Even in the brief, happy first year of her marriage to Tomas when they’d both been doing well in their careers, her focus had been saving money for the bigger home he hoped to purchase for the family he supposedly wanted. So she’d never indulged in the kinds of high-end touches that graced every corner of Gage’s place.

She clicked the Send button, emailing her attorney proof that she hadn’t been the one to run up the debt Tomas now wanted her to share responsibility for. It didn’t matter that they’d been divorced for months now, he still found ways to violate the terms of the arrangement, or to claim she had, all of which cost them both a fortune in legal fees. Between that nonsense and his live-in lover stationing herself in Elena’s former home day and night to make sure Elena never removed so much as a dish towel, her frustration level with the whole process was through the roof.

No sooner had the email sent than her phone lit up with a text from Gage.

The fields are still muddy. I have outerwear for you so you don’t ruin your clothes. I’m at your door.

She lightly swiped her thumb over the words while they sank in. Holding on to her enmity wasn’t as easy when he did thoughtful things. It made her remember the past she’d shared with him before things fell apart. Before he’d revealed his judgmental side.

Casting aside the cashmere throw, Elena padded in stocking feet across the dense Persian rug and through the sitting room to the outer double doors. She opened them to find her host dressed in a taupe riding jacket trimmed with dark brown leather at the collar. From his jeans and boots to the wide, camel-colored Stetson on his head, Gage Striker fit the role of an American cowboy with enticing ease.

All the more reason she needed to remember they weren’t friends and she wasn’t here as his pampered guest, no matter how much she enjoyed the beautiful accommodations. She needed to keep some barriers firmly in place.

“Good morning. I come bearing gifts.” He held out a heavy denim jacket with a shearling collar for her. A box with the name of a saddlery shop sat at his feet. “Are you still game for seeing the ranch?” His gaze roamed over her yoga pants and slouchy sweater.

“I’ll be honest. I spent half the morning thinking about how to give you the slip.” She took the coat, not surprised to see the designer label, and the tag that indicated the garment was the perfect size for her. She didn’t waste any time before she reset her defenses. “I’m not sure I should let you buy me off, Gage. Don’t journalists frown on bribes?”