Damn, but it was good to be home. He’d been at the ranch three weeks ago, but it seemed longer.
“Oh, and Phil’s here,” Rosie said.
“Great!” At last he’d solve the mystery. Tucking his glasses in the vee of his shirt, he looked past Rosie to the person standing in the open doorway. That sure wasn’t Phil, so the guy must have stayed inside.
She was tall, maybe five-nine, and slim. Her shoulder-length red hair made him think of polished cherrywood, and the sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks added a wholesome touch. In contrast, her full mouth would tempt a priest to forget his vows.
But her eyes were the most striking thing about her. They were the saturated blue of a Wyoming sky on a hot summer day. A shirt in the same shade had been a good choice on her part. He had to drag his gaze from hers. She was just that mesmerizing. She might be Phil’s girl, though, so he’d have to be careful.
Her jeans and boots were the type everybody wore around here, but on her they looked especially nice. If this was Phil’s girlfriend, Damon was impressed. The guy had excellent taste.
But when she walked forward, hand outstretched and mischief dancing in those blue eyes, he suddenly knew he’d been had.
“It’s good to meet you, Damon.” Her voice trembled slightly as if she might be holding back laughter. “I’m Philomena Turner.”