He looked like any one of the hundred different cowboys who came in pretending they wanted a nice meal in a fancy dining room when what they really wanted was to eyeball the girl serving the food.

Yes, he looked like every other cowboy except for his steady eyes and how quiet and still he held himself, all watchful and calm.

Eighteen-year-old Lucy Hall served dozens of men like him every day—ignoring their invitations to walk her home, smiling at their jokes, ducking away from those who would steal a touch. None of them made her look twice.

Until now.

It was the way he seemed so self-assured, so peaceful with himself that drew her glance to him time after time. Often she caught a little smile on his lips as he overheard something from a nearby table. She wished she could share his amusement, grab hold a bit of his calmness. He gave her the feeling all was right with his world.

Lucy hesitated just a fraction on her way to get his order. No one would have noticed the slight pause if they'd cared to glance up from their meal. Only she knew the way her heart skittered with something akin to the nervousness she'd felt the first day she'd worked in the Dry Creek Hotel dining room.

"Morning, sir, what can I get you?" The words caught on the back of her tongue, but she would not clear her throat and cause any of the patrons to glance her way nor give them reason to tease her.

He smiled. His eyes were blue-green, like pond water on a bright day. He owned an unruly mop of blond curls.

Her cheeks heated as if seared by a July sun.

"You here alone?"

The sunshine threatened to blind her, though she knew the curtains muted the morning light. Her feelin