Cowboy Enchantment - By Pamela Browning Page 0,26

her embarrassment, a flush began to creep upward from her neck, and she chastised herself for acting like a teenager with a crush.

“Go ahead, play something,” urged Justine.

“I’ll try,” she murmured. “Let me look the music over for a moment.”

Hank and Justine went on talking about buying shoes for Kaylie while she studied the piece of music, and when she attempted to play a few notes, they didn’t comment.

She began to move haltingly through the music, a light waltz. By the time she reached the end, the others had stopped talking and Justine was tentatively humming along.

Erica paused for a sip of beer.

“Please play something else,” Hank said.

“There’s more music in the piano bench,” Justine added.

Erica rummaged in the bench until she found a book of old standards, and she treated them to a rousing rendition of “Turkey in the Straw.”

“This house could use some livening up,” Justine said. “I hope you’ll play again sometime.”

“Perhaps,” Erica said.

“If you like, you can take the sheet music back to your room and study it before you tackle it.”

“I’d like that.”

Hank spoke up. “Kaylie’s yawning. I’d better get her home and to bed.”

“You can walk Erica back,” Justine said.

This surprised Hank. He hadn’t expected such an assignment. Erica, to give her credit, had the good grace to appear startled. Without being a total dork, he could hardly refuse, so he made himself smile and say, “Sure.”

A flurry of goodbyes followed, and then they were outside in the cool, sweet-scented desert air, Kaylie pressed against his shoulder and Erica walking alongside him, a folder of sheet music tucked under her arm.

Across the way, a group of guests hurried across the open space toward their quarters. As they dispersed to their rooms, they called out cheerful good-nights to one another.

“I hope you don’t mind about the longer trail ride tomorrow,” he said.

Erica concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Mind? Why would she mind? It was like the answer to a prayer—more time with her cowboy, more time to make an impression on him. Although if the way he was looking at her now was any indication, she was impressing him right this minute.

Erica wondered how much longer she’d be able to act as if she had little riding experience. In fact, she’d learned to ride at age ten, competed in regional gymkhanas throughout her high-school years and still rode whenever she could.

“Whatever you think,” she murmured, aghast at herself for sounding so wimpy. Erica Strong never let someone else make her decisions for her; Erica Strong always had opinions; Erica Strong was a leader, not a follower.

Of course, Erica Strong had never met a handsome, virile cowboy in the flesh, the kind of guy who’d been the stuff of dreams since she was a little girl.

And now that she had, she looked at things a lot differently. She smiled to herself, thinking that Charmaine wouldn’t believe her sister’s good fortune. After all, Erica didn’t quite believe it herself.

Chapter Five

“Breathe in. Breathe out. And feel pe-e-e-eace.”

Erica, seated cross-legged on a mat underneath a spreading oak, breathed in. She breathed out. And she opened one eye so she could better observe the group that was at that moment riding out from the stable in the distance. It consisted of twelve riders and a leader, Hank. She almost wished she’d signed up for group riding lessons, instead of private ones. If she had, she would be with Hank right now, instead of merely breathing.

The instructor, a tiny dark-haired woman named Ananda, rang a small chime. The resulting notes fairly shimmered in the air. “That’s the end of our meditation session for today.”

Along with the other participants in the session, Erica returned her mat to the nearby wooden outbuilding and started walking back toward the cluster of buildings that made up the main part of the ranch. It was time for her appointment with her personal shopper.

The shopper’s name was Sue, and she was a red-haired bundle of energy. “You need to tell me what kind of clothes you like to wear,” she said, sitting down on a couch and patting the cushion beside her.

Erica described her collection of power suits in navy and charcoal, her numerous little black dresses that could go from cocktail parties to dinners with little or no modification, and her collection of expensive but sensible shoes that were as suitable for chasing taxis as they were for board meetings.

“Well,” said Sue, studying her carefully, “what would you like to change