The Bravo Bachelor. Christine Rimmer

for the rest of your lives. You can go to bed and get some rest when I leave because you won’t have to work. Not today. Not ever again.”

      With another soft grunt, she sat a little straighter. “There are worse things than not having a lot of money. And better things than being rich. Things like a place you love to be. Like having good people to care for, who care for you. This ranch is the place I love to be. And as for having to work, well, isn’t that a lot of what life’s about? It’s true I’m pretty beat today, but I like to work, most of the time. And if I sold out to BravoCorp so you could carve the land my husband loved into pricey half-acre lots, well, I’d never forgive myself.” The coffeemaker sputtered. She glanced toward the sound.

      “Let me.” He half-rose.

      “No.” She waved him off and pushed herself upright. “I’ll do it. I don’t mind at all.” She went on over there and got down a mug. “Milk and sugar?”

      “Just black.”

      She filled the mug and brought it to him, her belly leading the way. “There you go.” Resting one hand on the back of his chair, she set the mug beside his laptop. He found himself staring at her throat, for some reason. Her skin looked soft. A loose curl of hair curved against her cheek. She smelled of soap and lemons—and she had seen the laptop’s screen. “Well, what do you know, Gabe? I think it’s finally all ready to go.” She glanced at him, those tired, dark eyes suddenly dancing.

      Too damn smart, he thought. Too smart by half.

      He pulled the nearest chair closer. “Sit down here.” He patted the seat. “Where you can see.”

      She sent him a look of ironic good humor. “It’s not going to matter if I can see that screen or not.”

      “Sit down, anyway. Listen to what I have to say, watch what I have to show you.”

      With reluctance, she did. “All right, Gabe. Hit me with the pie charts and the tricolor graphs.”

      He sipped his coffee, made a sound of approval. “So many fancy ways to make coffee now. But I still prefer it fresh out of a can, brewed in a regular coffeemaker. Or boiled on an open fire, with eggshells at the bottom of the pot to cut the bitterness.”

      She folded her arms on top of her stomach. “Go out camping a lot, do you?”

      “My family owns a ranch not far from here, Bravo Ridge. I’ve spent a lot of nights outside around a campfire, mostly when I was growing up.”

      “Brothers and sisters?”

      “Six brothers, two sisters.”

      “Big family.” She seemed surprised.

      “That’s right.”

      She asked, “You the oldest?”

      “No, second born.”

      “So why don’t you build your fancy houses on your own ranch?”

      Had he seen that one coming? You bet he had. He sipped more coffee and told her why his family ranch wouldn’t do—even if the family had been willing to let it go. “Bravo Ridge is too far from a major highway. The plan is to build a top-quality San Antonio bedroom community that’s just far enough out to be considered in the country. With energy and oil prices so high, access and reasonable commute times are going to be key.”

      “Plus, it’s your family ranch, right? Your…heritage. Your history. No way you’d let some developer build tract homes on it.”

      She had it right. He changed the subject. “Mary. Please.

      Not tract homes. Each house will be one of a kind. It’s a fine plan we’ve put together.” He gestured toward the glasstopped back door. It opened onto a patio—he could see the rusting metal patio cover. Beyond that, across a rough patch of drying grass and a wide dirt driveway, there was a barn and a few other rundown outbuildings and pens. “Your land will be put to good use.”

      “My land is already put to good use.”

      He spoke gently again. “You’re a freelance writer, Mary, not a rancher. We both know you barely have time to take care of the few animals your husband left you. With the baby coming, it’s only going to get more difficult for you.”

      “I’ll manage.”

      “Your land is overgrown.”

      “I like it that way.”

      It’s dangerous that way, he thought. A damn wildfire waiting to happen. But she might take such a remark as some kind of veiled threat and that wasn’t the tone he was going for. “I’m only saying that the land itself would be better served if it got more care.”

      Now she was studying him. “More care, huh?”

      “That’s right.”

      “You know, I can see why they send you in to make the impossible happen, to.. .how did they put it in the Godfather movies?”

      He saluted her with the mug and reluctantly provided the words she was looking for. “Make them an offer they can’t refuse?”

      “That’s it.”

      So much for avoiding any hint of a threat. “The Bravos are hardly the Mafia, Mary.”

      “Of course you’re not.” She rubbed the side of her big stomach, frowning. “But you are used to getting what you want.”

      “And so are the people we deal with. We do our best to make every transaction a win-win.”

      She pulled a face at that. And then she shrugged. “Anyway, as I was saying…” Her brows drew together and she slid her hand around behind her to rub her lower back. “I can see why they sent you. There’s something about you. It’s partly your looks.”

      “Thanks. I think.”

      “I’m just stating a fact. It never hurts to be good-looking when you show up to try and charm a person into doing something she’s repeatedly refused to do. And you are charming.”

      “I try.”

      “Well, it’s working.”

      “Good to know.”

      “Plus, you seem…so calm. And patient. And interested, too. Interested in me and my welfare.”

      “I am interested, Mary.” It was true. Not so much in her welfare. But in her. She wasn’t what he’d expected. To bend her to his will, gently, so that in the end she decided she wanted to sell, would be a challenge. And challenges interested him. But the truth was, even if he hadn’t been interested, he would have said he was and made her think he meant it.

      She smoothed another lock of hair behind her ear. “I mean, we both know you’re only trying to manipulate me into signing away my ranch.”

      “Ouch.”

      “But yet you seem so relaxed about it. As if you don’t really care if you make it happen or not, as if you’re just enjoying sitting here in my kitchen with me, drinking regular coffee that came out of a can.”

      “I am enjoying this, Mary.” He leaned closer. Her scent drifted to him again: Ivory soap and citrus. He lowered his voice. “That’s my secret. I enjoy making things.. .work out.”

      “Work out for BravoCorp, you mean.”

      “And for you, Mary. Believe it or not, I’m on your side.”

      She didn’t roll her eyes, but she did make a small sound of disbelief.

      He sat back in his chair. “Ready for the presentation?”

      “As I’ll ever be.”

      Mary couldn’t hold back a laugh when the name of the housing development appeared on the screen.