Had Hope just made the biggest mistake of her life?

She’d finally gotten what she wanted—time to spend with Jake McBride.

But what if she made a fool of herself over him again? No, she wouldn’t let that happen. She was an expert at hiding her thoughts and feelings. She could hide them from Jake, as well.

He’d made it sound as if she was doing him a favor to let him help her at her new ranch. But was this simply a way for him to get closer to her operation and figure out how to own it himself someday? It wouldn’t be the first time someone had lied to her to get something he wanted.

Hope didn’t want to doubt Jake’s motives for helping her, but wariness was long a part of her nature. A charming, handsome man was always dangerous to an innocent woman like her.

Even if he was the handsome Wyoming cowboy she loved.

Dear Reader,

Make way for spring—as well as some room on your reading table for six new Special Edition novels! Our selection for this month’s READERS’ RING—Special Edition’s very own book club—is Playing by the Rules by Beverly Bird. In this innovative, edgy romance, a single mom who is sick and tired of the singles scene makes a deal with a handsome divorced hero—that their relationship will not lead to commitment. But both hero and heroine soon find themselves breaking all those pesky rules and falling head over heels for each other!

Gina Wilkins delights her readers with The Family Plan, in which two ambitious lawyers find unexpected love—and a newfound family—with the help of a young orphaned girl. Reader favorite Nikki Benjamin delivers a poignant reunion romance, Loving Leah, about a compassionate nanny who restores hope to an embittered single dad and his fragile young daughter.

In Call of the West, the last in Myrna Temte’s HEARTS OF WYOMING miniseries, a celebrity writer goes to Wyoming and finds the ranch—and the man—with whom she’d like to spend her life. Now she has to convince the cowboy to give up his ranch—and his heart! In her new cross-line miniseries, THE MOM SQUAD, Marie Ferrarella debuts with A Billionaire and a Baby. Here, a scoop-hungry—and pregnant—reporter goes after a reclusive corporate raider, only to go into labor just as she’s about to get the dirt! Ann Roth tickles our fancy with Reforming Cole, a sexy and emotional tale about a willful heroine who starts a “men’s etiquette” school so that the macho opposite sex can learn how best to treat a lady. Against her better judgment, the teacher falls for the gorgeous bad boy of the class!

I hope you enjoy this month’s lineup and come back for another month of moving stories about life, love and family!

Best,

Karen Taylor Richman

Senior Editor

Call of the West
Myrna Temte

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Cherry Adair, Mary Buckham,

Susan Plunkett and Debra Sims.

You know why, girlfriends.

Many thanks.

MYRNA TEMTE

grew up in Montana and attended college in Wyoming, where she met and married her husband. Marriage didn’t necessarily mean settling down for the Temtes—they have lived in six different states, including Washington, where they currently reside. Moving so much is difficult, the author says, but it is also wonderful stimulation for a writer.

Though always a “readaholic,” Myrna never dreamed of becoming an author. But while spending time at home to care for her first child, she began to seek an outlet from the never-ending duties of housekeeping and child-rearing. She started reading romances and soon became hooked, both as a reader and a writer. Now Myrna appreciates the best of all possible worlds—a loving family and a challenging career that lets her set her own hours and turn her imagination loose.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

Hope DuMaine was going to drive him nuts.

Gulping a stiff whiskey ditch, Jake McBride jerked his gaze away from the dance floor and forced himself to watch the sun dip behind the mountains. The bride and groom had left on their honeymoon. Half of the wedding guests had gone home. Jake’s official duties as the best man finally were over.

If he had an ounce of sense, he’d get off his duff, go in the house or out to the barn and get away from Hope for a while. But he didn’t move. He obviously didn’t have a lick of sense left.

No, he just sat here like an idiot, an elbow braced on one of fifty round tables he’d rented for the outdoor reception. Why? Because it was too late to save himself. Hope DuMaine couldn’t drive him nuts.

He’d already arrived.

Jake’s younger brothers, Zack and Cal, plunked themselves down beside him. Cal hummed along with the country-and-western band playing in the gazebo. Zack stretched his legs out and turned toward the dancers. In a heartbeat his brothers were doing exactly what Jake had been doing—watching their cousin, Marsh McBride, waltz Hope around the dance floor.

“I’ve been lookin’ at her all day, but I still don’t believe it,” Zack said with a bemused smile.

“No kiddin’.” His smile equally bemused, Cal let out an appreciative sigh, then took a healthy swig from his drink. “Emma said Hope was beautiful under all that wild paint and hair dye, but I never dreamed she’d clean up that good.”

“Jake didn’t either.” Zack grinned and elbowed Cal in the arm. “Hell, Jake, you should’ve let her catch you.”

Jake shrugged as if their teasing didn’t bother him one bit. A reasonable man might expect that, at thirty-eight and thirty-four, his brothers would ease up on the sibling rivalry, but no such luck. In the past two months they—along with the rest of his big, nosy family—had harassed him so much about Hope’s blatant crush on him, ignoring them had become as automatic as breathing.

Good thing he’d had so much practice at hiding his reactions.

Truth was, every time Marsh whirled Hope back into sight, Jake damn near swallowed his tongue. And he wasn’t the only guy doing it. Not by a long shot.

Audacious, flamboyant and unpredictable as a horse on locoweed, Hope DuMaine was something else.

A member of one of Hollywood’s most notable families, she was internationally famous. But not for acting. Oh, no, not her. Leave it to Hope to be even more unconventional than the rest of her relatives.

She’d published her first racy tattletale novel at the age of nineteen. Rocketing straight to the top of the bestseller lists, she’d set the film and publishing industries on their respective ears. Ten years later she was still doing it.

Literary critics despised her. The tabloids and talk-show hosts loved her. The public raced to buy each new book so they could play the which-movie-star-inspired-which-character game. Though Jake wouldn’t admit it on a bet, he’d read her last one and found himself sucked right into the game along with everybody else. Hope told an entertaining story, he’d give her that much.

But then, there was her appearance to consider. Her hair color changed on an almost daily basis, and he wasn’t talking your usual brown, black or blond. He was talking primary colors—fire-engine red, royal blue, grass green. Her long, talonlike fingernails were always painted to match her hair. And her clothes… He shuddered just thinking about them.

Earlier that afternoon Jake’s cousin, Dillon McBride, had married Hope’s famous cousin, Blair DuMaine. Hope had arrived at the Flying M Ranch twelve weeks ago. She’d been living in the guesthouse, helping with the wedding plans, working on her latest novel and chasing Jake like a buckle bunny after her favorite rodeo cowboy.

The woman could give lessons in perseverance to a badger.

Jake had no idea what she liked so much about him and didn’t care. She wasn’t his type. Other than a glance to check out what color her hair was that day and what bizarre outfit she’d chosen, Jake had done his best to ignore her, too.

Until today…

Blair and Dillon’s wedding pictures undoubtedly would make every entertainment magazine and TV show in the country. Jake figured Hope must’ve felt obligated as the maid of honor to pass up her regular “fashion statement” for Blair’s sake. The results were nothing short of amazing. Funny thing about it, all she’d done to achieve a near-magical transformation was to look sort of normal. For a change.

But it really went beyond normal. Far beyond it.

Aw, man, today Hope was downright gorgeous—a combination of elegant lady and hot sex. Her purple strapless gown faithfully outlined her figure, telling a man with one glance she was one-hundred-and-ten-percent female. Her smooth skin and short, shiny auburn curls made his hands itch to touch them.

Her vitality and the sheer delight she took in her cousin’s happiness made Hope’s smile sparkle brighter than the glittering baubles she wore around her neck. Her slender, kissable, tempt-a-man-to-nibble neck… Aw, damn, but he had it bad.

Marsh leaned down and said something close to Hope’s ear. She tipped back her head and uttered a soft laugh that carried easily on the warm evening breeze. Jake’s gut tightened and he found himself fighting an urge to curl his fingers into fists and sock Marsh in that perfect nose he was so proud of.

“Think Marsh is tellin’ the truth about just being pals with Hope?” Zack asked.

Cal shrugged. “He’d better be. Poor Sandy’s been in love with him forever, and I don’t know how much more of this she’ll tolerate. Has he even danced with her yet?”

“Nope. And if he keeps on flirtin’ with Hope like that, he’ll be sorry.” Zack turned his chair sideways, crossed one booted ankle over the other and braced his forearm on the table. “Jake, you’d better get out there and cut in. Save that poor fool from himself.”

“Marsh’s a big boy.” Jake gulped half his drink. “Let him figure out his own love life.”

“Since when did this family ever let anybody do that?” Cal demanded with a disbelieving snort of laughter. “Think about it, Jake. The rest of us are all married. You’re the only one free to get Hope out of the way so Sandy can move in and get her brand on Marsh before he does something real stupid. Again.”

“That’s right,” Zack agreed.

Marsh smoothly twirled Hope as the song ended. The non-dancers applauded. Hope laughed and dropped into a graceful curtsey. Jake had never seen anything quite so appealing, but he forced himself to look away before his brothers caught him staring at her like a starving dog watching his master eat the last bite of a juicy steak.

“Besides,” Zack continued, “why don’t you admit you kind of like having Hope flirt with you? Hell, she’s young, rich and beautiful. If I was single, I’d be flattered as all get-out—”

“Forget it,” Jake grumbled.

“Why?” Cal asked. “She’s funny, she seems real nice, and she’s gotta be darn smart to write all those books.”

“Looks like a good breeder, too,” Zack said. “Wouldn’t hurt the family gene pool to add another pretty gal—”

“Jeez, Zack.” Jake tossed back the rest of his drink and banged his glass down on the table. “Stop talking about her like she’s a damn heifer.”

“Aw, lighten up.” Cal chuckled and faked a punch at Jake’s shoulder. “He’s just having a little fun—”

Jake put a snarl into his voice. “You’ve all had enough fun at my expense. I’m not interested in Hope DuMaine, so get off my back and leave me alone.”

The band struck up a sweet country ballad. Claiming he had to make sure the beer and food were holding out, Cal took off. Zack’s very pregnant wife Lori crooked her index finger at him and he hurried to escort her onto the dance floor.

Jake sat back, hooked his thumbs into the front pockets of the black slacks of his rented tux and uttered a deep sigh. A waiter delivered a fresh drink, compliments of Cal. Jake thanked him, stretched out his legs and rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the kinks out of his spine.

The dancers shuffled slowly in time to the music, and he soon found his gaze drawn back to Hope and Marsh. Jake had to admit they made a striking couple and danced well together. The urge to hit Marsh returned, stronger this time than the last.

Jake didn’t understand the impulse. He had no claim on Hope. He didn’t want one, either. No matter how gorgeous she looked today, Hope DuMaine couldn’t be more wrong for him. It wasn’t rational for him to feel jealous of Marsh or any other man who charmed her.

But he did feel jealous, dammit, and the lack of logic to it irritated him no end. Almost as much as did his family’s teasing and Hope’s dogged pursuit of him. Dang stubborn little woman could drive a strong man to drink.

Heavily.

He ought to know. Lifting his glass, Jake took a healthy swallow, then looked up and choked when he saw Hope standing alone at the edge of the dance floor, looking his way. He took another gulp and felt the whiskey sear a path down his gullet. Confident as any supermodel, she smoothly negotiated the step down to the ground and crossed the grass between them, slim hips swaying gently, the long side slit in the skirt of her gown flashing glimpses of her spectacular legs with each stride.

A sultry smile played at the corners of her sweet full lips, lips painted a rich burgundy shade that reminded him of chokecherries. He’d always loved the taste of chokecherry syrup—the perfect blend of tart and sweet.

A twinge of alarm pinched Jake’s gut. Aw, nuts, he had no business noticing her lips. Or her legs. Or that her gown fit her like the peel on an apple.

Damn, but she had lovely shoulders and collarbones and…he didn’t dare complete that thought. Or look where his and every other man’s gaze had been straying all day. While it covered all the necessary territory, that dress just didn’t leave a guy much guesswork when it came to judging a woman’s breast endowment. Hope’s appeared more than adequate for his tastes.

He had no damn business noticing that, either.

“Hey there, Jake,” she drawled as she approached, still managing to sound more like Rodeo Drive than Sunshine Gap, Wyoming. Stopping beside his chair, she leaned down and held out her hands in invitation. “Dance with me?”

His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and he couldn’t have uttered a word if she’d pressed the barrel of a loaded .45 between his eyes. She leaned even closer. Her bosom swelled against that tight bodice, giving him an enticing view of creamy, rounded cleavage.

Damn, but he wanted more whiskey.

The scent of some subtle perfume wafted his way. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was, but it sure smelled good. Spicy and a little musky. Made him think of hot, rollicking sex.

His mouth went dust-dry. His heart banged around inside his chest like a cranky old truck engine in dire need of a ring job. His skin felt hot and tight, and his throat contracted on a hard swallow.

Lord, if he could get her alone and peel her out of that dress, he just knew she’d look and smell and taste like every one of his most secret sexual fantasies come to life.

He wanted her like he wanted his next breath, his next meal, his most cherished, lifelong goal of… Damned if he could even remember what that was right now. All he could see was Hope.

She smiled directly into his eyes and spoke in a voice gone soft and husky. “Well? What do you say, cowboy? Want to dance?”

A smart man would ignore this insane but powerful attraction, make a polite excuse and head for the hills. Jake had been a smart man all summer with regard to Hope. But today he was sick and tired of being smart.

With her standing right in front of him, looking so sweet and sexy, and knowing that out of all the guys at this shindig, many younger, more handsome and more charming, she wanted to be with him… Well, he had to admit it was flattering as hell. And where was the harm in enjoying that for a little while? After all, it was just a dance.

He wasn’t going to sleep with her, fall in love with her, or, God forbid, marry her.

So what if this was the fifth family wedding in the past year? He didn’t need to get himself all spooked about it. By tomorrow, she’d show up for lunch with green or purple hair. She’d be wearing one of those eye-popping, L.A.-Western getups no self-respecting cowgirl would even try on, much less buy, and he’d remember all the reasons he’d been avoiding her.

Glad to have that figured out, he stood up and offered the lady his arm. “Thanks, Hope. It’ll be my pleasure.”

Hope blinked in surprise at Jake’s laid-back smile and easy acceptance of her invitation. He’d been avoiding her so much lately, she’d expected to have to drag him onto the dance floor, if she managed to get him to dance with her at all. She exhaled the breath she’d been holding while he made up his mind; it probably had taken only a few seconds, but it had felt like an eternity. She didn’t even want to know what complicated mental gyrations he’d performed in reaching his decision.

Hope’s Rule Number One for a Happy Life was never question the Universe when it gives you what you want, and today the Universe was in an extremely generous mood.

The weather had been perfect for the wedding, with only pleasantly warm temperatures for the middle of July. Blair’s darling cowboy, Dillon McBride, was now her husband, and the newlyweds were safely on their way to a storybook honeymoon on a tropical island the media would never find.

The reception had turned into a lovely party, with none of the brittle, see-and-be-seen politics so prevalent at Hollywood social gatherings. All in all, it had been a perfect day. Having an opportunity to dance with Jake was a bonus she hadn’t dared expect.

Her heart stumbled when he took her into his arms on the dance floor. He was big, strong and solid, and she felt dainty and safe whenever she stood next to him. Thank you, Universe.

Honest, decent, deeply devoted to his family and loyal to his friends, Jake McBride was the kind of man other people depended on. The kind of man who never let anyone down if he could help it. He was exactly the kind of man Hope had spent her adult life searching for but never really expected to find. Being with him like this, having him smile at her as if he thought she was fascinating was a fantasy come true.

“Havin’ a good time?” he asked, leading her into a competent, dance-class two-step.

“Wonderful.” Hope smiled to herself at the respectful distance he kept between their bodies. Jake would never be the smooth and inventive dancer Marsh was, but he got the job done and there was a lot to be said for his predictability. She tipped her head back to smile at him. “And it’s all thanks to you. You did a marvelous job of creating this wedding.”

His teeth flashed in a surprisingly shy smile. “I can’t claim all the credit. Lots of folks helped in putting it on.”

“Other people had some ideas for it, but you’re the one who made the actual arrangements.”

His tanned face flushed. Glancing away, he started to shake his head, but she cut him off before he could speak. “Don’t even try to deny it. I know exactly how much you did.”

He chuckled and tightened his arm around her waist, turning her toward the middle of the dance floor. “Is that so?”

“Of course it is.” To her surprise, Jake didn’t loosen his hold when he’d completed the turn the way he usually did. She didn’t know why he’d always ignored her previous advances, but she wasn’t going to complain if he made an advance of his own toward her now. Never question the Universe. “And believe me when I tell you that false modesty is not an attractive character trait.”

“Well, when you put it that way.” His decidedly boyish grin softened the strong planes of his face and charmed her completely. “Thank you kindly, ma’am.”

“You’re welcome.”

They two-stepped in a relaxed silence until the song ended. Since he’d never spent any more time with her at a party than absolutely necessary for a “duty” dance, Hope expected Jake to escort her from the dance floor. This time, however, he stood there looking down at her with an unfathomable expression in his dark eyes until the band started another ballad. A slow, decidedly sexy ballad.

Without asking permission, he started moving in time with the music again. While she was mystified by his behavior, Hope willingly moved with him. He gradually pulled her closer until their bodies brushed with each step. Her pulse sped up with each contact, no matter how fleeting, and she wondered if he even realized what he was doing.

She’d dreamed about being this close to Jake since she’d met him a little over a year ago. He’d never given her the slightest encouragement to believe he felt any sort of attraction between them, however, and she’d all but given up hoping he ever would. It was tempting to violate Rule Number One, but Hope firmly resisted the urge.

When he danced right through a third song, she rested the side of her head against his shoulder and inhaled deeply, savoring the faint, spicy scent of his aftershave. She felt, more than heard him release a sigh. His arm tightened one last time, pulling her flush against him.

His body definitely was attracted to hers. She raised her head. Oh, dear. His gaze met hers and for the first time ever, she glimpsed something hot and excitingly dangerous lurking in the depths of his eyes.

With her breasts firmly pressed against his chest, she felt his heart thumping in tandem with hers. Her lips formed his name, but no sound emerged. He stopped moving and stood there, studying her as if he’d never seen her before.

His gaze latched on to her mouth. Time slowed, slowed, slowed, and she feared it would stop altogether and he never would kiss her the way he so clearly wanted to do. The way she so desperately wanted him to do.

But then, inch by agonizing inch, he lowered his head. One second she was dying of anticipation. The next, she was in heaven, reveling in the firm pressure of his lips against hers, tasting the bite of whiskey when his tongue entered her mouth, hearing a half-stifled groan fighting its way out of his throat.

Giving herself up to the experience, she closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his neck. Slid her fingers through his thick black hair. Stroked the edges of his teeth with the tip of her tongue.

He nearly inhaled her whole, body and soul.

Kissing him was better than any kiss she’d ever seen on the silver screen. Better than any kiss she’d ever read about in anyone else’s book. Better than any kiss she’d ever imagined and written about in her own books. If the reviewers were to be believed, she’d imagined and written some of the best, steamiest kisses in the history of print.

Nothing—real or imagined—compared to Jake McBride’s kiss.

Heat. Hunger. Passion. They were all there in the movement and pressure of his lips, his tongue and his teeth. In the strength of his arms holding her as if he never intended to let her go. In the unmistakable ridge of his arousal pressing against her through two layers of clothing.

Her pulse raced. Her knees turned mushy. A hot, achy sensation invaded her lower belly.

She felt as if the Universe had read her every fantasy of what a perfect kiss should be and delivered it all in one perfect, dizzying rush of pleasure.

Then he stiffened. As suddenly as he’d started kissing her, Jake yanked his mouth away. Hope opened her eyes and found him staring at her, looking shocked and disoriented, his broad chest heaving as if he were having trouble catching his breath. The sound of laughter and catcalls nearly drowned out the music.

A horrified expression crossed his face. He released her and stepped back so quickly she stumbled and would’ve fallen if he hadn’t grabbed her elbow to steady her. The instant she found her balance, he let go again, muttering something that sounded like, “Sorry, Hope.”

Without another word, he turned and strode off. Hope glanced around at the other dancers and the guests seated at the tables, many of them Jake’s grinning relatives. Uh-oh. She gave them all a quelling scowl, then picked up her long skirt and hurried after Jake.

A devastating sense of disappointment washed over her to have such a wonderful moment spoiled. If she didn’t get to Jake in a hurry, he’d draw so far back into his shell, she’d never be able to coax or pry him out again. She found him leaning against the fence between the corral and the horse pasture, his elbows propped on the top rail, his back and shoulders as stiff as the fence posts.

From the far end of the pasture, a big, buckskin gelding raised his head and nickered, then ambled toward Jake. Hope smoothed down her dress and climbed onto the bottom fence rail, raising herself to his eye level. Three other horses followed the buckskin. Propping her arms beside Jake’s, Hope silently watched the animals approach, searching for something to say.

“Jake?” It wasn’t much, but it was the best she could come up with at the moment.

“You shouldn’t have come out here.”

His voice sounded gruff and not the least bit friendly, which wasn’t at all like the Jake she knew. He’d always been pleasant, even when she knew she was annoying the devil out of him. “You seemed…upset when you left.”

“I’m fine.”

She studied him closely. His eyes had become narrow slits. His nostrils flared. A muscle along the side of his jaw ticked madly. She’d heard he had a healthy temper but had never seen it. She suspected, however, she was about to make its acquaintance. How interesting.

“You’re not fine,” she said, using the same, patient tone she’d use with a pesky reporter. “I just had the most spectacular kiss of my entire life, but you’re definitely upset.”

His neck and ears turned a dark reddish color. “Leave it alone, Hope. Forget about that kiss, and—”

“Forget about it?” She laughed in astonishment at the very idea. “Oh, I don’t believe that’s likely to happen. I don’t believe you’re going to forget it, either.”

The horses arrived at the fence. Jake scratched the buckskin’s forehead. “That kiss never should’ve happened.”

“You’ve wanted to kiss me for weeks.” She patted a black mare’s glossy neck. “If you weren’t such a big coward—”

“Coward! You think I’ve been afraid to kiss you?”

“I’ve given you every encouragement but an engraved invitation. What other explanation could there be?”

“It never occurred to you that I might not’ve been interested in kissing you?”

She chuckled. Now she’d nicked his ego, and of course he had to retaliate. “Jake, Jake, Jake, there’s been a lovely little sizzle between us since we met last summer. Please, don’t even try to pretend you haven’t been aware of it.”

He gave her a frown hot enough to start a forest fire, but kept his voice low in deference, she assumed, to the horses. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about. I’m polite to most everybody and I try to be a gentleman where women are concerned, but—”

“It’s more than politeness—”

“Only in your dreams.”

Her own temper began to simmer, but she’d never let him see it. Rule Number Two for a Happy Universe—never let them see when words stung. She shot a meaningful glance at the fly of his slacks and grinned. “Funny, it didn’t feel like…politeness when you were kissing me.”

“Well, don’t turn any cartwheels over it. That’s never gonna happen again.”

“I beg your pardon?” she asked in her sweetest tone. “I believe you enjoyed that kiss as much as I did.”

He shooed the gelding and his equine pals away. “Go on now, you big moochers. I’ve got nothin’ for ya.” When they’d trotted to the middle of the pasture, he turned back to Hope. “Just because I enjoyed it, doesn’t mean it was a good idea.”

“Darling,” she chided, barely holding in a gurgling laugh. Who would’ve dreamed he’d be so absolutely adorable when he was in a snit? “Kissing me was the best idea you’ve had in months. In fact,” she paused and leaned closer to him, “I think you should do it again.”

“Dammit.” He let out an indignant huff. “Would you be serious for one minute?”

She tipped her head slightly to one side, pretending to consider his question, then cheerfully shook her head. “I don’t think so. You’re more than serious enough for both of us.”

Glaring at her, he tightened his big hands on the fence rail, giving her the impression he’d like to have them wrapped around her neck. “You don’t understand what we’ve just gotten ourselves into. My whole family and half of Sunshine Gap saw that kiss. The other half—hell, the whole stinkin’ county will know about it before morning.”

“The last I checked, we were both single and over twenty-one. What’s the big problem?”

“Every matchmaker in a hundred square miles is liable to be after us. If you stay here, the pressure for us to get together will be unbelievable.”

“So, why don’t we get together a few times?” It was difficult to keep a straight face since she’d only been trying to convince him to do just that for the past three months. “We might actually enjoy it.”

He shook his head so vigorously, his hair fell across his forehead, giving him a rumpled look that made him seem ten years younger. “No offense intended, but you’re not the kind of gal I’d ever date.”

It wasn’t easy to hold back a wince at such bluntness, but she managed. “Why not?”

“For one thing, we’ve got nothing in common.”

“That didn’t stop Blair and Dillon.”

“I’m not Dillon and you’re sure as heck not Blair.”

Oooh, that one smarted. She’d been unfavorably compared to Blair more than once and, while Hope didn’t care about hearing it from some people, she definitely minded hearing it from Jake. “We’re not very different from them.”

“Hey, at least Blair eats meat,” he said.

“That’s important?”

He snorted at her. “This is beef country. I’m a rancher. Yeah, it’s important.”

“Well, I don’t care if other people eat meat,” Hope protested. “I simply don’t like it.” In fact, red meat actually gagged her. Jake rolled his eyes as if what she’d said was silly. He had some nerve.

“Fine,” he said. “How about the age difference? I’m too old for you.”

Hope let out an incredulous huff. “You can’t be more than forty-five.”

“I’m only forty,” he grumbled. “But that’s still too old for you.”

“Oooh, ten whole years. You’re ancient, McBride. Shall I find a cane for you?”

“Well, it just wouldn’t be right. It’s not appropriate.” He glanced at her hair, opened his mouth as if he would say something, then clamped it shut again.

“What?” she said. “You don’t like my hair?”

“It looks okay now,” he admitted, his tone grudging.

“But?” She left the word hanging between them. “Come on, you’ve obviously got a problem with my hair. Tell me.”

“When you make it spiky and turn it all those different colors, it looks mighty strange.”

“I suppose it does here.” She grinned, enjoying the idea immensely. “But it’s just a little thing I do for fun. It washes right out.”

“It’s not just the hair.” He sounded as if his patience was stretching thin in spots. “It’s the whole package.”

Hope caught a harsher note of criticism in his voice that surprised her. She raised her chin and met his gaze head-on. “Do tell.”

“You’re too flashy for a guy like me,” he said bluntly.

“Flashy?” She raised her eyebrows and patted her collarbones, feigning surprise. “Moi?”

“You know what I mean.”

She supposed she did, but sincerely hoped she was wrong. “Why don’t you explain it to me anyway? Just to be absolutely certain?”

He gave her a long, considering look, as if he were debating whether or not he should answer. “It’s the hair. The fingernails. The clothes.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” she asked, carefully maintaining a neutral tone.

“Nothing’s wrong with ’em. I doubt anybody’d even notice ’em in L.A.”

“But they don’t work in Sunshine Gap.”

Jake nodded. “Yeah. They’re not practical or even modest. Everything you wear is missing a strategic hunk or two of material. There’re guys all over town nursing sore necks from trying to get a better look at your…assets.”

“Oh, really, you’re exaggerating.” At least she thought he was. It was the middle of July for heaven’s sake. Everybody peeled down a bit when the weather was hot.

“The hookers in Cheyenne and Denver wear more on a work day than you do. Your stuff is too damn sexy.”

“Women aren’t supposed to be sexy in Sunshine Gap?”

“I didn’t say that.” Muttering a rude word, he jammed his right hand through his hair. “Look, it’s not personal. The thing is, if I wanted a woman in my life now, I’d be lookin’ for an old-fashioned Wyoming gal with ranching in her blood.”

Well, that certainly left her out, didn’t it? But it didn’t have to.

“Blair learned how to do all that stuff. If she can do it, so can I. You could teach me.”

“No way.” He held up both hands and stepped back, shaking his head. “I’m workin’ on important plans for my future. I don’t have time to play with a flaky little California floozy who writes raunchy books, causes scandals and looks like she came out of a can of spray paint half the time.”

Time stopped long enough to imprint every humiliating detail of Jake’s critical assessment of her into Hope’s permanent memory banks. The backs of her eyes stung, her throat closed around a golf-ball-sized lump and her chest ached as if he’d punched her just under her sternum. After three months of seeing her every day and working with her on this wedding how could he still think so little of her?

And how could she have been so wrong about him?

Automatically falling back on Rule Number Two, Hope plastered an amused smile onto her mouth. “My, my my,” she drawled. “Been reading the tabloids, Jake?”

His face flushed, but he didn’t look away. “You’re news, Hope. All the magazines and newspapers have stories about you.”

“You believe everything you read?”

“Not everything.” His tone told her he believed all but the most outrageous stories. “But you’ve gotta admit you have one colorful image.”

“Of course, I admit it,” she said calmly. “I’ve worked hard to build it.”

He frowned as if he’d never entertained the idea a celebrity might deliberately develop a certain kind of image. “I only wanted to point out our differences. I didn’t mean to offend—”

“Don’t apologize for being honest. There’s far too little honesty in this world. And since we’re being so honest, I have to say I’m terribly disappointed in you.”

“Come on—”

Hope slashed at the air like a conductor halting an orchestra. “Save it, McBride. I’ve clearly misjudged you.”

Frowning, he asked warily, “What do you mean?”

“I thought you were more than just a handsome face. Obviously, I was wrong.”

“Wait a minute,” he protested.

“You had your turn. Now it’s mine,” she retorted. “I may be a flaky California floozy, but you’re a shallow, narrow-minded idiot who can’t see past the end of your own nose.”

“Hey—”

Hope continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “You don’t have the faintest clue what you’re passing up, but someday you will. And when you do, you’re going to be one sad and sorry cowboy.”

Before Jake could even begin to think up a reply, Hope stepped down from the fence and headed back toward the party. Holding herself straight and tall as a queen, she crossed the barnyard with a smooth, unhurried stride. He watched until she rounded the corner of the house, then returned his attention to the horses, feeling a mixture of relief and regret.

He hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings, but she hadn’t been listening to him, just brushing aside his arguments as fast as he’d made them. After all of that, any man in his right mind would’ve gotten desperate, but he’d gone too far and said too much. He was sorry as hell about that. She’d gotten in some good licks of her own, though.

He almost had to smile at the idea of Hope DuMaine calling him shallow. Brother. Talk about your pots and kettles.

Still, he’d stop by the guesthouse tomorrow and apologize. He didn’t want to cause Dillon any problems with Blair’s family. He didn’t want to cause himself any problems with his own family, either. They all really liked Hope. When she wasn’t pestering the hell out of him, so did he.

But dammit, tonight was all his fault. What had possessed him to kiss her like that? And why had he done it in front of everybody?

He’d love to blame it on the alcohol he’d consumed, but he hadn’t had that much to drink. And he’d been tired, but not that tired. Well, it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t happen again because he wouldn’t let it. Even though he regretted hurting her feelings, he’d meant everything he’d said.

He wondered if Hope had meant what she’d said. That part about him being a sad and sorry cowboy had almost sounded like a threat. Jake laughed and shook his head.

“Yeah, right. I’m shakin’ in my boots. What could she possibly do to me?”

Not a blessed thing. And with any luck, by this time next week, she’d go back to L.A. She’d be off the Flying M and out of his life, and he’d finally get a little peace and quiet. After all the craziness of the past twelve weeks, surely that wasn’t too much to ask for.

Chapter Two

Still fuming at dawn the next morning, Hope loaded her luggage into the rental car and wedged a thank-you note under the back door of the Flying M’s main house. She hated to leave like a thief in the night, but if she ran into Jake, she feared she would hit him. She’d mentally replayed their argument again and again during the night and couldn’t believe he’d actually said some of those things to her.

Flaky little California floozy, indeed.

Taking one last look around the ranch yard, she got into her car and drove down the long, winding lane. She turned right onto the graveled county road, intending to say goodbye to her good friend George Pierson at the Double Circle Ranch. Three miles later she rounded a familiar curve.

On impulse, she pulled over and parked the car. She got out, put her hands on her hips and slowly turned in a complete circle. Yes, this was the right spot.

No matter which way she faced, the scenery was breathtaking. Soaring, snow-capped mountains to the west, and to the north, south and east, the green of irrigated hay meadows, the long, tidy rows of fences and power lines beside the dusty road, the endless blue sky without even a wisp of a cloud in sight.

It was so quiet. So peaceful. So private.

There was room to breathe here. Really breathe. And there was a timelessness to this land that was evident in the rock outcroppings and gullies, in the subtle, shifting colors that stretched out to a horizon that went on forever. Nothing ever changed much in this country.

No wonder Jake and his family worked so hard to keep their piece of it.

What would it be like to belong here? To have a place of her own with some reasonable expectation of permanence? Where people stayed and businesses survived beyond the latest trends in entertainment, fashion and food.

She turned around again, shading her eyes with one hand as she looked her fill of this incredible landscape. Her chest ached with the beauty of it. With the longing somehow to be a part of it. With something close to grief at the prospect of leaving it.

But leave it, she must.

Heaving a deep, regretful sigh, she slid back into her car and drove the rest of the way to George’s place. His gangly, rambunctious pup galloped out to greet her when she parked at the back door. A semi-ugly mixture of several large breeds, the dog’s name was Doofus. Unfortunately, the name seemed to fit the animal quite well, but at least he was friendly.

Hope scratched his ears for a moment, then climbed the steps and waited for George to answer her knock. If his arthritis was acting up, it could take him a few minutes to get there. Somewhere around ninety and still blessed with an excellent memory, George had been telling her about the history of the area for the next book she wanted to write next.

He was cantankerous, blunt, meddlesome, nosy, opinionated and terribly prone to gossip. The juicier the better. Hope adored him.

George had outlived his friends, chased off most of his neighbors and infuriated his relatives to the point they barely tolerated him. But, to Sunshine Gap’s surprise, crusty old George Pierson appeared to adore Hope right back.

Opening the door, he looked out, his rheumy gray eyes alight with pleasure when he recognized her. He wore faded baggy jeans held up with orange suspenders, a yellow Western shirt and a ratty pair of brown leather slippers.

“Well, well, look who’s here,” he said. “Didn’t think you’d be out of bed much before noon after that shindig yesterday. Why’s your hair black?”

“Because I’m in a black mood, George.” Hope leaned inside and kissed his wrinkled cheek. “May I come in?”

“Well, I reckon I can spare a few minutes, but you’ll have to make your own coffee.”

Though he had few visitors, George always acted as if spending a few minutes of his valuable time with her was a huge favor. Hiding a smile, Hope followed his thumping cane through the gloomy old house to the kitchen. He also claimed arthritis prevented him from doing much beyond the bare necessities for his survival, but Hope suspected he was malingering in order to get attention. He could be amazingly spry when he chose.

She gladly played along with him, filling his ancient percolator with cold water, adding the coffee and setting it on the stove. Turning around one of the straight-backed wooden chairs at the table, she straddled it, facing George’s rocker.

Once they both were seated, he smiled, showing off chewing-tobacco-stained teeth. “What do you want to know this time?”

“Actually, I’ve come to say goodbye.”

“What?” Rocking forward so hard his rocker squeaked in protest, George frowned at her, his bushy white eyebrows jutting out from his face. “You said you were stayin’ until you finished your book.”

“That’s what I’d planned,” Hope agreed, touched by how upset he was about her news. Other than Blair, she’d had few people in her life who cared if she stayed or left. “But sometimes plans have to change.”

“Why? What the hell’s happened?”

Hope tried to smile at him, but found herself surprisingly near tears instead. Jake wasn’t the only one she’d grown fond of in Sunshine Gap. She would miss this old man, the other McBrides, her dear friend, Emma, who had married Jake’s brother Cal. Hope wasn’t ready to leave any of them. But after that scene with Jake…

“Aw, jeez, don’t start blubberin’,” George grumbled, shifting restlessly in his chair. “Never could stand a blubberin’ woman.”

“Oh, get over it,” Hope grumbled back at him. “I’ll blubber if I want to. You won’t melt.”

Slapping his knee, the old man let out a cackle of laughter. “You’re somethin’ else, gal. Go ahead and bawl your head off if it makes you feel better.”

She uttered a shaky laugh and wiped her eyes with her fingertips. “No, I’m okay now.”

He put the chair in motion, filling the room with soft creaking sounds. “Tell me what brought this on.”

Hope related an abbreviated version of what had happened at the wedding reception. With a few adroit questions, George dragged the rest of the story out of her. He kept rocking for several moments after she’d finished, his expression thoughtful. “You don’t have to go back to California.”

“Yes, I do. I can’t stay at the Flying M now.”

“You want Jake to think he can run you off that easy?”

“No, but there’s not even a decent motel in Sunshine Gap.”

“So find some other place to stay. Hell, stay here.”

“I couldn’t impose on you.”

“I invited ya, didn’t I?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“But nothin’. You wouldn’t be imposin’. This old house is so big, I rattle around in it all by myself. We could go for a week and not even see each other.”

“It’s not that big, George,” Hope said with a chuckle.

“Long as you don’t blubber all the time, I reckon we can get along well enough.” George’s expression turned shrewd. “Maybe we could even help each other out.”

The old man was up to something, but what? In spite of her better judgment, Hope asked, “How?”

“You love livin’ here. Around Sunshine Gap, I mean.”

She hesitated, then slowly nodded. “Something here calls to me. I don’t know quite what it is, but everything’s just so…real here. I don’t know if it’s the land or the people.”

“Could be the lack of people,” he suggested. “Must be mighty nice to drive down a road that ain’t all clogged up with traffic.”

“That’s true.” She smiled at him. “But it’s more than that. When I’m in Wyoming, I feel as if…as if I’m home. I can think here. And see life more clearly. I know I’ve done some of my best writing here.”

“Then why don’t you buy this place?”

Hope felt her mouth fall open and knew she was gaping at him. “The Double Circle?”

“It’s the only ranch I own. I won’t even try to rip you off ’cause you’re rich. All I want’s the fair market value.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Why the hell not? I’m ninety-one years old, gal. When I croak, somebody’s gonna buy it. Might as well be you.”

“But I’m a writer. I don’t know anything about ranching.”

“That’s the beauty of my idea. I got a couple of conditions before I agree to this sale.”

“Conditions?” She might’ve known. There were always conditions, and they often were unacceptable.

Scowling, he shook his head at her as if she were trying his patience. “Hear me out before you get your drawers in a knot. First condition is, I can keep my room in this house as long as I want it. I ain’t afraid of dyin’, but I am afraid of bein’ helpless. If I get to where I need a nurse to take care of me, I’d like to have somebody I trust here to keep an eye on things. Make sure I’m treated right, ya know?”

Hope blinked at the sudden vulnerability in George’s wrinkled face. Having been raised by servants, she knew exactly how it felt to be dependent on people who weren’t always kind. But she didn’t dare show any emotion he might interpret as pity. “Of course,” she said in a businesslike tone. “What are the other conditions?”

“There’s just one. If you ever decide to sell this place, I want your word you won’t sell it to some developer who’ll cut it up into five-acre lots. That’s what my idiot nephew’ll do if he ever gets his hands on the Double Circle. Kid never was worth the bullet it’d take to shoot him.”

“I could live with your conditions, but I still don’t know anything about running a ranch. From what I’ve seen, it involves a great deal of hard work.”

“That it does, but I can teach you what you need to know, and you can always hire whatever help you need. Shoot, my hand Scott pretty much runs this place on his own.”

“But doesn’t Jake want the Double Circle?”

George grinned. “Yup. Jake’s wanted this ranch for years. Made me some nice offers and he helps me out when I need somebody to check up on Scott.”

“Then why don’t you sell it to him?”

“’Cause then I’d have to leave, and where would I go? Some damn nursing home? I’d rather be dead.”

“Surely you could make other arrangements—”

“Not in Sunshine Gap, and this is my home. Besides, Jake’d want to take over running everything, and I’m not ready to give it all up just yet. It’s a good place. You want it or not?”

Oh, she did want it. The Double Circle was smaller than the Flying M but every bit as pretty. And she loved this old house. Redecorating it would be a pleasure. She’d do the kitchen in French provincial, the garden in English casual and completely redo the bathrooms. She’d have to study up on antique furniture and—

The thought of having her very own house that wasn’t on anybody’s tourist map… But, as Jake had so bluntly pointed out, her sense of style wouldn’t exactly be appreciated, much less accepted around Sunshine Gap.

“I don’t think I really belong here, George.”

“Hell, girl, didn’t you get a thing I told you about the settlement of the West? Anybody could belong here if they wanted to bad enough. That’s why so many different kinds of people came out here.”

“That was the old West.”

“Horsefeathers. Long as you’re honest, halfway decent and a good neighbor, you’ll belong just fine. Don’t listen to Jake. He’s the one who put that fool idea in your head, isn’t he?”

Hope nodded stiffly, feeling hurt all over again. But while she was still angry at Jake, she wasn’t vindictive enough to take away something he’d wanted—and undoubtedly worked for—for years. And there was a gleam in George’s eyes she didn’t entirely trust. He was up to something, all right, but he wasn’t going to tell her about it. Until he did, she didn’t intend to commit herself to anything.

“It’s a big decision, George,” she said. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“You do that,” he said, grinning again. “I want you to stay here while you’re thinkin’. Stay until you finish your book, anyway. What do you say?”

“I’d love to. May I use the room upstairs with the lovely view of the mountains?”

“You bet. By the way, do you cook?”

A week later Jake sat at his desk, studying his personal balance sheet with a critical eye. His cash flow would be awful tight if George Pierson accepted this new offer for the Double Circle, but Jake was getting so desperate for a place of his own, he didn’t give a rip. If he didn’t get away from the Flying M soon, he was bound to do or say something he might regret for years to come.

But it wouldn’t be without just cause.

Of course, being provoked by his big, complicated family was hardly anything new. His mother and Aunt Lucy were identical twins who had grown up in a village in Italy. His dad and Uncle Harry had met them while they were in Europe serving in the military.

After whirlwind courtships, the McBride brothers had married the twin sisters and brought them home to the Flying M. Between them, the two couples had produced seven children and raised them as siblings rather than cousins. As the oldest, Jake had been held responsible for keeping Zack, Dillon, Alexandra, Cal, Marsh and Grace out of trouble.

It hadn’t been easy. Since they’d all survived to adulthood, however, Jake figured he’d done a fine job of it. Not that it was doing him one bit of good now.

Though Hope hadn’t said a word about him in her goodbye note, Jake’s mother and Aunt Lucy were blaming him for Hope’s early departure. They’d loved having a famous author living in the guesthouse, and the idea that Hope preferred cranky old George Pierson’s company to the McBrides’ was, in their eyes, unthinkable. Every time the Mamas, as they were affectionately called, saw Jake, they glared at him, heaved sorrowful sighs and turned away, shoulders slumped, heads bowed as if in shame.

And they hadn’t cooked one blessed thing he liked since Hope had left.

It probably shouldn’t matter so much, but dammit, they’d always been proud of him before. It rankled that the two women he loved most would turn on him when he hadn’t done anything wrong. And all over some wacko woman from Hollywood.

His dad and Uncle Harry were driving him just as crazy, though for different reasons. They were supposed to be retired and leave the management of the Flying M to Jake. The arrangement had worked well while the four parents had been on an extended world tour for the past two years.

But now that they were home with nothing to divert their attention, neither Gage nor Harry McBride could resist the urge to “help” Jake tend to business. One or the other of them questioned every decision he made and griped over every innovation he’d instituted while they were gone. They were especially disgruntled to discover he’d put the ranch accounts onto a computer rather than using the old ledger system that “had been plenty good enough for three generations of McBrides.”

“If they’d just sit down and learn to use the computer, they could still see the books anytime they wanted,” Jake grumbled, knowing his dad and uncle weren’t going to touch that “dang machine” unless they absolutely had to. “And that’ll never happen as long as they’ve got me around to torture for information all the time.”

He loved his job. Loved the Flying M. Loved the Mamas and Papas. But he needed relief from the stress of living so close to them. Somebody was on his back all day, every day.

It wasn’t just the parents, either. Whenever he was in the ranch office, his brothers and sister felt entitled to ask him to do all kinds of things for them. It was time for all of them to grow up and handle their own problems.

Dammit, he needed a place where he could have some privacy. A place that was his and his alone to do with as he pleased. A place where he didn’t have to consult anyone or be responsible for anyone but himself. But he couldn’t be too far away in case of an emergency at the Flying M.

The only ranch close enough that might be for sale in the near future was George Pierson’s. Stashing his papers into their file folder, Jake grabbed his straw cowboy hat and hurried out to his pickup. He climbed in and drove off, intending to make that greedy, stubborn old coot an offer he couldn’t refuse.

And maybe, if Jake was real lucky, he could convince Hope to come back and stay in the Flying M’s guesthouse again. Then the Mamas would smile and cook his favorite meals again, and he could at least try to make up with Hope. Every time he remembered what he’d said to her the day of the wedding, he felt guilty all over again.

He hadn’t laid eyes on her since then, and the thought of seeing her now made him smile. He wouldn’t say he’d actually missed her. But without the possibility of Hope turning up with some flimsy excuse to see him, his days had seemed a little…flat.

Shaking his head at his own contrariness, Jake turned in at the Double Circle’s entrance. He drove around back and parked behind Hope’s little red car. Doofus ran across the yard to greet him. Jake leaned down and scratched the pup’s ears.

“Hey there, Doofus. You’d better stop growing or George might mistake you for a horse and throw a saddle on your back.” The possibility didn’t seem to worry Doofus much. He ran off when Jake pretended to throw a stick for him.

Chuckling, Jake climbed the steps to the back door and gave it a good, solid knock. George opened it a moment later, a surprisingly cheerful smile curving up the corners of his mouth. He stepped back out of the way and motioned for Jake to come in.

“Mornin’, Jake. What brings you out this way?”

Jake stepped over the threshold and took off his hat. “I want to talk to you if you’ve got time, George.”

“I reckon I can spare a few minutes.” Using his cane, George hobbled over to the round oak table and settled onto a straight-backed wooden chair.

Jake took the one adjacent to George’s and glanced around the kitchen. He saw new, colorful dishtowels hanging beside the sink in place of the dingy, ragged ones that usually hung there. A canning jar full of fresh flowers sat on top of a microwave oven that hadn’t been there the last time Jake visited the old man. Hope must be making herself at home.

“What can I do for ya?” George asked.

“Tell me what it’ll take to convince you to sell me the Double Circle,” Jake replied.

“Well, now, I’ve been thinkin’ a lot about that since the last time you tried to buy it.” George’s smile grew wider.

Jake’s heart swelled with hope until his chest hurt. This was the first time George had ever admitted he’d even considered selling the Double Circle. Jake had wanted this for so long, the desperation he’d felt earlier returned with a vengeance. Hardly daring to breathe, he said, “Yeah?”

George nodded. “Your offer was damn generous. But back then, I just couldn’t stand to let the place go.”

“What about now?” Jake asked, his voice tinged with the desperate agony of hope that had been dashed too many times before.

“I’d like to sell it to ya, Jake. I really would, but…”

His heart already plummeting, Jake read the refusal coming in George’s eyes. “But what?”

“But you better look for another place,” George said. “I’m gonna be usin’ this one myself for the foreseeable future.”

His stomach painfully clenching with disappointment, Jake stared at the old man. Then Jake’s temper got the best of him. “Dammit, George, what are you thinking?” he demanded. “You’re going to have to quit sometime. And you know good and well that even with a hired hand, you can’t handle this place anymore.”

“I won’t have to.” George’s eyes sparkled with an unholy glee Jake didn’t understand.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m tired of bein’ alone.” George ran one hand over the top of his head as if he still had hair up there to smooth down. “I’m thinkin’ about gettin’ married again. Maybe havin’ some kids this time.”

“Married?” Jake sputtered. “Kids?”

“Yeah. You know, babies. Heirs.”

Jake’s mouth fell open. Had the old boy finally gone completely senile? Jake doubted there was a woman of child-bearing age in a hundred-mile radius who’d even pretend to consider such a thing.

A soft, whispery sound distracted him. He glanced up in time to see Hope saunter into the kitchen, wearing a shiny purple robe that barely reached the middle of her thighs. Her hair was slicked back as if she’d just stepped out of the shower. He’d never seen it black before.

Hope’s gaze met his, her eyes widening as if he was the last person she’d expected—or wanted—to see in George’s house. She hesitated a fraction of a second, then turned toward the counter beside the sink and crossed the room without so much as another glance in Jake’s direction. Jake gritted his teeth and found himself watching the sway of her hips beneath that short robe and wondering what, if anything, she had on beneath it.

Her slender legs looked smooth and tanned, and when she went up on her tiptoes to take two coffee mugs from the cupboard, her calf muscles stood out in sharp relief. Jake held his breath while the back of her robe hiked up—but not quite high enough to satisfy his curiosity about her underwear. Or the lack of it.

Lowering her heels to the floor, she moved to her right, filled the mugs with coffee and carried them to the table. She set one mug in front of George, then affectionately patted his bony shoulder, took the chair on his other side and sipped from the second mug.

George glanced over at her, his eyebrows arched in query. “Aren’t you gonna offer Jake some coffee?”

“No,” she replied with a grin. “He might stay longer if I did.”

Jake refused to acknowledge her deliberate rudeness. His sister Alex used to start fights with outrageous remarks and he’d learned not to get suckered in by them. George opened his mouth as if he might protest, but Jake held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t worry about it, George. I don’t want coffee.”

“Don’t know what you’re missing, boy. Hope brews a mean cup.” George exchanged a warm smile with Hope that chilled Jake’s blood.

No. It couldn’t be. Hope wouldn’t take up with an old guy like George. Would she?

Jake gave his head a hard shake in denial, but the shocking idea remained. Hope wasn’t from Wyoming. He didn’t have a clue about what she would or wouldn’t do. Sure wouldn’t be the first time a young, pretty gal married an old man for his money. Happened all the time. Especially in a place like Hollywood.

She scowled at him. “Why are you looking at me that way?”

“What way?” Jake asked.

“As if you think I’m going to steal George’s silverware.”

George snorted with laughter. “It ain’t that, hon. I just told Jake I can’t sell him the Double Circle.”

“Yeah, he claims he’s thinking about getting married and having some kids.” Jake’s voice sounded harsh in his own ears, but he was too upset to care. “Any truth in what he says?”

Confused, Hope glanced at George, raising her eyebrows in a silent plea for a clue as to what was going on. Tilting his head ever so slightly toward Jake, George gave her a sly wink. Why, the old devil wanted her to play along with him, but what was he up to now?

Deciding to give him the benefit of her considerable doubt, she turned back to Jake with a shrug. “You know George. When he decides to be charming, almost anything’s possible.”

Jake’s tanned complexion flushed a dull red. His eyes glinting dangerously and a vein pulsing in the middle of his forehead, he ground out, “A week ago, you were all over me.”

“And you called me ‘a flaky little California floozy.’” Reminding herself of Rule Number Two—never let them see when words stung, Hope smiled at him. “I got over you in a hurry.”

“Obviously. But I didn’t realize you were so desperate. Are book sales that bad?”

“My book sales are just fine. Not that they’re any of your business.”

“Give it up, DuMaine. You’re not serious about George.”

This conversation was making less and less sense as it went on, but Hope bristled at the derision and the demand in Jake’s voice. She really hated it when somebody tried to tell her what she thought or felt. Whatever his problem was, she wasn’t going to allow Jake McBride to take it out on her or on George.

“Well, unlike some people, he’s always been extremely sweet to me,” she said.

Jake’s face turned an even darker red. His nostrils flared and his hands curled into fists. “That’s no reason to marry a man old enough to be your grandfather.”

“M-marry him?” Hope sputtered, looking from Jake to George and back to Jake. Good lord, what exactly had George said to him? She’d have to thrash it out with him later. “My plans are none of your business.”

Shaking his head, Jake grumbled something unintelligible, then stood up so fast his chair scraped the linoleum floor like a fingernail down a chalkboard. “I’ve gotta say, the two of you make quite a pair. I hope you’ll be damn happy together.”

With that, he left the room, slamming the back door behind him.

Hope turned on George. “What on earth was that all about?”

George cackled wickedly. “Aw, I was just havin’ a little fun with Jake. Sure gets pompous, don’t he?”

Her throat too tight to speak, Hope nodded.

“And imagine him thinkin’ you were after my money.” George chuckled and shook his head. “I’ll bet you could buy me a hundred times and not even feel a pinch in your pocketbook.”

“Why that…” Hope muttered as the truth of what George was saying sank into her brain. “He really thinks I’m a gold digger. Doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, that’s why he asked about your book sales,” George said. “Didn’t you get that?”

“No, it all happened so fast and I was too busy trying to figure what you were doing.” She smacked her palm against her forehead. “Oh, duh, DuMaine.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve got him runnin’ scared. Serves him right for thinkin’ so poorly of you.”

Hope’s heart contracted painfully, then filled with a burning, righteous anger she knew only too well. George was right. Only Jake deserved worse than to be running scared. For thinking such awful things about her, he deserved to lose the Double Circle.

“As long as I fulfill your conditions are you still willing to sell me the Double Circle for fair market value?” she asked.

“Hell, yes.” George stuck out his hand. “Deal?”

She took his hand and shook it. “Deal.”

She’d needed a major life change for a long time, and now she was going to make it. She was going to get out of L.A. and move to Sunshine Gap. She was going to take a pen name and write historical novels. She was going to live a simpler, more meaningful life at a slower, saner pace. She was going to make real friends, be a part of a real community and have a real home. Dammit, she was going to belong here if she had to give up her fake fingernails and hair dye to do it.

And Jake McBride could take his low opinion of her and sit on it.

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