“I want Darcy to be my new mom,” Ricky said. Letter to Reader Title Page Dedication About the Author Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Copyright

“I want Darcy to be my new mom,” Ricky said.

Joe looked at his son and felt a lump lodge in his throat. He’d hoped that Ricky had gotten over this desperation for a mother. But somehow the boy had decided that Darcy Beckett was the perfect maternal candidate.

Joe took a deep breath. Was there anything Darcy was less suited for? “Darcy is not the mom type,” he said, more to himself than to Ricky.

“Why not?”

“Well, we like milkshakes. Darcy likes champagne. And every mouthful costs about as much as a box of crayons.”

“Oh.”

There was a long silence, and Joe thought, gratefully, that the subject was closed. Someday, he told himself, his son would understand. And when he did, maybe he could explain it to Joe.

“But what if she drank something else?” Ricky piped up. “Then could she be my new mom?”

Dear Reader,

In 20 months Silhouette Romance will celebrate its 20th anniversary! To commemorate that momentous occasion, we’d like to ask you to share with us why you’ve chosen to read the Romance series, and which authors you particularly enjoy. We hope to publish some of your thoughtful comments during our anniversary year—2000! And this month’s selections will give you food for thought....

In The Guardian’s Bride by Laurie Paige, our VIRGIN BRIDES title, a 20-year-old heiress sets out to many her older, wealthy—gorgeous—guardian. Problem is, he thinks she’s too young.... The Cowboy, the Baby and the Bride-to-Be is Cara Colter’s newest book, where a shy beauty reunites a lonely cowboy with his baby nephew...and lassoes love in the process! Karen Rose Smith’s new miniseries, DO YOU TAKE THIS STRANGER?, premieres with Wealth, Power and a Proper Wife. An all-work-and-no-play millionaire learns the value of his marriage vows when the wife he’d suspected of betraying him suffers a bout of amnesia.

Rounding out the month, we have Her Best Man by Christine Scott, part of the MEN! promotion, featuring a powerful tycoon who heroically offers protection to a struggling single mom. In Honey of a Husband by Laura Anthony, an ex-bull rider returns home to discover his childhood sweetheart is raising his child—by another woman. Finally, rising star Elizabeth Harbison returns to the lineup with True Love Ranch, where a city gal and a single-dad rancher lock horns—and live up to the Colorado spread’s name.

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor Silhouette Romance

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

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

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

True Love Ranch
Elizabeth Harbison

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Annie Jones and Natalie Patrick

both excellent writers...and one heck of a great friend.

ELIZABETH HARBISON

first thought of becoming a writer in sixth grade, when she would stay up well past midnight reading Nancy Drew and Trixie Beldon books under the covers by flashlight. The idea became a decision when she discovered the books of Mary Stewart and Dorothy Eden, and realized that writing would be a really fun thing to do for a living.

She studied literature and art history at the University of Maryland and the University of London, Birbeck College. She’s been back to England once since college and is eager to return again, and possibly even set a book there.

The author of several cookbooks, Elizabeth spends her spare time cooking, reading, walking and shopping for new books. As for romance, her fairy-tale dreams came true in 1994 when she married her real-life hero, John, a musician and illustrator. They currently reside in Germantown, Maryland, with their daughter, Mary Paige, and dog, Bailey.

Elizabeth loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her at P.O. Box 1636, Germantown, MD 20875-1636.

October 7, 1997

Ms. Darcy Beckett

3631 Dasher Street #4

Boston, MA

Dear Ms. Beckett,

As you are no doubt aware, R. Kenneth Beckett passed away on October 6 of this year.

You are a beneficiary in his will, which will be read on Friday, October 22, at noon. This meeting will take place on Mr. Beckett’s property, known as the “True Love Ranch,” in Holt, Colorado. If at all possible, please come to that reading...but beware—the True Love Ranch is thought to have magical powers for reuniting former lovers....

I look forward to meeting you.

Sincerely,

Edward J. Connor, Esq.

Attorney for Mr. R. Kenneth Beckett

* Cindy, please make a duplicate

letter and send it to

Mr. Joseph Tyler

R.R. 8, Box 92

Holt, CO

Thanks,

Edward

Prologue

“Darcy, honey, can you finish making the pies? If I don’t get out and help the men set up outside this is going to be the most sparse Fourth of July party ever.”

Anthea Cox had worked as the housekeeper and general caretaker on Darcy’s grandfather’s ranch for as long as she could remember.

“Sure, Anthea.” Darcy Beckett looked out the window. Eight hired hands, her grandfather and Anthea’s husband, Hank, were milling about rather aimlessly. “You tell them, Anthea. We women shouldn’t have to do all the work.”

Anthea put her arm around Darcy’s shoulder and gave her a warm hug. “That’s right, child. You remember that. Men and women should share responsibilities in this life, as well as pleasures.”

Darcy flushed at her private thought of pleasure and took another look outside. Where was Joe? The youngest—and strongest, Darcy thought proudly—of Kenneth Beckett’s hired hands, Joe Tyler was always roped into tasks like this. She’d seen him there a few minutes ago.

“Looking for someone?” Anthea asked over her shoulder.

“I’m just looking out the window.” Darcy’s skin tingled with anticipation.

Anthea gave her a knowing look. “Don’t see that Tyler boy out there.” She clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Pity. You’d have such a fine view from here.”

Darcy’s face grew hot, but she laughed. “You always could see right through me.”

Anthea went to the refrigerator and took out a chilled lump of pastry dough for the pies. “Just see to it that your grandfather doesn’t see through you that way.”

“He doesn’t understand anything about love,” Darcy said miserably. She knew if her grandfather found out about her and Joe, the consequences would be dire.

“He knows a thing or two, but he can be a little too...vehement. At times.”

“Mean is more the word.”

“He’s just looking out for you.” Anthea put a sympathetic hand on Darcy’s shoulder. “He doesn’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m old enough to take care of myself.”

Anthea smiled. “At your age, I thought I knew all about love, too. I didn’t.”

There was a whoop of laughter from the men outside and Anthea flashed an impatient look in that direction. “I’d better get out there. Folks’ll be coming in an hour.”

Darcy took the chilled dough and began pressing it down with the heel of her hand. “I’ll take care of this, don’t worry.”

Anthea bustled out the kitchen door. As soon as she was gone, Darcy sighed and allowed herself a moment’s indulgence in thinking about Joe. Last night had been magical. Better than she’d ever imagined it could be.... She shivered with remembered pleasure. She knew about love, all right.

She picked up the apron and moved back to the window. Where was Joe anyway? Just as she was reaching behind her to tie the straps, she felt hands on hers. “Need some help, ma’am?” Joe asked, close to her ear.

She whirled to face him. “We shouldn’t be in here alone together, you know.”

He reached behind her to tie the straps. “I’m only helping a lady in distress.” He stopped tying and rested his hands on her lower back.

“Is that all you’re doing?” she teased.

“That and kissing my future wife.” He lowered his mouth onto hers and kissed her. Darcy’s passions flared, quickly reaching a state close to what she’d felt last night.

She pulled back, breathless. “W-wife?”

“Sure. You knew I’d make an honest woman of you, didn’t you?”

She swallowed. “When?”

“How long before you’re eighteen?” He gave a devilish smile. He knew dam well her birthday was in September—it was the day after his.

Her heart thundered in her ears. “Do you mean it?”

“More than anything.” He kissed her again. “What do you say? Will you marry me?”

“Joe—”

“Say yes or I’ll die.”

She smiled. “Well...”

“Darce, I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life.” His eyes burned with sincerity. “Do you love me?”

She looked down. He loved her! Her knees began to shake. “Yes,” she said, looking back at him. “I love you.”

Something crossed his expression then: a boyish relief mingled with joy. “Then say yes.”

“Yes.”

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her again, deeply. “How about we get ourselves a place just like this?”

“Like the ranch?”

“Like all of this.” He swept his arm across the room. “You look good in this kitchen. I can see you here, making breakfast for me and the kids—”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Kids?”

He nodded. “Two or three of them. That okay with you?”

“I always wanted two kids,” she said wistfully. “A boy and a girl.”

He tipped an imaginary hat. “I’ll do my best to help you out with that dream, ma’am.”

She gave a tremulous smile. “If last night is an example of your help, I’ll look forward to it.”

“Last night was just the tip of the iceberg,” he murmured and lowered his mouth onto hers again.

Her body flamed to life. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her body along the length of his. She felt so safe in his embrace, so warm, so happy.

“What the hell is going on here?” a voice boomed from the doorway.

Darcy sprang back and looked, with horror, at the source of the angry demand.

It was her grandfather.

Chapter One

“Come on, get out of the way!” Darcy glanced at her watch, then leaned on the horn of her dilapidated luxury car for the second time. “Let’s get moving here.”

Ahead of her, the brake lights on the pale blue pickup flared red, and the vehicle stopped. Stopped? That wasn’t the response she’d been after.

Inside the truck, the driver moved as though to get out.

Darcy’s breath caught in her throat. Boy she may have just aggravated the wrong guy. She looked around. The rough road that led to T.L. Ranch had barely enough room for one car and certainly no room for her to go around him. And she couldn’t back up. The reverse gear had broken a week ago, and she’d been using the Fred Flintstone method ever since. She wasn’t about to open the door now....

The driver’s door of the pickup opened.

Darcy straightened her back and carefully reached for her purse on the seat next to her. Coming from Chicago, she knew not to take any chances with angry strangers. She had a stun gun and pepper spray at the ready at all times. Which should it be?

A booted leg extended out of the truck. And it was a big boot.

Pepper spray, Darcy decided.

She watched with bated breath as the driver unfolded himself from the truck. He straightened up to nearly seven feet tall, or so it seemed to her.

His hair was as black as licorice under a battered Stetson, and longish at the collar. His pale eyes narrowed when they touched upon her. If he weren’t coming at her in that sinister way, she might have thought he was attractive—in a rustic sort of way. Faded denims, a Levi’s shirt and scuffed leather boots completed the intimidating picture. He looked like an angry Paul Bunyan.

He walked slowly and steadily toward her. He wasn’t as tall as she’d originally guessed; he was probably just over six feet, but his commanding air made him seem taller.

. As he got closer, she realized he looked vaguely familiar. But how could that be? She hadn’t been to her grandfather’s ranch for ten years—since she was seventeen years old, and back then... Her heart pounded with a mixture of dread and excitement. Could it possibly be him?

No, surely he had left when she did.

Darcy glanced at the half-open window and pressed on the broken automatic-close button, knowing that it hadn’t worked for a month. The cold November wind whipping around the inside of the car was a testament to that. But paying to have it fixed had fallen somewhere after eating on her hierarchy of needs.

She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer.

“You need something?” a deep voice asked.

She opened one eye and looked into the face of the truck driver. Her chest constricted. It looked like him, that was for sure. But it was just too far-fetched. He was long gone. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m trying to figure out what it is you need.” One side of his mouth twitched toward a smile but didn’t quite make it. The brim of his hat was low over his brow, shading his features.

“What I need?” she repeated dumbly.

He pushed the rim of his hat up and she went still with shock. It had to be him. There couldn’t be another man in the world who looked so like him. Faint laugh lines around his eyes made him a little less familiar than he would have been with the boyishly smooth skin she remembered. But it was him; she knew it.

“I heard your horn.” His voice was lower, a little huskier than she expected. “Thought you might be signaling some distress.” His mouth twitched into a half smile now. “Especially when it kept happening.” He hesitated and scrutinized her. “Is everything all right?” he asked when she didn’t respond.

“I’m—It’s fine,” she said, feeling her face warm.

“Wait just a minute.” He leaned closer and her heart skipped a beat. “Are you who I think you are?”

It was him. Joe Tyler.

“I’m not sure...” she said vaguely, her heart pounding a furious beat that he could probably hear from a distance of three feet. “You are...?”

Of course she already knew the answer. He was Joseph Emory Tyler, though he hated his middle name. Favorite color: blue. Favorite dessert: chocolate pudding. Favorite rock group: the Beatles. Favorite sport: steer wrestling at the rodeo. They’d spent many long ago hours arguing over whether or not it was a humane sport. He’d wanted to be famous for it one day. In the meantime he was going to try to finish his college education in order to have something “to fall back on if the rodeo thing doesn’t work out.” He hated spinach, but ate it because he’d bought into the whole Popeye myth years before. He loved beef but hated pork—except sausages and bacon.

A long time ago, Darcy had adored him enough to... well, that didn’t matter now. Maybe it had never mattered. It certainly hadn’t mattered to him—that was clear then and it was just as clear now. Maybe more, since he was still here.

She swallowed her bitterness. That was history now. Her anger could only hurt her. She took a long breath, inwardly counting to five. She knew her face was a self-conscious blotchy red.

“Darcy Beckett?” he said, solidly confirming his recollection. “Little Darcy Beckett?”

She gave a shuddering sigh. Hearing him say her name did nothing to still her reaction. And he remembered the moniker that had made her so impatient back then. All of her grandfather’s friends and employees, who’d known her since she was a baby, called her Little Darcy Beckett, but only Joe had done it in a low, teasing way. Then and now.

“Joe Tyler, right?” She hoped she sounded nonchalant.

He touched the brim of his hat and nodded. “How the hell have you been?”

“Fine,” she said, a little too curtly. She thought of all the ways in which life had not been fine, but forced a smile. “How about you?” What in the world are you still doing here? she demanded silently.

“Just great.” He shook his head again and gave a low whistle. “I almost didn’t recognize you, Darcy. Welcome back to the T.L. Ranch.” Was it her imagination or was his voice tinged with irony?

Anyway, just who did he think he was, welcoming her back to her own grandfather’s ranch? It was the closest thing she’d ever had to a real home, and yet she’d been sent away from it because of Joe Tyler. Now, here he was, welcoming her back in that lord-of-the-manner way of his. “It’s good to finally be back,” she said, hoping he noticed the chill in her tone.

Clearly unaware of the feelings churning inside her, Joe continued, “I guess you’re here because of the will.”

“That’s right.”

“Me, too.”

Her heart pounded. “You?”

He nodded.

“Why?” Her voice sounded sharp, even to her own ears.

“I got a letter from the lawyer telling me to be there at four o’clock.” He raised an eyebrow. “Of course, I’m usually there anyway—”

“Don’t tell me you still work at the ranch.” She tried to sound casual, as if she weren’t grinding it out from between her teeth. Which she was.

“I do. Been there for twelve years now.” He paused, and she wondered how much he knew about her estrangement from her grandfather. “I’m surprised your grandfather never mentioned it.”

Shame burned in her cheeks. “We...didn’t talk much in the last few years.” Did he really not know that? Or was he baiting her, trying to get her to admit she’d lost touch?

Joe frowned, then his expression cleared. “That’s right.” He snapped his fingers. “Now I remember the story. You ran off and married that guy no one liked. Whole family was mad at you.”

It was an accurate description, except he didn’t mention the divorce. She gave a noncommittal nod.

Joe clicked his tongue against his teeth. “You and Ken stopped speaking all those years because of that?”

“It seemed best at the time.” She didn’t add that she’d tried to telephone Kenneth Beckett about fifty times in those first couple of years, but that he’d never taken her calls. She also didn’t add that her Christmas cards had come back unopened. She couldn’t bear to admit she hadn’t even known her grandfather was ill, and she also didn’t add that she’d hesitated even to come to the reading of the will for fear he’d left her a bag of coal as his final I-told-you-so.

Joe raised an eyebrow. “So where’s your husband now?”

“My ex-husband, you mean.”

She could have sworn a look of mild surprise came into his eyes.

“The divorce just recently became final.” Though she had known Brandon wasn’t Prince Charming when she had married him, she had hoped that fact would protect her. If she didn’t love him, how could he hurt her? She now knew how foolish that idea was. “And as for where he is, I don’t know.” Though she wished she did. Or, more specifically, she wished she knew where her money—which he had helped himself to upon his exit—was.

Joe regarded her for a moment, then with a very small inclination of the head, he said, “I’m sorry to hear it.”

She shrugged. “It’s almost time for the meeting.” She gestured at her watch. “We don’t want to be late.”

“Right. Sure.” After one final moment’s perusal, he turned and headed back toward the truck. Darcy wondered if he could be completely unaware of how attractive he was viewed from the back, in his faded jeans and scuffed boots. Her heart flipped stupidly, just as it had so many times that summer when she was seventeen. The cool breeze lifted, carrying the familiar scent of the woods—like a ghost from her memory.

Darcy watched Joe for a moment, feeling a deep purple melancholy settle over her like a cloud. Tears pricked at her eyes and she blinked them away. Then she picked up the carefully folded lawyer’s letter that was on the seat next to her and tried to concentrate. As if anything would stop the memories and the longing now that she was going to have to see Joe again. She unfolded the letter and glanced at the hand-drawn map on the back. She should remember the way, but it had been so long.

She could follow Joe, but pride compelled her to find the way for herself. She continued to look at the map. There was a broken-down shack somewhere up here or the right, but she couldn’t recall such a thing. It was just one more reminder of how long it had been since she’d been at the ranch.

She looked back at the blue pickup, which had resumed its pitiful gait. It was deliberate, she knew. Joe hadn’t changed much at all, now that she thought about it. He’d always been able to goad her more effectively than anyone.

The trick was to ignore him.

She thought about the ranch and wondered what would become of it. The lawyer’s letter certainly made it sound as though it was her inheritance, but she couldn’t believe that, given her grandfather’s attitude toward her. She sighed. At least the letter said she could stay on for a while. That would give her a few days to regroup and plan the rest of her trip to California. Maybe she could even find a mechanic who would give her car the once-over without charging too much.

But then she’d be moving on. She’d spent too long in Chicago as it was—nearly five years. It was the longest Darcy had ever spent in one city. After the divorce, her friend Melanie, in San Diego, had said Darcy could share her place until she got on her feet. It wasn’t the ideal situation, but Darcy was running out of options.

She’d spend a few days here—maybe a week—then move on. Forever. This wasn’t home. That was just an illusion she’d created because it was out of her grasp. As long as the T.L. Ranch remained the single great bastion of home and safety in her mind, she would never be able to move forward. Once she’d spent a little time here, worked out some of her inner demons, she would be free of Colorado, the ranch, and memories of that summer with Joe Tyler... forever.

Then she’d be free to work on the Menger’s grant scholarship program in San Diego. Louis Menger had been trying to get her on the project, which provided scholarships for inner-city teenagers, for three years. He was getting older now, and Darcy feared the scholarship program might falter if Louis stopped heading it and left the reins to someone else. It had been her father’s pet project before he died, and Louis had long wanted Darcy to take it over.

The idea had always appealed to her, too. But her husband hadn’t had much respect for any kind of nonprofit organization so she put it off. Now it sounded like the perfect project to sink her energies into. Darcy liked the idea of being responsible for helping to educate bright, worthy kids who might otherwise get lost in the system.

She wanted to make a difference in people’s lives.

But she was going to do it by herself. Louis Menger might be offering her a job, but she was going to have to start her life on her own, without help. She was going to make a home for herself, without a man.

And she wouldn’t let Joe Tyler—or her former, perhaps unresolved, feelings for him—get in the way.

She took a deep breath and felt the energy of possibility surge through her. For the first time in years she felt as though things really were going to work out for her. She had a purpose, a goal—and she was heading for it full speed.

There was only one thing standing between her and her dream.

Darcy looked at the truck in front of her and sighed heavily. She’d spent a lot of money on therapy trying to work out those lingering feelings for Joe. And she’d succeeded, she reminded herself. Years ago. Now he was a temporary obstacle. Not even an obstacle—just a distraction, that was all.

She had to remember that.

Joe looked in his rearview mirror at Darcy in her car. He sure hadn’t thought he’d see her today, or any other time, come to think of it. Sure, she was getting the ranch and whatever other assets Ken had to be distributed, but from what Joe understood, Darcy was busy living the high life in Chicago. For her, this would be just one more asset to liquidate. At the most he would have expected her to send a representative. Joe felt he could have dealt with a representative. He wasn’t so sure about Darcy. Somehow he was going to have to try not to let her get to him.

He’d just concentrate on his other business. There certainly was enough of it to keep him occupied. He pressed harder on the accelerator and the truck lurched forward.

Of course, the news of her divorce was a surprise. Maybe that was it—maybe she just wanted a change of scenery, something to help her forget the heartbreak.

Joe could have told her some things just can’t be forgotten. Or ignored.

Her car drew up a little too close to his back bumper, and he found himself smiling. Typical Darcy, he thought, always in a hurry. Somehow, that bulldozer quality had always endeared her to him.

Watching her in his rearview mirror, he studied her, marveling at her beauty. The finely arched eyebrows, determined chin, curved mouth. He looked back at the road, but her image stayed with him. Dark blond hair, evenly cut at the shoulder. If the stories that had circulated about her at the ranch were true, she’d probably paid a fortune for that haircut back in Chicago.

She sure had changed since he’d known her. Way back then, money hadn’t mattered to her one whit. At first he hadn’t believed the stories about her lifestyle after she’d left the ranch, but eventually he’d admitted to himself that he hadn’t wanted to believe them. The stories just made him feel that much more foolish for ever thinking they could make a go of it together.

Darcy Beckett, his wife, sharing ranch life with him—that had just been a stupid, immature dream.

He’d woken up a long time ago.

He looked back at her. Fancy car, fancy haircut. According to her grandfather, Darcy lived high off the hog. Drank champagne as though it were water. She probably even rinsed her mouth with it when she brushed her teeth. Or used fancy bottled water from France.

He glanced at the road to keep on course, then back at the mirror. Darcy was framed in its confines like a picture. For a moment, he saw her as she used to be. Her hair, which had been much lighter then, was long and straight. She used to live in jeans and T-shirts, not the kind of fancy clothes she was wearing now.

She’d grown up, and done a damn good job of it. He’d grant her that.

Her face... how many times had he seen that face in his dreams? She’d barely changed, he’d realized when he’d gotten up close. For a moment he’d gone dumb at the sight of those strong cheekbones and the stubborn chin he used to love to kiss. Her skin was as smooth-looking as ever. In memory, he could just reach out and touch her. In memory.

Hell, it wasn’t easy to forget Darcy Beckett.

She used to come to the ranch every summer, though he hadn’t met her until she was fifteen. He was seventeen then, and far too old for such a child. But the summer she was sixteen, she was looking not so much like a child anymore. And by her seventeenth summer she was so beautiful that he ached every time he saw her.

Fortunately or unfortunately—he’d never been able to decide which—Darcy had wanted him, too. They’d spent the entire summer watching each other sideways during the day when other people were around, and drawing together like magnets in the dark shadows of night. Sharing their inner selves, their dreams, planning a life together... and ultimately, making slow, sweet, incredible love. Until they’d gotten caught, that is.

Then she left and never came back. He never forgot her, never stopped comparing other women to her. For a long time he’d kept to himself, avoiding all romantic entanglements. But the glow of that summer romance had worn off eventually, and when he’d met a town girl named Maura Kinney, who was available and willing, he hadn’t bothered to resist.

When Maura had told him she was pregnant, he’d done the right thing and married her. Why not? Maybe he was still thinking of Darcy, but Darcy had married some high rider in the East and was, presumably, going to live happily ever after with him.

He took a deep breath and then let it out, trying to relax his tense shoulders and neck. He still remembered the long months of wishing Darcy would come back, but not daring to ask Ken about her. He should have asked anyway, he realized now. But the boy he’d been was so cowed by the powerful R. Kenneth Beckett that he hadn’t dared let anyone know the depth of his feelings for the great man’s granddaughter. Hell, he’d been lucky to be able to hold on to his job. In those days, it wasn’t so easy to find good work that paid a fair wage; he couldn’t risk it.

Instead, he’d hidden his feelings. After all, he was young and he knew it. He thought surely his crush on Darcy would fade. It did, to an extent, when he wrote to her and didn’t get an answer. He even wrote a second time, just in case the first letter had been lost. Then a third time. Then he gave up. And he’d gone to so much trouble to get the address from Kenneth’s book without the old man knowing it, too.

Joe sighed, remembering. Eventually he’d started a life with another woman and his unborn child. He’d never truly been in love with Maura, but she’d been his friend. When she’d died after a short illness a couple of years ago, it had been a blow. Together they’d worked to build a life. When she died he’d had to start all over again.

He fastened his eyes on the route ahead. The old Watson place, a broken ruin of a house, was up there on the right. Almost home. The T.L. Ranch. He did this drive every day, but today, with the lawyer’s meeting pending, it felt completely different—different because when he arrived at the ranch he’d get out of the car and be face to face again with Darcy Beckett.

He’d been waiting for this day for a long time. Rosanna Kinney, his late wife’s sister, had been hounding him for the past eight months to get on out to her Oklahoma ranch and take over as foreman.

He would have refused flat out except that Rosanna had paid a large balance of Maura’s hospital bills, and now Joe felt indebted to her. If Maura had told him about the loan before it was too late—heck, if she’d told him about the necessity of getting the loan—he would have done something else, anything else, to get the money.

But Maura hadn’t told him, and so he didn’t find out until after the funeral.

Rosanna proposed that he pay back the twenty-thousand dollars in sweat equity. Besides, she pointed out, Ricky and Joe needed a home, not just a place to live and work. Joe said he’d come after his ailing employer no longer needed him. Well, Kenneth Beckett no longer needed Joe or anyone else.

Now Joe had a five-year plan to work off his debt to his sister-in-law and save enough to start his own ranch in Wyoming. He’d already picked the spot. It was great land and underdeveloped. It would come cheap. With what he had saved now, and what he’d accumulate in the next five years in Oklahoma, he would be set.

He’d even been feeling optimistic about it lately. It figured that Darcy would show up now, just to throw him off.

But it was temporary. He was leaving for Oklahoma; it was part of The Plan. Until recently that plan had been unappealing to him, but now it was starting to seem like a really good idea. After today’s meeting, Joe would have no more excuses for remaining in Holt.

He glanced back at Darcy. Suddenly it seemed that the sooner he got out, the better it would be for him. Falling for Darcy Beckett again was one mistake this foolish cowboy couldn’t afford to make again.

Chapter Two

Darcy rounded a corner, still following the pickup and thinking about the old days. She could see Joe in her mind’s eye, a little younger, a little thinner and a bit more baby-faced...but as devastatingly handsome as he was today. She never dreamed he’d still be working at the ranch. For years she’d felt guilty about the fact that he’d probably been fired; now it turned out that he never had been.

But her grandfather had been so angry! Once he’d learned of their secret trysts, he’d sent Darcy straight home, even though it was only the beginning of August. She’d assumed Joe had been sent on his way, too, especially when her letters had gone unanswered.

Now that she thought about it, though, it figured that he hadn’t been. R. Kenneth Beckett’s world was a man’s world. Always had been. She could see it now: Joe had been given a warning and a wink.

She turned into the driveway, and the ranch spread out before her. Her heart soared. Acres and acres of sharply angled hills, dotted with horses of all sizes and colors, cradled the beloved house in a valley.

It didn’t look much like a ranch, apart from the horses on the hill. It never had. The ranch had been built by a Swiss settler centuries before, and to Darcy the old European styling had always seemed like the setting for a fairy tale.

The house was large, with pointed gables and shady eaves. Thick vines climbed the wall and snaked across the front, netting the building’s facade like a spider web. The windows were beveled lead glass with diagonals of iron bar slashing it into diamonds. The window sills, however, were scaly with peeling paint. Closer inspection revealed two of the windows on the far corner of the house were broken, and Darcy could clearly see boards behind several others.

When had that happened? Grandfather had always taken great pride in his home. There had never been a chip of paint missing, much less scales of it peeling off.

Darcy swallowed a lump in her throat. If she’d known he was ill, if she’d known that the house had practically fallen to ruin, would she have tried one more time? Yes, a melancholy voice inside her said, of course I would have. Another question followed quickly: Would he have responded with more warmth if he’d known their time for reconciliation was drawing to a close?

Apparently not. After all, he had known he was ill, and yet he had neither contacted her nor had anyone else do so.

Bullheaded to the bitter end.

She tightened her hands on the steering wheel. It was more comfortable to be angry with him than to miss him. There was no point in mulling over the past.

Darcy parked the car next to the pickup truck and got out warily, watching Joe Tyler from the corner of her eye.

Joe raised his eyebrow. “You ready?” He gestured toward the house.

Darcy straightened and kept walking. “Yes, I am.”

“You don’t look ready. You look like you’ve been crying. Are you okay?”

“Yes, of course I’m okay.” She sniffed and hated herself for the giveaway. “It’s just hay fever. I always have hay fever when I come here.” She walked quickly toward the front door.

He followed.

Darcy hesitated at the door. She had always just walked right in, but that had been a very long time ago. She wasn’t at all sure whom she’d find in the house now or what they would expect of her.

She pushed the doorbell and waited, trying to ignore the fact that Joe Tyler was standing close behind her. Right—as if anyone could ignore such a presence. For one thing, he smelled fantastic. She could detect a hint of sweet laundry detergent or fabric softener mingling with the crisp masculine scent of aftershave. It was a combination that tempted her to lean back into him, as if collapsing into a freshly made bed.

Heat pulsated from him right through the gauzy batiste of her pantsuit. His proximity felt uncomfortably... what was the word? Intimate flew to mind. The heat that passed from him to her felt intimate.

This foolish line of thinking was getting her nowhere. A long time ago she and Joe had shared a predictable teenage curiosity about each other. Nothing more, she insisted silently. It was a lifetime ago, and Darcy had been married and divorced since then, had gone from carefree wealth to economic struggle. Now she knew that following the lead of sexual chemistry could only result in disaster.

There was no way she was going to make that mistake again.

“Why don’t you just go on in?” Joe reached past her toward the door. His arm brushed against her shoulder and left a burning spot on her skin.

“It’s not my home.” Although it was the closest thing she’d ever had.

“At the moment, it’s no one’s home, and I don’t want to stand here all day while you ring the bell.” He stepped around her and pushed the door open. “The Coxes are too deaf to hear it these days anyway.”

“The Coxes?” She remembered Anthea, the kind woman who worked as the housekeeper, and her husband, Hank, who was the family driver. “Are they still here?”

“For the time being.” He hesitated, then added gently, “It’ll be a short reunion. They’re getting ready to leave for Florida.”

“When?”

“I’m not sure. This week sometime.”

It was Darcy’s second encounter today with the living past, and the second time she felt her fond memories meant more than the truth did. “Is anyone else still here? Anyone I might know?”

Joe was quick to shake his head. “There’s no one here at all beyond some hired day help. The guys you knew are all long gone. The last of them was Skip Morton and he left—” he paused to think “—well, it must be nearly a year now.”

“Oh, no.” Darcy was filled with apprehension. She was walking into a situation that was even more unfamiliar than she’d anticipated.

“Things really changed over the past few years, Darce, and not for the best.”

“Oh.” Darcy didn’t know what else to say. She’d had such happy times here as a child. When she went in this door, what changed vision of the past would confront her? She hesitated, almost afraid to disturb her memories.

“Let’s go.” Joe guided her through the front door into the wooden entryway. “Like I said, it’s a little different since you were here last. Toward the end, your grandfather was too ill to do much with the place and too poor to hire someone else to do it for him.”

“But you said he had hired help.”

Joe shook his head. “Just a few men. All together we have our hands full just dealing with the livestock.”

A door at the end of the hall creaked open before Darcy could reply.

“Joe? Is that you?” An elderly man bustled down the hall toward them. “How are you, son? Didn’t recognize you from back there without my glasses on. How’s Ricky?”

Darcy felt Joe glance at her quickly. Who was Ricky? she wondered. Another ranch hand? Was someone else requested at the reading of Grandfather’s will?

“Just getting over a cold, but he’s all right,” Joe said. He took off his hat and tossed it onto the foyer table. His hair was dark and gleaming. “How are you and the missus?”

“Fine, fine.” Hank turned his gaze to Darcy. “My stars, this isn’t Little Darcy, is it?”

“Not so little anymore.” She smiled, but tears burned behind her eyes. Hank had aged thirty years in the last ten, but he was still wonderfully familiar. He made the place feel like home in a way that no one else could. “I’m awfully glad to see you, Hank.” Impulsively she went to him and gave the frail body a hug. Hank returned the hug with the warm kindness she remembered.

“Wait ’til Anthea sees you.” He hesitated and appeared to think that over before saying, “She’ll be so sorry it’s just to say good-bye.”

“I can’t wait to see her,” Darcy said, trepidation weakening her words.

“You waited ten years,” Joe said quietly.

Darcy bristled.

“Come right this way,” Hank Cox said, walking through a heavy oak doorway to the left.

Neither Darcy nor Joe moved. They stood facing each other like boxers in opposite corners of the ring.

“What did you mean, ‘you waited ten years’?” she demanded.

“Just that your grandfather could have used your help over the past few years, and if you weren’t so bullheaded—”

“Me bullheaded? What about him?”

“Both of you. Not that it’s any of my business,” he added as an afterthought.

“It certainly isn’t.” She was sorely tempted to spit the truth right into Joe Tyler’s condescending face, but it was none of his business. Let him think the worst of her—what did she care?

He stood for a moment with his eyes fixed on her, and his enviably sculpted mouth quirked into the half smile she’d noticed earlier. “Sweetheart, you’re way too uptight.”

“Don’t call me ‘sweetheart.’”

“See?”

She felt her face flush. “You have no right to speak to me that way.”

“You didn’t used to feel that way.”

Exactly three hard, solid heartbeats passed before she managed to say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His casual approach to what had meant so much to her was humiliating.

He stopped and turned back to her. Suddenly his hair looked darker—if that was possible—and his eyes looked like blue stormclouds. And his mouth—that sensually curved mouth; it was really starting to get on Darcy’s nerves—was quirked, openly mocking. “You didn’t used to mind one bit when I called you my sweetheart. Or have you forgotten?”

“There’s nothing to forget,” she answered, refusing to be bowled over by him. She raised her chin.

He gave a quick jerk of his head and sucked air in through his teeth. “Are you challenging me, Darcy?”

“To do what?” Darcy asked, deliberately misunderstanding.

He didn’t miss a beat “To make a more lasting impression on your memory.”

Part of her wanted to slap that complacent smirk right off his face, but at the moment she felt too weak and tingly to move. Once she had enjoyed this sensation. Now she hated it.

“If you’re ready...” Hank Cox returned to the doorway with a puzzled frown and swept a hand toward the other room. Darcy had almost forgotten he was waiting. She strode into the library and sat down in an embroidered antique chair.

The room was actually in pretty good shape, except for some chips in the built-in bookshelves and a few pieces of old furniture that had seen better days.

A little gray-haired woman who would have been perfectly cast as Mrs. Claus approached with teapot in hand but not a shred of recognition in her eye. “I’m Anthea Cox, and I’m delighted to meet you.”

“It’s me, Anthea. Darcy.” She stared hard into the woman’s eyes, willing her to remember. “Darcy Beckett.”

“Oh, my.” Anthea put a hand to her chest. “Little Darcy—is it really you?”

Darcy felt tears prick her eyes. “Yes. It’s been a long time.”

“It certainly has,” the woman answered, her voice wavering with emotion. “Far too long.” She walked over and reached her hand out to touch Darcy’s cheek. “How lovely you’ve turned out to be. I always knew you would.”

“Th-thanks,” Darcy said awkwardly, giving Anthea a quick embrace. She was keenly aware of Joe, standing nearby, listening.

“How about a nice cup of tea?” Anthea asked. “I remember how you like it, with lots of sugar and cream.”

Her sugar and cream days had been over for a long time, but Darcy saw it was important to Anthea and said, “How kind. I’d love some.” Seeing that Anthea’s hands shook with age, Darcy reached out to help, but the older woman didn’t notice.

“Nothing quite like a nice cuppa to cure what ails you,” Anthea murmured. She’d always said that, but Darcy didn’t believe it anymore.

Darcy watched the thin trickle of tea dance in and around the cup as Anthea poured unsteadily.

“Dear, did you see that Joe is here, too?” Hank Cox asked from across the room.

Anthea Cox looked up. The teapot shifted position but continued to pour, now onto the table, as she said, “Well, Joseph, how nice—”

“Excuse me, Anthea,” Darcy said, reaching for the teapot. The older woman apparently didn’t hear her, because just as Darcy was about to grasp the teapot Anthea shifted both her gaze and the teapot back to Darcy.

“Mr. Beckett would have been so pleased that you’ve come back at last,” she said faintly to Darcy, who was frantically setting empty tea cups under the trickling stream.

Joe walked over and took the pot from Anthea Cox, saying, “I was just telling Darcy myself what a shame it was that she waited so long to come back.”

Darcy looked daggers at him. She wanted to tell him that the responsibility for her absence was not hers alone, but she knew it would sound petty. If he remembered that she’d given him her virginity, it certainly didn’t seem to mean much to him now. “Well, our past doesn’t mean that much to me, either,” she contended, looking down at her shoes. She didn’t realize she’d spoken the words aloud until she looked up.

Three surprised gazes landed on her like bugs.

“What do you mean, dear?” Anthea asked.

A long moment of silence followed.

“I mean,” Darcy stammered, “I mean that the past is the past, and there’s no point in regretting it now.” She leveled her gaze on Joe. “No matter how much I might want to.”

“Quite so,” Anthea agreed. “Quite so.”

There was a strained silence, but before the awkwardness became torturous a man walked into the room wearing a fine gray pinstripe suit and carrying a thin leather briefcase. “I’m sorry I’m late.” He gave a cursory nod to everyone in the room, then settled his gaze on Darcy and Joe. “I’m Edward Connor, Mr. Beckett’s attorney. You must be Ms. Beckett and Mr. Tyler.”

They both nodded.

“Good. Then we’ll sort out the future of the True Love Ranch.”

“The True Love Ranch?” Darcy repeated incredulously. “What’s that?”

“This is that,” Joe answered. “Didn’t you know?”

“The T.L. Ranch...you’re saying that stands for True Love?”

Joe looked at her strangely. “Yeah. You must have known that.”

She shook her head, trying to make sense of the sentimental name her grandfather had given to his home. “I can’t believe it.”

From the top shelf Joe took the baseball that had been signed to her grandfather by Babe Ruth and tossed it in the air. “It’s absolutely true.” He caught the ball.

“Does anyone know where the name came from?”

“Well, yeah. He named it in honor of his wife,” Joe said simply.

“What?”

“Your grandfather. He named it in honor of your grandmother.”

“You must be mistaken.”

Joe shook his head and tossed the ball again. “Nope. He told me so himself. Why the shock? Can’t you believe the old guy loved his wife?”

“Frankly, no.”

“Come on, Darce,” Joe said, using the old nickname he’d given her.

“I never thought he loved anyone.”

Joe’s look hardened. “He loved you, and you know it.”

She gave a wry laugh, ignoring the increasingly impatient lawyer and the increasingly confused Coxes. “That’s why he refused to speak to me when I married a man he didn’t approve of.”

“He was right, wasn’t he?”

“That’s not the point.”

“No,” Joe agreed, apparently no more concerned about the others in the room than Darcy was. “It’s not. He was worried about you. I think it was the only way he could think of to make you reconsider your decision.”

“At some point he must have realized it wasn’t working.”

Joe shrugged. “You Becketts are so inflexible sometimes. He probably didn’t know how to approach you anymore than you knew how to approach him.”

Just then the lawyer cleared his throat. “Excuse me, I just have some papers here for your signatures, and then I think we’ll be ready to go,” he said.

“Not that all of that is any of my business,” Joe went on to Darcy, “but—”

Darcy’s reply was pointed. “No, it isn’t any of your business.”

The lawyer went to a broad rolltop desk that Darcy remembered from childhood. It was an impressive piece of artistry, walnut stained to a deep amber sheen. Inside, she knew, it had all sorts of secret drawers and shelves. As a child she had loved playing with it.

No one spoke as the lawyer unsnapped the fasteners on his briefcase and pulled out a pile of papers.

“Mr. Tyler, Ms. Beckett, Mr. Beckett left the sum of $20,000 to Mr. and Mrs. Cox for their years of faithful duty. That is the whole of Mr. Beckett’s liquid assets. What remains, however, is this property, consisting of the house and everything in it, and one thousand acres of surrounding property.”

Darcy slipped a peek at Joe. What was he really doing here? Was there a token bequest of some favorite paperweight or money clip or something? How close had he and her grandfather become before the older man had died?

That question was quickly replaced by another, more fearful one: What had she been asked here for?

Grandfather couldn’t have left anything to her. Some cruel part of her mind told her that maybe he’d left her some final token of disapproval, but that wouldn’t have been like him. He’d been a hardheaded man, sure of what was right and what was wrong to his way of thinking, but she couldn’t believe he’d ever deliberately set out to hurt her. He certainly wouldn’t do that now, as his final act.

Darcy found herself kneading her hands in her lap. She wished the lawyer would just get on with it.

“Now for the rest of the estate,” Edward Connor continued, as if in answer to her thoughts. He looked from Darcy to Joe, and back again. “Mr. Beckett left the property to the two of you—Mr. Tyler, Ms. Beckett—to be shared equally.”

Darcy gasped.

Joe dropped the baseball.

“What do you mean ‘shared equally’?” Darcy asked.

The attorney gazed at her impassively. “As of this moment, you each have an equal share in True Love Ranch.”

Chapter Three

“Wait a minute,” Darcy interrupted. “The ranch is going to the two of us? Joe and me? That has to be a mistake.”

“It doesn’t sound right to me, either,” Joe said, exchanging a quick glance with Darcy. “This is Mr. Beckett’s granddaughter. I was just a friend. An employee, in fact. Are you sure you’ve read that correctly?”

The lawyer looked at them both through hooded eyes. “I don’t make mistakes.”

Darcy privately thought the mistake might be that a share in the ranch had been left to her at all.

The lawyer continued as though he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell. “The property has been left to both of you, with some conditions attached.”

“Conditions?” Darcy echoed.

He gave a curt nod. “Now, these papers are duplicates for each of you to sign. They say only that you agree to sharing the ranch fifty-fifty—”

“What if we don’t?” Darcy asked.

Silence expanded and filled the room.

Darcy tried to ignore Joe’s burning gaze on her. “I’m just wondering. I mean, this is absurd. What—how—when did my grandfather draw up this will?”

The lawyer looked at his papers and read the date.

“The day after I got married,” Darcy said, more to herself than to anyone else in the room. “I don’t understand. Why did he do this?”

“Ms. Beckett, I have no explanations for why your grandfather bequeathed his estate as he did. I can only tell you that this is what he intended, and that you have no legal grounds for objection. I might just add that this is an extremely valuable property, and owning half of it is considerably better than owning none at all.”

“I realize that, of course,” Darcy said hurriedly. “I’m not complaining—”

The lawyer tapped his pen on the desk. “I’d like to continue now, so you two can sign the papers and take ownership—”

“Did he say anything that might explain this decision?” Darcy asked.

“He did not. May I continue?”

She nodded weakly. Once upon a time, this would have been a dream come true. She and Joe had talked about having a place just like this for themselves someday. They’d talked of getting married, she remembered bitterly. Of having a home, children, a life together.

It had taken Darcy a very long time to get over that dream. How ironic that part of it should be coming true now.

“If you could both just sign here,” the lawyer said, laying two sheets of paper on the desk and holding out pens for Darcy and Joe.

Darcy suddenly realized that Joe hadn’t moved since hearing the news.

“What’s the matter, Joe?” she asked wryly. “This can’t be such a surprise to you. After all, you’ve been here, with him, for quite some time now.”

He shook his head. “Darcy, this is as much of a shock to me as it is to you. I have other plans. I was getting ready to leave Colorado.”

“Meaning you don’t want half this place?”

“Meaning I’m not at all sure how this fits in.” He looked into her eyes, searchingly. “I suppose you’ll be contesting the will?”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “To change the terms?”

“You mean to cut you out.” When he didn’t answer, she went on. “Honestly, Joe, I’m grateful that my grandfather left me anything. If he wanted you to have half of this place, or the proceeds from half, who am I to say that’s wrong? My personal feelings about you are irrelevant.”

He eyed her silently for a few moments, then seemed lost in his thoughts again.

“We do need to get those signatures,” the lawyer prompted them impatiently.

As she took a pen, Darcy was very aware of Joe’s lean physique beside her, but she didn’t risk a glance at him.

“We’d like to read this over before signing,” Joe said.

Following his lead, Darcy read the document then lifted her gaze to Joe’s.

“I don’t have a problem signing it,” Joe said.

“Me, neither.”

They signed.

As Edward Connor was about to hand over the keys, Hank Cox cleared his throat and said quietly, “Did you have them sign the other part?”

“Ah, yes,” the lawyer said. “The addendum. I was about to get to that.” He reached into another pocket of his case and took out two single sheets.

“What’s this?” Joe asked, taking one.

“These are the conditions I referred to earlier.”

Joe looked the document over. Then, with a dramatic frown, he asked, “Is this necessary?”

“What?” Darcy reached for the paper with a sinking heart. “Is what necessary?”

The lawyer’s grave nod reminded Darcy of the nod Wilton Hammersmith had given her four years ago after telling Darcy her husband had gone to South America with the remainder of her trust fund.

“Those are the terms Mr. Beckett laid out,” Edward Connor stated.

“What terms?” Darcy asked, frantically scanning the paper, then looking at the attorney. “What is this?”

Edward Connor took a breath and gave just the smallest shrug before saying, “This is a simple addendum stating that you will both live on the property, and agree not to sell any part of the stated property—either to each other or to another party—for a period of two months from this date.”

“I can’t stay for two months!” Darcy and Joe said simultaneously, then glanced at each other.

“Where are you going?” Joe asked, looking surprised.

“I’m going to California. There’s a job waiting for me there.”

He raised his eyebrows. “So you weren’t planning on staying here at all?”

She tried to give a laugh, but it came out as a quick rush of air. “Absolutely not.”

“That’s typical, always hopping from place to place.”

“I have no intention of ‘hopping from place to place’ anymore. I’m settling down in California, and with any luck at all I’ll never leave again.” She frowned. “Anyway, you’ve been here for ten years, why can’t you stay?”

“I’ve got to get to Oklahoma. I’ve also got a job waiting.” .

Darcy turned to the lawyer. “Neither one of us can stay.” .

He lifted his shoulders slightly. “I’m afraid those are the terms.”

“When was that addendum drawn up?” Darcy asked.

The lawyer looked at the paper and slid his glasses down his nose to read it. “September the nineteenth,” he answered.

“Hmm.”

“That date significant to you?” Joe asked.

Her stomach knotted. September the nineteenth was her birthday. Did Joe remember that? Did he remember how they’d planned to marry on that day ten years ago? Was he testing her, to gauge her reaction?

She doubted it. He probably didn’t remember things nearly as keenly as she did. If he had any idea of the pain those memories could still inflict...well, obviously he didn’t have any idea. He didn’t care the way she did. Obviously he never had. So the irony of the date would undoubtedly be lost on him.

She met his eyes evenly. “It was the day after my divorce became final,” she said dully.

“Hmm,” murmured Joe.

“First the True Love and now this...this forcing you and me to be together after everything that happened.” Darcy took a slow breath, considering. “I’m starting to wonder if my grandfather had a well-hidden romantic side, or if he was just a controlling old curmudgeon.”

“Is it impossible to imagine he might have had other reasons?” Joe asked. “Like maybe he cared about us both and couldn’t decide what else to do?”

She leveled her gaze on Joe again. “It’s no secret that my family isn’t exactly what you’d call close.”

He nodded. “I always thought that was a shame.”

“It suits us,” she answered. “We don’t like to be encumbered with familial responsibilities.”

He nodded again but said nothing. Darcy thought she saw pity in his eyes. He knew too much about her, even that her mother had run off with a polo player when Darcy was ten, and that they’d never heard from her again, except for the odd impersonal Christmas card. Darcy had told that story to Joe ages ago in a moment of weakness, but she could see he was thinking about it now and, worse, feeling sorry for her.

Oh, who was she kidding? Darcy was the one feeling sorry. Sorry that the man who had meant so much to her as a child was dead, and that there was no way she could pull back the years that had been wasted. She’d tried to contact him, certainly, but maybe she could have tried harder. Maybe she should have tried longer. Maybe, maybe, maybe....

“Are you in agreement with the terms?” the lawyer asked sharply. “I do have another appointment to make.”

Joe looked at Darcy and cocked his head. “Do you think you can put your job off for a couple of months?” He paused. “I think I can.”

She sighed. “I can too.” She looked at the lawyer. “I guess we’ll give it a try.”

With a nod, the lawyer made some scribbles on the papers in front of him.

“It’s going to be worth it,” Joe said.

Worth it or not, I’m not ready to give it up, Darcy thought. But she didn’t voice it. Instead she said, “I want to take a look around.”

She glanced at her watch so that Joe wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes. “Excuse me.”

She had barely reached the hall when she felt Joe’s hand on her arm. “Darcy, what’s the matter?”

She took a quick swipe at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Nothing. I’m just tired.”

He cocked his head. “Really.”

“I’m fine.” She gave a quick sniff. “I told you, I have allergies.”

“I think you’re upset that Ken left part of this place to me.”

“That’s not true! I’m not—”

“Come on, who wouldn’t be?”

The melancholy left her and she was once again riled at Joe. “You always think you can read my mind.”

“I usually can.”

“It’s been years since you’ve even had the chance to guess. How could you possibly know what I’m thinking?”

He remained irritatingly calm. “Because what you’re thinking is usually written all over you face, for anyone with eyes to see.”

“Then maybe it’s time you think about getting some glasses, because you’re wrong.”

“I am?”

“Completely. You really want to know what I think?”

“Yeah.”

“I think there’s no way this could work. I don’t see how we can live here together. Maybe we should consult another lawyer, maybe find out if there’s some loophole that would enable one of us to live somewhere else.” She looked at him and added quickly, “Oh, don’t worry, I’m not trying to get your half for myself. It’s right that Grandfather should have left you something. I just wish he’d done it a little less awkwardly.”

Joe gave a nod but said nothing.

“Anyway, if I get another lawyer—”

Joe stopped her. “If you get another lawyer involved, that’s going to cost money and time that I don’t think either one of us can spare.”

“But, Joe—” she shook her head “—we can’t seriously entertain the idea of living here together.”

“We have to.” His voice softened fractionally, but she heard the anxiety in it. “This is an amazing opportunity, at least for me.”

“I need it, too,” Darcy said softly.

He hesitated for a moment. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t have time to monkey with long-shot loopholes. Two months isn’t that long.”

“I don’t know...”

He eyed her with suspicion. “What are you so worried about? You think your virtue is at risk with me?”

But she wondered if she could resist him, if it ever came to that. At close quarters, he still turned her insides to melted butter. And living together on the ranch, they’d be in close quarters much of the time. “I’m not worried about anything. I just don’t think we’re ideally suited as roommates—”

“Listen.” This time his voice had a definite edge to it. “You’re going to have to get used to this—and fast. So here’s what I propose. We stay on for the two months and fix the place up as inexpensively as possible—that’s going to mean getting a little dirt under those manicured fingernails of yours—then we sell it at the end of the term. We’ll split the profit fifty-fifty, less expenses. Do you agree?”

“I—I—”

“You’re not very good with commitment, are you?”

“I do.” Her head was swimming. She stood and walked a small circle in front of her chair. “I mean, I am. I mean, I do agree to the deal, and I am good with commitment. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“It is now,” he said easily. “We’ll have to draw up a contract, of course.”

“A contract?”

“You’d prefer a handshake, I suppose.”

“You’d prefer blood, I suppose.”

“Let’s stick with a contract.”

“And what, exactly, will it say?”

“It will say that we will both stay on for two months to meet the terms of your grandfather’s addendum, so that you don’t leave and mess everything up for me. Then, at the end of the term, we sell the ranch and go our separate ways. For good.”

It took a moment for the answer to make it to her lips. “Fine.”

He extended his hand. “Then we’re agreed?”

She hesitated for a moment, then took his hand. “Agreed.” She felt as if an electric current were traveling from his flesh to hers, and wondered if he felt it, too.

He seemed to hold her hand an extra moment before letting go. “Good.”

Darcy took a long breath, hoping he wouldn’t see how his touch had affected her. “I’m going out now.”

He held her gaze. “I’ll go back in and have Connor draw up a contract for the two of us. Okay?” He turned and walked back to the library.

“Don’t go too far,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “I’ll need you to sign before you change your mind.”

As soon as the crisp November air hit her skin, Darcy felt better. She breathed deeply, inhaling the wintery scent of burning wood and cold air. The sky had turned steel gray overhead, threatening rain, but she didn’t care. She took long aimless strides, willing her heartbeat to return to normal.

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