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Next in line was a basic black dress, sleeveless with a modest scoop neckline, but again, it looked too formal, even with a scarf at her throat. She went through the remainder of her hundred-dollar wardrobe and eventually returned to her first choice, the airy gathered skirt and peasant blouse. It said, “I’m not trying to impress anyone.” Unfortunately, it didn’t make her look very professional.
    Oh, well. If Parker Harrigan didn’t hire her because of her appearance, then he wasn’t very smart, and she’d be better off working for someone else. She took a final glance at herself in the mirror, thrust her feet into white canvas slip-ons, flicked the skirt with her fingers, and marched from the bedroom.
    When she arrived at Parker Harrigan’s front gate, she saw an intercom mounted on a concrete post. There was a number pad for people who knew the gate code. Along the fence line, she saw what looked like infrared cameras. Was this a ranch or a high-security compound? She punched the button on the intercom. Some man came on the line who used improper verb tenses and had a thick Southern drawl.
    “Who’d you say you was, lady?”
    “My name is Rai”— oops —“Anna Pritchard. I’m here to apply for the bookkeeping position. Mr. Harrigan is expecting me.”
    “Well, Rae-Anna, I reckon you can come on in.”
    The gate swung open. Rainie thumped her hand on the steering wheel of the dilapidated Mazda as she drove through the entrance. “Your name is no longer Rainie, you idiot. You have to remember that.”
    As the car bumped along the rutted dirt road, she took in the scenery that lay ahead. Separated by a packed gravel parking area peppered with dusty pickups, a huge post-and-timber home, a monstrous metal structure, and a clutch of outbuildings composed the ranch proper. Beyond that, fenced pastureland undulated like a rumpled green carpet. Rainie saw a potbellied man in jeans and a cowboy hat ambling toward the house. Parker Harrigan, no doubt. Maybe she should have worn the faded jeans and knit top, after all.
    She parked beside a battered red Dodge with huge tires and a jacked-up undercarriage. The vehicle put her in mind of the monster trucks she’d seen on television that competed in mud races. This would be like working in a foreign country—traveling over a tooth-rattling road, parking in the shadow of a monster truck, and trying to communicate with people who spoke a different language. Unfortunately, beggars couldn’t be choosers, and she needed this job.
    As Rainie collected her purse, the older man disappeared into the house without a backward glance. That was a bit odd. The polite thing would have been for him to wait on the porch to escort her inside.
    As she exited the car, the front door of the house swung open again and a younger man stepped out. She guessed him to be an inch or so shy of six feet tall, but his bearing compensated for the lack of height. Broad shouldered and narrow at the hip, he had an athletic, muscular build. Faded jeans skimmed his powerfully roped thighs, and a wash-worn blue chambray shirt showcased an upper torso well toned from hard work.
    “Howdy,” he called, flashing white teeth as he grinned. “You must be Anna. Glad to see you made it without any mishaps.”
    Rainie recognized the voice. This was Parker Harrigan? If she hadn’t been desperate for work, she would have climbed right back in the car. He was way too everything . Way too young. Way too handsome. Way too sexy. Glistening black hair fell over his high forehead in lazy waves. His sun-bronzed face was a study in masculinity. His thick eyebrows arched expressively over twinkling brown eyes and a hawkish beak of a nose. His jawline was as sharply angled as a carpenter’s square. Underscored by a strong, cleft chin, his full mouth somehow managed to look both firm and yet silken at once.
    Rattled, Rainie shifted her purse from one hand to the other. All her instincts urged her to be smart for once in