Five

      Melissa had waited all morning for a chance to privately warn Jared about Stephanie’s matchmaking plans. She could hardly walk up to the front door of Stephanie’s house and knock. And Jared, as far as she could tell, hadn’t come out of the house.

      Standing over a tub of water in the tack room, she had a decent view of the front porch. Her hands were red and slippery from the glycerin soap, but at least the job was straightforward: wash the tack, dry the tack, polish the tack. She’d worked her way through a decent-size pile of leather.

      When lunchtime came along without a sign of Jared, she started to worry. If Stephanie was already matchmaking, he was probably plotting his escape from the equestrian center. If she didn’t do something soon, there was every possibility that he’d leave before she got anything more for her story.

      She had to find a way to get hold of him.

      She clicked through the possibilities in her brain until finally she came up with a viable plan. If she could somehow get her hands on his cell number, she could talk to him without Stephanie knowing.

      She pulled her hands from the warm water, shook them off and dried them on a towel. Her cell phone was in her taupe canvas tote bag, and it didn’t take her long to get directory assistance and the Chicago number for Ryder International. The receptionist put her through to Jared’s assistant.

      “Jared Ryder’s office,” said a friendly female voice.

      “I need to speak to Jared Ryder,” Melissa opened, hoping the office would give her his cell phone number.

      “I’m afraid Mr. Ryder is not in the office today.” The voice remained friendly and professional. “Can I help you with something?”

      “Do you happen to have his cell phone number?” Melissa mentally crossed her fingers that the woman would be willing to give it out.

      “I’m afraid I can’t provide that information. Is there someone else who can—”

      “Would you be able to get a message to him?” Melissa moved to plan B.

      Some of the patience leached out of the woman’s voice. “Can I get your name, please?”

      “So you can get him a message?” Melissa’s hope rose.

      “He may not get it until next week.”

      “I need him to get it today. Right away if possible.”

      “If I could just have your name.”

      “It’s Melissa. Melissa Webster.” She used the alias she’d used on her résumé.

      “And what is the message regarding?”

      Good question. Melissa racked her brain. She sure couldn’t say she was a reporter, but if the subject didn’t seem important, the secretary might not send it to Jared right away. “Saxena Electronics,” she offered impulsively.

      “You’re from Saxena?” The skepticism was clear.

      Melissa could only assume most Saxena employees had East Indian accents. “I’m affiliated with them,” she lied. “The message is that Melissa Webster needs to talk about Saxena right away. In private,” she added, ending with her cell phone number.

      “I’m not sure—”

      “Please believe me that it’s important,” Melissa put in quickly.

      The woman hesitated on the other end of the line.

      “There’s no risk,” Melissa pointed out. “If it’s not important, he’ll just ignore it, right?”

      “I’ll see what I can do.”

      “Maybe a quick text or an e-mail?”

      “I’ll see what I can do.” The voice had turned stony.

      It was definitely time to back off. “Thank you,” said Melissa with as much gratitude as she could muster. “I really do appreciate this.”

      The professionalism and the formality came back. “Thank you for calling Ryder International.”

      “Thanks for your help,” Melissa offered once more before hanging up.

      Then she plunked her phone back in her bag, readjusted the clip that was holding her hair back and pulled her damp tank top away from her chest. She hated to go to lunch looking like this, but it was a long walk back to her cottage, and there was no way she could skip the meal.

      As the days went by, her respect for cowboys and stable hands had risen. They worked extremely hard. A salad or a protein shake might cut it in an office, but out here, calories were essential.

      She dried the last of the washed tack, laying it out on the bench to be polished later. Then she slung her canvas bag over her shoulder and headed for the cookhouse while she waited to see if Jared would call.

      A couple of steps out the stable door, Jared startled her, blocking her way. She stopped short.

      “What the hell?” he demanded.

      She glanced around. “Is Stephanie with you?”

      “What was this about seeing me in private?”

      She didn’t see Stephanie anywhere. “I’ll explain in a minute. Is there somewhere we can talk?”

      Jared hesitated. Then he nodded at the stable. “There’s an office up those stairs.”

      “Great.” Melissa turned, and he followed her in.

      They tapped their way, single file, up the narrow staircase. It opened to a short hallway with three doors.

      “Far end,” Jared rumbled. “And this better be good. My secretary was scrambling the Saxena team for damage control. She thought you were warning me of a hostile takeover.”

      Melissa cringed. “Sorry. Did you call them off?”

      “Of course I called them off.” His boots were heavy on the wood floor behind her. “This better not be some flirting thing.”

      “It’s not flirting.” Melissa stopped at the closed door.

      Jared reached around her and pushed it open to reveal a small desk, a couple of filing cabinets. Three open, curtained windows showed a cloud-laden sky, and a comfortably furnished corner with armchairs, low tables and lamps. Through the window, Melissa could see a crowd of people at the arena. She assumed it was a jumping class and that Stephanie was there.

      “Take a seat.” Jared gestured to a worn, brown leather armchair.

      Melissa sat down, and he took the chair next to it. They were separated by a polished pine table, decorated with three small, framed horse portraits.

      He leaned back, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee and folding his arms over his chest. “What’s going on?” he asked directly.

      Melissa took a deep breath, giving herself a second to compose her message. “It’s Stephanie.”

      “What did you do?”

      “I didn’t do anything.”

      “She lost patience with you? Fired you?”

      “No.” Melissa sat forward. “Will you let me finish?”

      He waited.

      “Your sister, for some reason, has decided I’m … well, a good match for you.”