During the summer, when they opened the ranch to visitors as a means of making extra money, Julio Santiago, his foreman, or Big John Coolwater, his top ranch hand, usually picked up passengers for the hour ride from the airport back to Coffee Springs.
Unlike today, guests usually arrived at the regular passenger terminal, not the fancy private-jet runway. Most of the people with that kind of money flew in during the winter to ski in nearby Vail.
Unfortunately, this was Martin Hale’s niece, and Sam considered Marty a friend. In accordance with the man’s dying request, Sam had agreed to adhere to the terms Marty set out in the video he’d sent. In exchange for employing his niece, the Bridger Ranch would receive fifty thousand dollars, a sum Sam couldn’t afford to turn down.
Not after last year’s drought, the drop in beef prices, and the grass fire that had destroyed two of his best grazing pastures.
Sam would have agreed to Marty’s request without the money. No way would he have refused a friend’s last wish. But Martin Hale wasn’t a fool, and Sam was sure the man knew all about the ranch’s financial situation. The money was Marty’s way of leaving him a bequest.
Sam watched the petite woman with the beautiful face and gorgeous long hair descend the last of the metal stairs and walk toward him across the tarmac. In a short skirt and matching jacket, she was stunning, with shapely legs, a tiny waist, and a full bosom, the kind of woman who could make a man hard just by looking at him.
Unexpected arousal tightened his jeans, and his annoyance grew. Sam wondered if he had made a bargain with the devil.
Chapter Three
Libby looked up to see a tall man in worn cowboy boots and jeans, his blue denim shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows, revealing muscular forearms. One of the ranch hands, she was sure. Good-looking, she had to admit, with a chest that threatened the snaps on the front of his shirt.
His hair was a shiny dark gold and long enough to curl over the back of his collar. He had a solid jaw and a cleft in his chin. Sun lines crinkled at the corners of his dark brown eyes.
He was better than good-looking, she thought, adjusting her first impression. But—she reminded herself—he was a man. That was reason enough to block him from her thoughts.
She waved as he approached, and he stopped right in front of her.
“Ms. Hale?”
“That’s right. I assume you work at the ranch. If you’re here to pick me up, my luggage is over there.” She pointed a pink, freshly manicured nail toward a stack of leather-trimmed bags on a rolling cart, everything she might need for a month in near isolation in some wilderness outpost.
His gaze followed hers to the cart, and one dark gold eyebrow went up. “All of that’s yours?”
She frowned. “If you don’t think I brought enough, I can call a friend, have her UPS a few more things.”
“Oh, I think you brought enough.” He turned toward the valet working behind the concierge counter. “We could use your help over here.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take Ms. Hale’s luggage out to my truck. It’s parked right in front.”
“Yes, sir.” The young valet couldn’t seem to move fast enough. The ranch hand did have a commanding way about him. Uncle Marty had spoken with the same kind of authority. People did whatever he asked without question. She knew it was more than just the millions he was worth, though that clearly added to the motivation.
A memory arose of the warmth in her uncle’s eyes whenever they were together and the crooked smile she had come to love. Her eyes misted. Libby blinked away any hint of tears. It was time to move forward, and that was exactly what she intended to do.
Four weeks from now, her life could begin in earnest, she thought as she followed the valet pushing the cart out of the terminal, across the sidewalk to a big black Dodge Ram truck. The weather was warm, but the air was dry, not humid as it had been in Manhattan, and at this altitude, not nearly as hot.
She watched as the tall blond ranch hand started grabbing luggage off the cart and tossing it into the back of the pickup.
“Be careful, that’s Louis Vuitton! It was a gift, customized with my initials.”
He clamped his hands on a pair of narrow hips, and his eyes darkened. “You want to load it yourself?”
“Well, no, of course not, but—”
“Then stay out of my way.” He loaded the rest of the bags with only a little more care than the first few, walked over and opened the passenger door. “Get in.”
“How far is the ranch?” she asked.
“It’s about an hour’s drive from here.”
“I guess if we’re going to be together for the next hour, I ought to at least know your name. I’m Libby Hale.”
“Oh, we’re going to be together a lot longer than an hour.” When she struggled to climb into the truck, he gripped her waist, hoisted her up as if she weighed nothing and practically tossed her into the seat. “We’ll be spending a lot of time together in the next few weeks. My name is Sam Bridger.”
The door slammed loudly as the name echoed through her head. Sam Bridger. The man who would determine her fate until she completed the provisions of her uncle’s will.
As the driver’s side door opened and Bridger slid in behind the wheel, Libby felt the color climbing into her face. She didn’t like to hurt people’s feelings, and clearly she had.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you. I thought the owner would be older, you know, gray-haired, maybe a man a little closer to my uncle’s age.”
“Sorry to disappoint.” Firing the engine, Bridger put the truck in gear and pulled away from the curb.
“It’s not your fault. I’m just not used to, you know, being around people like you.”
“Country bumpkins, you mean?”
Her cheeks burned. “No, of course not. Rural people. People who live in small towns. I was raised in the city.”
He seemed to relax a little, the tension leaving those ridiculously wide shoulders. “With any luck, you’ll get used to it out here. Maybe you’ll even learn to like it.”
“That’s what Bert said.”
“And Bert is who? Your boyfriend?”
“No. I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t date.”
For the first time, he actually seemed interested in what she was saying.
“What do you mean, you don’t date? A woman who looks like you?” He flicked her a glance that ran from the top of her head to the toes of her five-inch heels. “You have to have men fawning all over you.”