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By Root 443 0

dinner the moment he was seated at the table. She wished she could say Fletcher was in rare form, but she’d seen him behave this way before, when another man had shown interest in her. But what was strange was that Dillon hadn’t actually shown any interest in her, so she couldn’t understand why Fletcher was being so territorial. Unless…he had picked up on her interest in Dillon. She pushed such utter nonsense from her mind. She was not interested in Dillon. She was merely curious. What woman wouldn’t be interested in a man like Dillon Westmoreland. He was at least six foot four with coffee-colored features. He had an angular face that boasted a firm jaw, a pair of cute dimples, full lips and the darkest eyes she’d ever seen on a man. She was engaged to be married, but not blind. And when he had sat down at the table to join them for dinner, his presence was powerfully masculine in a distracting way. She glanced around

Three G lancing out the window Pam saw Dillon’s car the moment it pulled up in front of the house. She took a sip of her coffee while watching him, grateful that the window was designed in a way that gave her a view of anyone arriving. From what she’d been told, her great-grandfather had deliberately built the house that way to have an advantage over anyone who came calling without their knowledge. Today she was making full use of that advantage. After he brought the car to a stop, she watched as he opened the car and got out. He stood for a moment to study her home, which gave her an opportunity to study him. He was tall—she’d noticed that last night. But last night she hadn’t had time to fully check him out. She couldn’t help but appreciate what she saw now. Nice shoulders. Firm abdomen. Muscled chest. Taut thighs. He was wearing jeans and a blue western shirt that revealed strong arms, and a black Stetson was on his head. She sighed deeply, thinking that inviting him to come back to

Four P am glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. Dillon had been up in the attic for over an hour, and she couldn’t help but wonder how things were going. More than once she’d thought about going up to find out but had talked herself out of it. Instead she got busy looking over scripts for new plays her students had submitted. The ringing of her phone interrupted her thoughts and she had a feeling who the caller was without bothering to look at caller ID. Sighing deeply, she picked up the phone. “Hello?” “How are you, Pamela? This is Fletcher.” “I’m fine, Fletcher. How are things in Laramie?” “They are fine, but I received a call and I’m going to have to leave here and go to Montana and check on a store there. A massive snowstorm caused a power failure that lasted a couple of days, and a lot of our refrigerated items were destroyed.” “I’m sorry to hear that.” “So am I. That means I’ll be flying to Montana to meet with the insurance company representative. It may take a few days and

Five P am was trying, desperately so, to convince herself that the only reason she was sitting at the kitchen table and staring out the window was to study all the Indian paintbrushes that were still blooming this late in the year. It wasn’t working. Just like it wasn’t working to try and convince herself the only reason she’d gone to bed with thoughts of Dillon on her mind instead of the man she was engaged to marry was because Dillon had been to dinner the last couple of nights. The reason that argument wouldn’t hold up was because, although Fletcher had been dropping in for dinner quite often, she had yet to take visions of him to her bed. She had yet to remember, in vivid detail, what he’d been wearing the last time she’d seen him, and yet to hear the sound of his voice in her head in the wee hours of the morning. So why was Dillon Westmoreland causing so much havoc in her life when she should be concentrating on setting the best date to marry Fletcher? The main thing that had been

Six P am glanced around at the excited faces of her students. Practice had gone perfectly, with all of them knowing their lines. There was no doubt in her mind