The Rodeo Man's Daughter. Barbara White Daille

age, I would guess. Early sixties.”

       The deception hurt her. Badly. Because at her response, he grinned, making his green eyes blaze even in the shadow beneath his Stetson’s brim. “I meant that girl of yours.”

       “Oh. She’s nine.”

       “Nice-looking kid. What’s her name?”

       “N-Nate.” Where was he going with this conversation? And why wasn’t she going far, far away in another direction?

       “Nate?” He sounded amused. “A real handful.”

       She frowned. He’d seen her daughter for all of five minutes, most of which Nate had spent amid the group of girls fawning over him. “What makes you say that?”

       “The stubborn jaw.” He reached up and touched her chin with his fingertip. “I’d have known her even if she didn’t have your hair.”

       She swallowed hard and backed up a step, her legs threatening to give way beneath her. No, she would not get back in that pickup truck with him—even though it would give her a chance to sit down.

       “I’ll be in touch,” she assured him. When cows give orange milk. “I’m sure it won’t take long at all. And…” she held her breath a moment, then rushed on “I’m assuming you’ve reserved a place to stay closer to Santa Fe or Albuquerque.”

       His expression hardened. “I’ve got it covered,” he said, his voice rough.

       At another time, she might have thought twice about his reaction. Not anymore. “Good,” she said firmly. “There’s no need for you to hang around. I have your cell phone number. And you don’t need to drive me to the office, thanks.”

       As she started along the sidewalk, he fell into step beside her. Though he matched his stride to hers, he walked with the stiff gait she had seen when he’d first gotten out of the truck in front of the Double S.

       He’d been hurt during a rodeo. Very seriously hurt. The townsfolk had gone into an uproar when they’d learned about it. Nate and her friends had been despondent. Tess had managed to harden her heart against the news. Had tried not to think about Caleb’s aborted career. About his injury. For the most part, she’d succeeded. Until now.

       Reading about his accident was one thing. Seeing the results of it right there in front of her was something else. But she couldn’t feel any pity for Caleb. Shouldn’t feel any guilt, either.

       Not after they way he had crushed her.

       Keeping her gaze forward, she cleared her throat. “I—uh—know the way back on my own.”

       “That’s good,” he said. “A successful real estate person like yourself ought to know her way around. In fact, I imagine you’re the perfect person to show me some of the sights in town.”

       Shaky legs or not, that brought her to a solid stop. “What are you playing at, Caleb? You were born and raised here, same as I was. You know all the sights there are to see.”

       “Maybe. And maybe some things have changed.”

       His gaze drifted from her eyes all the way to her toes. An answering shiver rippled its way along the same path, as if he’d run his finger down her body.

       “You’ve got more curves than I remember.” He grinned again.

       Time to get away from him. “I have to run.” What an understatement.

       She needed to get to her office, research the list of his requirements, and find some property for him as quickly as she could—and as far away from Flagman’s Folly as possible.

       “Okay.” To her relief, he nodded. “Tell you what. I’ve got some business to take care of, myself. Since yours won’t take long, why don’t I pick you up later? We’ll ride around town a bit. Talk over your prospects at supper.”

       The most unlikely prospect she’d ever heard.

       The words rested on the tip of her tongue, ready for her to say them. But she couldn’t.

       Visions floated into her mind.

       Nate. Roselynn. Dana with her three small children but no husband by her side. An Out Of Business notice plastered on the front window of Wright Place Realty. A For Sale sign decorating the lawn of the Whistlestop Inn.

       She thought of the commissions she and Dana would earn from the sale of a ranch to Caleb. The sale of a substantial ranch. He’d made it plain he intended to acquire the largest piece of property she could locate. He’d seemed obsessed by the idea of owning a big spread in New Mexico. Strange, when he’d told her he already ran a working ranch in Montana. She’d had to bite her tongue against the question she wanted to ask. Why did he feel such a need to branch out?

       Fortunately, she’d kept quiet. What did it matter to her, as long as she managed to find him that ranch clear across the state? She ought to be grateful for his obsession. The income she could earn in satisfying his need would take care of every worry she’d envisioned, for a good long time. She couldn’t afford—literally—to get on the man’s bad side.

       If he had one.

       Everything she’d seen of him so far looked as good if not better than it had ten years ago.

       “Sound all right to you?” he persisted. “You said you’re still living at your mama’s. Can she keep watch on the girls at the sleepover for a while?”

       She swallowed hard. “Yes, she can. That sounds fine.”

       “Good. I’ll be at your place early, then, around four.”

       She nodded and walked away before he could see the expression she knew she couldn’t hide.

       How many times as a love-struck teenager had she dreamed about Caleb pulling up to the house to pick her up for a date? Impossible, of course. Her grandfather had made sure of it. Even without Granddad’s rules, she had known the pointlessness of her dream. She and Caleb had kept their relationship secret.

       She sighed in frustration.

       Back then, she had loved Caleb. Couldn’t get enough of him. Yet he had left her. And now, when she didn’t want the man anywhere near her, she was stuck with him.

       The irony of the situation nearly overwhelmed her. But the damage was done. Her world had already caved in earlier that day, the minute he had forced his way into her life again.

      Chapter Three

      Caleb parked the pickup truck in his choice of spaces behind Tess’s home. Only one other vehicle occupied the parking area, an ancient Toyota with more than its share of dents.

       Funny to think he’d come calling here again. Twice in the past, he’d stopped by this place and hadn’t made it beyond the front door. Her granddaddy had seen to that. Getting inside now would bring him a considerable measure of satisfaction.

       Still, anger rose at the memory of her granddaddy. The same anger that had bubbled through his veins since he’d first set foot in town this morning. He’d have to watch that. Control that from here on. Anger wouldn’t get him what he wanted from the townsfolk, or from Tess. No, he needed to give them all someone to look up to. Someone they’d respect.

       A good storyteller. A bull-riding champ. A rodeo star.

       Taking a deep breath, he stared at the clock on the dashboard. Three-fifty. Ten minutes early. Ten minutes to sit here. No sense letting Tess think he was too eager to see her again.

       He couldn’t have any illusions about her feelings, that was for sure.

       She had looked less than thrilled to see him outside the real estate office that morning, and a good sight more unhappy once she learned why he’d been standing on the doorstep.

       What he’d told her of his reasons, anyhow.