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was fighting the urge to, her mouth twitching at the corners, but she did manage to keep her expression neutral. “Good afternoon, Lucas. Get your hay baled?”
    “I didn’t bale any hay today.”
    “Ah, I see. What did you do?”
    “Rode a few horses, made sure they were still in top condition.”
    “Ah, well, it’s not helping establish a new art program, but it sounds like damn hard work.” There was actually a ghost of a smile on her lips. The sight made his gut tighten.
    He chuckled. “You’re a funny woman, Carly.”
    “What do you have for me?”
    “More donations. They came in from John’s.”
    “Great.”
    He put the bag on the desk and she unzipped it, taking the total slip out, a genuine smile spreading over her face. “This is just great. I think we’re going to be able to come up with something really amazing. And I think we’ll earn a lot of money for the hospital.”
    “You ought to quadruple the donations made, at least,” he said.
    She stood up from behind her desk and stretched. His eyes were drawn to the rounded shape of her breasts, pushing against the prim little jacket she was wearing. She was just so polished and neat. Pink, short-sleeved jacket, matching pencil skirt. Blonde hair pulled into a loose bun, a little pink band with flowers on it adding that touch of hyper-femininity that Carly was never without.
    “I’m getting excited about it,” she said.
    “Getting in the dunk tank?”
    She narrowed her blue eyes. “No.”
    “Aw, why not, Councilwoman? Making an ass of yourself in public for charitable purposes is a time-honored tradition.”
    “Not one I partake in,” she said, her tone crisp. “I think we should enlist you or one of the other cowboys to do it. We could have you do it shirtless and charge extra.” She looked like she wanted to shove the words back in her mouth as soon as they escaped.
    He arched an eyebrow. “You think my bare chest is worth extra?”
    “I said you or one of the other cowboys. Generic bare cowboy chest is worth extra. You know, in the estimation of some women, not necessarily me.”
    “Not your type?”
    Her eyes drifted to his chest and then back up. “Not so much.”
    “What is your type?”
    She blinked a few times. “Uh . . . an accountant might be nice. I hate doing my own taxes.”
    “Wow. An accountant. You sure are living fast and loose there, Carly.”
    “I didn’t ask for commentary, Miller.”
    “I mean, wouldn’t you stay up late nights worrying about his safety? What if he has some kind of horrible paper tray accident while trying to make copies of annual earnings reports?”
    Then she shocked him, completely, by laughing. A short, snorting sound, like she’d been trying to hold it in. “I’m a rebel,” she deadpanned, “what can I say?”
    “Obviously.”
    “I’m actually just headed out,” she said.
    For some reason, he was reluctant to let her go. He’d felt that way the past few times he’d seen her and, all things considered, it didn’t make any sense.
    “To?”
    She blinked. “Lunch.”
    “How about I join you?” Again, he wasn’t really sure why he felt like sitting down and sharing a meal with her, all things considered. He was just sure he wanted to stay with her a little bit longer.
    She hesitated and he could tell she was weighing how much she cared about seeming “mean” versus how badly she wanted to get rid of him. “Yeah, okay,” she said, finally. “We can discuss some more about Ride for Hope.”
    He shrugged. “Whatever makes it palatable.”
    “I don’t want to start rumors either.” She reached to close the laptop that was sitting on her desk and unplugged it from the monitor, shoving it into a large, patent leather bag. “Working lunch will do.”
    “Whatever helps,” he said, following her out of her office and onto the main street.
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “You’re looking for ways to justify letting yourself spend time with me.” Which he’d