provinces in the south of France. But they’re a lot more heavily populated, of course.”

Tyler looked around, his taut features relaxing. “Really? When were you in France, Ruth?”

“I spent a year in Paris doing the thesis for my master’s degree.”

“Yeah? What was your topic?”

“Carbonation methods in French sparkling wines,” she said casually, peering out at an unusual limestone formation capping a small hill.

“Wow,” Tyler said. “Pretty heavy stuff.” He was silent a moment. “I guess,” he ventured finally, “that you’re a real expert on all this, aren’t you, Ruth? Wine making, I mean?”

“Pretty much,” she said. “Whatever ‘expert’ means. The field is expanding so rapidly and changing so fast that the things you learn today are practically obsolete by tomorrow.”

“Well, thanks. That’s real encouraging to us beginners,” Tyler told her with a wry grin.

Ruth smiled back at him. “Sorry. It’s just that wine making is like computer technology these days. You really hesitate to call yourself an expert. Every time I read a trade publication, I run across new things that I’d like to go away and take courses in.”

“Where did you go to college?”

“Davis, in California,” Ruth said. “They have one of the most extensive wine-making research and teaching facilities in the world.”

“I sure envy you that education, Ruth. I don’t know how much my business degree is going to help me with the details of something like this.”

“Education is okay,” Ruth said thoughtfully. “But what’s really important is the hands-on experience. I grew up in the winery, hanging around listening to my father talk with the other workers, smelling and tasting the wine, watching all the different processes from harvesting to bottling. I think that’s how you really learn wine making.”

“So, what about me, Ruth? Is it too late for me to learn?”

“Of course it isn’t. Not if you want to learn badly enough. After all, my father never set foot in a winery until he was an adult, and now he’s one of the very best.”

Ruth gazed out at the remote brush-covered hills, feeling a sudden painful flood of homesickness for the neat vineyards of the Napa Valley, for the salt tang of the Pacific Ocean breezes blowing over the hills and the comfortable rooms of their house, with her father and Hagar and the orderly sprawl of the brick winery nearby.

Tyler seemed to catch some of this mood, because he gave her a glance of quick sympathy.

“You really love it, don’t you?” he asked, looking intently down the winding road as a loaded cattle truck swayed past them.

“What do you mean?”

“This whole business,” Tyler said. “Wine making, I mean. When you talk about it, your face gets all passionate and your eyes have that faraway look, just like my sister, Lynn, when she talks about horses.”

Ruth smiled awkwardly. “I guess we can’t help what matters to us. You’re right, I do love the business. I love everything about it, from the vines growing in the fields to the wine bottled in rows in the cellar. It’s such a satisfying process.”

“Like I said, Lynn feels that way about every horse on the ranch,” Tyler mused, “and Cal loves his rodeo. Both of them are passionate about what they do.”

“What about you?” Ruth asked, glancing over at him. “Are you passionate about anything, Tyler?”

Apparently unsettled by the sudden serious turn of the conversation, Tyler turned and gave her a flashing grin. “Well, sure I am,” he said. “I’m passionate about making money. I just love seeing my books in the black. And if wine making is going to accomplish that particular goal, then you can bet I’m going to love the business just as much as you do.”

Ruth felt a sharp stab of disappointment. She looked for a moment at his clean-cut profile, then turned to gaze out the window again, fighting the urge to say something brusque and tactless.

If Tyler McKinney wanted to open a winery on the ranch and make a lot of money, that was his business. Ruth was only here to advise him on feasibility, as a courtesy to her father. She’d test the soil, check the climate and water conditions, examine Tyler’s site for drainage and exposure potential. Then she’d look at his plans, give him her honest opinion and return to California.

And she’d forget about how his dark eyes sparkled when he laughed, or the engaging way he tilted one eyebrow and turned to look at her with a warm teasing grin. Those things might make her heart flutter, but Ruth Holden certainly wasn’t the kind of woman to be taken in by a handsome face and a charming smile.

There was no doubt that this man looked good. In fact, he was strongly appealing to her on a purely physical basis. But when the chips were down he was just another greedy Texas opportunist, looking to make a quick fortune from something that she cared deeply about, and Ruth could hardly wait to get away from him.