Who Wants to Marry a Cowboy? by Abigail Sharpe Page A

ranch. So even though Riley’s path had been completely rewritten, he knew his father would be disappointed with the way Riley had handled the situation with his sisters.
    Even now, under the clear, dark skies of the ranch, over the hill where he couldn’t see the house and there was no one around to witness his actions except his favorite dog, disappointing his father left Riley with a tightness in his gut.
    “Dammit, Dad.” He sighed and stared up at the stars. The same ones he’d seen every night he stepped outside, whether in the mountains or at home, alone or with someone. “I miss you.”
    The greenhouse had always been his father’s sanctuary. Riley hadn’t had the desire to step foot in it since John’s death, but maybe it was time now. The moon showed him a clear path and he walked until he stood in front of the door, Lady’s soft cinnamon head nudging his leg. “Where should we go, girl?” he asked.
    He placed his hand upon the smooth glass, imagining his father bent over the workbench in the back, scribbling notes on his latest addition, his dark hair graying at the temples and glasses perched on his nose. He took a deep breath, opened the door and flicked on the lights, ignoring the overwhelming feeling that something was wrong, that someone was missing.
    The earthy, familiar smells welcomed him as he passed through the rows of neglected flora. Four months, and only Molly had the fortitude to go inside, and then solely to keep the plants alive. Flowers bloomed, but looked as if they were barely managing to hang on to the petals that held a drab sea of greens and dark browns at bay. A knot formed in his belly as he pinched off some dried flowers from a pot on the table near him. There was so much that needed to be done, but all he could manage right now was caring for this one plant in front of him. The weight of the mountains fell over him. One day he’d be able to restore the famed Pommer greenhouse to its former glory.
    A bright blue spot caught his eye and he frowned, sliding between display tables to get to it. A sweater. And not one he recognized. Near his father’s last project. Lady sniffed it and gave a canine yowl. Someone had been in here. Someone unwelcome had disturbed this place. Anger welled up in him. There were no possible reasons for any of those blasted women to come in here. She could have ruined his father’s work. He grabbed the sweater and balled it in his hands, ignoring the light vanilla scent that tickled his nose.
    He stiffened as he heard the whoosh of the door opening behind him. Soft footsteps padded down the row of the greenhouse. His fingers tightened on the material as he prepared to stand off with the woman who had invaded his father's memory.
    "Oh, good. You found my sweater," the interloper said, her light voice tinged with a southern accent. “It’s cold out there. And you must be Riley. I recognized you from your picture.”
    A slow simmer filled the air as Riley’s gut reacted to the dark gold hair spilling over her mostly bare shoulders and the soft smile that curled her full, pink lips. Ridiculous pants with drawings of high-heeled shoes covered her legs. Her body had reacted to the cool night air and he could clearly see the outline of her nipples through her green tank top. Of course she would wear revealing clothes with a total disregard for modesty. Pretending to leave her sweater behind to show off her breasts was too obvious for his tastes. But at least they were nice breasts.
    She held out her hand to retrieve the clothing, her green eyes warm with humor and intelligence. Riley shut down his gut and forced his mind to concentrate. She was intruding, trespassing where she shouldn’t be and with another motive in mind.
    He ignored her outstretched hand and the vanilla as he gripped the material and held it up. “This yours?” he asked, ignoring the frisson of heat on his senses.
    The smile slipped a bit as the woman's brows drew closer together.