The Rancher and the Event Planner - By Cheryl Gorman Page 0,65

to the city.”

She nodded. “A city does offer things smaller towns don’t—like tons of restaurants, theater, museums.”

Rafe hammered in another nail, as a mix of frustration and need formed a ball inside his gut. “True. We only have a half-a-dozen restaurants in town and one movie theater.”

“Never made it to the movies. Maybe next time. Salvation is a great town and I’m going to miss it.”

Then why are you leaving?

She gazed out over the ranch. “I’ll miss being here. When I look at the land, I see an abundance of life, but mostly love.”

And in a blink, love poured over him in a hard, hot wave, sucked him under, flipped him over, then flung him out into space. In the space of a second, the roller coaster ride of emotion yanked him back into his dizzy, elated and scared-out-of-his-mind world. He’d fallen in love with her.

She looked at him again, breathed in some air and sighed. “I’ll never forget the smell of the grass and that special something in the air.”

“Don’t tell me you like the mix of hay, manure and cattle?”

She laughed.

Just one simple thing, the sound of her laughter he would miss. He wanted to reach out, pull her into his arms and kiss her with everything inside him and beg her to stay. And he’d never begged for anything in his life. But he couldn’t. She was going and it was for the best. For him and for her.

“I will, believe it or not.” She shaded her eyes again. “Well, I’d better be going. I’ve already said good bye to Linc and Molly.” She started for her car then she stopped suddenly and faced him. “Give Molly a kiss for me, okay?”

“Will do.”

In a moment, she was headed for the highway. Rafe stood in the same spot with the hammer in one hand and a nail in the other. He watched her car until it climbed over a hill in the distance and disappeared. The horse nudged his arm and whickered.

“I know how you feel, girl. I know how you feel.”

* * *

The air conditioner clicked on bringing his mind back to the present. One of the vents clattered. Irritation prickled his spine and added to his headache. A fly kept buzzing his head and no matter how many times he swatted at the darn thing, it kept right on buzzing. The wind picked up and rattled one of the windows. The clock kept up a slow, tick, tick, tick and he found himself staring at it willing it to stop. The minutes seemed to stretch beyond sixty seconds, like taffy being pulled in the dead of winter.

The sound of the ranch hand’s voices echoed through the barn. Chatter and laughter mingled with the clang of feed buckets. Someone turned on the oat crimper setting up a steady racket that jangled his nerves. Suddenly, the noises and distractions he had been dealing with coalesced into a clashing stew. He threw down his pen, pushed his chair back, and shot up from the seat. He marched to the office door, flung it open and stomped onto the concrete alleyway. “What’s with the noise? I can’t even hear myself think. I’m trying to do the payroll,” he roared. “Do you guys want to get paid or what?”

The hands halted momentarily in their hustle to get the horses fed and stared at him.

“Yeah, boss, we want to get paid. What’s the big deal? We always make this much noise,” one of them said.

“Not today you don’t,” Rafe growled, marched back into the office and slammed the door. He balled his hands into fists and held them up in front of his eyes, wanting to scream his frustration when the office door opened. He spun to see Linc standing in the doorway, leaning against the door jamb, his propped on his hips. A cocky grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “Problem, little brother?”

Rafe frowned. “No. Everything’s fine. I’m just sick of the noise.” He set his mouth into a thin line and headed around the other side of the desk. Plopping hard into the chair, he pushed closer to the desk and picked up his pen.

Linc stepped into the office and closed the door at his back. “Could’ve fooled me. You have something stuck up your craw?”

“I don’t have anything stuck in my craw or anywhere else,” Rafe said in a grating, but clipped tone.

Linc moseyed around the desk, propped himself on the edge and crossed his feet at the