A bride for a Broward?

If Brooke Palmer doesn’t find a husband within thirty days, she will lose her family home forever. So she turns to the only man she trusts to save her….

Jameson Broward has only one true love: his vast and rugged ranch in Granger, Montana. But he understands the importance of protecting a family’s legacy, so he agrees to a marriage of convenience to the woman he’s cared about for years. As the stoic groom and his beautiful bride begin their businesslike union, they are confronted by the unexpected lure of their sensual and passionate chemistry. Is it possible for the sexy rancher and his pretend wife to turn their short-term arrangement into a lifetime of love?

Brooke bit her lower lip, knowing the risk she was taking, but she was determined not to back down. He may not see her as a wife, but she wanted, at least, some kind of a relationship with him that didn’t make them strangers. “You have me.”

Jameson set the flowers aside, then pulled Brooke into his embrace. “Is this what you had in mind?” he whispered into her ear.

Brooke briefly shut her eyes, pressed her cheek against his chest and held him close. “Yes.” She drew away and looked up at him. She opened her mouth to say more, but he smothered her words with a kiss.

Unlike the kiss at the ceremony, she knew this one was meant only for her, and that made it sweeter than she could have imagined. For a moment it made her thoughts spin, and she imagined him wanting her as much as she wanted him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. Jameson moaned with satisfaction. His hand dipped to her blouse. “Are you wearing anything from your trousseau underneath this?”

“No, but I can—”

“We’ll save them for another time,” he said, removing her blouse.

DARA GIRARD

fell in love with storytelling at an early age. Her romance writing career happened by chance when she discovered the power of a happy ending. She is an award-winning author whose novels are known for their sense of humor, interesting plot twists and witty dialogue. When she’s not writing, she enjoys spring mornings and autumn afternoons, French pastries, dancing to the latest hits and long drives.

Dara loves to hear from her readers. You can reach her at contactdara@daragirard.com or P.O. Box 10345, Silver Spring, MD 20914.

Engaging Brooke

Dara Girard

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

Okay, I’ll be honest. I was the last person who thought she’d ever write about a cowboy hero. I mean, what did a kid of immigrants know about something so quintessentially American? But when my editor offered me the opportunity to be part of The Browards of Montana series, I was up for the challenge.

Researching about ranch life and talking to friends who have horses and farm animals (thank you!) really made me appreciate those who are part of a long-standing history. And I saw a lot of commonality with the immigrant journey—grit, cunning, and love of land and family.

Which brings me to Jameson Broward. A man who encompasses that and more. He’s been burned by love and is unwilling to share his heart again…but you know what that means. He’s going to fall hard.

My first cowboy hero…I’m as surprised as you are.

Enjoy,

Dara Girard

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 1

They were under attack. That was the only way Jameson Broward could describe it. The town as they knew it was being seized by an unknown buyer. Longtime residents were being wooed by the charm of easy money instead of realizing the magnitude of the consequences of selling their land to outsiders who may not have the town’s best interest in mind. Jameson looked around at his family as they sat in the BWB Great Room. The Great Room, which was the centerpiece in the elegant main house of the Broward Webb Broward Heritage Ranch, always served as the perfect place to discuss business—both personal and professional.

Grandpa Charles, the family patriarch, pounded the side of his chair with his fist. “I want to know what’s going on. I want to know where we’re headed before we get there. Who is doing this?” he said, asking the question they all wanted to know the answer to. Why had their beloved town of Granger, Montana, suddenly been thrust into the spotlight by an unnamed investor—or several investors for that matter, they weren’t sure how many interested people there were.

That’s what worried Jameson the most. The lack of transparency. Unfortunately, however, one particular land sale had been made clear, brutally so, and had struck him and his entire family in the heart.

“What can we do about Wes?” his mother, Gwendolyn Broward asked. She sat across from him, poised and graceful like the professional horsewoman she was. She was worried, very much so, but kept her voice and features calm. She was an attractive woman whose youthful looks belied her age of fifty-six.

“Nothing. The land is gone,” his father, Steven, said as he stroked his graying beard. Jameson could hear the hurt and dismay in his voice. His father, Charles, along with his three brothers had been responsible for developing their land into a lucrative ranching business. Millions of dollars, and years of blood and sweat, had gone into creating the family business they expected to keep.

Betrayal. He’d experienced it before, but he hadn’t expected it from his own flesh and blood. Jameson knew that just like him, his father felt hurt by what his younger son, Wes, had done. Without telling anyone, he’d sold his land to Samara Lionne, a Hollywood actress no less. Yes, Jameson’s brother was the reason for the family get-together. Not the buying up of the town, not even the mystery of the buyers, but the fact that a member of their own family had completed a substantial transaction without telling them.

Although, technically the land he sold was not part of their family land, it was still Granger land, and they all felt it shouldn’t have been sold to an outsider. They’d known Wes had been entertaining buyers, but they’d never thought he’d go through with a sale without at least warning them or giving them an option to buy it themselves. But, either in an act of cowardice or just pure luck, Wes hadn’t stuck around to deal with the ramifications of his actions. He was off traveling in Europe with his fiancée, Lydia. Jameson didn’t like to think too cruelly of his brother, but he always knew that Wes had never loved the land the way Jameson and the rest of the family did. The land was Jameson’s life. His heart. It was the one thing that never betrayed him. It never let him down. The ranch and the town of Granger were all he had and he would fight to the death to maintain it for generations to come.

And, just like the rest of the family, Jameson had a feeling something shady was going on. They needed to find out what. Both his father and grandfather had been unable to get straight answers from people in town or their trusted friends. Unfortunately, over time, many of the old-timers of Granger had either retired and moved away or had died or, as was the case with most of the current residents, their children were more like Wes and were looking for ways to make money off the land.

Gwendolyn shook her head, casting a quick glance at Jameson as if she expected him to say something. He remained silent. “Why didn’t he just come to us? We would have bought it from him.”

“I never thought I’d live to see the day one of us would sell land instead of buy it,” Grandpa Charles said, for a moment looking older than his eighty-four years. His blue eyes tired, he also sent Jameson a look as if hoping he could add something, but Jameson looked away. Charles had grown up on the land that his father, Silas Broward, had claimed as a homestead in the 1930s. While the Depression’s strong grip decimated lives in the big cities, Silas had built up the ranch one horse at a time, raising four sons with his wife, Olivia. Charles and his brother, Stanley, grew the Broward Ranch into a highly successful cattle breeding operation. Stanley also raised four sons who had prospered and owned ranches in another part of Montana.

Jameson felt that ranching wasn’t just a family tradition. It was a calling. He knew that both his father and grandfather wanted him to speak at this gathering, but he had nothing to say. Nothing that could be said to his family. He was seething but kept his face a neutral mask. His brother had a right to do what he wanted with his land. Because it wasn’t part of the BWB Ranch, it wouldn’t affect their bottom line, but it was the recklessness that bothered him. And the fact that Wes always did exactly what he wanted as long as it made him happy. It didn’t bother Wes that outsiders were sweeping into Granger like vultures to taint the pristine land with their foolhardy dreams of ranch or farm work, most of which they had seen romanticized on TV and in the movies. He looked at his younger sister, Laney, who was unusually quiet.

“Is there any way to talk to this woman?” Gwendolyn asked.

Steven sighed. “Damn it, I told you he did it too quickly for us to do anything.”

“Change is on its way,” Grandpa Charles said. “But sometimes it worries me. This ranch was built up one horse at a time, but others see a quick buck and don’t care about the people or this place. They don’t care that there are people who depend on us. Granger has been a major employer for cowboys and ranch hands who want to work the land.”

“Dad, things will work out,” Steven said to his father. He quickly looked at Jameson as if he wanted him to speak up. Jameson folded his arms instead. “Besides, it was Wes’s land. It was not officially a part of our family heritage. So, he had the right and freedom to sell it to whomever he wanted and for whatever amount he wanted. I just wish he had given us a chance.”

Excuses. All Jameson heard his father say were excuses. Excuses for Wes. Excuses to explain away how his younger son’s actions had hurt them.

“Jameson,” Steven finally said, clearly the only one brave enough to involve him in the conversation. They all had been sending glances to him, as if he were a volcano they expected to erupt. But he was too controlled for that. Yes, he was furious. He was enraged by a feeling of helplessness he couldn’t contain, but exposing how he felt wouldn’t be something he’d let them see again. They’d seen it once before, more than ten years ago when a woman had ripped his heart apart.

At twenty-two, Meredith Palmer, the woman he’d planned to spend the rest of his life with, had ended their relationship. She’d been his first love. She was his high school sweetheart and after they’d graduated, they’d maintained a long-distance romance while he’d studied agribusiness at Montana State University in Bozeman and she’d attended a college back East. He’d imagined them growing old together and making his family’s business even more successful than his father had. But with one phone call a few weeks before his graduation from college, she’d dashed his hopes.

“I’ve met someone else,” she’d said over the phone, as if she was reciting a weather report. Her words had been cool, practiced. What she had to say was stated without a single sign of emotion, while every word pierced his heart.

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t marry you.”

Jameson thought of all the people who expected them to get married. Damn, he’d expected it. He’d had his whole life planned and at that moment it was coming apart at the seams. He knew he couldn’t win her back, and frankly, he didn’t want to. Years before he’d even looked at another woman.

He’d thought Priscilla Clark would make a perfect rancher’s wife. But he soon learned he’d been wrong. He should have known it wouldn’t work from the beginning. For one, she’d kept calling him “James,” which he hated. But he’d forgiven her all her faults, primarily because she was very pretty, beautiful in fact, and stroked his ego. He’d introduced her to his family and he didn’t care that the reception had been cool. His parents had been enthusiastic about Meredith and he’d seen how that had turned out. He’d gotten some subtle warnings from his Grandpa Charles, who’d said, “Be careful. A hungry man can find anything appetizing.” His father had been more to the point: “Any woman who can’t get your name right is after something else.” But, at that time, he didn’t care because Priscilla listened to him, unlike Meredith. She didn’t say anything disparaging about ranching and she told him how wonderful he was, which was all he needed to hear. Then one day he had traveled to Smithville, one of Granger’s neighboring towns, and overheard Priscilla talking to a friend in the grocery store.

“Oh, my God!” Priscilla said in a stage whisper. “You should see his parents’ place.”

“Well, I heard the Browards are loaded,” her friend said.

“Loaded is too humble a term. When I marry James I’m going to be rolling in money.”

“He’s asked you to marry him?”

“He hasn’t yet. But he will and I’m going to get him to build me a house as big as his parents’. No, even bigger. I have really hit the jackpot with this one. I usually don’t like going after men that other women have dumped, but this is one leftover I’m ready to reheat. I won’t have to use my degree because I’m going to be well taken care of. Mom was right when she told me to set my eyes on him. Men wallowing in heartbreak are so easy to use. And I’ll make him grateful to have me. I know his brother, Wes, would be a lot more fun, but he’s not ready to settle down like James.”

That’s when he’d finally realized that she only saw dollar signs when she looked at him. He’d never be seen as someone’s leftovers. He never told Priscilla why he broke it off, and the devastation on her face had almost made him smile. At that moment he vowed that women weren’t for him. Since then, he’d thought he could always trust his land and his family at least, but now Wes had taught him that he couldn’t even trust that.

“Jameson,” Steven repeated. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

“No.”

“Did you know what Wes was up to?”

Jameson lowered his gaze and brushed imaginary lint from his sleeve. “I never know what he’s up to.”

Without his input the conversation floundered, as he hoped it would. He felt as if a fire was burning inside him, and talking about what Wes had done only added gasoline. Jameson needed to get away, to think of what his next step should be. The town was under threat and it would take a cool head to strategize how to handle the situation.

He lifted his gaze and sounded bored. “Are we done?”

His father nodded. Jameson stood and went out back. He needed to be outdoors. He stood in the doorway that led to the backyard and smelled the May morning air. How could someone love anything less than all this? Jameson looked out on the acres of land in front of him. The land stretched on for miles and miles and looked like a landscape painting. He loved the emerald-green grass against the backdrop of the rugged mountain range in the distance, dotted with the earthy, smooth, brown bodies of his cattle. Low-hanging trees provided a framework through which to see the land; to him it was more than beautiful. It was his life. He was determined. He wouldn’t let his grandfather or father down. He’d maintain BWB. He couldn’t—no, wouldn’t—let their heritage end with him.

“Don’t be too angry with Wes,” his mom, Gwendolyn, said as she came up behind him.

Jameson kept his gaze on the horizon, watching the rolling prairie grass undulate in the breeze. He loved his mother but knew she didn’t understand his deep connection to the ranch and to the land. He wasn’t as fun-loving as Wes or an accomplished horseman like his sister, Laney. At times he felt like a throwback to another time. A time when being a man who valued his land and family mattered. “It was his land to do with as he wanted,” Jameson said, wishing he could feel as casual and nonchalant as he sounded. “He knew what he was doing and didn’t have to tell us about it.”

“I don’t think he thought of it that way. Times are changing and—”

Jameson spun around to her. “Not that much. Have times changed so much that you don’t think about one’s responsibilities or family loyalties?”

Gwendolyn lightly touched his cheek, the same soothing touch she’d give a lame horse. Although the gesture annoyed him, it also calmed him as she knew it would. “You’re doing the best you can.”

And what if it’s not enough? What if I lose everything? He wanted to say this, but instead he turned away, keeping his fears to himself, just as he did everything else. “Do you think Grandpa Charles deserves to see the day when all he’s struggled to build is destroyed because of greed? Well, I won’t let that happen.”

“When are you going to start a family of your own?”

Jameson shook his head, his voice low. “I don’t have time for that now.”

“You have to make time.”

“I went on a date, didn’t I?”

“That was for charity,” his mother said, referring to the recent bachelor charity auction that was an annual town event. “Besides, I know you hate being a part of that every year.”

Jameson shrugged without concern. His mother was right. “It was still a date,” he said, leaving no room for argument. The Browards were known for their charity work, and it was one of the few events he had been unable to avoid.

He heard her soft sigh before his mother turned and went back inside.

Jameson stepped out on the deck. He had the blood of a rancher running through his veins. His family had put the small town of Granger, Montana, on the map. He remembered being five years old and feeling the calloused hands of his grandpa as he led him around the ranch. From an early age he loved the smell of the cattle, horses, chickens and pigs. By three, even before he could read, he could pick out a heifer from a cow. As he got older, he’d loved learning to rope a calf and ride a horse, drinking fresh milk and smelling Montana grass, which, to him, was the best in the world. At seven he had been given his own flock of chickens and several pigs to care for and a dog he called Buddy. He had respect for all the animals. He could read them better than he could any person. Maybe that’s why he felt so comfortable on the ranch. Animals would not betray him. They would not connive or deceive. He decided to make sure that Wes’s action, along with others, didn’t do the damage to Granger he feared, which was putting power into the hands of a group of people who didn’t care about the town.

Granger was becoming unrecognizable to him, with outsiders, mostly from the city, thinking themselves ranchers. His parents had money flowing into their lodge-style estate, which they had successfully turned into a business. Gwendolyn had been the one to first make the suggestion of turning the main house into a money-making venture. At first, his father had objected, but once he saw it in operation, he was on board.

They had turned only half of the main house on the BWB Ranch into a rental lodge and had maintained the upper floors as their private family residence. And business was booming. They had reservations scheduled over the next two years. Under Gwendolyn’s expert guidance, they had developed several vacation packages including a bed-and-breakfast experience, a tour of the range and the chance to spend a week with the ranch hands. Their most famous package allowed guests to “rough it” for three days—living in tents, milking cows, and either fishing or hunting for their food and cooking whatever they caught on an open fire.

Jameson respected people who understood the hard work that came with cattle ranching and horse breeding, but people with more money than sense bothered him. He knew his grandfather and parents were worried and they had every right to be. A private buyer could change what Granger was all about, and he wouldn’t let that happen. He vowed he’d prove himself and make the Broward name shine even brighter than it did now.

His cell phone rang. “Hello?”

“We just lost one,” his foreman said.

Jameson lowered his head and swore. He knew he couldn’t say too much for fear of being overheard by the house staff. No one in his family knew what he’d been up to and if they did, he’d never hear the end of it. He’d taken a risk and lost, but it wouldn’t affect anyone but him. “How’s the other one?”

“Touch and go.”

“Thanks. I’ll be over there soon.” Jameson hung up. It seemed to be a day full of pain, but he was used to it. He knew how to handle himself now. He’d stay focused on work and his family because he had no room in his life for more than that. He’d given his heart away once, to Meredith, and had had it broken. The second time, with Priscilla, he’d let his male organ rule and that had gotten him in trouble, too. He knew that his intellect was the only thing that would save him. And help him save what mattered to him. He made a promise to himself that he’d never love another person as much as he loved his land and animals. And he kept his promises.

* * *

Gwendolyn returned to the main living room, where her husband sat, sipping on a cup of coffee.

“Well,” Steven said patting the seat beside him. “Were you able to talk to him? Does he have any idea of what we can do to stop us from losing more of Granger?”

Gwendolyn sat down next to her husband of thirty-four years and sighed. He usually was able to make her feel better, but not this time. Jameson really had them both worried. “No, he’s keeping to himself as usual. He always handles stress by withdrawing. He won’t talk about Wes selling the land or anything else.”

“He wasn’t always like that.”

Gwendolyn knew she didn’t need to reply. They both were aware the painful breakup with Meredith had changed Jameson. He’d been a little more carefree, not so solitary, when he was younger. They both missed that son who could laugh during a Montana rainstorm and talked about the future with optimism.

“No man should let a woman have that much of an effect on him,” Steven said with feeling.

“It wasn’t just Meredith—it was that other woman, too. What was her name?”

“Who cares what her name was? The problem is there’s been no other woman since then to compare her to. He won’t date. He won’t even consider a dating service both online or off. I don’t know what we’re going to do with that boy.”

“He’s not ready.”

Steven shook his head. “I just don’t want him thinking that this place is all that life is about. I want him to have a family of his own. And so does Dad. Besides, there are plenty of other women for him to choose from. He’s just too stubborn to notice.”

Gwendolyn nodded. “He’s stubborn and proud. That won’t be an easy mix for a woman to take on. Sometimes I fear that there’s no woman who will be able to break through his wall.”

Chapter 2

The stares and whispers didn’t surprise her. Brooke Palmer walked onto the Broward Ranch with her head held high and her insides trembling. In the distance she saw herds of cows grazing and men on horses. Although other ranches now used dirt bikes and four-wheelers, the Browards still used horses to move cattle through the rough and steep terrain. But no one was paying attention to that; everyone was staring at her. She was the anomaly. A Palmer had not been on Broward land in the past ten years and it was all her sister’s fault. Meredith had been a fool to let Jameson go and damage the tie the Browards and Palmers had. Back then, if Brooke had been older than fifteen, she would have asked Jameson to marry her instead.

She’d dreamed of showing up in a white wedding dress at the church and telling Jameson to marry her. She understood him in a way she felt no one else did. At times, he seemed to stand in the shadow of his father, whose radical ways of breeding high-end cattle and heritage farm animals had made them incredibly wealthy. His father also had secured an advantageous marriage into the Webb family, who’d made their fortune breeding rare stallions and quadrupled the profits of the ranch. Jameson wasn’t as charming as his younger brother, Wes, but she thought he was better looking. His intense ways could be off-putting, but she knew how much he loved the land and, from her point of view, he was all a man should be.

Unfortunately, Brooke knew that Jameson saw her as a child. He’d never looked at her the way he’d looked at her sister and other women. She was just a little girl to him. He was a man planning his future. She’d even thought of buying him at the recent cowboy charity auction, but she hadn’t been bold enough, considering the history between their families. But now she had a reason to meet with him. She knew he wasn’t a man who liked to date, but she wondered what he thought about marriage.

Brooke took a deep breath then raised her hand to knock on the door just as it swung open. Laney took a step back in surprise. Jameson’s younger sister was as beautiful in person as she was in all the pictures taken of her. Even more striking actually.

“Hi, Laney,” Brooke said when the other woman just stared.

Laney shook her head, as if coming out of a stupor. “Hi.” She opened the door wider. “Sorry, I’m just surprised to see you.”

“Congratulations on your medals. It must be hard getting back to the ordinary life and routine of Granger.”

“No, it’s a relief.”

When she didn’t expand, Brooke searched her mind for something else to say. “You look great.”

“Thanks.”

Brooke shifted, feeling awkward. Laney obviously didn’t want to talk. She was usually more bubbly, but she seemed quiet and reserved. Perhaps she resented her for being the sister of a woman who’d broken her brother’s heart. “I don’t want to keep you. You were getting ready to go somewhere. I just want to see Jameson.”

Laney gestured for her to come inside, clearly eager to leave. “Oh, he’s in the back of the house, gazing at his mistress.”

Brooke felt her heart race. “Mistress?”

“You know,” she called over her shoulder as she stepped outside. “The ranch.”

“Right,” Brooke said, feeling her pulse return to normal. “Thanks,” she said, but Laney was already out of hearing range. Even though Jameson had his own house on the property, people knew he spent most of his time at the main house. Brooke closed the door then walked through the hallway off to the side and saw Mr. and Mrs. Broward sitting in the Great Room. They stared at her, stunned.

“Hello,” she said, wanting to break the silence. She absently pointed to a vague space down the hall. “Laney told me Jameson was down here.”

“How have you been?” Steven said. “We were sorry to hear about your father.”

“Well, thank you.”

Gwendolyn stood up. “Where are my manners? It’s lovely to see you. Would you like something to drink or—?”

“No,” Brooke said, relieved that their welcome had been a bit more cordial than Laney’s. That gave her hope that the favor she needed from Jameson might get a good response. “I just need to ask Jameson something.”

“Well, if you need anything let us know.”

“I will.” Brooke headed to the back of the house and saw Jameson standing just outside the doorway. As he stood staring at the horizon, she took a moment to stare at him. She looked at him through the eyes of an artist. If she were to paint him, she’d depict him as a landscape with shoulders as wide as the Montana sky, skin smooth as the sharp edge of a canyon and height as tall as a mountain. He was lean but muscular, with the intensity of a raging river. Her heart began racing, even though she’d told it to behave. Jameson had always had that kind of effect on her.

Brooke opened the door and cleared her throat to let him know she was there and not startle him.

Jameson didn’t turn and he didn’t seem startled; it was as if he already knew she was there. “Yes? What do you want?” he said, his voice a low, deep rumble.

Brooke swallowed. If he could affect her like this with his back to her, how would she fare when he faced her? She had to find out.

“I want to talk to you,” she said, her voice higher than she wanted, but steady.

She saw his shoulders stiffen. It was just a flash and if she hadn’t known him so well, she wouldn’t have seen it. He turned, in a slow, deliberate manner that only increased the anticipation of seeing his face again. His cowboy hat kept his face in shadow, so she couldn’t clearly read his expression. Brooke braced herself for his response, half afraid of what he would do. Would she get the cold politeness of Laney?

“Brooke Palmer,” he said in a low, deep voice that to her was as sweet as hot maple syrup drizzling on warm pancakes. It sent a thrill through her; no one said her name the way he did. He didn’t seem surprised to see her and gestured to one of the chairs inside the house. “Sit down,” he said, walking past her and taking off his hat.

“Thanks.” Brooke took a seat and fought not to stare. Without his hat, his brown eyes were clear, reminding her of Montana oil—dark and rich. He was better than the finest wine. And he also got sexier with age.

“I’m sorry about your father.”

Brooke blinked, touched by the compassion in his eyes. She forced herself to focus on her reason for coming. Her father had died suddenly and he was the main reason she was there. “Thanks.”

“How’s Meredith?”

She paused, surprised he’d even ask. “She’s in New York with Richard.” He was her second husband, but Brooke didn’t mention that, not sure Jameson would care.

“I’m glad.”

Brooke furrowed her brows in confusion. This wasn’t the reaction she’d expected. Who was this even-tempered, controlled man? The Jameson of the past had been more passionate. Especially with her sister. Brooke remembered overhearing an argument they’d had when her sister was preparing to go to college. She had been passing by the family room when she had heard them.

“I don’t want to be without you,” Meredith had said near tears.

“You know my place is here.”

“It doesn’t have to be. You’re good at so many things. Why can’t you attend college in the East with me?”

“I told you what I plan to do.”

“You need to stretch your horizons. Get away from farming—”

“You know I’m not just a farmer. You say that just to annoy me.”

“I’m trying to find your sense of humor.”

“I don’t joke about the ranch.”

“That’s the problem. You already sound like an old man and you haven’t even reached twenty yet. Why do you take things so seriously? You don’t need to work so hard. You have enough money and the ranch basically runs itself.”

“By itself?” he said in surprise. “You talk about the ranch like it’s some toy that runs on batteries. Do you know how much it costs to get a cow bred? Or fed? How about vet expenses? And then there are the chickens and—”

“Your family has more than enough money to take care of all of that, and you know it.”

“It’s not about money. It’s about business and I’m going to run it well. For the sake of my family and the sake of our children. Meredith, you know I love you and I will provide the best for us. But my place is here. I like being my own boss and living my life by my rules.”

“You mean your family’s rules,” she snapped.

“They’ve served me well. This is home.”

But, back then, Brooke knew her sister hadn’t felt the same about ranching and the land when she was dating him, although she’d pretended she did. Early on, Meredith had always wanted to get away from Granger and thought she could persuade Jameson to do the same. Meredith didn’t understand Jameson the way Brooke did. Her sister didn’t know how much her teasing words hurt him. As she listened to the argument, Brooke had wanted to run into the room and tell Jameson how much she knew he loved his ranch and his family, and that, if he’d have her, she’d never leave him. But at that time, just like now, he didn’t see her in that way. And now she hoped she could change that.

“So what can I do for you?” Jameson asked, his deep voice pulling Brooke out of her memory.

Everything, she wanted to say. For a moment she didn’t know herself anymore. She didn’t know how to behave with him. She was no longer the awkward girl of fifteen, and he certainly wasn’t twenty-two. He was older, a little harder, almost a stranger to her, despite his welcome and patience. But, in spite of her apprehension she knew he was a man she could trust.

“Brooke?”

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, shifting in her seat. “I was just wondering how to say this.”

“Don’t think about it—just say it.”

She gripped her hands in her lap and met his eyes. “I want you to marry me.”

Chapter 3

Jameson didn’t move. He didn’t smile or frown or give any indication of how her request had affected him. He just looked at her with an inscrutable expression.

Brooke gripped her hands tighter. She couldn’t have thought he’d get on his knees and propose, although she’d dreamed of a moment like that many times. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but it hadn’t been this. She could take him being outraged, shocked or even appalled, but his dark steady gaze held her paralyzed. She didn’t know if that was a good sign or not. She’d said what she’d wanted and she knew she needed to explain but she didn’t know how.

“I know this seems crazy,” she said in a rush, desperate to fill the silence. “But I don’t know who else to ask. After my father’s death things just went—well, I don’t know the right word for it really. Then the will was read and he has this requirement in it. And the creditors are knocking down the door and I don’t know where else to turn and—”

Jameson crossed the room, sat down beside her and rested his big, firm hands on her shoulders. “Breathe.”

Instead she stopped breathing, the feel of his hands seeming to burn through the cloth of her thin cotton jacket, his nearness leaving her weak and unable to move. “I’ve forgotten how.”

A tiny smile softened his mouth. “Brooke, it’ll be okay.”

She wanted to believe him; she had to. The alternative was too painful. Brooke took a deep breath, knowing that fainting at his feet would only annoy him. “All right.”

He searched her eyes. “Good. Now tell me what’s going on. Start from the beginning.”

“Meredith and I had expected to inherit the ranch.”

“But you won’t?” he asked when she lowered her gaze.

Brooke licked her lips, wondering if he was even aware that his hands were still on her shoulders. They anchored her, making her feel less alone. With her father gone and her sister away she had no family to turn to. “Dad put a strange codicil in the will. He stipulated that we must both be married before the ranch can be passed on to us. Because Meredith is married, she’s eligible to get her half.”

Jameson sat back and released her. It was as if the sound of her sister’s name built an instant barrier between them. “But Meredith has no interest in ranch life.”

Brooke met his gaze. “I know, and she’s been approached by a private broker who is offering her a fortune to sell her half.” Ironic as it sounded, Brooke knew she couldn’t do that because her father stipulated that in order to inherit the ranch they both had to be married. The only solution Brooke had been able to come up with was that once she was married she would buy out her sister’s half.

“What happens if you don’t marry?” Jameson asked.

Brooke sighed. “The ranch will remain with Mitch, our ranch foreman.” Mitch Stokel had been at her father’s side for years. He was trustworthy and a hard worker. “Daddy feared that I wouldn’t be able to run the ranch on my own, and he’s right.”

“Then what’s the rush? You’re a beautiful woman. You’ll have no trouble finding a husband when you’re ready.”

He thinks I’m beautiful! Brooke had to bite back a smile of satisfaction. She knew she was attractive, and she had grown used to male attention. But Jameson’s was the only one that mattered to her. If he liked her looks, did that also mean he was attracted to her? “I don’t have time to wait. In the will he also stipulated that if I’m not married within thirty days of the reading of the will, ownership of the ranch will legally pass over to Mitch. I’ll be allowed to stay on the ranch as long as I live, and I’ll receive a handsome share of the profit if Mitch ever decides to sell, but the ranch won’t be mine. And, as I said, Meredith is anxious to get her hands on her half so that she can make money from it. I don’t know why he wrote the will the way he did. It seems as if it was his strange way of making sure both his daughters would be married. I don’t understand.”

Jameson rubbed his chin and frowned. “This has to be illegal. It’s blackmail. Have you gotten an attorney to—”

“I’ve had my attorneys look the will over and it’s ironclad. I think, odd though it may seem, my father did this to help me.” As a child, Brooke had always been more expressive than Meredith about how much she didn’t want to stay on the ranch when she grew up. Although she knew her way around, she’d always been more interested in pursuing her art. She made Western-style pottery. She knew her father didn’t want her to feel burdened or obligated. She suspected he felt guilty that the pressure he’d put on his daughters had driven Meredith away. But as she grew Brooke’s feelings had changed. She wished now that she had told her father, before he died, how much she had come to love the ranch.

“I know how much your father loved you,” Jameson said. “Ray Palmer was a person I admired and a savvy businessman. But this codicil still makes no sense. Why not just let you sell the place? Forcing his daughters to get married in order to keep their own land that they have rightfully inherited makes no sense.”

Brooke had asked herself the same question, and she still didn’t know the answer. Perhaps it had to do with her father’s loneliness. Her mother had died when Brooke was five, and her father had never remarried. Maybe by stipulating they both get married, he wanted to make sure that she and her sister didn’t wind up alone. They had been close to their father. He was their life and had always made sure they were provided for. At times spoiling them more than guiding them.

Brooke remembered the many summers the two of them spent going down the Blackfoot River in an inner tube with him. One of the favorite things she liked to do with her father was fly-fishing. Although he wasn’t much of a talker, she simply loved being in his presence. He was a good teacher and was always patient, even when she wasn’t. The last time they had gone fishing together, they had traveled up the mountain to a stream where he loved to go. Just to get away. On that trip she had caught a bounty of fish. He had been overjoyed and had congratulated her.

“So, I am a means to an end?” Jameson asked, breaking her reverie.

Brooke blushed. He would be a dream come true, but she couldn’t’ tell him that. She hoped that her story and situation would be persuasive enough. He was an honorable man. “Like I said, I couldn’t think of any other way out of this, and you were the first person I thought of.”

Jameson stood and grabbed his hat. “I can’t help you. I can’t be your fake husband.” He was polite, but it was still a rejection.

Brooke should have expected his response, but it was still devastating. Her heart shriveled a little. She understood. He had a life and he didn’t want it tied to hers. “I know it’s a lot to ask of you, but I’ll lose everything. And the implications are bigger than you think. Mitch has already been talking to the broker who represents Samara Lionne and she’s interested in buying Meredith’s half of the property. It won’t be long before Samara Lionne owns half of Granger. I have to do something now.”

* * *

Jameson paused. Samara Lionne? The same Hollywood starlet who’d bought Wes’s property? To hear that woman’s name twice in one day wasn’t a good sign. “What does she need with a second ranch?”

“Second?”

Jameson set his hat down. “Yes. Wes sold his parcel of land to her. What could she be up to?”

“I don’t know. But there is one thing I do know, and that is if I don’t get married the entire ranch goes to Mitch, and I’m afraid he’ll sell.”

This changed everything. At first when she’d talked about getting married, he’d thought it was a joke. A mockery. Did she really think he would marry her? Hell, he didn’t even feel like dating. He wasn’t ready to think of marriage, let alone marrying the little sister of the woman who left him. Besides, it didn’t make sense. Brooke could easily get any man she wanted and probably a host of those she didn’t. When he’d first seen her today, it wasn’t her mane of wild curls or her hazel eyes that caught his eye; it was her shy smile.

As strikingly beautiful as she was, a man would expect a coy or sexy expression, not something shy and unassuming, almost sweet. Few things in his life were sweet, but Brooke Palmer’s grin definitely was. It stirred something in him. When he had turned to look at her, he had been surprised to see her, and he was a little glad, too, although he didn’t know why. He’d always liked her. As a child she seemed to appear at the strangest times, when he was roping or returning the cattle to the pen, and always with her little sketch pad. He didn’t mind her presence; she was never a bother or in his way.

He wanted to help her, but he didn’t want to marry her. He didn’t plan to marry anyone. His focus was on BWB, but based on what she’d told him he understood her desperation. He didn’t want her to lose her land. Those facts united them in a way he hadn’t imagined. She understood what was at stake.

Brooke stood. “I’m sorry for disturbing you.”

Jameson stopped her. At first he’d thought her idea ridiculous, but he suddenly realized that her request wasn’t about romance or other fleeting emotions. This was a business deal. This was about saving history, their heritage. She understood it as much as he did. He met her startled hazel gaze. She really had grown into a beautiful woman. For a moment she made him think of the Calliope hummingbird—swift and bright. It was common to Montana and its name came from the Greek word meaning “little star.” With a woman like Brooke he could accomplish his goal. He was tired of outsiders messing with his town and interfering with the privacy they’d been able to maintain for generations. She wanted to use him, and he could use her. It would make them equals. A team.

“Brooke,” he said. “You’ve got yourself a groom.” He extended his hand to her. She took it and quickly let go.

* * *

Brooke wanted to hug him, kiss him, dance, maybe even laugh, but instead she rocked on her heels and hugged herself. “Great. We can go to the justice of the peace or just elope.”

Jameson shook his head. “If we’re going to do this, we’ll do it big.”

Her arms fell to her sides. “Big?”

“Yes, the bigger the better. Our wedding is going to be one this town will remember. We need to make a symbolic statement and show everyone that the families of Granger stick together.” His eyes were serious and probing. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Brooke met his dark stare. He was giving her a chance to turn back and retain her dignity. He was offering her a warning that he wouldn’t be an easy man to marry, that his heart belonged to the BWB. Not her. But, instead of being uneasy, her resolve grew. Even if their marriage would just be for show, it would be a dream come true for her to walk down the aisle toward Jameson Broward. She knew she was taking a big gamble, but she didn’t care.

“Brooke?” Jameson repeated. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

She smiled. “With all my heart.” She was sure.

Chapter 4

Jameson was sure his mother hadn’t blinked for a full minute. His father just stared at him and then finally said, “You’re doing what?”

The three of them sat in the Great Room, where only yesterday they’d been discussing Wes’s property sale. “I’m getting married,” Jameson said.

“To Brooke Palmer?” Gwendolyn repeated, just to make sure she’d heard her son correctly the first time.

He nodded. “Yes. We’re getting married this month.”

“But you can’t be serious,” Gwendolyn said.

“I am. You know I don’t joke.”

“But Brooke is—”

“I know who she is,” he cut in, not wanting his mother to elaborate. “How I feel about her shocked me, too, but I can’t help it. We’ve been seeing each other for some time.”

“How long?”

“Long enough for me to know I want to marry her.”

“But it’s so sudden,” Steven said. “Why not wait?”

“I don’t want to wait. I asked and she accepted and that’s all there is to it.”

“Really?” Steven said, doubtful.

Gwendolyn frowned. “You know how this will look?”

Jameson couldn’t help a grin. “I plan to make it look spectacular, and I need your help. Brooke has no one to help her so I said I’d take care of everything, but since I don’t know much about weddings...” He let his words fade away and sent his mother a look of hope.

“You want me to organize everything,” Gwendolyn finished.

“With no expense spared.”

And he meant every word. So Gwendolyn went into “planning” mode, and before he knew it, a lavish wedding was quickly set into motion. She had their wedding invitations designed. She also put together a list of dignitaries and guests she knew absolutely had to be there and other lesser-known ones, just so that they didn’t feel snubbed. A wedding planner was hired to assist with the overall organization and all related events including interviewing a number of caterers. Brooke thought she would be able to get to do some things on her own, like select her dress, but Gwendolyn insisted on helping her select her wedding gown.

“No daughter-in-law of mine is going to wear an off-the-rack dress.” And she was good to her word. She flew Brooke, along with Laney, in a private plane to Atlanta, Georgia, where Gwendolyn had made an appointment with a top fashion designer to make a custom wedding dress for Brooke. It was stunning. It had a bare back that plunged just enough to be both revealing and modest, with transparent, off-the-shoulder sleeves that extended into beaded gloves and a cinched, gathered waist, with a long train and a full billowy embroidered silk skirt that accentuated Brooke’s drop-dead figure.

News of Brooke and Jameson’s engagement spread through Granger overnight, like wildfire. But, the closer they came to the actual date, the more concerned his family became. Although his mother no longer expressed her doubts and his grandfather kept whatever thoughts he had to himself, his father was more to the point. One late afternoon, Steven visited his son as Jameson went over some paperwork in his study.

“You sure you know what you’re doing marrying this woman?” Steven asked.

Jameson sniffed, more amused than offended by the question. “I always know what I’m doing.”

His father sat. “That’s what worries me.”

“Why?”

“Because I feel as if you’re up to something. You can try to fool the rest of the family with your story about having a clandestine relationship, but I know you too well. I also know when I see a man in love and from what I’ve seen, that isn’t you.”

Jameson pushed his paperwork aside and rested his arms on the desk, prepared for a fight he planned to win. “I care about her.”

“You ‘care’ about your cattle, but when it comes to loving a woman, you need to feel a little bit more than that.” Steven folded his arms. “I know she loves you.” He smiled when he saw Jameson flinch. “Why does that surprise you?”

Because you’re wrong, Jameson wanted to say. He had to admire Brooke. She was playing her role as his fiancée better than he’d expected. “I didn’t say it did.”

“A look passed your face. If you don’t plan on accepting her love how can you give it back?”

“I’ll take good care of her.”

“There’s that word again. Care. Don’t shame me and Ray Palmer, but most of all, don’t shame her. If this is your idea of some sort of twisted revenge against Meredith, I want you to stop it.”

“It’s not. That happened more than ten years ago. I’m over it.”

“Are you?”

Jameson leaned back in his chair. “It’s not like you to ask me to repeat myself.”

“You two were inseparable in school. When she left you...” He sighed and cleared his throat, as if the topic embarrassed him. “We all know how devastated you were because you loved her so much.”

“Don’t talk to me about love,” Jameson said in a tight voice. “I know all about love and what it can do. My feelings for Meredith are strong and deep. She and I are getting married and I don’t have to defend myself against you.”

“Brooke,” Steven corrected in a soft tone.

“What?”

“You just said you were marrying Meredith.”

Jameson felt heat rush to his face, but he kept his gaze steady. He couldn’t back down now. “I meant Brooke.”

“Really? You think making a mistake like that is something trivial?”

Jameson sighed, annoyed by his slip. “No.”

“I hope you’re marrying Brooke for the right reasons.”

“I am.”

“Don’t throw away a lot of money on a gamble you plan to lose.”

“You know I don’t like to lose, so why would I start now?”

But Jameson already knew he had won. Yes, he was helping her, but she was also helping him. But was marrying Brooke a way to avenge himself? Was he ready to be Meredith’s brother-in-law? He’d be rebuilding a bond that had been broken, but it was a strategic tactic he believed his family would eventually understand and respect. However, his father was right—he didn’t love her. But Brooke didn’t love him either. His father was mistaken. It was gratitude he’d sensed, not love. But there was no need to tell him the truth.

Unfortunately, Jameson knew his father knew him too well, and his mother, too. He had to act more like the loving fiancé and later, husband, if he wanted to keep the questions at bay. He was pleased that his actions had alleviated some of the earlier worry they had about the selling of Granger land. He didn’t want them concerned about what Samara was up to. Maybe they should have just eloped, but no, that wasn’t his style. He had to let people know that the Browards were on the defensive. They hadn’t built a fortune by laying low. He wouldn’t be like his brother and disappear when it was time to fight.

* * *

That evening, Jameson went to the Shank of the Evening saloon in downtown Granger to clear his head. He could take the curiosity of the town more than his family’s suspicions. Even his house manager, Cecelia, had had something to say about his upcoming wedding.

“The town is just buzzing about your wedding,” she said one evening as she cleared up Jameson’s dinner dishes. Her spiky red hair matched her ruddy cheeks and hinted at her Irish heritage. “It will be nice to have a woman around the house.”

Jameson picked up a magazine. “I thought you were enough.”

“You know what I mean.”

Her green eyes twinkled. “You are a sly one, seeing a woman on the side without anyone knowing.”

“Hmm...”

“But I’m surprised some woman hadn’t set her sights on you and reeled you in earlier.”

Jameson flipped through the magazine, used to Cecelia’s chatter. “Yes.”

“However, it does seem rather sudden. Is she?”

Jameson stopped and looked at her. “Is she what?”

“Expecting.”

“Expecting what?”

Her face reddened. “Don’t be stupid. You know what I’m talking about.”

Jameson cupped his chin and studied her. “Do I really look like the kind of man who’d get himself into that kind of trouble?”

“No, but—”

Jameson grinned and lifted his paper. He didn’t mind her questions. Cecelia was one of the few people he felt he could trust. She knew his ways and habits and gave him space when he wanted it. “There’s your answer.”

“I’m glad. But I hope you don’t wait too long to fill this big house with children.”

Jameson stopped listening to her after that. There would be no children, not for a long time.

At the bar Jameson sighed at the memory of Cecelia’s hopeful chatter, ordered a drink then took it outside to watch the traffic—what little there was of it—go by. He sat down, balanced his chair back on two legs and pushed his hat down low, ready to relax. Within seconds he saw a shapely pair of legs stop in front of him.

Jameson heard the distinct sound of a camera lens coming into focus. “I don’t want to make you regret taking that picture,” he said.

He heard a gasp of surprise and hid a grin.

“Not even just one?” a feminine voice said.

Jameson pushed his hat back and looked up. The voice belonged to a citified version of a Southern belle, from the French twist in her hair to her expensive leather heels. “No.”

“It’s just that I’ve never seen a real live cowboy before.”

“How do you know I am one?”

“You look the part.”

He sighed. Most people were as shallow as a dried-up creek. “Looks can be deceiving.”

The attractive lady lifted her camera and flashed a flirty grin. “Come on, just one little picture as a souvenir.”

“I’m being polite now, but I can be mean. I can guarantee you don’t want to see that side of me.”

Something in his tone wiped the smile from her face. The woman tucked her camera away in the large designer bag slung over her shoulder and hurried to her car.

Jameson raised his glass, as if offering a silent toast of victory, then took a drink, wishing he could get rid of all the outsiders as easily.

“Don’t you think you’re laying the surly cowboy act on a bit too thick?” Brooke said behind him.

Jameson stiffened, annoyed that the sound of her voice sent a fissure of awareness through him, then he quickly recovered himself. “It’s not an act. It’s how I am.”

Brooke sat down in front of him. “You weren’t always like that.”

“I’ve changed.”

“Me, too.”

He lifted a brow, doubtful.

“I’ve gotten older, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“I’ve noticed.” A little more than I want to. He sipped his drink and looked around. This place was more Wes’s scene than his. If he’d really wanted to be left alone, he should have gone for a ride. Yes, a long trek up one of the mountains would have been a better option. Instead of having to listen to the sound of raucous music emanating from the saloon and being bothered by uninvited women on the street.

“Dance with me.”

Jameson took a long swallow, his gaze focused on the street. “Why?”

“People are already talking. I think we should add more chapters to this story.”

Jameson finished his drink and set the glass down. “I don’t dance.”

“I can teach you.”

He stood. “Bye.”

“Don’t you think we should have one date before we get married?”

Jameson looked at her confused. “Date?”

“Yes. We should at least show people that we’re a couple.”

“They’ll know for sure the moment you walk down the aisle. I have nothing to prove.”

“Please.”

Jameson studied her for a moment. She was being sincere and he knew he was disappointing her, but he didn’t dance well and he wasn’t going to make a fool of himself for anyone. Besides, he was tired. He’d gotten up at four in the morning and it had been a long day. But she was right, they should give the town something to talk about. And he needed to show his father that marrying Brooke wasn’t some twisted plot of revenge. He looked inside the bar then thought of an idea. “Darts.”

Brooke frowned. “What?”

“You once asked me to teach you how to throw darts.”

Brooke threw up her hands in apparent exasperation. “Jameson, that was years ago. I must have been twelve.”

“Well, I’m ready to teach you.” He grabbed her wrist, pulled her inside and headed over to the dartboard.

Jameson patiently told her the rules of the game, then showed her how to hold the dart and aim. “It takes practice, but it’s fun. Now you try.”

* * *

Brook took a dart, threw it with the skill of a champion and hit the bull’s-eye. “You mean like this?” She threw another dart, again hitting dead center. “Or like this?” She threw it a third time. “Or maybe like this.”

Jameson rested his hands on his hips. “I didn’t realize I was such a good teacher,” he said in a dry tone.

Brooke laughed, pleased that he didn’t mind her teasing. “I couldn’t wait around for you, so I found someone else to teach me.”

“Who?”

“You wouldn’t know him.”

“Him?”

“Does that make a difference?”

“No.”

Brooke wished it did. She wanted him to be curious, even a little jealous, but he wasn’t. Jameson left after giving her a quick peck on the lips, just for show. Maybe she shouldn’t have shown off. She liked having him trying to teach her. She remembered her back pressing against his chest. The feel of his strong hand steadying her arm. She didn’t blame the lady visitor for wanting to take a picture of him. He may not appreciate attention from the fairer sex, but he certainly encouraged it without effort. He was a fine specimen of a man.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned and saw a waitress holding out a tray with a drink. “This is for you. It’s from the man over there.”

Brooke turned and saw Mitch grinning at her. She took the drink and walked over to his table. “What’s this for?”

“I thought you’d need the courage to keep this charade up.”

“Charade?”

Mitch nodded to the dartboard. “That was quite a show you two put on, but it won’t work.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I know this engagement thing is a fake, and if your marriage lasts longer than a week, I’ll eat my hat.”

Brooke smiled, pressing back a sense of unease. “Good. I’ll be there to grill it for you.”

* * *

He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Jameson went to bed in a nasty mood and woke up in an even meaner one. He couldn’t stop thinking about the sly grin Brooke had given him at the bar after hitting three bull’s-eyes. Each time he felt as if she were aiming at his heart. No, not his heart, much lower than that and to a much more delicate part of his anatomy. He’d been turned on by the shape of her butt in her tight-fitting jeans and the feel of her soft skin under his fingers as he taught her how to hold and throw a dart. He could still smell her perfume.

He’d gotten too close, but he wouldn’t make that mistake again. He had to stay away from her. Unfortunately, Brooke didn’t give him the opportunity. She showed up on the ranch the next day while he was busying himself looking over some of the calves.

“I forgot to tell you something.”

Jameson stiffened. Wasn’t marrying her enough? “What?”

“It’s about my studio.”

He felt himself relax and returned his gaze to the herd. “What about it?” he asked absently as his gaze focused on a calf that looked listless. Not a good sign.

“I need one. Can I have a space in your house?”

“Hmm.”

“Jameson, are you listening to me? It’s important that I have the space I need.”

“You’ll get it,” he said, noticing another calf that didn’t look healthy. It wasn’t playing or running like the others. “Excuse me.”

“What’s wrong?” Brooke asked, following close behind him.

He walked over to the calf and pointed. “Tell me what you see.”

“She doesn’t look good.”

Jameson silently swore. They’d had a great calving season, but it was still a delicate time for the newborn calves. He had to keep constant watch for broken bones from being stomped on by the herd or for infections. He still felt bad about the call from his foreman, telling him he’d lost a horse he’d hoped to rescue and the second one was still touch and go. He didn’t need more bad news. He walked over and pulled the skin on one of the calf’s necks. It lacked the elasticity he expected, meaning it was dehydrated. He watched Brooke do the same with another calf.

“This one is dehydrated, but I don’t see any of the others looking as bad.”

Jameson called over a ranch hand, Frank, and they checked the calves’ body temperatures. They were running too hot. “Separate these two,” he told Frank. “And you know the rest.” Jameson and Frank knew they’d need to get the fluids the vet had provided to the calves quickly in order not to lose them.

“Brooke,” Jameson said with a note of apology. “We’ll talk about the studio later. Okay?”

“No problem.”

The following day the calves were doing much better, but Jameson’s mood hadn’t improved much. He kept thinking about Brooke checking the calf for dehydration. She’d sprung into action without him asking her or telling her what needed to be done. It had felt good to have her at his side...too good. He couldn’t afford to feel this way. He had to think business. He called his lawyer. “I need you to do something for me. Fast.”

The next day Jameson sat in Brooke’s front room with a legal prenuptial agreement and a pen ready. It was two days before their wedding, and he wanted to get something settled. “I need you to read this agreement, then sign,” he said more brusquely than he meant to.

Brooke lifted the papers. “What is it?”

“A business agreement. This will protect you as much as it does me.”

She set the papers down. “I don’t need to sign.”

“If you want this marriage to go through, you will.”

“I don’t want anything from you except to save my legacy.”

“Then sign and there won’t be a problem.” He knew that people’s intentions could change. He was sure she meant well now, but he’d been burned before, and he wouldn’t make the same mistake of trusting a woman twice. “This is strictly business. As your father stipulated in his will, we have to stay married for at least a year. After that we’ll part ways and you’ll get your ranch.”

“You certainly know how to make a girl feel wanted. I’ll sign, but you can’t keep treating our relationship this way.”

“What way?”

“Like we’re business colleagues.”

Jameson nodded, pleased with the description. “That’s essentially what we are.”

Brooke lowered her voice, although no one was around to overhear. “Only we know that, but others can’t think so. If I sign this, I need you to play the part of my husband. A devoted husband.”

Jameson shrugged with nonchalance. “I can do that.”

“Prove it.”

“I did. In the saloon—”

“You treated me like your kid sister,” Brooke interrupted. “Not your fiancée. Mitch is already laughing about how fake this engagement looks and he’s sharing his opinions. What does your family think?”

“I guess you have a point,” Jameson agreed with reluctance. “Okay. I promise I’ll play the role so you get to keep your family homestead.” He held the pen out.

Brooke shook her head. “I said prove it.”

Jameson looked around. “Why? Nobody’s watching.”

“Then it’s a good time to practice, don’t you think?”

“Practice what?”

“Being a husband.”

Jameson waved the pen. “And you won’t sign until I do?”

Brooke crossed her legs and sat back with a satisfied grin. “That’s right.”

“Quite a negotiation tactic, but you have a lot more to lose than I do.”

“I grew up with a rancher, I know that most things in life are a gamble. One just needs to weigh his or her options.”

“When you gamble you should make sure the odds are in your favor. What makes you think I’ll do what you ask? What will you do if I say no?”

Her grin widened. “You won’t.”

“You sound sure about that.”

“I am because I know you like a challenge as much as I do.”

Jameson raised his brows. “You think you know me well?”

“Am I right?”

He folded his arms. “Okay, so you want me to act like your husband?”

“Devoted,” Brooke added with emphasis. “Convince me that I’m yours.”

“That shouldn’t be hard.”

“Let me see you try.”

“I don’t ‘try.’ I succeed.”

“So far you’re all talk.”

“You’re right.”

Jameson didn’t move. His arms remained folded. He didn’t move closer, but the air suddenly became still and charged with an electric heat like the coming of lightning. Brooke felt her throat grow dry as his gaze lazily appraised her in a way that was both intimate and naughty. His eyes undressed her. She suddenly felt lightheaded. But just as quickly as the expression came it disappeared and his face turned into a bland mask.

“Did you find that convincing?” he said in a flat tone.

Brooke could only nod, her mind spinning. She wanted to “practice” some more, but she wasn’t bold enough to ask him to. She’d been surprised she’d been able to get him to show false affection even once.

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