The Last Cowboy Standing. Barbara Dunlop

      “You left your bag behind,” said Randal, sparing a fleeting glance in Travis’s direction.

      “Thank you,” Danielle offered, feeling a smug sense of satisfaction.

      “Travis Jacobs,” Travis introduced himself, holding out his hand.

      Randal seemed to hesitate for a split second. “Randal Kleinfeld.” He shook hands. “I went to Harvard with Danielle.”

      “So, I hear,” said Travis.

      Randal turned his attention back to Danielle. “So, what would you like to do for lunch?”

      She could all but hear Travis’s mocking thoughts, feel him daring her to test his theory. If she did, she’d be stuck going to lunch with him. If she didn’t, he’d probably never let her live it down. But when Randal didn’t try to put Travis in his place the way Travis had predicted, Danielle would feel as if she’d won something, too.

      It was worth a lunch with Travis, she decided.

      “I’m so sorry,” she told Randal. “But Travis and I have just made lunch plans.”

      Randal’s attention darted briefly to Travis. His eyes narrowed as if he was none too happy. But when he spoke to Danielle, his expression smoothed out again.

      “I thought you might like to hear about the rest of the tariff Q and A.” Randal smiled, and his gaze slid to Travis again. “We could contrast tripartite arrangements pertaining to intra-regional trade distortions versus the harmonization of partner states.”

      “We’re going to contrast the black bulls with the white ones,” Travis said with a straight face.

      Danielle thought it was a stretch for Travis to take Randal’s words as a slight, but she nearly laughed at the comeback.

      “I can make some introductions to people at the firm,” Randal pushed on. “You should use the break time to your advantage.”

      “Sorry,” said Danielle. “But I already have plans.”

      Randal hit Travis with a disparaging look. “You’re going to take advantage of her good manners?”

      “I was going to pay for the lunch,” said Travis.

      “That’s not the point.”

      Danielle reached out to where Randal held her bag. “Thanks for bringing this. I’ll probably see you later on in the day?”

      Before Randal could react, Travis removed the bag from his grasp.

      “Jacque Alanis Signature Room?” Travis asked her in a clear voice, naming the most exclusive and expensive restaurant on the Strip. Then he took her arm and deftly turned her for the main entrance.

      “You’re the one who’s throwing down the gauntlet,” she accused as they moved out of earshot.

      “If his motives are pure, he’ll have no interest in which restaurant we choose.”

      “We’re going to contrast the black and white bulls?”

      “He tossed out all that technical language for my benefit.”

      “Lawyers always talk that way.”

      “You don’t.”

      Danielle tried to decide if he was right. “I do when I’m with other lawyers.”

      “You don’t do it to belittle other people in a conversation.”

      She thought about that. “Sometimes I do it to you.”

      He seemed to ponder the comment as they walked out the doors of the main entrance. “Sometimes I deserve it.”

      Danielle gaped at him in astonishment, as he gave a hand signal to a doorman.

      Within moments, a long, white limousine was pulling to the curb, and the porter held open the back door.

      “You have got to be kidding,” she told Travis.

      “He’s still watching. I want to make this good.”

      Danielle didn’t believe that for one minute. “By now, Randal’s gone to lunch with someone else.”

      “No, he hasn’t.” Travis guided her forward with a hand on the small of her back. “And the more I look like a rival, the faster he’ll tip his hand, and prove me right. He’s still after you.”

      She put her hand on the open car door. “This is going to cost you a fortune.”

      “You’re talking to a man with bull riding prize money in his jeans.”

      “You’re going to spend it all just to make a point?”

      “Might as well spend it on you.” His blue eyes were fixed and determined.

      She gave an unconcerned shrug, answering as she slid into the car. “Fine. I’ve got nothing against the Jacque Alanis Signature Room.”

      Travis grinned and slipped the doorman a bill before following her inside. The door shut behind him, and his phone began to ring. He reached into the breast pocket of his Western shirt.

      “I think the Signature Room requires a jacket,” said Danielle.

      He gazed at his phone display. “In the absence of a jacket, they require a good tip.” He gave her an eyebrow waggle. “It’s Vegas, baby. You mind if I take this? It’s Caleb.”

      Danielle felt her eyes widen. She wondered how Caleb could have known she was with Travis. Then she remembered Caleb and Travis were close friends. Then she realized she was making a colossal mistake by accepting his invitation to lunch. This was Travis, her archenemy from Lyndon Valley. Why had she let her guard down?

      “Hey, Caleb,” he said into the phone.

      Then he paused and listened, brow furrowing in concern.

      The driver put the limo into gear and pulled ahead.

      “Is everybody okay with that?” he asked.

      Danielle didn’t want to be nosey, but she couldn’t help think something was wrong back at the Jacobses’ ranch.

      “No. If that’s what he wants, then it seems like a good solution.” Travis paused again. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll get it done.”

      The limo pulled into the busy street, and Danielle hung on to a handle as they bumped from the hotel driveway. The Signature Room was only half a mile away, but traffic was busy.

      Travis’s gaze went to Danielle, a conspiratorial smile growing on his face. “She’s here? Really?”

      She held her breath, not exactly sure why she wanted Caleb kept in the dark, but quite certain that she did.

      “I’ll watch for her,” said Travis. “Thursday, it is. See you then.”

      He ended the call. Then he grinned at her. “Caleb just informed me you were in Vegas.”

      Danielle struggled to frame the right words. She didn’t want to offend Travis, but she didn’t want anybody getting the wrong idea, either.

      “Relax,” he drawled. “I’m not going to kiss and tell.”

      Her guilt turned to irritation. “Nobody’s kissing anyone.”

      “It’s an expression.”

      Her own phone chimed.

      He glanced to her purse. “Go for it. I did.”

      “Thanks.” She popped the snap and reached inside, extracting the slim phone. It was Caleb.

      She pressed the answer button, watching Travis as she spoke. “Hi, Caleb.”

      Travis’s brows shot up. Then he grinned, shaking his head.

      “How’s the