Wrangling the Redhead - By Sherryl Woods Page 0,11

I’ve barely left the house. Why would you think that?”

“Because of your expression.”

“My expression? What about it?”

“It went all dreamy there for a minute. You can’t fake a look like that, and only one thing can cause it—a man. Who is he?”

“You’re crazy,” Lauren insisted. “And if you keep bugging me, I’m going to tell everybody in town that your cheesecake tastes like spoiled cottage cheese and has the texture of sand.”

Gina regarded her with a horrified expression. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.” Even as she uttered the words, Lauren recalled that same dare coming from Wade’s lips earlier in the day. And what had she said? Maybe I will. Those were certainly words meant to get a man all riled up. What had she been thinking?

“Why do I have the feeling you’re having some sort of flashback?” Gina asked, studying her intently. “It’s that man again, isn’t it?”

“I’m telling you, there is no man.”

Gina patted her hand. “Keep telling yourself that. I spent a lot of time in denial where Rafe was concerned, too. So did Emma with Ford, and Karen with Grady, and Cassie with Cole. Just look at us now. I recognize the signs.”

Lauren shuddered. Gina couldn’t be right. Her with Wade Owens? She wouldn’t allow it.

Then again, if her friends were anything to judge by, she might not actually have much say in the matter.

Chapter Three

Lauren got up at the crack of dawn, filled her pockets with treats for Midnight—apples this time—then decided she deserved a hearty breakfast herself before she went out to work with the horse and risked an encounter with Wade. Both were going to require stamina, to say nothing of all her wits.

Even though she was up early, Grady and Karen were already long gone. A still-warm pot of coffee sat on the stove, along with two fresh eggs just gathered from the henhouse and a plate of crisp bacon. Lauren would have settled for cereal or toast, but an honest-to-goodness breakfast was too tempting to pass up.

Twenty minutes later, her stomach full, she carried her cup of coffee out to the porch and sat down with a sigh of pure contentment. The sun had just broken over the horizon in the east, splashing the rolling hills of the Snowy Range with a golden wash. The last lingering patches of snow glistened at the peaks.

A dozen meditation sessions couldn’t create the powerful serenity that stole through her now.

“This is the smartest thing I’ve ever done,” she said contentedly as she sipped her coffee and planned her morning. How often had she had the luxury of taking the time to plan her own day, the freedom to do whatever struck her fancy? Lauren couldn’t even remember the last time she’d had that opportunity. Too much of her life had been controlled by production schedules, publicity tours and endless rounds of meetings to discuss future film projects. Well, no more. She would be captive to nothing other than the rhythm of ranch life and her own limited role in it.

For now, the schedule would be especially light. An hour with Midnight, letting him get used to her presence and begin to accept her touch, would probably be as much as the horse could handle. After that, she’d take a drive over to Winding River, maybe try to scare up Emma and Gina to join her for lunch at Stella’s. What was the point of moving back if she didn’t grab every chance to be with her friends? The realization—after years of hurried phone calls and quick visits—that they would be nearby day in and day out, available for birthdays and holidays, still amazed and delighted Lauren.

The ringing of the phone snapped her out of her pleasant reverie. Habit had her running inside to grab the receiver, despite the likelihood that the call concerned ranch business.

“Blackhawk Ranch,” she said.

“Lauren, is that you?”

Lauren sighed at the sound of an all-too-familiar voice. Jason Matthews was an outstanding agent. He was an ardent champion for his clients, a real fighter. A few months ago she had loved that about him. Now that he refused to take no for an answer from her, she considered the trait less desirable.

She could envision Jason in his office, wearing a headset phone so his hands could be free to work the keys on his computer. He was probably going over his stock portfolio as they talked. For a man barely into his thirties, he was already obsessed with his retirement plan. He was