Page 2 of The Cowboy's Country Charm

The cowboy’s grin stretched to his ears, giving him a cocky, almost mischievous look. One that most women would find charming. She was not most women.

“I’ve an appointment with Ms. Winslow.” He tipped his hat brim to his forehead.

“Well, you aren’t June, I take it.”

His blue eyes twinkled, and she felt a tingle somewhere in the vicinity of her belly. Odd that. She shifted her weight, hoping the feeling would go away.

“I’m her brother, and I’m here to represent her. She had a family emergency, and I offered to step in.”

“I hope everything is okay.”

He nodded, his smile still full and strong, as if he was amused at being in her office. “It will be. She asked me to meet with you and show you the portfolio, and she’ll call you tomorrow about pricing and all that stuff. She really is an excellent florist. Very creative, with a great sense of color.”

Now it was her turn to smile. She appreciated family loyalty, family support. The kind she’d always gotten from her mother, if not from her father. “Sounds like a plan. Come on in…” He hadn’t introduced himself.

“Rusty. Rusty Russell.”

She couldn’t help but look him over as he unfolded to his full height. That tingly sensation was back. He must be over six feet. His face was etched with high cheekbones, a Grecian nose, and a firm, wide jaw. He had a muscular build, as revealed by the blue T-shirt that stretched over his rather prominent arm muscles and the jeans that hugged a pair of strapping thighs. Way too handsome to be in her waiting room.

“For the hair color?”

“Yes, ma’am. Family thinks it suits, so I’m stuck with it.”

She motioned for him to enter her office and wondered why her heart was pounding. True that at five feet eight it wasn’t the norm for her to feel dwarfed by a man, but it certainly wasn’t fear that caused that reaction. Quite the contrary. He intrigued her. Most men of her acquaintance wouldn’t be caught dead lugging around a portfolio of flower arrangements. But he didn’t act as if there was anything strange about it and seemed happy to be helping his sister.

He squeezed into the bamboo-backed chair by her desk, and the seat seemed to shrink to child size. She’d rented the first chairs she’d seen at the furniture rental store. She made a mental note to get more substantial seating. She wanted clients to feel comfortable.

Usually she sat behind the desk in an effort to project a more businesslike and in-charge image, but for reasons she wasn’t about to examine, she opted to sit across from him in the other chair.

He swung toward her, their knees within inches of touching. Something else she should remedy by repositioning.

“Now show me what you’ve got.”

He winked, and heat rose to her cheeks. Goodness, she hoped she wasn’t blushing, but from his widening grin, that was a lost hope. He handed her the binder.

The tips of her fingers brushed his. His hands were large, with big knuckles and weathered skin. She wondered if he was a working cowboy like his clothing suggested. She didn’t detect the scent of hay or horse. But he didn’t look like a weekend cowboy either, though there were lots of them in Wyoming these days.

She opened the binder to a picture of an exquisite centerpiece arranged in a long-stemmed vase. White peonies, pink and red roses, and white hydrangeas were clustered at varying heights, all interspersed with baby’s breath and white stock. Stunning.

“Doesn’t that make a statement?” the cowboy asked.

What man said that about flowers? She raised her gaze, and he was still grinning at her, but now with an element of pride in his expression.

“It does. It’s a beautifully balanced piece both in color, texture, and size, with the larger, heftier blooms at the bottom of the cluster and the more delicate ones toward the top.” It really was special.

“She’s always had an eye for flowers. When she was younger, my dad built her a greenhouse so she could grow all kinds of flowers, and she’d make these beautiful arrangements for my mother. Kind of put her siblings to shame when it came to giving my mom gifts.”

Kristy chuckled. Likely June Thompson would not have shared such a personal tidbit with a prospective client.

Kristy settled the binder on her lap and flipped through the colorful photos. One arrangement was more spectacular than the next. Some were opulent and lush, others elegant and spare. All were beautiful. The woman certainly had an eye.

And Kristy needed a good florist for the gala. She had to present to the committee the following week, and she’d been scrambling to line up vendors. And apparently flowers were a detail the new bridal client, Lisa Wilson, had not gotten around to arranging. So Kristy had offered to take on that chore and everything that went with a day-of coordinator for about a fifth of what she would charge for planning the whole wedding. But if that was what it took to get started, to develop a reputation in the region, that was what she’d do. Marcia was a stickler about pricing, but uncharacteristically, she’d given Kristy free rein on that score in order to get the business off the ground.

Now Kristy just had to make the right decisions.

“What are her payment terms? Will she take a twenty percent deposit, or will she require the whole bill to be prepaid? I have a wedding client that needs flower arrangements.” Prepaid would be a deal-breaker for Marcia and, she suspected, the new client as well.

He leaned closer, blocking out anything in her line of sight but him. So close she could see the flecks of orange in his blue eyes. She sat back until her spine pressed the textured back of the chair.

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