The Cowboy And The Debutante. Stella Bagwell

as her eyes discreetly traveled up and down the lean length of the cowboy before her. He was dressed in jeans and chinks. Spurs with sunburst rowels were strapped to his black boots, and the sleeves of his heavy, brown cotton shirt were rolled up, exposing his thick forearms. Without a doubt, she’d never seen him before on the Bar M. He was a man not easily forgotten.

      “Are you one of Mother’s cowhands?” she asked forthrightly.

      A wry twist to his mouth, he stepped forward and offered her his hand, then in a slight Mexican accent, he said, “I’m Miguel Chavez, the ranch foreman. And I don’t think you’ve convinced Ginger that all men are bad,” he said, inclining his head toward the mare. “She still appears to be interested.”

      As if to underscore his observation, Ginger once again nickered longingly at the stallion. Trying not to glower at the mare, Anna squared her shoulders and reluctantly reached to shake Miguel Chavez’s hand. “She’ll get past her infatuation.”

      Miguel raised his brows at her remark, but he said nothing. No doubt this woman had been infatuated many times. And gotten past it, he thought drily. With her looks she’d probably had men begging for the simple touch of her hand.

      The repugnant idea had him quickly releasing her fingers, yet he still couldn’t quite force his eyes to leave her face.

      Her smooth ivory complexion told him she was young and also that she was vain enough not to let the bright sun ravage her luminous skin. Her full lips were dusky pink and slightly tilted at the corners. She had a straight patrician nose and pale green eyes that reminded Miguel of a spring aspen leaf. She wasn’t exactly the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen, but she possessed an earthy, sultriness about her that made the man in him want to keep looking. However, the cool expression in her eyes assured him she was not a woman for the taking. By him. Or any man.

      Anna’s auburn brows lifted quizzically as she watched the cynical twist to his lips deepen. She didn’t know what the man was thinking. But if it was about her, she certainly didn’t like the idea that he found her amusing.

      “I didn’t realize mother had hired a new foreman,” she admitted.

      “I’ve been working on the Bar M for nearly a year now,” he told her.

      Pink color bathed her high cheekbones and she hated herself for letting him see her discomfiture. “Other than the holidays, I haven’t spent too much time at home these past few months.”

      Anna hadn’t deliberately planned it that way. One booking after another had kept her constantly on the road, and she’d been forced to postpone her trips home to a later date. And then, in the midst of all her work, she’d become involved with Scott and she supposed she’d gotten a little crazy after that. More than a little crazy, she thought with a megadose of self-deprecation. Thank goodness she’d gotten over him and canceled the wedding before her father had wasted an exorbitant amount of money on the ceremony...and she’d wasted herself on a man who had never really loved her.

      “I don’t need explanations, Miss Sanders,” Miguel replied. “I didn’t expect you to know me. I’m just the foreman around here.”

      Was he being impertinent or sincere? Anna’s eyes scanned his dark face beneath the brim of his straw hat. She couldn’t quite gauge his age, but she suspected he was somewhere near thirty-five. His face was lean and angular and had that hard-edged look that assured her his boyish days had long since passed. His nose was hawkish, his chin slightly dented. His eyes were a deep hazel, full of green and brown flecks that glinted beneath thick black lashes. Yet it was his lips that drew Anna’s full attention. The top one was thin and cruel looking while the bottom was full and sensual. It was a hard, masculine mouth and for some illogical reason Anna wondered how many women it had kissed.

      Drawing in a deep, needy breath, she glanced away from him and turned back to the mare she’d been saddling. This wasn’t like her, she thought wildly. She didn’t look at any man and think the things she’d just been thinking.

      “Call me Anna,” she said curtly. “I’m sure you call my mother Chloe. She doesn’t want anyone to be formal with her. And when I’m here at home, neither do I.”

      But when she was out among her fellow musicians, dazzling the crowd, she expected and demanded to be addressed formally. She hadn’t come out and said as much, but Miguel could read the unspoken words very clearly. “Then you must be far more accustomed to being called Miss Sanders.”

      She couldn’t stop the parting of her lips or the flare of her nostrils. “Are you always this impertinent?”

      So she wasn’t made of pure ice, Miguel decided as his gaze took its time studying her face. “I wasn’t being impertinent. Just stating the obvious. You’re hardly ever home. Otherwise you would have known about me. And I, you.”

      Shaking her thick red mane away from her face, she said, “You seem awfully sure of yourself, Mr. Chavez.”

      He shrugged, then grinned goadingly at her. Her spine immediately stiffened, and she glanced away from him.

      “Are you thinking about getting me fired?”

      Her head swung back around and she stared at him in surprise. “I don’t interfere in my mother’s business! She obviously wants you around here. So you must be good for something.”

      If Anna had been any other woman, Miguel would have already put her in her place. But she was Wyatt and Chloe’s daughter and because they were such kind, wonderful people, he would not hurt them in such a way. Besides, Anna was from a whole different world than his. For his own sake, he needed to overlook her attitude.

      “Oh, you might be surprised at the things I’m good at, Miss Sanders.”

      She turned away from him, but not before Miguel could see her lips compress to a thin line. No doubt she thought him vulgar and disgusting, but that was all right, too. He could make it just fine without women like Anna Sanders. And maybe it would be better for both of them if she understood that right now.

      “Are you planning to stay long on the Bar M?”

      She didn’t answer immediately and Miguel watched her adjust the throat latch on the bridle. Like her mother, she had small hands. They moved with graceful dexterity and he could easily imagine them dancing over a set of ivory keys or a man’s chest. The latter he tried not to dwell on.

      She glanced over her shoulder at him and Miguel was intrigued by the knowing tilt to her lips. “I’m not sure yet. It depends on my job. Six weeks perhaps,” she said.

      “Then you’re not... home to stay?”

      Miguel didn’t know why he’d asked the question, but he was irritated at himself because he had. Hell, it didn’t matter how long the woman was going to be here. If he never saw her again after this moment he would survive just fine.

      Home to stay. Miguel Chavez had no idea how wonderful those words sounded to Anna. She’d had years of extensive training in piano, and her parents and the rest of her family were proud of her accomplishments. They would surely be disappointed if she suddenly turned her back on her career.

      “No. Only for an extended vacation,” she said bluntly. Then, realizing the saddling was finished and there was no need for her to tarry here in the stables any longer, she led the mare ahead three or four steps and swung herself into the saddle.

      Miguel stepped back out of the way and gave her a little salute from the brim of his hat. “Adios, Anna. Maybe before your vacation is over you’ll have Ginger convinced to swear off the male gender, too.”

      Pausing, she looked down at him from her lofty perch and hoped he couldn’t spot the faint pink on her cheeks. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone or anything had made her blush. This man had managed to do it twice in less than five minutes. Damn him!

      “If Ginger is as smart as I think she is, I’ll have her turning her nose up at that stallion over there.”

      “Poor Ginger.”

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