LITMIR.BIZ

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tossed her a boyish grin. “You’re probably right. Too bad we don’t have any ice cream or cookies.”

      “I’ll put dessert on my grocery list. That is, if you want me to do any shopping for meals tomorrow.”

      “I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but now that you mention it, I suppose we’ll have to find time to eat during the day. I don’t mind calling out for food, but if you want to pick up groceries, that’s fine with me.”

      “We can play it by ear. But I’ll whip up something for dinner tomorrow.” She glanced at the clock and smiled. “Make that tonight. So what’ll it be? Chocolate or vanilla?”

      “If you’re talking ice cream, let’s go with rocky road. I like nuts.”

      “I’ll keep that in mind as I start that list.” She reached for the black leather cup on top of the desk that held pencils and pens. “Do you have any paper?”

      He took a pad that rested near the laptop and handed it to her. “Here you go.” Then he returned his gaze to the screen that had him so perplexed.

      “Can I take a look at it?” she asked. “Maybe I can help.”

      Jason bit back a smile, which had been better than the chuckle that almost slipped out. The problem had stymied experienced execs with MBAs. Juliana had no experience in the business world.

      Okay, so she’d worked as a sales clerk at an art gallery in Wexler. But still, she didn’t have the background that would provide her with the experience or the expertise she needed to actually know what she’d be looking for.

      But what the hell.

      He rolled back his chair, making room for her to see the screen. Then, using the mouse, he showed her the latest artwork and the graphics the marketing department had sent him earlier this evening.

      “I see what you mean,” she said. “Something’s definitely missing. It doesn’t have any spark.”

      She had that right. And while everyone knew something was missing, no one seemed to know quite what that something was.

      “I think,” she said, “if you merged the wording of number three with the graphics of number four, then used the background of number one, it would be a lot closer to what you’re looking for.”

      “Maybe so,” he said. “I’ll give that some thought. Thanks.”

      As she stood beside him, he caught a whiff of her scent—something soft and exotic. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting her to be wearing. Something down-home and country, he supposed. Something more suited to Brighton Valley. But then again, she was city bound. Why wouldn’t she have a more sophisticated air? But did her scent come from her perfume or lotion? Or perhaps from her shampoo?

      He glanced at her wild, bed-tousled curls, which gave her a sexy look that the frumpy cotton robe couldn’t hide.

      What a contradiction she seemed—country vs. city. Lady vs. vixen.

      Once again, his attraction built to the point he found it impossible to downplay or ignore, especially at this late hour, with several bedrooms down the hall to choose from.

      Unable to help himself, he reached out and twined a loose red curl around his finger. “Has anyone ever asked you if your hair color is real?”

      She sucked in a breath, yet she didn’t pull away. “Yes, they have. And it is.”

      “I know it’s real. I remember you when you were a girl. It’s just that the shade is so...remarkable. Most people might question whether it was possible for something that pretty to be natural.”

      Their gazes met and locked. For a moment, he could have sworn their breathing stopped.

      Then she took a step back, and as her hair tightened against his finger, he let it uncoil.

      While he might have released their physical connection, something else held them taut. Something he could almost reach out and touch.

      She bit down on her bottom lip, then placed her hand over her stomach. He’d seen her make that nervous gesture before, which seemed to be unique to her. Other women nibbled a nail or twisted a strand of hair around a finger seductively. But he’d never seen another stroke her belly.

      He found it kind of cute—the gesture, as well as the fact that he made her nervous.

      She took another step back, clearly uncomfortable with the heat sparking between them, and nodded toward the doorway. “I’m going to start that grocery list now. And then I’ll try to get some sleep. Otherwise I won’t be worth a thing tomorrow.”

      He sensed that she was the kind of woman who’d be worth her weight in gold—either as an employee or a lover. But he damn well couldn’t have her as both. So he let her go.

      As he heard her bare feet pad down the hardwood floor, he glanced back at the screen, which displayed the artwork the head of marketing had sent him. He tried to imagine the changes Juliana had mentioned, realizing they did have some merit.

      The woman might not have a business background, but she did have some experience with art—if you could give her points for working at what had to be a two-bit gallery in a town that wasn’t much bigger than Brighton Valley.

      After giving her suggestion some thought, he shrank the screen and signed into his email account.

      Doug,

      Do me a favor. Try using the background on number 1. Then merge the text of sample 3 with the graphics on 4. Let me see what that looks like.

      Jason

      Then he hit Send. He wasn’t an artist, so he’d have to see the sample to know if it would work the way Juliana seemed to think it would. But it certainly sounded as though it might be a lot closer to what they were looking for.

      If that was true, Juliana would have more than paid for her keep already. Of course, it was early yet. They still had a ranch full of memories to pore through.

      And less than three weeks to do it.

      * * *

      In spite of getting very little sleep last night, Jason woke early and started breakfast. By the time Juliana walked in, freshly showered and ready to start the day, the coffee had finished brewing and the bacon sizzled in Granny’s favorite cast-iron skillet.

      “Something sure smells good,” she said. “I thought you weren’t a cook.”

      “I’m not, but I was a Boy Scout. So some things are easy. But I’m usually better frying bacon on a campfire.” He tossed her a smile. “I’m also good at making s’mores.”

      She laughed, which lent a flush of pink to her cheeks and lit a glimmer in her caramel-colored eyes.

      Damn, she was pretty—even casually dressed in blue jeans and a blouse she hadn’t taken the time to tuck in, the bottom button still undone.

      “Besides,” he added, “I didn’t want you to think that you were going to starve while living out in the boondocks. And the truth is, I’m pretty good at fixing breakfast.”

      “That reminds me,” she said, “I’ll need to make a grocery run sometime today. That is, unless you want to do it.”

      He reached into his pocket, withdrew his wallet and peeled out several hundred dollars. “Will this cover whatever you have on the list you made?”

      “That’ll be more than enough.” She folded the bills in half, then tucked them into the front pocket of her jeans. “My plan is to get started with the inventory and packing. Then I’ll take a break and go to the market sometime this afternoon.”

      “That sounds good to me.” He nodded toward the coffeepot. “It just finished brewing. Would you like a cup?”

      “No, thanks. I’ll finish the orange juice instead.”

      He

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