Page 61 of White Collar Rancher

“Yes. That’s Emmett. The one I never told you about,” she said flatly.

He winced. “Priya.”

“Save it. I’m here to raise money for a worthy cause and I’ve been standing around long enough.” She spun on a heel and promptly lost her balance.

Justin caught her elbow and steadied her. “When this shindig is done, we’re talking. Really talking.”

She pinned him with a hard glare.

He softened his grip, then reluctantly released her. “Hear me out. Please.”

“Only if you think you can do the same.” Switching her concentration back to staying upright, she strutted away.

That ass. He drank in the sight of her rounded backside swaying away like a man who’d been stranded in a desert for a week. She was upset with him, and he couldn’t blame her. She’d put herself out there and he’d scorned her. He was willing to do his penance and win her back.

His check was already written, his donation made to the children’s hospital. Tonight, his only mission was winning Priya Patel back. But first, he’d wait for her to work the crowd like Natasha had warned him she needed to. Priya was here for a more important reason than both of them.

I’ll let you come if you can be her most fabulous arm candy. Her ex just told me that he recently got engaged and his fiancée will be there. I haven’t had a free moment to tell her. Oh, and how much can you donate?

His mouth quirked. That conversation had been a ride. Her ex was a distinguished man who exuded confidence and intelligence. Money. Style. Taste. He saved lives and still had time for eighteen holes at the country club. Priya could have a guy like that. But instead, she’d wanted to be with a sheep rancher.

What the hell had he been thinking? That she would coerce him into a relationship? He’d realized way too fucking late he should be thanking every star in the sky that he was the one she’d chosen to be with.

He scanned the elegant ballroom. This wasn’t his first black-tie event, but at the moment, it felt like the most critical, despite the fact he didn’t have a dime riding on the outcome. Only his heart.

The next two hours, he worked the room. Anyone who wasn’t already engaged in conversation, he hit up.

Are you a doctor or a donor? I’m here with an OB/GYN. She delivered my son. Saved him, actually. Our little town has less than ten thousand people, and his mom was taken by a sudden illness. If Dr. Patel hadn’t operated when she had, he would’ve had severe complications. Where we’re at, the ambulance ride to a bigger hospital would take at least an hour. And getting a life-flight plane or helicopter wouldn’t have saved my son. This was summer. In winter, the weather can put a stop to anything with an engine. Then he went to his speech about how Natasha’s children’s hospitals helped provide long-distance support and care until children could get to a bigger facility.

It wasn’t long before he’d gathered groups of people to listen to the story of Isaiah’s birth. One he’d gladly tell over and over if it would benefit more kids.

Once the latest crowd dispersed to talk finances and arrange donations, a waiter skirted around him, pausing long enough for Justin to grab a drink. He refrained from draining the flute like a shot glass. He wasn’t used to all this talking.

Priya appeared at his shoulder, a bemused expression across her pretty face. She stopped next to him, shoulder to shoulder. He turned to face her. She hardly wore any makeup. Her thick, dark lashes framed her golden eyes better than any mascara could. A touch of glittery shadow was powdered across her lids, and any gloss or lipstick she had donned was long gone. He liked her natural lip color better.

She glanced sideways at him. “I think you’ve scored yourself an invite to every fund-raiser Natasha puts on.”

“They like hearing my perspective.”

“You make them like hearing it. A handsome single father gushing about how well his baby came out of a traumatic situation.” She rolled her eyes toward him. “You make me sound like a hero.”

She still wasn’t facing him, so he stepped in front of her. “Two things. One, you are a hero. You’re not just my hero, but you’re the hero of every baby and mom you treat. You’re the hero of every nineteen-year-old whose ovarian cancer symptoms were blown off by her regular doctor. You’re the champion of every woman trying to talk herself out of a—what do you ladies call them? Slammogram?”

The corner of her mouth lifted. “It’s my duty as a doctor.”

“And it’s Caleb’s duty to pull people out of burning buildings and car wrecks. He even gets paid for it. Yet we still call firemen our heroes. You, Priya Patel, don’t get to decide.”

“All right. What’s the second thing?”

He let a slow smile spread across his face. “You think I’m handsome?”

She huffed but couldn’t hold back a laugh. “That’s what you gleaned from my comment?”

He rubbed his bare face. Clean-shaven wasn’t bad, but the beard had grown on him. “It’s the new look, right? And my haircut?”

“It’s the expensive suit that looks like it was sewn onto your body.”

“This old thang?”

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