“I think you just like looking at me.”

The humour left Rebecca’s eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

If Trevor hadn’t struck a nerve, she wouldn’t be half this upset. “Someone’s got to.”

She tossed her head. “You can leave anytime now.”

“Not,” Trevor continued, answering the challenge in her golden-brown eyes, “before I do this.”

She had time to get away. They both knew it. Even as they both realised she didn’t really think he would do it. And it was the dare that had him stepping forwards and wrapping an arm around her waist. He heard her soft gasp of surprise – and delight? – as he cupped his other hand beneath her chin and tipped her lips up to his.

The first contact was brief, like the flash of a sparkler.

“What was that for?” Rebecca asked, dazed.

“Blowed if I know,” he murmured, bending his head once again.

This book is dedicated to

Lukas Frederick Gerhardt, the “Third Musketeer,”

and the proof that wishes do come true.

Welcome to the family, little guy.

The joy you’ve brought us is indescribable.

And one more thing: if your two older brothers try to

give you the business…you give it right back…

CATHY GILLEN THACKER

married her school sweetheart and hasn’t had a dull moment since. Why? you ask. Well, there were three kids, various pets, any number of cars, several moves across the country, his and her careers and sundry other experiences (some of which were exciting and some of which weren’t). But mostly there was love and friendship and laughter, and lots of experiences she wouldn’t trade for the world.

Dear Reader,

All parents want their children to be happy and have a good life. For Texans Luke and Meg Carrigan, this means marriage and a family. They didn’t plan to become involved in their offspring’s romantic lives, but, after years of watching their three daughters and one son lose in love, Luke has decided to become more proactive, and Meg is reluctantly putting in her contribution, as well.

Rebecca Carrigan, arguably the most headstrong and independent of the lot, is the fi rst to get the full attention of her parents when she comes back to Laramie to start her own alpaca ranch.

Rebecca tells Trevor McCabe there is no way she is going to date him, no matter what her matchmaking parents have – or have not – arranged. That’s fine with Trevor – there is no way he is going to date Rebecca, either!

Unfortunately, life has a way of happening when Rebecca and Trevor are busy making other plans. Before they know it, their lives and fortunes are hopelessly entangled, and their emotions soon follow suit.

I hope you enjoy this book as much as I enjoyed writing it. For information on this and other books, please visit me at www.cathygillenthacker.com.

Best wishes,

Cathy Gillen Thacker

The Rancher Next Door

CATHY GILLEN THACKER

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Chapter One

“I take it you’ve heard the rumors,” Luke Carrigan said as he ushered Trevor McCabe into the study of his Laramie, Texas home.

Who in the county hadn’t?

Tired of his three daughters’ well-known aversion to commitment, Luke Carrigan had vowed to take a hand in introducing them all to “suitable” men, in what Trevor figured was a vain hope they would soon settle down and have families.

What was it about their parents’ generation, Trevor wondered, dropping down into the wing chair Luke indicated, that made them think marriage was essential to a person’s happiness? He was content living the single life, and saw no reason to change his own circumstances.

“Don’t worry, that’s not why you’re here,” Luke continued.

Trevor held back a sigh of relief.

Luke sat down behind his desk. “I did want to talk to you about Rebecca, though.”

Trevor tensed. Luke’s second-to-oldest child had been two years behind him in school. The two of them had nothing in common then—or now. He vaguely recalled Rebecca Carrigan as a rah-rah type who had always been busy organizing something.

“She has a tendency to go off on—well, let’s just call them tangents.”

Trevor didn’t know what Luke was getting at, but he was willing to hear the noted family physician out and settled more comfortably in his seat. “Last I heard Rebecca was in Asia.”

“Actually, she’s been all over the world with the tour company she worked for.”

Trevor shrugged his broad shoulders. “That’s one way to travel the globe.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m very proud of how hard Rebecca has worked since she graduated college. Even more delighted with the staggering amount of money she has saved in the past six years.” Luke paused and looked at Trevor, his eyes full of parental concern. “What worries me is what she plans to do with it.”

Trevor grimaced. “Dr. Carrigan, I really don’t think this is any of my business.”

“You may change your mind when you hear what my second-to-oldest daughter has planned.”

Trevor doubted it. Honorable men did not step in the middle of other families’ contretemps.

“You know that small ranch you’ve had your eye on?”

Trevor tensed at the mention of his neighbor to the west. The fifty-acre tract was definitely in his sights, along with the much larger property on the other side of it, The Circle Y. “I gather you’re talking about The Primrose?”

Luke dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Miss Mim is planning to sell it to Rebecca.”

Trevor swallowed a curse. His jaw set. “That can’t be right.” He and Miss Mim had an understanding.

“I’m afraid it is,” Luke replied. He didn’t sound happy.

Trevor forced himself to put emotion aside and think about this rationally. “Your daughter doesn’t have a background in ranching,” he pointed out. Growing up, she’d never been a member of any of the agricultural groups such as 4-H. She’d selected SMU instead of Texas A&M, where all the agricultural students went, for college.

Luke shrugged. “That won’t stop Rebecca. She wants The Primrose. She’s leveraging everything to get it. And that’s what has me so worried, the lengths to which she’s willing to go.” Luke paused before continuing. “I need someone who’s been there to talk some sense into her, make her realize that buying and starting up a ranching operation is no game. It’s grueling, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, work.”

And probably harder than anything she had ever done before, Trevor thought. He wondered how long it would take her to give up and sell out, like every other dilettante who had a romantic instead of practical view of the ranching life. Hell’s afire.

Trevor exhaled in slow deliberation. “What makes you think she would listen to me?”

“Nothing, except you’re her age and well respected in the ranching community.”

“Are you sure your daughter is planning to work the property? Or just reap the financial rewards? After all, Miss Mim has never actually managed it. She’s leased it out to me, and other ranchers who needed extra land to run their herd.” Trevor wouldn’t have a problem with Rebecca living “next door” if she continued the lease.

Luke tapped his fingers on his desk. “If the risky financial dealings she’s concocted with that San Angelo bank go through—and I have to tell you, right now it looks as if they will—Rebecca plans to breed alpacas.”

“Alpacas!” Trevor echoed, gripping the arms of the chair. “She plans to raise alpacas in the middle of cattle country?”

“That’s what she says unless someone can convince her otherwise. Which is why—” Luke leaned across his desk and looked Trevor straight in the eye “—since you’re going to be living right next door to her, I’ve summoned you.”

REBECCA CARRIGAN was just turning the corner onto the street where her parents lived when she saw Trevor McCabe driving away.

“I don’t believe it,” she muttered to herself as she squinted against the brilliant April sun. She had warned her father not to try and run her social life—or lack thereof— the previous evening, or interfere in her new career. Obviously, he hadn’t listened.

Which left her two choices. Ignore what she had just witnessed, wait patiently for Trevor McCabe to make his move and then shut him down.

Or give chase and set him straight.

Always one to take charge when opportunity presented itself, she drove past the big turn-of-the-century Cape Cod she, her two sisters and brother had grown up in, and followed the dark green, extended cab pickup truck through the center of town to the feed store.

Trevor McCabe parked his vehicle in front of the store, and before she could do the same, disappeared inside.

No matter, Rebecca decided, sliding her small yellow pickup truck into the last slot. She’d just follow him in and ask him to step out.

Keys in hand, leather carryall slung over her shoulder, she marched through the doors of the cavernous warehouse.

It was as busy as usual. Stacked sacks of feed took up the majority of space. The rest was occupied by shelves containing various home-veterinary supplies.

Half a dozen ranchers and hired hands stood at the cash register. Another five or six strolled the aisles, mulling over choices. In the middle of the action stood Trevor McCabe.

As always, Rebecca found the sight of the thirty-year-old rancher a little intimidating. It wasn’t just that he was tall—he had to be six foot four—and buff in the way that men were who made their living through physical endeavor. It was the tough-but-smart aura he exuded, the cynical I-dare-you-to-try-and-put-something-over-on-me gleam in his hazel eyes. He’d had the same confidence back in high school, and it had only grown more daunting since. Not that she was going to let that stop her. Rebecca stepped right in front of him and tapped the toe of her boot on the cement floor. “Could I have a word with you?”

Trevor tipped the brim of his stone-colored hat away from his forehead and looked her up and down.

“Sure.” He started to take her elbow.

Rebecca backed away. Suddenly, the thought of having a private conversation with this very grown-up version of Trevor McCabe seemed risky as all get out.

“Actually, I’d rather talk here,” Rebecca said.

Trevor’s lips compressed. “I don’t discuss my private business in public.”

No surprise there, given the fact that he probably didn’t want everyone in town to know her father had just tried to convince him to make a play for her.

“Well, that’s too bad because here and now is the only way we’re ever going to converse.” All Rebecca wanted to do was set the record straight. Let him know she was definitely not interested in him—romantically or any other way, no matter how ruggedly appealing he had grown up to be.

Their eyes met and held. Electricity sparked between them with all the unpredictability and danger of a downed power line. Rebecca caught her breath, deliberately held it. And prayed and hoped she would get what she wanted from him—a promise he would never meddle in her life, at her father’s behest, or for any other reason. Independence mattered to Rebecca. She wanted Trevor—as well as everyone else in town—to respect and believe in her the way her family never had.

For a second, Trevor seemed tempted to hear her out but something—maybe it was the eyes of all the men in the feed store—had him doing otherwise.

“I don’t think so.” Trevor turned away.

Gosh darn it. What had her father said to him?

Unwilling to give up on this quest, Rebecca stepped closer. When he refused to acknowledge her, she tapped his arm. “I mean it, Trevor McCabe. You and I really need to talk.”

His bicep flexing enough to get her to immediately drop her hand, he swung toward her once again. He spoke, carefully enunciating each and every word. “As I said, I don’t think here and now is a good idea. I’d be glad to meet you later, however.”

Rebecca just bet he would.

The sexual heat in his eyes said he wouldn’t waste any time putting the moves on her.

She curled her fingers into a fist, to stop their tingling.

Noting he wasn’t going to budge on this, and that everyone in the building was definitely staring at the two of them, she felt her temper getting the better of her, and snapped, “Fine, have it your way. I’ll do all the talking.” Rebecca pointed a trigger finger at the center of his chest. “And you, cowboy, can listen.”

His brow arched. All conversation in the feed store had died.

Trevor had just dared her to go on.

Feeling the temperature between them rise, Rebecca propped both her hands on her hips. Perspiration gathered at her temples, on the back of her neck, in the hollow between her breasts. “I don’t care what my father said to you.” She paused to let the emphatic words hang in the air. “I am not—I repeat not—going to date you.”

He stepped in closer. Amusement glimmered in his eyes. “Is that so?”

Feeling as if she had picked the wrong man to humiliate, even if it had been by his choice, not hers, Rebecca angled her chin higher. “You can bet your cattle ranch, it is.”

Trevor rocked back on his heels, ran the flat of his palm beneath his jaw. “Well, that’s interesting.”

His rumbling drawl sent shivers over her skin. “Why?”

“Because I hadn’t planned to ask.”

Deep male chuckles surrounded them.

To her dismay, Rebecca felt her cheeks turn a self-conscious pink. “Then why did you even go and see my dad,” she asked, “if you weren’t willing to be part of his plan to get all of his daughters married off?”

A plan that Luke had told her started with her, since she was the daughter currently in so much “trouble.” Why did her father have a problem with her running a ranch anyway?

“If you want to know why I was talking to your dad this morning, ask him,” Trevor said.

“I’m asking you!”

Resentment sparked in Trevor’s eyes. He hooked his thumbs through his belt loops and rocked forward on his toes. “Well that’s too bad,” he said, lowering his handsome face to hers, until they were nose to nose, “because what was said was strictly between me and your father.”

Rebecca rocked forward on her toes, too. “But it was about me. Wasn’t it?”

To her mounting aggravation, Trevor said nothing.

A discreet cough made them both turn their heads.

Rebecca caught sight of a well-dressed thirty-something cowboy she didn’t recognize, lingering in the doorway of the warehouse, listening and watching all that was going on. Everyone else was looking at him, too, in the same way, which meant he was not known to people in these parts. The handsome blond-haired hunk lifted a hand in greeting to one and all and headed in their direction.

The stranger smiled pleasantly. “If it were me, I’d tell you everything you needed and wanted to know, and then some.” He swept off his hat and waved it at the crowd. “Vince Owen,” he introduced himself to one and all. “Trevor and I went to college together.” Vince clapped a hand on Trevor’s shoulder, grabbed his hand and shook it heartily. “Good to see you, buddy.”

Trevor nodded, the expression in his eyes unreadable. “Vince.”

Vince Owen turned to Rebecca. Charm radiated from him like light from the sun, as his gaze fastened on her face. “And you’re…?”

Rebecca smiled, switched her keys to her left hand, and stuck out her right palm. “Rebecca Carrigan.”

Vince clasped it warmly. “Good to meet you, darlin’. If you need anything, I’m at your service. I just closed on a ranch in the area—The Circle Y. You heard of it?”

Aware that Trevor had gone stone-still with something akin to shock, Rebecca paused. Ignoring the man who had given her so much grief in so little time—what did she care what Trevor McCabe’s reaction to the news was anyway— she asked Vince, “It’s right next to The Primrose, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “And one ranch away from Trevor’s Wind Creek Ranch, although I could be his next-door neighbor if I can snap up The Primrose, too.”

“I doubt that will happen,” Rebecca said politely, not sure she should say more until the papers were actually signed by her and Miss Mim.

“I agree with Rebecca.” Trevor gave Vince Owen a long, steady look. “Last I heard, The Primrose wasn’t for sale.”

Which showed just how much Trevor knew, Rebecca thought, a tad guiltily. Miss Mim had told her Trevor’d had his eyes on her place, too, for quite some time now. But that was neither here nor there.

Deciding she had wasted enough time, she tightened her hand on the thick strap of her shoulder bag and took one last look at Trevor. “I meant what I said. I don’t care what bill of goods my father tried to sell you about me needing a man in my life, Trevor McCabe.” She ignored the chuckles of all the men gathered around them. “I’m fine as is,” she continued stubbornly, holding Trevor’s testy gaze with effort. “There won’t be any connection—any private talks—between the two of us. And I’m sorry if my father misled you otherwise.”

Trevor flashed her a grin that was more of a come-on than an expression of mirth.

“You don’t look sorry,” he remarked.

Knowing this wasn’t a conversation that she would ever have the last word in, Rebecca merely rolled her eyes, turned and walked away.

AS TREVOR EXPECTED, Rebecca Carrigan had only to leave the warehouse before Vince Owen whistled. “That is one gal who needs a man to tame her.”

Trevor had an idea what that would entail in Vince’s opinion. Seething, he swung around on the man who had dogged his every step since the first day they’d met on the Texas A&M campus.

Trevor had vowed never to get tangled up in any of Vince Owen’s cutthroat antics, no matter how much or how often he was baited. It had been a promise that had been easy to keep—until now. “Don’t talk about her that way.”

Vince offered the perverse smile Trevor had come to loathe. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were sweet on her.” Vince unclipped his BlackBerry from his belt and checked the screen, before hooking it back on his waist. “Not that it matters.” Vince regarded Trevor steadily, his sick need to compete with Trevor as obvious and as powerful as ever. “Rebecca Carrigan is going to be mine before the month is out.”

Trevor doubted Rebecca would fall for Vince’s practiced lines, no matter how avidly Vince courted her. Although Vince would never show the sleazy side of himself to Rebecca. To Rebecca, Vince would be all Texas charm and helpfulness. Like a chameleon, Vince had a talent for blending in—when he wanted to be inconspicuous. Right now, however, Vince’s compulsive competitiveness had exposed his arrogance. Instead of making the friends he ought to be, Vince was making a statement about his own superiority to all the other ranchers in the feed store. A mistake in a place like Laramie, where folks didn’t let anyone’s head get too big for his or her hat.

“I think Rebecca just might have something to say about that,” Trevor said casually, walking over to sign for the special bags of organically grown grain he had ordered for his calves.

Vince followed. He leaned against the sales counter. “Oh, I’ll make her happy,” Vince stated, loud enough for everyone to hear. He paused to let his words sink in. “And before I’m done, I’ll bet you I get a ring on her finger, too.” Vince turned to the other ranchers gathered around. He removed his wallet from his back pocket, withdrew two crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. “Any takers?”

It was all Trevor could do to hang on to his temper. “We don’t make bets on the women around here,” Trevor said.

Vince looked around, obviously disappointed no one else was reaching for their money.

With a slimy smile, Vince slid his wallet back in his pocket. “That’s too bad for me—although it’s probably smart on you all’s part, because I’m going to win this wager.” Vince tipped his hat, looked every man there in the eye and sauntered out.

“We don’t need that element around here,” Nevada Fontaine, the feed store owner, grumbled in Vince’s wake.

No kidding, Trevor thought.

“How’d you get to be associated with him anyway?” The farm equipment salesman, Parker Arnett, asked.

“We were both in the Aggie cattle management program at the same time.” As much as Trevor had tried, there had been no avoiding Vince Owen.

Vince had set his sights on Trevor early on, and competed viciously with him ever since.

“You don’t seem to be friends,” fellow rancher, and esteemed head of the local rancher’s association, Dave Sabado, remarked.

Nor would they ever be, Trevor thought, as everyone looked at him. Trevor knew this was his opportunity to tell everyone the whole sorry story. How ugly things had gotten before he landed the top honors of his program at A&M, how he’d lost the affection and respect of the only woman he had ever been serious about in his life, how he had figured once he graduated he could say good riddance to the fellow-ranching student who had made him a target of the unhealthiest competition Trevor had ever seen, only to find out the hard way that Vince Owen’s obsession with besting Trevor was never going to end.

Unfortunately, that meant he’d be trashing another man’s reputation in public and Trevor made it a policy never to do that. So he figured it best he keep his own considerable resentment to himself. The men here were smart enough not to fall prey to men of Vince Owen’s ilk, anyway. “Vince has a history of buying and selling increasingly bigger ranches. No doubt his purchase of the Circle Y Ranch is just a temporary thing. He’ll make some improvements, stay just long enough to sell it for a profit, and move on.”

“And meantime?” Nevada Fontaine asked, signaling some of his help over to begin loading the feed Trevor had just purchased into his pickup truck.

“I plan to do my best to steer clear of him,” Trevor said, with a shrug.

“What about Rebecca Carrigan?” Nevada asked.

“I’ll keep her away from him,” Trevor said. No way was Vince Owen hurting Rebecca the way he had hurt Jasmine.

“If she hears about the bet Vince Owen just tried to make…” Parker Arnett didn’t need to finish the thought.

“She won’t, as long as none of us tell her about it.” Trevor looked each and every one of the men who had witnessed the attempted wager, in the eye. “Agreed?”

Slowly, the others nodded.

“Good.” Trevor breathed a sigh of relief. “’Cause there’s no use hurting Rebecca’s feelings.” And no use in putting her in the middle of the continuing clash between him and Vince Owen. She’d have enough to deal with when she found out the ranch she wanted to buy was not for sale after all.

Chapter Two

“What do you mean you sold the ranch to Rebecca Carrigan?” Trevor McCabe said, an hour later. He stood in the living room of the Primrose Ranch house, watching Miss Mim pack up the last of her cherished travel guides and books. The community librarian and veteran traveler was like a second mother to all the kids in Laramie, maybe because she’d never married or had children of her own. Trevor had grown up knowing he could confide in her. “You and I had an understanding.”

Miss Mim handed him the dispenser of packing tape. As always, she was dressed in an outrageously colorful outfit that clashed with her flame-red hair. Moving more like a twenty-year-old than the sixty-eight-year-old woman she was, she patted him on the arm, then pointed to the box. “I think the ‘understanding’ was more on your part, dear, than mine.”

Trevor bent to line up the cardboard flaps. The tape made a ripping sound as it left the spool. “What do you mean?” he demanded, pressing the adhesive on the box with the flat of his palm.

Miss Mim unfolded the last cardboard moving carton and turned it over so Trevor could tape up the bottom of the box. She smiled at him fondly as he assisted her. “You have no problem making up your mind. And you always tell people what you want.”

“You just don’t listen,” Rebecca Carrigan said, coming into the room.

Trevor hadn’t known Rebecca was on the premises. It figured she would be. He turned to square off with her for the second time that day, felt his senses kick into hihgh gear. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful. It was the way she moved—with a kind of sexy, inherent grace. The way her lips curled softly and her chin tilted stubbornly. The slender curves hidden beneath the pink cotton shirt and faded jeans—along with her straight and silky honey blond hair, challenging golden brown eyes and delicate features—made it impossible for him to look away. Even though it was abundantly clear she wished he would disappear. “How would you know whether I pay attention or not?” he asked.

Rebecca shrugged in mute superiority and gestured at their surroundings. She took the deed out of her pocket and waved it in front of him like a matador waving a cape in front of a bull. “Case in point, cowboy, since this place is now mine, not yours.”

Trevor felt like pawing the ground. Maybe because he had never been so ticked off, disappointed, and yes—humiliated. Figuring he would deal with Rebecca Carrigan later, he turned back to Miss Mim. “I told you I would buy The Primrose from you, at whatever price you deemed fair.”

Miss Mim straightened and stated patiently, “And I said I would keep that in mind.”

Trevor took over the job of fitting the last of her books into the carton. “And then sold it to Rebecca without giving me a chance to even make a bid?”

Miss Mim stood back, to watch Rebecca load the filled boxes onto a moving dolly. “She needs the land, dear. You already have a ranch.”

Frowning—it went against his grain to let a woman lift things when he was there and could do it for her—Trevor brushed Rebecca aside. “A ranch that you know I would like to expand.”

Miss Mim led the way to the front door and held it while Trevor pushed the dolly through. “Perhaps you can make the same arrangement with her that you’ve had with me, regarding grazing rights.”

Rebecca followed them to Miss Mim’s aging Cadillac. She fit the suitcases into the backseat, while Trevor set the cartons in the already-crammed trunk. Rebecca closed the door. Trevor shut the trunk. The warm April air was scented with primroses and the earthier smells of new grass, sunshine and grazing cattle. Despite this being one of his busiest times of year on the ranch, it was also the most pleasurable. Well, not this year.

Rebecca flashed him another provoking smile.

“Not going to happen, Miss Mim,” Rebecca said with a defiant toss of her head. “In fact,” her eyes claimed and held his, “I need Trevor to move his herd off my land as soon as possible. Hopefully, today.”

Trevor did a double take. He’d expected trouble from Rebecca Carrigan, but not this kind. “You can’t be serious.”

Rebecca’s smile faded. “Oh, but I am.”

Miss Mim chuckled and got her car keys out of her handbag. “You two are going to get along splendidly!”

Like hell they were, Trevor thought.

“HOW SOON CAN I EXPECT you to move your cattle?” Rebecca asked, the moment Miss Mim had driven off.

Trevor turned back to Rebecca, a stunned expression on his face. “Where is she going?”

Trying hard not to think what it was going to be like having this sexy know-it-all for a neighbor, Rebecca replied, “Laramie Gardens Home For Seniors. She’s the new social director.”

“She’s supposed to be retired.”

“Yes, I know.” Rebecca turned her glance to the three pastures located at the rear of the property. The square plots were each ten acres, and surrounded by an aging brown split rail fence. A ten-acre hay field sat behind that. The house, barn and detached garage were situated at the front of the property, on the ten acres nearest the road. The Circle Y and Trevor’s Wind Creek butted up on either side of her. She was now living smack-dab in the middle of two extremely ambitious men, both of whom coincidentally wanted her property for their own. Wasn’t this going to be fun?

“So why is Miss Mim taking another job?”

Rebecca reluctantly directed her attention back to her “visitor.” What was it about the McCabe men that made them think they had to know everything? “Apparently, Miss Mim has done all the traveling she wants now, and sitting around all day isn’t agreeing with her. A lot of her friends already live at the seniors’ home.”

Trevor folded his arms in front of him. He reminded her of a general surveying his troops. “When is she going to move the rest of her stuff?”

“They’ve given her a furnished apartment, as part of the job. So all she’s taking is her clothing and personal affects. The rest she sold to me as part of the deal.”

“I want to buy the ranch from you.”

Rebecca blinked. “What?”

“Add ten percent to whatever you paid her for it, and I’ll pay it to you.”

“Only ten percent?” she mocked. “Vince Owen has already been here and offered an additional fifteen.”

“You’re kidding.”

Rebecca let her too-sweet smile fade. “Do I look like I’m kidding, cowboy?”

The corners of his mouth took on a downward slant. “What did you say?” he demanded.

“The same thing I’m telling you,” Rebecca shot back. “No.”

She wasn’t surprised to see that Trevor looked relieved about that. Which led her to the next item on her agenda. “Back to the cattle. I need you to move ’em as soon as possible. And you’ll need to make sure you clean up after them, or in other words, remove all the dung. I want those pastures clean as can be when I put my alpacas out there.”

“You’re planning to use all three?”

Rebecca nodded. “One for the females, one for the herd- sires and another for the nursing crias and their mothers.”

“How big a herd are you starting with?”

“Ten. But I expect to expand rapidly.” Rebecca gave him a moment to absorb all that. “So, can I expect this will be done today?”

Trevor begrudgingly relented. “I’ll have to get some temporary help. I don’t employ anyone else on a regular basis.” He paused. “That may take a few days to arrange.”

She glanced out at the far pasture, where he had some thirty steers grazing. “Or you could start right now,” she suggested with a discreet lift of her brow, “doing it yourself.” Seriously, how long could it take?

His hazel eyes darkened. “I can see living next door to you is going to be a challenge.”

She slapped him on the back, rancher-style. Strode off, calling over her shoulder, “Cowboy, you don’t know the half of it.”

AN HOUR AND TWO PHONE CALLS later, Trevor met up with Tyler and Teddy at his horse barn. He’d known he could count on his triplet brothers to drop everything and help him out of this predicament, just as he had assisted them on numerous occasions, emergency and otherwise. The three of them were more than brothers and confidants; they were best friends. Their two much younger brothers, Kurt and Kyle, were growing up the same way.

“That totally sucks,” Teddy said, after Trevor had finished filling them in on everything that happened that day.

The ever-practical Tyler shrugged. “Should have had a contract with Miss Mim.”

Trevor brought out the lassos and handed one to each brother. “We’ve never had a contract on any of our arrangements. I just told Miss Mim what I wanted to do. She always said okay. When she needed something, she let me know, and I took care of it for her. I knew she’d want to sell the land eventually—she’d been thinking about moving into town for some time. I just figured when the time came she’d sell it to me.”

Tyler carefully cinched his saddle. “When it comes to women, I’ve learned the hard way, never assume anything,”

Trevor squinted, grinned. “You talking about women in general or Susan Carrigan in particular?”

Teddy swung himself up into the saddle. “You ought to just go ahead and admit it, Ty. There’s never going to be another woman for you but Susan.”

Tyler guided his horse between Trevor’s and Teddy’s. “Susan and I don’t get along.”

“Sometimes you do.” Trevor winked, thinking how smugly content his veterinarian-brother could be when his relationship with Rebecca’s older sister, Susan happened to be humming along. And how miserable Ty was at times—like now—when it was “off.”

“The two of you should just quit all the drama and get hitched,” Teddy agreed, as they rode toward the pasture.

“You should talk,” Tyler grumbled, with a sharp look at Teddy. “Since you’ve never had eyes for anyone but Amy Carrigan.”

“Amy’s my friend,” Teddy muttered.

Trevor stopped at the pasture gate and dismounted to open it. “I don’t see you dating anyone else—at least not for long.”

Teddy turned his glance toward the cattle they were going to have to move. “That’s because I’ve been busy getting my horse-breeding operation up and running.”

Trevor knew how hard he’d worked. The Silverado was fast becoming known in Texas as the place to get quality, affordable quarter horses. “Now if you could only train a woman as well as you school a horse,” Tyler teased Teddy.

Trevor frowned, his thoughts jumping back to the problem that had brought them all together on such short notice. “I could sure use a few tips on how to handle Rebecca Carrigan,” he said, closing the pasture gate, before taking the reins once again.

“Burr under your saddle, huh?” Teddy replied.

Worse, Trevor felt responsible for protecting her, since it had been Trevor’s lively public exchange with Rebecca at the feed store that had brought her feisty presence to Vince Owen’s attention.

Rebecca didn’t know about the bet the conniving jerk had tried—and failed—to make about her that morning. If Trevor had his way, she never would. What worried him was the thought that Vince was going to be living—at least part of the time—on The Circle Y Ranch, on the other side of Rebecca. If Vince were true to form, he’d soon be using his proximity to Rebecca every which way but Sunday in order to get to Trevor.

Vince’s efforts to annoy, distract and otherwise make miserable were already working. Trevor’s mind was on anything but the business he was supposed to be running on the Wind Creek cattle ranch.

Instead, he kept waiting for Vince to start up the ugly cutthroat competition again, via Rebecca, as a way of punishing Trevor for succeeding academically, professionally, romantically, where Vince had not. Knowing Vince, he’d probably go after the financial success of The Primrose Ranch and the Wind Creek cattle ranch before he was finished, too.

Unfortunately, the only way Trevor would be able to protect Rebecca and her newly acquired property was by befriending her first, a task not made easy by the fact that she thought, erroneously—her parents actually wanted the two of them to start dating. And was, of course, absolutely opposed to having anything at all to do with him. Now or in the future….

Aware his brothers were waiting on Trevor’s response to his pretty new neighbor, he frowned and said, “You’re right about that much. Ms. Rebecca Carrigan is going to be one royal pain.”

As a kid she’d had a reputation for never listening to anyone in a position of authority. From what he could tell so far, that had not changed.

Tyler slowed his mount’s pace as they reached the opposite side of the Wind Creek pasture and the gate that separated it from the Primrose Ranch pasture, where alpacas would soon be grazing. “Not to worry about it, bro.”

Teddy winked and continued the ribbing, “If any man can handle her—”

And that was a mighty big if, Trevor thought grimly.

“—you can,” Tyler said.

“REBECCA, DEAR, I’ve already thought of at least half-a-dozen things I forgot to get from the house,” Miss Mim said.

“No problem, Miss Mim. I’ll get them for you.” Rebecca picked up the chalk from the tray on the message board in the kitchen. “Just tell me what they are and I’ll make a list.”

“My favorite vase, on the dining room table.”

“Check.”

Miss Mim rambled off four more items while Rebecca wrote. “And I was going to ask you for my binoculars on the hook by the back door, but I’ve changed my mind. I thought you might want to use those to keep an eye on your new neighbors.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes, even as she took the binoculars and looped them around her neck. “Very funny, Miss Mim.”

“I’m serious, Rebecca. Those two men are going to be vying for your hand in marriage in no time. Just don’t make my mistake and say no to romance, like I did. When you get to be my age, you’ll find you regret it.”

Rebecca knew that was true.

Although Miss Mim had been “family” to every parent and child who’d come through the Laramie Public Library, lately she’d been regretting the road not taken. Fortunately, Rebecca was saved having to respond by muffled voices on the other end of the connection.

“Dear?” Miss Mim was back. “The canasta game is about to start. I’ll phone you later.”

“When would you like me to bring the items by?”

“Two days from now—say around seven in the evening? I’m going to be busy prior to that.”

“No problem.”

Rebecca hung up the phone.

She walked around the house, gathering the requested items and slipping them into a cardboard box, all the while admiring her new home. It was hard to believe fifty acres of prime Texas acreage, never mind the pretty white stone ranch house with the rose-colored shutters and dark gray roof, was all hers now.

Miss Mim had inherited the seventy-five-year-old homestead from her parents and had taken loving care of it during the forty-two years she had resided there. Handsome dark pine floors shone beneath the delicate antique furniture. Upstairs, there were three bedrooms and a large old-fashioned bath with a claw-foot tub and pedestal sink. In the master bedroom there was an old-fashioned four-poster, matching wardrobe, chest of drawers and vanity. The second bedroom was a sewing room and the third, a study.

Downstairs, a formal parlor and dining room, suitable for entertaining, encompassed the front of the house. In the rear was a big kitchen, complete with trestle table and six Windsor chairs, fireplace and white stone hearth. Black marble countertops gleamed next to state-of-the-art stainless steel appliances and antique white cabinets. The combination laundry room and spacious food pantry were tucked behind panel doors.

Across the front of the house was a wide front porch. Instead of a patio or deck out back, there were steps down to the grass, and a flagstone path that led to a white stone gazebo, surrounded by primroses.

Beyond that was a big red barn and a good distance away from that, a white stone detached garage. Rebecca intended to park in the lane in front of the house and convert the garage into the official farm office, where ranch business would be done.

Figuring she should go down and take another look at the interior of the barn to see what if anything needed to be done before she brought animals onto the ranch, Rebecca headed out the back door.

She had just passed the gazebo when she saw three men on horseback cantering across Trevor McCabe’s land, and onto hers.

Wondering whom he’d gotten to help him move cattle on such short notice, Rebecca picked up the binoculars from around her neck and stepped back into the gazebo.

It took a little focusing—and a minute for her to get a vantage point that avoided the stands of cedar and live oak trees between her and them—to get a good view of what was going on out on her land.

Rebecca smiled, identifying Trevor and his two oldest brothers.

When Trevor, Tyler and Teddy were younger, everyone had trouble telling the McCabe triplets apart. These days, it was no problem, despite the fact they all dressed in typical cowboy garb of hat, jeans, boots and cotton shirts. Although they all had broad shoulders, slim hips and fit, muscular physiques, their appearances differed. Trevor’s thick reddish-brown hair was clipped so short it was barely visible beneath the brim of his hat. Tyler’s hair was on the long side and brushed his collar. Teddy’s hair was midway between the two and tended to kink up on the ends. Their differing personalities set them apart, as well. Trevor had a commanding air about him Rebecca found hard to ignore. Tyler was more aloof and had a gentle, assessing manner. Teddy exuded friendliness and a willingness to go the extra mile to help out a friend.

Hearing the phone ring, Rebecca went back inside. It turned out there was a problem with one of her alpacas. But at least she knew where help could be found. Assuming, of course, Rebecca thought as she picked up the binoculars and headed back to the gazebo, that Trevor and his two brothers hadn’t left yet.

To Rebecca’s relief she could easily make out Tyler and Teddy on horseback, moving the herd. Trevor McCabe, however, was nowhere in sight. Unless, Rebecca thought, getting down on one knee, he and his horse had disappeared behind that distant grove of trees….

Frustrated because she still couldn’t locate Trevor, Rebecca adjusted the lens to the highest magnification.

A chuckle to her immediate right had her turning swiftly in alarm. Binoculars still resting on the bridge of her nose, she found herself close up and personal to a denim-clad zipper. Rebecca gasped and dropped the lens.

Smug amusement in his eyes, Trevor McCabe sauntered forward. “Find anything you like?” he drawled.

“YOU HAD NO RIGHT to sneak up on me that way!” Rebecca scrambled to her feet, glad the two of them weren’t as close as her initial view had seemed to indicate.

Trevor tipped the brim of his hat back. “Isn’t that a little like the Peeping Tom calling the spy nosy?”

She told herself it was the heat of the spring day making her sweat. “I am not a Peeping Tom!”

“Well, you’re not a spy, either.” He abruptly changed from flirting cowboy to more sober rancher. “Which leads us to the question of why you’re using binoculars on me and my brothers.”

Rebecca ignored the heat of awareness rising up between them and forced herself to return his level gaze. “I need to talk to you about borrowing your livestock trailer tomorrow morning. I just got a call from the breeder. I have to pick up one of my alpacas tomorrow morning.”

He lifted a brow. “Just one?”

“Blue Mist is pregnant. The vet in San Angelo doesn’t want her traveling past tomorrow. He thinks moving her too close to her due date could jeopardize the cria—the baby.”

“Why not pick up the rest of the herd while you’re there, then?”

Rebecca inhaled the scent of man and sun and horse. “I’m not ready for them yet. But I can go ahead and pick up Blue Mist.”

“Sure you want to do that?” he asked. “Alpacas are pack animals.”

Now he was sounding just like the saleswoman she had just gotten off the phone with. Fortunately, Rebecca knew a hard sell when she heard one.

“That can wait until early next week.” Rebecca knew she would have her hands full just managing one alpaca on her own. That went double for a pregnant alpaca. Besides, she wanted to make sure Blue Mist was completely comfortable and settled in before she brought in the other nine animals she’d bought. And then there was the matter of the balance due when she took possession of the animals. The temporary operating loan she had negotiated for start-up of the ranch was barely adequate. And she’d used most of her own savings on the down payment and mortgage fees for the ranch. She still had her credit card, but she didn’t want to max out on that unless she absolutely had to. The remaining balance was her only safety net. And she still had so much to do before the Open House in less than two weeks.

“So can I borrow your livestock trailer?” Rebecca continued.

Trevor frowned. “I’d have to charge you for it.”

Despite her tricky finances, Rebecca wouldn’t have it any other way, since she absolutely did not want to be beholden to him. “I’d expect to pay a reasonable rent,” she said hoping it wouldn’t be too much.

“My price is one home-cooked meal.”

Rebecca had been prepared to dicker over dollars. She opened her eyes wide, sure she couldn’t possibly have heard right. “What?”

Trevor lifted his hands. “That’s the arrangement I had with Miss Mim. Whenever I did a favor for her, helped her prune trees, or clean the shutters or whatever, she repaid me with a home-cooked meal and that is what I want from you, too.”

Rebecca bit her lip as she tried to figure a clever way out of this that would not shut down all the help she was bound to need from him—in the short haul anyway. “Miss Mim is a fabulous cook.” So was she. Trevor McCabe did not need to know that, however, lest he make a regular practice of demanding her culinary skills. She’d much rather exchange money or any other less personal commodity— like mucking out the pasture—with him.

“How well I know that,” Trevor recollected. He ran the flat of his palm across his jaw. “That’s what made working for her such a treat.”

Rebecca could see he’d made up his mind about what he wanted from her. “I would prefer to pay cash.”

“I don’t take money from women. Or in other words—” he paused long enough to give his words an aggravating connotation “—my favors are not for sale.”

Refusing to let him ruffle her, Rebecca tilted her head to one side. “And mine are?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. He leaned toward her and whispered conspiratorially, “Are they?”

Rebecca bit down on an oath. “Stop trying to get under my skin.”

“Why,” he countered, “when it’s so much fun?”

For the second time in ten minutes, Rebecca found herself fighting a self-conscious blush. “Is there anything else you’d be willing to barter?” she asked.

He took a moment to consider.

Sexual chemistry arced between them, hotter than ever.

She held up her hand in halting fashion. “Never mind.” Pulse racing, she shook her head in silent regret, mumbling just beneath her breath, “Forget I asked that.” She forced herself to meet and hold his decidedly mischievous gaze. “When do you want to get your dinner?” she asked.

Her irritated tone brought a provoking smile to his lips. “You make it sound like I’d be picking up a meal through a drive-through window.”

“Pretty close, although to be generous, I will be delivering it to you.” That way she could do at least that much of it on her terms.

He stepped closer, purposefully invading her space. “I don’t think you get what I’m saying to you. When I say I want a home-cooked meal from you in return for borrowing my trailer, I’m talking about the two of us getting to know each other and sitting down to break bread together.”

Just why he was suddenly so determined they be chums, she didn’t know. But she didn’t trust his newfound interest in her any more than she trusted whatever it was he had secretly been discussing with her father this morning.

Taking her time, she cocked her head and played with the ends of the braid falling over her shoulder.

Channeling Scarlett O’Hara—or maybe it was Calamity Jane—she batted her eyelashes at him coquettishly, asked sweetly, “I can’t just put the food on the table and run?”

He stood, legs braced apart, muscular arms folded in front of him. “You only wish I were that easy to deal with.”

No kidding.

He looked her up and down with lazy male confidence. “If you want my help, you have to sit down with me and regale me with your charming company every bit as graciously as Miss Mim always did. And in turn—” his gaze slid past the delicate hollow of her throat, past her lips, to her eyes “—I’ll regale you with mine.”

“Geez.” Rebecca made a great show of blowing out an exasperated breath. “You drive a hard bargain.”

He inclined his head in arrogant agreement. “Always.”

It was time to get back to business. “I’ll need the trailer at seven tomorrow morning,” she said.

Trevor tipped the brim of his hat at her. “I’ll be here, ready to go.”

“I didn’t mean you had to come with me!”

“That’s the only way you can have use of the livestock hauler since I’m the only one insured to use it.” Again, he appeared about as flexible as a thousand pound steer.

She took a deep steadying breath, tore her eyes from the masculine contours of his chest. “It’s going to take half a day or more to do all the business with the breeder, talk to their vet, load up Blue Mist and get back here.”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Then you better fortify me tonight with your culinary skills.”

Once again, Rebecca found herself stunned by Trevor McCabe’s temerity. “You expect dinner here tonight?” She’d been hoping to put it off at least a couple of days.

He declared victory with a sexy wink. “We’ll just call it payment in advance.”

Chapter Three

“Mom and Dad wanted to be here, too, but they both have to work evening hours at the hospital,” Amy Carrigan told Rebecca an hour later.

Her three siblings had stopped in to congratulate her. They’d also brought housewarming gifts. Sunscreen and lip balm from Susie, who worked outdoors as a landscape architect and garden center owner and knew the importance of protecting skin. An indoor herb garden from Amy, who owned her own ranch and plant-growing business. And a deluxe first aid box from Jeremy, a family physician at Laramie Community Hospital.

“They said they’d be by later in the week,” Jeremy continued.

“Right,” Rebecca said.

Susie understood the hurt Rebecca felt—maybe because she had encountered resistance, too, when she had decided to eschew lucrative job offers and go into business for herself, right out of college. She and Amy had both been remarkably successful eventually, but there was no denying their first few years out of the gate had been so lean financially that their parents had worried constantly. Susie had taken the brunt of it, since she had been the first to take the leap.

“Just give them time. They’ll come around, once they see you making a go of it,” Susie encouraged, for once being more supportive than overly protective.

“And that Open House you’re planning in two weeks to get your business off the ground will help,” Amy added.

Rebecca hoped that was the case. Now that she was actually residing at the ranch, for all of…six hours…she was beginning to feel slightly overwhelmed by everything that had to be done, despite the steps Miss Mim had taken to make the transition easier for her by leaving the pantry, fridge and freezer stocked with fresh food and homemade entrees.

Lucky for her, Miss Mim had loved to cook for others.

“Just be glad you’re not in my position,” Jeremy lamented, “since everyone at Laramie Community Hospital still thinks of me as Luke and Meg’s kid.”

It had to be hard, Rebecca figured, taking a position at the same hospital where their physician father was Chief of Family Medicine and their mother an RN who supervised the entire nursing staff.

“You want to trade positions with me?” Rebecca teased. She stood on tiptoe to retrieve a glass casserole dish, then set it on the counter. “I’ll be glad to let you cook dinner for Trevor McCabe.”

“I still don’t get why you agreed to that,” Amy said.

“Yeah. Why didn’t you just tell him to go jump in Lake Laramie?” Susie sipped the iced tea Rebecca had poured for everyone.

Rebecca shrugged and opened a foil-wrapped single serving packet marked Tex-Mex Chicken Casserole. She dumped the rock-hard concoction into the dish. “I have to borrow a livestock hauler from somebody. He has one that isn’t being used tomorrow. He lives right next door to me. He had no problem being neighborly.”

Jeremy watched as Rebecca unwrapped another packet. “Maybe I should try his approach. It’s certainly a novel way to get a date.”

Rebecca regarded her siblings, her brows arched. “This isn’t a date.”

“Then what is it?” Susie persisted.

Rebecca popped the casserole into the microwave and punched Defrost. “It’s an opportunity for me to start setting some boundaries with that handsome cowboy.”

Amy tilted her head. “Interesting way to refer to your neighbor to the north.”

“Come on,” Rebecca huffed. “You all know what I mean.”

“The question is, do you?” Jeremy asked.

Rebecca studied the dish in the microwave. “Trevor needs to understand I am no Miss Mim.”

Her only brother chuckled. “I think he’s got that part down already, giving how fast he’s moving in on you.”

The microwave dinged. Rebecca grabbed a pot holder and removed the dish. “For the last time, Jeremy, Trevor McCabe is not staking out any kind of claim on me tonight.”

“If you say so.” Jeremy looked over her shoulder. “And if I were you, I’d use about four of those if you don’t want Trevor McCabe to leave hungry. Those are lady-sized portions.” Jeremy patted his stomach. “I figure I could put away at least three of them, so he probably could, too.”

“Good point.” Rebecca went back to the freezer and emerged with two more single-serve packets. “I wouldn’t want him to leave hungry.”

Susie studied her, ready to jump in, if necessary, and save Rebecca from herself. “That gleam in your eye means trouble,” Susie said.

“Does it?” Rebecca asked innocently, wondering when Susie would finally realize that Rebecca could survive just fine without any sisterly—or parental—help?

Ever the peacemaker, Amy said kindly, “You could always ask us to stay for dinner, too.”

Rebecca slid the extra portions on a plate, put them into the microwave and pushed Defrost once again. “If I did that,” Rebecca replied, peeved Amy was now starting to meddle a bit, too, “Trevor McCabe would think I was hiding behind you.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Susie demanded.

Rebecca reached for the herb garden and broke off sprigs of mint, cilantro, oregano, basil, rosemary, parsley and thyme. She got out a cutting board and began dicing up everything but the cilantro. “I am not afraid to spend time alone with him.”

Amy frowned. “You realize you just mixed all those herbs together.”

“Indeed, I do.” Rebecca took the plate out of the oven, added the contents to the casserole dish, then picked up her spoon, and prepared to get to work. “And soon Trevor McCabe will, too.”

THE GUILT STARTED as soon Rebecca opened the door. She hadn’t bothered to do more than wash her face and brush her teeth to get ready for her company. Her hair remained in the two loose braids she’d put it in that morning. She was still dressed in a T-shirt, jeans and boots.

Trevor had obviously showered before driving over. He was wearing a clean pair of jeans, a freshly ironed white Western shirt and dress boots. He smelled of soap and cologne. His reddish-brown hair was still damp, parted neatly on one side.

To make her feel even worse, he hadn’t shown up empty-handed. He had a large wicker gift basket jammed with all manner of sauces and condiments, all bearing his mother’s company’s name—Annie’s Homemade—and a plate of homemade ranger cookies.

Behind her, a less-than-appetizing smell filled the air. Rebecca tried not to think how the doctored casserole was going to taste.

To his credit, and her increased annoyance, he didn’t react in the slightest to the rather unappetizing aroma scenting the ranch house. “My mom and dad sent you a housewarming gift, welcoming you to the neighborhood.”

Rebecca studied the array of labels gratefully. She already knew Annie’s barbecue sauce, ketchup, hot sauce, mustards and salad dressings were first-rate. “I didn’t realize your mom had expanded into jams and jellies, too,” she said. There was everything from boysenberry to apricot fruit spreads, as well as jalapeño jelly and chipolte pepper mayonnaise.

Trevor smiled. “Seems she’s always perfecting some new recipe.” He set the plate of cookies down on the kitchen table. “Better be careful or she’ll have you acting as a taste-tester, too.”

Rebecca nodded at the dessert plate. “Your mom make those, too?”

“No.” Trevor took off his hat and hung it on a hook near the back door.

Rebecca studied the cookies. Golden-brown, perfect in size and texture. Her mouth watered, just looking at them. “Bakery in town?”

Trevor shook his head.

“Grocery?”

“Does it matter?” He was beginning to look a little annoyed. “I can vouch for ’em. They’re good.”

Rebecca slid one out from under the cover of plastic wrap. They smelled delicious, too. “I’m just curious.” She bit into the confection, and found it rich and buttery and full of crispy rice cereal, oatmeal and coconut.

“I made ’em.”

It took all her concentration to swallow. “You?” she sputtered, amazed.

Trevor shrugged. “My brothers and I all know how to cook. Even Kyle and Kurt.”

“The younger two,” Rebecca said, remembering.

“They’re only seventeen and eighteen but they can grill a mean steak, scramble eggs. Throw together a salad. All the basics.”

Maybe doctoring the food hadn’t been such a good idea. She could have cooked normally and he likely would have been disappointed. Now, well, it was obvious what she had done….

“Anyway, I hope you like oatmeal and coconut….”

Like ’em? She was addicted to both. Even more annoying, it looked as though he was a better cook than she was, if the cookies were any indication.

“Can I help?”

Rebecca shook her head. Gestured for him to have a seat at the trestle table. She’d put herself at one end, him clear at the other. Four places and a vase of primroses stood between them. Aware the lettuce was beginning to wilt over the heavy application of buttermilk ranch dressing she’d layered it with a good half hour before, she set the wooden salad bowl on the table and went to the oven to get the casserole.

“I never knew you wanted to ranch,” Trevor remarked.

Rebecca set two steaming plates on the table and sat down opposite him. “That’s because I never confided my ambition to anyone but Miss Mim. She used to help me find books at the library.”

“But you didn’t study agriculture in college.”

Deciding to start with her salad, Rebecca twirled a soggy piece of lettuce on her fork. “That’s because I couldn’t see myself breeding cattle or horses, or heaven forbid, pigs! I can’t say chickens appealed to me much, either.”

Trevor dug into his first course with an enthusiasm that made her wince. “So instead you took the job with that tour company and headed overseas.”

That had been due more to a quarrel with her sister Susie and her father, over their outright betrayal of her in a romantic matter, than anything else. But Rebecca wasn’t about to get into that. Especially since her relationship had never really been the same with her sister Susie, or her father, since.

Rebecca shrugged. “I’d always longed for adventure. The job provided that, and more.” Plus, since she’d always been working and traveling and hadn’t had to pay apartment rent, she’d been able to bank nearly her entire salary.

“I still don’t see how you got from there to breeding alpacas.” Trevor finished his salad, and took a big bite of Tex-Mex chicken casserole.

It was all Rebecca could do not to gag herself as Trevor swallowed and followed his first bite of the main course with a gentlemanly sip of water.

She continued to play with her salad. “One of the European tours went to an alpaca ranch. I fell in love with the animals almost the moment I saw them, and when I found out how valuable their wool is—it’s the finest in the world—I knew I’d found my calling.”

“Sounds like you’ve given this some thought.” Trevor got up and walked over to the gift basket. He came back with a bottle of Annie’s Homemade Ketchup, with the familiar blue-and white-gingham label. He sat down and poured a liberal dose over the entrée.

“More than you could ever know,” Rebecca replied.

He studied her while he ate. He didn’t need sips of water now.

Rebecca on the other hand had all she could do not to gag on the mixture of incompatible herbs that she had added to the casserole.

Which served her right, she figured, for having done such an immature and bratty thing to begin with. She knew better than to treat a guest—even a self-invited one—this way.

“It’s okay to be nervous about a new business venture,” Trevor said eventually.

Finished with the meager portion she had put on his plate, he helped himself to some more, added ketchup, and—to her complete astonishment—dug right in.

“What makes you think I’m nervous?” Rebecca groused, not about to deal with one more naysayer in her life.

Her parents’ worries, combined with her three siblings’ unvoiced skepticism, had been more than enough.

Not that anyone had bothered to listen to the entirety of her plan. No, she usually lost them when they heard about the second loan she’d taken against the first, and the balloon payment due two weeks after closing.

Oblivious to the calculated financial risks she was taking, Trevor regarded her with a gentleness she didn’t expect.

“You have the same look in your eyes that I had in mine when I closed on Wind Creek.”

Rebecca couldn’t figure out whether he was being straight with her or not. What he’d said did not sound like the Trevor McCabe she knew. “You. Mr. Big Shot Cattleman. Were nervous.”

“Oh, yeah,” Trevor replied. “As was my brother Teddy when he started up The Silverado.” Trevor finished his second helping, and went for a third. “It’s the same thing everybody feels when they buy their first car or home or pet, or accept a job. That what-have-I-gotten-myself-into-now panic. Buyer’s remorse, some call it.”

Rebecca added ketchup to her dinner, too, and found the condiment delicious and the casserole beneath just as unpalatable.

She toyed with the food on her plate, suddenly glad he’d brought this up. She needed some encouragement. “When does the panicky feeling pass?” she asked him.

“As soon as you get going.” He flashed her a sexy smile. “Which is why it’s probably good you’re going to pick up the start of your herd tomorrow. Once you get busy caring for your alpacas, you won’t have time to think.”

Not thinking sounded good.

Rebecca started to relax.

Trevor smiled at her.

Too late, she saw the unexpected had happened…they were becoming more than neighbors…they were becoming friends.

“YOU DIDN’T TELL ME you had a puppy,” Trevor remarked a few minutes later as they cleaned up the dishes.

“I don’t.”

“Then you’ve got a visitor.”

Rebecca followed his glance to the bank of kitchen windows overlooking the backyard. Sure enough, a chocolate- brown Labrador retriever was alternately nosing the ground and trotting briskly toward the house. When he reached the stoop, he let out a sound that was half bark, half whine. “Oh my goodness. He barely looks old enough to be away from his mama.”

Trevor caught the puppy before he could dart past Rebecca, into the house. He lifted the squirming Labrador to chest level. “It’s a she. And I’d guess, from the size of her, that she’s about nine, ten weeks old, which means she probably just left her mama and the rest of her litter.”

Interesting. “Does she have tags?”

“Nope.” Trevor looked. “Just a collar.”

She sure didn’t look scared or lost. “Anyone around here have puppies recently?” Rebecca asked.

“Not that I’m aware. And this is a purebred, which makes her worth a pretty penny.”

“You got that right,” a male voice concurred.

Rebecca and Trevor turned.

Vince Owen strode toward them.

“This is Coco. I just got her today. I was bringing her over to meet you and she got ahead of me. Trevor.” Vince nodded.

Trevor nodded back, looking, Rebecca noted, no more pleased to see the Circle Y’s new owner than he had earlier in the day.

“Rebecca.” Vince leaned forward, and before Rebecca could stop him, kissed her cheek in Southern-style greeting.

Rebecca didn’t know why she was annoyed. Having grown up in Texas, she had received many a casual peck on the cheek as hello over the years. None had ever bothered her. This one rankled. The way he subtly moved in between her and Trevor seemed meant to annoy his old college classmate. She didn’t like being used as a pawn in anyone’s game.

Trevor handed Coco to her new owner with a cynical look.

“I hope I’m not interrupting something,” Vince said.

Rebecca sensed Vince wanted an explanation for Trevor’s presence and perhaps an invitation to hang out for a while, too. She was just as inclined not to give it. Intuition told her that despite his smooth manner and cordial appearance, the handsome, blond Vince Owen was nothing but trouble.

Trevor looked at Rebecca, checking, she figured, to see if she needed him to stay. Knowing it would be easier to get rid of Vince and back to what she needed to be doing in preparation for the morning, Rebecca let Trevor know it wasn’t necessary.

To her relief, Trevor took the hint, albeit with barely concealed reluctance.

Trevor slipped back inside the house to get his hat. “I’ve got an early day tomorrow. I better get going. Vince.” Trevor dipped his head in polite acknowledgment.

Vince nodded back. He waited until Trevor climbed into his pickup truck and drove away, then turned back to Rebecca.

“Like to hold her?” Without waiting for a reply, Vince thrust the puppy into her arms.

The chocolate-brown pup looked up at Rebecca with dark liquid eyes. As always, when confronted with puppies, Rebecca felt her heart melt a little. They were just so sweet, vulnerable, eager to please…

And given the packet of investment information she had yet to pull together for future customers of the Primrose alpaca operation, she really did not have time for this.

“My cattle won’t be delivered for a few days. I’ve got two hired hands sitting idle. Should you need anything, be sure and let me know. I could send my cowboys over to help,” Vince said.

“That’s a very generous offer,” Rebecca replied. But not, she figured, without strings. What kind, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“What are neighbors for?”

Rebecca petted Coco’s head. She was a beautiful dog. Rebecca smiled as Coco licked her forearm with her velvety rough tongue. Too bad her new owner didn’t seem half as smitten with the puppy as Rebecca was.

“You don’t work the cattle yourself?” Rebecca asked.

Vince Owen shook his head. “I’ve got two other properties around the state. Have to ride herd on all of them.” He withdrew a business card from his wallet, handed it to her. “Here are all my numbers. Should you need anything at all, just call. Meantime, as long as you and I are getting acquainted—” he paused to flash her a salesperson’s winning smile “—I’ve got two tickets to the Laramie County Rancher’s Association Spring Fling.”

Rebecca already knew about the black-tie dinner-dance at the community center on Friday evening. “Thank you for the invitation, Vince, but I’m already planning to attend.”

“With McCabe,” Vince guessed, a hint of unpleasantness coming into his eyes.

Rebecca gave him the “attitude” she reserved for too- persistent men. “Alone,” she corrected.

Relaxing, Vince gestured affably. “If we went together, you could introduce me around.”

Reluctantly, Rebecca handed his puppy back to him. She didn’t want anything or anyone interfering with her efforts to network and promote her new business. Vince could easily do just that, as could Trevor McCabe. “Laramie is a very friendly place. You won’t have any trouble meeting people on your own.”

Vince took her rejection with a graceful shrug. “Another time, then.”

Not, Rebecca thought, if I can help it.

The tension between Vince and Trevor aside, there was something about Vince Owen she just didn’t trust.

“SO WHAT’S THE STORY between you and Vince?” Rebecca asked Trevor the next afternoon, after they had returned. Her first stock purchase, the cornerstone of her alpaca breeding operation, Blue Mist, had weathered the trip back well, and was now grazing in the shade.

Trevor’s hands tightened on the pasture gate. Up until now, he hadn’t asked her anything about her other visitor from the night before, but she had felt his curiosity as surely as her own. “Why?” Trevor tipped the brim of his hat away from his face. “What did he say?”

“Nothing about you.”

Trevor rested an elbow on the top rail. He looked out at the pregnant alpaca. “Then why are you asking?”

Rebecca finished filling the water trough and shut off the hose. “Because clearly the two of you are not mutual admirers.”

Trevor tilted his head. “Happens sometimes.”

She tilted her gaze in the same direction. “Usually, for a reason.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Anyone ever tell you you’re nosy?”

Her pulse picked up. “Anyone ever tell you you’re maddeningly private?”

“All the time.” He tapped her playfully on the nose. “And you didn’t answer my question,” he said.

She tried hard not to stare into his eyes as deeply as he was gazing into hers. “Inquisitive was the word Miss Mim used, I believe,” she murmured, feeling her cheeks heat. “And yes, she said that all the time.” She held up a finger as if lecturing to a student. “And you know what that means.”

He waited.

“Once I have a question in my mind, I have to discover the answer.” She paused for effect. “No matter what it takes.”

“Threats don’t work on me,” he told her mildly.

She wrinkled her brow, the way she always did when working a puzzle. “Is that what Vince Owen did to you? Did he threaten you someway, somehow?”

Trevor scoffed. “You’ve been watching too many mystery shows on TV.”

“But something despicable is going on here, nonetheless. Otherwise you and Vince wouldn’t give each other those looks.”

Trevor’s expression remained impassive. “Looks,” he echoed, as if he hadn’t the slightest idea what she was talking about. Even though she knew he did.

“Like you can’t stand each other but you’re going to be polite because you’ve ended up living and working in the same place and to do otherwise would make everyone else even more uncomfortable and that would be ungentlemanly, and you were brought up, as a McCabe, to be a gentleman.”

“Well, now that you’ve got it all figured out…”

“Okay. Don’t tell me.” Rebecca pivoted. “I guess I could always ask your mother.”

He clamped a hand on her shoulder, brought her back around. “Why do you care?” he demanded.

She made her eyes go wide. “Because in case you haven’t noticed, cowboy, I live between the Circle Y Ranch and the Wind Creek Ranch, and that puts me right smack- dab in the middle of you two guys. And although you might be willing to let that go, I assure you, Vince Owen will not.”

Resentment warred with the curiosity on his handsome face. “Did you ask him?”

Why hadn’t she? She could have. “I wanted to hear your side.”

“And not his?”

Rebecca tried not to think why she automatically trusted Trevor in a way she couldn’t seem to honor Vince. “Are you going to tell me or not?”

“Vince and I met at Texas A&M,” he told her brusquely. “We were both studying cattle management. I was at the top of my class from the beginning—probably because I grew up on a cattle ranch and worked side by side with my dad, who happens to be one of the best cattlemen around.”

It was more than that, Rebecca knew.

Trevor had a way with animals. An immense capacity for hard, physical, down and dirty work. And a need to achieve as deep as her own.

From what she’d seen thus far, Vince seemed driven by the outward trappings of success. Instead of being content with one ranch in one area of the state, he wanted three. He managed instead of ranched. And he already had his eye on the local social scene.

“Vince wanted to be the top student in our department. He was upset when he could not best me on exams and labs.”

Okay. “And that’s it?”

“Obviously, you’ve never had anyone continually competing with you. It grates on a person.”

She studied him. “You think that’s why Vince Owen bought a ranch so close to yours, don’t you?”

Trevor clenched his fists in frustration. “It’s not just this ranch. He dogs me all the time. I was asked to be a speaker on a ranching seminar last year. He found out and unbeknownst to me, got on the program, too. He found out what kinds of cattle I was breeding, started breeding that type, too. Bought a herd of heifers out from under me. Bought that land on the other side of you—the Circle Y—out from under me. I had offered the asking price to the previous owner, when he was ready to sell. Next thing I know he has accepted an offer from an intermediary for ten percent more. When I heard it, I had a sinking feeling who the new owner might be, but I didn’t know for sure until Vince Owen walked into the feed store yesterday morning.”

She glanced sideways at him. “Wow. No wonder you’re annoyed.”

Trevor dropped his hands to his sides and shrugged. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I won’t. I knew right off he wasn’t the kind of guy I wanted to have as a friend.”

“That doesn’t mean he won’t use you to get to me,” Trevor warned.

“To use me, he’d have to get me to give him something. I have no intention of doing that. Now or ever,” Rebecca said flatly. “I do want to thank you, though, for helping me go get Blue Mist this morning.”

“No problem. I haven’t been around alpacas since I was in college. I had forgotten how beautiful they are.”

Interesting he would say that, Rebecca thought. It mirrored her feelings exactly.

As if realizing she was being talked about, Blue Mist ambled toward them.

The fawn-colored animal stood at almost five feet. With her gentle demeanor, long, sloping neck, sturdy giraffe-shaped body and dense, soft and fluffy wool coat, she lent a pastoral quality to The Primrose. Her cute oblong face and intelligent dark eyes only added to her appeal. Rebecca stroked her wool.

“How much do you know about shearing?” she asked Trevor.

He grinned. “I haven’t tried it on my cattle.”

“I’m going to have to do that once I get the entire herd on the property. It has to be done before it gets too hot.”

He rubbed Blue Mist behind the ears. “You shear them once a year?”

Rebecca nodded. “In the spring.”

Trevor dropped his hand as Blue Mist moved away once again. “One question. How did an alpaca with light brown wool get the name Blue Mist?”

Rebecca had been wondering if and when Trevor would ask that. “She was born on a foggy morning, and when the owners first saw her, she was rising up out of a blue mist.”

“Ah.”

“It’s a good name, I think. Prophetic.”

“You mean romantic,” he teased.

Rebecca couldn’t afford to be thought of as anything less than business-minded. “I mean it spoke to me when I heard it. And when I met her, saw how gentle she was, and found out she was already with cria, I knew she was the start of my herd.”

“Speaking of which…you and I need to talk about the fence around your pastures.”

“Why?” Rebecca braced for news that would cost her more than she’d already spent. “What’s wrong with it?” she asked in trepidation.

“The wood is breaking down in places.”

She cocked her head. “You had your cattle in there.”

His lips twitched. “Circumstances are different now. We’re going to have my thousand-pound steers on my side of that fence, and your one-hundred-pound alpacas on the other.”

“Are you saying your cattle are going to bother my alpacas?”

His hazel eyes glimmered seriously. “Not under normal circumstances, but we have to be prepared for the unusual.”

She wished she could say he was joking. “Such as?”

“Predators getting in the pasture with your alpacas.”

She would have laughed at the statistical absurdity of the statement had it not been for his warning expression. “Are you trying to give me a hard time?”

“I’m trying to explain to you that even a stray cat or dog could spook your alpacas, and if they get spooked and start running and upset my cattle, we could have a stampede on our hands.”

So it was back to the alpacas and cattle don’t mix theory of ranching. An old wives’ tale if she’d ever heard one. She planted her hands on her hips. “I think you’re exaggerating.”

He let his gaze drift slowly over her before returning to her face. He leaned down so they were practically nose to nose. “And I think you need mesh fence on the inside of the split rail borders, for safety’s sake.”

She dropped her hands and stepped back. “I can’t afford to do that right now, Trevor.”

He shrugged, as unconcerned with the financial details of the situation as she was obsessed. “Then I’ll help you out.”

His matter-of-fact offer sounded like a mixture of pity and charity. If she accepted either, word would get out, and she would never have the other ranchers’ respect.

Rebecca shook her head, promising, “I’ll get to it as soon as I can, but until then we’re just going to have to make do.”

Silence ticked out between them. “You sure that’s a chance you want to take?” he asked eventually.

What choice did she have? She was on such a tight budget as it was, at least for the next month or so, the slightest catastrophe could catapult her into bankruptcy. Once she’d attracted outside investors, though, her situation would ease quickly.

Gulping around the anxiety rising up within her, she tried to smooth things over while still stubbornly holding her ground. “Look, Trevor, the rest of the herd won’t be here for another ten days or so. As soon as I get past the Open House I’m having for potential investors, a week from Sunday,” and get past the balloon payment that is due on my operating loan, “I’ll take care of the fence. I promise.”

Trevor looked like he wanted to continue debating her, but when he finally spoke it was only to ask, “Where are you going to house your herd at night?”

“In the stalls in the barn. Which reminds me. I’ve really got to get cleaning if I want Blue Mist and that cria she’s carrying to have somewhere to sleep tonight.”

Trevor took the hint, and left to tend to his own herd.

Three hours later, Rebecca had scrubbed down the central cement corridor and two of the ten wooden-sided stalls. She was filthy from head to toe, and bone-tired to boot. Deciding to check on Blue Mist, she walked out to the pasture, and stopped in her tracks at what she saw.

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