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jammed his hat on his head and followed her down the street and through the swinging doors. He paused to let his eyes become accustomed to the gloom. She was sitting at the bar, sipping coffee from a thick ironstone mug with a blissful expression on her face. But she was alone except for Barney, who was polishing glasses behind the bar.
    “Zeb,” Barney said, putting the glass down. “Didn't expect you till Friday.” He gestured to a poster advertising the weekend special: Live Music and Steak Dinners. Zeb flinched. He wanted to fling himself at the wall and block the picture of the sizzling steak platters and the band. But it was too late. She'd seen it.
    “Imagine all this going on in a little town like this. I had no idea,” she said, shooting an accusing glance in Zeb's direction, doubtless angry he hadn't let her in on the local excitement “Why that sounds like fun,” she said.
    “Yep,” Barney said. “Zeb had the idea about the dinners. He's providing the meat. If it works, we'll do it every weekend. If it don't...”
    Zeb knew what he was going to say. “If it don't, we'll cancel the order for a hundred pounds of steak and let the musicians go.'' But if it worked, it would provide Zeb and Sam a local outlet for their prize beef. It had to work. He was going to see to it that it worked, if he had to cook those steaks himself.
    Chloe set her cup down and walked up so close to the poster he figured she must be nearsighted. “What time does the music start?” she asked.
    “Late,” Zeb said
    “Can anyone come?” she asked over her shoulder.
    “No. Invitation only,” Zeb said, noting Barney's perplexed expression out of the comer of his eye.
    Her big brown eyes widened, making her look so sad, so hurt, an ordinary man would have melted, invited her, offered her a ride. “Friday? You'll be...” He almost said “gone by then,” but what if she wasn't? “You'll be too tired,” he said instead.
    She leaned against the wall, one hand on her hip, the other holding her cup. For one moment in the subdued light it looked like she was part of the poster, part of the band, part of the party. In reality, she was not part of anything. Except a big-city hospital.
    “I sometimes stay up past nine,” she told him. “After all, I'm a big girl.” Her voice was as soft as a caress.
    “I noticed,” he muttered, his heart thudding against his ribs. He noticed everything about her. Noticed the way her jeans hugged her long, shapely legs. The way she licked her lips, leaving them wet and soft and kissable. She was a big girl and he was a big boy and he didn't like where this was heading.
    He could see it now. He'd be flinging steaks on the grill in the kitchen while every single man in town was eyeing her, waiting for the opportunity to put the moves on her. And tell her all about the plans for her property. And nobody would be appreciating his prime aged beef. Damn her.
    Why couldn't Horatio's only living relative have been an eighty-year-old widow with no desire to travel to the wilds of Colorado, instead of a shapely, heart-stopping wench with melting hot-chocolate eyes? Eyes that studied him over her coffee cup. Dark eyes that were brimming with understanding. That told him more than any words could that she understood there was some reason he didn't want her there on Friday, but that she was going to be there anyway.
    “Aged prime beef courtesy of the Bowie Brothers.” She read aloud from the poster.
    He ignored the comment. “Ready?” with a pointed look at the cup in her hands.
    Instead of setting her cup down and heading for the door, she took another sip and walked toward the bar. “What kind of music does the band play?” she asked, her back against the polished mahogany.
    “Does it matter?” he growled. “Let's go.”
    But Barney had to put his two cents in. “Country, Western, whatever your pleasure.”
    Zeb glared at him. He'd like to leap over the bar, grab the towel out of Barney's hands and