“The name LEANNE BANKS signifies the very best in romance.”

—Romantic Times Magazine

SILHOUETTE DESIRE IS PROUD TO PRESENT A BRAND-NEW MINISERIES BY BESTSELLING AUTHOR LEANNE BANKS

The legendary Logans face their greatest challenge, each seeking a love that lasts forever….

Her Forever Man (SD #1267)

The Doctor Wore Spurs (SD #1280)

Expecting His Child (SD #1292)

Don’t miss any of these Silhouette Desire novels!

Dear Reader,

Please join us in celebrating Silhouette’s 20th anniversary in 2000! We promise to deliver—all year—passionate, powerful, provocative love stories from your favorite Desire authors!

This January, look for bestselling author Leanne Banks’s first MAN OF THE MONTH with Her Forever Man. Watch sparks fly when irresistibly rugged ranch owner Brock Logan comes face-to-face with his new partner, the fiery Felicity Chambeau, in the first book of Leanne’s brand-new miniseries LONE STAR FAMILIES: THE LOGANS.

Desire is pleased to continue the Silhouette cross-line continuity ROYALLY WED with The Pregnant Princess by favorite author Anne Marie Winston. After a night of torrid passion with a stranger, a beautiful princess ends up pregnant…and seeks out the father of her child.

Elizabeth Bevarly returns to Desire with her immensely popular miniseries FROM HERE TO MATERNITY with Dr. Mommy, about a couple reunited by a baby left on a doorstep. Hard Lovin’ Man, another of Peggy Moreland’s TEXAS BRIDES, captures the intensity of falling in love when a cowgirl gives her heart to a sweet-talkin’, hard-lovin’ hunk. Cathleen Galitz delivers a compelling marriage-of-convenience tale in The Cowboy Takes a Bride, in the series THE BRIDAL BID. And Sheri WhiteFeather offers another provocative Native American hero in Skyler Hawk: Lone Brave.

Help us celebrate 20 years of great romantic fiction from Silhouette by indulging yourself with all six delectably sensual Desire titles each and every month during this special year!

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Her Forever Man
Leanne Banks

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Special acknowledgment and thanks to Susan Macias for lighting a candle for me when things got a little dark and to the TCU School of Ranch Management for educating me about the cattle business.

This book is dedicated to two groups of fabulous ladies I’m blessed to know: The Relay for Life Pink Ribbon Runners and the Desire Loop.

LEANNE BANKS

is a national number-one bestselling author of romance. She lives in her native Virginia with her husband, son and daughter. Recognized for both her sensual and humorous writing with two Career Achievement Awards from Romantic Times Magazine, Leanne likes creating a story with a few grins, a generous kick of sensuality and characters that hang around after the book is finished. Leanne believes romance readers are the best readers in the world because they understand that love is the greatest miracle of all. You can write to her at P.O. Box 1442, Midlothian, VA 23113. A SASE for a reply would be greatly appreciated.

Four generations ago, the Logan family moved west from Virginia and took a scrap of Texas land. Despite droughts and floods, broken hearts and death, the Logans now own one of the most successful cattle ranches in Texas.

The Logans have power, brains and strength. Some call their ongoing success a legacy. The Logans would instead point to hard work, persistence and plain old American ingenuity. When it comes to matters of the heart, however, they refer to their inheritance as a curse. The Logans face their greatest challenge in breaking that curse, and finding a love that lasts forever….

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Prologue

All Brock Logan wanted was a smooth-running ranch, security for his children, and peace.

He wasn’t interested in excitement or the foolishness of romance. He’d experienced the curse of passion firsthand when his ex-wife left him with a broken heart and two kids to raise. He thought of his kids and inhaled a breath of air tinged with the metallic scent of impending rain. Thank God for his son and daughter.

All he really wanted was peace. Standing on the wooden porch of the sprawling home his forefathers had built and he had expanded, he eyed the dark, angry-looking clouds coming in from the north. He crumpled the fax in his fist as uneasiness curled in his gut.

“We could use the rain,” his younger brother Tyler said, joining Brock on the porch. “But I couldn’t tell it from your face.”

“We don’t need a quick storm. We need a long, soaking rain. We don’t need a flighty visitor, either,” he muttered, glancing at the fax in his hand.

“Visitor,” Tyler echoed. “Who’s that fax from?”

Brock’s stomach tightened again. “Greg Roberts, our attorney.” Wuss attorney, he thought. Brock knew Greg had faxed instead of called to avoid Brock’s wrath. Brock had wanted to dissolve the silly silent partner agreement years ago, but Greg had dragged his feet. “He says our silent partner’s paying us a visit.”

Tyler blinked. “Silent partner? Not the Chambeaus?”

“Chambeau,” Brock corrected and narrowed his eyes. “There’s only one Chambeau left. Felicity Chambeau.” He unfolded the fax and reread it. “Her attorney contacted Greg and told him she would like to visit the dwelling set aside as part of the contractual agreement between her great-great-grandfather and our great-great-grandfather.”

Tyler frowned in confusion. “Isn’t that dwelling where the foreman is living?”

Brock nodded and pulled his hat off his head. He raked his fingers through his hair. “Yep, and since he’s a product of TCU Ranch Management School, I want to keep him happy. This could be a rough calving season since the Coltrane bull sowed his oats in one of my pastures. Looks like it’s gonna be rough in more than one way.”

“Where’s she going to stay?”

Brock kissed his peace goodbye. “In the house. There’s no decent hotels in Blackstone,” he said, referring to the closest town.

Tyler chuckled. “Maybe she’ll liven things up around here.”

Brock glowered at his brother. “I don’t need to have things livened up.”

All Felicity Chambeau wanted was to give away half of her money, she thought as she wearily stared out the window of her cab at the unfamiliar terrain. She knew her money was useless sitting in the bank gaining interest, and she had reached the conclusion that it was her purpose in life to give it away to a worthy cause. Besides, she wanted off that blasted list. The one that, without fail, annually listed the fifty wealthiest women in America. As long as she was on the stupid list, she might as well be wearing a bull’s-eye for every opportunistic male acquainted with the knowledge of her wealth.

Although she hadn’t excelled at anything else in life, surely this couldn’t be that difficult. Somehow, however, she’d bungled this, too.

Her attorneys had recommended she go somewhere quiet until some of the scandal died down and they made progress with the legal proceedings. When Felicity thought of quiet, she pictured a nice little château in the south of France. Her attorneys preferred something in the south, but more domestic should she need to testify. Texas.

It might as well have been a foreign country to her. Accustomed to a Manhattan skyline, she found the endless flat plain and swollen gray skies desolate and too quiet. Even the cab driver was quiet. The quiet made her want to run.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and leaned back in her seat. Maybe all her running had gotten her into trouble. After her parents had died, she’d run from one charity event to the next. Stay busy, avoid the pain, don’t look in the mirror, dodge the loss, shake the emptiness and the rootless feeling in her life. Running was easier. She’d run into the open arms of her financial advisor Douglas. She’d trusted Douglas, believed him, and he had left the country with a tidy portion of her money and an exotic dancer named Chi Chi. All of this caused quite a scandal, and although she was far from broke, she felt very close to broken.

She swallowed the bitter taste of shame on her tongue. She was more disappointed in herself than in Doug. All her running had led her nowhere. Opening her eyes, she glanced at the endless flat plain. Now, she was in Nowhere, Texas.

Maybe it was time to stop running.

Maybe it was time to face Felicity.

The prospect filled her with apprehension. Most of her life she’d felt alone. Doug wasn’t the only man who’d taught her that no man would ever love her for herself, so she might as well give up the idea of getting married. That was fine, but she still wanted off that infernal list. After that, what would be left?

Felicity would be stuck with Felicity.

Her stomach twisted in fear. What if she didn’t like what she saw in the mirror? What if she didn’t like what she learned about herself? What if she came up lacking? Felicity took a careful, determined breath and narrowed her eyes. If she didn’t like what she learned, then perhaps somehow, she’d find a way to change.

The monotony of the setting might be good, she mused. There would obviously be no distractions.

One

He was big.

With the rain falling in sheets and her cab driver honking his horn, Felicity stood on the Logans’ front porch and met the unwelcome laser-blue gaze of a tall, muscular man. It was more than height; everything about him looked overwhelmingly strong—starting with his jaw. His shoulders were broad, his large hands rested on narrow denim-clad hips that emphasized his powerful thighs and long legs. He looked like a no-nonsense, hard-nosed man who wouldn’t put up with any foolishness, let alone a down-on-her-luck woman from New York.

Thunder cracked through the air, and Felicity flinched. She’d never liked thunderstorms. She took a careful breath and tried to smile. “Hello, I’m Felicity Chambeau.” She didn’t offer her hand. He might crush it. Ridiculous thought, but it was dark, she was tired, and he was just so big.

“You’re early,” he said, his gaze falling over her.

In her damp state, Felicity felt certain she came up short in his assessment. “I—I—” She clamped her mouth shut. She might have her share of shortcomings, but stuttering because a big man was giving her a hard glance wasn’t one of them. “My attorneys contacted your attorney several times during the last few weeks. It’s such a dreary evening. I don’t want to impose. If you could just direct me to my quarters…”

“My foreman, his wife, their two kids and one-week-old baby are in your quarters.”

Felicity blinked. “Oh.”

“I could ask them to move somewhere else,” he said.

“Oh, no,” Felicity said, at a loss. “You can’t do that.”

He nodded. “You’ll stay here.”

With him? Felicity swallowed. He appeared as pleased about the prospect as she felt. “And you are Mr. Logan?”

“Brock Logan,” he said, turning his head slightly.

She saw the scar on his cheek, a bold jagged stroke about an inch long that might upset an artist, but made Felicity curious. He whistled at the cab driver and firmly pointed toward the porch. Her driver swiftly unloaded her three suitcases, hanging bag and carryon bag.

Felicity paid the driver and glanced up to catch Brock Logan staring at her luggage in dismay, then rubbing his hand over his forehead.

He took a step forward, and she instinctively stepped backward. He took another step forward which she matched in the opposite direction. He narrowed his eyes, and she took one more step. But there was no ground beneath her foot.

“Oh, no!” She fell, silently cursing the clumsiness that had dogged her every year she’d been on this earth, but strong hands stopped her from hitting her knees. Her face mere inches from the apex of his thighs, she swallowed at the nearness of his masculinity encased in worn denim. He smelled of clean musk and leather. He was unabashedly male, and Felicity was accustomed to men who cloaked their gender in gentler, more ambiguous, contemporary ways. She closed her eyes to get her bearings. Heaven help her, this was not a good start.

His hands lifted her, pulling her up, almost skimming the length of his frame. Felicity’s heart pounded with apprehension and something else she couldn’t name. His hands were firm yet gentle. There would be no bruises from his touch.

For one sliver of a second, she felt the rare impact of controlled strength in his fingers and glimpsed something even more rare in his eyes. Honor. Felicity hadn’t thought that quality existed anymore. Her stomach took another dip.

“Thank you,” she managed in a whisper.

He shrugged and released her, then, grabbing the three suitcases, he swept through the door. “This way,” he said.

She forced her feet to move, climbing a curved wooden staircase with a brass banister. She moved quickly, catching blurred impressions of the house; space, soft light, polished wood, warmth. Photographs and portraits lined the walls of the stairway, and Felicity immediately absorbed the strong sense of family tradition.

“Breakfast at 6:00 a.m.,” Brock said, “dinner at 6:00 p.m., lunch on your own. If you make a meal in the kitchen, clean up after yourself. My housekeeper’s touchy about messes she doesn’t make.”

In other words, don’t expect chocolates on the pillow, she thought, following him into a small bedroom with an antique double bed, dresser, bureau and nightstand. He flicked on the bedside lamp. “The bathroom’s down the hall.”

“Your home is lovely.” She stroked the cherry wood of the dresser. “The furniture isn’t western.”

“My ancestors were from Virginia.”

Felicity nodded. “Your wife or decorator did a marvelous job with—”

“I don’t have a wife,” he said bluntly, his eyes turning hard. “I do have two kids, though. Bree and Jacob aren’t known for being quiet, but I’ll tell them to stay out of your way. My brother Tyler is a doctor, but he’s here as often as he is in town. My sister Martina is in Chicago working for a computer company, but she can stop in at any moment. Our housekeeper’s name is Addie. She keeps things running smoothly, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t upset her.”

Felicity digested the information and nodded. “I’ll try not to get in the way,” she said.

His gaze, full of doubt, fell over her. “If you decide to go for a walk, stay away from the bull pen.” He paused a half beat. “And the men’s quarters.”

Felicity nodded and glanced around the room. Was there anywhere she could go? She smiled. “I’m glad I’ve got a window in my room.”

He looked at her for a long moment, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. “Yeah.”

The man clearly did not have a Texas-sized sense of humor. She felt an odd flutter in her stomach at the intensity in his blue eyes.

“How long are you staying?” he asked.

“I don’t know. It depends on my lawyers’ recommendation and what I decide. I had thought the quarters would provide some needed solitude, but…” She shrugged.

He lifted a dark eyebrow. “Your lawyers’ recommendation?”

“Yes.” She thought of the mess she’d left behind in New York and felt suddenly tired. “Too complicated for this hour. Thank you for your hospitality. You’ve truly extended yourself this evening.”

He watched her for a long uncomfortable moment. “Do you have any family at all?”

Felicity felt the all-encompassing aloneness close in on her again. She stiffened herself against it. “No, but I’ll be okay,” she said. “I’m okay.” If she kept saying it, it would one day be true.

He nodded, but didn’t looked convinced. That was fine, she told herself. It was far more important that she convince herself.

She met his gaze and felt a strange undertow of recognition, as if something inside her recognized something inside him. She would almost swear she saw that same recognition in his eyes. Her heart shifted.

“Just a minute,” he said, breaking the moment and stepping into the hallway. A moment later, he returned and set bath towels and washcloths on the dresser. “If you want to take a shower, you can. The kids are asleep.”

Felicity smiled and finished his thought. “So don’t sing in the shower.”

His lips twitched almost to a grin. “Yeah.” He looked at her again, and she wondered what he saw; wondered, but wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

Restless, she clasped her hands together. “Thank you for opening your home to me at such short notice.”

He dipped his head. “Good night, Felicity Chambeau.”

“Good night, Brock Logan.”

He closed the door behind him, and she was alone again, an all-too-familiar feeling. She glanced at the bed and promised herself to sleep for twenty-four hours. She vowed not to dream about anything that would disturb her, such as a disapproving financial attorney, a cockroach former financial advisor, or a tall rancher with sexy eyes and a humor deficit.

Brock still smelled her perfume after he’d showered in the master bathroom and drunk a shot of bourbon. She wasn’t exactly what he’d pictured. With a name like Felicity, he’d expected a more frivolous-looking female. Instead, her black pantsuit had whispered over her slim curves with understated ease. Her straight blond hair was pulled back into a clip at the nape of her neck. Her makeup was minimal, and he hadn’t noticed any rocks on her fingers.

She’d looked like a woman who was deliberately playing down her attributes. He frowned, wondering why. She’d almost appeared to be grieving. That wasn’t possible, Brock thought, since her parents had died a few years ago. The sadness in her green eyes had tugged at him. It still did. The erotic sight of her parted lips inches away from him when she’d fallen stirred long-buried needs. Needs best denied, he thought, feeling too aware of how long he’d been without a woman.

Damn, he didn’t need this. He poured another bourbon. He shouldn’t have asked that last question. He’d seen the glint of pain in her gaze and her brave attempt to cover it, and in that one strange moment, he’d sensed a kindred spirit. That was impossible.

Felicity slept soundly until she heard heavy footsteps outside her door. Glancing at the clock, she winced at the afternoon hour and pulled her pillow over her head. Way too early. Not twenty-four hours. She willed herself to return to sleep.

“Sheep,” she muttered, counting fluffy white animals as they jumped over a fence. She heard more heavy footsteps and pictured Brock Logan’s boots. Following the image of his boots up his long legs and muscular thighs to the rest of his impressive physique, she moaned and kicked off the sheet. She tried to think of sheep, but they morphed into cows and reality began to sink in. She was not in Manhattan. She was on a cattle ranch.

“And why are you here?” she wryly asked herself. “Because you said you wanted to think about it when your financial advisor asked you to marry him.”

The knowledge rubbed over her like a wire brush. Unable to remain still one second longer, she tossed her pillow against the wall and rolled out of bed onto the floor. Her nightgown, hair and limbs in disarray, Felicity shook her head. She’d always had a little problem with her coordination.

“A robe,” she murmured. Shoving her hair from her face, she scrambled to her feet and opened one suitcase, then another. She rustled through the contents until her hand encountered something hard, a picture frame. Her heart caught. Her housekeeper Anna had packed the treasured last picture taken of her and her parents.

Felicity pulled out the picture and stared instead into the weasel face of her former financial advisor, who had almost been her fiancé Doug.

Standing in the upstairs hallway with his daughter Bree, Brock heard a scream followed by a thump and shattering glass. He narrowed his gaze at the guest-bedroom door. “Go on to your room, honey,” he said to Bree, nudging her down the hall.

“But something broke,” she said, wide-eyed and curious despite her low-grade fever.

“I’ll take care of it. You get to bed,” he told her.

Brock waited until Bree went into her room then slowly opened the guest-bedroom door. “Miss Chambeau?” he began, then stopped abruptly at the sight that greeted him.

Felicity stood in the middle of the bedroom floor, her hair tousled over her shoulders and her slim curves covered by a soft satin nightie that plunged low enough to hint at the shadow of her cleavage and was short enough to reveal most of her shapely legs.

All it would take to lose the nightie would be to push the tiny straps over her shoulders. He could see the outline of her nipples. He wondered if she was totally naked beneath the garment. His mouth went dry.

Impatient with his response, he forced his gaze upward to her flushed face. Her green eyes sparked with temper, but her expression held a tinge of guilt that made him curious. He glanced at the busted picture frame.

“Miss Chambeau?” he repeated.

Felicity shrugged, drawing his gaze to her breasts. She was too feminine for his system at the moment, he thought, with resentment. Locking his gaze on her eyes, he stared at her expectantly.

“It’s a picture,” she said.

“Of my former financial advisor,” she continued when he remained silent. “I—uh dropped—” She broke off. “I didn’t expect to find him in my suitcase! The dirty sleazebag left the country with my money. And it’s not the money. I have enough money, but I trusted him. I trusted him. I almost—” She broke off. “I can only hope he’ll be eaten by a giant cockroach in the South American country where he’s hiding with Chi Chi the exotic dancer and die a horrible, painful death.” She finally took a breath and visibly composed herself. “But this probably isn’t the best time to discuss it. I’m sorry I disturbed you.”

Brock blinked at the change. There was obviously more to this story. More than he wanted to know, he emphasized to himself. “Don’t move. You might cut your feet. I’ll get a broom and dustpan from the linen closet.” He stepped into the hallway and shook his head in disgust. This was all he needed. A kooky rich lady with a body designed to whip every male in west Texas into a state of frenzy.

Grabbing the broom and pan, he returned to find her gingerly putting shards of glass into the wastebasket. “I told you not to move.”

She briefly met his gaze, then returned to her task. “My tantrum. My mess. My clean-up.”

Irritation burned through him. “Listen, I’ve got a sick kid, and a cow ready to drop her first calf. I don’t have time to take you into town for stitches.”

She glanced at him with her head cocked to one side. “Oh. Who is sick?”

Brock knelt down beside her and quickly swept the glass into the dustpan. He tried not to inhale her subtle feminine scent. “My daughter Bree. I just picked her up from school. Do you want the picture?” he asked, looking at the photo of a smoothly handsome man with a weak chin.

“To burn it,” she said, reaching for it.

Brock snatched it back. “Not in this room,” he said, visions of a house fire filling his head. “I’ll take care of it for you. More than friends, huh?”

“No, but I thought we were at least friends.”

The loneliness and betrayal in her voice and eyes grabbed his gut. Brock brushed the response aside. He had no time or space for this. “I need to get my daughter to bed and get back to work.”

“Thank you,” she said. “How sick is she?”

“Probably just a virus, but my pediatrician brother is in Blackstone. I keep waiting for the time I reap the benefit from his medical school tuition. My housekeeper’s off today, too. That calf’s ready to drop. You look okay, so I’ll leave,” he muttered, and headed out the door, his mind on the three hundred pressing issues facing him.

Halfway down the hall, he heard her footsteps behind him. “Excuse me,” she said.

Fighting impatience, he looked over his shoulder at her. “Yeah?”

She laced her fingers together, her prim stance at odds with her skimpy attire. “How old is your daughter?”

“Seven. Why?” he demanded, unable to keep the irritation from his voice

“I could stay with her,” she offered, “if you think that would help. I would like to help.”

Stunned, he stared at her warily. “Wearing that?”

Felicity’s cheeks bloomed with color. “No. I’ll change my clothes.” His expression must have revealed his doubt. “I can pour juice and water,” she told him. “I can read books.”

Bree would like the reading part even though she could read circles around most kids her age. For that matter, Bree might like Felicity. Brock wasn’t sure that was a good idea especially since he was hoping his silent partner would be packing her impressive rear end back to New York where it belonged as soon as possible.

“You sounded busy. If you’d rather I leave her alone…”

“No,” he said, flexing his fist in frustration. “Thank you,” he said, the words sounding grudging to his own ears.

She met his gaze, looking as surprised with herself as he was. The corners of her mouth lifted in a lopsided smile. “You’re welcome. I’ll change my clothes and be right out.”

Did he really want his daughter influenced by such a woman? Brock frowned. It was just for a few hours, he told himself. The housekeeper would be back soon. Deep in his gut, however, he had a strong feeling about Felicity Chambeau. And it wasn’t good. It would be easier if he could say his discomfort was due to something about her character, but he suspected it had more to do with his libido.

He swore under his breath and walked down the long hallway to Bree’s room. He told his daughter Felicity would stay with her and was immediately bombarded with questions.

“Where’s she from?”

“New York City,” Brock said, adjusting Bree’s pillow. “She’s no cowgirl, but she can read to you.”

“Is she old?”

“No.”

“Is she pretty?”

Brock tugged at his collar. “I’ll let you decide.”

“But what do you think?”

Thankfully, Felicity appeared outside Bree’s open door, her face scrubbed clean and her hair pulled back. She wore black jeans and a white silk shirt, but he couldn’t banish the image of her in the skimpy nightie with her hair in sexy disarray.

He inhaled and drew in her teasing elusive scent. Grinding his teeth at his susceptibility, he introduced the two females, then turned to Bree. “You know my cell phone number and my pager,” he told his daughter. “Call me if there’s any problem.”

“Cell phone, pager,” Felicity echoed. “I didn’t know there was cell coverage in Texas.”

Brock’s lips twitched, but he didn’t quite smile. “We may talk slowly, but we have a few modern conveniences like running water and cell phones. What were you expecting?”

Felicity shrugged. “A bell?” she suggested.

“We have one of those, too. The cell’s faster and doesn’t upset everyone on the ranch.” He adjusted his hat, feeling an odd twinge of discomfort at the look of curious fascination on Bree’s face. “Call me if you need me, baby.”

Brock left the room, and Felicity felt his departure like a physical force. Odd, she thought, that a man’s absence could be so strong when his presence was so imposing. Shaking off her strange sensations, she glanced at Bree and found Brock’s daughter staring back at her. Felicity felt another little twist of inadequacy. She didn’t have much experience with children. She’d offered to help Brock because she could see as a single father and head of the ranch he had too much to do, and she’d added to the list by arriving last night. If she’d told him that, however, she suspected he would have died before he would ask for help, especially from her.

Okay, she might not have much experience caring for a child, but she had experience being one. Felicity returned Brock’s daughter’s gaze. The little girl’s cheeks were slightly flushed with fever, but her blue eyes were curious and assessing.

Felicity smiled. “You have your father’s eyes.”

Bree smiled and nodded. “I’ve got his hair, too,” she said, tugging at her long ponytail, “but you can’t tell because he won’t grow his long like mine.”

“And you smile a little more often?” Felicity asked.

Bree nodded again. “Uncle Tyler is always telling Daddy to lighten up and he takes himself too seriously.” She rolled her eyes. “My brother does that, too.”

“Your brother, Jacob,” Felicity clarified, immediately liking this warm, outspoken child.

“Yes ma’am. Jacob. We’re twins.” She cocked her head to one side thoughtfully. “You talk funny.”

“It’s because I’m from New York City,” Felicity said.

“Oh, well you can’t help it that you’re not from Texas,” Bree said sympathetically. “You’ll be much happier now that you’re here.”

Felicity couldn’t help chuckling. “What makes you so sure?”

“Texas is the best place in the world to live,” Bree said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Everybody wants to live here,” she said, then her face turned thoughtful and she rubbed her fingers over her quilt, “except my mom. She moved to California because she wants to be in the movies.” She lifted her chin, another gesture that reminded Felicity of Brock. “My dad says me and Jacob are more fun than movies.”

The mixture of pride and vulnerability in Bree’s eyes scored her heart, reminding Felicity of the dozens of times her own mother had sought a more exciting party or exotic trip in lieu of spending time with Felicity. She thought again of Brock. An honorable man? She’d believed that species was extinct.

She met Bree’s proud gaze. “You and Jacob are more fun than movies? I bet your dad is right.”

“He’s the best dad in the world,” she said, again in the matter-of-fact voice and gave Felicity an assessing glance. “Aunt Martina says all he needs is a good woman to drive him crazy on a regular basis. We don’t get many women around the Triple L. You wanna do it?”

Felicity blinked. Absolutely not, she thought, but managed a smile. “What an interesting idea. I’ll have to think about it. For now, let’s read a book.”

Two

“There’s another one ready to drop in the north pasture. I’ll check on her tonight,” Brock said to Chuck, his assistant foreman. His brother Tyler and son Jacob listened while they waited for Addie to put the dinner on the table. “Tomorrow, I need you to—” Brock broke off when he noticed none of them were paying attention. All three, instead, were gaping at something behind him. He frowned and turned around. “Hey, what—” Dressed in a pink sweater dress that caressed her curves the way every man would want to, Felicity Chambeau stood at the entrance to the informal dining room with a tentative expression on her face. “You said dinner is at six. May I join you?”

Her sophisticated appearance was at odds with the casual room. The oak dining-room table and chairs had served the Logans for at least three generations and bore crescent marks from teething babies, scars from forks jabbed into the surface, and though the table still gleamed, the polish wasn’t as shiny as it once had been due to countless spills of milk and juice. Currently it was set with stoneware plates and bowls, stainless flatware, napkins and a pot of coffee. With her cashmere dress and golden champagne hair, Felicity clearly didn’t belong here.

Brock watched Chuck suck in his gut while Tyler stepped across the room and offered his arm. “Please join us. I’m Tyler Logan. You must be Felicity Chambeau. We’re delighted to have you.”

Brock nearly barfed at his brother’s enthusiastic greeting. “Why doesn’t he just get down on his hands and knees and howl?” he muttered.

“If he doesn’t, I will,” Chuck said, his gaze still fastened on Felicity.

Brock exhaled in disgust. “You would think you two hadn’t ever seen a woman.”

“I haven’t seen any that looked like her in a long time,” Chuck retorted. “Just because you’re dried up, disinterested and bitter doesn’t mean the rest of us are.” He stepped forward and tipped his hat. “Howdy, ma’am. I’m Chuck Granby. Pleasure to meet you.”

Felicity smiled at both men, then looked at Jacob, Brock’s painfully shy son. “You must be Jacob. Bree told me about you this afternoon. She said you can already rope a calf.”

Jacob stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “My dad taught me.”

Grudgingly appreciative of her attention to his son, Brock glanced down and ruffled Jacob’s hair. “Bree would speak for all of us if you gave her the chance.”

“Oh, she did.”

Brock could just imagine the family secrets his daughter had spilled. “Great,” he muttered darkly.

“Don’t worry,” Felicity said. “She could easily be a PR person for the Logan family and the state of Texas. She’s determined to teach me how to speak Texan.”

“Maybe we can make a permanent resident of you,” Tyler said with a teasing grin. “You might like it here so much you want to stay.”

“Great,” Brock muttered under his breath as he thought about wrapping Tyler’s tongue around his throat.

His tall, sturdy housekeeper carried a steaming pot into the dining room. “Well, are y’all gonna stand around the table and look at it or sit down and eat?” She glanced up at Felicity. “You must be Miss Chambeau. I’m Addie, and I’ll warn you I don’t do much fancy cooking like you’re probably used to in New York. Seems like these men want the same ol’ thing every week or so.”

Brock approved of Addie’s brusque tone. She wouldn’t be bowled over by a pretty woman in a pink dress.

“It smells delicious, Addie,” Felicity said.

“Let me help you with your chair,” Tyler smoothly said at the same time as Chuck pulled one out from the large table. After Felicity had murmured her thanks, the two men sat on either side of her like adoring bookends.

“What brings you to Texas?” Chuck asked as Addie served the beef stew.

Felicity glanced uncertainly at Brock. “I—uh—”

“She’s here for a short visit,” he said. He didn’t want the whole crew to know she was a silent partner. He preferred that the crew not know she existed.

“She’s silent partner of the Triple L,” Tyler announced.

Brock fixed a glare on his brother and Tyler plastered an innocent grin on his face.

“A silent partner,” Chuck echoed in amazement.

“Very silent. I’m so silent I couldn’t tell the difference between a dairy cow and a steer,” she emphasized as if she sensed Brock’s displeasure. She was intuitive, Brock had to grant her that much. “One of my great-great-grandfathers had a little agreement with one of Mr. Logan’s great-great-grandfathers. The only thing I’m entitled to is a place to sleep when I visit.”

“A silent partner,” Chuck murmured again, grinning from ear to ear. “A knockout from New York City, no less.”

So get over it, Brock thought. He cleared his throat. “What do you do in New York?”

She hesitated. “Not as much as I would like, but I’ve been working on that.”

“How?” Tyler asked.

She swallowed a bite and took a sip. “You’ll laugh,” she said to all of them. “Everyone does.”

Brock took in the little signs of her discomfort, her slight wiggle in her seat, the way she dipped her head. He wondered how she managed to look appealing when she was being evasive. “I won’t laugh,” he said.

Her expression said she didn’t believe him. She glanced at Chuck and Tyler. “I think that every person has a purpose on this earth and if you find your purpose and perform it, then you will be happy and the world will be a better place.”

Brock nodded at the philosophy. He agreed. He just would have stated it differently. “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”

Felicity’s lips twitched. “In this case, woman.”

“No argument there,” Chuck murmured.

“I’m in an unusual position,” Felicity continued. “My family has a history of being fortunate with their investments.”

“She’s loaded, too?” Chuck asked.

Tyler muffled a chuckle.

“Cut it,” Brock said.

Chuck stuffed a bite of stew in his mouth.

“Now that my parents are gone, I have to make decisions,” she said, sadness clouding her eyes. “My family has been fairly generous with charitable causes, but I think it’s my purpose to take that charity a step further.”

“In what way?” Tyler asked, no more curious than Brock was.

“I want to give away a significant portion of my inheritance,” she said. “I want to give the money to a worthy cause.”

Silence followed, and all three men stared at Felicity as if she’d spoken in Swahili.

Brock stifled a sigh. God save him from crazy women with more money than sense.

She gave a low chuckle. “Well, you didn’t laugh, but you look just like my financial advisors did the first time I told them what I wanted to do. I’m not clinically insane,” she assured them.

“Why don’t you want to keep it?” Chuck asked.

Brock watched the world-weariness tug at her wry smile. “Because the only thing the money is doing right now is accumulating. For what? There are better uses for it.”

“If you need a worthy cause,” Tyler said, “the hospital where I practice needs—”

“—Tyler,” Brock interrupted before his brother could get too wound up.

“If she wants to donate it to a worthy cause, we could use—”

“Miss Chambeau is a guest in our house. We don’t badger guests for money,” he said in the quiet, but rock-hard voice he used when he pulled rank. “Even for good causes.”

Tyler sighed impatiently, but dug into his stew.

Chuck shook his head. “I never heard of that one. So your job is to give away your money. Why don’t you want to keep it for your husband and kids?”

“I don’t have a husband and children,” she said in a crisp voice.

“Yeah, but some lucky guy’ll get a ring on your finger—”

Felicity shook her head. “I’m not getting married. Right now, my appeal to men is my inheritance. As soon as I give half of it away, my appeal will disappear.”

Half of it! Her statement was like another little bomb exploding. Brock stared at her in silence. Surely the woman knew she possessed more attractions than her endless supply of dead presidents.

Tyler cleared his throat. “You might bump into someone who can change your mind about that,” he said in a mild voice that bordered on flirtatious.

Felicity appeared to ignore the hint of flattery and firmly shook her head.

Chuck wrinkled his brow. “I still don’t get what you’re doing down here.”

“She’s down here so she can get away from the city and think without being questioned half to death,” Brock said, thinking the woman clearly needed a keeper. He was in no way interested in the job, but he wasn’t going to let anyone take advantage of her while she was in his house. The light was beginning to dawn. Her lawyers had probably sent her down here until she cooled on the idea of ditching her fortune. So now she was his problem.

“Oh,” Chuck said. “Well, after dinner if you’d like a tour around the ranch I’ll be glad to—”

“We’ve got that heifer ready to drop in the north pasture,” Brock said.

“I thought you were going to check on that one.”

“I’m doing the late check tonight. If Miss Chambeau wants to look at the ranch, I’ll take her.” He glanced up at Felicity.

“That would be nice. I haven’t been out today,” Felicity said, surprise widening her eyes. “Thank you.”

For the rest of the meal, Tyler took over the conversation and shared a humorous account about one of his young patients. They discussed Bree’s virus. Brock glanced at Felicity. Her breeding showed in her impeccable manners, but there was an empathy in her that he wouldn’t have expected. He noticed she gave the person to whom she was speaking her undivided attention, and lit up the table with her smile. She was no hardship to watch. The men would soon learn that fact. It wouldn’t be long before the whole county knew it. She was going to be one hell of a hardship to keep at the ranch, he thought, grinding his teeth.

Brock noticed his son’s quiet curious gaze on her through most of the meal. He wondered how much Jacob missed having a mother, and felt a hollowness in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t have to worry with Bree. She made her preferences and needs known loud and clear. Jacob, however, felt things deeply and kept his thoughts to himself. Lately, in fact, he’d seemed a little too quiet.

When Addie brought cherry pie to the table, Felicity lifted her hand to refuse, then slid a glance to Jacob. “The stew was so good I can only eat a couple of bites of pie. Do you think you could help me?”

Jacob eagerly nodded. “Yes ma’am.”

Brock narrowed his eyes. His brother was intrigued with Felicity, and Chuck was salivating. His son was immune, though, he was sure of it. The ominous feeling in his gut tightened, however. If he didn’t keep a tight rein on her, Felicity Chambeau was going to wreak havoc at the Triple L.

After Brock checked on Bree, Felicity followed him out into the cool night air. She had readily agreed when he’d suggested a walk instead of a full tour. They wandered along the path beside the fence, and she took in her surroundings as well as she could, considering the darkness. She glanced up. The sky was huge and full of stars. Although she knew her ancestors, along with her parents, were turning in their graves, announcing her intentions had been liberating. She noticed the silence again. “It’s so quiet it feels loud,” she said, shaking her head.

“You’re just not used to it. If you listen you’ll hear the rustle of tree leaves in the breeze or a mockingbird. A little farther down the drive, you might hear a cow.”

Felicity stood still and closed her eyes. She heard the rustle of tree leaves. It was a fresh, musical sound that made her fingers itch to play the piano.

“Do you make a habit of telling people you’re going to give away half of your fortune?” he asked, interrupting the magical moment.

She opened her eyes and met Brock’s gaze. His intensity made her nervous, but she didn’t blink. “I thought you would laugh, and I knew you would think I’m crazy.”

“I just wondered if that was the reason your attorneys sent you down here.”

She sighed and walked over to the wooden fence. The wood was rough to her touch. “They’re hoping I’ll change my mind.”

“If you tell everyone you meet that you’re going to give away your money, then a lot of people will try to take advantage of you. Your attorneys are probably trying to protect you.”

“My attorneys have dollar signs in their eyes. Besides, I haven’t told everyone my plans. In New York, I confided in Douglas, and it turns out that was a very poor choice. And my attorneys are not trying to protect me,” she insisted. “They’re appalled that I’m considering doing such a thing and hoping I will change my mind.”

“Why do you think you won’t ever get married?” he demanded, then shrugged. “You’re not ugly.”

Felicity gave a double take at his pseudo-compliment. “Your absence of flattery is refreshing. Orthodontics is primitive, but you can’t deny the results,” she said, baring her teeth. “The contact lenses do their job, the physical trainer has done his, and the makeup artist at Georgette Klinger beauty salon has shared a few of her tricks with me. A lasting relationship means someone would love me for who I am on the inside. The Chambeaus have a history of developing their fortune, not their inner selves. I don’t want the kind of marriage my parents had, and I’m not sure I would know how to make anything better, so maybe I’d just better work on making the world and me better.”

Felicity took in the long-suffering expression on Brock’s face and gave a wry smile. “I think I was saying that more to me than to you. You’re an innocent passerby who got hit by my incoming lecture. I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “You just sound kinda like Tyler did when he was thinking about being a psychiatrist. Thank God that phase didn’t last long.”

Felicity laughed. “Too much self-examination—”

“—is a waste of time and depressing. Not only that,” Brock said, “it causes indigestion. You need to find a job or get married. If you get busy, you’ll feel better.”

“I’m not getting married,” Felicity insisted. “And my primary skill has been writing checks to lawyers, financial consultants, and charities my mother favored.”

Impatience tightened his mouth. “Well, while you’re here I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell everyone you meet that you’re planning to give away half your fortune. We’re not set up to deal with the influx of traffic at the Triple L, especially during calving season.”

“You think I’m nuts. Go ahead and admit it,” she dared him. “You think I’m teetotally crazy,” she said, choosing an expression she’d heard Bree use.

“You’re not thinking about your heritage—” he began.

“I have no heritage,” she said. “I refuse to have the same kind of marriage my parents had. They led separate lives, and I was a disappointment to them. I was a clumsy, shy little girl with crooked teeth who liked to read a lot. I played the piano, but not quite well enough to be a concert pianist. I made good grades, but I wasn’t gifted. And socially, I didn’t sparkle.” She straightened her shoulders. “Sharing my wealth is the one way I can make my mark, the one way I can do something good and productive.”

Brock sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache. “I didn’t want to ask this,” he muttered. “Why are you down here?”

“I told you. My lawyers—”

“Why did they send you to me?”

“It wasn’t specifically to you,” she told him. All the same, she thought, his broad shoulders could handle anything.

“It was specifically to get you out of their hair for a while. Why did they send you away?”

“Because I hired a financial consultant to help me set up a foundation.”

“Douglas,” Brock said.

Regret and anger roiled through her. Felicity frowned. “Yes. Doug. He once worked for the firm my father used. I met him at a social function, and he told me he’d gone into business for himself. He called me a few times and appeared genuinely interested in helping me. I began to transfer funds for the foundation. Three weeks ago, he took that money and left for South America. My attorneys don’t trust my judgment. At the moment, I don’t trust myself either. I need someone I can trust. Someone who isn’t interested in me. Someone with integrity,” she said, looking at him thoughtfully.

“After you dump your money, what will you do?” Brock asked.

Felicity shrugged. She had only a vague picture of her future. “I don’t know. Enter a convent or buy a cottage on the coast of Maine and read and have three cats. I’m not sure it’s all that important. What’s important is that I set up this foundation.”

“They’re not going to let you in a convent with your body,” Brock muttered.

Her stomach took a little dip. She ignored it. “Then Maine it is,” she said wryly, then turned serious. “Would you help me?”

He shot her a wary look. “You just met me. Why would you trust me?”

“Several reasons. Gut feeling.” She wouldn’t tell him she had an odd sense of fate about Brock. Nothing romantic, of course. He was trustworthy. “You’re solid and responsible. You give the impression that you were born forty years old. You come highly recommended,” she said. “Your daughter says you’re the best. You kept your end of a bargain you didn’t make by letting me stay in your home. Plus there are the other reasons.”

“And they are?” he prompted in a skeptical tone.

“You don’t like me. You don’t want me here. In fact,” she said, pushing aside her little twinge, “you don’t want me, period.”

Three

God save him from the female gender, Brock thought, and shook his head. “I said you weren’t ugly,” he told her.

“There’s a large gap between not ugly and attractive,” Felicity said with a Mona Lisa smile.

She hugged her arms against the cold and Brock couldn’t help noticing the way her nipples beaded against her sweater dress. It was easy to imagine how her breasts would look and feel naked; rounded ivory mounds with small raspberry tips, soft, sensitive, responsive. She would feel like heaven in his hands, against his chest, in his mouth.

And there would be hell to pay, he thought as he remembered Felicity was the proverbial Ms. Moneybags.

“You’re an honorable man,” she said, meeting his gaze. “I thought honor was an extinct virtue among men, but you possess it. I think you could help me.”

Brock sighed. He didn’t spend much time thinking about honor and virtue. He just tried to do what was right. “What do you want from me? I’m no lawyer.”

“You can help me find someone I can trust to set up the foundation. I can tell you’re not a man to be taken advantage of. I don’t seem to have developed that skill yet,” she said wryly.

Everything she said was true, but Brock still didn’t feel right helping Felicity part with half her fortune. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-four,” she said. “Why is that important?”

“I’d feel easier about this if you were about sixty years older, if you’d lived more and longer and had more experience.”

“Maybe you could pretend,” she said with a cheeky smile.

He eyed her body once more and shook his head. “Not likely,” he said dryly. “You’ve never been married or had any children,” he repeated.

“Neither,” she said.

“Getting married and having children might change your perspective,” he told her.

“I already told you I’m not doing that.”

“You could change your mind.”

“I can’t. It’s not meant to be. I accept that. My purpose is to do something else,” she said earnestly and stepped closer to him. “I may not be older, more experienced or married, but I can identify need. I want to do something about it. There’s an emptiness in me, and I know the only way I can make it go away is to do this. Is it so bad that I want to make life better for some people? Is it so bad that I don’t want to hoard what I have? That I want to share it instead?”

Her passion and vulnerability tugged at his heart. For someone with so much, she understood the fulfillment in giving. Brock was torn. On one hand, it went against every drop of his Logan blood for Felicity to insist that she was unconcerned about the heritage of her future family. On the other hand, he could see that she was trying to create a different kind of heritage. “Okay, duchess, just for this moment, let’s say I help you give away your money. What are you going to do with the rest of your life?”

“I don’t know. That’s not what is important—” she began.

“That’s where I disagree. This is a mighty big decision, and you have the rest of your life to live with it. And I have the rest of my life to live with aiding and abetting your…” he paused, then finished his thought, “…your insanity or generosity.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” he said, adjusting his hat. “I want you to think about this for a couple of weeks and tell me what you have planned for yourself, how you’re going to live your life. Then, we’ll see.”

Felicity didn’t want to wait. Her goal burned like a coal in her gut. Since Doug had left the country with her money, she’d felt as if she’d taken ten steps backward. “It’s called exploring your options.” Brock leaned closer. “I can tell you’re trying to find a way around what I’m saying, but if you want my integrity, honor and help, then you’re gonna have to do this my way. I have a bad feeling that if I don’t take the reins when you and I go down this road together, then I’ll end up in the ditch.”

Although Brock could tell she wanted to argue, some remnant of sanity must have made her hold her tongue. After he escorted Ms. Moneybags back to the house, he took the truck out to make a late-night check on the cow. She hadn’t dropped. It could happen tomorrow or the next day. One of his neighbor’s bulls had waded through a shared stream and had a field day with his cows. That could mess up the birth weight of the calves, so he had to watch carefully. The weather was still iffy at night. Cattle weren’t the most intelligent animals on the earth and he’d watched a few new moms drop their babies in freezing water. After Felicity had disrupted his evening, he needed some time to himself to clear his head. He took in the wide starry sky and gradually began to feel a glimmer of peace return.

Brock looked out at the north pasture and knew he was where he was supposed to be. The uncomfortable thought struck him, however, that Felicity had no idea where she belonged.

He got into the truck and rode back to the house. He turned out the lights and carefully locked the doors. Since his dad got sick, it had been his job to lock up for the night and make sure the Logans were safe. He climbed the stairs and peeked in on his daughter and son, then went to his room and shut his door.

After his shower, he stood, nude, in the dark inside his bedroom. He had systematically closed and locked the doors to his house to protect his family. During the last several years, he had systematically closed himself off to his needs. He didn’t want to feel. He didn’t want another woman swinging a wrecking ball through his guts. He’d almost convinced himself and everyone he knew that he didn’t have needs anymore.

As he stood alone in his room, however, he remembered the combination of softness and fire in Felicity’s eyes, her stubborn intention to rid herself of her wealth, and, most disconcerting, her belief in him, his character, his integrity.

He remembered her sweet scent and sweeter curves. He’d been bred for honor. She was right about that. But when she’d insisted he wasn’t attracted to her and didn’t want her, the woman was dead wrong.

Even now, though he hadn’t touched her, his body was hard with wanting, with the need to mold her to him and take her, to taste her and take her again. He was alarmingly susceptible to her. A half-hearted flirting remark sent his hormones pumping through his blood like an oil gusher.

It was raging desire. It was raging insanity.

He closed his eyes to the unfamiliar sensations coursing through him and mentally snapped his walls into place. He would not have her. Just as Felicity had concluded she wouldn’t love a man because of the curse of her wealth, Brock knew he would never risk loving another woman because of the Logan Curse. Logans never won at love.

“I’m bored,” Bree said after Felicity finished reading the third book the next morning. The little girl rolled her head from side to side on her pillow. Finding ways to keep Bree occupied was far easier than trying to figure out what to do with the rest of her life. Brock Logan, she’d decided, was honest, honorable and impossible. She rolled her eyes at the assignment he’d given her, then banished it from her mind.

“You must be feeling better,” Felicity said as she searched for another way to entertain Brock’s daughter. She thought back to her own childhood and smiled. “But just to be sure, I think I’m going to give you Marybel’s cure.”

“Who’s Marybel?” Bree stopped moving her head and looked at Felicity curiously.

“She was my very favorite nanny,” Felicity told her, fondly remembering the one person in her life who had made her feel adored. Marybel had applauded when Felicity played “Chopsticks” on the piano and had told her what a pretty girl she was when Felicity wore braces and glasses. When Felicity was sent to boarding school, Marybel had left. She still missed the woman.

“What kind of cure?” Bree demanded.

“Wait right there,” she told her.

“Texans say hold your horses,” Bree corrected.

Felicity chuckled at Bree’s attempts to Texanize her and waved her hand. “Okay, hold your horses or cows,” she said.

“Cattle,” Bree corrected again.

“Exactly,” Felicity agreed and went to the guest room to get a few items from her cosmetic case. Returning to Bree’s room, she lined up five bottles of nail polish on the girl’s bed. “Choose one.”

Bree sat up and brightened at the sight of the different colors. “This is the cure?”

“Manicure, or as Marybel used to say, cure for whatever ails you.”

“I never heard of that.”

Felicity saw her father’s skepticism creep into Bree’s eyes. “Then it’s time you did. Whether you’re heartsick or body-sick, a cure just helps you feel better.” Felicity thought about her recent disaster with Douglas. “Although if there’s a man involved, you might need a day at the spa. Choose one,” Felicity said again.

Bree frowned. “Do I have to pick just one?”

Felicity started to nod, then stopped mid-motion, remembering part of the fun of the cure when she’d been a child was that she’d been allowed to choose and whatever she had chosen was fine with Marybel. “No, you can have all five if you like.”

Bree gave a slow smile. “That’s what I want.”

Felicity proceeded to create a rainbow on Bree’s fingernails and toenails. By the time she’d finished Bree was beaming. “Wow. I can’t wait for Dad to see this.”

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