"Who's your friend, Wylda? I don't think I've gotten a chance to say hello," said the main standing at the foot of her lounger. With hands tactically placed on his hips no doubt to accentuate his pasty white pectoral muscles, he was grinning like a fool.

"Dave, Ali. Ali, Dave." Wylda nodded from one to the other. "There, you've met."

Dave took a step forward. "Nice to meet you, Ali. May I?" he asked, taking a seat on the end of the lounger without waiting for her reply.

"I was actually just going to—" she began, but catching Hank still watching them as he gathered up the ladder made Ali reconsider. "Well, I guess I can stay a little bit longer."

Plastering on her best pretend smile, she listened to Dave give what was probably a well-rehearsed personal biography encompassing everything from being a commodities trader in Chicago to having recently gone through a messy—and expensive—divorce. By the time he was done, Ali was sure she could not only make a great deal on next year's corn futures, but also avoid costly legal settlements with a well-written prenup.

"So, do you ladies have any plans for tonight?" Dave addressed them both while looking only at Ali.

She froze, sure the shock of the proposition was evident in her face. "Um, I just got here yesterday, so I'm really not ready for a night out quite yet."

"Nonsense," Dave said, dismissing her excuse. "There's this great bar not too far from here. We can grab a bite, maybe have a few drinks . . .." He put a hand on her thigh.

Ali jumped from the forwardness of the warm, pudgy touch. Using the momentum, she quickly got to her feet.

"Thanks for the invite. We'll think about it." Grabbing Wylda's hand, she pulled the other woman up beside her and gathered her clothes. "Sorry to run, but we're meeting someone for lunch."

When they were out of earshot and Wylda had put her sundress back on, Ali leaned over and giggled. "Oh my god. Was that guy for real?"

"Believe it or not, he's actually not the biggest wanker here," Wylda said, playfully slapping her on the back.

At the main building, the kitchen crew was setting up for a cookout. Large smokers and grills were already hot and packed full of sizzling meat and roasting vegetables, and having skipped breakfast, Ali didn't realize how hungry she was until the smoky smell hit her nose.

Pete was camped out at one of the tables on the terrace, hiding behind a thick hardback novel. His tall frame topped with a floppy red hat was unmistakable, and they made a beeline directly to him. But before they even sat down, Liz came running out of the lodge in a heated discussion with an older man in a chef's uniform. They passed by in a hurry, but Ali caught enough to hear that the portable refrigeration unit was on the fritz, and the man responsible for catering lunch wasn't happy about it.

After inspecting an extension cord running to the machine, Liz pulled out a cell phone and dialed. Not getting an answer, she thrust the device back into her pocket and called out to the staff gathered around, "Does anyone know where Hank is?"

She looked from one face to another, but no one spoke up. Ali sure as hell wasn't going to be the one to do it. The last thing she needed was to publicly imply that he had a new admirer. If she wanted any chance with the cowboy, she was going to have to be smart about it.

Gritting her teeth, Liz was noticeably holding back her emotions when Sheridan left her seat at a table in the back, hurried across the terrace, and ran down the lawn.

"I saw him earlier working on the tractor behind the barn," she answered, already heading in that direction. "I'll get him for you."

"Tell him to bring a generator!" Liz yelled after her.

Ali's table was halfway done with their salads when the black pickup drove across the manicured grass. After backing up to the preparation area, Hank exited the driver's side, while Sheridan got out from the passenger side. Rounding the hood, she followed him like a puppy dog as he unloaded the portable generator with one of the other ranch hands. Ali viciously stabbed a cherry tomato with her fork as her new nemesis fetched two glasses of lemonade, handing them over to the sweaty hunks after they'd finished connecting the equipment. She nearly choked on her next bite when Sheridan had the audacity to take a nearby cloth napkin and offered to wipe Hank's brow.

"Are you okay, peanut?" Pete patted her on the back as her eyes welled up with tears from coughing.

Ali swallowed and cleared her throat. "Peachy." She pursed her lips as Sheridan guided—or, more accurately, nudged—the cowboy up the terrace to a chair next to hers.

Teflon? Right. If he weren't interested, why would he make an effort to humor the woman?

Ali watched through the entire meal—from the braised brisket to the apple cobbler and every delectable morsel in between— as the caramel-skinned beauty fawned over the hunk that Ali hadn't even been able to address properly. What did Sheridan have that she didn't?

Ali scoffed at her own stupid question.

Nothing, that's what.

Guys weren't falling at her feet, sure, but she had certainly done well enough for herself in the past. Heck, she'd never even spent a Valentine's Day or New Year's Eve alone except by choice. Sure, those relationships usually never lasted longer than a few months, but avoiding serious commitments suited her lifestyle. Whether it was her beauty, athleticism, or brains, something had always seemed to snag the temporary object of her desires.

Until now.

Ali groaned. She couldn't just throw a backflip in the middle of the cookout even if her wrist wasn't in a cast—well, she could, but it would probably make her look more crazy than anything—and her looks obviously weren't enough to get Hank's attention. 

She'd have to appeal to his intellectual side—hopefully he had one of those—but what would she say? She'd already blundered through her chance this morning, blowing that critical first impression. What could she talk about with a sexy ranch hand at a fancy rehabilitation program smack-dab in the middle of the Rocky Mountains? She certainly wasn't going to reveal how she had ended up here. He'd probably laugh at her foolishness for attempting to run a professional course with an unfamiliar horse.

Horses. Damn it, that was it. Why didn't she realize it earlier?

They were both horse people, and even if she was reluctant to get back in the saddle, they still probably shared the same passion for them.

She glanced at Hank's table again. He'd stood up, but luckily it wasn't to leave just yet. Liz had tapped him on the shoulder, and by their laughter, it appeared they were exchanging a humorous story. Liz was even coyly playing with a pendant on her necklace, twisting it around her fingers the way a flirty teen would do with her hair. Ali had to think of something fast before he left, but what could she casually mention in conversation about horses that would make Hank take an interest in her while not being totally out of left field?

She stared at a stain on the white-and-red checkerboard tablecloth. She could ask about the make-up of the lodge's herd; she'd seen a few Thoroughbreds in the stables. But he might ask why she didn't pay more attention in the first place. How would she respond to that without admitting she went to the barn specifically to see him again?

Ugh. This was impossible.

Another hearty laugh made her look up just in time to see Hank plant a kiss on Liz's cheek before saying good-bye. Crap. Wylda was wrong. He obviously wasn't immune to everyone at Pebble Creek and, by the look of things, he was possibly involved with none other than his boss. It was stupid of her to hope for anything now, but when he reached for his empty glass and headed toward the drinks table, Ali jumped to her feet and went in the same direction.

She rarely felt spiteful, but the emotion took over her common sense. Stopping behind a nearby chair, Ali took a deep breath, leaned closer to the man wearing the Cubs hat, and said the words that would have been unthinkable an hour ago. "You know what, Dave? I would love to go out with you tonight. Consider it a date."

Dear god, she hoped it was worth it, but the non-reaction from the cowboy—standing definitely close enough to hear—worried her as much as the pale broker's grin.