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I guess.”
    Carly studied him for a moment. “I don’t suppose there are many restaurants around here.”
    “Not many, no.”
    “You’re lucky Becky cooks so well.”
    “Becky’s very talented,” he agreed. “Of course, during the winters here she has lots of time to practice. She loves it, though.”
    Carly rested both her elbows on the table and leaned toward him. “Tell me what you love to do.”
    “Me?”
    “Sure. What keeps you here at this ranch?”
    “Um, well, the horses are—they’re exciting, I guess.”
    “Exciting?”
    “And cows. I’ve always...liked cows.” Preferably medium rare, Hank almost added. He had begun to sweat beneath his flannel shirt.
    “I see,” Carly said, looking puzzled.
    You’re about to crash and burn, Hank thought to himself. The whole restaurant discussion nearly gave you away. Now you just sound like an idiot .
    Determined to change the subject before he got into big trouble, he said, “Why are we talking about me again?”
    Carly blinked at him over the flickering candle, her brows knit delicately. She appeared to be wrestling with exactly who the man across the table from her was.
    Suddenly Hank could hardly choke down his food. His insides were knotted with tension. How was he supposed to keep up this charade?
    I hate this ranch, he wanted to blurt out. Give me a dirty old city with a few coffee shops, a good barber and tickets to an occasional basketball game, and I’ll be happy as a clam. Let me climb Mount McKinley-just don’t make me talk about ranching anymore.
    He couldn’t tell the truth, though. Not until the damned photographs were snapped and printed in some ridiculous calendar that Hank could only pray never found its way into the sight of anyone he knew.
    Obviously, however, he wasn’t good at lying about the Fowler ranch. He had to come up with something else to talk about.
    What had Becky advised? A distraction. Frantically, he remembered, Maybe you’ll have time to cloud her vision before she sees too much.
    He leaned on one elbow and said, “Why don’t we talk about you, Carly.”
    “Me?”
    “Sure. What are you really after when you chase down men and take their pictures?”
    To Hank’s immediate satisfaction, Carly Cortazzo blushed.
    “I...it’s my job, that’s all.”
    “Your chosen profession,” he reminded her. “You must enjoy what you do.”
    “Well, I—”
    He met her uncertain gaze and held it with a long, slow smolder that caused Carly to gulp. Aha, you’ve got her on the run.
    “Tell me, Carly,” Hank went on, deepening his voice with shameless seductiveness. “Who’s the sexiest man you’ve ever photographed?”
    Her stunned expression told Hank that she definitely hadn’t planned on having the tables turned.
    “Well, they’re not necessarily sexy to me,” she finally blurted out.
    “Surely one of them stands out in your mind, though?” he asked.
    “Not one in particular, no.”
    “Are you saying you’re impervious to the men you photograph for calendars?”
    “Of course not,” she said quickly, bristling at his unspoken suggestion that she didn’t care for men at all. “They’re usually not my type, that’s all.”
    “What is your type?”
    Fortunately for Carly their conversation was interrupted at that moment by a distant howl that sounded far off in the darkness. The eerie cry broke the still night with nerve-shattering results.
    Carly jumped and looked out into the darkness beyond the porch. “What was that?”
    “I haven’t got the faintest—I mean, it was probably a wolf.”
    “A wolf!”
    “Sure, we get them around here once in a while.”
    Her blue eyes were very wide as she stared into the dark night. “Are they dangerous?”
    “Sure,” Hank drawled. “All wolves are dangerous.”
    “Even lone wolves like you?” she asked, turning to gaze directly into his eyes.
    “I’m not a loner—not exactly.”
    “But you keep things simple where women are concerned.”
    “Simple has