Page 112 of The Guy Who Stole My Ranch

For a moment, I forgot we were in New York and not on the ranch. I could smell dirt, hay, and horses instead of exhaust and the hint of pancakes in the air. I might never associate William with the city.

But this is his life.

The traitorous voice in my head interrupted the feeling of flying through the clouds and the effects of William’s kiss.

He didn’t seem to notice as he gently pulled away and smiled. “Are you hungry?”

“William?” a man’s voice interjected before I could reply.

William sighed, and he went rigid again. He whispered in my ear, “I was hoping no one would notice us.”

“You’re pretty noticeable,” I teased. I was hoping for a laugh, but instead, he kept one arm around me and swiveled to greet the man.

I’d been to enough horse shows before I’d gone to Harvard to have concocted a decent comparison between horses and people. Animals tended to show their emotions on their proverbial sleeves, and those that knew they were the best thing since buttered bread would show it by strutting or prancing.

People did much the same thing. The first time I’d met William, I’d pegged him as a man who was quiet but knew he held power over others. He didn’t prance, per se, but he did strut.

This guy moved like he was the leading man in a thriller movie. The one who knew six types of martial arts, could make a bomb with a piece of gum and some bleach, and would easily lose the bad guys in cars while running through the city.

The comical part about it was that he had once been muscular, but now his body had given in to the ravages of late middle age, and he’d become soft. The perfectly-tailored suit jacket made him look more fit than he was. His dark hair had obviously been transplanted, and if I were him, I’d ask for my money back.

“Matthew.” William let go of me and offered the man his hand.

Matthew looked like he was trying to crush William’s fingers, but William didn’t even flinch. I’d bet this Matthew had nothing on a Texan grip.

“I’m glad I caught you before our meeting,” Matthew said.

A week ago, I wouldn’t have noticed the way William leaned toward someone when he felt threatened. Today, I did. Alarms sounded in my head, and I wondered if I should rescue William from the exchange.

William all but ignored the man’s words and gestured to me. “Matthew Grant, this is Brooke Shaw.” William then looked at me. “Matthew is a business associate.”

Matthew’s face reddened. However, he took a moment to inspect me from head to foot, then he offered me his hand while he spoke to William. “Where did you find this beauty?” The words themselves weren’t offensive, but his tone was. To communicate my displeasure, I gripped his hand and squeezed. His eyes narrowed and he tried to out-crush me.

Not today, Matty.

I didn’t unleash my Shaw-shake, as my brothers called it, but I did let him know that I wasn’t some delicate flower.

If William noticed the silent exchange, he ignored it. After a moment, he slid his fingers down my arm until I let go of Matthew, and he took my hand again. “I’m sorry, Matthew, but we’ve got an appointment. Can you send your concerns to Adam?”

Matthew didn’t look happy about it, and there was a smugness to his expression that made me wonder what he had up his sleeve. It only lasted a moment before he smiled widely and said, “Of course. Of course.” He slapped William on the shoulder. “I look forward to speaking to you.”

“As do I.” Without preamble, William pulled me away.

“Friend of yours?” I asked.

“He’s the thorn in my side at the moment,” William muttered.

I stopped just as we got to a thick, wood door with a stained-glass window in it that portrayed an array of baked goods. “Hey.” I turned William toward me. The stormy look in his blue eyes told me Matthew was the reason William had been called back to New York. “Do you need to handle that? Do we need to reschedule?”

William shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment. When he reopened them, the anger had abated, and he leaned in for a quick kiss. “No, but let’s go inside before anyone else interrupts us.” He pushed on the wood door and waved for me to enter.

I gave him a mischievous smile as I passed him, and almost jumped out of my skin when his hand pressed gently against my back.

It’s not like he hadn’t done that before, but his fingers brushed the bare skin of my shoulder blades exposed by my dress, and a chill, that was more thrill than anything else, shot through me. I must have shivered because William asked, “Are you cold?”

I shook my head, not ready to trust my voice. Instead, I looked around.

Brick walls on my right and left went from one end of the long skinny room to the other. Dark, varnished wood made up a bar and the myriad of tables that marched down the center of the space. A man with olive skin and a wide smile wearing a maroon suit came from where I presumed the kitchen was to greet us.

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