Winning The Rancher's Heart. Pamela Britton

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      “And I don’t think I need to remind you to keep...” He looked up at her. “What are their names?”

      “Samantha and T.J. We call her Sam for short.”

      “Please keep Sam and T.J. out of my house. Unless there’s an emergency.”

      “They were already told, but I’ll remind them.”

      “And I should probably meet them. Bring them by tomorrow.”

      Without thinking, she saluted. His brows lifted. She smiled. He stared at her again, a long, drawn-out stare that made her uncomfortable.

      “So that’s it for yesterday’s list. Do what you can with today’s to-do list. It should be self-explanatory. You can add calling Claire and asking her if she’ll help you with that dog.” He stood. “Let me know what she says.”

      “What about cooking for you?” She tried not to fidget as she stood in front of him. “I have to confess, I’m dying to use that oven.”

      He appeared to consider her words. “You won’t have to cook for me much. I like to graze more than eat big meals.”

      “Not ever?” She couldn’t contain her disappointment.

      “And when I do cook, I actually enjoy cooking myself.”

      Once again, her mouth went slack. “Really?”

      And there it was again: the soft chuff. Definitely laughter.

      “Yes, really.”

      “So I guess it’s back to my hidey-hole then.”

      “Let me know how it goes.”

      She nodded, resisted the urge to smile one last time, then turned and walked away, but as she traveled across the cavernous width of his office, her tennis shoes making nary a sound on the hardwood floors, she had the strangest sensation. He watched her. She was so sure of it that she paused at the doorway, glanced back.

      Their gazes connected.

      She froze. She wasn’t sure why. It was the look on his face. It wasn’t one that made her think he was attracted to her in any way shape or form. To be honest, she’d been on the receiving end of those looks more than once since Trev had died. No, it was more like she was a weed he’d spotted in the fancy hedges outside.

      Her lips lifted in an automatic smile. He didn’t smile back. She turned her smile up to its full wattage. Still no response. Good heavens. The man had the personality of a wooden stick.

      “See you later.”

      And then he did something she didn’t expect. He saluted to her. It made her laugh. She didn’t know why, but it did, and she didn’t mind letting him hear it as she walked toward the stairs.