MisplacedCowboy by Mari Carr and Lexxie Couper Page A

foundation he wore.
    “Like the cowboy’s suit.” He turned back to Monet, his lip
curling. “How many cows did he have to rope to afford it, do you think?”
    “Phillip,” Monet began. She’d had enough. The guy wasn’t
just a jerk, he was a moron as well. “You need to—”
    “Let me handle this, Monet,”
Kerrie said, eyes glinting behind his shocking-pink glasses. “Phi-Phi,” he
said, turning to Phillip. “Do you have any idea how large the biggest cattle
ranch in America is?”
    Phillip snorted. “Why the hell would I know something like
that?”
    Kerrie’s smile stretched wide.
“I do. It was on Who Wants to be a Millionaire? , of all things, last
month. It’s almost three-hundred-thousand acres. Now guess how big our
Australian cowboy’s ranch is. No? Don’t want to try? Well, I was pumping Dylan
for info and I found out his ranch is over four times bigger than that.
Four times. And you know what they say about a man’s ranch in relation to his—”
    Phillip cut Kerrie short. “I’ve had enough.” With a glare at
Monet, he turned and walked away.
    She didn’t care. She was walking away herself. Through the
gallery. Looking for Dylan. Her heart thumping hard in her throat, her mouth
dry.
    She found him sitting on the steps of the main floor
staircase, his elbows resting on his knees, his hat on his head and a bottle of
beer in his hand. Where he’d found a bottle of beer in the gallery, she had no
idea. Perhaps Kerrie had procured one. The curator was quite taken with him.
    He looked up as she approached, his lips doing that
crooked-smile thing she loved so much, his dimples creasing his stubble-dusted
cheeks. “Considering this is my first exhibition opening,” he raised the beer,
“I think it went off really well.”
    Monet stared at him. “I thought you were just a cowboy.”
    The bottle paused an inch from his lips. “A what?”
    She crossed her arms. She wasn’t sure why she was flustered,
but she was. “You know what I mean. I didn’t know you were a
multi-millionaire.”
    Dylan lowered the bottle—a Miller Lite, Monet noticed—and
studied her. “Not sure where you got that idea, love. I told you my family owns
a cattle station.”
    “Kerrie just informed me your ranch is enormous.”
    He burst out laughing, the sound echoing around the now
near-empty gallery. “Monet, Farpoint Creek is Australia’s second biggest
cattle station and one of its most successful. Yes, our stock is worth a
fortune, a bloody fortune, and in a good year, when the drought doesn’t kick
our arse, when we don’t have to go out and shoot starving cattle to keep others
alive, when the banks don’t vulture us with high interest slugs, Farpoint makes
enough to cover all running costs.
    “But me personally? Nope. I draw a wage from the station’s
profits. A pretty small one, in fact. I don’t need money, love. I’ve got my
dog, Farpoint and the endless skies of the Outback.”
    He smiled, took a mouthful of beer and immediately winced,
holding out the bottle to read the label. “This is pretty bloody terrible. What
are the odds of me getting a Tooheys Dry around this place?”
    “ Mon cher ?” Kerrie’s call shot through Monet like a
bullet and she jumped. “It’s done and dusted, my darling. Everyone’s gone.” He
appeared beside her, slipping an arm around her waist to bestow a kiss on her
cheek. “As usual, you have wowed the art world with your amazing talent and
made us both disgusting amounts of money. I thank you.”
    “You’re welcome, Kerrie,” she answered back. And still she
couldn’t take her stare from Dylan. She’d never met a man like him. She didn’t
know if she had it in her to stay in his company. He was too…
    Australian?
    “Now,” the curator pulled away, pinched her on the cheek and
winked, “I leave you in the more than capable hands of your stockman.” He
turned and fanned his face with his hand, grinning at Dylan. “And I do mean man .”
    Dylan