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The Bull Rider's Twin Trouble
Ali Olson


A DOSE OF DOUBLE TROUBLE!Whether it’s eight seconds on a bronc or the thrill of his motorcycle, bull rider Brock McNeal lives for the adrenaline high. A family of his own is out of the question. So why is he irresistibly attracted to widowed doctor Cassie Stanford? Because for all her feistiness and mess of dark curls, Cassie comes with a lot of strings. Including identical twin four-year-old sons!Yet as Brock helps Cassie fix up her run-down ranch, the sparks between them ignite. They both know Cassie could never get serious about a cowboy who chases danger. But when love takes on a life of its own, Brock faces the biggest risk ever: choosing between his rodeo life…and his heart.







A DOSE OF DOUBLE TROUBLE!

Whether it’s eight seconds on a bronc or the thrill of his motorcycle, bull rider Brock McNeal lives for the adrenaline high. A family of his own is out of the question. So why is he irresistibly attracted to widowed doctor Cassie Stanford? Because for all her feistiness and mess of dark curls, Cassie comes with a lot of strings. Including identical twin four-year-old sons!

Yet as Brock helps Cassie fix up her run-down ranch, the sparks between them ignite. They both know Cassie could never get serious about a cowboy who chases danger. But when love takes on a life of its own, Brock faces the biggest risk ever: choosing between his rodeo life...and his heart.


“It seems we’re both terrible at controlling ourselves, huh?”

Cassie shook her head and moved even closer to Brock. “I’m done controlling myself,” she said.

Brock moved back just enough to look her straight in the eyes.

“I got some good advice today. If I wait until the boys are grown to do anything for myself, it might be too late, and I don’t want that. It won’t hurt them if I’m a little selfish and impulsive for the next nine days.”

“Nine days,” Brock repeated, though Cassie couldn’t quite tell what emotion he was feeling when he said it.

She nodded resolutely, as much for herself as for him. “Until the rodeo. We can work on the house, and in the small snatches of time when the boys aren’t around, we can do...more grown-up activities.”

Brock smiled.

“We better make them a good nine days.”


Dear Reader (#u93de4151-37a4-5519-a54d-af0dde0579bd),

A new book is always an exciting and nerve-racking challenge, but starting a new book in a new series in an entirely new line takes it to a whole different level. Oh, and don’t forget the rambunctious toddler who just loves to press buttons on my laptop!

Suffice it to say, writing this book taught me a lot about myself, and I’m thankful for all of the people who helped, especially my husband and my amazing editor, Johanna.

Despite the challenges, I can’t wait to write more novels set in little Spring Valley, and I’m happy there are so many characters left whose stories need to be told. I look forward to writing them and giving each of them the happily-ever-after they deserve.

The McNeals—a family of adopted siblings, a meddling mother and a sweetheart father—have stolen my heart. I hope they do the same to you.

Happy reading,

Ali


The Bull Rider’s Twin Trouble

Ali Olson






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ALI OLSON is a longtime resident of Las Vegas, Nevada, where she has been teaching English at the high school and college levels for the past seven years. Ali has found a passion for writing sexy romance novels, both contemporary and historical, and is enthusiastic about her newly discovered career. She loves reading, writing and traveling with her husband and constant companion, Joe. She appreciates hearing from readers. Write to her at authoraliolson.com (http://www.authoraliolson.com).


For my siblings.

To Claire, for her enthusiasm; to Alaina, for her love and support; and to Jerrod, because I think you’ll be embarrassed having a romance novel dedicated to you and that amuses me.


Contents

Cover (#u5e9ae164-c17d-57ac-a60d-68d2c19e55b5)

Back Cover Text (#ubaea6864-bd1e-5257-94f0-5298ef0c84da)

Introduction (#u7f949928-0553-5788-8c16-62c96462d867)

Dear Reader (#u814171cc-919f-5b55-8444-c8294586b920)

Title Page (#u703befd4-a3e1-5175-a90d-bd6bcd561311)

About the Author (#u7a3c1f58-830a-5bb1-9f96-233133aa875b)

Dedication (#u149fb416-e0a1-55e4-aefe-7a1200e19349)

Chapter One (#ue1d4b6ea-8d5a-5a23-8098-e25eca6c4588)

Chapter Two (#u4ef31910-3f7e-5e2b-956e-f9defe8212bc)

Chapter Three (#u2bff149d-19c1-5a4b-a5d8-0fb452254b85)

Chapter Four (#uae759ff4-4acb-52d1-8597-1007b31e2f21)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#u93de4151-37a4-5519-a54d-af0dde0579bd)

Brock McNeal breathed deeply, moving his body in time with the jumping, twisting animal beneath him, and counted the seconds. Six...seven...eight.

The whistle sounded and he jumped off the bucking bull as bullfighters surrounded them, rolling to his feet and away from the large animal.

Brock soaked in the roar of the crowd. It hadn’t been a great ride, he knew, but he’d hung on to Big Tex, one of the wildest bulls he had ever faced, and the audience was showing their appreciation. He tipped his hat to them and slid a wink over to a group of buckle bunnies holding signs, their skintight clothing leaving little to the imagination.

He almost didn’t hear the shouts behind him as he basked in the glow of the crowd, but eventually he registered that something was wrong in the ring. Before he could turn around, two thousand pounds of animal flesh and muscle slammed into Brock, pushing him to the ground.

A hoof slammed into the ground inches from his face, kicking dirt into his eyes. Brock lay still, waiting for the next hoof, the one that would break his arm, puncture a lung or crack his skull.

After another few seconds, he opened his eyes to see the sky above him. The bullfighters had pulled the stomping, twisting bull away and out of the ring. The audience was silent, waiting to see how injured he was.

Brock jumped to his feet, tossed another smile to the people noisily showing their approval and walked out of the ring to join the other riders, enjoying the feeling of adrenaline pounding through his veins.

After receiving congratulations from the pack of men, Brock set off toward his truck.

“You trying to get yourself killed?” a gruff voice demanded the moment Brock was alone.

He turned to find his uncle standing behind him, hands on his hips. He looked angrier than Brock had seen him in a long while.

Brock gave him what he hoped was a calming smile. “I’m fine, Uncle Joe. Not a scratch,” he said, raising his hands for inspection, or possibly in surrender to his uncle’s fury.

“That was dangerous, and stupid, Brock. You know not to hang around in the ring like that, especially not with a bull like Big Tex in there with you,” Joe said, shaking his head. “Jeannie must be rolling in her grave right now. And what would Sarah say if she knew you were putting yourself at risk like that? My sisters would never forgive me if something happened to you. I’d be hounded in this world and the next.”

Brock winced at the verbal assault. His mother had been dead for twenty years, since he was just a little boy, but it still bothered him to hear his uncle talk about her like that. And Brock knew that if his uncle said anything to Sarah, his ma, the woman who had raised him since his parents died, she would worry herself sick.

Uncle Joe seemed to realize he’d been harsh, and his expression softened. “You’re lucky you survived today, you know.”

Brock nodded, not saying anything. His uncle had been one of the best bull riders in his day, and it was only through his coaching that Brock had managed to turn it into a career.

“I don’t know why I put up with you and your recklessness,” Uncle Joe groused.

Brock stayed silent. His uncle always said things like that when he was angry, and Brock had learned it was best not to respond. Joe would keep coaching Brock as long as Brock wanted to ride, so there was no point fighting with the old man.

Joe seemed to have grumbled himself out on the matter, and he changed topics, to Brock’s relief. “You’re headin’ home tonight, right? Sarah’s been on my case about you going for a visit.”

Brock nodded. “Ma’s been especially persistent lately, so I’ll be there for two weeks, until the next rodeo. Amy, Jose and Diego will be coming into town in the next couple of days, too.”

It had been a long while since Brock had seen his adopted brothers and sister, and he was sure Ma was in a tizzy waiting for her kids to come home. Sarah and her husband, Howard, had treated Brock like their own child since he was eight years old, and his adopted siblings even longer. Even though they were technically his aunt and uncle, he never thought of them as anything but his parents.

Joe nodded. “Keep your nose clean and I’ll see you at the rodeo.”

Brock couldn’t help but smile. He was pretty sure it would be impossible to get into any trouble in a one-stoplight town like Spring Valley, Texas.

His uncle seemed to know what he was thinking, because he pointed his finger at Brock’s chest. “Don’t give me any guff, boy. I don’t know how you manage to get yourself in the scrapes you do, smart as you are.”

Brock considered saying that what Uncle Joe considered “scrapes” usually involved other men from the rodeo, whom he’d met through Joe himself, but he kept his mouth shut. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be there all night listening to a lecture.

Brock tipped his hat in silent promise to keep his nose clean, then he turned back to the parking lot. “I better get on the road. I’ll tell Ma you said hi.”

The older man nodded. “Take care of yourself and don’t do anything foolish,” he said before heading back toward the large arena, from which sound erupted as another cowboy tried for his chance at the purse.

Brock turned toward his truck, the silver behemoth glinting in the afternoon sun, just one of many in the parking lot, waves of heat floating above the sea of metal. It was still early enough that most of the audience and competitors wouldn’t be leaving for another hour or more.

Normally he would have stayed to talk to the other cowboys, watch the last few rides, the closing ceremonies and possibly even the musical performance scheduled after the rodeo ended—and maybe get to know a few buckle bunnies while he was at it—then top the whole thing off with late-night drinks and planning the next big adventure with his friends. But he had a long drive ahead of him and he wanted to get to his parents’ house before it was too late for a good meal, so he took one last look at the stadium behind him and opened the door to his truck, allowing the wave of pent-up heat to pass over him.

He wished he had his motorcycle with him so he could enjoy the sweeping curves of the mountain roads at top speeds, feel the rush of adrenaline and the wind at the same time. When he was on the circuit, though, it stayed in storage back in Dallas, so his truck would have to do. Anyway, if he rode up to Spring Valley on his bike, he’d get an earful from his ma, and he’d already had enough of that for one day.

He couldn’t say he was happy about spending the weeks before his next rodeo in his tiny hometown, without much of a chance to prepare. He wanted to earn a spot at the NFR in Las Vegas, one of the toughest rodeos around, and Brock knew he couldn’t take time off without hurting his chances.

But at least he was sure to get big servings of his ma’s delicious country cooking, and he’d manage to find some way to keep himself sharp. Also, he could spend time helping Pop with the small riding school he ran on their property, though Brock knew that any insinuation that his dad was too old to do the work would earn him more than a stern talking-to.

Brock cranked the AC, steered out of the crowded parking lot and turned south toward Spring Valley.

* * *

AS THE SUN disappeared behind the mountains surrounding the small town and ranches of Spring Valley, Brock turned off his truck’s engine and stretched. The sprawling house in front of him looked cool and welcoming against the heat of the evening, and the unmistakable smell of horses and jasmine was so familiar that he would have known he was home even with his eyes closed. It was a smell that filled him with nostalgia and even a little longing. He’d always loved working on the ranch.

But that wasn’t the life for him, he knew, though at times he wished it was. Rodeo life took a toll on a man, not just physically, but mentally. Moving from city to city, following the rodeo circuit, left Brock weary and glad for the short respite of a visit home, even if it made him itch for something more challenging, more dangerous, at the same time.

He saw the front door open and pulled the reins on his wayward thoughts as his ma came bustling out, her grin wide and her arms open. He climbed out of his truck and walked toward the woman who had cared for him so much of his life.

The frail-looking older woman pulled Brock into a hug so tight he could hardly breathe. He smiled at her. “You miss me?”

She swatted him on the shoulder. “Don’t give me any attitude, boy. You’ve been gone too long and you know it. I oughta give your uncle Joe a piece of my mind. At least you didn’t ride in here on that infernal motorcycle of yours,” she said, shaking her head.

Before he could even attempt to respond, she continued, “Come in now, dinner should be ready in a few minutes. I made Howie wait until you got here. I knew my boy would be hungry.”

Brock let Ma’s words of reprimand and love wash over him as he followed her into the warmth and glow of home, smiling at how familiar it all was. Everything was just as it should be on McNeal Ranch.

The smell of fried chicken attacked his senses as soon as he crossed the threshold and his stomach growled in response. “You were right. I’m starving,” he said, veering toward the kitchen and the delectable smells.

Before he reached his destination, however, his ma blocked his entrance. “Don’t you go rummaging around in there. You’ll need to wait ’til I’m finished with everything and we sit down at the table like civilized folks.”

He stopped and heaved a theatrical sigh, hoping she might relent, but it seemed clear she wouldn’t be swayed by pity. After another look at the determined set of her jaw, he shrugged. “Okay, okay, I’ll go grab my things,” he said, turning to head back out to his truck.

“Actually, I have a job for you to do,” she said in a seemingly casual voice that didn’t fool him for a second. Brock wondered if he would finally hear why she had been so insistent about him coming for a visit.

He raised his eyebrows and waited. In that same falsely casual tone, she said, “A sweet widow moved into the old Wilson place. Cassandra Stanford. She needs some help fixing up things around there. I told her my strong son would be happy to lend her a hand. You should go introduce yourself before we sit down to eat.”

Brock was slightly disappointed. She just wanted him to do some work for an old widow? He had been expecting some bigger reason than that. His mother had been so pushy about him coming home, he’d half expected a mail-order bride to be waiting on the doorstep when he arrived. Maybe Ma had finally stopped trying to get her kids hitched and settled down, and was focusing her energy on helping her neighbor instead.

Brock doubted it, but for the time being, he was happy to be out of his ma’s crosshairs. The last several times he’d been home, she had spent most of the time hinting about one girl or another from his high school, and she was always disappointed when he left for the circuit again without anything to show for her efforts.

Even if she had some plan for him during his stay, he was glad to see that she wasn’t entirely consumed in her schemes. And it would be good for his ma to have a new friend nearby. Maybe they could knit together or something. Or, he shuddered to think, they could team up and become the town matchmakers.

He held in the smile that would lead to questions and another smack on the arm and gave Ma a kiss on her cheek. “Sure, I can help. I’ll go introduce myself.”

She grinned like the cat that ate the canary. “Don’t rush yourself back. The chicken still has a ways to go.”

Brock turned and headed back out the door he had walked through just a couple of minutes before, cutting through a paddock instead of heading out to the road. The Wilsons had been talking about moving for years, and he knew the place had fallen into disrepair as they got older. Why an old woman would want to take on the job was beyond him.

The walk was quick, and he hurried up the steps to the front porch of the neighboring home, noting the squeak of one of the steps and the white paint that was flaking off the house, showing the wood beneath.

There was plenty to do to make this place like new, if his first impression was any indication, but he knew it was a solid construction with good land. Part of him wished he had been the one to buy this property. Not that he had the money for this place. A middling rodeo cowboy didn’t pull in enough for that kind of down payment. A National Finals cowboy might, though.

And it wasn’t that likely he had even a chance of making it to Vegas if he spent the next two weeks painting and mending porch steps. He hoped the widow didn’t expect him to be working there too often, or he’d be in a bit of a pickle. If Ma was so desperate to have him around, why would she give him a big job that might eat into all the time he had at home?

Brock brushed the question aside and turned his mind to the task at hand. He’d go through a short introduction and make his way back for his hot meal just as quickly as he could, then he’d make a plan as to how he should go about fixing up this place while leaving time to prepare for the next rodeo. He knocked.

After a few seconds, the door opened and any thought of food or rodeos disappeared. He stared, caught off-guard by the lovely woman who stood there, the warm glow of the lit room behind her enveloping her in almost a halo of light.

Her dark brown hair fell around her shoulders in a mass of curls, framing an open, sweet face and lips that promised more than just smiles for the guy lucky enough to get to kiss them. It was impossible to tell if her eyes were more brown or green, and he wanted to get near enough to get a better look. The blood in his veins moved faster just at the notion of being that close to her.

His ma’s designs suddenly became clear: it wasn’t the widow she had wanted him to meet, it was the beautiful lady standing before him. The widow’s daughter, maybe?

He silently thanked his mother for her interfering ways as his eyes slid lower and took in more of the amazing view, noting how her jeans hugged her hips and the tied button-down shirt that accentuated her slim waist, giving just a peek of midriff. The top was unbuttoned low enough to give more than a suggestion of the breasts beneath.

Everything about her set him on fire. She was rather petite but didn’t seem frail in the slightest despite her stature. She gave off an air of feistiness. Brock liked feisty.

Brock realized that he’d stood there without speaking for far too long, and brought his eyes back to hers. He suddenly felt a bit like an awkward teenager, not a grown man of nearly thirty. It took all his effort to arrange his face into a cool, confident smile. “Hello, ma’am,” he said, putting on a slightly thicker drawl than usual. Ladies liked the Southern drawl. “I’m Brock McNeal. My folks live just over the way. They said Mrs. Stanford was in need of some help fixin’ up this place, and I thought it best to come introduce myself.”

A plan was already formulating in Brock’s mind. Make nice to the old lady, get in good with the beautiful mystery woman, then ask her for a date. Easy enough. His only problem was that two weeks in town suddenly didn’t seem near enough time if he could spend it enjoying her company.

The woman standing before him smiled. “Nice to meet you. Call me Cassie. Your mother was so sweet to offer your help. I really don’t know how I would manage all of the work by myself.”

Brock’s mind shifted gears quickly. The widow wasn’t some old woman at all. Which meant that Cassie was here all on her own. But was she mourning a recently lost husband? She didn’t seem to be. Would it be wrong to ask her out?

Before he could come to a conclusion, there were noises behind her and two young boys shot into the doorway behind Cassie, their identical faces peering at him from behind Cassie’s legs.

“Zach, Carter, say hello to Mr. McNeal. He’ll be helping us fix up the place a bit,” Cassie said.

Brock tried his hardest to keep the disappointment off his face, but he wasn’t sure he succeeded.

Of course she had kids. There had to be something or his ma would’ve just come out and told him about her sneaky little plan. She knew well enough by now he didn’t plan on having any children, and that meant no dating women with kids, either.

When the boys chirruped quiet hellos, he gave them a little wave before turning his attention back to their too-beautiful mother. “It was nice to meet you, but I better get back for dinner,” he said.

Cassie seemed to sense his suddenly urgent need to leave; she nodded and said, “But I’ll see you tomorrow and we can discuss the repairs?”

The almost desperate look in her eyes was too much. “Sure thing,” he responded before turning away from the door, cursing his own bad luck.

Why did she have to be a mom?


Chapter Two (#u93de4151-37a4-5519-a54d-af0dde0579bd)

Cassie closed the door, trying not to show just how shaky she was feeling. She took in a large gulp of air, as if she hadn’t breathed properly since first opening the door.

She put her hand to her chest, trying to calm the beating heart beneath. As soon as she did it, she realized her fingers were only touching bare skin and she groaned. She’d been unpacking boxes in the warm living room and had answered the door without realizing she was wearing a shirt that showed far more skin than she would have otherwise.

What must he have thought, to see her standing in the doorway showing off her stomach and chest like that?

Her mind went from zero to naughty in an instant, and it took all her effort to bring it back to being appropriately embarrassed.

“He’s got big arms,” Carter commented, oblivious to his mother’s mental gymnastics.

Oh, she had noticed his arms. She had noticed every single inch of him, from the shaggy sun-kissed brown hair under a battered cowboy hat all the way to his scuffed boots. Her eyes had eaten him up like so much candy the moment she had seen him standing on her porch. But she wasn’t planning on telling her four-year-old son that. “Hopefully he’ll be strong enough to do things I can’t do all on my own to get this ranch working,” she said, trying to maintain her concentration on the tasks at hand.

“We’ll help, too,” Zach responded, a look of such sincerity on his young face that her heart—and eyes—welled up at the sight.

“I know you will,” she answered, ruffling the boy’s dark curls, trying to keep the worry out of her voice.

It had seemed like a great idea only a couple of months ago. Purchase a ranch, get out of the city and live the life she’d always wanted. It seemed so simple. But she hadn’t expected everything to cost quite so much, and now here she was with a broken-down ranch that needed to make money, somehow, and she didn’t have the faintest clue how to go about it.

She knew that once she got her small doctor’s office going in the front room of the ranch house, she would be able to make ends meet, but finances would likely be tight for a while, and a running, profitable ranch would help give her a cushion. Instead, she was going to need to pour money into this place before she could hope to get much out of it.

Finding this ranch for sale when she so desperately wanted to leave Minneapolis had seemed like fate, and she’d jumped at the chance. Now, it seemed more like a crazy whim she’d acted on without thinking it through.

Mrs. McNeal’s offer of a helpful son had been a gift from heaven, and she knew she could never turn down the assistance, even if the man on the doorstep made her think nothing but the most sinful of thoughts.

Cassie pictured the way he had been standing there looking her over, and she felt short of breath again. She had tried to behave as professionally as she could, despite the inclination to kiss this complete stranger. She was no longer a whimsical young woman who could give in to an impulse of that sort, no matter how strong.

It was more difficult than she’d like to admit, though. She did not look forward to seeing the man again, and she needed to keep her distance when those urges pushed her to do some very inappropriate things. If she had any choice, she would tell the neighbors she didn’t require any help, after all. But she did, so there was nothing for it.

Cassie turned her thoughts back to her two sons, who were playing amid the boxes piled around the living room. “Time for bed,” she told them, and they hopped up, racing for the bathroom.

Zach won, shutting the door in Carter’s face. While he waited his turn, he went over to his mother and pulled on her arm. “Can you tell us the story about the time Dad saved the baby birds?” he asked, looking up to her with his large green eyes.

Cassie’s heart squeezed tight. The boys idolized their father and always wanted to hear stories about him. He had only been gone for six months, and she couldn’t face tarnishing their perfect image of him, so she had kept telling them the good stories over and over, keeping the not-so-good ones to herself. To them, he was a kind-hearted police officer who had died in an unfortunate car crash. She wanted it to stay that way.

Zach and Carter were by far the biggest reason why she couldn’t bring a man into her life. They weren’t ready. Especially not for someone like this Mr. McNeal, who carried an air of recklessness about him.

If only that recklessness wasn’t so damn enticing.

* * *

“YOUR NEW NEIGHBOR seems nice,” Brock told his ma as he piled mashed potatoes onto his plate, trying to keep any hint of emotion out of his voice.

The old woman was terrible at hiding her exasperation. She had been so interested to hear what had happened that he was surprised she hadn’t been hanging out a window with binoculars and some kind of long-distance microphone like in an old spy movie.

Well, it served her right to be on tenterhooks for a while, after that bit of meddling. Not that she shouldn’t already know exactly how it went. She was well aware of his rule.

A bite of delicious fried chicken later, he felt he had tortured her enough.

“No kids, ma. You know that.”

She gave an exaggerated sigh. “Brock, I can’t understand what you have against children, particularly those two. They’re sweet things. And being around them might do you, and them, some good. Howie, tell him,” she said, swatting her husband on the arm.

The elderly man looked up from his food slowly, clearly unwilling to join the conversation. His gray mustache shifted from side to side as he chewed. After it was clear he was expected to make some sort of contribution, though, he nodded slightly. “Fine boys,” he said.

Sarah looked triumphant, as if that settled everything.

Brock shrugged. “You know how I feel about raising kids. Between the rodeo circuit and the kind of life I live—”

His ma snorted, making her thoughts clear on that score. He plowed on, regardless.

“—I don’t want the responsibility of children hanging over me every time I go rock climbing or hop on my motorcycle.”

He didn’t need to say any more. His adopted parents knew that he would never want to leave children without a father. When his parents had died...well, it wasn’t something he would wish on anyone.

He turned his attention to his food, the air thick with unspoken words.

Still, if there was ever a woman who could make him consider breaking his “no kids” rule, it was this Cassie. Even then, the only type of relationship he was prepared to have with her would need to be something temporary, casual, especially when he’d be on the road again in another couple of weeks, and he doubted she would be okay with something like that. Not a widow with two young children.

It was best not to even start something, no matter how tempting the lady.

His ma shook her head at him. “Why you and your sister can’t be happy with a nice calm life, I’ll never know. With her always thousands of miles away and you doing reckless heaven-knows-what...at least your brothers don’t try me like the two of you.”

Brock bit his tongue, but he was sure Ma knew what he was thinking: what she called “reckless,” he called fun, interesting, exciting.

“Where’s Amy going after her visit?” he asked, hoping to change the subject.

“She said she needs to write an article about Morocco or something,” Ma said, still glowering. “It’s as if you two have a bet going to see who can make the last of my hairs gray the fastest.”

Brock had to laugh at that. He’d never told Ma about the time the previous winter that he’d nearly snowboarded off a cliff face when a storm blew up around him, or a dozen other adventures he’d had in the last few years, but he could imagine her hair going pure white if she ever found out about it. He wondered if Amy had been keeping similar secrets from their ma.

The older woman harrumphed, but didn’t say anything more on the subject, and for that he was grateful. They’d had the “When are you going to settle down?” conversation so many times that another run-through just sounded exhausting.

After eating, Brock climbed the stairs to his childhood room, too tired from the competition earlier in the day and the long ride home to think about much of anything. Before he went to sleep, however, the image of Cassie floated before his eyes, and he drifted off with a smile on his lips.

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING dawned hot and still, the sky quickly turning from soft lavender to a bright, cloudless blue. Cassie was awake but kept her eyes shut, not wanting to let go of the luxurious feeling that had come with whatever dream she had been having. Most of it had slipped away the moment she awoke, but she remembered one part of it with a vivid clarity: strong arms encircling her, holding her close to a warm muscular body.

She sighed and opened her bleary eyes, pulling herself off her bed, which was currently nothing more than a mattress and box spring on the floor. The time for dreaming was over, and that dream in particular had no place in her very busy day. She looked around the bedroom full of cartons, her eyes passing from the unfinished Ikea dresser to the headboard leaning against one wall, waiting to be attached to a bed frame she hadn’t gotten around to putting together. She sighed again and started rummaging in one of the boxes for something to wear.

They had moved into the house two weeks before, but with the delays from the moving company and two raucous boys with no friends in town yet, she had hardly made a dent in the mounds of containers everywhere. Most of her time had simply been spent assessing what needed to be fixed and trying to organize the mass of paperwork the Wilsons left her about the property, none of which helped much.

What had she been thinking, buying this place and moving them all out here to chase some childish dream of hers? The thought had flitted through her mind over and over again since they’d arrived.

Without noticing, she had gotten to the bottom of the box of clothes, and her hand touched something silky. Curious, she pulled out whatever it was she’d found, promptly dropping it in surprise. The lingerie fell to the floor, a small pool of black silk and lace.

She didn’t remember packing it, had even forgotten she’d ever purchased the thing. It was years ago now, when she was trying to keep her marriage afloat. It was a reminder that she had once hoped to have an exciting love life, the sort of thing she was now avoiding.

Cassie shook her head slightly and shoved the thing into the bottom of the box marked “Pajamas,” then went back to picking something practical to wear. She pulled on jeans and a blouse, trying to forget the sexy black teddy, only to have the concerns about her new ranch rush back in on her.

She tried to make those thoughts go away, too. It was too late to second-guess her decision to put an offer on the ranch and sign the mortgage paperwork, so she might as well stop it and just look ahead to what needed to get done so their new home would run smoothly. Now that she’d have someone helping who might know a thing or two about how to do that, she felt hopeful about the progress that would be made.

If she could manage to keep her hands off him, of course.

She walked out of her depressingly cluttered room without looking at it again. That would need to wait until she dealt with more pressing matters, like when she could start seeing patients and figuring out how she could get the ranch to make money.

She let the worry drift to the back of her mind as she entered the living room, where Zach and Carter were using the piles of boxes and some blankets to make a fort. She smiled and crawled through the little doorway they had created using two kitchen chairs and a rug. Before she spent the day trying to be a doctor and a rancher, she could spend an hour being a mom to her two boys. That, at least, wasn’t overwhelming.

They weren’t very far along on their fort, however, when there was a knock on the door that made her heart sink. There was only one person who could be on the other side of that door, and despite how much she needed his help, she wasn’t looking forward to seeing the handsome Mr. McNeal again, especially not after her dream from the night before. Zach jumped up, his head grazing the blanket that made the fort roof. “I’ll get it!” he shouted, diving between the two chairs.

She listened to his quick footsteps and the squeak of the front door. When she heard the deep rumble of Brock McNeal’s voice as he spoke to Zach, her face flushed. She steeled herself for a long day of pretending not to notice how attracted she was to him.

And how attracted he is to you, a little voice inside her added. Her mind drifted back to what hid in the bottom of her box of pajamas. She quelled all that immediately. Sure, she’d seen the way he had looked her over when she’d opened the door the previous night, but she had also seen the way his face fell when Zach and Carter joined her. She knew what that look meant, and it was enough to make her even more sure that she would keep her distance from this man.

If he wasn’t interested in a woman with kids, well, it just made things that much easier. She took a deep breath, glanced down to make sure her shirt was more modest than yesterday and began trying to extricate herself from the tiny fort.

* * *

BROCK FOLLOWED THE young boy into the home formerly owned by his old neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, where he had played dozens of times as a kid. The house had a slightly dilapidated look about it, as if nobody had taken the time to keep it in good working order, but it was still clean and homey, the wallpaper and fixtures exactly as they had been twenty years before, and likely twenty years before that.

Though it was outdated and a little the worse for wear, it was of solid construction, a good home. He imagined there wouldn’t be too much to do to get it up to snuff; hopefully the land was in a similar state and not too far gone to seed.

In the living room, the lovely woman of the evening before was crawling out of what was clearly a makeshift fort, her curly hair a messy tangle that hid half her face, her splendidly curved butt shown off in lovely detail.

How did she manage to make climbing out of a blanket fort sexy?

If he’d been out of sight, he would have smacked himself in the forehead to dislodge these wayward thoughts. It was clear to him that he’d need to help her as quickly as possible, and then keep his distance from this woman from then on out. If she got his heart pumping doing something so innocent, he needed to do everything in his power to protect himself.

She straightened up, looking even more deliciously tousled, and nodded to him with a small smile. “Thank you for coming, Mr. McNeal. I wasn’t expecting you this early. I was just going to make some pancakes for the boys. Would you like some?”

Brock knew he should take the chance to get working while she was busy elsewhere, to ensure that he could concentrate on the manual labor without her nearby, but the thought of missing out on pancakes was disheartening. His ma was happy to make eggs and bacon but had never been one for pancakes—too sweet for a good start to the day, she’d always said. He forced himself to shake his head. “No, thanks, I already ate. I’ll just get started on whatever you need me to do, if you don’t mind.”

Her mouth thinned a little and her cheeks blushed a light shade of pink. He realized that she really hadn’t expected him yet, and she wasn’t sure where he should start. She seemed to be at a loss for a moment.

Not that it was surprising she hadn’t anticipated his early arrival. He’d woken at dawn, itching to get over there—to get started on all the work that needed to be done, he’d told himself. After all, two weeks wasn’t much time, and he didn’t want to leave his new neighbor in the lurch after he’d gone. So he’d headed over right after eating, without noticing exactly how early it was.

Brock decided that just because there was so much to do didn’t mean there wasn’t time for pancakes. “Actually, pancakes sound great. After all, there’s probably enough work around here to burn off four breakfasts, I’m sure. And while you’re at it, I’ll take a look around to see what all there is to do, if that’s all right?”

She nodded, looking relieved, and he immediately felt like he’d made the right choice. Plus, he would get to eat pancakes. That was a win-win.

“I’ll go get them started. Please make yourself at home, Mr. McNeal.”

“Call me Brock,” he answered before she disappeared into the kitchen.

The moment she was gone, he looked around the room and started creating an inventory of everything that would need to be done to get the house in shape. Besides two warped window frames and the very faded wallpaper, the living room at least appeared in decent condition.

“Would you like to come in our fort?” one of the boys asked suddenly, poking his head out between two boxes.

Brock had forgotten he wasn’t alone in the room. He gave the kid a small smile. “No, thanks,” he said, not sure if there was anything else he was supposed to say.

It had been a long while since he’d spoken to anyone under the legal drinking age.

The other boy, identical to his brother, crawled out of the fort and moved to stand right next to Brock. Brock waited, wondering what the little boy was thinking. Finally, he spoke. “I’m Carter.”

Brock nodded, wishing the child wasn’t quite so close. He wasn’t used to children and their lack of understanding about personal space. “Hi. I’m Brock,” he answered.

Carter kept staring, as if waiting for Brock to say more, but he couldn’t think of what else he should say.

“What are you doing?” the boy asked.

“I’m trying to figure out what we need to do to get this place fixed up,” Brock answered.

Carter looked around the room. “Like what?”

Brock felt slightly relieved that the large hazel eyes were no longer staring at him in that intense way. He pointed out the windows, explaining about the frames.

“Momma tried to open those when we got here and couldn’t,” Carter commented. “What else is wrong?”

Brock shrugged. “I don’t know. I just got here.”

With that, Carter was off, pointing out every problem he had noticed since they’d moved there. Some, like the faint scratches on the wood floor from furniture being moved around, didn’t concern Brock, but there were others that he added to the mental list he was making.

Soon, Brock and Carter had moved into the room the boys were sharing and Brock was examining the large wooden bunk bed the boys would use once, as Carter explained, it didn’t wobble anymore. “Momma says the Wilson boys must have been pretty rowdy to break such a big piece of furniture,” Carter said as Brock pulled on the top bunk and watched it sway precariously. Brock smiled, remembering exactly how “rowdy” the Wilson boys were. They had gotten Brock into quite a bit of trouble more than once when he was a kid.

Carter continued talking, as if he had no plans to stop anytime soon. “But it was free, so she said she would fix it and then we won’t have to sleep on the floor no more.”

“Anymore,” said a voice from the doorway. The other brother, Zach, had joined them.

Brock nodded to him, then turned back to Carter. “It’ll be easy to fix. A couple planks of wood and some nails will do it.”

“There’s some in the barn. Momma showed me.”

Brock stood, ready to go find them, but Zach interrupted his thoughts. “Mom says food’s ready, Mr. McNeal.”

Before Brock could say anything, Carter jumped up and grabbed his hand. “We have to wash up before we eat. I’ll show you.” And with that, Brock was being pulled into a small bathroom and shown how to clean his hands properly.

Brock washed at the sink and followed Carter and Zach into the kitchen, where the boys jumped into chairs, both sitting on their feet so they could see over the table. The moment he was back in the same room as Cassie, the air felt warm and heavy, neither of which had anything to do with the cooking.

Brock tried not to let his eyes wander along the length of her legs as she stood by the stove, flipping the last pancakes on the griddle. The jeans she was wearing hugged her in all the right places, and a long study of them would just make things worse.

He was here to do a job, help a lady and her kids out, and then he would get back to doing the things he did best. After all, his next big bull ride was coming up soon. It wouldn’t do to start getting sidetracked by a mess of russet-colored hair and a pair of shapely legs. Or any of her other attributes he had noticed.

With difficulty, Brock pulled his eyes to the plate in the middle of the table piled high with flapjacks. The smell wafting from them was light and sweet, and they made his mouth water despite the large breakfast he’d already had. The boys had quickly grabbed a couple and begun dousing them in syrup, so he speared a few of his own with his fork.

Cassie came to the table, taking the only open seat, the one directly across from him. Now that she was close and in the bright light of the kitchen, he could see a dusting of freckles across her nose and the clear green-brown of her eyes. When she leaned forward to grab her own pile of pancakes, he quickly glanced away. There was too much to catch all of his male attention when she did that.

Thankfully, she soon sat back in her seat and he could actually savor the flavor of the pancakes he had shoved into his mouth in a desperate bid for a distraction.

She didn’t seem to notice any of this and her attention remained focused on her children. “Did you both wash up before coming in and getting covered in syrup?” she asked.

Carter nodded as he licked some of the sticky sweetness off his forearm. “I showed Brock how to wash up, too,” he said.

Cassie gave her son a warning look. “Don’t be impolite. You can call him Mr. McNeal.”

“It’s fine,” Brock cut in, not wanting Carter to get in trouble for his actions. “I told him he could call me that. I think the only person who has ever called me Mr. McNeal was my fourth-grade teacher, and that lady was plumb crazy.”

Carter smiled at him. Brock couldn’t help but smile back.

Cassie also seemed pleased, though she wasn’t as obvious in her emotions as Carter was. “Well, now that that’s settled,” she said, “I was thinking we would start working in the library first, and then some of the fencing around the place, or maybe the barn. I want to get the ranch ready to hold horses.”

He nodded, trying to keep his eyes on his plate instead of on her. Hopefully she would show him where to start and leave him to it, and he could lose himself in hard work and avoid this woman who set his blood on fire.

After she dumped the dishes in the sink, though, she looked at her two boys and said, “While we’re moving things around, I’d like you to put your clothes into the drawers in your room. After that, you can work on your fort or play with your cars. Can you do that?”

So, she clearly wasn’t planning on freeing him from her presence. If he hadn’t been pleased that she was willing to get her hands dirty and help fix up the place, he would’ve been annoyed about spending even more time near her.

The boys nodded and raced into their room. Brock was impressed that such young children could follow directions, but before he could comment, Cassie smiled at him and shook her head. “They’ll probably throw everything in one drawer before getting sidetracked and playing with toys, but it’ll keep them busy for a few minutes, at least.”

Brock pictured himself doing just that as a kid and laughed. Her dry humor only made her prettier, which sobered him quickly. “So, you wanted to start in the Wilsons’ old library?” he prompted.

Cassie nodded and walked out of the kitchen, beckoning at Brock to follow her. He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the well-formed bottom that swayed so enticingly before him.


Chapter Three (#u93de4151-37a4-5519-a54d-af0dde0579bd)

Cassie showed Brock into the small room off the living room that she hoped to turn into a doctor’s office. Before she could start seeing patients, however, there was a lot to do.

The room had obviously been used as a library. The empty shelves lining the wall were of dark oak, making the entire space feel shady and somber. She imagined leather chairs and dusty volumes of old books giving it an air of class, but it didn’t fit with the light, friendly tone she wanted to convey.

“Mr. Wilson was quite a reader,” Brock commented, looking around the room. “I never understood why they lived on this ranch when he would have been much happier being a professor or something. What do you want to do with it?”

“I want to take out these shelves and make it into a doctor’s office,” she started, ready to turn her dream into a reality.

“You’re a doctor?” he asked, clearly surprised.

She nodded, waiting to see how he would react. Her husband, Hank, had always been negative about her choice to continue school instead of staying home with their young children, and even though he’d been gone for over six months, she still heard his disapproving words in her ears.

Brock gave her a sideways grin that turned her insides to mush. “You’re full of surprises,” he commented, and she couldn’t stop the blush of pleasure that worked its way up to her ears. “Well, the town certainly needs a doctor. People are going to line up at your door. So I guess we should get this place ready.”

Then he turned back to the room as if nothing had changed. Cassie’s defenses lowered slightly as she accustomed herself to Brock’s presence.

“Okay, so the shelves need to go,” he said. “What do you need to make the room ready?”

With that, she was off, describing the room she had imagined. A small desk, some shelves to hold supplies, bright paint, a couple of chairs and an examination table. A happy place where she could help people.

Brock listened, nodding occasionally. When she finished, he stretched, his arms raised to the ceiling. Cassie tried not to stare at him, but it wasn’t easy. “Let’s get started, then,” he said, moving farther into the room.

Soon they were grappling with the bookcases—heavy bulky things that, thankfully, took all her attention. With some difficulty, they managed to get the three large shelving units on their sides and slide each one out the door until they were lying in a row on the living room floor.

With those out, the room seemed much larger and brighter, and Cassie’s heart lifted. She knew she could make it into everything she wanted. Then she realized there was one big problem that prevented her from doing more.

Brock seemed to sense her sudden change of mood. “You don’t have paint yet, do you?”

Cassie shook her head, trying not to feel too disappointed.

“Then we’ll need to get some. We can do that tomorrow morning, if you like. For now, on to the next thing,” Brock announced, sidling out of the room.

Cassie could tell he wasn’t going to let her sulk, and it made her smile. He was right, anyhow. There was too much to do to sit around just because she didn’t have paint.

Back in the living room, they both looked at the shelves taking up most of the floor space. “I guess we could put two of these in my room and the other in Zach and Carter’s,” she said at last.

Brock moved into place to pick up one of the units and waited for her. Cassie couldn’t believe how willing he was to haul them all over her house, without a word of protest. She silently thanked Brock’s mother for having such a helpful son.

Soon all her thoughts and energy were once again absorbed by the task of lifting the heavy pieces of furniture, which they lugged down the hall.

Maneuvering the first one into her bedroom was a bit of a challenge, but finally the shelf stood against the wall opposite her bed. If the room wasn’t large, it might have looked hefty, but Cassie felt it fit nicely. She turned to Brock to see if he was ready to move the second one, and found him standing awkwardly near the doorway.

Then she realized that they were in her bedroom and she felt a flush creep up her neck at the memory of what lay at the bottom of her box of pajamas, only a couple of feet from where she was standing.

Brock cleared his throat and looked at her, but didn’t quite meet her eyes, for which she was thankful. Now was not the time to get lost in those ocean-colored depths. “Let’s go grab the next one,” he said, leaving for the hallway.

Cassie followed, hoping the heat in her cheeks would go away before they looked at each other again.

* * *

BROCK WAS GLAD to return to the open air of the living room. Even though the master bedroom in the Wilson house was large, the presence of Cassie and her bed made him feel short of breath and a little claustrophobic.

But that wasn’t the way his thoughts should be turning, he knew.

They made quick work of the second shelf, and without pausing in Cassie’s room, for which Brock was grateful, moved onto the third. As Brock picked up his end, he could feel the strain in his back, a holdover from an old rodeo injury. If he was tired, he imagined Cassie must be exhausted. He almost set down the shelf again to propose they take a break, but before he could, Cassie had lifted her end and begun moving toward the hallway with dogged determination on her face.

Brock couldn’t help but be impressed. She didn’t shirk the work it was going to take to get this place running, that was for sure. They carried the thing into the boys’ room, where they set it up against the wall as the two boys watched from where they’d been playing on the floor. When it was in place, Cassie leaned against it to catch her breath. Brock took the chance to stretch his back.

“Did you boys finish putting all your clothes away before playing?” Cassie asked after a few moments.

The children nodded, but Brock noticed they seemed a little hesitant. He glanced over at the chest of drawers. From the look of the bursting bottom drawer, Cassie’s earlier prediction seemed to have come true. She noticed, too, and she opened it wider. “I don’t think you’ll be able to find anything in here,” she told them, with an impressive amount of patience. “How about we work on this together?”

Brock could see this might take a while, so he left Cassie with her kids and went back to the library. This woman just kept getting more and more attractive. A beautiful, hardworking doctor with the patience of a saint. He shook his head in amazement.

He wanted to ask her out. What harm could a date do? He imagined she could use an evening being pampered.

There was one big flaw with that idea, though: What if she said no? He didn’t want the next couple of weeks to be awkward as they worked on her house and ranch together. Or worse, she felt so uncomfortable that she insisted on doing it all by herself, even though it was clearly too big a job for just one person.

So he wouldn’t ask her out yet, then. Not until he was sure she’d say yes, or until enough work was finished that he wouldn’t feel guilty if he got turned down and was asked to never see her again.

He hoped to God that wouldn’t happen.

What about her kids? A small voice inside him piped up.

Well, it would just be a date. Nothing serious. He wasn’t going to turn everything in his life upside down because of a passing attraction. They’d go on a few dates, have a nice time and then he’d leave. If they both agreed to nothing permanent, neither of them could get hurt, right?

Brock felt a twinge of uncertainty but dismissed it. If he had to choose between a temporary relationship with Cassie or no relationship at all, he knew which side he fell on. The thought lifted his spirits, and he looked around eagerly for something to accomplish.

Near the library, leaning against a wall, were some boxes with pictures of small white shelves on them. They were clearly pieces of furniture for her future doctor’s office, and would need to be assembled before she could start seeing patients.

He immediately set to work on the first one.

The task went quickly, and by the time Cassie appeared, he was halfway through the second, with instructions and pieces surrounding where he sat on the floor. Seeing her made his heart beat harder, and he found it difficult to remember what it was he’d been doing. She caressed the top of the completed piece in such a way that it took every bit of his self-control to not ask her out right then and there.

“Thank you for your help,” she said, so sincerely that it squeezed at his heart. It was clear from her tone that she’d desperately needed an extra pair of hands.

“I imagine it’s hard to get much done with two young boys around,” he commented.

She let out a sigh of agreement and nodded. “They’re putting things on their new shelf now, so that should give them something to do for a little while, at least,” she said, sitting down beside him and leaning close to look at the instructions.

For a moment, she was too close, and he wanted more than ever to do something about the feelings crowding in him. As he opened his mouth to say something stupid, she moved away again, and his mind cleared enough to keep quiet. She didn’t seem to notice, and before he could get out of his daze enough to get back to the task at hand, she was grabbing pieces and fitting them together with nimble, quick movements.

With some effort, Brock turned back to his own work, and they flew through the rest of the low-lying shelves, two cabinets and several small drawers. He imagined them holding cotton swabs, latex gloves and myriad other items that a doctor would need in order to care for the people who came to her. From the way Cassie was smiling as she touched each completed piece, she could, too.

When they were finished with the last drawer, Cassie sat back and looked around her at all they’d done. Brock could only stare at her. She was endlessly fascinating. They had worked almost entirely without speaking, anticipating each other’s motions in a way he couldn’t describe. They had been assembling a few inexpensive pieces of furniture, but it had felt more like a dance where they moved in harmony together.

He stood and started placing the completed items against the wall, out of the way until they could be placed into the new office. The silence that had been comfortable a few minutes before became thick, and he grasped for something to talk about. “What’s the next big task on your to-do list?” he said, hoping she didn’t notice the strained sound of his voice.

“Until I have paint, we’ve done about as much on the office as we can. I guess the next big part—”

He hoped she wouldn’t say her bedroom. He’d noticed the boxes and incomplete bedframe, but boy howdy, an hour in her bedroom seemed much more dangerous than jumping out of an airplane or climbing on the back of a bull right now.

“—would be the fence, or maybe the barn,” she finished.

Brock exhaled with relief.

“Well,” he started, considering the best plan of action, “we should probably take a walk along the perimeter, see where the fence needs to be fixed or replaced.”

Brock wasn’t sure if he really thought the entire fence needed to be checked or if he was just torturing himself with a long, private stroll with Cassie. He didn’t need to worry about the latter, though, because Cassie immediately stood and said, “I’ll go get Zach and Carter. They’ll be happy to get out of the house,” before disappearing down the hall toward the boys’ room.

* * *

CASSIE WAS GLAD FOR the twins’ company as they all walked out into the late-morning sun. The hours she had spent with Brock already that day made her very aware that she needed chaperones, if only to keep herself from doing something stupid like kissing him.

Luckily, her children were excellent distractions.

As soon as they were out of the house, the boys were tearing around like two tiny dust storms, creating havoc wherever they went and only stopping occasionally to ask Brock questions about life as a cowboy.

Through his answers, she learned that he was visiting his parents for two weeks and that he worked on the circuit—though she wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. The boys were thrilled to discover that he owned a truck and a motorcycle. And that he liked horses and owned lots of cowboy hats and boots.

From the way he answered each question without a sign of irritation, she also realized that Brock was patient, good-natured and kind. She wished he was just a little bit worse of a human being, so she’d have something to grasp to that might help her get over her overwhelming attraction to him.

Finally, she cut into the questions, both because she wanted to save Brock from the unending list the boys seemed to have, and because she was curious what he was doing as he examined a fence post.

“Boys, why don’t you race each other to that tree?” she suggested, pointing out a small oak a hundred yards or so in the distance. Zach and Carter ran off, their excess energy seeming to burst out of every seam.

Cassie turned to Brock. “What are you checking for?” she asked, wondering if she sounded like the young boys.

“To see if the wood is rotten or not. If you have rot, you’ll need to replace those sections, or they might come down not long from now. It’ll be a lot of extra work, though.”

“And money, I’m sure,” Cassie said, biting her lip.

She would need to get her doctor’s office going, and soon, or at this rate she and the boys would be living off peanut butter sandwiches for the foreseeable future.

Brock nodded. “But the fence can wait, if you aren’t planning on keeping animals out here, in which case we could just fix the paddock and barn.”

Cassie gazed across the land covered in tall grass the color of gold. What would she do with the crops? She had just wanted a ranch with some horses, but it was becoming more and more obvious that she didn’t know the first thing about ranching...

Maybe her mother was right: she was getting in way over her head. She was just a city girl playing rancher, and she didn’t know the game.

“Everything okay?” Brock asked, pulling her out of her reverie.

She started to nod but couldn’t bring herself to pretend. “There’s just so much I need to figure out,” she answered, looking at him.

The sympathy in his dark blue eyes made her heart thump heavily, and she had difficulty keeping control of herself.

He looked out over her ranch and she took the chance to catch her breath. After a few moments, he nodded. “It’ll be a lot of work, but it’s a good piece of land. Do you have a buyer for the hay you won’t use?”

She shook her head, feeling stupid. She didn’t even have any idea how to turn the grass waving in front of her into hay bales, let alone what to do with it. “I don’t—”

Cassie stopped talking, her voice catching in her throat. She had been told that the farm was growing grass to turn into hay, but she hadn’t thought about what to do with it until she’d actually gotten here and seen it.

The enormity of the tasks before her threatened to overwhelm her. She could only imagine what Brock must think about her, purchasing this whole place without knowing how to do a single thing.

“This is my lucky day,” Brock replied.

Cassie looked at Brock, surprised at the enthusiasm in his voice. Was he being sarcastic?

Brock hitched his thumb back toward his parents’ ranch. “Pop could use a good chunk for their horses, and my brothers would be happy to buy the rest, I’m sure. And they’ll pay to get the baling machine out here, too, if you don’t already have one lined up. It’s my lucky day because this means almost my entire family will owe me, which can be useful in the McNeal house.”

Cassie laughed, more out of astonishment than anything. “Do you really think your brothers would do all that?” she asked, trying not to get her hopes up too high, but unable to suppress the grin that came to her lips.

Brock nodded, smiling back. “They just started a business working with rodeo stock, and I’m sure they could use it. They’ll give you a fair price.”

A weight lifted off Cassie, and she felt some of the tension in her shoulders ease. She would be able to sell the hay. If she could do that, start seeing patients, mend the fence and make the barn livable for her horses, maybe everything would be all right. It was a big if, but it was something.

“You’ll want to keep a bit of it for your own horses, right? I know the Wilsons had a couple.”

She nodded, picturing Rosalind and Diamond, the two mares that had come with the property. “If I can get the barn and fencing in shape enough to keep them here, yes. For now, they’re being kept at a place a few miles away.”

“Well, we can figure out what lumber you need for the fence and paddock, but mend the paddock first. That way, you can move the horses here sooner. They don’t need a perfect barn in this weather, so those little fixes can wait.”

She didn’t say anything about the boarding costs, yet another worry on her plate. Cassie suddenly felt embarrassed, as if every shortcoming and difficulty of hers was being laid bare in front of this man she’d known less than twenty-four hours.

Despite how much she appreciated his help, she also felt slightly uncomfortable with how much she needed it. She’d always been self-sufficient, smart and able to do whatever she put her mind to. This whole thing wasn’t great for her ego, that was for sure.

Still, she’d gotten herself into this mess, and right now she just needed to worry about surviving it with as much of her dignity intact as she could manage. As long as nothing else landed on her plate, she would be able to handle it.

She hoped.


Chapter Four (#u93de4151-37a4-5519-a54d-af0dde0579bd)

Brock looked at Cassie, his heart going out to her. He could tell she was anxious, with her lips pinched so tightly together. It seemed like a world of worries was swirling about in her head.

“So, with the hay issue settled and our next job planned, we can get back to checking the fence,” he said, hoping to get her attention on the here and now, and away from her thoughts. “With the perimeter fence, if you’re only growing crops, we can just repair it a bit, but if you plan to have any animals roaming around, we’ll need to make sure it’s perfectly solid. Do you think you’ll have stock out here, or just crops?”

Apparently his question didn’t help at all, because she only looked more worried, and he could see that tears were threatening to fall. Even though they had only met the day before, he couldn’t stand by and watch without doing something. As if on the same impulse, he pulled her into a hug as she threw herself against him. “I don’t know what I’m doing here,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest.

“Momma? You okay?” Carter asked.

Brock looked down, startled to see the boys. They had finished the race apparently, and were standing side by side with expressions of concern on their identical faces.

Cassie broke away from his chest and smiled down at her children. “I’m fine, honey. I was giving Mr. McNeal a hug. Because he’s being so nice to help us.”

Brock stood there, not sure what to say. The moment had been so raw, so pained, and yet she was able to put it all aside for her little boys. He had to wonder if she’d done the same thing when her husband died, burying her hurt in order to stay strong for her children. He was almost sure she had.

He was truly amazed by this woman.

“Let’s keep walking,” Brock said at last, trying to bring himself out of his own thoughts. “I’ll check for rot, and we can figure it all out once we know what we’re looking at. How does that sound?”

Cassie flashed him a grateful look, and they all continued along the perimeter of the land.

The boys immediately filled the silence with their questions and whatever else seemed to pop into their heads. Brock couldn’t help but like them. His ma was right: they were sweet kids.

Zach grabbed Cassie’s arm. “Momma! Tell about Daddy!”

Brock was glad he was already looking at a fence post and the lumber nailed to it—it gave him a chance to hide his reactions. Curiosity mixed with a little embarrassment, and maybe even some jealousy. The man had, after all, been married to Cassie, been father to these two boys. He couldn’t help wanting to stack himself up against him, even if his good sense told him it was a bad idea in more ways than one.

Once he’d mastered his expression, Brock turned back to Cassie and the boys, hoping he seemed nonchalant. He was surprised to see the slight flush of red in Cassie’s cheeks, and wondered if his presence was causing her to feel uncomfortable.

He moved ahead of the other three, just in case the distance might make her feel better. He couldn’t help listening, though.

“Your daddy,” she began, in a tone that made Brock sure she’d said these same words many times, “was one of the hardest workers in our precinct. He worked lots of hours trying to keep the city safe for everyone.”

“He was a good policeman,” Carter added, as if he held that knowledge close to his heart.

Brock felt heartbroken for these two boys, who had lost their father at such a young age. It brought back his own painful memories.

He didn’t look at Cassie, kept his eyes on the fence, but he imagined her nodding and smiling at her son, remembering her brave police officer husband. Asking her out suddenly seemed like little more than a pipe dream.

“One time, he was driving along in his squad car,” Cassie went on, “and he saw a man yelling at a woman, who was crying.”

“That man was mean!” Zach shouted, angry.

“He was mean,” Cassie agreed. “Your daddy went up and helped the woman, and the man couldn’t hurt her anymore because your daddy was there to protect her. It’s good to help and protect people who need it,” she concluded.

The boys gabbled happily about the story, running on ahead. Brock stood with Cassie, unsure what to say. Complimenting her deceased husband didn’t seem right, but neither did asking questions or completely ignoring what just happened.

Before he could figure out what to say, Cassie spoke to him, her voice quiet enough to keep the boys from overhearing. “Sorry. About before.”

With the image of her husband looming large over Brock, he had almost forgotten her tears from just a few minutes ago.

He waved away the apology. “None of us know what we’re doing all the time,” he said.

She made a noise that could have been a snort, or perhaps a small sob. “It’s not just a small case of indecision. I made all these choices, moving us all the way out here, without really thinking things through. I was so desperate to get away from—well, it doesn’t matter. So I followed a silly childhood dream, and now the reality of it all is a bit much. My mom was right,” she said with a small, sad laugh, “I was being too impulsive, too stubborn.”

Brock smiled. “My ma says that about me all the time, too.”

“Is she right?” Cassie asked, her voice quiet.

Brock could see she was hoping for something to hold on to. He shrugged. “Yeah, but I’ve got to make choices for myself, right? You can’t be happy living the way other people want you to.”

He watched her absorb his words. Finally, she nodded, wiping away a stray tear, and turned to the fence. “Is much of it decayed?” she asked.

He half wanted to bring the subject back to why she had come here, what she was running away from, but decided to let it lie. It probably had to do with her husband’s death, and if she moved here because the memory of her lost love was too painful, he’d rather not know. Brock knocked on the fence board in front of him. “It seems like most of it is okay. It just needs some new nails and a fresh coat of paint. You’ll need a few hundred bucks’ worth of lumber, at most, if the rest of it is like this,” he said, gesturing at the expanse of fence behind them.

Cassie seemed relieved, and they continued walking in silence. After a short while, Brock said, “You might want to consider raising a small herd of cows out here. It would cost a bit at first, but you can buy them as you can afford them, and they’ll be more lucrative than selling bales of hay in the long run.”

Brock wasn’t sure if the information was helpful or more to add to her plate, but he felt sure, despite how little he knew about her, that she would appreciate knowing his opinion on the subject.

Cassie smiled. “Owning cows to go along with my horses, huh? That would make me a real country girl,” she said, hooking her thumbs in her jean pockets.

He laughed. “Get some boots instead of those sneakers and a good hat, and nobody will know you’re a city slicker.”

She nodded, raising her hand to shade her face from the sun’s powerful rays. “I’ll definitely need a hat, if it’s always this sunny. I’m not used to the weather here.”

“Where are you from?” he asked without thinking.

It was only after he said it that he remembered her earlier words. Wherever she was from, she had run to the country to get away from it. Brock felt like an ass for bringing it up, but it was too late now.

“Minneapolis,” she said, without elaborating further.

Still, she didn’t seem devastated by the question, and he was curious about her. In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought. “That’s a pretty big city,” he commented.

“Smaller than you might think,” she answered in a light tone, but the expression on her face hardened slightly.

Something within him pushed to keep the conversation going as they continued along the fence. They were over halfway done, and he felt like this was an opportunity to get to know her. Something about the wide-open land and sky around them made it easier. “I can see why you haven’t had much experience with land and fences up there. It’s not exactly a ranching area. The winters are brutal there, aren’t they?”

She rolled her eyes, and his heart jumped when she gave him a genuine smile. “Like you wouldn’t believe. That’s one of the reasons I picked Spring Valley. I’ll be just fine if I never see snow again.”

He wanted to keep her smiling. “Well, this is the place to be if you hate snow. It’s a rare winter that we get more than an inch or two.”

She nodded and looked fondly across the hot brown grass. Before the silence could stretch too long, he said, “I’m surprised you even managed to find this place. Spring Valley doesn’t show up on many maps.”

“Hank, my—my late husband—his parents live in Glen Rock, not too far from here. I fell in love with the area the first time we visited. It seemed just like the place I wanted to live when I was a kid. Somewhere far away from the busy city life, with land and animals to tend...”

Her voice drifted away, as if she was picturing the ranch, not as it was, but as she must have imagined it when she was little. She seemed so sincere, so hopeful, that he knew he’d do whatever he could to help make that dream a reality.

Then she started walking again and he followed. In what felt like too short a time, they had finished most of the fence and then just had the paddock left. He wished there were more fence to saunter along, some other reason to dawdle outside. There was something calming, right, about strolling out there with Cassie and her boys.

“Have you lived here your whole life?” she asked, pulling him out of his reverie.

That simple question was always a difficult one to answer, and even though he felt like Cassie was a person he could confide in, he wasn’t ready to explain the whole situation to her. He stuck with his honest-but-short response, hoping she wouldn’t ask for more details. “No. I lived in San Diego for a while when I was little.”

“Surfer-turned-cowboy, huh?” she said with a smile.

Her fun tone made him want to joke with her, but he couldn’t bring himself to do more than give her a small smile. The image of his father teaching him to surf always brought with it an unpleasant ache in his chest. Despite all the extreme sports he’d tried as an adult, he’d never been able to get back on a surfboard. “Something like that” was all he said.

She seemed to sense his unwillingness to discuss his life in San Diego, because she didn’t ask him anything more about his childhood.

* * *

CASSIE WASN’T SURE if she was happy or not that the walk was over as they finished the loop around the paddock. It was hot, and she was looking forward to the cool and shade of the house, and to an icy drink, but she couldn’t help but wish she and Brock were still ambling on beside each other. He somehow managed to set her on fire and soothe her soul at the same time, and she worried the feeling would disappear once they were back in the house, away from the great expanse of land that surrounded them.

They stopped walking, and Cassie lingered an extra moment. Brock made no move toward the house, either, and they stood there quietly as the boys ran inside.

“So, what’s the verdict? How much do I need to replace?” she asked, not yet ready to go inside.

Brock smiled at her, and she felt her heart thump. “Not much, actually. It’s better than I would have expected, and the paddock shouldn’t take more than a bit of lumber and a few hours’ work before it’s ready to hold your horses.”

Cassie felt relief course through her. Maybe she would be able to make this work, prove to herself that she could do it.

She looked into his eyes, and the heat around them grew even thicker with unsaid thoughts. Cassie was wondering what it would be like to kiss him when the slam of the screen door came as a welcome diversion. She turned toward the house, creating distance between her and the smoldering man beside her.

Both of her boys were running across the golden grass toward her, leaving a woman standing on the back porch. Cassie squinted in the bright sunlight to see who it was.

Carter skidded in front of her, already talking. “Momma, Miss Emma is here. She brought a pie. She said it was for dessert, but can we have some now? Please?”

“Is that Emmaline Reynolds?” Brock asked from behind her.

Something like jealousy popped up in Cassie, but she quickly tamped it down. She had no call to feel possessive about Brock, she reminded herself. He could date Emma all he wanted.

She couldn’t stop herself from saying a quick prayer that he wouldn’t, though.

“I haven’t seen her since grade school. Didn’t even know she still lived here. You sure make friends fast,” Brock commented.

Her mood suddenly lifted, she flashed him a smile. “When you have a sweet tooth and two young kids and you move to a town with one bakery, you get to know the owner of said bakery very quickly. Especially when the boxes of kitchen supplies go missing for a week. We’ve also made friends with the owners of the pizza place and the café.”

Brock chuckled, the sound reverberating through her body, and his grin caught her off-guard, turning her legs to jelly. She started to regret saying something amusing, looking at him and having a sex drive at all, because this man was certain to be her downfall if a laugh and a smile could do all that to her. Apparently not noticing her discomfiture, he said, “I’m going to go do another check of the paddock real quick, just to be sure we didn’t miss anything, and then it’s probably best we take a break anyway. You’d be surprised how fast the heat can get to you.”

It wasn’t the heat that was getting to her, but she wasn’t about to say that.

“I’ll go see what Emma wants. Come on in whenever you’re done,” she said to him as she turned away.




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