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She looked toward the wide gate that crossed the entry drive. Was hoping she had the strength to move it; it looked pretty heavy. Jillian also got out of the car, although Kaitlyn knew it was not to help. It would never occur to her.

Kaitlyn took a step toward the gate, then stopped dead as movement in the distance caught her eye.

It was something out of every western movie she’d ever seen, every dream she’d had as a child. A lone cowboy astride a horse, headed toward her at a high lope. The horse was gleaming black in the winter sun, his mane and tail flying as his smooth, ground-eating stride brought them closer at a rapid pace. The man, wearing what looked like jeans and a dark gray shirt—if it had pearl snaps she wouldn’t be surprised, in fact would be disappointed if it didn’t—sat the saddle with the ease of long experience. The black felt cowboy hat he wore completed the dreamy picture, although the sunglasses threw off her image of the Old West.

“Oh, my,” Jillian murmured, proving even she was not immune. There was something primal about the image. “You don’t suppose that’s…him?”

“More likely one of the ranch hands, or maybe a brother. The brief they sent said the whole family lives here.”

“Weird.”

And the fact that you think that weird is sad.

Although Kaitlyn had to admit, she wouldn’t have wanted to live with her own family. But then, she didn’t have a real family, and hadn’t since she was nine. Sometimes she thought she’d never had one, but there were some good memories…at least she thought they were memories. But other times she thought she might have just made them up in her head, pretending she’d been like other kids.

The horse slowed a few yards short of the gate. Even before he’d completely halted the rider swung down with an easy grace that reminded her of something, someone. He patted the horse’s sleek neck and dropped the reins to the ground. The big black immediately went from spirited mount to well trained and on standby.

The man pulled off the cowboy hat and hung it over the saddle horn with one hand while he rammed fingers through his formerly hat-restrained hair with the other. He pulled off the sunglasses and hooked them into a chest pocket on the shirt that indeed had pearl snaps. Then he started toward them.

Kaitlyn sighed yet again, but for an entirely different reason this time. The man moved as well as the horse. Powerful, lithe, supple… The analogy of a big cat popped into her mind again, and in the next instant it hit her. He was clean-shaven now, and his hair wasn’t quite as wild, but it was him. The man from in town. The man who had nearly knocked her down.

In more ways than one.

Chapter Four

“Nobody’s pregnant.”

Ry groaned inwardly. He hadn’t meant to say that, it was just the first thing that popped into his head when he recognized her as the woman he’d nearly clobbered with that office door.

The obstetrician’s office door.

She just stared at him, probably wondering if he was crazy. Maybe she didn’t even remember him. People generally did, for whatever reason, but this woman had a lot going on behind those big eyes with the intriguing gold flecks. He’d known that from the first instant he’d seen them.

He moved to pull open the gate. Since he’d never been able to recover that project solution that had flitted in and out of his mind, he’d been up working on his ranch chores since dawn. Until Cody’s newest toy, essentially a video doorbell for the gate, had shown a car pulling in and Cody had texted him a warning. He was already aboard Flyer, so had merely turned the horse toward the gate and let him loose. Delighted, the big black had taken off as if his name were a literal description.

“I’m really sorry about the other day,” he said as he came back to her from the gate. Was she the writer? That could make this more interesting than he’d thought.

“No problem. Should I be glad or sad no one’s pregnant?”

That voice. It really had been that low, that husky, that rich. And it had the same effect now as it had had on Monday.

Belatedly, her words registered. Interesting, that she took the precaution to find out if this nonexistent pregnancy was a good or a bad thing before she said anything else about their chance encounter.

“I was only in there…avoiding someone.”No one to get pregnant anyway.He gave himself an inward shake. “Long story,” he muttered, thinking now was not the time to explain about the social makeup of Last Stand, and the place Samuel Diaz held in it. Then, looking into those deep, dark eyes, he asked, “You’re Ms. Jacobs?”

“Of course she’s not,” came a second voice from his left. “Iam.”

He frowned slightly at the tone before he looked. Looked, and saw a gorgeous, shapely, platinum blonde with eyes of a lime green shade that he was certain wasn’t normally found in nature—and he was from a family that threw some pretty amazing green eyes, as in both Keller and Cody—and puffy lips he put in the same category.

The woman was walking toward him, her hair bouncing in long, perfect waves as she moved. She was wearing a green, silky kind of shirt that he was sure was chosen to match the eyes, and a darker green pair of slacks above a pair of matching shoes. High heels that couldn’t be less suited to ranch life had she tried. Shoes like Chelsea had worn. He stifled a grimace.

She moved confidently, until just as she reached him one of those heels wobbled on the gravel. Instinctively he moved to grab her arm, keep her upright. And released her the instant she was steady again, wondering if the wobble had been for real or intentional. Funny, if it had been the other woman that question never would have occurred. That thought interested him. He would have to think about that, figure out why he was so certain so soon.

He’d looked up a couple of features Ms. Jacobs had done, just enough to make him wonder why she was the one doing this; she seemed to focus on bigger names than him. But he hadn’t questioned it much beyond that, had even thought maybe he should be flattered.

“Thank you,” the lime-eyed woman—definitely contact lenses, he could see the faint rim of them now—said, in what he was sure was supposed to be a sexy voice. Another interesting thought to be analyzed later was that it didn’t have nearly the effect the other woman’s had had on him. “And you are…?” she asked, a bit breathily.

He managed not to grimace, although he wanted to. “If you’re Jillian Jacobs, I’m the guy you’re here to interview.”