Sometimes When We Kiss

“What if I could find a husband for you, a man who would agree to a marriage short-term, while Gus gets back on his feet?”

Shannon’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

Jackson swallowed. Was he? “Yeah.”

“Who?”

“Me.”

She jumped up and was out the door in record time. She needed air. She needed a clear head. And what she didn’t need was the black-eyed Cajun following her.

“Gee, Shannon,” Jackson said as he caught up to her. “You sure know how to make a guy feel good about his proposal.”

“That wasn’t a proposal, that was a—” She gulped past the confusion in her throat.

“What scares you more, Shannon? That you won’t be able to pretend you love me? Or that you never stopped loving me to begin with?”

Dear Reader,

Whether you’re enjoying one of the first snowfalls of the season or lounging in a beach chair at some plush island resort, I hope you’ve got some great books by your side. I’m especially excited about the Silhouette Romance titles this month as we’re kicking off 2006 with two great new miniseries by some of your all-time favorite authors.

Cara Colter teams up with her daughter, Cassidy Caron, to launch our new PERPETUALLY YOURS trilogy. In Love’s Nine Lives (#1798) a beautiful librarian’s extremely possessive tabby tries to thwart a budding romance between his mistress and a man who seems all wrong for her but is anything but. Teresa Southwick returns with That Touch of Pink (#1799)—the first in her BUY-A-GUY trilogy. When a single mom literally buys a former military man at a bachelor auction to help her daughter earn a wilderness badge, she gets a lot more than she bargained for…and is soon earning points toward her own romantic survival badge. Old sparks turn into an all-out blaze when the hero returns to the family ranch in Sometimes When We Kiss (#1800) by Linda Goodnight. Finally, Elise Mayr debuts with The Rancher’s Redemption (#1801) in which a widow, desperate to help her sick daughter, throws herself on the mercy of her commanding brother-in-law whose eyes reflect anything but the hate she’d expected.

And be sure to come back next month for more great reading, with Sandra Paul’s distinctive addition to the PERPETUALLY YOURS trilogy and Judy Christenberry’s new madcap mystery.

Have a very happy and healthy 2006.

Ann Leslie Tuttle

Associate Senior Editor

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Books by Linda Goodnight

Silhouette Romance

For Her Child… #1569

Married in a Month #1682

Her Pregnant Agenda #1690

Saved by the Baby #1709

Rich Man, Poor Bride #1742

The Least Likely Groom #1747

Sometimes When We Kiss #1800

LINDA GOODNIGHT

A romantic at heart, Linda Goodnight believes in the traditional values of family and home. Writing books enables her to share her certainty that, with faith and perseverance, love can last forever and happy endings really are possible.

A native of Oklahoma, Linda lives in the country with her husband, Gene, and Mugsy, an adorably obnoxious rat terrier. She and Gene have a blended family of six grown children. An elementary school teacher, she is also a licensed nurse. When time permits, Linda loves to read, watch football and rodeo, and indulge in chocolate. She also enjoys taking long, calorie-burning walks in the nearby woods. Readers can write to her at linda@lindagoodnight.com, or c/o Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.

To Western artist and horse trainer Nadine Meade

for inspiration, advice and just plain old

being a good neighbor.

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 One

Riding a horse was like riding a bicycle. If you fell off, you had to get right back on again.

Backhanding the dirt from her eyes, Shannon Wyoming stuck one booted foot into the stirrup, grabbed the saddle horn and vaulted onto one of the few horses that did not understand that she could—and would—break him to ride.

Never mind that her backside would be black and blue, Shannon never allowed anything to get the best of her.

For one glorious moment Shannon thought she had finally succeeded, that Domino’s stubborn spirit had broken. He crow-hopped across the sunlit arena, all four legs stiff, back arched higher than a Halloween cat as he bounced. Crow-hopping was a piece of cake to an experienced trainer like Shannon. No problem. He’d settle down in a minute.

Fifteen seconds into the ride, Domino changed tactics. His hind legs shot out behind him and the bronc went into a wild bucking exposition that would have unseated a rodeo champ. When Shannon leaned back to compensate, he yanked his head down hard, unbalancing her. One more wild gyration and she flew off with all the projection of a human cannonball, but with considerably less grace.

She landed facedown, the hard-packed dirt of the arena knocking the breath from her. No belly buster from a rope swing at Coyote Creek ever hurt this bad.

She lay there in the Texas sun with not a desire in the world to get up, hoping breath would return before her heart stopped. Domino, as she well knew, wouldn’t come anywhere near for a while. He was likely in the corner of the lot, sulking.

Gnats buzzed around her ears and one pesky horsefly threatened to add insult to injury, so she had to get up. She sucked in a mouthful of arena dirt, then opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was a pair of dusty, well-worn boots—snakeskin boots—crossed at the ankle in a posture of total relaxation. Equally worn blue jeans, made long the way cowboys like them, bunched softly atop the brown boots.

Great. She’d not only been thrown like a greenhorn, but she had a witness to verify her humiliation.

Stifling an inward groan that had as much to do with her unwanted visitor as with her state of breathlessness, Shannon pushed up from the ground. She slapped at her jeans and shirt, loosing a dust storm that obscured her vision and threatened her already tortured air passages. She wiped a dirty sleeve across her face and squinted toward the fence rail where a cowboy leaned, indolently watching her.

Every nerve in Shannon’s body sprang to full alert. A lightning strike would not have shocked her more.

Jackson Kane. When had he come back to Rattlesnake? And what was he doing here, on her ranch, where he was not a welcome guest?

He didn’t look much different than he had the last time she’d seen him, though her carefully preserved pride would not let her go there again, even in memory. Tall and wide-shouldered, his dark and sexy looks still did funny things to her insides and infuriated her to the point of rudeness. She didn’t want to talk to him, even now, didn’t want to notice the way his incredibly sexy mouth wallowed a narrow piece of straw, didn’t want to notice the new age lines around his Cajun black eyes.

But she noticed. Darn it. She noticed.

“What do you want?” She slammed her hands on her hips in a fit of annoyance.

He grinned then, slow and lazy and insolent, as if he knew how much he affected her by showing up out of the blue after all this time.

Taking the straw from between his teeth, he studied her long enough to set her heart to racing and to send the heat of a blush creeping up her neck.

He aimed the piece of straw at her, and she saw then that what she’d thought was straw was actually a tiny lollipop.

She burst out laughing. “A Dum-Dum sucker. How appropriate.”

He pushed off the fence and strutted toward her in that loose-hipped, rolling gait of a man who’d spent plenty of time on a horse and was comfortable in his own skin. Digging in his shirt pocket, he extracted another candy and thrust it toward her. “Want one?”

She eyed the treat with suspicion. “Your idea of a peace offering?”

“Do I need a peace offering?”

She snatched the sucker from his outstretched hand. “It’ll take more than this.”

One side of his mouth kicked up and a dimple deep enough to swim in winked at her. “Then give it back.”

Like the kid she’d been when Jackson Kane had broken her heart and left her with enough guilty regrets to last a lifetime, Shannon ripped off the paper and shoved the sucker into her mouth. A burst of syrupy cherry didn’t do a thing to sweeten her mood.

“Some things, once taken, can’t ever be given back, Jackson, or had you forgotten?”

Her jibe wiped the grin off his face. Good. She didn’t want him having fun at her expense. Not anymore. Because the things she’d given him—and lost because of him—were far too painful to joke about.

Spinning away from his disturbing presence, Shannon searched for her hat. Domino stood in the corner near the barn entrance, eyeing her with caution. The Texas morning was heating up and a bead of sweat tickled the back of her neck. She slapped at a gnat that found the sweat enticing.

“Looking for that?”

Jackson aimed the Dum-Dum at what had once been a nice white, rather pricey Resistol, lying crumpled in the dirt not three yards from him. A gentleman would have picked it up for her, but not Jackson. He stood there with that ’possum-eatin’ grin on his face and mischief in his eyes while she stormed across the paddock. Domino, that worthless piece of horseflesh, had taken his frustrations out on her new hat.

With the crumbled straw in hand, she turned her attention to the horse. Mad as he made her, Domino wasn’t really worthless. Doc Everts was paying a nice price to have his new mount trained at the Circle W Ranch. Moving quietly, she went to the animal, took the dragging reins and led him out of the paddock and away from Jackson Kane, taking the memories of their past along with her.

“Hey, Shan!”

Shannon’s shoulders slumped. The thud of boots against hard ground warned her of his approach. She should have known he wouldn’t be that easy to get rid of. After ten years, he was bound to have a reason for showing up this way.

“Don’t let the gate hit you in the backside on your way out,” she called over one shoulder.

He caught up to her. “I take it you’re still mad.”

Incredulous, she stopped in the entrance of the shadowy barn. Standing right next to her this way, he looked gigantic. She’d forgotten how tall he was, how he dwarfed her completely. As a love-struck teenager she’d felt so protected by his size. As an adult she was unnerved.

“You are amazing, you know that?” She gave him her frostiest glare.

Eyes brightening, he pumped his eyebrows. “That’s what they tell me.”

“That was not a compliment.” She swung around to face him, caught a whiff of grape sucker and a certain manly something that was Jackson Kane and no one else. “Why are you here, Jackson?”

Without a word, he took the reins from her and led the paint into a stall where he began the task of unsaddling. Dumbfounded, Shannon followed, taking refuge in the familiar scents of alfalfa hay and sweet-feed and leather tack.

“I asked you a fair question.”

“All right then.” He looked up from loosening the cinch and wallowed the sucker to one corner of his mouth. Shannon struggled not to follow the action, but lost that battle. His talented mouth had always fascinated her.

“Your granddad thought you could use some help out here. I was available so he hired me.”

“You? Available? What happened to the rodeo circuit?” She refused to acknowledge the part about him being hired. Not to work for her, he wasn’t. And she’d tell Granddad that herself.

“All my rowdy friends have settled down.” He grimaced as if the admission pained him no end, then dragged the saddle off the prancing horse and tossed it over a saddletree. “So I’ve retired.”

“Why don’t you go back to Louisiana?”

“Nobody there I know anymore. Most of my kin are gone, except for Aunt Bonnie. And she’s here in Rattlesnake.”

Shannon knew Jackson’s great-aunt Bonnie, a feisty twig of a lady, whose husband had died a couple of years ago. She worked at the grocery store in Rattlesnake, though she must be up in her seventies by now.

“I thought,” Jackson went on, “my aunt could use a relative close by, and Jett and Colt figured work wouldn’t be hard to find.”

Opening the stall door, he led the horse forward and waited for the animal to head, bucking and kicking up dust, into the open corral. Sunshine gleamed on the black and white hide.

“Then go to work for them.” Colt and Jett were the Garret brothers, two former rodeo cowboys who owned the largest ranch in the panhandle. Jackson and Jett had been traveling partners until an injury had forced Jett to retire from the circuit. “I don’t need you or want you on the Circle W.”

“Look, Shannon, can’t we let bygones be bygones? We were kids back then. Kids,” he added again with emphasis. “I didn’t realize I’d hurt you.”

She stiffened. “You didn’t hurt me. You made me mad. No one had ever jilted me before.”

“Who said I jilted you?”

“What other term do you use when a guy calls a girl and says, ‘I’ll catch you later, darlin’,’ and then never does?”

“Shannon.” His voice fell to that honeyed baritone that had talked her into too many things. To her total amazement and eternal discomfort, he stroked one finger down her cheek. “Don’t be mad.”

How was it that she hadn’t seen this man in nearly ten years and yet, he could stroll back into her life, and she felt as though he’d never left?

Yes, they’d been kids, foolish, imprudent teenagers who hadn’t considered the consequences of their actions. He was a rodeo cowboy so she’d known he wouldn’t stick around, and she’d promised herself not to be hurt once he was gone. And she wouldn’t have been, except for what he’d left behind.

“All that happened a very long time ago, Jackson. I’m not mad. I’m not hurt. I’ve simply grown up and moved on.”

“Then why the chilly reception?”

“Maybe I was surprised to see you after all this time.”

He laughed, appreciating the ironic understatement. “Maybe.”

“I’m too busy with the future to revisit the past, so if you don’t mind…” She waved a hand around at the small ranch, the barns, the corrals, the modest brick house snuggled between two thick pines. “I have work to do.”

“Show me the way.”

“Excuse me?”

“Work is why I’m here, remember? Your granddad hired me?”

Shannon stewed over that little piece of information. Though she’d grown up here, her grandfather was the true owner of this place. But since his heart attack six months ago he’d let her call the shots. That he’d hired Jackson Kane irked her no end, but they’d been thinking of taking on a hand and Granddad couldn’t know that Jackson would be a problem for her. After all, their brief fling had happened a long time ago.

Yes, she needed more help now that Granddad was no longer able to carry his weight, but Jackson? She didn’t think so.

“Then perhaps you should get your duties from him. I don’t need you.”

Jackson removed the lollipop from his mouth and studied the now empty stick. “He said you needed some help breaking these new colts and from the looks of that paint, I’d say he was right.”

“I stayed on him way more than eight seconds. In a rodeo arena, I’d have won money. Would you have?”

“Guess we’ll have to find out.”

“Guess we won’t,” she said with a hint of mocking sarcasm. “Breaking the horses is my job. I’m the trainer. And that paint happens to be a special case, more difficult than most, but I promised his owner he’d end up as gentle as a dog. I’ll keep that promise no matter how long it takes.”

“There are new techniques available. Have you tried any of them?”

She shifted, uncomfortable under the growing heat and annoying buzz of buffalo gnats as well as his assumption that her training techniques were lacking.

“What are you? A horse whisperer or something?”

His mouth kicked up and brought with it that insolent dimple. “Maybe.”

“Well, I happen to know what I’m doing. Granddad taught me to break horses from the time I could ride. His methods worked then and they work now. I don’t need some rodeo cowboy turned horse psychologist to tell me how a horse thinks and why he behaves the way he does. Breaking that paint is a matter of wearing him down.”

“Mind if I give him a try?”

“Yes. As a matter of fact, I do mind.” So what if he’d spent most of his life riding broncs, both saddle and bareback. He wasn’t a trainer. He was a rodeo performer. She could do this job better.

He shrugged. “Have it your way, but you’re paying me a salary whether I do anything or not.”

“Consider yourself unhired.”

“Sorry.” He didn’t look one bit contrite. “Your granddaddy hired me. He’s the only one who can fire me.”

Shannon rolled her eyes heavenward. “I need to have a talk with my grandfather.”

Jackson slouched against the paddock gate, unwrapped another Dum-Dum—a green one this time—and shot her his cockiest smile. “Go ahead. I’ll wait here.”

Jackson tipped his hat back and watched her go, admiring the cute little jiggle of her perfect backside encased in tight jeans. The worn spot between the pockets where she’d spent hours in the saddle was especially appealing. Not that he’d tell sweet Shannon that. She’d likely punch him in the nose.

She’d changed in ten years. And he sure wasn’t complaining about that. At eighteen she’d been a girl, fresh as the outdoors and full of promise. The promise had been fulfilled. Today she was all woman, rounded in the right spots, and full of vinegar. He liked a little fire and sass in a woman. Shannon with her blue eyes and sun-blond hair barely reached his shirt pocket, but she could definitely hold her own. He looked forward to reminiscing in a more practical manner.

But first he’d have to get past that bad attitude she had toward him, a reaction that surprised him. He’d had no idea he’d left a burr under her saddle. Sure, they’d played around back then, had a good time, but it wasn’t as if they’d been in love. Love? He almost shivered in spite of the warm day. They’d only spent a summer together, and at nineteen he hadn’t known diddly about love. To tell the truth, he was nearly thirty and he still didn’t know anything about the troublesome emotion. Didn’t want to know either.

What he did know about was horses. And her grandfather had sense enough to know that if he was ever going to expand his training and breaking facility he needed a top-notch trainer. Shannon may not like change, but her ideas were as antiquated as a crank telephone. He, on the other hand, had spent years studying under the best so-called horse whisperers, gleaning their techniques, adding some of his own. And he was good, though only a few knew it—so far.

During his rodeo years he’d helped other cowboys with rank mounts, but he’d had no real chance to prove himself in a larger capacity. That was all about to change.

From the moment he’d discovered Aunt Bonnie’s financial troubles, he’d made up his mind to come back to Rattlesnake and help out. After all, she’d been there for him when he was four years old and his mother had jumped ship, leaving his bewildered father to raise a child alone. The kicker was Bonnie was his dad’s aunt, not his, but she’d rearranged her entire life to raise him. She’d tossed over her job and had even waited to marry until Jackson was a teenager and old enough to look out for himself. He owed her big time.

He didn’t have a lot of money, but regardless of what he had to do, nobody was foreclosing on his aunt’s small home.

This job would help. And it would also propel him toward his dream. Though he’d shared the vision with no one else in case he fell on his face like a fool, Jackson had a dream that had kept him going for a long time. Someday, he’d run his own symposia on horse training and people would come from all over the country to have Jackson Kane teach them his methods. He’d take the rankest horses in the land and turn them into docile pets, well-disciplined ranch animals or fine rodeo stock.

In the meantime, he’d find a way to save Aunt Bonnie’s home and make sure she was well taken care of in her old age. That was the least he could do.

The paint gelding Shannon had called Domino wandered back toward the arena, anxiously eyeing the cowboy but clearly hoping to make his way back inside the shady barn. Jackson gnawed at the sour-apple candy and held back a smile. Old Domino had a weakness. He wondered if Shannon had noticed.

Emitting a low whistle, he waited for the horse’s reaction. As he suspected, the paint stopped dead still, flicked his ears forward and winded the strange cowboy.

Patience. That’s what a trainer needed with a horse like Domino. So Jackson leaned against the iron gate, relaxed but watchful, waiting for the horse to come to him.

He didn’t have to wait long. The gelding, tail swishing at flies, ears twitching, lowered his head and plodded toward him.

Jackson extended a hand to stroke the warm, smooth neck and inhaled the rich, animal scent. His chest strained toward contentment.

Yep. This was where he needed to be. Right here where horses were already boarded and ready to train, a ranch with a good, solid reputation. And regardless of Shannon’s attitude or resistance, Jackson Kane was here to stay. At least for the time being.

Shannon knew better than to slam the door. Although she was a grown woman, Granddad would send her back outside and make her close the door like a lady. So even if she didn’t feel much like a lady right now, she paused inside the office door and took three cleansing breaths.

Her grandfather looked up. “What’s got you in a snit?”

So much for her efforts at self-control. “I’m not in a snit, but we do need to talk. Why didn’t you tell me you’d hired Jackson Kane to work for us?”

Her grandfather laid aside his reading glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Since his heart attack, he’d aged, and though he was seventy, Shannon had always considered him a rock until now. She’d been three when her parents had died in a car wreck and her widowed grandfather had taken her to raise. He was all the family she’d ever known and the thought of losing him scared her half to death.

Now she worried about him constantly. Nagged him to eat better, to rest more, and not to worry over her and the ranch. But she knew he did anyway.

“Now that I’m a useless old goat,” he said, “you’ve got to have some help around here.”

“But why Jackson?”

“Why not? He’s a cowboy, a mighty fine horseman, and seems like an honest enough feller.”

“How can you possibly know all that about a man who’s practically a stranger?”

“Colt Garret.”

“Oh.” Granddad would trust Colt Garret with his life. If Colt vouched for Jackson, her grandfather wouldn’t blink an eye about handing him the keys to the ranch.

She tried a new tack. “I’m the horse trainer. I don’t need him.”

“Now, Shannon, the man’s studied under John Lyons and you know dang well Lyons is the best there is. Horse breakin’ and trainin’ is a rough job, a man’s job. Why not let Jackson take over the horses so you can concentrate on running the business end of things. You’re a whale of a lot better at figures and purchasing than I am.”