The Texas Rancher's Family. Cathy Gillen Thacker

Yankee.

      After all, no one in Laramie wasted money, if they could help it.

      Erin wrapped the boots in tissue paper and put them in a box emblazoned with the customer’s name. “I could care less,” she said, pushing aside the memory of the attractive interloper.

      Darcy followed Erin downstairs to the cash register. “Don’t you want to know what I heard?”

      “No.” Erin set the boots beneath the counter, then frowned as a sleek black limo with tinted windows pulled up at the curb. The rear door on the driver’s side opened and Mac emerged. His strides long and lazy, he circled around the back of the vehicle, then walked into the rustic interior of her family’s store.

      If anything, with his dark hair rumpled and his blue eyes intent, he was more devastatingly handsome than ever. Wearing khaki slacks, a button-up shirt and loafers, he still looked preppy, but a lot more casual and approachable than he had in a suit.

      Erin found herself wishing he was still ridiculously overdressed...so she wouldn’t be noticing the big man’s perfectly toned shoulders and chest.

      “Your appointment isn’t for another two hours,” she said.

      “I know.” He flashed an apologetic grin that did funny things to her insides. “I’ve had some...complications. I was hoping we could get the measuring done a little earlier.”

      “I’m sorry.” Erin indicated her happily married friend, glad to have an excuse to wait until her brother was on the premises, and could not only play chaperone, but distract them with his myriad questions and comments. “I have an appointment with Darcy next.”

      As determined as ever to get Erin back in the dating game, Darcy promptly volunteered, “I’ll trade with you.”

      Mac grinned. “Oh...thanks! I really appreciate that.”

      “No problem.” She beamed, sashaying toward the door. “See you both later.”

      After Darcy left, he turned back to Erin and pinned her with his gaze. Another shimmer of awareness sifted through her.

      Erin thought about the property taxes coming due on the ranch and tried to focus on business. “Have you ever had custom footwear made before?” she asked, gesturing toward the stairs.

      He fell into step behind her. “No.”

      Trying not to think of his eyes on her behind—how did she know what he was looking at as they climbed the stairs?—she took in an enervating breath and did her best to treat him like any other customer.

      She turned at the top of the stairway and smiled. “The first thing is the measuring. If you’ll have a seat—” she led him over to a straight-back chair “—and take off your shoes...”

      Mac settled his large frame with grace while Erin pulled up a stool. Heart pounding, she attached a piece of paper to a clipboard and set it on the floor in front of him, then asked him to stand once again.

      When he was on his feet, she slipped a hand around his ankle and guided his right foot onto the center of the paper. His socks were as fine a fabric as the rest of his clothes.

      “How long have you been doing this?” Mac asked.

      Glad to have something else to concentrate on other than him, she picked up a pencil and traced the outline of his foot on the paper. “I started learning the art of boot making when I was twelve. I was eighteen when I made my first pair, all on my own.”

      Erin slid another piece of paper onto the clipboard, marked it for the left foot and, holding that foot firmly in place, traced around it, too.

      “And now your little brother is learning the art?”

      Erin gestured for Mac to sit back down. She picked up his right foot and wrapped the measuring tape around the metatarsal bone just beneath his toes. “Nicholas can measure for the last—the replicated form of your foot that the boot is made to fit. And take orders, if the customer knows exactly what he or she wants, as most cowboys who come in here do.” Erin paused to write down the numbers on the sheet of paper with the outline of Mac’s right foot. “He’s not interested in helping formulate a design or the actual crafting of the boot.”

      Mac watched as she measured the middle of his arch. “So it’s just the two of you?”

      Erin nodded. She grasped his foot and stretched it out, so his toes were pointed downward, then measured just above the center of his heel and around the ankle bone. “And the help we employ, like Darcy, who works here part-time. She says it’s to support her custom-boot habit.” Which, Erin knew, was pretty much true. Darcy had almost as many pairs of boots as Erin did.

      Mac smiled, nodding at her to continue.

      “Although my siblings and I all grew up helping out in the store.”

      Erin had him stand again. All business now, she asked, “Are you going to wear your pants inside your boots or over?” Because that would make a difference.

      When he said, “Over,” she guided his weight squarely over his foot, then measured around his calf. Finished, she recorded that figure, then guided him to sit down again so she could take the measurements of his left foot.

      While she worked, Mac relaxed his foot in her grip, and asked casually, “Your family owns a ranch, too, don’t they?”

      Still aware of him in a way she definitely shouldn’t be, Erin nodded, telling herself there would never be anything between her and this out-of-towner, no matter how many sparks his nearness generated. “The Triple Canyon Ranch,” she answered.

      Mac waited for her to finish writing down some stats before saying, “It’s my understanding the property hasn’t been used for agricultural purposes in years.”

      Erin gestured for him to stand again. When he did, she knelt in front of him and wrapped the measuring tape around his left calf. “Not since my parents died, when I was twenty-three.”

      “I’d heard as much,” he murmured.

      Erin made a final notation and straightened, studying the expression on his face. Romantic fantasies faded as reality took over. She let her gaze slide over him and guessed wryly, “And you’re thinking our ten thousand acres would be perfect for a wind farm.”

      Mac slid his feet into his shoes. “The topography is wide open, and rough enough to generate a lot of wind. It’s tucked into a remote corner of Laramie County, yet within easy reach of the county power plant.”

      A trickle of unease went through her. “You’ve seen our property?” she asked in shock.

      Guileless blue eyes held hers. “Via helicopter, yes.”

      “And that’s why you wanted boots,” she accused. “So you could talk me into selling the property to North Wind Energy?”

      His gaze held hers without apology. “Or leasing, long-term, if your family would prefer.”

      Furious at having been played, Erin stood. “First of all, I don’t own the property myself,” she told him icily, carrying the clipboard over to the counter, wondering if she should shred all her notes right now. “I share the rights with my siblings.”

      Mac didn’t seem the least bit put off. “I understand there are five of you.”

      He certainly had done his homework.

      Erin lounged against the counter, her arms folded in front of her. “That’s right. Sixteen-year-old Nicholas, whom you met the other day. Bridget and Bess, my twenty-two-year-old twin sisters, who are both finishing up nursing school at San Angelo State University. And my brother Gavin. He’s thirty-three, a year younger than me, and is currently completing his residency in cardio-thoracic medicine.” None of them were interested in agriculture, or the store. Nicholas just worked there part-time to earn spending money. But all of them shared an emotional attachment to the ranch house and the land four generations