She struggled to keep her brain on focus-mode to find the right words to keep the stud engaged without tripping over her tongue. She should ask if he was a rancher. His sun-kissed skin and worn hat told her he spent a lot of time outdoors. Did he plan to attend the rodeo coming up in a few days? Some casual chatter— but her mouth wouldn’t formulate the words.
Since her words were lost, she did the next best thing—she worked her smile, hoping it lived up to its reputation of being worth a million dollars, at least that was the value her father placed on it. In high school, she’d never been the prettiest or the most popular, at least compared to her sisters, but she’d learned early that a smile was contagious. It’d certainly gotten her out of a speeding ticket a time or two.
A sexy smile split his lips. Now that was a smile.
~°°°~
Spark Ryder glanced at the fair-skinned woman through squinted eyes.
Now what in blazing hell is this?
She sat there quietly, smiling, staring at him.
He’d noticed every inch of her, at least as much as he could without coming across as obvious. He skimmed his gaze over her hips and downward to the tips of her pink toenails visible in the fancy heels that could second as weapons. Even underneath the skintight jeans, he knew her legs were long and toned and—would be a perfect fit around a man’s waist. He couldn’t forget a pair that looked this good and wouldn’t deny he’d like to have them around his hips, but that wasn’t going to happen…
No way, no how.
He’d seen Jewels Stone the second he’d walked into the bar—probably every other patron in the building noticed her too— but besides her pretty, cinnamon-brown eyes, upturned nose, and long honey-colored hair, there was something else about her that gripped his balls in a bunch. She was his new boss’s daughter, which meant she was off limits.
So then why was she making a helluva effort in flirting with him?
He didn’t believe she recognized him—or did she? Maybe this was a test to see if he was a true gentleman, worthy of working the Rhinestone.
Hell, he couldn’t be sure.
These days, when an employer trolled potential employees’ Facebook pages to find dirt, he guessed anything was possible.
He’d caught a glimpse of her a few weeks ago while visiting the Rhinestone. She was bent over a horse-sized sheepdog, lathering him up and hosing him down. When she stood up, Spark’s jaw had almost hit the ground. Wearing a short top and shorter shorts, her legs had gone for miles and she could have won first prize in a wet T-shirt contest. That was an image forever embedded into his eyelids.
Dropping his gaze now, he noticed the slight trembling in her slender fingers as she scraped at the label on the bottle. Her nails were short and clean—glossy. He suddenly wished he were a canine being lathered up.
He never would have guessed he’d cross paths with one of the Stone daughters, especially at the country bar twenty miles away from her beaten path—and yet here she was, sitting beside him, sporting a smile that could knock the boots clean off a fellow.
Problem was, a woman didn’t use a loaded smile unless she had an ulterior motive.
He knew he should just use some excuse, like he was meeting someone or needed sleep, and pardon himself.
Interest kept him glued to the stool.
She wrapped her hand around the bottle, sliding her palm over the condensation then tapping the tips of her fingers. An image flashed of her grasping his—oh shit! His muscles quivered. What the hell had come over him?
When she brought the bottle to her lips, he tore his gaze away before he suffered any more growth. His zipper couldn’t take the strain.
With eyes on the dance floor, he barely saw the only couple, wrapped arm and arm, tongues down each other’s throat. Someone would need an extractor to tug the two apart.
“Would you like to dance?”
Bringing his attention back on her, there was determination in her expression that told him she wouldn’t take no for an answer, no matter what excuse he threw her way. He became more suspicious.
He’d never walked away from a challenge. He was born to compete and lived for an adrenaline rush, but some lines shouldn’t be crossed.
Opening his mouth to reply with a big fat no, a more intelligent thought spanned his mind. If an employee would send his daughter out to ‘test’ a ranch hand, that wouldn’t be a rancher Spark wanted to work with. He’d heard only good things about Joshua Stone, and the man had a shining reputation in these parts, but Spark knew a lot of men who could pull the wool over many an eye.
Spending some time with Jewels, he’d get the opportunity to do his own investigating.
“Sure. Why not.” He got up and stretched his long legs and shoulders. A pain shot through his shoulder, reminding him of the rodeo injury he’d suffered two years ago—the last ride of his career that had landed him in the hospital for a month and rehabilitation for six. His body aches were a built-in weather predictor and this throbbing told him rain was in the forecast.
Jewels got up with a grace that spoke of money—lots of it. Hell, he already knew the Stone family was loaded, although none of them lived lavishly from what he’d seen. Their two-story, white sided house and the porch that spread from one side to the other could make a good resting spot for a cowboy, but it wasn’t anything fancy. Yet, something about this woman reeked of class—even the department store clothes and downplayed appearance couldn’t hide the fact.
“You didn’t tell me your name, sweetheart.” He pushed the front of his hat with the back of his knuckles.
Three seconds and several expressions later, she finally said, “Lisa.”
Her lie, and poorly executed at that, made his gut clench. That should be good enough reason to call this a night and walk. He knew her name and that she’d moved back home after a tough breakup. Stone had spent a good amount of their first meeting talking about his special daughters…Jewels, Pearl and Emerald. Pretentious names if Spark said so himself.
Yeah, he didn’t need any part of this situation.
He started to take a step toward the exit when she clasped his hand, entwining their fingers and practically pulling him toward the dance floor. He guessed he was obligated for a few more minutes.
Second Hope Cowboy Page 17