Page 8 of The Guy Who Stole My Ranch

“Depends.”

“On what?” I asked.

“On…” Brooke trailed off, then threw a leg over the bench and waved Frank to her. “Come here, you silly dog.”

I let him go, and he went to her and pressed up against her calf. She dug her fingers into his hips and head, and he looked like he was in doggie heaven.

For the first time, I was jealous of my dog.

I’d dated Carlotta because I’d felt the same pull to her that I’d had to Victoria, but it had turned out that Carlotta was faking most of her personality. I felt drawn to Brook in a different way. She didn’t carry the same light in her that the other two did. She exuded confidence and toughness, but she was also feminine, even in baggy jeans and a hoodie.

Brooke had come to my mind more than once over the past six months. I’d missed Victoria and Logan’s wedding because of work, something that I still felt bad about, and had figured I’d never see Brooke again.

Yet here she was, right in front of me.

I didn’t believe in Fate, but I also refused to let an opportunity go to waste. Would she be willing to meet me for breakfast the next morning? I’d have to fly back commercially, because my sister had the jet scheduled out of Denver, but I could handle that.

Especially if it meant spending a few minutes with this woman.

“It’s good to see you, Brooke.”

She narrowed her eyes at me.

I pressed on. “I was wondering if—” The red alert sound fromStar Trek: The Next Generationblasted out of my phone.

We both jumped. I cursed under my breath and gave Brook an apologetic wince. “This is my mother.”

Brooke raised her eyebrows again, and I could tell she was dying to ask me about the ring tone. Instead, she said, “If you need a minute, Frank can stay with me.”

“Thank you.” I walked away from her and answered. “Hello, Mother.”

“William? Where are you?”

No one but Patrick knew I was here. I’d even disabled my phone’s tracker for the day. “I’m out of the state.”

“It wasn’t on your schedule.”

“It was an emergency.”

“When will you be back?”

“Tomorrow.” I still wanted to ask Brooke to breakfast, so I added, “Evening.”

“Good. We have an invitation to the opera, and I’ve found the perfect woman for you.”

Of course she had. I resisted the urge to kick a small branch that lay on the ground.

“Now that you’ve dumped Lotta, we need to find you someone else.” My mother sounded positively giddy. She hadn’t liked Carlotta—new money was still a stigma to some—and had assured me she had at least five women who were more beautiful and successful than Lotta for me to “try out.”

“Mother, my life is not a meet-market.” I knew the minute I let it slip from my lips that I shouldn’t have said it. Now she had an opening for her favorite tirade.

“William, you are the heir to the Harris fortune. As such, you need to find a wife and have some babies.”

There were so many things wrong with what she’d said, but instead of addressing them, I clamped my teeth shut.

“If you are seen with a different woman each week for a month, the rest of the world will know that you’re back on the market but aren’t ready to settle down quite yet. We can use that to our advantage.”

“What if I’m not ready to date again yet? After all, my heart is broken.”

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