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She rotated to lean back against the counter. With her weight preferring one shapely leg, elbows propped up on the counter on either side, she looked so sultry, so classic … Hell, if he’d been an artist, he’d have begged for an easel and brush.
“I have majors in psychology and literature,” she told him.
“I’d have guessed a business degree would’ve been the logical choice, given one day you’d be running all this.”
Besides other things, when he’d inquired, Abigail had told him Elizabeth was an only child.
Some of the light in her eyes waned at the same time her gaze dropped to the original polished timber at her feet. “I wasn’t that interested in the ranch back then. When my folks passed away, I began to see things differently. There’s always time for more study.”
He set his glass carefully down. “Abigail mentioned about your parents.” A tragic automobile accident. “I’m sorry.”
She nodded then shucked back her slender shoulders. “How about you, Mr. Warren? Do you have family?”
Daniel’s insides knotted. Given the thread of their conversation, it was an obvious question. Now he would avoid giving a straight answer, because he didn’t discuss that facet of his life. His past. Not with anyone.
Before he could maneuver the conversation in another direction, they were interrupted.
“Sorry to barge in, folks.”
Daniel rotated toward the accented female voice. A woman, late sixties in a printed apron and matching slippers, was taking her time crossing the room.
“Just wanta say,” the woman said, peering at Daniel through lenses that covered a good deal of her face, “dinner’s on the table.”
Elizabeth moved to join her. “Nita Ramirez, this is Mr. Warren. The architect from New York City I told you about.”
“Please, Elizabeth, Nita, the name’s Daniel.” Making his way over, he extended a hand, which Nita Ramirez readily shook—and for quite a time. “I hear you’re a fabulous talent in the kitchen,” Daniel added.
Nita patted her jet-black shoulder-length hair. “That compliment’ll earn you a second helping of my specialty dessert, Daniel. How does caramel apple cheesecake sound?”
He almost licked his lips. “My sweet tooth and I can hardly wait.”
Pleased, Nita sent over a hearty wink then spoke to Elizabeth. “Dining room’s all set, Beth. I set a match to the fire, too.”
As Nita strolled off, Elizabeth offered her arm to her guest. “I sure hope you’re hungry.”
At the end of the meal, Elizabeth dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin, to hide her grin more than anything. A man of Daniel’s means would dine at the best restaurants around the world, and while guests regularly swooned over Nita’s culinary triumphs, her current guest’s reaction to rib eye roast and baked potato salad was priceless. No question. Daniel Warren appreciated good home cooking.
“I’m sure there’s more,” Elizabeth offered, “if you can fit it in.”
He set his knife and fork down on the gravy-smeared plate. “I’m tempted. But I need room for that dessert.”
“Be warned. Caramel apple cheesecake is addictive.”
“I’m an advocate of the saying, you can never have too much of a good thing.”
When his gaze held hers a moment longer than was necessary, heat climbed up Elizabeth’s neck and she had to drop her gaze, catch her breath. She wasn’t one to titter. She didn’t normally blush like a schoolgirl when a man flirted. But, sitting here with Daniel, she felt something new, unexpected and highly pleasurable playing tag with her senses.
As they’d talked through dinner—about music, politics, how cool the weather was for this time of year—her awareness of every facet of his presence had grown until the buzz she’d felt from the moment they’d met had cranked up to high. Whenever he looked at her the way he had just now, all over her skin, through her blood, she tingled. Frankly, she wanted to surrender to a long sigh and fan herself.
With Daniel Warren she felt as much like a teenage girl as a woman.
When the tips of her breasts began to harden and heat, clearing her thoughts, Elizabeth set down her napkin and inhaled a leveling breath. Get back on track. He was looking forward to dessert.
“I’m guessing you don’t cook,” she said, fighting the urge to cross her arms, contain that heat.
“Not much.” Sheepish, he tugged his ear. “Not at all.”
“And there I was, imagining you sweating over a gas cooker, tossing the escargot.”
His mouth turned down. “You like snails?”
“I’ve indulged, but only when I visit a particular café on the Rue de la Villette.” As his eyebrows knitted and he gave a curious grin, she cocked her head. “You’ve been to Paris?”
“Me? Sure. Beautiful city. Although it’s always good to get back home.”
“To the States?”
“To New York.”
Elizabeth almost forgot herself and frowned. Nothing wrong with being precise. Still, if she hadn’t known better, she might think that reply was pointed. That perhaps Abigail had clued him up on more than her parents’ misfortune. That she might have confided in her situation with regard to that condition of their will.
Which was crazy. Abigail wouldn’t break that kind of confidence, and he couldn’t have found out anywhere else—Chad Tremain, for example. Obviously her thoughts—those sensations he stirred—were running away on her, filling her head with fancies.
Elizabeth set her mind back on the conversation.
“New York has some incredible restaurants.”
He ran an appreciative eye over his plate. “None that serve food like that.”
“Is your mother a good cook?”
His smile froze for a heartbeat before he reached for his wine. “Mom could cook.”
“Do your parents still live in Carolina?”
“No.” He pushed back his chair and glanced around as he took a mouthful of red and swallowed. “The decor in here is interesting.”
“Early American,” she replied, thinking not of furniture but the fact he’d avoided talking about his family. Before dinner he’d hesitated when she’d inquired. Although she and her parents had been close, estrangement between generations wasn’t uncommon. But she wouldn’t push. Private was private. Even if she was more than curious.
They were talking about decor.
“My mother redecorated parts of this house, but not this room. She liked it homey. The dinner table is where the family comes together, she used to say. Not only to eat, but to talk and listen and plan.”
Daniel’s smile held. “A wonderful, traditional concept.” His attention wandered to the far wall. “Those dark wood panels are almost identical to the club’s.”
“Might’ve been cut from the same tree. Heck, the ranch and the club have both been around since Buffalo Bill was a boy.”
He pretended to pull his head in. “Do I detect a hint of impatience?”
Amused, she blinked twice. “Why on earth would you say that?”
“That resigned note in your voice.”
“That wasn’t a resigned note.”
“Sounded pretty clear to me—”
“You were mistaken.” She lifted her chin. “What you heard was respect.”
“So you don’t harbor any secret plans to turn the ranch into a casino or suburban lots like some others down this way?”
She coughed out a laugh even as heat crept up her neck again, this time for a different reason. Was he serious?
“What a curious thing to say. Of course not.”
“But you would like some change,” he went on. “Am I right?”
With a practiced smile, she set her elbow on the chair’s arm and fiddled with her diamond drop earring. “Is your sideline mind reading, Mr. Warren?”
“It’s Daniel, remember?”
Knowing an edge had crept into her voice, Elizabeth played up her smile. She didn’t like his line of thought. His questions. Her ideas on tradition—when, where and how to tweak—were her business, just as whatever prickled Daniel about his family’s past was his.
But she’d answer his question—in her own way.
“While it’s time the Cattleman’s Club challenged some of its older trappings, I can’t see Milton Ranch changing. My parents wanted tradition to live on here.” She reached for her glass. “So do I.”
Regardless of the will, she would never sell, especially to developers.
Still, truth was, she wished she had some middle-of-the-road option. Just a little more freedom …
“Who’s up for dessert?”
Elizabeth snapped back from her thoughts. Nita had entered the room, ready to clear the plates. Daniel held his stomach, which Elizabeth wouldn’t mind betting was a six-pack.
“I might let that delicious roast settle first,” he said, handing over his plate. “That was a big helping.”
“A man deserves to be satisfied at the end of the day.”
At the housekeeper’s last comment, Elizabeth shot her a glare. Nita only returned an innocent grin. The Milton Ranch housekeeper was a well-known matchmaker, but if she was hoping to set up the toll of wedding bells tonight, Nita could put her scheming mind to rest. As far as sexual attraction was concerned, Daniel Warren was a big fat ten, but he was passing through. He might even have a girl back home in New York. Maybe two. And while marriage was a definite in her future, Elizabeth wasn’t after long-term just now. Hell, she was only twenty-five.
Plates in hand, almost at the doorway, Nita suggested, “You ought to go for a walk. Help work off that meal.”
Elizabeth pushed to her feet. “I’m sure Daniel would prefer to take in more of the house.” See if anything inspired ideas for his project.
But as her guest unfolded to his full height, he gifted her with a deliciously sinful smile. “I like Nita’s idea.” He offered his arm. “Let’s go work it off.”
Ten minutes later, as he and Elizabeth made their way down a graveled path that led to the Milton Ranch stables, Daniel stole a glance at his companion’s dusty yard boots—the Jimmy Choos had been deemed unsuitable—and the bulky work coat thrown over her stunning black evening dress. Then he studied her perfect profile, highlighted by the rising moon’s silver beams, and decided Elizabeth Milton would exude panache wearing a brown paper bag. “Eclectic” suited her, like he couldn’t imagine it suiting any other. She achieved real style effortlessly when, in his experience, females often tried too hard to look their best, be the best. That last wasn’t a gender-specific phenomenon, particularly amidst the never-ending bustle and hustle of New York.
Daniel’s focus lifted to the sky.
But Milton Ranch was a long way from those city lights. Damn, he’d never seen so many stars.
“How much land have you got here?” he asked.
“Three thousand acres,” Elizabeth replied, pride evident in her voice as she dug her hands into her coat pockets.
“Must be a challenge.”
“One I’m prepared to face. Although rising costs and lack of trained hands make it difficult,” she admitted.
“But you’re in for the long haul.”
“My parents left money enough to keep the tradition going. Ranching is in my blood.”
A vision of Elizabeth at five years of age wearing an Annie Oakley costume, charging off toward an endless horizon on her very own pony, made him smile.
“So you grew up learning how to rope a steer?” he asked as they crunched farther down the shadowed path.
“I was a cowgirl but only in between attending boarding school.”
“A school close to home?”
“Initially in Houston. In my teens, overseas. Switzerland, France.”
“Where you dined on sautéed mollusks.” Snails.
“Helix pomatia, to be precise,” she said with mock authority.
He lifted an eyebrow. “My, sounds like those boarding schools didn’t waste your parents’ money.”
“I received a great education. Had some wonderful experiences. Made some lifelong friends.” And in her faraway expression he could see she wouldn’t say no to a sojourn to Europe right this minute. He could well imagine her expertly skiing Alpine slopes, wandering around the history and culture of the Louvre.
“Bet you’re on and off jets, visiting all the time.”
Before the moon disappeared behind a cloud, he saw her smile waver but, a moment later, her shoulders in that big coat rolled back.
“There’s a lot to keep me busy here.”
Daniel’s step faltered. Here was a beautiful, obviously intelligent woman with mega funds at her disposal. She’d beamed speaking about that Parisian café, about her experiences overseas and the friends she’d made there. She was young, which translated into plenty of energy and enthusiasm, the kind she showed for this ranch. Had he misinterpreted or had she as good as confessed she didn’t get out much?
Just how much of her time did this ranch take up?
“I guess the responsibility of three thousand acres is a lot,” he prodded as the silhouette of the stables loomed before them.
“I have people to manage matters, although more and more I’d rather handle things myself.”
He shot over a glance. “Really?”
