Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

Dedication

About The Author

Dear Reader

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

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Copyright

He Must Have Pulled The Craziest
Stunt Of His Entire Life By
Marrying That Woman.

Jeremiah had never responded so strongly to anyone in his life, nor had anyone ever responded that way toward him. But he had to let Bridget have her freedom, chalk last night up to a fantasy and get on with his life.

Yeah. He’d tell her she was right, that what had happened was insane. Besides, his feelings weren’t the only ones he had to consider. He had—

“Jeremiah?”

He was so deep in thought that he had no idea his privacy was being invaded until he heard the husky female voice.

He swung around and stared at the woman who was now his wife and knew with a certainty born of old that he could never willingly let her go.

Dear Reader,

Can you believe that for the next three months we’ll be celebrating the publication of the 1000th Silhouette Desire? That’s quite a milestone! The festivities begin this month with six books by some of your longtime favorites and exciting new names in romance.

We’ll continue into next month, May, with the actual publication of Book #1000—by Diana Palmer—and then we’ll keep the fun going into June. There’s just so much going on that I can’t put it all into one letter. You’ll just have to keep reading!

This month we have an absolutely terrific lineup, beginning with Saddle Up, a MAN OF THE MONTH by Mary Lynn Baxter. There’s also The Groom, I Presume?— the latest in Annette Broadrick’s DAUGHTERS OF TEXAS miniseries. Father of the Brat launches the new FROM HERE TO PATERNITY miniseries by Elizabeth Bevarly, and Forgotten Vows by Modean Moon is the first of three books about what happens on THE WEDDING NIGHT. Lass Small brings us her very own delightful sense of humor in A Stranger in Texas. And our DEBUT AUTHOR this month is Anne Eames with Two Weddings and a Bride.

And next month, as promised, Book #1000, a MAN OF THE MONTH, Man of Ice by Diana Palmer!

Lucia Macro,

Senior Editor

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

Saddle Up
Mary Lynn Baxter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my aunt, Bess Hinson,

for all the years of love and support.

MARY LYNN BAXTER

sold hundreds of romances before she ever wrote one. The D&B Bookstore, right on the main drag in Lufkin, Texas, is her home as well as the store she owns and manages. She and her husband, Leonard, garden in their spare time. Around five o’clock every evening they can be found picking butter beans on their small farm just outside of town.

Dear Reader,

Saddle Up was such a fun book to write, as marriages of convenience are one of my favorite reads. I hope they’re one of yours, too. The story involves a rancher in Utah, Jeremiah Davis, who is a widower and lonely. Yet he’s leery of making another commitment—until he enters an auction for charity and is won by a stranger in town, Bridget Martin.

Their attraction is hot and instantaneous. And through circumstances seemingly beyond their control, they end up marrying the day they meet, making the secrets each harbors as lethal as their attraction.

I’m honored to be counted among the Silhouette Desire family. Writing for Desire is like anticipating a Friday night date; it’s thrilling, titillating and highly entertaining.

Saddle Up is a part of the Desire Celebration 1000, which makes this book extraspecial to me. I hope you, as a reader, will find it just as special.

Prologue

Jeremiah Davis had once been a proud man—proud of his land, his cattle and his wife. Now, as he rode across an open pasture looking at the fence that would need mending next week, he thought about something his father had told him as a child—pride goeth before a fall.

And fall he had, as far from upright as the rotting miles of fence posts stretching into the horizon. First, he’d made a bad investment—one that had cost him his financial cushion, leaving him on the edge of disaster. Then, a bad calf crop had devastated any profits for this year. Finally, his wife had been taken from him.

He was a lonely man now, bereft of everything that had once meant so much to him. Pride. Again he thought about the word.

The Davis ranch was in southwest Utah. The closest town, Pennington, was comprised of a general mercantile and one filling station with a cold water fountain. Once daily, a train flew through town, causing all the otherwise indolent hounds to howl and show a sudden burst of energy before settling back into the Utah dust.

Maybe he should call it quits. To hell with ranching. It was all his father had ever done, and what had it gotten him? Jeremiah looked into the horizon toward Hurricane, a town where he could get a real job. But did he truly want a real job? How could he survive in the eight-to-five world of asphalt, suits, choking collars and “Let’s do lunch?”

The ranch house loomed ahead, a native rock structure that had once glistened with the attention of his mate, someone who’d shared his love for this land. Now, the house reflected his emotions, almost as ramshackle in appearance as his inner turmoil.

To hell with this, he thought. He could wallow in misery from now on and nothing would be accomplished…but if he didn’t eat something soon, the Davis graveyard would have yet another inhabitant.

Once inside, he tossed his hat on a nearby chair and strode to the kitchen, popping a skillet onto the range. A couple of eggs cracked into the pan might have worked if he’d added a little bacon drippings, but what did he know? He and Margaret had had an understanding. She didn’t try to run the ranch, and he didn’t try to run the house. Instead, the eggs stuck, turned black, filled the room with smoke and set two dogs to howling.

Disgusted, he dumped both eggs and the skillet in the garbage and opened his last bag of pork cracklings. Dammit, something had to change.

The phone interrupted his tantrum, and he answered it with a mouthful of cracklings.

“Hey, Jeremiah. What’s up?”

“Same garbage, different day, Nelson.”

“You sound funny.”

“It’s my lunch—straight out of the bag.”

“Sounds like you’re chewing on dried locusts. Listen, if you need a meal, come on over. Sharon—”

“Thanks, but no thanks. Last time I showed up, you had some heifer from Nevada all lined up for me.

“Speaking of heifers, that’s what this call’s all about.”

“Forget it. I’m not interested in another woman. I’ve told you that already. No just has one syllable, so what’s your problem with understanding it?”

“You need to listen, Davis. What I’m about to ask you is in the best interest of the whole community. Hell, maybe even all of southern Utah.”

Jeremiah rolled his eyes, knowing Johnny Nelson. His ranching friend was a good man, but persistent as a rash. He would have to hear him out just to get rid of him.

“Okay, shoot.”

“We’re going to have an auction, my friend.”

“I already lost my shirt at one auction this year. Why in hell should I want to go to another one?”

“No, you’ll love this one.”

“All right,” Jeremiah said in a resigned voice. “Go on. I’m listening….“

One

“Bridget!” Tiffany cried. “Check out what’s on TV!”

Bridget Martin ran to Tiffany’s living room carrying a bowl of dip and a bag of chips. “What is it?”

“Look for yourself. I’ve never heard of anything like this before.”

A WNN talk show host was interviewing two uncomfortable looking men who were sitting on a couch.

“Now that’s a hunk of manhood!” Tiffany pointed to the one on the left.

“What’s all this about?”

“Shh. Listen.”

Bridget wasn’t keen on the two men being interviewed. Neither caught her fancy. Both were okay as far as looks went, but then, she wasn’t such a good judge of that right now. Men were not at the top of her priority list.

“Did you hear that?” Tiffany was asking.

“No, what did he say?”

“You’re not listening!”

Bridget did as she was told and found the gist of the conversation not only incredible, but insane. The men were from a remote ranching community in southwestern Utah, close to the Nevada state line, where, apparently, there were more men than women.

As a result, these men were advertising the fact that they intended to hold a community auction and put themselves and some of their friends on the block, hoping that women would come from all over the United States and bid on them.

“But aren’t there any local women?” the host asked. “I mean, why can’t you—”

Tiffany’s hunk spoke up. “The nearest single women our age are a long way off. When I take a lady home after a date, I’m lucky to be back at the ranch by daylight, and there’s still a day’s work ahead. We’re mostly farmers and ranchers…and we can’t afford to lose time chasing all over southern Utah and Nevada.”

The camera focused in on the host, who was all smiles. “There you have it, ladies. You heard it first on WNN. If there are any of you who need a man, here’s your chance.”

He turned his attention to the men on the couch. “So, exactly where is this auction taking place?”

“Pennington, Utah,” the hunk replied, then gave the date and time.

“And do you men keep the money that’s bid on you?”

The other man, a half hunk, shook his head. “No, sir. All proceeds from this auction go to a shelter for battered women, not that we have many of those. All we’re asking for is the chance to meet some eligible—and hopefully attractive—ladies who wouldn’t mind ranch life in Utah.”

Bridget groaned, then added, “Sure thing, buddy. I’m real anxious to spend my life barefoot and pregnant in southern Utah! In between kids, I could rope steers and brand calves. Maybe take a few quilting lessons. Yee hah!”

Tiffany turned to Bridget, her face animated. “This is a hoot. Let’s go!”

Bridget rolled her large brown eyes, even as her smile broadened. The word “dramatic” fit Tiffany Russell to a tee. But then, that didn’t seem so odd when she remembered that Tiffany’s ambition in life had been to be an actress, only that hadn’t panned out. Instead she’d had to settle for working in one of Houston’s largest and most prestigious department stores as a buyer for women’s clothing.

Too bad becoming an actress hadn’t become a reality, Bridget thought, because with Tiffany’s long blond hair, gray eyes and sharp wit, she would have been a killer on stage. But it wasn’t to be.

“God, Tiff, what would make anyone want to go bid on some sodbuster, anyway?”

“I don’t know…I guess I’m just bored. My life’s headed straight down the toilet.” Tiffany gestured dramatically as if to better illustrate her point.

Bridget laughed outright, only to suddenly turn sober. “Believe me, I know how unhappy you are.” She paused. “If it’s any consolation, my life’s headed in the same direction…but I’m still not grabbing the next plane to Pennington, Utah!”

“Do you suppose planes even land there?”

“Who knows? From the way those men made it sound, you probably have to fly to Salt Lake City, then work your way down by pack mule. What do I know about Utah?”

“About as much as I do. Still, your life’s not in the toilet. That’s a bunch of baloney, and you know it.” Tiffany’s lips curved downward. “Oh, just forget I said anything. It’s just that I’m down. I hate my job so much.”

“Well, at least you have one,” Bridget countered on a more sober note.

Tiffany’s eyebrows perked up. “I’ll trade places with you anytime. Heck fire, you’re a big-time Houston lawyer with brains and looks.”

“And no job, remember?”

Tiffany made another gesture. “Not for long. Every firm in this town will soon be knocking on your door.”

“Wrong, Tiff. The very second word got out that I filed a sexual harassment suit against Mason Wainwright, the you-know-what hit the proverbial fan. From then on, my name was mud. Job or no job, as long as I remain in Houston, it’ll stay that way.”

“All the more reason to take a mule to Utah!”

Bridget’s voice took on its best courtroom tone. “Miss Russell, there are games of chance and games of fat chance. My going to Utah comes under the latter category, even if there’s no future left here for me.”

“That’s not true, and you know it. Your old man’s one of the best attorneys in Houston, and he’s got clout! Why, he can open doors for you that would be cemented shut for the normal person. All the other firms are afraid of him!”

“Even if he was willing, I wouldn’t let him.” A pained expression dulled Bridget’s features. “Right now, I’m not his fair-haired child. He and Mother are both…upset.”

Tiffany’s lips formed a semblance of a smile. “Why don’t you say furious and be done with it?”

Bridget’s answering smile was equally lukewarm. “Okay, they’re furious.”

“See? Don’t you feel better having gotten that off your chest?”

Both women were seated on the couch in Tiffany’s apartment, which looked more like an art deco studio than a typical Houston dwelling. Tiffany had rented the upstairs in an older home in the refurbished Heights area and furnished it with upscale junk, or at least, that was Tiffany’s way of describing it. Although Bridget would never even have looked at this place, much less lived here, it fit her friend’s personality perfectly.

Now, after reaching for an oversize pillow near her, she tossed it at Tiffany. “No. As a matter a fact, I don’t feel a bit better. I’d rather tell them to their faces what I feel.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“They’d both have heart attacks on the spot.”

“So?” Tiffany grinned.

“You’re bad to the bone, girl,” Bridget said, but found herself grinning, as well.

“I’d rather call it truthful.”

“Okay, so my parents went ballistic when I brought that civil suit, but they’re still my parents.”

Tiffany frowned. “Look, I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” Bridget interrupted, her tone distant. “First off, they’ve never learned how to loosen up. And second, they expect me to be just like them.”

“Which you’re not and never will be.”

“Sometimes I think I must’ve been adopted. As uptight as they are, I can’t imagine them conceiving me!”

“Sorry, but you look too much like your mother. And, I might add, she’s still a knockout.”

“She’d thank you for the compliment.” Bridget paused again. “Right now, my parents are pretty far down on my list.”

“That’s too bad, but I understand. Hey, you want some coffee?”

Bridget shook her head and plunged a potato chip into the clam dip. “No, but if you have any tea made, I’ll have a glass.”

“I’ll make some,” Tiffany said, getting to her feet and heading for the kitchen. “Instant only takes a minute.”

Bridget watched her leave, then reached for another pillow and hugged it against her chest. She wondered if her friend really did understand, having come from a household of five other siblings and parents who let their kids do their own thing.

Even though Bridget couldn’t identify with that kind of upbringing, she envied it. She had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Added to that was the curse of being an only child. She bore the brunt of everything right and everything wrong, according to her parents’ rules.

Bridget hugged the pillow closer, her thoughts still stuck on her parents, who at the moment were more an aggravation than an asset. If only they had been more supportive of her decision to file that suit, things might have been different. Hell, if they had been even a little supportive, she wouldn’t be in the predicament she was in now.

Unfortunately, they had been anything but supportive. In fact, they had been outraged and demanded that she withdraw the suit minutes after she’d returned from the courthouse.

“How dare you do something like that without consulting me first?” Allen Martin had bellowed.

“Why, Dad? You weren’t the one Wainwright tried to maul! Besides, I’m grown and responsible for my own actions.”

“Well, you sure couldn’t prove that by me.”

“Your father’s right, honey,” Anita Martin had chimed in. “I can’t believe you’d smear a good man’s name.”

“Didn’t either of you hear what I told you? Dammit, Wainwright—”

Her father had cut her off, his voice cold. “Not another word, young lady, especially using that kind of language. Mason Wainwright is a longtime friend and excellent attorney. You know we all go to church together—or you would know if you’d attend more often. He’s a deacon, for heaven’s sake! Hardly the type to come on to you like a man of the world!”

Bridget’s laugh was bitter. “Oh, he’s a man of the world, all right—with Russian hands and Roman fingers!”

Allen bristled. Anita gasped.

Bridget wanted to scream, unable to believe this was happening. How could they take that vile man’s word over hers? She shouldn’t have been surprised, though. Despite her father’s retirement, he kept in touch with everything that was going on in the legal field through his “of counsel” status, and his expert opinion was still sought after by a host of attorneys. However, in Bridget’s heart, nothing excused his siding with a man she knew to be an oversexed hypocrite, deacon or not.

“Look, it’s obvious you think I’m making a mountain out of a molehill, and that’s okay. You’re entitled to your opinion. But I’m not going to back off.”

Much to her dismay, she did have to cat her words and back off.

“I bet I know what you’ve been thinking about,” Tiffany said in a disapproving tone, waltzing into the room and setting Bridget’s iced tea on the coffee table. “Your parents, right?”

Bridget sighed, then rubbed the back of her neck, registering her exhaustion. “You’re right.”

“So are you going to listen to them?”

“As in dismissing my suit?”

“Yep.”

“I already have.”

“Honestly, Bridget, when are you going to let them stop running your life?”

“I didn’t do it for them, Tiff. The other attorney in the office, the one who was supposed to corroborate my story, since she’d been a victim herself, clammed up. She refused to testify, and there went my case. Without her, it’s a swearing match.”

“Mmm, sounds like old Wainwright put the screws to her.”

“I suspect he threatened to blackball her just like he did me, only she’s divorced with two kids to consider.”

“So what are you going to do?”

Bridget shrugged her slender shoulders. “Start pounding the pavement, I guess. I still have a burning ambition to become every bit as good a litigator as my dad or better, then open my own practice. Working for these large firms isn’t my cup of tea. Unfortunately, that’s the only way you can get the experience it takes to make it on your own.”

“Only now you’re ostracized.”

“That’s a mild word. You’d think I had leprosy or something.”

“It’s really that bad, huh?”

“Yes, it is.” Gloom was mirrored in Bridget’s face. “I can always go to Dallas, or maybe San Antonio— if I can get at least one good recommendation from the firm.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

“I’m not.”

“So what does Hamilton think about all this?” Tiffany raised her hand. “Don’t answer that. Let me guess. He’s as furious as your parents.”

“Righto.”

“Jerk.”

In spite of her friend’s sarcastic tone, Bridget’s lips twitched in good humor. She just couldn’t get mad at her friend. “I guess it’s safe to say that you don’t like my fianc6-to-be.”

Tiffany snorted. “Fiancé, hell. You have no intention of marrying Hamilton Price. You never have. If anything, he’s too much like your old man, more so, actually. Hamilton wears his underwear so tight, it’s a wonder he can breathe.”

“Please, don’t start on Hamilton, okay? Besides, we’re a long way from walking down the aisle. We’re not even engaged.”

“Good…cuz I gotta tell you straight, friend, you and Hamilton have nothing in common. Nada. El zippo!”

“I know,” Bridget said, sighing.

“At least there’s one bright point in all our misery.”

“And just what is that?” Bridget asked.

“It’s not what, it’s where.” Tiffany pointed at the screen. “There!”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Hell, no, I’m not kidding. I’m more serious than I’ve ever been in my life.”

Bridget harrumphed. “Well, as far as I’m concerned, you’re on another planet. Circling Jupiter would be my guess.”

“Hey, come on, where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Where it ought to be, in the toilet, along with my career.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. That’s why we both need a change of scenery.”

“But you’re working, Tiff. You didn’t get fired.”

“Yeah, but I have oodles of vacation time I haven’t taken.”

“I almost believe you’re serious.”

“You’re damn straight I’m serious.”

“But…but why?” Bridget sputtered.

“Because it’s something different. It’s a hell of a good way to look at some great bodies—” Tiffany paused and giggled. “And who knows, I might even find one I’d like to spend the rest of my life with.”

Bridget stared at her friend in amazement. “I don’t know whether you’ve gone completely off Jupiter or you’re just plain old horny.”

“I expect it’s a bit of both.” Tiffany wrinkled her nose. “So what do you say, want to go with me?”

“Not on your life.”

“Why not? You need to lighten up. You take life far too seriously. Anyway, what can it hurt?”

“Nothing, except that it’s a waste of valuable time, time I don’t have.”

“Oh, come on,” Tiffany pleaded. “Do it for me.”

“I love you, Tiff, and I’d do almost anything for you, only not this. There’s nothing you can say or do that would convince me to go with you to that godforsaken place.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. How much?”

“Fifty bucks,” Tiffany said.

Bridget grinned, scrambled off the couch and headed for the door.

“Where are you going? You haven’t even finished your tea.”

“I’m leaving before some of whatever you’re suffering from rubs off on me.”

“Chicken.” Tiffany wasn’t satisfied in just saying the word. She had to follow it up with wing-flapping and a few buck-buck-bacaws.

Bridget shrugged. “Call me anything you like, but the answer is still no.”

Tiffany repeated the noise.

Ignoring her, Bridget added, “And while we’re at it, you might as well fork over that fifty bucks ahead of time. There’s no way I’d even consider such a cockamamy thing.”

Two

Bridget had to admit this part of the country was beautiful. She lifted her head, her gaze tracking the tall pecans and cottonwood trees as they ballooned upward. Around her were mountains the color of red bricks, flanked by fertile valleys covered with buffalo grass.

Still, Bridget couldn’t believe she was here at the auction in the backwater town of Pennington, Utah. Worse, she was parked in the front row of the Pennington Civic Pavilion, gawking like the other women packed onto the plastic folding chairs. At least, Bridget told herself, she wasn’t gawking for the same reason. For one thing, the auction hadn’t begun yet, though offstage the men she guessed were participants stood laughing and talking. The other women, including Tiffany, were watching them with blatant curiosity.

Bridget refused to lower herself to do more than glance in their direction, mortified that somehow Tiffany had managed to get her way after all.

“Well?”

Tiffany’s whisper jolted Bridget to the moment at hand. “Well, what?” she asked in a vexed tone.

Tiffany laughed. “You know what.”

“You want your money.”

Tiffany rubbed two fingers together, her grin widening. “I’ll take it any time you’re ready to give it to me.

“I’m surprised you’re just now asking.” Bridget’s tone was churlish at best.

Tiffany’s laughter deepened. “Hell, I wasn’t sure you’d actually go through with it.”

“What did you think I was going to do? Jump out of that damn puddle jumper they call a plane?”

“No, but once we got here, you could’ve refused to go any farther.”

“If I had half a brain, I would’ve turned around and taken the next Spirit of St. Louis back to Texas.”

“Aw, and miss out on all this fun? Come on, pay up, then let your hair down, for heaven’s sake. We’ll enjoy the auction, get a load of eye candy—” Tiffany nudged Bridget’s shoulder “—eat some barbecue, then head to the motel.”

“And then go home, right?”

“Only after we see a little of the country,” Tiffany said. “I’ve never been this far west, and I aim to take advantage of it. Besides, once the auction’s over, you should be able to get that pained expression off your face and have a good time. You look like you just saw Wainwright again!”

Bridget threw up her hands, but she couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face. “You’re impossible.”

“That’s why you love me so much. Now, about that fifty bucks…”

“Damn you, Tiff!”

Tiffany merely laughed as Bridget slapped bills into her friend’s outstretched hand. She watched as Tiffany made a kissing sound before stuffing the money into her purse.

“Go to hell,” Bridget whispered.

“Thanks, I will, with a new purse hanging on my shoulder. This fifty smackers will help pay for it.” She paused. “It’s going to be all right, I promise. You’ll have a good time.”

“Sure I will, Tiff. I’ll probably cherish this moment forever…like I would having all my teeth pulled,” Bridget mumbled under her breath, turning away from Tiffany’s mischievous eyes.

Tiffany nudged her again, harder. “Hey, take a gander at that fellow with the black hair and mustache. He could do anything he wanted in my bed.”

“Behave yourself! You act like you haven’t had any in a long time.”

“If you’re referring to nooky,” Tiffany whispered, “I haven’t. Remember, you’re the one with the man.”

Only she hadn’t had any from him in a long time, Bridget thought, her mind turning to Hamilton and the hissy fit he’d thrown when she told him that Tiffany was trying to talk her into going away with her for a few days. Even now, she could see Hamilton in her mind’s eye. Tall and always impeccably dressed, which only heightened his gym-toned body to perfection, he was handsome in a stodgy sort of way. A successful stockbroker, his best asset was perfect white teeth, which he used to charm his clients. But on that particular day, the smile had turned into a grim frown.

“Why would you do a thing like that?” he’d asked with unusual bluntness. “You know how I feel about her.”

Bridget saw red, as she did so often of late when she was in his company. “You don’t have to like her. She’s my friend.”

“I still think you could do better. After all—”

“Save it, Hamilton. I don’t care what you think about Tiffany, or any of my other friends, for that matter.”

He had looked at her for a long time, that frown still in place. “What’s happened to you?”

Bridget played innocent. “What does that mean?”

“Oh, I think you know. Ever since you went off on that crazy tangent with that civil suit, then quit your job, you’re not the same person. I don’t know you anymore.”

“Maybe you never did.” Her tone was flat, with a tinge of sadness.

“So what are you saying, Bridget?”

“Nothing, for the moment, except that I think we should cool our relationship for a while.”

“If you ask me, that’s already happening. You haven’t let me near you in so long I’ve forgotten what it’s like.”

“Sorry, but I’m going through a bad time, and without any help from you or my family.”

He flushed. “Well, that’s because we don’t agree with what you’re doing.”

“Well, thank you for all the support, Hamilton! That lets me know exactly how you feel about me.”

“That’s not so. You’re—”

Disgusted, she cut him off in mid-sentence. “Forget it. I don’t want to hear any more.”

That conversation had taken place yesterday, and now she was wondering why she hadn’t listened to Hamilton, at least as far as this trip with Tiffany was concerned.

Heaven help her, but she felt she indeed had taken complete leave of her senses. Why had she done this? she asked herself again, even as a band struck up an unfamiliar country song that sounded like someone whining through his nose from inside an oil drum.

So what if her nerves had been on edge? So what if she’d received a lot of bad press and publicity from her lawsuit? So what if her parents were treating her like the family pariah? Though certainly disconcerting and depressing, it nonetheless didn’t warrant this erratic and out-of-character behavior.

She was a grown woman, thirty-one years old. She’d had lots of rejections in her life, mainly from her parents, who treated her more as an object to look at, to be proud of, rather than a flesh and blood person to be touched and loved. Even so, she’d never given in to self-pity or done anything stupid. Until now.

This situation was intolerable in every sense of the word. Surrounded by the aroma of barbecued meat, sitting among other women dressed in jeans and boots and listening to a horrible band loud enough to burst an eardrum was not her normal idea of entertainment. The women next to her and Tiffany were laughing and giggling as though they’d never seen a man in their lives. Their behavior was especially embarrassing in the circumstances, for Bridget couldn’t ignore the TV cameras and reporters planted around the stage and among the crowd.

“Are you ready?”

Bridget shook herself mentally and faced Tiffany. “For what?”

“God, will you get with the program? The auctioneer just stepped up on the stage.”

“How will I ever contain myself?” Bridget asked, adding as much sarcasm as she could muster.

“I know what you were thinking, so just stop it, will you? You’re here now, so you might as well make the best of it. Please, will you try to loosen up and enjoy yourself?”

Bridget couldn’t ignore the pleading in Tiffany’s voice, nor did she want to. She knew she was acting like a nitwit and hated herself for it. But at the same time, she was out of her element here, and was miserable. She should be in Houston, dressed in a threepiece suit and working with other attorneys in a courtroom. Instead, she was dressed in tight-fitting jeans, a Western shirt and boots that were killing her feet. She sat on an uncomfortable plastic chair, facing a pavilion that was little more than an oversize gazebo, watching a man approach the podium with a gavel in his hand.

Thank God, the late spring weather was cooperating. She didn’t think she’d ever seen a more perfect day. Warm, but not too warm. And the sun bouncing off the huge red rocks was so brilliant that it was almost blinding. It was beautiful here. The land was breathtaking, and Bridget imagined there were seldom many humans to block the view.

“Okay, I’ll give it a rest,” she responded at last. “But if you ever try to talk me into anything like this again, I’ll cut you up into tiny little pieces.”

Tiffany’s laughter was drowned out by the loud voice of the auctioneer.

“Ladies and what few gents there are here—” The man standing behind the podium with a gavel in his hand was tall and burly. It was apparent he reveled in the laughter that the word “gents” brought from the ladies.

His moment in the sun, Bridget thought, then scolded herself for her satirical attitude.

“I’d like to welcome you to the first event of this kind anywhere in the United States of America.”

“That’s for sure,” Bridget muttered under her breath, for which she received an elbow to her arm from Tiffany.

“Will you shut up and behave yourself?” Tiffany whispered. “But more than that, watch!” She threw Bridget a grin that was tinged with disgust. “Who knows, you might fall in lust with the first cowboy who saunters onto the stage.”

“Maybe in another lifetime, if I’m reincarnated as an idiot,” Bridget said, then focused her attention on the speaker.

“Have we got a treat in store for you ladies today,” he was saying. “Then, after the auction is over, we’ll all have a rousing good time eating, drinking and dancing.” A huge grin narrowed the auctioneer’s eyes until they were almost invisible. “Can’t beat that, now, can we?”

“No!” the crowd of women yelled at him, followed by a round of laughter.

Looking over her shoulder, Bridget gasped. She’d had no idea so many women were in attendance. Since they had arrived early at Tiffany’s insistence and plopped down in the front row, again at Tiffany’s insistence, she’d had no idea that the crowd had grown to such an extent. But then, she shouldn’t have been surprised. As the auctioneer had said, this event was one of a kind. Where did all these horny women come from? Didn’t they have any sense of decency? My God, you would think they were running loose at Chippendale’s!

And Bridget was right in the middle of it, in the middle of this bunch of women with whom she had nothing in common and never would. She mustn’t forget about the roving TV cameras, either. She had to avoid them at all costs. Her parents had no idea where she was or what she was up to. If they saw her on national TV—well, that thought didn’t even bear thinking about. Allen Martin would descend on her with the holy wrath of Jehovah! She ducked her head.

“And now, ladies…for our first stud, Mr. Ken Jefferson.”

Another round of whoops and hollers filled the air. Bridget wanted to put her hands to her ears, but she knew if she did, Tiffany would box those ears.

“Wow! Take a gander at what just strolled onto the stage.”

At Tiffany’s words, Bridget jerked her head up and perused the man who was walking as if he had a corncob up his backside. She didn’t know what Tiff saw in him. He did nothing for her, sexually or otherwise. Apparently she was in the minority, though, for the women in the audience went wild, whistling and calling out amounts that made her head spin.

“Holy cow!” Tiffany said. “Can you believe this?”

“No, I can’t.” Bridget’s voice was low and flat.

Tiffany chuckled. “I swear, if I had the money and didn’t have a job, I’d bet just for the heck of it.”

“If you think for one minute that just because I don’t have a job, I’d—”

“Hey, I was just teasing. Of course, you can’t bid, and you wouldn’t if you could. Daddy might ground you or something.”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t. But I’m not worried about Daddy,” Bridget lied.

“Still, it would be fun.”

“No way. You might actually win!” Bridget said in a churlish tone. “Anyway, what happens when they bid and win one of these men?”

Tiffany shrugged. “Beats the hell out of me. I figure they’ll strike up an acquaintance and go from there.”

“Which is where?”

“To the altar, then the mattress,” Tiffany said, giggling. “But not necessarily in that order.”

“That’s disgusting!”

“Only to you, friend. After all, that’s the purpose of this auction. These men need to find mates, someone who’ll work side by side with them in this part of the country.”

“Well, I wish them all the luck in the world.”

“Ken, here, my friends, has been bought for eight hundred dollars by this lucky young lady,” the auctioneer droned.

Because she and Tiffany had been talking, they had missed seeing who bid on the first man and won him.

“Hey, Number Two’s about to make his way on stage.” He did, and Tiffany groaned. “I’ll have to pass.”

Bridget rolled her eyes, only to feel shock at the number of women who bid on the second man, who was anything but handsome. He obviously came from the shallow end of the gene pool, but to her surprise he was sold for five hundred and fifty dollars.

The next dozen men passed in a whirl before Bridget’s eyes. She was only called back to the moment by Tiffany’s gasp.

“All right!” Tiffany cried. “Now he’s more like it. Talk about stud material.”

“God, Tiff, try to control yourself,” Bridget muttered as her eyes migrated to the stage and settled on the man who was standing front and center. And looking at her.

Bridget gulped as their eyes met, feeling for the first time in her life as if she’d been hit with a stun gun. She wanted to move, to turn away, to scream if it would break the contact with this man.

It wasn’t that he was all that good-looking. He wasn’t. And while there was something about his tanned, uneven features and rock-hard body that was attractive, it was his green eyes and the way he looked at her that sent her senses into a tailspin.

No man, certainly not Hamilton, had ever appraised her in such a way, a way that was both exciting and frightening. Why on earth would this man be on an auction block? she asked herself, before giving in to the disgust that flooded through her.

What did she care? She had no intention of taking part in any of this crazy mess.

Then his eyes roamed over her.

“Do I hear a bid for Mr. Jeremiah Davis, ladies?”

As if her body had severed itself from her head, Bridget stood up and her mouth opened. “One thousand dollars!”

Three

“Going once, going twice,” the auctioneer chanted, then pounded the gavel on the podium and shouted, “Sold! To the redheaded lady in the front row.”

The crowd cheered and clapped at the same time Tiffany locked her fingers around Bridget’s forearm and jerked her down to her seat.

“Have you lost your mind?”

At first Tiffany’s screeching didn’t penetrate the fog that surrounded Bridget’s brain. In fact, she felt as if her entire body was encased in cement. Yet somehow she was able to pull her eyes off the man who was in the process of receiving a congratulatory slap on the back from the auctioneer.

“Do you know what you just did?” Tiffany screeched, though for Bridget’s ears alone.

Bridget tried mentally to reach the heart that had dropped to somewhere around her toes, yank it in place and respond like the sane human being she knew herself to be. But she couldn’t, even if everyone close by was giving them the once-over. Her tongue wouldn’t move.

“I can’t believe it!” Tiffany’s eyes were wild as she stared at Bridget as though she was a stranger.

Still dazed, Bridget shook her head, then stared at her friend. “Did…did I just do what I think I just did?”

“Damn straight you did, you little idiot.”

Bridget grabbed her stomach. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“It’d serve you right,” Tiffany said, a twinkle settling into her eyes.

“You think this is funny?”

“Sure do, honey, especially after all that posturing in Houston. ‘No way will I waste plane fare to this hick town, much less take part in any bidding.’ Now what happens? You open your big mouth and insert your little foot!”

Bridget wailed, “What am I going to do?”

Tiffany grinned. “Well, friend, all I can say is that you’ve got your butt in a wringer. If it’s any consolation, he’s the best of the lot…by a long shot!”

“Don’t torment me, please.”

Tiffany erupted into laughter. “Me torment you? I think it’s the other way around. You’re the one who plopped down a cool thousand simoleons for the man.”

Bridget had never felt so foolish in her entire life. She couldn’t remember feeling like this even as a teenager, when she’d first discovered boys and giggled with her friends about them. Well, what was done, was done and while she couldn’t undo it, she could fix it. Or at least, she hoped she could.

“What next?” Tiffany asked.

“Where is he?”

“By he do you mean your hunk, Mr. Jeremiah Davis?”

Bridget glared at Tiffany. “He’s not my hunk. And yes, I mean him.”

“Well, at the moment,” Tiff drawled, “he’s shooting the breeze with the other fellows offstage.”

“Is he looking at me?”

“As a matter of fact, he is, and with quite a lot of curiosity, I might add.”

“You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

“Yep. I want to see how the counselor at law handles this one.”

Bridget considered strangling Tiffany on the spot, but the auctioneer chose that moment to rap his gavel. “That’s it, ladies. You’ve made your choices, and in doing so, you’ve helped us collect thousands of dollars for the women’s shelter. Now it’s time for you winners to grab your men and join in the fun.”

Everyone laughed and cheered—everyone except Bridget, who continued to sit in her chair, fearing if she moved, she would have a panic attack. She took several deep breaths and turned stricken eyes toward her friend, who also remained seated.

“So what are you going to do?” Tiffany asked in a bland tone.

Bridget wasn’t fooled. Underneath that bland exterior, laughter ached to bubble through.

“I wish to God I knew.”

Tiffany was loving every minute of her discomfort, but then well she should, Bridget thought. This served her right for acting holier than thou. Now she was having to choke on every word she’d said.

But more than that, what was she going to do about Jeremiah Davis, the man she had won? At any moment, she feared, he would walk up and say something to her. He had to think she was a sex-starved nympho. What if he made advances based on that assumption?

Tiffany voiced those exact thoughts. “I expect your man to appear on the scene at any second. And from the looks of him, he’ll make you think of Hamilton as a fond memory. Jeepers, did you see the size of his hands? Not to mention several other parts?”

“I don’t want to talk to him or his parts,” Bridget responded in a strained voice, feeling the anxiety build inside her. Not a good sign. “I’ll just pay my money, then we’ll leave.”

“Without saying anything to him?”

“Yes.”

“Fat chance. That man, all these men, think they have the makings of a relationship with the women who won them. After all, that’s what this was all about—someone to share their lives and their work.” Tiffany chuckled.

“Well, you and he can both forget that. I don’t know what happened to me, Tiff. I had no intention of saying a word.”

“If I’d had any extra money, I would have snatched him up myself.”

“You’re welcome to him…and I didn’t snatch him up!”

“Whatever you say, but a thousand dollars says you did. Argue with that! Look, I’m going to mingle, have something to drink and a bite to eat. You want to come?”

Bridget shook her head. “The thought of food makes me sick.”

“Suit yourself, but I’m starving.”

Bridget’s panic flared anew. “You mean you’re going to leave me? Alone?”

Tiffany’s lips twitched. “Yeah, as a matter of fact, I am. The last time I checked, you were a big girl. You’ve been dressing yourself for years now. Of course…you just bought yourself some help with the undressing.”

“I’ll get you back, Tiffany Russell. Count on it.”

Tiffany winked, then walked off.

Bridget was tempted to go with her friend, but she didn’t think her legs would cooperate. They had as much consistency as water, which was what she needed to take a pill, her anxiety having reached a dangerous level. She dug in her purse, nabbed a tiny tablet and tossed it down cold turkey.

“Mind if I join you?”

She hadn’t seen him coming, and though she’d known his appearance was inevitable, she wasn’t prepared. Swallowing hard, she turned and looked into Jeremiah Davis’s face.

Up close, he was even more intimidating and fascinating. He had to be well over six feet tall—she knew that because he was towering above her. Against that tanned skin, his sandy hair and mustache looked almost gold. But again, it was those piercing green eyes that were his best asset among uneven features.

“Why? Am I coming apart?” she asked, hoping the remark would make him keep his distance.

His lips twitched, as though he knew she was uncomfortable. Still, he lowered himself into the chair that Tiffany had vacated and plopped down the Stetson he’d had in his hand. That was when she smelled his cologne. Instead of being offensive, it evoked the same feeling inside her that she’d felt when he first swaggered onto that stage. Nor could she ignore the way his thighs filled out his jeans to perfection.

Something foreign had a stranglehold on her, and she jerked away from his gaze before she made a bigger fool of herself than she already had.

“So, want to tell me your name?” he asked, his voice sounding low and slightly rough around the edges. But then, he was rough around the edges in every respect. Still, she couldn’t help but compare that voice to Hamilton’s, whose precise vowels oftentimes sounded high and whiny. As for the men themselves, there was no comparison.

“Well?”

Realizing she hadn’t answered his question, she cleared her throat and said, “It’s Bridget Martin.”

“You’re not from around here, are you, Bridget Martin?”

“Actually, I’m from Texas.”

He chuckled. “I sort of figured that. I love women with Southern drawls.”

I bet you just love women, period, she thought, then wanted to kick herself for her cattiness. But more than that, for even caring if he’d slept with every woman he’d ever met.

“Did this sideshow bring you to these parts?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Do I hear contempt for what just went on?”

He eased back in the chair, then said, “Yep, you did.”

“Then why did you participate?”

“I thought that was obvious. I need a woman.”

Bridget sucked in her breath and without thinking looked at him. The way he was staring at her, she might have been the only woman in the world. Shaken, she jerked her eyes from his, but not before she saw his lips twitch again. He was toying with her, and loving every minute of it. But why? What had she ever done to him?

“Then I’m afraid there’s been a mix-up. Just because I helped out a women’s shelter doesn’t mean I need a man,” she managed to say, though the last part seemed to lodge in her throat.

“Of course not, ma’am. I’m sure you fly all over the United States, giving money away like this. It’s probably a great tax deduction, not that I know personally. Still-”

If she could get her hands on Tiffany, she would strangle her for sure. But Tiffany wasn’t around, and even if she was, Bridget couldn’t depend on her to get her out of this mess. She alone was responsible for the quagmire she’d gotten herself into and would have to get herself out of.

“Look, would you excuse me for a moment?” Bridget didn’t have to go to the ladies’ room, but she wanted him to think she did. She had to have some space, some time to think. She feared where this conversation was leading, and she had to have ammunition to head it off. What she intended to do was find Tiffany and persuade her to leave. Of course, she would have to pay the money, but a check was quick and easy to write.

This cowboy would just have to buy an electric blanket if he wanted warm feet at night…provided his ranch had electricity.

Jeremiah stood at the same time she did. Tipping his Stetson, he said, “Sure thing.”

Feeling her entire body turn red at the mocking note in his voice, she turned and somehow managed to take a few steady steps.

“I’ll be waiting for you right here. We have a lot to talk about, you know. I’m glad you’re from Texas. At least you’ll know the difference between a Hereford and a Charolais.”

Bridget stopped in her tracks, swallowed hard, but didn’t dare turn around. Wrong. They didn’t have anything to talk about! She had no intention of continuing this conversation. Still, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’d struck a nerve. But he did know, and that galled her even more.

Damn him! What was a Charolais? She knew damned well Cadillac didn’t make it.

Four

Jeremiah couldn’t believe his good fortune. Hell, his mind was still reeling from the impact of what had happened. Having been down on his luck for so long with mounting bills, a dying cattle market and a decaying ranch, he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Yet a niggling thought in the back of his mind warned him that Bridget Martin didn’t belong here, that something was not quite right. Her reaction when he’d mentioned Charolais cattle had set off an alarm.

She even looked out of place. She wasn’t typical of the women who had shown up for the auction, an auction he still couldn’t believe he’d taken part in. But that was another story altogether, one that was moot now that he had joined in this idiotic scheme.

It rankled, though, that he’d let his friends cajole him into taking part.

“Ah, come on, Davis, be a sport,” one of the guys had said. “Hellfire, you’re in the same shape as the rest of us, stuck here without womenfolk—and no hope of any ever being here unless we take matters into our own hands.”

Drastic matters, Jeremiah had thought at the moment of that conversation, and his opinion hadn’t changed. He still felt like the high school nerd who couldn’t get a date.

But even as he ridiculed himself, he couldn’t stop the unwanted and foreign sensations that invaded his insides as he watched Bridget Martin walk toward the ladies’ room, her stride perfection in motion.

He knew he should turn away from the sight of her deliciously rounded buttocks and the way they filled out her jeans with no room to spare. He took a deep breath, endeavoring to calm his racing pulse.

What the hell was happening to him? He’d never reacted to a woman with such speed or sexual precision in his entire life, not even his wife, God rest her soul.

Jeremiah paused and wiped the sweat from his brow, even as Bridget disappeared behind the ladies’ room door. Too bad his erotic thoughts didn’t disappear, as well.

When he’d walked up to her and sat beside her, her perfume—delicate, like her—had slapped him in the face, though in retrospect it had actually been a caress.

At close range, she’d been breathtakingly lovely. She was fair-skinned, with short red hair that was kind of wild, but that, he assumed, was the latest style. It didn’t matter, because it set off huge brown eyes, narrow cheekbones, a perfect nose and a slightly full lower lip that gave her mouth a sensual pout.

However, it was when she’d taken a shuddering breath, throwing her full breasts into prominence, that he’d felt that first sexual jolt, causing his head to spin. And not just his head, he’d been forced to admit. He’d felt the heat spin down into his lower body, and his jeans had tightened in certain areas. He’d wished then that he’d had several beers instead of just two.

He wished that same thing now as he watched her exit the rest room, looking miserable. But then, he was miserable, too, but for a different reason. Of that he was sure.

He cursed, then waited to see if she would walk toward him, expecting her to ignore him, then bolt. If she was smart, he told himself, she would do just that. This whole bizarre scene was out of touch with reality, yet for the moment, he didn’t care. Bizarre or not, he didn’t intend to let her disappear.

And it wasn’t just because he was horny, either. Yeah, right, Davis, his conscience contradicted with intense scorn.

He paid it no attention as he strode toward her.

“How about something to drink?” he asked, struggling to come to grips with his out-of-control libido.

Her breath escaped in a rush even as she looked at him. “Look, Mr. Davis, I don’t—”

“Why not be a sport? People drink things in Texas, don’t they?”

“Of course, but I’m taking—”

“Hey, I know this is awkward as hell, but for the time being, let’s pretend we’re at a barbecue and that we just met under normal circumstances.”

She didn’t meet his eyes. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. We need to talk. You see, I have no—”

“If you’re about to say what I think you are, then I need a beer. And you can have some punch. You owe me at least that much, since you outbid women who were serious about all this.”

“Fair enough, Mr. Davis.”

In spite of the fact that he knew in a short time he would never see her again, he chuckled. “Don’t you think you’d best call me Jeremiah? After all, you paid a thousand dollars for the right.”

Her face turned beet red, and when she spoke, her tone was curt. “For charity, not for you.”

“Yeah, you keep reminding me of that. So how ’bout that drink?” he pressed, choosing to ignore her last statement, especially as it riled him a bit. Maybe he wouldn’t let her off the hook so easily, after all. His gut told him that she had no intention of going through with this deal. Oh, he felt sure she would write the check to charity. If the truth be known, he would bet she could afford to write a check for a hell of a lot more. But that wasn’t the point. Her holier-than-thou attitude rankled him big time.

Maybe he would make her squirm a little before she bolted, just as he was squirming now. The thought brought another smile to his lips.

“So, are you game? A cup of punch is mighty cheap payment for a thousand bucks.”

“Oh, all right,” she muttered, “but then we have to talk because…I have no intention—”

He wanted to grab her arm and tell her he got the message, but he restrained himself. Instead, he gestured that she should precede him, keeping his smile “ intact, though it was forced.

A few minutes later, he had a beer and she had a cup of punch. He had maneuvered them to a secluded place away from the band, the dancing and the food line. The atmosphere was far from quiet, but at least they didn’t have to raise their voices to hear one another.

Jeremiah decided to make only small talk for now. “Your friend seems to be having a good time. She sure can dance.”

Bridget turned and faced the crowded dance floor. “She’d rather dance than eat.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Would you rather dance or eat?”

Her voice was husky, he noted, at the same moment she ran the tip of her tongue across that full lower lip.

She must have heard his sharp intake of breath, because for the second time that day, their eyes locked.

Against Jeremiah’s will, his blood thickened. He fought to combat his growing passion, feeling out of control, something he despised and wouldn’t tolerate. At the moment, however, he didn’t know how to regain control.

“Neither one, but I’d like another glass of punch,” she said.

He heard the desperate note in her voice and didn’t argue. Hell, he needed another beer, too, but he wasn’t going to have one. He needed to be in full control of his faculties, or he feared he might do something he would regret for the rest of his life—like kiss her until she begged him to stop.

Seconds later, when he returned with another full cup of punch, her eyes were again on her friend, who was teaching someone to dance Texas style, or at least something he’d never seen before and assumed came from Texas.

“What are they doing?” he asked, as she took the cup from him.

Their fingers touched, and he sucked in his breath, trying to haul his unruly senses back in line.

She seemed to read his thoughts. Her face flushed, and she took a quick gulp of her punch.

“Sure looks like they’re having fun,” he added.

“I…I should go. My head suddenly feels kind of-”

She broke off, then jerked her eyes away from his.

Even though the sun had dwindled, turning to twilight, he could still see the heat as it invaded her throat, which drew his attention to her V-necked shirt, then to her breasts, making him wonder if they were flushed, as well. He cursed silently.

“Come on, let’s dance.” He knew his tone was brusque, but he didn’t give a damn. He was in bad shape.

“Why should we, Mr. Davis?”

Damned if he intended to beg! Still…“Because you flew all the way out here from Texas, you got caught up in the moment and now you’re feeling like a fool. Because you smell good, you look good, and you’re obviously not in any strut to find a man. But mainly because—”

“Oh, all right!”

He circled her arm with one hand, using his other to set the empty containers on the nearest picnic table, then guided her onto the cement floor beneath a metal roof.

At first she remained ramrod straight, looking beyond his shoulder. He wanted to shake her into compliance, but, of course, he didn’t, as everyone around would then be witness to his frustrations, not that anyone was paying attention to them.

The music was slow, and most couples were locked in embraces that were worthy of the bedroom. He smirked. Apparently the other women who’d won their men were more than happy with their situation.

Not so Bridget Martin. She was still as stiff and uncooperative as a board, even though they moved in perfect unison. Again, he couldn’t imagine what had driven her to come here, to take part in something she obviously abhorred. But the question that nagged him even more was, what had attracted her to him enough to make her bid a grand?

“Bridget, relax a little, okay?” he asked.

“I…can’t.” Her voice cracked.

For a minute he cursed himself for making her take part in something she didn’t want to. Then he thought better of it. Hell, she was a big girl. He wasn’t forcing her to remain in his arms. If she chose to leave, he couldn’t stop her.

Yet he didn’t intend to make it easy. “Normally, I’d say let your hair down, but yours is too short for that,” he muttered, noticing his voice had grown husky.

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