While she was studying herself, there was a hard rap at the front door.

Her heart went wild as she almost ran to open it. And there he was, wearing denim jeans that outlined his long powerful legs, and a blue shirt that was almost the twin of her own. She caught her breath.

So did he. Then he laughed. “Well, people can’t say that we don’t match,” he teased.

“No, they can’t.”

“Got everything you need?” he asked.

She patted her fanny pack. “Right here.” She made a face. “I know they’re out of style. I don’t care. I got this one in Mexico years ago. It’s soft leather and I love it. I hate purses,” she added. “They just get in the way and you stuff things you don’t even need in them.”

He grinned. “That’s why blue jeans have pockets,” he remarked, jingling his car keys and change.

She laughed.

“We’ll have to go in Bart’s best truck,” he warned her. He’d thought about renting a limousine with a driver, but he didn’t really want to give himself away so soon. He was enjoying being seen as just another cowboy. It was refreshing.

“I don’t mind trucks,” she said. “I ride around with Bill in his a lot. It’s got springs sticking out of the seats and a dash that was broken in two when he wrecked it and a crack in the windshield. It still runs,” she added, laughing.

What an attitude. Nothing seemed to faze her. He was more enchanted by the minute. She didn’t know who he was, or what he had, and she was as honest a person as he’d ever met. She didn’t mind beat-up trucks. What a change from women who complained that the gifts he gave them weren’t enough, when he gave diamonds and furs and gold. If he was jaded, he had good reasons for being that way.

He drove well, she noticed. Not too fast, or too slow, and he kept his eyes on the road. Not that there was much traffic. There was still a little snow on the roads, and he was cautious. But it was daylight, and the only patches of it were in areas shaded by trees overhanging the road.

“You and Bart sold all your young bulls,” he remarked with a smile. “Quite a feat.”

“I know! We’re both still reeling from it.”

“You got good prices for them as well.”

“It’s sad, why,” she murmured, her eyes on his strong, lean hands on the steering wheel.

“Sad?”

“Well, all the flooding in nearby states where cattle died by the thousands,” she remarked. “Some of the people who bought our bulls came from there. A lot of places are still flooded.”

“I know. They say that only thirty percent of the corn crop is being planted this year.” He glanced at her. “Food prices will go through the roof.”

“Yes. And a lot of that corn was destined for fuel,” she added. “How will they decide between cattle feed and gas?”