LITMIR.BIZ

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      Trace glanced down at the glass in his hand. He’d hardly looked at the check. Counted the zeros, copied them onto the deposit slip. Why did it feel funny knowing that she’d been the one who’d paid him?

      “I’m the bookkeeper.” She gave a honeyed laugh. “Names might escape me, but I never forget an expense category.”

      “You remembered mine from the program.”

      “I had a face to put with it.” She turned to her son. Stepson. “I was taking pictures at the arena this afternoon, and Trace and I … crossed paths.”

      Trace slid her a smile.

      “What happened to Earl?” Mike demanded, glancing toward the lobby.

      Skyler stabbed Mike’s arm with a small but forceful forefinger. “The question is, what happened to you?”

      “I told you guys to go ahead and get supper. I’m toasting my trainer here.”

      “Were you invited to Mike’s party, too?” she asked Trace.

      “I was offered a drink.” He lifted his half-full glass. “I’m a long way from getting toasted.”

      She claimed Trace’s drink and mirrored his gesture. “Here’s to Mike and his trainer.”

      Down the hatch.

      She set the empty glass aside and took number two from Mike’s hand, flashing an enticing glance at Trace as she raised the glass. “And to Trace Wolf Track and his impressive horse sense.” Down the hatch.

      Glass on wood, she called out, “Bartender! Another round for these two cowboys.”

      “Okay, she’s mad now,” Mike told Trace.

      “Not anymore.” Skyler gave Mike a perfunctory smile. “If you aren’t having dinner with Earl, you might want to tell him he’s excused.”

      “I was coming back.”

      “You were on your way back, but you ran into a couple of buddies, and one drink led to another.” She shifted from script reader to instructor. “Earl doesn’t interest me. Nothing about Earl interests me. I had a wonderful time at the rodeo, Mike. You interest me because you’re my son. Trace interests me because he’s … interesting.” She spared Trace a pointed glance. “Earl does not interest me.”

      “But he’s got—”

      “I don’t care what he’s got. You don’t have to worry about me. Okay?” She shrugged dismissively. “And if this is a celebration, I’m not feeling it.”

      “One more oughta do it.” Mike gave a nod for the two drinks the bartender was just setting down near his elbow.

      “You know what?” Trace pulled a couple of bills from his pocket and tossed them on the bar. “In the interest of mutual interest—” he turned to Skyler and smiled “—why don’t we hold off and take a walk?”

      “What about Earl?” Mike demanded. Trace laid a friendly hand on Mike’s beefy shoulder. “I’d say Earl is your problem, son.”

       “Son?”

      “You make a date, it’s yours to keep, yours to break.”

      “Impressive,” Skyler said. “Who trained the trainer?”

      “My dad. Logan Wolf Track is the best there is.” He gestured toward the exit with a flourish. After you. “What’s your pleasure tonight, Mrs. Quinn?”

      “Do you dance?”

      “Hell, yeah, like nobody’s watching. You know any cowboys who don’t?” He offered his arm. “Mrs.

      Quinn?”

      “Mrs. Quinn doesn’t remember how to dance like nobody’s watching.” She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and smile up at him. “But let’s see if Skyler does.”

      Chapter Two

      There was a sweet sensuality about the way Trace held her when they danced—not hard, not tight, but close enough to feel the power in his thighs and the heat in his belly and the cool in his carriage. Her body moved with his, riding double on a silky new song. New for Skyler, anyway. She hadn’t danced in ages, which was not a measure of time, but a chunk of life. She felt lighter on her feet than she had in ages, lighter in heart and head. Giddy-light, something a man like Trace would know nothing about. She felt so new she was afraid if she opened her mouth she’d squeal with delight or babble some kind of gibberish and he’d have no interest in a translation. So she kept quiet and rode her senses, her thighs glancing off his, her nose sneaking up on his neck, her ears tuning in to the drums and the steel guitar.

      Given the kind of erotic thoughts she’d been having lately, it was probably pretty risky for her to let a man who smelled this good get this close, but she was sure she had the upper hand. She was a woman, after all. She knew how to smell the flowers. Or, in this case, the alfalfa. She knew how to lose herself on a little detour, soak up some unexpected warmth and inhale the greener grass.

       Close your eyes and take a long, slow breath. Let the picture draw itself in your mind. Pure, natural manhood.

      Now that she knew why Mike had insisted on her coming to Sheridan to watch him put his newly trained calf roping horse to the test, she had to admit, he wasn’t totally off base. It felt good to “meet somebody.” Not Mike’s choice of somebody. Not an internet site’s choice or the choice of a friend worried about her widowhood, but her own out-of-the-blue discovery. Somebody who tapped into her own senses and jangled nerves she’d tried and failed to forget she had. Not that she didn’t like the feeling, but she wasn’t sure she could rein it in if she gave it any slack.

      “It was nice of Mrs. Quinn to let me take Skyler dancing.” He leaned back and smiled at her. “Tell her for me next time you see her.”

      “Tell her yourself.” She looked up, but not, she realized, as far up as she’d expected to. The way he carried himself made him seem taller than he was.

      “Truthfully, I don’t see her. Everyone else does, but I don’t.”

      “You’re like that comedian on TV, huh? He doesn’t see skin color, including his own?” He chuckled. “How do you know what everyone else sees?”

      “Maybe not you. Who do you see?”

      “Right now, I see a woman who’s enjoying herself.”

      “Good eye, cowboy.” Wolf eyes. Tawny and teasing, they twinkled with every charming line he spoke. “Would you have fixed me up with Earl Kessler?”

      “Absolutely not. And I don’t know Earl Kessler.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what Mike was thinking. He should have fixed you up with me.”

      “He shouldn’t be trying to fix me up at all.”

      “If he hadn’t, would we be dancing right now?” He raised his wounded brow. “Would Mrs. Quinn have let Skyler come out to play?”

      “Mrs. Quinn might have gone out with you herself. You wouldn’t have been able to dance this close, but otherwise you wouldn’t know the difference.”

      “Ah, so you do know her.”

      “I don’t see her, but she was fifteen years in the making, so I know her.”

      He smiled again. “I only dance as close as my partner wants me to. Sometimes it’s like this. Sometimes it’s even closer. But I always know the difference.”

      “Instinctively?”

      “My instincts are pretty good. I’ve got good ears, too.”

      “And you’ve got a good lump on your head.” The knot on the right side of his temple was decorated with Steri-Strips. Without

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