Page 3 of The Cowboy's Temporary Solution

Up at the front of the plane, the door's been closed and the prop-engines are firing up. I'm just about to shut off my own phone when I see I missed a text from Mom. Opening it up, I wish I'd turned the damn thing off before boarding.

As the plane taxis into position and the attendants give their bored safety presentation, I'm left with the image of a woman I don't want to see, my mother's insistent attempts at forcing us together, and a crazy idea coming together in my brain as I turn back toward the woman beside me.

2

SERENITY

I'm a curvy woman in wrinkled clothes. I obviously don't belong in his world, I'm way too young for him, and the ruggedly handsome cowboy trying his best to fold what has to be a good six foot, four inches of Levis, flannel, and muscle into the cramped seat of the small plane beside me could have his pick of any girl he winks at.

I bet he's on his way back home to a house full of kids and his high school sweetheart homecoming queen wife now.

There's no way the interest he seems to have taken in me is anything more than polite.

My eyes take advantage of the question he just asked me, using the excuse to look his way to slide to where his left hand-- his very bare, with no-trace-of-a-tan-line, left hand-- rests on the top of his thigh while I tell him about my business in Slow River Valley.

Just before we're asked to put our seats and tray tables up and turn our electronics off, the man beside me checks his phone one more time.

A picture of a blonde woman flashes on the screen in his hands and I catch a glimpse of the words "...excited to see you..." in the message the accompanies it.

Not that I'm spying, mind you. But seeing the woman in the photo is a healthy wake-up call to keep my expectations in check.

She's a skinny blonde with big boobs and a vivacious smile, wearing a bright pink t-shirt with a low V-neck.

Everything about the woman in the picture screams exact opposite of me.

She was probably the high school homecoming queen...head cheerleader...woman he's going home to. Ring or no ring.

So when he shuts down his phone and asks me about the boyfriend he assumes I've left behind in the city, I'm one hundred percent sure he's just making polite conversation.

"So, no boyfriend back in the city then?"

"No. No boyfriend."

He seems genuinely surprised that I'm single.

I could swear I see his eyes darken, the pupils widening in the soft hazel irises before a smiles ghosts his lips.

"You've got one now."

"Excuse me?"

My head tilts to one side as if the sand that's obviously gotten in my ears might pour out so I can hear better.

"Hear me out-- you're headed to the valley to do a bunch of research on the local history, right?"

The man beside me leans in, looking far more serious than anyone with those words coming out of their mouth should be.

"So you must already have a list of the people and places you're going to be researching, right?"

I nod cautiously, keenly aware that I'm trapped between the plane's window and the man talking crazy next to me.

"Wouldn't you rather spend your week meetin' the actual families that run those ranches? Maybe touring some of theplaces? Hearing the family stories that didn't make it into the papers?"

"Well, yeah," I admit hesitantly, "that'd be great. I tried to set up interviews with several of the ranch families but most of them never returned my calls, and the ones that did made it clear they weren't interested.

"The only way I'd be able to get those interviews if I had a local connection."

At that, his handsome face breaks into a full-on grin. The soft caramel eyes creasing at the corners to show how deep the lines there really go. The stubbled jawline growing sharper, white teeth flashing behind lips that should absolutely not have me listening so intently to what he's proposing.

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