Big Sky Seduction. Daire Denis St.

      He and Char had dated first, then, next thing he knew, she was marrying Kenny. That had hurt more than he cared to admit and he’d still be pissed at Kenny over it if it wasn’t for that thing that happened two years after they married. Then Char split, just up and left, and Dillon and Kenny reverted to being the close friends they’d started off as, never speaking of Char again.

      Now Kenny was gone, and the decision about whether or not he should tell his friend about what happened was moot. It was all too late now.

      When Dillon reached the old homestead, now fondly called the Doghouse, he pulled up on the reins and turned the horse. They were standing on high ground overlooking the ranch buildings in the distance: the big log house that sat on the edge of the pond, the winding creek and forest to the west. It sure was nice. But there was no way he could keep it. He just couldn’t. As long as whoever bought it kept it running like it was meant to run and made sure the hired hands who were the backbone of the place stayed on because there were fewer and fewer places for hired help to go for decent jobs these days.

      With a hand to his hat, he craned his neck to check the road. Sure enough, a couple of cars were making their way along the mile-long gravel lane that led up to the ranch. If he took a shortcut across the creek, he’d make it back shortly after they arrived. With a gentle nudge with his boots and a clicking sound with his tongue, he urged the horse forward, picking a careful trail down the slope of the embankment to the creek below, making switchbacks to lessen the grade for the animal. After making it to flat ground, he followed the creek, looking for a shallow place to cross and then located a game trail through the woods that headed in the general direction of the compound.

      Once the buildings were in sight, he rode directly to the barn, dismounted and led the animal inside where a ranch hand named Curtis was mucking out stalls. “Can you take care of this one for me?” Dillon asked. “Max is here.”

      “Sure thing.” Curtis, a stoic young man of few words, looked less than thrilled at the mention of the real estate agent’s name. Dillon didn’t blame him.

      He gave the horse a pat on its neck, passed him off to Curtis and then made his way to the end of the barn where a wash station was set up. He washed his hands and splashed cool water on his face and neck. He could almost see Gloria’s look of disdain at the image he painted. Why the hell did the little redhead’s disdain amuse him so much?

      Damn, he was acting like a kid about to go on a first date.

      One thing was clear: he couldn’t wait to see her again.

       4

      WITH HER PHONE in one hand and her notebook in the other, Gloria took pictures of the enormous ranch house. More like a lodge than a house, it was gorgeous. Much newer than she’d expected, too, which was a good thing because staging it alone was going to take a ton of work. She snapped another picture of the kitchen before following Max Ozark into the living room. No. Not living room, this was what you called a great room.

      The vaulted ceiling was crisscrossed with wide solid beams of wood. West-facing windows lined the entire wall. She stopped to admire the view of the pond right out front with forest and mountains in the background.

      “It’s spectacular,” she said before snapping a bunch more photos.

      “It has potential,” Max said, chewing on the toothpick that had been stuck in the corner of his mouth during the entire tour.

      Gloria leaned against a wall, opened her notebook and added to the growing list of things that needed to be done: declutter, clear out furniture, clean windows, get new rugs, art and lighting. She made a rough diagram of the room and blocked where the new and/or repurposed furniture would go. She’d already made rough sketches of each of the eight bedrooms—yes, eight bedrooms!—plus their attached en suites. Then the enormous kitchen, the gigantic dining room, the den, the foyer, the two half baths on the main floor. Sighing, she closed the book. “What does someone need eight bedrooms for?” she muttered to herself, trying to imagine the sort of buyer they would be looking for.

      “The original owner had planned to run the place as a dude ranch.”

      “What happened?”

      “He died.”

      “Oh, sorry. Did you know him?”

      “Yeah. He was young. Cancer.” Max shook his head, sadly. “Everyone thought he was crazy for building this.” He gestured toward the house at large. “Including my client. He inherited this place and probably figures it’s too big to keep.”

      Gloria blinked and suddenly saw the place through new eyes. It was perfect for a guest ranch. “So what kind of buyer are we looking for? Someone who wants to run this as a business?”

      “Either that or we find some high roller with money. Could be a celebrity type or just some bigwig corporate type who wants to pretend to be a cowboy for a few months out of the year. As long as they’d be willing to keep the place running like it is now. That’s important to my client.”

      “What about a really big family?” Gloria turned a circle, imagining kids growing up here, adults growing old here. It seemed...idyllic.

      “No one around here can afford something like this. We could throw a for-sale sign on the place and you know what would happen? Same thing that’s happened to 80 percent of the places around here, one of those big corporations will buy it, leaving this brand-new house to rot, treating the land and the livestock like a factory.” He shook his head. “The client doesn’t want that.”

      “Hmm.” Gloria held her pencil to her lips. “It’s going to be a lot of work to attract the kind of buyer you’re looking for.”

      “What are we talking?”

      “Well...” Gloria went back to her notebook. “Everything’s pretty new, but I’d like some higher-end appliances in the kitchen. Paint everything, give it a fresh look. Most of this furniture has to go and we’ll need to bring in truckloads more, just to fill the place.” She glanced around. “A few new light fixtures would help. Then there are all the accents, rugs, art, decorative items.” She closed the book, envisioning the kinds of things she’d put in this room. “If you want a high-end buyer you need to use high-end materials. It’ll be expensive and there are no guarantees.”

      Max nodded, walking around the room and checking it out as if trying to imagine it through the eyes of a multimillionaire. “I’ll double-check with my client, but I’m sure he’ll tell you to go ahead.” He paused and regarded her. “The question is, are you up to tackling this sort of job?”

      Excitement. That was what Gloria felt as she contemplated the challenge the ranch house presented. However, she was also a realist. “I’ll be honest, Max. Back in Chicago I could do it. I’ve got the contacts there—contractors, furniture suppliers. Here?” She shrugged. “I don’t know where to start. We’re out in the middle of nowhere.”

      “Well, now, we may be isolated but I imagine Butte’s got what you need in terms of furniture and supplies.”

      “What if we can’t rent? Can your client afford what I’m talking about?

      “We can ask.”

      Not for the first time, Gloria wondered who the mystery client was.

      “So,” Max prodded. “What do you think?”

      She smiled. “I think it’s an exciting proposition.”

      “Good, glad to hear it. You come highly recommended.”

      She did? She was just going to ask who’d recommended her when Max nodded toward the window. “I just saw the client ride past. Why don’t we go talk over the fine points with him and then he can take you on a tour of the rest of the property.”

      “Sounds good.”

      Already Gloria’s mind was spinning with ideas, a southwestern theme infused