“I suppose we’ll get married now,”

Michael said.

Bailey’s heart beat faster, harder, painfully. “What do you mean?”

“If you’re expecting, we’ll do the right thing by the child,” he said, his tone practical.

Bailey pulled herself up tall, her spine rigid with pride. “The heck we will,” she declared. “I wouldn’t dream of marrying a man who thinks he’s going to do the right thing by me. If I was looking to be saved, Michael Wade, I would’ve married someone else a long time ago.”

What a fool I’ve been. Suddenly she couldn’t stay another moment around Michael. Not when it felt like her heart was being torn right out of her.

Cowboy Be Mine
Tina Leonard

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Tina Leonard loves to laugh, which is one of the many reasons she loves writing Harlequin American Romance books. In another lifetime, Tina thought she would be single and an East Coast fashion buyer forever. The unexpected happened when Tina met Tim again after many years—she hadn’t seen him since they’d attended school together from first through eighth grade. They married, and now Tina keeps a close eye on her school-age children’s friends! Lisa and Dean keep their mother busy with soccer, gymnastics and horseback riding. They are proud of their mom’s “kissy books” and eagerly help her any way they can. Tina hopes that readers will enjoy the love of family she writes about in her books. Recently a reviewer wrote, “Leonard has a wonderful sense of the ridiculous,” which Tina loved so much, she wants it for her epitaph. Right now, however, she’s focusing on her wonderful life and writing a lot more romance!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

“I have loved Michael all my life,” Bailey Dixon murmured as she stood in her bedroom, staring in the dressing mirror at her full-length profile. “All I ever dreamed of was becoming Mrs. Michael Wade.”

She couldn’t say that to him. Michael didn’t love her. He would be astonished if she just breezed out of her house, drove her truck to his next-door ranch and said, “Michael, it’s time you and I—”

What? Put a ring and a commitment on their relationship?

Michael Wade was dead set against rings, commitments and anything that remotely felt like a relationship. A handsome, wealthy bachelor—in Fallen, Texas, he was considered a catch.

Michael Wade would never be caught.

Bailey was terrified of scaring him off. But she would if she mentioned the dreaded M word.

For six months, she had lived in the heaven of his arms—at night. It had happened by accident, almost. He had been under the weather with a broken ankle. Knowing he’d have almost no groceries at his place, she’d taken over a casserole and some soup. Very casually she had eased into his life, almost as if she belonged there.

Almost—as long as she stayed out of his heart. This particular cowboy was branded tough to tame. But she desperately wanted to tame him.

The question was—could she?

MICHAEL WADE knew himself to be considered a loner, possessed of a personality that earned him few friends but many wary acquaintances. He worked hard. He didn’t socialize much; he wasn’t interested in clowning around with the single guys in Fallen. Drinking and cutting up weren’t his thing, not after he put in long days on the family ranch, which had become his since his dad’s death. His mother had moved on a long time before, deciding she could no longer endure her husband suffering with unrequited love for the married Polly Dixon next door. At least that’s what one of his high school acquaintances had told him at the time. Michael had taken his mother’s desertion personally, though he never let himself think about it anymore. Today wasn’t going to be an exception. At thirty, he was a contented bachelor, exactly what a man with common sense ought to be. Women would be a cramp in his life he didn’t need.

Not even sweet Bailey Dixon, who got that soft, hopeful gaze in her eyes when he pulled her into bed with him. Maybe he wasn’t a gentleman for sleeping with her without intending more than physical pleasure. Maybe he should tell her to put her truck in reverse the next time she came around.

The trouble was, he was selfish. He liked her perky little smile. Her petite, curvy body fit his like his work gloves fit his hands. He enjoyed the way she didn’t ask for anything from him. It made it easier to ignore his pangs of conscience, which taunted that perhaps he and his hard-edged father had possessed something in common, after all—their attraction to calm, capable Dixon women.

What further annoyed the hell out of Michael on this crisp February day was that he’d caught himself thinking about Bailey more than once. More than twice. Maybe about twenty times. He found himself glancing toward her ramshackle wooden Victorian house, a half-acre from his, wondering what she was doing. Wondering if she’d come to see him tonight. She did come around, occasionally and uninvited, just when he started missing having someone to talk to and warm him up at the end of a long week.

She hadn’t been around in nearly two weeks, and he was about crazy from wondering when she’d be back. He was sorely tempted to ring her number and holler into the phone, “Where the hell are you?”

Something told him that wasn’t the appropriate way to draw Bailey to his bed, and he’d never had to invite her before. She just sort of made herself at home.

He blew out a breath in the frigid air, glanced one more time at Bailey’s house and turned his horse to head home.

The woman wasn’t going to get under his skin.

No way.

“YOU SEE MY PROBLEM,” Bailey told her older brother.

“I told you not to mess with him. I told you he wasn’t going to marry you,” Brad said sourly.

“What you told me doesn’t matter now, does it?”

Brad put his head in his hands. “I should go over there and beat his head in. I should shoot him.”

“That would upset me greatly.” Bailey set milk out for the youngest of the seven Dixon siblings, who were eyeing her and Brad curiously as they spoke in abbreviated terms so the children wouldn’t understand the exact content of the conversation. Bailey was twenty-five, and Brad was twenty-six. As for late-in-life accidents, their parents had five of them, now aged five, six, seven, eight and nine. It was like a tap that had been turned on and refused to shut off. Country people who had never strayed from Fallen, they’d married at fifteen, respect for each other forging their family tight-knit and strong. At forty-one, a cruel cancer stole Polly, and not much later, Elijah died of a broken heart, too weak to be willing to go on without his wife.

Contrary to popular belief, it was more than possible to survive on love. It was a richness no coin could purchase.

Their parents had left the family that knowledge, if not money. How to pay the overwhelming inheritance taxes on the house and property fell to Bailey and Brad to figure out. As the eldest, Brad should be head of the household, but he was happier letting Bailey handle most of the practical considerations. Now she’d added a further complication—one more mouth to feed.

She returned to washing dishes. “I knew what I was getting into.”

“As the man of this house, it’s probably incumbent upon me to at least talk to him.”

“No!” Bailey whirled around and eyed her brother sharply. “I’ll talk to him. When the time is right.”

“The clock is ticking,” Brad pointed out. “You need to speed up your timetable.”

“Brad,” Bailey protested. “Please! It’s not going to be easy. I don’t know how to tell him….” She fell silent, glancing out the kitchen window to the redbrick, sturdy ranch house Michael’s father had commissioned. What little she had of Michael, she didn’t want to lose.

Sadness struck her heart. She had a choice to make. She could tell him about the baby, and he’d no doubt do the honorable thing. But she didn’t want him that way.

She wanted him to be hers, body and soul and heart and mind.

Not trapped. Not forced—though she knew in her heart it would never happen. He would never feel the way about her she felt about him.

Brad left the kitchen, but Bailey hardly noticed as she stared through the window at the neighboring ranch. “Cowboy, please be mine,” she murmured through sudden tears.

“ARE YOU GOING to do any work today?” Chili Haskins turned to look at his loafing companion.

Curly Monroe looked indignant. “Should I?” He settled a bit more comfortably on the wooden fence rail they shared. “We’re almost old enough to be members of AARP.”

Fred Peters scratched his chin. “You mean that association of retired people? We ain’t that old.”

“Nah.” Chili thought that over. “We’re fence-sitters, not doing much of anything but sitting on this rail. But we’re not retired.”

“A fence-sitters’ country club,” Curly agreed, satisfied. “Kind of exclusive, if you think on it.”

“We need to do something, though.” Chili wasn’t as satisfied as Curly.

“No, we don’t. That would defeat the purpose of sitting on the fence,” Fred pointed out. “We’d have to turn in our membership in our own club.”

“We could do a little more than we’re doing to help Michael,” Chili argued. “He didn’t have to keep us on after his pa passed. He could have sent us packing. I say we help him out some way more than appointing ourselves the unofficial lookouts of the Walking W ranch.”

From their vantage point, they gazed at the sprawling ranch house.

“Big place for one person,” Fred mentioned.

“Yep. Gotta be lonely.” Chili had his two companions in retirement. He wasn’t lonely. Michael Wade had no one.

All three men glanced toward the dilapidated Victorian house perched on the opposite hill. Chili cleared his throat. Curly coughed uncomfortably. Fred shifted.

“Been a long time since she’s been a-calling,” Chili finally said.

“Maybe he ran her off,” Curly suggested.

It was a strong possibility. Michael didn’t want a whole lot of company, and especially not female, although there wasn’t a single unattached woman in all of Fallen who hadn’t brought Michael some vittles and a smile. Michael came out every once in a while to jaw with the self-appointed fence-sitters, but as far as they knew, Bailey’s nocturnal visits were an amazing exception to his self-imposed seclusion.

“You could casually ask him,” Fred said hopefully. “Ask him if he’s seen Bailey lately, as if you didn’t know he hasn’t.”

“He could casually poke me in the honker for butting in!” Chili was indignant. “Any more stupid ideas, friend?”

“We could mind our own business,” Fred acceded. “That would probably be best.”

They were quiet for a while, returning their attention to the ranch house. Michael walked onto the porch, stared at the cloudless sky for a moment, then glanced nonchalantly toward the Victorian before realizing the fence-sitters were watching. He gave a curt wave and retreated into the house.

“If he did run her off, he may be regretting it,” Chili noted.

“Sometimes a man doesn’t have to say with words what’s on his mind,” Curly said softly. “I knew he liked that little gal.”

Fred sat straighter. “Maybe we could help out.”

“How?” Chili demanded. “We’re ranch hands, not matchmakers.”

“I don’t like being retired,” Fred stated. “I want to be useful. I want to help Michael, not be a burden.”

Curly leaned back on the fence. “If something happened between those two, Bailey is going to be the hard one to convince, I hate to tell ya.” It was true. They’d known Bailey since she was a baby. All her twenty-five years she’d been stubborn. If she’d parked her blue truck in her own yard for two weeks, maybe she’d parked it for good where Michael was concerned. It would be tough to convince her to do anything she didn’t have a mind to.

They saw the curtain on the west side of the ranch house move slightly before it fell back into place.

Curly’s jaw dropped. “He’s looking for her!”

“He sure enough is.” Fred’s tone was filled with astonishment. “Looks like he’s got it bad!”

A few moments later, a black truck pulled up the lane to the Victorian house. Bailey, dressed in high heels and a pretty blue dress, hurried from the house and got in before her caller could even ring the doorbell. The truck headed down the lane a second later.

“What is Gunner King fetching Bailey for?” Chili demanded.

“Didn’t look like he was fetching her.” Fred’s voice was even more astonished. “I believe he was calling on her. I never saw him open a car door for anyone else before. And did you get a load of how short Bailey’s dress was?”

Curly blinked his eyes rapidly. “I sure as shooting hope the boss didn’t see her leave with Gunner.”

It might just put the finishing cap on the enmity the two ranchers held. The fence-sitters snapped their gazes to the ranch house just in time to observe Michael heading toward the barn. A few moments later, he tore out on his horse in the opposite direction Bailey had gone.

“I’d say he did see.” Chili hopped off the fence, sighing. “Boys, as much as we oughta be enjoying our golden years, we’ve got work to do. The toughest we ever done.”

Curly and Fred slid down to join him.

“They say that force is the only thing that gets two immovable objects together,” Chili intoned. “And that two points make a line if you draw it straight enough.”

“And that absence makes the heart go wander,” Fred added, eager to assist, though misquoting.

“So we got force, two points and a wandering heart,” Curly said doubtfully. “What does all that mean?”

Chili picked up his pace. “That if we get caught assisting this situation, Michael may very well kick us off our fence and send us off to the retirement home for doddering ranch help.”

“Is there a reason we want to be told to pack our bedrolls?” Curly wondered, hurrying behind him. “I like having the run of his kitchen and den. I like that big-screen TV!”

“Because Michael’s father hired us, trained us and kept us when we was just green boys,” Chili said over his shoulder. “He kept us on through the lean years when he had to let everybody else go. He treated us like we were something when we couldn’t get a job shoveling manure. You think about that, you think about his boy all locked up in his pride. You think about why he is that way, and then you tell me we’re not the only ones who can help Michael. And don’t expect those young pups he hired to do the job right. Any of the jobs right around here,” he said with righteous disgust.

“Isn’t that kind of like the blind leading the blind?” Fred asked, puffing to keep up with Chili. “Us helping Michael with his love life?”

“Exactly. And that’s the reason we can succeed.”

“Because we don’t know much about women?” Curly asked.

“All we need to know is that he’s happy when Bailey’s been by to see him and he’s grouchy as all get out now that she ain’t.” Chili turned to eye them both. “For the sake of old man Wade, we gotta try. Or else Michael’s gonna end up like his pa.”

“Oh. Bitter and mean,” Fred remembered.

“The old folks’ home would be better than that,” Curly concurred a bit desperately. “You’re right. We’ll follow your plan.”

Chili nodded his appreciation. “Good. Force and two points to tame a wandering heart.”

They all knew what lay ahead. It would be more painful than busting a bronc. It would be more back-breaking than branding.

Getting Michael Wade to act on his emotions and tell Bailey how he felt about her would be worse than having wisdom teeth dug out.

It was the ultimate impossible mission. Because where Michael was just a bit unbroken when it came to matters of the heart, Bailey was downright stubborn. More than ornery. Danged one-way, and a female who was as one-way as Bailey wasn’t likely to be persuaded to draw the line straight between Michael’s point and hers.

Chapter Two

Michael wasn’t jealous that Bailey was out with Gunner King. He would never stoop to such an emotion. Clearly, Bailey had thrown him over in favor of his rival, and that was her right. They’d had no commitment, no agreement that they couldn’t date whomever they chose.

He leaned back in the saddle and stared into an old pecan tree at an owl, which scrutinized him with unblinking interest. Of course, he would have thought that she wouldn’t step out with other men while the two of them were physically involved. That was it. They had shared a physical involvement. Nothing more, but did that mean they could date other people? Not once had the question, nor the desire, entered his mind the entire time Bailey had been coming around. He would have never thought to question whether their situation was monogamous. Plainly, she didn’t feel the same way.

If she was trying to make him jealous, it wasn’t going to work. His mother had tried to make his father jealous by making goo-goo eyes at Sherman King, Gunner’s ever-bachelor divorced father, but she hadn’t succeeded. Her husband had possessed an iron grip on his emotions, and so would her son.

He thought about Bailey’s mother as he rode slowly toward the house. Polly Dixon had loved her stargazing, painting, ne’er-do-well husband with every ounce of her soul. She would never have played games with his heart. He had been more than man enough where she was concerned. Michael had heard the ranch hands laugh every once in a while as they commented on the sagging porch and the peeling paint of the Dixon home, testament to Mr. Dixon’s uselessness. “Whatever ol’ Elijah Dixon lacks in muscle, he must make up for in other ways!” They’d laugh. “The ol’ guy must have plenty ’tweenst to keep his wife at home with all those young uns!”

Michael tried not to think about the crude remarks. He wouldn’t let himself wonder if he hadn’t possessed enough ’tweenst to satisfy Bailey, making her search for more interesting pastures.

No, he wouldn’t allow his mind to travel this torturous path. Life was about iron control.

He rode around the side of the house to the front and glanced toward Bailey’s house, the cross-timber rails separating her pie-shaped yard from his less sloped property. She and Gunner had returned, and Gunner was protectively helping Bailey toward her porch, wrapping her coat more closely around her to ward off the chill February wind.

Every ounce of Michael’s steely resolve turned into soft, bending ore at the sight of Gunner’s arm around his—Michael’s—woman. If this was how his father had felt when his mother had flirted with Sherman King, no wonder he’d turned into such a gnarly, difficult old man! “Red-eyed with jealousy, that’s what I am,” he muttered, as he went to unsaddle his horse. “So much for iron control.”

There was no controlling Bailey—she was as resilient and headstrong as her mother had been. She’d do whatever she wanted to do, and if she’d thrown him over for Gunner, then there wasn’t a whole lot he could do about it except hope his insides didn’t feel like worms were tunneling through them forever. He didn’t think he could stand it.

When he left the barn, he refused to look at the rambling house again. It hurt too much. Keeping his gaze down as he strode to his porch, he jerked off his leather gloves finger by finger, as if he couldn’t remove them without carefully observing his hands.

So he missed the Rodeo Queen standing on his porch, holding a fresh-baked pie that smelled like peach as he hurried to escape inside his house, burning with indignation that Bailey knew he’d seen her date.

“Michael!” Deenie Day cried with delight. “I’ve been wondering where you were!”

“Out riding,” he replied, not liking her on his porch one bit. He could never think of her as anything except the Rodeo Queen, because she lived her title like some people wore clothes. He’d never seen her without lush, big hair sweeping her skull like a royal mantle and toxifying the air with hair spray fumes. He’d never seen her without her bright, white, toothy smile, as if a camera might pop out from anywhere to take her picture.

“Riding!” she exclaimed, loud enough for her voice to carry to the neighboring house. “It’s too cold for that, honey! Let’s go inside and let me warm you up with some of my delicious homemade pie.” She squeezed his biceps. “I want to know if it’s true that the way to a man’s heart is through his tum-tum,” she said, patting him there with a hand that lingered.

He was not interested in eating Deenie’s peach pie. The Rodeo Queen wanted him to bite into something far more serious than pie, like serious courtship. There was no path to his heart; she and every woman on the planet could save their question for a man interested in answering it.

Five young Dixon children spilled out of the house toward their beloved Bailey, whooping and calling her name as if she’d been gone for a year instead of an hour.

“What a bunch of wild Indians!” Deenie exclaimed. “How can you stand living so near them, hon? All that noise would drive me out of my mind.”

He barely heard her, though he thought Deenie could match the children decibel for decibel. He watched Gunner swing the littlest Dixon into his arms and keep the rest from jumping up on Bailey. Smarting with jealousy, he saw Bailey and Gunner suddenly witness Deenie’s presence with interest, and though his mind warned him he really didn’t want to do this, he allowed her to pull him inside his house with a well-manicured hand.

“Now, then,” she said silkily, “you just sit right down and I’ll warm this up in the microwave so it’s good and hot.”

Michael stared into Deenie’s determined eyes and knew he was in big trouble. She had far more on her mind than getting the pie good and hot, and red-eyed idiot that he was, he had let her inside his house, his only refuge.

He wished uncomfortably that Bailey would make one of her appearances before matters got too far out of hand, before Deenie got to where she was really heated up, but as he glanced out the kitchen window while Deenie’s back was turned, he saw Gunner and Bailey go inside her house.

Michael was on his own.

BAILEY COULDN’T BELIEVE she’d gotten sick to her stomach in front of Gunner. It was so humiliating! She had hoped that her nausea would hold off for the time it would take her to discuss the employment opportunity Gunner was offering. Secretarial duties at his home office four hours a day during the week would bring her a badly needed income, and most importantly, keep her near the children. Though Brad was a wonderful caregiver and loved watching their siblings—he liked to sketch and paint them—five rowdy bodies under the age of ten was a lot for anyone to handle. They had agreed she should listen to Gunner’s offer. She’d gone with him to see his office setup and learn everything her job would entail.

And had been horribly ill not ten minutes after she’d walked into the enormous King mansion. The cook had been preparing sausage links and beef tacos for the hands, and though she’d tried to fight off the green sensation stealing through her insides, she had barely made it to the bathroom Gunner swiftly helped her to.

Gunner had brought her home and assisted her to the worn red-and-white check sofa to sit. Her mother had loved to sit here and gaze out the big window at her children playing while she folded laundry. Bailey felt a twinge sitting in her mother’s place, almost as if she could feel her mother’s presence.

I’ve let Mother down, Bailey thought sadly.

Gunner stood, staring at her with concerned eyes she could hardly meet. She had to tell him something. This was the most ill she’d been during her pregnancy. For a shaky moment, she thought about writing the condom company and telling them they had boasted about their product a bit too proudly, but mostly she wanted the awful moment to pass. She thought about telling Gunner she must have eaten food that didn’t agree with her or that she had a bad flu, but he’d soon enough begin wondering why a watermelon was growing under her coat. It couldn’t be much longer before she started to show. Gunner looked so worried she didn’t have the heart to fib for the sake of her pride.

“Gunner, I’m really not the candidate you need for your office job,” she said miserably, “as much as I would like to take you up on your offer. You’re very kind to try to help us out.” Gunner and everybody else knew that the Dixons were having huge trouble meeting the large inheritance tax owed on the property. “It’s just that I’m…expecting.” She couldn’t meet his eyes as she said the words.

Brad shooed the children from the room. Bailey heard them go upstairs as Gunner knelt in front of her. He swept a lock of hair from her face and dabbed at moisture on her upper lip. “Let’s talk about this later. You need to be in bed.”

She heard the kindness in his voice and wished desperately it was Michael offering her the same caring. “I think I’m fine. It seems to come and go like that, suddenly.”

He got up and sat beside her. “Bailey, you’re in a real pickle here. You’ve got to let me help you out. You can’t go on taking care of this house and these kids and yourself and be beating yourself up about the IRS, too.”

Embarrassment burned through her. She couldn’t speak.

“It’s Michael’s, isn’t it?”

She forced herself to meet his gaze. “How do you know?”

“By the look on his face tonight when he saw me with you. If looks could kill, I’d be hanging up for the vultures right now.” He laughed. “I kind of enjoyed getting his goat for a minute.”

“You guys have been at each other for years. My daddy used to say that if our house hadn’t been sitting right smack in the middle to keep your families apart, you would have been Fallen’s own Hatfields and McCoys.”

Gunner laughed again. “Nah. That was between his dad and mine. I got sent to the University of Texas, Michael got sent to A&M just so the rivalry could pick up another chapter, I believe. But I never paid any attention to it, and I hoped Michael didn’t. Except now that he’s seen me with you, no doubt a new chapter’s going to be written.”

“You don’t sound sorry about it.” Bailey tried to sound stern, but Gunner’s grin was too big not to return.

“I figure if Michael wants to sit in his house like a big damn bear with a chip on his shoulder, that’s his problem. He doesn’t know, does he?”

“No.” Bailey lowered her eyelashes. “I don’t know how to tell him.”

“Well,” Gunner said, getting to his feet, “I don’t know what you see in him, Bailey Dixon. I’ve never understood what any of the women saw in him. They must go for those strong, silent types.” He settled his hat onto his head. “You go rest. My offer still stands. In fact, I’ll make you another one.”

“You’ve already been more than generous, Gunner,” she said softly.

“If you can’t get that lunkhead across the way to marry you and give your baby a name, I’ll be more than happy to do it. You just say the word.”

Her lips parted as she stared into his brown eyes. “Gunner King! What are you saying?”

“What I shoulda said a long time ago. What I was trying to get to before your ma took ill.” The smile was gone from his face, the light dimming in his eyes. “I had just about worked up the courage to ask you out when I found out about your mother, Bailey. I thought it was best to wait. I knew you had all you could handle at the time. Now I see I should have spoken up sooner, but I’ve had my eyes on you, Bailey Dixon. I have for a long time.”

Bailey gasped. “Are you telling me this because you think Michael was upset that you were with me tonight? If this is some more rivalry stuff, I can tell you right now I’m not going to be caught in the middle!”

“No.” He took her chin between his fingers, shaking his head. “I told you, I don’t care about my father’s and Michael’s father’s antagonizing. I can’t stand to see you worrying when I could make your life so much easier.”

“I don’t love you, Gunner,” she said unhappily.

“I know that.” His lips thinned. “The girls always go for him. Women seem to like a man who presents a challenge. I’d not be much of a challenge for you, Bailey. And I would treat you like the ground you walked on was sacred.”

Her breath caught. She moved away from the fingers that held her chin so gently. “Gunner, I don’t know what to say.”

He nodded. “I figured as much. I’ll give you time to work out your situation with Michael. I gotta tell you, I don’t think he’s going to marry you.”

“I know.” She could feel the pink of mortification rising in her cheeks.

“Well, I’ve made my best offer.” He slapped his gloves against his jeans and pulled them on. “It’d be better for your baby to be with its real father, I know that. And I’d honestly like for you to take on my employment offer, because the truth is there aren’t a whole lot of people I’d trust with knowing the specifics of my finances. If it comes to be that you can’t get that stubborn old goat to go the way you need him, you let me know. Until then, our relationship remains strictly business.”

“Thanks, Gunner.” Bailey could feel her hands trembling from her astonishment. Never had she imagined Gunner felt this way! “I really appreciate that.”

“All right, then. If you want the job, start Monday. I’ll leave instructions as to what I need organized and what billings I want you to set up on a payment schedule. Your assistance will be greatly appreciated, I can assure you.”

She stared at him, waiting for him to finish.

“I’ll be out on the ranch, Bailey, while you’re working. I rarely have reason to come back to the house before lunch.” He tipped his hat to her. “Be seeing you.”

“Goodbye,” she murmured through stiff lips. She saw him to the door, managing a frozen smile as she closed the door behind him.

Then she put her head in her hands and told herself she wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t. Not over Michael Wade.

The doorbell rang. Bailey stiffened, wondering if Gunner might have quickly decided to snatch back one or both of his offers. She pulled the door open again, looking out cautiously.

Chili Haskins stood on her porch, his white, bushy mustache like icicles above his lips. “Howdy, Bailey.”

“Hello, Chili.” She glanced behind him, but Michael was nowhere to be seen. “What can I do for you?”

“We—uh, I was wondering if you could come over to the Walking W for a minute. Fred Peters has got hisself in an embarrassing predicament, and the boss is, uh, busy, so we wondered, I mean, we hoped, well, with all these tykes running around, we figured you’re the one who has the savvy to help us out.”

She blinked, uncertain as to whether she wanted to step foot on the Walking W if the boss was busy with Deenie Day.

“Please, Miz Bailey,” Chili prompted, “we sure could use your assistance, sooner than later!”

Chapter Three

The only way Deenie managed to get a forkful of pie into Michael’s mouth was that his jaw dropped when Bailey swished through the kitchen door behind Chili. “Bailey!” He jumped to his feet, chewing as fast as he could and swallowing guiltily. Deenie stood ready to land another forkful between his lips if he wasn’t careful. “What are you doing here?”

“Hello, Deenie.” Laser-blue eyes turned on Michael with cool acknowledgment. “Chili asked me to come over and take a look at Fred Peters. We didn’t mean to interrupt your…dessert.” She swept the laden fork Deenie held with a meaningful glance.

Michael wiped his mouth with a napkin as he took in Bailey’s blue dress, which was far too short and feminine to warrant wearing in this cold weather—and certainly too short to be worn in the vicinity of Gunner King. His heart froze as he imagined Gunner touching Bailey’s silky-smooth legs. “We were finished,” he said abruptly. “Why didn’t you come get me, Chili?”

“Because we knew you were busy,” Chili replied accusingly. “We didn’t want to interrupt.”

He saw the pink spots burning in Bailey’s cheeks but put it down to wind chap. “There’s nothing to interrupt. Where’s Fred?”

“In the TV room.” Chili hurried out, and after one last glance at the pie and Deenie, Bailey followed him without so much as another look at Michael. He’d been hoping the woman would come around for the better part of two weeks, and when she finally did, she acted like he was no more than a neighbor. He wondered how close Gunner was managing to get to his girl and decided it was better not to speculate.

“Excuse me,” Michael said to Deenie, hurrying after Chili. He heard her boots behind his and wished she’d taken the hint to stay put.

To his amazement, Fred lay flat on his back on the carpet, his sock-clad foot caught in an automatic putting cup.

“What in blazes are you doing, Fred?” Michael demanded.

Bailey had knelt beside the skinny cowboy and was examining where his toes disappeared inside the mechanical device. “You’re stuck good,” she told him. “Does it hurt?”

“Not much.” Fred grunted the words, but it was clear he was humiliated and in pain. “I shouldn’t have kicked the stupid golf ball into the cup. But I lost my temper. I just can’t putt like Nicklaus.”

“Oh, for crying out loud.” Michael couldn’t believe what he was hearing—or seeing. “Since when did you take up golf?”

“Since we thought about retiring,” Fred said woefully. “We heard it was what a fellow did with his free time.”

Bailey lifted Fred’s foot gently, holding the cup so it wouldn’t pull on his toes. “Let’s see if we can force some of the blood back into your foot so the swelling might go down and loosen you up.”

“I have never seen anything so ridiculous in my whole life,” Deenie stated.

The three cowboys favored her with a baleful stare. She plopped into a chair and stared at the TV screen, where it was Greg Norman’s turn to putt. “Now, there’s a man who probably knows what to do with his putter,” she said to the room at large.

Bailey turned and gave Deenie her most disgusted frown. “Deenie, could you please make yourself useful and bring me some ice? Since you’re acquainted with the kitchen?”

This she directed his way, Michael noticed with displeasure. “I’ll get it,” he said quickly, not wanting Bailey to think he was helpless the way her father had been. “You stay right there,” he said to Deenie.

“I’ll wait for you, Michael,” she murmured with a sweet smile for Bailey’s sake.

He couldn’t be bothered with that silly remark. Fred was clearly in pain, so he hurried off to do Bailey’s bidding. When he returned, she had the putter unplugged, Fred’s foot elevated against an ottoman, and she was peering up his ankle into the cup.

“Maybe I should take a look,” Michael offered.

“No!” Fred cried. “Don’t let him, Bailey! He’ll leave my toes in there!”

“Michael!” Bailey’s glance was stern. “I can handle this! You’re just making matters worse, upsetting poor Fred.”

“I—” He held out the ice in a plastic container. He’d been trying to assist her, and already she thought he was a lost cause. Poor Fred, indeed. He was milking Bailey’s warmth and sunshine like a professional con man.

“What a crybaby!” Deenie leaned back in the chair and curled her legs underneath her. “I’ve fallen off horses and not cried as loud as you are.”

“Maybe it’s because once you had that lobotomy, you lost all feeling,” someone muttered under his or her breath.

“Who said that?” Michael demanded. He couldn’t tell, but he didn’t think it had been Bailey. Her eyes were amazingly serene and innocent. “There’s no reason for rudeness.”

Bailey sighed. “Michael, maybe you could take Deenie to the kitchen and get her a glass of tea. I think Fred could relax more if his every move wasn’t being scrutinized. I’ll have him out of this raccoon trap in a jiff.”

She really did think he was helpless. And in his own house! “All right,” Michael said, defeated. “Deenie, let’s head back to the kitchen.”

“Gladly.” She shot Bailey a pleased smile as she exited the room.

Bailey patted Fred’s cheek when they were gone. “You nearly got yourself in big trouble.”

“I know.” His lips were pinched with pain. “I’m not the kindest person when I don’t feel good. I broke my arm once when the old man was alive, and as he was taking me to the hospital, I told him what a sorry-ass, son of—”

“I get your drift.” Bailey smiled at him. “I’m not myself when I don’t feel good, either. Most people aren’t.”

“Is he going to have to go to the hospital?” Curly asked worriedly. “He doesn’t like it much when he goes. Doesn’t care for women in white—nurses or brides.”

“No.” Gingerly, she put her fingers into the cup and felt where Fred’s toes were obstructed.

“We tried poking tongs in there, but he hollered something fierce and my fingers are too durn big,” Chili said sorrowfully. “We knew you could probably do the trick.”

“And this once, I can.” Gently, she released Fred’s toes and slid the device off, revealing red and angry marks on his skin. “You’d better keep your foot up for a while.”

He scooched to a chair and heaved himself in it. Curly propped a pillow underneath his friend’s foot. “Shoo! I thought I was going to lose a toe! Bless you, Miss Bailey.”

“You’re welcome, Fred.” She got to her feet. “I’d better get home. If you don’t mind, Chili, I think I’ll go out the front door instead of the kitchen door.”

“I’d rather myself,” he agreed. “She’s an alligator!”

Bailey laughed but hurt all the more for knowing that Michael must like the Rodeo Queen if he was eating her pie, from her fork, no less. “You fellows be careful. Good night.”

“Good night!” Curly and Fred called.

Chili opened the front door, motioning her through before he closed it behind them.

“You don’t have to walk me home, Chili.”

“I’d never let a lady make her way in the dark alone.”

“All right.” She tried not to think of all the times she’d slid out of Michael’s bed before dawn—before the children awakened and looked for her, before anyone might see her truck and before he’d need to get up to tend his chores. Michael had never once offered to even walk her down the stairs. “Chili, do you think he likes her?” she asked, unable to help herself.

“Nope. I think he likes you,” he said eagerly, obviously comfortable in a Dear Abby role, “if he could just figure out how to tell ya, I just know he would.”

“Why do you think so?” Bailey’s heart beat faster with hope.

“I dunno. Just a funny feeling I had that Michael thought pretty much of you.”

“He didn’t like Fred’s lobotomy remark.” Michael had taken up for Deenie fast.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t like rudeness for much of any reason. Michael believes his every emotion should be kept under lock and key. ’Course, most folks can’t live that way.”

She sure couldn’t! She felt like she might blow up from the thought of Deenie putting her lips where she’d put her fork—Michael’s mouth. But he was right. Just because Deenie was being a pain didn’t mean anyone else should follow her lead. She wished she were better at being like Michael. Maybe she wouldn’t be hurting so much right now. Fred had only given voice to the very thoughts Bailey had been guilty of thinking about Deenie.

So she took Chili’s assurance that Michael liked her as comfort, even though she didn’t believe it wholeheartedly. Michael had never had her over in the light of day.

“The question is, do you like him?”

She felt the cowboy’s cagey gaze on her face. If she wasn’t careful, she might reveal more than she should—and she didn’t want her secret sprung on Michael until she had a chance to tell him herself. “I…I don’t know. I’m not sure he’s looking for anyone to like him,” she replied carefully.

“He’s not good at romance, Bailey. Women are not Michael’s specialty.”

“You could have fooled me!” Bailey shot back.

“Oh, don’t let Deenie stir your pot. She’s a mantrap. Mind you, he’s going to be long in figuring out how to tell you how he feels, if he ever does,” Chili stated. “You’ll have to be mighty patient, more patient than a saint, Bailey. Michael won’t let his feelings just spew out of him like a valve letting off. But given enough time, you just might win the day. That is, if you want him.”

Oh, I do. Bailey closed her eyes. She’d been patient for six months, all her life, really, hoping Michael would learn to love her. Say the words she wanted to hear.

She’d simply run out of time.

DEENIE AND MICHAEL watched Chili help Bailey over the wooden cross-timber fence that separated the two properties. Bailey barely made it over before the youngest Dixons met her, jumping around her like anxious puppies. The cries of greeting to their big sister could be heard by anyone within a ten-mile radius.

“That place is the Indigent Ranch,” Deenie said scornfully. “The county ought to condemn that house. Why don’t the Dixons move if they can’t take care of the place? I don’t believe they’ve ever fixed a shingle on the dump the hundred years it’s been barely standing. Really, Michael, it’s such an eyesore next to your lovely home.”

She glanced at her rhinestone-covered blue jean jacket, which sparkled and flashed in the light, like her teeth and blond hair. Deenie was all-over perfection, a showgirl.

Michael wistfully thought about Bailey’s warmth and caring. If the two women’s lives were reversed, Bailey would be thinking about how she could do something to help Deenie, not put her down because of her lack of money. But Deenie had always been attracted to that which counted on the surface, which looked great on the outside. He supposed most folks were. Which made Bailey all the more special. He admired her for taking on the responsibilities of a brother who wasn’t cut out for being head of a family and for shouldering the burden of overseeing such a large household. It had to be harder than anything he was doing, Michael thought with some discomfort.

“Go easy on Bailey, Deenie. She’s had it rough since her mom and dad died.”

“She’s had it rough all her life.” Deenie shook her head. “I feel sorry for her. But you’ve got to admit, Michael, Bailey brings a lot of her misery on herself.”

He frowned. “How’s that?”

“Well, she’d have a man by now if she’d do something with herself!” Deenie exclaimed. “Then she wouldn’t be living hand to mouth like side-of-the-road trash, would she?”

“I don’t think Bailey’s the type of woman who would look around for a man to solve her problems.”

“I didn’t say that, Michael, I said she’d have one by now and all her problems would be solved!” Deenie looked at him like he was nuts. “Bailey’s too stubborn to try, though. I told her in high school if she’d put that straggly blond hair up on her head, or even cut a few inches off of it, it would look so much nicer around her face. Give her a little glamour. Do you know what she told me?”

Michael couldn’t wait to hear. “What?”

“That she liked her hair just fine!” Deenie was outraged. “Have you ever heard the like? Who wants hair hanging down to their waist and flat as a price tag at Neiman Marcus? It’s all fine for high school, but she’s got to be nearly twenty-six now, and she still won’t do anything with herself.”

Michael suppressed the smile that leaped to his lips. Deenie probably spent more in a month on hair spray and lipstick than Bailey spent all year on food. Truth was, he liked Bailey’s clean skin and long, soft hair. It teased the top of her fanny when she was naked, it framed her face when she was asleep, far more glamorous than Deenie’s hard-packed big hair, which probably wouldn’t even move on a pillow. As for glamour, well, Bailey looked like she belonged in a Victoria’s Secret photo shoot, as far as he was concerned.

“Now the length of her dress was better tonight, short and fashionable,” Deenie continued, “but the only reason it was so short was because it was shrunk. It’s been washed a thousand times. That was the same navy dress her mother used to wear to pick the kids up from school. Only now it’s powder blue from fading.”

“Deenie,” Michael said abruptly, “you ought to set your sights on Gunner King.”

“Gunner!” Deenie stared at him. “Why, hon?” She ran her gaze over his shoulders hungrily. “He’s not nearly as sexy as you are.”

“Got a lot more money,” Michael stated ever so casually. He didn’t know if that was true, but a glance outside the window revealed Chili on his way over the fence. If he could send Deenie packing, he might have time to pick the cowboys’ brains about Bailey.

“More money?” Deenie echoed. “How do you know?”

“Oh, his father made a killing in some oil well down south before he died.” Michael shrugged. “Heard they made so much money on it that they were thinking about buying a winter home in Rio.” He paused as Deenie’s eyes dilated. “Of course, that wouldn’t do Gunner any good now. No fun to vacation alone.”

“Rio!” Deenie exclaimed. “Oh, my goodness, would you look at the time? I’d better be going.” She snatched up her pie, examining it carefully. “It doesn’t look like somebody took a bite out of it,” she said under her breath. “It just looks like the crust caved in a little.” Turning toward the door, she gave Michael her best Rodeo Queen smile. “Call me sometime, sugar.”

She was gone in a flash of expensive perfume. Michael shuddered. It was almost cruel to sic Deenie on his rival, but Gunner no doubt would somehow return the favor one day.

“Two of a kind,” he muttered. Striding down the long hall toward the enormous TV room, he saw Chili and Curly helping Fred to his feet.

“I’ll drive him home,” Michael said. “He doesn’t need to be walking down to the bungalow.”

“Thanks, Michael.” Chili glanced at him. “Where’s the wasp?”

“What wasp?”

“The skinny, stinging female with her feelers out.” Chili shot him a disgruntled look.

“Oh, Deenie. Gone off to build her nest somewhere else, I hope.” Michael moved the two cowboys aside and put his arm under Fred’s for support. “Slow and careful, Fred.”

He fit his pace to the older man’s. “Are you sure you don’t want me to run you down to the quack shack? Maybe you ought to have a doc look at it.”

There was some swelling of Fred’s toes, but the cowboy gamely shook his head. “Nope. Bailey didn’t mention I oughta go, so I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Maybe Bailey isn’t a doctor.”

“Maybe Bailey’s just as good as that quack in town,” Fred shot back. “She’s been coping with kiddie emergencies since she was old enough to help Polly out.”

It was a bit of a raw spot with Michael. When his mother left, the cowboys began slinking over to Polly’s whenever they had something that needed more tending than they could handle. Polly Dixon had a never-ending supply of ointment, bandages, good humor and compassion. “Doc Watson’s a fine doctor. And Deenie was right. You’re crybabies,” he said, helping Fred into the truck bed. “You just want your ouchies kissed.”

“Damn right,” Fred shot back, “and if you was smart, son, you’d let Bailey kiss yours.”

The cowboys murmured their agreement. Michael hesitated. Then he decided he didn’t want to know whatever was going around in their white-thatched heads. “You fellows don’t have enough to do,” he said crustily. “Tomorrow I want you to check every inch of the fence and make sure it’s secure.” He gave them all a baleful glare. “Particularly the area around the Dixon pond. I don’t want any of my cattle getting mixed in with Gunner’s or getting spooked by the Dixon sheep.”

The large pond was the only valuable thing the Dixons owned. It lay in a liquid, undulating circle at the top of their property. It was the only nearby water source, and both Sherman King and Michael Wade Senior had eyed it for their cattle. Because Elijah said he couldn’t trust either of the feuding ranchers to behave like gentlemen, he’d allowed them both the use of it, but insisted that they each run a separate fence divider through the portion he allotted them. Therefore the pond was evenly split three ways. He charged the ranchers a yearly fee for the use, a pittance compared to what they’d pay to have city water pumped in. Elijah had said it was worth using the clear, clean water to cool off the hotheads living on either side of him.

Then old Elijah had got him a few sheep, which stared at the big-horned beasts on either side of them but otherwise paid no attention. The hands said Elijah was so bone-idle he kept the sheep so he wouldn’t have to mow his yard. Indeed, the sheep did keep the grass short clear up to the porch. Michael suspected the old man had been less lazy than a peacekeeping dreamer. Sheep were quiet and gentle, and the Dixon children played with them as if they were dogs. Everybody was happy.

Except his employees right now. They stared at him accusingly.

“Every inch,” he reiterated. “I don’t need any more reasons for you to be running to the Dixon house.”

They were silent.

“Of course, if you like it over there so much, if you’ve become so shiftless that you need a woman constantly fussing over you, I’m sure she’d be more than happy to take you in.” He knew he was being cruel, but the comment about letting Bailey kiss his hurts had stung—worse than Deenie’s waspiness.

“Hardheaded sourpuss like his old man,” one of them whispered.

“No, I’m not.” Michael straightened indignantly.

“You are! And the minute that rhinestone cowgirl gets her hooks in ya, she’s going to put us out!” Fred cried.

“Neither Deenie nor Bailey is going to become part of the Wade household,” Michael stated with a firm edge to his tone. “If that’s what’s got you all riled up, let me be the first to assure you that you are going nowhere, and I am not headed to the altar.”

They frowned but said no more. Michael nodded and moved to get into the truck cab.

“Michael,” Chili called.

He paused. “Yes?”

“Did you know Gunner’s offered Bailey a secretarial position at his place?”

Michael’s mouth instantly dried out. Her short, faded skirt appeared in his mind, and all that smooth skin, which shouldn’t have been exposed to such cold weather.

Gunner’s stately home would be very warm inside.

The cowboys stared at him, their eyes bugging and curious in the darkness as they sat in the truck bed. He forced himself to shrug.

“Everybody’s gotta do what they gotta do,” he said noncomittally.

But his heart was hammering inside him like a town pep rally parade drum. Not a date, then! Gunner was too smart for that—Bailey had rarely dated anyone. Employing Bailey was even more insidious than just asking her out, which she most likely would have refused. She needed money, and Gunner had given her a way to get it without costing her pride.

It was very slick.

If his rival had his eyes on a new acquisition, Michael’s territory would be encroached.

There was no fence he could secure to protect what he considered he should have some kind of claim on.

I am not jealous, he reminded himself. Bailey’s always done what she wanted to do, and nothing’s going to change that now.

He blew out a breath, glared at the cowboys, stiffened his shoulders and got in the truck cab. Gunner King had always been a burr in his sock, only he couldn’t pick him out and throw him away like a burr. Looked like he planned on sticking to Bailey like a burr.

Michael’s blood pressure soared. There was no hope for it. He was going to have to do something.

He had to match his rival for slickness and stickiness.

Maybe the cowboys were right. After all, they were a study in slick and burr sticky! If he needed a crash course in charm to keep Gunner from stealing his woman, then Michael had three good-luck charms riding in his truck bed right now. Maybe all it took was playing on Bailey’s sympathetic, warm nature to lure her to his side.

He opened the small window that separated the cab from the truck bed. “Hey.”

“What?” They craned their necks to see him.

“I don’t think Bailey working in Gunner’s home would be the best thing for her.”

“Eh?” Chili cocked his head.

“I was thinking maybe there was a better way she could spend her time.” He eyed them, taking note of their interest. “After all her family’s done for you, I know you wouldn’t want Bailey’s situation taken advantage of by the Kings or anyone else. Maybe ya’ll could come up with something and sort of suggest it to me.”

The three studies in slick and sticky grinned. “You just let us be your suggestion box, boss,” Chili informed him. “But you gotta promise to go along with our ideas. If you butt heads with us at every turn…well, Gunner’s gonna make his move.”

Michael hesitated, wondering just what he was getting himself into.

“Ya snooze, ya lose, boss,” Fred told him.

“He’s got a point,” Curly chimed in, “you gotta admit you’re kinda short on sensitivity to the garden-variety female.”

“You ain’t had much practice,” Fred said more forthrightly. “You’re kinda like a grumpy ol’ mule. Got the stuff, but ain’t quite sure what to do with it.”

“All right, all right,” Michael interrupted swiftly so he wouldn’t have to hear any more about his failings. There was only so much a man could take before he lost his nerve! Bailey was no garden-variety female—she was a wildflower that would require significant patience and wooing unless he wanted her growing in Gunner’s garden two fences away from him. “No guts, no glory. The suggestion box is open.”

They waited expectantly.

“And not resistant to your ideas,” he said, relenting.

Chili grinned. “You just leave everything to us.”

Michael nodded and closed the window. “I’m just doing her the same favor I’d do for anyone the King machinery was about to flatten,” he muttered as he started the ignition. “Somebody’s got to save that headstrong little woman from herself!”

Chapter Four

“Now, then,” Chili said, giving Michael’s dark suit a final brush across the shoulders, “you just drive over to the Dixon house and surprise that little gal by picking her and her brood up for church.” The fence-sitters had converged on him with Plan A as he was eating breakfast, before he’d even had time to gulp enough coffee to wake up good.

Michael shook his head. “I don’t know that this is such a good idea. Bailey and I have never gone anywhere together, much less church.” Something about these three advising him to go to church with a woman struck his suspicion nerve very hard. He never went to church. Whatever he had to say to the Lord he said on his property amongst the trees and the stillness. Saying it in front of a bunch of people didn’t mean the Lord’s ears were open any further to him.

But the townsfolks’ ears and eyes would be wide open if he appeared with Bailey Dixon. There were two types of couples who paired up for church—good friends comfortable celebrating the Sabbath with each other, often seen in Fallen’s Baptist church with its social congregation, and those affianced or about to be who attended church to start their marriage out on the right foot. He’d noted the Fallen Methodists tended to do a lot of that.

He was neither Baptist nor Methodist, nor much of anything that required a commitment. And he wasn’t friends with Bailey, nor trying to start a relationship with her aligned on the straight and narrow path. It was too late for that, he supposed.

He’d have to go to the Catholic church with Bailey, and that was enough to make him nervous. Bailey and her six siblings—thankfully she had felt condoms were necessary for the relationship they’d shared. The Rodeo Queen had been right about one thing—the Dixon family was like a very full cup, which runneth over and spilled down the table leg and flooded a good-size room. He wondered if there was a sermon in that.

He just hoped five-year-old Baby didn’t bring her lamb to church. Surely Bailey made her leave her pet at home. Sheep turds in the nice Lincoln town car his father had owned were likely to turn his stomach this early in the morning.

“Michael, I know you’re not eager about this,” Fred said, carefully standing off the toes that still pained him from last night’s putting debacle. “This is the only day you have before Bailey starts work for Gunner, so it’s an opportune time to make your move and make yourself look good. Bailey’s going to drag those young ’uns to church, and you just think about them shivering in that rattletrap metal truck bed she totes that family around in when they could be warm in your car with its heater and cushioned seats. The inch of snow we had last night isn’t going to stop Bailey from seeing those kids get proper churchin’.”

Michael sighed, and it was an unwilling sound of resignation. “Couldn’t I just drop them off and pick them up?”

“No!” Curly stated emphatically. “You know, Michael, it’s not going to kill you to spend an hour with the top of your head being reviewed by the Lord.”

“Why aren’t you going, then?” Michael demanded.

“We ain’t in the trouble with Bailey that you are.” Chili crossed his arms. “You’re the one who wants to save her from herself. Taking her to church is the best way I can think of to start the process—and you get the jump on Gunner. She may start work for him tomorrow, but she’ll have been to church with you today.”

It might not be the proper thought, but he’d much rather Bailey be in bed with him tonight. Still, he couldn’t say that to the cowboys—they were in their fatherly capacity, which they’d adopted as of last night’s agreement to save Bailey.

“Guess I wouldn’t want those kids to freeze to death.” He jammed on a black felt hat, which matched his formal suit, clothes he hadn’t worn since his father’s funeral. He felt stiff and out of place in these duds, and the sensation was sure to increase in the next few moments.

He warmed up the car, then backed down the driveway and headed to Bailey’s. Leaving the roomy car running, he strode up the bent-in-the-middle porch and stabbed the doorbell impatiently.

Baby opened the door, her little lamb at her side. Michael held back an inward groan. “Where’s Bailey, Baby?”

“Upstairs.” Baby put her finger in her mouth, which Michael thought couldn’t be all that sanitary considering the beast beside her. But she was dressed for church, just as the cowboys had predicted.

Brad appeared in a suit that was frayed at the cuffs and shoes that were wafer-thin in the sole. Michael felt slightly ashamed of his dude’s suit he’d just been thinking ill thoughts over. It was nicer than anything anyone in this house owned, and it didn’t matter that he felt like the Grim Reaper in it. He should be more appreciative of what he was able to buy. This family was up to their eyeballs in trying to pay off the tax man.

“Come in, Michael. How can we help you?” Brad asked.

That gave Michael a start. How can they help me—and then he realized that it was always his family or the cowboys who went to the Dixon house for one thing or another. Not once had they come to the wealthy Wade holding for assistance of any kind. The thought was humbling, and slightly embarrassing. “I thought to offer your family a ride to church,” he said gruffly.

“You don’t go to our church.” Brad looked at Michael curiously.

“Won’t hurt me to go once to any church.” Michael instinctively stiffened as four more children grouped around him, all dressed in hand-me-down clothing. “Got the car warming. What do you say?”

“It’s up to Bailey.” Brad shifted the burden of decision-making to his sister, jerking his head toward the stairs. “I’ll ask her.”

Bailey appeared at the top of the stairs at that moment. “Michael? I thought I heard your voice.”

She walked down, and he felt more nervous than he had at his first high school dance. She was plainly startled to see him, and her blond brows arched over large blue eyes. The tiny freckles he thought so sassy lightly sprinkled her nose. And that glorious hair he loved fell shiny and bright as new gold to her waist, without a hint of curl in it.

She was so sexy she made his knees feel like they might start knocking together. He tried to smile, but his hands were trembling and he was afraid she’d notice, so the smile slipped away. Having never asked Bailey to go anywhere with him, this was one tough assignment the cowboys had sent him on.

“Thought I’d take your crew to church. It’s mighty cold outside.”

“You needn’t have worried about us.” She looked at him steadily, a light scent of soap carrying from her skin. “We’ll manage.”

So true to this stubborn woman’s nature not to accept anything from anyone. How had Gunner managed with such ease? By not stepping on her pride. He cleared his throat. “It’s been a while since I’ve been to church,” he said softly, his eyes on hers. “Wouldn’t mind sitting with friends.”

She smiled, happiness crinkling the corners of her eyes and lifting the sides of her beautiful lips. “Well, if you can handle sitting in church with my crowd, then we’ll be happy to accept your offer.”

He nodded, but his insides were singing with joy. Gunner didn’t have anything on him for slick and burr sticky! He’d get it all figured out soon enough; practice made perfect, and he might even start to enjoy his new role as Bailey’s protector.

BAILEY HAD TO FIGHT giggles all through the hour-long service. Michael had no idea what he’d gotten himself into with his generous offer! She hoped he had a patron saint keeping watch on him, because during the last fifty-five minutes, his lap had been a continual seat for one Dixon child or the other. The nine-year-old, Beth, was too big to sit in his lap so she settled for sitting beside him, proudly helping him find where he should be reading in the church booklet or the hymnal. Brad stared straight ahead, but Bailey had seen the sides of his mouth twitching. The big cowboy from the Wade ranch could handle steers, but he had his hands full with little people.

Bailey closed her eyes, the smile erased from her lips. He’d really be bowled over if he knew a tiny person was on the way, one that would bear his features in some fashion. Her insides went cold. She couldn’t refuse his request to sit with friends, as he’d put it, knowing how uncomfortable he’d be in a church by himself. His father had been more likely to have a pact with the devil than peace with the Lord, and that was true even before his wife left him. Before they separated, the Wades didn’t attend church with their only child. Mrs. Wade had once confided to a town gossip that she didn’t reckon she could sit beside her husband for an hour anywhere without getting into an argument.

Bailey pressed her lips together. No, she would never have turned Michael away, knowing how miserable he’d be forcing himself to walk inside a church alone and sit there for an hour the subject of scrutiny. Afterward, single women would take advantage of the opportunity to flirt with him and cozy up to the Wade fortune. Like a deer tentatively making its way from the cover of woods, he’d be a prime target in the clearing for manhunters.

But she was going to have to figure out a way eventually to inform him that they were far more than friends.

They were soon-to-be parents.

WHEN THE HOUR was over, Michael breathed a huge sigh of victory. He’d made it! Only one crayon had rolled under the pew—rescued—one child’s shoe clattered loudly to the floor—rescued—and one bulletin had fluttered from a child’s hand to the floor in front of the altar. Rescued, by the kindly priest, who smiled at him and the passel of kids who insisted on sitting in his lap. Why did the Dixons have to sit in the front row, in front of the entire congregation and the choir and the religious personnel? Though they didn’t make a peep, the children were like a shifting landscape, never still except during the sermon.

That still had him amazed.

And only one bathroom break had been required—Bailey’s, to his astonishment. She hadn’t looked well when she hurried suddenly to the back of the church. Her skin had taken on a pasty look, pronounced by the bright sunlight streaming through the stained glass. Maybe she wasn’t getting good food to eat.

He could fix that.

Outside the church, as they all crammed into his Lincoln—had he ever thought this car was roomy?—he said, “Let me take everyone to the pancake house as my way of thanks.”

He slid his gaze to Bailey, who stared over Baby, planted firmly between them. Brad sat in the back, the extra children packed on and around him and breaking the law for seat-belt safety, no doubt. Some kids were double-belted, some perched on his lap, but Brad seemed oblivious to the crowding.

Michael admired his patience. Bailey was shaking her head to his offer, and he was afraid he’d lose his.

“You need not treat us for such a simple thing as going to church together. We’ve already had the enjoyment of your car, and that’s enough,” she said firmly.

But he’d heard the gasps from the back seat. The children likely hadn’t been out to eat in their entire lives. A pancake house was temptation beyond belief. “Please, Bailey,” he murmured, “let me do something small for the children.”

“It’s not small!” she replied under her breath. “Feeding all of us will cost a fortune, and we don’t have any way of splitting the tab with you.”

He saw the steel in her posture. But he was determined to have his way on this, now that he’d heard the delight from the too-well-mannered children who wouldn’t dare erupt in pleas, but who were no doubt hoping he’d somehow change Bailey’s mind.

“Bailey.” He made his voice low and pleading.

“You wouldn’t enjoy a meal with this bunch.” She turned her head and looked out the window. “Thank you, but no.”

Her stiff spine said clearly, We’re not a charity case.

Surely she knew he didn’t feel that way. There had to be something else making her dig in and refuse to share a few five-pancake stacks at Miss Nary’s Pancakes and Dairy. “I have good table manners,” he told her.

“Michael!” A smile tried to edge her lips, but she refused it.

“A man can’t always eat alone. It’s bad for the digestion,” he said, his voice innocent.

“Michael.” Her eyes turned soft and slightly worried. “Stop. Please.”

Between them, Baby was still as a pebble. She clutched her ragged doll to her breathlessly. Michael could almost feel the energy of her hope radiate straight inside his soul, and the children in the back seat listening avidly.

“Guess I could go home and scrounge something to eat by myself,” he complained pathetically and without shame.

“Maybe you could eat leftover peach pie.” Bailey’s gaze stayed relentlessly on his.

So she was jealous! That’s why she wouldn’t accept his offer. Well, he could fix that, too. “I sent it over to Gunner’s. I am a thoughtful neighbor.” His expression turned pitiful. “But I haven’t been to the grocery in two weeks, and a man gets tired of canned soup three meals a day—”

“All right,” Bailey interrupted. “I shouldn’t reward your underhanded tactics, but…did you really send Deenie over to Gunner’s?” She stared at him with hopeful eyes.

“Yes. He needed some glitter in his life, and I did not.” He started the car. “Let’s go get some pancakes.”

The back seat exploded with noisy happiness. Michael smiled. He liked being the hero. He liked getting Bailey to give in. The indirect approach definitely worked with her.

He wondered how he could manage to keep her from going to Gunner’s in the morning. Michael had sent Deenie and her peach pie to his rival; it seemed unnecessarily neighborly to hand over Bailey, too.

Maybe all this indirect approach was the right way to find out why Bailey had suddenly ceased her nighttime visits to his bed. He glanced at her, but she was fussing with Baby’s hair. Bailey still looked kind of peaked, which worried him. Her usually sparkly blue eyes seemed dimmed and tired. Maybe it was a womanly thing, a monthly function bothering her in some way.

Maybe she needed to go to the doctor, but couldn’t because she didn’t have the money!

Michael felt ill suddenly. If she needed to see a doctor, he’d carry her kicking and screaming and pay the bill himself. Maybe he should just directly ask Bailey why she’d quit coming around.

There was a time to be direct and a time to sidestep. He missed Bailey in his bed—and maybe he’d just best say so. Clear up any miscommunication on that matter they might have had.

Perhaps it would be even better to endure a month of Sundays hauling her flock to church.

Anything—including sticky pancakes with the numerous Dixon children—to get her upstairs and under the sheets with him again.

BAILEY KNEW it was a bad idea to go to the pancake house. It wasn’t the tab alone that bothered her; it was knowing that she probably wouldn’t be able to hold her stomach down. She’d had to leave during the service and hurry to the rest room. In all her life, she’d never been ill like this. It was like a flu she couldn’t get over. At Gunner’s she’d gotten sick from the aroma of sausage links and tacos, similar to the rich aromas in a pancake house. But she’d heard the gasps of joy over Michael’s invitation—and there’d been no way she could deprive her siblings of such a treat.

She prayed for just one hour of calm sea.

“Howdy!” Deenie’s father came to stand by their table with a big smile, eyeing their group with interest. “Brad, you’ve got yourself quite a gathering this morning.”

“I do, Dan.” Brad grinned at the man and motioned to a seat. “Sit down and join us for a cup of coffee.”

“I’ll do that. Deenie, grab a chair and sit yourself down so I can bend Brad’s ear.”

The momentarily calm sea rose in Bailey’s stomach, threatening to pitch as Deenie looked down on all of them. She slid into the empty seat between Michael and Brad, staying far away from Bailey and the children.

“How’s the collection coming along?” Dan Day asked.

“Fine, fine.” Brad nodded and stirred his tea. “I’ll be ready for the show. I think you’ll be pleased.”

“Show? What show?” Deenie halted her ogling of Michael and stared at her father. “Daddy, you’re not doing a show for him, are you? You said you never backed starving artists, only ones with real talent.” She sent a dismissive look around the table at the motley clan.

“Brad has real talent, Deenie.” Her father lowered his brows at her. “You’d be surprised at his work.”

The look on her face said she’d be shocked if he could paint with more than one primary color. Her mouth was wide open with distaste. Bailey didn’t know how much longer she was going to be able to hold onto the love-your-brother homily she’d just enjoyed in church. Pouring her water glass over Deenie’s hair-sprayed head wouldn’t be loving, but watching the hard-packed shellac turn into rivulets of glue would be very satisfying. She bit her lip to keep from snatching up the glass, though it was difficult when Deenie’s hand roamed over to Michael’s.

“Everybody’s doing their part to help the Dixons with their tax problem,” she said smoothly. “It’s nice of you to buy them Sunday brunch.”

“Mind your manners, Deenie,” her father commanded swiftly. “The whole town’s offered to do craft shows and bake sales to help them out, and Bailey’s turned ’em all down flat. I’m not doing this show for charity. I’m doing it because it’s gonna make me a huge pile of frijoles. And I’m picking up the tab for ya’ll’s meal today.” He threw a hundred-dollar bill on the table and waved Michael’s protest off. “It’s minor compared to the money you’re going to bring me at the showing, Brad. Consider it a slight advance.”

“Oh, Daddy.” Deenie’s tone was disbelieving and demeaning. Clearly anything the Dixons had couldn’t be worth much.

“I’ve never seen an artist of Brad’s talent. He’s worth showcasing. One day, you’re going to see his work in the most fashionable homes in Hollywood.”

“Hollywood!” Deenie breathed. “I don’t believe it.” But her gaze fastened on Brad with sudden, calculating interest.

“I think your father’s being a bit of a salesman,” Brad said modestly.

She snapped her head around to stare at her father. “Are you, Daddy?”

“Nope,” he said simply. “My wallet started jumping the minute I laid eyes on Brad’s work.”

“Oh, my,” she said in a silky whisper. “Daddy never does anything unless it’s going to win big.” Her eyes went doe huge on Brad as if she’d never seen him before. “Can you paint me?”

“Well—” Brad glanced at Dan hesitantly.

“I’ve always dreamed of Hollywood,” Deenie said, pleading. “You could paint me in my best evening gown, with my Judith Lieberman sparkly shoes and my heirloom jewelry. I’d look like a movie star. Would you, Brad?”

Bailey lowered her eyes at Brad’s predicament. Her stomach felt like it might heave any second. The children were all sitting quietly, staring at Deenie and big Mr. Day, who was smiling at his daughter as if she’d had an idea as bright as her silvery bleached hair.

Bailey felt a hand cover hers suddenly. She glanced up to see Michael mouth the words, “Are you all right?”

She nodded briskly, trying not to think how comforting and warm his skin felt on hers. He withdrew his fingers, and her shoulders sagged. Suddenly, the overwhelming combination of pancakes and eggs and sausage and Deenie’s disdain washed over her in a tidal wave, prickling her skin with chill bumps and the panicked realization that she was going to be sick again.

“Excuse me,” she blurted, leaping up from the table. She flew to the washroom, painfully aware of all the pairs of eyes watching her mad dash.

Ten minutes later, she collected herself enough to return to the table. Deenie and Mr. Day had departed. Michael stared at her in consternation. Brad looked away to save her from embarrassment. The children, well used to her frequent dives into a bathroom, barely looked up from the food they were eating.

Bailey knew she wouldn’t make it through another minute in the pancake house. “Do you mind if I go sit in your car?”

Michael stood at once. “Of course not.” He helped her into her coat and escorted her out into the bracing, fresh, crisp air. “Are you all right?”

She nodded weakly. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” He opened the car door so she could slide in, then closed it and went around to the driver’s side and got in. “You left church this morning, too. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s just something I ate, probably.” The story she hadn’t really been willing to tell Gunner didn’t fall any easier from her lips now. Somehow she had to tell Michael the truth.

“You didn’t eat anything.” He brushed her hair from her face. “You’re pale, Bailey. You need to see a doctor. I’m taking you over to Doc Watson’s house right now and tell him he needs to take a look at you.”

“No!” Bailey shook her head. “Don’t disturb him on Sunday, Michael.”

“He’s a doctor, that’s what he’s for.” Michael took a deep breath. “Let me run you to the emergency room, then.”

“I’m fine. I already saw Doc Watson this week, anyway.”

Michael looked at her suspiciously. “You did?” It was obvious he didn’t believe her. “What did he say?”

“It’s just a stomach flu.” Now was not the right time to tell him the truth, so she could only hope that this little fib right after church wasn’t going to do her chances for heaven serious damage. But she was more ashamed and upset than ever. Dread of his reaction dried her mouth. He certainly wouldn’t be delighted with their predicament, that much she knew.

“You’ve had a stomach flu that’s making you this ill for as many days as it’s been since you’ve seen the doc.” He shook his head. “Doc Watson’s getting old. You could have something more serious, Bailey, like appendicitis or something.”

“I don’t!” she snapped. Ashamed, she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bite your head off. I’d really just like to go home and lie down.” She rolled her head against the headrest to look at Michael. His worried gaze went deep into her heart. She had to tell him soon, and the truth of what was wrong with her made her feel that much worse.

The Dixon family left the pancake house and tumbled into the car. Five little pairs of hands reached up to stroke Bailey’s face. “Are you okay?” the children asked, petting her hair and her shoulders and every other part of her they could reach.

“You usually love pancakes,” Beth pointed out with nine-year-old common sense.

“I know.” Bailey closed her eyes. “I’m sorry I cut everyone’s breakfast short.” Especially the only time some of her siblings had ever been out for a meal.

“You didn’t.” Brad belted in the kids and himself. “We were almost finished, anyway.”

“Bailey’s been sick all week,” six-year-old Amy told Michael, her blue ribbons bouncing importantly. “Her tummy’s upset.”

“Like a volcano,” seven-year-old Sam informed him. “We watched a video of one in school, and that’s exactly what Bailey erupts like.” The freckles on his face were darker than Bailey’s and smudged with syrup.

Eight-year-old Paul shook his head. “She’s more like a geyser. They spew all the time.” His tone was righteous with the superiority of greater age.

“She erupts,” Sam insisted belligerently.

“Spews!” Paul stated authoritatively.

“Erupts!” Hating to be wrong, indignant because he was younger than Paul and stinging from Paul’s know-it-all tone, Sam launched a sneaky fist at his brother.

“Spews! Bailey, Sam hit me!” Paul cried.

Bailey didn’t see the hitting, but the back seat warfare made her want to slide under the floor mat.

Suddenly, all the well-behaved Dixon children were shouting, the din like loud surround-sound in a movie theater.

“Paul’s looking at me!” Sam shrieked. “He’s making those wolf fangs you told him not to!”

Baby began crying in the front seat. “I want my lamb baby!”

“Hey!” Brad tried to pin arms and separate bodies, but the commotion swelled out of control. Beth screeched at the top of her lungs, pressing against the car door to keep herself safe from flying limbs and starting to cry because her freshly ironed dress was getting mussed. Bailey was so weak she could only groan. She didn’t want to move and risk the nausea returning. The smell of syrup and bacon clung to the occupants of the car, and with the uproar behind her, she seriously feared her stomach would have another heave of volcano or geyser proportions and illustrate Sam’s and Paul’s argument more vividly than they were.

“Enough!” Michael roared.

The car quieted instantly. Even Bailey rolled her head to stare at him. No one had ever heard Michael raise his voice.

“Now, if you can’t behave—Paul, don’t look at Sam—I won’t take any of you with us the next time I take your sister out.”

Bailey’s lips parted. Take me out? Is this a date? It certainly sounded that way!

Apparently, Michael thought so, too. “Your sister and your brother,” he amended quickly. “If you can’t act like big people, you don’t get to go with us. Got it?”

There was a chorus of yes, sirs, and the back seat remained quiet.

“Now. About your virus, which got this whole debate started, Bailey.”

She felt Michael’s gaze on her, questioning. “It’s nothing,” she reiterated.

“It’s something. You’re not skimping on going to the doctor because of money, are you?”

“No. I told you, I went to Doc Watson.” She didn’t dare look at him.

“I’m taking you home,” Michael said, his voice strong and determined. “And I’m checking on you tonight, after I’ve done my chores. If you’re not better, if you’re not looking a lot more like the Bailey I know, I’m hauling you into Dallas to a first-rate physician.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he put a restraining hand on her leg. “I mean to have my way about this, Bailey. It doesn’t do your family any good if you don’t take care of yourself, and money shouldn’t be an issue. You’ve rarely been sick a day in your life, but if one of my cows was as sick as you are, I’d be calling out the vet. And if you’ve been ill like this for a week, you need a good, thorough going-over by a qualified city doctor. In fact, I’ve got a good mind to call Doc Watson and tell him you need a prescription to get you on the road to recovery. I’ve got my cell phone with me, and—”

“Michael! Please just take me home!” Bailey realized he was about to call Doc Watson. “I promise I’ll be better soon.”

He slowly turned off the cell phone. “Okay. But much more spewing or erupting, and off you go. If the kids get sick with this bug, you’re going to have a real mess on your hands.”

Bailey tore her gaze away from his. She had one. He just didn’t know how serious the mess was.

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