Praise for Kate Hoffmann from RT Book Reviews

The Charmer “Hoffmann’s deeply felt, emotional story is riveting. It’s impossible to put down.”

Your Bed or Mine? “Fully developed characters and perfect pacing make this story feel completely right.”

Doing Ireland! “Sexy and wildly romantic”

The Mighty Quinns: Ian “A very hot story mixes with great characters to make every page a delight.”

Who Needs Mistletoe? “Romantic, sexy and heartwarming”

The Mighty Quinns: Teague “Sexy, heartwarming and romantic… a story to settle down with and enjoy—and then re-read.”

Dear Reader,

Can you believe it? I’ve found another Quinn family and this time they’re living in Seattle. Isn’t it amazing how these handsome Irish-American guys turn up, just when I need them?

I’ve lost count of how many Quinn books I’ve done, but it’s been quite a saga, moving from the US to Ireland and Australia and then back to the US again. This new addition to the family story introduces Dermot Quinn, a high-powered Seattle yacht salesman. Only, in this book, you won’t catch him in any West Coast boardrooms. No, Dermot’s on a journey, one instigated by his wily grandfather. And his destination is a place very dear to my heart, my home state of Wisconsin. I’ve always wondered if I could set a Mills & Boon® Blaze® book on a farm and now you’ll see that I have. Yes, a farm can be a very sexy place.

But Dermot isn’t the only Quinn on this quest. His brothers, Cameron, Kieran and Ronan, will suddenly find themselves out of their comfort zones, as well—and they’ll love every minute of it. Watch for their books in September, October and November of this year.

Until next time, happy reading!

Kate Hoffmann

About the Author

KATE HOFFMANN began writing for Mills & Boon in 1993. Since then she’s published sixty-five books. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys music, theater and musical theater. She is active working with high school students in the performing arts. She lives in southeastern Wisconsin with her cat, Chloe.

The Mighty
Quinns: Dermot

Kate Hoffmann

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Prologue

DERMOT QUINN buried his face in his pillow, fighting back tears. He wasn’t going to cry. Nine-year-old boys didn’t cry. And if he cried, then that was just admitting that he believed his parents were dead. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut. “Don’t cry,” he murmured. “Don’t cry.”

He heard a sound at the door and sat up, brushing an errant tear from his cheek. His twin brother, Kieran, slipped inside the room and shut the door behind him. He crossed to the bed and sat down on the edge.

“He’s wrong, you know,” Dermot said stubbornly.

“How do you know?”

Dermot shrugged. “Because. They can’t be dead. I think they’re coming back. We’ll be getting ready for school and they’ll walk in the door. I know it.”

His parents, Jamie and Suzanne, had left four months ago from Seattle, the two of them sailing a yacht that the family boat business had built for a wealthy customer in Australia. They were due to meet up with the owner in Vanuatu six weeks later.

It was supposed to be a family trip, but they’d left early when the owner decided to change the delivery date. Dermot and Kieran, along with their eleven-year-old brother, Cameron, and seven-year-old brother, Ronan, would live with their grandfather for the last month of school.

Dermot wiped his runny nose with the back of his hand. He crossed his legs in front of him. “What do you think happened?”

Kieran considered his answer. “I think they’re on an island somewhere. Waiting for someone to find them. There was a storm… or—or a whale… and they got in their life raft before the boat sank.”

Kieran had always told the truth and if he believed, then Dermot had hope.

“The life raft washed up on shore in the middle of the night,” Dermot said. “And when the sun came up, Da got out and looked around. The island was big, with a thick jungle in the center and white sand beaches. They still had the fishing kit from the life raft. Da fishes while Mom hunts for fruit. Bananas and coconuts. They build a little hut from sticks and palm leaves. And they build a signal fire on the beach so that they’ll be ready when another boat sails past.”

Kieran nodded. “Yeah. That’s it. They’re just waiting.” He drew a ragged breath. “Do you think they miss us?”

“Yeah,” Dermot said. “Sure they do. But they’ll be back.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Dermot said.

The bedroom door opened again and they both turned to see their older brother, Cameron, standing in the wash of light from the hall, Ronan peering out from behind him. “Grandda wants us to go over to our house and pick up some of our things.”

Dermot scrambled off the bed. “We’re not going to live in our house anymore?”

Cameron shook his head. “We’re going to live here with him. He said he’ll find someone to move our bedrooms over. And our other stuff, too.”

“What about Ma and Da’s stuff?” Ronan asked.

“I don’t know,” Cameron said. “I was afraid to ask him. I don’t think he wants to talk about it. You know how he is. ‘Chin up, lad. Don’t want ta have ta care for a babby.’” Cameron did a perfect imitation of their grandfather’s thick Irish accent. “We’ll be all right,” he said.

Dermot slowly crossed the room and stood next to Cameron. Kieran joined them a few seconds later. “We’re on our own now, lads,” Cameron said, wrapping his arm around Ronan’s shoulders. “We need to be strong and brave and we need to pray every single night that this is just a bad dream and that we’ll all wake up very soon.”

1

DERMOT QUINN was in the middle of a very vivid dream when incessant knocking interrupted him. He slowly opened his eyes, groaning at the morning light that streamed through the bedroom windows of his houseboat. It was a sunny day in Seattle and though he was usually loath to waste good weather, Dermot turned onto his stomach and pulled the pillow over his head.

The subtle scent of a woman’s perfume teased at his nose and he pushed up, frowning. Kelly had spent the night last night. They’d met up, as they did on occasion, had a few drinks and come back to his place for a night of NSA sex. Dermot glanced over at the bedside clock. As was her custom, she usually left at dawn for her regular early-morning workout, neatly avoiding any uncomfortable conversation about the night before.

But then, maybe she’d decided to come back for another few hours of fun. Dermot grinned and threw off the covers. He pulled on a pair of jeans that were tossed over the end of the bed, then walked to the front door. Though he and Kelly followed a very well-honed set of rules, he wasn’t averse to breaking them occasionally.

“You could have left the door unlocked,” he called as he pulled it open.

But Kelly wasn’t waiting on the other side. Instead, he was treated to the sight of his twin brother, Kieran, glaring at him impatiently. “Jaysus, man, do you never answer your cell phone? I’ve been calling you for the past hour.”

“I turned it off,” Dermot said. “What are you doing here? It’s Saturday morning. Don’t you ever sleep in?”

“Get dressed,” Kieran ordered. “I got a call from Grandda. He wants to see us all in fifteen minutes. In his office.”

“On a Saturday?”

Kieran nodded. “Yeah, I know. Something’s up and I’m worried.”

“What do you think it is?”

“Hell, I don’t know. Grandda’s been shut up in his office all week. I’m thinking that he might have gotten an offer on the business.”

Dermot and his three brothers had worked for Quinn Yachtworks since they were kids. They all started out sweeping the floors and running materials between the warehouse and the shop. Their grandfather, an Irish immigrant, had founded the firm in the early seventies. A widower with a two-year-old son to care for, he’d arrived in the U.S. a week after Kennedy had been inaugurated, ready to make a life for himself and his motherless son.

After the disappearance of their parents, it was assumed that the business would be left to Cam, Kieran, Dermot and Ronan once their grandfather retired. But Martin had been reluctant to name one of the boys CEO, causing the brothers to wonder what the plan might be.

“You don’t think he’s sick, do you?” Dermot asked.

Kieran frowned. “What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know. He’s seventy-seven years old. People get sick when they’re older.”

“Don’t say that.” Kieran shook his head. “Don’t even think that. He’s fine. We’d know if there was something wrong. We’d see it.” He strode through the house to Dermot’s bedroom, then picked up a shirt from the floor and tossed it at his brother. “Get dressed. We’re going to pick up Cameron on the way and talk about this before we go to the meeting.”

“What about Ronan?”

“He’s already over there.”

“What do we have to talk about? We don’t know what he’s going to say.”

“We can guess,” Kieran said. “If he plans to sell, we have to work up a counteroffer.”

“Do we really want to do that?”

“Yes!” Kieran said. “You want to keep your job, don’t you?”

In truth, Dermot hadn’t really thought much about it. He liked working for the company. It paid well, it gave him the freedom to come and go as he pleased. As the director of sales, he had a chance to travel and meet interesting—and very wealthy—people. It wasn’t what he’d dreamed of as a kid, but childhood dreams didn’t pay the mortgage. What wasn’t there to like?

Kieran ran the financial end of the business. He’d always been the organized one, the one who could maintain a laserlike focus on the bottom line. Cameron, their older brother, headed the design department, handling the details of what a Quinn-built yacht looked like. And Ronan supervised the manufacturing end of things.

Between the four of them, they were able to do almost any job in the company, and under their management, the business had thrived. “Maybe he’s trying to decide who will be in charge,” Dermot suggested as he pulled on his T-shirt. “We can’t all have the final say on all decisions.”

“Maybe,” Kieran said. “So, who do you think should be the one?”

“Me,” Dermot said, knowing full well the answer would irritate his brother. Of course, Kieran was the one who had the best sense of how the company operated as a whole. But then, without Cameron, the true creative genius behind the designs, the company probably wouldn’t be such a success.

“Without sales, the company wouldn’t survive,” Dermot said. “If you can’t sell boats, what do you have?”

“You don’t have a clue how the Yachtworks runs,” Kieran said. “You’d have us bankrupt in a year.”

“Cameron thinks he should be in charge,” Dermot said. “Maybe he should. Without his design talent, we’d be in trouble. I’m not sure Ronan even cares, one way or another.”

“Are you saying I’m replaceable?” Kieran asked.

“Not as replaceable as I am.”

“It’s Cameron, then. We both agree. If it comes down to that today, it’s Cameron.”

Dermot slipped into his boat shoes then nodded. “Let’s go find out.”

The drive from Dermot’s Lake Union houseboat to his brother’s home in the Queen Anne neighborhood took ten minutes. Cameron was waiting for them, seated on the front steps of the bungalow. He hopped in the back of Kieran’s BMW and had barely closed the door before jumping into the conversation. “What do you think this is about?”

“It could be nothing,” Dermot said. “Why are we even speculating? Maybe he just wants us to sign some papers. Or maybe he’s finally decided to take a vacation.”

“That might be it,” Kieran said. He paused, then shook his head. “He’s spent his life building the company. He loves work. Why would he start traveling now?”

“He’s always talked about sailing around the world,” Cameron suggested.

They passed the rest of the ride in silence, each one of the brothers caught up in his own thoughts as they headed toward the Yachtworks. Dermot wasn’t sure which theory he subscribed to.

His grandfather had rarely summoned them all to his office at the same time. The last time it had happened he’d announced that the company would be building a new addition to the finishing department. But with the economy in a downturn, Dermot doubted there would be news of that sort to convey.

The chain-link gates were open when they arrived, and Kieran steered the car through them and parked in front of the main offices next to Ronan’s SUV. Quinn Yachtworks was located along the Salmon Bay waterway, a perfect location for launching the luxurious sailboats that they built. They’d become one of the most successful custom builders on the West Coast, with business moguls, sports stars and Hollywood celebrities as clients.

Their grandfather’s faithful executive assistant, Miriam, was sitting at her desk when they arrived. As always, she greeted them stoically, giving no clue what awaited them inside the wood-paneled doors.

“Sit,” Martin said as they walked in, shuffling the papers on his desk as he spoke. Ronan looked up from his spot on the leather sofa, his gaze filled with concern. “I expect you’re wondering why I’ve called this meeting, so I’ll get right to it.” He leaned back in his well-worn leather chair. “Our corporate attorney has advised me that it is time for me to start thinking about my successor.”

Dermot watched a strange expression settle on his grandfather’s wrinkled face. Martin Quinn was not the kind of man who liked to be reminded of his mortality and this was no exception. Dermot cursed silently. “You’re not going to retire, are you?”

“Not tomorrow. But he’s right,” Martin continued. “It’s time to put my affairs in order.”

“Is everything all right?” Cameron asked. “I mean, are you well?”

“Fit as a fiddle,” Martin said. “But there are practical reasons for this decision. When your parents died, I brought you boys to work with me. You spent your afternoons and weekends learning the business, instead of doing things you wanted to do. You see, I thought it was the best way to deal with your grief. Now I see it was the best way to deal with my grief.”

“We liked working here, Grandda,” Kieran said.

“But you all had your own dreams. Dermot, I remember you wanted to be a veterinarian. And, Cam, you wanted to be an archaeologist.”

“Paleontologist,” Cameron corrected.

Martin nodded. “Right. And Kieran, you wanted to be a… Well, I don’t recall, but—”

“A cowboy,” Kieran said. “Or a Royal Canadian Mounted Policeman.”

Their grandfather nodded. “And, Ronan, I think all you ever wanted was to have your parents back again. The point is, I never gave you the chance to follow those dreams. And now that I have to decide whether to leave this business to you or sell and make all of us extremely wealthy, I realize that you might not be prepared to make a decision about your future. I don’t want any of you to tie yourself to a business that isn’t part of your own dreams.”

Kieran shook his head. “Grandda, we would never—”

“Let me finish.” He folded his hands on his desk and looked at them individually. “I came to this country with one hundred dollars in my pocket and the intention of making something of my life so that I could support my son. I made my own life, something you boys haven’t had the chance to do.”

“We love working for you,” Cameron said. “It’s a family business and family sticks together.”

“That’s a lovely sentiment,” Martin replied. “But it doesn’t make my decision any easier. So, I have a plan. I’m going to give each of you boys one hundred dollars cash, a company credit card and a bus ticket. I want you to go out there and spend some time in the real world. Find a job. Meet new people. See what life is like all alone in the world. Believe me, without all the comforts of home, you’ll have time to figure out what you really want out of life.”

Dermot opened his mouth to protest, but his grandfather held up his hand. “Give yourself six weeks. If you’re still interested in running the Yachtworks after that, I’ll be satisfied.”

Cameron gasped. “You’re kidding, right? You just expect us to take six weeks away from work? I have projects going.”

“Although we’d all like to think we’re indispensable,” Martin said, “if one of us fell off the planet tomorrow, the company would go on.” He stood and handed each of them an envelope.

“You have tonight to pay your bills and put your affairs in order,” Martin said. “You leave tomorrow morning. Go out and imagine a different life for yourselves, boys. And when you come back, come back with a decision.”

“Vulture Creek, New Mexico?” Cameron asked.

Dermot opened his envelope and withdrew his bus ticket. “Mapleton, Wisconsin. What the hell is in Mapleton, Wisconsin?”

“Bitney, Kentucky,” Kieran muttered. “Great.”

“Sibleyville, Maine. Jaysus,” Ronan said. “I’ll be on the bus for a week.”

The brothers looked at each other, shaking their heads.

Martin smiled. “Good luck. And I’ll see you in six weeks.”

RACHEL HOWE grabbed the fifty-pound bag of feed, wrapping her arms around it and lugging it to the back of the pickup truck.

“You need some help with that, little lady?”

She glanced over at the two old men watching her from their spot on the front porch of the local feed store. “Nope,” she said, forcing a smile as the bag began to slip through her arms. “I’ve got it.”

Wincing, she took a deep breath and heaved the sack toward the tailgate of the truck. But at the last second, it fell out of her arms and dropped onto her foot. Rachel cursed, then kicked the sack. How would she ever make this work? She couldn’t even load a pallet of feed bags onto the truck, much less run a farm with absolutely no help beyond her eighty-year-old uncle.

She was virtually alone in this, with nothing but her determination to keep her company. Her father had maintained the dairy until the day he’d died and he hadn’t had help. If a seventy-five-year-old man had managed, certainly his twenty-five-year-old daughter could.

Though she’d put a help-wanted notice in the grocery store and in the feed store, hoping to find a high school boy to relieve her of the heavy lifting, there hadn’t been any takers. Her father’s bachelor brother, Eddie, was still able to help with the milking but the heavy work was beyond his capabilities.

Maybe all the potential workers knew what everyone else in Mapleton knew—that without help, Rachel’s time as a dairy-goat farmer was going to be short-lived at best. Maybe they were right. Maybe she ought to just sell and get on with her own life. A surge of temper caused her face to flush and she reached for the sack again, determined not to fail in front of two more doubters—Harley Verhulst and Sam Robson.

“Are you sure we can’t give you a hand?” Harley asked.

“No,” Rachel snapped. “It’s just going to take me a while to work up my strength.”

“A little girl like you shouldn’t be running that farm all by your lonesome,” Sam commented. “You need to find yourself a husband.”

“Preferably one with very big muscles,” Harley added.

A husband? Right now she’d be satisfied with one reasonably handsome, completely naked man to tend to her sexual needs once a week. She was quite willing to work out some kind of barter, maybe do his laundry or iron his shirts. It could be a mutually beneficial arrangement.

Rachel gritted her teeth and grabbed the feed sack again, this time using her sexual frustration for extra strength. When she got it up on the tailgate of the pickup, she smiled to herself. But when she looked over at the pallet, she cursed.

From now on, she’d get the feed mill to deliver her supplies, eliminating the need to pretend she knew what she was doing. Though it might be tough to work into the budget, she’d find a way. Rachel wasn’t ready to concede defeat. Not yet.

She glanced over at the two men and sent them a withering look. “Do you two plan to stand there pestering me or do you have work to do? Your wives will be happy to know you’ve taken such an interest in my dilemma. I’ll be sure to tell them how helpful you were the next time I see them at the grocery store.”

Chastened, the two farmers wandered back inside the co-op, leaving Rachel to tend to her business in solitude. She turned her attention back to the pallet of feed sacks, knowing that it might not be possible for her to load them all onto the truck by herself—at least by sundown. But she was going to die trying. “Just think about sex,” she muttered to herself. “And how little of it you’ve had in the past year.”

“Can I give you a hand?”

Rachel spun around, ready to decline the offer with a curt dismissal. But the man standing behind her smiled and her breath caught in her throat. She felt a bit light-headed, then realized it was time to draw another breath.

He was dressed in a comfortable shirt and jeans, clothes that hugged a slender, but muscular body. In his right hand, he carried an expensive leather duffel. She glanced at his shoes and noted that they were expensive, too. Not the kind of wardrobe usually found outside the feed store.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Gosh, he was handsome, she mused as she looked back into his pale blue eyes. Dark hair that was just long enough to make him look a bit dangerous. A perfectly straight nose and a smile that sent a flood of warmth racing through her bloodstream.

Sex, she thought to herself. As if she’d wished it and it had just appeared. Rachel had long ago come to the conclusion that there weren’t any interesting men in all of Walworth County. But obviously one had managed to sneak over the border from Illinois and was now standing directly in front of her.

“Oh, my.” Rachel swallowed hard, then reached down to pick up the next bag of feed. She’d be just fine once he stopped staring at her. “You’re obviously lost,” she said, shaking her head. “Or you’re just a figment of my imagination.”

“What?”

Rachel glanced over her shoulder. “Men that look like you don’t live in places like this.” She straightened. “If you just take this road right here out to Highway 39 then stay on 39, it will take you to the interstate. You’ll be back in Chicago in a few hours.”

“Why do you think I’m from Chicago?”

“You have big city written all over you,” she said. “Mostly it’s the shoes. And the duffel.” She bent again to grab a feed sack, but he stopped her.

“Allow me,” he said, dropping his duffel in the dusty parking lot. He picked up the sack, then easily tossed it onto the bed of the truck. “Another?”

“Yes,” she said, the word coming out on a rush of air. “Thank you.” She pointed in the direction of the pallet. “All of them have to go. Here, let me give you a hand.”

“No problem,” he said. “You must have some hungry cows.”

“Goats. I raise goats.”

“Interesting,” he said. “I’ve never met a goat farmer before. Then again, I don’t know any cow farmers either.”

A laugh burst from Rachel’s lips. “Sorry. I know you’re trying to be polite. It’s just that some days goat farming is far from interesting.” She stepped back as she watched him hoist another sack into the truck. “I run a small dairy. It belonged to my family—my grandparents first, and then my father. And—and now it belongs to me.”

“Are you Rachel, then?” he asked.

She blinked in surprise. Did she know him? Was he some forgotten classmate from high school? An older brother of one of her friends? A friend of one of her older siblings? “I am.”

“I saw your note posted over at the grocery store. One of the checkers told me she saw you pass by and thought you might be headed here. You’re looking for a ranch hand?”

“Farm,” she said. “It’s a farm, not a ranch.”

“I thought you said it was a dairy.”

“A dairy… farm.” She cleared her throat nervously. Was this man really answering her ad?

“So, do you need a hand? Because I need a job and somewhere to stay.”

“You want to work for me?” At first, Rachel couldn’t believe her good fortune. But then, as she began to consider his offer, she was forced to contemplate why a man as handsome as this one was willing to take a low-paying job without any chance for advancement and virtually no benefits besides all the free goat’s milk he could drink. “You don’t look like a guy who’s spent much time on a farm.”

“And you look nothing like a goat farmer,” he said, a teasing smile curling the corners of his mouth. “I’m going to be in Mapleton for six weeks. I need a job to occupy my time. And I need a place to stay, somewhere cheap. I’m willing to work hard if you’ll give me room and board and a decent wage.”

“How decent?” she asked.

“I don’t know. What were you looking to pay?”

“Full-time, I should offer you two hundred a week, plus meals and lodging,” she said. “I can afford a hundred a week. Cash. Plus room and board.”

“A hundred sounds good to me. As long as the meals are decent.” He moved to grab another sack and loaded it into the back of the truck. “All of these?”

She nodded as she studied him shrewdly. No, this couldn’t possibly be happening to her. Men like this didn’t just drop into her life. There must be something more to his story, maybe something… criminal? “What’s your name?”

“Dermot,” he said. “Dermot Quinn.”

“Where are you from?”

“Seattle.” He straightened, rubbing his hands on the front of his jeans. “Is this an interview now? As you can see, I’m strong. I’m pretty smart and handy around the house. I’ll do what I’m told, unless I don’t agree with it, and then I’ll tell you.”

“You’re good at home repairs?”

He nodded. “I can build you just about anything you’d like if you’ve got tools and materials. Hell, I could build you a boat.”

“I don’t need a boat,” she said. Rachel looked at him intently. “Is there anything that I should know about you before I offer you this job?”

His eyebrow slowly rose as he gave her a quizzical look. “I… prefer beer to wine. I don’t like cooked vegetables. I’m not very good at doing my laundry. And I sleep in the buff. Is that what you’re getting at?”

An image of him, naked, his limbs twisted in her bedsheets, flashed in Rachel’s mind. “Actually, I was going to ask if you have a criminal record,” she said. “But I guess the rest is good to know.” She couldn’t help but smile at the confusion on his face.

“No!” he said. “Of course not. I’ve never even had a speeding ticket.”

“If you don’t have a criminal record, why aren’t you looking for a real job? A guy with your… talents?”

“Is this an imaginary job you’re offering?”

“No. But I mean a job that pays more than slave wages and doesn’t involve cleaning gutters and shoveling goat poop. A job where your pretty face might get you more than three dollars an hour.”

“It’s a long story,” he said. “If you hire me, I promise, I’ll explain it all to you.”

Though Rachel wasn’t sure she ought to believe him, there was something about this man that intrigued her. Yet, for all she knew, he could be a consummate liar… or a con man… or maybe a serial killer. “Hang on,” she said.

Rachel ran up the steps of the feed store and poked her head inside. “Harley, Sam, come out here. I need you.”

“Finally giving up on those feed bags?” Harley asked.

“No. I need you to be a witness.” The two men followed her back outside. Rachel pointed to the man standing behind her truck. “Tell them your name,” she called.

“Dermot Quinn.”

Frowning, she turned back to Harley and Sam. “See this guy? He’s coming to work on my farm. If I turn up the victim of some horrible crime, this is the guy to look for.” She glanced back at Dermot. “Where are you from again?”

“Seattle,” he said.

“Do you have any identification with you?” Harley asked.

Dermot pulled his wallet from his back pocket and took out his driver’s license, then handed it to Rachel. “It’s all there. I can give you references if you like. People who’ll vouch for my character.” He withdrew a business card and held it out to her. “Here. You can call my office.”

Harley looked over Rachel’s shoulder at the identification. “Looks legit to me. But I’d make him sleep in the barn.”

“He looks trustworthy to me,” Sam said. “And he’s a nice lookin’ guy, if you don’t mind me sayin’.” He wagged his finger at Dermot. “Behave yourself, mister, and we won’t have a problem. Get out of hand and old Eddie is likely to shoot you in the ass.”

Dermot smiled. “I’ll be the model of propriety.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Harley muttered, “but anyone who can use big words like that is probably no one to worry about.”

The two farmers wandered back inside. “Who is Eddie?” Dermot asked.

“My uncle. He lives on the farm, too. He’s not as bad as everyone says he is. He’s just a bit… grumpy. It would be best to avoid him.” Rachel rubbed her palms together. “I guess you have a job,” she said.

“Then, I guess I’d better finish loading this feed,” Dermot replied.

THE RIDE TO THE FARM offered Dermot a chance to find out a little more about his beautiful new boss. Her widowed father had died the previous year and she’d come home three months before his death to help care for him. She had two older brothers and an older sister and had worked as an artist in Chicago.

When she pulled off the road and into a driveway, Dermot’s attention turned to his new home. Clover Meadow Farm was right out of the movies with its red barn, fieldstone silo and white clapboard house. The old Victorian sat back from the road, surrounded by a grove of tall maple trees. A smaller stone house stood behind it, a ramshackle porch running the length of the facade.

An old man sat on the porch of the stone house, his wrinkled brow furrowed, his dark eyes observant. A small black goat sat on his lap, also watching warily.

“This is it,” Rachel said as she hopped out of the truck.

Dermot grabbed his bag from the back of the pickup before following her across the yard. He felt something tug on his leg and glanced down to find the little goat nibbling at the bottom of his jeans.

He stepped away, but the goat was undeterred. “Hey, cut that out.”

“Benny, shoo,” Rachel said. She looked at the old man on the porch. “Do not let that goat in the house again, you hear me?”

The old man slowly stood. “I hear you. Who is this?”

“Uncle Eddie, this is Dermot Quinn. I just hired him to help out on the farm. He’s got six weeks with nothing to do. I figure we can get him to help us finish some of the repair work around here.”

The frown on the old man’s face grew deeper. “Dermot Quinn? What kind of name is that?”

“It’s Irish,” Dermot said.

“Lemme see your hands.”

Dermot dropped his bag and approached, holding his hands out, then flipping them palms up. “I’m a hard worker. I’m strong and I’m not afraid to get dirty.”

“Can you milk a goat?”

Dermot gasped. “No. But I’m sure I could learn if you showed me how.”

“Don’t worry,” Rachel said. “We don’t milk by hand. We have machines for that.” She smiled at her uncle. “Eddie, I’d like our new worker to take the bedroom upstairs in your house. Do you have any objections?”

Dermot shook his head. “Hey, I don’t want to put you out. I can sleep in the barn if—”

“No problem,” Eddie said. “I’ll be able to keep an eye on him. You step out of line, mister, and I’ll run you off with a load of buckshot in your behind. I’ve done it before, don’t think I haven’t.”

“Come on,” Rachel said, walking up the steps. “I’ll show you your room.”

She held open the screen door and Dermot followed her inside. They climbed a narrow staircase to the second floor and she pointed to a door on the left.

“Has he really shot someone?” Dermot asked.

“Yes. Shot at someone. He wasn’t aiming to hit him. Just chase him off.”

Dermot frowned. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea. But as he followed Rachel up the stairs, his gaze fixed on her backside, enhanced by a pair of jeans that hugged her curves. No, he’d definitely made the right choice.

“This is the original farmhouse,” Rachel explained. “It was built in 1870 by my great-great-grandparents.”

She opened the bedroom door to reveal an old iron bed, covered by a colorful quilt. An overstuffed chair sat in the corner, its upholstery worn, and the wall above the bed was covered with old pictures from the turn of the century. Faded flowered wallpaper covered all four walls. An old chest of drawers and a vanity sat near each of two windows.

“My great-grandparents lived here, too, before they built the big house. My grandparents lived here after my parents took over the farm. My grandfather was born in this room.” She drew a deep breath. “It’s nothing fancy. No air-conditioning, but I’ll bring you a fan from the house.”

“I don’t need anything fancy,” he said. “This is really quite nice.” He’d always heard that farmers’ daughters were supposed to be beautiful, but he hadn’t expected this.

Though she wore faded jeans and a tattered shirt, Rachel Howe was a stunner. Her honey-blond hair was pulled up into a crooked ponytail and tied with a scarf and she wore absolutely no makeup. Yet, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. And obviously farming was good exercise because she had a body that any trainer would be proud of.

“There’s a bathroom downstairs,” she said. “Just off the kitchen. No shower, just a tub. There are showers in the barn. Probably better to use those rather than upset Eddie’s routine.”

“He doesn’t seem to like me much,” Dermot said.

Rachel laughed. “He’s not so bad, once you get to know him. And a word of warning. Don’t let him talk you into helping him get rid of the skunk living under the corncrib. He’s got some kind of vendetta going on, and the last time he got sprayed, he stunk for a week.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dermot said.

“I’ll just open a window and get some fresh air in here.”

Rachel managed to get one sash up, but struggled with the other. Dermot crossed the room and reached around her to offer his help. But the moment their bodies brushed against each other, he realized how close they actually were. The window flew up and Rachel fell back against him.

Holding on to her shoulders, he turned her around. Their gazes locked for what seemed like an eternity. Though he knew it was probably a mistake, Dermot’s instincts took over and he bent close and brushed a kiss across her lips. When she gasped, he quickly stepped back, cursing his impetuous move.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m… I shouldn’t have done that.” He raked his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “Shit. I don’t usually—”

“I liked it,” Rachel interrupted.

“What?”

“Don’t be sorry. I wanted you to kiss me.” Her cheeks flushed and she smiled nervously. “A single woman living on a goat farm doesn’t often get the opportunity to kiss an attractive single man.” She paused. “You are single, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” he said.

She gave him a dubious stare. “Really?”

Dermot held his hand to his heart. “I swear.”

“Oh, my God, why?” she asked. “A guy as good-looking as you could have any woman he wanted.”

“I guess I just haven’t found the right woman yet.”

“Well, you’ve come to the wrong place,” she said with a laugh. “Mapleton, Wisconsin, is not exactly crawling with beautiful women.”

“I found one already,” Dermot replied. “And I’ve only been here a few hours.”

This brought a deeper blush to her cheeks. “You have the job. You don’t have to flatter the boss to keep it.”

“You’re beautiful, I’m charming. I think we’ll get along just fine.”

Rachel seemed to enjoy the back-and-forth banter between the two of them and Dermot realized that being stuck in Mapleton, Wisconsin, might not be the worst thing in the world. He had a roof over his head and a sexy woman to occupy his thoughts. If the food were decent, he’d be set.

“Well, I’ll let you settle in. We’ve got a few hours before we start milking. We milk the goats twice a day, 5:00 a.m. and 5:00 p.m.”

“Right,” he said warily. “I suppose they don’t milk themselves.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.” She turned for the door, then glanced over her shoulder. “When you’re ready, I’ll give you a tour of the barns. Just knock on the back door.”

Dermot listened to her footsteps on the stairs, then he heard the screen door slam. He chuckled softly as he shrugged out of his shirt. What was a woman like Rachel doing all alone on a goat farm? Maybe this was his problem. All the really interesting women in the world were living in some rural hideaway, waiting for some unsuspecting guy to discover them.

He unzipped his duffel, then grabbed a clean T-shirt. He stared at his reflection in the old mirror above the chest of drawers. Though he’d spent the past two days on a bus, he didn’t look any worse for wear. He was in serious need of a shave and a shower and a decent meal and a long nap. But he suspected all that would have to wait until after he milked a few goats.

Dermot smoothed his hand over the stubble on his cheek. He could at least manage a quick shave. He stripped out of his shirt and then, dressed only in his jeans, grabbed his shaving kit and headed downstairs to the bathroom.

He’d just lathered his face when Eddie appeared at the bathroom door. “I—I was just going to shave. If you prefer I do this in the barn, I can—”

Rachel’s uncle scowled, then nodded. “My goats prefer a well-groomed dairyman. But lay off the Old Spice. They won’t like you if you smell funny.”

As he lathered his face, Dermot watched the old man in the mirror. He had to hand it to his grandfather. This was going to be a real challenge, especially considering that he’d have both a beautiful woman and her surly uncle to contend with.

He wondered whether his brothers had arrived at their destinations and what strange fates had befallen them. Would they be as lucky as he was to find such lovely scenery?

Though he was tempted to call one of them, his grandfather had requested that they give up their cell phones for the duration. They were on their own, left to their own devices to live a different life for the next six weeks.

When he left Seattle, six weeks had seemed like an eternity. But now that he’d met Rachel Howe, it seemed like barely enough time at all.

2

RACHEL STOOD AT the kitchen sink, staring out the window at the front porch of the stone house. Her gaze fixed on a bumblebee that lazily buzzed around her grandmother’s perennial garden as her mind wandered back to the kiss she’d shared with Dermot Quinn.

A tiny shiver skittered through her and she turned her attention back to the lunch dishes. How was it possible to be so overwhelmingly attracted to a man she didn’t even know? She’d been living at the farm full-time for over a year now, with her friends an hour away in Chicago. She hadn’t been with a man in all that time.

“I suppose that explains it,” she murmured to herself. Though she’d never call herself promiscuous, she did have boyfriends and lovers on a fairly regular basis. But a year was a really long time to go without any sex at all. And since Dermot had arrived, her year of celibacy seemed destined to end—soon.

It wasn’t as if she wanted to live the life of a nun. Leaving the farm was almost impossible, even for a weekend. Eddie couldn’t run the dairy on his own and she hadn’t been able to find reliable helpers. So she’d been stuck, biding her time and wondering if her sex life would ever get back to normal.

Maybe the solitude had just gotten to her and that’s why she’d kissed him. Yes, she was pathetically lonely and he was incredibly handsome and charming. Would it be wrong to take advantage of her good fortune? A kiss here and there wouldn’t do either one of them any harm. But could she stop at just one kiss?

A screen door squeaked and she glanced up to see Dermot headed across the yard, freshly shaved and dressed in a faded T-shirt and jeans. Every time she looked at him he seemed to get more good-looking. A few seconds later, he knocked on the door. She grabbed a towel and wiped her hands, then let him in.

“Hey,” he said, giving her a shy smile.

“You look… refreshed,” Rachel commented. “Are you hungry? I could make you a sandwich. It’s going to be a while until dinner. We eat after we’re done milking and that’s usually around eight.”

He nodded. “No, I can wait. I know I haven’t earned anything yet but—”

She held out the dish towel. “You can dry the dishes,” Rachel suggested.

He chuckled softly. “I may not know how to milk a goat, but I can definitely dry dishes.” He took the towel from her hand, his fingers touching hers for a moment. The contact sent a thrill racing through her and she groaned inwardly.

So it had been a year. She still remembered exactly what to do with a man once she had him in bed. It wasn’t something she could forget. But a man as sexy as Dermot might expect a woman to please him in very different ways, very… unusual ways.

Though Rachel considered herself experienced, most of the guys she’d been with hadn’t been very adventurous in the bedroom. She could count her lovers on two hands with a couple fingers left over. And the most exciting experience she’d ever had was making love on the kitchen floor of her apartment.

She stared at the spot on the floor at Dermot’s feet, wondering if that might be the next place it happened.

“Rachel?”

Startled out of her thoughts, she looked up to find him staring at her. “I was just going to make a pie for dessert,” she mumbled.

Her heart pounded and she drew a deep breath to try to calm herself. How had this happened? She hadn’t even thought of the possibilities until he’d kissed her, and now she could think of nothing else. Her brain was filled with sex, sex and more sex.

“You can bake a pie,” he said. “I’m not sure I’ve ever met a woman who could bake a pie.”

Rachel slowly gathered the things she’d need and placed them on the table in the center of the kitchen. That’s not all she could do, she mused. In fact, she had a lot of undiscovered talents.

“Tell me what you’re doing on this farm all alone.”

“I was raised here,” she said. “My parents used to keep dairy cows, but I was allergic to cow’s milk, so they got some goats. As my dad got older, it was easier to raise goats.”

“When did your parents pass away?” Dermot asked.

“My dad just this last fall. My mom about five years ago.”

“My folks died when I was just a kid,” he said. “In a boating accident.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, glancing up at him.

He shrugged. “I barely remember them. We were raised by my grandfather. Me and my three brothers.”

“I have a sister and two brothers, but they’re a lot older than me,” she explained. “The closest one is fifteen years older. I don’t remember living with siblings. It was always just me and my parents.”

“So you stayed on the farm with them?”

She shook her head. “Nope. I did the same thing that my brothers and sister did. As soon as I graduated from high school, I headed out into the world. I went to art school in Chicago and then started my own line of greeting cards. I lived in San Francisco and then moved to New York with a boyfriend, who broke up with me a month later. I came back here to care for my dad and decided to stay for a while.” She paused. “My dad’s will stipulated that if any of his children wanted to run the farm, then they could have it. If not, it gets sold and the proceeds divided up between us.”

He nodded. “I wouldn’t want this place sold,” he said. “It’s perfect.”

“You haven’t met the goats yet,” she said with a smile.

“I met Benny. He was kind of cute.”

“It’s like living with sixty children who never stop eating, will try anything to get loose, require round-the-clock supervision and can’t tell you when they’re sick. It can be really stressful at times. I’m just glad to finally have some help.”

“Well, anything I can do to relieve your stress, just let me know.”

Rachel met his gaze, wondering if he was thinking what she was. There were many ways to relax. A nice, long bath. A massage. A lazy afternoon in bed with a naked man. And an orgasm so powerful that it—Rachel swallowed hard and turned back to the pie.

She could barely remember what she was supposed to do, her hands fumbling with the ingredients. They continued to chat, but all she could think about was finding an excuse to stand close enough to him so he might kiss her again.

Once the pie was in the oven, she went to the sink to wash her hands. He handed her the towel. “What next, boss?”

“You can help me bring the goats in from the pasture. I think we should get an early start on the milking since I’m going to have to teach you how to do it.”

“All right,” he said. “Let’s go. I’m ready to get to work.” They walked to the door and he opened it for her, then gently rested his hand on her back as she passed through. Was he feeling the same way about her? Was he looking for an excuse to touch her? Or was she the only lovesick, horny fool on this farm?

As they crossed the yard, he kept a respectful distance. But when they got past the barn to the path out to the west pasture, he grabbed her hand and tucked it in his. Rachel smiled to herself. Maybe he was having a hard time keeping his hands off her.

She tried her best to explain the basics of the dairy, the breeds of the goats, the process for pasteurizing the milk, and the small artisanal-cheese maker who bought the milk from her.

“It’s a beautiful place,” Dermot said.

“It is,” she agreed. “But it’s so difficult to make a go of it. We’re always scrambling to pay the bills. My sister and brothers want to sell, but I’m just not ready for that yet. I made a promise to my dad to keep the farm in the family. I don’t want my generation to be the last generation of Howes to live at Clover Meadow.”

As they walked, Dermot continued to question her. Rachel was surprised at how much he was able to absorb about the business aspects of farming. He was exactly the kind of person she needed here on the farm—for so many reasons beyond just sexual.

When they reached the gate of the pasture, Rachel stood on the bottom rung and unwrapped a leather lead from the post. “Watch,” she said. She put her fingers in her mouth and whistled. The herd all turned in her direction and started moving toward her.

“Wow, that’s amazing. They’re like dogs.”

“They’re really, really smart,” she said. She handed him the lead, then opened the gate. “Clip this onto the goat with the bell. That’s Lady. She’s kind of the queen of the dairy. The oldest goat. I took her to the State Fair my senior year of high school. Blue ribbon. We’re very old friends.”

“Do they bite?” he asked, observing the herd warily.

“Sometimes. But just walk in there like you know what you’re doing. Show them who is boss.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he said.

“Charm them like you charmed me,” Rachel suggested.

“And how did I charm you?” he asked, leaning closer.

“Talk sweet to them. Soft. Smile a little.”

Rachel ushered him inside the gate, then closed it behind him. The goats surrounded him and he held up his arms as they nudged at his legs. When he spotted Lady, Dermot gradually worked his way over to her and clipped the lead on her collar. “All right, now what?”

“Now lead her to the gate and the rest of the goats will follow.”

He did as he was told, and before long they were walking down the lane between the paddocks, chatting about his first success as a dairyman.

“Why do they follow?” he asked.

“They know they’re going to get fed.”

“Haven’t they been eating all day?”

“Yeah, but they get the good stuff in the barn.”

“Steak and potatoes?”

“Corn and some pellet feed.”

“Yum,” Dermot said. “Are we having the same for dinner?”

“I think I can scratch up something a little better. But we still have a lot of work to do before we eat.”

“I can handle it,” he said. “I’ve got Lady following me. How much harder can it get?”

DERMOT COULDN’T remember the last time he’d been so exhausted. Once the goats got into the milking shed, the work was nonstop for three solid hours. He barely had a chance to take a breath before Rachel or Eddie was showing him something else that had to be done. Benny, the little black goat, was constantly underfoot, nibbling on Dermot’s jeans and the hem of his T-shirt.

Rachel explained that it normally took her four hours to do the milking on her own, but once he got up to speed, she expected they’d be able to do the entire herd in about two hours between the three of them.

Completely spent, he sat down in a rocking chair on the back porch of the house while Rachel was inside taking a shower. He’d grabbed a quick shower in the barn after the chores were done, then found a beer in Rachel’s refrigerator.

Dermot took a long drink and closed his eyes. He’d known her for less than a day and she was already the most amazing woman he’d ever met. The work it took to keep the farm running seemed overwhelming and yet she never once complained.

“You put in a good day of work.”

He opened his eyes to find Eddie watching him from the bottom of the steps, Benny standing at his side. “Thanks,” Dermot said, leaning forward in the chair. “And thanks for showing me the ropes. I appreciate it.”

The old man nodded curtly. “Tell Rachel I’m heading into town for dinner. They got bingo at the fire-house tonight and I got some money burning a hole in my pocket.”

“You’re not having dinner with us?”

Eddie shook his head. “I expect you can manage to eat on your own.” He nodded, then put his battered John Deere cap on his head and walked toward the truck, Benny at his heels. A moment later, Eddie and the goat drove out of the yard, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake.

“I didn’t know that goats played bingo,” Dermot murmured.

He stood and stretched, then walked into the kitchen. The least he could do was help Rachel with dinner. He opened the fridge and began to pick through the contents. A salad would be a good start. She’d pulled three steaks from the fridge and they were sitting on the counter near the sink.

“Potatoes,” he said. He found some in a mesh bag beneath the sink. By the time Rachel wandered back into the kitchen, the salad was made, the potatoes were washed and the oven was heating, and he’d poured her a glass of wine.

He handed her the wine, taking in the sight of her. Her hair was still wet, long and loose and curling around her face. She wore a cotton dress, cut deep at the neck. Her feet were bare and she smelled of soap.

“Thanks,” she said, glancing at the table. “You’ve been busy.”

“I’ve decided to make myself invaluable. I am a pretty good cook when it comes to meat and potatoes.”

“I’m glad to hear that. There are nights that I’m just too exhausted to cook and this is one of them.” Rachel crossed to the fridge then pulled out a package of cheese and found a bag of crackers. “This is some of the cheese made from our goats’ milk,” she said, arranging the cheese and crackers on a plate.

They headed back out onto the porch and sat down together in the porch swing. “This is my favorite time of the day,” she said. “After everything is done and the sun is going down and it’s so quiet that you wonder if anyone is still alive in the world.”

“I live on the water in Seattle, so it’s never completely quiet.”

“Do you have a beach house?”

Dermot shook his head. “A houseboat. It’s not actually a boat because you can’t take it out on the water. Although my family has a boat. Actually we have three. We build boats.”

“That’s what you do?”

“I don’t build them myself. I sell them.”

“Motorboats?”

“No. Luxury sailing yachts.”

She frowned. “Why are you here?”

“Because my grandfather decided that my brothers and I weren’t given a chance to follow our dreams when we were kids. He gave us a hundred dollars, a credit card and a bus ticket and I ended up here. I’m supposed to live a different life for six weeks and then figure out if I like it better than my old life.”

“If you have a credit card, why do you need to work?”

“Because he canceled the credit cards once we all got on the bus. I think he wanted us to work rather than lounge around for six weeks. When I landed in Mapleton, I had exactly six cents to my name. I was lucky to meet you.”

“I think I’m the lucky one,” she said with a smile.

They stared out at the sunset, watching as it turned pink and then orange and then purple. “Do you ever get lonely out here?” Dermot asked.

“All the time,” she said. “But I’ve kind of gotten used to it. I just can’t let this place go yet.”

“Why?” he said.

“Because it’s all I have left of my parents,” she said. “It was always the three of us. I’d help my dad with the chores and we’d raise and show our goats at the county fair. And I’d help my mom in the kitchen. She taught me how to bake and sew and keep house. We shopped for antiques and collected quilts. This is who I am, this place. It’s my home and it will be my home until I’m ready to let it go. Does that make sense?”

Dermot remembered how difficult it was for him to let go of his parents, to come to grips with the idea that they were really dead. There were still times when he caught himself wondering if they were alive, stranded on some tiny island in the Pacific, waiting for rescue.

She glanced over at him, and for the second time that day, he decided to kiss her. He leaned forward, waiting for a sign that she’d welcome a kiss. Her gaze fixed on his mouth and her lips parted slightly. As they met, her eyes closed and she sighed softly.

He’d kissed a lot of women for a lot of reasons, but there was something about kissing Rachel that was so perfect. Though they spent hours chatting, they seemed to communicate just as well through their desire. He was learning more about her life, but as she kissed him, he was exploring her heart and soul.

She slipped her hand around his nape as he deepened the kiss, his tongue delving into the warmth of her mouth. She tasted like red wine and hidden need and Dermot wondered how far he could go before she stopped him. He didn’t want to take advantage and he knew she’d been alone on the farm for a long time.

His hands spanned her waist and he pulled her closer, anxious to feel her body against his. Rachel seemed just as anxious to touch him and she began to unbutton his shirt. When she’d pushed the fabric aside, she pressed a kiss to the center of his chest.

For a long moment, she didn’t move, and Dermot was sure she was going to call an end to the seduction. But then she looked up at him with wide eyes. “Take me to bed,” she said. “Right now.”

Dermot sucked in a sharp breath, not sure that he’d heard her right. “What?”

“Don’t make me say it again, because I’m not sure I’ll be able to.”

“A-all right.”

“And don’t ask if I’m sure, because I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.”

“Your place or mine?”

“Mine,” she said. She stood and held out her hand, and when he took it, Dermot followed her back inside. She led him up the stairs to a spacious bedroom decorated in blue and yellow. The windows were open and lace curtains fluttered with the evening breeze.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and Dermot sat beside her. He grabbed her hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to her wrist. He felt nervous, wondering just how he ought to approach her. Reaching out, he cupped her chin in his hand and brought her gaze to his.

A soft sigh escaped her lips and then she smiled. He felt his nerves ease a bit, and when he kissed her, she surrendered without hesitation. As they fell back onto the bed, he realized that none of the women he’d bedded in the past had meant anything. And yet, this sweet, sexy farm girl had captured his desire in less than a day.

“Bewitched,” he murmured, his lips brushing hers.

“What?”

Dermot drew back. “I’m Irish. We believe in all sorts of magical creatures. And I do believe you’ve bewitched me, Rachel Howe.”

“There’s no magic at work here,” she said. Hooking her fingers through his, she drew his hand to her breast, then pressed it against the soft warmth of her flesh. She wasn’t wearing a bra and the thin cotton of her summer dress barely hid what was beneath.

With a soft growl, Dermot stretched out beside her. “How long has it been for you?” he asked.

“Too long,” she said. “What about you?”

“I think I’ve been waiting for you my whole life,” he said. He’d always known what to say to seduce a woman. But with Rachel, he didn’t want to hand her some cheesy line. He wanted to be completely honest. “Actually, I’m a little nervous.”

“You are?” She crawled on top of him and kissed him, lingering over his mouth and tracing the crease of his lips with her tongue. “We’ll just go very slowly.”

She leaned forward and the front of her dress gaped, giving him a perfect view of her breasts. “That sounds like a good idea. I think maybe I should start with your neck.” He pressed his lips to the spot below her ear.

He’d never had so much fun kissing a woman as he did kissing Rachel. They laughed and whispered and rolled around on the bed until they found a comfortable spot, their arms wrapped around each other. But suddenly, she sat up and wrinkled her nose.

“Do you smell something burn—” She groaned. “I left the pie in the oven—”

“And I turned the oven on to bake the potatoes,” he said.

Rachel jumped out of the bed and ran for the bedroom door, then turned and pointed to him. “Stay here. Do not move. I’ll be right back.”

Dermot rolled onto his back and threw his arm over his eyes. A pleasant exhaustion settled over him and he let his thoughts drift. He’d spent last night on a bus somewhere in the Dakotas. He’d jumped off the bus and almost immediately loaded a pallet of feed into Rachel’s truck. Then he’d dried dishes, milked a herd of goats and prepared a salad, all the while trying to stop thinking about grabbing Rachel and carrying her to the bedroom. No wonder he was tired.

The next thing he knew, she was beside him again. The room was dark. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her body against his.

“You fell asleep,” she whispered.

“I didn’t,” Dermot said. “Did you save the pie?”

“It’s pretty much inedible. But I’ll make another tomorrow.”

“Sorry. I didn’t think to look inside the oven before I turned it on.”

“Close your eyes,” she murmured. “You need your sleep. We have to get up in six hours.”

Dermot turned his face into her soft hair and inhaled the scent of her. Making love to her would wait. It was enough to lie next to her, to run his hands over her body and kiss her silken skin.

When his grandfather had sent him off, he’d expected to find a little bit of himself along the way. He’d never thought that he’d find a woman, as well. Rachel needed him, and for the next six weeks, he’d do what he could to make her life easier. And if the compensation included sharing her bed, he’d consider the job a success.

3

RACHEL OPENED HER EYES and looked around her bedroom. Frowning, she glanced down to see that she was still wearing her clothes. How had she—

Memories of the night before came rushing into her head. Dermot. They’d fallen asleep in her bed. She rolled over to find his half of the mattress empty. A sick feeling came into her stomach as she considered the possibilities.

Had he left sometime before dawn to return to the stone cottage? Had he gathered his belongings and sneaked away in the dark of night, finished with farm work and the woman who pretended to be his boss? Or maybe he was just an early riser, she mused.

Pushing up on her elbow, she picked up the alarm clock and squinted at the time. “Six-fifteen?” With a cry, Rachel bolted upright and swung her feet over the edge of the bed. She’d overslept! How had she overslept? The alarm was set for four-thirty. She always woke up before it rang.

She tugged her dress over her head and pulled on the first work clothes she could find. Slipping her feet into her shoes, she stumbled to the bathroom and grabbed a band to tie up her hair.

The sun was already well above the horizon as she raced across the yard. It was crucial that she keep a regular milking schedule to maximize yield. After eleven months, she’d never missed milking time—except for today.

“This is exactly what you deserve,” she muttered to herself. “A man comes into your life and you forget about all your responsibilities.”

With a soft curse, she yanked open the door to the milking parlor. To her shock, a row of goats was lined up on the platform in the midst of being milked. She found Dermot nearby, scattering clean straw on the floor. Eddie and Benny stood to the side, watching him. Dermot glanced up and gave her a little wave as she approached.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“My job,” he said. Dermot lowered his voice. “You looked so relaxed, I didn’t want to wake you. I figured I’d give it a go on my own this morning.”

“You can’t do this by yourself,” she said.

“Sure I can. You taught me what to do last night. It didn’t seem too complicated. Eddie’s been here to help me along. I mixed and fed them their corn and pellets. I figure I’ll just be another hour. You can go back to bed if you like.”

Rachel frowned. She could do the whole herd in four hours. How was it possible that he could best her speed after only one lesson? “You must be missing something,” she said.

He held out his hands. “Check it out. I’m pretty sure I’m doing it right.”

Rachel walked through the parlor, checking all the settings on the machines and going over her regular list of tasks. After a thorough inspection, she was forced to admit that Dermot was right. He’d done his job well.

“All right,” she said. “I’m impressed.”

His expression of concern was broken by a wide grin. “Yeah. I know what I’m doing.”

She glanced over at Eddie and he gave her a wink and a reluctant smile, then walked out of the barn, Benny scampering after him. Was her uncle aware of what was going on between them? How long had Dermot stayed in her bed last night?

Rachel kept her questions to herself as they finished with the last of the goats, washed up in the sinks in the pump room and then walked the herd to the pasture. Rachel stood on the gate as she watched the goats graze, smiling to herself. It was nice to know that she had someone to count on, someone who could take the pressure off her, even if it was just for a few hours.

“There’s a kind of comfort in the routine,” Dermot said as he stood next to her. “I can understand why people would like this life. And they’re so smart. That little Benny is a riot. He jumped up on the ledge in the barn and was leaping around like a circus animal.”

“Eddie treats him like a dog. But I draw the line at letting him live in the house.”

“Why would you ever want to leave this place?” Dermot asked.

Rachel leaned back, gripping the top rail of the fence. “Sometimes I can see myself staying here. It would be the perfect spot to raise a family.” She drew a deep breath. “And then there are moments when I’m so tired I feel like crying. When I feel like there has to be more than milking goats for the rest of my life.”

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