Her low heels clicked on the Saltillo tile as she crossed the southwestern decorated foyer. Even the doors looked rustic, false worm damage etched into their faces and the stain an aged brown. Del pushed past it all, anxious to drink something cold and exotic and get back to her room to wind down. She had no interest in trail rides or the steak fry dinner by the manmade lake. She had no fascination for the cowboys the other conservative bankers gawked over. The spectacular sunset didn't pique her curiosity either. She passed by the corral where a few men stood, smoking and talking, their deep voices incoherent against the sounds of the night.

"Evenin' m'am," one said.

She turned to see him tip his hat. "Good evening," she replied, hardly noticing him, and went on her way.

The ranch was no place for heels. She decided she'd have to give in and wear boots tomorrow, even jeans. The Arizona heat didn't suit her style of pantyhose and silk skirts.

A sidewalk crossed the trimmed lawn by which she walked. Music drifted in the air, some rockier version of honky-tonk swing that she tried to ignore. The whole place was too touristy and outdoorsy for her tastes. She clipped past a statue of a tortoise, and her shoes thumped on the wooden deck by the main building. Del headed for the little bar at the end, hoping it wouldn't be crowded.

She opened the creaky, wooden door and entered. Dancers sidestepped and moved in unison, their boots clacking as they changed positions. Del squeezed past a group of tourists on her way to the bar. A seat near the dance floor looked like the only spot left.

Sitting on the stool, she eyed the bartender until he noticed her. He approached in slow motion, a red towel slung over his shoulder and a toothpick dangling from his lips. "What can I get ya, Missy?"

"A margarita." She offered a polite smile.

"Want that with salt?"

"Please."

He nodded and turned to mix her drink. Behind her, the dancers laughed and carried on. She set her bag on the floor and her elbows on the bar, resting her chin atop her clasped hands. The song ended and soon another one started, resetting the cycle.

The front door slapped against the wall as someone burst in. No one seemed to notice over the noise, but Del turned and glanced at the man. He stood tall, over six feet she guessed. He pulled off his black Stetson to hang it by the door. His face looked familiar in a classic way, high cheekbones and a broad forehead. He scanned the room as if searching for someone. His heated gaze caught on her. She felt his surveillance, the measuring look in his eyes. The cowboy started toward the bar, his black brows slanting as he stared at her. The thought of him getting any closer made her uncomfortable. He resembled a bad guy from an old western, rough with his grizzled face and serious mouth.

"Hey Jimmy!" he called, and Del turned to see that her drink had arrived.

The bartender waved a casual hello to the cowboy and nodded at her. "There ya go, Missy. Wanna keep a tab or is that it for you tonight?"

The cowboy squeezed in between Del and the gentleman sitting next to her. His arm rubbed hers. He smiled a crooked grin.

"Uh, I'll have a tab," she blurted.

"Care to dance?" the cowboy asked.

Del looked over at the floor. The lights were low and the people hadn't thinned one bit. "Not really my thing," she said, turning back to him.

"Maybe a slow dance?"

She looked him up and down, noticing his rugged body and the tight way his jeans hugged his legs. It had been awhile since she'd slow danced. Her gaze settled on the curly, black chest hairs rimming the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. Del sucked in her lower lip for a moment. It had been a long time since she did much of anything with a man. "Maybe."

He shrugged and ordered a beer. She watched him drink as she sipped her sour margarita. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Del. Yours?"

"Garrett."

"Pleasure to meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine." He drank back half his beer and reached for her hand. "Next song, you're mine, okay?"

"That depends on the song." His palm felt rough against her wrist. He closed his fingers over her skin, and she wondered what it would feel like to be held down by such a strong man. The stray thought sent a thrill through her body. It's been way too long.

Del let him run his thumb across her skin for a little while, and mixed with the sour salt of her margarita, her mouth watered for more. She pulled away, slowly, so he'd know she wasn't offended and brought her wide glass to her lips.

Garrett drank his beer and eyed her over the top of his glass. He guzzled it to the end. Licking his lips, he leaned close. "You picky 'bout the song or the company?"

"The company looks good to me." She chuckled at herself, a little startled by the flirty comment.