The Billionaire's Colton Threat. Geri Krotow
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of her voice, he looked up. Were those tears in her liquid brown eyes?
Halle cleared her throat and motioned for him to stand. “Bathroom’s on the right. I’ll be in the kitchen making tea.”
“Thank you.” Alastair didn’t really need to use the loo, but again found himself needing a bit of a buffer between Halle and himself. Or was it more that he needed space from the sexual awareness arcing between them? As certain as he was that it was mutual, he’d only just met the woman. So why did he feel as though he’d known her his entire life?
* * *
After she had another fortifying cup of coffee and made her Scottish client tea, she gathered what she’d packed last night for the ride and escorted Alastair Buchanan back outside, nearer the stables.
“Let me start over the right way, Mr. Buchanan. Welcome to Bluewood Ranch in Shadow Creek, Texas. We’re an authentic cattle operation with two herds of cattle. A herd of cattle for our ranch is approximately one hundred steer and our product is longhorn steer.” Halle smiled and opened her mouth to continue her usual opening remarks, words she shared with every tourist group she hosted on her ranch. With perfect timing, a bug flew into her mouth. Halle’s throat squeezed into a spasm and she started to cough uncontrollably. She stomped the dirt in front of the broken corral fence and clutched a weathered post for balance as her body rejected the horsefly that had obviously been aiming for her tonsils. Alastair gracefully took her mug out of her hand, allowing her to cough more forcefully.
Her momentary hacking fit wouldn’t have been so bad if she were addressing a group of local elementary school students, or tourists who simply wanted a taste of the Wild West by working a cattle drive. But her audience was none other than a tall, incredibly hot man whose left hand was bare. And he had a delicious Scottish brogue. Halle’s love life had been dry for so long she might have thought any single man looked good, but this Scot in fancy cowboy clothes was looking mighty tasty to her.
Unlike the flavor of Texas dirt the fly put in her mouth.
“Excuse me.” Halle held up her index finger, hoping her mascara wasn’t smudged by her streaming tears.
Alastair didn’t seem to notice that she was choking to death. In fact, the VIP whiskey billionaire for whom Jeremy requested she provide a “special” no-notice tour was decidedly bored.
“You can skip the touristy chitchat, Ms. Ford. Call me Alastair, and save the riding lesson, as well. Once you catch your breath, feel free to give me the basic overview of the land. Keep it simple. I’m not asking for anything more than you usually do.” He flicked his North Sea–blue gaze from her to the countryside, as if measuring her against the rugged backdrop. The outskirts of Austin, Texas—and Shadow Creek in particular—weren’t noted for appearing anything but the wild countryside it was. In his quick glance she felt measured against her native surroundings. His stern stance made her feel as though she hadn’t measured up to whatever his yardstick was. Did he think she was in over her head?
“If you’re sure about ignoring the riding safety review...” She’d had him sign the appropriate paperwork. He couldn’t sue her if he fell off his horse.
“Certain.” His voice was sexy even when he was being a typical successful businessman—emotionally detached and certain his way was the only way. Halle had handled tourists of all ilk on her ranch and it took a lot to rattle her. Alastair Buchanan’s know-it-all air shook her usually relaxed demeanor and it annoyed her. “Can we get moving, Ms. Ford?”
Well, all righty, then. “Sure thing. If you’re Alastair, I’m Halle. You did say you’re an experienced rider and camper, and you’re a party of one, so I’ll forgo the preliminaries. Are you interested in Central Texas history at all?”
The man had offered to pay five times her usual fee for a group of up to twelve people. All she had to do was promise it would be an exclusive, private tour. With the ranch’s accounting books decidedly in the red this past quarter, she couldn’t afford to not please her client. Her horses needed to eat. At his stiff silence, she belatedly added a smile to her query. “I was a history minor in college.”
“History always interests me. I’m here to try to absorb the lay of the land, to get a feel for its appeal.” His blue gaze steadied on her again with laser accuracy. His eyes had been the first things she’d noticed about him after his ruggedly tall frame. His mouth twisted. “I know I sound like an ass. I apologize. I’ve been distracted with business issues. Thank you for agreeing to take me on such short notice. Jeremy told me it was pure luck that you had the next few days open. And while I appreciate you rolling out the red carpet, the next seventy-two hours are my only chance to see the countryside surrounding Austin before I fly back to Glasgow. I hope I can put you at ease by assuring you that I’m adept on a horse and I’ve done my share of roughing it.” He offered her a lopsided grin, which she much preferred. “And I’ve swallowed a mosquito or two myself.”
Halle sucked down half the contents of her refillable water bottle, watching Alastair as she did so. She wanted to inform him that she wasn’t merely a local bumpkin, that she’d in fact spent her junior year of college in Glasgow. But it wasn’t her job to tell a client off. This was Jeremy and Adeline’s friend, so ending the tour here and now was out of the question. And her overdue utility bills demanded she complete the job and get the paycheck. But while she’d play the gracious hostess as best she could, she didn’t have to take Alastair’s attitude. He was on her turf. This was Texas, and she was born and bred by one of the most outstanding Texans ever to live in these parts. Stinging tears tore at her already wet eyeballs at the reminder of her father. She drew in a shaky breath and steeled her spine.
“Excuse me, Alastair. We grow our bugs a bit bigger in Austin than you do in Glasgow. Same for our countryside—it’s easy to think you know where you are, that you’re on the path you started out on, and that you’re safe. But the hills and desert can turn life threatening in a blink.”
“I’m sure they can.” Spoken like the wealthy man he was. Her internet search last night had yielded that Alastair had surpassed “wealthy” a decade ago. He was indeed one of the richest men in the UK. Halle didn’t give an armadillo’s ass. Rich or destitute, all men put their Wranglers on the same way. Although not all fit as well as Alastair’s jeans.
Another reminder that since her father’s death she’d been too busy to date, to contemplate being in a man’s arms. The thrum that Alastair’s good looks spiked in her core underscored her unwitting sexual fast.
“The best equipment in the world, the finest trail horse, the most proficient riding technique—none of them matter if you get lost in the desert, or stranded by a lame animal. It always boils down to wit and humility.” She didn’t mean to sound so bossy but something about the tall Scottish dude and his burr was making her crazy. He looked at her as if she was irking him, too.
“Got it.” His gaze flickered to his mount. “And your best horses are these two? Won’t we need a third for the camping gear?”
Heat rushed her face. “All of the horses at Bluewood are exceptional. I rotate the workload amongst them, and several are in need of a rest. Buster and Buttercup will serve us well. I’ve packed as lightly as possible, with enough for the two of us for four days and three nights. I always take a little extra in case of an unexpected event. I can guarantee you that we’ll be hungry when we get back at the end of that last day, and we’ll have a hearty meal here.” Her other horses were having annual checkups while they were out. Even though her veterinarian gave her a huge discount, it was going to be another costly bill. She’d had the lousiest luck with the timing of ranch and animal maintenance expenses lately. As if someone or something was trying to tell her that she’d never get Bluewood Ranch up and running at a profit again. She shook off the shudder that raced down her spine. Superstitions were nonsense. Not something she was going to share with this billionaire bronco rider wannabe, though. “You’ll have a great ride with Buster.”
“How do you know these two won’t fall ill?”
“They’re perfectly healthy. My vet checked them