Page 48

She shook her head, trying to dislodge the thoughts. She hadn’t come here to flirt or find a date. The very idea made her ribs constrict against her lungs.

She wasn’t authorized to make an arrest, unfortunately.

No, she’d come to stop the Rhineharts from destroying the habitat of the burrowing owls here in the Texas Panhandle.

“I spoke to you this morning, Mister Rhinehart. And I’ve left several messages in the past?—”

“Can you close the door?” He nodded behind her. “You’re letting out all the AC, and it’s expensive.” He spoke in a calm, even voice, but definitely one that wouldn’t be disobeyed.

Caroline huffed and reached behind her to close the door. But that only sealed her in this room that smelled of leather, sweat, and pure masculine cowboy. Stop it, she told herself. This man is married.

Her eyes drifted to his left hand, but she didn’t see a wedding band. Didn’t matter. Most cowboys didn’t wear their wedding rings, as they worked so much with their hands, and they could get lost easily.

Not only was Duke Rhinehart married, he’d been far more responsive over the phone than he currently was standing in front of her. Younger than she’d thought too, and her mind blanked for a moment while she tried to remember why she’d driven to this ranch forty-five minutes out of her way.

She suddenly remembered she’d eaten garlicky and oily Chinese food for lunch, and she wanted to back out of this cabin. She had gum in the truck, and she could freshen up and come back to give this cowboy a piece of her mind.

“I haven’t gotten any messages from you,” he said, and he lifted his phone and extended it toward her to take.

She did, for some reason she couldn’t name. “I…don’t—” Caroline looked at the phone, but she wasn’t sure what she expected to find. “Messages are easily deletable,” she said.

“Is deletable a word?” he asked, a cute smile appearing on his mouth. And not cute in like a cute-cute way, but cute in the way that said he knew he was being sassy.

“Of course it is,” she said. “I just said it.”

“Well, I didn’t get them, so I couldn’t have deleted them,” he said. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“We’ve had numerous sightings of burrowing owls in the area,” she said. “They’ve migrated into this region, and Texas just put them on their threatened list.” She really didn’t want to explain all of this again. “I sent you all of this already, along with the forms you were supposed to submit by June thirtieth. Plus, I’ve yet to receive any of your documentation as to whether you’ve sighted any burrowing owls.”

The cowboy stood there, and Caroline wondered if she’d have to repeat herself again. The very idea made steam start to rise through her whole body.

“I think you’re confused,” he finally said. He twisted back to his computer and clicked a couple of times. “I don’t have any emails from anyone like you.”

“Like me?”

He faced her again, something sparking dangerously in his earth-colored eyes. “You’re wearing a uniform as a state officer,” he said. “I’ve got nothing from someone in any Texas State Department.”

“That is just not true, Duke. You’ve even responded?—”

“I’m not Duke.”

Caroline blinked faster and faster until she told herself to stop doing such a thing. Perhaps this Rhinehart wasn’t married. “I…thought you were Duke.”

She couldn’t believe she’d already wondered if he was single. She didn’t even know his name yet.

“He’s my older brother,” the cowboy said, and he sure exuded confidence. Or maybe he just hadn’t stomped into someone’s barn-office and started making assumptions and throwing accusations. “I’m Dawson Rhinehart, and I do believe you spoke to Duke this morning. I have it on my to-do list to call you today.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she simply stood there, willing her shoulders to go down and her muscles to relax. He seemed to be waiting for the same thing, because the moment she finally got the tension out of her neck, he said, “We don’t have owls here on the ranch.”

“I’m sure you do,” she said.

“You’re sure of it?” His eyebrows went up. “How would you be sure of it?”

“They’ve been populating this area for several months now. You’ve reported prairie dogs as pests in the past, and I’d be shocked if there are no burrowing owls in those abandoned dens.”

“We don’t just leave the prairie dog dens,” he said. “That would be like inviting them to move back in, and we spend a great deal of time and energy—and money, Miss Thompson—to get them out.”

His word sounded final, which only drove Caroline’s ire higher. “You have to stop doing that immediately.”