A Little Bit Country

Two

“Four days!” Rorie felt the color drain from her face. “But that’s impossible! I can’t possibly wait that long.”

“Seems to me,” Clay said in his smooth drawl, “you don’t have much choice. George tells me he could have the water pump within a day if you weren’t driving a foreign job.”

“Surely there’s someone else I could call.”

Clay seemed to mull that over; then he shrugged. “Go ahead and give it a try if you like, but it isn’t going to do you any good. If the shop in Riversdale can’t get the part until Saturday, what makes you think someone else can do it any faster?”

Clay’s calm acceptance of the situation infuriated Rorie. If she stayed here four days, in the middle of nowhere, she’d completely miss the writers’ conference, which she’d been planning to attend for months. She’d scheduled her entire vacation around it. She’d made arrangements to travel to Victoria on British Columbia’s Vancouver Island after the conference and on the way home take a leisurely trip down the coast.

Clay handed her the phone book, and feeling defeated Rorie thumbed through the brief yellow pages until she came to the section headed Automobile Repair. Only a handful were listed and none of them promised quick service, she noted.

“Yes, well,” she muttered, expelling her breath, “there doesn’t seem to be any other option.” Discouraged, she set the directory back on the counter. “You and your brother have been most helpful and I want you to know how much I appreciate everything you’ve done. Now if you could recommend a hotel in...what was the name of the town again?”

“Nightingale.”

“Right,” she said, with a wobbly smile, which was the best she could do at the moment. “Actually, anyplace that’s clean will be fine.”

Clay rubbed the side of his jaw. “I’m afraid that’s going to present another problem.”

“Now what? Has the manager gone fishing with Old Joe?” Rorie did her best to keep the sarcasm out of her voice, but it was difficult. Obviously the people in the community of...Nightingale didn’t take their responsibilities too seriously. If they were on the job when someone happened to need them, it was probably by coincidence.

“A fishing trip isn’t the problem this time,” Clay explained, his expression thoughtful. “Nightingale doesn’t have a hotel.”

“What?” Rorie exploded. “No hotel...but there must be.”

“We don’t get much traffic through here. People usually stick to the freeway.”

If he was implying that she should have done so, Rorie couldn’t have agreed with him more. She might have seen some lovely scenery, but look where this little side trip had taken her! Her entire vacation was about to be ruined. She slowly released her breath, trying hard to maintain her composure, which was cracking more with every passing minute.

“What about Riversdale? Surely they have a hotel?”

Clay nodded. “They do. It’s a real nice one, but I suspect it’s full.”

“Full? I thought you just told me people don’t often take this route.”

“Tourists don’t.”

“Then how could the hotel possibly be full?”

“The Jerome family.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The Jerome family is having a big reunion. People are coming from all over the country. Jed was telling me the other day that a cousin of his is driving out from Boston. The overflow will more than likely fill up Riversdale’s only hotel.”

One phone call confirmed Clay’s suspicion.

“Terrific,” Rorie murmured, her hand still on the receiver. The way things were beginning to look, she’d end up sleeping on a park bench—if Nightingale even had a park.

The back door opened and Skip wandered in, obviously pleased about something. He poured himself a glass of iced tea and leaned against the counter, glancing from Rorie to Clay and then back again.

“What’s happening?” he asked, when no one volunteered any information.

“Nothing much,” Rorie said. “Getting the water pump for my car is going to take four days and it seems the only hotel within a sixty-mile radius is booked full for the next two weeks and—”

“That’s no problem. You can stay here,” Skip inserted quickly, his blue eyes flashing with eagerness. “We’d love to have you, wouldn’t we, Clay?”

Rorie spoke before the elder Franklin had an opportunity to answer. “No, really, I appreciate the offer, but I can’t inconvenience you any more than I already have.”

“She wouldn’t be an inconvenience, would she?” Once more Skip directed the question to his older brother. “Tell her she wouldn’t, Clay.”

“I can’t stay here,” she returned, without giving Clay the chance to echo his brother’s invitation. She didn’t know these people. And, more important, they didn’t know her and Rorie refused to impose on them further.

Clay gazed into her eyes and a slow smile turned up the edges of his mouth. “It’s up to you, Rorie. You’re welcome on Elk Run if you want to stay.”

“But you’ve done so much. I really couldn’t—”

“There’s plenty of room,” Skip announced ardently.

Those baby-blue eyes of his would melt the strongest resolve, Rorie mused.

“There’s three bedrooms upstairs that are sitting empty. And you wouldn’t need to worry about staying with two bachelors, because Mary’s here—she has a cottage across the way.”

It seemed inconceivable to Rorie that this family would take her in just like that. But, given her options, her arguments for refusing their offer were weak, to say the least. “You don’t even know me.”

“We know all we need to, don’t we, Clay?” Skip glanced at his older brother, seeking his support.

“You’re welcome to stay here, if you like,” Clay repeated, his gaze continuing to hold Rorie’s.

Again she was struck by the compelling quality of this man. He had a stubborn jaw and she doubted there were many confrontations where he walked away a loser. She’d always prided herself on her ability to read people. And her instincts told her firmly that Clay Franklin could be trusted. She sensed he was scrupulously honest, utterly dependable—and she already knew he was generous to a fault.

“I’d be most grateful,” she said, swallowing a surge of tears at the Franklins’ uncomplicated kindness to a complete stranger. “But, please, let me do something to make up for all the trouble I’ve caused you.”

“It’s no trouble,” Skip said, looking as if he wanted to jump up and click his heels in jubilation.

Clay frowned as he watched his younger brother.

“Really,” Rorie stressed. “If there’s anything I can do, I’d be more than happy to lend a hand.”

“Do you know anything about computers?”

“A little,” she said. “We use them at the library.”

“You’re a librarian?”

Rorie nodded and brushed a stray dark curl from her forehead. “I specialize in children’s literature.” Someday she hoped to have her own work published. That had been her reason for attending the conference in Seattle. Three of the top children’s authors in the country were slated to speak. “If you have a computer system, I’d be happy to do whatever I can...”

“Clay bought a new one last winter,” Skip informed her proudly. “He has a program that records horse breeding and pedigrees up to the fourth and fifth generation.”

A heavyset woman Rorie assumed was the housekeeper entered the kitchen, hauling a mop and bucket. She inspected Rorie with a measuring glance and seemed to find her lacking. She grumbled something about city girls as she sidled past Skip.

“Didn’t know you’d decided to hold a convention right in the middle of my kitchen.”

“Mary,” Clay said, “this is Rorie Campbell, from San Francisco. Her car broke down, so she’ll be staying with us for the next few days. Could you see that a bed is made up for her?”

The older woman’s wide face broke into a network of frown lines.

“Oh, please, I can do that myself,” Rorie said quickly.

Mary nodded. “Sheets are in the closet at the top of the stairs.”

“Rorie is our guest.” Clay didn’t raise his voice, but his displeasure was evident in every syllable.

Mary shrugged, muttering, “I got my own things to do. If the girl claims she can make a bed, then let her.”

Rorie couldn’t contain her smile.

“You want to invite some city slicker to stay, then fine, but I got more important matters to attend to before I make up a bed for her.” With that, Mary marched out of the kitchen.

“Mary’s like family,” Skip explained. “It’s just her way to be sassy. She doesn’t mean anything by it.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t,” Rorie said, smiling so Clay and Skip would know she wasn’t offended. She gathered that the Franklins’ housekeeper didn’t hold a high opinion of anyone from the city and briefly wondered why.

“I’ll get your suitcase from the car,” Skip said, heading for the door.

Clay finished his drink and set the glass on the counter. “I’ve got to get back to work,” he told her, pausing for a moment before he added, “You won’t be bored by yourself, will you?”

“Not at all. Don’t worry about me.”

Clay nodded. “Dinner’s at six.”

“I’ll be ready.”

Rorie picked up the empty glasses and put them by the sink. While she waited for Skip to carry in her luggage, she phoned Dan. Unfortunately he was in a meeting and couldn’t be reached, so she left a message, explaining that she’d been delayed and would call again. She felt strangely reluctant to give him the Franklins’ phone number, but decided there was no reason not to do so. She also decided not to examine that feeling too closely.

Skip had returned by the time she’d hung up. “Clay says you can have Mom and Dad’s old room,” the teenager announced on his way through the door. He hauled her large suitcase in one hand and her flight bag was slung over his shoulder. “Their room’s at the other end of the house. They were killed in an accident five years ago.”

“But—”

“Their room’s got the best view.”

“Skip, really, any bedroom will do... I don’t want your parents’ room.”

“But that’s the one Clay wants for you.” He bounded up the curving stairway with the energy reserved for the young.

Rorie followed him more slowly. She slid her hand along the polished banister and glanced into the living room. A large natural-rock fireplace dominated one wall. The furniture was built of solid oak, made comfortable with thick chintz-covered cushions. Several braided rugs were placed here and there on the polished wood floor. A piano with well-worn ivory keys stood to one side. The collection of family photographs displayed on top of it immediately caught her eye. She recognized a much younger Clay in what had to be his high-school graduation photo. The largest picture in an ornate brass frame was of a middle-aged couple, obviously Clay and Skip’s parents.

Skip paused at the top of the stairway and looked over his shoulder. “My grandfather built this house more than fifty years ago.”

“It’s magnificent.”

“We think so,” he admitted, eyes shining with pride.

The master bedroom, which was at the end of the hallway, opened onto a balcony that presented an unobstructed panorama of the entire valley. Rolling green pastures stretched as far as the eye could see. Rorie felt instantly drawn to this unfamiliar rural beauty. She drew a deep breath, and the thought flashed through her mind that it must be comforting to wake up to this serene landscape day after day.

“Everyone loves it here,” Skip said from behind her.

“I can understand why.”

“Well, I suppose I should get back to work,” he said regretfully, setting her suitcases on the double bed. A colorful quilt lay folded at its foot.

Rorie turned toward him, smiling. “Thank you, Skip. I hate to think what would’ve happened to me if you hadn’t come along when you did.”

He blushed and started backing out of the room, taking small steps as though he was loath to leave her. “I’ll see you at dinner, okay?”

Rorie smiled again. “I’ll look forward to it.”

“Bye for now.” He raised his right hand in a farewell gesture, then whirled around and dashed down the hallway. She could hear his feet pounding on the stairs.

It took Rorie only a few minutes to hang her things in the bare closet. When she’d finished, she went back to the kitchen, where Mary was busy peeling potatoes at the stainless steel sink.

“I’d like to help, if I could.”

“Fine,” the housekeeper answered gruffly. She took another potato peeler out of a nearby drawer, slapping it down on the counter. “I suppose that’s your fancy sports car in the yard.”

“The water pump has to be replaced...I think,” Rorie answered, not bothering to mention that the MGB wasn’t actually hers.

“Humph,” was Mary’s only response.

Rorie sighed and reached for a large potato. “The mechanic in Riversdale said it would take until Saturday to get a replacement part.”

For the second time, Mary answered her with a gruff-sounding humph. “If then! Saturday or next Thursday or a month from now, it’s all the same to George. Fact is, you could end up staying here all summer.”

Three

Mary’s words echoed in Rorie’s head as she joined Clay and Skip at the dinner table that evening. She stood just inside the dining room, dressed in a summer skirt and a cotton-knit cream-colored sweater, and announced, “I can’t stay any longer than four days.”

Clay regarded her blankly. “I have no intention of holding you prisoner, Rorie.”

“I know, but Mary told me that if I’m counting on George what’s-his-name to fix the MG, I could end up spending the summer here. I’ve got to get back to San Francisco—I have a job there.” She realized how nonsensical her little speech sounded, as if that last bit about having a job explained everything.

“If you want, I’ll keep after George to make sure he doesn’t forget about it.”

“Please.” Rorie felt a little better for having spoken her mind.

“And the Greyhound bus comes through on Mondays,” Skip said reassuringly. “If you had to, you could take that back to California and return later for your friend’s car.”

“The bus,” she repeated. “I could take the bus.” As it was, the first half of her vacation was ruined, but it’d be nice to salvage what she could of the rest.

Both men were seated, but as Rorie approached the table Skip rose noisily to his feet, rushed around to the opposite side and pulled out a chair for her.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling up at him. His dark hair was wet and slicked down close to his head. He’d changed out of his work clothes and into what appeared to be his Sunday best—a dress shirt, tie and pearl-gray slacks. With a good deal of ceremony, he pushed in her chair. As he leaned toward her, it was all Rorie could do to keep from grimacing at the overpowering scent of his spicy aftershave. He must have drenched himself in the stuff.

Clay’s gaze seemed to tug at hers and when Rorie glanced in his direction, she saw that he was doing his utmost not to laugh. He clearly found his brother’s antics amusing, though he took pains not to hurt Skip’s feelings, but Rorie wasn’t sure how she should react. Skip was only in his teens, and she didn’t want to encourage any romantic fantasies he might have.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Skip said, once he’d reclaimed his chair. “Mary puts on a good feed.”

“I’m starved,” Rorie admitted, eyeing the numerous serving dishes spread out on the table.

Clay handed her a large platter of fried chicken. That was followed by mashed potatoes, gravy, rolls, fresh green beans, a mixed green salad, milk and a variety of preserves. By the time they’d finished passing around the food, there wasn’t any space left on Rorie’s oversize plate.

“Don’t forget to leave room for dessert,” Clay commented, again with that slow, easy drawl of his. Here Skip was practically doing cartwheels to attract her attention and all Clay needed to do was look at her and she became light-headed. Rorie couldn’t understand it. From the moment Clay Franklin had stepped down from his pickup, she hadn’t been the same.

“After dinner I thought I’d take you up to the stable and introduce you to King Genius,” Skip said, waving a chicken leg.

“I’d be happy to meet him.”

“Once you do, you’ll feel like you did when you stood on the balcony in the big bedroom and looked at the valley.”

Obviously this King wasn’t a foreman, as Rorie had first assumed. More than likely, he was one of the horses she’d seen earlier grazing on the pasture in front of the house.

“I don’t think it would be a good idea to take Rorie around Hercules,” Clay warned his younger brother.

“Of course not.” But it looked as if Skip wanted to argue.

“Who’s Hercules?”

“Clay’s stallion,” Skip explained. “He has a tendency to act up if Clay isn’t around.”

Rorie could only guess what “act up” meant, but even if Skip didn’t intend to heed Clay’s advice, she gladly would. Other than that pony ride when she was six, Rorie hadn’t been near a horse. One thing was certain; she planned to steer a wide path around the creature, no matter how much Skip encouraged her. The largest pet she’d ever owned had been a guinea pig.

“When Hercules first came to Elk Run, the man who brought him said he was mean-spirited and untrainable. He wanted him destroyed, but Clay insisted on working with the stallion.”

“Now he’s your own personal horse?” Rorie asked Clay.

He nodded. “We’ve got an understanding.”

“But it’s only between them,” Skip added. “Hercules doesn’t like anyone else getting close.”

“He doesn’t have anything to worry about as far as I’m concerned,” Rorie was quick to assure both brothers. “I’ll give him as much space as he needs.”

Clay grinned, and once again she felt her heart turn over. This strange affinity with Clay was affirmed in the look he gave her. Unexpected thoughts of Dan Rogers sprang to mind. Dan was a divorced stockbroker she’d been seeing steadily for the past few months. Rorie enjoyed Dan’s company and had recently come to believe she was falling in love with him. Now she knew differently. She couldn’t be this powerfully drawn to Clay Franklin if Dan was anything more than a good friend. One of the reasons Rorie had decided on this vacation was to test her feelings for Dan. Two days out of San Francisco, and she had her answer.

Deliberately Rorie pulled her gaze from Clay, wanting to attribute everything she was experiencing to the clean scent of country air.

Skip’s deep blue eyes sparkled with pride as he started to tell Rorie about Elk Run’s other champion horses. “But you’ll love the King best. He was the five-gaited world champion four years running. Clay put him out to stud four years ago. National Show Horses are commanding top dollar and we’ve produced three of the best. King’s the sire, naturally.”

“Do all the horses I saw in the pasture belong to you?”

“We board several,” Skip answered. “Some of the others are brought here from around the country for Clay to break and train.”

“You break horses?” She couldn’t conceal her sudden alarm. The image of Clay sitting on a wild bronco that bucked and heaved in a furious effort to unseat him did funny things to Rorie’s stomach.

“Breaking horses isn’t exactly the way Hollywood pictures show it,” Clay explained.

Rorie was about to ask him more when Skip planted his elbows on the table and leaned forward. Once again Rorie was assaulted by the overpowering scent of his aftershave. She did her best to smile, but if he remained in that position much longer, her eyes would start watering. Already she could feel a sneeze tickling her nose.

“How old are you, Rorie?” he asked.

The question was so unexpected that she was too surprised to answer immediately. Then she said, “Twenty-four.”

“And you live in San Francisco. Is your family there, too?”

“No. My parents moved to Arizona and my brother’s going to school back east.”

“And you’re not engaged or anything?”

As Rorie shook her head, Clay shot his brother an exasperated look. “Are you interviewing Rorie for the Independent?”

“No. I was just curious.”

“She’s too old for you, little brother.”

“I don’t know about that,” Skip returned fervently. “I’ve always liked my women more mature. Besides, Rorie’s kind of cute.”

“Kind of?”

Skip shrugged. “You know what I mean. She doesn’t act like a city girl...much.”

Rorie’s eyes flew from one brother to the next. They were talking as if she wasn’t even in the room, and that annoyed her—especially since she was the main topic of conversation.

Unaware of her reaction, Skip helped himself to another roll. “Actually, I thought she might be closer to twenty. With some women it’s hard to tell.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Rorie muttered to no one in particular.

“My apologies, Rorie,” Clay said contritely. “We were being rude.”

She took time buttering her biscuit. “Apology accepted.”

“How old do you think I am?” Skip asked her, his eyes wide and hopeful.

It was Rorie’s nature to be kind, and besides, Skip had saved her from an unknown fate. “Twenty,” she answered with barely a pause.

The younger Franklin straightened and sent his brother a smirk. “I was seventeen last week.”

“That surprises me,” Rorie continued, setting aside her butter knife and swallowing a smile. “I could’ve sworn you were much older.”

Looking even more pleased with himself, Skip cleared his throat. “Lots of girls think that.”

“Don’t I remember you telling me you’re helping Luke Rivers tonight?” Clay reminded his brother.

Skip’s face fell. “I guess I did.”

“If Rorie doesn’t mind, I’ll introduce her to King.”

Clay’s offer appeared to surprise Skip, and Rorie studied the boy, a little worried now about causing problems between the two brothers. Nor did she want to disappoint Skip, who had offered first.

“But I thought...” Skip began, then swallowed. “You want to take Rorie?”

Clay’s eyes narrowed, and when he spoke, his voice was cool. “That’s what I just said. Is there a problem?”

“No...of course not.” Skip stuffed half a biscuit in his mouth and shook his head vigorously. After a moment of chewing, he said, “Clay will show you around the stable.” His words were measured and even, but his gaze held his brother’s.

“I heard,” Rorie said gently. She could only speculate on what was going on between them, but obviously something was amiss. There’d been more than a hint of surprise in Skip’s eyes at Clay’s offer. She noticed that the younger Franklin seemed angry. Because his vanity was bruised? Rorie supposed so. “I could wait until tomorrow if you want, Skip,” she suggested.

“No, that’s all right,” he answered, lowering his eyes. “Clay can do it, since that’s what he seems to want.”

When they finished the meal, Rorie cleared the table, but Mary refused to let her help with cleaning up the kitchen.

“You’d just be in the way,” she grumbled, though her eyes weren’t unfriendly. “Besides, I heard the boys were showing you the barn.”

“I’ll do the dishes tomorrow night then.”

Mary murmured a response, then asked brusquely, “How was the apple pie?”

“Absolutely delicious.”

A satisfied smile touched the edges of the woman’s mouth. “Good. I did things a little differently this time, and I was just wondering.”

Clay led Rorie out the back door and across the yard toward the barn. The minute Rorie walked through the enormous double doors she felt she’d entered another world. The wonderful smells of leather and liniments and saddle soap mingled with the fragrance of fresh hay and the pungent odor of the horses themselves. Rorie found it surprisingly pleasant. Flashes of bright color from halters and blankets captured her attention, as did the gleam of steel bits against the far wall.

“King’s over here,” Clay said, guiding her with a firm hand beneath her elbow.

When Clay opened the top of the stall door, the most magnificent creature Rorie had ever seen turned to face them. He was a deep chestnut color, so sleek and powerful it took her breath away. This splendid horse seemed to know he was royalty. He regarded Rorie with a keen eye, as though he expected her to show him the proper respect and curtsy. For a wild moment, Rorie was tempted to do exactly that.

“I brought a young lady for you to impress,” Clay told the stallion.

King took a couple of steps back and pawed the ground.

“He really is something,” Rorie whispered, once she’d found her voice. “Did you raise him from a colt?”

Clay nodded.

Rorie was about to ask him more when they heard frantic whinnying from the other side of the aisle.

Clay looked almost apologetic. “If you haven’t already guessed, that’s Hercules. He doesn’t like being ignored.” He walked to the stall opposite King’s and opened the upper half of the door. Instantly the black stallion stuck his head out and complained about the lack of attention in a loud snort, which brought an involuntary smile to Rorie’s mouth. “I was bringing Rorie over to meet you, too, so don’t get your nose out of joint,” Clay chastised.

“Hi,” Rorie said, and raised her right hand in a stiff greeting. It amused her that Clay talked to his animals as if he honestly expected them to understand his remarks and join in the conversation. But then who was she to criticize? Only a few hours earlier, she’d been conversing with a cow.

“You don’t need to be frightened of him,” Clay told her when she stood, unmoving, a good distance from the stall. Taking into consideration what Skip had mentioned earlier about the moody stallion, Rorie decided to stay where she was.

Clay ran his hand down the side of Hercules’s neck, and his touch seemed to appease the stallion’s obviously delicate ego.

Looking around her, Rorie was impressed by the size of the barn. “How many stalls are there altogether?”

“Thirty-six regular and four foaling. But this is only a small part of Elk Run.” He led her outside to a large arena and pointed at a building on the opposite side. “My office is over there, if you’d like to see it.”

Rorie nodded, and they crossed to the office. Clay opened the door for her. Inside, the first thing she noticed was the collection of championship ribbons and photographs displayed on the walls. A large trophy case was filled with a variety of awards. When he saw her interest in the computer, Clay explained the system he’d had installed and how it would aid him in the future.

“This looks pretty straightforward,” Rorie told him.

“I’ve been meaning to hire a high-school kid to enter the data for me so I can get started, but I haven’t got around to it yet.”

Rorie sorted through the file folders. There were only a few hours of work and her typing skills were good. “There’s no need to pay anyone. If I’m going to be imposing on your hospitality, the least I can do is enter this into the computer for you.”

“Rorie, that isn’t necessary. I don’t want you to spend your time stuck here in the office doing all that tedious typing.”

“It’ll give me something productive to do instead of fretting over how long it’s taking to get the MG repaired.”

He glanced at her, his expression concerned. “All right, if you insist, but it really isn’t necessary, you know.”

“I do insist.” Rorie clasped her hands behind her back and decided to change the subject. “What’s that?” she asked, gesturing toward a large room off the office. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the arena.

“The observation room.”

“So you can have your own private shows?”

“In a manner of speaking. Would you like to go down there?”

“Oh, yes!”

Inside the arena, Rorie saw that it was much bigger than it had appeared from above. They’d been walking around for several minutes when Clay checked his watch and frowned. “I hate to cut this short, but I’ve got a meeting in town. Normally I wouldn’t leave company.”

“Oh, please,” she said hurriedly, “don’t worry about it. I mean, it’s not as though I was expected or anything. I hardly consider myself company.”

Still Clay seemed regretful. “I’ll walk you back to the house.”

He left in the pickup a couple of minutes later. The place was quiet; Mary had apparently finished in the kitchen and retired to her own quarters, a cottage not far from the main house. Skip, who had returned from helping his friend, was busy talking on the phone. He smiled when he saw Rorie, without interrupting his conversation.

Rorie moved into the living room and idly picked up a magazine, leafing through it. Restless and bored, she read a heated article on the pros and cons of a new medication used for equine worming, although she couldn’t have described what it said.

When Skip was finished on the phone, he suggested they play cribbage. Not until after ten did Rorie realize she was unconsciously waiting for Clay’s return. But she wasn’t quite sure why.

Skip yawned rather pointedly and Rorie took the hint.

“I suppose I should think about heading up to bed,” she said, putting down the deck of playing cards.

“Yeah, it seems to be that time,” he answered, yawning again.

“I didn’t intend to keep you up so late.”

“Oh, that’s no problem. It’s just that we start our days early around here. But you sleep in. We don’t expect you to get up before the sun just because we do.”

By Rorie’s rough calculation, getting up before the sun meant Clay and Skip started their workday between four-thirty and five in the morning.

Skip must have read the look in her eyes, because he chuckled and said, “You get used to it.”

Rorie followed him up the stairs, and they said their good-nights. But even after a warm bath, she couldn’t sleep. Wearing her flower-sprigged cotton pajamas, she sat on the bed with the light still on and thought about how different everything was from what she’d planned. She was supposed to be in Seattle now, at a cocktail party arranged for the first night of the conference; she’d hoped to talk to several of the authors there. But she’d missed that, and the likelihood of attending even one workshop was dim. Instead she’d made an unscheduled detour onto a stud farm and stumbled upon a handsome rancher.