Lone Calder Star by Janet Dailey Page A

her grandfather and his reluctance to leave the area. "And if everything goes according to plan, in a couple more years I'll have my degree. It's hard to say where that might take me. Somewhere else though, I'm sure."
    "Have you decided on your major?"
    "Business administration," she answered without hesitation. "Although I still haven't decided if I want to focus on the financial side or management."
    "Either way you'll be carrying a bunch of accounting courses."
    Dallas was surprised he would know that. There was only one logical conclusion to be drawn tram that. Still she hesitated. "Did you go to college?"
    "I have a feeling you've never met a cowboy who knew his way around a university campus before." His look was lightly teasing.
    " You might be surprised to learn that it isn't uncommon these days for a Triple C ranch hand to have a degree in his pocket."
    Dallas realized that her initial impression of him as an ordinary cowboy had colored much of her thinking. But a common ranchhand wouldn't have been sent here to take over the Cee Bar.
    "I think I remember hearing somewhere that the Triple C is a big ranch. Is it?" she wondered.
    "Bigger than most."
    "Is it bigger than the Slash R?"
    "Yes."
    Dallas had only to consider the immense power and wealth Max Rutledge could wield to know that Triple C's size was irrelevant when it was well over a thousand miles away.
    "Have you worked at the Triple C long?" she asked instead. "No, not long. Why?"
    "Just curious," Dallas admitted, aware that her motive was nothing more than a simple desire to know more about him.
    Although he hadn't been exactly forthcoming in his answer. It made her wonder why he was so guarded. She laughed out loud when a possible reason popped into her mind. "If you're worried that Rutledge is using me to get all the information I can about you, you can forget it. I promise you, I'm not his pawn."
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    "I'm glad to hear that." There was a smoky intensity to his steady gaze that sent her pulse skittering all over the place. "You're smart to be cautious, though." His smile widened. "That sounds like a compliment." "It Is."
    "Now that your opinion of me has improved a little, maybe you might accept if I asked you to dance."
    The suggestion, coming as it did from out of nowhere, caught Dallas by surprise. Up until that moment she had blocked out the honky-tonk music coming from the jukebox. Now she heard the ballad being played. And the woman in her wanted to know it would be like to feel his arms around her.
    "Are you asking?" she said, unconsciously holding her breath
    "Are you accepting?" he countered.
    She had expected him to smile an answer, but his expression, while warm, was on the serious side.
    Letting her actions speak for itself, Dallas slid off the bar stool and turned toward the dance floor. An instant later she felt the light pressure of his guiding hand on the curve of her waist.
    The contact produced a delicious little tingle.
    When they reached the cleared space in front of the jukeho, two other couples were already making use of the slow music . Dallas turned into his arms, surprised at how very natural it seemed to slide her hand onto his shoulder.
    Hands linked, Quint made no attempt to draw her close as he guided her into the opening steps.
    But with each turn around the dance floor, the space between them lessened until their legs were brushing and he felt the occasional rub of her breasts against his chest.
    The top of her head came just to his nose. Every now and then he felt the evocative stir of her warm breath against his jaw and caught the faint fragrance of the strawberry-scented shampoo she used on her hair.
    A silence swirled between them, charged with the stimulating effect of physical contact. With each step, each rocking sway of motion, they came a little bit closer together, their bodies automatically adjusting to the contours of each other.
    Quint was conscious of a thousand things about her-the long sweep of her brown