Now she was looking for more luck. She smiled brightly at the chauffeur, smudging her palms along the sides of her thighs, wishing she wasn’t covered in dust and sweat, and was wearing something other than blue jeans and a grime-streaked shirt. She wasn’t the greatest flirt in the world, but in the right party dress, she could usually hold a man’s attention.

“Very nice car,” she ventured in a friendly voice as she approached.

The man pushed the trunk closed and gazed critically at the Bentley. “I suppose dust is better than mud.”

She guessed he was about her own age, maybe twenty-five or twenty-six. He was attractive, in a farmboy-fresh kind of way, with blond hair, a straight nose and a narrow chin. He was clean-shaven, and his hair was neatly trimmed.

She slowed her steps, taking in the Montana license plate and committing the number to memory. “Did you have a long drive in?” she asked pleasantly.

“Couple of hours from Helena.”

Helena. Good. That was a start. “So you work in Helena?”

“Three years now.”

She stayed silent for a moment, hoping he’d elaborate on his job or the company. She scanned both his uniform and the car for a logo.

“Your first time at Ryder Ranch?” She tried another approach.

He nodded at that. “Heard about it, of course. Everybody in the state knows about the Ryders.”

“I’m from Indiana,” she supplied.

“Grew up south of Butte myself.” He gave the dust on the car another critical gaze. “There a hose around here someplace?”

She had no idea. “I guess you meet interesting people in your job?” She struggled to keep the conversation focused on his employment.

“I do some.” He glanced around the ranch yard while a horse whinnied in the distance, and a tractor engine roared to life. Unfortunately he didn’t pick up the conversational thread.