The Wedding Deal. Janelle Denison

      CHAPTER ONE

      PRESSING a hand to her stomach to still the batch of butterflies swarming in her belly, Eden Lowe glanced out her kitchen window toward the bachelor apartment above the garage for the third time in the past five minutes, hoping to catch a glimpse of the dark-haired, lean-hipped cowboy she’d recently employed as a hand at the Double L—a man who could be her salvation, if she could just convince him to agree to her daring, and very brazen proposition.

      An hour and a half ago she’d been down in her office finishing up paperwork when Luke Bodene had ridden up after spending a full day out in the North pasture mending a split fence. She’d deliberately waited for him, and when he’d walked into the barn, she’d exited her office.

      As always, he’d been excruciatingly polite. He’d acknowledged her with a courteous nod of his head, and touched the tips of his long fingers to the brim of his broken-in Stetson that covered pitch-black hair in need of a haircut. The silky-looking strands layered past his ears, and brushed the collar of the dusty, sweat-stained chambray shirt that molded to wide shoulders, a muscular chest, and a lean torso honed by pure physical labor.

      “Good evening, Ms. Lowe,” he’d murmured cordially, his voice a low, velvet rumble that matched the flickering warmth in his rich, golden-brown eyes.

      Her pulse had leapt, as it seemed to do whenever they made eye contact, or he spoke to her. Outwardly, she’d maintained her professional composure. First and foremost she was his boss, and it was important to her that her hands knew she was the one in control of her ranch and employees.

      “Luke, would you mind coming up to the kitchen in the main house when you get the chance? I need to speak with you.”

      For a moment, his jaw clenched and his eyes seemed to turn granite hard. Then an odd look of resignation had eased across his expression. “I need to take care of Diablo after the long day he put in,” he said of the gelding he’d brought with him the day he’d drifted onto the Double L and asked if she needed an extra hand. Like most cowboys, his horse seemed to be his best friend, but this man seemed more of a loner than most. “And I’d like to get cleaned up myself, unless you need to speak with me immediately?”

      There was the slightest defensive edge to his voice, as if he expected a reprimand of some sort. She’d smiled to alleviate the sudden tension swirling around him. “No, go ahead and see to Diablo and yourself. That’ll give me a chance to shower and change, as well.”

      As soon as the words escaped, she’d wished them back, especially when she caught the curious upward quirk to his brow. The last thing she wanted him to think was that she was primping for him—but she couldn’t deny that when she extended her unorthodox offer to Luke she wanted to be dressed in something other than old, faded jeans, a wrinkled blouse, and work boots.

      He’d turned, and she’d watched him head toward his horse’s stall, her gaze unerringly drawn to the way his soft worn jeans paid homage to his toned buttocks and hard thighs. He was, undeniably, a breathtakingly attractive man, and much to her dismay she found she wasn’t immune to his good looks, his unconsciously sexy swagger, and those bedroom eyes fringed in thick lashes that seemed to hold an equal dose of temptation, and something far more reserved.

      But for all his appeal, he’d never made an improper advance toward her, unlike some of the men she’d hired in the past, inaccurately believing their boss to be a lonely widow in need of male attention. No, despite his remote attitude, Luke Bodene was a gentleman, and that’s exactly why she’d chosen him to help her out of a very delicate predicament.

      If he’d ever show up!

      Chewing on her bottom lip, she cast a quick glance at the clock on the wall. Down in the barn she’d been filled with confidence, but with every second that ticked by with no sign of Luke, her fortitude wavered. The pot roast dinner she’d painstakingly prepared warmed in the oven, and if she waited much longer the meat would dry out and taste like shoe leather. If he was the kind of man who judged a woman by her cooking skills, in another half hour she wouldn’t stand a chance of impressing him with her culinary talents.

      A sudden bout of dread and apprehension filled her, making her question the insane, but viable plan that had taken up residence in her head a few days ago. Uncertainties assailed her, yet she refused to allow any doubts to obstruct her goals,