“Now’s not the right time. I’m sorry.”

For a moment Elizabeth could only stare at Worth, stunned at his interpretation of their kiss. “Right time for what? Kissing out in the middle of nowhere?”

A crooked smile of regret passed fleetingly over his mouth. “You know what I mean. I’m not ready to settle down, to make a long-term commitment, and you’re not a woman who’d accept anything less.”

Now he’d gone too far. “You’re warning me away from you? Are you so conceited you actually think I’ve fallen in love with you?”

“I’m just making sure we’re both clear on where we stand.”

His words failed to mollify her. “What makes you think you’re so wonderful that when a woman kisses you—” Elizabeth jabbed him in the chest with her finger “—you automatically assume she’s after your body or a wedding ring?”

Dear Reader,

Sitting in my red-wallpapered office, I’m surrounded by family photographs. I love seeing my husband as a baby, my father as an adolescent, and my daughter at age four holding her new baby brother.

For better or worse, we all have families. I didn’t plan to write about the Lassiter family, but as one character formed in my mind I realized I was dealing with all three Lassiter sisters—Cheyenne, Allie and Greeley. Then their older brother demanded his story be told, and who can say no to a sexy man like Worth Lassiter? What started out as one book had suddenly become four.

I hope you enjoy reading about the Lassiter family and the strong men—and woman!—who match them.

Love,

One Husband Needed
Jeanne Allan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For laughing Edith, with the snow-white hair.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

MISSION accomplished.

The slow-moving traffic ground to a halt on the road to the Denver International Airport. Sitting in the rented car, Worth Lassiter threw back his head and laughed. On this beautiful June afternoon nothing could disturb his good mood. “Well, Beau,” he said out loud, as if his long-dead father could hear him, “you dumped Mom and my sisters on me, told me to take care of them, and I did my best.”

He’d married off his three sisters to good, honest men, men he could trust, and in two weeks his mother would become Mrs. Russell Underwood. Russ was a good man who would treat Mary Lassiter the way she deserved to be treated.

A red-tailed hawk soared high overhead. The hawk had lived life more fully than Worth. Traveled more. Had more adventures.

Had more freedom.

Worth thought of the travel magazines stacked in his bedroom, the brochures in his office, and his spirits soared with the hawk.

His grandpa, Yancy Nichols, had taught him a man had to take care of his womenfolk. Worth had been taking care of his for as long as he could remember. For all intents and purposes, the Lassiter kids had been fatherless, supporting each other through thick and thin. Not for one second did Worth begrudge his mother and sisters the years he’d been responsible for their well-being.

Still…

He couldn’t stop grinning. The responsibility for his mother and sisters now belonged to other men.

Freeing Worth to do the things he’d longed to do for so many years.

Nobody to tie him down. Responsible for no one’s life but his own.

The hawk shrunk to a pin dot and disappeared in the clear blue sky.

No commitments.

Freedom. Adventure. Life with a capital L.

Worth could hardly wait to begin.

Flying from Lincoln, Nebraska to Aspen, Colorado with a thirteen-month-old baby wasn’t the brightest thing Elizabeth Randall had ever done. She wiped a tear from Jamie’s face and said in a soothing voice, “One more plane ride, sweetie, and then we’ll be there.”

There being a place called the Double Nickel Ranch outside of Aspen. A ranch belonging to a family named Lassiter.

In two weeks, Russ Underwood, Elizabeth’s father, would marry the matriarch of the Lassiter family, Mary Lassiter.

Coming to Colorado wasn’t easy for her, but Elizabeth couldn’t refuse to attend her father’s wedding. She knew Russ wanted to introduce her to his future bride and his bride’s family.

Russ had told Elizabeth all about the bride’s family. About the three perfect daughters who knew all there was to know about ranching and cows and horses. Daughters who were everything Elizabeth would never be. And the perfect son, an absolute paragon, a cowboy to top all cowboys. A man who could do no wrong in Russ’s eyes.

Unlike Elizabeth’s late husband, who’d rated somewhere below bread mold on Russ Underwood’s judgment scale.

The plane taxied up to the gate in Denver. The man sitting in the window seat next to Elizabeth gave her a dirty look and shot past into the crowded airliner aisle. She didn’t blame him. The last hour and twenty minutes must have seemed interminable to the man.

Elizabeth didn’t blame Jamie either. Her son preferred to approach life at his own speed and on his own terms. The combination of too many strangers, too much noise, too many new experiences, and forced confinement to his mother’s lap had overwhelmed her normally sweet-tempered son.

A short walk brought Elizabeth to the gate for the commuter flight to Aspen. With a half hour to spare, she put Jamie on the floor, giving him a brief spell of freedom. He quickly crawled to the nearest row of chairs and pulled himself up on short, stubby legs. Hanging on for dear life, her son made his way down the row of seats, looking back frequently to confirm his mother’s presence.

Giving Jamie a reassuring smile, Elizabeth dumped her two carry-on bags on the floor and sat, her back sagging wearily against the chair.

A cowboy moved down the center of the concourse in Elizabeth’s direction, his long legs covering ground in a deceptively slow amble. With his wide-brimmed black hat, boots, blue jeans and tan, western-style, sports jacket, he looked as if he’d stepped straight out of a Hollywood western.

For all the man’s loose-limbed amble, something about his walk hinted at harnessed strength and controlled power. A shiver ran down Elizabeth’s spine as an image from a TV documentary flashed across her mind. A mountain lion on the prowl.

He was one of the sexiest-looking men she’d ever seen. His striking good looks and bone-deep self-assurance attracted the interested gaze of every woman in the vicinity.

An interest he reciprocated, judging by the way he inspected each woman he passed. He caught sight of Elizabeth, and his gaze lingered on her, appraising her.

Butterflies fluttered deep in her stomach, and Elizabeth turned away. She was a single mother, a twenty-nine-year-old widow. Sexy hunks had no place in her life.

After a few minutes, a perverse curiosity compelled her to look for the cowboy. He stood on the other side of the boarding area, his casual stance at odds with the way he scrutinized arriving passengers.

From the corner of her eye, Elizabeth saw Jamie drop to all fours and speed toward a discarded candy wrapper on the floor. “Yuk, nasty. Give to Mama.” Down on her knees, she confiscated her son’s treasure, making silly faces to distract him. Jamie grabbed her hair with both fists and giggled with delight. Pulling him toward her, Elizabeth hugged his warmth and blew kisses against his silky neck. She loved this perfect little being more than she would have believed possible.

A pair of dark, worn boots walked into her field of vision. “Mrs. Randall?” asked a deep, pleasant voice.

Elizabeth sat back on her heels and looked up. Way up. “Who are you?”

The man unleashed a slow, toe-curling smile. “Worth Lassiter. You are Elizabeth Randall?”

She should have guessed. The perfect Worth Lassiter. Elizabeth looked like something even the cat would refuse to drag in, and he looked as if he’d never had a bad hair day in his life. “How did you know who I am?”

“Russ told me to look for the prettiest woman with the best-looking kid.”

Irritation flared at the glib lie. Her father would say no such thing, and if he had, Elizabeth in her rumpled, stained clothes and messy hair hardly fit the description. The man had obviously zeroed in on her red hair.

When she made no response, Worth Lassiter squatted on his heels and held out a big hand to Jamie. “Hey there, partner.”

Jamie pressed back against Elizabeth and thrust his thumb in his mouth, his wide eyes staring.

“He doesn’t like strangers,” she said curtly.

Leaving his hand outstretched a few inches from Jamie, Worth Lassiter casually wiggled his fingers and looked at Elizabeth. “I’d hoped to be here in time to meet your plane from Lincoln, but I got hung up in traffic on Pena Boulevard.”

Apprehension prickled unpleasantly at the back of her neck. He could walk and talk as lazily as he wanted, but intuition told her his bright blue eyes would see things she wanted no one seeing. “Why would you meet my plane from Nebraska? I’m flying to Aspen. No one said anything to me about driving there.”

“I had business in Denver. I flew up yesterday and took care of it so I can fly back to Aspen with you. You look as if you could use some help. I’ll bet this little guy runs his mom ragged.”

Elizabeth’s chin rose. She didn’t need some candidate for Hollywood pointing out her disheveled state or assuming she was unable to cope with her son. Worth Lassiter wouldn’t look so smug and self-assured and—and clean if he’d traveled clear across the state of Nebraska with a cranky baby. “You needn’t have troubled,” she said stiffly. “I’m managing just fine on my own.”

The network of squint lines around his eyes deepened. “You’d think a man with three sisters would know better than to suggest a woman needs a man’s help with anything.”

The amusement in his voice scratched against her frayed emotions like fingernails on a chalkboard. She shouldn’t have come. It was going to take more strength than she possessed to make it through this visit.

Jamie giggled and lunged for a wiggling finger.

Elizabeth snatched her son and started to stand, but her right leg had gone to sleep, and she staggered, landing in an undignified sprawl flat on her back on the floor. Jamie squealed with delight at the new game, bouncing excitedly on her stomach. People walking by stared down at her. Squeezing her eyes shut in embarrassment, Elizabeth lay on the floor, praying she’d find herself back in Nebraska when she opened them.

So much for the power of her prayers.

“Are you all right?”

One look at Worth Lassiter’s face told Elizabeth he could barely keep from laughing as he stood and extended his hand.

Once, she might have laughed with him.

Barely maintaining a fingernail grip on what little composure she still possessed, Elizabeth hung on to Jamie. “I don’t need your help. I don’t want your help. Go away.”

Worth Lassiter put both hands in the air and backed up a step. Heat flooded her face, undoubtedly highlighting her every freckle. Setting Jamie on the floor, she struggled to her feet, picked up her son, hoisted her two carry-on bags to her shoulder and walked away.

The plane wasn’t ready for boarding.

More passengers had streamed into the boarding area, filling the seats. Without looking at the man steering people away from the sole vacant seat, Elizabeth yanked up her slipping bags and marched over to the row of chairs. “I didn’t ask you to save me a seat. I could have stood.”

Her ungracious words hung in the air. What was the matter with her? It was as if an evil genie had taken control of her tongue.

Unshed tears stung the insides of her eyelids. A year ago, her emotions had teetered on the edge of hysteria, but for Jamie’s sake, she’d pulled herself together after indulging in one good cry. She hadn’t cried since. She wouldn’t cry now.

Worth Lassiter took off his hat and played peekaboo from behind it with Jamie. Her son leaned forward in anticipation, and each time the cowboy’s face appeared, Jamie happily said, “Boo!”

With each “boo” her son crashed backward against her chest. When her flight was finally called, Elizabeth stood with relief, firmly holding a squirming Jamie. “Those are my bags,” she said sharply as Worth picked them up.

“Yes, they are,” he said calmly, “and I’m carrying them on the plane for you.” He walked toward the airline gate.

Leaving Elizabeth with no choice but to follow.

On board the plane, she put Jamie in a seat and grabbed the bags from Worth, silently daring him to object.

Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he lounged in the aisle against a seat back while Elizabeth struggled to put her larger bag into the overhead compartment. Not a hint of impatience crossed his face. She knew darned well he was waiting for her to admit she needed his help. Something deep inside her wouldn’t let her. She might not measure up to these perfect Lassiters, but she could darn well handle her own bags.

Gritting her teeth, she finally managed to shove in the bag and settled in the aisle seat with Jamie.

“Excuse me.” Worth Lassiter eased past her to the window seat after easily tossing his small bag overhead.

“There are other vacant seats.”

He lifted an eyebrow in mocking response to her sharp comment, tipped his hat over his face and leaned back against his seat.

Elizabeth didn’t want him sitting beside her. She didn’t want him invading her space.

She didn’t want to be edgily aware of him.

Jamie let himself be coaxed into taking a bottle, then fell asleep. Elizabeth combed her son’s soft, downy hair with her fingers and told herself all she smelled was baby powder.

The subtle scent of masculine, woodsy soap could have come from any of the passengers.

She should have stayed in Nebraska.

She hated ranches. She hated horses.

The forty-minute flight took forever.

Her father was not at the airport to meet her.

Worth watched Elizabeth Randall from across the airport terminal at Aspen’s Sardy Field while passengers waited for their luggage. Russ claimed his daughter was completely self-reliant. Never asked for help. Wouldn’t need help. But Mary Lassiter had insisted any woman traveling with a baby could use it.

He should have listened to Russ.

Elizabeth Randall wasn’t self-reliant; she was bad-tempered, bullheaded, and obnoxiously independent.

Any rational woman traveling with a baby would welcome assistance.

However good his intentions, Elizabeth had obviously interpreted his unfortunate words in Denver as criticism and was determined to prove she could manage on her own. When they’d landed in Aspen, she’d been ready to start a tug-of-war over her carry-on luggage. As if a puny little thing like her could stop him from helping her.

Inside the terminal she’d stuck her pretty little nose in the air, making it clear she objected to his presence so he’d wandered off to greet a few acquaintances.

Darned stubborn woman. Nothing but skin and bones. The smallest breeze would blow her away. She’d refused anything to eat or drink on the plane. The kid was a handful, and her shoulders sagged under the combined weight of him and two bags. The only things holding her up were orneriness and a stubborn, excessive pride.

The afternoon sun shining into the terminal set the disordered strands of her red hair aflame. Hair like hers shouldn’t be ruthlessly pinned to the back of her head. It should be free and unrestrained, flying in the wind like the tail of a running horse.

Or spread over a man’s pillow.

Which was a heck of a thought to have about Russ’s daughter. And a widow to boot.

Compassion replaced his irritation. When a woman’s husband had been killed in a car accident the day they’d brought their newborn baby home from the hospital, she was entitled to a little bad temper. Anger was better than the pain and bewilderment he’d caught fleeting glimpses of in the depths of her eyes. Worth sensed that beneath her stubborn independence, Elizabeth Randall was a woman who’d been blindsided by fate and couldn’t understand why something so horrible had happened to her.

From across the terminal she glanced at him and hastily looked away when she saw him watching her. Worth leaned against the wall, folded his arms in front of his chest and waited for her luggage to be unloaded. He was in no hurry. Elizabeth Randall wasn’t going anywhere without him.

Where had he seen eyes that particular shade of olive green before? Worth swallowed a smile when the answer came to him. Emma Jean, his mother’s cat. When something set Emma Jean off, her eyes literally spit anger. A person could tame Emma Jean’s bristling fur. He doubted anything would tame Elizabeth Randall’s bristles.

A man could lose a limb trying.

She had haunted eyes. Set deep in soot-smudged sockets. She didn’t get enough sleep. Didn’t eat enough.

The baby wanted down, fussing and kicking. Every part of her body drooped with weariness, but she smiled at her son, cajoling the little boy into better spirits.

She had a beautiful, glowing smile.

A man could forgive a woman almost anything when she smiled like that.

The luggage appeared, but she made no move toward it. Worth straightened and walked toward her, relieved they weren’t going to fight yet another battle over her bags.

Elizabeth was watching the terminal doors, her face all lumpy as if she were trying not to cry.

Worth immediately berated his stupidity. She expected her father to meet her. Worth should have made the situation clear. Russ wasn’t coming, because Worth was driving her to the ranch.

Elizabeth concentrated on the countryside. She’d never been to Aspen. Hills, green with new grass, climbed from the highway to meet impossibly blue skies.

As blue as Worth Lassiter’s eyes.

He slouched lazily behind the wheel of the sport utility vehicle, but he wasn’t a careless driver.

Her husband had been an impatient driver, speeding between stoplights, weaving in and out of traffic, jamming on his brakes at the last second, swearing and honking at slower drivers. She’d worried his driving would be the death of them all, but it had been another driver’s carelessness which had ended Lawrence’s life.

Beside the road a picture-postcard river rushed around rocks and fishermen, tossing glittery spume into the air. They crossed a bridge where a large blue-and-white crested bird sat motionless on a wire over the river. If she opened her mouth to ask what the bird was, who knew what demons she’d set loose? Her entire body ached with tension. A tension heightened with the intolerable discovery that now, of all the stupid, inconvenient times, she was conscious of being a woman. And all too aware of the man across the car.

“Kingfisher.” Worth Lassiter had seen the direction of her gaze. “He’s been there almost every time I’ve driven by lately.”

Elizabeth knew she ought to respond. Ought to make polite conversation. She groped for something to say.

He spoke first. “Everyone’s looking forward to meeting you. They wanted to be at the ranch when you arrived, but Mom said they should let you recover from your flight before they mobbed you. We didn’t know you could handle them all with one hand and round up the horses with the other.”

Hearing sarcasm in the low, drawling voice, she immediately defended herself. “And I didn’t know you were one of those men who feels threatened by a woman who doesn’t swoon over your muscles.”

After a moment, he asked, “Did I mention I have three sisters?”

“Yes.”

“It’s like living with three stubborn, wrongheaded mules, but they couldn’t provoke me into a fight, and neither can you.”

“Why couldn’t they?”

He gave her a killer smile. “It was a whole lot more fun making them so darned mad because they couldn’t rile me. Cheyenne was the easiest. She’d practically chew the carpet.”

“Sibling rivalry. How charming.”

“No rivalry. Lassiters stick together,” he said in the voice of one stating an obvious, undisputed truth.

Jealousy stabbed at Elizabeth. Maybe if she’d had sisters, a brother, things would have been different.

What would it be like having a brother like Worth Lassiter? She studied him from under lowered lashes. He’d tossed his jacket in the back and rolled up his shirtsleeves. The blue cotton fabric did nothing to disguise the muscled strength of his upper body. Sunlight illuminated light hairs on his tanned lower arms. His big hands were tough and calloused. Like every cowboy she’d ever met, and she’d met a lot of them.

Which made all the more bizarre the disturbing images invading her mind. Not sisterly images, but images she’d never had about other cowboys. Images involving his hands on her body, touching her, loving her while the slow, deep voice drawled endearments in her ear.

Elizabeth squeezed the bag in her lap. Widows didn’t lust after a cowboy, no matter how much his masculinity made her nerve endings quiver. Lust was a purely physical reaction which had nothing to do with love and tenderness.

She must be coming down with something. The flu. She should have eaten more on the plane. Gone to bed earlier last night. Since Lawrence’s death, she’d had trouble sleeping.

There could be a million reasons why she was having this inexplicable reaction to Worth Lassiter.

The answer came to her. Human contact. Male contact. Worth Lassiter was the first man she’d talked to since her husband had died who wasn’t related or trying to sell her something. Jamie had been her excuse for not socializing. The truth was, she couldn’t bear encountering Lawrence’s friends, hearing their expressions of sympathy.

Couldn’t bear wondering which of them knew the unbearable truth.

“Russ worried you wouldn’t come for the wedding. I’m glad you did. A man can’t get married without his only child being there.”

She spoke without thinking. “Russ could.”

“You call your father Russ?”

“I assume you disapprove.”

“We used to call our father Beau. He didn’t like being called Dad.”

“Used to?”

“He died some years back.”

“I’m sorry.” She genuinely was. No one understood better than Elizabeth how devastating the death of another could be. “You must miss him.”

He gave her a quick look of sympathy. “It’s not like with you. Losing a husband…Russ took it hard.”

“I doubt that.” Elizabeth dug her fingernails into her bag at Worth’s bald-faced lie. “Russ intensely disliked Lawrence and tried everything he could to keep me from marrying him.”

Worth’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as memories of a conversation he’d had two days ago with Russ flooded back.

The nervous way Russ had stuttered and stammered had convinced Worth that the older man had changed his mind about marrying Worth’s mother. Worth had been so relieved he hadn’t paid much attention when Russ finally spilled what really bothered him.

His relationship with his daughter Elizabeth.

The scene replayed itself in Worth’s mind with total, crystal-clear recall.

“I was real surprised when Elizabeth agreed to come to the wedding,” Russ had said.

Worth couldn’t imagine why and said so.

Initially, Russ had sidestepped the implied question. “She was such a tiny little thing. If I yelled at her, Elizabeth never cried, but her face would get all funny and her eyes red. I always wanted so much for her. Wished I could give her a perfect world.” He kicked a clod of dirt. “It’s been over a year since her husband Lawrence died, and she’s still mad at me.”

Worth gave the older man a quick look from under his hat brim. “Mad about what?”

Russ wouldn’t meet his gaze. “The funeral. Our best mare was about to foal. We’d almost lost her the time before, but I told Elizabeth I’d come if she needed me. She said she didn’t.”

“You didn’t go to your son-in-law’s funeral?” Worth had to work to keep the disbelief and condemnation out of his voice.

“I knew my ex-wife and her husband would be there. What could I have done they didn’t do? I’d just have been in the way. If Elizabeth wanted me there, she would have said so.” Russ’s defensiveness made plain he didn’t need anyone to point out how wrong he’d been. He already knew.

Worth’s mother once said men had more trouble than women when it came to dealing with death. She said men wanted to fix things, solve problems. Worth guessed the real reason Russ had avoided his son-in-law’s funeral had more to do with Russ hating his inability to make things right for his daughter than putting the needs of a horse before his daughter’s needs. “It’s not too late to tell your daughter you’re sorry you didn’t go.”

Russ rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve tried, but she won’t talk about it. She’s never said it in so many words, but I know she’s convinced I stayed away because I hated Lawrence. I didn’t hate him, but he wasn’t the man for Elizabeth.”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Russ went on, “There was something about him. Like he was laughing at something the rest of us didn’t know. I tried to tell Elizabeth and her mother, but they wouldn’t listen.” Russ kicked another clod of dirt. “Lawrence was smart as a whip, and polite, too polite. He reminded me of a rogue horse, the kind you don’t dare turn your back on. Worried me sick when Elizabeth married him.” He uttered a short, bitter curse. “Whatever he was laughing at, he got the last laugh. Because of him, my daughter hates me.”

Worth should have given more weight to Russ’s comments instead of dismissing them as Russ’s guilty conscience talking. Russ was a good man who’d made a mistake. Worth wasn’t exactly perfect himself. Wanting life perfect for your family could lead a man into foolishness at times.

Families understood that and forgave the foolishness and loved the thought behind it.

Worth had assumed that if Russ’s daughter hated Russ, she wouldn’t be coming to the wedding.

Until meeting Elizabeth Randall, it would never have crossed his mind that she might be coming to stop the wedding.

Worth tried to view the situation through her eyes. Her father had disliked her husband, tried to talk her out of marrying him, and had not supported her at her husband’s funeral. He knew anger came with grief. Elizabeth Randall needed to blame someone for her husband’s death. She’d chosen her father.

Russ’s happiness over his upcoming marriage must be unbearable for her, so it must be that she’d come to destroy it. As her happiness had been destroyed.

Worth couldn’t let her do it. For her sake, for Russ’s sake, for his mother’s sake.

For his sake.

After all his years of patiently waiting, no skinny redhead with green cat eyes was going to ruin his plans.

They turned off the highway and crossed the river. Red, clay-like walls rose beside the road before flattening out to rolling ranch land. Colts stood timidly at their mothers’ sides. Darling from a distance, but they’d be huge monsters in a year.

In the backseat the bells on Jamie’s shoes jingled as he kicked his feet and chattered incomprehensibly.

Elizabeth’s hands grew damp. They must be almost there.

Slowing down, Worth Lassiter turned off the road and drove beneath an arched gate made from massive logs. Two wooden circles had been burned into the top cross piece. Elizabeth barely made out the painted words, Hope Valley, on a small sign fastened to the gate. Surprised, she blurted out, “I thought your ranch was called The Double Nickel.”

“It is. Named for Jacob and Anna Nichols, my great-great-grandparents. Anna named the area Hope Valley. She and Jacob were newlyweds who moved out west to build their home and their life here, and she was full of hope.”

Once Elizabeth had been full of hope.

He parked in front of a large, old-fashioned, two-story white frame house. A porch ran the length of the front of the house, one end shaded by an enormous cottonwood tree. Other buildings were scattered about the area, and a corral near a huge barn held a couple of horses. Further afield a half dozen mares grazed, their spindle-legged colts at their sides.

The ranch reminded Elizabeth of every ranch where she’d visited her father. The barn would be dark and gloomy with snarling, half-wild cats. There would be cows and more horses and dust and smells and noise.

She couldn’t stay in the car forever. Worth Lassiter had already gotten out. Elizabeth reached for the door handle.

He beat her to it, opening the door and blocking her way with his body. “Let me give you a little friendly advice, Elizabeth. If you have any issues with Russ, take them up with him, but don’t wreck my mother’s happiness because of them.”

His hat shaded his face, but Elizabeth had no trouble seeing the way his eyes steadily regarded her, almost in warning. A clipped voice had replaced the lazy, dark-honeyed drawl he’d been pouring over her since they’d met in the airport. “What are you talking about?” she asked, confused by the transformation.

He placed his hands on the top of the car, bracing himself as he leaned closer. “You know what I’m talking about, Red. I’m not going to let you hurt my mother. Don’t even think about trying to stop this wedding.”

Too astonished by his assumption to dispute it immediately, she lost her chance as he straightened and walked away. The situation struck her as excruciatingly humorous. She’d been lusting after his body while he’d been imagining some improbable scenario about her trying to keep Russ from marrying his mother.

Russ walked out on the porch with a blond woman. One of the perfect, horse-loving sisters he’d raved about. Elizabeth plastered a smile on her face and stepped from the car.

Her father walked down the porch steps. “I’ll get that luggage, Worth. Hello, Elizabeth, how was your trip?” He stopped a few feet from the car.

“Fine.” She widened her smile. “We had good weather.”

“That’s good.” He put his hands in his trousers. “No air pockets or anything.”

“No. It was a smooth flight.”

“Good. Good.” Russ jingled the coins in his trousers. “Nothing worse than air pockets. Always scare the living daylights out of me.”

“Everything went smoothly. Sunny skies all the way.”

“Oh, for goodness sake, Russ,” the woman said, “if you want a weather report, turn on the radio.” She ran lightly down the porch stairs and held out her hands. “Welcome to Hope Valley and the Double Nickel, Elizabeth. I’m Mary Lassiter.”

“You can’t possibly be old enough to be Worth’s mother,” Elizabeth said in astonishment. Not knowing what else to do, she took the woman’s outstretched hands.

“I love her already, Russ,” Mary Lassiter said in a laughing voice, squeezing Elizabeth’s fingers. “No wonder you think she’s wonderful. Now where is Russ’s grandson? I can’t wait to get my hands on him.”

“Here he is.” Worth walked around the vehicle, Jamie riding happily in his arms.

Elizabeth’s jaw dropped. Jamie never warmed to strangers. As proof, he took one look at Russ and Mary and pressed back against Worth’s chest.

Worth rubbed Jamie’s back. “Don’t worry, buddy, us guys have to stick together. I won’t let the women slobber all over you until you’re ready to take them on.” Holding Jamie easily, Worth gave his mother a quick squeeze with his free arm.

“Really, Worth, I don’t slobber.” Mary turned laughing blue eyes, so like her son’s, on Elizabeth. “I hope when Jamie grows up, he doesn’t sass his mother the way my children sass me.” She turned toward the house. “I’ve put you and Jamie in Davy’s room, but if you’d rather have separate rooms, we can move the baby bed elsewhere. Come upstairs and I’ll show you.”

Elizabeth had the feeling of a floodtide sweeping her away. “Jamie,” she said quickly and held out her arms.

Worth gave her a long, steady look, then surrendered her son. “I’ll get your luggage, while you and my mother have a nice,” he emphasized the adjective, “chat.”

Dawn popped over the hills to the east in a showy display of golden peach, the morning light stealing into Worth’s bedroom as he lay awake. He ought to be up and moving. Early morning was the best part of the day, drinking coffee on the front porch, smelling the wind and hearing the birds twitter awake. The old house creaked and sighed, familiar sounds.

A little voice chattered from down the hall. Worth smiled. Whatever his mother’s problems were, the kid was a cute one. Elizabeth was as warm and loving toward her son as she was cool and distant to her father.

Not that Russ had rushed to hug his daughter.

Mary joked her mission in life was to teach Russ how to deal with people as well as he dealt with animals. Worth grinned. At least Russ no longer cringed when Worth’s sisters hugged him. As Worth’s nephew frequently said, the Lassiter women were huggers.

Elizabeth Randall was not a hugger.

Worth suspected his family had overwhelmed her. Only his niece Hannah, with her red hair and delight at seeing another redhead, had managed to overcome Elizabeth’s reserve. He wondered about the funny look on Elizabeth’s face when Hannah suggested Jamie’s father was probably playing with angels. Playing with angels being Hannah’s explanation for the death of her birth mother.

Worth strained to hear, but no female voice answered the baby. During the night Worth had heard the baby fretting and his mother’s voice soothing him. Elizabeth had looked exhausted when she’d arrived. She must be getting some much-needed sleep.

His mother hadn’t returned to the house. Every night Mary snuck over to the guest cabin where Russ was staying, and every morning she tried to sneak back before Worth arose. She seldom made it, but he always pretended to believe her story about being unable to sleep and taking an early morning walk. He doubted she believed him any more than he believed her, but he had no objection to pretending if it saved her embarrassment. His mother deserved a little naughtiness in her life.

Down the hall Jamie’s voice took on strident overtones.

Throwing aside the covers, Worth rose and pulled on his jeans. He knocked softly on Elizabeth’s bedroom door, and when no one responded, peeked inside. Jamie greeted him from near the door, bouncing up and down in the baby bed and holding up his hands in a demand to be picked up.

Jamie’s mother lay dead to the world, her chest rising and falling in the slow rhythms of sleep. Tiptoeing into the room, Worth lifted the little boy from the bed. Jamie gurgled with pleasure.

Jamie’s mother slept on, her red hair spread over the snow-white pillow. Worth felt his body tighten. Elizabeth sighed in her sleep and rolled over, her bottom a rounded hump under the blankets. He didn’t even like her, and he wanted to crawl under the covers with her.

Jamie chomped down on Worth’s chin.

Out in the hall, Worth closed the door to the bedroom and grinned at the little boy. “You hungry or reading my mind?”

Jamie grinned back, proudly displaying six little teeth.

Elizabeth lay facedown in the bed. A cup of coffee would be heavenly, but she didn’t want to disturb Jamie, who was sleeping soundly at last. Poor baby. Yesterday had been too long and too stimulating for him.

And for her. Two of Mary’s daughters had come for dinner along with their families. Cheyenne, married to Thomas Steele, had two children, ten-year-old Davy and nine-month-old Virginia. And Allie, married to Zane Peters, with six-year-old Hannah and six-month-old Harmony. The third sister lived in Denver.

The sisters were younger versions of Mary. Both were beautiful and self-assured, their husbands handsome, confident men who clearly adored their wives.

A spasm of envy twisted Elizabeth’s stomach. She’d felt like a penniless child outside a candy store, her nose pressed to the window, as she’d observed the teasing family interaction. Children had been passed among the adults with easy familiarity.

Except for Jamie, who would never experience that kind of loving extended family. Her son would never have an uncle like Worth Lassiter.

Worth Lassiter, whose mother and sisters fawned over him. Whose nieces and nephews clearly adored him.

Hannah and Davy had glued themselves to him. Sitting at the dinner table on either side of him. Following him around. Playing with the baby who sat securely and happily on his lap.

Her baby.

Jamie had looked so content—so right—held in a man’s large hands. A boy needed a father. Jamie was totally blameless, yet he was the one who would suffer.

Sometimes Elizabeth felt the pain would crush her heart when she thought of her perfect, innocent baby who’d been born into a situation he didn’t deserve.

Sunlight reached the window and flooded the room. Opening one eye, she took in the red cowboy-patterned bedspread and a cowboy boot lamp beside the bed. The room had been decorated for her grandson Davy’s visits to the ranch, Mary had explained, giving Elizabeth the room for her stay so Jamie could enjoy the bright colors.

A cow clock beside the bed mooed the hour. Surprised the sound didn’t wake Jamie, Elizabeth sat up.

The baby bed was empty.

CHAPTER TWO

“C’MON, Jimbo, open wide. The early bird’s supposed to eat all his worms.”

“What are you doing with my son?”

Jamie squealed and pounded the tray of the high chair.

Worth turned to face the owner of the furious voice. Sparks practically flew from her red hair. A man would be crazy to want all that heat and voltage centered on him. “I’d say I’m feeding him breakfast, but since the majority of the food is everywhere but in his stomach, you’d probably call me a liar.”

“You had no right to come into my bedroom and take Jamie.”

So much for gratitude. Worth shoved food in Jamie’s mouth and debated apologizing. He didn’t debate long. Widow or not, Elizabeth Randall’s abrasive attitude was beginning to rile him. Besides, she had no business standing there with sleep-tousled hair, doing bad things to his body. “I knocked, but you were snoring so loud, you didn’t hear me.”

“I do not snore.”

When she stuck her nose in the air and jerked her spine straight, the top of her shiny green pajamas poked out in interesting places. Worth gave her a deliberately obnoxious grin. “You made more racket than a freight train, sleeping with your mouth hanging wide open.”

“You watched me sleeping?” She practically shrieked the question.

Turning his back to her, Worth gave Jamie a wink and another spoonful of cereal. “Only for a minute, Red.” Revolving to face her, he added in a guileless voice, “I was admiring your green pajamas.”

She pokered up indignantly. He could almost feel the electricity as she searched for a response to his compliment which would put him in his place. Worth smiled in anticipation.

“Don’t call me Red.” His wolfish smile rattled her. His smile and his comment on her pajamas.

She should have taken time to put on a robe instead of panicking when she’d found Jamie missing from his bed. Being in nothing but pajamas and bare feet made a woman feel vulnerable. Elizabeth wanted to run, but instinct told her the dumbest thing she could do was let this man know he unnerved her.

Making her way across the kitchen, she took a mug from the rack and filled it with coffee. She desperately needed caffeine to recharge her brain cells and took a deep gulp of coffee. “Yuk.” She spit the mouthful of liquid back into the mug and poured it down the sink. “If I licked tar off the street, it would taste better.”

“Does anything around here suit you?” he asked mildly.

“Jamie suits me.” She looked at her son and did a double take. “What in the world is he wearing?”

“Since Jimbo and I didn’t want to disturb his lazybones of a mom, we had to improvise a little. He was sopping wet.”

Jamie gave her a toothy grin and smeared banana on the man’s undershirt he wore. “I don’t suppose you bothered to change his diapers.” Grudgingly, Elizabeth admitted to herself her son didn’t seem to be suffering.

“He’s wearing a dish-towel diaper with a plastic bag over it, aren’t you, Jimbo?”

That made the third time he’d said it. “His name is Jamie,” she said tersely.

“Well now, Red,” Worth drawled, “Jimbo and I had a little discussion about that, and we decided Jamie is a sissy name. A cowboy needs to have a name like Jimbo.”

“He’s not a cowboy and he’s not going to be a cowboy.”

“That’s not what his Grandpa Russ says.”

“Russ has nothing to say about how I raise my son.”

Worth slowly rose. Sticking his hands in his back pockets he silently contemplated her with narrowed eyes. The food splashed down the front of his T-shirt did nothing to subtract from his masculinity. He should have looked ridiculous. He didn’t. He looked sexy.

Elizabeth shivered. Only because the house was cool.

Jamie banged on the tray of his chair with his drinking cup.

She moved to step around the obstacle in her path. The obstacle blocked the move with his large body. “I need to take care of my son,” Elizabeth said.

“He’s fine.” Worth studied her face with such intensity the hairs on the back of her neck rose in uneasy protest.

She dropped her eyes to stare at a hunk of banana stuck to his T-shirt. Elizabeth’s secrets were her own. She didn’t want him, didn’t want anyone, gaining access to them. “Please move.”

With an exaggerated sweep of his hand, he stepped aside.

Ignoring him, she concentrated on feeding Jamie the last of his cereal, then wet a paper towel and bending down, scrubbed her son’s face.

“I surely do love those green pajamas.” The soft drawl flowed from the kitchen doorway.

Elizabeth straightened up and spun around so fast she made herself dizzy. Worth Lassiter slouched against the doorjamb, masculine approval filling his eyes with a drowsy, sensual heat. Her stomach zoomed to her toes. She wanted to run and hide. She couldn’t move. Her traitorous body reacted as if he were physically touching her. And he knew it.

Elizabeth took a deep breath. “What do you want from me?”

A lazy smile crept across his face. “You know what I want, Red. And I intend to make sure I get it.”

What kind of man tried to seduce a woman he barely knew who was a guest in his home? She picked up Jamie, as much to hide behind him as to give herself time to regain her composure. “When you live in a university town, and your husband dies, someone’s bound to bring you a book on being a widow. As if it’s like learning how to sew or raise puppies. I had nothing better to do, so I read it. The book talked about this.”

“This?”

“How some men will tell a widow they know she must miss sex and offer to, well, comfort her.” Her voice rose nervously, which both annoyed and mortified her. She forced herself to look him directly in the eye. “Let’s get one thing straight, Mr. Lassiter. I am not a lonely widow looking for a man to share my bed.”

Surprise flashed deep in his eyes, then he lowered his eyelids to half-mast, concealing any expression. “You know, Red, it’s always enlightening to watch a woman’s mind at work. I compliment your pajamas, and you immediately conclude I want you out of them.”

“If I was wrong, I apologize,” she said stiffly.

“A man would be crazy to have sex with you without a fire truck standing by. I don’t want sex. I want you to forget the reason you came here, because I intend to make sure you don’t get what you want.”

“What could you possibly know about what I want?”

“I know you hope to stop the wedding, and I know I’m not going to let you do anything which makes my mother unhappy.”

He was so far wrong, she would have laughed. If his exasperating, irrational fixation uttered in a patient, long-suffering voice didn’t make her back teeth ache. “I’m not going to stop the wedding,” she shouted.

Jamie started crying and clutched at her.

“Good. You don’t start any trouble, and we’ll all get along just fine.” His eyes darkened and a lopsided smile slowly curved one side of his mouth. “Jimbo, you little devil, you.” He strolled out of the room.

“Don’t cry, sweet pea. It’s okay. The mean ol’ man has gone.” Elizabeth quit grinding her teeth and looked down at her son. And realized Jamie’s frantic clutching had unbuttoned half the buttons on her pajamas leaving the top gaping wide open. The cool morning air had hardened the tip of her bared breast to a tight nub.

He was having so much fun watching the color wash across Elizabeth’s face each time he managed to catch her eye, they were halfway through dinner before Worth realized the tension at the dinner table could be cut with his dinner knife. Russ and Elizabeth were excruciatingly polite to each other. His mother was trying valiantly to bridge the conversational gap between them. With very little success.

Worth couldn’t believe it. He thought they’d reached an agreement this morning that Elizabeth wouldn’t cause trouble. Obviously she’d had no intention of honoring that agreement.

Her mistake. He didn’t care if her anger at Russ was justified. Nobody messed with his family.

“Elizabeth,” Mary said, “your father has told us how much you love to ride. The two of you should check out some of the trails around here.”

Elizabeth’s head shot up. “I didn’t bring clothes for riding.”

Worth’s senses sharpened. There was nothing about his mom’s proposal to cause the hint of panic he picked up in Elizabeth’s voice. He didn’t like one bit that the panic suggested Elizabeth feared her father.

“It seems a shame not to get in all the riding you can while you’re here,” Mary said. “If you’re worried about Jamie, I’m happy to watch him while you ride.”

“That’s very kind of you, but Jamie’s a little overwhelmed by all the changes in his routine right now. Having me disappear for hours would be too distressing for him.”

“You don’t want to make a mama’s boy of him,” Russ said. “He’ll be fine with Mary for a couple of hours.”

“I haven’t ridden for years,” Elizabeth said tightly. “I’d get all stiff and sore, which would be no fun with your wedding coming up.”

“We don’t have to ride that long,” her father said. “You gotta be tough to be a cowboy,” he added in a hearty, teasing voice.

“So you’ve told me.”

As Elizabeth turned to her son, Worth had the oddest impression that every muscle in her body quivered. The way a horse quivered when terrified. It was clear Elizabeth was adamantly opposed to riding with Russ. Why? What did she fear?

Old family friends had introduced Russ to his mother, but Worth had still checked into Russ’s background. He wondered if he’d checked deep enough. Russ’s first wife had left him, and Elizabeth and Russ obviously had an uneasy relationship. Russ’s surprise at Elizabeth coming to the wedding took on new, ominous overtones.

If Worth had misread Russ’s true character in a desire to see his mother happy, now, before the wedding, was the time to find out. Leaning back in his chair, Worth set out to probe into Elizabeth’s fear. “Russ, you’ll have to drive Elizabeth around and show her the ranch while she’s here. You can take your grandson along.”

“Jamie likes to ride in cars,” Elizabeth said quickly.

“You can see more on horseback,” Russ said.

A more perceptive man than Russ would have felt his hair singe at the look Elizabeth gave him. An unbelievably absurd notion began snaking its way into Worth’s head. Elizabeth didn’t object to going with Russ; she objected to going with Russ on horses.

Russ had boasted of his daughter’s riding skills until the entire Lassiter family had grown sick of listening. Worth tried to talk himself out of it, but a gut feeling that Elizabeth was afraid of horses wouldn’t go away.

Watching her closely, he tested his hunch. “We raise quarterhorses here on the Double Nickel. Although we’ve bred our share of reining and cutting champions, most of our horses are good stock animals, trained to work cattle. Too many of them are just standing around right now, eating their heads off and getting frisky. We could bring a couple up to the house for Elizabeth to try out.”

“Everyone is busy with wedding preparations,” she said immediately. “Please don’t bother doing anything special for me.”

If she hadn’t come out here to sabotage the wedding, he might have admired the way she throttled down her emotions. Emotional women grated on his nerves. With that red hair of hers, he had a feeling those pent-up emotions periodically exploded. When it happened, the fallout must be considerable.

Worth reminded himself Elizabeth’s emotions weren’t his concern. His mother’s happiness was. “It’s no trouble at all. I could bring in two or three horses first thing in the morning.”

“Put her on Wall Street,” Russ said. “That stallion’s a lot of horse, but Elizabeth can ride anything with four legs.”

For a split second her face turned so pale Worth could almost count the freckles.

“No, I can’t,” she said sharply. “Ride in the mornings, that is. I spend my mornings with Jamie.”

Worth weighed Elizabeth’s fear of horses against his mother’s future happiness. It was no contest. Life had delivered hard knocks to both women, but Mary Lassiter had never given in to self-pity. His mother had never blamed others for what fate had dealt her, and most assuredly, she’d never coldly planned to sabotage someone else’s happiness for her own revengeful purposes.

Elizabeth Randall was not going to interfere in his mother’s wedding. Or steal his chance for freedom.

Not if Worth had anything to say about it.

After dinner, Elizabeth went upstairs to put Jamie to bed. In the living room, Worth watched Russ and his mom over the top of the newspaper as they pretended to watch TV.

Russ abruptly stood. “I’m going to bed.” He strode out of the room.

Worth waited until he heard the front door shut before quietly asking, “Problems?”

Mary sighed and switched off the TV. “I’m fifty-four years old. I have wonderful children and beautiful grandchildren. Why am I thinking about taking on a husband? Maybe this wedding business isn’t such a good idea.”

A cold chill went down Worth’s back. Elizabeth Randall had spread her poison well if his mother, who deeply loved Russ, was having second thoughts. “What happened?” Worth figured he knew everything but the details.

“It’s hard to explain. At lunch Elizabeth was feeding Jamie and she made a teasing remark to him about his daddy not liking beets either, and Russ said he hoped Jamie didn’t grow up to be anything like his sissy father. Elizabeth told him she didn’t want him to belittle Jamie’s father in front of Jamie.”

“That’s no reason to get wedding jitters.”

“Russ got defensive and wouldn’t stop,” Mary said bleakly. “He went on and on criticizing her deceased husband, but as far as I can tell, the only thing Russ had against him was he wasn’t a cowboy. Elizabeth grabbed Jamie and walked out of the room. Russ knew he’d gone too far and tried to apologize, but she refused to listen to him.”

Worth pictured the entire episode as clearly as if he’d been there. Elizabeth Randall had manipulated circumstances to make Russ look bad to Mary. The first step in her campaign to sabotage the wedding. “Let them sleep on it. They’ll make up.” He didn’t believe it for a second.

“Her husband’s been dead only a little over a year. You can tell by looking at her she’s still grieving. I’m wondering if I know Russ as well as I thought I did.”

Hearing the troubled doubts in Mary’s voice, Worth gave his mother a reassuring smile. “You’ve said yourself Russ is better with cows and horses than people. Maybe he’s trying to remind Elizabeth that a living son takes precedence over a deceased husband. Doing it badly doesn’t mean Russ isn’t trying to help Elizabeth through her grief.”

“You really think that’s it?” she asked hopefully.

“I think he’s sitting out in the guest cabin fretting about what kind of father he is and worrying that he’s blown the chance to marry the world’s most wonderful woman, and he doesn’t have a clue how to fix things.”

Mary smiled self-consciously. “Maybe I should go out and give him a few clues.”

“Maybe you should.”

Worth waited a few minutes, grabbed an afghan from the back of the sofa, and sauntered out to the front porch.

Elizabeth sat curled up in the old, double porch swing. Worth handed her the afghan. “It gets chilly here at night.” He sat beside her.

She scooted as far away from him as the swing permitted. “What do you want?”

“I saw you sneak past the living room while I was talking to my mother. You should have joined us, Red. You might have been able to stop me from repairing the damage you did today.”

“Damage I did?” she asked blankly.

“Setting Russ up to look like a jerk.”

“He does that all by himself.”

“I thought we’d agreed this morning that you aren’t going to try and stop the wedding.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I did not come to Colorado to stop Russ from marrying your mother.”

“Why did you come?”

“I came because Russ asked me to. Why do you find that so difficult to believe?”

Her claim would be easier to believe if it hadn’t taken her so long to come up with it. “You came even though he didn’t go to your husband’s funeral?”

After a quick startled movement, Elizabeth asked thinly, “Russ told you?”

“He said you’re still mad at him.”

With slow, painstaking precision, Elizabeth adjusted the afghan, then pulled it tighter around her before saying in a less than credible voice, “I’m not mad at him.”

“I can see what a warm and loving relationship you two have.”

His sarcastic words hung in the air. Watching some bats swoop down to catch night-flying bugs around the porch light, Worth waited. Familiar night sounds filtered through the night. None loud enough to drown out the sound of Elizabeth breathing or the creaking of the swing chains as he propelled the swing back and forth.

When Elizabeth finally spoke, her voice was strained. “My relationship with Russ is none of your business.”

“It wouldn’t be, Red, if you hadn’t made it my business.”

She heaved a loud, long-suffering sigh. It didn’t come close to what his sisters could do when they wanted him to know how aggravating they thought him. “If you had half a brain in your head,” Elizabeth said, “you’d know I did not come to Aspen to stop Russ from getting married. Why shouldn’t he get married again? My mother is happily remarried. She has been for years. I didn’t try and stop her wedding.”

“Maybe you were too young.”

“And maybe you’re an idiot.”

“I suppose that’s always a possibility.”

“But you doubt it.”

He gave her a slow once-over in the light shining through the living room window. Ordinarily he liked a woman who didn’t back down. But not when that woman was intent on revenge. “I doubt it.”

“It must be nice to be so smug and self-assured. Something you learned at your father’s knee?”

“Nope.” Because he knew it would annoy her, he laid his arm along the back of the swing and gave her a mocking grin.

“Of course not. I’m sure your father was perfect.”

“Beau was a lot of things, but he’d have been the first to admit perfect wasn’t one of them.”

“It’s hard to believe a man related to you could be humble.”

“Humility has nothing to do with it. Beau was honest. He knew his strengths and weaknesses.”

“Which were?”

“He was a rodeo cowboy with a talent for riding bulls and charming ladies.” Worth paused. “And a lousy father and husband. After I was born, Mom stayed here on the ranch and Beau dropped by whenever he needed a place to recuperate after an injury. Once he healed, it was off to the bright lights again, twice leaving Mom pregnant.”

“Don’t you mean three times?” Elizabeth asked,

Worth shook his head. “Beau picked up women like a dog picks up burrs. Greeley’s the result of a fling Beau had with a bartender in Greeley. After the woman gave birth, she drove here straight from the hospital and dumped Greeley off on Mom.”

“Just like that? What did Mary do?”

He heard the horror in her voice and guessed she was thinking of her son. “Mom raised Greeley,” he said. “Loved her. Greeley is one of us. A Lassiter. Lassiters take care of Lassiters.” Worth could almost see Elizabeth processing the information as she looked at him, her eyes wide.

“Now I understand. It’s called transference or something,” she said slowly. “You don’t want your mother to remarry, but you’re filled with guilt about feeling that way, so you’ve assigned your negative feelings to me.” His face must have looked as dumbfounded as he felt, because she continued, “I suppose you’ve considered yourself the man of the family for a long time. You don’t want another man moving into your territory and taking over from you.”

Worth laughed. “If you’re going to try and confuse the issue with psychobabble, you at least ought to come up with something halfway plausible.”

“I was trying to sympathize with you,” she snapped.

He gave a disgusted snort. “Good try, but I’m not so easily fooled. Or sidetracked. Your resentment of Russ sticks out a country mile.”

“I do not resent him,” she said, glaring at him. “And I’m not going to sit here and listen to any more of your paranoid accusations.”

He closed his fingers around the clump of hair at the back of her head before she could stand. “We haven’t finished our little chat.”

“I’ve finished.”

“Then you can listen, but first…I hate your hair skewered to the back of your head like that.”

“I don’t care if…What are you doing? Stop that.”

He imprisoned the hand swatting at his hand. “I’ve been wanting to do this from the minute I saw you. Here.” Opening the hand he held, he dropped the hairpins in her palm. “You don’t have to look as if you have one foot in the grave just because your husband died.”

A stark silence met his words before she said in a shaken voice, “That’s a cruel thing to say.”

“It’s honest.” He locked eyes with hers. “Your husband died, and I’m sorry for what you’re suffering, but you have a child to raise. It’s time for you to think about what’s in his best interests and quit being self-indulgent. How can you take care of your son if you don’t take care of yourself? Skipping meals and not getting enough sleep are stupid. They won’t bring your husband back to life any more than skinning back your hair will. The man gave you his son. Refusing to live yourself is no way to thank him.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“I know I’m going to kiss you.” He hadn’t known it, but now he’d said it out loud, the idea intrigued him.

Elizabeth froze like a deer caught in the headlights.

Worth spread his fingers over her face, his palms cupping her cheeks. Her skin was warm and smooth, like a baby’s skin. Nothing about her mouth reminded him of a baby. A full bottom lip wobbled the tiniest bit. Worth hesitated. He didn’t force kisses on unwilling women. She didn’t back away. Her mouth opened slightly. Inviting him.

He sensed she was as curious as he was.

His fingers slid into her hair. Silky threads snared his knuckles. Slanting his mouth over hers, he kissed her gently, then added some firmness, and when she didn’t protest or pull away, he deepened the kiss.

She didn’t pull away from him, even if her muted response only hinted at a fiery passion he suspected she’d buried with her husband.

Every muscle in Worth’s body tightened, and he knew he shouldn’t have kissed her. Because he wanted to keep kissing her. Wanted to take her to bed. Wanted to make love to her until she’d completely freed that passion.

Thoughts of her husband brought back sanity, and Worth lifted his head. The light from the living room fell on her face, and he read a confused vulnerability in her eyes before she looked down. Worth tucked the afghan securely around her legs and curved a hand around the back of her neck. “I’m not going to apologize.” Curling a tendril of red hair around his finger, he wondered it didn’t sear his skin. “You wanted to kiss me as much as I wanted to kiss you.”

“You didn’t want to kiss me,” she said wearily. “You wanted to intimidate me.” Her downcast eyelashes brushed against the dusting of freckles on her cheeks.

He snatched his hand away from her neck. “Are you saying I forced you to kiss me? That you didn’t want to kiss me?”

“I’m saying you have this idiotic notion I’m here to stop Russ from marrying your mother, and you’ll do anything you can to ensure the wedding goes ahead.”

He relaxed. She might shy away from acknowledging she’d returned his kiss, but apparently she was honest enough, at least about that, not to tell outright lies about it. “I didn’t realize you were so susceptible to my kisses.” Worth swallowed a grin as he felt her stiffen. “That leads to all kinds of possibilities. If I kiss you again, will you shovel out the barn? Repair some fence? I have a whole stack of calving data which needs entering in the computer. How many kisses will that cost me?”

“You rate your kisses too high. If I were trying to interfere with the wedding, which I’m not, you could kiss me from now until the cows come home, and you couldn’t stop me.”

“Lucky for me that I’m not relying on my kisses to stop you, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it—” She stopped abruptly. Several minutes passed before she asked warily, “What does that mean?”

Elizabeth’s fear of horses was her own business, and under ordinary circumstances, Worth would never have mentioned it. The possible consequences of Elizabeth’s need to punish her father kept this from being an ordinary circumstance.

Drawing a long strand of hair under her chin, he used it to raise her face. “My sisters used to call it blackmail.” In spite of her being nothing but a troublemaker, the indignation on her face made him want to kiss her again.

“You can’t blackmail me over a silly kiss. I don’t care if you tell the entire world you kissed me.”

“But you would care if I told Russ you’re afraid of horses.”

Her sharp intake of air must have sucked in half the mosquito population of Colorado. After a bit, she said, “Me, terrified of horses? That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He’d never heard a less believable denial. “You are, and you don’t want Russ to know, or you would have told him by now.”

She went very still. “I’m not afraid of horses.”

“That’s good, because Russ is real anxious to put you up on Wall Street. Wally’s a good-looking stallion who’s all muscle and power, and you don’t want to believe the hands if they try and tell you he’s a mean, fractious son of a gun.” Wally had the temperament of a favorite nanny; even so, Worth never put an insecure or unknown rider on over half a ton of finely-tuned horseflesh.

Elizabeth didn’t say anything for the longest time. Then she deliberately pushed aside his hand and stood. “Jamie and I will leave tomorrow.” She didn’t look at Worth. “I’m not staying where we’re not wanted.” Her voice was stiff with pride and wounded dignity.

For a second, Worth felt like a heel for harassing her, then he remembered the trouble she’d managed to stir up in only one day and hardened his heart. Catching the afghan still wrapped around her, he pulled her back down to the swing. “You’re not going anywhere. Russ and Mom want you here for the wedding, so you’re staying. And you’re going to behave yourself and forget about your plans for sabotaging the wedding. If you don’t,” reaching for her hand, he played with her icy fingers, “I’ll tell Russ your dirty little secret about being afraid of horses.” He wouldn’t, no matter the provocation, but she didn’t need to know that.

She yanked her hand away from him. “He won’t believe you.”

“Maybe not. But I’m guessing he’ll start wondering when you keep refusing to ride.”

“I’m not afraid of horses.” She stared straight ahead, her hands clenched in her lap. “I have lots of reasons for not riding.”

“I’ll bet you made up a real nice list before you got on the plane.” It didn’t seem to occur to her that if she told Russ the truth, Worth would lose his leverage over her.

“Blackmail and blackmailers are despicable.”

“Dregs of the earth,” he agreed cheerfully. This time Worth made no effort to stop her when she stood.

“I have my son to think about.” She started for the door. “I won’t have him hurt by your fun and games.”

“Elizabeth.” He hadn’t run a large ranch for more than his adult life without learning how to crack his voice like a whip. She stopped dead in her tracks. Standing, Worth reached past her shoulder and held the screen door shut. “I would never put Jimbo in harm’s way. You can trust me on that.”

She turned, leaning against the door, her eyes glittering in the light from the house. “Trust is a word people use too easily. They don’t understand what trust is. I have no idea if I can trust you. I don’t even know if you know what the word means.” Turning back to the door, she removed his hand and went inside.

Worth returned to the swing, contemplating the puzzle Elizabeth presented. Why did she hide her fear of horses from her father? Russ was hardly the type to tell his daughter never to darken his doorstep again, nor was he likely to force her to ride in spite of her fears. A part of the puzzle was missing, which intrigued Worth.

He wondered who’d betrayed her trust.

Russ, because he hadn’t gone to her when her husband was killed? If a woman couldn’t trust her father, rely on him in her darkest moment, who could she trust? Russ had let his daughter down badly, and he knew it. Worth could do nothing about that. He could make sure their problems didn’t hurt his mother.

Elizabeth Randall was a bundle of nerves held together by not much more than sheer grit. A fierceness in her eyes had told him she’d fight desperately for her young son’s well-being. She didn’t need to fight Worth. He had no intention of harming her or her son, but he would not allow her to compromise his mother’s happiness or his freedom.

Her response to his ultimatum had surprised him. She hadn’t cried or whined or begged. Or tried to sweet-talk him. He would have believed, had halfway expected, at least one of those.

She could have tried a little feminine persuasion. Tried to bribe him with a kiss or two. Or an invitation to her bed.

He wouldn’t have accepted. For many reasons, not the least of which, she was a guest in his house.

He certainly wasn’t worried he might enjoy sharing her bed so much that he’d allow her to disrupt his plans. Nothing about Elizabeth Randall worried him. She was nothing more than a skinny, red-haired troublemaker. Worth had handled plenty of trouble in his time. He wasn’t worried.

Even if this time, trouble had come with olive green cat eyes.

Elizabeth watched as a chipmunk darted recklessly across the dirt road and disappeared in a patch of wild roses. Dark blue spikes of larkspur waved in the slight breeze. Worth turned onto another road where water trickled along the roadside ditch and willows displayed their catkins. Overhead, swallows dipped and soared in a blue, cloudless sky.

Some might call the landscape beautiful. Elizabeth knew the darker side of nature lurked below the idyllic surface. If a predator didn’t get the small animal, automobile tires probably would. Roses had thorns, larkspur poisoned cattle, and the swallows were fighting for nesting territory. In Nebraska, the roots of a willow tree in her yard had caused extensive damage to her house’s plumbing.

It wasn’t nice. It wasn’t pretty. It was life.

Elizabeth knew all about life.

She might not know all about smug, arrogant men who thought they could kiss you one minute and blackmail you the next, but she was learning fast.

A prime example of the species currently sat behind the wheel of a beat-up, dark blue, extended-cab pickup, wearing worn jeans and a faded blue work shirt with rolled-up sleeves. If Worth Lassiter expected her to swoon over the muscles in his forearms, he could think again.

She’d had enough of him and his muscles.

Her mistake had been allowing him to kiss her. All right, kissing him back. For a short time, she’d felt desirable, cherished. More proof of what a horrible judge of character she was. Only a weakling and an idiot would think his arms were a refuge. As she’d learned quickly enough when he’d used her weakness against her.

He’d be positively overjoyed if he discovered exactly how weak she was.

For the second night in a row he’d invaded her dreams. Invaded. Dominated. Starred in.

Dreams of a sexual nature. Dreams she didn’t need. Didn’t want. He had no right to ruin her nights.

He should be content with ruining her days.

“I came with you today because Jamie loves riding in a car.” In the backseat, Jamie gurgled happily to himself. “Your silly threats last night had nothing to do with me accepting your invitation.”

No response. As if her claim was so ludicrous, he couldn’t be bothered to refute it.

Which naturally increased her irritation. “And I am not afraid of horses. I’ve been riding horses since I could sit up. I rode my first pony all by myself when I was two.”

“So Russ has repeatedly told us. According to him, you’re a born cowboy.”

“I fell off and broke my arm.” She regretted the words the instant they popped out.

He chuckled heartlessly. “Russ forgot to mention that part.”

“He usually does.”

“Is that why you’re afraid of horses?”

“I’m not, and what difference does it make to you if I am? You’re like all cowboys. Whether I got an A in math or graduated third in my high school class or did well in college doesn’t mean a thing to you. You don’t care if I can run a coffee shop or coordinate a convention for three hundred out-of-towners or find rooms for a busload of tourists whose travel agent messed up their plans. Cowboys judge a person by her riding skills or roping skills or cow-chasing skills. Nothing else matters.” Belatedly she clamped her mouth shut, having revealed too much.

“Why haven’t you ever told Russ you’re afraid of horses?”

“I’m not afraid of them, but speaking hypothetically, when exactly was I supposed to tell him?” she asked tartly. “Every summer when I was shipped off to visit him and he threw me on some huge, wild monster who’d been running free all winter and saw no reason to wear a saddle? Before or after the concussion, the sprained ankle, the bruised hip, the horse bite?”

“Those injuries don’t sound hypothetical to me.”

“Russ has had his share of injuries. You heard him last night. Gotta be tough to be a cowboy.” In spite of her efforts, bitterness coated her last words.

“Are you tough?”

As if she’d admit she wasn’t. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t want to be a cowboy.”

After a bit Worth said, “Russ can look over a herd of horses or cows and pick up instantly on the least little thing wrong, but I’m guessing he has no clue what makes you tick.”

It didn’t take a genius IQ to figure that out. “My mother says cowboys refuse to understand any creature with less than four legs.”

“I suppose her feelings explain the divorce. I’m surprised she married Russ in the first place.”

A question Elizabeth had considered frequently over the years. “Mother was a city girl who fell in love with the cowboy mystique. Ranch life came as a rude shock to her. When I was about three, she had a miscarriage. She needed comfort from Russ, but he buried himself in ranch work, so she cried a lot and they fought a lot and the marriage disintegrated.”

“And you blame Russ.”

“I don’t blame either of them. Onions and ice cream go together better than my parents did. People should marry people they have something in common with.”

“Is that what you did? Mom said your husband wasn’t a cowboy. What was he?”

“A history professor at the university.” She could have added Lawrence was also a liar, a fraud, and a thief, but she didn’t. She sensed Worth looking at her.

“I’m not going to bad-mouth him because he chose a different career from the one I have,” Worth said.

“Russ does.”

“Seeing you hurting must upset Russ. He wants to make everything better for you, help you cope with your loss, but he has no idea how, so he’s angry and frustrated and the only person he can take his anger out on is your husband. It’s not logical, but it’s human nature.”

“I didn’t come with you to listen to a sermon or homespun counseling,” Elizabeth said tightly. “I’m not hurting and I’m coping just fine with my loss. As you pointed out last night, I have Jamie.”

“And your memories.”

Elizabeth briefly squeezed her eyelids shut against the sharp pain. The last thing she wanted from her marriage was memories. Not after the way Lawrence had tarnished them. Clutching her seat belt she pinned a smile on her face and said, “Yes, of course. My memories.”

Worth paused as he came out of the feed store. Elizabeth crouched in front of the large storefront window pointing out items to Jamie. Her son was trying to gnaw his way through the plate glass.

Grinning, Worth tossed the supplies in the back of the pickup and strolled over to the store window. “I think Jimbo needs a bone to chew on.” He swung Jamie up into his arms and gave Elizabeth a bland look as she stood. “I would have helped you up, but I know how you hate being helped.”

“I don’t need your help. I’d be just fine if you’d leave me alone.”

He felt a curious reluctance to do that. Only a fool stuck his finger in a light socket, but Elizabeth Randall made him want to poke and prod her. Everything from her skinned-back hair to her trim, belted khaki trousers and buttoned-up shirt indicated a woman who believed in controlling all facets of her life. Worth might have believed the outer trappings were it not for the heated emotions which ebbed and flowed deep in her expressive eyes. Elizabeth Randall was made for intense feeling, deep loving and raw passion. He wondered why she went to such lengths to deny her nature.

And knew an insane urge to solve the riddle before she returned to Nebraska.

Securing Jamie in his safety seat, Worth said mildly, “I’ll try and remember you want to be left alone.”

“While you’re remembering that, remember my son’s name isn’t Jimbo.”

“Some things aren’t worth the effort of remembering.” He slid behind the wheel.

“What is worth the effort?” she asked waspishly.

Worth gave her an amused look, enjoying the sudden color washing across her face.

“Never mind,” she said.

“When a woman asks a man a question, it’s because she wants it answered.”

“You’re a real sagebrush philosopher, aren’t you? Is there anything you don’t consider yourself an expert on?” She strapped herself in.

He turned sideways in the driver’s seat, his right arm across the back of the seat and watched her face. “My sisters like to change the subject thinking they can get me off the track. They can’t.”

“Being single-minded is nothing to brag about. I’ve never met a man so determined to—”

He cut her off. “Kisses in the dark are worth remembering.”

Her mouth closed, and she swallowed hard.

He smiled slowly. “Unbuttoned green pajamas.” He had looked away immediately, honorable behavior he had a feeling he’d forever regret. The glimpse had shown him a nicely-shaped, womanly mound. The perfect size to fill a man’s hand, its tip hard against his palm.

More red splashed her cheeks, and she swallowed again. “Never mind. I’m not interested in your memory.”

Worth lifted an eyebrow. “Then let’s talk about yours.”

“I have no memory,” she snapped. “I’d forgotten all about yesterday morning in the kitchen and Jamie unbuttoning, that is, I hardly remember kissing you because it didn’t mean a thing to me, and—What are you doing?” she shrieked as he slid across the seat. “It’s broad daylight, and we’re sitting in the middle of a parking lot. You can’t kiss me here.”

He captured her head, his fingers busy with the tight knot of hair at the back of her neck. “I hadn’t thought about kissing you right now, but if you want me to…My mother taught me it’s rude to say no to a lady.”

“I don’t want you to kiss me,” she said breathlessly.

Her eyes were enormous in her pale face, and Worth could read the lie as easily as if she’d written it on a giant green chalkboard. He read other truths there, too. Her awareness of him as a man. Her curiosity. Distrust. And fear.

He wanted to prove she’d lied. Deepen her awareness. Satisfy her curiosity. His gut clenched. Satisfy his. Answer the question as to whether a green-eyed redhead who sparked with anger at the slightest provocation brought that same electricity to bed.

“Your husband was a very lucky man,” he said.

She stared at him, and then slowly shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “He wasn’t.” A single tear ran down her cheek.

CHAPTER THREE

WORTH could have kicked himself for being an insensitive clod. He’d seen the pain on her face earlier when he’d mentioned her husband. The man had died in a car accident. Where was the luck in that? A woman shouldn’t have to endure that kind of suffering.

He wished she’d slugged him or burst into tears. He could have handled those. The single, silent tear unmanned him. Awkwardly he reached over and wiped it away. “He died young, but blessed with a wife and son he loved, he must have died a happy man.”

Elizabeth jerked back from his hand. A funny look flashed across her face. “He probably did die happy,” she said slowly. The thought had apparently never before occurred to her. It didn’t seem to ease her sorrow.

Worth didn’t know how to ease that kind of sorrow. The best he could do was divert her thoughts and give her an alternative outlet for her battered emotions. “With luck, he didn’t know about your lousy memory.”

Her eyes shot to his. He answered the question in them. “You’ve forgotten I hate your hair skinned back in a bun.” This time he didn’t hand her the hairpins he removed, but stepped out of the car and tossed them in a nearby garbage can.

“You can’t do that.” Elizabeth had already fastened her seat belt, and by the time she extricated herself, he was back in the car.

“I just did.”

“Stop at a store so I can buy more pins.”

“Nope.”

“I cannot walk around looking like this.”

Worth critically scrutinized her. “You’re right; it’s scrunched together at the back. It needs to hang loose, like this.” He combed her hair with his fingers, inhaling the scent of baby shampoo. She must use the same shampoo she used for Jamie. He’d never thought of baby shampoo as a perfume designed to drive men wild. Most perfumes made his nose itch.

She didn’t move, a statue carved from ivory. Not ivory. Not with pale freckles sprinkled across her nose and upper cheeks. Not too many freckles. Just enough to draw a man’s eye. And tempt his lips.

He trailed a knuckle from one pale dot to another. And watched as faint pink color washed over her cheekbones. His gaze dropped to her mouth. Lips the color of wild roses, they parted slightly, allowing him a peek at a row of perfect pearls. Slowly he slid the back of his hand across the fullness of her lower lip, his muscles taut as he remembered the heat, the moistness of her mouth.

Outside the car, traffic moved and people talked. Car doors slammed, radios blared and a dog barked. Jamie babbled in the backseat.

In the front seat Elizabeth made ragged breathing sounds.

Worth wrapped his hands around her face, feeling the soft, pliable warmth of her cheeks with his calloused fingers. He couldn’t look away from her luminous eyes. Emotions swirled across green seas, then slowed, coalescing into pools of sensual awareness.

He wanted to kiss her.

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