Serendipity's Repast

CHAPTER 3

For a second, Bridget panicked. Then her confidence returned.

"Just who are you?" she wanted to know.

"More to the point, who are you?" the tall, tanned cowboy demanded.

This was obviously a stand-off. At a height of five-foot-eight Bridget didn't exactly consider herself a delicate pushover, but at over six feet and clearly more muscular, the cowboy definitely had a huge advantage over her.

Since one of them had to give in, Bridget decided that this time, it should be her.

"I'm Bridget Howerton."

The cowboy's expression never changed. Her name either meant nothing to him or he had one hell of a poker face. He was also apparently waiting for some further explanation.

"I was hired to cater a huge party for…someone," Bridget stammered when she realized that she still didn't know who she was ultimately working for and thus had no name to give him. "Your turn."

"My turn?" the cowboy asked, unclear where the intruder was going with this.

"What's your name?" Bridget emphasized. "And, while you're at it, what are you doing here?" she asked, turning the tables on him.

"My name's Heath Crockett and I own this property, or at least I did."

She wasn't a hundred percent sure she believed him. But then, what was his reason for lying?

"You sold it?" she asked. If he had owned this property, that would have easily made him a millionaire. Did millionaires come with boots and fringe jackets, looking as if they had just ridden straight out of a movie trailer for the latest western epic?

"Not exactly," Heath said, then added, "Long story."

Bridget shrugged. It wasn't as if she was exactly busy. "I've got time."

"I don't," he countered. "The short of it is, the Silver Spur is currently for sale and I've just recently rented it out to—" Heath caught himself just in time. "Well, never mind to who. I'm just here to drop off something for Nestor Mendoza."

Bridget looked around as if she expected this Nestor person to suddenly materialize. "There's someone else here?" she asked uncertainly.

So far, she hadn't come across anyone until this so-called former owner showed up. Maybe her mother had been right to worry.

"Yes. Nestor lives on the grounds," Heath answered her with a slight touch of impatience. "He manages the stables around here."

As was sometimes her habit, Bridge jumped to conclusions. "And you've got him working on Christmas Eve?"

Her expression and tone made no secret of the fact that she thought that was a terrible thing for a boss to do.

"Not that it's any of your business, but no, I'm not. First of all, Nestor no longer works for me, he works for Mr. Foster. Or Mr. Foster's boss," he corrected himself. "Whoever that is," he added as an afterthought. "And second, maybe you haven't noticed, but you seem to be working on Christmas Eve," he pointed out.

Bridget drew herself up, insulted more by what she took to be his high-handed tone than what he was actually saying. "For your information, I am not working."

"Oh? Then what are you doing, roaming around this kitchen, opening cabinets, checking out equipment?" he wanted to know.

Bridget sniffed."I'm taking inventory."