She fastened the shirt buttons, and her cute black tights and pink T-shirt disappeared beneath the voluminous cotton.

She glanced down at herself. “Lovely.”

He cocked his head to one side. “I think it’s the spring tent collection from Dior.”

“You know Dior?”

“How do you mean?”

“It’s a fashion-design house.”

“No kidding,” he drawled.

“It’s just-”

“We do have satellite television out here.”

“And you use it to watch fashion shows?”

“Hardly,” he scoffed. “But they make the occasional pop-culture reference during professional bull-riding.”

“Did I insult you?” she asked, looking genuinely regretful.

“I’m not living under a rock, Katrina.”

“I never thought you were.”

He swung his leg over the wide seat of the ATV. He wasn’t insulted. He couldn’t care less what she thought of his television-watching habits.

Truth was, he didn’t know why she’d struck a nerve. Maybe it was because she pointed out the vast differences between them, and how far she was out of his league. Not that it mattered, he ruthlessly reminded himself. No matter how sexy Miss Katrina Jacobs might appear, he was keeping his hands and his thoughts to himself. His life was complicated enough.

“Hop on,” he told her gruffly, sliding forward to give her room on the seat behind.

She approached the ATV with caution, obviously sizing it up.

“You need some help?”

“No,” she flashed.

“Hand on my shoulder,” he instructed.

After a long hesitation, she touched him tentatively.

“Other hand.”

“Sorry.”

“Left foot on that peg.”

“Okay.”

He captured her forearm to steady her. “Step up and swing your leg over the seat. Grab my other shoulder if you need to.”