Susan Mallery - Kiss Me

Zane’s ever-so-perfect mouth tightened. “He lied, stole and committed fraud. Pride doesn’t much enter into it for me.”

Phoebe hunched down in her seat. “If you’re going to put it like that,” she mumbled and turned her attention to the scenery.

Signs of civilization quickly gave way to rugged isolation. A mile marker along the side of the road announced that Fool’s Gold was forty-two miles away.

She’d read up on the little town last night. Their slogan was The Destination for Romance. She cast a sidelong glance at Zane. Somehow, she didn’t think the slogan would hold true for her. The man could not be less interested in her.

Mountain peaks rose in the distance. She caught glimpses of white-capped currents in a river that flashed between the thick trees along the side of the road. No doubt the area was teeming with wildlife. Phoebe liked little forest creatures as much as the next person, just so long as she didn’t have to worry about them scurrying across the road or showing up on a serving platter.

What would it be like on the ranch? She’d never been on one before, hadn’t even seen one except on TV or in the movies.

“So are there lots of cows?” she asked before she could stop herself. “On the ranch, I mean.”

Zane didn’t spare her a glance. “Some.”

“Like twenty?”

He glanced at her then, before turning his attention back to the road. “We run several thousand head of steers. Those are the ones that end up on your barbecue. I have another few hundred head of cows for breeding purposes.”

“No bulls?” she asked, unable to keep from grinning.

He sighed the sigh of the long suffering. “A dozen or so.”

“A dozen bulls for a few hundred cows?”

Mr. Hunk-in-a-hat, who had put his hat on the seat between them when he’d climbed into the cab, chuckled. “Yup.”

“Yet another example of our patriarchal society ignoring the rights of cows.”

“You worried about cows’ rights?” He sounded both incredulous and amused. “You a lawyer?”

“No. And I’m not concerned about cows’ rights. Of course I want them treated humanely, as any civilized person would, but I’m not crazy.”

“What are you, then?”

“What?”

He glanced at her. “If you’re not a lawyer, what are you?”

“Oh.” For a second she thought he’d been referring to her mental state. “I work in real estate.”

Fortunately Zane didn’t ask any questions about her career. She didn’t think that telling him she’d been suspended for litigation would improve his opinion of her. At least he was talking. She tried to think of more cattle-related questions.

“How long have you been in the ranching business?”

“All my life.”

Silence. Zane Nicholson wasn’t exactly chatty. Was it her or was it his personality?

“Do you ever sell the cattle for something other than food?”

Zane shifted in his seat. Had he been anyone else, she would have assumed the question made him uncomfortable. But he was too in-charge—too self-assured. Besides, what about it was embarrassing?

“Sometimes I’ll sell off a few cows if we have too many.”

“That makes sense. What about the bulls? Ever have too many of those?”

“Most of them become steers.”

She didn’t want to think about that. “So steers are boy cows?”

“That’s right.”

“What makes you decide who gets to have a really good life and who gets to be a burger?”

“Various factors. I’ve been working on genetically improving the herd.”

“So a new bull with favorable characteristics would get to stay a bull.”

He nodded.

“Sounds interesting,” she said, because it really was. Who knew that ranchers worried about genetics?

“You’re probably not going for things like eye color,” she said without thinking.

Zane didn’t even roll his eyes. “Not really.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“I work with several universities. We have breeding experiments. I also sell to other ranchers.”

“Your bulls?”

There was that seat squirm again. “No.”

Not bulls? “Cows?”

“Sperm.”

Phoebe blinked. “From the bulls?”

He nodded.

“You sell bull sperm?”

He nodded again.

Wow. There really were infinite ways to make a living. So how exactly did one get the sperm from the bull? She shook her head. Not something she wanted to know, she decided. Although she was intrigued by the question of what sort of marketing campaign would be most effective. Still, some subjects were better left unexplored, and this was definitely one of them.

She tried to think of something else to say. Anything, really. But how did one top bull sperm as a conversational gambit?

Maybe it was better if one didn’t try.

* * *

THEY TURNED OFF the main highway, and Phoebe sat up straighter in her seat, eager for a glimpse of Fool’s Gold. Zane had rolled down his window a few miles back, and fresh-scented mountain air filled the truck. A few years ago, a reality show had been filmed in the town. She and Maya had had a standing date to watch it together. Phoebe couldn’t believe the place was as quaint as it had seemed on TV, but Maya had insisted it was more so.

Welcome to Fool’s Gold, proclaimed a sign surrounded by lush red-and-yellow flowers in the shape of a heart.

Zane turned right onto Lakeview Drive.

Phoebe caught her breath. “It’s so pretty!”

To their left, Lake Ciara sparkled in the mid-morning sun. To their right, children played in a large park under the watchful gazes of their mothers and of the mountains beyond. A huge, old oak tree provided shade for a couple stretched out on a pink blanket with their baby.

Just past the park, downtown Fool’s Gold rose up, though it didn’t rise up very high. She didn’t see a building that was more than three or four stories tall, and only a few of those. The shops were neat and tidy. An American flag flew at every corner, and baskets of flowers hung from the other lampposts along the block. A banner spanned the width of the street, advertising the Summer Festival in two weeks.

Zane pulled into a parking spot in front of a two-story blue brick building with a yellow awning. “Mitchell Tours” was painted in bold, white letters on the shop’s window.

“I’ve got some business in here for a few minutes, to arrange for pickup of the other guests later this week,” he said. “Do you want to wait in the truck or walk around?”

“I’d love to see the town.”

By the time she got her seat belt undone, he was holding open her door. She felt a small flush of warmth as he helped her from the tall truck. Being short had its advantages, she thought. Although he might not be happy she was here, gentlemanly manners were ingrained in him. She had to admit she liked it.

“We’ll meet back here in fifteen minutes,” he said before turning toward the shop.

“Aren’t you going to lock the truck?”

“Not necessary.”

The door swung shut behind him, and Phoebe was left standing on the sidewalk, wondering whether she’d heard him right. No need to lock the truck, even with her suitcases in the backseat and his window rolled down? She’d heard about places like that but had always assumed the people who lived there were fictional—or idiots. Zane didn’t strike her as stupid, and her body’s lingering reaction to his touch confirmed that he was very much a real man.

She turned left on Frank Lane and was pleased to find a bookstore halfway up the block. It made sense to have a print book for when they were out on the cattle drive, rather than relying on technology that would need to be recharged.

“Welcome to Morgan’s Books.” A trim man with neatly clipped gray hair greeted her with a smile. He wore a brown button-down shirt a few shades darker than his skin and tan slacks with a crisp crease down each leg. “I’m Morgan. Please let me know if you need any assistance. Otherwise, feel free to wander.”