LITMIR.BIZ

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      She paused, fork in midair. “When are you leaving?”

      She seemed surprised—as if he’d announced he was going tomorrow.

      Would she miss him if he was to go so soon? Or would she be relieved? He knew she didn’t like having her name linked with his in the tabloids.

      “Not until after the weddings in February. I’m sure the whole town will be glad to see the lot of us go and take the sleazy paparazzi with us.”

      “Oh, I don’t know about that. I think a few of the townspeople are enjoying the notoriety.”

      “Maybe. But some of them are just fame and fortune seekers, looking for the opportunity to get a piece of the limelight. I can’t stand people like that. If they had any idea how terribly difficult it is to go about their lives and protect their families from bloodthirsty newshounds stalking them every second, maybe they’d rethink that.”

      She shifted in her seat, and he wondered if his tirade had made her uncomfortable. He’d never been able to stomach the poor little rich boy image, either.

      It wasn’t as though he was trying to sell her on becoming a permanent fixture in his life, thank goodness. Because, if he was, he was sure making a jolly muck of it.

      And as pleasant as the thought of having her become his temporary lover was, he knew better than that. The two of them were as different as night and day, as oil and water, as...

      He glanced across the table at her, wondering if her thoughts had strayed in that direction, too. After all, they’d been tiptoeing around a temporary relationship of sorts—laughing and sharing, holding hands and kissing each other senseless.

      The glimmer in her eyes, which had been glowing in the candlelight just moments ago, seemed to have dimmed—or perhaps that was merely his imagination.

      If he had made a muddle of things, then perhaps that was just as well. Nothing could come of this—whatever this was. And the sooner he put that fool notion out of his head, the better.

      So why couldn’t he keep his gaze or his thoughts to himself?

      * * *

      Four days later, Amber entered the side door of the Horseback Hollow Grange Hall, carrying her saloon-girl costume on a coat hanger. Of course, no one knew exactly what it was, since she’d carefully draped a green plastic trash bag over it, hiding it from public view.

      To be perfectly honest, she was beginning to have second thoughts about agreeing to show up for the stupid dance rehearsal/audition that Larry Byerly from casting had lined up for today. But after Gram had gone to so much trouble to make the ruffled dress, which was actually pretty darn good, she hadn’t had the heart to consider changing her mind.

      Besides, she’d been avoiding Jensen ever since their date at the Golden Horseshoe the other night, and moving toward a future without him seemed to be a good game plan—and one that would keep her heart from getting any more involved than it might otherwise be. The problem was, she was falling for the guy—like it or not—and could see heartache coming at her like a raging bull.

      And though she had no business dancing the cancan, even in the privacy of her own bedroom, she’d agreed to come out today and accept some “private instruction” to see if she was “teachable.” Even if she wasn’t, they still wanted her to be the face on their ad campaign and planned to do a trial photo shoot today.

      She thought the whole thing was just plain nuts, but she got a kick out of it, too. So she would listen to whatever they had to say.

      Nothing like a little down-home notoriety, huh? But if there was something she knew deep in her soul about her fellow townspeople, it was that they were usually a forgiving lot—at least, with each other and when given time.

      She knew she wouldn’t be a complete dud today. She’d done a little acting in high school and had twirled around in front of the mirror a lot as a kid. She really couldn’t compete with a professional dancer, though.

      Besides, riding in the Wild West Show was going to keep her busy enough. So she probably ought to tell Larry to forget it, to go find his local gal somewhere else since most of the townsfolk would be opposed to one of their own having anything to do with Cowboy Country USA.

      It was just that she’d never liked people telling her what she should or shouldn’t try out for. It only made her more determined to give it her best shot.

      “Miss Rogers!” Larry called out. “It’s good to see you. I was afraid you might not make it. Come and meet GiGi LaSalle, the choreographer. She’ll work with you for twenty minutes, then we’ll see how quickly you catch on. It’s all very simple.”

      Yeah, right. She smiled and greeted GiGi, a tall, slender woman in her early thirties. “I...uh...brought a costume. Should I put it on?”

      “By all means.” Larry pointed toward the rear exit. “The ladies’ room is down there.”

      Amber knew exactly where it was. She’d been coming to the Grange Hall for wedding receptions, family reunions and pancake breakfasts sponsored by the volunteer fire department since she was a kid.

      “I’ll be right back,” she told him.

      Moments later, she stood before the mirror, all decked out in the red-satin-and-black-lace ensemble Gram had created, her shoulders bare, her breasts more prominently displayed than she was used to. She tugged at the fabric, hoping to cover up a bit of the swell, to no avail.

      She supposed the costume wasn’t all that revealing, at least, by some people’s standards. But while a lot of women liked showing off their wares, she usually kept her blouses buttoned nearly to the neck—other than that top she’d worn to Smokey Joe’s. The one that Jensen seemed to think had caused every cowboy in the place to gawk at her.

      Just the thought of his jealousy drew a smile to her lips, and she cocked her head to the side, assessing herself in a way she never had before.

      Dressed in denim and cotton, she’d always thought of herself as just one of the cowboys—only a bit on the feminine side. But in red satin and lace, with every curve blatantly exposed one way or another, there was no doubt she was a female through and through—and pretty darn sexy, if she did say so herself.

      “Miss Rogers?” Larry called out. “We don’t have all day. I have other dancers coming in to audition—and we need to be out of here by six o’clock. The mayor’s daughter is having her wedding rehearsal here tonight.”

      Amber quit her preening and exited the restroom, carrying her folded street clothes and boots with her.

      “Oh, wow,” Larry said. “I knew it. You were a natural.”

      She tugged at her neckline. “No, I’m not. I’ve never had a dance lesson in my life—other than this one.”

      “You’re a natural in that costume. Who’ll care if you flub up? Everyone will be watching you in that dress.” He glanced at GiGi. “Don’t you agree?”

      “She definitely has potential, in a Podunk rodeo queen sort of style.”

      Who was GiGi calling Podunk?

      She nearly objected when GiGi reached out and grasped a lock of her hair. “Do you mind?”

      “Mind what?”

      “If I just improve on what you’re working with here. Larry, give me five minutes and be prepared to be wowed.”

      Amber sighed and gave a little shrug. Gram used to try to dress her up for Sunday school, especially at Easter and Christmas. But Amber usually threw such a fit, the poor woman gave up.

      Doggone it, Gram had once said, if the Good Lord knew how hard it was to get you ready to go to church, young lady, He’d tell me to stay home.

      GiGi walked to the corner of the room, where she had a multidrawer case of some kind. She brought it back and opened it up, revealing

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