Montana Fever. Jackie Merritt

Mr. Sheridan. The key phrase is for sale, in case you missed it.”

      “Didn’t miss it at all.” Grinning to himself, Duke walked over to a display of hats. “You’ve got some good merchandise in here.” He took a hat from the rack and put it on. “What do you think?”

      “It’s definitely you,” she drawled, which was an out-and-out lie. The black hat he’d chosen was huge, with a ten-inch crown and a wide, floppy brim, and it looked ridiculous on him.

      He laughed as though she’d said something hilarious. Removing the hat, he replaced it on the rack and picked up another, a cream-colored Stetson. “I think I like this one.”

      So did she. “The black one suits you much better,” she said with a smile of exaggerated sweetness.

      “Yeah, right.” Leaving the hat on, he moved to a rack of shirts. Flipping through them, he asked, “Who owns the store?”

      “I do.”

      He sent her a glance. “So you’re a businesswoman. Or should I say businessperson?”

      She shrugged. “Say anything you wish.”

      He stopped to give her a long look. “That’s an opening if I ever heard one. Do you mean it?”

      “I’m talking about my title, Mr. Sheridan.”

      “Duke. I’ve decided to call you Lola, so you may as well call me Duke.”

      “Male logic. Now why doesn’t that surprise me?”

      “Maybe you don’t surprise easily.” His smile flashed. “Then again, it could be that you’re feeling as overwhelmed by me as I am by you.”

      “Oh, please,” she said, attempting a contemptuous intonation. “Men do not overwhelm me, Mr. Sheridan.”

      “Not even once in a while?” he said teasingly, at the same time pulling three shirts from the circular rack. “I’ll take these, along with the hat,” he said before she could respond to his silly question.

      Lola accepted the shirts, genuinely surprised that he was planning to buy something.

      “And these two,” he said, adding another two shirts to the three she was holding.

      “Would you like to try them on?” she asked.

      “Don’t need to. They’ll fit. Let’s see what else you’ve got in here.” He walked over to the jeans section, which was in a different location than the table of jeans at the front of the store. With his hands on his hips, he perused the laden shelves. “Good size selection. Little guys, big guys…” He gave her a grin. “They can all buy here.”

      “That’s the idea.” His grins were much too adorable for Lola’s comfort. And yet she found herself waiting for the next one. She enjoyed flirting with an outstanding guy as much as any woman, but there was the strangest little voice in the back of her mind issuing warnings. If she remembered anything at all about the Sheridans, father and son, it was the rumors that they always got what they wanted, when they wanted it. It was entirely possible that Duke flirted with every reasonably attractive woman he ran across, just as he was doing with her, so she shouldn’t allow herself to get too giddy about it.

      “I’ll bring these shirts to the counter while you look around,” she told him. “Would you like me to take the hat, too?”

      “Thanks, but I like it right where it is.”

      “Fine.” Lola walked across the store to the counter and hung the shirts on a rack behind it.

      Betty excused herself momentarily from her customer and hurried over. “Do you know who he is?” she asked in an undertone.

      “He introduced himself. I remember the name, but not him.”

      “He’s the best catch in the county,” Betty whispered. “Be nice.” Smiling broadly, she returned to her customer.

      Lola could see Duke pulling jeans from a shelf; apparently he had found his size. After a deep breath, she walked back to him. “These jeans are—”

      “No salesmanship necessary. I’ll take four pair.”

      “Oh.”

      “I see you carry boots.” Duke started for the boot display.

      “Not many, Mr. Sheridan. I plan to expand the shoe and boot department, but at the present my stock is limited.”

      “These are good.” He picked up a gray lizard boot and looked it over. “Got this one in a size twelve?”

      “I think…possibly. Let me check.” Hurrying to the storage room, she scanned the boot boxes. Elated, she returned with a size twelve. “Sit down. You really must try boots on. They vary a great deal depending on style and brand, and boots should fit perfectly.”

      “Really?”

      She flushed slightly. He’d worn boots all his life, for heaven’s sake, and certainly didn’t need advice on how they should fit.

      “Sorry,” he said. “Only teasing. I like it when you blush.” Duke sat in one of the three chairs Lola had installed in the boot section of the store. “Are you going to put them on me?”

      “No, you are.” So, he liked making her blush. For some reason that annoyed her. She opened the box and pulled out the boots, removing the packing from inside them. “Here you are,” she said, placing the boots on the floor next to the ones on his feet.

      Chuckling quietly, he yanked off his boots and pulled on the new ones. Standing, he checked the result in the mirror. “What do you think?”

      “They look great, but how do they feel?”

      “Like new boots.” He grinned, but only for a moment. With his eyes narrowed on her, he said in a tone too low to reach Betty and the other woman in the store, “You sure are a pretty little thing.”

      Lola cleared her throat. “Thank you. About the boots…”

      “I’d much rather talk about you. How about going next door to the diner with me for a cup of coffee?”

      Startled at his unexpected invitation, Lola felt another blush sneaking into her cheeks. “Thanks, but I really can’t leave.”

      “Aw, sure you can. You’re the owner, aren’t you? You can do anything you want.” Duke resumed his seat and pulled off the lizard boots. “I’ll take these.”

      He hadn’t asked for the price. “They’re $375,” Lola said.

      He shrugged. “How about that coffee?”

      Lola gathered up the boots and fit them back in their box, while Duke pulled on his old boots.

      “Sorry,” she said. “I really can’t leave the store.” She heard the phone ringing then, and since the boot department was close to her office, she called to Betty, “I’ll get it. Please excuse me, Mr. Sheridan. I won’t be long.”

      “Take your time, sweetheart. I’m in no hurry.”

      His sassy response caused Lola’s pulse to flutter. She had met some intriguing men during college and her years of travel, but none to compare with Duke Sheridan. Leaving the office door ajar, she picked up the phone. “Men’s Western Wear, Lola speaking.”

      “Miss Fanon? This is Naomi Pritchard, the principal of the Lewis and Clark Elementary School. May I speak to Betty, please? I’m afraid we have a bit of an emergency. Her son, Brian, was hurt in a fall. The school nurse thinks he may have broken his arm.”

      “I’ll get her immediately.” Dropping the phone, Lola went to the door, then decided against calling clear across the store for Betty. Winding through the merchandise, she approached her instead. “Betty, the school principal is on the phone for you.”

      Betty’s eyes registered