In the Arms of the Rancher
Kate Muldoon was behind the hostess station, checking the reservation list, when the restaurant entrance door opened. A smile of greeting on her lips, she glanced up to see a man just inside the door and felt a strange skip beat in her chest.
The first word to jump into her mind was cowboy. Kate couldn't say why that particular descriptive word came to mind. There wasn't a pair of boots or a Stetson in sight. He was dressed the same as most patrons, casually in jeans that hugged his hips like a lover, a pale blue button down shirt tucked into the narrow denim waistband, the sleeves rolled up to mid-forearm.
His height was impressive. Kate judged him to be six feet five or six inches tall at least, maybe more. He was lean, muscular and rangy. He had a head full of thick, straight dark, almost black, hair with strands of deepest red glinting under the lights. It was long, caught at his nape and was tied with a narrow strip of leather.
He was striking—sharply defined features, a squared jaw and piercing dark eyes. His skin was tanned, near bronze. Part Native American, perhaps? Maybe.
But he wasn't what she would call handsome, not in the way Jeff was& ... read full excerpt from: In the Arms of the Rancher ebook
