Harley wearily grabbed her carry-on from the overhead compartment, slipped her purse over her shoulder, and shuffled along with the crowd maneuvering down the aisles of the airplane. They’d changed from a jumbo jet to a smaller commuter plane in Salt Lake City for the final leg to Jackson Hole’s airport. She hadn’t slept well the night before, worrying about how her mom was holding up and already mourning her dad.

The guilt of missing out on family time the past four years was wearing on her. Her parents were great, and while her brother Ryker was a tease, she adored him. She’d kept her visits short and infrequent for two reasons: her schooling and internships, and the fact that she wanted to avoid Ryker’s best friend, Crew. She’d spent most of her life infatuated with him and trying to ignore that infatuation. He was perfect with his blue eyes, swoon-worthy grin, and the way he always made her laugh. But no … He was perfect for some cowgirl. Not her.

She shook off her daydreams of Crew. She was committed to experiencing the world, and Crew wasn’t going to sway her from that. He was probably head over heels in love with some girl in Wranglers anyway. Anger surged through her at that thought. Oh boy, she needed chocolate and a nap. Crew wasn’t the right one for her, so she shouldn’t stew over him dating someone else.

“Excuse me,” she murmured when she literally ran into the tall man exiting the aisle in front of her.

He turned, obviously unhappy about having his heels clipped, but as his dark gaze swept over her face and body, he smiled instead. He wore a white shirt and suit coat but no tie, and his top few buttons were undone. It was a nice look, especially considering the clean lines of his face and his slightly disheveled hair. In fact, he reminded her a lot of Matthew Macfadyen when he’d played Mr. Darcy. Most women thought Colin Firth was the perfect Mr. Darcy, but Harley would take Matthew any day.

“Not a problem,” the man said in a clipped English accent.

Harley’s eyes widened and all weariness fled. “Where are you from?” she blurted out.

His smile grew and he said, “Cambridge.”

“No.” She put a hand to her chest.

He raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“I’m starting a master’s program at Cambridge in the fall.” She wanted to ask him a hundred questions.

“Well, isn’t that perfectly coincidental.” He extended his hand, very proper, and her happy meter ticked quicker. “James Dartmouth. My pleasure. Miss …?”

She put her hand in his. “Harley Redland.”

“Are you two going to move or flirt?” an irritated female voice said from behind Harley.

“Oh! Excuse me,” Harley said.

James smiled and gestured for her to walk in front of him. What a gentleman. She hurried down the aisle, hefting her carry-on as she descended the steps of the plane and walked into the dry, seventy-degree Jackson Hole early summer evening. She liked the cleanness of the air against her skin, and she felt alive and excited at the prospect of some time at home. Guilt rushed over her as she remembered why she was here. Her daddy was dying.

James stepped down next to her and gently grasped her elbow and escorted her away from the other passengers exiting the plane. “Would you fancy exchanging numbers?” he asked.

More forward than Mr. Darcy would’ve been, but she needed him to be. Otherwise she’d never see him again. At least she’d be able to learn from a Cambridge native what it was like there. “Sure.” She pulled out her phone. “Tell me your number and I’ll send you a text.”

He smiled and rattled off his phone number. A quiver of happiness went through her when she realized it was an international code—England’s code. He truly was from Cambridge, not just a fakey with an accent. She typed it in, sent a text with her name, and then saved his contact information.

“Have I had the pleasure of encountering my first local?” James asked after she stowed her phone and they walked together toward the terminal.

“Yes.” Did she come across as a local? She’d made a concerted effort in Connecticut to lose any Western accent. “My family’s ranch is about an hour south of here.”

“Home for holiday?”

“Until I fly to England at the end of August.” She grinned just thinking about it. The grin wilted as she wondered if this fall her father would really be gone. It just didn’t seem possible. “What brings you to Jackson Hole?” she asked, not wanting to dwell on her impending gloom.

“Here for business.”

“Which is?” Was she being too forward?

“I’m an artist. My paintings are housed in several studios in Jackson Hole. I’ve been invited to multiple showcases of my art, and then I will spend the rest of my holiday painting. I hear the scenery is beautiful here.”

Wow. Impressive career, English accent, good-looking—this guy seemed to have it all.

They walked into the terminal, and she smiled at the sight. Typical Jackson Hole: wooden beams, Western-patterned couches, a huge fireplace. It was homey and understated. She had to admit, she’d missed this feeling.

“Would you be interested in accompanying me to dinner tonight?” James asked as they walked past the security gates and toward baggage claim.

“Ah, no.”

His lips tightened.

“Not that I don’t want to,” she added hastily, “but my brother is picking me up here and I need to get home to my family tonight. Maybe later in the week?”

“A quick jaunt to your home would be no trouble.” He smiled again, but then his brow furrowed. “Are there any suitable restaurants nearby?”

“No.” She laughed at the idea. Last she could remember, there was a bar, an Arctic Circle, and an imitation Mexican restaurant in her tiny town. “I’ll come into Jackson. It won’t be a problem for me to drive.”

“Jolly good.” They arrived at baggage claim—everything was close together in the small airport—and stopped next to the carousel. “It’s a date.”

Harley returned his smile, but suddenly a scent wafted over her that turned her insides mushy—twenty percent lime, fifty percent musk, twenty percent vanilla, ten percent salt, and a hundred percent all man. She froze, closing her eyes and praying she was hallucinating. How could she still remember that scent and the percentages she’d assigned to each part of his perfect smell? Was she making it up? He couldn’t be here, could he?

A large palm flattened against her lower back, and tingles rushed out from the spot where that hand touched her. Her thin silk shirt wasn’t any match for the sensation. No, oh, no! Not Crew. She opened her eyes and tilted her head back. Those blue eyes focused on her face, making her knees go weak. Why was she such a wimp when it came to this cowboy? A cowboy she should never, ever want, not if she used her real brain instead of her hormonal one.

“Crew,” she murmured.

“Harley.” His eyes swept over her face. “I’ve missed you.”

Why was he here? She was going to cuss Ryker good and long for the substitution.

Harley shook her head as she took in the rest of him—cowboy hat with just a hint of golden curls peeking out; the perfect amount of trimmed facial hair; the blue eyes that drew you in; the tanned, beautifully proportioned face; and oh, those lips that were full enough you knew they’d be luscious to taste. Every girl in the high school had been in love with Crew or her brother Ryker at one point or the other. Harley had stayed strong and focused on her Jane Austen novels, studying, and making plans of escaping their small town and finding the real man of her dreams, a world traveler who could discuss everything with her. Not some cowboy who had no aspirations beyond riding horses, bucking hay bales, and finding a little wife who’d cook and clean for him.

When she didn’t respond, his eyes flickered to James, who was watching him with disdain.

“It’s a date?” Crew asked, his generous mouth tightening and a muscle working in his jaw. Ooh, that perfect jaw. She wanted to touch the short hair and see if it was rough or soft. Stop, brain! Actually, her brain wasn’t the problem at the moment.

“Yes, James has invited me out for dinner,” Harley said primly.

“Hmm.” Crew looked down at her with disapproval, but his good manners must have won out as he stuck his hand toward James. “Crew Harrison.”

James narrowed his eyes at Crew’s hand, but then he glanced at Harley and gave Crew’s hand a quick shake. “James Dartmouth … pleasure.”

“Good to meet you,” Crew said.

The silence stretched awkwardly.

“Oh! There’s my suitcases!” Harley shouted.

Several people turned to look at her.

Crew chuckled and reached out, easily plucking her two polka-dot pink suitcases—both well over the weight limit—off the rotating belt. He inclined his chin to James, stacked the suitcases so he could pull them with one hand, put that darn tempting hand back on Harley’s lower back, and directed her toward the door.

“Bye,” Harley said over her shoulder to James.

“I will be in touch with you soon, Miss Redland,” James responded.

Harley waved, then allowed Crew to direct her back outside, where a silver four-door truck waited by the curb.

“Did he seriously just say Miss Redland?” Crew muttered under his breath.

Harley stiffened. “He’s English and obviously has proper manners.”

“Sounds like a loser who would bore you stiff,” Crew said.

Harley’s eyebrows rose. “I’ll have you know he’s a successful artist and very interesting to me. You have no clue what’s boring to me or not.”

“Apparently.” Crew shook his head and lifted her suitcases and carry-on into the back seat. She reached for the passenger door handle, but he was quick, flicking it open.

Harley started to climb into the monstrosity that was his very nice and new truck, but was interrupted in her progress by Crew wrapping his hands around her waist to assist her. Harley’s entire body was on fire from his simple touch. There was no logical explanation for her body’s reaction to him, and it ticked her off that she couldn’t be in better control of herself. “I don’t need any help,” she shot at him, trying to pull free and succeeding in stumbling against the leather seat and ungracefully plopping down.

“Yeah,” Crew drawled. “I can see that.” He smirked at her and shut the door.

Harley rolled her eyes and folded her arms across her chest, remembering why she couldn’t stand to be around this man no matter what he did to her insides, and her outsides. He strode around the front of the truck, all swagger and confidence. Sheesh, the man should be a cowboy model or the poster boy for Cowboys R Us. But she was not interested in cowboys.

Crew climbed up into the truck and flashed his signature grin her way. A small sigh escaped her lips, but she steeled her spine and repeated in her mind, No cowboys, no cowboys. She was meant to explore the world, starting with England in three months, and Crew would think leaving Wyoming was insanity. Not that she’d ever ask him to leave for her.

They pulled away from the curb just as a sleek red Mercedes raced around them. James gave them a haughty salute from the driver’s seat. Now that was a man she could pursue—educated, going somewhere, and yes for the English accent. No hick drawl going on with that man.

“How’d you meet that yahoo?” Crew asked, glaring at the Mercedes’s taillights like he’d just run over his dog.

“On the plane,” Harley muttered.

Crew harrumphed, but then seemed to quickly dismiss any thoughts of James as he glanced over at her. “You look good, Harley. Real good.”

She flushed from his compliment. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Crew Cut.”

He laughed at the old nickname. “Thanks, Harley Snarly.”

“I was only Snarly because you’d never pretend to be Mr. Darcy.”

They pulled onto the old highway and headed south. Crew shook his head with a little chuckle. “I was an idiot.”

Harley’s eyes widened. So he’d grown out of his idiocy?

“When you left for college, I … read a little bit of Pride and Prejudice.”

“What? Why?” Harley stared at him, wanting to pull that cowboy hat off and run her fingers through his golden locks.

He shrugged, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “I wanted to be ready to play Mr. Darcy if you ever came back home.”

Harley gripped the leather seat underneath her legs. Crew had read Jane Austen? But he said he only read a little bit. You couldn’t just read parts; you had to drink in the whole thing to understand the beauty of the prose and the way Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy fell in love and the prejudices they had to both overcome. It was so beautiful.

“You don’t understand,” she said. “I’m not just playing about Mr. Darcy anymore.” Everyone from their hometown was focused on what they called her “Jane Austen obsession.” She didn’t want to offend them by explaining she was meant for more than this beautiful valley could offer. Only her family knew the real truth of her wanderlust.

Crew grinned. “So you’re done with your Mr. Darcy and the English accent obsession?”

“I didn’t say that. Now it’s no longer for play. I’m going to marry a proper Englishman someday and we’ll be happy and so in love.” She tried to look out the window at the lush, green mountains, but somehow she kept finding her gaze straying back to Crew’s jawline. She liked clean-shaven men, right? Maybe if she repeated it fifty times she wouldn’t forget when she looked at Crew. Clean-shaven, no cowboys, no country drawl.

His brow wrinkled. “I don’t see you being happy in a cold English manor.”

“It won’t be cold, because we’ll have love,” she insisted. When Crew didn’t respond, she grasped for a different topic. “Why did you read some of Pride and Prejudice? Really. The truth, Crew.”

He lifted one broad shoulder. My, oh my, those things had grown since high school. “For you,” he said simply.

“But why?” she asked again.

“So if you ever came home I could be what you wanted.”

Harley shrunk back against the opposite doorframe at his bold statement. She cared for Crew, a lot, but he could never be what she wanted. A man who was born to rodeo and climb mountains didn’t turn into a man who trotted the globe, seeking education and adventure. How to explain that without hurting him?

All she could tell him was, “I’m sorry, Crew.”

He glanced over at her, and his blue eyes looked so sad she wished things could be different. Then those eyes got a wicked glint in them. He patted her thigh and grinned. “Don’t be sorry, Harley. I’m just getting started.”

She looked down at his large hand on her leg, delicious tremors running up her spine at his simple touch. “Started at what?”

“My wooing of said lady.”

Harley couldn’t help but snort out a laugh. “That wasn’t an English accent; that was Jack Sparrow.”

Crew grinned and his cheek crinkled irresistibly. “You’re here now, love. Savvy?” He threw in a little more Jack Sparrow. “I’ll change your mind about cowboys.”

“Not possible, and I’m only here for … my dad, you know?”

His expression sobered. “I know. I’m awful sorry about all of this, Harley.”

She nodded her thanks. “Can you please tell me what’s going on? My mom didn’t give me anything.”

Crew started talking about the cancer, the prognosis, and the different ideas they’d had for treatment, not that her dad would try any of them. She listened to the rumble of his voice and was grateful for her friend. If only she could convince him that was all they were ever going to be.