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No chatter. No cues of any sort. Totally reserved. But he looked as if he liked being in command of things around him.
Her brain began to race. Maybe he was a rancher with a few hundred thousand acres, which he personally supervised by Jeep and horseback. On the other hand he carried himself with an almost tangible sense of command. Slow, simmering charisma of a very alpha type.
An actor?
No, not an actor, Jilly decided. His face was too contained. Actors were always on stage, oozing energy and playing to an audience. This man looked as if he could keep his secrets very well. He would give orders, but he’d do it so smoothly you never knew you were being controlled.
Jilly frowned. Where had all that come from? She didn’t know the slightest thing about the man.
The big dog moved closer, nudging her hand for more petting.
“Okay, honey. You’re a big beauty, aren’t you? Want another long scratch behind the ears?”
The brown tail rocked hard and banged Jilly in the face as she knelt. “You love that, don’t you? Sure you do.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Are you from L.A.?”
“No.”
“Las Vegas?”
“No way.” He thought she was from Vegas? Hello?
“So where?” He slid his hands into his pockets, his eyes slipping to a darker shade of navy.
“I’m from Oregon, as it happens.” Jilly stared back at him. “I’ve been working in Scottsdale for the past few years. That’s in Arizona,” she said, feeling a little snide. “South of here.”
“I know where Scottsdale is.” He made it sound like a bad thing.
That cool, assessing way of his irritated her. “What’s wrong with Scottsdale?”
“Nothing. Not that I know of. Never been there.” He rolled his broad shoulders. “Pretty hot in the summer, I guess.”
“So are New York City and Houston and Washington, D.C. And they’ve also got humidity to crush your soul. Your point is?”
“No need to get riled.”
“Who’s riled?” Jilly glared at him. “I’m just throwing out some data here. You should visit Scottsdale before you pass offhand comments. It’s a great town. They have fabulous spas there.”
He tilted back his cowboy hat. “I’m not too big on spas.”
“Well, then there’s the hiking. You look like the outdoors type.”
“Could be.”
“Amazing resorts and world-class restaurants, too. I could name a dozen at least.”
Irritated, Jilly blew out a huffy breath. Why did this complete stranger make her so defensive and flustered? “And one more thing. You should scratch your dog’s head more often. Do it like this. Don’t you know about this little ridge?”
The maybe-rancher looked bemused. “Don’t think I do.”
“Well you should. It’s a great way to bond with your pet. It calms a dog and gives them sheer joy. Any dog.”
“I’ll remember that, ma’am,” the man said dryly.
Oh, sure he would. And the world was flat.
Jilly reached for her suitcase, glancing outside in search of a taxi.
Suddenly a truck backfired. At a terse command from the owner, the dog sat down and went absolutely still in what was clearly part of a familiar routine. All the playful energy vanished. All the good humor disappeared with that low order.
The dog did not move a single muscle, alert for the next command.
Jilly forgot all about her suitcase and stood up slowly. “Wow. How did you do that?”
“Good dog, good training. He rarely takes to strangers though.” The man frowned at the dog. “Odd. Probably it’s because he’s been cooped up for two flights back-to-back.”
“Ugh.” Jilly ran a hand through her hair. “I know just how he feels. Traveling can be hell.”
“I didn’t think you were a local.”
“Don’t get started on that again.” Jilly waved her hand toward the front of the airport. “I guess I’ll go find the taxis. I’m staying at Lost Creek Resort, wherever that is.”
“Not far. You’re too early for skiing,” the man said slowly. “No real snow will accumulate for a month or so. Not that it’s any of my business.” The man started to reach for his heavy duffel bag, murmuring to his dog as he leaned over. Then he swung around, frowning.
His dog was looking at Jilly with an expression that could only be called wistful.
“Winslow? We need to go.”
Ignoring him, Jilly leaned down to scratch his dog’s head and smooth the powerful shoulders. The big dog gave no sign of going anywhere, motionless under Jilly’s stroking hand, soaking up the attention.
“That’s another first.” The man shoved his hat back on his head. “He really does like you.”
There was something about the man that interested as well as aggravated Jilly. She sensed a story here, something that would explain his detached manner and why he didn’t like sharing anything about himself.
She gave a shrug. “Most dogs do. People not so much. And forget about skiing. I’m here for the cooking retreat.”
The cowboy frowned. “Didn’t know they had cooking workshops at the resort. But then I’m way out of touch. I don’t get into town all that much.” He looked away, his eyes on the horizon.
“Why not?” The words just slipped out.
His shoulders seemed to tighten. Then he ran a hand along his arm, almost as if it hurt him. “Lot of reasons.”
As she looked at that tanned, lean face, Jilly felt the little hairs stir along her neck. Probably it was from the cool mountain air. Or maybe it was exhaustion from traveling. But there was no mistaking the sharp sense of awareness that hit her when he turned, reaching down next to her to pet Winslow.
Jilly could almost feel the heat of his body. Or was that her imagination?
Did he feel this weird kind of sensation, too? No way to know. His face gave away nothing. He barely smiled.
But his eyes tracked her, and Jilly thought they had darkened as they watched her.
Again her skin prickled. She was usually excellent at reading people. She had a real radar for lies, secrets or bad juju. Her friends called it her crud-meter, and they relied on it frequently in tackling their ongoing renovation project in Oregon. It had saved Jilly from getting involved with bad business partners and shady construction offers on a number of occasions.
But right now the meter was dead cold. All she picked up was distance and sharp intelligence. Not a single emotion or detail came across from his face or his manner. And that was downright impossible. Jilly could always dig up something.
But the cowboy—if he was a cowboy—remained a cipher. By now most men would be impatient to be on their way, unless of course they were trying to make a move on her.
Not this man. He stood as if he controlled the spin of the earth. He seemed to register everything around him but showed no emotion about how it affected him. Just being near him left her feeling oddly …
Unbalanced.
But grounded, too. That was the right word. As if he gave her weight and order and security.
And he wasn’t coming on to Jilly at all.
There were no covert stares at her legs or clever banter. No sly hints as he tried to mentally undress her. He simply wasn’t interested, she decided.
Not that it mattered to her.
On impulse she held out her hand. “I’m Jilly O’Hara.”
His eyes narrowed. Then slowly he held out a calloused hand. The movement seemed awkward and a little unsure. “Walker Hale. It’s … nice to meet you, ma’am.”
“Oh, call me Jilly. Everybody does, except when they call me worse things.”
Their hands opened and met and Jilly felt awareness flare into something sharper. When his rough fingers opened, they seem to fit her hand perfectly, as if they had been made for nothing else. The jolt of contact made her bite back a sharp breath.
Jilly released his hand so fast it edged on rudeness. Even then her skin seemed to burn. “Well, Mr. Hale, I do love your dog.”
The dog’s eyes followed her, alert and liquid. The first hint of a smile brushed the man’s face, and the change stunned Jilly. In that moment his expression softened, open and loving as he stared down. Well, who wouldn’t love a big, wonderful dog like his?
He touched the dog’s head and said a few low words. Instantly the dog was all energy, dancing at Jilly’s side, full of joyous excitement.
“Impressive. He’s like a totally different dog now. And you are one lovely ball of fur, aren’t you, honey?” Jilly laughed as the dog nudged her hand, demanding more ear-scratching bliss. “What a gorgeous friend you must make.”
The man rubbed his jaw. “Not many people call Winslow honey.”
“Well, I’m not most people.” Jilly raised an eyebrow, irritated that she couldn’t read the man. Not even a hint. “And honey is an equal-opportunity endearment. I use it for animals or people I like, male or female.”
Something zinged between them. Recognition and possibilities and just a hint of something deeper. Speculation. Man/woman stuff. Jilly’s meter spiked hard with that one. Unfortunately the feeling vanished before she could pin it down.
A muscle moved at Walker’s jaw. “Give the lady your paw, Winslow. Show your manners.” The big dog barked once, rolled over, raced around Jilly and then sat down, one paw raised perfectly.
“Isn’t that the smartest thing? You’re a real beauty.”
Walker scratched his dog’s head. Jilly noticed that this time his fingers moved until they found the exact spot she had pointed out at the dog’s ear.
Fast learner, she thought. Maybe she had been wrong about him. Again Jilly felt the little stirring along her neck.
“Lost Creek is a small place. Maybe I’ll see you around,” he said. “Are you staying for the week?”
“Ten days, actually. The classes are supposed to be pretty intensive.”
“I see.”
The attendant clearing the luggage area glanced over at them, clearly impatient to finish his work. Jilly saw a yellow taxi pull up out front.
“I’d better go before I lose my taxi.” Jilly swung her small suitcase off the carousel and wrinkled her nose. The smell of chocolate was unmistakable. Caro and her friends had stocked up on her favorite junk food in vain.
As she lifted the suitcase, two bags of chocolate candy fell out of the unzipped pocket. More candy spilled out, landing on plastic-wrapped bags of snack cakes in various flavors. Before she could turn the suitcase over, two sheer pieces of white lace fluttered to the floor.
Jilly blinked.
A ruffled lace camisole with matching bikini panties? Definitely not hers. She didn’t do lace, not in any shape or style. Ditto on the ruffles.
“That’s some stash of chocolate you have there.” Walker looked down at the camisole that had drifted down onto his well-worn brown cowboy boot. A muscle moved at his jaw. “Nice underwear, too.” He reached down and lifted the fragile lace carefully. “Sheer.”
“Civilized people call it lingerie,” Jilly snapped. “And hands off, if you please.”
But she couldn’t take her eyes away from the strong fingers that cradled the frilly lace. The contrast was so sharp it made her feel hot and strangely dizzy.
Okay, time to get moving.
She grabbed at the candy bars and wrapped cakes, shoving them back into the suitcase. Then she reached for the camisole he was holding.
The ground suddenly swayed. Her breath caught.
“Hey.”
Jilly didn’t answer. Her face felt hot and flushed.
“You don’t look so good.” The voice came from very close by, but for some reason Jilly couldn’t focus. She was fascinated by the little green squares in the carpet, which seemed to jump and dance.
“Sit down.” Walker Hale gripped her shoulder and urged her down onto her suitcase. “Steady now.”
His voice sounded a million miles away. The floor kept spinning. Maybe it was because of the hours of travel. Or the altitude. Or dehydration.
Winslow pushed up against her chest, licking her face and whining softly. His owner leaned down beside him. “Jilly, look at me.” He cupped her chin and raised her face. Concern creased his forehead. “Take long breaths. Go on. Nice and deep. That’s right.” All his attention was focused on her, as if she were the only thing in the world.
Jilly seemed to slide straight down into his deep gray-blue eyes, as if she were wrapped up in a cool, clean mountain dawn. Now she could sense the warmth behind all his distance. Oh, yes, there were deep emotions here. There was power and need and loss, if you knew where to look and weren’t afraid to dig hard.
He was definitely intriguing.
“You’re shaking. Jilly, can you hear me?”
She hated that he was right. “I’m just a—a little dizzy. Maybe it’s altitude. Or something.”
“Hydration,” he said flatly. A water bottle met her fingers. “Drink it all.”
