Two brand-new stories in every volume…twice a month!

Duets Vol. #105

Talented author Carol Finch returns to Hoot’s Roost, Oklahoma, where there are quite a few single cowboys who don’t give a hoot about marryin’. But that all changes when the Ryder men meet the women of their fantasies. Enjoy Carol’s funny, romantic Double Duets stories about the BACHELORS OF HOOT’S ROOST—where love comes sweeping down the plain!

Duets Vol. #106

Popular Jennifer Drew kicks off the month with a fun story about an adventure writer who hates to travel and desperately needs a stand-in for a book tour. Jennifer always “gives readers a top-notch reading experience with vibrant characters, strong story development and spicy tension,” says Romantic Times. Dianne Drake delivers a quirky tale about a hero determined to write a romance novel. Problem is, he doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body! Luckily the heroine is there to help out!

Be sure to pick up both Duets volumes today!

Fit to be Frisked
Mr. Cool Under Fire
Carol Finch

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Contents

Fit to be Frisked

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Mr. Cool Under Fire

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Fit to be Frisked

“You’re doing it again,” Miranda said.

“Doing what?” Vance asked innocently.

“Staring at me as if you can see…” Her gaze flicked away. “I don’t like it when men look past the uniform.”

“Then try pinning the badge someplace besides on your chest,” Vance teased. “Look, Officer Jackson, I’m trying my darnedest to stay out of your way, but I find you attractive. Now, if you want to arrest me for that, then fine. I’ll plead no contest.”

Miranda stared into his ruggedly handsome face and felt the unwanted jolt of attraction. “Okay, since you’re being honest I’ll return the favor. I like the looks of you, too, even if you don’t take things seriously and you drive the most pathetic excuse for a vehicle that ever cruised the highway.”

“Thank you for the comment, ma’am,” Vance said, his lips twitching. “Even if you think I’m stupid, it’s nice to know you don’t find me hideously ugly while you’re handing me warnings and tickets.”

Miranda broke down and smiled. She just couldn’t help it. The man was a charmer when he wanted to be!

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to Hoot’s Roost, Oklahoma! Although Cousin Wade and Quint Ryder have found the women of their dreams in my first Double Duets, #81, Vance, the practical joker of the family, is still footloose—until he plays a prank on a lady cop. When she fines him for stupidity the fireworks explode.

Miranda Jackson is a by-the-book rookie cop and she doesn’t find the handsome cowboy’s playful attitude the least bit amusing. Furthermore, she has her life all planned out and she has no intention of becoming sidetracked by this unexplainable attraction to a man who is her exact opposite. A practical joker and a cop? It’ll never work. Yet she’s thinking very seriously about arresting Vance for theft—because the fun-loving cowboy has stolen her heart.

Happy reading,

Carol Finch

Books by Carol Finch

HARLEQUIN DUETS

36—FIT TO BE TIED

45—A REGULAR JOE

62—MR. PREDICTABLE

72—THE FAMILY FEUD

81—LONESOME RYDER?*

RESTAURANT ROMEO*

SILHOUETTE SPECIAL EDITION

1242—NOT JUST ANOTHER COWBOY

1320—SOUL MATES

HARLEQUIN HISTORICALS

592—CALL OF THE WHITE WOLF

635—BOUNTY HUNTER’S BRIDE

This book is dedicated to my husband, Ed, and our children—Jill, Kurt, Christie, Jeff and Jon—with much love. And to our grandchildren—Livia, Kennedy, Blake and Brooklynn. Hugs and kisses!

1

VANCE RYDER HEARD SIRENS wailing behind him, but he couldn’t see the flashing lights because his old clunker farm truck was caked solid with mud. All Vance had was a peephole on the windshield to see where he was going. It looked as if he’d have to talk his way out of a traffic ticket before he got this bucket of rust into Hoot’s Roost to replace the bald tires and exhaust system that had more holes in it than a slice of Swiss cheese.

Shouldn’t be too hard to get off with a warning, he mused confidently as he pulled the old truck onto the shoulder of the road. Hoot’s Roost’s police department was accustomed to dealing with farmer/stockmen and their beat-up equipment. For certain, the law officers in the area tended to overlook minor infractions because they’d seen their share of rattletrap trucks, tractors and machinery moving from one field to another.

In fact, Vance predicted that his old school chum, Turk Barnett, was the officer who’d pulled him over just to chitchat. Turk could talk your leg off if you let him and he got lonely while he cruised the streets during his long shifts.

Vance killed the engine and bounded from the truck. He stopped dead still when a sharp, female voice said, “Freeze! Stay where you are!”

Startled, Vance pivoted on his boot heels to see a female officer pull her gun and crouch in shooting position. Was she nuts? Obviously so. He wasn’t a gangster and Hoot’s Roost was not the crime capital of Oklahoma. This was cattle country.

“Put your hands on top of the truck, sir,” the cop commanded authoritatively.

Vance did as he was told then squinted into the bright sunlight to survey the shapely silhouette of the woman in blue who approached him as if she expected him to grab a pistol from out of nowhere and shoot her full of lead. Her weapon was trained on his head, but Vance’s gaze was fixed on her well-endowed chest.

Wow! This lady cop was some kind of built and he had trouble raising his fascinated eyes from her bosom. When he did he found himself staring at a pair of mirrored sunglasses and a pouty mouth that looked all too kissable—but not the least bit friendly. She snatched off her glasses and tucked them in her breast pocket, and he found himself gazing into a pair of cedar-tree-green eyes that were fanned by long curly lashes.

Whoa, mama, this didn’t look like any cop Vance had ever encountered. He began to wonder if there might be an advantage to being arrested by her on a regular basis.

“Don’t ever climb from your vehicle until you’ve been asked to do so,” she lectured as she stared at him over the barrel of her police-issued pistol. “Do you understand, sir?”

Vance nodded stupidly. He studied Officer Gorgeous for a long befuddling moment. Ah, now it was beginning to soak in. This had to be a prank, he decided. Since he’d been dubbed the practical joker of the Ryder family, his ornery cousins had probably decided to have him placed under mock arrest. His birthday was just a week away so he figured Cousin Quint and Cousin Wade probably decided to give him a prank for a gift. After all, Vance always enjoyed a good joke, even if it was played on him.

As the supposed lady cop with the killer body approached, Vance turned sideways to flash his patented Ryder grin. “Cute, darlin’, you really had me going for a minute. Did Cousin Q and Cousin W send you out here?”

“Excuse me?”

The dark-haired bombshell was playing her role to the hilt. “C’mon, I know my cousins sent you. You’re my birthday gag gift, right?”

She stared at him as if he was off his rocker. “I need to see your license and insurance verification.”

Still grinning good-naturedly, Vance reached into his hip pocket to extract his license from his wallet. He glanced over the top of her head to stare at the patrol car. “Turk’s in there, isn’t he? Should’ve known he’d be in on this. Yo, Turk! You can sit up now. You’re busted.”

But Turk Barnett didn’t raise his head and show himself. Vance’s gaze swung back to the cop who was checking his ID. “This isn’t a practical joke?”

“No, sir,” she said as she stuffed her weapon into its holster. “This is a 705, 734, 736, 743 and an 804 traffic violation.”

Vance frowned. “What the heck does all that mean?”

She looked him squarely in the eye. “Basically it means that this vehicle is an unfit pile of junk that doesn’t meet safety regulations and the mud on your windshield and rear window obstructs your vision. You’re dangerous to other motorists,” she admonished. “I want you to remove this truck from the state highway immediately, sir.”

Vance surveyed the pile of metal and bolts that he and his cousins used to plow through creeks to repair downed fences and to haul mineral and cattle cubes to their livestock. “Okay, so one headlight is missing and it’s a little muddy—”

“A little?” The cop smirked distastefully as she appraised the jalopy that had more dents than a bumper car. “If this state still required vehicle safety inspections this junk heap would be in a salvage yard. Now, Mr. Ryder,” she said as she returned his license, “I want you to turn this thing around and head back down the graveled road.”

Vance flashed another charming smile—it was as well received as the first one. “I’m on my way to the service station to mount new tires and replace the muffler,” he explained as nicely as he knew how.

“Not today you aren’t,” she informed him. She flipped open her ticket pad and grabbed a pen.

“Aw, c’mon, Officer,” he cajoled. “Don’t give me a ticket. I’ve driven this truck into town plenty of times. This is rural America and traffic jams aren’t a problem out here in the boondocks.” To prove his point he hitched his thumb toward the highway. “No one has even driven past since you pulled me over. There’s no one here for me to endanger.”

Her green eyes narrowed on him. “Are you questioning my authority, Mr. Ryder?”

“Vance,” he corrected then grinned charmingly. “No, I’m just saying that I’ve never had a problem with the other officers in Owl County. You must be new here.”

“I am, but regulations are still regulations,” she maintained aloofly. She directed his attention to the graveled road to the west. “Now then, turn this thing around and take it back the same way you came or I will write you a ticket instead of letting you off. And don’t use the highway until this vehicle has been washed and those dangling headlights have been plugged back in their sockets.”

She slapped the warning in his hand then spun on her heels. Distracted, Vance watched the hypnotic sway of shapely hips encased in trim fitting blue slacks. His attention momentarily shifted to the long braid of glossy brown hair that glided between her shoulder blades, but ultimately, his gaze dropped to the exceptionally fine shape of her fanny.

Mmm, Officer Good Body looked as terrific when she was walking away as she did when she was coming toward him. Too bad she was rigid and unfriendly. Probably didn’t have a personality worth mentioning, either, he predicted. Definitely not Ms. Congeniality of the Police Pageant.

Vance slid onto the seat and switched the key. The engine sputtered, coughed a couple of times then growled to life. Exhaust fumes fogged around the old truck. Vance shoved the gearshift into Reverse then backed into the bar ditch to turn around.

He was more than a little surprised that Ms. By The Book didn’t stop him for an improper U-turn. But she just sat there in her black-and-white, staring him down through her sunglasses as he veered around her to hang a right onto the gravel road.

A devilish grin pursed Vance’s lips when he saw Cousin Wade barreling toward him. The original plan was for Wade to pick up Vance in town so they could gather farm supplies while the rattletrap truck was being repaired. Then they’d grab a quick lunch at Stephanie’s Palace—the restaurant owned and operated by Cousin Quint’s new wife, Steph. Vance recalled that Wade had been champing at the bit all morning, anxious to complete their chores so he could meet his new wife, Laura, for lunch.

Every time Vance saw Cousin Wade—the former woman-hater of the family—drooling all over himself because he was so crazy over his new wife Vance chuckled in amusement. It was downright pathetic the way Wade and Quint mooned over their wives. In fact, there were times when his formerly macho cousins acted so sappy that it creeped him out.

When Wade thrust his arm out the window to flag him down, Vance pressed hard on the brake, reminded that adding a quart of brake fluid might not be a bad idea, too.

Wade glared at Vance. “What are you doing? Forget how to get to town?” He glanced anxiously at his watch. “I told Laura I’d meet her at noon. If you make me late you’re gonna hear about it.”

Vance swallowed a grin when inspiration struck. He hopped from the old truck. “Switch vehicles with me, cuz. I forgot something back at the ranch. You take the clunker truck to town and I’ll be right behind you.”

“You better be right behind me,” Wade threatened as he hopped from his black extended cab truck and brushed past Vance. “Today is our sixth month anniversary, ya know.”

“Gee, it’s not like you haven’t mentioned it about a dozen times this morning,” Vance said flippantly.

Impatient, Wade slammed the clunker truck in gear, whipped around and headed for the highway. Vance chuckled in amusement as his cousin roared off in a cloud of smoke. He was anxious to see how Wade fared when he met up with the latest addition to HRPD.

Ah, nothing like a good prank to start the day off right, he mused.

OFFICER MIRANDA JACKSON glanced in her rear-view mirror then muttered under her breath when she saw the same clunker truck barreling down the highway, defying her order. Apparently that handsome cowboy she’d encountered didn’t think he had to take her seriously.

Well, so much for giving that rascal a warning, she mused as she hit the switch. Lights flashed and sirens wailed. This time she’d give him a ticket and impound his truck and just let him try to talk her out of it!

When the truck eased onto the shoulder behind her, Miranda stormed back to confront Vance Ryder. She blinked in disbelief when the driver rolled down the mud-splattered side window to stare curiously at her. Another raven-haired hunk of cowboy, who bore a strong family resemblance to Vance, flashed her a winsome smile.

“Is there a problem, Officer?”

Miranda jerked herself to attention to address the driver. “The problem is that I just sent Mr. Vance Ryder back in the direction he came, in this truck, because the vehicle is in violation of several traffic codes…” Her voice trailed off when a shiny black 4X4 truck pulled up beside her. The tinted window slid downward and she silently fumed when Vance grinned playfully at her.

“Everything okay here?” he asked with mock innocence.

Miranda was tempted to grab her nightstick and whack the mischievous cowboy over his handsome head. His devilish dark eyes twinkled with amusement and she knew he was silently taunting her. He thought he’d pulled a fast one on her, did he? Well, they’d just see about that.

When he waggled his thick brows and flashed her another one of those lady-killer grins her temper snapped. “Get out of that truck, Mr. Ryder.” Both men opened their doors. “Not you, him!” she ordered as she made a stabbing gesture at Vance.

“Wha’d I do?” Vance asked, lips twitching.

“Don’t play games with me,” she said warningly. Miranda grabbed her pad and quickly wrote out a ticket.

“Hey! There’s nothing wrong with the truck I’m driving,” Vance objected hotly.

“What is going on here?” Wade demanded, glancing at his watch again. “I’m on a tight time schedule. May I go now?”

“How about we forget the ticket and I escort my cousin and the clunker truck into town,” Vance suggested. “I’ll lead Cousin Wade all the way to the service station with my emergency lights flashing. That suit you, Officer?” He had the audacity to toss her a wink and another sexy smile.

Miranda didn’t appreciate being the object of manipulation and flirtation. But just as before, those ebony-colored eyes slid up and down her body, lingering momentarily on her chest. Well, this bozo was going to find out real quick that she expected to be taken seriously. She was a law officer and he’d better show her some respect!

“Fine, Mr. Ryder, you lead your cousin to town,” she muttered as she thrust the ticket at him. “And wash that pile of junk while you’re there so you and your cousin can see where you’re going. If this happens again, I will impound the truck.”

Wheeling around, Miranda stalked back to the squad car.

“A hundred-dollar fine!” Vance yowled, his eyes bulging in disbelief. “For what?”

Miranda pivoted to toss him a goading smile. “You’ve been fined for stupidity, Mr. Ryder. Don’t ever pull a stunt like that on me again.”

With extreme satisfaction, Miranda drove off, leaving Vance staring after her with his jaw scraping his broad chest. Thought this was funny, did he? Well, he could have himself a hundred-dollar laugh. Next time maybe he’d think twice before he tried to make her look like a fool.

BY THE TIME VANCE ESCORTED Wade to Pinkman’s Service Station he was fuming mad. “A hundred freakin’ bucks,” he scowled as he slid across the seat so Wade could drive his black pickup. “That lady cop has no sense of humor whatsoever. None of the officers have ever pulled us over in the jalopy. Man, she’s a stuffed shirt, if ever there was one.”

“I’ll say she is,” Wade agreed with a grin.

Vance shot him a glare. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Sure it is. I saw you checking her out. Hell, your tongue was practically hanging out of your mouth while you watched her walk away.”

“Oh, stuff a sock in it,” Vance growled. “I was only gaping at her in shock. Where does that idiotic female cop think she’s patrolling? Downtown Chicago?”

Wade arched a dark brow and grinned unsympathetically as he cruised toward the restaurant to meet his wife for their anniversary lunch. “That’s a good lesson for you, joker. You gotta watch who you’re fooling with. Just pay your fine and get over it.”

“I most certainly will not!” Vance huffed indignantly. “Just because she’s a knockout in a cop uniform doesn’t mean she can go around handing out citations that no other law officer in these parts would consider ticketing.”

Wade chuckled as he pulled into a vacant parking space. “A knockout, huh? So you do admit it.”

“As if you didn’t notice she was built like a supermodel,” Vance said, and smirked. “You may be loco over Laura, but no man could overlook a woman with a body like that lady cop has.”

“I agree she’s stacked. So are you gonna ask her out after you pay your fine?” Wade asked as he piled from the truck.

“Not on your life,” Vance said adamantly. “The day I get interested in a gung ho cop is the day you have my permission to shoot me.”

“Right,” Wade said as he made a beeline for the restaurant. “A cop and a practical joker. It’d never work.”

“Damn right it wouldn’t.” Vance followed his cousin through the door to pan the interior. “I like fun-loving females whose natural reaction is to smile, not look down their noses at you and scowl. Besides, that lady cop is so staunch and defensive that she’d never be a bit of fun, even out of uniform.”

Vance was certain his cousin hadn’t heard a word he said. The instant Wade saw his blond, blue-eyed wife waving at him from the corner booth he strode toward her like a dog going to heel. It was nauseating to watch those two lovebirds together. Of course, watching Cousin Quint and his new wife, Steph, wasn’t any better. They couldn’t keep their hands and eyes off each other, either.

Speak of the devil, Vance mused as Cousin Q sauntered from the kitchen, holding hands with the redheaded queen of cuisine. Dining with these four was sure to ruin Vance’s appetite.

“What’s wrong with you?” Quint stared curiously at Vance as he cozied up in the booth beside Steph.

“Oh, don’t mind him,” Wade said, grinning. “He’s bent out of shape because he had a run-in with the new police officer. She’s a real pistol, by the way.”

“Pistol, hell,” Vance muttered. “She’s an assault weapon and she’ll mow you down if you get in her line of fire.”

Laura and Steph stared worriedly at Vance. “What happened?” Laura asked.

Wade waved off their concern. “You know the joker. He tried to play one of his dumb pranks and the new lady cop didn’t think it was the least bit funny. She fined him a hundred bucks for stupidity.”

Quint burst out laughing. “That’ll teach you to be more selective, cuz. Serves you right.”

For sure, Vance was getting no sympathy from this quarter. Even Laura and Steph commenced giggling.

Vance sulked his way through lunch while the lovebirds cooed at each other. Well, maybe his family thought he should pay the hefty fine and chalk it up to a prank gone sour, but Vance wasn’t letting it go. Ms. Gung Ho hadn’t heard the last from him on the subject. He’d go over her head and talk to the chief of police. Tate Jackson needed to know that a member of his force was harassing one of the lifelong residents of the community. Tate was a reasonable man who’d lived in Hoot’s Roost for fifteen years. He would make certain that his new officer wasn’t overstepping her bounds.

“Where are you off to in such a rush?” Wade asked when Vance dropped a ten spot on the table and vaulted to his feet.

“I’m going to swing by the police department before I pick up the old truck.”

“Let it go,” Quint advised.

“Like he said,” Wade chimed in. “All you’re gonna do is make that lady cop madder than she is now. She’ll be gunning for you every time you show your face in town.”

Vance ignored the advice and strode across town square. He cast a distracted glance toward the circular fountain where a concrete owl hovered in perpetual flight.

Although Vance was usually a happy-go-lucky, carefree kind of guy he wasn’t going to let that rookie cop get away with this. He just had to make sure he got to tell his side of the story first.

When Vance breezed in the door of the police station he flashed the dispatcher a friendly smile. “Hi, Maggie, how’s it going?”

Maggie Davidson grinned back at him. “Fine, handsome. What are you up to? No good, as usual?”

Vance braced his elbows on the counter and flashed her a high-voltage smile. At least she reacted favorably, he thought. Unlike that green-eyed monster of a cop.

He and Maggie had dated casually for a few months before she got stuck on a man who eventually became her ex-husband. Vance decided to pour on the charm and ensure that he had one ally in enemy camp.

“You know me, darlin’, I’m a harmless, law-abiding citizen who wouldn’t hurt a fly.” He graced her with a trademark grin. “Is Tate in his office? I’d like to chat with him for a few minutes.”

“Sure is. Go on back. I’ll let him know you’re on your way.”

“Thanks, good lookin’. Seeing anyone at the moment?”

Maggie shrugged and propped her chin on her hand. “Not seriously. You?”

“Nope. Maybe we can do a little two-stepping at Hoot’s Tavern Friday night.”

She beamed with delight. “Love to.”

Vance ambled down the hall, remembering that he’d always had fun with Maggie in the old days. In addition, it never hurt to have a friend in the right place. Plus, he could quiz Maggie about the new officer and find out what caused that chip on her shoulder.

“Come in,” Tate Jackson called out when Vance rapped lightly on the door.

Vance strode inside to pump Tate’s hand then he plopped into the creaky wooden chair across from the chief’s desk that was piled high with files and red-tape forms.

“What can I do for you, Vance?” Tate asked.

“I came to file a complaint,” Vance replied. “I had a run-in with the lady cop on your force this morning.”

Tate rocked back in his chair and his graying brows flattened over his eyes. “Did you? What kind of run-in?”

Vance tried to keep his voice neutral, but it wasn’t easy when the image of that high-and-mighty bombshell cop popped to mind. “She slapped me with a ticket when I tried to bring my old farm truck into town for repairs. I told her I was on my way to the service station, but it didn’t faze her. I don’t know where she hails from, but she seems to think that we should follow the same regulations here in the outback that apply to the traffic-congested metropolis.”

Tate steepled his fingers under his chin and nodded pensively. “I see. Didn’t cut you any slack, did she?”

“None whatsoever,” Vance confirmed. “That old truck might look like a bucket of rust, but it’s necessary equipment on the ranch. My cousins borrow it all the time. We haul barbwire, tools, cattle feed, you name it. There’s times when I have to take it to town for repairs, but that rookie ordered me to turn it around and drive home.”

“Hmm,” was all Tate had to say in response.

“She wasn’t the least bit understanding,” Vance went on. “She fined me a hundred bucks to let me bring the truck to Pinky’s station for tires and a muffler. You’d think there was a toll road between my ranch and town and she’s in charge of collecting payment.”

“A hundred dollars, you say?” Tate murmured. “That does sound a little steep. Let me see the ticket.”

Yesss! Good ole Tate was on Vance’s side. That was all the encouragement Vance needed. “And I’m sorry to report that your lady cop has a holier-than-thou attitude that’s going to alienate townsfolk,” he tattled.

Tate studied the ticket for a moment. “I suppose you gave her the good-ole-boy routine, but she didn’t bite.”

“She sure didn’t. I climbed down from the truck and she yelled ‘Freeze!’ Heck, you’d have thought I was about to take potshots at her or something. Then she pulled her gun on me and flashed it around to intimidate me. We’re talking loose cannon here, Chief. I’d hate to think what would happen if someone committed a serious offense,” he added. “Then she started spouting code numbers at me. I have no idea what she was ranting about.”

Another rap rattled the door and Tate glanced sideways. “Come in.”

Vance inwardly cringed when the object of his frustration materialized in the doorway. The cop with those dazzling green eyes and a body to die for stopped in her tracks. Her narrowed gaze bounced from Tate to Vance. He tossed her a smug grin. Bring it on, Ms. Smarty-Pants. We’ll see who walks out of here with the reprimand.

2

“I WONDER IF I MIGHT HAVE a word with you, sir. After you finish your conference, of course,” the lady cop said politely.

Vance sincerely hoped Tate called this cop on the carpet. The prospect provoked him to smile in devilish delight.

Tate arched a questioning brow. “Does this have anything to do with the incident Vance is discussing with me?”

The lady cop nodded and that shiny braid of dark hair curled over her shoulder to brush the swell of her breast. Vance tried not to notice, he really did. But damn she was built like nobody’s business. Too bad that she had the disposition of a snapping turtle.

“Yes, sir, it does,” she told her superior.

“Then take a seat, Miranda, and let’s get this situation squared away.”

Miranda. Didn’t that just figure, Vance mused. The knockout female had decided to enter a profession in which she could Miranda everyone. Well, he’d like to read her a few rights and tell her what she could do with herself and her hoity-toity, by-the-book attitude.

“Vance was just telling me about your confrontation on the highway this morning. He objected to the hefty fine.”

Didn’t that just figure, Miranda mused, keeping her expression carefully controlled. No doubt this practical joker had decided to take the incident a step farther by tattling to her boss. The rat.

“I’m sure he objected,” she commented, “but I maintain that he got exactly what he deserved for turning that unsafe vehicle over to his cousin to drive to town after I sent Mr. Ryder back the way he’d come.”

When Tate leveled a pointed stare on Vance, Miranda noted that he sank a little deeper in his rickety chair. Obviously the stool pigeon purposely omitted several important details.

“You didn’t mention that, Vance,” Tate said stonily.

“I was just getting to that part when we were interrupted,” Vance mumbled, shooting Miranda a fulminating glance.

“Of course you were,” she said, then sniffed.

Vance braced his hands on the armrest and jerked upright. “Hey, I was here first to give my report. You were out of line.”

He glowered at her from beneath bunched brows. Refusing to be intimidated, she glared right back at him.

“So I suppose you didn’t mention that you took devilish delight in trying to make me look like a fool in front of your cousin,” she countered. “Well, the joke’s on you, Mr. Ryder. The next time I pull you over you better show some respect!”

“I will not be bullied by a gun-toting female who’s itching to blow my head off over a stupid vehicle violation!” he snapped.

“I was not itching to blow your head off…then,” she retaliated, green eyes flashing. “Now, I’m thinking about it.”

“I don’t have to take this abuse from you, lady,” Vance flared.

“Of course you do. You invite abuse and it would be rude of you not to accept it,” she sniped at him.

When Vance bounded from his chair and Miranda stamped forward to confront him—nose to nose and toe to toe—Tate pounded his fist on the desk, demanding attention.

“Park it, both of you,” he boomed. “Let’s not allow a minor infraction to escalate into World War Three, shall we?”

“She fined me for stupidity!” Vance roared as he plunked into his chair. “How professional is that?”

Miranda swallowed uneasily when the chief’s gaze zeroed in on her. Okay, so that wasn’t very professional of her, she’d admit it. But this handsome hunk of cowboy had ticked her off royally. She couldn’t say exactly what there was about him that got her hackles up. It was just a knee-jerk reaction. She was intensely aware of him and this ridiculous attraction made her megadefensive.

“You fined him for stupidity?” Tate repeated incredulously.

“He deliberately provoked me. Plus, I should have arrested him for sexual harassment,” she blurted out. “He tried to flirt with me to get out of the warning and ticket.”

“That’s a mistake I’ll never make again, believe you me, lady. I’ve met rattlers with better dispositions.” Vance crossed his arms over his broad chest and glared laser beams at her. “You can’t take a joke worth a flip, either.”

She let him have it with both barrels blazing—figuratively speaking of course. “And you don’t have enough brains under that dirty cowboy hat to know when to be serious and not come on to a female officer.”

Vance scowled at her. “I resent that dumb cowboy comment.”

“Enough already!” Tate blared as he vaulted to his feet. His thick chest swelled like a bullfrog as he glowered first at Vance then at Miranda. He sucked in a steadying breath then appraised the two antagonists who were glaring each other down like gunfighters at twenty paces.

It was a long moment before he said, “First off, Miranda, fining a man for stupidity, even if he deserves it, won’t hold up in traffic court and you know it.”

Vance smiled so smugly at her that she gnashed her teeth, crossed her arms and glanced the other way.

“Secondly,” Tate continued, “flirting with a law official is inappropriate and you know it, Vance.”

So there, thought Miranda, wishing she could childishly stick out her tongue at that cocky cowboy. He would never have gotten to first base with her anyway. No matter how attractive he was—in a rugged, back country sort of way—he wasn’t her type. If he’d come on to her while she was dressed in civilian clothes she would have made use of her years of tae kwon do instruction and left him flat on his butt, gasping for breath.

“Now then,” Tate said as he dropped back to his chair to drum his beefy fingers on the desk. “I’m not going to react rashly, which is apparently what you both did during the altercation this morning. I’m going to give this situation some thought before I decide how to handle it.”

“Sounds fair to me, Uncle Tate,” she took grand satisfaction in saying.

“Uncle Tate?” Vance hooted, owl-eyed.

When Tate Jackson nodded, Vance wilted back in his chair and inwardly groaned. He was sunk for sure. Tate was usually a fair man. But coming from a close-knit family himself, Vance always stood behind his cousins when trouble arose. True, Vance and his cousins, even the absentee Gage Ryder, delighted in razzing each other until hell wouldn’t have it. But when the chips were down they became the Four Musketeers. All for one and all that jazz.

No doubt, Tate felt the same connection to his niece, even if Ms. Serious Britches was aloof, defensive and snippy. She also seemed to crave a position of authority so she could lord over the males of the species.

No question about it, Tate would side with Miranda and Vance would be doing time in the slammer, just because of his clunker truck and a harmless prank. Wouldn’t that be a fun way to spend his upcoming birthday?

“You will both report back to my office at ten o’clock sharp on Saturday,” Tate decreed. “That will give you three days to cool down. In addition, you will abide by whatever decision I make concerning the incident. Agreed?”

“Yes, Chief,” Miranda said so sweetly that Vance feared he’d hurl his lunch.

“Fine, Chief,” Vance muttered, knowing he was doomed.

Tate couldn’t possibly be impartial where his gorgeous but prickly niece was concerned. Vance would have to turn all his ranch duties over to Cousins Q and W while he rotted away in the calaboose. If he was lucky, maybe Stephanie would deliver meals from her restaurant and Laura could drop off some reading material from the high school where she taught. Yup, Tate would pretend to think it over for three days, but he’d still lower the boom on Vance.

Tate’s niece, for crying out loud! No wonder the trigger-happy lady cop hadn’t been booted off the force already.

“Now, both of you scram, I have a pile of reports to fill out,” Tate grumbled as he stared at his cluttered desk. “And try to stay out of each other’s way and out of trouble. Please.”

Vance nodded grimly as he surged from his chair. However, he was too consumed by frustration to notice the chief’s wry smile or detect the snicker he camouflaged with a cough. Obviously Chief Jackson found the situation highly entertaining.

It took considerable restraint on Vance’s part not to breeze through the door and let it slam in Miranda’s face. Instead he bowed like the gentleman his mother instructed him to be and swept his arm forward. “After you, Officer Jackson.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ryder,” she replied in the same overly polite tone.

Vance decided that he’d made a tactical error by permitting the knockout female in uniform to precede him down the hall. He had to stare at her shapely backside and the mesmerizing glide of her hips. The unruly man in him wanted to let loose with a wolf whistle, but the sensible side of his brain kept chanting that this was the very last female on the planet that he wanted to be physically attracted to. The only thing the woman had going for her, as far as he was concerned, was her alluring looks. Unfortunately her attitude and personality worked as effectively as the pesticide he needed to spray on his pastures this afternoon.

Vance made a mental note to warn his cousins to take a wide berth around Officer Miranda Jackson, lest they ended up in his position. Since she was the chief’s niece, the townsfolk were obviously stuck with her. The thought was almost enough to make Vance consider selling his ranch and taking up residence beyond this bombshell of a barracuda’s legal jurisdiction.

DRIVING THE JALOPY TRUCK that now boasted new tires and a muffler that didn’t leave a vapor trail of fumes, Vance headed to his ranch. This time he could plainly see the patrol car trailing him because he’d taken time to wash the truck—as ordered by the High Priestess of the police department—the previous day. Vance was certain the reign of terror had only begun in Owl County. That vindictive lady cop was out to get him, no doubt about it.

“Damn,” he muttered when lights flashed behind him.

What was it this time? he wondered sourly. Expired license tag? Naw, that was too easy. Leave it to Miranda Jackson to dig up some obscure vehicle code and stick it to him, despite what her dear uncle had said about mutual avoidance at yesterday’s meeting.

Swearing under his breath, Vance waited for Miranda to climb from her car and approach him. He couldn’t muster the good-natured smile he usually wore as he studied her in the side mirror. This female brought out the worst in him.

When she strode up to the truck he flung up his hands in supplication. “Guilty as charged. Just write me up.”

“I’m not going to give you a ticket,” she said, surprising the hell out of him.

“So, what’s the problem now? Surely you aren’t pulling me over to chitchat. I got the distinct impression that you don’t have much use for me, judging by our yelling match in the chief’s office yesterday.” He smiled goadingly. “Oh, excuse me, make that Uncle Tate’s office.”

Her chin came up as she whipped off her mirrored sunglasses to give him the full benefit of her death-ray glare. “Look, Mr. Ryder, I only stopped you to apologize for losing my temper at headquarters. I overreacted. It was unprofessional and it’s never happened before. For some reason you rub me the wrong way.”

“Well, not to worry, Randi,” he said, knowing it would probably irritate her to be addressed by an abbreviated form of her name. “I’m not planning to rub you the right way, either. Far as I’m concerned, the less we see of each other the better.”

“My sentiments exactly,” she gritted out. “You obey the laws around here and there will be no reason whatsoever for us to engage in conversation…”

Her voice trailed off when Wade Ryder drove by and honked his horn. A few moments later Quint whizzed by, waving and grinning. Vance pulled his Resistol hat down on his forehead, slumped on the seat and cursed colorfully. No doubt, his demon cousins would taunt him unmercifully when he met them at the ranch to begin their afternoon chores.

“If you’re through with me, officer, I have work to do.”

“I’m definitely through with you,” she announced, stepping away from the window. “I will abide by whatever decision the chief makes about our…um…incident.”

“Ditto,” Vance said, “but I expect to get the short end of the stick since you’ve got family and professional connections.”

He watched her thrust back her shoulders and jerk up her chin. His gaze immediately dipped to her well-endowed chest. It was beyond comprehension that he found this female so damn attractive when she bugged the hell out of him. She was so distant and reserved that he had the ridiculous urge to draw a reaction from her—like tormenting a guard at Buckingham Palace until he snapped.

Vance had never had a problem relating to people or dealing with women. Normally he got along with everyone—male and female alike—because it was his objective in life to draw out a smile. He joked around, enjoyed making folks laugh and he tried not to take himself, or the world, too seriously.

He’d learned that technique after getting his heart crammed into a meat grinder by Shawna Karmody a few years back. Since that humiliating affair Vance enjoyed the company of women, enjoyed casual sexual gratification and used corny jokes and playful pranks to remain at an emotional arm’s length.

Too bad he found nothing amusing about dealing with Miranda Jackson. And yet, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. She drew his attention and held if fast. What kind of self-defeating complex did he have going here?

“You’re doing it again,” Miranda said, jostling him back to the present.

Vance jerked his gaze off her full breasts. “Doing what?”

“Staring at me as if you can see…” Her gaze flicked away, unable to maintain visual contact. “I don’t like it when men look past the uniform. It’s insulting and degrading.”

“Then try pinning that badge someplace besides on your chest,” Vance teased, and then grinned scampishly when her face flushed beet red. “Look, Officer Jackson, I’m trying my damn…er…darnedest to stay out of your way and to see you impersonally, but you might as well know that I find you attractive.

“I don’t particularly like you and you definitely don’t like me, but there you have it. Right smack-dab out in the open. Now, if you want to arrest me for that, then fine. I’ll plead no contest. But just because I can’t seem to help liking what I see, doesn’t mean I plan to throw myself at you. I do have some restraint. Are we clear on that, ma’am?”

Miranda stared into his ruggedly handsome face, into those entrancing midnight-colored eyes, and felt the unwanted jolt of attraction jarring her entire body. “Okay, since you’re being honest I’ll return the favor. I like the looks of you, too, even if you don’t take things seriously and you drive the most pathetic excuse for a vehicle that ever cruised the highway. You’re good-looking and I’m sure you know it. Same goes for your two cousins.”

“Three, actually,” he corrected, lips twitching. “But Gage is out of the country, breaking foreign hearts as we speak, I suspect. And thank you for the compliment, ma’am. Even if you think I’m stupid, it’s nice to know you don’t find me hideously ugly while you’re handing me warnings and tickets.”

Miranda broke down and smiled when he grinned playfully. She just couldn’t help it. The man was a charmer when he wanted to be. His smile was contagious and those devilish eyes lured her into their dark, shiny depths.

“Well, I guess that’s that. Now we can attend the chief’s upcoming meeting without going for each other’s throats,” she said, taking another step away from more the unwanted lure of Vance Ryder.

“Fine with me.” He poked his head out the window and extended his hand. “Shall we shake on it and call a truce?”

Miranda placed her hand in his—and felt the sizzle of electricity humming through her body. She quickly extracted her hand from his grasp and noted her palm was sweating. For heaven’s sake, what was the matter with her? Since graduating from the academy she’d learned to handle a variety of tense and dangerous situations. So why was dealing with this particular cowboy different? Why did he affect her to such unprecedented extremes? She’d never felt such an intense reaction to the presence or the casual touch of a man before.

It was so unlike her. She lived for the job. Yet, since the moment she encountered Vance Ryder her hormones had gone completely haywire. This was absurd. She didn’t even like him very much and he admitted he didn’t care much for her, either.

She and Vance were like protons and neutrons bouncing around inside the same atom, repelling each other, colliding with each other. They were absolutely nothing alike. They had nothing in common. They approached life from opposing directions. She took life, and her job, seriously and he didn’t seem capable of taking anything seriously—except their previous shouting match in Tate’s office.

Vance flexed and clenched his fist then clamped his hands around the steering wheel. He took his gaze off her and stared through the recently washed windshield. “I need to get going.”

“If the blinkers don’t work on this bucket of bolts, please use hand signals when you veer onto the graveled road,” she instructed, falling back into police mode. “Have a good day, sir.”

Vance glanced sideways at her and her heart gave an unexpected lurch when his obsidian eyes twinkled and he flashed one of those smiles that no woman could resist.

“You, too, Officer,” he said in a low, raspy voice that drifted down her spine like a seductive caress.

When the truck rumbled off, its engine sputtering, Miranda pivoted on her heels to return to her squad car. She sincerely hoped that after the Saturday meeting at headquarters she wouldn’t see Vance Ryder—except at a safe distance. She had no intention of getting interested in that cowboy. After all, she was only going to be employed by HRPD until Uncle Tate gave her the nod to take a position in Oklahoma City.

Miranda had her life planned out. Had a promising career ahead of her. She intended to follow in her dad’s and her two brothers’ footsteps. A family of cops serving in the same jurisdiction. It was all she’d ever wanted, all she’d dreamed about.

For sure, she wasn’t going to get sidetracked by a down-on-his luck rancher who drove a beat-up truck and probably had the ambition of a slug.

On that determined thought Miranda slid beneath the steering wheel then cruised off to ensure the speed demons around Hoot’s Roost observed traffic codes.

VANCE INWARDLY GRIMACED when he put on the brakes and saw his cousins leaning leisurely against the fender of Quint’s red pickup. Those two rascals were lying in wait, ready to tease the hell out of him for getting stopped two days in a row by the same lady cop. He didn’t want them niggling him for information because, as much as he didn’t approve of Randi Jackson and her gung ho attitude, shaking hands with her and staring too long at that gorgeous bod of hers set off disturbing explosions of sexual attraction. It was insane. Plus, he’d gotten aroused just watching her walk toward him.

Jeez, if ever there was a more unlikely pair, he and Randi were it. He smiled easily and often. She didn’t. He looked for amusement in everything he did. She took everything megaseriously and stood behind her badge like a protective shield. But, man was she hot. The way she filled out her blue uniform should’ve been a full-fledged crime.

“So, cuz,” Wade said playfully, “how’s your ongoing battle with law working out?”

When Quint snickered, Vance glared at the demonic duo. “Don’t wanna talk about it. We’ve got work to do.”

“So, are you busted or not?” Quint asked, ignoring Vance’s thunderous scowl. “Or is the officer in question the only one busted?”

“Knock it off,” Vance growled. “She’s an officer of the law and her bustline is not open for discussion.”

Again, his wicked cousins snickered. Vance seriously considered punching the grins off their faces.

“Surely you realize we aren’t going to lift a finger to help you hook up the spray rigs to the tractors until you tell us what happened yesterday when you marched yourself down to the police station and explain why you got stopped today.”

“Do you have to pay the hefty fine or not?” Wade quizzed.

“I don’t know yet,” Vance mumbled, resigned to giving his report before any work got done. “But since I discovered the lady cop is Tate Jackson’s darling niece, I expect to pay through the nose. Tate is reserving judgment in the matter until the end of the week.”

“His niece?” Wade and Quint parroted in unison. “You are kidding.”

“No, for once, I’m not.” Vance grabbed the five-gallon jugs of pesticide from the back of the clunker truck.

Wade retrieved the garden hose, crammed one end into the top of the spray tank, and then switched on the water. “Tate’s a bachelor, right? Never had kids?”

“Not that I know of,” Quint said as he checked for clogs in the spigots on the spray rig. “I guess that means his niece is pretty special to him.”

“That’d be my guess.” Vance climbed onto the supporting beam of the rig to pour the concentrated chemicals into the tank. “Most likely, I’ll have to pay the fine and apologize for yelling at Randi during our three-way conference.”

Wade’s gaze leaped to Vance. “You yelled at her in front of the chief of police? Are you nuts?”

“Must be,” Quint diagnosed. “You might as well have pinned a note on your chest that said—Fine Me—Big-Time. I’m An Idiot.”

“Well, she yelled at me first,” he said defensively then frowned. “I think. We were both yelling at each other. I don’t remember who started it, but Tate put a stop to it.”

Wade glanced at Quint. Both men snickered again. Damn them. It was going to be a long afternoon, Vance decided.

3

MIRANDA SWITCHED ON the sirens and lights when she saw the dark blue extended cab pickup whizzing toward town. The driver was doing eight miles over the speed limit and she intended to call him on it.

When the truck pulled over, Miranda swerved off the road and climbed from the squad car. She opened her mouth to ask what the big rush was all about then snapped her jaw shut when she glanced through the open window to see the spic-and-span version of the dusty cowboy she’d encountered for the fifth time in three days.

“Great,” she muttered sourly. He was like a curse that wouldn’t go away.

Vance rolled his eyes, sighed audibly and lifted his hand, palm upward. “Just gimme the blasted ticket. I was speeding. I’m late for a date. I’m guilty,” he said, staring straight through the windshield—anywhere but at her.

Miranda frowned pensively. Vance definitely deserved a fine for speeding, but if she gave it to him she predicted her uncle would think she was out to get this cowboy. Damn, she prided herself in going by the book—until the morning she clashed with Vance and allowed her fierce reaction to interfere with her job.

Although it went against the grain she decided not to ticket Vance, for fear he’d twist this incident against her during the conference with the chief. “Just slow this thing down, speed demon,” she ordered brusquely.

He nodded then cast her a quick sidelong glance. “Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.”

Well, at least he was showing some respect. No corny jokes, no teasing grins. No flirtation or appraising stares. So why did she feel a little disappointed that he wouldn’t even look at her? He was going out on a date. Why did she care? She didn’t. It didn’t bother her in the least. Right?

When Vance put the truck in gear and cruised off Miranda stood by the roadside, watching the taillights disappear over the hill.

Wasn’t there some law of nature stating that five chance meetings in the course of three days defied probability? She’d been in Hoot’s Roost for almost two months, encountering a variety of citizens while on patrol. And then wham! She couldn’t turn around without bumping into Vance Ryder.

“Well, surely that’s the last I’ll see of him before Saturday’s meeting,” she muttered as she hiked back to her car.

She had only two hours left on her split shift. Then she could return to the garage apartment she’d rented, treat herself to a warm, relaxing bath, watch a movie on TV then bed down for the night. Tomorrow she’d psyche herself up for her final confrontation with Vance Ryder. Life would return to normal and she’d focus on moving forward with her career.

That wasn’t asking too much, was it? Of course not…so why did the prospect of Vance turning all his country charm on his date cause this unfamiliar twinge in the pit of her belly? There was nothing—absolutely nothing—between them, she told herself as she flicked on her headlights and cruised off.

VANCE TWIRLED MAGGIE Davidson around the dance floor at Hoot’s Tavern, telling himself that he was having a good time. Maggie was personable and attractive. She was good company. They’d grown up together and they shared similar backgrounds and interests. So why were visions of Randi Jackson—naked—buzzing around his head? Sheesh, what was the matter with him? And why hadn’t she given him the ticket he deserved?

He thought about that for a minute and decided it wasn’t because she’d decided to go easy on him. But rather, because she didn’t want him to have the slightest leverage to use against her when they met with Tate.

“You okay?” Maggie asked as she led the way back to their table, after the fast-tempoed song ended.

“Great.” Vance flashed a wide smile. “Couldn’t be better.”

“You seem kinda distracted,” Maggie observed.

“Well, maybe a little.” Half-truth. He was distracted—a lot. “I have to meet with the chief and the lady cop in the morning to find out how much lighter I’ll be in the wallet.”

Maggie chuckled. “I heard about that. Or rather, I heard the yelling coming from the chief’s office. Miranda is a do-gooder. She’s nice and all that.”

Nice wasn’t the word Vance would’ve used to describe her, but he kept his mouth shut.

“I think she’s trying to overachieve, to prove herself to the rest of the men on the force. Her dad and older brothers work for OCPD,” she informed him. “Tate is giving her the chance to gain her footing before she’s promoted to the big city. You know, learn the ropes out here in the boonies where the crime rate isn’t horrific.”

“I suppose Miranda is Tate’s pride and joy,” Vance said glumly.

“Of course. He adores his niece and nephews. He’s bragged on them for years. Plus, Miranda graduated with flying colors from the academy. Good at self-defense and a real sharpshooter, so Tate says.”

Wonderful. The woman was a bombshell and a walking lethal weapon. “What about her mom?” Vance asked curiously.

“She bailed out early on,” Maggie imparted before she sipped her drink. “Couldn’t handle the stress, according to Tate. The chief thinks Miranda is out to prove that she can not only handle the pressure but excel at it.”

Vance swallowed a sip of beer. “Not me. The only problem I care to resolve is which gate to open to which pasture so my cattle will have plenty to eat.”

“Yeah, right. Like I don’t know how hard you work and how well you did on the rodeo circuit.” Maggie smirked at him. “Of course, leave it to you to shrug off the pressure of making a go of your ranch when the agricultural economy is tight.”

“Still, you don’t see me haring off to battle the criminal elements of society.”

The words barely passed his lips when shouts broke out at the bar. Vance swiveled in his chair to see two hired hands from a neighboring ranch throwing punches at each other. Customers were scattering like quail to avoid flying fists. Vance, who’d participated in his share of bar room brouhahas during his rodeo heydays, reflexively bounded to his feet to separate the brawlers before they destroyed the place.

“Hey, cool your jets,” he ordered the two men who held each other in hammerlocks. They ignored him and wrestled each other to the floor to deliver one power-packed blow after another. As they rolled sideways a table crashed to the floor, along with four glasses of beer.

Vance cursed when beer catapulted onto his chest. “Jake, knock it off!” He grabbed one of the men and gave him a hard upward yank. “Now you and Fred kiss and make up. The way you’re going at it you’ll have everyone in here thinking you don’t love each other.”

Well, so much for teasing both drunkards back into good humor. They weren’t paying attention. When another table teetered off balance Vance reached over to snatch up the full pitcher of beer before it hit the floor.

“Damn it!” he yelped when the brawlers banged into the back of his knees. He staggered to catch his balance, but more beer slopped down his shirt and dribbled on the crotch of his jeans. Before he could set aside the pitcher a flying elbow gouged him in the kidney. His legs buckled and he hit his knees. Scowling, he twisted around—and accidentally caught a fist in the eye.

“That does it!” Vance roared as he set aside the pitcher. No more Mister Nice Guy. He’d tried to cajole these yahoos into ceasing and desisting, but they wouldn’t cooperate. He was left with no choice but to knock some sense into them.

Vance reared back and punched out Fred’s lights. The drunkard wilted on the floor in a tangled heap. Vance cocked his arm to throw a punch at Jake, but when he heard that tormentingly familiar female voice yell Freeze! he froze.

But Jake didn’t. He busted Vance right in the chops.

His head was still spinning while he watched Miranda—lady cop to the rescue—storm toward him. When Jake threw another punch she tried to whack him over the head with her nightstick. Unfortunately Jake teetered sideways and the blow caught Vance upside the head.

Groaning, he collapsed on the floor and watched stars explode behind his eyelids. Next time somebody started a brawl Vance definitely was not going to step in to intervene. He was getting too old for this stuff.

Miranda grabbed Jake by the back of his shirt and gave him a good shaking. “Get on your feet,” she barked at him.

Miranda felt as if she was on display as she dragged Jake to his knees then squatted down to check on the third brawler who lay unconscious on the floor. Her credibility was at stake here, she realized. She was a woman and the newest addition to the police force. She had to take command of this situation so the townsfolk would gain confidence in her abilities to quell disturbances.

As for Vance Ryder, Miranda had no choice but to presume the man was a habitual troublemaker—in addition to being a speed demon, a defiant practical joker and incorrigible flirt. The man didn’t seem capable of making wise choices in life.

But oh, how she wished she hadn’t been the officer closest to the tavern when the bartender called for police assistance.

Grimly Miranda slapped the cuffs on all three men. Vance braced himself on his elbows, glared at her and said, “Wait just a damn minute!”

“You have the right to remain silent,” she muttered at him. “And I prefer that you do. Just clam up, Vance.”

The glower he directed at her as he rolled to his feet indicated he’d like to give her a punch in the nose—just like he’d obviously done to the other cowboys. Damnation, this man just kept making her life difficult, kept tormenting her emotions, challenging her authority.

The crowd parted like drapes as Miranda marched her prisoners out the door. “I’ll send another officer to take statements so don’t anyone leave,” she called over her shoulder.

Once outside, Miranda shoved the men into the caged back seat. Vance ended up in the middle. He hurled visual daggers at her via the rearview mirror.

“I didn’t do a blasted thing wrong back there,” he growled.

“What? Assault and battery don’t count in your book? Sorry, but they count in mine,” she replied.

“I was trying to break up the fight,” he insisted.

“Really? When I walked in you clocked the man on your right.”

“Would you please tell the cop that I wasn’t involved?” Vance demanded of the men who book-ended him.

Miranda glanced at the other two brawlers who simply glared at Vance.

“Well, damn,” Vance muttered. “Framed. This is a fine how-do-you-do.”

Vance said not another word—thank goodness—when she pulled up to headquarters. He didn’t resist when she herded him and the other men into the holding tank.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Miranda propped herself against the counter and glanced at the dispatcher working the night shift. “Better call the chief,” she said grimly.

While the dispatcher made the call Miranda pivoted toward the front door. She still had a half hour left on patrol and she didn’t want to be within shouting distance when Uncle Tate showed up to handle the alleged brawlers. Why did she have to be the one who locked Vance in the slammer? She could almost hear Vance tattling to Tate that this latest fiasco proved she was out to get him.

VANCE PACED THE HALL, waiting for Wade to show up. His cousin had been less than pleased when the call came to bail him out. Apparently Wade had more pleasurable pursuits planned for the evening and didn’t take kindly to being roused out of bed by his irate cousin. Maggie Davidson had arrived fifteen minutes earlier to inform the chief that Vance had only tried to stop the fracas before property was destroyed and that all he got for his efforts was a drenching in beer, a black eye, bruised jaw and a knot on his head.

“I’m really sorry about this,” Maggie had said when Vance exited the grungy cell.

Vance had carefully inspected his swollen eye and muttered a few curses to that lady cop’s name. “Why don’t you drive my truck to your place and I’ll pick it up when Wade gets here. No need for you to hang around.”

Patting him sympathetically, Maggie pushed up on tiptoe to give him a peck on the cheek that hadn’t suffered a jarring blow. Offering him a consoling smile, she’d left headquarters.

Ten minutes later Wade arrived. “You don’t look so good, cuz,” he said candidly.

“Thanks.” Teeth gritted, Vance stalked toward the door. “Let’s go.”

“Where to next? Are we stopping by to shoot the policewoman on our way home?”

Vance flashed his grinning cousin a black scowl. “Don’t tempt me. We’re stopping by Maggie’s place to get my truck. Then you can head home. Thanks for coming. If I’d known I’d be in and out so quickly I wouldn’t have disturbed you at all.”

“Is the meeting still on for tomorrow?” Wade asked as he cranked the engine of his pickup.

“Oh, yeah, and you can bet I’ll have something to say about Randi the Robo Cop’s complete mishandling of the situation at Hoot’s Tavern. I was cuffed, stuffed and subjected to police brutality.”

“Mind filling me on the details of what happened?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” Vance snapped.

He didn’t break the silence when Wade pulled into Maggie’s driveway, just slammed the door and got in his truck. Vance felt like putting his foot through the floorboard during the drive home. But the way his luck had been running he figured he’d get pulled over again and this time he’d go for that woman’s throat!

One thing was for double damn sure, he mused as he begrudgingly observed the traffic laws—to the letter—on his way home. This insane fascination for Randi Jackson was over. Done. Kaput. As soon as he walked out of that morning meeting with the chief he never wanted to see her again—ever. She was the curse of his life. No woman, no matter how attractive and challenging she was, was worth this kind of torment. After tomorrow, Vance vowed he’d run—screaming—the other way when he saw her coming.

MIRANDA ENTERED THE CHIEF’S office with a deep sense of foreboding. Tate was ensconced behind his desk, looking as sober as a judge who was prepared to hand down a sentence of execution. Vance, she noted, didn’t spare her the slightest glance, just sat there steaming and brooding.

He looked awful, she noticed. His eye and jaw had turned black and blue and there was a sizable knot on his forehead—compliments of her nightstick.

She’d read the statements taken at the tavern and discovered that Vance had tried to break up the fight. Needless to say she felt like an idiot for thinking the worst about him. She’d been intent on clearing the area and, from what she’d been able to determine during the altercation, Vance had been part of the problem, not the solution.

Another difficult lesson learned, she mused as she sank into her chair. Maybe she wasn’t good cop material if she kept jumping to ill-founded conclusions. Maybe she didn’t have her dad, uncle and brothers’ instincts for keeping law and order. She was a failure at her first major assignment and she’d never wanted to be anything but a top-rate cop.

Miranda knew she was as good as gone from the force, even if her uncle was in charge here. Furthermore, she didn’t want to be an embarrassment to a man with his upstanding reputation in town.

“Well,” Tate said for starters, “we certainly had an eventful evening, didn’t we?”

Vance shot Miranda a murderous look. With his bumps and bruises he looked menacing and unapproachable, but she tried not to flinch. “Yes, sir, I’m afraid so. I—”

Tate’s meaty hand shot up to silence her. “I’ve given the previous situation serious consideration, asked for Wade’s take on the incident and I’ve taken into account the fiasco from last night as well.”

Miranda slouched in her chair when her uncle pinned her with a stony stare. She’d goofed up. She knew it. He knew it. Vance knew it. She’d be lucky indeed to get a security job position at a bank in some podunk town in the middle of nowhere.

“You two seem to have gotten off to a bad start,” Tate remarked. “In my experience on the force I’ve discovered there’s always at least two sides to every story.” He stared at Vance, then at Miranda as he drummed his sausage-link fingers on the desk. “Rehashing last night’s altercation at the tavern will only make both of you defensive and I’m in no mood to listen to another shouting match. In my opinion, and mine is the only one that counts here,” he added emphatically, “you both did the right thing.”

Miranda’s jaw dropped open. Never in her wildest dreams had she expected Uncle Tate to defend her conduct. But it didn’t seem to sit well with Vance because he sent her another disdainful glare.

“Witnesses verified that Vance tried to stop the fight before the tavern was trashed,” Tate continued. “Miranda tried to follow standard procedure by clearing the area and letting backup take the statements. Any ill feelings between you two are outside the letter of the law. This will have to be worked out on a personal basis because this appears to be a personality conflict between you.”

Tate leaned on his forearms on the desk and stared Miranda and Vance down. Miranda hadn’t the slightest idea where her uncle was going with this.

“I plan to view this conflict between you as an internal affair because Vance is an old friend and Miranda is my niece and a member of my staff. I’m going to resolve it and this is how it’s going to go down.” Tate focused his attention on the battered cowboy. “Now then, Vance, you need to understand that it isn’t easy being a rookie, as well as the first and only policewoman on this force. My niece is trying to gain the respect of her co-workers and the citizens of the community she’s sworn to serve.”

“Right,” Vance said, and snorted. “She’s trying to ruin my life. I have to wonder how many other lives she plans to destroy to meet her monthly quota.”

The look Vance hurled at Miranda indicated she’d never have his respect. Not that she blamed him. From his standpoint he’d been the abused victim and he wanted to see her pay for her role in last night’s foofaraw.

Tate heaved himself from his chair and strode around the desk to loom over Miranda and Vance. He crossed his thick arms over his bulky chest—a gesture that implied that he wasn’t going to be swayed by forthcoming comments and objections. Miranda wisely kept her trap shut. Vance did likewise.

“Since Miranda needs to gain a feel and understanding for life in this rural community, a community unlike the city where she grew up, I propose you familiarize her with life on the ranch and introduce her to the folks in town.”

Vance nearly came unglued. “No way in Hades!” he crowed.

“In other words,” Tate went on, ignoring the loud objection, “your sentence will be public service for one week and you will not pay the fine.” While Vance sputtered, Tate’s gaze riveted on Miranda. “To ensure that Vance understands what it’s like for a woman on the force, he will accompany you on the evening shifts while you’re on patrol. You’ll be taking shorter shifts, which will mean a smaller salary for the week.”

Miranda gaped at her uncle. “You want us to spend our days and evenings together for a week?” she choked out. “The man hates my guts. This won’t work.”

“I hate you?” Vance spouted. “I suffered unprovoked police brutality, in addition to being stopped three times on the highway. You think so little of me that you’re out to get me. You even ruined my date—on purpose.”

“That’s ridiculous!” she erupted. “I couldn’t care less how many women you go out with!”

“Quiet—” Tate cut in, but he wasted his breath.

“I can’t work with Ms. Gung Ho, Chief,” Vance muttered in frustration. “It’ll be a race to see who murders whom first. I’ll pay the fine. Gladly. Someone else can play nursemaid to Randi the Robo Cop. She might be your precious niece, but she’s my worst nightmare.”

“As if you haven’t made my life miserable in the course of four days,” Miranda said heatedly. “My job is on the line and all you can think about is how horrible it would be to spend a week in my company. It would be horrible for me, too, you know!”

“Children, simmer down,” Tate broke in loudly. “I’m not finished yet. Just sit back in your chairs and take a deep breath. Your sentences are not negotiable. There will be no appeals. I’m judge and jury here, so pipe down.”

A week with Randi underfoot? The thought was inconceivable. Vance wanted his normal life and his easygoing disposition back. He wouldn’t get it with this witchy woman breathing down his neck. No telling what she’d screw up at his ranch. Plus, she’d likely get him killed while he was riding shotgun in the squad car. After all, she had a knack of pissing people off. He knew that from firsthand experience.

“I’d rather serve jail time,” Vance declared.

“And I don’t want to join Peter Pan in Neverland,” she said huffily. “He’s never grown up to take life seriously—”

“Peter Pan?” he crowed indignantly. “I’ll have you know that I’m taking this seriously.”

Tate surged upward, his muscled arms slashing through the air like machetes. “That’s it! Silence!”

Vance frowned curiously. If he didn’t know better he’d swear the chief was biting back a snicker.

“In addition,” Tate went on eventually, “you two have graciously volunteered to co-chair the HRPD’s annual town-wide garage sale that benefits our new youth center. If the event is a flop then you’ll both receive equal blame. Any questions?”

“Yes,” Vance said. “I’m feeling suicidal. Can I borrow your gun?”

“Here,” Miranda offered generously. “Use mine.”

Vance sneered at her and she sneered back.

“I’m giving you another few days to cool off before I throw you together for this assignment,” Tate announced. “Come Tuesday morning, Miranda will report for ranch duties at seven sharp.”

“Oh, goody gumdrops,” Vance muttered sourly. “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend my birthday with.”

Tate didn’t look the least bit sympathetic. “You can grab a bite of supper and begin patrolling at seven in the evening. Now skedaddle from my office. I have work to do.”

Disgruntled, Vance exited posthaste. He didn’t do Miranda the courtesy of holding open the door, either. He only had a few days of freedom before he faced a solid week with that dark-haired albatross clamped around his neck.

Vance wondered how long it would take for the chief to run him to ground if he decided to skip town. He definitely needed more than a few days to gird himself up for a week of having that lunatic woman following him around like his own shadow.

Tate certainly knew how to dole out the worst conceivable brand of punishment, Vance thought sourly. A scalding dip in the bubbling fires of hell wouldn’t hurt as bad as a week in the company of Randi Jackson.

INSIDE THE OFFICE, Chief Tate Jackson was having himself a good laugh. He’d never seen two individuals so determined not to like each other and yet so obviously attracted to each other. It had taken tremendous effort to keep his serious “cop face” from slipping off during Vance and Miranda’s animated protests. If his instincts were on the mark, the week of togetherness was exactly what Vance and Miranda needed to come to grips with their explosive reactions to one another.

Tate chuckled as he picked up a stack of folders and got to work. He knew he was handy with police-issued pistols, but he thought perhaps he also had a knack with Cupid’s weapon of choice—a bow and arrow. If things worked out the way he predicted they would, he just might try moonlighting as a matchmaker.

4

DRESSED IN BLUE JEANS, a T-shirt and her OCPD windbreaker jacket—a gift from her dad and brothers—Miranda reluctantly climbed from her car at seven o’clock sharp. She fully expected Vance to test her mettle, but she hadn’t expected to have his two cousins on hand to witness her inadequacy at handling ranch chores.

“Why are they here?” she asked as Vance approached, wearing leather chaps and a bulky denim jacket that emphasized his rugged good looks and muscular physique. She tried to ignore the tantalizing effect the man had on her—but it wasn’t easy.

“They’re here to ensure we don’t kill each other,” Vance replied as he appraised her choice of clothing. “No boots?”

“I don’t own cowboy boots. Tennis shoes will have to do.”

He grinned wickedly. “Well, good luck getting the fresh manure out of those treads.”

He started to take her arm to escort her downhill to the pipe-and-cable corral then obviously decided against making physical contact. He’d made it perfectly clear that he thought she was a jinx and the curse of his life. Well, those feelings were mutual. That day she met Vance would go down in the annals of history as the worst day in her personal and professional life.

“C’mon, I’ll introduce you to Cousin Quint, formerly the ladies’ man of the family. He has a nearby ranch and he married Steph after Thanksgiving last year. She owns the Palace restaurant and the food’s terrific in case you haven’t tried it yet.”

“Steph, restaurant, Quint,” she repeated. “Copy that.”

Vance, she noted, almost smiled at her determination to remember names and familiarize herself with the citizens of Hoot’s Roost.

“You’ve already met Wade. He claimed to be a woman-hater until he met and married Laura last summer. She teaches math and computer science at the high school,” he informed her.

Miranda systematically filed the background information. “Got it.”

He halted her in front of his cousins. “Miranda Jackson, HRPD, this is Quint Ryder,” Vance introduced. “And I’m sure you remember Wade.”

Wade tipped his hat politely. “Nice to see you again, Officer Jackson.”

“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Quint added, flashing her a smile.

She studied the three similarly dressed cowboy cousins who towered over six feet and made her five feet six inches seem small in comparison. Obviously well muscled physiques, striking good looks and devastating smiles ran in the Ryder family. “Please call me Miranda,” she insisted as she offered them a cordial smile.

“And this is Frank,” Vance said, gesturing to the blue heeler that was wagging his stub of a tail. “Wade’s cow dog is the only one around here who has the good manners to shake hands.”

On cue, Frank lifted a paw and waited for Miranda to hunker down for the formal introduction.

“Best cow dog this side of the Red River,” Wade boasted proudly. “Or at least he was until my wife tried to turn him into a house dog. Frank’s been suffering an identity crisis since Laura showed up to pamper him.”

Miranda noticed how the big cowboy’s voice softened when he mentioned his wife. Clearly the man was deeply in love. She couldn’t imagine how it would feel to be in love. She’d never been remotely close to experiencing those emotions.

Her gaze drifted to Quint. “What about your wife, the restaurateur? Steph, right? Married three months?”

Quint’s whiskey-colored eyes widened in surprise. “You know Steph?”

“Not yet, but Vance mentioned her fabulous restaurant so I’ll want to try it out.”

“Enough chitchat. We have cattle to separate and haul to Cousin Gage’s ranch.” Vance glanced down at Miranda. “You do ride, don’t you?”

Miranda shifted uneasily. “Um…no.”

Vance’s grin turned mischievous. “Perfect.”

“He means that you won’t have to unlearn any bad habits,” Quint put in as he sent Vance a surreptitious glance. “Isn’t that right, Cousin V?”

“Sure, what else?” Vance said with a nonchalant shrug.

When Vance ambled toward the string of horses tethered beside the gate Miranda glanced anxiously at Wade. “I’ve heard Vance is the practical joker of your family. He isn’t going to put me on the wildest bronc he’s got is he?”

“Probably not. Most of his jokes are playful and harmless,” Wade assured her. “Like the time he left red construction paper hearts on my pickup seat while Laura was working as my temp housekeeper. Then he disguised his voice and called to say I’d won a honeymoon vacation to the Bahamas, long before we’d even had our first date.”

“Or the time Vance stocked our honeymoon apartment with aphrodisiacs and left a bed as the only stick of furniture in the place,” Quint added wryly. “Then there were the Christmas lights he strung outside the apartment and glowing neon sign that read. Do Not Disturb.”

“In high school there were the usual pranks of adding extra gas to our tanks to make us think we were getting great mileage and nailing our shoes to the floor,” Wade recalled.

“Don’t forget that trick he pulled on the baseball coach with breath mints and water,” Quint reminded him. “The poor man’s mouth turned green while he was engaged in a heated dispute with the home-plate umpire.”

“And there was the time on the rodeo circuit when Vance—” Wade clamped his mouth shut when Vance flashed him a silencing frown. “I guess the joker doesn’t want you to hear the list of his offenses.”

Vance drew the paint pony to a halt in front of Miranda then glanced at his cousins. “Why don’t you round up the cattle in the west pasture while Randi and I bring in the herd from the south. We’ll take Frank with us.”

When Wade and Quint mounted up, Miranda noted the ease with which they settled in their saddles. She doubted she’d look as relaxed on a horse.

“Ready, Calamity Jane?” Vance asked, directing her attention to the stirrup. “Nothing to this. This horse is well trained to move cattle. All you have to do is stay aboard. Heaven forbid that you fall off and end up with a black eye, swollen jaw and knot on your noggin.”

“About that knot,” she said as she approached the pinto mare. “It was an accident.”

“Or an opportunity too good to pass up,” he said, and smirked.

Miranda wheeled on him. “Look, pal, I’m going to do my level best to handle everything you throw at me this week and try to get along with you. So can we please get past that night at the tavern and serve this sentence as amicably as possible?”

“Sure, just as soon as I get over that wisecrack about Peter Pan,” he said darkly. “I may be fun-loving, but I take proper care of my cattle, horses and ranch. Just because I try to inject enjoyment into my work doesn’t mean I shirk my duties and behave irresponsibly.”

“I can see that you don’t,” Miranda assured him. “You have a well-manicured place that’s indicative of pride, hard work and commitment.”

Her compliment took the defensiveness out of his stance and expression. He even smiled at her. Miranda wished he hadn’t because the woman in her responded instantaneously. Even with that black eye and discolored jaw she still found him absolutely irresistible.

Enough of those inappropriate thoughts, she chastised herself. She turned to stuff her foot in the stirrup. Her body went on red alert when Vance clamped his hands around her waist to steady her and guide her onto her perch.

When she glanced down he tipped back his head to stare at her with that endearing one-eyed squint. “Sorry, Officer, I wanted to make sure you got settled in the saddle without mishap.”

“Well, uh, thanks.” Miranda yanked her attention away from those full, sensuous lips and toyed with the reins. “How many gears does this mare have?”

“Just two.” He grinned wryly. “A plodding walk and a hell-for-leather gallop. Hold her to first gear and you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Miranda watched Vance mount up with grace and experienced ease. The man was definitely in his element. She, however, was not. He probably wanted to see her fail—big-time. Wanted to see her swallow her pride and nurse a few bruises after she cartwheeled off the pinto and bit dust. He’d probably laugh his head off when she went flying. Well, she’d stick to this saddle like glue, she vowed resolutely. She’d already made a fool of herself in his presence more times that she cared to remember. She was not going to do it today.

VANCE HAD TO ADMIT RANDI was a real trooper. Even when the cattle herd cut and ran and her pinto mare shot off to stop the stampede Randi held on tightly. Of course, her face turned baby-powder white and she clamped her teeth together in grim determination. But damn if he didn’t admire her for tackling the unfamiliar chores and attempting to do her very best.

Things progressed without mishap until the Black Angus bull abruptly turned tail and headed for the creek. The bull, it seemed, decided he wasn’t in favor of being confined to the corral. He thundered toward Randi and her mare who stood directly in his escape route.

“Oh, my God,” Randi squawked as the cantankerous bull charged toward her.

The pinto reared up when the bull sideswiped it. Vance’s heart missed several vital beats while he watched Randi somersault backward over the horse’s rump. He nudged his sorrel gelding and raced toward her. Damn it, if he killed the chief’s niece on the first day he’d be penitentiary bound.

Vance dismounted before his horse skidded to a stop and raced to Randi. She lay sprawled facedown in the grass, her breath coming in shallow hitches.

“You okay?”

“Don’t…know,” she wheezed. “Can’t breathe yet.”

Vance liked the way she didn’t go into instant panic mode after she got the wind knocked out of her. She just lay there, waiting to get her breath back.

He slid his arm around her shoulders, turned her over and eased her upright. “Put your head between your legs, cowgirl,” he murmured. “You’ll be fine.”

“I’m lousy at this,” she choked out then did as he instructed. “Lousy cop, too.”

“Aw, don’t be so hard on yourself. That’s what I’m here for.”

She raised her head and managed a wobbly smile.

“I’ll probably make a lousy assistant cop while I’m riding with you. You’ll have your chance to poke fun.”

He hadn’t meant to brush his forefinger over her bloodless cheek or sink his hand into that mass of dark, silky hair that lay like a braided rope on her shoulder. It just sort of happened naturally. It felt good to touch her. Too good.

Vance jerked his hand away. Her deep green eyes locked on his and he swallowed hard when desire pelted him. He wanted to taste those cupid’s bow lips, but he denied himself. Knowing this bristly cop, who was out to prove herself to the world—and to the men in it—she’d probably take offense and he’d get his face slapped. As if he didn’t have enough bumps and bruises already.

“I’m okay now,” she squeaked, offering him an anemic imitation of a smile.

She didn’t look or sound very okay, but Vance hoisted her to her feet, nonetheless. When her legs folded up he hooked his arm around her waist to offer support. He had to admit that he admired the way she sucked it up and didn’t whimper and whine. He could easily visualize her taking those self-defense lessons at the academy. She’d give her all and she’d never let a man know she was hurting or let a hard fall slow her down. She’d likely swallow a howl of pain and get back on her feet—even if it about killed her.

“Why don’t you go up to the house and lie down for a few minutes,” he suggested. “No shame in that. I had my bell wrung plenty of times when I bucked off a rodeo bronc. Stuff happens, ya know, and sometimes you just need a breather.”

“No, I agreed to do this job and I’m going to do it.”

She inhaled a fortifying breath and Vance cursed himself soundly when his gaze helplessly dropped to her breasts. The woman could barely stand up and he itched to cop a feel of the lady cop. Man, he was such an insensitive jerk.

Scowling at himself, Vance helped her into the saddle. He glanced sideways to note that Frank had chased down the bull and nipped the big brute’s heels until he rejoined the herd.

When the cattle converged from both pastures, Vance motioned for Miranda to dismount. “The next order of business is to cut the weaning calves from the cows for transport to a distant pasture. Then we’ll make another cut of marketable calves from the combined herds, work them and haul them to the stockyards.”

“Marketable?” Miranda questioned. “What’s that mean?”

“We’ll package the seven-and eight-hundred-pound steers in groups to sell to feedlot buyers. Heifers, too, but they don’t command the same prices as feeder steers,” he explained as he strode over to the clunker truck to grab two leather whips. “My cousins and I will evaluate and sort out the calves, then pen up the newborns for branding and inoculations. Your job is to open and shut the pasture gate to filter out the cows.”

“And the bull?” she asked, casting the ton of beef on the hoof a wary glance.

“Nope, we’re taking him to service the cows at Cousin Q’s ranch. We rotate our bulls to protect against inbreeding.”

When Vance walked over to speak to his cousins Miranda heaved a pained sigh and rolled her strained shoulder. Of course, she hadn’t told Vance that she’d hurt herself. Pride wouldn’t allow that. She just gritted her teeth and toughed it out.

Positioning herself by the metal gate, Miranda watched, impressed, as the Ryder cousins directed calves into the loading chute for transport and cut out other calves for branding and injections. She was able to stand aside and watch the interaction between the Ryder cousins, noting the playful camaraderie they employed while working. Occasionally she caught the teasing comments Vance made that kept his cousins grinning, while they went about their tasks. She couldn’t help but wonder why Vance was unable to direct that playful attitude toward her.

Probably because he hated her and she’d criticized his easygoing manner one too many times.

Miranda jerked to attention when one of the cows trotted toward her. She managed to open and shut the pasture gate several times without incident. But to her dismay, she wasn’t agile enough to shut the gate before one of the small calves darted around a cow and shot through the opening like a cannonball.

Her gaze instantly flew to Vance who muttered and scowled. She fully expected him to chew her out royally. Instead he said, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll bring back the calf.”

Miranda watched him hop the fence to gather a lariat from the clunker truck then bound onto his horse. Fascinated, she watched him gallop after the runaway calf—with the loop of the lariat circling his head. He roped the calf on the first attempt, stepped down to secure the small calf’s legs then draped the bawling animal over his saddle. When he returned, Miranda opened the gate to let him deposit the calf in the designated pen.

“Nice work, cowboy. Sorry about that. I won’t let it happen again. Now that I know how sneaky those little buggers can be, I’ll be ready and waiting.”

“Good, because time-consuming delays will make it hard for us to finish up before dark. I’m on patrol duty tonight, ya know,” he said with a teasing wink.

Miranda inwardly winced at the reminder. She decided, right there and then, that she wasn’t going to be the cause of another delay. She’d throw herself in front of an escaping calf before she’d interrupt this precisioned process again.

Ten minutes later she was forced to put up or shut up. Another calf zipped around a cow and scrambled toward the open gate. Miranda launched herself at the calf. The animal bawled its head off and kicked her in the thigh, but she brought it down and rammed her elbow in its wet nose. While the calf recovered from the stunned blow, Miranda surged to her feet to slam the gate shut.

Vance froze in disbelief, his goggle-eyed gaze fixed on the woman who’d just tackled a two-hundred-fifty-pound calf before it escaped and had to be chased down.

“Did I see what I thought I saw?” Quint chirped, incredulous.

“Think so.” Wade glanced at Vance. “Wha’d you do? Threaten to clean her plow if she let another calf get past her?”

“No,” Vance mumbled. “Jeez, I knew she was about half crazy, but I didn’t realize she was a daredevil, too.”

Quint chuckled as he turned his attention back to the task at hand. “Damn, those self-defense classes at the academy must be something else. Didn’t know some of the techniques used for steer-wrestling also applied to taking down escaping criminals.”

“She could’ve hurt herself—badly,” Vance muttered. “That was above and beyond the call of duty.”

Wade chuckled in amusement. “Nice to know how devoted she is to the job. I’ll sleep better tonight knowing how well I’m being protected by HRPD’s finest.”

Well, maybe his cousins were properly impressed, but Vance was just frustrated that Randi had risked injury to stop the calf from hightailing it north. She’d scared him. She’d triggered protective instincts he hadn’t realized he had—didn’t want to have—for her.

She was a pain in the patoot. The proverbial thorn in his paw. He didn’t want to admire, respect or worry about her. That signified that she meant something to him. She didn’t. They were polar opposites. Their approach to life was diametrically different. She took everything seriously. And to the extreme.

Damn, he’d almost stopped breathing when he’d seen Randi dive at that calf that outweighed her by at least a hundred and twenty pounds. He’d had a horrible vision of dragging her trampled body back to Tate and hearing himself say: Here you go, Chief. Sorry I got your niece killed in the corral because she was trying too hard to live up to my expectations.

An hour later, when the feeder calves had been loaded in trailers and the weaning calves were penned up, Vance breathed a tired sigh. He’d watched Randi throw herself in front of another oncoming calf and he had suffered another near coronary. At that point he’d called time out and given her quick instruction on where and how to use the whip so she didn’t have to tackle a runaway calf.

The woman might not know jack about ranching and farming, but she’d certainly taken very seriously the sentence Tate handed down to her. That get-thejob-done, do-or-die attitude of hers was admirable, but it was making him nervous. He didn’t want to consider how he’d react if he had to sit by and watch her handle some crazed criminal that was avoiding arrest. The thought gave him the heebie-jeebies.

Criminey. This was not going to work, just like he’d told Tate. After one morning with Randi, Vance was ready to call it quits and pay the fine. The woman was affecting him on too damn many levels and he was so aware of her that it was driving him nuts.

“What’s next, boss?” she asked as she walked toward him.

Vance noted the grimace that bracketed her mouth and the limp she was trying very hard not to favor. It upset him all over again. He wasn’t accustomed to being upset. He was the kind who shrugged, smiled and got on with life.

“You’re hurt,” he blurted out accusingly.

She forced a cheery smile. “I’m fine.”

“Are not, damn it,” he growled down at her.

Randi tipped her head back to study his black scowl then glanced at Wade and Quint. “I thought you said Vance was the happy-go-lucky joker of the family. Doesn’t look happy now.”

Vance’s arm shot toward his pickup. “Just load up, Calamity Jane,” he demanded.

She opened her mouth to protest his sharp tone, clamped her lips together then did as she was told.

“Sheesh, you’re in a mood,” Wade teased. “She’s really getting to you, isn’t she, hotshot?”

“She is not getting to me,” Vance denied huffily.

“Oh, gimme a break,” Quint said, and smirked. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at her for the past two hours. She’s definitely getting to you.”

“I saw you grimace when she defended the pasture gate,” Wade put in gleefully. “You’re showing all the signs of a man with a woman on his mind.”

“Can you blame me?” Vance erupted uncharacteristically. Funny, this tormenting teasing between cousins had been more amusing when he was dishing it out rather than taking it. “The Robo Cop defied injury and death, right in my corral. I’ll be a basket case after riding patrol with her. No telling what brave deeds she plans to attempt in the name of truth, justice and the American way.”

“If you ask me, she’s trying to prove herself competent and worthy to you. Hmm, wonder why that’s so all-fired important to her?” Quint remarked.

“Good question,” Wade said, smiling wryly. “Could it be that you’re getting to her, too?”

“Are you two yahoos going to stand here harassing me or are you going to help?” Vance demanded crankily.

“Harassing is more fun,” Wade replied devilishly.

“I have to agree with Wade,” Quint seconded.

Swearing ripely, Vance shouldered past his cousins to climb into his truck. Dealing with this gutsy, fearless female was problem enough. Being hounded by his evil relatives was turning his stomach. Vance was beginning to wonder if he’d be able to get through the first day of his tortuous sentence without murdering one—or both—of his cousins. And don’t forget the very real possibility of getting Ms. Eager Beaver killed in a ranching accident, he mused uneasily.

EXHAUSTED, BRUISED AND unwillingly impressed by Vance’s commitment to his ranch, Miranda made use of his shower then changed into her uniform. There hadn’t been time to rush back to her apartment before she reported for patrol duty. There had been time at lunch, however, for her to make some hurried requests by phone. The secretive arrangements were her way of apologizing to Vance for the comedy of errors that had befallen him.

After contemplating the incidents of the past week Miranda decided the blame rested entirely on her shoulders. If she hadn’t taken her job—and herself—so seriously, hadn’t been so defensive about her physical attraction to Vance, they wouldn’t have ended up handcuffed together for seven long days and a considerable portion of the nights.

Fact was, Vance wasn’t what she’d expected. He was diligent, skilled and got on well with his family. He and his cousins combined forces to manage their ranches and help each other with various tasks. Part of the reason the Ryders could pull it off, she realized, was that Vance had a knack of neutralizing difficult situations with laughter and smiles. As much as Miranda loved her dad and brothers she wondered if they could work together with such ease.

Well, one day she’d have the chance to find out, she mused as she applied a thin coat of makeup. She was determined to fulfill her dream of joining her family at OCPD.

After a quick self-inspection in the bathroom mirror, Miranda veered into the hall. Earlier she’d taken time to admire Vance’s spacious home and countrified décor. Pictures of Vance and his cousins during their rodeo career hung on the walls of the paneled den. Trophies and silver belt buckles lined the shelves. She wondered if that scar she’d noticed on the underside of his chin was a battle scar from his wild rides on broncs while he traveled the suicide circuit.

Oh, yes, she’d been paying close attention while Wade and Quint filled her in on Vance’s past, during their short breaks. She’d discovered that the older generation of Ryder men had deeded their ranches over to their sons and headed south with their wives to a retirement village in Texas. They were living on the royalties of the oil wells that dotted these sprawling ranches.

She’d also learned that Vance had never wanted to do anything but excel on the rodeo circuit before he returned to run his ranch. According to Wade and Quint, ranching was in the Ryder blood. It wasn’t a job, they insisted, it was a way of life.

Miranda could relate to that because she’d never wanted to do anything except follow in her dad and brothers’ footsteps. You might even say she was driven to it.

“Should I strap on my six-shooters?” Vance asked as he followed her down the hall. “How much gunplay can I expect while patrolling with you?”

“You can leave your guns at home,” she told him as she led the way out the front door. “I’ll be the only one packing hardware on the night shift—” Her voice dried up when Vance snagged her arm and turned her to face him on the front porch.

“One request,” he murmured, staring somberly at her.

The feel of his lean fingers on her forearm was as gentle as a caress. She tried very hard not to respond to his touch. It was like trying not to breathe.

Damn, he was so easy on the eye, so big and brawny and totally male. The scent of his cologne threatened to lure her closer, but she stuck to her guns and kept her distance.

“What’s your one request?” To her dismay, her voice wobbled in helpless reaction to his devastating presence.

“Don’t scare me to death the way you did while we were separating cattle.”

His husky voice caused gooseflesh to pebble her skin, but Miranda willfully ignored the reaction and flashed a smile. “Not to worry, cowboy. I can guarantee that won’t happen.”

His shoulders sagged slightly. “Good. I didn’t like knowing you were hurt this morning but were too proud to admit it. I’m pretty sure I’ll like you a whole lot better without any bullet holes in you, so no daring heroics for my benefit, okay? I’ve already recognized the fact that you’re no lightweight, despite what I said in a snit of temper.”

His roundabout compliment and the teasing hint of concern flattered Miranda.

“You aren’t afraid to take risks and you don’t mind getting your hands dirty with hard work,” he added as his dark gaze skimmed over her face. “You don’t hover on the perimeters of life—you dive in headfirst. I respect those qualities and I can relate to them. But I still don’t like seeing you hurt.”

She was so flattered and pleased that she very nearly caved in and pressed an impulsive kiss to that sexy mouth that had driven her crazy each time she ventured close enough to appraise the shape and texture of it.

“For the record,” she murmured unsteadily, “I don’t hate you and I’m not out to get you.”

When he smiled rakishly her heart slammed against her ribs—and stuck there momentarily. “Maybe I’d like it better if you were out to get me,” he said in an ultrasexy voice as he inched closer.

He was practically standing on top of her, crowding her space, surrounding her with that magnetic male aura and staring at her mouth as if he wanted to devour her. She wondered how it would feel to have those sinewy arms wrapped around her and give into this fierce, illogical attraction that was growing by leaps and bounds.

Just one taste and touch. What could it hurt? You could like it too much, came the voice of caution. And that would be dangerous. This, she reminded herself, isn’t the kind of danger you’re equipped to handle so back off.

Swallowing hard, Miranda retreated from temptation. She pivoted to scuttle down the steps on legs that suddenly felt like cooked noodles. “We better get going,” she chirped. “I’m a stickler for punctuality.”

“Figured as much,” Vance said as he followed her to the squad car.

Miranda didn’t try to engage in conversation during the drive, just let silence reign supreme. She just kept sneaking peeks to study Vance’s profile in the dash lights. Of course, she’d been guilty of sneaking peeks at him every chance she got during the day. She was too aware of him, too aware of her attraction to him.

Now that she’d come to like him he was even more difficult to resist. But she had to resist that playful charm. She predicted he could be a heartbreaker if a woman began to care too much. Quint Ryder might have been a former ladies’ man of the family, but now that he was out of circulation she suspected Vance held the title and she didn’t doubt for a minute that he could live up to the family reputation.

When Miranda pulled up in front of Stephanie’s Palace, Vance stared questioningly at her. “Why are we stopping here? Checking for a liquor license or something?”

“Nope. This is where you get out, cowboy,” she said.

He frowned suspiciously. “Now look, Calamity Jane, you upheld your end of the deal today and I sure as hell intend to uphold mine. I’m not about to lounge around at dinner while you’re wolfing down a stale sandwich from Hoot ’N’ Holler and patrolling the streets.”

“Get out, Vance. I’m giving an order, just like the ones you gave me at your ranch. I obeyed them to the best of my abilities. I expect the same consideration from you. Now go!”

He opened his mouth to protest then clamped his jaw shut. “Okay, fine. But if you don’t come back in an hour so I can take my tour of duty I’m gonna be spitting mad. Got it?”

Miranda nodded. “Got it. Now beat it. I’m going to check the alleys to ensure the other downtown businesses are secured for the night.”

The instant he stepped from the car she whizzed off, before his guilty conscience could nip at him again and he tried to climb back inside. As for Miranda, she desperately needed some breathing space—some downtime away from the kind of temptation she’d never faced…until she ran headlong into Vance Ryder.

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