Mountain Country Cowboy. Glynna Kaye

a foot-dragging Joey in front of him and the other grasping a reusable shopping bag lumpy with what she guessed to be toys.

      Again she noticed the boy’s unsuitable attire, topped by a windbreaker on this coolish morning. Nor did she miss the way he anxiously took in the presence of the stabled horses. “You need work clothes, Joey. Jeans. Boots.”

      The little guy shrugged as he glumly looked up at his dad. Not a happy camper this morning.

      Cash studied him. “Yeah. His wardrobe’s definitely suited to a suburban desert climate. Maybe we can find a secondhand store someplace. There’s no point in investing much money in something he’ll outgrow overnight.”

      Yesterday she’d glimpsed Cash’s pickup parked behind his cabin. While the aging vehicle was well cared for, she suspected he didn’t have much to invest in anything right now.

      “Well, let’s get started.” Snagging a clipboard from a recessed area in the wall, she flipped through the pages. “Looks like we don’t have a full roster for this morning’s ninety-minute ride. Only seven. Mostly newbies. One couple claims to be experienced riders, but while we don’t want to assign them a beginner’s mount that might bore them to tears, we don’t want them to overreach, either.”

      Cash led a sober-eyed Joey to a stack of straw bales and motioned for him to sit down. Handed him his bag. “It’s been my experience people tend to overestimate their equestrian skills. You know, as if riding merry-go-round ponies at the county fair qualifies as an experienced rider.”

      She laughed at his spot-on insight, remembering that, according to his application, he’d worked at a popular dude ranch the past several years. After he got out of jail. And before that, at other equine-related facilities where he’d trained horses. “You noticed that, too?”

      He grinned. “All too common.”

      As they walked through the barn, keeping Joey in sight, he listened attentively to her reasoning behind her chosen rider and mount assignments. Through the stall bars he gave each horse a pat on the neck or a scratch under the chin, entirely comfortable in his surroundings.

      So why wasn’t she?

      He didn’t talk much, for one thing. Nodded occasionally. Asked a question here and there. And left her uncharacteristically prattling on to fill in the silence. It didn’t help either that she was all too aware of him as he strolled along beside her, her senses on high alert. To her annoyance, the faint, clean scent of his soap and the occasional good-natured chuckle that rumbled from the depths of his chest sent her heart galloping.

      Disgusted with her involuntary reaction—a betrayal of women everywhere who’d been lured in by charming men with a penchant for punching—she hugged the clipboard to her chest. The crew would be arriving shortly to feed and groom the animals. Maybe that everyday routine would settle this unfamiliar edginess. “Any other questions?”

      “I’m interested,” Cash ventured with an earnest look, “in learning more details of what your grandmother shared regarding an events contractor coming to check things out. How do you anticipate that will affect what goes on in this particular aspect of the Hideaway?”

      “We learned of the company’s interest in including us as a possible venue for small-event gatherings maybe two weeks ago.” Ideas for the visit were being bandied about. Nothing solidified. “I’m sure Luke will go over the financial reports with you as they relate to our seasonal trail riding offerings, hayrides and sleigh rides, but as Grandma may have mentioned, we’re still recovering from that nationwide economic downturn several years ago. With the help of an influx of artisan newcomers, Hunter Ridge is getting there, but hasn’t quite bounced back yet.”

      He nodded. “She touched on that.”

      “My brother Grady’s bringing in wildlife photographers for workshops. But this is an opportunity for a considerable number of other small-group bookings if we can get a thumbs-up through this contractor. They claim that more and more of their big city clients are looking for unique, intimate venues for gatherings.”

      “Gatherings such as...?”

      “Corporate retreats. Club getaways. Family celebrations—you know, milestone anniversaries, birthdays, graduations. Reunions. That kind of thing. The forest and wildlife we have in abundance here, along with our cabins, cookouts and trail rides would be a big part of the draw.”

      He folded his muscled arms—not that she was noticing.

      “I seem to recall there was some of that here when I was a kid.”

      “Oh, there was, but this would be a more focused endeavor. Targeting that type of clientele to a greater extent for a more reliable source of income than sporadic group bookings provide.”

      He tipped his head thoughtfully. “Guests at the last place I worked had higher standards than dudes used to. Everyone likes to brag that they’ve been roughing it, but there’s not a whole lot of roughing it in reality these days.”

      She laughed. “Glamping, you mean?”

      That was the latest global trend—“glamorous” camping. Getting off the beaten path in luxury.

      “No offense, Rio, but while the Hideaway provides clean, well-cared for accommodations with a homey touch, they don’t exactly fit the definition of luxurious unless you’re visiting from a Third World country.”

      Thanks for pointing that out, Mr. Herrera.

      “Well, that’s something we’ll be discussing in-depth next week.” She kept her tone deliberately light, determined not to take offense at his critical comment. “We’ll be considering what upgrades or alterations might realistically be required to meet the needs of a slightly different type of guest.”

      “You’ve researched this company and asked for a profile of their clients? Have an idea of the caliber of venues the company is currently booking?”

      Rio took a steadying breath. Gave him her best smile.

      “I’m sure Grady or Luke have either done that or will be doing it soon.” Neither had mentioned it, though. She’d been gone a week, however, and would no doubt be brought up-to-date at Monday night’s weekly business meeting—of which Cash would now be a part. “But we have time on our side. The company’s been candid with us that they’re evaluating numerous potential sites in the West and Southwest this summer. We’re one of many. They ballparked the Hideaway visit for late July. Maybe not until August.”

      “But don’t you think—”

      “Dad!”

      Relieved at the interruption, she turned to where a wide-eyed Joey was still sitting on the bale of straw, now surrounded by three attentive barn cats.

      “I think they want to eat me, Dad.”

      Did the giggle from the too-solemn boy warm his father’s heart as much as it did hers?

      She handed the clipboard to Cash, then trotted the length of the wide passage between the stalls. When she reached Joey, she swiftly scooped up a yellow tabby. “These fur balls don’t want to eat you. They’re waiting for you to give them a treat.”

      Extending her arm behind him to lift the lid on a small plastic box attached to the wall, she pulled out a handful of kitty treats. She gave one to Joey, who tentatively held it out to the cat in her arms. It made short work of the treat, crunching happily away. The other two jumped atop the bale with the boy.

      He smiled again. “They all want some.”

      As the cat in her arms leaped to the floor, she sensed Cash coming up behind her and held out a treat to him. But when he shook his head, she handed the remaining goodies to Joey.

      “Look, Rio,” Cash said, his voice low as he pulled her aside. “I’m sorry if I came across as disparaging of the Hideaway. That wasn’t my intention. It’s just that I’ve spent the past several years catching a glimpse of the lifestyles of the rich and not-so-famous,