Pamela Ingrahm - Wedding Planner Tames Rancher!

“Some guard dog you are!” she scolded. The dog was clearly unimpressed, for her hind end only wagged harder as Leah read the metal tag shaped like the state of Texas attached to the collar.

“Where’s the boss man, Spoiled Rotten? Where’s Daddy?”

Rotten’s black-tipped ears perked up, and she raced around the desk to jump into the chair.

“I know this is his office, silly.”

But the collie merely circled in the chair and barked.

“All right, all right.” Refusing to believe she was conversing with a dog, Leah sat on one of the two matching wingbacks facing the large desk. After five minutes, she thought about finding the maid again, but decided that would be futile. After five more minutes of crossing and uncrossing her legs, she finally gave Wade’s stand-in a glare.

“Look, he may be the boss, but that doesn’t give him the right to keep me cooling my heels.”

Rotten just wagged her tail.

With a frustrated sigh, she wrote Wade a note and tore the page from her day planner. She included a business card before placing them in a relatively clear space on his blotter. With a final pat on Rotten’s silky head, she went home.

Her drive was uneventful, but as she neared Austin, Leah began to regret leaving without finding Wade. She couldn’t afford to mess up this opportunity to redeem her reputation, but at the same time, she wasn’t a servant at Wade’s beck and call. She had things to do, and waiting on an autocratic cowboy wasn’t one of them—even if that stubborn cowboy held her career in his hands.

The phone was ringing when she unlocked the door to her office. She glanced at her neat, black-lacquer desk and her floral print couch and armchairs. Elegantly draped white tiebacks muted the bright sunshine, creating an exquisite decor. Oddly, she couldn’t stop the image of dark wood and stacked papers from flashing across her mind.

She almost didn’t answer the persistent ringing—she had planned to use this rare weekend with no events scheduled to catch up on her paperwork, but her conscience prevailed.

“Leah Houston.”

“I thought I told you I wanted to talk with you.”

So much for chitchat.

“You did, and I tried to find you. When I couldn’t, I left a note on your desk.”

“I know, I smelled your perfume.”

Leah couldn’t stop the thrill that ran up her spine.

“I was in the barn,” he continued. “Someone should have told you.”

“The only person I found was your maid, and we had a little trouble communicating.”

“That would be Amalia, my foreman’s daughter. We’re working on her English since she wants to go to college next year.” He paused. “We have a ways to go.”

She was surprised by the dryly affectionate tone in his voice. He already had a habit of doing that...surprising her. She didn’t like it.

“Yes, well, my Spanish is exceptionally rusty, and I’m not psychic, so I apologize for missing you.” Feeling a little silly, she crossed her fingers before saying, “I can come back later this afternoon, if you’d like.”

“No, I’d rather meet without Myra Jo around, and her friends have left.”

She released a silent breath and uncrossed her fingers.

“How about dinner this evening instead?”

She frowned at the phone. So much for luck....

“I don’t—”

“If you’ll give me directions to your place, I can pick you up about eight.”

Leah took a deep breath and held it. As she slowly exhaled, she reminded herself that she had worked with difficult clients before. Sometimes she had to compromise to get what she wanted. Reluctantly, she gave him instructions to her condo.

Although she tried to work, it soon became clear she wasn’t going to get anything accomplished. Her mind wouldn’t stay on task. Visions of Wade—his naked chest bathed in the morning sun, a sardonic twist curving his lips—kept appearing before her eyes. Forty-two-year-old men were supposed to have the beginnings of a paunch and receding hairlines. They certainly weren’t supposed to look as though they could pose for fitness magazines.

With a frustrated sigh, she repacked her briefcase and headed home.

It wasn’t until she was sitting on her bed some hours later, gathering one leg of her panty hose in her fingers and mourning the loss of her lazy evening of air-popped popcorn and channel surfing, that Leah realized how tense she was.

Bra, hose, slip, low-heeled pumps, jewelry—the works—when she could be in old sweats and her favorite holey red socks. She tugged on a rayon coatdress and artfully tucked a silk scarf into the deep neckline. She had no idea what Mr. Mackey had in mind, but this was a dinner meeting, not a dinner date.

She had just clasped her watch around her wrist when the doorbell rang. She checked her appearance in the mirror and smiled wryly at her reflection. He was punctual, she could say that for him.

She opened the door to find her breath taken away once again. Half-naked, he had been nearly indescribable. In creased black jeans, a white dress shirt open at the neck, a sports jacket and boots, Wade was nothing short of yummy. The black Stetson he reached up to remove from his head made him the quintessential cowboy.

And she’d purged cowboys from her fantasy list a long time ago, she reminded herself. She wanted a nineties man, an urbane one, one who treated her as an equal, a partner. Cowboys weren’t known for their modern mind-sets.

It took a stern mental rap to get her hand off the knob and welcome him inside. Her fortitude returned when his gaze raked over her dress and she had the distinct impression she’d lost marks on his tally stick.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, thanks. Nice place.”

“But not your style,” she offered helpfully.

“No, I reckon not.”

“Let me grab my purse, then, and we’ll get going.”

Once outside, she was ready to find a pickup truck waiting. What she hadn’t expected was a bright yellow Mustang. She hadn’t taken Wade for the sports car type, but maybe she’d misjudged him. Could her perceptions be that far off?

He laughed when he saw her expression. “Not exactly a limousine, I admit. I had to bring my truck into town for some work so I borrowed a friend’s car. Or rather, I ended up with my friend’s son’s car.”

Leah blushed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I was just caught off guard.”

His manners were flawless as he helped her into the car, but that was no surprise. Country boy or not, he was a gentleman. And she wasn’t surprised when he pulled into the crowded parking lot at the Broken Spoke. She’d hardly expected him to take her to the country club, considering the man she was coming to know, and she had no doubt she was being tested again. Well, she’d eaten her share of chicken-fried steak, and she could probably remember how to dance the schottische in a pinch.

As soon as the waitress had taken their orders, Leah got down to business. “What would you like to talk about first?”

Wade folded his hands on the table in front of him. “I don’t like Pennington Bradford, and I don’t like his daddy even more. But I do love my daughter, and I want her to be happy.”

He paused. Leah waited.

“Myra Jo doesn’t think so, but I was young once, and I remember what it was like to be impulsive, to believe love was enough to solve any problem. I don’t think she has a clue what she’s facing if she goes through with this marriage, and I’d do anything to keep her from getting hurt.”

Warning bells went off in Leah’s head. “I think most fathers feel as you do,” she said, treading softly.

He raised one eyebrow. “Even in this day and age, I don’t think most fathers raise their daughters by themselves.”