“Lacey, have you done this before?” Letter to Reader Title Page Dedication About the Author Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Copyright

“Lacey, have you done this before?”

Ethan asked as understanding dawned on his face. He rolled off her, and sat up on the edge of the bed. Then he turned and gently did up the buttons on her blouse.

She blushed red-hot. “I’m thirty years old,” she said. “I want you,” she whispered fiercely.

“Not like this,” he said gruffly. “You don’t even know me.”

Didn’t know him? How could he think that? How could she not know him when she had seen him tame a horse with his touch, and gentle her charges with his voice? How could she not know him when she had ridden through the snow with him, and felt the warmth of his hands? When she had stood in a bathroom still steamy from his shower? How could she have watched the steely gray of his eyes soften with tenderness and not know him?

She knew him. And she wanted to know all of him.

Dear Reader,

Compelling, emotionally charged stories featuring honorable heroes, strong heroines and the deeply rooted conflicts they must overcome to arrive at a happily-ever-after are what make a Silhouette Romance novel come alive. Look no further than this month’s offerings for stories to sweep you away....

In Johnny’s Pregnant Bride, the engaging continuation of Carolyn Zane’s THE BRUBAKER BRIDES, an about-to-be-married cattle rancher honorably claims another woman—and another man’s baby—as his own. This month’s VIRGIN BRIDES title by Martha Shields shows that when The Princess and the Cowboy agree to a marriage of convenience, neither suspects the other’s real identity...or how difficult not falling in love will be! In Truly, Madly, Deeply, Elizabeth August delivers a powerful transformation tale, in which a vulnerable woman finds her inner strength and outward beauty through the love of a tough-yet-tender single dad and his passel of kids.

And Then He Kissed Me by Teresa Southwick shows the romantic aftermath of a surprising kiss between best friends who’d been determined to stay that way. A runaway bride at a crossroads finds that Weddings Do Come True when the right man comes along in this uplifting novel by Cara Colter. And rounding out the month is Karen Rose Smith with a charming story whose title says it all: Wishes, Waltzes and a Storybook Wedding.

Enjoy this month’s titles—and keep coming back to Romance, a series guaranteed to touch every woman’s heart.

Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Avae., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo. NY 14269

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Weddings Do Come True
Cara Colter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my dear friend, Marilyn Breckenridge

CARA COLTER

shares ten acres in the wild Kootenay region of British Columbia with the man of her dreams, three children, two horses, a cat with no tail and a golden retriever who answers best to “bad dog.” She loves reading, writing and the woods in winter (no bears). She says life’s delights include an automatic garage door opener and the skylight over the bed that allows her to see the stars at night.

She also says, “I have not lived a neat and tidy life, and used to envy those who did. Now I see my struggles as having given me a deep appreciation of life, and of love, that I hope I succeed in passing on through the stories that I tell.”

Chapter One

Ethan Black gazed out the window above the kitchen sink. He was buried up to his elbows in suds. The last light was fading from the sky; leafless trees and snow-capped evergreens were stark black silhouettes against the sunset’s final streaks of orange and pink. A cow lowed, the sound deep and melodious.

Slivers of light still illuminated the tops of the rolling hills that stretched to the far horizon. He could no longer see the lonely ribbon of road that wound from miles away, down over Sheep Creek Ridge, through the shadowed valley and up here to his home on Black’s Bluff, but at night like this, he could see headlights coming from four miles off.

But there were no pinpoints of light heralding the arrival of the cavalry.

He frowned. His aging hired hand, Gumpy, should have been back from Calgary by now. With the reinforcements.

Reinforcement. Mrs. Betty-Anne Bishop.

Tearing his hopeful gaze from the place the headlights would first appear crowning the crest of the ridge, he looked down at the contents of the sink with disgust. He was doing dishes. Lots and lots of dishes. Once upon a time, doing dishes had meant turning on the hot water tap and giving a single plate a quick swish through it. Two plates, if Gumpy joined him.

Once upon a time. Only two weeks ago. How could two weeks seem so long?

Peals of shrill laughter erupted from down the hall, and he closed his eyes. That was how.

He leaned back from the sink, trying not to drip too many suds, and peered down the darkened hallway. A light was on in his bedroom at the end of the passageway.

The two children were jumping up and down on his bed, squealing with hyenalike glee.

They were twins, and though not identical, the resemblance between them was strong and striking. Both had short dark hair, though not nearly as dark as his and not as heavy. Doreen’s eyes were blue; Danny’s were the Black eyes, gray as slate. Both of them had cheekbones that only hinted at their grandmother‘s—his mother’s—Sarcee Indian blood. Tsuu-T’ina, Gumpy’s voice corrected him inside his head. Gumpy would be disgusted to know Ethan was relieved his niece and nephew would not be taunted through their school years as he had been. Called half-breed and worse. Driven, later on, to prove himself. To prove that he was just as good as anybody else. No, better. Stronger. Tougher. Wilder. More fearless.

He watched the children for a moment longer, thinking either of them was going to bounce one of their stocky little bodies right off the bed. He should tell them to settle down.

On the other hand, they weren’t fighting.

He turned back to the chore at hand. The morning and lunch dishes finally done, he shook his hands over the sink. Reminding himself the end was in sight, he went and cleared the supper dishes off the table.

“I hate this, Unca,” his five-year-old niece, Doreen, had told him a half hour ago.

“Eat it anyway.”

Her huge cornflower-blue eyes had filled with silent tears. They had the oddest way of filling, from the bottom, like a clear glass fish bowl filling up. Or maybe everybody’s eyes filled up that way before they bawled and he’d just never had a chance to see it up close before.

Thank God.

Needless to say, she had not eaten one bite of the prime T-bone on the plate. Or the baked potato, which admittedly had not been cooked all the way through. She had nibbled a single leaf of lettuce, which, from the level of energy she was now demonstrating on his bed, had sufficiently nourished her.

He dropped the dishes in the sink. He had to bend in an awkward way, right from the small of his back, to get at the dishes, and he was starting to ache from it. Of course, his aching back might also have a little something to do with a long-ago bull named Desire. His aches and scars—and there were many of them considering he had barely broken thirty—were mostly named after bulls he’d met over a seven-year stint as a pro-rodeo cowboy.

Not one moment of which had been as frightening as the moment Doreen and her twin brother, Danny, had stepped into the airport waiting area, holding hands, their names pinned to their coats, their eyes huge and frightened.

He heard a thud as one of them tumbled off the bed. He waited for the howl and felt his muscles actually unbunching when it didn’t come. A moment later the springs were again squeakily protesting each jump.

They weren’t frightened anymore. Maybe they never had been. Maybe that had just been his own fear reflected in their eyes. Imagine a man who had spent most of his youth and much of his adult life on top of two thousand pounds of writhing, raging bull getting an attack of nerves when confronted with two small scraps of humanity who couldn’t weigh more than eighty pounds combined. It was humiliating.

His sister, Nancy, and her husband, Andrew, were medical missionaries in a country called Rotanbonga. He still couldn’t pronounce it correctly. The twins had been born there, and he’d been quite satisfied to monitor their progress from a distance. His chief duty as uncle had been to remember to get their Christmas parcel in the mail by the end of September. Every year he sent a teddy bear and a doll, thanking God for the Sears catalogue, so that he didn’t have to shop for these highly embarrassing items in person.

But a few weeks ago he’d gotten an extremely panicky call from his usually unflappable sister. The connection was terrible, but he understood her to say that an epidemic, the name of which he could not pronounce, was sweeping the towns of their adopted homeland. It wasn’t safe for the kids to stay, but Nancy and Andrew felt they couldn’t possibly leave when so many lives now relied on their medical expertise.

What was an uncle supposed to say in those circumstances? I’ve got a ranch to run?

Of course, at the time when he’d said yes, he’d had no idea two five-year-olds were going to keep him from running his ranch. Keep him so busy and exhausted, he fell into bed at night feeling as if he’d wrestled, branded and inoculated several thousand head of cattle singlehandedly.

“Come on, Gumpy,” he implored the dark road.

He hoped the old truck hadn’t given out somewhere along the way. Gumpy always kept a roll of electrical tape and spare parts on hand and could bring about major miracles on that old heap of junk, but still, it wouldn’t make a good first impression on Mrs. Bishop.

She might not be happy standing in the dark on the side of the road in the biting November cold watching Gumpy cheerfully gluing his pride and joy back together.

And he wanted nothing more than for Mrs. Bishop to be happy.

Mrs. Betty-Anne Bishop was his neighbor’s cousin. Her name had come to him after he’d put out some panicky feelers to friends and neighbors.

That was three days after the twins had arrived. The laundry seemed to be multiplying on its own on the laundry room floor, the cattle needed to be dewormed, and Danny and Doreen had not yet revealed to him if they understood English.

He’d interviewed Mrs. Bishop by telephone. She was fifty-seven and had raised four children of her own.

None of whom were in jail.

Which was good enough for him.

It hadn’t fazed him that she lived in Ottawa, fifteen hundred miles away, either. He’d paid the short-notice, no-discount airfare to Calgary without blinking.

“It’s mine!” Doreen screamed.

“Isn’t!” Danny yelled back.

Ethan sighed and closed his eyes.

Now they were fighting. In some ways he’d liked it better before they decided to let him know they spoke English.

He leaned back from the sink again and looked down the hall to his bedroom. They were still smack-dab in the middle of his bed, engaged in a furious tug-of-war over his cowboy hat. Didn’t they know a man’s hat was sacred?

“Hey!” he hollered.

Doreen started, and dropped her hold on the hat. She fell on her plump bottom and looked accusingly down the hall at him. Even from here he could see her large blue eyes filling up with tears.

Wringing out the dishcloth with a little more vigor than was absolutely necessary, he said a word that would have given his sister a heart attack, and headed down the hall.

A few minutes later, Doreen tucked under one arm and Danny under the other, Ethan settled on the couch. They snuggled into him, and the opening credits of Toy Story came on.

“How many times have we watched this, Unca?” Doreen asked him happily.

“Twenty-seven,” he informed her grimly.

She sighed blissfully. Danny sang the opening song robustly. Ethan felt his eyelids growing heavier and heavier.

It seemed like only minutes later he jerked awake. But the TV was now playing plain blue, and Danny and Doreen were fast asleep, their heads on his chest, Danny snoring softly and Doreen drooling a little pool of saliva all over the front of his shirt.

If it hadn’t been for the drool, he might have thought he was dreaming.

Because there was an angel in the room with them.

She was absolutely beautiful. Her hair was thick and long, as golden as liquid honey, half piled on top of her head, and half falling around her face and shoulders. She had beautiful dark brown eyes, high cheekbones, a shapely nose, a mouth from which the lipstick had long ago worn off, but that still looked luscious.

Lipstick? Since when did angels wear lipstick?

He blinked, and gave his head a shake.

Since when did angels wear little pink silk suits, the color of cotton candy? The skirt showed Ethan enough long, shapely leg to make his mouth go dry.

“Honey, we’re home,” Gumpy said with a familiar cackle.

Ethan snapped his gaze to him. Gumpy, his wispy white hair framing his wrinkled copper-colored face, looked inordinately pleased with himself.

Ethan lifted the children’s heads off his chest and slipped out from under them. Stepping over the coffee table, he ignored Gumpy, and stared down at the beautiful intruder.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked, his voice rougher than it needed to be in defense against those legs.

Lacey McCade stared up at the cowboy with awe. He was at least three inches taller than her own five feet nine inches. There was pure power in the strong lines of his face, in the high cut of his cheekbones, in the faint cleft of his chin, the straight line of his nose. His hair was thick and black as night and cut very short. His lips were full and faintly parted, and his eyelashes were long and sooty. His skin glowed with faint copper tones, and she knew he must be at least partly Native American.

His build was lean and hard. He had his shirtsleeves rolled up, and she could see the sinewy muscle of his lower arms, the strength in his large wrists. He flexed a hand impatiently, and her eyes were drawn momentarily to a thick scar that snaked around the base of his thumb.

He was wearing a denim shirt, and his shoulders and chest were broad beneath it.

Two ax handles wide, Lacey remembered her secretary saying once, giggling at a carpenter’s shoulders, as they passed a construction site on their way to an office luncheon.

Lacey remembered thinking at the time, Who in Los Angeles would know the first thing about ax handles? But she was a long way from Los Angeles now, and looking at those enormously broad shoulders, it fit.

His legs were very long, encased in old denim that looked as soft as felt, and clung to the large muscles of his thighs.

His eyes were astonishing, even in anger. They were gray and clear as cold mountain water. Not that anybody in Los Angeles would know anything about that, either.

“Hi,” she said nervously.

“Who the hell are you?” he repeated.

He had every right to be angry. Lacey shot a look at her rescuer, Gumpy. Or was she rescuing him? It had all seemed so simple at the airport.

She had just gotten off the phone to Keith who had not taken the news she was canceling the wedding very well. In fact, he had said he would get on the next flight and they would “talk.”

She hadn’t been in the mood for talking, and had decided to hide out in a hotel room. But after thirty-two phone calls, it was apparent to her that every hotel room in the whole city of Calgary was being used for an international convention of plumbers. Who would have known plumbers had conventions?

And then this wonderful old man had been standing in front of her, in faded jeans and a denim jacket. He was Native American, his skin warm and wrinkled copper, his eyes black as coal, his hair long and free and wispy as white smoke.

She had liked his eyes, because despite the nervous twisting of his hat in his hands, his eyes had been utterly calm, peaceful. In his eyes had been a deep knowing.

About everything. The secrets of life and the universe. Her secrets.

“Are you the nanny?” he’d asked shyly, revealing a gap where his two front teeth should have been.

She’d contemplated that for a moment. What she was, was a lawyer, one who had never had an impulsive moment before today. Today when, instead of driving to her law firm’s office in downtown Los Angeles after a particularly brutal session with a difficult client, she had taken the off-ramp to the airport, surveyed the flights out and chosen Calgary.

For no reason at all, really.

Unless you counted the fact that once, as a little girl, she had wanted very badly to go there for their world-famous rodeo, the Calgary Stampede.

And then some complete stranger with lovable eyes had asked her if she was a nanny, and some deep warmth had spread within her. Of course, she would have said no if he hadn’t spoken again.

“If you’re not the nanny, I guess I’m in a heap of trouble,” the old man had said sadly.

But his eyes had said no such thing. They twinkled at her as if they were about to share a wonderful joke. They invited her to say yes to the adventure. He knew she was not a nanny.

It felt as though Lacey was in a “heap of trouble” herself. Still, her utterly responsible voice ordered her indignantly not to do anything crazy. Anything else crazy. She shushed it.

The truth was she wanted, for once in her very ordinary life, to be crazy. She wanted to be impetuous and spontaneous. She wanted life to at least have the possibility of something wonderful and unpredictable happening.

And after she’d had that, her small taste of life on the wild side, a breath or two of pure freedom, she would probably be perfectly content to go home and marry Keith. Perfectly.

“I am a nanny,” she told her unlikely angel, holding out her hand to him.

He took it, and any doubt she had was gone instantly. His grip was strong and warm and reassuring. “I lost the paper with your name on it, miss.”

She hesitated, knowing when she said her name he was going to realize his error. And the adventure would be over just like that. She’d get on the next plane and go home.

She had been aware of holding her breath as she said, “Lacey. My name’s Lacey McCade.”

But his smile had nearly swallowed his face. “Nelson,” he’d told her, “Nelson Go-Up-the-Mountain.” When she told him she had never heard such a beautiful name, he had ducked his head with endearing shyness. “Shucks, just call me Gumpy.”

Lacey had never heard anyone say “Shucks” before. She wanted to ask him all about the children, but remembered she was likely supposed to know.

“Your luggage?” he’d asked her.

“Lost.” She felt guilty lying to him, but really that one word could mean just about anything. And it suddenly occurred to her that the turnoff to the airport earlier had been very much about things lost. Some part of herself was lost.

“We’ll find it,” he’d said reassuringly.

And looking at him, she’d believed it. And knew he was not talking about luggage any more than she was.

Now, facing the man in front of her, her choice seemed silly rather than adventurous.

Even sleeping, with those two adorable children nestled trustingly into him, there had been nothing vulnerable about this man. He had looked rugged and 100 percent pure male.

“Mind your manners, Ethan,” Gumpy told him mildly, which earned the older man a look that might have sent a lesser man scuttling for cover. “This is our new nanny.”

“The hell she is.”

Certainly she was glancing around for a place to hide.

But with one more dismissive look to her, Ethan turned to Gumpy. “What have you gone and done?”

“Just what you told me,” Gumpy said, “gone to the airport and picked up the nanny.”

“Fifty-seven. I told you Betty-Anne was fifty-seven years old. Nobody fifty-seven looks like this. This girl isn’t a day over—” cool gray eyes scanned her “—twenty-five.”

“Woman,” she corrected him. “Thirty.”

He glared at her briefly, then shifted his attention away from her again.

“Gumpy, start talking.” The cowboy’s voice was low and lethal. Just like the rest of him, there was barely leashed power in that voice. “Where’s Mrs. Bishop?”

Behind him the children stirred on the couch. She watched them, in their sleep, reach out for and find each other. She felt a stab of tenderness for them.

“This is the only nanny I could find at the airport,” Gumpy said, not intimidated. “And believe you me, I looked.”

“Anybody looking at her can see she’s not a nanny. We need somebody who can cook and clean and look after kids, Gumpy, not an expert in shades of fingernail polish.”

She looked at the fingernails in question, rather than meet the steady, stripping look in his eyes when he glanced back her way. Her nails were quite long, the very same shade as her suit, a fact she had taken some pleasure in this morning.

When she had been a completely different person.

“Doreen and Danny will like her,” Gumpy said.

“I hope you’re not suggesting she stay.”

She looked up from her fingernails to see Gumpy nod, once, with grave dignity.

The cool, angry note in Ethan’s voice as he bit out a single word woke the children. They struggled to sit up, rubbing their eyes, taking her in with only mild curiosity. Then they slipped off the couch and disappeared down the hall.

“Don’t touch my hat,” Ethan called over his shoulder, though he did not turn around.

The children giggled and broke into a run that did not bode well for his hat, though at the moment she could not imagine anyone who valued their lives defying him.

But Gumpy did defy him. “I think she should stay.”

“You crazy old coot! She is not staying. You are putting her back in that truck and taking her back wherever you found her.”

“So,” Gumpy said softly, “now I’m a crazy old coot. But when you want something, it’s Grandfather.”

“You’re his grandfather?” Lacey asked Gumpy with surprise.

“No!” Ethan snapped.

“For the People, Grandfather is a term that denotes respect,” Gumpy said softly, his dark eyes locked on the gray ones of the younger man.

To her immense surprise, Ethan looked down first. A small muscle jerked angrily in his jaw. But when he looked up again at Gumpy, the flash of fury was gone from his eyes, though they were as cool and as unnervingly steady as ever.

“She can’t stay,” he said quietly.

“He’s right,” Lacey said, moving to Gumpy and putting her hand on his sleeve. “Of course I can’t stay. I’ve made a dreadful mistake. I’ll go. Really.”

Gumpy studied her face, saw the resolve in it and sighed.

The little girl danced into the room. “Gumpy, I flushed your keys down the toilet.”

Ethan said that word again, so that Lacey just barely heard it. Not a very nice word at all.

“Don’t you just love flush toilets?” the little girl asked, looking right up at her.

She had the most beautiful blue eyes, Lacey thought, and exquisite bone structure, very like her uncle’s. Short dark hair scattered around a cherubic face. Out of the corner of her eye, Lacey saw Gumpy struggling to suppress his laughter. His thin shoulders were shaking.

“I do,” Lacey said, though she had to admit she had never given the topic a single thought in her entire life. “I like flush toilets very much.”

The other little imp materialized, and looked up at her with eyes amazingly like his uncle’s. “I’m Danny.”

“Hi,” Lacey said.

“And I’m Doreen,” the other one said.

Ethan was not being sidetracked by introductions. “You can take my truck,” he said grimly to Gumpy. “You’ll be back in plenty of time for us to use it to feed cattle.”

Lacey looked at Gumpy with concern. Surely he would not be expected to drive back and forth all night and then feed cattle in the morning?

“Never mind,” Ethan said, evidently reaching the same conclusion. For a moment in his eyes a barrier came down, and she could see his affectionate concern for the old man outweigh his substantial irritation. “I’ll take her.”

He strode out of the room, and it was as if something went with him. Energy. Light. Lacey realized his physical nearness had made her edgy, aware of something beating, pulsing, deep within her.

Danny and Doreen raced around the room and then disappeared down the hallway.

Lacey studied the living room. It was only slightly homier than the kitchen she had come through earlier. The couch looked worn but comfortable. A bright scatter rug was underneath it, no doubt to keep feet warm on icy winter nights. The coffee table, a beautiful old scarred wooden trunk, held a cup of coffee, half-full, and a well-thumbed book that looked like a medical manual on cattle. There were no pictures on the walls.

Keith, she knew, would hate this room. His taste ran to authentic Persian rugs and antique oriental vases. But she found herself drawn to it, to the lack of clutter, to the simplicity.

She glanced, covertly, at the four movies lined up under the televison, wondering what they would tell her of the man who lived here. Toy Story, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Dances with Wolves and Chris Irwin, Horse Whispering Demystified. Gumpy shuffled over and sat on the couch, looking peaceful and unperturbed, but she felt driven to apologize anyway.

“I’m sorry, Gumpy,” she said softly, “I never should have let it go this far.”

He just smiled, that wise and knowing smile she had come to like very much.

They heard a drawer slam in the kitchen.

“Where the hell are my keys?”

From a different part of the house, Lacey heard breathless giggles.

Ethan must have heard them, too. Because the silence was suddenly very silent. She could hear the fridge motor.

“Doreen?” he called. “Danny?”

Silence.

“Where are my keys?”

Hushed giggles.

Lacey turned to Gumpy and widened her eyes. She mouthed, “The toilet?”

He nodded and she waited for an explosion, but none came.

Ethan came back into the living room. He sank down on the couch and closed his eyes for a long moment. He looked tired and discouraged, much, she thought, how she must have looked when Gumpy found her at the airport.

“You probably can’t even cook,” he muttered in her direction.

“You haven’t eaten until you’ve had my vegetarian chili,” she told him proudly.

“Vegetarian?” he said with flat dislike.

Even loyal Gumpy was looking at her with distress. “Vegetarian?”

They heard a toilet flush and then flush again, followed by childish laughter.

“My life,” Ethan said, slowly and deliberately, “could not possibly get any worse than it is at this moment.”

She felt it was wise to say nothing. Apparently so did Gumpy.

“Miss?” Ethan said, opening one gray eye and looking at her.

“Ms.,” she corrected him.

His sigh of long suffering said his life had just gotten worse. “You’re on a cattle ranch,” he told her, reclosing his eyes. “As in beef. We promote the edibility of red meat.”

“Oh.”

The phone rang, and for a long time it seemed as if both men planned to ignore it.

“You know who that is, don’t you?” Ethan asked Gumpy.

“Not a clue.”

“It’s a hopping-mad fifty-seven-year-old woman who has successfully raised four children on a diet of meat and potatoes.” Except for the hopping-mad part, he sounded distinctly wistful.

He unfolded himself from the couch and went and got the phone.

Chapter Two

The phone was wall mounted in the hallway. Ethan picked it up and looked back at the pink suit settling herself on his sofa. She crossed one long, slender leg over the other one. That suit really said it all.

This was no nanny.

This was trouble. Capital-T trouble.

He deliberately turned his back on her, but was annoyed that the picture of her did not leave his mind. He tried to concentrate on what Derrick Bishop was telling him.

His mother, Mrs. Bishop, was in the hospital in Ottawa. Something about a bad spill on some ice on the sidewalk outside the airport that had left her with a broken hip.

Knowing he was being a selfish SOB, all Ethan could think was that the cavalry was not coming after alL

Unless you counted her. He hung up the phone and turned back, using the darkness of the hall to study her.

The cavalry she was not.

Cavalries did not come in that particular shade of pink. Her skin was faintly golden, and the suit was lightweight. He figured she did not come from a Northern climate. The suit really was an engineering marvel. It looked businesslike, but it also clung and hinted.

Ethan Black had pictured Betty-Anne Bishop to be the approximate size and shape of a refrigerator. Nothing had prepared him for this.

He deeply resented the flash of heat he felt deep in his belly when his lovely intruder flung a heavy tress of wayward hair over a softly rounded shoulder, even though it confirmed the absolute wisdom of getting rid of her. Fast.

The truth was he’d had lots of experience with beautiful women. Win a few buckles, ride a few bulls, and you were suddenly irresistible. Barbie doll beauty hadn’t impressed him all those years ago, and it didn’t impress him now, or at least not the part of him he listened to.

Now, brains, he thought, that impressed him in a woman.

And he could tell this girl—make that Ms. Woman—was short in the smarts department. Who else would get in a truck with a toothless old man they knew nothing about?

He hoped to God she wasn’t a hooker.

He considered that, watching her with narrowed eyes. The suit was very expensive looking and very proper. If it weren’t for the color—and for the fact he knew she’d taken a ride with a stranger to an unknown destination—he might think high-powered executive type. She smiled at something Gumpy said. The smile was warm and open.

But that didn’t alter the fact she was an impostor. She had lied to Gumpy.

Expensively dressed. Beautiful. Desperate. A woman in trouble.

He did not need any more troubles. Not of his own or anybody else’s, either. Double trouble had arrived here two weeks ago, and Danny and Doreen were his absolute limit. She had to go. He was still the boss around here, not Gumpy.

Of course, there was the little matter of the keys. If he took the toilet apart tonight, a prospect that blackened his already-black mood, Gumpy could take her back to Calgary first thing in the morning. He could feed the cattle on his own. He cursed the early skiff of snow that added four hours of feeding cattle to his daily workload. Six, if Gumpy weren’t here.

What was he going to do with the kids? The thought of taking them with him to feed the cattle was enough to raise the hair on the back of his neck. He thought of sending them with Gumpy, but there wouldn’t be enough seat belts in Gumpy’s truck, not that Gumpy would go for it if there were. Pulling rank only went so far with his old hand. Of course, Gumpy was more than a hand, and he knew it.

More even than a friend. A link to ways long forgotten.

He went back into the living room. Danny and Doreen streaked by, his hat down around Doreen’s chin, Danny riding hard on a broomstick.

“What’s your name?” Ethan asked the woman.

He knew before she answered, he was going to hate her name. He knew she would have a name like Tiffany, or Jade, or Charity.

“Lacey,” she said evenly, “Lacey McCade.”

Bingo. Not a sensible name like Mary or Betty.

“Mrs. Bishop broke her hip,” he said to Gumpy. “She’s not coming.”

Gumpy beamed as if he’d just won the lottery. The kids screeched through, squeezing between the coffee table and the couch.

But she reached out an arm and stopped Doreen and then caught up Danny. “You can help me bake cookies tomorrow if you go quietly and put on your pajamas.”

Tomorrow?

“What kind?” Danny demanded.

“What kind do you like?”

Ethan glared at her. Tomorrow?

“Chocolate chip,” they said together.

“We don’t have chocolate chips,” he said. Not that she was going to be here long enough to bake cookies.

“I can do it before I go,” she told him levelly, as if she could read his mind. “It only takes half an hour or so.” And then as if that settled it, she smiled at the kids, a smile so radiant it almost melted the caution he felt. Almost. “Do you like oatmeal cookies?” she asked them.

They hooted their approval, just as if they fully intended to earn their cookies by quietly going and putting on their pajamas.

“Oatmeal?” she asked him.

He nodded curtly, folded his arms over his chest, tried to suppress his surprise—and annoyance—when Doreen and Danny regarded her solemnly for a moment, and then marched off silently to put on their PJ’s.

Gumpy looked smug.

“She’s not staying,” Ethan bit out.

“Well, she’s gotta stay tonight. Unless you got a spare set of keys made after we ran those ones through the baler.”

He hadn’t, and Gumpy knew it.

“I’m taking the toilet apart right now. The keys are probably caught in the trap.”

“Well, I ain’t waiting up for you to do it.”

Ethan saw he was being unreasonable. He’d already decided they would have to take her back tomorrow. It would be too late to do it after he’d rescued the keys. And he still had to get those kids to bed.

But the kids marched out in their pajamas, asked a couple of anxious questions about cookie baking and then asked her if she’d tuck them in.

Not him, the one who’d cooked for them and watched Toy Story with them twenty-seven times and washed their mountain of dishes, and let them play with his damned hat.

Nope. Her. The impostor.

“Well, now she’s gotta stay and make cookies,” Gumpy pronounced with satisfaction when she’d left the room, one hand firmly in the grasp of each child. “Promises are important.”

Actually, though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, that would work out fine. He could get up early with Gumpy and feed the cattle, she could watch the kids and make cookies and then leave right after lunch. Not perfect, but workable.

Whatever had driven her here, he was pretty sure she was not the type who would be rummaging through the house looking for stuff to steal.

Not that he had anything worth taking. Unless you counted Chris Irwin’s video. The VCR was Gumpy’s.

“Been a long time since I had cookies that didn’t come out of a bag,” Gumpy said, getting up and stretching. “I’m goin’. Do you think she’ll cook us breakfast? I’m fair tired of instant porridge.”

Ethan was tired of instant porridge, too, especially the way Gumpy made it, with hot water straight out of the tap. But if he complained, he’d end up with breakfast duty. So he just said, “Get real. Does she look like the type who cooks breakfast?”

“She does to me,” Gumpy said stubbornly, and moved by him. “She’s going to make cookies, ain’t she?”

Ethan followed him and watched as the older man went down the stairs to the landing and bent over his boots, continuing to mutter the whole time.

“I bet the cookies won’t be any good, anyway,” Ethan said.

Gumpy mumbled something.

“I didn’t catch that,” he finally said, knowing he was taking the bait.

Gumpy straightened. “I think we should make a bet. If she cooks breakfast, she stays.”

“Gumpy, I don’t even know where you found her.”

“At the airport, just like you said.”

“We don’t know anything about her.”

“Just look in her eyes.”

“She lied to you. She’s no nanny.”

“Neither are you. I don’t hold it against you.”

“But I never said I was,” he said with elaborate patience.

“I bet she can do the job.”

“And I bet I’m going to be asked to be the guest conductor for the Calgary Philharmonic.”

“She’s supposed to be here.” He opened the door and cold air blasted in.

Gumpy considered himself to be something of a mystic. He was right about things often enough that Ethan had stopped laughing. He eyed the old man warily.

“If she cooks breakfast tomorrow, you should ask her to stay,” Gumpy said stubbornly.

“Only if it’s good,” Ethan said dryly. Not much danger on either count, but Gumpy looked pleased, like a fisherman who had a strong nibble. “Maybe you should stay in the house tonight.”

Gumpy shook his head obstinately and went out.

Ethan turned back into the house, which was unbelievably silent. If he strained, he could just hear the soft murmur of her voice. He turned on the radio to drown it out. Fighting weariness, he turned off the water main and began to scoop the water out of the toilet.

“The kids are asleep. I’m going to go to bed.”

By now he had out a wrench and was unbolting the bowl from the floor. He looked out at her from where he was twisted beneath the tank. She was standing in the door watching him as though he was performing heart surgery. “Yeah. Sure. First door on the right.”

“I figured it out. The lace doily on the dresser was a dead giveaway.”

He glanced at her sharply. Was she smarter than she looked? He’d put that little scrap of lace out to make it look welcoming for Mrs. Bishop. It was the only doodad in his house.

“Sleep in tomorrow,” he suggested. After all, he had a bet to win. Not that he had much in the way of breakfast makings around, anyway. He hadn’t really had time to properly stock groceries. He had eggs, cereal and instant porridge. Good luck turning that into anything special.

Gumpy wouldn’t consider boiling the water for the instant porridge cooking, would he? Contemplating that, he went back to work.

An hour later, the keys rescued and the toilet bowl reanchored to the floor, he showered, checked on his niece and nephew and walked by Lacey McCade’s firmly shut door.

It occurred to him she hadn’t had a single piece of luggage with her.

Which made him wonder again where she had come from and why. It also made him wonder what she was sleeping in.

Lacey lay awake in the inky darkness. The bed was narrow and lumpy. She wondered what he was sleeping in. Boxers?

She could feel herself coloring to the roots of her hair. Which was a mess.

She was in a strange man’s house, under false pretenses, thinking decadent thoughts. What had happened to her? She was not the same woman who had gotten up this morning, calmly eaten her toast and jam, and headed for work.

Just this morning she had been the fast-rising woman lawyer, preparing for the wedding of the century, and the life of acquiring the stuff—the beach house, the car.

The kids, she realized, had never come up.

A foolish thing not to have discussed with the man you were going to many—presumably the catch of the season.

Lacey replayed the conversation she’d had with Keith, from the airport at Calgary, rather than think any more thoughts about the cowboy in his boxer shorts. Or lack thereof.

“Keith,” she had said, watching a 747 lumber along the runway, looking as if it would never have the power to take off, “Cancel the wedding.”

At the precise moment she had said those words, the plane was suddenly in the air, its huge body soaring upward at an impossibly steep angle.

She surprised herself. Her voice sounded firm and sure and uncompromising.

Silence. Then, “Lacey?”

“Cancel the wedding,” she repeated, more strongly than before.

She pictured him behind his desk, his tie undone, his blond head bowed over some paperwork, though she thought she probably had his undivided attention now.

“I can’t cancel the wedding,” he sputtered. “It’s three weeks away. It’s going to be the wedding.” Long fingers would be scraping back his hair, his handsome features would be marred by a frown, the wrinkles deep in his forehead.

Lacey turned from the bank of windows. The plane was now a speck in the distance. She took a deep breath. On the other side of the pay phone she was using stood a beautiful statue, cast in bronze, protected by a glass case. It was of a cowboy standing quietly beside a horse that dipped its head to water. Something about it had made her ache with an emotion she did not understand.

But that had something to do with the word the. Why did it have to be the wedding?

She would have settled for a wedding. For ordinary things.

She snorted at herself. Since when?

Since precisely three hours ago, when the off-ramp to the airport had beckoned to her so bewitchingly she could not say no.

“Where are you?” Keith demanded.

“I don’t think that’s important.”

“Area code 403,” he read off his call display.

Her eyes rested on the bronze again. When she was a child, she had begged her father to consider the Stampede as a vacation possibility. There had never been money for exotic holidays, though. Not that her father would have considered a rodeo exotic.

Lacey wondered about taking it in while she was here. Then some long-forgotten part of her recalled the Stampede was in the summer. July? And summer was long past here.

Listening, she could hear Keith on the other end of the line, thumbing through papers. The telephone book, she guessed bleakly.

“Canada,” he crowed. “Alberta. Lacey, what are you doing in Alberta?”

“I don’t know,” she’d answered truthfully.

And she didn’t. She only knew that when she had seen the airport sign, she had been compelled to obey something within her that told her to go. To go now. Before it was too late.

For what, she was not sure.

Keith was handsome, gloriously so. And wildly successful in his own right, quite separate from the old family wealth he came from. “A young man going to the very top,” her father had pronounced with grave approval after meeting him for the first time.

And, of course, Lacey had her own career, and though it was not quite as illustrious as Keith’s, between the two of them they were well on their way.

Again, her eyes had been drawn to the bronze cowboy. So still.

Of course he was still, she chided herself with annoyance. He was bronze.

“Lacey, what’s the matter?”

Keith was trying so hard for a tender note, but she could picture him glancing at his watch. And she could certainly hear the edge of impatience in his voice. The wedding was about to go up in smoke because of a whim. Her whim. Keith did not like whims.

He liked things organized. Predictable. Perfect.

“I can’t go through with it,” she whispered. “I can’t.”

“There’s no such word as can’t.” This was an expression Keith had picked up at one of the motivational seminars the company had sponsored.

“I’m having some doubts.” The details on the bronze made it very lifelike. The bronze cowboy had his back to her, and when she was done on the phone she would go look at the front of him. Still, even from the back, how he was standing said so much. Weariness in the slope of his shoulders but pride, too.

“What kind of doubts? Why now? The time for doubts was six months ago. A year.”

She knew she had failed to have her doubts on schedule. Before the two hundred guests had been invited and the caterers confirmed. She knew her timing was terrible. She had known it even as she drove toward the airport, but knowing had not stopped her.

“Keith, I just feel confused.”

“Oh,” he said with relief, “confused. Lacey, all brides have the prewedding jitters.”

She didn’t care if he was L.A.’s most persuasive lawyer. He wasn’t going to convince her that a bride-to-be getting on an airplane and flying across a continent was nothing more than prewedding jitters.

“You’ve been doing too much,” he said, his voice soothing, a man who had all the answers. For everybody. “My mother could have looked after wedding details. Or yours.”

She felt petty for noticing his own services were not volunteered. He was probably right. The frantic pace, the dress fittings, the endless arrangements and appointments, the expectations coming at her from all sides that it was going to be the perfect fairy-tale wedding.

“Plus,” he added, “you’ve been working in Divorce too long.”

That was true. She’d seen more than her fair share of how those perfect fairy-tale weddings could end.

“Come on,” he said. “Hop the next plane out of there. I can tell you’re still at the airport. I can hear the luggage wheels rumbling by you. Come home. Everything’s going to be fine.”

She took a deep breath. Of course he was right She was just suffering a terrible case of prenuptial jitters. Taken to the extreme by her close proximity to a Visa Gold card.

But then she suddenly caught sight of her own reflection in the glass around the cowboy. She looked very professional in her suit. Her blond hair was piled up on top of her head in a very corporate topknot. Well, her hair, being her hair, was falling out a bit on one side.

Still, she looked cool and calm and utterly professional, not at all like a woman who would ever lose her head or be irresponsible. Not like a woman capable of letting down her future groom, her parents, and two hundred confirmed guests.

She had the unnerving idea, studying her reflection, that it was like studying a stranger. That composed woman wasn’t her at all.

“I’ve got to go.”

“Calgary!” he said. “You’re at the airport in Calgary. The number you’re calling from has Calgary prefixes. If you won’t come to me, I’ll come to you. Grab a seat at the bar. I’ll be there in—how long will it take me to get there?”

“Don’t come.”

“I’m coming,” he announced.

She hung up the phone and began calling hotels. Only to find out even her Visa Gold wasn’t going to buy her a hiding place in this town. Not tonight.

She sank into a chair and contemplated her options. She could fly somewhere else.

She realized she was being crazy, but a rebellious voice inside her head told her to go ahead and be crazy. Told her there was something wrong with being thirty years old and never having done one crazy or impulsive thing.

She had set goals and worked steadily toward them all her adult life. At eighteen she had started university. She had earned scholarships, maintained an A average throughout, passed the bar in the top percentile and nailed a job with one of L.A.’s top ten law firms. Not bad for a girl from a staunchly blue-collar neighborhood, a cop’s daughter.

And now this. Her wedding, the final coup, the match made in heaven.

No one could have been more surprised than her when, driving back to work this afternoon, she’d been almost overwhelmed by a sense of—She forced herself to analyze it, sitting there in the airport. A sense of what?

Emptiness.

Emptiness, she chided herself. In a life so full she’d been unable to find time to have lunch for the past two and a half months? Emptiness?

Okay, piped up the recently released rebel inside her own brain, maybe loss would be a better word.

Loss.

But loss of what? She had everything. The career. The man. They were looking at a lovely house with a pool. A pool. Her father would be beside himself with glee if they bought it.

Get back on that plane, her responsible voice ordered her.

All right, she told it. But she did not move. She buried her face in her hands and allowed herself to feel totally exhausted. She couldn’t even bring herself to go look at the front of the bronze statue.

She was a lawyer. She’d made it. She was going to marry Keith Wilcox, probably the most eligible bachelor in L.A.

Her parents were thrilled for her. Everybody’s dreams for her were coming true.

Get back on the plane. She gathered up her purse. That was what she’d do. She could feel it now. The return of her senses. It had been madness, that was all. Just a few moments of utter madness brought on by too much divorce court, too much—

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

And Gumpy had stood there. And she had taken one look at him and let the madness come back, followed the light in his eyes toward an uncertain future.

And now she was here, lying in a lumpy bed, running her fingers through the hopeless tangles of her hair, hoping beyond hope some miracle would allow her to stay in this refuge for a while. To look after those adorable children, and to sort through her own confusion.

She decided, not for the first time, she absolutely hated her hair. And she decided, right before she slept, jockeys. He’d wear jockeys.

Wondering what the hell she was sleeping in kept Ethan awake until the dawn was touching the sky. He finally slept, awakening to bright light pouring in his window and the aroma of cooking food tickling his nostrils. Food that smelled like heaven.

It was the first time in two weeks he hadn’t woken up with two little kids staring at him, their eyes only inches from his face. He was astonished to find he missed it.

He got up and dressed, hoping to catch Gumpy in the act of putting one over on him.

But it was Lacey McCade standing at the stove, looking dangerously at ease with a frying pan. Her hair was braided. She had on the same pink suit. It was impossibly rumpled.

He realized she’d slept in it.

“Morning.” she said cheerfully.

He took a sip of the coffee she had handed him. Damn, it was good. Gumpy and the kids were already tucking into whatever was on their plates.

He was relieved to see it looked like slop.

“Omelette ranchero,” she told him, setting a plate on the table for him as he sat down.

“Not too talkative this morning,” Gumpy goaded him. “What do you think of the coffee?”

“It’s okay.”

Gumpy grinned.

A delicate smell wafted up to him—of eggs and onions and herbs. He bit into the omelette cautiously. Ambrosia. The slop was salsa. He glanced at Gumpy who was laughing at him.

She’s not staying, he mouthed.

“Promises are important,” Gumpy said out loud.

Ethan tried to think of exactly what he had said last night. It hadn’t been a promise. Not even close. A bet. They hadn’t even shaken on it.

Gumpy didn’t believe in shaking. He believed in honor. If a man said something, he followed through. Even if he’d said it when he was dead tired and felt backed into the corner. Ethan realized he’d taken the bait—hook, line and sinker.

“So, how long could you stay?” Gumpy asked her, when Ethan failed to say anything.

She turned and looked at them, her face bright with hope.

Why would anybody even want to stay here? Ethan asked himself. A million miles from the nearest shopping mall with two kids who didn’t obey, an old man and a grouch. Whatever she was running from must be pretty bad. A boyfriend who beat her? He inspected her visible skin areas for bruises, feeling some sort of unfathomable anger as he did so.

But he didn’t see any bruises.

She was looking at him. He continued to eat his breakfast. He pretended to be engrossed in Danny’s retelling of a dream about a monster who ate frogs and purple dogs.

“I could stay until you found somebody else,” she said. “Two weeks tops.”

Everybody was looking at him now. Danny was suddenly quiet.

Doreen laid her hand on his arm, leaving a little trail of salsa on the sleeve of his shirt, which was practically brand-new. “Oh, please, Unca,” she said.

If he said no, she’d start crying. He just knew it.

And Gumpy, when insulted, sometimes went into the hills alone for days.

Which would leave him in an even more unworkable position than the one he had been in twenty-four hours ago. Ethan was finished breakfast, anyway. He scraped back his chair, and got up, went to the door and put on his hat and boots and coat. He waited until he had one foot out the door before he said, “Yeah. Okay. Whatever.”

He didn’t turn around to see Lacey McCade’s reaction. He didn’t want to see her reaction because he had the awful feeling that if she ever directed the full wattage of that dazzling smile at him, he would be lost.

Totally, completely, irrevocably lost.

He jammed his hat harder on his head and lengthened his stride.

Chapter Three

She was staying!

Lacey couldn’t believe how elated she felt, how absolutely wonderful it felt to be a million miles from anything familiar. The view out the kitchen window this morning reminded her of that—a pastoral winter scene of barns, old fences, cattle and horses.

Now, as she paused for a moment from gathering the breakfast dishes to gaze again at the scene, Ethan came into her line of vision, walking down the road heading toward the barn. His hands were thrust deep into his pockets, his stride long and purposeful, his black cowboy hat pulled low over his brow. He kicked at an ice ball and it sailed down the drive ahead of him.

Clearly he was not sharing her elation. Not at all.

But Danny and Doreen were happy she was staying, sitting at the table telling her the one hundred and one things they had to show her.

Gumpy came and helped himself to a refill of coffee. “Thanks for breakfast.” He glanced out the window, just in time to see Ethan send another ice ball sailing. “He’ll come around.”

“It’s only for two weeks.”

She put dishes in the sink and contemplated her timing. Two weeks. She could go home, cancel the wedding in plenty of time and do her best to put her life back together.

What was left of it.

If she went back, now, today, she could salvage something. It was a halfhearted thought. No, she’d said she would stay. She was needed here, whether the grump marching down the road wanted to admit he needed her or not.

And as for the grump... She was determined not to think about the grump. Or the amazing way she felt when he was in the room—not like an experienced trial lawyer, but like a high school senior with a crush on the school heartthrob. She’d nearly dropped his omelette right on his lap when his hand had inadvertently touched hers as she’d set it down in front of him.

If she stayed here too long, she might have to look at the deep throbbing within her that had started the very moment she had seen the cowboy snoozing on the couch. It was something between a pain and an ache. But nothing could happen in two weeks.

Meanwhile, she could help him out by giving him refuge from the niece and nephew who had so obviously wrapped that man of steel around their teeny-tiny pinkies. And he could help her out by giving her refuge from her life, just long enough for her to sort out what fierce instinct had broken through all her reserve and all her sense of responsibility and obligation, and made her get on that plane.

“Are we making cookies now?” Doreen demanded.

“Dishes first. Pull over some chairs, and you can both help me with them.”

“Really?” they asked, wide-eyed.

Gumpy harrumphed with pleasure. “See you at lunch,” he said, and then offered, “Something with meat in it might make him feel better.”

She smiled. “Not according to the Heart Foundation, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

Danny and Doreen were still standing on chairs, meticulously wiping every drop of moisture off the plates, when Ethan came back in. Lacey had begun to do an inventory of supplies he had in his cupboards, making a list of items that would need to be picked up if she was going to do this job properly.

He’d hired her and she planned to make sure he got his money’s worth. Plus, there was the little matter of proving to him that she was capable of a little more than matching her fingernail polish to the day’s outfit.

He gave his boots a wipe at the door, then came into the kitchen with them on.

“That’s okay, I haven’t washed it yet,” she said, looking out at him from behind an open cupboard door.

He scowled at her, the scowl of a man who was going to wear his boots in his house if he damn well pleased.

“Unca,” Doreen said, and held up her plate for inspection. “Look-it. Me and Danny are helping.”

He looked surprised, but he gave his niece’s glossy hair a little ruffle with a big, leather-gloved hand. “That’s great, sweetheart.”

He turned away before he saw the beam of pure pleasure on the little girl’s face. He opened the fridge, pulling a glove off with his teeth.

He retrieved a bottle of white liquid, and took off his other glove, stuffing them both in the back pocket of his jeans.

Which was the only reason she even noticed the rear end of his jeans, she told herself. She looked for long enough to know jeans had been made for men built like him.

She watched as he slipped a huge syringe from his front shirt pocket, took the cap off with his teeth, shook the bottle, turned it upside down and inserted the needle, then pulled back the plunger.

“I hope that isn’t for one of us,” she kidded, amazed by his steady confidence with the needle and the bottle. From plumber to doctor in the blink of an eye.

He cast her a look. “Well, ma’am, I thought I heard you sneeze this morning.” His face remained absolutely deadpan, but she saw the faintest glimmer of laughter in his eyes.

It changed him in the most remarkable way. For an astounding moment she felt she saw who he really was. A man with incredible depth, and a great capacity for life and laughter.

She ducked her head back into the cupboard, studying soup labels as if her life depended on it, listening to the kids hoot with delight.

“Lacey’s getting a needle. Lacey’s getting a needle.”

“No, Lacey is not!” she said from behind the cupboard door.

She contemplated the way he had said “ma’am.” Had he intended for it to come off his lips so slow and sexy, or was that just the cowboy way of saying things?

Thank God that smile had only flicketed for a moment in his eyes, and had not touched his lips. If he ever smiled at her, she had the awful feeling she might be lost. Forever.

She slammed the cupboard door shut, jotted with furious efficiency on her growing grocery list and turned swiftly from him, not daring to look his way again. She went across the kitchen and opened the lid of the chest freezer, trying to concentrate on the contents and what they needed.

“Is Lacey getting a needle?” Danny demanded.

“No,” Ethan said, putting the bottle back and closing the fridge door. “One of the cows is sick.”

“Which one?” Doreen asked.

“I call her 131. I don’t think you know her.”

Shoving things around in the freezer until her fingers felt as if they might fall off, Lacy marveled at the patience in Ethan’s deep voice.

“Is she brown?” Danny asked.

“Umm-hmm. Brown and white.”

When Lacey had looked out the window, she noticed all the cattle were brown and white. Every single one of them.

“Is she big?” Doreen asked.

“Um-hmm.”

They had all been big, too.

“Is she fat?” Danny asked.

“Just right.”

“Is she going to die?” Doreen asked.

“Not if I can help it.”

“Will she cry when you give her that great big needle?”

“She’ll hardly feel it. I promise.”

He was trying to escape twenty questions, moving toward the door.

“Is she—”

“Doreen, your uncle has work to do. You can save some questions to ask him at lunch.”

She was suddenly aware of him. He had not gone out the door, but was standing behind her, and she whirled and looked at him. He was putting on a glove in a leisurely way.

“I’ll get Gumpy to bring you in a couple of pairs of his jeans and shirts. Mine wouldn’t fit you.” His eyes moved down her in a lazy inventory. She was suddenly very sorry she’d been bending over the freezer like that.

She tugged down the hem of her skirt, then folded her arms across her chest.

“Speaking of questions, what made you take a ride with Gumpy?” he asked softly. “Didn’t your mama ever warn you about strangers?”

He took a step closer to her. His eyes trailed over her hair, and fastened finally on her lips.

In the background, Danny and Doreen’s chattering faded. The whole world seemed to become him. His cowboy hat, his broad shoulders under a faded sheepskin-lined jean jacket, strong, muscled denim-clad legs, booted feet.

Her whole world seemed to become his eyes. His lips.

His aroma. He was so close she could smell him, and he smelled wonderful. Of leather and animals and clean crisp air. No aftershave, just pure man.

Keith sometimes wore a Stetson which suddenly struck her as hilarious, and she laughed nervously and tried to back up, but her fanny was already against the freezer.

“My, my,” he said silkily, “you’re not afraid of me, are you? You seem like a big-city girl. You should know all about how dangerous it can be to go with a stranger.”

He moved a step closer, dark amusement burning in his eyes as he looked down at her.

She tilted her chin up at him. “Are you trying to frighten me?”

He seemed to consider that. Her heart was beating a mile a minute and sped up some when those cool gray eyes fastened on her lips again.

He’s going to kiss me, she thought.

It occurred to her she should be terrified.