“Good morning, Ms. Harper. My, don’t you just have a spring in your step today.”
Madeline maintained her pleasantly neutral expression even as she tried valiantly to suppress the blush she could feel rising up her cheeks. She had good reason for that springy step. “Good morning, Mrs. McLeroy.”
The receptionist smiled over her reading glasses as she set down her knitting. She was an odd mix of characters, with hair like Dolly Parton, a face like Mrs. Claus, and a seasonally themed wardrobe that reminded Madeline of her third grade music teacher. Today’s vest featured falling autumn leaves and a smattering of friendly-looking cats.
“Mr. Westerfield said he’d like to see you once you got settled this morning.” She leaned forward and added in a conspiratorial tone, “Don’t you worry, though. I already plied him with coffee and my homemade banana nut muffins this morning, so I know he’s as happy as a possum in a corncrib.”
Madeline bit the inside of her cheek to stifle a chuckle at the colorful comparison. She was still working on establishing her authority here and had no intention of jeopardizing it by joking around with the staff. In the week since she’d arrived, she’d been a veritable poster girl for professionalism. The older woman was sweet, but she hadn’t yet realized that Madeline was soon going to be running the place, and Westerfield would be spending his days on the golf course.
Assuming this town had a golf course.
Nodding, Madeline thanked her before heading for her own office. As she slipped between the haphazardly arranged cubicles, she pasted a pleasant but professional smile on her face. She hoped it would disguise the barely contained giddiness she felt after one of the most amazing nights of her life. She hadn’t gotten much sleep, but she still felt wired.
At six that morning, awakened by the alarm on her cell, she had feared an awkward morning-after moment. But she opened her eyes to discover that he was already gone—and she exhaled a blissful sort of sigh. No guilt, no regrets, just pure, unadulterated satisfaction. The perfect, once-in-a-lifetime encounter.
“Good morning, Ms. Harper,” Kelly Ann from Sales said as she walked by, her bright pink lips stretched in an odd, almost knowing smile.
Madeline blinked. Knowing smile? No, surely not. She was just being friendly. It was hard to gauge a person’s expressions when she wore a full mask of makeup this early in the morning. “Good morning,” Madeline replied, her professional veneer intact.
As she walked past Geraldine’s desk, the younger woman seemed to be biting back a grin. “Have a good evening?” She fluttered her lashes with over-the-top innocence.
Now that gave Madeline pause. Slowing, she said, “Yes, and I hope you did, too.”
Okay, she was just being sensitive. She always had harbored an irrational fear of people somehow knowing when she had gotten lucky the night before. But then she noticed the stir around the office as, one after the other, heads popped up from behind cubicle walls like pageant-haired gophers.
Oh, no.
She walked as fast as she could the last ten feet to her office without giving the appearance of running. Or escaping. Which she was. Seriously, what did they know? She hadn’t seen anyone she recognized at the bar last night. And outside of the office, no one in this town knew her yet. Even the cowboy himself hadn’t known her name.
She pushed the door to her office closed and leaned against it, working to control her rising apprehension. When she was able to breathe semi-normally again, she hurried to her chair, sinking into it much the way her heart was sinking in her chest.
A brisk knock on the door made her groan out loud, but she couldn’t very well ignore it. “Come in,” she said, working to sound cool and collected.
Her temporary assistant, Laurie Beth, rushed inside a millisecond later, her green eyes wide and sparkling. “Lord Almighty, girl, you must tell me everything.”
Swallowing, Madeline busied herself at her desk. “I’m not sure I know what you’re referring to. Do you have the sales records I requested yesterday?”
But her assistant wasn’t to be distracted. She plopped down onto the chair opposite the desk and leaned forward, eyebrows lifted. “No need to be coy, honey. You should be proud! Not a woman in this town has been able to tame Callen the Stallion, and in less than one week you managed to bring him to heel.”
Callen the what? Madeline gaped at her, completely horrified. “What in the world are you talking about?”
“Only the fact that you took Sunnybell’s most eligible bachelor home last night after a whole evening of just-this-side-of-dirty dancing.” She shook her head, sending her long highlighted curls swinging. “Every female in a thirty-mile radius has wondered what it’d be like to ride Tanner’s bronco. I hope you’re prepared to spill some beans.” She scooted forward to the edge of the chair, obviously expecting a play-by-play.
“Tanner? I thought you just said Callen?”
Laurie Beth exhaled an exasperated sigh. “Tanner Callen, rodeo star extraordinaire and all-around handsome-as-sin bachelor. Come on, Ms. Harper, I heard it from my own cousin’s lips, and Amber never peddles in fibs. Her gossip is as good as gold.”
Madeline was going to be sick. “And…everyone out there knows I, um, spent some time with him?”
Nodding earnestly, Laurie Beth said, “Of course! Nothing ever happens in this town, so when something like this goes down, it spreads faster than warm butter on hot bread.”
Wonderful. Fantastic. Here Madeline was, doing her level best to be the professional representative from corporate that she was supposed to be, and she’d just managed to fall headfirst into Gossip Girl.
“Laurie Beth?” she said, clinging to the tattered vestiges of her dignity.
“Ma’am?”
“Do you like working for me?” When her assistant nodded happily, Madeline looked her square in the eye. “Then let’s pretend that the subject never came up, and that the people of this town have no right to my personal life. Understood?”
Laurie Beth’s mouth dropped open in a neat little O. After a moment, she leaned back and nodded. “Yes, ma’am. You’re the boss.” Her good-natured shrug proved she wasn’t upset by Madeline’s direct comment, but something about it made her suspect Laurie Beth believed it would be just that: pretend.
The cat was officially out of the bag.
The phone rang then, cutting through Madeline’s racing thoughts. “I’ll call you when I need you,” she said by way of dismissal before picking up the phone. She waited until her assistant closed the door before saying, “Madeline Harper.”
“Well, good morning, Miss Harper. This is Eddie with Home on the Range Properties. Is this a good time?”
Madeline almost laughed. Oh, sure, it was a fantastic time. Couldn’t be better. “It is,” she replied, deciding not to indulge the need to have a nervous breakdown.
“I’ve got some good news this time around. Your rental house is finally ready. Is there a good time for me to drop off the keys for you?”
It was about time. Apparently Sunnybell didn’t believe in anything as practical as apartments, so she’d been forced to wait until a suitable rental house became free. The timing, however, couldn’t have been better. It was her excuse to escape and regroup, and she grasped it like the lifeline it was. “You know what? Stay where you are. I’ll come to you.”
Mr. Westerfield, her job, and the busybodies of this town would just have to wait. She had a house to move into. She’d spend the weekend hiding out there and then maybe, if she was very, very lucky, this whole thing would blow over by Monday.
And maybe it would rain diamonds, too.
Life on the rodeo circuit wasn’t glamorous, but it was a hell of a lot more exciting than Tanner’s new life, that was for damn sure. Trudging through the aisles of Harrison Hardware and Supply Company on a Saturday morning with a neatly ordered list written out by his grandmother and double-checked by Grandpa Jack was not his idea of a good time.
But he had made a promise to them. If they wanted him to pick up a half dozen new feed buckets and a “cushier”-handled garden trowel, then by God, he’d do it. Honestly, he’d do just about anything for either one of them.
As he turned the corner into the garden tool aisle, he came to an abrupt halt, his eyes widening. Before him stood Miss New York herself, her blond hair tucked in a short ponytail and her long legs on display beneath a pair of green-and-white polka-dot shorts.
The mere sight of her made his pulse kick up. The night they’d spent together had seemed too good to be true. A slow smile turned up the corners of his mouth. He didn’t know why she was still in town, but he had never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Sauntering over to where she stood staring at rakes as if they were a foreign language, he said, “Afternoon. Shopping for souvenirs, are we?”
She sucked in a surprised breath and whirled to face him. Her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink as she locked eyes with him. “Souvenirs?”
He grinned and picked up one of the rakes, turning it in his hands a few times. “Well, I don’t imagine those New York City stores sell many gardening tools.”
Since her car hadn’t been in the motel parking lot that morning, he’d thought she was already on her way back. He hadn’t expected to run into her again, but, seeing her now in her cute little shorts and her off-the-shoulder sweatshirt made him glad he’d been wrong.
Narrowing her eyes, she reached out and chose a different rake. “You can get anything in New York,” she said, her voice cool and her words clipped. “And no, this is not a souvenir. This is a tool to improve the atrocious state of my lawn, thank you very much.”
Her lawn? He took a cautious step back. “Do you commute to the city then?”
She gave a half laugh, half snort. “Kind of hard to commute to the city from here, cowboy.”
He stiffened. What in the world was she talking about? Wariness straightened his spine as he set the handle of the rake against the concrete floor. “Here meaning…?”
She gestured vaguely around them. “Here,” she said, as though the meaning should be obvious. Her hand settled at her hip as she turned accusing eyes on him. “Speaking of which, why the hell didn’t you tell me you were some sort of local celebrity?”
“Whoa,” he said, holding up his free hand, palm out. “Hold on there. I don’t remember you being real keen to exchange biographies and resumes out on the dance floor, or between the sheets, for that matter. Hell, I still don’t even know your name.”
She drew a deep breath, trying to rein in her temper. Spreading her lips into a forced smile, she stalked forward and thrust out her hand. “Hello, Tanner Callen, local rodeo star and apparent town golden child. I’m Madeline Harper. Your new neighbor.”