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“Excuse me.” The line had moved forward enough that Weston was next to fix his tray. He managed a smile for his mom, who waved from her spot by the restaurant-size range. Emma and Tina kept the line moving as they served up chili, salad, and cornbread. Mom’s chili was the absolute best.

He turned with his tray and nearly ran right into Paisley, who was still smiling brightly and awaiting his answer. She was harder to get rid of than those blasted thistles in the east pasture. “What was your question again?”

“May I ride with you today?”

Well, she was nothing if not persistent and blunt. He glanced around, saw a table with one empty chair, and forged toward it. “I doubt I’ll have time today. I’m busy.”

He set the tray down and looked around the table. Too many pairs of eyes looked back at him from faces of young women he’d never seen before. New hires for the new season, by the looks of their staff T-shirts with fold lines still etched in them.

Weston swallowed hard and lifted his tray.

“Not so fast, cowboy.” The girl next to him placed her hand on his arm. “Please join us and tell us about the ranch and what we’re in for, working here this summer.”

Was that Paisley’s snicker he heard behind him? He’d ignore her. But meanwhile, sweat was gathering on the edge of his T-shirt’s crew neck. He’d ignore that, too.

And he was stuck. “Uh, sure. I can’t stay long.” He pulled out the chair and sat down, ducked his head for a quick, silent grace that included a plea for a clean escape, then began to shovel chili into his mouth.

“Girls, this is Weston Kline, one of the boss’s grandsons. Weston is the lead wrangler.”

He looked at the speaker. Kaci Moore. He hadn’t noticed the head housekeeper seated across from him. That meant these were probably housekeeping staff, and he’d have pretty much nothing to do with them for the entire summer. Whew.

Weston managed a sort of smile. “Guilty as charged.”

“Oh, so are you the person to see to if we want to ride?” the girl next to him asked.

His spoon stilled for a few seconds before he could get it going again.

“Yep, he is who you want.”

Did Kaci have to word it quite that way? He glanced at her, and she smirked. Great. They’d barely exchanged ten words last summer. Now she was flirting or setting him up or something.

He was way too old for these girls — they looked barely out of high school — even if he were looking for a relationship, which he absolutely was not.

The scent of Paisley’s perfume — how had he even remembered that for all these months? — wafted its signal before she leaned past him with her hand lightly on his shoulder. “Mr. Sullivan mentioned a group trail ride for staff members tomorrow right after lunch. I’ll be assisting Weston with that, so be sure to sign up on the board over there so we have enough horses saddled.”

Wait, what? He froze. But she wasn’t completely wrong. Grandfather did want every staff member to have some knowledge of all parts of the guest ranch in case they were approached by a tourist. It was news to him that a time had been set.

Weston glanced at the huge whiteboard. And, there was a signup started in Paisley’s round printing. When had she done that? Before accosting him or after?

It didn’t matter. Looked like he was stuck.

Too bad he didn’t completely hate the thought.

“So, you spent all winter gathering all the energy and feminine wiles you need to pin down Weston Kline?”

Paisley Teele skewered her roommate with a pointed look. “Of course not. I was busy teaching skiing to intermediates. I used up every bit of energy I could muster every single day.”

“Uh huh.” Cadence Foster laid her book facedown and stretched as she rose off the creaky sofa. “That’s why you waylaid him in the dining room earlier.”

“Pfft.” Paisley waved a hand as though that would clear away Cadence’s accusations. “I hugged no fewer than 38 staff members today, Graham included.” Maybe mentioning Cadence’s fiancé would divert her attention.

“You were counting?”

“An estimate.”

“I wondered if you’d meet someone in Colorado and not return to Sweet River Ranch.”

Why couldn’t that have been the case? Why had she measured every cute ski instructor and flirty lodge worker and hunky first-aid attendant against the brooding enigma that was Weston Kline? She’d been trying to shove him out of her mind for an entire year now, since the day they’d met when she’d returned to Montana for her second summer at the guest ranch, the first under Sullivan ownership.