Would you take a risk on a cowboy’s kiss?

Dating a single mom? Patrick Stafford would never break that rule...

Patrick Stafford trades his suit for a Stetson and boots and risks it all on a dude ranch. But it’s the veterinarian in Haven, Nevada, who really challenges him. Dr. Brooke Langley is all business, a devoted single mom who is off-limits to a fun-loving bachelor like him. But Patrick should have taken his own advice, because after just one kiss, he’s ready to make the biggest gamble of his life...with his heart.

BRENDA HARLEN is a former attorney who once had the privilege of appearing before the Supreme Court of Canada. The practice of law taught her a lot about the world and reinforced her determination to become a writer—because in fiction, she could promise a happy ending! Now she is an award-winning, RITA® Award-nominated national bestselling author of more than thirty titles for Mills & Boon. You can keep up-to-date with Brenda on Facebook and Twitter, or through her website, brendaharlen.com

Also by Brenda Harlen

The Sheriff’s Nine-Month Surprise

Her Seven-Day Fiancé

Six Weeks to Catch a Cowboy

Claiming the Cowboy’s Heart Double

Duty for the Cowboy

One Night with the Cowboy

Baby Talk & Wedding Bells

The Last Single Garrett

Maverick Christmas Surprise

Bring Me a Maverick for Christmas!

The Maverick’s Midnight Proposal

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

A Chance for the Rancher

Brenda Harlen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90324-4

A CHANCE FOR THE RANCHER

© 2020 Brenda Harlen

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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This one is for Cheryl Paterson—

an amazing mum, extraordinary teacher,

fabulous friend and the most kick-ass woman

I’ve ever had the privilege to know. XO

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Watching for the arrival of the veterinarian, Patrick Stafford exhaled a relieved breath when he finally spotted a vehicle coming down the long driveway. He didn’t recognize either the mud-splattered pickup that parked beside the barn or the woman who exited the vehicle, and the rancher felt a brief twinge of disappointment that his injured horse would have to wait a while longer to be tended. But as a man who appreciated women, his interest was immediately piqued.

She was tall and slender, wearing a sheepskin-lined leather jacket unzipped over a plaid flannel shirt tucked into slim-fitting jeans with a wide brown belt around her waist and well-worn cowboy boots on her feet. Which only meant she was dressed like most of the other women who lived on the ranches that dotted the countryside of Haven, Nevada, and didn’t begin to explain why he found himself so drawn to her.

He continued his perusal anyway: long brown hair that was tied away from her face in a neat braid that fell to the middle of her back. As she drew nearer, he realized that her hair wasn’t actually brown but auburn, and that it shone with hints of bronze and copper in the afternoon sun. Her eyes were the color of dark chocolate and fringed by long lashes. Her mouth was unsmiling but temptingly shaped. And as his gaze lingered on her lips for just a moment, Patrick realized it had been a long time since he’d kissed a woman—or even wanted to.

He pushed the wayward thought aside to focus on his visitor. “Can I help you?”

“Actually, I’m here to help you.” Now her lips curved into a smile and she proffered a hand. “Dr. Langley.”

He shook it automatically, noting the long, slender (and ringless!) fingers, neatly trimmed, unpainted nails and firm grip. “Patrick Stafford,” he replied automatically. Then her words registered, and he frowned. “You’re not Dr. Langley.”

“Well, I don’t carry a copy of my diploma with me, but I can show you my driver’s license,” she offered, shifting the backpack he hadn’t noticed was on her shoulder so that he could now see the patch bearing the letter V superimposed on the staff of Asclepius—the immediately recognizable symbol of her profession.

Apparently she was a vet, but he still felt confident in asserting, “I remember Dr. Langley from his visits to Crooked Creek Ranch when I was a kid, and you’re definitely not him.”

“That would have been my father,” she said. “Dr. Bruce Langley. I’m Dr. Brooke Langley.”

Which made sense, as the other Dr. Langley had been older, with salt-and-pepper hair and a stocky build that promised he was capable of handling the ranch animals that were the foundation of his rural practice.

“Where’s Ranger?” she asked.

“I might not have been clear when I called,” he said now. “But Ranger is a twelve-hundred-pound stallion and rather ornery right now.”

“This isn’t my first rodeo,” she assured him. “It’s also not the first time I’ve been out here to tend to one of Gus Sterling’s animals.”

“They aren’t his animals anymore,” he pointed out. “They’re mine.”

“Right now, I’m more interested in Ranger’s injury than in who’s paying the bill, but if you want to wait for my father—who’s currently tied up out at Whispering Pines helping to birth a breech foal—that’s entirely up to you.”

Her response didn’t eliminate all his doubts, but he decided that if Gus had trusted her with his horses then Patrick could, too. He slid open the barn door and gestured for her to enter.

The heels of her boots clicked on concrete as she made her way down the center aisle to the stallion’s stall, but it was the subtle sway of her hips and sweet curve of her derriere that held Patrick’s attention. And though he regretted the circumstances that had required him to contact the veterinarian office, he wasn’t sorry that Dr. Brooke Langley had answered his call.

Haven wasn’t so small that everyone knew everyone else, but there were usually only two or three degrees of separation between one person and the next. As he’d already mentioned to Brooke, he remembered her father from his visits to Crooked Creek Ranch, but he had no memory of her. And though she must have attended the same high school he did—because there was only one in Haven—he drew a blank there, too.

But Ranger seemed to know her, and Patrick was reassured by the animal’s acknowledgment of her presence. The stallion’s long nose appeared over the door of his enclosure as she approached and actually seemed to nod, as if in greeting.

Brooke lifted a hand to rub the horse’s cheek, and Ranger whinnied softly.

Patrick stood back, both mesmerized by the wordless interaction and a little terrified for the woman who boldly opened the gate and stepped inside the stall. He’d guess that she was about five feet eight inches tall, but next to the horse, she looked small.

And breakable.

Of course, anyone who’d spent any amount of time around horses had to respect the powerful strength of an animal whose muscular legs and flashing hooves could do serious damage, even inadvertently. But Brooke didn’t hesitate to enter the enclosure, and Ranger didn’t shy away from her presence. And somehow, her quiet confidence only added to her allure.

“How are you doing, Ranger?”

Her tone was quiet, soothing, but the hands stroking the animal were steady and sure. Everything she said and did seemed to reassure the animal that she was in charge. Her quiet murmuring trailed off when she crouched down far enough to examine the wound. After a moment’s hesitation, she resumed her monologue and continued her study.

When she rose up again and turned to Patrick, her voice was as hard as her gaze. “He’s cut all the way through the coronary band. How did this happen?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I put the horses out in the paddock this morning but somehow Ranger got out and—”

“Somehow?” she interjected.

“I thought I latched the gate, but when I went back to check on the horses, it was swinging free.”

“Is Ranger the only one who got out?”

“No, but he’s the only one who got hurt.”

“I’m going to need more light,” she said, reaching over the door for Ranger’s halter and lead rope.

It was a testament to Ranger’s training—and reassuring to Patrick—that the animal didn’t balk in any way as she secured the halter and led him to the cross-tie area, where textured rubber mats provided stable footing for both the animal and the vet, and additional lighting illuminated the area even in the dark of night.

He watched as she opened her pack and began rifling through the contents. “He was favoring his right foreleg when I found him.”

“No wonder.” She unwrapped a syringe, slid the point of the needle into the vial and measured out the medication.

“This is a tetanus antitoxin,” she told Patrick. “He’s also going to need a shot of penicillin to combat any infection. Then I’m going to flush the wound and pack it with ichthammol ointment.”

“What can I do?” he asked, feeling responsible and guilty and wanting to help.

“You know how to make coffee?” she asked.

He almost breathed a sigh of relief that she’d assigned him a task he could handle. He nodded. “What do you take in it?”

“Black is fine.”

“Coming right up,” he promised.

While Patrick was gone, Brooke took her time tending to Ranger’s injury. She knew the stallion had to be in pain, but at least he seemed to understand that she was there to help. Though initially agitated and skittish—as any wounded creature would be—he stoically endured her ministrations.

In her experience, most animals tolerated necessary treatment if they were given an opportunity to understand that the hands poking and prodding wanted to heal. Sure, she’d endured occasional kicks and nips—and once even a nasty headbutt from a nanny goat that resulted in a concussion—but the veterinarian-patient relationship was generally one of mutual respect and understanding. And if she was ever in doubt, she sedated the animal in the interest of their mutual safety.

She wasn’t worried about Ranger. Though pain could make any man or beast unpredictable, he was a gentle soul. She suspected he was also confused by the change in his circumstances, as evidenced by the departure of the ranch’s former owner and the arrival of Patrick Stafford in his stead, and her heart went out to the animal.

“I can’t believe Gus left you behind,” she lamented aloud. “But maybe there aren’t a lot of places to stable a horse in a retirement community in Arizona. And a horse born and bred in Nevada probably wouldn’t like Arizona much, anyway.”

She’d heard rumors about the old rancher selling, but it was only when she’d turned into the gravel drive and saw the freshly painted barn bearing the new logo of Silver Star Ranch that she realized they were true. A couple of rough years had resulted in the Sterling Ranch teetering on the edge of bankruptcy and one more would have pushed it over, so she could hardly blame Gus for looking for a way out.

But she did blame him for selling to Patrick Stafford—and she definitely blamed the new owner for the horse’s nasty injury. The man obviously knew nothing about ranching and even less about caring for the animals that had apparently been entrusted to him as part of the deal.

A deal that would turn the failing ranch into a tourist attraction.

A dude ranch, for Christ’s sake.

As if she needed any more proof that Patrick Stafford was just a bored rich guy playing at being a cowboy and opening his doors to other bored rich guys who wanted to do the same thing.

It was only too bad he didn’t appear to have the soft, pale body of a man who’d spent his life behind a desk and under artificial light. Instead, he was tall with broad shoulders and lean hips, looking very much like the rancher he was pretending to be.

And if the checkered shirt with the polo pony embroidered on the chest pocket and distressed designer-label jeans detracted a little from the authenticity of the cowboy image, he was handsome enough to compensate, with sun-bleached sandy-brown hair, tanned skin, surprisingly green eyes, a straight nose, thin lips and a strong jaw shadowed with stubble. But aside from his hard body and striking good looks, he possessed an aura of confidence that added to his overall appeal.

Of course, Patrick Stafford had probably been born with swagger. Certainly he’d had it even in high school. Though she hadn’t known him back then, she’d known who he was, because his mother was a Blake and the Blakes were the wealthiest family in Haven, Nevada. And Blake Mining was the town’s single biggest employer—which made her wonder why he’d chosen to leave the family business to embark on this new venture. Not that she was going to ask. After all, his rationale had nothing to do with her reason for being at his ranch.

And though Brooke wasn’t ordinarily the type of woman who got all tongue-tied or weak-kneed in the presence of a handsome man, she’d definitely felt a quiver of something low in her belly when Patrick looked at her. It had been a long time since she’d experienced such an immediate attraction to a man—eight years, in fact—and she was unnerved by her response to this man now. Thankfully, she was a lot older and wiser than she’d been eight years earlier, and she had a much better understanding of what was at stake.

So she pushed her personal observations of the rancher aside to focus on her task. When she was done, Ranger gently bumped her shoulder with his nose, as if to say thank you.

She rubbed her palm over his cheek. “You’re very welcome. But try to remember—as tempting as unlatched gates might be, it’s not safe to wander off on your own.”

He blew out a breath, as if to sigh, and she smiled.

“Do you always talk to your patients?” Patrick asked curiously.

Brooke hadn’t heard him return and started now at the sound of his voice, but she responded to the question without missing a beat.

“Always,” she confirmed. “I mean, I’m no Doctor Dolittle, but I believe the animals understand my tone and intent if not the actual words.”

“Ranger certainly seems to,” he acknowledged. Then, offering the mug he carried, he added, “Your coffee.”

“Oh, um, thanks.”

She took the mug and lifted it to her lips. It was strong and hot, just the way she liked it, though she hadn’t wanted the drink so much as she’d wanted him not hovering while she tended to the injured horse.

“I was wondering about something you said earlier,” he commented now.

“I said a lot of things—and held a lot more back,” she admitted.

He smiled, and damn if that smile didn’t do funny things to her insides.

Older and wiser, she reminded herself.

And with so much more to lose.

“You said that you were more interested in Ranger than the man paying the bill,” he said, as if to prod her memory.

“You’re still going to get a bill,” she promised.

“I would expect so,” he said. “But are you at least a little bit interested?”

She frowned as she took another sip of coffee. “What?”

“Being ‘more interested’ in Ranger suggests you’re still interested in me. Doesn’t it?” he asked hopefully.

“I’m definitely interested in being paid,” she told him. “But Larissa—the clinic manager—will send you the bill.”

“You’re sidestepping my question,” he noted.

“Actually, I’m waiting for you to stop talking so I can give you instructions for Ranger’s follow-up care.”

He inclined his head, a silent invitation to her to continue.

“His dressing will need to be changed daily until the wound is healed,” she told him. “Do you have any ichthammol ointment?”

“I’m not sure,” he said.

“I’ll leave some and add it to the bill,” she decided.

“What about changing the dressing? Will you come back to do that?” he asked.

She shook her head. “That shouldn’t be necessary.”

“Let me rephrase,” he said. “Can you please come back to do that?”

She was surprised by the request. “Do you have any idea what it will cost to have me come back out here to change a bandage?”

“I don’t care what it costs,” he told her.

Of course he didn’t.

And because he didn’t, she shrugged. “In that case, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” His quick smile conveyed relief and gratitude. “And how about tonight?”

“He’ll be fine tonight,” she assured him.

“I wasn’t asking for Ranger,” he said. “I was asking if I could see you tonight.”

“No.”

“Just for a drink,” he cajoled.

Then he smiled again—this time a deliberately slow and sensual curve of his lips that had undoubtedly melted the resistance of many other women. Thankfully, experience had immunized Brooke against such obvious ploys.

She hoped.

“Or dinner, if you prefer,” he said, when she didn’t immediately respond.

“No and no,” she replied, wondering how it was possible that he didn’t already have a date lined up. Because it wasn’t only a Friday—it was Valentine’s Day.

Not that the occasion was a big deal to Brooke. It didn’t matter to her that she wouldn’t get chocolates or flowers, because she would be spending the night with the most important guy in her life.

“Tomorrow, then?” he suggested as an alternative.

She was flattered. And flustered.

But definitely not interested.

She shook her head. “No.”

Still, he wasn’t dissuaded. “Are you seeing someone?”

“How is that any of your business?”

“I’m curious about my competition,” he said.

“There’s no competition,” she told him. “I’m not dating anyone right now and I’m not interested in dating anyone, especially not a pretend cowboy who doesn’t have the sense to latch a paddock gate.”

“Ouch,” he said, feigning hurt.

Or maybe his pride really was wounded.

She didn’t imagine a man as handsome and wealthy as Patrick Stafford heard the word no very often.

And perhaps her response had been a little harsh, not to mention unprofessional.

Yes, it frustrated her that an innocent animal had paid the price for his mistake, and it annoyed her that even now he didn’t seem to realize there could be lasting repercussions for Ranger as a result of the injury. But she knew as well as anyone that busy people sometimes missed little details.

An unlatched gate.

A loose stirrup.

An expired condom.

Each one had repercussions.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “That was uncalled for and possibly unfair.”

“If you were really sorry, you’d offer to buy me a drink,” he said, adding a wink for good measure.

She was grateful he’d accepted her apology—and irritated by his inability to take a hint.

“I’m not going to do that,” she said. “But I will give you the ichthammol ointment at cost.”

“Of course, I have no idea what ‘cost’ is,” he acknowledged.

“About thirty percent less than you’d pay at the feed store,” she told him, as she returned her equipment to her pack and zipped it up.

“A bargain,” he decided. “Maybe I could put those savings toward a meal at The Home Station with you.”

“You really don’t understand the word no, do you?”

“I understand the word,” he assured her. “I just thought, since it’s getting close to dinnertime and we both have to eat, we might as well eat together.”

She glanced at her watch. “Actually, it is almost dinnertime, which means that I just might make it home in time to eat with Brendan for a change.”

He frowned at that. “Who’s Brendan?”

“My seven-year-old son.”

Chapter Two

Well, that was an unexpected revelation.

Patrick took a mental step back. He didn’t realize he’d taken an actual physical step, too, until she called attention to his instinctive reaction.

“Yeah, that’s the usual response from guys like you,” she said.

“What response? And what do you mean—guys like me?”

“The retreat,” she said, answering only his first question.

He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“You literally took a step back, as if the responsibilities of parenting might be contagious.”

“I did not,” he denied. Except he realized that he was standing a little farther away from her now. “Or if I did, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said dismissively. “At least now we both know where the other one stands.”

“And where is it that you think I stand?”

“As far away from any potential complications as you can possibly get.”

He wished he could deny it—or at least point out that she didn’t know him or anything about him. But while he often used flattery and charm to convey his interest in a woman, he tried to always be honest, too. Although he’d dated a lot of different women in his thirty-two years, the one thing those women all had in common was that they were no more interested in a long-term relationship than he was. And even if he did meet someone who might make him reconsider, the ranch was his priority now and for the foreseeable future.

He didn’t have the time or—to be perfectly honest—any interest in a committed relationship. And he sure as hell wasn’t looking to be a stand-in father to someone else’s kid, because that was a scenario that screamed “complication” to him.

And while Brooke Langley might be the sexiest female to cross his path in months, she wasn’t what he wanted. Even if the pressure behind his zipper suggested otherwise.

“I was just...surprised,” he finally responded. “And now I’m curious... Is your son’s father from around here?” he asked, wondering if the man might be someone he knew.

“Brendan doesn’t have a father.”

His brows lifted at that.

“The man who contributed to his DNA has no interest in being a dad,” she explained. “He made that perfectly clear when I told him I was pregnant.”

“I’m sorry,” he said automatically.

“There’s no reason to be,” she told him. “He got his freedom and I got Brendan. And since my work is finished here, I really do want to get home to him now.”

“But you’ll be back tomorrow?” he said, not really a question so much as a reminder.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” she confirmed.

He nodded, already looking forward to seeing her again.

As much as she loved her job, Brooke always looked forward to the end of the day because she loved coming home to her little boy even more. From the very first moment he was placed in her arms, her heart had filled with so much love, she’d been certain it would burst right out of her chest.

It wasn’t always easy being a single mom, but she never regretted her decision to keep her baby. Of course, she was fortunate to have the unwavering support of her parents—and the luxury of living with Brendan in the apartment above their detached garage. The space was a little on the small side, but plenty big enough for the two of them, with two bedrooms, a four-piece bath, a decent-size family room and a modest kitchen with a breakfast bar.

The kitchen was the focus of her thoughts now, as she tried to remember what ingredients she had to put together for a meal. She was pretty sure there was ground beef in the freezer, and tacos weren’t only quick and easy, they were one of Brendan’s favorites.

She thought wistfully, for just a moment, about Patrick’s invitation to dinner. It would be nice to go out to a restaurant where someone else prepared the food and cleaned up afterward. Of course, if that was really what she wanted, she could take Brendan out to eat at Diggers’ tonight. The occasional treat at the popular bar and grill was within her budget even if a meal at The Home Station was not.

She pulled into the driveway beside her parents’ house and parked in her usual spot in front of the garage. But she headed to the main house rather than her own apartment, knowing her son would be there. His school bus stopped in front of the house and, when he got off it at the end of the day, he knew to go see Gramma if his mom’s truck wasn’t in the driveway.

Brooke entered her childhood home through the side door and sat on the bench in the mudroom to remove her boots and hang her coat before stepping into the kitchen, where her mother was at the stove, stirring something in a pan. Though Sandra Langley had recently celebrated her sixtieth birthday, she still looked like the bride she’d been in the photos taken on her wedding day. There were some discernible changes, of course, the most obvious being that she wore her hair much shorter now, in a chin-length bob. But the shiny auburn tresses were the same color they’d been back then (thanks to a little assistance from Wendy at the Clip ’N’ Curl), and her dark brown eyes still sparkled with humor.

“Mmm,” Brooke said, sniffing the air as she crossed the room to kiss her mother’s cheek. “Something smells good.”

“It doesn’t smell like much of anything yet,” Sandra remarked. “I’m only browning ground beef.”

“Well, it smells good to me,” she insisted.

“You worked through lunch again, didn’t you?”

“The clinic was packed,” she said.

“You need to eat,” her mom admonished. “How can you take care of the animals if you don’t take care of yourself?”

“I do eat,” she said. “In fact, I’ll eat whatever you’re cooking, if we’re invited to stay for dinner.”

“Tacos,” Sandra said. “And of course you’re welcome to stay.”

She grinned. “Were the tacos Brendan’s suggestion?”

“He did mention that he hadn’t had them in for-ev-er.” Her mother stretched out the word to emphasize it the way Brooke was sure her son had done.

“Which is why I’d planned to make them for him when we got home,” she said.

“Now you don’t have to,” Sandra told her.

“You spoil us,” Brooke said.

Her mom smiled. “It’s a mother’s prerogative to spoil her kids—and grandkids. And since your father isn’t home yet, having the two of you here for dinner means I won’t have to eat alone.”

“Is Dad still at Whispering Pines?”

Sandra shook her head. “He was on his way home when he got a call from Frieda Zimmerman asking him to stop by and take a look at Cupcake.”

Brooke huffed out a breath. “She came into the clinic with Cupcake today. I gave the cat a thorough exam and assured Mrs. Zimmerman there was nothing wrong with her pet aside from the fact that she’s fourteen years old.”

“And for all of the fourteen years that Frieda’s had the cat, she’s been taking her to your dad for care,” her mom pointed out.

“Sometimes I wonder if inviting me to help out in his practice has been any help to Dad at all.”

“Of course it has,” Sandra assured her. “And your dad is so proud and excited to work with you.”

“Unfortunately, his clients are a little less enthusiastic when I show up instead.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re talking about someone other than Frieda Zimmerman?”

“I’ll fill you in on all the details after I hear about Brendan’s Valentine’s Day party at school. Where is he?”

“In your dad’s office, doing his homework.”

“He loves sitting in Grandpa’s big chair,” Brooke acknowledged.

“I think he loves spinning in Grandpa’s big chair,” her mother said, smiling. “Just like you used to do when you were a kid.”

Brooke leaned in and gave her mom a hug, then went to find her son.

As she made her way down the hall, she found herself reflecting again on her good fortune. She knew there was no way she could do what she did without the support of her family—especially her mother. Sandra had been there not only to offer support and advice throughout Brooke’s pregnancy, but she’d given up her part-time job as a vet tech after Brendan was born so that she could take care of her grandson while Brooke finished college.

Though Brendan was in school full-time now, Brooke found that she relied on her mother just as much now for support and advice. She had friends in town, of course, but motherhood, school and then work had caused their paths to diverge long ago. As a result, her mom was probably her closest friend and confidante.

Pausing outside the door of her dad’s office, she peeked in to confirm that Brendan was in the big leather chair, spinning, his hands catching and releasing the edge of the desktop as leverage to keep the chair turning.

She stepped into the open doorway and fisted her hands on her hips.

It took three more complete circles before Brendan noticed her, but when he did, he immediately grabbed hold of the desk with both hands to stop his momentum. He cast his eyes down, his cheeks flushed with guilt—or maybe it was excitement that was responsible for the color.

“What does Gramma say to you about spinning in Grandpa’s chair?” she asked him.

“Not to let Grandpa catch me doing it,” he said.

“Oh, really?” Brooke had to press her lips together to hold back her smile.

When she was a kid, she’d been told—firmly and repeatedly—not to do it, but apparently there were different rules for grandchildren.

“Or you could not spin in the chair. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about getting caught,” she pointed out to him.

“But it’s fun to spin,” he said and tipped his head back to smile at her, showing off the gap between his teeth where he’d recently lost both his central incisors.

He’d been sad when the first one started to loosen, until he learned that he could leave his tooth under his pillow and the tooth fairy would exchange it for money. Since then, there had been a few times that she’d caught him trying to wiggle teeth that weren’t loose. Just checking was always his ready excuse.

“How come you’re late today?” he asked her now.

She lifted a hand to ruffle his shaggy mop of hair. “I had to stop by Mr. Sterling’s ranch to check on an injured horse.”

“Did you make him better?” Brendan asked.

With both a mother and grandfather in the business of caring for animals, it probably wasn’t surprising that he was so instinctively kindhearted and empathetic. Or that he’d announced, shortly after his seventh birthday, his intention to be the next Dr. B. Langley.

Brooke knew it was likely he’d change his mind a dozen times before he went to college, but it pleased her to know that, at least right now, her little boy looked up to her and wanted to follow in her footsteps.

“I gave him some medicine and bandaged his wound, but it’s going to take a little time before he’s all better,” she said, mentally crossing her fingers that the stallion would make a full and complete recovery. “How was your party?”

“It was great,” he said. “I got a valentine from everyone in my class—and two from Livia and Ruby. Do you want to see them?”

“Of course I want to see them.”

He reached into his backpack and pulled out a brown paper bag labeled with his name in carefully printed letters and decorated all over with glittery pink and red hearts. He turned the bag upside down over the desk to dump out the contents.

“That’s a lot of valentines,” Brooke said, biting her lip to keep from smiling.

“I know,” he gleefully agreed and proceeded to go through the pile, one by one, reading the traditional catchphrases or silly jokes printed on each of the cards and then telling her who it was from. Thankfully there were only eighteen kids in his second-grade class.

When he was done and the valentines were all stuffed back in the bag, she noticed the page of math problems on the desk. “Miss Karen gave you homework today?”

“Yeah.” He made a face. “Math.”

“I thought you liked math.” She propped a hip against the corner of the desk.

“But this is bo-or-ring,” he said, drawing out the word for emphasis.

She glanced at the half-completed worksheet. “It might be boring but knowing how to count money is important.”

“I know how to count money.”

“Do you? Because you circled the two quarters as representing fifty cents.”

“Two quarters is fifty cents,” he said confidently.

“But that’s not the only grouping of coins that adds up to fifty cents,” she pointed out. “And the instructions say to circle all the groups of coins that add up to the total amount given.”

Brendan studied the problem for a moment, then drew a second circle around the picture of five dimes and a third around the image showing a quarter with two dimes and five pennies.

“Good job,” she told him. “Now I’m going to let you finish that up while I help Gramma get dinner ready.”

“Are we staying for dinner?” he asked hopefully.

“That’s the plan.”

“Yes!” He added a fist pump for good measure. “Gramma’s making tacos.”

“I know,” she said.

“I love tacos.”

“I know that, too,” she said and dropped a kiss on the top of his head before heading back to the kitchen.

As she passed the dining room, she spotted the vase of long-stemmed red roses set on top of a crocheted doily in the center of the antique table.

The first year her parents were married, Bruce had apparently bought a single red rose for Sandra, to symbolize their first Valentine’s Day as husband and wife. The second year he’d bought two roses, then continued to add to the number each successive year, so Brooke didn’t need to count the gorgeous red blooms to know there were thirty-seven stuffed into the vase this year.

It was a lovely tradition and reassured her that happily-ever-afters were possible, even if the prospect of her own continued to be elusive. Not that she was actually looking for one right now, because she had different priorities as a working single mom. But maybe...someday.

“So tell me about your day,” Sandra urged, after Brooke had washed up and began grating the block of cheddar she’d taken out of the fridge.

“You mean the part where I had my credentials questioned at the Silver Star?”

Her mother frowned. “Who would dare question your credentials?”

“The new owner.”

“Patrick Stafford bought Gus’s place, didn’t he?”

Brooke nodded. “Though I have to wonder why. The man obviously doesn’t know the first thing about taking care of animals.”

“He must know something,” Sandra said. “After all, his family was raising cattle on Crooked Creek long before gold and silver were discovered in the hills.”

“Well, he didn’t know to make sure the paddock gate was latched, and his horses got out and one of them was injured.”

Her mom winced in sympathy. “How bad was it?”

Because her mother had been a vet’s wife for thirty-seven years and worked as a vet tech in her husband’s clinic for a lot of that time, Brooke didn’t hesitate to share the details of her assessment and treatment of the stallion.

“At least Patrick had the good sense to call someone qualified to provide medical attention,” Sandra remarked.

“He thought he was calling Dad,” Brooke reminded her.

“Did you take care of the injury?”

She nodded.

“So now he knows he can call you instead.” Her mother’s eyes took on a speculative gleam. “Or maybe he’ll call you even if he doesn’t need help with a sick or injured animal.”

“Don’t go there,” Brooke urged.

“Why not? He’s handsome, charming and—”

“And he’s well aware of his own attributes,” she interjected.

“Ahh,” her mom said, understanding. “He already hit on you, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t too hard to shut him down,” Brooke said, as she dumped the grated cheese into a bowl. “All it took was mention of my seven-year-old son.”

And though she hadn’t been the least bit surprised by Patrick’s instinctive reaction, she had been the teensiest bit disappointed. And that reaction had surprised her.

“There’s no doubt how much you love Brendan, but you’ve got to stop using him as a shield,” Sandra admonished.

Brooke frowned at that. “How is being up-front about my status as a single mother using my child as a shield?”

“Maybe it’s more like a sword,” her mom decided. “A preemptive attack against any expression of interest.”

“If a guy’s interest can be struck down that easily, he’s not someone I want to be with.”

“That’s probably a fair point,” Sandra allowed. “But one of these days you’re going to meet someone who isn’t so easily dissuaded.”

“I hope I do,” she said.

But she already knew that Patrick Stafford wasn’t that man.

So why was she looking forward to seeing him again?

Chapter Three

Patrick had gone off to college with the security of knowing there would be a job for him at Blake Mining as soon as he graduated. He’d never anticipated that, after only six years—and five different jobs—he’d feel trapped within the walls of his executive office. Or that he’d impulsively decide to walk away from the family business and buy a failing cattle ranch.

But that was what he’d done and, for the past four months, he’d lived and breathed the Silver Star. He’d known what changes and improvements he’d wanted to make, and he’d spent a lot of hours and even more money making them. He was determined to ensure the ranch was a success, to prove—to himself as much as his parents—that he could make it on his own in the real world. During that time, he’d been too busy to venture into town looking for female companionship—and likely too exhausted to do anything if he’d found it.

But he was starting to feel pretty good about the progress he’d made, pleased with the way everything was finally starting to come together. Or he had been until Dr. Brooke Langley called him a pretend cowboy and blamed him for Ranger’s injury.

And damn it, she was right. If he’d latched the gate properly, the horses wouldn’t have been running wild and the stallion wouldn’t have been hurt. But her blunt assessment didn’t just add to the weight of guilt he was already feeling; it rekindled his own doubts, further fueled by the incessant questions and criticisms of his parents, who were none too happy about his decision to leave Blake Mining and “play at being a rancher.”

Maybe he was making a mistake. Maybe he would someday regret putting so much time and effort into the ranch. But that day wasn’t today, and he’d come too far to back down now. He wasn’t just invested but committed, and wouldn’t the sexy vet be surprised to hear him confess that?

Except that he had to stop thinking of Brooke as the sexy vet and start remembering that she was a woman with serious responsibilities. A sexy single mom.

A mom he’d like to—

Whoa!

He immediately put a tight rein on that wayward thought.

No way was he going there.

Instead, he decided to go into town to grab a bite, maybe have a couple of drinks, and clear all thoughts of the lovely Brooke Langley from his mind.

He wasn’t looking for company when he took a seat at the bar at Diggers’ Bar & Grill. And if he’d realized it was February 14, he likely wouldn’t have ventured into town. But since he was here—and hungry—he ordered a draft and a pound of hot wings.

He’d taken the first sip of his beer when a curvy blonde hopped up onto the stool beside him and nudged her shoulder against his. “Hey there, handsome.”

“Trinity, hi.” He’d met the dental hygienist at a Fourth of July barbecue hosted by mutual friends a few years back, and they’d immediately hit it off. They’d had some good times together before going their separate ways, and when their paths had crossed again several months later, they’d enjoyed getting reacquainted.

They’d repeated the same song and dance a few more times after that, though the last time he’d seen her, she’d told him that she was dating somebody and thought he might be the one. Though Patrick wasn’t sure he believed in such things, he’d been happy for Trinity and wished her the best.

He glanced past her now, looking for the man who’d been her constant companion in recent months. “Where’s Christopher?”

Her easy smile wavered. “We broke up three weeks ago.”

“I’m sorry.” His response was both automatic and sincere.

“Me, too. It sucks to be alone on Valentine’s Day.”

Skylar Gilmore, working the bar, set Patrick’s order of wings down, then asked Trinity, “What can I get you?”

“Hendrick’s gin and tonic with two lime wedges and half a twist of lemon.”

The order didn’t surprise Patrick—Trinity had always been high-maintenance, but he suspected that behind Sky’s smile, the bartender was rolling her eyes.

“You can add that to my tab,” Patrick said, when Sky set the G&T in front of Trinity.

The bartender nodded.

“Thanks, but I’m not the type of woman to go home with a man just because he buys me a drink—you’ll have to share some of those wings, too,” Trinity said with a wink.

“I’m happy to share.” He nudged the plate toward her. “But I’m not looking to take anyone home tonight.”

Trinity seemed puzzled by his response. “Nobody goes to a bar on Valentine’s Day because they want to be alone.”

“To be honest, I didn’t even realize it was Valentine’s Day until I got here and saw the Sweetheart Specials on the menu,” he told her.

She selected a wing from his plate, bit into it. “So how are things at the Silver Star?”

“Pretty good,” he said, because he was trying to forget about Ranger’s injury and he definitely didn’t want to discuss it with Trinity. She was firmly in his parents’ camp, disapproving of his decision to walk away from a lucrative office job to live the life of a cowboy.

“You don’t think you’re going to miss working at Blake Mining with your family?” she pressed.

“I’m looking forward to the challenge of something different,” he said. Because he’d never admit to anyone, except maybe his sisters, that he’d been looking for a way out for the past couple of years—and he was so glad to have finally found it.

“Is that why you’re done with me?” she asked.

“You were done with me first,” he reminded her. “As soon as you met Christopher.”

“Because he told me he was looking to settle down and start a family,” she said. “At least you were always honest about what you wanted and didn’t want.”

“And what I want hasn’t changed.”

“But what I want has—at least for tonight.” She dropped the chicken wing bone in the bowl and lifted her hand to her mouth to lick sauce off her thumb. Then she drew it into her mouth, holding his gaze as she sucked on the digit.

It was a deliberately provocative action and one that would likely have piqued his interest at any other point in time. But tonight...nothing.

Because tonight he couldn’t stop thinking about Brooke.

When Brooke woke up Saturday morning, she found Brendan already settled in front of the television with a bowl of cold cereal in his lap. She marveled over the ability of his internal alarm clock to unerringly shift between weekdays and weekends. Monday through Friday, it was a struggle to wake him in the morning. But on Saturdays, her son was always out of bed at the crack of dawn to watch his favorite cartoons on TV.

It was a routine she was happy to share with him whenever she had a Saturday off from the clinic. And since today was one of those days, Brooke got herself a bowl of Frosted Flakes, poured milk over her cereal and carried her breakfast to the living room to sit on the sofa beside her son. But as she chewed, she had the feeling there was something else she was supposed to be doing.

Or maybe she was just anticipating, because even when she wasn’t scheduled to work at the clinic, there was always the possibility that she’d get called in to deal with an emergency—or called out to one of the local ranches, as had happened yesterday. And though the calendar was blank—save for the notation to check on Ranger sometime later in the day—and her phone remained silent, she couldn’t shake the feeling.

When she and Brendan were both finished eating, she set their empty bowls aside. He snuggled closer to her side then and tipped his head back to smile at her.

Being a mom wasn’t always easy, but it was always worthwhile. Sure, it might be nice to have a partner to share her life, but she’d rather be alone than with a man who couldn’t understand and respect that her son had to be her number one priority right now.

She rarely wasted any time thinking about Brendan’s father anymore, because the boy she’d fallen in love with in her second year of vet school had stopped being relevant to her a long time ago. But every once in a while—or when someone else brought up the subject (and, yes, that was another strike against Patrick Stafford)—she found herself wondering how any man could walk away from his child. But for the most part, she focused her attention and efforts on being the best mom she could be, so that Brendan wouldn’t think about the fact that he didn’t have a dad—and wouldn’t feel as if he was missing out even if he did think about it.

Brooke knew her son had a couple of friends at school who also lived with only one parent, so his situation wasn’t really unique. Except that each of Mason’s and Felipe’s living arrangements had changed after their respective parents divorced, and each of the boys still had both parents in their lives. So she had no doubt the day would come when Brendan asked why he didn’t spend weekends with his dad like Mason and Felipe did with theirs. She just didn’t know how she’d answer when it did.

“Did you finish your math homework last night?” she asked, when a commercial flashed across the screen.

He nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“Did you double-check your answers?”

He nodded again.

“Did you leave it on Grandpa’s desk?”

He threw his head back and slapped a hand against his forehead—a dramatic confirmation that, yes, he’d done that, too.

She chuckled. “We’ll make sure we get it back before Monday.”

“Maybe we can go get it after this show,” he suggested.

“Are you worried we might forget about it?”

“No,” he admitted. “I was hoping Grandpa would make pancakes.”

“You just had breakfast,” she reminded him.

“We could have pancakes for lunch.”

“I could have made you pancakes if you’d really wanted pancakes,” she said.

“Yeah, but Grandpa’s pancakes are better.”

She chuckled softly and hugged him close. “You’re nothing if not honest, aren’t you?”

“You told me I should always tell the truth.”

“I did and you should,” she agreed.

“So can we go to Gramma and Grandpa’s?” he asked hopefully.

“Actually, I thought you might want to come to the Silver Star with me today.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s the new name of Mr. Sterling’s ranch.”

“Why’s it got a new name?” Brendan asked.

“Because Mr. Sterling sold the ranch to Mr. Stafford and moved to Glendale, Arizona.”

“How come?”

She didn’t think it was an appropriate time to get into a detailed discussion about economic downturns or retirement-age ranchers opting to sell off their properties because their kids had no interest in carrying on the family tradition. Instead she only said, “He wanted to move to a warmer climate.”

“Why’s it warmer in Arizona?”

“Because it’s farther south and closer to the equator.” She reached for the world atlas on the bottom shelf of the coffee table.

Brendan rolled his eyes. “You know you can get maps on the iPad, don’t you?”

“Yes, I know,” she confirmed. “But I want you to learn that you can find information in books, too.”

“Why?”

“In case the internet blows up.”

His eyes grew wide, conveying horror at the very thought. “Could that really happen?”

“Probably not,” she acknowledged, opening the book and flipping through the pages until she found the double-spread illustration of the United States. “But we do sometimes lose our Wi-Fi connection.”

“And that sucks,” he said.

“That’s the great thing about books—they don’t need Wi-Fi.” She tapped the page, drawing his attention to the map. “Do you know where we live?”

He immediately pointed to Nevada.

“That’s right. But Haven is in northern Nevada,” she said and nudged his finger closer to the state’s top boundary. “And this—” she guided his finger down to Arizona “—is where Mr. Sterling lives now.”

“That doesn’t seem so far,” Brendan decided.

“Scale can be hard to understand,” she acknowledged. “Do you remember how long it took us to get to Disneyland last year?”

He nodded. “For-ev-er.”

She smiled. “I’m sure it felt like forever, but it was actually about ten hours, split over two days. And this—” she pointed to Anaheim on the map “—is where Disneyland is.”

His brow furrowed as he tried to equate the distance on the map with the hours in the car. “So Arizona is really, really far away,” he realized.

“It is,” she confirmed.

“Is that why he left his horses? Because they wouldn’t want to be stuck in a trailer for a long trip like that.”

She was always impressed by her son’s innate understanding of and natural empathy toward animals, and she was both pleased and proud to know that he wasn’t just a great kid but a compassionate human being. “That’s probably one of the reasons,” she agreed. “So do you want to go see the horses with me?”

Brooke ignored the echo of her mother’s admonishment in her head. Because she knew that her motivation for inviting Brendan was that he enjoyed tagging along on official vet visits, just as she’d enjoyed tagging along with her father when she was a similar age.

She absolutely was not using her son as a shield—though she acknowledged, if only to herself, that she wouldn’t object if Brendan provided a bit of a buffer. Because being in close proximity to Patrick Stafford made her tingle in places she hadn’t thought were capable of tingling anymore.

“Would we go before or after Tanner’s birthday party?” Brendan asked her now.

Birthday party?

And suddenly she remembered what she’d forgotten...

When Brooke pulled up at the Silver Star after dropping Brendan at Adventure Village for the birthday party, there were two vehicles in the driveway ahead of her. One was the same black F-150 that she recognized from the previous day; the other was an unfamiliar pale blue Land Rover.

Apparently the ranch’s new owner had company, she mused, as she parked her dark green pickup behind Patrick’s truck. Before she could speculate any further, the front door of the house opened and he stepped out onto the porch.

For a brief moment, she thought maybe he’d been waiting and watching for her. Then she realized he wasn’t alone and probably wasn’t even aware of her arrival, as his arm was slung casually across the shoulders of a gorgeous blonde who tipped her head back and laughed at whatever he said to her.

Well, it certainly hadn’t taken him long to bounce back from her rejection the day before. Which proved that she’d pegged him right from the beginning and that her long-dormant hormones had come out of hibernation at the wrong time and for the absolute wrong guy.

She climbed out of her truck as the other woman gave Patrick a quick hug, then skipped down the steps. She wore a long black coat unbuttoned over a short scarlet-red dress paired with knee-high boots with chunky heels. Not just gorgeous but stylish, Brooke noted.

The blonde opened the driver’s-side door of her vehicle, but before getting in, she called out to Patrick over the roof: “By the way, I left a toothbrush in the bathroom. Don’t you dare throw it out.”

If Brooke had any doubts about the woman’s reason for being at the ranch, that parting remark answered them. Obviously she’d spent the night and expected to be back for a repeat performance.

Patrick didn’t respond to his departing guest’s comment, but he watched as the SUV zipped down the driveway and disappeared from sight before he moved off the porch.

“I didn’t expect you’d be here this early,” he said, falling into step with Brooke as she made her way toward the barn.

“I didn’t think it was particularly early, but I’m sorry if I showed up at an inopportune time,” she said.

He pulled open the barn door. “Why would you think it’s an inopportune time?”

She gestured to the driveway, though the blonde and her Land Rover were long gone.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about Jenna,” he said dismissively. “She has a habit of overstaying her welcome, but she’s mostly harmless.”

Brooke was so stunned by his callous remark, it took her a moment to come up with a reply. “If that’s a recurring problem, maybe you should consider sleeping at her place,” she suggested coolly, as she made her way to Ranger’s stall. “That way you could leave whenever you wanted.”

It was an effort to bank down on her irritation so the horse wouldn’t pick up on her mood, but she managed to do so and turned her attention to the stallion. Using her voice and her touch to remind him of her presence and her purpose, she opened the gate and stepped inside his enclosure with his halter and lead in hand.

She was pleased—and maybe a little surprised—to discover that Ranger’s stall had been freshly mucked out. Either Patrick hadn’t spent all morning lounging in bed with his companion or he’d hired someone to perform basic chores. Considering his willingness to pay the cost of a site visit for her to change Ranger’s dressing, she suspected it was probably the latter. Either way, it reassured her that—the stallion’s injury notwithstanding—the animals at the Silver Star were being cared for.

“What are you talking about?” Patrick asked now, sounding sincerely baffled.

She glanced at him as she led Ranger to the treatment area.

The rancher was standing with his arms folded, a scowl furrowing his brow.

“I was just providing a solution to your girlfriend dilemma.”

“Girlfriend?” he echoed blankly.

“I’m sorry—does that word carry too much meaning for you?” she asked, as she secured the stallion’s ties. “I wasn’t sure how else to refer to the woman who made a point of mentioning that she’d left her toothbrush in your bathroom.”

He shook his head. “Not my bathroom. The guest bathroom.”

“Oh, well, that’s completely different, then,” she remarked dryly.

Patrick no longer seemed confused. Now he looked amused. “I think you’ve misread the situation.”

“It’s really none of my business,” she acknowledged. “My only purpose here is to take care of your horse. If you want to watch and learn, I’d be happy to explain what I’m doing. If you don’t, please stop talking so I can give Ranger my complete attention.”

He stopped talking, but he didn’t leave, as she’d hoped he might do, and she felt his gaze on her the whole time. When she’d completed her task and returned the horse to its stall, she took a small apple out of her pocket and offered it to the stallion—a reward for his good behavior. Ranger gently plucked the fruit from her hand and crunched down on the treat.

With a last pat on his cheek, Brooke turned around and found herself face-to-face with Patrick again.

“You misread the situation,” he said, picking up the conversation where they’d left off.

“It’s none of my business,” she said again.

“True,” he acknowledged. “But Jenna isn’t my girlfriend. She’s my sister.”

“Your...sister?” she echoed, suddenly feeling foolish.

Because replaying his comment in her mind now, she realized the words that sounded like a callous dismissal of a lover could also be—and apparently were—the lighthearted teasing of a sibling.

“I have two of them,” he told her. “Jenna’s the youngest. She was at dinner with her boyfriend last night when he got called into work.”

“On Valentine’s Day?”

“Nate works at a tech company that does a lot of government work, and a break-in at the office meant that everyone had to go in. Anyway, that’s how Jenna ended up at Diggers’ after she finished the romantic dinner for two by herself and, because she didn’t want to go home to an empty apartment, she decided to come back here.”

“Oh.”

“You could apologize now,” he suggested.

“I apologize for jumping to conclusions,” she said, not just sincerely regretful but embarrassed by her uncharacteristically emotional reaction to the situation.

“And for impugning my character?”

“Actually, you should be flattered I imagined you could ever get a woman as gorgeous as your sister.”

He chuckled at that, but his expression quickly turned serious again. “You don’t have a very favorable opinion of me, do you?”

“I don’t know you.”

“And yet you were quick to assume that, only hours after you’d turned down my invitation for drinks and/or dinner yesterday, I’d go out and pick up another woman.”

She shrugged. “There was no reason why you shouldn’t.”

“You’re right,” he acknowledged. “And the truth is, I did go out last night...but you’re the reason I came home alone. Because the whole time I was at the bar, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“I have a child,” she reminded him.

“Yeah, you mentioned that,” he said.

But this time, instead of moving away, he moved closer.

“And I have no interest in being the next notch on your bedpost,” she said, determined to firmly establish the boundaries between them.

“I bought a new bed when I moved in here—there are no notches. In fact, there aren’t even posts.”

“I think you missed my point.”

“It might not be what either of us expected, but there’s definite chemistry between us,” he said and lifted a hand to lightly stroke her cheek with the backs of his knuckles.

It was a gentle touch, but there was something so sensual about the caress that she found herself wondering how his hands might feel on other parts of her body.

On every part of her body.

And the wondering made her blood heat and her heart pound.

She swallowed. “I don’t believe in chemistry.”

“No?” His lips curved in a knowing smile. “Then explain to me why I can see the pulse point at the base of your jaw racing.”

“Because you’re crowding me, and I don’t like to be crowded.”

He immediately took a step back, giving her the space she’d claimed she wanted.

But then he asked, “How about being kissed?” And the low timbre of his voice was every bit as seductive as his touch. “Do you like being kissed?”

How could she answer that question when she could hardly remember how it felt to be kissed?

Oh, she got lots of kisses from her little boy, and she loved every one of them—even the wet and sticky ones. She also regularly exchanged pecks on the cheek with her parents. But she honestly couldn’t recall when she’d last been kissed by a man.

And with Patrick’s lips so temptingly close, she realized that she desperately wanted to answer his question.

Whether yes or no, she wanted to know how it felt to be kissed by this man. She wanted to know the taste of his lips and the touch of his hands. And even though she knew it might turn out to be a very big mistake, the wanting was suddenly stronger than her determination to resist.

“I’ll let you know,” she said and breached the short distance between them to press her mouth against his.

Chapter Four

Brooke’s impulsive action had been fueled by curiosity. Would his kiss curl her toes inside her boots? Would it make her blood race through her veins? Would she feel the flutter of wings in her belly as butterflies soared?

Or would the experience be a disappointment, her excited anticipation unfulfilled?

It had been a long time since she’d experienced feelings of physical attraction—and even longer since she’d felt anything as immediate and intense as what she’d felt the first time she came face-to-face with Patrick Stafford less than twenty-four hours earlier.

And now she was kissing this man she’d only just met, and she was not disappointed.

Not just kissing him but pressing herself against him, desperate to get closer. Apparently that was what eight years of abstinence did to a woman.

Or maybe it really was the inexplicable chemistry he’d mentioned that was responsible for her actions. She’d tried to ignore the tension between them, refusing to acknowledge that there even was an attraction. And while she couldn’t deny that her pulse accelerated whenever he was near and she had to lock her knees so they didn’t tremble, she’d mostly managed to ignore her body’s instinctive response to his nearness.

Until he’d been too close for her to ignore.

Too close to resist.

But in the first moment that their mouths met, Brooke realized that she’d made a tactical mistake. Because in that first moment, a blast of unexpected heat flooded her system, melting her bones, making her weak.

Making her want.

She curled her fingers into his jacket, holding on to him as the intensity of the need shook her to the core. And that was before his tongue slid between her lips, stroking the inside of her mouth, stoking the fire that burned in her belly and spread through her veins. Before his hands slid up her back, drawing her still closer to the solid strength of his body.

Even through the layers of clothing and outerwear between them, she felt her breasts rub against the hard wall of his chest, her nipples tightening into hard buds that ached to be acknowledged.

Touched.

Tasted.

She could all too easily envision his dark head bent over her breast, his mouth closing around the turgid peak, and the explicit and arousing image nearly made her gasp.

It did make her pull away, in a determined effort to regain control of her runaway hormones.

Patrick seemed to need a minute, too, before he asked, “Is that a ‘yes’?”

It took Brooke a moment longer to realize he was still waiting for a response to his earlier question. A question she could barely remember.

“Do you like kissing?” he prompted.

She pressed her tingling lips together. “It seems that I do,” she finally responded, keeping her tone light so he wouldn’t guess his kiss had set off a maelstrom inside her.

His smile was more than a little smug as he reached for her again, but she took a quick step back this time and held up a hand.

“You just admitted that you like kissing,” he pointed out. “And I really want to kiss you again.”

Brooke was flattered by his interest, but she was also wary. One kiss had been enough to nearly wipe her mind clean of all rational thought, unleashing such a surge of desire through her system that she could focus on nothing else. And she needed to focus.

She was a woman with obligations and responsibilities of a kind he didn’t want to know. So she couldn’t allow herself to get caught up in the heat of the moment, because she knew she’d end up getting burned.

“I also like Sweet Caroline’s Twelve-Layer Chocolate Bliss,” she said lightly. “But I know I can’t have it every day.”

“I’m flattered that you equated kissing me with the best chocolate cake in the county, but I have to disagree with your premise on two grounds,” he said. “First, a small piece of Chocolate Bliss every day wouldn’t do any harm. In fact, it’s widely believed that an occasional indulgence curtails the impulse to binge. Second, kissing—even not in moderation—isn’t harmful to your health, and studies have shown that people who share kisses every day live longer and happier lives.”

She narrowed her gaze. “You just made that up.”

“Even if I did, I bet I could find such a study.”

“And probably also a study that proves the opposite,” she argued.

“You’re a cynic, I see,” he said, sounding amused.

“A realist,” she countered.

“Science has proved that the endorphins released during sexual activity are natural mood boosters and stress relievers,” he said.

“Well, aren’t you just a font of self-serving information? But as much as I appreciate the chemistry lesson, I’m a single mom,” she reminded him. “I have neither the time for nor any interest in having an affair.”

“I think you’re interested, but there’s something holding you back. Tell me what it is, what you’re afraid of.”

“I’m not afraid of anything except my own bad judgment when it comes to the male species,” she said. “So while I did enjoy our kiss, it won’t happen again.”

“That’s too bad.” He sounded sincerely regretful. “Because I think we’d be really good together.”

He might be right, but she knew from experience that the temporary pleasure wouldn’t be worth the heartache that followed. “I have no doubt you could sell that line to any number of women, but I’m not buying.”

“Could I at least buy you a cup of coffee?” he suggested as an alternative. “A fresh pot just finished brewing when you pulled up.”

As much as she wanted to make her escape, she needed to reestablish the professional boundaries of their relationship and decided that a discussion of neutral topics over a cup of coffee might help do that.

“Coffee sounds good,” she decided and followed him out of the heated barn and into the frigid outdoors.

She detoured to her truck, to set her backpack inside, then fell into step with him again as he headed toward the main house.

Inside, he shrugged out of his leather jacket and hung it on a hook, then held out a hand for hers, hanging it beside his own.

“Don’t worry about your boots,” he said, when she started to reach down.

Since he obviously wasn’t worried about his, she followed him into the kitchen.

She briefly wondered if she was crossing a line by entering his home, but immediately dismissed the concern. In rural practice, it was common for clients to become friends. She’d certainly never questioned the lines when she had a cup of tea with Stasia Krecji or accepted a bag of homemade lemon cranberry muffins from Betty Andersen. But she’d also never kissed Stasia or Betty, so maybe it was the lingering effects of the lip-lock she’d shared with Patrick Stafford that was causing her to question the placement of the lines now.

Maybe? her conscience mocked.

Brooke ignored the nagging voice to focus on her surroundings.

When she’d learned that the new owner of Gus Sterling’s property intended to turn it into a dude ranch, she’d wondered about the changes that might be made to the homestead. Some of those changes—such as the new logo on the barn and the upgraded fencing around the paddocks—had been immediately evident when she’d pulled into the driveway the day before. But the two-story log home appeared unaltered from the outside.

Looking around the kitchen now, she was pleased to see that Gus’s natural-stained maple cabinets remained, though the scarred and chipped laminate countertops had been replaced by dark granite. An island had been installed where the former owner’s pedestal table and chairs had previously sat, and the high-end appliances were obviously new.

Patrick opened a cupboard beside the coffee maker and retrieved two mugs, then filled both with coffee and handed one to Brooke.

“Have a seat,” he invited, gesturing to the four stools lined up at the island.

She accepted the mug and sat.

Patrick remained standing on the other side of the island, facing her.

“Do you cook?” she asked, eyeing the six-burner cooktop and double ovens. “Or are you planning to hire someone to prepare meals for your guests?”

“I suspect paying guests will expect a little more variety and substance than I can manage, so I’ll hire someone,” he said.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what made you decide to walk away from an executive position at Blake Mining to take on something like this?”

It was a question Patrick had been asked by more than a few people after he’d tendered his resignation, and one he still wasn’t entirely sure how to answer.

“I wanted a change,” he replied, because it was true if not the whole truth.

“So you’re just a spoiled little rich boy playing at being a rancher?” she mused, the teasing tone taking the sting out of her words.

“I can’t deny the spoiled or rich part,” he said. “But I’m neither little nor a boy.”

“Spoiled big rich man, then,” she noted.

“And I’m not playing at anything. This ranch isn’t a whim or a hobby, though my parents have occasionally labeled it as both,” he acknowledged. “It’s my new life.”

“What was wrong with your old life?” she asked curiously.

“Too much money and too little responsibility.”

“Said no one ever,” Brooke chimed in.

“I know it sounds strange,” he admitted. “And maybe there will come a day that I want to go back to Blake Mining, where I’m expected to occupy a chair at board meetings but not actually have an opinion about anything—or worse, dare to express it.”

“Was it really so bad?”

“Probably not,” he allowed. “But the more time I spent there, the more I realized that I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life there.”

“But why a dude ranch?” she wondered.

“It’s a vacation ranch,” he said. “And truthfully, the idea wasn’t even mine. It kind of came out of the blue as a result of me being late for the bachelor party of one of my college friends. When I explained that I’d been helping my grandfather brand the new calves at Crooked Creek, my buddies all started ribbing me about playing cowboy. So of course I said they only wished they had the same opportunity to escape their boring corporate jobs every once in a while, which led to a surprisingly coherent and meaningful conversation about the conflict between making a living and having a life.

“Anyway, it was Josh who said that when it was time for his bachelor party, instead of getting drunk and losing his money in Vegas, he wanted us all to go to a dude ranch.”

“You bought Gus Sterling’s ranch in order to host your buddy’s bachelor party?” she asked incredulously.

He chuckled. “No. Josh wasn’t even dating anyone at the time, so his bachelor party wasn’t—and isn’t—anywhere on the horizon. But his comment did get me thinking. After all, I knew a little bit about ranching, a little bit more about business, and I had available funds to invest in a new venture.” He shrugged. “So when I heard that Gus was looking to sell, I took it as a sign that the time was right to pursue a career change.”

“I would expect someone who buys a ranch to know more than a little bit about ranching,” she noted.

“I knew enough to keep on Levi and Dean to look after the cattle.”

She nodded, obviously recognizing the names of Gus Sterling’s longtime ranch hands.

“They have more than forty combined years of experience and have probably forgotten more about cattle than I could ever hope to know,” he continued.

“What would you have done if they’d wanted to move on when Gus sold?” Brooke asked.

“I probably would have considered selling the herd,” he admitted. “Except that a cattle ranch without cattle isn’t likely to draw many visitors.”

“Not likely,” she agreed.

“But Gus had good stock that I felt confident would do well with guests of various levels of experience and could be used for ranch work as well as on trails and for riding lessons. Which is one of the reasons I felt so awful when I realized Ranger was injured,” he confided to her now.

“I know I gave you a hard time about the unlatched gate, but the truth is, coronary band injuries are quite common and can have any number of causes.”

He nodded. “But I also know his injury is more severe than is common.”

“He’s going to need some time to heal,” she said.

“And the attentive care of a good vet,” he added.

“In coordination with the farrier,” she said. “Gavin Torres is out of town this weekend, but he promised to stop by on Monday to check on Ranger and assess long-term options.”

“You think there’s going to be permanent damage,” he realized.

“Damage to the coronary band usually results in slow and abnormal hoof growth, but it doesn’t necessarily affect the animal’s mobility or utility. Once it’s healed, Gavin will be able to determine the best method to support the hoof during regrowth and give your stallion the best chance for a complete recovery.”

Before his mind could wander too far down that dark path, she shifted the conversation again.

“It takes a lot of courage to step outside your comfort zone and try something new,” she said. “And I really hope the ranch works out for you.”

“Thanks. Of course, I do have a job waiting for me at Blake Mining if it doesn’t,” he pointed out.

“And now I’m a little less impressed,” she said, but tempered the words with a smile.

“What about you?” he asked. “What made you want to become a vet?”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I only know that it’s what I always wanted to do, and I feel grateful every day that I’m lucky enough to do it.”

“I’m sure achieving your goal had more to do with hard work than good luck.”

“There was a lot of hard work,” she agreed.

“So maybe it’s time to let yourself have a little bit of fun,” he suggested.

“Is fun supposed to be some kind of code for sex?” she asked dubiously.

“Sex is fun if you do it right,” he said.

She shook her head. “Unfortunately, I’m too busy with real responsibilities to have time for a fling with a pretend cowboy.”

When he’d decided to make a drastic career change, he’d known that he’d need to prove himself, so he wasn’t offended by her characterization. He was more than a little disappointed, though, by her determination to fight the obvious chemistry between them. “That is unfortunate,” he agreed.

“And speaking of time—” Brooke glanced at the watch on her wrist “—I need to go if I’m not going to be late picking up Brendan.”

She lifted her mug to her lips to swallow the last mouthful of coffee, then set the cup down again and pushed her stool away from the counter.

“Where is he?” Patrick asked.

“A birthday party for one of his classmates.”

He didn’t try to persuade her to stay even a little while longer. Though he might not have the same type of responsibilities, he understood and respected her priorities.

“I’ll walk you out,” he said.

After he’d done so, Patrick stood on the driveway and watched Brooke’s truck grow smaller and smaller until it finally disappeared from his sight, with only one thought in his mind: he never should have kissed her.

Although technically she’d kissed him, he’d practically goaded her into it.

He’d been wondering about the taste of her sweetly curved lips since their first meeting, but instead of satisfying his curiosity, the feel of her mouth against his had only stoked his desire.

A desire that he suspected no other woman could satisfy.

He wasn’t accustomed to being preoccupied by any one woman—especially a woman who’d made it clear that she wasn’t interested.

Except that her enthusiastic participation in their kiss proved her claim of disinterest was a lie.

Brooke Langley was interested, even if she didn’t want to be.

And he knew exactly how that felt.

Because she might be the hottest woman he’d met in a long time, but she wasn’t at all his type. Not because he didn’t like long-legged redheads, but because he didn’t like complications.

So why, even knowing about her child, couldn’t he get her out of his mind? What was it about her that appealed to him? Was it the challenge she presented? Was he so accustomed to getting what he wanted that he didn’t know how to accept rejection?

Or was it simply that the kiss had affected him more deeply than he wanted to admit?

Because, really, that was all it had been—a simple kiss.

Except that there was nothing simple about the way she’d felt when she was in his arms.

Brendan apparently had a great time at Tanner’s birthday party, and he talked nonstop the whole way home about everything the party guests had done at Adventure Village—“we played three games of laser tag and got four tokens for the video games”—the cake Tanner’s mom had made—“it had, like, six layers, and each one was a different color”—and all the goodies in his loot bag—“a yo-yo and a super bouncy ball and a slinky and stickers and bubble gum and a gi-nor-mous lollipop.”

Brooke was glad for his incessant chatter because it meant she wasn’t expected to contribute much to the conversation. An occasional murmur of agreement or expression of awe was enough to keep her son talking, if not quite enough to alleviate her feelings of guilt.

And she did feel guilty. Not just because her son was only getting a fraction of her attention or even because she’d kissed Patrick, but because—more than an hour and a half later—she couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss.

She never should have let it happen, because now that they’d shared one kiss, she wanted more. Not just more kisses but more of everything that came after the kissing.

For the better part of eight years, she hadn’t regretted not having a man in her life. She certainly hadn’t felt as if she was missing out on anything, because she had her little boy and he made her life complete so that she didn’t need anything or anyone else. Or so she’d believed.

But now, after sharing only one kiss with Patrick, she found herself suddenly feeling a little less satisfied with her life. A little less complete. And she couldn’t help but wonder: What was it about the man that urged her to step outside her comfort zone? What was it about him that made her want more?

He’d asked what she was afraid of, and she’d told him she wasn’t afraid. But it was a lie. She was terrified of the way she felt when she was near him. The way her blood pulsed and her knees quivered; the way her blood heated and her body yearned.

She’d felt a similarly intense desire once before—eight years earlier. She’d fallen hard and fast for Xander Davis, and had her heart broken into a million little pieces as a result. Still, she’d never wished she could go back or change a single thing about their brief and passionate relationship, because it had resulted in Brendan—and her son was truly her biggest accomplishment and her greatest joy.

But her relationship with Xander had also taught her some important lessons: that passion was fleeting, romantic love was an illusion and her judgment was hopelessly flawed when her hormones were engaged. So the fact that she’d responded to Patrick as immediately and intensely as she’d responded to Xander was a great big and wildly waving red flag.

She wasn’t afraid of what might happen if she fell into bed with the wrong man, but she was afraid of what might happen if she fell in love with the wrong man again. And Patrick Stafford was, by his own admission, the wrong man.

Having an affair with him would be reckless and irresponsible. (And, if his kiss was any kind of indicator, an incredible and exquisite pleasure.)

So it was a good thing that Brooke was too levelheaded and responsible to let herself get carried away by her own wanton desires again.

But when she went to bed later that night, her lips were still tingling from the aftereffects of his kiss.

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