There was something about this man that brought out the passionate side of her.

Something that made Rose want him as badly as he seemed to want her. “Clint …” she murmured, splaying her hands across the broad surface of his chest. She felt the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. Saw his head lower, his eyes shutter. And then there was no more thinking, no more talking, only the masterful sensation of his lips moving over hers and the erotic sweep of his tongue.

He tasted like mint. He kissed like a man who always got what he wanted. And what he wanted right now, Rose realized, as his muscular frame pressed against her, was her.

The trouble was, she wanted him, too. And had from the first moment they had squared off under the hot Texas sun.

Lone Star

Daddy

Cathy Gillen Thacker

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CATHY GILLEN THACKER is married and a mother of three. She and her husband spent eighteen years in Texas and now reside in North Carolina. Her mysteries, romantic comedies and heartwarming family stories have made numerous appearances on bestseller lists, but her best reward, she says, is knowing one of her books made someone’s day a little brighter. A popular Mills & Boon® author for many years, she loves telling passionate stories with happy endings, and thinks nothing beats a good romance and a hot cup of tea! You can visit Cathy’s website, www.cathygillenthacker.com, for more information on her upcoming and previously published books, recipes and a list of her favorite things.

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Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

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

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

“You can ignore me as long as you want. I am not going away.” Rose McCabe followed Clint McCulloch around the big farm tractor.

Wrench in one hand, a grimy cloth in another, the rodeo cowboy turned rancher paused to give her a hostile glare. “Suit yourself,” he muttered beneath his breath. Then went right back to working on the engine that had clearly seen better days.

Aware she was taking a tiger by the tail, Rose stomped closer. “Sooner or later you’re going to have to hear me out.”

“Actually, I won’t.” Sweat glistened on the suntanned skin of his broad shoulders and muscular back, dripped down the strip of dark hair that covered his chest, and arrowed down into the fly of his faded jeans.

Still ignoring her, he moved around the wheel to turn the key in the ignition.

It clicked. But did not catch.

His expression impassive, he strode back to the engine once more, giving Rose a good view of his ruggedly handsome face and the thick chestnut hair that fell onto his brow and curled damply against the nape of his neck. At six foot four, there was no doubt Clint was every bit as stubborn—and breathtakingly masculine—as he had been when they were growing up.

And, because he was four years older than she—which made him thirty-three now—likely feeling as if he were all the wiser. And more experienced.

Which, she determined fiercely, he was not.

She ambled close enough to see the darker rim of his sable brown eyes, then inclined her head at the engine. “Still not working, hmm?”

He grunted and muttered something she was just as glad not to be able to decipher.

Not above needling him if that was what it took to get his attention, she rocked back on the heels of her cowgirl boots and drawled, “Sure would be nice if you could afford to pay someone who knew what he was doing to fix that tractor. Or better yet, buy a brand new one.”

She paused to let that idea sink in.

Pivoting away from him, she turned to look out at the thousand acres of Double Creek ranchland sprawled behind the big two-story ranch house, stable and barns. “Of course, maybe I should be thanking my lucky stars you not only haven’t a clue how to get that machine up and running, but also are reportedly operating this ranch on a very thin margin. Because the combination of those two things—” she turned around to tip her hat back and give him a dazzling smile “—is going to keep you from bulldozing the hundred acres of beautiful blackberries on this property.”

Finally Clint straightened. He looked her right in the eye. “Not necessarily,” he said.

* * *

HIS UNINVITED GUEST was speechless.

Deciding the only way to discourage her was to let her know exactly where they stood, Clint continued. “I could always borrow a tractor from any one of my friends.” Except they were all using their tractors for spring clearing, mowing and planting. “And get the job done today.”

Rose’s pink lips slid into an astonished pout. “You wouldn’t!”

Pushing aside the notion of what it might be like to taste the tempting softness of those lips, he moved his gaze back to her wide-set sage-green eyes and nodded tersely. “I most certainly would.”

“But...you’re sitting on a gold mine!”

He shrugged, letting his gaze linger once again over the delicate, feminine features of her heart-shaped face. “I’m sure you think so.”

She drew in a breath. “Do you know how much four ounces of blackberries retail for these days?”

“Haven’t a clue.”

“Four dollars!”

He kept his eyes locked with hers in an attempt to intimidate her into going away. “So?” To his mounting frustration, his maneuver did not achieve its goal.

Rose huffed. “The typical yield of mature plants like yours is five to ten thousand pounds per acre!”

Which meant—he quickly did the math—the total of a good yield would be anywhere from two to four million dollars, retail, for one crop. However, a farmer would get a lot less wholesale.

“If you can get them picked,” Clint pointed out, forcing himself to be practical. He did not have the money for harvesting, either.

Grimacing, he paused to remove his Stetson and wipe the sweat gathering on his brow. “I can’t.”

Following suit, Rose swept off her straw cowgirl hat and slapped it against her sleek denim-clad thigh. Her unruly ash-blond curls glittered with golden highlights. The thick silky strands were cut to frame her face and rested against her chin. She ran the fingers of her free hand idly through her hair before placing her hat back on her head. “Actually,” she countered, returning his impudent stare, “you could.”

It was Clint’s turn to heave a sigh of frustration. He straightened once again, aware they were talking about something that just wasn’t going to happen.

“The point is—” he kept his gaze locked with hers “—I’m not interested in being a berry farmer. I’m a rancher. I want to restore the Double Creek Ranch to the way it was when my dad was alive. Run cattle, and breed and train cutting horses here.” He pointed to the blackberry patch up for debate. “And those thorn-and weed-infested bushes are sitting on the most fertile land on the entire ranch.”

Rose’s expression turned pleading. “Just let me help you out.”

“No.” He refused to be swayed by a sweet-talking woman, no matter how persuasive and beguiling. He had gone down that road once before, with a heartbreaking result.

A silence fell and Rose blinked. “No?” she repeated, as if she were sure she had heard wrong.

“No,” he reiterated flatly. His days of being seduced or pressured into anything were long over. Then he picked up his wrench. “And now, if you don’t mind, I really need to get back to work...”

She stared at him a moment longer. Started to say something, then stopped herself, shrugged and walked off.

A little surprised the inimitable Rose McCabe had given up—just like that!—Clint watched the lovely entrepreneur climb into her extended-cab Rose Hill Farm pickup truck and drive away.

He tinkered with the tractor motor another half an hour, then gave up. Much as he hated to admit it, Rose was right about one thing. He was never going to be able to fix this engine on his own. So he went into the house, showered and changed into fresh clothes, grabbed his keys and wallet and headed to the farm- and ranch-equipment dealership in Laramie.

He had no trouble getting someone to wait on him, but he didn’t like what Swifty Mortimer had to say. “Trying to find parts for a tractor that’s forty years old is going to cost more than a new one,” the salesman announced.

Clint braced himself for the worst. “And how much is that?”

“Several hundred thousand dollars. Of course, you can lease at a rate of five thousand dollars a month. Or buy used and reconditioned agricultural equipment, which will still likely run you into six figures.”

Clint sighed. All options were well out of his range. He’d spent what cash he did have on hand adding to his herd of black Angus and buying more cutting horses, which now numbered six.

“Not going to work for you, hmm?” the salesman guessed.

Clint shook his head.

“Well, then, maybe you could work a deal with a friend.”

“Or better yet,” a familiar female voice said from somewhere behind them, “me!”

Clint turned to see Rose McCabe standing behind him, with the owner of the dealership, Jeff Johnston, at her side. An affable man in a sports coat and jeans, the forty-year-old bachelor was a well-respected Laramie County businessman with an eye for the ladies.

Realizing he was no longer needed, Swifty discreetly eased away to help another customer coming in the door.

Rose beamed at Clint. “I was just talking to Jeff about you.”

Pushing aside an unexpected twinge of jealousy, Clint shrugged at whatever Rose was trying to finagle now. “Sorry she bent your ear, Jeff.”

Jeff extended his hand to Clint. “Actually, I’m glad she did.”

“Seems like you could do each other a favor,” Rose commented when the two men had finished shaking hands.

Clint noted that Jeff seemed to think so, too. “Really. And how is that?” he asked dryly. His patience was beginning to wear thin.

Barely containing her excitement, Rose asked Jeff, “Why don’t we just show him?”

The man smiled and gestured broadly. “After you...”

Rose settled her hat on her head and led the way back out into the late-spring sunshine.

On the corner of the lot sat a brand-new machine. As narrow in width as a lawn tractor but three times as tall, it had a glassed-in cab for the operator situated near the top and a produce catcher sticking six feet out to one side. A large vacuum hose fed into a belt-run crop sorting and processing system that ran the length of the entire machine, and there was a ledge for a produce box directly beneath the end of the produce catcher. Behind the tractor was a detachable flat-bed trailer with room for stacked produce boxes.

Cheerfully Rose explained, “You drive the berry harvester between the rows. The nylon bars enclosed in the top of the machine move through the bushes and gently shake the ripe fruit loose. The captured blackberries are drawn up through the hose at the bottom and move through the machine via conveyor belts, where any loose leaves, sticks and thorns are removed, and gently drop into the box below.” She took a breath, then continued. “When the box is full, a sensor will sound. You stop the tractor, remove the full container and replace it with another.”

It sounded pretty easy. And a lot less expensive and labor-intensive than picking them by hand. “Except there are no rows to drive through in that mess of blackberries on my property,” Clint pointed out. The canes had grown together into a dense thicket years before.

Rose shrugged. “So we’ll use a tractor to make some.” She lifted a hand to cut off any objection. “Yes, you’ll be mowing down some perfectly good bushes and blackberries in the process, but you’ll still be left with a ton of plants and plenty of fruit in a much more manageable situation. And with a new set of berries ripening every two days for the next three to five weeks, depending on weather, that is a lot of berries, McCulloch.”

And a whole lot of money, Clint acknowledged. Still, he hated being pushed into anything. “Let me guess.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re just the person to take the blackberries off my hands?”

Oblivious to the amused way Jeff was watching her, she dipped her head in a playful bow. “I do run a wholesale Buy Local fruit and vegetable business and co-op at Rose Hill Farm.”

Clint thought about what it was going to cost to get his cutting-horse breeding and training business off the ground. He was still running the fifty black Angus on a neighboring ranch and spending a lot more time than he liked giving cutting-horse riding lessons and hiring himself out as a cowboy just to bring in needed operating cash. It had been over a year since he’d repurchased the property he grew up on, and although he had no trouble meeting his mortgage payments, he was still a long way from making the ranch what he knew it could be.

He shook his head in frustration. He was tempted, but too smart to follow her down a trail that would most likely only set him even farther back in the end. “Look, even if I wanted to do this, there’s no way I could afford this machine.” The price label on the side stated it retailed for two hundred fifty thousand dollars.

Or about the same as the new tractor he needed but could not yet purchase.

“Actually, you can,” Rose insisted smugly.

Clint scoffed. “What are you going to do? Loan me the money to lease it?”

Her grin widened. “Better than that. I’ve worked out an arrangement with both Jeff and Farmtech, the manufacturer.”

Clint couldn’t say he was surprised Rose had the owner of the dealership at her command. Or any red-blooded man with an appreciation for a smart, beautiful, sexy woman, for that matter.

“What kind of arrangement?” he couldn’t help but ask. Jeff quietly excused himself and headed back in the direction of the office.

Now that they were alone beneath the shimmering blue Texas sky, Rose focused all her energy on Clint. “One that won’t cost you a cent!” She stepped closer, persuading cheerfully, “All you have to do is use the berry picker on your property to bring in the crop. And then offer the required testimonial, which I will support and bolster in any way that’s needed.”

He studied her. “Okay, I see what’s in it for you.” She would get access to the blackberry crop she so desperately wanted for her wholesale produce business. He lowered his face until they were almost nose to nose. “But why would the dealership and the manufacturer agree to let me do this free of charge?”

Instead of stepping back as he expected, she came nearer, enticing him to inhale her sunny, citrus perfume. “Because this particular machine is a brand-new design, with very few willing to buy it thus far. Farmtech is hoping to change that via positive experience—especially here, because in Texas, most berries are still picked by hand.”

It sounded simple enough, but his gut told him there was more to it. He stepped back and studied her, glad they were no longer within kissing distance. “What aren’t you telling me?”

She shifted her glance to the left, suddenly looking a little nervous. “That’s pretty much it...”

“But not all,” Clint surmised.

She cleared her throat and turned her attention back to him. “They also want to come out to the Double Creek Ranch and film you using the product. Of course, you’ll get paid for your time and trouble at a rate commensurate with others working in the spokesperson industry.”

No question, the additional money would help. But the thought of riding around on a berry picker in front of a camera bordered on the ridiculous. “You’re kidding.” Dread filtered through him. “You’re not kidding.”

“Well—” Rose wrinkled her nose. “You are a former rodeo star. And, well, if not all that handsome, at least not all that ugly...”

“Cute.”

“And it wouldn’t be your first endorsement.”

Aha. Here comes the sales pitch...

Luckily this wasn’t the first time a beautiful woman had used her charm to try and wheedle him into agreeing to something he had no business doing.

He rocked forward on the toes of his boots. She did the same on hers.

Letting her know with a glance she wasn’t going to railroad him into anything, he said, “What few ad campaigns I’ve done have been for saddle soap and leather gloves. Nothing to write home about.”

She aimed another sweet, tempting smile his way that had his lower half tightening, despite his vow to remain unaffected.

“Well, maybe this will be,” she offered hopefully.

Silence fell.

Before the two of them could say anything more, Jeff strode toward them. He held a clipboard piled with papers in one hand, a pen in the other. “The film crew and publicity team will be here at some point during the next couple of weeks, provided we can get the papers signed and faxed back to Farmtech today.”

Clint thought about the potential hassle and humiliation. He also thought about the income such a deal could bring in. And what that, in turn, could do for his plans for his ranch. Which was more important? His pride—or the future of the Double Creek?

Clenching his jaw, he asked, “What about the berry picker?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Rose was so excited she was practically bouncing up and down.

“We can have it delivered to the McCulloch ranch by Wednesday,” Jeff promised.

Two days from now. “And in the meantime...?”

“The dealership will loan you a tractor and tiller.”

Rose smiled gleefully. “By tomorrow morning?”

Jeff nodded. “Just tell me what time you want it out there.”

She turned to Clint. “9:00 a.m. okay with you?”

In for a penny, in for a pound. And given the fact he’d wanted to mow down all those bushes anyway—and did not have a working tractor of his own—Clint figured this would give him a head start. “Sure, why not.” Jeff handed him a set of contracts that covered all manner of product endorsements and included an extensive general liability clause. Clint had expected it to be a generic fill-in-the-blank document. Instead, his name and address were preprinted on everything.

He frowned suspiciously at the two people standing opposite him. “How the heck did the manufacturer know I would say yes?” The company’s legal department had set the first advertising component of the work to begin ten to fourteen days after signing. Which—he noted by the date on the documents—they had expected to be today?

Rose flushed guiltily.

It wasn’t hard for him to jump to the next assumption. “You said yes for me?” Clint asked in disbelief.

Rose cleared her throat and made a dismissive gesture. “Tentatively. But only because I knew I could talk you into it.”

Damn, but she had moxie.

The prettiest sage-green eyes.

And the softest, most kissable lips.

Oblivious to the nature of his thoughts, she defiantly stood her ground. “With the crop ripening any day, there was no time to waste. And it wasn’t that big of a gamble. You’re a businessman as well as a rancher. I figured it wouldn’t take long for you to see the light. You’ll get sixty-five cents from my operation per pound of fruit.”

He stopped her with an imperious lift of his palm. “Make it a dollar.”

She scowled. “Now, wait just a red-hot minute, cowboy! I still have to clean, sort, package and market the berries for you.”

“Not to mention pick up and deliver,” he added. “Since I don’t have a produce truck, either.”

She stared at him. “Seventy-five cents, McCulloch. And that’s my ceiling.”

He stared right back, then shrugged. “Done.” He extended a hand.

Rose slid her palm into his. The sensation of her surprisingly soft and silky skin, coupled with the strength of her grip, sent heat pouring through his veins.

He hadn’t been this aware of a woman in ages. If ever. And judging by the stunned look in her eyes, she was feeling the same.

He thought about how long it had been since he’d been close to anyone and swore silently to himself. What had they gotten themselves into?

Chapter Two

“What’s wrong?” Rose demanded early the next morning.

How about everything? Clint thought, directing his full attention to the woman striding toward him. Although it was due to heat up later in the day, right now it was damp and cool. Rose had hooked a pair of sunglasses into the neck of her bright-yellow T-shirt and thrown a denim jacket over her slender shoulders. Snug-fitting jeans and boots covered her lower half. Her straw hat hid her cloud of ash-blond curls.

Not stopping until they stood toe-to-toe, she persisted, “Why do you have that look on your face?”

Clint cut a glance at the long line of pickups and tractors driving onto the Double Creek Ranch, then turned back to her, keeping his temper in check. “You really have to ask?”

She shrugged, her expression more innocent than the situation warranted. “I told you I’d get you a loaner tractor delivered today.” She waved a hand in the direction of the tractor dealership flatbed leading the way. “And I have.”

It looked like a nice one, too. Brand spanking new. With an air-conditioned cab, a fact he was sure to appreciate as the sun rose higher in the sky.

Clint jerked his head at the convoy. “And the rest of this?”

“Oh.” Rose spared him a look. “I called in a few favors to get other farmers in the area to help us make the rows. This way we can get it done in one day.”

He lifted his brows. “You didn’t think to ask me first?”

Her pause went on a second too long.

“Or you did think to ask and decided not to.”

Another shrug and a small, mischievous smile. “I might have discovered—after I finished organizing everything last night—that it was too late to call you.”

He narrowed his eyes, not buying that excuse for one hot second.

“Or...I might have had a feeling that you’re one of those gotta-do-it-all-myself types.” She became serious. “With the first of the berries ready to be picked tomorrow, we really don’t have time to waste.”

Uh-huh. Just as he had thought.

“Deal or not, Ms. McCabe, this is still my ranch.”

“Oh, I am aware.” Tossing her head, she lifted a lecturing finger his way. “But that doesn’t change the fact you have agreed to sell those blackberries to me, McCulloch! Or in any way alter the fact that I, in turn, have promised those same berries to a number of local stores, as well as the members of the Rose Hill Farm co-op! All of whom, as it happens, know the importance of bringing a crop in at just the right moment.”

He couldn’t argue. Any berries left to fall on the ground were money down the drain. “You seem to have it all figured out.”

A shadow fell over her face—as if he’d struck a nerve. “You’ll thank me when I cut your first check.”

He supposed he would, at that.

“In the meantime...how about getting off your high horse long enough to come and thank all the neighbors who have so kindly agreed to help us?”

Clint fell into step beside her. “I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised,” he murmured, nodding at the farmers coming forward to greet him. “Laramie is a place where neighbors help each other out.”

Rose smiled, sweetly this time. “You’re darn right about that, cowboy. That’s how we farmers and ranchers all survive.”

* * *

“LOOKING GOOD AROUND HERE,” Gannon Montgomery told Clint later that evening when the two met at the Double Creek to settle their monthly accounts.

Friends since childhood, both were back on the ranches where they had grown up. Clint paid Gannon a grazing and usage fee for running his cattle and cutting horses on Gannon’s ranch—the Bar M. In return, Gannon paid Clint to keep up the pastures on his land and exercise and take care of his family’s horses.

Moreover, Gannon was a prominent local attorney who was married to Rose’s sister, Lily. So there was little about the McCabe women or Laramie County he did not know.

Clint turned his gaze to the neatly plowed rows between the thick, plentiful six-foot-tall bushes. “More like a blackberry farm or something out of the Napa Valley.” Which was a far cry from the ranch he and his family had always intended it to be, before he and his siblings had been forced to sell during probate, after his parents’ death, years ago.

He sighed. “But it will be easy to get the berry picker through.” Although he wasn’t looking forward to the tedious work of driving that tractor and hauling crates of produce around. He would be much happier on the back of a horse, or even out on the land repairing fence, than trying to care for the delicate fruit.

Nodding in agreement, Gannon followed Clint inside. “Rose seems happy.”

Pushing the image of the feisty woman with the delectable curves out of his mind, Clint cracked open two beers. “Tell me about it.”

They toasted each other silently and then sat down at the kitchen island. “She’s wanted to get her hands on all those berries for years,” Gannon told him. “It was such a shame, seeing them all go to seed.”

Clint snorted derisively, aware he’d been able to sidestep Rose’s requests the year before, after acquiring the property, simply by not being around during the harvest season. “Had the birds not been given free rein with them, they might not have spread to the degree they have.”

“I sense you’re irritated with my sister-in-law?”

Clint chose his words carefully. “Let’s just say I have never met a woman so determined to have her own way.”

“Or as likely to get it by whatever means necessary,” Gannon deadpanned. “But, as Lily would say, that’s part of her sister’s charm. Or it has been since she was left with three kids to bring up entirely on her own.”

Clint paused to take that in. “Rose’s ex-husband isn’t involved?”

Gannon shook his head, his expression grim. “Barry walked away clean nearly three years ago, right after their divorce.”

Clint exhaled. “That’s rough.”

“So you can understand, then, why Rose is as single-minded as she is.”

“Because she has to be.”

Gannon nodded.

Clint admired a woman who went all out to provide for her family. That didn’t mean, however, that he had to like the way Rose went about her dealings with him. He’d been down this road before. Almost married a woman who didn’t just love being in the midst of excitement and drama but created it wherever she went. No way was he getting involved with someone like that again. Even if it was a woman as beautiful and feisty as Rose.

The two finished their beers and traded invoices.

“When are you going to get your ranch up and running?” Gannon asked.

“If it all turns out the way Rose is predicting—” Clint was holding his breath on that one “—and I get even half the cash she is promising...I’m hoping for early fall.”

And then it would be bye-bye to the farming he had never wanted to do—and renting out his neighbor’s land—and hello to horse and cattle ranching on the Double Creek, the way it was meant to be.

In the meantime, he had to deal with Rose McCabe.

And the delivery of the berry picker from the tractor dealership the following day. It arrived, as promised, shortly after nine in the morning. Clint half expected Rose to be there, too.

She wasn’t.

While the sunny May morning was unexpectedly quiet, Swifty unloaded the big machine from the flatbed trailer, showed Clint how to use it and took off.

Deciding maybe this wasn’t so bad after all, Clint loaded up the machine with heavy-duty plastic fruit crates, turned the engine on and headed for the field.

He’d barely made it down one row when the next surprise came. And the quiet morning outdoors that he’d been looking forward to vanished. Just like that.

* * *

CLINT SUFFERED THROUGH the day only because he had promised Farmtech, the local dealership and the produce co-op that he would.

As soon as the day’s activity concluded, however, he headed inside his ranch house to get cleaned up.

And then, determined to get a few things straight before anything else unexpected happened, he made his way to Rose Hill Farm.

Until now, he had seen Rose’s seventy-five-acre property only from a distance. As he passed beneath the wrought-iron archway, he could not help but be impressed. The rolling green pastureland was surrounded by neat white fence. Stately oak trees lined the drive that led to a small white Cape Cod–style bungalow with a dark-gray roof, cranberry-red shutters and a pine door. A huge new red barn, emblazoned with the Rose Hill Farm logo, sat behind that.

Rosebushes bloomed on either side of the front walk.

Bracing himself for whatever came next, he moved up the broad stone steps leading to the house and rang the bell.

There was a struggle with the lock on the other side. Then the front door swung open. The smell of something incredibly delicious—cornbread maybe—wafted out. A tyke-size McCabe stared up at him.

“Mommy!” the preschooler bellowed at the top of his lungs. “It’s a man!” He craned his little head back as far as it would go. “And he’s real big!”

Compared to the little one, Clint felt big. Although, at six foot four, he felt that way often.

Something clattered loudly—like a dropped metal pan in the kitchen. “Stephen!” Rose called out, sounding upset. She rushed around the corner, her hands buried in a dish towel. “I told you not to answer the...” She skidded to a halt midfoyer. Swallowed, cheeks pink. “Clint.”

Aware he had never seen her—or imagined her—quite so harried, he moved his gaze over her cloud of chin-length dark-blond curls. She wore no makeup that he could see but was absolutely gorgeous just the same. She had on jeans, sneakers, a flattering peach button-up blouse and a ridiculously frilly and flowery apron over that.

He resisted the urge to tell her about the smudge of flour on one cheek. He was here on business, he reminded himself sternly. “Got a minute? I need to talk to you.”

She crumpled the dish towel in her hand. “Ah...”

Two little girls appeared at her side. “Mommy, I’m hungry!” said the first.

The other complained, “You said dinner was ready.”

Rose assured them with a smile, “It is.”

The children’s anxiety allayed, she turned back to Clint and waved him forward. “Come on in. I don’t think you’ve ever met my triplets,” she said, shutting the door behind him.

“Kids, this is Mr. McCulloch. Clint, this is Stephen.” Rose pointed to her son. Clearly all boy, with short brown hair and dark eyes, he was clad in jeans and a Longhorns football T-shirt. He was busy trying to climb up the stairs from the wrong side of the railing.

Rose plucked him off the risers and set him back on the foyer floor. A prodding lift of Rose’s brow had Stephen obediently extending his hand. “Hello.”

“Hi.” Clint noted the boy had a surprisingly strong and confident grip.

Continuing her introduction, Rose pointed to the daughter clad in a denim dress and deep purple cowgirl boots. “Scarlet.”

The little girl holding an open storybook had long, curly, strawberry-blond hair, green eyes and glasses.

Scarlet smiled at Clint sincerely. “Hello.”

Clint grinned back. “Good to meet you, Scarlet.”

“And Sophia,” Rose concluded, gently guiding the shyest of the three children forward. Clad in a ruffled skirt, matching knit shirt and ballet slippers, the little girl had long, dark-brown hair that was straight and silky, and clear blue eyes.

She shook Clint’s hand mutely.

“Nice to meet you-all,” he said.

Stephen muscled his way to the front. Unable to stand still, he put his weight on one leg, then the other, peering up at Clint curiously all the while. “We’re three and a half.” He gestured importantly at himself and his two siblings. “How old are you?”

Rose jerked in a breath and lifted a chastising palm. “That’s not a question we ask grown-ups. Not ever. Remember?”

If there was one thing Clint remembered, it was how insatiably curious he had been at the same age. “I don’t mind.” He looked back at the kids. “I’m thirty-three.”

“Mommy’s twenty-nine,” Scarlet announced.

“And a half,” Sophie said.

Rose blushed again.

Letting their gazes collide, then linger, Clint said, “Good to know.”

Looking adorably flustered, Rose whirled away from him, then made a little shooing motion with her hands. “Just let me get them seated.” Her kids darted through the hall, past the corner, and into the cozy space at the rear of the home. Comprising almost all of the first floor, it was at once kitchen, casual dining and living area. “And then—”

“Do you like mini-corndog muffins, Mr. Clint?” Stephen interrupted.

If the golden-brown confections were half as good as they smelled and looked, heck yeah.

“It’s bite-size cornbread with very small chunks of wiener tucked inside,” Rose explained. “A kid-friendly version of a corndog without the hazard of a stick in the center.”

“’Cause if you do like them,” Scarlet said, taking charge, “we can share. That’s polite, isn’t it, Mommy?”

Rose swiped a hand across her face, spreading the aforementioned flour from her cheek to her ear. “Sweetie, I don’t think we want to put Mr. Clint on the spot.”

Trying not to think how long it had been since he’d had lunch—had he stopped to have lunch?—Clint cut the reluctant hostess off with a smile, knowing it would irritate her. He owed her that. He pulled up a chair at the round oak table. “Thanks. Don’t mind if I do,” he drawled.

“You really want to have dinner. With us?” Rose clearly enunciated every word, giving him time, it seemed, to come to his senses.

He shrugged, figuring laying down the law to her could wait a little while longer. At least until he had part of his appetite sated. “Unless there’s not enough?”

* * *

ROSE COULDN’T PLEAD THAT, much as she might like to. With three kids and herself to feed, and the closest restaurant a good twenty minutes away, she always made enough to feed an army.

“Of course there is.” It was having him underfoot, looking—and smelling—so ruggedly handsome and sexy, wreaking havoc with all her senses that was the problem. A fact he seemed to know darn well, judging by the pure masculine devilry in his smile.

A tingle of awareness swept through her. Firmly ignoring it, she went back to get the rest of the serving dishes. She had promised herself she wasn’t going to ever let her sensual side rule her life again, after her ex-husband had left her and the kids. She meant it.

“What about green beans?” Stephen asked, making a face at the bowl she set in the center of the table. “And celery? Or carrots?”

“Do you like those, Mr. Clint?” Sophia asked.

“Because we don’t like any of them!” Scarlet declared.

Clint looked at Rose. She doled out two muffins per child, as well as a carrot stick, a piece of celery, and two green beans. “Slight aversion to v-e-g-e-t-a-b-l-e-s these days,” she explained.

Wasn’t that ironic, given what she did for a living.

Sophia rested her chin on her hand and stared at Clint, warming up to him with surprising quickness despite her shyness. “Yeah, we don’t like veggies.”

“So much for spelling it out,” Clint quipped.

Rose mugged at him comically. Then she brought an extra place setting for Clint. Serious once again, she told her children, “You may not remember it now, but all three of you did like veggies when you were little. And you would again if you would just try them with an open mind.”

“Nope. We won’t,” all three kids said, their heads shaking stubbornly in unison.

The doorbell rang again.

Not exactly unhappy about the reprieve—she didn’t know what it was about Clint that had her tingling all over every time she saw him—Rose lifted a hand. “I’ll get it.”

Leaving the kids and Clint to entertain each other, she rushed toward the door. And was surprised to see Miss Mim and Miss Sadie on her front porch, from the Laramie Gardens retirement-home complex.

“We heard about the berries,” Miss Mim enthused. As always, she was dressed in an outrageously colorful outfit that clashed with her flame-red hair. “Any chance we could get some tonight?”

Looking as elegant as always, Miss Sadie smiled. “We’re having an ice cream social.”

Rose grinned. “No problem. If you want to head for the barn, I’ll catch up with you.” She dashed back to the kitchen.

Clint was sitting with the kids, mischief gleaming in his eyes. Rose didn’t know what had been said, but they were all laughing as if he were the most charming guy on earth. Relieved, as well as a little peeved she had missed out on the hilarity, she asked him, “Would you mind watching them for a couple of minutes while I take care of something?”

He smiled genially, as relaxed as she was stressed. “Sure.”

She raced out, still a little stunned to find the four of them getting along so well.

The lonesome cowboy was always so grumpy and contentious around her! Who would have thought he would enjoy being around her kids?

* * *

NO SOONER HAD the front door shut behind their mother than the kids jumped down from the table. Clint watched as two of the triplets ran toward the fridge. The other disappeared into the pantry. “Whoa now,” he said, beginning to feel a little alarmed. Especially since he sensed they wouldn’t be doing whatever this was if their mother were still on the premises. “What’s going on?”

Stephen yanked open the fridge door so hard he nearly fell over. “I’m getting the ketchup.”

Sophia stuck her head out of the pantry just long enough to declare, “I want honey.”

Scarlet shoved her brother aside. “I want mustard.”

They carried their trove back to the table.

Clint got up to shut the refrigerator, then the pantry door. By the time he returned to the table, they were struggling to get the squeeze bottles open. Because Stephen was closest, Clint moved to assist him first. “Let me help you with that.”

The tyke jerked away, the bottle clutched firmly in his small hands. “I can do it!”

Clint eyed the red bottle. It seemed pretty full. “Really, I—”

Squirt.

A spray of red flew past Stephen’s plate and hit the center of the table instead.

“Ah...” A word that shouldn’t be used around children nearly slipped from Clint’s lips, but thankfully did not.

Determined to react as calmly and patiently as he was sure Rose would, Clint started to reach for the bottle. Before he could get it, Scarlet squirted the mustard with all her might, with equally messy results. Sophia was no better at dispensing the honey.

This time Clint did swear silently to himself.

Grimly he regarded the streaks of red, yellow and gold mingling on the center of the table. “Hand ’em over.” Before your mother sees this.

“No! We do it ourselves!” the trio chanted in unison, rising up on their knees and clutching their bottles even more tightly. Unfortunately, though they initially aimed down at their plates, the force they put into squeezing the bottles pushed the bottoms of the containers down, toward themselves, and the tops up—straight at him. Before he could do more than take a breath, a spray of red splashed across his nicely ironed shirt. Another messy arc of yellow followed. The plastic honey bear squirted sticky goo.

And that was, of course, the moment Rose chose to walk back in.

Clint looked at her.

But she was staring pointedly at her children.

Abruptly chastened, the triplets sat back down, evidently prepared to use perfect manners now that their mom was back.

“Really?” She put her hands on her hips and asked sternly, “Is this how we treat our guests?”

All eyes lowered. “Sorry,” the three mumbled.

Their apology accepted, Rose collected the condiment bottles and took them over to the sink. She deposited the sticky mess with a sigh. “Kids, please eat your dinner.”

Pretty chin set, she pivoted and crooked an authoritative finger at Clint. Clearly she was not about to let him off the hook anywhere near as easily.

“While you,” she said, locking eyes with him, “come with me.”

Chapter Three

Rose led the way to the only semiprivate area on the bungalow’s first floor—the foyer.

Once there, she pivoted so the hand-carved staircase was against her spine and folded her arms in front of her. “So much for leaving a cowboy in charge.”

Clint tried not to notice how the fading sunlight pouring in through the transom over the door illuminated the golden highlights in her dark-blond hair. “Hey, I can wrangle a kiddo or two. I just wasn’t expecting that.”

“Noted,” Rose said dryly. “And for the record, you’re going to want to put some water on those stains as soon as possible—otherwise that handsome shirt of yours will be permanently ruined.”

Clint looked down at the splashes of ketchup, mustard and honey marring the otherwise pristine white-and-blue tattersall-plaid shirt. He shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Yeah, but this calamity was due to my kids, so...” Her voice trailing off, Rose looked him up and down, shaking her head in mute consternation. “You know, the stains aren’t just here.” She made a sweeping gesture, her glance moving down past his throat, to the center of his chest, to his waist, back up along his sleeves. “You’ve even got some in your hair and on your cheek.” She motioned to a place just next to his ear.

However, Clint couldn’t help but note, the flour on her face was gone.

One of the other ladies must have told her.

Which was a shame. He would have liked to have seen to that himself.

She winced, oblivious to the licentious direction of his thoughts. “Seriously, I’m sorry you got caught in the middle of the triplets’ never-ending quest for culinary independence.”

“And here I thought it was just the prelude to a preschool-style food fight.”

“I wish,” she replied ruefully. “Anyway, again, my apologies...”

It didn’t escape his attention that the first two buttons on her blouse were undone, revealing a triangle of creamy, soft skin above her breasts. Ignoring the pressure building behind his fly, Clint smiled back. “I think I’ll survive.”

She laughed. “I imagine you will.”

Their gazes locked. Something changed in her eyes, a flicker of vulnerability glimmering in their beautiful green depths. His pulse amped up as she drew another quick breath.

“But in the meantime, I insist you do something about that shirt before it’s ruined.” She gestured toward the second floor. “The bathrooms are upstairs. Fresh linens—and the stain remover pens and spray—are in the linen closet in my bathroom. Feel free to help yourself while I return to oversee the minions.”

Clint nodded. “Thanks.”

He found the higher floor even smaller than the first floor. There were only two bedrooms. One decorated in primary colors sported three youth beds, arranged dormitory-style, with built-in drawers beneath. The bedroom was connected to a small bath, also adorned in bright colors. Monogrammed towels hung from a rack. The bathtub was outfitted with toys and antislip safety decals. A sink with a child-size stepstool in front of it was smudged with toothpaste and hand soap.

He moved on down the hall to the other bedroom, which was obviously Rose’s. It held a big four-poster bed with canopy, a padded bench and an old-fashioned makeup table with mirror. Clothes were strewn everywhere, from the closet floor to the end of the unmade bed and the back of an oversize satin chaise, which looked as if it served as a reading chair.

The master bathroom was beyond that, and the only way to get to it—and the linen closet where the stain removal supplies were kept—was to go through the perfume-scented domain.

Telling himself it was no big deal—if it had been, Rose wouldn’t have sent him up there—Clint made his way through the softly carpeted lair into the master bathroom.

It, too, was unutterably feminine. Decorated in pink and white. There was a single sink sunk into a wide white cabinet with plenty of drawers. The gray-and-white marble countertop held a variety of hair products, perfumes, makeup, fragrant bubble baths and candles. A big claw-foot soaking tub, outfitted with a showerhead and a circular shower curtain, sat beneath the only window.

A book stand next to the tub overflowed with novels and magazines. More clothes were tossed onto the floor, and a bundle of frilly lingerie spilled out of the hamper.

Standing there, he became aware of two things.

First, Rose was a lot more girlie than he had ever imagined.

And second, there weren’t enough hours in the day for her to do everything she needed to accomplish.

And care for her three very active kids.

Which explained the harried look on her face when she answered the door, as well as her penchant for going full steam ahead toward her goal, no matter what the obstacles...

The woman did not have time to mess around.

So she didn’t.

He admired her for that—even as the man in him longed to help her out.

“Clint?” A soft voice jerked him from his reverie. “What are you doing?”

He pivoted to see Rose standing in the doorway. Every thought except the possibility of making love with her went out of his brain. Aware she was waiting for some explanation, he finally admitted, “I’m still trying to figure out where the linen closet is.”

“Oh. Sorry!” Her cheeks lit with embarrassment as she swooped down to collect her clothes and then stuffed them on top of the lingerie. “I forgot about this mess when I sent you up here—”

He stopped her with a hand on her arm and drew her around to face him. He wanted her to know that as far as her personal life was concerned, he had nothing but admiration for her. “That’s not what distracted me.”

Struggling to get her balance, she glanced up at him in bewilderment. “Then what did?”

Clint tightened his grip to steady her. The feel of her body beneath his fingers sent a fresh wave of desire roaring through him. All thoughts of being a gentleman fled. He pulled her against him and did what he’d been wanting to do for days now. “This.”

* * *

ROSE HAD SWORN never again to be reckless when it came to her love life. Now she was conscientious and responsible to a fault. But something about this man brought out the passionate side of her.

Something that made her want him as badly as he seemed to want her. “Clint...” she murmured, splaying her hands across his broad chest. She felt the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. Saw his head lower, his eyes shut. And then there was no more thinking, no more talking, only the masterful sensation of his lips moving over hers and the erotic sweep of his tongue.

He tasted like mint. He kissed like a man who always got what he wanted. And what he wanted right now, Rose realized as his muscular frame pressed her achingly close, was her.

The trouble was, she wanted him, too. Had from the first moment they had squared off alone, under the hot Texas sun, days before.

She didn’t know what it was about him, she thought as he cupped her face in his hands and ever-so-slowly deepened the kiss. The fact that he was incredibly straightforward? She’d never have to worry about him hiding what was on his mind, because he was the kind of guy who would just flat-out tell her. Or was it her sense that he could see things about her no one else did? Or the oft-guarded look in his eyes that said he had suffered his share of life’s hurts and disappointments in their years apart, too?

All Rose knew for certain was that with just one kiss, he had her surrendering to the warm, sure pressure of his mouth in a way she never had before.

And that could not be, she knew.

Not with her three children right downstairs.

* * *

CLINT WASN’T SURPRISED when Rose tore her mouth from his and pushed him away. Hard.

The kiss had been completely unwarranted, given the situation. Yet he couldn’t say he was sorry he had done it. Because it had made at least one thing very clear: the two of them had the kind of attraction that was not to be denied.

Not if he had anything to do with it, anyway.

Her breath coming in unsteady puffs, she stepped back and shot him an indignant glare.

“Sorry about that,” he said more or less automatically, regaining his manners.

She harrumphed and narrowed her pretty eyes. “Are you?”

He chuckled. So she wanted him to be blunt? “Of course not.” Any more than you are.

Her scowl deepened in a way that made him want to haul her into his arms and kiss her all over again. “Then?”

He rubbed his jaw with the back of his hand, considering. Eventually he decided to go with the truth. “Seemed like the polite thing to say, given the way you just kissed me back. And maybe wish you hadn’t?”

Rose sighed, unable to mask completely the turbulent emotion on her face. “With good reason.” She shoved a hand through her unruly curls, pushing the silky strands away from her forehead. “Unlike you, it’s not just me I have to worry about.”

Aware she had a point, Clint sobered. “Where are the triplets?”

“They’re downstairs, drawing you some ‘I’m Sorry for Making a Mess on Your Shirt’ pictures for you to take home.”

Reminded of why he had ventured up there in the first place, Clint looked at her formerly all-peach blouse. “Speaking of messes...” he drawled, pointing to her left breast.

She glanced down, saw the smear of honey, ketchup and mustard that spread from heart to sternum and looked even more horrified.

Knowing the tension needed to be eased, Clint quipped, “Well, at least you got some of it off my clothes. Although maybe not in the way we intended.”

* * *

IF SHE HAD been the kind of gal to throw a punch, she really would have decked the sexy cowboy opposite her right about now. For kissing her and making her feel the kinds of things she most certainly did not want to feel. Fortunately for both of them, she had always been able to keep her temper under wraps.

“Cute.” Rose brushed by him, headed for the linen closet. To get to it, she had to tug aside the circular shower curtain, which had been gathered in front of it.

Her back to Clint, she eased the closet door open and brought out a spray bottle of stain remover, several cleaning and pretreating pens, a washcloth and a towel.

Swinging back around, she gasped.

“Now what?” he asked, appearing even more baffled.

Rose’s eyes widened in shock. She’d thought he had been sexy as could be when he’d been all sweaty and working on the tractor. That was nothing compared with how magnificent he looked when freshly showered and shaven, smelling of leather and spice. “You took your shirt off!”

He gestured aimlessly, more comfortable half-naked than she could ever hope to be.

“What was I supposed to do? I can’t have it on while you spray the stains.” Furrowing his brow, he nodded at the green bottle in her hand. “I’m allergic to that stuff.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that?”

He lounged against her bathroom counter, legs crossed at the ankle, arms folded across his brawny chest. “Wasn’t worth arguing about. Besides,” he teased, “it’s not like you haven’t seen me with my shirt off before. Monday—”

She cut him off with an indignant huff. “I remember.” Boy, did she ever remember. She’d dreamed about it two nights in a row. Only in her dreams, his shirt wasn’t all he had taken off.

Meanwhile, he evidently had his own unshared thoughts. His gaze drifted over her lazily, lingering on the stains—which happened to be mostly across her breasts—before leisurely cataloguing her throat and face, and returning to linger, even more seductively, on her eyes. “Then what’s the big deal?” he asked huskily.

The big deal was they’d just been making out, Rose thought in exasperation. The big deal was his nipples were still every bit as taut as hers. Not that she had needed that confirmation. His strong arousal had been evident elsewhere, too...

Rose shut her eyes for a moment, willing the desire welling inside her to go away. Then she asked with exaggerated patience, “Do you have any other shirts with you? In your truck, maybe?” A lot of people who worked outdoors—like herself—carried extra.

He continued watching her, inscrutable now. “No.”

She did her best to become poker-faced as well. “Are you interested in a Rose Hill Farm T-shirt?”

“Sure. Except it would have to be washed first. Because I’m allergic to a lot of the anti-wrinkle coatings on new clothes, too.”

Aware she no longer needed the stain removers, at least in that moment, she set them down. “You really are difficult.”

Clint shrugged his shirt back on. Winked. “And in other respects, I am apparently oh-so-easy.”

Not from what she had heard.

He hadn’t dated anyone since he had been back in town. In fact, he had been as monk-like in his life as she had been nun-like in hers. At least, she’d been nun-like up until the last month or so.

Which begged the question—why had he kissed her?

Why was he still looking like he wanted to put the moves on her again? And most importantly, why did she want him to do just that?

Rose swallowed and tried to pull herself together.

“Look,” he said. “All kidding aside, there’s no reason for you to worry about my shirt. I’ll just take it home and wash it there in the detergent I know I’m not allergic to.”

Like he had originally suggested.

Sighing, Rose watched him button his stained shirt from the bottom. She’d let pure passion lead her astray once before and knew better than to let it happen again, no matter what her still-humming body wanted. “Maybe that would be best.”

Together they headed back downstairs. They’d just reached the foyer when the doorbell rang. Rose moaned.

Clint slid a hand beneath her elbow and slanted her a glance. “Not expecting anyone?”

“No. But it’s always like this when a brand-new crop of good produce comes in.”

Belatedly seeming to realize he still had a grip on her, Clint dropped his hand and peered at the clock—which now said seven-thirty. From the kitchen, the kids could be heard chattering about their drawings. “Don’t you have regular business hours?”

“Yes,” Rose said, over her shoulder, opening the door, “And no.”

On the other side stood her triplet sisters, Violet and Lily. And the oldest of them all the only single-birth McCabe daughter, Poppy.

The trio took in Rose’s shirt, then Clint’s. In unison, they started to laugh. Then Poppy blurted out, “What have you two been up to?”

Chapter Four

Rose was trying to figure out how to answer that when the triplets joined them, artwork in hand.

“Hi, aunts,” they said.

“Hi, kids,” Poppy, Lily and Violet said in return, setting down a picnic basket and zip-style insulated nylon cooler.

“We got in trouble,” Scarlet announced, pushing her glasses up higher on her nose.

Stephen nodded. “For getting stuff all over Mr. Clint’s nice shirt.”

“And your mom’s,” Violet added helpfully, looking as tired as usual after one of her oncology residency shifts at Laramie Community Hospital.

Sophia’s brow creased.

Uh-oh, Rose thought. Here comes trouble.

“We didn’t get any stuff on Mommy,” Sophia declared.

All three kids looked at Rose’s shirt in bewilderment.

“Mommy!” Stephen shrieked, “How did you do that?”

Lily—who was now happily married, with a baby on the way—glanced from Rose to Clint. “I think I know,” she teased.

So, apparently, did Violet and Poppy. Neither of whom were known for keeping their opinions regarding romance to themselves.

Doing her best to hang on to her composure, which wasn’t easy given how the more deeply imprinted stains on Clint’s shirt matched up with the lighter ones on hers, Rose purposely dodged the question. “The point is,” she continued, looking straight at her offspring, “Sophia, Scarlet and Stephen know how to use their table manners and not make a mess of our guests.”

Apparently unable to resist, Poppy ribbed her, “Do the grown-ups know it, too?”

Luckily the joke went over the triplets’ heads. Not so Clint’s, who was standing there with a choirboy innocence definitely not to be believed.

Not sure how the situation could get any more embarrassing unless they’d actually been caught in flagrante, Rose cleared her throat. Definitely time to steer the subject to safer territory.

Ignoring the amused twinkle in Clint’s eyes that only she could see, she plastered an encouraging smile on her face. “So...do you kids want to show Mr. Clint what you made for him?”

Pride straightened their little spines. “We made ‘sorry’ pictures!” Sophia declared shyly.

Wordlessly, the triplets handed them over one by one. Stephen had drawn an airplane in the clouds. Sophia had colored her version of a fairy princess. Scarlet had drawn the pet dog she one day hoped to have. They had all printed their names on the bottom, just as they had learned to do in their Montessori preschool.

Clint studied the awkward-looking letters beneath the heartfelt drawings and the earnest expressions on the children’s upturned faces. “Well, thank you, kids,” he said, his voice suddenly sounding a little rusty.

“You’re welcome,” the triplets said happily in unison, relieved to have gotten themselves out of trouble. Again.

Rose glanced at her watch. “It’s almost time for baths, but you have ten minutes, if you want to go outside and play on the swing set.”

“Okay, Mommy!” With yells of delight, they raced off.

The adults exchanged glances rife with even more questions. Not about to have another inquiry start, Rose took the handsome cowboy by the elbow. She half expected him to resist her direction. Instead, he leaned into her touch, much the same way he had when he’d been kissing her.

A tingle went through her palm. Another welled in her middle. Ignoring both, Rose lifted her chin stubbornly. “Clint was just leaving...” she said.

Her sisters looked contrite.

“Listen, we had no idea the two of you were dating,” Lily said quickly, running a hand through her honey-blond hair. “Otherwise we wouldn’t have just barged in.”

“That’s for sure. And he’s a lot better than some of the other duds you have spent time with recently,” Poppy put in cheerfully, one hand resting on the laptop bag looped over her slender shoulder.

Clint quirked a brow. “Thanks. I think.”

Rose shot him a look that said, Please don’t encourage them! She turned back to her sisters. “We’re not dating.”

Unexpectedly, Clint draped an arm across her shoulders. “We could be,” he said with a wicked smile.

Ignoring the amusement on her sisters’ faces, Rose removed his arm. Stepped to one side. Looked up at him with a warning glance. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” he drawled.

Rose ignored the sexual heat in his sable-brown eyes. “You wouldn’t have to ask that if you’d ever been married.”

Hooking his thumbs through his belt loops, he rocked forward on the toes of his boots. Shrugged carelessly. “Actually, I almost was.”

She refused to let down her guard. “Almost doesn’t count,” she retorted.

He tilted his head to one side, thinking, clearly aware he was annoying her terribly. “It does if you’re the one who nearly made a life-altering mistake.”

“Wow,” Poppy said, looking ready to break out the popcorn and take a seat. “It just gets better.”

Rose scowled at her oldest sister, who was one to talk since she was the most independent and had never really risked anything in the romance department. “Or worse,” she returned dryly, “depending on your point of view.”

Clint waved like a highway worker, trying to get her attention. “I’m still hanging in here.”

“Not wisely,” Rose huffed.

Lily peered at them curiously. Then she continued, using her skills as an attorney turned mayor turned mediator. “So if the two of you aren’t dating, and aren’t going to date—”

“That’s yet to be decided,” Clint interrupted mildly, more confident than ever.

Rose drew in a deep breath. And stared at him like he’d grown a second head.

“Well,” he said, refusing to back down, “it hasn’t been.”

“Maybe not by you,” Rose snapped, temper flaring, reminding herself yet again why she was not going to let herself be distracted by passion, or even the potential of it.

If—and it was a big if—she ever got involved with someone again, it would be because they were perfect for each other in all ways outside the bedroom. Not just in.

“Then why is he here?” Violet asked. “And why were you obviously, ah...in his arms...if the two of you, ah, aren’t...?”

Aware her sisters were jumping to far too many conclusions and the man opposite her was way too handsome—and distracting—for comfort, Rose rubbed her temples and shut her eyes. “He came over to talk to me.”

“About?” Lily pressed.

Good point! Rose sucked in a breath, curious now, too. “I was just about to find out.” She opened her eyes again. Put one palm on Clint’s back, the other beneath his elbow. Steered the big guy deliberately toward the front door. “So if you, dear sisters, will excuse us...and keep an eye on my kids, to boot...” she said over her shoulder.

“Not to worry,” Lily called out merrily. “Take your time!”

Clint chuckled and shut the door behind them, once again leaving the two of them very much alone. “Oh, I plan to,” he replied.

* * *

THIS TIME, CLINT NOTED, Rose did not even try to stifle her groan.

“You are not going to kiss me again,” she said, marching him down the sidewalk to his pickup truck.

She sure had a one-track mind.

Not that he hadn’t been ruminating over the first time he’d taken her in his arms, too.

Even though he knew darn well it would be asking for trouble.

“Wasn’t planning to,” he shot back. The enormity of her relief prompted him to add teasingly, “Now.”

Soft lips twisting into a pretty glower, Rose adapted a militant stance. “What did you want to see me about?” she asked, folding her arms in front of her.

Trying not to notice the way the action plumped up her breasts, he countered, “Sure you don’t want our conversation to wait, with your sisters peering out the windows and all?”

Rose cast a glance over her shoulder. She waved her family away. The blinds closed completely. “I’d rather hear it now.” Still he hesitated. “Come on, Clint, spill it. I’m curious.”

So much for trying to keep the unexpected feelings of intimacy and cautious goodwill flowing between them.

But since she’d made it abundantly clear that she was not going to drop it, Clint figured he might as well bite the bullet. So he sobered. Straightened. And adapted his own semi-militant stance. “Well, if you must know,” he muttered, “I did not appreciate the dozen women you sent out to help me this morning. Again, without warning.”

It took her a moment to understand what he was talking about. “Oh, the co-op moms!”

A group of women who had never stopped talking—to each other and, unfortunately, to him. Thereby eradicating his dream of long days spent outdoors amid peace and quiet. “I didn’t need their help.”

“Oh, really.” The sass was back in her eyes, reeling him back in. “And how long would it have taken you today to get a truckload of berries without their assistance?”

He wouldn’t have achieved that at all. Not in one day. He clenched his jaw. “That’s not the point.”

She hovered closer, surrounding him with a drift of citrus on a sunny day. “It’s exactly the point, cowboy. Blackberries are very perishable once they are picked. They need to be refrigerated quickly. Having co-op members come over to your ranch and help get them onto the refrigerator truck goes a long way to preserving the fruit’s great taste and longevity.”

Clint shoved a hand through his hair, aware that, as usual, he needed a haircut. “As I told you before...I can’t afford to pay anyone to assist with the harvest.”

“You don’t have to. The co-op members—many of whom are male, by the way—work for points that enable them to purchase produce at a very steep discount. Because they physically help with the harvest, they also get first dibs on anything that comes in.”

Turning, she walked over to his pickup truck and waited for him to follow. “The rest of the produce goes to Rose Hill Farm clients. Grocery stores, farm stands, small mom-and-pop markets and restaurant chefs.”

He wasn’t surprised to discover she ran two businesses. One that helped the community, the other her own bottom line. That did not mean, however, that he was all right with the onslaught.

He moved nearer despite himself. Aware he was wanting to kiss her again, badly, he fished in his pocket for his keys. “I can’t have a dozen women out there underfoot every day.”

She nodded, understanding. “You won’t. Today was just a day to get the feel of how this is all going to work. From now on, you’ll only have two co-op members there at a time. And only during school hours.”

He propped a shoulder against the truck and released a breath, his tension easing a bit.

“So if you get started earlier or go later—” Rose continued.

“I’ll have the peace and quiet I want?” he interrupted with a grin.

The peace that had seemed ideal until he’d spent a half an hour in her home and become aware all over again of everything he wanted and was missing. Kids. A wife. Happy family chaos.

She rolled her eyes. “Your wish is my command, cowboy.”

Another spark lit between them.

Rose stepped in the direction of the house, abruptly becoming wary again. “Well, I’ve got to get back to my sisters...”

On impulse, he caught her wrist and rubbed the inside of it with his thumb. Then felt her tremble, just as she had when he’d held her in his arms.

He was tempted to ask her out, but knew this was the wrong time and the wrong place, unless he wanted to be spurned again.

“Are they going to give you the business?” he murmured softly instead.

She sighed. “Probably.”

* * *

BECAUSE SHE HAD her siblings’ help, Rose was able to get the three kids bathed and tucked into bed in record time. Finished, she went back down to the kitchen, where she soon discovered her dishes had been done, too. A more adult repast was laid out. They’d obviously brought it with them.

Sisters. Rose heaved a contented sigh, sitting down at the table with them. What would she do without them?

She hoped never to find out.

Violet cut into the warm, puff pastry–wrapped brie.

Poppy passed around crisp green apple and pear slices. “We all had heard you’d sweet-talked Clint McCulloch into harvesting the Double Creek Ranch blackberry crop. But we had no idea he’d been pursuing you.”

No kidding.

Not wanting to admit how recently that had started, never mind how quickly Clint had turned her whole world upside down—with just one kiss!—Rose adopted her best poker face. “He’s not, really.”

“Then why were you kissing him?”

Knowing it would be futile to deny they had been making out, just a little, Rose stated cagily, “Impulse. A bad one at that, and one that won’t happen again. So...to what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

Poppy raised her glass of sparkling water in toast. “I finally got Trace Caulder to agree to adopt with me!”

Everyone clinked glasses. Rose asked, “But you’re not planning to get married to the Lieutenant?”

The thirty-five-year-old Poppy waved off the possibility. “It’s not really necessary these days. At least through the private agency we’re using.”

No one knew better than Rose how hard it could be to raise a family as a single mother. On the other hand, she had all the McCabes behind her, helping out as needed. And so would Poppy, whose interior-design business was based in Laramie.

Poppy tore her hunk of French bread into bite-size pieces. “I’m not cut out to be a military wife. And Trace doesn’t want to give up flying jets for the Air Force. But we’re best friends—”

And lovers, whenever the good Lieutenant was stateside, Rose thought.

“—and we both want a family, sooner rather than later,” Poppy continued, practical as ever. “So this is the best option for both of us. The problem is, the agency wants photos of me and Trace together that exemplify us as potential parents. And the last time we had any taken was at Lily’s wedding. Prior to that, it was Callie and Maggie’s double wedding.”

Though, Rose thought, only one of their older twin sisters had actually gotten married that day.

“We’ll all help you look,” Violet promised. Although the search was likely to produce an upsetting number of photos of Violet’s late fiancé, Sterling, and Rose and her ex-husband, too.

Nevertheless, as soon as their meal was over, Rose put on a pot of coffee. Together, they all went through the pictures.

“None of these are right,” Poppy said finally with a defeated sigh.

“Maybe I have something on my computer of the two of you,” Rose told her, glad to move away from remnants of her disastrous romantic past, too.

“Why don’t we all go through our picture files?” Violet suggested. “And get back to each other when we find more to choose from.”

Anything, Rose agreed, to keep her mind off the unexpected turn her own life had taken and the mistake she had recklessly made. She’d had one relationship based on passion—and little else—that had crashed and burned. She wasn’t going to embark on another.

* * *

“SO YOU DO know who Rose has been dating,” Clint said to Gannon several days later when the two got together to repair a line of fence that ran between their ranches.

Gannon chuckled and shoved a post-digger into the ground. “The question is, what is it to you?”

Clint shrugged, trying not to think about the fact that Rose had been avoiding him like the plague, not coming out to his ranch once since he’d kissed her. Nor had she been the one driving the refrigerated truck back and forth from Rose Hill Farm. She had Swifty doing that for her. And for reasons he couldn’t quite fathom, her absence really irked him, knowing he was on her Out List. Just for making his intention of pursuing her clear.

He set a new wooden post into the foot-deep hole, packed it tight with the displaced dirt, then turned to his happily married friend. “Let’s just say I don’t want to unwittingly repeat some other dude’s mistakes.”

“I wouldn’t, either, if I were you.” Gannon moved on down the line to the next post in need of replacement. Using a crowbar and shovel, he worked it out of the dirt. “Although I don’t know what precisely those missteps were.”

The way cleared, Clint used both hands to center a new wooden post squarely in the hole.

“Just that she dumped him?” Clint asked.

“Them,” Gannon corrected.

“There’s been more than one?” Clint blinked in surprise.

Gannon paused to wipe the sweat from his brow with one gloved hand. “Three or four, at least. But she dumped every one of them after one date.”

Not much of a chance to succeed or impress.

“Any idea why?”

Gannon cut a strip of barbed wire from another weak post. “That you would have to ask her. Maybe the next time you’re putting the moves on her, you could bring it up.” He dropped the wire into the bed of the pickup truck with the rest of the metal, then added with a smirk, “I heard about the condiments on the shirts. Smooth.”

Clint winced. Were he and Rose ever going to live that down? It seemed the twins had mentioned that incident to everyone in their preschool, who in turn had gone home and told their parents. Hence, a lot of the co-op moms had joked about it when they’d come out to work on the Double Creek blackberry patch harvest.

Muttering under his breath, Clint took a turn with the digger. “You think Rose is mad at me about that?”

“Only one way to find out,” Gannon drawled.

Clint nodded his understanding. “I’m going to have to ask her.”

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