Opening his eyes, Grady diverted his gaze, concentrating instead on seeing the vista in front, a sight of which he never tired. A couple of his horses grazed in the field on the grass that was getting sparse now, given the onset of winter. He’d need to feed them later but, for a moment, he forgot his chores and the angst about his unwanted guest and sucked in the deep, clean air of eastern Colorado.

The sky was a brilliant cloudless blue, the winter sunshine more for show than effect, given it was a brisk forty-two, but they’d forecast snow for the next week, so he’d take the sunshine—weak or not. Too soon the sky would be bleak, tree branches would be a parched frozen gray, the fields blanketed in white.

Right now, there was still a tinge of green, and the sight of it filled him with a sense of belonging so profound it swept his breath away.

Even if there was a woman in blue jeans messing up the picture.

Blue jeans and no coat—just a thin-looking long-sleeve T-shirt. For God’s sake, she was going to freeze to death out here.

As if she knew he was thinking about her, she moved back from the rail a pace or two and slowly turned in a circle, her face lifted to the sky, her arms outstretched. It was the kind of pose kids adopted when it was snowing, opening their mouths to catch some flakes. She wasn’t opening her mouth, but she appeared to be trying to catch some sunshine.

There was nothing particularly remarkable about her face. She wasn’t stunningly pretty or ethereally beautiful or even chipmunk cute. She was kind of average-looking. Not the sort of face that launched a thousand ships. More…girl next door.

That should have made him feel better. It didn’t.

It was on her second turn that she spotted him standing with his hands on his hips, staring at her like some creeper, and she gave him a little wave. Grady didn’t return it.

“God…sorry,” she called. An easy grin spread over her face as she broke into a half jog.

“You must be Joshua.” She pulled to a stop at the bottom of the four steps, her warm breath misting into the cool air.

Her cheeks were flushed and her nose was pink and there was absolutely nothing average about her eyes. They were lapis lazuli, and they looked at him with such frankness, like they were assessing him and not just physically but mentally, cataloging and memorizing every single detail, even the ones he didn’t want anyone to see.

“Grady,” he ground out, feeling exposed and pissed off that this woman who couldn’t even dress for the weather and was driving a cartoon car was having such an effect on him. “People call me Grady.”

If she’d picked up on his surliness, she ignored it, tramping up the stairs to stand beside him, holding out her hand to shake, which Grady took reluctantly. “I’m Suzanne St. Michelle.”