Page 2 of Choosing the Montana Cowboy

The footsteps paused, and Nat looked up to find a trio at the opening to the room watching her. A white-haired couple—both wearing cowboy boots, she in a modest sundress and the man she presumed to be Eli dressed in flannel, denim, and grinning broadly—and a dark-haired cowboy in worn denim, a clean, ivory T-shirt, cowboy boots, and carrying a Stetson in his hands. The younger cowboy wore a neatly trimmed beard, the faintest hint of gray sprinkled throughout. His green eyes studied her from across the room, wariness radiating from his tall, muscular frame. Unlike Eli, there was nothing smiley about this guy.

Yep, Nat had her work cut out for her. Lucky for her, she was up for the task.I’ll win them over in no time. Even Mr. Smiley over there.

“Good evening,” she said, offering them a broad smile as she set out cups on the side table. “Are you here for the public hearing?”

“Sure are,” Eli said. “You the lady putting it on?”

“I am.” She stepped forward and offered him her hand. “Natalie Wright with Terakion Enterprises. And you are?”

“Elijah Miles,” he said, taking her hand. “This is my wife, Sunnie, and my grandson, Sam.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” Natalie said, offering the others nods. “Anyone hungry? Thirsty? I’ve got cookies from the Java Café and fruit punch to go along with them.”

“Gonna need something stronger than punch for this,” Sam said under his breath.

That comment earned a smack on the arm from the woman beside him. “Punch would be lovely, thank you.”

On a nod, Nat filled three small cups and made her way toward the front row where they’d taken seats. She took a quick glance at the room’s wall clock—they had more than thirty minutes yet before the hearing was set to start. Plenty of time to engage with the newcomers and start building a rapport.

“There you are.” She handed a cup to each of the older couple first, careful not to spill anything as she shifted the cups in her grasp. They thanked her for the beverages, and she turned to offer the last cup to Sam. “And here you—”

Nat’s heel caught on the aged carpet, jerking her step to a halt. Her upper body, however, didn’t get the memo. She tumbled forward, the cowboy quick to catch her before she face-planted into his chest. The contents of Sam’s drink, however, flew past his extended arms and smacked into his chest.

They both looked to the newly painted bright red bullseye painted on his shirt, and Nat felt Sam’s grip on her tighten ever so slightly. His warm, firm, man-who-most-definitely-works-with-his-hands grip. She’d read those kinds of descriptions in romance novels before but never experienced that type of contact for herself. Good grief, no wonder the heroines in those stories always melted into the hero’s arms. How could they not?

“Are you okay?”

Her gaze flashed to his, mere inches separating them. There was an intensity in the depths of his green eyes that hadn’t been there before. “I… Yes. Thank you.”

“Snacks and a show,” Eli said beside them with a chuckle. “We need to come to public hearings more often.”

The comment pulled her out of whatever handsome-cowboy stupor she’d fallen into, and Natalie scrambled to put some space between them and get her wits about her. “Sam, I amso, so sorry. Here, let me find something to clean this up.”

She hurried across the room for napkins, stumbling as her heel caught on another bare spot in the floor. If this kept up, she’d be kicking off her shoes and going barefoot the rest of the night.

“Don’t worry about it.” Sam rose from his seat. “I’ve got an extra shirt in the truck.”

His grandmother nodded. “Good. But don’t you go getting any crazy ideas about leaving and not coming back. We need you here.”

On a grunt, he strode from the room without another look back. Natalie’s heart sank. So much for winning over the early attendees.

“Don’t you worry about Sam,” his grandmother said. “A little punch won’t make him melt.”

“That’s good to know,” Nat said, trying to smile.

But it might make winning over this crowd a little tougher.

*

Sam Miles satin a wrinkled Luke Bryan T-shirt he’d pulled from the back of his truck, glaring at Natalie’s slideshow. Not because she’d ruined his favorite American Eagle shirt—clothes were just clothes, nothing worth getting upset over—but because her company’s ridiculous development was about to undermine the ranch land his family had worked for five generations. He’d planned to come here tonight and get the other locals riled up, get them to fight back. But then Natalie had gone and fallen into his arms, and damn if the clumsy, curvy, out-of-towner hadn’t managed to stir feelings inside him that had long been dormant.

Needy feelings. Hungry feelings.

Feelings he had no business having here or now. And definitely not with the woman sent here to convince the town that big business was in their best interest. Which was wrong, by the way. This River Bend Resort of hers would both take farming land away from the Flying J Ranch and be in direct competition with their own lodge and small collection of cabins. Surely, she had to know that. And if she did and was still here pushing for some new resort to be built, then she wasn’t someone he wanted to be interested in.

Too bad his libido didn’t seem to be listening.

“The resort will offer our clients a mixture of luxury with the Big Sky country rustic feel. And when they’re ready to step outside and explore their surroundings, that’s when we steer them to you. To your shops, your restaurants, your locally owned excursions. We don’t want to be just another resort; we want to be your partner in the hospitality industry.”

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