Everything she is. Everything he’s not...

Recovering from his time in Afghanistan, Wes Stone prefers the company of his dogs and himself. People, especially of the female variety, are...difficult. He appreciates that Cara Pruitt doesn’t treat him like an invalid, but hiring the party girl of New Benton to help out with his dog treat business is probably a mistake. And when her brightness and unexpected vulnerability somehow slip through his defenses, suddenly something terrifying is ignited inside him. Something thrilling. Something that could make Wes whole again...or consume him completely.

“You could kiss me...”

Wes cleared his throat again, taking a careful step away. “I cannot kiss you.” Look at him, being all firm and decisive. Not a stumble of words.

“Why not?”

“Because.” His steps away weren’t careful anymore because the panic was building. Talking to Cara, working with her, might not make him have all those old feelings. But the thought of kissing her did.

He couldn’t do it.

“You’re heartbroken and in love with someone else? Although, really, you could still kiss me. I hear I’m good for that kind of—”

“No, Cara. No. I can’t.”

She smiled.

“You can’t kiss me. So, technically speaking, I could kiss you...”

Dear Reader,

There are some books that come together fairly easily, perfectly on time, with everything happening just on schedule. And then there are books where everything seems to go wrong. Or if not wrong, hard. Hi, this is that book.

It’s a book that started with a completely different hero. It’s a book that was in a different line with a different word count for a while. It’s a book that was canceled very briefly when the previous line was. Through the course of editing and line-changing, I’ve been tasked with adding ten thousand words, then twenty thousand words. Months apart. It’s been a challenge.

But the thing is, no matter how many stumbles and roadblocks a book has set before it, it’s still about two people navigating a tricky world to love. And finding a way for Cara and Wes to overcome their pasts and find each other was one I would go back to time and time again. An opportunity to go back to the Millertown Farmers’ Market and the Pruitt sisters isn’t that much of a challenge—I love this world. I love these characters.

And I hope you’ll love them, too! (And if you’ve read All I Have, don’t worry, Dell still appears shirtless even in a book that isn’t his).

Happy reading!

Nicole Helm

www.NicoleHelm.wordpress.com

All I Am

Nicole Helm

www.millsandboon.co.uk

NICOLE HELM grew up with her nose in a book and the dream of one day becoming a writer. Luckily, after a few failed career choices, she gets to follow that dream—writing down-to-earth contemporary romance. From farmers to cowboys, Midwest to the West, Nicole writes stories about people finding themselves and finding love in the process. She lives in Missouri with her husband and two sons and dreams of someday owning a barn.

MILLS & BOON

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To everyone on Twitter who responded to “wounded-veteran-dog-treat-making-bearded-virgin hero” with a resounding YES. Hopefully Wes lives up to the billing.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

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

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

IF CARA EVER got engaged, the first thing she’d want to do would be get naked, not sell broccoli.

Her older sister did not seem to have that inclination.

Mia handed a bag of broccoli to an elderly gentleman, then once again admired her new ring.

Cara wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. Are you going to stare at that thing all day?”

“Hey, an hour ago you were jumping up and down and screeching.” Mia wiggled her fingers some more, the grin never leaving her face.

“Sorry. An hour is the limit for engagement-ring gazing while us poor single women sit around and feel our ovaries dry up and fall off.”

“Ovaries don’t fall off,” Anna chimed in, adding more curlicues to the sign she was painting for the new Pruitt Morning Sun Farms booth to hang over the table of produce offerings.

Cara scowled at her younger sister. “It’s an expression.” Being in the middle of these two was always a constant battle of reason versus...whatever she was.

“A dumb expression.”

“You’re a dumb expression,” Cara grumbled. She didn’t know why too-early Saturday morning after too-early Saturday morning, season after season, she agreed to help Mia with her farmer’s market stand. Cara didn’t get anything out of it except crap from her sisters and dirt on her clothes.

Now that Mia and Dell, her new fiancé, had merged their farms, which specialized in locally grown fruits and vegetables, Mia definitely had enough help. Cara was an unneeded volunteer.

Still, for the fourth year in a row, here Cara was. Tired and cranky—though, okay, maybe she enjoyed her sisters’ company a little bit. It had been fun to help Mia while she came into her own, taking over the parts of the family farm suitable for produce and then building a business.

Cara had been a part of that. Sure, she wasn’t a farmer, didn’t want to be a farmer, but it was nice to be involved. To feel useful.

Then the Naked Farmer had come along and swept Mia away, and now they sold their goods as one entity.

“Can you three not talk about ovaries while I’m around?” Dell asked in between customers.

“Hey, you’re outnumbered,” Cara returned. “Get used to it. Where’s Charlie, anyway?”

“Flat tire. Told him not to come. I think four people can handle one farm stand.” Dell turned to a new customer, who laughed at the word Taken painted across Dell’s chest. It was cold enough they let him keep his shirt on, but it remained unbuttoned.

“The Naked Farmer’s taken? What a pity.” The middle-aged woman sighed. A lot of his female customers would be disappointed he was off the market. Shirtlessness and flirtation had been his go-to business practice last season.

“Very much so.” Dell winked back at Mia, who grinned, all lovesick and gross.

Man, Mia had all the luck. Not that Cara wanted to be engaged, but having a hot guy drooling over her would be nice. Usually she knew how to get that kind of attention, but lately the New Benton dating scene had been...bleh.

“Okay. Sign’s finished.” Anna packed up her supplies. “I’ve gotta go meet Jen and Zack at the library. See you at Moonrise at one?”

“I’ll be there.”

Anna said her goodbyes, and Mia studied the new sign.

“Oh, my God.”

“What?” Cara asked in unison with Dell. She hated to admit it, but she missed the days when it was just her and Mia. This was less work, but Mia was a little preoccupied with her fiancé.

“PMS.”

“No more lady-parts talk, please.”

“No, look.” Mia pointed at the sign. “Pruitt Morning Sun Farms is PMS.”

Cara couldn’t swallow down a laugh at the way Anna had made the P, M and S of Pruitt Morning Sun big, blue and swirly.

“This is a disaster.”

“Aw, it’s all right, sugar. We’ll call it Morning Sun.”

Mia glared at Dell. “I am not giving up Pruitt. Maybe we can put it at the end.” Mia sighed, staring down at the sign again. “Morning Sun Pruitt Farms sounds terrible.” Mia was obviously distraught. Cara opened her mouth to say something reassuring, but Dell wrapped his arm around his fiancée and gave her a squeeze.

“Have Anna make the F really big. No one will think anything of PMSF—or don’t have the first letters stand out.” He kissed the top of her head, and she leaned into him.

Cara didn’t understand the clutching feeling that made her look away. It couldn’t be jealousy, because the thought of a relationship made her break out in hives. It couldn’t be dislike, because she liked Dell just fine, and she especially liked Dell for Mia.

But something about it—them—made her chest tight.

“You guys going to make out? If so, I’m going to get myself some breakfast.”

“Yeah.” Dell dug in his pocket and pulled some crumpled money out. “Here, take this five. My treat if you make yourself scarce.”

She snatched the bill from Dell’s hand. “Hard to sell broccoli with your tongues down each other’s throats.” Apparently neither of them cared. Figured.

Cara skirted the front table. They’d done pretty well with the broccoli, and even the greens were going okay, but the chard was all but untouched and—what did she care? What sold and what they grew was so not her problem. Cara certainly wasn’t going to start worrying about it now.

She walked toward King’s Bread and glanced around the market. The first day of the season was usually pretty slow, but because of the warmish temperatures and increased advertising this year, there were groups of people squeezing through the rows of tables.

She meandered through one row of booths. This wasn’t her scene—she’d much prefer shopping at the new outlet mall in Millertown, even if it was out of her price range—but there was something fun about tables of honey, jam, vegetables and all manner of homemade, home-picked, home-baked things.

The sound of a dog’s incessant barking stopped her in her tracks. A little white blob of fur stood at her feet, unleashed.

“Shoo, little doggy.” Apparently, the shooing motion she made was asking for a fight. The dog lunged at her. As she tried to sidestep it, she tripped and fell square on her butt.

The ball of fur latched on to her pant leg, growling and biting. Cara wasn’t sure whether to laugh or to kick the little booger, but then its jaw clamped down on her ankle. It had bitten her! Probably not hard enough to break the skin, but some strange dog seriously had bitten her.

“Ow, you little jerk!” She didn’t want to actually kick this tiny thing, but she did nudge it a little with her foot.

“Pipsqueak! Pipsqueak! Come here, right now!” The dog finally responded to its screeching owner and hopped into the middle-aged woman’s arms. “Oh, are you all right, sweetheart?”

Cara scowled at the woman. “Yeah, I’m peachy after getting bit by your little terror.”

The woman wrinkled her nose and clutched the demon dog to her chest. “I was talking to Pipsqueak. I don’t know what you did to provoke him.”

“Provoke him?” Cara started to push herself up, but someone stepped in.

“They’re supposed to be leashed,” a low, gravelly voice said.

Cara looked up at the man who’d intruded in the conversation, but all she saw were shadows against the bright sun.

“Pipsqueak has never hurt anyone in his life. He doesn’t need to be leashed. It’s inhumane. This woman must have done something to set him off.”

“It needs to be leashed. It’s the law,” the deep voice rumbled.

“Why, I never! If this is the way you treat a customer—”

Cara looked up from her spot on the ground and was surprised to find she recognized the man’s face. Wes Stone. She didn’t know him personally, only knew of him. He’d been at least five years older than her in school, but New Benton had made a big deal out of it when he went off to Afghanistan.

The town had made an even bigger deal when he came back severely injured after working with some bomb sniffing dogs or something. He didn’t look all that injured to her, but between all the hair and the flannel it was hard to tell anything. Except he was tall. And kinda scary as he scowled.

It took Cara a few seconds to realize that he’d held out his hand to her to help her up—that he was angry with this woman on her behalf.

Cara gathered her wits enough to take his hand and let him pull her up. She tried to remember what kind of injuries he’d suffered. Was it okay for him to be doing this? Of course, that’d been something like three or four years ago. Maybe he was all healed.

“You’ve lost a customer, mister.” The woman stalked off, kissing the evil little minion in her arms as she went.

“Your loss,” Wes muttered. His gaze didn’t meet Cara’s, and his question was mumbled. “You okay?”

She nodded. His dark blond hair was wavy and longish, his beard a touch on the side of grizzled rather than the trendily well-kept look. He was like a modern mountain man, one with piercing blue eyes.

Wait. Had she really just thought piercing in relation to eyes?

“It bite you?”

She looked down at her ankle and lifted the cuff of her jeans to inspect the skin. “Tried. Didn’t break the skin. I’ll live.”

“People.” He stalked back to his booth.

She looked up at the sign. Organic Dog Treats. No description of what that meant. No colors. No pictures. Just black letters on a white background. His table was just as sparse. Buckets of treats with black-and-white labels saying what they were and how much they cost.

An interesting contrast to most of the other vendors with their colors and logos and fancy spreads.

“Well, thanks for yelling at her for me, Wes,” she offered, giving his table a little pat. “Sorry if I cost you a customer.”

He stopped and looked at her quizzically. “Do I know you?”

“Um, no. I mean, you might know of me. I grew up in New Benton, too.”

He grunted. Well. All the rumors about him seemed to be true. Came back from the army, bought a hermit cabin in the woods, shut everyone out.

Except his legion of dogs. Sitting at his feet. Unfazed by Pipsqueak’s earlier “attack.” They swished their tails, three of the four napping. The other one panted happily in the sun.

Weird. Weird guy. Weird booth. Weird day.

She gave Wes a little wave and headed for the King’s Bread booth. When she glanced back at him, he was staring after her.

Very weird day.

* * *

WES WATCHED CARA GO. She was a colorful blur of light. Pink cowboy boots, vivid green shirt, bright pink lipstick.

He hadn’t recognized her at first, but eventually he’d placed the face with the name. New Benton had been home for so much of his life; it was impossible not to know the other whole-life residents, no matter how much he shut himself away.

Cara had been a few years younger than him, if he remembered right. Her family had a dairy farm, and someone she was related to had a stand here. Sister, maybe?

He shook his head. Trying to keep all the small-town bloodlines straight was asking for a headache, and he’d already given himself enough of one loading and unloading the truck and setting up the booth this morning.

It irritated him that after four years of recovery, his body still didn’t do what he wanted it to when he wanted it to. Maybe if it was just one thing. The hand or the hip. But it had to be both.

Lucky to be alive, remember?

He’d never been very good at counting his blessings or his luck. Receiving dream-crushing injuries, no matter how non-life-threatening, hadn’t exactly given him an optimistic outlook.

Cara glanced back at him, and he looked down at his money box, not quite sure why. So he was looking at her. So what?

He reorganized his buckets, focusing on this—on order and control. Like life in the army had, running his own business allowed him a sense of order and rules. Dealing with people, outside of selling them dog treats, had never been his strong suit, but even when he didn’t love his job, he knew what he needed to do. How he needed to do it.

A customer came up, smiling and chatty about how cute his dogs were. Direct sales were his least favorite part, but they were a necessity, so he forced himself to smile and talk about his product.

Since he cared about his product, that wasn’t hard to do. Just like the army. Tell people what they want to hear, and they bought his stuff and walked away. Long as no one knew who he was and asked how he was doing.

It was his first year at a market so close to home. He’d thought Millertown was far enough away, but Cara’s appearance reminded him it wasn’t. Maybe he should’ve stuck to the markets around downtown St. Louis, but that would be silly. If he really wanted to go without people, he could focus on the internet side of sales.

But there was something about coming to markets he liked. It wasn’t human interaction, because he hated that, but it was a reminder he existed. He’d survived.

He shook his head in a lame attempt to clear it. Why dwell on this? He should be paying attention to what kinds of treats were selling, so he could make more of those next week. Compare today’s popular sellers to his best sellers elsewhere. Be a businessman. Because, aside from his animals, that was all he had.

All he wanted.

The day went on without more New Bentonian run-ins. And no more yappy dogs with incompetent owners attacking people, either. Wes considered that a success.

At noon he started packing up, trying to ignore the pins-and-needles feeling in his arm. His hip ached. His head pounded, although he couldn’t blame that one on his injuries. He’d had migraines since he could remember. A lovely result of the anxiety he’d pretty much been born with.

Phantom nudged his knee, his black-and-brown snout demanding attention. Wes sighed. Phantom was his trained therapy dog, retired military, too, with his own minor injuries. A limp and a missing chunk of tail.

He was the one being in the world who knew what Wes needed. Wes took the break Phantom demanded and scratched the German shepherd’s nose and ears. Then, because his dogs were the jealous sort, he repeated the process with the other three.

When he went back to packing up, some of the headache had eased, and the tingling in his arm had stopped. It was the whole point of a therapy dog. He’d had Phantom for three years, and the fact the dog could do so much with so little still amazed him every time.

“All right, guys. In you go.”

At the command and the open truck door, his crew hopped into the back. Phantom took his usual spot in the passenger seat. Wes climbed into the driver’s seat and began to pull out of his space when he noticed a bright splotch of green standing behind a truck, waving.

The truck with a sticker that read Pruitt Morning Sun Farms on the side pulled away, and Cara stood there watching it go. She looked sad.

Not his problem, but seemingly of its own accord, his foot tapped the brake as he drove next to her. “You okay?” What the hell was wrong with him? He was not the check-on-near-strangers type.

Okay, checking on strangers was exactly the type of thing he’d do. Which was why he isolated himself on a few wooded acres. So he didn’t feel the need to help and come up short. So he didn’t feel the need to engage, then get laughed at.

She shaded her eyes with her hands, looking up at him. “Yeah, I’m okay. I don’t think I’ve got rabies now or anything.”

He almost, almost, smiled at that, which was kind of weird.

She hopped up onto the step of his truck, sticking her face way too close to his for comfort. He backed away and felt like a coward. But a safe coward.

Some stranger sticking her head into the window of his truck was not normal. Most people were too uncomfortable around him to do that.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?” she asked.

He braced himself for the inevitable. How do you manage? You are so brave! His good hand clenched into a fist.

“What are their names?”

“Huh?”

“Their names?” She pointed at Phantom, then to the back where the other three dogs had arranged themselves.

“You want to know my dogs’ names?”

“Yeah, what did you think I was going to ask you?”

He wasn’t going to answer that. Partially because it made him look like a tool, and partially because he didn’t want to talk about it. “Phantom, Flash, Toby and Sweetness—which was the name she came with, not the one I gave her, by the way.”

Cara chuckled at that. “You must be good with training them. I’ve been thinking about getting a dog since Mia moved out. Where do you get yours?”

“Wherever. Strays mostly. Except Phantom.”

“Where’d you get Phantom?”

He tapped a finger to his watch. “Sorry, busy day. Gotta get going.”

Her eyebrows scrunched together, but he looked away, focusing on the road in front of him.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her hop back down onto the ground. With a little wave, she stepped away from his truck. He tapped the accelerator.

But he couldn’t stop himself from glancing in the rearview mirror, and he wasn’t sure what that meant.

Best not to let it mean anything, but he had a feeling a pretty woman in a bright green shirt was going to be on his mind a lot more than he wanted her to be.

CHAPTER TWO

CARA STARED OPENMOUTHED at Mia, trying to formulate some response beyond are you crazy. “Are you crazy?”

“It’s not crazy! It’s an amazing idea and opportunity.”

“No.” That was a gut reaction. In reality, Cara should be jumping up and down saying yes, yes, yes, but everything about this made her stomach sink.

She wasn’t a professional baker. Making pies for one of Mia’s clients’ restaurants was way, way, way beyond her skill level, or at least her experience level.

“Cara. You make amazing pies, and Sam wants to add more desserts to his menu.” Mia stood on the porch of their parents’ house, hands at her hips, a determined look on her face. “It’s a match made in heaven. You always make filling with local ingredients in your fruit pies, and that’s exactly what he’s looking for.”

If it was a match made in heaven, why did she feel nauseated? “He doesn’t want to hire some chick with no experience.”

“You have experience.”

“Not restaurant experience. I have baked pies for fun or the random family member’s wedding or event and occasionally for my sister’s farmers’ market stand. Not the same.”

“Just talk to Sam. He’s experimenting. Nothing is permanent or guaranteed. Think of it as a trial. He doesn’t have to hire you, but him considering you is not as crazy as you’re making it out to be.”

Trying to impress him to get the job seemed even worse than just trying to get the job, because she’d have to deal with everyone’s disappointment if she screwed it up. No, thank you. She’d learned a long time ago not to take risks like that. “Look, thanks for thinking of me and all, but I love my job at the salon.” Love was maybe a bit of an exaggeration, but she liked it well enough.

She didn’t need her sister’s pity, and she didn’t need to be fixed. When it came to dreams like going to culinary school or opening her own business, Cara choked. Botched her application, failed accounting at community college.

She was not cut out for “more.”

“Sam’s only entertaining the possibility because you supply, like, half his food.” Cara did her best to pretend this whole thing didn’t matter.

“It’s not like that.”

Ugh. Why did Mia have to be so stubborn? So determined to help her find a passion. Cara was happy the way she was. She didn’t have to bring her work home with her, had set hours and got to have fun. She was in her mid-twenties. She was supposed to be having fun, not finding a fulfilling career or a husband like everyone around her seemed to be.

Since that thought caused the same pinching feeling as watching Dell swoop in to comfort Mia at the market Saturday had, she pushed it away. “Making pies is a hobby.”

“It’s your religion, Cara Pruitt. Saying any different would be like spitting on Grandma’s grave.” Mia wagged a finger at her.

Her stomach rolled. Mia had a point there. A mean point, but true nonetheless. If Grandma were alive to hear Cara call pie making a hobby, she’d get smacked on the butt with a wooden spoon.

She rubbed a finger over the tiny bluebird behind her ear. The tattoo was her own little safety net, like Grandma perched right there, ready to say something encouraging.

Sadly, Grandma’s voice had been gone for six years now, and some of the initial reassurances the bluebird brought had faded. Sad and scared were two of Cara’s least favorite feelings, and she avoided them at all costs. Which meant avoiding taking risks like this.

“Just stop big-sistering me, okay? I can take care of my own life.”

“I’m not trying to take care of your life. I’m offering you an opportunity. Do not say no to help. I already have one of those in my life.”

Mia glanced to the bottom of the hill where Dell was talking to some guy who wanted to buy vegetables or something. This whole melding of farms, added to Mia now living with Dell on Wainwright property, meant she almost never saw her sister alone.

“I was in your life first,” Cara muttered, feeling petulant. Because petulant sounded better than lonely.

“Cara.”

“Look, whatever. I’ll go meet with Sam if that’s what you want, but I don’t think I’m right for the job.”

Mia crossed her arms over her chest and mustered her best big-sister glare, which was pretty pathetic. “Give me one reason why not.”

“Other than not being qualified?”

“Yes, other than that.”

“That’s freaking enough!”

Mia’s glare morphed into something worse. Pity. Hurt. Geez, it was ridiculous. She was the one used to helping Mia out. Getting her to ditch the outdated hairdo and clunky glasses, supporting her at the market while Mia worked on overcoming her social awkwardness.

Now Mia had done all that and was getting married, and Cara had been officially relegated to one-and-only Pruitt screwup status. Mia was the favorite, Anna a close second, and Cara was the daughter who hadn’t gone to college aside from a few failed classes, had slept around, had a tattoo.

Mom probably prayed for Cara’s eternal soul morning, noon and night.

This day was blowing hard. “Whatever. I’ll go. Can we stop talking about it?”

“I’m only trying to help. Don’t you want to—”

She walked away. If she had to hear someone in her family say “do something more” one more time, she might be inclined to throw a punch. Unlike Anna, Mia wouldn’t fight back. She’d look hurt and make Cara feel like a jerk.

Because that’s what you are.

Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. She stomped down the hill, leaving Mia behind on the porch. Where was she even going? She couldn’t leave; she’d already promised Mom she’d eat dinner with the family.

She’d have to pass Dell and the guy he was talking to in order to get to her quiet spot by the creek, but so be it. If they were talking business or farming, Dell wouldn’t give her a second glance. He and Mia had that insanity in common.

She tried to cut behind them, but a bark distracted her. She glanced at the truck parked next to Mia’s vegetable barn. She recognized that truck and the four dogs in the back.

Wes. In all his flannelly, bearded glory. What the heck was he doing here? Well, it wouldn’t be hard to find out. “Wes?”

He turned, eyes wide. “Cara.”

“Wait, you know my name?” She didn’t recall giving it to him, and he definitely hadn’t asked.

“You two know each other?”

Cara gave Dell a brief glance before continuing her examination of Wes’s face. She wondered what he’d look like with a haircut and a shave. She had a sneaking suspicion he might be kind of hot. Luckily, Mountain Man was not her type. “Wes helped me out Saturday when that stupid hair ball attacked me.”

“Oh. Huh. Well, Wes, unless you have any more questions, you can email us the quantities, and we can bring it to the market when they’re ready.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Dell gave her a quizzical look, but she ignored him. “You bring your menagerie everywhere?” she asked Wes.

“Pretty much.” He had his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans. He didn’t look at her. His eyes were locked on his dogs.

“Well, I guess I’ll leave you two to chat.” Dell gave her another what the hell? look.

She shrugged. She wasn’t sure what the hell, either. But Dell left them alone, walking back up the hill to Mia.

“You make dog treats. What are you doing buying stuff here?”

“Sweet potatoes,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“Sweet potatoes?”

“Organic sweet potatoes. And peas. And carrots. Ingredients. For the dog treats.”

“Dogs like peas and carrots?”

“In my treats they do.”

“Huh.” She cocked her head and studied him at point-blank range. Rumor had it he was not very nice. Considering the way he’d treated Pipsqueak’s owner on Saturday, she’d figured that rumor was true.

But she wasn’t intimidated. His stiff stance, hard jaw and grizzly appearance just made her wonder what had made him that way. Well, besides war. She inwardly rolled her eyes at herself. War was probably enough.

But how exactly did a guy go from soldier to organic dog treat maker? It probably wasn’t any of her business, but curiosity was a hard thing for her to ignore, even if she knew her questions would be really, really, really not welcome.

“I should get going.” He headed toward his truck. Cara followed, and the German shepherd—Phantom, if she remembered right—put his paws on the side of the truck bed and panted at her.

“Aw. Aren’t you cute?” Cara held out her hand, letting the dog sniff her before patting his head. He gingerly licked her fingers, much to her delight. “He likes me.”

“He likes everybody,” Wes said gruffly.

“Aw, cute little baby.” She trailed her palm over his head, then scratched the soft fur behind his ears. “Aren’t you the sweetest?”

He gave her a tentative lick on the chin. When she looked at Wes, he was staring at her. Intently.

* * *

WATCHING PHANTOM LICK Cara was weird. Like thinking-about-being-the-one-doing-the-licking weird.

So not normal.

Which seemed about right. He hadn’t been normal possibly ever. His brief foray into romantic relationships in high school had ended in disaster. So he steered clear of women who made him feel anything. At least then he didn’t have to be a laughingstock.

And, in all honesty, aside from his market days, he steered clear of all people. Not just women. Everyone.

Needing to get out of here and fast, Wes opened the back of the truck to get the dogs into the cab. “Move it, guys.”

Phantom, Flash and Toby obeyed and hopped off the bed, then into the truck cab. Sweetness, the little jerk, jumped on Cara’s legs, pawing and yipping happily until Cara slid into a sitting position on the ground. Then Sweetness curled up right on her lap.

Toby and Flash jumped out of the truck and sniffed around Cara suspiciously. Only Phantom continued to obey the order, though he looked on from the passenger side window. If dogs had complex human emotions, Wes was pretty sure Phantom’s would be wistful. Or longing. Or something.

Yeah, his head definitely wasn’t screwed on right. “Get off her, you morons. In the truck.”

“Aw, they’re sweet. Our dog died a few years ago, and Dad hasn’t had the heart to replace her. I miss her.”

He liked the way she smiled at the dogs, the way she let Sweetness on her lap without hesitation even though the dog was getting dusty paw prints all over her skintight jeans. And she was right—the dogs did like her. Of course, they weren’t exactly picky.

“All right, kiddos, do as your daddy says.”

“Um, no. I am not their daddy. They are dogs. I am a man.”

Cara grinned up at him. “Thanks for the animal kingdom lesson. I figured a guy who took his dogs everywhere with him would think of himself as a daddy.”

“No.”

This time Cara laughed, a low, sultry sound that made him think about making her laugh more often.

A joke in itself. He didn’t know how to make anyone laugh, let alone a pretty woman. Just looking at her legs folded across each other made his hip ache.

She stood up, and Sweetness whined after her. “Aw, she loves me.”

“In you go.” Wes gave her collar a gentle tug until Sweetness jumped into the back with the others.

He turned to face Cara. “She likes women better than men. Except for me. Usually.” Looking down at her bright red mouth and blue-green eyes, he felt a stirring in his gut that had not been there in a very long time.

Attraction. Interest. And, weirdly, it didn’t come followed by panic.

Didn’t matter. Not allowed. So he turned and climbed up into his truck, Sweetness yipping in his ear, trying to get close to the open window and Cara.

Cara hopped up on the stair. Again. “You’re trying to convince me I need a puppy, aren’t you, little girl?” She leaned in his window. Again. Second time in a week this strange woman was poking into his personal space.

She reached for the dog, letting Sweetness lick her hand. Which put her breasts about two inches from his face. Uhh.

When she pulled back, she seemed to realize how weird that had been.

She chuckled. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s...fine,” he managed to croak. Which seemed like the polite thing to say at first, but now it seemed...weighted.

Cara grinned, making a considering sound in her throat.

“Well, see you around.” And get the hell off my truck. Which he managed not to say only by grinding his teeth together.

“See you Saturday,” she said, finally hopping off the stair.

“Huh?”

“The market. I help Mia out every week.”

“Right.” God, he was an idiot.

She waved, and he pulled away from the Pruitt farm. The drive to his cabin was long, winding and slow. Away from New Benton, away from farmland, toward the river and the woods and his refuge.

It was a decent-size cabin in the middle of a forest. Definitely an escape from well-meaning people and their parade of casseroles and intrusive questions when he’d first gotten back on his feet. Then the cabin had become his life, his sanctuary. And, okay, maybe it still was. Maybe it always would be.

He’d never be normal, and he’d never be a veterinarian. Those were irrefutable facts.

He got out of the truck and let the dogs out to yip and prance around with Franco and Monster, the two dogs who hadn’t been trained well enough yet to go everywhere with him. The land around the cabin was his animals’ domain. Six dogs, three cats and one sheep with a limp.

He hadn’t been able to do the vet thing, what with the nerve damage in his arm and hand, making performing surgery, exams and just getting through vet school requirements impossible, but that hadn’t meant he’d lost his love of down-and-out animals.

He let the dogs run around outside, Monster and Franco attached to their runner, then trudged into his cabin. It had everything he needed. A big kitchen for the dog treat making, a room expressly for packaging, an office for the business side of things.

Though the office looked more like the aftermath of a frenzied police search. He headed to his computer. It was nearly six. The video call with Mom was his least favorite part of the week. Hearing about how great Palm Springs was. How amazing her new family was, how successful her little chain of all-natural grocery stores was. She thought she was proving she’d gotten her life together, that she was a mother he could be proud of now.

She couldn’t accept he’d always been proud of her, and the money she had now didn’t magically change, well, anything.

Phantom rested his snout on Wes’s knee, having not stayed outside with the rest of the—as Cara had put it—menagerie.

That almost made him want to smile.

The pinging sounded. Deep breath. Accept the video call. On the computer Mom had bought as a gift, in the cabin she’d bought as a homecoming present, surrounded by the debris of a business Mom helped fund.

He’d gone to Afghanistan because they couldn’t afford any of the colleges with decent vet programs. Community college had been an option, but the GI bill had seemed a better one at the time. Better than piles of debt that had seemed insurmountable to a kid who’d grown up in poverty.

Then a bomb had exploded and ended any vet dreams or the possibility of staying in the structure and comfort of knowing how to act in the army. And no amount of things Mom offered him or forced on him was going to change that.

“Baby!” Mom’s smile filled the screen, and he worked on matching it.

“Hey, Mom.”

Her smile dimmed. “You’re doing okay?”

It was the closest she ever got to mentioning his injuries. Four years later and she was still more uncomfortable discussing them than he was, which was really saying something.

“Sure. Found a new vegetable supplier a little closer to home.”

Her smile returned to full wattage. Talk about business. That she could do. That they could do, and did do, for twenty minutes before she started talking about her husband, her stepkids.

She paused, biting her lip, a sure sign of nerves. The same way she’d bitten her lip when he’d been a kid, and they hadn’t been able to afford anything. Not new shoes. Not school lunches. Not the colleges he wanted, even with government assistance.

“Maybe you could come visit.” It was the first time she’d suggested it in a long while. Maybe ever. He got invited to go on vacations with the new family, but he always declined. Usually because he wasn’t up to skiing or being shoved onto a cruise ship.

He’d never been invited to the actual house.

“There are a lot of steps and things to maneuver, but we can make it more—”

“I don’t know when I’d be able to get away, Mom. High market season for the next few months, you know.”

“Oh, right.” She bit her lip, and he refused, absolutely refused, to read anything into her expression.

He wasn’t handicapped, which made him a lot luckier than many of his fellow soldiers. If she wanted to treat him like he was, he’d keep far, far away.

“I miss you, baby.”

“Yeah. Miss you, too. Gotta go, though. Talk next week.”

She forced a smile and a sad little wave as she said bye, and he clicked off the connection.

Phantom’s nose pushed into his chest, and Wes gave in to the urge to rest his head on top of the dog’s.

CHAPTER THREE

CARA SHIVERED UNDER her bulky sweatshirt, breath huffing out in clouds as she yawned. “It’s so freaking cold.” It always took a few weeks to get into the more bearable mornings, and while she could stay home, what with the abundant help Pruitt Morning Sun now had, she was not about to get pushed out of being a part of it.

Why she felt that way was something she didn’t want to analyze.

Mia smiled. Dell rolled his eyes. Charlie, Dell’s brother, sipped his coffee. “Yes. It is. Why are all four of us here?” Charlie asked.

Cara looked away. Sorry, Charlie, but she wasn’t about to let the Wainwright brothers push her out. Maybe she wasn’t part of the farm, but she’d been a part of Mia’s booth from the beginning. That wasn’t going to change.

She hoped. She had to leave in about half an hour for the stupid interview Mia had set her up with. For making pies. At a real-life restaurant.

The cold dug deeper, and that little voice inside her head that was always right about things whispered, you’re going to screw it up.

“You come of your own accord,” Dell said to his brother. “Feel free not to. Less bitching I have to listen to.”

Charlie sighed heavily, but he didn’t say anything else. He sat on the truck bed, sipping his fancy coffee.

Cara stared at her knees, trying to focus on the cold and will the ominous feelings away. So what if she did mess up the interview? It was a dumb part-time job. One she’d have to quit her salon job over, and then she’d have to find another part-time job that would give her Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays off.

This was ridiculous. How had she let Mia talk her into this? How could Mia conveniently forget that if there was pressure involved, Cara was going to fold? And fold hard. If she dreamed it, she could not do it.

A little bolt of fur shot in front of her, followed by a few yips, then paws on her shins. Sweetness panted up at her expectantly, tail wagging on overdrive.

“Geez, when did you become the anti-dog whisperer?” Dell asked. “Are dogs going to attack you every market day?”

Cara bent down to pet Wes’s littlest dog, a shaggy piece of fur that gave no hint at breed. “She’s not attacking me. Hi, Sweetness. And you are, aren’t you? A bundle of sweetness.”

A shadow stepped over the sun, and it didn’t take a fortune-teller to know that when she looked up at the looming figure, she’d come face-to-face with beard and eyes. “Sorry about her. Apparently she’s got a thing for you.”

And what does her owner have for me? In another situation, like at the bar with her friends as an audience, she probably would have said it. “I don’t mind.” She gave Sweetness a scratch before standing up and moving away from the table where Mia and Dell were dealing with customers. “She escaped you to find me. I’m flattered.”

“You must smell like bacon,” Wes replied, following her and Sweetness to a cluster of trees outside the main row of tables.

“Or I’m irresistible.”

He made a strange kind of grunting sound. “Come on, dog.” His voice was low and grumbly as he patted his thigh to grab Sweetness’s attention.

It certainly caught Cara’s attention. It was a very nice, powerful-looking, denim-clad thigh. Get a grip. He might be hot, and that might usually be all it took for her to flirt with a guy, but she didn’t think she should get involved with someone rumored to be a hermit after being injured in the military.

She wasn’t the nurturing, empathetic, there-there type. She was the suck-it-up-and-let’s-have-fun type. James had made it abundantly clear when he’d broken up with her that he was leaving because she wasn’t at all comforting or helpful when he’d been dealing with his friend’s suicide.

And he’d been right. So, Mr. Wes Stone and his gruff bluster and fluster was way off-limits.

Cara gave Sweetness a little nudge. “Go on with your grumpy daddy.” But Sweetness whined, pushing against Cara’s legs as Wes scowled at her.

“You can borrow her,” he said in that gravelly voice.

“Borrow her?”

“Yeah. You said you were thinking about getting a dog. I have a couple of them I loan out. People wanting to see if their dog’s compatible with other animals, seeing if they can work a dog into their schedule, you know, before committing. It is a commitment.”

“Tell me again why you don’t call yourself their daddy.”

He narrowed his eyes, but there was humor in the look. “Not a daddy. Owner. Master.”

It was probably her imagination that when he said master it sounded kind of dirty. And hot.

Nope. For once in her life she was going to make the right decision when it came to a guy and just not go there. “So, I could really borrow her? For how long?”

“I usually do a week. Lets people see how all aspects of their schedule would be affected and if they’ll get used to any hiccups. It’s not perfect, but it helps.”

Sweetness yipped. “I don’t have any dog supplies or—”

“I have a loaner kit. Food, treats, leash, you know.”

“You really do this a lot?”

“I don’t usually offer strange women my dogs for fun, no.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I have to get back to my booth. You interested or what? You can take her after the market. I might have a kit in my truck.”

“Yeah.” Be nice to have a little company in her empty apartment, even if it didn’t speak. “Um, I have this interview thing in a bit. Could I pick her up from you this afternoon?”

“From me?”

“We can meet at a centralized, public location if you’re afraid I might peel off your skin and eat it.”

“Skin...peeling?”

She wouldn’t have pegged him as a guy with a great sense of humor, but there was a flash of one there. Maybe he wasn’t all gloom and doom? “I promise to keep it to a minimum.”

He snorted. “All right.” Then he fidgeted. “Um.” He pulled a wallet out of his pocket, then a little business card out of the wallet. All black and white. Organic Dog Treats. Wes Stone. Website and phone number. “Call me when you’re ready to come, and I’ll give you directions.”

Do not make a dirty joke. Do not make a dirty joke. “Yeah, okay.” And then because she couldn’t work it out, asked, “You seriously do this just because?”

“I seriously do.”

“You’re not trying to hit on me or something?” Because she couldn’t remember a time a guy had been nice just to be nice. To her, anyway. Her reputation in New Benton didn’t exactly lend itself to a lot of nice from the male population.

He frowned. “If I was trying to h-hit on you, I would not do it by lending you an annoying little yap dog with a terrible name.”

“Really? You don’t know much about women, do you?”

She could have sworn that underneath the grizzly beard he was blushing.

It wouldn’t be the first time she’d made a guy blush.

“Well, anyway, I should be done by twelve-thirty.” She waved the card. “I’ll give you a call. I could definitely use a furry friend after this dumb interview.” All the good feelings Sweetness had produced faltered in the face of pre-interview nerves. So, she worked up her widest grin. “And I do mean the dog, though if that falls through, you’d be a good backup.”

“Ha. Ha.” Definitely blushing. He turned and stalked back to his booth, and this time Sweetness listened and followed him.

Cara looked down at his card. Okay, maybe flirting with him was inevitable, but she would keep in mind he was probably in a fragile mental state and she had no business being a part of that.

At least she would try to keep that in mind.

* * *

WES THREW THE rope bone as hard as he could with his left hand. It veered into a cluster of trees, and he cursed. The pins and needles in his right arm were doing their dance, and he wanted to cut his own arm off to end the annoyance.

His left hand and arm had gotten more usable with practice, but it had yet to give him the controlled response his dominant hand had before.

He was going to have to go to the doctor again, and that made him want to pound his fists in fury. When would this be over?

The headache throbbed behind his left eye. His arm bothering him caused stress, and that caused a migraine. A fun circle he didn’t know how to escape, even after four years of being stateside.

When he heard the car in the distance, he knew it would be Cara, since he’d given her directions about forty-five minutes ago. He rarely let people come out here, but she’d sounded odd on the phone and his arm was bothering him, so driving out to her didn’t sound appealing.

Now the woman he had no business fantasizing about was going to be at his house. To pick up Sweetness for a loan week. Not to enact any fantasies. Lame fantasies, at that, considering how little experience he had in that particular arena.

His frustration simmered, his headache drummed. He’d get Sweetness loaded up with Cara, then he’d do some work. The methodical process of making dog treats, even when his arm sucked, was soothing. Possible. Not frustrating.

He’d learned in the army that having a precise way of doing things eased his anxiety and stress. Which helped him deal with people and life.

Cara stepped out of an old beige Toyota Camry. She wore black pants and high heels and a silky-looking green top under a black sweater.

Had he really offered a loaner dog to someone he’d met twice?

Yes, because she’s hot, and you’re very, very dumb.

Well, and Sweetness liked her. Which wasn’t all that unusual. Sweetness preferred women, though she’d gotten used to him after a family had left her with him because she hadn’t taken to their new baby.

“Hey,” Cara greeted him, picking across the yard on her high heels, getting stuck once or twice in the thawing, moist mud of his yard.

“Hey.”

Sweetness leaped off the porch, yapping the whole way to Cara. Before he could get half the stop command out of his mouth, Sweetness’s front paws were muddying up Cara’s pants.

He crossed to where Cara had knelt, right in the mud. “I’m sorry. She’s usually better at obeying.” He refused to see that as some kind of omen.

“It’s okay.” She held up her arms, showing off some patches of white dust and yellowish crusty stuff across the elbows and forearms of her black sweater. “I’m already a bit dirty.”

“I thought you had an interview?”

“Pie-baking interview.”

“That’s a thing?”

“Well, it was supposed to be a thing. Turned into a fiery ball of super fail instead.” She buried her nose in Sweetness’s fur. Phantom approached and rested his head on Cara’s shoulder.

Aw, crap.

Cara sniffled, but her head remained buried in Sweetness’s fur even as one arm curled around Phantom’s neck.

He had half a mind to tell her he was having his own meltdown, and he didn’t need hers to add to it, but this moment seemed so incongruous. He’d only spoken to her twice, but it had been obvious Cara was generally fun and happy, and the few times he’d heard her name bandied about town, those were the words used to describe her. Now she was crying all over his dogs. Hell if he knew what to do about it.

She cleared her throat, slowly released the two dogs and wiped her face with her sleeves before she turned to him. “Sorry about that,” she mumbled. “Bad day.”

“He’s a therapy dog.”

She swiped at her nose, watery bluish green eyes meeting his. “Huh?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I just mean, don’t feel bad for crying. Phantom is a therapy dog. That’s why he came over. Trained to offer comfort. Sometimes it makes you cry.”

She cocked her head, that kind of concentrated study he hated almost as much as the avoided glances. The avoided glances were I don’t want to deal with whatever is wrong with you. The cocked-head study was it doesn’t look like something is wrong with you. Are you mental?

“So, you need comfort?” she asked.

He swallowed down the “none of your damn business” and turned on a heel instead. “Let me get Sweetness’s stuff.”

Inside the kitchen, he hefted the plastic bin of food and treats and other dog paraphernalia. When he turned to walk back outside, Cara was stepping over the threshold.

Of his house. Someone else was in his house. A human being.

Phantom had followed her, resting his head against her thigh when she stopped. Traitor. Sweetness danced at her feet once she saw the plastic bin. The dog knew what was coming.

He wished he had some inkling, because he didn’t know what to do about Cara being in his house, even if it was only a few steps into the kitchen.

“This is a great place,” she said, looking around with avid interest. He looked, too. He liked it, of course, but he wasn’t sure what was that great about it.

“Is this where you make your stuff?” She pointed to his equipment and setup tables. Yes, he tended to spend more time in his kitchen making dog treats than food for himself. That was probably not normal. His hand went numb, which, while welcome over the pins and needles, was not convenient when he was holding something. His headache picked up again, and he struggled to use his good hip to balance the small bin.

Small. Light. Shouldn’t be a struggle.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” He gripped tighter with his good hand, but the bin was sliding, and his hip wasn’t moving quite the way it needed to in order to balance the container. So it upended and fell.

He bent down to retrieve the scattered crap, doing his best not to shove her hands out of the way when she tried to help.

“Sure you’re okay?”

“I’ve got it under control.”

“Right. Yeah.” She stopped helping and pushed into a standing position. He didn’t look up; he knew too well the kind of expression he would see. Curiosity or discomfort or both.

She didn’t make a big deal about it, but once he’d refilled the bin with Sweetness’s things, she bent over and picked it up before he could.

He tried to come up with words to get her to leave immediately, but when he stood, she was already walking farther into his house.

Carrying the plastic bin as if it were nothing.

Dark feelings twisted in his stomach. Bitterness. Jealousy. Anger. Fear. Worst of all, fear that he’d never be okay.

She needed to go.

Cara let out a low whistle, angling her head into his office. “What happened in there?”

The rest of the house was, well, a mess. His organizational skills were lacking at best. His tidying skills were also problematic, except in the kitchen. If he had a process, a structure, an outcome, like he did with making the dog food or he’d had in the army, he could be very clean and meticulous. But a space all to himself to keep things put away? He struggled.

Cara didn’t pause, didn’t hesitate. She stepped right into the fray. As if she’d been invited. As if she were welcome.

He scowled and shoved his hands into his pockets to stop the urge to yank her away from his stuff. “Do you always barge into homes and places of business uninvited like this?”

She chuckled, and he thought she didn’t look quite so beat down, like she had earlier. She was smiling and laughing, and this was the Cara he expected from town gossip and what little he knew about her. A smile. A joke.

“All those manners and things never really stuck with me, sorry.”

He grunted. It wasn’t so much about manners as... What? Normalcy. “I’m looking for an assistant to help with filing and organizing and stuff. I haven’t had any luck yet.” Why was he telling her that? What did he care if she thought he was a slob?

“Yeah? Why not?”

“People are annoying.”

Again, she laughed. She dropped the bin of dog supplies onto a cluttered chair. She walked through his office, touching his desk of teetering piles as though this was normal.

Usually he dropped the loaner dogs off at the person’s house, and this was precisely why. Probably also why he hadn’t hired any of the three people he’d worked up to interviewing.

He didn’t like sharing. He didn’t like someone trying to look underneath everything. But Cara already was.

For the first time since his return to civilian life, he didn’t know how to stop it.

CHAPTER FOUR

WHAT ARE YOU DOING? Cara hardly noticed her brain asking that question. It asked her that about ten times a day. On a good day.

This wasn’t really a good day.

So, perhaps that answered her question. She was poking through Wes’s things, Wes’s life, because it sure beat dissecting her own.

She’d gone into the interview expecting to talk. Sam had asked her to bake an impromptu pie. Somehow she’d added too much salt to the piecrust. The edges had come out burnt. She’d self-destructed.

Typical Cara.

Even when she expected failure, there was always some sliver of hope she could turn things around this time. Not flunk the test or freeze in an interview. Find some way to make someone proud.

Mia would not be proud that she’d screwed up, even less proud that she’d given Sam the impression she didn’t care. That it was all a joke. But what else were you supposed to do when every time you tried to do something “more,” it blew up in your face?

Maybe Wes had the right idea. Hermit cabin in the woods. Surround yourself with animals who couldn’t express their hope or disappointment in your abilities. No one could intimidate her with their expectation.

Wes didn’t intimidate her, and she was good at organizing someone else’s business. The idea took root easily enough. “Do you think I’m annoying?”

“You’re pawing through my stuff, so you’re not exactly not annoying.”

She laughed at his gruff honesty. “But too annoying to be your assistant?”

His eyes widened, and she couldn’t hide a smile. Surprising people always gave her a thrill. “I have references,” she added. “I’m the receptionist at a salon in Millertown. I organize the appointments, answer emails, phone, all that.” She looked around his mess of an office. “I could have this worked out in a couple weeks, tops.”

“I’m only looking for someone to work part-time.”

So, in theory, she could ask Sam for a second chance. She could possibly redeem herself in his, and in Mia’s, eyes. She could take the reins of this little disaster of her own making and turn it around.

Though her instincts recoiled at the idea, she was starting to outgrow the stage of life where she could be funny, careless Cara. Pretty soon she’d be irresponsible, deadbeat Cara.

Her whole stomach roiled at the idea of asking for a second chance, the even bigger pressure. But she looked around Wes’s cluttered, isolated house. The guy needed some help, and it was as if this opportunity was being dropped in her lap.

Could she really ignore it? “I actually might only need part-time if I can work something out.”

“I don’t think that’d be a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not a people person. I don’t like to talk or be friends. I get angry easily, and I’m rarely nice.”

“You have no idea how much I like not nice.” When he gave her a quizzical glare, she shrugged. “Seriously. Niceness carries with it a certain level of...” She couldn’t believe she was about to be so honest with the guy, but if she couldn’t be honest with the dog-whispering super hermit, who could she be honest with?

“Expectation. I prefer it when people are mean. No pressure to live up to anything. I’d take a good screaming fit over disappointment.” Okay, she could probably stop talking any minute. “Anyway, believe it or not, you don’t scare me in the slightest.” Maybe a slight exaggeration. Something about the guy made her...she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Restless, maybe, but surely that was just her life and not Wes.

“I...” His eyes moved around the room as if taking in the enormity of the mess, then his gaze returned to her. She didn’t think she imagined the perusal, though it was quick.

“On second thought, maybe it’d be a great idea.”

“Really?” She wasn’t sure if his sudden turnabout was normal or not, but she did thrive on spontaneity.

“Yeah, but I want the references before we agree on anything. And no negotiating wages or hours. I pick those.”

“No problem.”

“And there are rules.” He crossed his arms over his chest, scowling. Somehow the dude with the long beard and unkempt hair was cute when he got all gruff.

“Rules? Like what? I’m not always super great at following rules.” She never meant to break them, exactly; it just always turned out that way.

“I...I’m not sure what they are yet, but you’ll have to follow them.”

“Aye, aye, captain.”

“I’m not a captain.”

“Would you prefer sir?” She didn’t mean to make that sir come out all sultry and suggestive. The words had a mind of their own. A dirty mind, at that.

“I j-just... Call me Wes. My name is Wes, a-and that’s what you should call me.”

Cara cocked her head. He was a strange guy. One minute he was standoffish, but the minute she did anything remotely flirtatious he got stuttery. Nervous. The two things didn’t jibe. She found herself a little too curious as to why.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea if she was going to be tempted to flirt with him. There was one line she’d yet to cross in the dating department, and that was the boss/employee line.

Of course, her bosses had always been women before, making it rather easy.

“It makes business sense to hire someone better with people than I am. If you actually think you can tackle this and follow my rules, maybe it could work. Maybe. I could fire you any time I wanted. If I hire you.”

“Okay, well, do you have a pen and paper? I can write my references down for you. You can call everyone and get back to me with your rules, and we’ll go from there.” She looked around the stacks of paper, mail and God knew what else. “Or maybe you have a phone or laptop I could type it into, so you don’t lose it.”

He grumbled, then flipped open a laptop on his desk.

Cara cleared the chair off and settled herself in. Which, she knew very well, meant he would have to reach over her to type in his password. She told herself she didn’t do it on purpose.

He grunted, then reached for the keyboard. On the back of his right hand there were a few small scars. Obviously something was wrong with his arm or he wouldn’t have dropped Sweetness’s bin, but she hadn’t noticed the white marks before.

“It’s a scar.”

Busted. “I know.”

“Rule number one. Don’t stare at my scars. Rule number two, don’t ask about them.”

Well, poop. Now she was really curious. “Not a problem. Your scars. Your business.” Maybe she could look it up. Surely the local paper had done a story on him when he came back.

He pulled up an empty document, and she typed in her references, reminding herself multiple times not to stare at his scars. Not to wonder about this strange man with his strange energy.

This so wasn’t going to be easy, and challenges weren’t her strong suit, but it wasn’t as if failing here would be a big deal. All in all, what did she have to lose?

Not a whole lot.

* * *

EVERYTHING ABOUT HIRING Cara screamed bad idea. Bad, tempting idea.

No, the bad idea would be keeping her in that space of his life that would allow this little crush or whatever it was...to linger. Grow. Want.

Sure, if she worked with him she’d be around more than if he just ran into her at the market all season, but hiring her made her off-limits. Wes was very good at following the limits he set for himself. Following rules. That was where he thrived.

As much as he could thrive with a faulty body.

Besides, he’d never had any trouble repelling a woman before. Occasionally, they thought the blushing and stuttering was cute. At first. That never lasted past the whole kissing meltdown part.

So, it was better to have her around. Remind himself what happened around women. Not kid himself into thinking he’d grown out of his hang-ups.

She typed fast, one point in her favor. Long fingers whirring over the keyboard, her nails a flash of purple.

“There we go.”

She pushed her hair behind her ear, a little glimpse of blue catching his attention. A tattoo behind her ear. A bird? It was hard to tell with strands of her light brown hair covering parts of it.

He wasn’t sure why he was trying to tell. It was colorful like the rest of her. What more did he need to know? But it was like a beacon. He couldn’t look away—

“It’s a bluebird.”

“Huh?”

She turned in the chair to meet his gaze. “My tattoo you’re staring at. It’s a bluebird.”

“Oh, um.” Could he be any more of an idiot? Stuttering and um-ing all over the place.

She grinned. “For what it’s worth, I don’t have any rules. So, you can look at it. You can even ask about it if you want.”

“I was trying to figure out what it was. You’ve told me now. A bluebird. Okay.”

“All right. Anything else you want to ask me?”

“Anything else?”

“You know, what I consider my biggest weakness, what’s one word that best describes me, my hobbies. How I feel about interoffice dating.”

She smiled at him. A flirty smile. While he could recognize when someone was flirting with him, it always put him on edge and he never knew how to respond.

That kind of jokey flirting might be innocent, but in his experience, it was the kind used to ridicule him if he ever responded positively.

So he crossed his arms over his chest, standing at attention minus the salute. “No.”

“Right. Well. Suit yourself.” She gave a little wave and turned to go. It was only because he saw the loaner dog kit that he even remembered why she’d come in the first place.

“Cara?”

“Yeah?”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

She furrowed her brow, patting her pockets.

“Sweetness.”

“Oh, right.” She slapped a palm to her forehead comically. “She’s what I came for. Not to hound you into giving me a job.”

She seemed almost embarrassed. Of course, she didn’t stutter, and she didn’t stop smiling. “Guess I got distracted,” she said easily, sauntering over to pick up the loaner kit.

Yeah, she might get embarrassed, maybe, but she certainly wasn’t a basket case like him and the every-other-day reminder would do him a world of good.

* * *

CARA DUG THROUGH the loaner kit on her passenger side floorboard, pulling out a leash and attaching it to Sweetness’s collar.

“Home, sweet home, Sweet,” she said to the white ball of fur as she maneuvered them out of the car. “Well, temporary home.” She walked the dog along the patch of grass next to her apartment building until Sweetness did her business.

Even with the dog in tow, loneliness washed over her. She hated living alone. It gave her too much time to think, live in her own head, come up short.

Boo.

But Mia had moved out and none of her friends could up and move in. Cara’s only other choice was moving home with Mom and Dad, and with Anna headed off to college in the fall, Cara would rather be alone for years.

“Come on, girl.” She climbed the stairs to her front door and balanced the bin against it as she worked to get the key into the finicky, ancient lock. It made her think about Wes dropping the bin earlier.

He didn’t limp or look as though he had injuries that continued to be painful, but he had scars and had dropped something light. So, he was injured, and it was probably permanent.

And she was the jerk crying over a failed pie interview. Ugh.

Once inside, she knelt down and unclipped Sweetness’s leash. “You’re probably hungry and thirsty, aren’t you, girl?” She gathered the bin and went to the kitchen to fill up the dog bowls.

Man, Wes had thought of everything. She didn’t know how anyone could be that organized in some things and so disorganized in others.

She flipped the tap on and began filling the first bowl with water. Above the sink she had all Grandma’s pie tins displayed. Some days it was a comfort to have pieces of Grandma right there in plain sight.

On not-so-great days, it reminded her of the hole in her life since Grandma passed away.

She ran her finger over the edge of the starburst pie tin. Regret and failure lumped together in her stomach. “Sorry I suck so bad, Grandma.”

She cringed. She didn’t need a ghost to knock her over the head to know Grandma would not approve of Cara being so down on herself.

Whereas her sisters and parents beat around the bush of her failures, pretending she could overcome it, Grandma had refused to see it. Had given Cara a lot of crap anytime she dared pity herself.

Something about that reminded Cara of Wes.

“I have a bad feeling about your daddy,” she told the dog curled up on her couch. “He’s going to cause me trouble.” Which was something she normally thrived on, but something about Wes...

The gruffness, the scars, the blushing and stuttering. The way he hadn’t pitied her or made the crying worse when she’d first arrived. Just explained Phantom was a therapy dog.

For him. The last thing she needed was to get wrapped up in a guy who needed therapy. She was barely holding on herself.

She put the now-full bowls on the tile by the door, then settled on the couch. Sweetness sniffed the bowls, then hopped up next to her.

She felt broody. About everything. And, well, brooding was not her norm. Usually she went out to drink or laugh away any brooding, but today she was tired. Tired because she’d gotten up so dang early for the market, tired because she’d imploded at her interview and tired because everyone seemed to be a couple. Mia, her friends.

She hadn’t been on more than two dates with the same guy since Kevin. Oh, that one still burned a little bit. She had no qualms about casual relationships or even casual sex, but she had some serious qualms about being the girl a guy used to get back at his girlfriend.

Now fiancée.

Grr.

Sweetness crawled into her lap, and Cara scratched behind her ears. “Are you going to be my therapy dog, girl?” Sweetness licked her chin, and she couldn’t deny the fact that she might need it.

CHAPTER FIVE

“KNOCK, KNOCK!”

Wes tensed. Okay, he’d already been tense. He’d carried that tension around all morning, knowing Cara was going to show up today and invade.

He’d tended to the animals, worked out, showered and eaten breakfast, knowing that she would be all up in his space not just today, but three days a week, every week, for as long as she wanted or as long as he could stand it.

Her references had been mostly glowing. Cara was good at customer service. She was organized and dependable as long as she wasn’t tasked with too stressful of a project.

Those were the things he needed, and he didn’t have stressful projects because he refused to let stress into his business. The fact she interacted so well with his dogs helped. That, and you’d like to see her naked.

He snorted at his own inner monologue. Not gonna happen, buddy.

So, two weeks and a few phone calls after she’d offered herself up for the job, here she was. His assistant.

Without a response from him, Cara appeared in his office with Sweetness on a leash. A sparkly purple leash. Definitely not the one he’d packed in the loaner kit.

Then he saw the scarf.

“What the hell is that?” he demanded, pointing at the offensive swath of fabric.

Cara blinked and looked down at Sweetness. The scarf bandana thing around Sweetness’s neck was also purple, with pink-and-green flowers on it.

“Isn’t it cute?”

“No. It’s ridiculous. She’s a dog.”

“She loves it. Don’t you, girl?” Cara crouched, scratching Sweetness behind the ears. And, yeah, Sweetness seemed to like that, but he wasn’t sold on the scarf thing.

She popped back up to her feet. She was wearing skintight jeans and some oversize purple sweater thing that had big holes in it, but she seemed to be wearing a black tank top under it, so the holes didn’t show off anything important.

Seriously, there had been moments in time when he thought this would be a good idea?

“Thanks for letting me keep her the extra week.”

“Look, you can keep her. Period.”

Cara wrinkled her nose. “You can’t just give me your dog.”

“You bought her sparkly shit, and she clearly likes you better than me. Besides, you can bring her with you on workdays. It’s not like I don’t have enough dogs to keep me company, and she’s only mine because someone knew I didn’t turn away strays.”

“Wes.”

He already didn’t like the way she said his name. It gave him feelings he’d rather not diagnose at the moment. It was one of the great things about the army. Everyone said Stone or his rank in the same harsh bark. No emotion to discern in that environment. Just do your job right and no one gave you a hard time for being poor or shy or anxious or helpful or nice, either.

They needed to get on that professional, detached playing field. He gave orders. She followed them. The end. “Are you ready to work?”

“Oh! I almost forgot.” She shoved some papers out of the way and put her bag down on the spot she’d cleared. Carefully, she pulled out a big plastic container.

“I made you a pie.” She unclipped the clasps on the lid. “It’s kind of my version of a personality test.”

“Pie as personality test?”

She nodded, her lips a brightly painted pink smile. She lifted the lid with a flourish. “I give you octo-pie.”

Wes stared at the bizarre-looking pie. It was indeed an octo-pie in that the top of the piecrust had been fashioned to look like an octopus. A big lump of pie dough made up the body, while strips made up the eight legs. It even had eyes and a mouth cut into the crust. The pie filling looked like cherry and made his mouth water.

It was ridiculous and hilarious. He actually found himself laughing. Which somehow only made Cara grin wider.

“You pass,” she said happily. “You do have a personality under all that gruff I’m-so-tough beardy flannel.”

Any humor faded. He didn’t particularly want her to see him having a personality. This would be so much easier if he could be the silent soldier and she could...go about her business organizing him. His papers. Not him. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I would.” Sweetness hopped up on the desk chair and began sniffing around the pie, so Cara put the lid back on. “Are you sure about me keeping her?”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

“You have no idea how much I like that about you.” She said it kind of under her breath, but he caught it and was all too pleased by it.

“So, where do we start?” she asked, all sunny good cheer while Sweetness panted happily up at her despite her taking away the pie.

Yeah, the damn dog definitely belonged with Cara.

“Wherever you want. I have work to do in the kitchen. Find a way to organize all this in a way that works for you and that you can explain to a mess like me, answer the phones, and we’re set.”

Cara looked wide-eyed around the room. “That’s it?”

“You have carte blanche. And I have carte blanche to tell you it sucks.”

Instead of frowning or arguing like he would have expected, she grinned. “This might be the best job I ever had.”

“I wouldn’t say that yet,” he grumbled. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you have any questions.” And he would stay in the kitchen, because being around her was bad news. Being pleased by anything she said was a terrible recipe for a replay of his teenage life, and nope, he wasn’t going to do that again.

He left her in his office, Sweetness not even looking his way. Which was fine. At least Phantom...

He glanced back to where the dog hovered in between the doorway of the office and the hallway to the kitchen. “Another traitor,” Wes muttered, trying not to feel too bent out of shape about it.

If he were a dog, he’d be panting in Cara’s lap, too.

Irritated with himself for, well, everything, he took a deep breath and went about setting up for work. He had things to do. Things that did not involve his new assistant.

Besides, there was always the chance she’d make a mistake and he could fire her. Because, of course, you have the balls for that.

He had been isolated for too long. Talking to the dogs was one thing. Talking to himself this much? He still remembered his fourth-grade teacher, Ms. Purdue, telling him that talking to himself was a sign of insanity.

She might not be that far off.

He gathered his ingredients, flipping on the radio to drown out some of his inner monologue. All he wanted to think about was the correct ratio of sweet potatoes to whole wheat flour.

He lost himself in the routine, even managing to forget Cara was in the next room most of the time. He had the batter made and the molds filled before she interrupted the peace he’d found by entering the kitchen.

“Hey, um...” Her nervous energy filled the room. Obviously she’d run across something she had a question about, something that made her uncomfortable. His shoulders that had finally relaxed tensed.

“Um, someone from Dr. Pedelmann’s office called to see if they could reschedule your appointment tomorrow.”

Well. Yeah, he could see why that’d make her uncomfortable. And damn him for not having a personal phone line so he could handle these things without the chance of her...getting wind of it. Too late now. “Super.”

“They asked if the sixth at two-thirty would work.”

“Okay.”

She didn’t move. He didn’t bother to look at her, but he could still hear her breathing, didn’t hear any footsteps retreating.

“You’re not, like, dying, are you?”

The question shocked an almost laugh out of him. “No, not dying.” Any lingering desire to laugh died. “Just malfunctioning.”

She stood there, hovering. Not asking any more questions but not leaving, either.

“Look.” He glared at the molds filled with batter. As much as he loved what he did, it so often struck him as ridiculous. Making dog treats so idiot people like Pipsqueak’s owner could pretend their dogs were children. All because he was too damaged to do what he really wanted to do.

But there were good customers, too. Non-ridiculous people who wanted to feed their dogs decent food. Which was the whole reason he’d even thought of this business when all other options had been destroyed.

Cara was still watching him. He could feel her gaze. Like a weight. Like a noose. “I have nerve damage in my arm. A pin in my hip. The nerve damage isn’t progressing the way it should, hence the doctor’s appointment. I’m not dying, and I’m not certifiable.” Not totally, anyway.

“Okay. Can I help somehow?”

“No. Just reschedule the appointment for whenever.”

“Okay.” Another pause. “Okay,” she said once more, and then, finally, her footsteps retreated.

He took a deep breath, looked out the window at the trees that surrounded his cabin. Help. A foreign concept. One he didn’t know what to do with except push away.

But the offer lingered there, accompanied by a sharp pang of something he’d tried to eradicate from his life. Longing. Loneliness. He wasn’t such an idiot that he thought he’d ever be right in the head enough to have a romantic relationship, but maybe they could have a friendly working one.

That wasn’t...totally out of the realm of possibility, was it? He’d been friends, so to speak, with some of the guys in his regiment. The guys in the dog squad especially.

Cara might be a woman, but she was an off-limits woman, which meant he didn’t have to get all nervous and uncomfortable at the prospect of anything more. There wasn’t the chance for anything more. She was like a fellow soldier, working toward the same goal.

And if she had breasts, a brain-cell-killing smile and always smelled like flowers of some kind, well, he’d find a way to ignore that.

* * *

CARA LOOKED DOWN at the desk and sighed. The enormity of stuff Wes surrounded himself with, half of it junk mail and old receipts that couldn’t possibly be needed, made it feel as if she’d gotten nowhere despite working for almost three hours straight. Well, aside from the little break to tell Wes about his doctor’s appointment and shove her foot in her mouth.

There was progress to be found on the desk; she just couldn’t see it. And that made her feel stupid. Which wasn’t exactly new these days. She needed something to gel.

Asking Wes if he was dying wasn’t gelling. Nor was getting one hundred percent turned down on her offer to help. But, hey, at least she got to keep Sweetness.

Cara’s stomach rumbled, and she chewed her lip. She’d been hungry for an hour. Couldn’t stop thinking about the pie she’d placed back in her bag. She’d need a knife, fork and plate to indulge, and she had brought it for Wes, so she probably shouldn’t eat it.

Though him eating the whole pie didn’t seem totally necessary.

When Wes stepped back into the office, he gave her a quizzical look. Probably because she was standing there staring at nothing. Doing nothing.

“I—I was trying to, um, I was going to take my lunch break. If that’s okay. I—”

He grunted, cutting her off. I suck, suck, suck.

“You have three choices,” he said. “You can eat whatever in here and take off at four. You can go get lunch somewhere in town, which seems like a total waste of time, and you’d have to work till five. Or you can come with me.”

“What happens if I come with you?” Why, oh, why had her brain suddenly made everything dirty? So not okay to think about that right now.

“We take the dogs for a walk. We eat sandwiches out by the creek. We don’t chitchat. And you can take off at four thirty, because it usually only takes me about a half hour.”

“What exactly is your definition of chitchat?” A girl with any ounce of self-preservation would take the first option. She was not that girl.

“Pick a door, Cara.”

He so rarely said her name or addressed her in any way. It was strangely nice when he did. “Door three, please.”

Again, he grunted, offering nothing else as he walked back to the kitchen. For the first time she noticed it. Not quite a limp, but a stiffness. That right leg didn’t move quite as easily as the rest of him.

Or had she noticed because she now knew he had a pin in his hip? Ouch, that sounded bad. Plus nerve damage that wasn’t getting better. Poor guy.

When she stepped into the kitchen, he was standing in front of the small slice of counter that seemed reserved for people food. “Peanut butter or turkey?”

“Um.” It took her brain a few seconds to work out he was asking about sandwiches. “I brought my own lunch.” A sad little packet of tuna and some crackers. “But if you’re offering, I’ll take a turkey sandwich instead.”

Another grunted nonanswer, and she didn’t know what to do with herself. She didn’t think offering to make her own sandwich would go over well.

“I’ve got Coke in the fridge if you want to grab two.”

She did as he asked, then stood by the door feeling like an idiot with two Coke cans freezing her hands.

Each sandwich went into a baggie. Grabbing a coat off a hook by the door, he shrugged it on, then took the cans from her. He slid one into each pocket, along with a baggie of dog treats. “You wanna carry the sandwiches?”

“Sure. Um, if you bring forks, we can eat pie, too.”

He nodded, pulling open a drawer and taking out two forks. She grabbed her bag, dropped the sandwiches in, then followed him outside.

She’d expected some first day awkwardness—and gotten it with the doctor thing—but walking around and eating with your boss, who happened to be kind of hot and intriguing, felt really weird.

He walked around the cabin to what appeared to be a small barn in the back. Probably a quarter of the size of the ones on her dad’s property, but the color and shape was all barn.

“I make sure all the animals have water and food. Make the petting rounds.”

Cara looked behind them, where Sweetness, Phantom and the other two dogs pranced. “You have more animals?”

“A few cats. Two more dogs. A sheep.”

“A sheep?”

He shrugged, tramping over to the barn and pulling the door open. “He needed a good home. I had a barn.”

“No partridge in a pear tree?”

“I like animals.”

“Because they aren’t annoying like people?”

“I’ve always liked animals. I never had any growing up.”

“Never?”

“I tried a few times, but we always lived in no-animals-allowed places, so I always got in trouble. One time I got us kicked out, so I gave that up. I was going to...”

“You were going to what?”

He was frowning now, and not just his normal scowly resting face. This was full-on pissed off.

“Doesn’t matter.” He stomped into the barn. A few yips rang out, and a cat made figure eights between his legs.

“Why do you keep these guys in here?”

“The cats chose it. The dogs aren’t trained enough yet. They run off if I give them free rein outside, but this gives them some space and we work on boundaries in the evening. Shrimp doesn’t get around too good these days, so it’s safest for him to stay in a pen, although he occasionally escapes.”

“Shrimp?”

“Sheep with a limp. Sheep plus limp. Shrimp.”

“Wes!”

“What? It’s descriptive.” His mouth quirked up. Not quite a smile, but because it was Wes she would count it as a smile.

“Come on.” He went about filling dishes with fresh water and adding food to different bowls. It was obviously his routine, and it seemed to relax him. Except for the few times he’d look up, seem to remember she was there and get all tense and frowny again.

Cara had to wonder why he’d invited her at all if she made him so uncomfortable. But she didn’t question it out loud, because she didn’t want to eat lunch alone. Strange company was better than no company.

She followed him around, and eventually they left the barn. He brought one of the barn dogs with them, so the number of animals trailing after them was now five. He didn’t look at her once as they hiked through the woods, eventually reaching a creek.

It was beautiful and reminded her so much of home, she wanted to splash in the water like she had when she’d been eight. Only it was barely fifty degrees, and walking through the sliver of leaf-filled water between two muddy banks would be ill advised in her flimsy canvas shoes.

“Buttercups! Oh, my favorite.” Shiny yellow petals sprouted next to a big, flat rock Wes stopped at. Spring had always been her favorite season. Spring had meant freedom as a kid. Everyone busy with the farm and the weather finally okay enough she could go out without Mom blowing a worry gasket.

Fresh air and freedom. It made her believe in new beginnings, far more than any January resolution did. So, maybe she needed to seek a little rebirth and new growth of her own.

Grow up. Leave Cara the screwup behind.

Not possible.

She ignored the jerk of a voice in her head and plucked the delicate flowers out of the ground, arranging a few in her hair. A little visual reminder that flowers could grow from nothing but dirt and water and a little sunlight. “How do I look?”

He’d situated himself on the rock, and Cara had a little inward sigh over his pretty eyes before he looked down. Blushing. Definitely blushing. He might have acted as if he didn’t care for her occasional flirting, but obviously he didn’t think she was repulsive.

Maybe he was shy about stuff like that. For some reason, the thought of gruff and grumpy Wes being shy made her feel all warm and squishy.

Which was not okay. At all. He was her boss, and aside from this and a few emergency shifts at the salon, she had no income. Because she hadn’t sucked up the courage to approach Sam again about the pies.

Well, buttercups as her witness, she would.

She settled herself next to Wes. And, yeah, maybe she didn’t have to sit so close, but she was feeling bold now. She handed him his sandwich; he handed her a Coke.

“This place is perfect.”

He cracked open his soda. “Yeah, I like it.”

“You do this every day?” With Phantom, Sweetness and the three other dogs sitting or lying around the base of the rock, it obviously wasn’t something new.

He made one of his grunt-yes noises as he bit into his sandwich.

“So, why organic dog treats?”

He lifted those broad, yummy shoulders—bad, Cara—but she pointed at him before he finished the motion. “No shrugging. You have to answer.”

“I said no chitchat.”

“It’s not chitchat. It’s an interrogation.”

He glared. Glowered. All frustrated irritation. She couldn’t stop herself from imagining him making that kind of look naked. If she did something sassy. And she would need to be punished.

Okay, if she were the blushing type, she’d be blushing.

“I was going to be a vet,” he grumbled, attacking his sandwich as if it had done something wrong. “But, you know, you need a steady hand.”

She had to try hard to not let the pity show on her face. It didn’t take a psychologist to figure Wes was not the kind of guy who would deal well with pity. Oh, but her heart did hurt for him. He obviously loved animals, and getting hurt had ended his chance to be a vet.

Geez, this guy was a sob story. Usually those made her run in the opposite direction. Hurt feelings and tough emotions were not her forte, but Wes made everything that usually freaked her out seem irresistible.

Well, you better do some resisting, Cara Pruitt.

“So, anyway, my mom had opened an organic grocery store in California and done pretty well, and it gave me the idea for organic pet food stuff. Did some research. Set up a business. Blah, blah, blah.”

“That’s pretty amazing. Starting your own business. I watched Mia do it, and she had a farm to start with. It’s really impressive you put together a whole business you can sustain yourself and a bunch of animals with.”

He stared into the creek. “It’s okay.”

“Right. Well, I’m impressed. I can’t even make myself go after a job I want, let alone start my own business.”

“What’s your excuse?”

She gave him a rueful smile. “Cave under pressure. Useless with expectation.” She nudged a few pebbles with her foot. “I’m working on it.”

“I would freaking hope so.”

There was an undercurrent in the way he mumbled it. Kind of mean. The meanest she’d ever heard him sound. Even meaner than when he’d yelled at that lady at the market. “Huh?”

“Sorry, no patience for that bullshit.” He stood, shoving his empty baggie and soda can in his pocket. He held a hand out for her trash, but she didn’t give it to him.

“What bullshit?”

“Not going after something you want because you’re afraid.” He made a “give me it” motion with his hand, which, for some reason, made her clutch the trash even tighter.

“I’m not afraid. That’s how I’m wired. Or whatever. I can’t handle it. I’ve tried.”

“You know what I have to say to that?”

“Something really nice and comforting?”

“Try harder.” With that, he let out a sharp whistle that had the dogs jumping to their feet and scrambling after his already retreating back.

Cara stared after him until he was a few feet away. Sweetness stood at the top of the hill, whining at her. Only then did she move.

Oh, hell, no, that had not just happened. He had not barked “try harder” at her as if she was some soldier. She might be his employee, but she took orders from no one.

And he was about to find that out.

CHAPTER SIX

WES HAD WARNED HER. That was his one and only defense. Before he’d offered her the job, he’d warned her he sucked with people. So, you know, she could not be surprised that he’d been a total jerk.

Sure.

He stalked back to the barn, headache inching its way up the base of his skull. A ball of tension, dull for now. He forced Monster back inside, even though the dog whined. Usually he let both dogs out on their runner in the afternoon, but right now he needed to get inside the cabin.

Inside and away from the woman stomping toward him looking as if she was going to beat him up.

He’d probably let her. He didn’t know where all that stuff had come from. It certainly wasn’t his place to tell her she was wrong and ridiculous, even if she was. So much for trying to be pleasantly friendly to coworkers. He couldn’t even get that right.

“You have no right to say that stuff.”

He shrugged. “True enough.”

She opened her mouth, and her eyebrows drew together. She huffed out a breath. “I—you—oh, I could punch you.”

“I’d apologize, but...” He was an idiot. Apologize and but did not go in the same sentence. He knew that, but, well, he didn’t feel like apologizing. She was fully functional and apparently had the opportunity to do something she loved, and she had caved?

She was gorgeous, funny, personable and, from all accounts, had a decent family life. What excuse did she have for not going after her dreams?

“But what?” she demanded, hands fisted on hips, muddy shoes tapping on the soggy grass.

“Would you be so angry if I wasn’t right on the money?”

Her mouth dropped open, her foot stilling and hands dropping to her sides. She looked frozen. Like a statue or one of those mannequins that only came to life when someone wasn’t looking.

“You—”

“Look, I warned you about how I am with people. So, you know, if that’s a problem, feel free to quit.”

Again there was a long pause before she reacted in any way. Which spoke volumes about how together she was. That she could pause and think before acting.

“I can’t quit.”

“Yes, you can. In fact—”

“This is all I have right now. As much as I think you’re being kind of a, well, something I can’t say to the man I want to not fire me. I’d rather be here than back at the farm supply store.”

“What about that hair place?”

“They already replaced me. I can fill in, but that’s only in emergencies. Even this job doesn’t cover all my expenses. It’s supposed to be my motivation to ask Sam for another chance at the pie thing. So you can’t take it away. I won’t let you.”

Maybe that was why he didn’t understand her self-deprecating, fold-under-pressure speech. He’d yet to see her fold under anything. She stood her ground. She swept in where she had no business being. She’d somehow convinced him to give her his dog.

She was a hurricane, and hurricanes didn’t fold.

“Then let’s go inside and work. And not talk. This, this right here is why I don’t do the chitchat thing.”

She muttered a curse under her breath, and he was pretty sure it was directed at him. He couldn’t hold it against her.

He walked toward the house, and she followed. This was some kind of truce. It was better than where they’d been when she’d put flowers in her hair and asked him how she looked.

Beautiful. Breathtaking. Words a guy like him didn’t think, let alone say aloud. But Cara defied his norm. The talking about not having animals when he was a kid, and commenting on her life and choices. That wasn’t something he did with anyone else. He’d been trying to be normal, but it had spiraled out of his control.

Thank God she defied his norm in annoying ways, too. As long as she could push his buttons, he was safe. Don’t worry, Wes, your virginity is very, very safe.

But instead of heading inside, she stepped in front of him. He had no choice but to look at her. No choice but to be sucked into Hurricane Cara.

“I bombed the job interview. The pie-baking one. The one that would be perfect. Explain that. How I did that. Me, who has been making pies forever. I could do it in my sleep. I put in too much salt. I burnt the edges. He was standing there staring at me, and everything went wrong when it never has before.” She poked him in the chest. “Explain that.”

“Bake the pies beforehand.” The way her tense expression morphed into shock was evidence enough that this had never occurred to her.

“Before...”

“If it’s the pressure that gets to you, bake it in a no-pressure zone. Then take it to him. If he’s the suspicious sort, have your sister watch you or video you or something.”

“But what if I get the job? I can’t video everything.”

“Tell him you’d rather use your own kitchen. It’s not like you’re going to sit in his restaurant making pies to order. It takes too long, doesn’t it? You’ll want to make dough in batches, make the filling in batches, right? Like a diner.”

“How did you...? That never even... Why didn’t he...? Why didn’t I...?”

Here was the choice. One he usually didn’t struggle with, but Cara’s vulnerability under all the strength she didn’t seem to think she had made it hard to be the close-the-door-in-her-face kind of guy he would prefer to be. “I’ve spent a lot of time learning to avoid my anxiety triggers. You have an obstacle, you find a way to circumnavigate it. Defuse it.”

“Wes.” She said his name with wonder. As if he was helping or something, and that made him uncomfortable enough to bring the harsh side of him back out.

“What you don’t do is wimp out, then whine about it.”

Yeah, that snapped any sweet appreciation off her face as easily as a slap might have.

She crossed her arms over her chest. Which tugged the top of her tank top down a little. A strip of neon pink lace poked out from beneath it.

Stop looking.

“But if it is anxiety, which I’m not all that certain it is, I can’t make it go away.”

“Do you think I’m telling you that?” He pointed at Phantom, who was sitting uneasily off to the side. Assessing. “Dude with a therapy dog. I had military-required therapy and psychoanalysis. I’m saying you find a way to deal. It’s called coping. It’s healthy and whatever.”

“No offense, Wes, but you don’t strike me as the most mentally healthy guy.” She closed her eyes, and her mouth twisted in a pained expression. “Please, ignore me.”

“I keep trying.”

Her mouth quirked up. “I guess I’m not very good at fading into the background. But, um, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I’m not mentally healthy.” He was bitter, angry, frustrated. Then there was his physical health. “In fact, I’m a mess. Which—it is what it is. But you should know that. Accept it. You want to keep this job as your motivation, you’re going to have to understand this is me.”

She cocked her head, studying him in a way that made him want to squirm. Only calling on his military training kept him from doing it. He was tempted to stand at attention.

“You don’t scare me, you know.”

“I thought you folded under pressure.”

“Pressure. Expectation.” She frowned. “Hope. That’s when I fold, when I know I should be better. Fear? Well, I’m not afraid of people who can’t hurt me.”

“I could fire you.”

“You could, but for as much of a mess as you are, I don’t think you’re cruel.”

She had his number. “No.”

“Then, I’ll get back to it.” With that, she turned on a heel and waltzed into the house. His house, and yet again, he didn’t know what to do about it.

* * *

CARA GLANCED AT the clock. 4:28 p.m. Two more minutes, then she was out of this loony bin. Of course, she was coming back on Wednesday. And Thursday. Week after week.

Unless she started looking for work elsewhere, which was probably what she should do. Every time she thought of Wes saying, “Try harder,” she wanted to punch him. Right in the nerve damage.

But then she thought about the way he called himself a mess and she wanted to... She didn’t know. Something warm and fuzzy and foreign. Because usually when it came to messes, Cara steered way clear. She was not the clean-up-a-mess girl. She maybe could help if someone needed something easy, like Mia had. But not deep-seated-issue messes. She was a hey-wanna-slap-on-some-lipstick-and-drown-your-sorrows type.

Why the heckity heck was Wes different? Just because she had the hots for him? That was sad, even for her. She’d overlooked a guy’s flaws before, but they were usually flaws like he never paid for dinner or didn’t have a job.

Not, like, therapy dogs and war injuries. That was heavy stuff. Stuff to run away from so she didn’t make a situation worse, like she had during her brief relationship with James. And yet, given the chance with Wes, she hadn’t run. Nor had she made light of the situation.

She’d stood up to him.

Huh.

Two thuds interrupted her obsessing, and when she looked to the office entrance, Wes was standing there. His arms were crossed, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. For the first time, she could see that the scars on his hand went up the length of his forearm and disappeared beyond the sleeve.

She wasn’t supposed to look, but it was hard. She was curious. She wondered what he’d gone through, if it still hurt, if she could help.

“You can leave now.”

She wanted to laugh at how ridiculous he sounded. He’d hired her, but he didn’t want her here. Sometimes he acted as if he liked her—he’d given her a dog—and other times he acted as if she was gum on the bottom of his shoe. Try harder.

She should quit. That was the bottom line. She needed to quit and beg Miranda for her job at the salon back. Or find a whole different job. Somewhere in Millertown.

But then Sweetness yipped happily at her feet, and the desire to quit receded. He’d given her a dog. His dog. He wasn’t all bad. Just, well, like he said, a mess.

Maybe if she learned how to deal with someone else’s much harder mess, she’d figure out how to deal with her own.

“I’ll be back bright and early Wednesday morning.” She lifted her chin, daring him to argue.

He gave her the slightest of nods, and she got the distinct impression he was purposefully not saying anything.

That was fine and dandy. They didn’t need to talk. They didn’t even need to be friends. He could be gruff, silent boss man, and she would be A-plus administrative assistant lady.

She gathered up her things and clipped Sweetness’s leash onto her collar, but when she walked over to him so she could leave, he didn’t move out of the doorway. He blocked it, arms still crossed, all frowny and...

Hot. The word you are looking for is hot. She had no idea how, but his mountain man flannel and hair had become something of an obsession.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice so low and grumbly she barely made out the words.

It was possibly the most sincere apology she’d ever gotten. He was uncomfortable, and his enunciating could use some work, but that was what made it so genuine.

It wasn’t BS. It was very real. Very honest. She didn’t know what to do about that, except be honest back.

“You weren’t wrong, even if you were kind of jerky about it.”

“Yeah, well. I’m sorry for the jerky part.”

Sweetness tugged on the leash, obviously ready to get outside, but Cara wasn’t ready for it because she was still a little off-kilter from the apology. Instead of holding on tight and tugging back, she bumped right into Wes.

A hard wall of muscle. Yowza.

He gripped her elbow with his unscarred hand. “She needs some work on her obeying.”

I would gladly obey. Talking about a dog. Not her. Right. Cara swallowed. “Well, I should get her outside, huh?”

He maneuvered her via the arm he held, so they switched places. He was now in his office, and she was in the door frame.

“Right. Well. See you Wednesday.”

He nodded, giving no indication he felt any of the same crazy attraction electricity she got every time he was all whatever that was.

She should be glad he didn’t feel it, but she remembered the way he’d blushed when she asked him how she looked with the buttercups in her hair. He wasn’t immune, and she wanted to know why he insisted on pretending he was.

Except he was her boss and, of his own admission, not mentally healthy.

“Did you need something else?”

“Nope. I’m good,” she said brightly. Too brightly, but oh, well. He was always too grumpy, and she could be too cheerful. Maybe they’d balance each other out.

Hardy-har-har.

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