What a prick. Jonah snarled at the thought, then paused.
What the hell are you doing, Hamilton?
This research was supposed to be about finding a way to convince LeeAnn to accept Natural Shale’s drilling rights offer.
Not about figuring out her love life.
She had definitely gotten under his skin. With only one kiss?
One hot kiss.
Focus, Hamilton.
Right. How to get LeeAnn to accept the offer. Stick to business.
He stood up and stretched.
Time to go see her again.
…
When she rounded the corner on her way back to Cowbelles after lunch, the sight of the tall, broad-shouldered Superman look-alike leaning against the redbrick wall next to the door brought LeeAnn to a screeching halt.
Today he was dressed in cowboy professional: faded blue jeans that molded to the tops of his thighs, polished cowboy boots, a white button-down shirt, and a dark brown sport coat. His hat was tipped slightly down to shade his eyes, and his crossed arms pulled the jacket tight across his broad shoulders.
The sight of him sent a shiver down the back of LeeAnn’s neck.
Jonah Hamilton.
I’m not ready to talk to him yet.
The cheese enchiladas she’d had at Azteca turned to a hard lump in her stomach.
Maybe he didn’t see me.
As she took one slow step backward, though, he stood up straight and faced her, resettling his Stetson on his head and smiling.
I don’t want to talk to him. Or even see him.
Except, oh, those dimples are beautiful.
And his lips…
The memory of the kiss in the Wagon Wheel felt burned into her skin, like he had branded her.
That’s insane, LeeAnn. Get a grip.
Anyway. Branded? I’m not a cow.
Closing her eyes for an instant, she took a deep breath in, then blew it out, allowing a calming chant to run through her mind.
Om mani padme hum…
“Can I take that for you?” Jonah asked as he moved toward her, gesturing toward the Styrofoam box of leftovers she carried in her hand.
“Sure.” She forced a polite smile and handed it over.
I am calm.
I am collected.
I am cool…
Damn, he’s hot.
She pushed the stray thought away.
Om…
Unlocking the shop door and pulling it open, she motioned him inside.
“Ladies first,” he said.
With a snort, she stepped into the dim interior and flipped the sign over to Open. He followed as she turned on lights and moved to the stockroom at the back of the store, where she took the box from him and bent over to place it in the small refrigerator.
When she turned around, he was leaning against the doorjamb, his gaze pinned to the spot where her butt had just been. She ignored the blush crawling up her face, opting to simply raise her eyebrows instead.
His only response was an unrepentant grin.
“So,” she said, pushing past him and moving back out into the display room, “how can I help you today?”
“I want to talk to you again about the mineral rights to your land.” He leaned one elbow on a shelf and crossed his feet so that the tip of his right boot rested on the ground.
“No, thank you,” she said. The polite smile she had held onto up to that point turned brittle, but she kept her voice calm. “I don’t want you or your company anywhere near my land.”
“The problem we’re facing,” he said, completely ignoring her attempt to shut him down, “is that I haven’t been able to track down the actual mineral rights to your ranch.”
“Doesn’t sound like a problem to me,” LeeAnn said. “That means they’re mine.”
“You think they’re yours,” he countered. “But you don’t know for sure.” Reaching into an inner pocket of his sport coat, he pulled out a folded paper. “You need to read this.”
“What is it?” LeeAnn didn’t wait for his answer, and when she unfolded it, she gasped.
Gran’s handwriting.
Blinking back sudden, unexpected tears, she worked to make out the actual words. The paper was a photocopy of a single page, apparently a letter, though she couldn’t tell who the recipient might have been. One line had been highlighted in neon-yellow marker: “We will, of course, have to account for the mineral rights. They are currently in George’s name, so—” The letter ended in midsentence at the bottom of the page.
“What does this mean?” Her voice was scratchy with tears. She cleared her throat and waited for Jonah’s response.
“It means that the lawyers who work for Natural Shale and Oil have at least some evidence that the drilling rights might not belong to you.”
The image of trucks barreling across the ranch brought the tears she had suppressed moments ago flooding back into her eyes.
It wasn’t only that she had promised Gran, over and over again in those last days, that she would take care of the ranch, keep it safe for future generations—although she had done exactly that. It wasn’t even that she had protested the oil companies’ recent increased drilling in the Permian Basin, although she’d done that, too, marching and holding placards, giving interviews to the journalists who showed up to cover the protest. And although she would tell anyone who asked that she didn’t want her land destroyed by drilling, that she philosophically opposed all big oil companies, and that yogis should stand by their principles, on some level, she knew it went deeper than that.
She didn’t have to figure it out right now, though.
To distract herself, she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek.
Breathe.
Om.
At the slightly puzzled expression on Jonah’s face, she realized that she had bent one knee and pulled her foot up behind her into the crook of her elbow, all while balancing on the tip of the other toe.
Unconscious yoga practice can’t be a good sign.
“The attorneys will be all over this.” He held up one hand as she started to protest. “But I have a proposal.”
A proposal?
She remembered the way his chest had felt against hers as he crushed her to him, his lips moving over hers as the kiss slowed and turned deeper.
That memory is dangerous.
Without her permission, LeeAnn’s mind veered off into even more dangerous territory.
Oh, hell, no.
“Absolutely not,” she said—more to herself than to him, but Jonah seemed taken aback by the vehemence in her voice.
“Hear me out,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes at him but didn’t reply.
Om…
“I meant it when I said you might not be able to keep us from drilling on your land—it might not be up to you,” he said. “But I have a plan that might help both of us.”
…
LeeAnn’s gray eyes turned dark and glinted at him. Clenching her jaw, she dropped down to stand on both feet, drawing a deep breath and steeling herself to speak. “I own the ranch. It’s mine, and I say no one is going to drill on it. Do you know what damage that can do to the land?”
“There are perfectly safe drilling methods that won’t do any permanent damage.” He shook his head, as much to stop himself from speaking as to negate her statement. It wouldn’t do any good to get drawn into defending the company’s practices. This woman pulled him off center in a way no one ever had. “But that’s not the point.”
“You’re right,” she said. “The point is that the land is mine, and no one is drilling.”
“Actually, the point is that you own the ranch, but you might not own the mineral rights.” He gestured at the paper she clutched in one fist, then held out his hands placatingly. “Look. The truth is, I don’t know who owns the mineral rights. Beyond that one letter, I haven’t been able to find any records about them at all.”
A tiny crinkle creased her forehead, and he
fought the urge to smooth his thumb across it. “Is that unusual?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Not necessarily. The ranch has been in your family for generations, so it’s possible that the kind of title transfers that would require that level of specificity simply haven’t happened.”
LeeAnn’s gaze remained wary, and Jonah was pretty sure she was unaware that she had begun doing that strange crane stance again, lifting first one foot and placing it against her inner thigh and then switching out.
Yoga as a nervous habit?
One of the best tricks in a negotiation, he had learned over the years, was simply waiting silently. People tended to want to fill a silence. So Jonah watched as LeeAnn shifted from one foot to the other. The moment she realized what she doing, though, she planted both feet on the floor and stood completely straight, shoulders back and chin perfectly level with the floor.
The lovely flush tinting her cheeks gave away her internal agitation, however.
“What kind of proposal?” she finally asked.
A slow smile spread across Jonah’s face. “It’s perfect.” The tempo of his voice picked up as he made his pitch. “I have been researching the ranch for Natural Shale. We have that letter”—he waved at the paper she still held—“in its entirety, of course. It’s almost certainly enough to tie you up in court for a while.”
LeeAnn’s face blanched. “Are you threatening me?” Her voice came out as a bare whisper.
“Not at all. The opposite, actually. I’m trying to help.” He leaned forward a bit—not enough to invade her personal space, but enough to convey his sincerity. “Your taxes are coming due soon.” A slight wave of his hand took in the entirety of Cowbelles. “And working here isn’t likely to help you pay that bill.”
Her mouth dropped open, and Jonah rushed to finish before she had a chance to object. “If you get caught up in court, you’ll have attorneys’ fees, as well—and you will be required to provide access to any paperwork that might prove the issue one way or the other. So here’s what I suggest: I will pay you to let me sort through any paperwork you might have. You’ll be able to pay your taxes and avoid legal fees, and with any luck, I will learn who actually holds the drilling rights to your ranch.”
Pleased with his plan—one that could help us both, one that surely even a flaky hippie chick could appreciate—he waited confidently for her to agree.
The flush that suffused her cheeks deepened as her eyes grew wider. When she spoke, her voice shook with suppressed rage. “You’ve been doing research on my ranch? On me? You know when my taxes are due?”
Mentioning that so specifically might have been a tactical error.
“What on God’s green earth makes you think I would ever let you anywhere near my property?” Her voice grew louder as she marched toward him, glancing around, almost as if she were searching for something to use as a weapon against him. “You slimy…stalker. I don’t want your filthy oil money. And I definitely don’t want you digging through my gran’s things. What if you find something that proves I own the rights? I can’t trust you to tell me. You can take your proposal and shove it right—”
Every muscle in her entire sleek body tightened in an apparent effort to stop herself from saying anything else. Her bunched fists shuddered, and in a deeply controlled movement, she held the photocopied letter out toward him.
“Take this,” she rasped, “and get out. Now.”
He’d been wrong. She was obviously too irrational to recognize a good deal when she heard one. And she was far too wrought up to listen to any of his carefully marshaled arguments right now. Brushing away a flicker of irritation, he reminded himself to remain logical.
There’s no room for emotions in negotiations.
Time to retreat and regroup.
He nodded and touched the brim of his hat. “You can keep that,” he said, gesturing toward the paper in her hand. Then he moved toward the exit and stepped outside.
Lord, save me from hippies.
As the closing glass door cut off the sound of the electronic chimes, he glanced back inside.
LeeAnn stood with both arms wrapped around her torso, staring at the floor, her face a mask of misery.
Then, as he watched, she straightened up, drew in a deep breath, closed her eyes, and stretched her arms toward the ceiling, standing tall and straight, the distress on her face shifting to calm determination.
The expression seemed to pull at him, drawing him toward her. Resolutely turning away, Jonah reminded himself that the most important thing he could do was finish this job and get his promotion.
Onward and upward, man. Gotta keep moving.
No room for emotions, huh?
Then why was he suddenly so determined to find a way to work with this beautiful, angry, infuriating woman?
Chapter Four
In the dressing room at the TexZen Yoga Studio, LeeAnn stared blankly into her locker for a moment. Then she tugged out her backpack and slung it over her shoulder alongside her rolled-up mat in its carrying straps. Usually, she took a quick shower after teaching a class, but today she didn’t feel up to it. In fact, when Angie had called her last night and asked her to teach two classes this morning rather than her usual one, LeeAnn had almost said no—but the combination of extra money in her paycheck and a chance to remind Angie and the other instructors that she would be a good permanent addition to their team had overshadowed her desire to decline.
Not that she had gotten much sleep, anyway.
Instead, she spent the night tossing and turning, reviewing the events of the last few days—from the moment she had seen Darrell in the diner, to the kiss, to the realization that her handsome coconspirator in the sham kiss was the same man who had been calling every week, trying to torment her into allowing his company to desecrate the land her gran had given her.
Right up to the moment he had revealed his true nature: a shifty, underhanded sneak, trying to worm his way onto the ranch so he could slip the mineral rights out from under her.
She shouldn’t have been surprised.
But the juxtaposition of the two very different Jonah Hamiltons had thrown her for a loop.
On one hand, he was the smooth-talking salesman who was trying to trick her into collaborating with an evil oil company. On the other hand, he was the amazingly good fake kisser with an easy smile and a willingness to help her show up her ex.
It had all been too much to process.
Besides, some traitorous voice inside her head kept whispering things like, that wasn’t a fake kiss. That was a very real kiss.
And now here she was, sitting on a bench in the dressing room, staring off into space thinking about Jonah Hamilton instead of tying her shoes.
What is wrong with me?
She bent over to finish the job she had so absentmindedly begun, then headed out into the studio lobby.
Wait. I really should leave Angie a note about the new student who joined my class today—she should probably be in the intermediate class, but I’ll let Angie decide.
Turning down the hall that led to the main office, she paused when she heard Angie’s voice floating toward her. “We’re glad to have you on board.”
Chairs scraped across the floor in the office, but LeeAnn felt nailed to the floor.
Surely it’s just another new student.
Maybe even the one who was in the class this morning.
“Thanks so much,” another voice said. “I wasn’t certain I’d be able to find work in another studio so quickly.”
Not a new student.
A new instructor.
Who isn’t me.
Finally, her feet unglued from the floor—but as she took one huge, silent step backward, the two women stepped out of the office.
The new instructor, a tiny brunette, turned back to speak to Angie one last time. “So I’ll be here tomorrow for the evening class.”
The evening class? That’s my class. A morning class three times a week, and an evening class every
day. I’ve been teaching it for months.
Her eyes pricked with tears, and she blinked several times, hard.
Wait. Angie asked me to cover her class in order to interview someone else? Someone for the job she knew I wanted?
At that moment, Angie glanced up and noticed LeeAnn. Her face paled a little, but she continued speaking to the new hire.
“That sounds great,” the studio owner said to the new instructor, shaking the woman’s hand and nodding.
LeeAnn turned to let the smaller woman by but couldn’t manage more than a nod in response to the other woman’s smile and murmured greeting.
“Could I speak to you for a moment, LeeAnn?” Angie asked, gesturing into her office.
No.
“Of course.” Blinking back more tears, she followed her boss into the office.
Angie took a seat behind the desk and gestured for LeeAnn to sit down, as well.
“You know we love you here,” Angie said, her voice kind.
No.
LeeAnn nodded.
“You’ve done a wonderful job filling in while we’ve been shorthanded, and your work with the beginners’ classes has been excellent.”
But? Is there a “but” coming?
“We want you to keep teaching those classes.” Angie’s tone tilted up at the end of the statement, even though it wasn’t a question. The studio owner clearly wasn’t done speaking, but she paused as if to give LeeAnn a chance to say something. When she didn’t respond, Angie continued. “But you are still at least two months away from finishing your certification.”
There’s the “but.” And it comes with a head tilt from Angie—that’s supposed to indicate sympathy, I think.
It’s not working.
“Maria has been teaching for several years in some prestigious studios. We couldn’t turn down her application.” Angie pursed her lips a little. “You understand, right?”
“Of course.” LeeAnn’s voice sounded scratchy with tears. She cleared her throat. “So Maria isn’t taking over my night class?”
“Not at all. We’re adding an intermediate class in the evenings. Maria is taking over several of my classes so I can do more administrative work.”
Opposing the Cowboy Page 3
