Cherokee Baby

He studied her mouth. “Irish?”

“Yes.” She wet her lips, wondering how it would feel to kiss him, to press her—

“What’s going on here?” a masculine voice bellowed.

The cowboy flinched and Julianne nearly jumped out of her skin.

He recovered first. Adjusting his hat, he addressed the intruder. “Just helping a new guest with her fallen luggage.”

The intruder laughed. “Sure looks odd. You two kneeling there on the ground.”

Julianne glanced up and connected the disembodied voice with an older man. Short, paunchy and nearly bald, he wore a big, friendly smile. Another guest, she deducted.

“Yeah, I guess it does look odd.” The cowboy pointed to the stubborn green case, which lay open at his side. “But I’m still working on it.”

“So I see.” The older man turned to Julianne. “I’m Jim Robbins. I come here every summer.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Julianne McKenzie. It’s my first visit. I’ll be here for a week, with my cousins.”

“Then I’m sure I’ll see you at the barn dance on Wednesday, if not before. I come here to fish, but the missus prods me to dance.” He shifted to the cowboy. “Good luck with that, Bobby.”

“Thanks, Jim.”

The other guest departed, sauntering off the porch and into the dry Texas air.

Julianne looked at her companion, who concentrated on her suitcase. “So you’re Bobby,” she said weakly.

He nodded, then cleared his throat. “Bobby Elk. I own this place.”

Bobby Elk. Elk Ridge Ranch. It was a simple enough connection, but one that surprised her. “I thought you just worked here.”

“My mistake. I should have introduced myself first. Especially to a guest.” He glanced up for a second. “So, your name is Julianne McKenzie?”

“Yes.”

“Glad to have you aboard, Ms. McKenzie. If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you.” Their conversation had turned professional, but she could still feel the heat between them. The mutual attraction.

While he worked on her suitcase, she studied his deft movements, his calloused fingers. And that’s when she saw the gold band. The wedding ring on his left hand.

The air in her lungs whooshed out. He was married.

The son of a bitch was married, and behaving just like her ex.

How many times had she pictured her former husband flirting with his secretary? Kissing her? Holding her?

She wondered if Bobby Elk’s wife knew that he checked out other women? That he gazed directly into their eyes? Touched their faces? Their hair?

God, she hated men.

“I got it,” he said, closing her case with a resounding click.

And none too soon, she thought.

Julianne came to her feet. “I better go. My cousins are probably wondering what happened to me.”

He stood, too, towering over her by nearly a foot. “I’ll carry your bag.”

She wanted to argue with him that she could do it herself, but instead she walked ahead of him, tossing a cool look over her shoulder. “Suit yourself.”

She entered the lobby, a room boasting of country charm. The walls, constructed of oak, set off a stone fireplace. A floor-to-ceiling window offered a stunning view of flowers, trees and hills.

Bobby stopped to say her name. “Ms. McKenzie?”

She turned, huffed out a breath. “Yes?”

“I offended you, didn’t I?”

“Yes, Mr. Elk. You did. And I’m sure you know why.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not usually so forward with the guests.”

Yeah, right. “My cousins are waiting.” She spotted Kay and Mern, watching her from the front desk.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll leave your bag with Maria. Our receptionist,” he clarified. “She’ll arrange for someone to take this to your room. Enjoy your stay.”

He carried her suitcase to the counter, and Julianne studied his limp, the slight glitch in his walk. Served him right, she thought. Whatever injury he’d sustained, he deserved.

She waited until he left the lobby before she approached the reception desk.

Her cousins met her with eager faces. “So that’s what kept you,” Mern said.

“Who is he?” Kay asked, smiling like a Tasmanian devil.

Mern and Kay were sisters, one blond and one brunette, both adept at traveling. Kay already sipped a drink from the nearby bar, and Mern leaned against the long oak counter, where she’d probably been in the process of checking them into their rooms.

“That was Señor Bobby,” an unfamiliar, heavily accented voice said. “He built this ranch.”

Julianne turned, realizing that Maria, the Latina receptionist, had answered Kay’s question.

“Handsome,” Kay mused.

“Married,” Julianne put in quickly. “Saw the ring myself.” A simple gold band. The kind her ex used to wear.

“No, no, no.” This from Maria, who waved her plump arms. Apparently she didn’t mind insinuating herself into their conversation. “Señor Bobby isn’t married. Not anymore.” She made the sign of the cross, in a very religious, very respectful gesture. “His wife, she died. Three years ago.”

The news struck Julianne like a fist. Like a hard, shameful blow.