Page 12 of Choosing the Montana Cowboy

Had he? All he could really remember was him trying to come up with every logical reason under the sun as to why that resort shouldn’t be built here and her batting them away like flies. “No one raised their voices, if that’s what you mean. Much.”

“Dammit, Samuel.” Gran swatted a hot pad at his head. “We can’t afford to piss off the one potential ally we have on their side.”

“Ally? Gran, she’s determined to find a way to make this resort work. Nothing I said last night swayed her an inch.”

He dropped his plate onto the family table.

We’ll just have to agree to disagree…

Right, like he was going to let that happen.

“That why you’re so hot and bothered this morning?”

He met his grandmother’s gaze and found amusement there. “I’m not hot and bothered, dammit. I’m… frustrated.”

“Don’t we all know it.” She removed a pan from the stove, collected her half-full coffee mug, and joined him at the table. “High time you find a way to burn off some of that frustration.”

“We are not having this conversation, Gran,” he said, sawing through his steak with more force than necessary. If he had a dollar for every time she or Gramps or even Madison brought up him needing to get backout thereand date, he could have bought himself a new mare by now. And he’d tried dating, darn it, but there hadn’t been anyone in a two-hundred-mile radius who’d managed spark his interest since Sasha had left.

Not until last night.

Whatwasit about Natalie that had him all out of sorts? Was it because Gramps had teased him about her from the start? That subtle, sexy perfume he’d experienced up close when she tumbled into him? Those curves that begged a man to pull her close and explore each one, thoroughly?

He shoveled food into his mouth rather than admit any of this aloud, then thanked Gran and got the heck out of Dodge. Sam opted to work alone that day, intent on getting as many repairs done to their easternmost barbed wire fences before the midday sun made it unbearably hot. Mending fences required concentration to keep from getting torn up in the process, which he’d hoped would help keep Natalie off his mind. And it did, mostly, all thanks to their meanest, thickest, and most prized bull, Old Stubby.

Sweat trickled down Sam’s back as he paused midday to both appreciate his progress and estimate the remaining needed repairs. Old Stubby had made one hell of a mess the last time he’d gotten loose. Pa figured he’d caught wind of one of Gran’s wild berry pies cooling on the windowsill; Gramps suspected it was the call of Miss Petunia, one of the Highland cows being bred at the next ranch over. Sam didn’t care what it was, so much as he wanted whatever was calling Old Stubby to stop. Mending barbed wire was one of his least favorite chores.

He was just pulling to a stop before the next section of damaged fencing when Jackson Dean’s “Don’t Come Lookin’” broke through the silence. He glanced at his cell phone’s screen then the clock on his dash before answering the call handsfree.

“Everything okay?” he asked Gran.

“We got a call that Miss Natalie is headed over to the Main Street Diner to meet with the mayor. So, I rounded up my quilting group to be there at the same time. Figure we can listen in on their conversation.”

Sam shook his head. Gran and her group of nosey townies were never to be underestimated when on a fact-finding mission. “So, you need me back at the lodge?”

“No, Norah’s here and can watch over things for me. What I need is a ride into town. You at a good stopping point?”

Sam squinted at the mangled fencing ahead, responsibility warring with weary. “My arm could be twisted. What happened to Gramps? The prunes get to him again?”

“No, the old fool can’t find his teeth. I swear, Samuel, sometimes I think that man loses them on purpose.”

Sam laughed, the sound filling his otherwise empty cab. It felt good to laugh, something he didn’t do as often as he used to. But then, it wasn’t always easy to be lighthearted when the woman he’d given his heart to had crushed it like a herd of cattle over grass sprouts in the spring. “I’ll head back in. Wanted to stop by the Fletcher Law Office and talk to Ren about our lease agreement anyway.”

Yes, it was probably a long shot, but again, they needed to explore every possible angle if they were going to find a way to block this blasted resort. Ren Fletcher was good at taking all that legal jargon and turning it into nice, plain English. Right now, that was what they all needed.

“I figured you’d say as much, so I took the liberty of calling him earlier,” Gran said. She was so good at reading his mind. “Said he’d be ready to go over it with us late afternoon. Probably best that you go, anyway; your grandfather doesn’t always do so well with taking notes. You can drop me off at the diner on your way.”

The diner—where Natalie was supposed to be. Did he dare tempt fate by crossing paths with her two days in a row?

At least last night he could honestly say he hadn’t been looking to find her. Sam had thought himself lucky for getting a chance to talk to her away from the larger group. That was mistake number one.

Mistake number two was thinking she’d be a reasonable woman. She hadn’t been swayed an inch by any of his arguments at Grey’s Saloon. Perfectly logical, reasonable arguments. Why was it so darned important that her company drop their foo-foo resort here, anyway? They had a whole continent to choose from—go set up camp somewhere else.

And while they were at it, they could take their all-too-appealing business representative with them. His thoughts wandered back to that view of her climbing the Bramble House steps last night, after he’d parked across the street to make sure she got back safely, twirling that business card in his hand. Part of him wished he could have followed her inside and up to her room, no talking about that damn resort needed.

“Why don’t I hear you throwing that truck into gear yet, son?”

“Sorry, Gran, had to make a note of where I’d be coming back to tomorrow.”

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