Page 1 of Red Hot Rancher

Chapter 1

Brigit scowled at her laptop. The coffee shop was empty except for her and two elderly men lamenting the state of soybeans. It was all she could do not to add her two cents, but picturing their reaction was enough to stop her. She’d be surprised, even a little relieved, if they argued with her, but most likely she’d get a “that’s nice, honey” or some chuckles about why a young girl like herself would be interested in market prices.

Why buy that attitude here when she could go home and get it for free?

With an indignant sniff, she focused on the screen and the dismal list of job openings in the surrounding area. Her fiancé Oliver wouldn’t move for a position less than CEO. The trouble was that she didn’t have the experience. Neither did he, which was why he’d decided to move back to their hometown of Moore, leaving her no choice but to go with.

Which was why she was sitting in a café in Normandy over an hour away from Moore. No witnesses to see her struggling to find work. The mighty Brigit Walker had slunk back to Moore because she couldn’t hack it in the big wide world.

Maybe she shouldn’t have been so cocky as a teen, informing everyone who would listen that she was going to Do Something with her life and Go Somewhere and be a Big Deal.

The final joke was on her. Her shiny new MBA didn’t mean much when she couldn’t get a job that’d cover both a mortgage and a car payment.

Good thing Oliver was taking such good care of her.

She checked her watch. He’d take his lunch hour soon and she could surprise him with an iced coffee—real cream, please—and discuss the locations of some of these positions. A few were within commuting distance, but any driving in the middle of a Minnesota winter made commuting a major consideration, and Oliver was already driving an hour for his work.

It was early November and they had yet to see flurries, but her stomach was already churning at the thought of him driving on icy roads. But he’d insisted on renting a house in Moore, and then on staying there when she commented on their lease being up for renewal soon. It would have been a good time to get out.

Don’t worry, Brigit. I’m doing the driving and paying the rent. There are no places this nice in Normandy. Just stay in Moore and look for a job. Maybe something online?

She took a sip of her nonfat iced caramel macchiato. The sweet, cool drink washed over her tongue, putting a damper on her bitterness. Oliver managed to point out that he covered the bills in nearly every conversation. Just like her mom managed to comment on her lack of interest in pursuing med school.

The twinkle of her three-quarter-carat diamond ring caught her eye. She stretched out her hand. The light bouncing off the diamond made sparkles dance on her finger. She glanced around to make sure no one had caught her preening over her own ring. The soybean guys had just walked out. She craned her neck to peek beyond the partition she’d stuffed herself behind. The barista was busy at a counter with her back to the booths.

Okay, the coast was clear. She stared at her ring again. Each time she looked at it, the clarity of the jewel stole her breath. Then anxiety squeezed her chest. What if she lost it? What if she banged it too hard against the grain truck when she was climbing in and the stone fell out? Oliver would be so pissed and not only because she’d lost an expensive stone that he’d bought, but also because she’d been “playing farm girl” again.

She clenched her fist.

That was half her motivation to find a high-paying job right there. Financial freedom. Mom had paid for her undergraduate and graduate school tuition. Oliver had paid the rest of her expenses while she took her classes, so she hadn’t needed to maintain a job on top of school.

The door squeaked open, but Brigit refrained from being a small-town gawker. She kept her head down and scooted closer to the partition that separated her from the counter. Just in case anyone recognized her. She hadn’t met many people since Oliver started working in Normandy, but residents of Moore did come to here occasionally. She didn’t want to answer the dreaded “oh, what are you doing here” question that was loaded with the “don’t you have a job” insinuations or the “life without Mommy and Daddy’s help wasn’t as easy as you thought it would be” gloat.

Maybe all that was in her imagination, but she heard the unspoken words so much clearer.

A breathy voiced drifted over the partition. “Ooh, that looks so yummy.”

The woman must be commenting on the pumpkin spice latte placard by the cash register. Brigit was tempted to peek, but with the way she’d have to stretch, she’d look ridiculous if she got busted.

Besides, a woman with that rich, sexy voice probably didn’t have to worry about the calorie bomb lurking in the drink. Brigit’s hips liked lattes a little too much. Oliver had noticed her weight increase since they’d moved back home.

Yoga’s great for your ass. Aren’t you going anymore?

“You gonna get that?” a familiar voice asked. “You know I’m buying.”

Wait… That throaty rumble, the way it dripped with innuendo… She blinked and cocked her head. No, she must’ve heard wrong.

The barista greeted them and rattled off the daily specials. The breathy woman ordered her venti PSL and the man ordered an iced coffee. “With real cream, please.”

Brigit frowned. No, she wasn’t imagining it. She knew that voice.

What were the odds? Should she pop up and say “hey”—

Breathy woman giggled and murmured something under her breath. They couldn’t see her, and she couldn’t see them or hear the whispers they volleyed at each other, but their intimate tones were unmistakable. Brigit’s stomach twisted.

These two were more than friends.

“I probably shouldn’t have ordered that drink,” breathy woman murmured. “Not with all the Halloween candy still at work.”

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