The Ashtons - Cole, Abigail & Megan

formula to several major feed companies and now the product was distributed not only in the States, but in several foreign countries, as well.
    “Is he still in development?” Russ asked.
    “No. Ford’s an independent consultant to large cattle breeders, now.” She grinned. “And when he’s not in some other part of the country tromping through somebody’s feedlot, he’s out in our fields working on his tan.”
    The reappearance of Abby’s dimples caused the air to lodge in Russ’s lungs, and he had to concentrate hard on what she’d said. “There’s nothing wrong with that. In July and August, when the temperature hits the uppernineties around here, I’ve been known to take my shirt off while I work in the vineyards.”
    “I thought the weather in Napa Valley was mild all the time,” she said, placing her fork on the edge of her plate.
    “It is.” As if to contradict him, lightning flashed outside, followed by the rumble of thunder.
    They both laughed.
    “Well, most of the time the weather’s nice,” he said, rising to take their plates to the sink. “I baked an apple pie for dessert. Would you like some now or do you want to wait and have it with coffee later?”
    “You made a pie? I’m impressed.”
    Turning to face her, he gave her a sheepish grin. “I didn’t say I made it. Just baked it.”
    “Oh, I see.” Her smile sent his blood pressure soaring and had him wondering if he’d be able to keep the promise he’d made her earlier in the afternoon. “I think having pie with coffee later would be nice.”
    He nodded. “Sounds good to me. I’ll start the coffeemaker.” A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the room a split second before thunder rattled the plates in the sink and everything went completely dark. “Or not.”
    She laughed, and the sound sent a shaft of longing straight up his spine and had him deciding that he’d been a complete fool for promising to keep his hands to himself. “I think we’ll be eating that pie by candlelight,” she said.
    “Looks like it,” he agreed, cursing himself for not thinking of using candles during dinner. It appeared he needed to brush up on his dating techniques, he decided as he opened the drawer where he kept a flashlight, candles and an odd assortment of small tools.
    But as he pulled two fat, red candles from the drawer and set them on saucers to light the wicks, he wondered who the hell he was kidding. How often did he entertain a woman at the cottage? And especially one like Abby? Hell, he could count on one hand the number of times he’d even been out with a woman who had a college education, let alone one with a doctorate.
    “Let’s sit in the living room,” he said, leading the way into the small sitting area. “The power will probably be back on in a few minutes.”
    At least, he hoped it would. Sitting on the couch with a beautiful woman in the romantic glow from the candles was not going to be easy on his libido.
    “I’m used to the electricity going off,” Abby said, sitting beside him. “In winter, our power lines snap from the cold, and in spring and summer, winds from thunderstorms tear them down.”
    “We don’t have outages that often,” he said, wondering what on earth he’d been thinking when he’d asked her to dinner. In about two seconds they were going to exhaust talking about the weather. Then what? He had a few ideas, but all of them involved her in his arms.
    Damn! He should have known that promise not to touch her until she told him to was going to come back and bite him in the butt.
    “When are you competing again?” she asked, breaking into his morose thoughts.
    “This weekend, down in Wild Horse Flats.” He shrugged. “It’s a small rodeo about three hundred and fifty miles south of here, but I always do well there.”
    She gave him a smile that made his heart pound. “Sometimes the smaller rodeos are the most fun.”
    “You like watching rodeo?”
    She nodded. “When we were in high school, I used to do a little barrel racing and Ford competed as a calf roper at some of the ones around Crawley.”
    He lifted his arm to put it on the back of the couch behind her shoulders, then dropped it back onto his thigh—she might think he was going back on that damned promise.
    “Why did you stop competing?”
    “I had to make a choice between taking summer classes to finish school early or doing something fun. I chose school.” She gave him an odd look. “Were you going to put your