The Cowgirl's CEO

“I know. Watched you film that commercial. Interesting stuff. Caro looked like she did great. ‘Course, you could film Caro upside down, walking on her hands, and she’d look gorgeous.”

“That’s certainly true,” Ty said, arranging his groceries on the table. “You don’t happen to have a salad bowl, do you?”

“Got everything you need,” Mike said, motioning toward his own long, white trailer. The lights were on inside and Ty could see a TV flickering behind the windows. Modern day cowboys. “Just help yourself.”

“Are you leaving?” Ty asked when Mike turned away.

“Yup. I was about to close things up. I’m in the main performance. But I can leave it open in case you need something else.”

“That’d be much appreciated.”

“And before I go, think I’ll find Caro and tell her she has a guest.”

Ty smiled. “You do that.”

She showed up fifteen minutes later. By then Ty had the steaks on, and the smell of sizzling meat filled the air.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Cooking,” he said without looking up. “Like I told you.”

She didn’t say anything. Ty risked a peek. Furious didn’t begin to describe the expression on her face.

“Whatever,” she said, walking back toward the barn.

He let the steaks continue to cook. “Caro, wait.” She sped up. He was faster. “Don’t leave. Not without eating first. If you want to ignore me the whole time, fine. But at least get some food in your stomach.”

The light from Mike’s trailer perfectly illuminated her face. She seemed exhausted. Near the corners of her eyes, the skin appeared bruised, something you wouldn’t notice unless you were staring at her closely.

“How long has it been since you’ve had a home-cooked meal, anyway?”

The steaks suddenly hissed, as if punctuating his remark. She gritted her teeth. She’d changed since the shoot, the pressed cotton shirt she’d worn replaced by another T-shirt, which read I’m Going to Treat You Like My Dog, Cowboy.

You Wish!

Well, now he knew her treatment of him was nothing personal.

“Months?” He hazarded a guess.

She shrugged. “Can’t remember.”

“Do you ever slow down, Caroline?”

“I told you. Only my mom calls me Caroline,” she reminded him. “And, yes, I do slow down. When the season’s over. Until then I can’t afford to take it easy.”

“Will having one little steak hurt you?”

She raised her chin, her gray eyes managing to look even bigger in the murky half-light. “I’m behind today.”

Thanks to filming a commercial. She didn’t say it, but might as well have.

“Then take the food with you. I’ve got paper plates. Stop and eat.”

She slowly nodded. Ty wondered if she’d toss the plate away the moment he was out of sight.

“Have a seat,” he said. “The steaks need to cook for a few more minutes.”

She crossed her arms, turned and then sat in one of the folding chairs Mike had let him borrow.

“If I had my way you wouldn’t get up from that chair for at least an hour,” he said, waving the barbecue tongs at her before squatting down and flipping the steaks.

“Then it’s a good thing I don’t have to listen to you.”

He pulled out a chair, too, and took a seat. “Why are you fighting this?”

“Fighting what?”

“This,” he said, leaning toward her.

Her gray eyes widened.

She thought he was about to kiss her. He could tell by the way she drew back, her chest expanding, and then didn’t move as she waited…

But he wasn’t going to kiss her. He had no intention of ever crossing the line with her. He grabbed the salad bowl.

“My desire to feed you,” he said, keeping his expression carefully blank, because he couldn’t deny they were obviously attracted to each other.

“I don’t mind you feeding me,” she said after expelling a breath. “I mean…” She ran a hand through her hair. “All right, maybe I do.”

“You need to take better care of yourself, slow down a little,” he said, trying to steer the conversation to neutral ground. His heart pounded in an odd way. “I don’t want a comatose spokesperson.”

“I can’t slow down. This is how I make my living.”