CHAPTER ONE

      From: [email protected]

      Sent: Sunday, Nov. 1, 9:42 p.m.

      To: [email protected]

      Subject: Enough, already!

      Okay, Emily, I’ve been patient but I know you and if you don’t hustle your buns over to the Yellow Rose ASAP, you never will. A promise is a promise (not that you owe me or anything). :-) (Smile) What’s your problem? You *could* get lucky....

      THE first thing that caught Emily Kirkwood’s attention Monday when she entered Yellow Rose Matchmakers in San Antonio, Texas, was the fragrance of roses.

      The second thing that caught her attention was the best-looking cowboy in the world.

      One of those two things stopped her in her tracks. She preferred to think it was the perfumed air, since she wasn’t the kind of woman who let superficial things like looks get to her. She prided herself on digging deeper for such attributes as honor, integrity, honesty.

      Of course, she couldn’t see those things at a glance, while she could see curly black hair and lively blue eyes, long, denim-clad legs and broad shoulders beneath a red plaid shirt. She could also see the spark of interest that leaped into those incredible eyes, quickly muted when he turned to the receptionist.

      “I’m Cody James,” he said with a good old Texas drawl, giving the receptionist a sparkling smile. He turned a white cowboy hat between big, competent hands. “I have an eleven o’clock appointment with Wanda Roland but I’m a few minutes early. I’ll just take a seat and wait until—”

      “Oh, no, Mr. James!” The receptionist appeared to be as impressed with his good looks as Emily was trying not to be. “Wanda’s expecting you. Please go right on in.” She pointed toward a door.

      “Thank you, ma’am.” Nodding respectfully, he ambled to the door, knocked lightly and entered.

      For a few seconds, both the receptionist and Emily held their collective breaths.

      The receptionist, a pretty middle-aged woman whose desk plaque said simply Teresa, fanned herself. “Oh, dear,” she said. “I could go for that myself.”

      Emily laughed politely. “Are all the Yellow Rose clients that good-looking?” She tried to keep the critical note in her voice under control. In her experience, men who were that good-looking were not to be trusted. They were almost as untrustworthy as the rich ones—and rich and handsome was the most dangerous combination in the world. Poor but honest, attractive but not drop-dead gorgeous: those were the only men she was ever going to trust again.

      Not that it mattered in this particular instance. She hadn’t come to Yellow Rose Matchmakers to find true love but rather to ferret out information for her cousin Terry’s magazine article. Research, he’d called it, simple research.

      In her more honest moments, she called it spying.

      She’d already done similar “research” for him in Dallas before she’d been temporarily transferred to San Antonio by her employer, A&B Construction Company, to help open a new office. The Dallas caper had involved nothing more than filling out a form, making an excruciatingly embarrassing videotape and being matched with a computer geek for a single date. Then she’d written a “dating diary” for Terry and considered the matter closed.

      Funny how that first experience had turned out, though. She’d answered every question with total honesty, to no avail—not that she’d actually been looking for a man, she reminded herself. She was simply paying back an old debt of honor to her cousin, nothing more. She certainly wasn’t looking for any kind of relationship, permanent or otherwise. At twenty-five, she wasn’t sure she’d ever want to get married after seeing all that her parents had put each other through. Being dumped practically at the altar herself hadn’t exactly raised men in her esteem, either.

      Teresa tapped her pencil on the desktop, her smile friendly and welcoming. “And how may I help you, Ms....?”

      “Emily Kirkwood,” she responded, belatedly realizing that there must be some kind of mistake. “I also had an eleven o’clock appointment with Ms. Roland. I don’t mind coming back at another time, though.” Actually, she’d be delighted. She edged toward the door. Terry couldn’t blame her for this mix-up... could he?

      Teresa frowned. “Oh, dear. Has Wanda done it again?” She raised a hand obviously meant to arrest Emily’s flight, lifted the telephone receiver with the other and punched in three numbers. “Please wait while I—Wanda? I’m afraid there’s been another mix-up. Emily Kirkwood is here and says she has an—But Mr. James just went in, so I naturally assumed —Oh, all right. Of course.”