“Work for me,” he said. I stared at him, waiting for the punchline, because this was obviously a joke. Those gray eyes noted my posture and he spoke again. “I’m serious.” “Do I look like a ranch hand to you?” I deadpanned. I wasn’t a girly-girl, but I wasn’t a cowgirl either. I knew how a ranch worked, but I didn’t know the first thing about maintaining one. His lips twitched. That image would be seared into my memory for the rest of my days because that was the closest thing to a real, genuine smile he had ever given me. “No, but you look like the woman who’s going to help me stop Moonie
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