THE JEFFERSON BROTHERS OF MALFUNCTION JUNCTION

Mason (38), Maverick and Mercy’s eldest son—He can’t run away from his own heartache or The Family Problem.

Frisco Joe (37)—Fell hard for Annabelle Turnberry and has sweet Emmie to show for it. They live in Texas wine country.

Fannin (36)—Life can’t get better than cozying up with Kelly Stone and his darling twins in a ring house in Ireland.

Laredo (35), twin to Tex—Loves Katy Goodnight, North Carolina and being the only brother to do Something Big.

Tex (35), twin to Laredo—Grower of roses and other plants, Tex fell for Cissy Kisserton and decided her water-bound way of life was best.

Calhoun (34)—Loved to paint nude women, and finally found Olivia Spinlove, the one woman who could hold his heart.

Ranger (33), twin to Archer—Fell for Hannah Hotchkiss and will never leave for the open road without her.

Archer (33), twin to Ranger—E-mail and an Aussie stunt-woman named Clove Penmire were this cowboy’s undoing.

Crockett (31), twin to Navarro—He was the first artist in the family! And now everyone—including his new wife Valentine Cakes—knows it!

Navarro (31), twin to Crockett—Fell for Nina Cakes when he was supposed to be watching her sister, Valentine, who is the mother of Last’s child.

Bandera (27)—With Holly Henshaw in a hot air balloon he doesn’t need poetry to keep his mind off his troubles.

Last (26)—The only brother who finds himself a new father with no hope of marrying the mother. Will he ever find the happy ending he always wanted?

GINGERBREAD MAN RECIPE

Bake with love

¾ cup shortening

1 cup sugar (dark or light brown)

¼ cup light molasses

1 beaten egg

2 cups flour (unsifted)

¼ tsp salt

2 tsp soda

1 tsp cinnamon

1 tsp ginger

1 tsp cloves

Cream shortening and sugar, then add molasses and egg. Beat well.

Mix together flour, salt, soda and spices, and sift.

Add sifted dry ingredients to creamed mixture and mix well.

Put in refrigerator for a while. My grandmother’s handwritten note to the side says to cover and chill for at least one hour. Roll out dough and cut out in gingerbread shapes.

Try baking at 350°F for ten minutes.

In my family, we do not use frosting on our gingerbread men! You can use frosting, or what Mimi always bought was red hots and sprinkles (like chocolate and colorful ones). We press the decorations into the gingerbread men and then bake them. That’s how my kids love them. It’s just so delicious to taste the gingerbread at holiday time! Hope you enjoy!

With love,

Tina Leonard and Isabel Sites (Mimi)

Crockett’s Seduction
Tina Leonard

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Tina Leonard loves to laugh, which is one of the many reasons she loves writing Harlequin American Romance books. In another lifetime Tina thought she would be single and an East Coast fashion buyer forever. The unexpected happened when Tina met Tim again after many years—she hadn’t seen him since they’d attended school together from first through eighth grade. They married, and now Tina keeps a close eye on her school-age children’s friends! Lisa and Dean keep their mother busy with soccer, gymnastics and horseback riding. They are proud of their mom’s “kissy books” and eagerly help her any way they can. Tina hopes that readers will enjoy the love of family she writes about in her books. Recently a reviewer wrote, “Leonard had a wonderful sense of the ridiculous,” which Tina loved so much she wants it for her epitaph. Right now, however, she’s focusing on her wonderful life and writing a lot more romance! Visit her at www.tinaleonard.com.

To Heather Diane Tipton, Marcy Shuler and Dawn Nelson, the quicker-picker-uppers, who pulled me out of the dumps. I loved having you in my office for “tea.” What wonderful friends you are!

To all my Tina Leonard’s Corral Gal Pals,

for being awesome friends.

To the Scandalous Ladies, for recipes, reading and support you provide so generously.

Thank you, Stacy Boyd, for being a patient, encouraging editor. Kathleen Scheibling, bless you for your stalwart heart and patience.

Maggie Kelly, you are a gem.

Lisa and Dean, you have made my life fun!

Tim Leonard, my childhood best friend. I’m glad you did my homework in first grade.

Mother, I miss you. Judy, I miss you, too.

Shannon and Dad, what a wonderful blessing to have a wedding in the family. Welcome to the family, Shannon. We will take good care of you.

Contents

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

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

Sometimes she riled my temper, but she always made me smile.

—Maverick Jefferson to his sons after his wife, Mercy, passed away

As Crockett Jefferson stood at his brother Bandera’s wedding, he wondered if Valentine Cakes ever realized how much time he spent staring at her. He shouldn’t. She was the mother of his brother Last’s child. Crockett’s deepest, darkest secret was that Valentine evoked fantasies in his mind, fantasies of the two of them laughing, touching, kissing—

“Well, that’s that,” his eldest brother, Mason, said looking to Hawk and Jellyfish, the amateur detectives and family friends who’d come to the Malfunction Junction ranch to deliver news about Maverick Jefferson, the Jefferson brothers’ missing father. Before he heard anything else about the mystery that obsessed Mason Crockett once again found his vision glued to Valentine and her tiny daughter, Annette. His eyes had a habit they didn’t want to give up, no matter how much family drama flowed around him.

Hawk looked at Mason. “Do you want to know what we learned about your father before or after you eat your piece of wedding cake?”

Crockett sighed, watching the fiery redhead as he heard the pronouncement about Maverick. With regret he took his gaze off Valentine. She held her daughter and a box of heart-shaped petits-fours she’d made for Bandera’s wedding reception. Being an artist of sorts, he appreciated both Valentine’s lovely baked goods and her beauty. She smiled at him, her pretty blues eyes encouraging, her mouth bowing sweetly, and his heart turned over.

She could never know how he felt about her.

He didn’t want to feel the way he did about the mother of his brother’s child. So, to get away from the temptation to look at Valentine again, Crockett followed Hawk, Jellyfish and Mason to the shade of a tree so they could talk.

“We were able to confirm that Maverick was in Alaska, for a long time,” Hawk said. “Your father lived with an Alaskan woman of Inuit descent. She found him slumped in a boat one day, floating offshore. Not knowing who he was or where he’d come from, she had friends help her carry him to her home. When he awakened, Maverick had no memory. She lived in a remote area, far from any town where a tourist group might have lost a member. Mannie kept him with her for four years, always hoping he might tell her something about himself.”

Crockett looked at Mason, who surely had to be feeling the same lead in the pit of his stomach that he was feeling. Finally, some trace of Maverick had been found, but he also feared there must be more to the story.

Jellyfish put a hand on Mason’s shoulder. “You should know that Maverick only told Mannie a few things about himself, once some of his memory returned. She awakened one day to find him gone. He’d left behind food to keep her for a long time. Gifts, but not his heart. He was a natural wanderer. During the entire four years he’d stayed with her, she’d sensed he wasn’t really with her by the distant look in his eyes when he searched the horizon.”

“Oh, jeez,” Crockett murmured. They were all wanderers. Right now, their father might still be out there somewhere, searching for what would ease his heart. Even with this new information they were not much closer to finding him.

“Maybe there is more to learn,” Hawk said. “But we felt it was important to come back and tell you the news, then let you decide what more you want to know.”

Crockett felt a deep tug in his chest. Now they would hold a family council to decide what to do. It was good they’d found out now, since all the brothers were at the ranch for the annual Fourth of July gathering and Bandera’s wedding.

Now that so many of the Jefferson brothers had married and moved away, Mason wanted to hold a family reunion at least twice a year—Christmas in the winter and Fourth of July in the summer. Christmas was a natural choice, but Independence Day was a time when the pond was warm enough for the children to swim, Mason had said. But Crockett knew his request really had nothing to do with pond water. Mason just wanted the brothers and their families together at so-called Malfunction Junction ranch, their home.

Crockett had to admit there was something to the power of family bonding as he again watched Valentine help her tiny daughter across a field. Right now, he wanted to get away from all thoughts of family—and Maverick. It simply hurt too much to know that their father had been living on whale meat in a hut somewhere. It was life—but it wasn’t life with them.

Could Maverick have been happy? Had he regained his memory? Or had he given up after their mother died? Crockett doubted they’d ever know all the answers. They’d been haunted for too many years by the questions, and each and every brother had learned various ways of dodging painful soul-searching.

“Thanks, guys,” Crockett murmured to Hawk and Jellyfish since Mason seemed dumbstruck. “I’m sure Mason will call a family council after dinner to discuss what you told us. Stick around. Helga’s made ribs, sweet peas and grilled corn, and I believe Valentine whipped up some blueberry pies. Comfort food is what we all could use right now. And good friends.”

That said, he headed in Valentine’s direction. He grabbed the box of petits fours from her so that she could play with Annette. “Go on,” he told Valentine. “You jump, too.”

“Thank you, Crockett.” Giving him a smile that tugged at his heart, Valentine pulled off her shoes and got inside the inflatable house-shaped structure. She bounced gently with her daughter.

With pleasure, he noted that all of Valentine bounced. Her hair, her breasts, even her laughter seemed to go up and down as she played with her daughter. He loved watching her be a mother.

Crockett lowered his head for a second, pushing his cowboy hat down. It was a shame that Valentine and his youngest brother, Last, had not worked out as a couple. They had a beautiful little daughter; Annette was such a sweet baby. And, wanting to support the new addition to the family, the Jefferson brothers had backed Valentine in her own business, a bakery she’d named Baked Valentines.

He would never have dreamed that the onetime receptionist at a beauty salon would have been such a smart businesswoman—and an awesome baker. It was hard for him to understand why Last didn’t love this talented, hardworking woman…. Boy, he was getting in a groove with being jealous of his brothers.

Lately, he’d found himself stewing over things he shouldn’t. It was affecting the way he felt about his family.

First Calhoun, then Last.

Before his brother Calhoun had stolen Crockett’s thunder and his creativity by becoming a better artist than him. Only more commercial, Calhoun always said, as if that made it more acceptable. Crockett had put his soul into painting. It had been a good life: cowboying by day, painting by night.

But he hadn’t been able to paint in a long time. And now all he seemed to think about was Valentine.

The woman in question turned and fell over, laughing. Her jeans-clad bottom jiggled—-and Crockett’s artistic eye was transfixed.

He’d never seen anything with such rounded perfection. Bountiful and sexy. Lush and full.

“Only sculpting would do that form justice,” he mused. “The warmth of fired clay, touched with the hue of a rosy—”

“What?” Valentine asked, sitting up to look at him. “Do you want to join us?”

His mind ablaze with creative thoughts, a new idea and a fierce desire to be near her, Crockett set the box of petits fours on the ground, pulled off his boots and got into the inflatable house. Annette giggled because he was unstable, not used to being on something jiggly, so he put his hands down and pushed on the floor to make her pop up and lose control, too.

Valentine playfully pushed back, catching him off guard. This time, it was Crockett who flew—right into her lap.

Oh, God, she felt good. She was every bit as soft as she looked, and even better, she smelled like cinnamon. Her smile faded as she stared down at him, seeing something in his eyes he didn’t want her to see.

Bad, bad timing.

Rolling away, he rose to his feet. Valentine watched him, her smile completely gone now, her gaze questioning.

He was going to ruin a good friendship with his curiosity about Valentine. Curiosity? That was a shifty word for what he now realized was full-blown desire.

He was on a path toward certain heartbreak.

VALENTINE WATCHED as Crockett exited the inflatable house. He put his hat on, tipping the brim to her, and touched one finger to Annette’s small hand. Then he left.

Just like that. Gone.

Had he thought she was flirting with him? Something miserably like rejection seeped through her—an experience she’d had all too often recently, every time she came into accidental contact with Last.

She didn’t know what she would have done without the other Jefferson brothers. In her heart, she knew Last was a good man—he was very good to Annette. But there was always that wall of discomfort between them, and she’d really relied on the kindness of his brothers to make her feel less awkward.

She had been determined to make good in their eyes, to show them that she wasn’t the bad girl she’d been. Her sister Nina had made a wonderful marriage to Navarro Jefferson. Navarro and Nina were so happy on their land up North that sometimes Valentine was tempted to follow them up there. She would love to be near her sister, and she would love for Annette to be able to know her aunt and uncle.

What held her in Union Junction, Texas, quite simply, was Last. Although he hadn’t started out as the world’s best dad, he had begun a relationship with Annette that Valentine believed would strengthen and grow over the years. Annette seemed to know that Last was her special man, her daddy, among all the Jefferson brothers who came and went. There was a different sparkle in her eyes when she asked to be held by Last.

So Valentine stayed, though she knew Last would never be comfortable around her.

It was Mason who’d had faith in her, and he’d helped her turn her life around. She took a job at the bakery in town soon after Annette’s birth, and what started out as a way to gain monetary independence blossomed into true love. She was an artist of a different kind. Beautiful baked goods, lovingly crafted. Her reputation for beauty spread throughout Union Junction, and when the owner decided to sell out, it was Mason who had gone to the brothers and suggested that they back Valentine as the new owner.

She would never forget the moment the Jefferson brothers had told her of their gift, to her and to Annette. Her self-worth had been validated for the first time in her life, and she knew she would do anything to show them that she was a different woman from the one who had come to them pregnant and bringing a paternity lawsuit aimed at taking money from their family.

Now, her gaze followed Crockett as he strode away. She sighed. The Jeffersons had been far too good to her. It was ridiculous for her to want anything more than friendship from the good-looking, gentle cowboy.

“Unfortunately,” she told Annette, scooping her daughter into her lap, “everything in my life should stay just as it is, the best it’s ever been.”

Annette looked up at her with a smile, her chubby fingers reaching out to her mom. “One day,” Valentine told Annette, “one day I’ll find my real prince. And he won’t bear the last name of Jefferson.”

She lightly bounced Annette some more, but the one thing that no lighthearted playing could cure was the ache she’d felt when Crockett had so suddenly walked away.

Chapter Two

It unnerved Crockett how much he thought about Valentine. He was living in a fool’s world, dreaming the impossible dream.

He could hear the gossip in Union Junction now: “Yes, Crockett Jefferson’s twin, Navarro, married Nina, then Crockett went and married Valentine, Nina’s sister. And she’s the mother of Last Jefferson’s child. That’s one of the many reasons we call that ranch Malfunction Junction!”

Definitely a fool’s world. He wished Valentine’s sweet face and trusting eyes didn’t haunt him.

The only cure for thoughts a man couldn’t control was to busy himself with something that needed to be fixed. In this case, Crockett decided, what most needed fixing was himself.

There had to be room for two artists in the family. So the day after Bandera’s wedding, the day after Mason had sent Hawk and Jellyfish back out to look for Maverick, the day after most of his married brothers had left the ranch, he sat in front of a canvas in a quiet attic hideaway at the main ranch house, staring with determination at the empty white board in front of him. A tube of ochre tempted him to begin something warm and vibrant. But he couldn’t make his fingers pick up the tube.

His soul wanted to create, but his mind wanted to think about Valentine. His creativity was hiding from the chaos.

“Whatcha doing, Uncle Crockett?” a young voice asked as Kenny crawled through the attic hole to stare at him. “Dad wants your help fixing our windmill. It has a squeak in its turn.”

“Dad” was Crockett’s brother Calhoun, the significant drain on Crockett’s creativity.

“Hey, Kenny,” Crockett said, not surprised when Kenny’s big sister Minnie crawled up behind her brother. “And, Miss Minnie.”

“Hi, Uncle Crockett.” She stood beside his chair and squinted at the blank canvas. “Gonna get started soon? Or are you pondering?”

“Pondering.”

He loved Calhoun’s kids, but right now, he wished they hadn’t brought their inquisitiveness into his sanctuary. It was the only place he’d thought of where his nosy brothers might not figure out what he was up to. He needed to create in peace. If he was lucky, it would all come back to him—and then he could keep his wandering mind off Valentine.

Minnie looked at him sympathetically. “Dad’s been painting some portraits of Widow Fancy. She wanted some for her grandkids.”

Crockett nodded. “That’s nice.”

“Maybe you could draw our windmill. Or our horse,” Kenny added. “Gypsy would love to be painted.”

“She is an old show pony,” Crockett agreed. “But you can get Calhoun to do that for you.”

“Nah,” Minnie said. “Mama says you’re the real artist in the family.”

Crockett perked up. “Really? Olivia says that about me?”

“Yeah.” Minnie nodded. “She says you’re all moody and soulful, and surely that equates to great talent just waiting to be sprung.” Minnie sighed dramatically. “Of course, Dad says it’s not your talent that needs to be sprung, it’s your drawers.”

“Yeah,” Kenny said. “We can’t understand what’s wrong with your drawers. Are they stuck? I sure hope it’s not your sock drawer,” he said. “You won’t like wearing boots without socks. One time I did that, and I had blisters—”

“Kenny,” Crockett interrupted kindly. “Minnie, would the two of you run and tell your father that I will be happy to help him fix the windmill?”

They nodded solemnly.

“I’ll be down there sometime this afternoon. But I need the two of you to do me a favor,” he said, making his tone conspiratorial.

“Okay,” Minnie whispered.

“Please don’t tell Calhoun or anybody else that I was up here or that I was painting.”

“Thinking about painting,” Kenny reminded him. “You haven’t painted anything yet.”

Crockett sighed at his childish honesty. “True. Off you go, both of you, and remember, this is our secret. Only the two of you know where to find me.”

“Okay.” Minnie’s eyes shone. “We’re great at keeping secrets!”

He thought about the jibe that Calhoun probably hadn’t meant for his kids to overhear and repeat. “I know you are,” he said. “Thanks.”

They hugged him, then carefully descended the ladder.

“Hey, kids,” Crockett heard someone say. He froze as he recognized Valentine’s voice. “What are you two doing up there?”

His heart seemed to stop beating as he waited for Minnie and Kenny to reply. He did not want Valentine to visit the one place where he could hide out and try to paint her out of his memory.

“We were looking for something,” Minnie said. “It’s kind of dusty up there, though, and there’s not anything interesting.”

He grimaced. More honesty.

“Attics are fun to look through,” Valentine said. “My sister and I used to have an attic. Here, let me help you close it.”

Crockett heard the stairs fold, then boom! The attic door closed, securely locking him away with his floundering creativity.

“Wonderful,” he grumbled, feeling more moody and soulful than ever. Quickly, he strode to the window, looking down into the yard. He was rewarded by the sight of Valentine walking with Kenny and Minnie across the lawn.

He loved looking at Valentine. Okay, so maybe he was spying, but she was so feminine that he even enjoyed watching her walk away.

Just then, Minnie turned around, her little face tipped up in his direction. Very discreetly, she waved.

He jumped away from the window, his heart beating hard. Too close. He had to stop getting funky over that little package of female dynamite. Back to my creation.

After a long fruitless period of staring at the blank canvas, his cell phone rang, startling him out of his churning thoughts. “Hello?”

“Crockett, it’s Calhoun. Minnie says you’re going to help me with the windmill.”

“Yeah,” Crockett said reluctantly, knowing that Valentine had walked the kids home. She would be at Calhoun’s house. Even if he didn’t want to avoid her, which he did, he was trapped in the attic. The biggest problem of the two was Valentine, hands down. “Not right now,” he said.

“When?” Calhoun asked. “Valentine’s here. Olivia says she’ll whip up some barbecue if you want to head this way. She’s going to teach Valentine how to ride Gypsy after supper.”

That would be worth seeing, but he knew he shouldn’t see it. “Tell Olivia thanks, but I can’t do it, dude.”

“Why?

“I’m busy,” Crockett said. “Look for me tomorrow.” He snapped the phone off and sat in front of his canvas again, trying to gather his scattered thoughts.

Then it came to him. He should start easy, with a warm-up. Nothing difficult. Something that would waken his muse and loosen up his inner artist.

A small challenge would totally keep his mind off Valentine and how she would look while learning to ride the cagey Gypsy. A still life would keep him from sitting here thinking about how all of Valentine seemed to bounce so cutely whenever she…well, bounced.

A pear would be the perfect thing to paint. “A pear in a bowl,” he murmured. “Very still.”

Slowly, his hand unsure, he trailed his first colored stroke against the empty whiteness.

“IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE supernatural,” Crockett heard someone whisper. “Don’t you get it?”

“I think it’s extraterrestrial maybe.” The voice sounded puzzled. “Could be a heart, Van Gogh style. With something cut off. Wasn’t Van Gogh famous for cutting things off?”

“I don’t quite see that,” came the quiet reply. “I think it’s a woman’s buttocks.”

Crockett’s eyes snapped open. Last and Mason were standing over him, staring at his painting. He jumped to his feet. “What the hell?” he demanded, trying to cover his precious secret from their puzzled glances.

“Sorry,” Mason said. “We sent out a search team for you when you didn’t hit the table for supper. It’s not like you to miss a meal.”

“Nope,” Last said, his eyes huge. “What the hell is that thing you painted? And why are you up here, hiding out with the dust bunnies?”

“So you wouldn’t bug me,” Crockett snapped. “And I wish I’d stayed hidden. I’m feeling very intruded upon.”

Last’s eyes widened. “We were worried about you.”

“Entirely unnecessary.” He’d just gotten tired and had decided to stretch out and rest his eyes. “How’d you find me up here?”

Mason shrugged. “There’s all kinds of dirt on the floor from the attic door being opened. I don’t guess anybody’s been up here in ages. We really ought to clean it out.” Glancing around, he sighed. “When we have time.”

“So, what did you paint?” Last said. “Mason thinks it’s a Picasso-style heart—”

“Van Gogh,” Mason corrected.

“I’m thinking the red tones are sexual,” Last said. “The curves are feminine and delicate, so it’s probably a woman’s fanny. It almost reminds me of Georgia O’Keeffe. You know how she revealed the sexual nature of women when she painted those petals.” Last scratched his head as he looked at his brother. “But you never think about sex when you’re holding a paintbrush. I probably just didn’t get your vision. Let me have another look.”

“No!” Crockett hopped away with his overcritiqued treasure. Gently, he set it down where it could dry in peace. “Look, do you guys mind getting the hell out?”

“No problem, Picasso,” Mason said. “But since it seems your creativity has fizzled for the moment, you think we could get you to come down for supper?”

“Why not?” Crockett said, following them down the stairs. “I have nothing better to do than be harassed by my brothers.”

“Excellent.” Mason headed into the kitchen, then sat at the table and tucked a napkin into his lap. “Helga cooked a wonderful meal.”

He beamed, delighted that Mimi didn’t borrow the housekeeper so much now that Mimi lived in town. With a smaller place and with her daughter being older, things were going more smoothly for Mimi.

Except for her cockamamy idea of running for sheriff, with Mason as deputy, an idea that Crockett knew Mason opposed. It was no job for a woman, Mason had said, especially a woman like Mimi.

The brothers had rolled their eyes, ignoring Mason. Mimi would do whatever the heck Mimi wanted—and Mason would no doubt find himself neck-deep in Mimi-schemies.

“It’s delicious, Helga,” Crockett said to the housekeeper. Actually, now that he was eating, he was glad his brothers had rescued him from his upstairs jail. He had gotten hungry. And now that he’d survived their mockery and realized they hadn’t made as much fun of his first attempt at painting as he’d feared, he was feeling almost good about his dysfunctional family.

And then the door opened and Valentine walked in with Olivia, Calhoun and the kids.

“Ah, just in time for dinner,” Calhoun said, grinning as he helped his kids and Olivia onto the plank seats.

Crockett stared, all his contentment shriveling. “I thought you were eating at your house.”

“Yeah, but Helga called and said she’d made extra, and why didn’t we come on up? So here we are,” Calhoun said.

Yes, here they were, Crockett thought, before remembering his manners. He stood and pushed the plank seat back a bit so Valentine could more comfortably seat herself. Beside him, of course, because the table was then balanced with an equal number of people on each side. Helga quickly handed out extra plates, but Crockett’s creativity and hunger left all at once, replaced by a different kind of need.

He suddenly realized the delicate floral scent he smelled was coming from Valentine. He quickly drank some water. She looked at him, her smile somehow unsure, and he put the glass down.

Across the table, Last watched them curiously. Minnie and Kenny ate happily, and Annette sat in her father’s lap, grinning as she dug her fingers into Last’s mashed potatoes.

Tension spread through Crockett. He turned his attention back to the food he couldn’t eat.

“In case you’re wondering what’s in that box on the counter,” Valentine said when the silence at the table grew long, “it’s a cake for Mason.”

“Really? That was nice of you, Valentine,” Mason replied sincerely. “We love your cakes.”

Valentine beamed, clearly pleased with the compliment. “It’s a birthday cake someone ordered for you, a secret admirer,” Valentine said. “I didn’t know it was your birthday.”

Crockett turned his attention back to Valentine, relieved that he had a reason to look at her.

“It’s not my birthday,” Mason said, frowning. “It’s not any of our birthdays.”

The smile slid from Valentine’s face, and Crockett felt sorry for her.

“Oh,” she said softly.

“Who sent it?” Last asked.

“She paid cash,” Valentine said. “She just said she was a secret admirer. I thought you knew her.” A becoming blush spread across her delicate cheeks. “I’ll take the cake back.”

“No way,” Mason said. “I never give up cake.” He took the box from Helga.

“Mason, no,” Valentine said. “Believe me, you do not want this cake.”

“Mmm, chocolate,” Mason said, cutting off a big piece. “Plates for everyone, please, Helga.”

Then Mason stopped, looking confused. Crockett could feel Valentine shifting nervously on the bench, as if she wanted to get up and flee.

Mason lifted a thong from the center of the cake. “What’s this?”

Last started laughing. Olivia hid a smile. Minnie and Kenny were agog, and Annette pushed mashed potatoes into her hair happily while the adults’ attention was elsewhere.

“The lady said she’d just been to Victoria’s Secret and wanted to send you something you liked almost as much as chocolate,” Valentine said.

She sounded on the verge of tears, so Crockett put an arm around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. To his surprise, she hid her face against his chest. It was only for a second, but it was enough to send an arrow of joy quivering straight into his heart.

“Oh, well,” Mason said. “I can’t imagine who sent it, but since you baked it, I won’t let a thong stop me from eating a delicious Baked Valentine. If you think about it, this brings a whole new meaning to the name of your store, Valentine.”

Crockett knew Mason was trying to make Valentine feel better by making her laugh, but she was too embarrassed. “It’s okay,” Crockett told her. “We get stuff like that all the time.”

The second he said it, he wished he hadn’t. Valentine pulled away from him. She took Annette from Last and started to wipe the potatoes off the baby’s fingers and from her hair.

“Nice going, Leonardo da Vinci,” Mason said to Crockett, slapping a piece of cake in front of him. “Now Valentine thinks we’re a bunch of panty-collecting apes.”

Helga used a pair of tongs to snag the offending missive off the table and toss it in the trash. “Bad girls.”

Silence fell.

“Don’t be upset, Valentine,” Olivia finally said. “The cake is wonderful. And so pretty, too.”

“Thank you,” Valentine said softly. “I’m sorry to have to call it a night in the middle of dinner, but Annette’s managed to get potatoes mashed into her diapers. I’m going to take her on home.”

They all stood, trying to get her to stay. Helga offered to rinse the baby at the sink, and Last said a bit of potatoes wasn’t going to hurt Annette. But Valentine thanked Helga for dinner and said good-night, not really looking at any of them.

The front door closed, and Crockett looked at Mason. “Sorry. I was trying to make her feel better.”

“I don’t think it worked.” Mason sat down, licking the frosting from his fingers. “I have to say, she bakes so much better than the folks who used to own the store. This is good.”

It was more than Crockett could stand, thinking about Valentine walking to her little house on the far side of the ranch, alone and upset. If Last wasn’t going to get up to walk her home, then Crockett would.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, hurrying out the door.

Valentine heard boots coming after her, and her heart jumped when she recognized Crockett’s voice. Oh, she didn’t want to talk to him now. Once he’d admitted that he and his brothers frequently received favors like panties from women, she had known she had to leave. The thought that one day she might take an order like that for Crockett made her whole inner being turn cold with some emotion she’d never felt before, an emotion she didn’t understand and wanted to get away from, quickly.

“Wait up,” Crockett said, swooping Annette from her arms. “The night’s still young, even for this tater-stealing spud.”

“Spud needs a bath and a bedtime story.”

“I don’t like the nickname Spud. Tater sounds a lot more feminine,” Crockett protested, his teasing voice trying to wheedle a smile from Valentine. “Give your uncle a kiss, Tater.”

Valentine appreciated his effort, but she couldn’t smile. He didn’t know how ragged her heart felt.

“Don’t be embarrassed about all that back there,” Crockett said. “It was the best thing that could happen to Mason. He’s getting way too stodgy. Didn’t you see how happy he was?”

“I’m sure he thinks it’s weird that I baked it for him. But I honestly thought she knew him and that maybe there was some shared history between them.”

“Nah,” Crockett said easily. “Mason’s never shared much history with anyone, except Mimi, and I’m not sure their history has anything to do with panties. Mimi would be more likely to leave Mason’s drawers in a tree somewhere for all the world to see.”

Valentine slowly smiled. “She wouldn’t.”

“She would. There is no limit to the fun we call Mimi.”

She gave Crockett a sidelong glance. “Do you have any history?”

“The kind where someone orders me a specially baked cake with lingerie filling? No. Not unless you want to order me one.” He gave her a devilish wink that made her heart race restlessly. “Bras, panties, it doesn’t matter. I’m not as picky as Mason.”

“I don’t know what temperature I’d have to put the oven on to bake a bra into a cake.”

“Hot, hot, hot,” Crockett said, kissing Tater on her head as he held her.

Valentine felt a blush steal over her cheeks. “Give me the spud,” she said. “We are late for a rub-a-dub in the tub.” She took Annette from Crockett, amazed by the warmth of his body as her arms brushed his. Hot, hot, hot was right. Cautiously, she glanced over Annette’s head, peeping at the big cowboy. “Good night, Uncle Crockett,” she said, waving Annette’s little fist.

“I could come in and make soap carvings for her,” Crockett offered. “It’s something I learned in Maverick’s boot camp.”

It was tempting, but Valentine knew too well that she had no business allowing herself to accept such an invitation. She and Crockett needed to stay separate, on the ranch and in their lives.

Annette started to fuss, giving Valentine an excuse to shake her head. “Thanks. Another time. Good night, Crockett.” She walked inside her house, then turned to wave one last goodbye.

He stood there, his arms crossed over his chest and his legs spread as he watched her, the very essence of sexiness and protectiveness. Everything that was female inside her electrified and went on red alert.

He tipped his hat to her.

Slowly, she backed away from the door, closing it behind her. Her pulse thundered. He was hotter than a man had a right to be.

“You like him,” she whispered to Annette as they walked down the hall, “and so do I.”

The flattered feelings Crockett gave her were like a sweet, forbidden confection—one an unwise woman ate and then later regretted.

Valentine might have made mistakes in her past, but this time she would be wise. If she didn’t lose her head, then she couldn’t lose her heart.

Chapter Three

If Crockett hadn’t been thinking about panty-filled cakes and how pretty Valentine’s fanny probably looked in a thong, he might have noticed Last waiting for him on the porch.

“Bro,” Last said, his arms crossed over his chest. “It seems strange to me that your creativity has returned, and now you’re walking Valentine home. It’s like…I don’t know. One and one makes two, you know?”

Crockett frowned, walking around his brother. “Seems to me the math’s already been done. One and one made three. You didn’t choose to walk two parts of the equation home, so shut the hell up.”

Last followed him into the house. “That doesn’t mean you should have.”

“Then who, Last?” Crockett put his hat on the counter and stared his brother down. “It was a courtesy, nothing more, one which you should have performed.”

Last shrugged. “At the table, it seemed like you two were getting along pretty well.”

Crockett sighed. “Are you trying to tell me that you have feelings for her? That you ever had feelings for her?”

“Not those kind of feelings.”

Crockett breathed a sigh of relief that he didn’t allow his brother to hear.

“But Annette’s my daughter.”

Crockett shook his head. “I thought I had all the jealousy in the family.”

“I’ve got my fair share.”

They sat down on the sofa, glancing around to make sure Helga wasn’t around before putting their boots on the coffee table.

“I’m just getting good at the relationship with my daughter,” Last said quietly. “Frankly, it took me a while.”

“I know. We thought your Mohawk phase might last longer than it did.” Crockett picked up the remote and began channel surfing. Some things were easier to discuss lightly.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Last said. “I just wanted you to know how I feel.”

Crockett nodded and closed his eyes, wishing Last would cool his jets. Family angst wasn’t what he wanted to think about. He wanted to think about Valentine—and her fanny—and about the creative ideas suddenly filling his mind. Something about that tiny woman with the very round, very upstanding tushie made his juices flow, made him want to…sculpt. Her.

She brought inspiration to life inside him in ways he had never imagined. What medium would best illustrate her curves?

Clay! Calhoun didn’t work with clay!

“I need some more time to work things out with Valentine.”

Last’s words penetrated the dense fog of Crockett’s inspired musing. “I wasn’t aware the two of you were trying to work anything out.”

“Not like that,” Last admitted. “It’s the family angle I’m working on. The father thing.”

A curious rush of jealousy, more powerful than anything Crockett had experienced before, surprised him. “Father thing?”

“Yeah, I’ve been polishing my game. Performing my obligations. Whatever you want to call it.”

“Let me get this straight. From the day Frisco Joe met Annabelle and her baby, Emmie, you talked about Jefferson children. You sent all our brothers off with marching orders to procreate. Surprise, surprise, you become a dad, too, only you get mad as hell and do everything you can to ignore Annette for months, leaving your responsibilities to Mason and me and our other brothers. Now you decide to bust my chops because I’m paying attention to Valentine and Annette?” He shook his head. “Dude, it’s not going to work. You can’t treat people that way. You’ve ignored Valentine since she came to the ranch. I’m not trying to get in your way when it comes to being a dad, but you’re not going to get in my way of…whatever.”

“And what is whatever? Just so I’ll understand.”

Crockett slapped his brother on the back of the head. “She’s a nice lady. I like to look at her.”

Last moved away from his older brother’s reach. “And if I don’t like whatever? If I need more time to get my own deal worked out with my family? Then what?”

“Have at it.” He looked his brother in the eyes. “Don’t get competitive, Last. You don’t like hanging around her, I do. Deal with it.”

Last got up from the couch, agony on his face. “I am trying to be as good a father as Maverick was.”

“I’m not stopping you.”

Last sighed. “I feel like I need something that’s mine, where none of my brothers overshadow me.”

Crockett could relate to that feeling. “We’re just friends. And I’m only interested in spending time with her because it seems I’ve recently turned into a butt-man.”

“Butt-head, you mean.”

“No, butt-man. Valentine has a great tush. It inspires my creativity. That’s all I’m thinking about. Nothing deeper than that.”

Last nodded, then left Crockett with the TV while he headed down to Valentine’s. He hesitated before knocking on the door. Crockett was pretty much correct: Last had avoided Valentine for a long time.

The realization that he was a father had changed his life and frightened him. He’d doubted his ability to be a proper role model. He hadn’t wanted to be tied down to a woman. At the time, it had felt as if he’d gotten roped in. Later, he realized that the few pounds of squealing flesh that bore his name wasn’t all that frightening. He’d slowly begun to worm his way into Valentine’s good graces, and he’d moved just as slowly over the first bumps of fatherhood.

He’d been feeling pretty good about matters—until Crockett had started eyeing his family.

The door opened and Valentine looked out at him. “Hi, Last,” she said, her tone somewhat surprised.

Of course she was surprised. “Is Annette asleep?”

“Nearly. Did you want to see her?”

He shifted. “Actually, I wanted to ask you something.”

Her big eyes widened. “All right.”

“There’s never going to be anything between you and me, is there?”

Valentine was so shocked by Last coming to her house and asking her this question that it took her a second to shake her head. “I think we’re better off as friends. You don’t want more than that, do you?”

“I want to be first in my daughter’s life.”

“And you’re worried that you won’t be?” This was a side of Last she’d never seen before.

“Maybe.”

“Last, Annette knows who you are,” Valentine said softly. “That should be reassurance enough.”

“Yeah.” He backed away from the door. “Okay.”

Valentine took a deep breath. “For what it’s worth, Last, I never set out to trap you with fatherhood. If you avoid me because you think I’m after you, it’s not true. I don’t remember much about our night together, but I know it got out of hand pretty quick and that neither of us were ourselves. Nor were either of us under any delusions.”

He looked grim. “Sometimes I wonder if it really happened.”

“I know.”

His mouth settled into a tense line. “I think, Valentine, I owe you an apology. I had some wildness in me, and I never thought about the consequences of my actions. For either of us, but especially for you.”

Valentine smiled slightly. “Thank you. But it doesn’t matter anymore. We have a daughter we both love.”

“We sure do.” For the first time, he smiled. “I’m still kind of amazed that I’m a dad.”

“Scary?”

“Scary, but awesome.” He stepped down off the porch. “By the way, do you have a thing for my brother Crockett?”

Her smile slipped, and she gave him a warning glare. “Haven’t you asked the one question you came here to ask?”

He laughed and put up his hands in mock surrender. “All right.”

She opened the door. “I have to get to work early in the morning.”

He nodded. “Good night.”

“Good night.” Closing the door, Valentine wondered which of Last’s questions he’d really come to ask. She’d never know—but one thing she did know, she had a thing for Crockett.

OKAY, SO IT WAS WRONG to be hiding in the bushes. Crockett knew that. But he wasn’t so much hiding as skulking, he figured, in the old-time manner any villain from a black-and-white movie would appreciate.

But what else could a man do? The second he’d realized Last had a major burr under his saddle and was heading down to Valentine’s house, Crockett had to tag along to eavesdrop.

He’d heard everything, amazed that Valentine and Last spoke with each other so easily about such a difficult subject. And how dare Last ask her if she had a thing for him? Crockett was just honest enough to admit his ears had stretched out about a foot to hear her reply, his heart hoping for an affirmative answer of some sort.

Well, he hadn’t gotten an affirmative, but he hadn’t overheard a negative, either. Wasn’t that a good sign?

He untangled himself from the bushes and headed back toward the main house. Half of him wanted to go pound Last for muddying the waters; he’d have to keep an eye on that brother of his. But right now the other half of him wanted to express his joy.

She didn’t say that she didn’t have a thing for me, he repeated to himself happily.

IN MIMI’S TOWNHOUSE the next day Mimi and Mason were seated at the kitchen table drinking tea and glaring at each other. Mimi’s daughter, Nanette, sat in Mason’s lap, playing with a doll he’d given her, completely oblivious to the tension in the room.

“I don’t want to be your deputy,” Mason said. “It’s a harebrained idea, as usual.”

“Sometimes you like my ideas,” she reminded him.

Mason wondered if he’d truly liked her ideas, or if he’d simply been driven by the inner devil that sometimes took the wheel of the Jefferson boys. “I may have lost my sense of direction and allowed you to lead me astray a time or two.”

“So you don’t want to be my deputy because of the news about Maverick?” Mimi asked. “Are you leaving to look for him again?”

“No.” He kissed the top of Nanette’s head, drawing peace from her presence. “It wouldn’t do me any good. Hawk and Jellyfish can find whatever is out there. They’re the trackers. Me, I’m just a farm boy.”

She laughed. “Right.”

“So.”

Taking a sip of tea, he considered Mimi. She was just as pretty as she’d ever been. Maybe even prettier. He supposed that now that she was officially divorced from Brian, men would flock to her door. That thought rattled him quite a bit more than it should. So he thought about Nanette instead. She needed a stable male influence in her life. She had Mimi’s father, the sheriff, of course. And Barley, Calhoun’s father-in-law, who came around often to play checkers and carouse with the sheriff a bit. And all the Jefferson brothers did their part for their former neighbor, because they loved Mimi like a sister and adored Nanette like one of their own.

But was it enough? “I may take Nanette to the park today.”

Mimi’s brows raised. “She’d like that.”

“Yeah.” He’d like it, too. He liked spending time with this child. Maybe he felt sorry for her since her father was never around. One thing Mimi’d had while growing up—wild March hare that she was—was the stable influence of the sheriff.

Nanette was a baby, really, but she still needed at least one man who cared about her in a…fatherly way.

He decided it was up to him. “Yeah, the deputy thing isn’t for me. And now that the sheriff has nearly gotten over the liver infection, can he keep his post?”

Mimi shook her head. “He can’t run for sheriff again. Dad really needs to take it easy. He’s happy here in town, too, more than I thought he’d be.” She sighed. “Although I will admit I never thought we’d leave our little farm.”

Mason was just glad they hadn’t moved farther away. With Mimi, you could never tell what might happen. “Ever hear from Brian?”

“No. Not really. He still does some paperwork for Dad.”

“Ah.” Mason felt the tiny stab of jealousy inside him recede. He supposed he’d always been a bit worried that Mimi and Brian might work things out. It was so wrong of him to be happy that their marriage had failed! What kind of friend was he?

“You know, Mason,” Mimi said, “that little bundle of joy you’re holding is what gave my father the will to live. I think he fought that infection with every shred of strength he had in him just to see her grow up.”

“Miracle girl.” Mason kissed the top of her head again. “Don’t start thinking you’re special, though, toot.”

Nanette patted his face, then pretended to steal his nose.

“Okay, off to the park we go. You want to come?”

Mimi shook her head. “Thanks. You go on.”

Mason gathered Nanette in his arms then turned to look at Mimi. “I don’t think you should run for sheriff, either. It’s too dangerous. You need to think of your little girl.”

“And I’ve decided to take your advice on that matter. Of course, your horsey opinion doesn’t have anything to do with my change of mind, but I have thought long and hard on it. You’re right.”

Mason was shocked. “Is that a first?”

Mimi laughed. “Hell, yes, so don’t be annoying and gloat.”

“Humph.” He thought about her capitulation and wondered aloud, “What else could I get out of you while you’re in this easy mood? One ought to grab all the candy while the store’s open and free, I think.”

“I’m not exactly candy,” Mimi said.

No, but she was being sweet. He frowned. “Mimi,” he said, “have you ever thought about the fact that sometimes you and I really get along?”

Chapter Four

Hidden in the attic that he had accepted as his artistic loft, Crockett stared at the clay lump in front of him. This was definitely a new playground. Clay didn’t have the color of paints, or the lightness of spirit that said, “Create freely!”

But the lump represented wonderful opportunities. It gave him a chance to think about the new him. Sculptor. Artist of a molding medium. He worked the clay between his fingers. He had eschewed white, opting to start with red clay. Would he enjoy making something without a brush? He hoped he didn’t become frustrated or miss the sensation of a brush sliding across canvas.

“I have a barn to clean out, so you and I better come to terms,” he told the lump. “Be beautiful.”

“Crockett?” a voice called up the stairs.

Valentine! Blast! “Yes?”

“Can I talk to you for a second?”

So much for having a secret lair. Had someone put out a sign when he wasn’t looking? This way to Crockett’s cave? But if someone had to bother him he was glad it was Valentine. She was worth a break.

“Sure. Come on up.”

She appeared at the top of the ladder, and he reached to help her into the room. “This space is nice.”

He glanced around. “Not really.”

“Oh, sure. This is the perfect place to read a book! Especially on a rainy day.” She smiled, giving a fake shiver. “A cold, rainy day.”

“It’s July. Hard to think about cold, rainy days.”

“Yeah. You know, you just need a window seat up here, a fresh coat of paint, and this place would be a wonderful studio.”

Of course, she was right, but he didn’t want her redecorating his hideout. Ugly and in some disarray, it suited his mood. “Hey, what’s up, anyway? What brings you to the dustiest part of the ranch?”

She turned to look out the window, which he appreciated, because he could now evaluate her curves. Yes, she was just as he remembered: full and feminine and made for a man who appreciated round, apple-shaped—

“You’re making me self-conscious, Crockett,” Valentine said, laughing. “You always seem to be staring at my fanny.”

“Your jeans fit good,” he said. “I’ve never known Wrangler jeans to fit anyone quite like yours fit you.”

“And you would be a connoisseur of fannies,” she teased.

“Purely a statement of truth.” Valentine was hotter than a pistol, in his book—but it was a book he wasn’t going to read, window seat and fresh paint or not. “So once again, what do you want?”

She took a deep breath. “I was going to see what you thought about me having a special little ‘do’ here for Father’s Day.”

He stopped fiddling with the lump of clay. “Father’s Day? That was last month.”

“Yes. Well there are rather a lot of fathers around here. And we didn’t have a real celebration for them. Last, the sheriff, Barley, Calhoun—”

He scowled at his brother’s names. “You’re doing this for Last.”

“I would like to do something for him,” Valentine admitted. “I think he would enjoy being celebrated as a father. He has really been good to Annette.”

He guessed late was better than never. “Have you mentioned this party idea to Mason?”

“Not yet. I thought I’d speak to you first.”

“Why me? I’m not a father.” A fact he hated to admit, for some reason. Why wasn’t he a father? Because he hadn’t gone on a hootenanny and gotten someone pregnant as Last had, he supposed. But that route to fatherhood seemed unappealing when there were other ways.

Like with Valentine.

The thought swept over him before he could stop it. Valentine made beautiful babies; she made beautiful everything.

“I like to talk to you about whatever’s on my mind,” she said simply. “You’re reasonable.”

Reasonable was the last thing he was feeling. “I’m not a father,” he repeated, “but it sounds like something my brothers, at least, would enjoy. Can I come if I’m not a father?”

She looked at him. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“I don’t know. It could be bothering me.”

They stared at each other for a long time, and the silence felt awkward.

“Do you want to be a father?” Valentine asked softly.

Crockett eased back on his stool. “You seem happy being a parent.”

She smiled. “Yes, I love being a mother. But I am a parent of one. I’m not having any more children, so the burden doesn’t seem overly large.”

His brows rose, and an uncomfortable feeling lodged in his stomach. “You’re never having any more kids?”

She shrugged. “I’m a single mother. It’s rewarding, but enough of a struggle that I know I don’t plan on having more children.”

“I think Annette would like a little brother to drag around.”

“I think she has plenty of people wrapped in the crook of her finger.” She sat down across from him. “So about the party.”

“Yeah,” Crockett said reluctantly, realizing he wouldn’t enjoy watching his brother get kudos for being a dad. “Sounds like a real wingding.”

He scratched his head. His brain disliked the notion of Valentine not having more children. It didn’t sit right with him. Why? He drummed his fingers, then cracked his knuckles—and then it hit him.

He really wanted a child.

He rolled the very foreign thought around in his mind again. Prickles ran across his scalp. Valentine eyed him with a concerned gaze.

“Are you all right? You’ve gone quite pale.” She moved closer to examine him. She smelled fresh. “No, you’re definitely pale. Crockett, is something wrong?”

Well, hell, yeah. He wanted a baby. He wanted a baby, more specifically, with her, the last person on earth he should be thinking about.

Yeah, something was very definitely out of whack. He was all screwed up. “I need to be alone.”

“Oh.” Valentine pulled away from him. “All right.” She walked across to the ladder before turning to say, “So you think it would be all right to approach Mason about the belated Father’s Day picnic?”

“Yeah. Sure.” He returned his gaze to the lump in front of him. With a sigh, he designated himself an oaf and told himself not to abuse Valentine’s kindness. “Hey, he’ll probably be all over it.”

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