wasn’t sure who was more disconcerted by her announcement, Harold because it destroyed his image of her as one of the heiresses to the ranch or Jake because she’d made the statement without the slightest trace of venom. She was beyond caring if her father discovered she knew about his plan. Let the whole lot of them go straight to hell.
Jake recovered first. “Of course, Sara will stay right here as long as she likes,” he chimed in, then added, “One way or another.”
Harold looked confused by the enigmatic remark. “I don’t understand.”
Sara patted his arm. “Don’t worry about it. Jake and I have a little bet going about the future.”
“Perhaps it’s good that we came tonight,” Harold said solemnly. “I’m sure there’s an alternative for your future that you haven’t considered. We can discuss it after dinner, if you like.”
Jake winked at her. “See, Sara. Your options are unlimited.”
“Oh, go to hell,” she muttered under her breath.
She was sure, based on his amused expression, that Jake heard her. Unfortunately, so did Harold. His shocked reaction made her wonder if he was already having second thoughts about proposing to a woman who couldn’t control her tongue.
Please, heaven, let that be the case, she thought desperately. If Harold Patterson actually put a formal proposal on the table, her father would have her marching down the aisle before she could explain that she had stupidly gone and fallen in love with another man.
Something told her that Trent Wilde might be happy to sell his ranch to Jake Dawson, he might even enjoy including him in an occasional dinner party, but he might not be nearly so content to have the rogue rodeo champ as a son-in-law.
Boy, was he in for a shock, if their bronc-riding contest turned out the way Jake obviously intended it to. It would almost be worth losing, just to see the look on her father’s face when he discovered she’d made her own rather unorthodox arrangements for her marital future.
Chapter Seven
J ake couldn’t recall the last time he’d enjoyed one of Trent Wilde’s stuffy little dinner parties more. The Pattersons were nice enough people, but about as entertaining as waiting for a bone to heal, something with which he had all too much experience.
As for placid, insipid Harold Patterson, he was no match for a woman of Sara’s quick wit and energy. He’d bore her to death in a week, maybe even on their wedding night.
If the Pattersons had been dull dinner companions, Sara’s presence had more than made up for them. In fact, tormenting sweet Sara had removed the slightest trace of tedium from the evening. She was so readily rattled, so easily stirred by the slightest, most innocent touch. He’d thoroughly enjoyed making her cheeks flame and her pulse race with the sneaky caresses she couldn’t acknowledge or fight off.
Unfortunately, he’d had to suffer the consequences—another very long, very restless night. With the memory of another far more exhilarating end to an evening fresh in his mind, his body ached like the very devil.
By morning he was exhausted and cranky. He was in no mood to hear from Zeke before dawn. For Zeke to use the phone at any hour could only mean trouble. Jake was in no mood to deal with trouble either.
“What the hell are you calling about?” he snapped.
“You’re going to have to put an end to this lunatic bet of yours,” his friend announced without preamble.
Jake moaned. “Zeke, I am not talking about that now. Call me back at a civilized hour. It’s my one day off and I was planning to sleep in.”
“If you’d buy one of them fancy-schmancy answering machines like everyone else in the whole dang world, I wouldn’t have to call you back at all,” Zeke retorted, undeterred by Jake’s plea. “I could have left a message the first time I called last night. Or the second. Or the third.”
“I thought you hated answering machines even more than you do
Jake recovered first. “Of course, Sara will stay right here as long as she likes,” he chimed in, then added, “One way or another.”
Harold looked confused by the enigmatic remark. “I don’t understand.”
Sara patted his arm. “Don’t worry about it. Jake and I have a little bet going about the future.”
“Perhaps it’s good that we came tonight,” Harold said solemnly. “I’m sure there’s an alternative for your future that you haven’t considered. We can discuss it after dinner, if you like.”
Jake winked at her. “See, Sara. Your options are unlimited.”
“Oh, go to hell,” she muttered under her breath.
She was sure, based on his amused expression, that Jake heard her. Unfortunately, so did Harold. His shocked reaction made her wonder if he was already having second thoughts about proposing to a woman who couldn’t control her tongue.
Please, heaven, let that be the case, she thought desperately. If Harold Patterson actually put a formal proposal on the table, her father would have her marching down the aisle before she could explain that she had stupidly gone and fallen in love with another man.
Something told her that Trent Wilde might be happy to sell his ranch to Jake Dawson, he might even enjoy including him in an occasional dinner party, but he might not be nearly so content to have the rogue rodeo champ as a son-in-law.
Boy, was he in for a shock, if their bronc-riding contest turned out the way Jake obviously intended it to. It would almost be worth losing, just to see the look on her father’s face when he discovered she’d made her own rather unorthodox arrangements for her marital future.
Chapter Seven
J ake couldn’t recall the last time he’d enjoyed one of Trent Wilde’s stuffy little dinner parties more. The Pattersons were nice enough people, but about as entertaining as waiting for a bone to heal, something with which he had all too much experience.
As for placid, insipid Harold Patterson, he was no match for a woman of Sara’s quick wit and energy. He’d bore her to death in a week, maybe even on their wedding night.
If the Pattersons had been dull dinner companions, Sara’s presence had more than made up for them. In fact, tormenting sweet Sara had removed the slightest trace of tedium from the evening. She was so readily rattled, so easily stirred by the slightest, most innocent touch. He’d thoroughly enjoyed making her cheeks flame and her pulse race with the sneaky caresses she couldn’t acknowledge or fight off.
Unfortunately, he’d had to suffer the consequences—another very long, very restless night. With the memory of another far more exhilarating end to an evening fresh in his mind, his body ached like the very devil.
By morning he was exhausted and cranky. He was in no mood to hear from Zeke before dawn. For Zeke to use the phone at any hour could only mean trouble. Jake was in no mood to deal with trouble either.
“What the hell are you calling about?” he snapped.
“You’re going to have to put an end to this lunatic bet of yours,” his friend announced without preamble.
Jake moaned. “Zeke, I am not talking about that now. Call me back at a civilized hour. It’s my one day off and I was planning to sleep in.”
“If you’d buy one of them fancy-schmancy answering machines like everyone else in the whole dang world, I wouldn’t have to call you back at all,” Zeke retorted, undeterred by Jake’s plea. “I could have left a message the first time I called last night. Or the second. Or the third.”
“I thought you hated answering machines even more than you do
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