“Tag, I’d like for you to meet Emily-Ann Broadmoor, my best friend since childhood,” Camille introduced. “And Emily-Ann, this is Taggart O’Brien. He’s going to be Three Rivers’s new foreman.”
The man’s lips curved into a semblance of a polite smile and Emily-Ann found her gaze transfixed on his mouth. The lower lip was full and plush, while the top was thin and tilted upward just enough to show a glimpse of white teeth.
Extending his hand to her, he said, “Hello, Ms. Broadmoor. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
A strange roaring in her ears very nearly drowned out the sound of his voice and, in spite of feeling as though she’d suddenly fallen into some sort of trance, she managed to place her hand in his.
“Thank you,” she told him, while her swirling senses recognized the hard-calloused skin of his palm and the warmth of his fingers curling around hers. “Nice meeting you, too, Mr. O’Brien.”
With an impatient roll of her eyes, Camille interjected, “Oh, this just won’t do at all. Surely you two can use your first names. We’re all family around here.”
“I’m fine with it,” Taggart said. “If Ms. Broadmoor doesn’t mind.”
“First of all, Emily-Ann is a Miss, not a Ms.,” Camille corrected him, then turned a clever smile on Emily-Ann. “And she doesn’t mind. Do you?”
For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why Camille was making such a big to-do out of this introduction. It wasn’t like she’d be seeing the man after tonight. And from the stoic look on his face, he was totally bored by this whole meeting anyway.
Well, that was okay with her, Emily-Ann decided. She wasn’t exactly thrilled about exchanging hellos with this hard-looking cowboy, either. With that thought in mind, she pulled her shoulders back and tried to forget she’d always been the poor little girl who lived on the shabby side of town.
“I don’t mind,” she answered, then forced her gaze back to Taggart O’Brien. “Everyone calls me Emily-Ann.”
The faint smile on his lips twisted to a wider slant. “Well, everyone calls me Tag, or a few other things I shouldn’t repeat.”
He released her hand and Emily-Ann resisted the urge to wipe her sizzling palm against the side of her skirt.
“Tag is from West Texas,” Matthew informed her. “This is his first trip to Arizona and definitely his last. The Hollisters will see to that. He’s going to be a permanent fixture around here.”
“Welcome to Arizona, Tag,” Emily-Ann said with genuine sincerity. “I hope you like it here—in spite of the heat.”
His brown eyes were roaming her face as though she had two noses or something equally strange. The sensation was definitely unsettling, she thought, almost as much as the unadorned ring finger on his left hand. Surely this sexy-looking rancher was married. From the looks of him he had to be somewhere in his thirties. Plenty old enough to have a wife and kids stashed away somewhere.
He said, “I’m used to hot weather. And from everything I’ve seen since I arrived, I think I’m going to like it here just fine. The Hollisters are great and the area is beautiful.”
“Yes, the Hollisters are the best,” Emily-Ann murmured, then purposely turned her gaze on Camille. “Uh—don’t you think it’s time we go get that drink?”
“Sure! I can’t have anything alcoholic, but Jazelle will mix up something tasty for me.” She looped her arm through Emily-Ann’s, then cast a pointed look at her husband. “Would you men care to join us? It shouldn’t be long before they start bringing out the food.”
Smiling just for her, Matthew wrapped his hand around his wife’s free arm. “I don’t know about Tag, but I’d love to.”
Taggart hated parties, even when they were being held partly in his honor, such as this one. He’d never been good at mixing and mingling with people and being single made everything more awkward when he was introduced to the unwed women in the group. He didn’t have a wife to help him escape unwanted company, or to give him a reason to excuse himself.
Yet in this case, he wasn’t looking around for an escape route. Emily-Ann Broadmoor didn’t appear to be one of those boring cookie-cutter young women who spent hours trying to improve their appearance and five minutes or less educating themselves on things that actually mattered.
She wasn’t batting her long lashes at him or slanting him a coy look. She wasn’t grabbing his arm and hanging on as though she’d suddenly lost the strength to stand on her own two feet. No, this woman was refreshingly different, he thought. She might even be one he’d like to get to know as a friend. There couldn’t be any harm in that, he assured himself.
“I’m more than ready for a drink and dinner.” Purposely stepping up to the pretty redhead’s side, he offered her his arm. “What about you, Emily-Ann?”
For a moment he thought she was going to ignore him or simply walk away, but then she smiled and wrapped an arm through his.
“Thank you, Tag.”
The four of them moved slowly through the crowd toward the bar area where the four Hollister brothers were sipping cocktails and chatting with a few of the ranch hands. It was a sight that Taggart would’ve never seen on the Flying W back in Texas. Once the Armstrong family had taken over, the hands were never invited to mix with the employers, unless it was to take orders.
Hoping to shake away the unpleasant thoughts, he glanced down at Emily-Ann. She wasn’t exactly a beautiful woman, but she was very pretty in a unique sort of way. Her square face had a wide plush mouth, high cheekbones and a sprinkling of pale freckles across the bridge of her upturned nose. Long brown lashes shaded eyes that were emerald green. Or, at least, that had been his first impression of their color. Until she’d turned her head and the light had hit them from a different angle.
