The Cowboy's Pride and Joy. Maureen Child

took a seat behind his desk and waited for her to sit down opposite him. When she did, she handed over the envelope and as he opened it to take the sheaf of papers out, she looked around the room, her gaze finally settling on the window behind him and the view so beautifully displayed.

      “How do you get any work done?” she wondered absently. “If it were me, I’d be staring out that window all the time.”

      “One reason why it’s behind me,” he said as he flipped through the pages. Deliberately, he avoided looking at either the view or her.

      “Sure, but you still know it’s there.”

      He knew she was there, too, and that knowledge was far more distracting than even the sweeping view of the mountains that he loved. Jake picked up a pen and held on to it with a grip that should have been tight enough to shatter the steel barrel. What was it about this woman that was getting to him so completely and so quickly?

      She stood up to move around the room, and Jake lifted his gaze just enough to see her. He zeroed in on her as she paused to examine the paintings hanging on the walls, the books in the bookcases and even the photographs on the mantel over the hearth where a fire burned against the chill of the day.

      When she turned back to face him, his gaze dropped to the papers on his desk.

      “This house is really amazing,” she said. “You’ve got those same braces in here—the beams or whatever, that are made to look like tree trunks.”

      That had him smiling. Those support beams were a favorite of his. It had felt like bringing the forest inside the house, though the builder hadn’t been thrilled with the extra work it had required.

      Giving up on the illusion of examining the papers, he looked up at her and watched as she continued her inspection of his study. It was a big room, with plenty of heavy, dark brown leather furniture, and rugs in muted colors dotted the wood floors. Jake spent a lot of his time in here, so he’d wanted it to be comfortable.

      “It’s a big house for one man,” she said softly.

      “I like a lot of space.”

      “I can see that. But it would be a little creepy for me to have this big a house and be all by myself.”

      “Creepy how?” Intrigued in spite of himself, he leaned back in his chair and watched her.

      She threw him a smile over her shoulder as she bent lower to inspect the books on the bookshelf. His gaze settled on the curve of her behind in that faded, worn, soft denim and a flash of heat shot through him with the swiftness of a lightning bolt.

      “I’d always be expecting someone to break in,” she said.

      Frowning, he tore his gaze from her butt. “This isn’t Boston.”

      “Oh, it’s really not.” She straightened, walked the perimeter of the room slowly and finally sat down opposite him again in one of two matching leather chairs. Resting her elbows on the arms of the chair, she folded her hands across her middle, tipped her head to one side and said, “Your mother really wants you back in Boston, you know.”

      “Yeah,” he said, a reluctant smile curving his mouth. “She really hasn’t kept that a big secret.”

      “She talks about you a lot. I think she misses you.”

      A ping of guilt stabbed at him, but he fought it down. Guilt didn’t fix anything. Didn’t change anything. Frowning now, Jake asked, “You’re her personal assistant, right?”

      “That’s right. Why?”

      “Aren’t assistants supposed to be sworn to secrecy and discretion?”

      She shrugged. “You’re her son, and it’s not like you don’t already know everything I’m saying.”

      True. But he didn’t enjoy having someone remind him that his mother missed him. He knew she did. But he saw her and his sister, Beth, and her family whenever they visited the ranch. That was enough. Jake wouldn’t go back to the city again if he could help it. The closest he wanted to come to a city was downtown Kalispell, and that was only when he couldn’t avoid it.

      “So why are you so anti-Boston?” she asked quietly.

      His gaze narrowed on her. “I know my mom didn’t put you up to that question.”

      “No, that’s just me. Being curious.”

      “Polite word for nosy.”

      “Guilty. You don’t have to answer.”

      “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

      “But you will,” she countered with an easy smile as she sat back more comfortably in the chair.

      “What makes you think so?”

      “Because you’ll want to defend your position.”

      “Ah,” he said, leaning back in his own chair. “But why would I care what you think of me?”

      “Oh, you don’t,” she said. “But you can defend yourself to you, by explaining it to me.”

      Irritation warred with intrigue inside him. He’d known her only a few hours and she was already playing him. Were women born knowing how to maneuver a man into doing exactly what they wanted him to do?

      “It’s none of your business,” he finally ground out.

      “Ah.” She nodded sagely. “The best defense is a good offense.”

      Surprised, he laughed. “You know football?”

      She shrugged. “My younger brother played in high school and college. I went to a lot of games. And you changed the subject. Well done.”

      Shaking his head, Jake studied her for a long minute and found her gray gaze steady and filled with interest. “Okay. I grew up in the city. But this ranch always felt like home to me.”

      “And...”

      “And, after college and the Corps, I couldn’t settle in the city. Too much noise. Too many people. Too many things crowding in on me.” He stood up, unable to stay behind the desk. Walking to the fire, he picked up a poker and stabbed at the smoldering logs until flames hissed and jumped to life again.

      Funny, he hadn’t thought about any of this for a long time, and remembering coming home from his last tour of duty and being surrounded by the crazed noises and crowds of the city brought it all back. That itchy, unsettled feeling that resulted in a cold, deep chill that had skimmed over his heart and soul, making him feel as if he were slowly freezing to death.

      Grinding his teeth together, he swallowed hard, reminded himself that he’d left that old life behind and said, “I didn’t belong there anymore. I needed space. Room to breathe. Couldn’t find that in the city.”

      She was watching him. He didn’t have to see it to feel her gaze on him. He knew she was wondering what the hell he was talking about. Considering him nuts for turning his back on Hunter Media and all that entailed. But he didn’t face her; instead he simply stared into the flames and let himself be mesmerized.

      Until she spoke and shattered the quiet.

      “Really, I sympathize with your mother, but I can’t see you living in Boston at all.”

      He lifted his head and shifted a look at her. He didn’t see sympathy or concern or amusement on her features, and for that he was grateful. “Is that right? Why?”

      She laughed a little and the sound was soft. “Well, first off, I do understand everything you just said. Sometimes the crowds downtown make me feel like I can’t draw a breath.”

      He nodded.

      “But secondly... Please. You wear boots and jeans and a hat that you can pull down deliberately low enough to keep people from seeing your eyes.”

      A