Hot Holiday Rancher. Catherine Mann

that was still her daddy Jesse was talking about. “You certainly know how to win friends and influence people.”

      Sighing, he swept off his hat. “Ma’am, you’re clearly tired. I’ll make you something to drink—decaf coffee? Tea? Hot chocolate?”

      She was exhausted. But she had a narrow window of time. If she kept bristling this way, she would lose the chance to plead her father’s case to be the president of the Houston branch of the club. It was tough enough already with all the politics back home, given the other contender for the position was his longtime rival, Ryder Currin, who her father felt had unjustly gotten an oil-rich piece of land that should have stayed in the family. It didn’t seem to matter to Sterling that he already had more money than royalty and that Ryder had made the bulk of his fortune through savvy investments.

      Although they had to get along these days since Ryder was seeing her sister Angela, that didn’t change the fact that her dad wanted the position. And Angela would have to live with that, because Esme intended to make this happen for her father.

      “Hot chocolate, please, if it’s not too much trouble.” It sounded like something that would take longer to make. Give her more time to collect herself. Mold herself into the perfect influencer. “And no worries. I’m thick-skinned like my father.”

      A fib. She actually was the most sensitive of her siblings, but that would smooth things over for now.

      As the sensitive sibling, she’d learned early how to play family peacekeeper. To de-escalate tension and defuse situations—even though her heart often thudded loudly in her chest and panic rose in her blood.

      With footfalls uncharacteristically silent for such a tall, broad-chested man, he moved into the laundry room. Light flickered on, and Esme peered inside the well-kept pale yellow room with green plant accents. He pulled clothes out of a basket on top of the dryer, then strode with cowboy swagger back to her. He motioned down the hallway. Sconces on the wall provided a warm light as they made their way to the massive kitchen. He placed the neatly folded clothes on the island.

      With a surveying glance, she took in the open, sprawling layout. White granite countertops provided a sleek contrast to the dark wood cabinets. Open shelves displayed simple white dishes and mugs. A countertop overlooked a large bay window that, despite the night storm raging outside, offered an enviable view of the large barn and fence. Unlike the interior of the house, the barn and fence sported twinkling Christmas lights.

      A thick but unfinished sandwich took up the majority of a white plate on the countertop. He must have been eating there when he’d spotted her car outside.

      Jesse’s rough-cut smile lit up his green eyes. “Good, I’m glad to hear you’re tough. If we’re going to be trapped here together until the road’s cleared, it will be easier if we get along.”

      Trapped? Now, that sounded promising.

      “True enough.” She slid off her trench coat.

      The room went silent as his eyes flickered with awareness, taking in her damp blouse and slacks. Her chilled skin warmed at his gaze.

      Then he looked away, clearing his throat as he picked up a remote control off the island and thumbed on the sound system. Holiday tunes played softly, jazz renditions. That surprised her. She would have expected him to pick country music.

      Rubbing the back of his neck, he walked over to the double wooden doors of his pantry. Intricately carved, the wood depicted a rearing horse on a landscape. It was a touch of personality in this state-of-the-art kitchen that was otherwise pretty much devoid of personality. He removed a bag of marshmallows and a mason jar filled with hot chocolate mix and set them on the counter. He pulled out milk from the fridge.

      “Well, then, Esme, let’s agree not to talk about your father.” He spun a pan in his hand, setting it down on the front right burner.

      Not discussing her dad was rather counterproductive to her reason for braving the storm to see him. But she wasn’t going to argue with him. She would work her way back to the subject when the opportunity arose.

      “Fair enough.” And while she waited, she couldn’t resist asking, “Let’s start with who you were expecting.”

      “Actually, three someones.” The milk simmered on the gas stove.

      He reached up to the open shelves, selecting an oversize mug. His hands were calloused and capable, telling a story. He didn’t just own this massive spread. He worked it.

      Surprise lit through her. “Three people you didn’t know and wouldn’t recognize?”

      So…mystery women. What was this man up to?

      Jesse had maneuvered to a well-stocked bar next to the stainless steel fridge. She noticed a sole picture beside it—of a girl in her twenties who shared his intense green eyes. A sibling perhaps? It was the first—and only—sign of personal effects she’d spotted since entering his ranch house/mansion. A private man, then.

      He held up a bottle of peppermint schnapps and quirked an inquiring eyebrow. She nodded and he set the bottle on the counter beside the rest of the ingredients.

      “In my defense, Esme, it was dark when I found you and you were—are drenched. Speaking of which, you should change before you catch a cold. Your hot chocolate will be ready soon.” He stood toe to toe, the spicy and damp scent of him teasing her senses. He passed over the stack of clothes—sweats, a tee and socks—his calloused knuckles brushing hers. “I’ll tell you all about the three mystery women when you get back.”

      Her hands still tingling from the light touch, she sure hoped her father appreciated her efforts here. Because she suspected focus on her task was going to be tough to come by with Jesse Stevens.

      She wasn’t even one day into this promotional excursion and already she’d made a mess of things. One that not even the longest, steamiest of showers could make right.

      Esme was no stranger to luxury, but she still appreciated the plush robe and heated floors in the guest bathroom he led her to.

      An all-Texas bathroom for sure, with a touch of modern rustic charm in the form of the polished horns on the wall opposite the luxurious Jacuzzi. But there was also a large tinted window that offered a view of the Christmas lights lining the fence. The only other lights came from a bunkhouse in the distance.

      Under this roof, she was alone. With Jesse Stevens.

      Exhaling hard, she plucked one of the lotions from the basket on the counter. She opened the top and inhaled the delicious scent of peppermint, which reminded her of that spiked cocoa waiting for her. Along with the man.

      Smoothing the lotion onto her legs, she found her thoughts drifting back to Jesse. His broad shoulders. His blond hair spiked and mussed. Her skin tingled from more than the minty cream.

      She’d never doubted her professionalism. Her cool head. And while she worked for the family company, she’d allowed this to become too personal. This wasn’t even about the business. This was about her father’s quest to be the president of a club. Which many would have thought meant she was doing a favor, not a job.

      Many would be wrong. This was more than a favor. She was trying to earn her dad’s approval. Even knowing that shouldn’t matter so much to her, an adult woman, she couldn’t dodge the truth.

      She risked a glance in the mirror. With her hair wet and snarled, she was a mess. A far cry from how she’d started the morning with a spa day. Even her manicure hadn’t survived, one nail broken and two others chipped.

      It was almost comical, really, as if all her professional facade had been wiped away. Her slacks were ruined. Her silk blouse very likely unsalvageable, too.

      All that was left of the real her were her champagne-colored satin underwear and her diamond stud earrings.

      At least she had something