Her Single Dad Hero. Arlene James
intent on taking it out on him. Her grumpiness did not, unfortunately, detract from her looks.
She had an unusual face, a longish rectangle with a squarish jaw and chin, prominent cheekbones and a high forehead. It was the sort of face that could have been outfitted with features from either gender, but hers were unmistakably feminine, from her perfect lips to her dainty, straight nose and the gentle curves of her slender brows over her big, exotic eyes. Those eyes were like orbs plucked from a clear blue sky, ringed in storm gray around shiny black pupils. They suited her as nothing else could have. He’d always thought her one of the most beautiful girls, even when she’d had freckles splattered across her nose and cheeks. He kind of missed those freckles.
Aware that he was staring, he cleared his throat. “All done for now.”
She inclined her head, her red hair sliding across her face. Of a more muted shade than Donovan’s, more golden, less orange, it glistened like copper pennies. Dean frowned. Hadn’t her hair been brighter at one time? He fought the insane urge to rub locks of it between his fingers to see if the color rubbed off and exposed the brighter hue he seemed to recall.
Turning, she led the way into the study where he had conducted his business with her father and brother. Dean lifted off his hat, stepped inside, pushed the door closed behind him and followed. Leaning over the desk, she signed a check, tore it from a large, hard-backed checkbook and handed it over.
“I really didn’t know about the cookies,” she said defensively. “Callie didn’t tell me.”
He glanced at the check, folded it and stashed it in his shirt pocket. “I suppose she had a lot on her mind, what with the wedding and all.”
The young widowed mother had come to keep house for the Billings men and help take care of Wes, who was fighting cancer. It had quickly become obvious to everyone who saw them together that she and Ann’s brother, Rex, were made for each other. They had married within weeks.
Ann dropped down into the chair behind the desk, muttering, “I suppose. I don’t really see what the rush was, though.”
Surprised, Dean lifted his brows at that. “Don’t you?”
“No,” she stated flatly, laying both of her hands on the desk blotter. “I don’t.”
He saw the big diamond on her left hand then, and understanding dawned. Along with unwelcome disappointment. “Ah. And how long have you been engaged?”
“Not long,” she said, smiling and leaning back in the desk chair, “but I don’t intend to rush things. A proper wedding takes time to plan.”
His throat burned with a sudden welling of acid. “Does it? I thought Rex and Callie’s wedding was everything proper.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No. Sorry, I don’t.”
Ann rolled her pale eyes. “Well, for starters, I won’t be getting married here.”
He nodded, an ugly bitterness surging inside him. “Got it. War Bonnet’s not good enough for you.”
Blinking, she rose to her feet. “No, that’s not it at all. It’s just that the majority of my friends and most of my business contacts live in Dallas now.”
“Uh-huh.”
She folded her arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Just...” He really needed to shut his mouth and get out of there. Instead, he said, “You haven’t changed much, have you? Except you’re coloring your hair now.” He knew it suddenly, and she confirmed it by lifting a hand to her hair, something like guilt flashing across her face.
“What do you mean, I haven’t changed? I’ve changed a lot.”
“No, you haven’t,” he said, knowing he was being rude but unable to help himself for some reason. “You’re still a snob.”
She jerked as if he’d hit her. “I am not a snob.”
“Really? Couldn’t prove it by me.” He might as well still be the ball boy to her athletic highness.
“What do you have to do with it?” she demanded.
“Not a thing,” he told her, thumping his hat onto his head and turning away.
“And what’s wrong with my hair?” she demanded.
He looked back at her. “I like the real you better, that’s all.”
“You don’t know the real me,” she snapped.
He let his gaze sweep over her, liking what he saw, missing what he didn’t see, wishing otherwise on both counts.
“Don’t I?” he asked. “You still look and act like the queen of War Bonnet High to me.”
With that, he finally got out of there, calling himself ten kinds of fool. The queen, after all, couldn’t be expected to do more than barely acknowledge her servants.
* * *
Calling herself the very worst kind of fool, Ann guided her father’s pickup truck off the dusty road and over the rough cattle guard between the pipes supporting the fencing. She didn’t know why she’d come. Rex had told her simply to make sure that Dean could get his equipment in and out of the field without problem. As the weather had remained hot and dry, Dean could have had no issues whatsoever, so she really had no reason to trek out here and inspect the job site. His rudeness the day before should have been reason enough to forgo this particular chore, and yet she’d found herself dressing with ridiculous detail for an encounter she had no desire to make. Why should she care what he thought of her, after all? Yet, here she was in all her feminine glory, including denim leggings, a matching tank top and a formfitting, crocheted cardigan that perfectly matched her white high-heeled sandals.
Dean had obviously taken down a section of the barbed wire in order to get his combine into the field. He was even now using a come-along to draw the post back into position, the wires still attached, so he could temporarily restore the fence. Ann beeped the truck’s horn to stop him then killed the engine and got out.
Watching her pick her way across the ground on her high heels, he let the wire stretcher drop, stripped off his leather gloves and took off his sunglasses, dropping them into his shirt pocket. The hard hat had been replaced by a faded red baseball cap, which he tugged lower over his eyes. Dirt gritted between her toes as she made her way toward him, but she refused to show any discomfort. At least the early-morning temperature wouldn’t melt her carefully applied makeup or frizz her hair, which she’d painstakingly set on heated curlers after her shower and predawn run. Resisting the urge to tug on the hem of her tank top, she plastered on a smile and tucked her muted red hair behind one ear so he could see the dainty pearl earrings she was wearing.
“I meant to tell you yesterday,” she announced. “Rex had the hands move all the cattle to the east range, so you don’t have to worry about replacing the fence until you’re done here.”
He glanced around, his gaze landing on her feet. “Okay. Good to know. Thanks.”
She heard barking a second before Digger shot out of the thigh-high golden oats, a yellow bandanna clenched in his doggy teeth. Giggling wildly, Donovan careened behind him. The dog skidded to a halt, facing Donovan, who snatched at the bandanna. Turning, the dog took off again, making straight for Ann and Dean. Before either could react, the animal bolted between them and came to a taunting halt just beyond. Shrieking with laughter, Donovan gave chase. Right across Ann’s toes.
“Ow!” Yelping in pain, she reeled backward.
Dean lurched forward, grabbing her by the arms and pulling her into his embrace even as he scolded the boy. “Donovan Jessup! Watch what you’re doing.”
The child immediately sobered, turning to face the adults. “I’m sorry.”
Ann staggered against Dean, her elbow digging into his