Her back against the wall, the dog stared at Ally and remained very still.
Ally gulped. Determined to establish peace with the lost animal, she forced herself to move closer and continue to offer her palm. After another long hesitation, Duchess dipped her head slightly and delicately sniffed Ally’s skin.
Then she lifted her head and looked into Ally’s eyes, seeming to want peace between them, too.
Which meant, Ally knew, she had to take the next step and pet the dog, too.
With Duchess watching as cautiously as Ally was watching her, she moved her hand once again.
Ally gently stroked first one paw, then the entire leg, before ever so tenderly moving her hand to the dog’s chest, and then the sensitive spot behind her long, floppy ear. Oddly enough, the action was almost as soothing to Ally as it was to the canine. Noting how good Duchess looked with her clean, silky-soft coat, and dark liquid eyes, Ally smiled. And could have sworn the dog smiled back at her.
Maybe this experience would help her-if not actually like dogs, then at least tolerate being around them. And vice versa, Ally thought.
Which, of course, was when the back door opened and Hank strode in.
Pleasure lit his midnight-blue eyes. “Well, now, what have we here?” he boomed in a baritone worthy of ol’ Saint Nick. Clearly unable to resist, he teased, “A softening of that stone wall around your heart?”
The heat of embarrassment swept her cheeks. Ally dropped her hand and stood. “Obviously, I had to do this.”
Hank took off his wet rain slicker and hung it on the wall, then his hat. “Obviously.”
Ally watched Hank run his hands through his disheveled hair. “I startled her,” she explained.
He scanned Ally from head to toe, lingering on her rain-splattered trench coat. “And you didn’t want to get bitten.”
She shrugged out of her own coat and hung it on the hook next to Hank’s. “No, I did not.”
He kneeled down to pet the reclining retriever. “Hmm.”
Ally scrambled to pick up the things scattered across the floor. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to put her in the mudroom?”
He looked at the full food and water dishes in the corner, then gallantly lent a hand. “You weren’t here when I left.”
Together, they carried Ally’s belongings to the kitchen counter. “You could have left me a note.”
“I did.” He pointed to the message on the blackboard, next to the ancient wall phone. “I assumed you’d come in the front door.”
He went back to arrange the pile of blankets in an inviting circle, then motioned for Duchess to come toward him. She moaned as she got up and ambled stiffly forward to collapse on the soft, makeshift bed.
Hank petted her briefly, then came back into the kitchen.
He smelled like winter rain.
“How did your meeting with the Realtor go?”
Not good. Ally unpacked the groceries she’d bought to get her through the next few days. “Marcy Lyon gave me a whole list of things that need to be done to the ranch house before the property goes on the market, if I want to get top dollar.”
“Such as…?”
Ally opened the fridge and saw a delicious looking slab of beef from Sonny’s Barbecue, a restaurant in Laramie. “Removing all the wallpaper and painting the entire interior, for starters.”
While she put items away, Hank got out containers of restaurant coleslaw, potato salad and beans. “You could sell it as is.” The mesquite-smoked brisket followed.
Ally ignored the scent of fine Texas barbecue and kept out a container of yogurt, and a crisp green apple, for herself. “And lose thousands of dollars and the potential of a quick and easy sale? No.” She rummaged through the drawer for a spoon and filled a glass with tap water. “The look of this place has got to be updated before it officially hits the MLS listings. Marcy gave me a list of contractors to call. Hopefully, one of them will be able to help me out.”
Hank added barbecue sauce and a package of freshly baked wheat rolls to the spread on the kitchen table. He shut the fridge door and swung around to face her. Amiably, he offered, “I could help you out if you’d agree to delay the sale for a short while.”
Beware unexpected gifts in handsome packages. “And do what?” Ally challenged, ripping off the foil top to her yogurt.
He lounged against the counter, arms folded in front of him. “Give me a chance to pitch my plan to turn this ranch into a money-making operation.”
Ally swallowed a spoonful of creamy vanilla yogurt and held up one hand to stop him. There was no way she was ever going to be as impractical and starry-eyed about the land as her parents had been. “I’ve heard enough plans,” she stated simply.
Hank’s dark brows lifted. Ignoring his skeptical look, she stirred her yogurt and pushed on. “That was all my father ever did-was come up with one scheme after another. None of which, mind you, was ever implemented… at least not effectively.” Hence, the Mesquite Ridge Ranch had become a giant money pit rather than a paying investment.
Hank turned and reached for two plates. “There’s a difference. I grew up on a ranch. I come from a family of ranchers. I know I could make this work-to the point I’d be able to pay all the taxes and operating expenses in the meantime-and eventually buy the ranch from you outright. All you need to do is just give me a chance.”
Ally couldn’t deny it was what her parents would have wanted-for her to sell Mesquite Ridge to someone who loved the land as much as they did. That is, if they could not get her to keep it herself. Which she didn’t want to do. She watched as Hank set the table for two.
“Fine,” she snapped, irked by his presumption. “If you think you have all the answers and can turn this place around?” She set her yogurt aside and sauntered up to him. “Then show me the numbers on paper. ’Cause I’m not interested in any pipe dreams or half-formed plans. Only the cold, hard facts.”
Hank’s gaze scanned Ally’s face and body, lingering thoughtfully, before returning ever so deliberately to her eyes.
“How long do I have?” he drawled finally, in a way that left her feeling she had somehow come up short yet again.
“Until I officially put the property on the market,” Ally answered, mocking his take-charge demeanor. “December 24.”
“Fair enough.” Hank’s broad shoulders relaxed. He stepped back, smiling as if he’d already won her over with his brilliance and the deal was done. “In the meantime, you’re more than welcome to join me for supper. As you can see, there’s plenty.”
There was indeed.
Unfortunately, sitting down with him like this would add yet another layer of intimacy to a situation that was becoming far too familiar, too fast. Ally stiffened her spine. She had come back here, against her will, to end this unhappy saga of her life. No way was she getting sucked back in again, with small town kindness or friendly overtures from handsome men with designs on her family’s property.
“No, thanks,” she said politely.
“Sure?” His genial expression didn’t falter.
Ally chose the one avenue she knew would turn him off-a hit on his legendarily fine character. Ignoring the flutter of her pulse, she stepped away from him and stated in a coolly indifferent tone, “Supplying me with dinner will not give you an edge over any other prospective buyer.”
As she expected, he remained where he was. The room was suddenly still enough to hear a pin drop.
His irises darkened to the color of midnight. He stepped closer. “Is that so?” His voice was silky-soft, contemplative. And somehow dangerous in a deeply sensual way.