"No," he says. "My wife was working on one, when he was just young."

Wife? She looks down at his hand. A disappointment that she doesn't want to admit to runs through her when she sees the ring.

"You're married, Mr. Callahan?"

"Was married." He doesn't look at her. He reaches up with one hand and twists the ring around his finger a little.

"What happened?"

"Complications." The boy manages to get his leg swung up over the horse. It yanks left and then jerks hard to the right and kicks back, and half a second later the kid's on the tumbling head-over-heels into the dirt.

The black stallion turns around and tries to throw what's left of the stuff on his back off, but they've got the saddle strapped on.

"I'm sorry," Morgan says finally. Unsure what else to say. She feels bad about what she was just thinking about how he looked.

"Don't be. I'm just a sentimental old man."

"You don't look so old to me."

"Yeah, tell that to the boys. Look at them. I tried that s.h.i.t, my hip would pull clear out of its socket."

"You look like you used to do pretty good for yourself."

"This kinda s.h.i.t? Never. I was a football guy. Was supposed to go to some big university in California, but... I dunno. Things didn't go that way."

"Oh yeah?" It's caught her interest a little, but she's not going to pry if it's going to p.i.s.s him off. She's got to walk a careful line.

Once this is all done, she goes back home to Nevada. She's not looking for a relationship, and she's sure as h.e.l.l not looking for a new friend for life.

But at the same time, to convert the sale, she's got to get in his head a little. And he's got to get into her head a little, too. It's like dancing. They can't do a h.e.l.l of a lot of anything if they're not on the same page.

At the same time, you don't keep dancing forever. Eventually, you both step off the dance floor and you go back to your separate lives. The problem is, sometimes you find a real good dance partner, and...

Morgan looks over at Phil Callahan. She doesn't know much about him. Once-married, former football player. Owns a ranch and a horse that he thinks could be good racing stock. Owns a ranch that's right between her new Wyoming plants. One that she'd very much like to own, instead.

But from the tight hips, the broad shoulders... the powerful legs and the way that his shirt gets tight around his arms... she could definitely find worse dancing partners than him.

Which means that she's got a real mistake lining up, if she's not careful. This is business, it's not personal.

But that doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt in the end if she goes in too far, gets in too deep, or lets herself get funny ideas about him before they finally split up in the end.

And with a man who looks like this, it is really a lot easier than it should be, to get all the wrong ideas.

Chapter Nine.

"I don't know what you're trying to prove," Philip says finally. It's a quaint time, because Michael's trying to prove something himself, getting up there on that stallion.

He's liable to get himself killed, but until one of them gets that hundred dollars they seem to have decided that they're going to take turns getting themselves thrown off and hoping to h.e.l.l that it doesn't result in a whole mess of broken bones.

So far, James fell in a way that had Callahan a little worried about him. He jumped up an instant later, and the way he was moving his left arm said that it couldn't have been worse than a strain. He looked like it barely hurt at all, so he might have been lucky.

They've got it working a little better, now. They've actually got to the point where they can almost stay in the seat a few seconds. At this point, though, they've still got a long way to go, and with the sun starting to dip down on the horizon...

"I don't know what you mean," she says. She's been watching the boys with a pa.s.sing interest. Which is to say, she's kept her eyes on it, but she doesn't seem to have any sort of vested interest in their success. Not that any of them do, really.

The notion that they're showing off for a girl, though, means that they're not going to quit now until Philip drags them off the back of the d.a.m.n horse, or until one of them wins the day.

"You got, what, a hundred people working that site? Probably another hundred at the other one. That about right?"

"Not exactly, but close enough."

"Why do you need my land? You got two big ol' factories going up. Ain't no need for three of them all in a row."

"Apartments," she says. James works his arm in its socket. Must have hurt a little, at least, or he'd already be throwing his weight up while his brothers catch their breath. Then he takes a firm grip on the reins and shifts his weight up.

"You in the business of renting out apartments, too?"

James keeps his weight low. The horse tries to throw him off to the side, but he expects it, now. The elder boy throws his weight against it and stays in the saddle. His hurt arm flies free, the good one cinched in tight and close.

"For the workers. We can offer them cheap rent, and it keeps them closer to the job site. So it's a win for them, and a win for us."

"Huh."

The horse tries throwing James again. Callahan winces as the boy's weight, low as he can keep it, comes flying off the saddle a couple inches. The horse comes back down onto the ground hard, and James keeps a good enough grip that the horse yanks him back down into the saddle.

"We're not going to try to cheat you, you know. We'll make you a very generous offer, and we're prepared to negotiate. But having the s.p.a.ce right there, practically b.u.t.ting up against both sides-I shouldn't tell you this, but it's worth quite a bit."

"Well, then I'm sorry that I'm being such a cuss about it." His heart really isn't in the conversation. He's watching James and hoping he doesn't get his arm ripped out. Still, he's looking good for it.

Then the horse kicks just right, and James's hand must not be cinched in tight enough because he slips and tumbles right onto his a.s.s. Randy and Michael make a bee-line to grab the horse and get it calmed down. James pushes himself up, looks up to see how the girl's thinking about him.

But Philip Callahan's standing right there next to her, and he knows the answer. He's not thinking about them at all. Not thinking about him, either, and he shouldn't be thinking about her.

She's thinking about what it would do for her business if she got them to sell her the land.

"Well, if you're sorry about it, I can get some papers drawn up-"

"Not that sorry," he says. He shakes his head as if he were sad about it, but he's not.

"You can't blame a girl for trying, can you?"

He can't. And he doesn't. But that doesn't mean that he's changing his mind. His eyes slide over on the horizon. They have time for maybe another few tries before they're done. The little sapling reminds him why he's not selling.

"I don't blame you, Miss Lowe. I just want you to know that I'm not changing my mind, in spite of not blaming you."

"Well, if you won't let me buy your ranch, you could at least let me buy you dinner." Callahan looks over at her. His eyebrow raises. "And the boys. Of course. Ain't every day you get that kind of entertainment for free."

Randy tightens a gloved hand into the reins and throws his weight up onto the horse, and then hangs on for dear life as the ornery son of a b.i.t.c.h gets to trying to throw him off again.

"I couldn't. And neither could they. You got other things on your mind, don't worry about us."

"Well, Mr. Callahan, I'm not a woman who gives up easy. If I was, I wouldn't be able to do my job. So you're going to be seeing a lot of me. You might as well get the benefits, too."

He lets out a breath. "You want to take the boys, they'll eat about anything. But leave me out of it, I'll find something on my own."

He doesn't want to admit that he doesn't want to start any rumors about the two of them, and he doesn't want to spend any time with her because if some rumors got started then they wouldn't be that far from the truth.

Morgan Lowe is a h.e.l.l of an attractive woman. It's easy to imagine himself with her. It'd be easy for any man to imagine it. The boys seemed to think that he had some ideas in his head about it, and it was hard not to think that maybe he was getting some sort of notion.

He didn't want to get any notions. He wanted to keep working his ranch, get rid of the Black, and get back to his life. Get back to the work that he'd known since he was just a boy.

Because the truth is, there's no s.p.a.ce for a second attractive woman in his life, no matter how much he wants there to be.

Chapter Ten.

Morgan Lowe sits in her car with the lights off, and her stomach doing a flip. What the heck is she thinking? There's nothing to be nervous about.

And yet, it's dark, the lights in the house are still on, and she's got a paper bag full of takeout. Takeout for two, it should be noted. Because she's got to impress somehow, and not being a scaly b.i.t.c.h has been the best way to get him to talk to her so far.

There's no being sure that this will even work. But going out of her way to think about him, maybe, will show that she's got the human element. Maybe she'll look thoughtful.

Maybe she won't. Maybe she'll look pushy and needy and everything that she doesn't want to be described as. Maybe everything will just go sideways, and she'll have to go back with her tail between her legs, knowing that things couldn't possibly go in the direction of selling the place.

But there's a good chance that neither is going to happen. More than likely, she stays in this awful limbo that she's already been in for days now. She'll be allowed to come around, and he won't be even willing to think about it.

Well, everyone's willing to think about it. Everyone has a price, and it's a price that she'd be willing to pay, if it means that she gets to have that feather in her cap. Doesn't matter what the number is-none is too high.

But sometimes the price isn't something in money. Or you can't get them to make the mental translation from the money to whatever they really want.

Sometimes they want what they've got because they think it makes them look better. They don't want the thing, they want to look good. So you give them an out, a way to look good without whatever you wanted. Then the emotions are out of the way, and then they've got a number.

Morgan isn't sure what the emotions are that Callahan is dealing with. He's got history here, and when that history isn't with you any more... well, once she's got a better idea of the problem, she can get a better idea of the solution.

She hefts up the bag of takeout. He'll let her in, or he won't. But she's not going to let herself get turned away by just the thought that he might not. She's got too much pride and she's worked too hard to get where she is, to let it go now.

Not when she's so close.

When she finally makes this sale, they'll have to respect her. The same thing is true of her, after all, as anyone else.

It's not the ranch that matters. It's winning where her father lost, and showing Brad and all those sons of b.i.t.c.hes back at the site that she's not just some woman who wants to priss around the site while the men do the real work.

She's just as much of a leader, just as much of a captain of the ship as her father ever was. Just like him, she's willing to do any job that needs doing. And just like him, as the company grew, she hires the right people so that she shouldn't need to do much on the floor.

This-property acquisition-was what her real job was. Hopefully there wouldn't be a riot waiting for her, Brad Lang at its head, by the time the ink dries.

Chapter Eleven.

It's been a while since there was any reason to keep beer in the house. After all, there aren't any parties going on. n.o.body's coming over to see much of anything.

But with the buyers coming out any day now, it's not hard to imagine that they might want something to drink. Most will take water, some will take soda. A couple might not say no to a beer.

And neither, right now, with the mood he's been in, would Philip Callahan. Not only wouldn't he-he didn't. Not that there was any reason that he shouldn't be drinking a little.

He'd never had cause to drink alone, but it was a little celebration, all for himself. A chance to say to the world that he wasn't giving up. That he'd figure out, some way or the other, how to keep the ranch open.

The stallion went, that was a couple grand right into the ranch. Went into new samples, went into new breeding stock. Went into making it a real business again, making real money. Making more than just horse-hair.

There's a knock at the door. He's not that drunk. There's no way that he's imagining it. The knock comes again, and he sets the can down on the table, next to the four others like it.

The T.V. yammers on in the background, the remote too well-hidden to bother turning it off.

"One second," he calls out. It takes longer than it should have to pick his way through the room and get to the door. He's made a mess of the room for one thing, and for another, he's not navigating at his best.

The door opens, and on the other side is a pretty woman in a snug-fitting jacket. It's started raining some time in the last couple minutes, and yet it took no time at all to start pouring, and now Morgan Lowe is standing in his doorway dripping wet.

"Can I come in?"

"Uh, sure." Philip steps back and lets her pa.s.s. She drops a sack of food on the table. It's about the only thing she's got that isn't soaked through. Aside from a few little water-splash marks, it's actually in surprisingly good condition, all told.

"You alright?"

"I got you some food. Us some food."

"I thought you were going out with the boys?"