Contents:

Prologue

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Prologue

^�

The cell door clanked shut behind him.

It was a sound J.D. Holt remembered well. He stumbled over his own booted feet and landed face first on the single hard cot.

"Stay there," Sheriff Jim Muldoon advised gruffly. "Calm down. Chill out. Sober up. Get a grip. And see if you can figure out where you left your brain, for God's sake, J.D!"

The keys rattled in the lock.

"What the hell were you thinking, taking your boss out with one punch?" Jim demanded through the bars. "And Trey Phillips, for heaven's sake! That's like hitting God in these parts!"

As if J.D. didn't know that already.

Jim shook the door to make sure the lock had caught, like J.D. was some hardened criminal who was going to break out. Fat chance. He didn't care if he ever saw the light of day again.

"Get your head straight," Jim ordered. "Take some deep breaths. Think, for a change, you damn fool. Then give me a shout, and I'll let you make a call. Okay?"

J.D. didn't answer. He had nothing to say.

Jim tapped his boot as if waiting for a reply. Finally he sighed heavily. "Been a long time since you've pulled anything this dumb, J.D. Thought you were over this sort of stuff." Another long wait.

J.D. didn't move.

Jim jingled the keys in his hand, then muttered something under his breath and finally walked away.

J.D. listened to him go. He lay with his face pressed into the thin cotton mattress and wished it was smothering him. His head pounded. His body throbbed. His knuckles hurt.

From where he'd connected with Trey Phillips's jaw?

Unlikely. He hadn't hit the old man hard enough. Not that he wouldn't have liked to!

But some tiny fragment of common sense or self-preservation had made him pull his punch at the last instant. It certainly hadn't been out of any compassion for Trey Phillips. Not when the old man had betrayed him by selling off the ranch that he'd promised to sell to J.D.

Of course, it probably didn't matter a damn to Trey. The old Holt place was nothing to write home about, nothing to get rich on, no more than a fly spot on the map compared to the legendary Phillips spread, the J Bar R. Five generations of Phillipses had bought up so much of Montana that their ranch covered parts of three counties and was home to more cattle than J.D. would own in a lifetime.

But he'd never cared. It was what he'd had � or had been promised � that mattered. Not what he didn't. He'd cowboyed for Trey Phillips � had been his foreman � for the past three years. And he'd never wanted any of it.

Just his own place.

The oldHolt ranch. Dan Holt's spread.

The one J.D. had grown up on. The one he knew every inch of. The one place he loved like he'd never loved anything or anyone � the only thing that had never let him down.

The Holt ranch was in his sweat. It was in his blood.

It was to save the ranch as much as his father that he'd come back five years ago. He'd been determined to hold it together when the old man had got sick and couldn't do it alone anymore.

He and Gus, his younger brother, had been on the rodeo circuit then. Gus was in the top fifteen, doing far better than J.D. ever would. Gus lived and breathed it. J.D. didn't. It was horses he loved � training them, not bucking them.

He'd come home to help his father and at the same time to begin building his dream of running a horse training business of his own.

He'd start slow, build his name, get a reputation. And eventually he'd get there � in five years or ten. After the ranch was his � and Gus's � after the old man had passed on.

Then the old man did pass on.

And J.D. found out he and Gus didn't own the ranch at all.

Trey Phillips had quietly bought it for back taxes five years ago.

In his illness, Dan hadn't remembered that such things as taxes existed. And J.D. had had his hands full with the cattle and the horses, in any case; the paperwork side of ranching had always been his father's province. He had never given the taxes a thought.

But Trey had. Because, damn it, that was how Phillipses thrived! They'd got more than one piece of land that way over the years!

And not only land�

As usual, Trey had never even bothered to mention the fact. He'd never said the place belonged to him until after the old man died. He'd just let them go on thinking the ranch was theirs.

And then, after the funeral, when the will was read, there was no ranch. Just cattle. And a mountain of debt.

"What happened to the ranch?" J.D. and Gus had asked Clarence Best, the old lawyer who'd written Dan's will ten years before.

And Clarence had smiled a sad, sympathetic smile. "Gone," he'd said. "For taxes. Trey Phillips bought it."

Just like that. Without a word. Like it was his right!

As if the fact that Dan Holt and his sons had sweated blood over those few hundred acres and those few head of cattle for years and years didn't matter at all.

He'd just bought it up and never said spit!

And then, that night, after the visit to the lawyer, when J.D. and Gus were left staring at each other and a bottle of whiskey and wondering where the hell they were going to get the money to pay off the debts, damned if Trey hadn't shown up � and offered to give it to them!

As if he gave away ranches every day of his life!

Hell, J.D. had thought furiously, he was such a rich old bastard, maybe he did!

Well, there was no way on God's green earth J.D. was going to be beholden to Trey Phillips.

"No, thanks," he'd said through his teeth.

Trey had stared at him, jaw dropping.

So had Gus.

But J.D. knew what he was doing. He wanted nothing to do with Trey Phillips. No more than his old man had. There had been bad blood between Trey Phillips and Dan Holt since before J.D. was born. For years he hadn't known why.

Now he did. And he didn't want any gifts from Trey Phillips. He had held open the door and waited for Trey to leave. "You know what you can do with your offer, Mr. Phillips."

Trey Phillips shut his mouth. His hard blue gaze met J.D.'s ice-blue one. The look they exchanged seemed to last for hours.

It could have lasted for eternity; J.D. wouldn't have blinked.I don't want anything of yours. Ever , he told Trey Phillips with his eyes. He never ever would have looked away.

Trey did. He sighed and shook his head. Then he shrugged. "Suit yourself," he'd said mildly. "Let me know if you change your mind."

J.D. was never going to change his mind!

He'd shut the door on Trey Phillips's face. Then he'd turned to face his brother, daring Gus to contradict him.

Gus hadn't.

Not then. Later he'd said, "You love this place, J.D."

J.D. had ignored him.

"What is it with you an' him? What'd he ever do to you?"

J.D. had ground his teeth. "It's what he did to the old man."

Gus scratched his head. "The old man and Trey Phillips? They ain't hardly ever spoke."

"Years ago," J.D. said.

"What happened years ago?"

J.D. shook his head. "Never mind. Let it die with them."

Gus hesitated, then shrugged. It didn't matter to Gus. It never would. He left the next morning to go back down the road. Rodeo was what mattered to him, anyway. Broncs and beer and girls.

J.D. wished he felt the same way.

He wanted the ranch. He needed the ranch. He'd always expected to come back, to make his life here. He'd counted on it.

He would never accept a gift from Trey Phillips, but a week later he'd shown up on Trey's front porch.

And when the old man opened the door, J.D. faced him square on. "I'll buy it from you. How much do you want?"

He'd enjoyed the look of surprise on Trey Phillips's face. He hadn't much liked the look of speculation that had followed.

He definitely hadn't liked the price Trey asked: "Work for me, and I'll sell it to you."

J.D. didn't even hesitate. He turned around and headed for his truck. But the closer he'd got to his truck, the slower his steps had become.

Finally he turned back and scowled at the old man. "What do you mean, work for you?"

Trey had shrugged. "I could use a good foreman." Foreman? J.D.'s eyes narrowed. He hadn't been expecting that.

Ranch hand, he'd figured. Lowest of the low. Or maybe, if Trey had some respect for his ability and had heard of his fledgling reputation, a horse trainer. But foreman?

"You don't have a foreman."

It was common knowledge that Trey Phillips was his own foreman. He made his own decisions, ran his own spread. Not even his son, Rance, had been able to wrest control away from him. Not much control, anyway.

"I'm not going to live forever," Trey said in that gravelly voice of his. "Runnin' this place has taken all my time for years. I got things I want to do. Places I want to go."

"What about Rance?"

Trey had shrugged. "He's around. But he's got his law practice. And I can't just hand it to him to run." The pugnacious Phillips chin lifted.

J.D.understood.It was also well-known around the valley that Rance was as stubborn as his father. He had never let the old man tell him what to do.

"And you think handing it to me would work any better?" J.D. was frankly incredulous.

"I'm not handing it to you," Trey retorted sharply. "I'm the boss."

The boss.

Could he work for Trey Phillips?

J.D.'s first answer would have beenNever in a million years . John Ransome Phillips, III, was stubborn, pigheaded and arrogant. He'd always got his own way, done what he pleased, had what he wanted. He was way too confident of his own importance to suit J.D.

He was also a realist.

Trey Phillips could have no illusions about exactly what J.D. Holt thought of him � and he was offering him the job, anyway.

"Why?" J.D asked suspiciously.

No shrug this time. Just Trey's level blue gaze that met his own.

"Why do you think?" The words were hard and flat and uncompromising. They weren't even a question. Not really.

They both knew why.

"Don't do me any favors," J.D. bit out.

Trey Phillips's smile was cool. "It's no favor to take on this place. I can promise you that. But I'll understand if you turn it down. Ain't every man can do this job."

J.D.'s jaw locked. Trey Phillips's mouth curved slightly. There was challenge in his unblinking blue gaze. After a good half minute of silence, the old man allowed one brow to quirk slightly.

Can't you do it?J.D. heard it ask him.Not man enough?

"How much?" he asked sharply.

Trey smiled. He opened the door fully. "Come in," he'd said. "We'll work it out."

That had been three years ago. Three years in which J.D. had worked his butt off as the J Bar R foreman and been rewarded with greater and greater responsibility. Three years in which he'd discovered his talent for overseeing a huge spread and had found he liked making decisions that had far-reaching impact. Three years in which he had managed to put aside a good sum of money to buy back the Holt ranch and had, to his enormous surprise, discovered a grudging respect for Trey Phillips.

Three years of scrimping and saving and determination and respect which Trey Phillips had just blown straight to hell!

"It will be yours," he'd promised, the day J.D. had said he would work for him.

And now he'd sold it � to someone else!

It had been Gus who'd told him, Gus who had called and said, "You coulda tol' me," in a put-out, accusing tone.

J.D., who'd just got back from a tiring two days over nearMilesCity, where he'd gone to some horse sales, wasn't in the mood for guessing games. "Told you what?"

"That you'd changed your mind about the ranch."

J.D. hadn't known what his brother was talking about, so Gus spelled it out for him. "Trey Phillips sold the place.Our place," he emphasized, in case in J.D.'s mind there could possibly be any other.

"Like hell." J.D. had stood stunned for a minute. Stone cold and then filled with a flaming fury."Sold it? He sold it?"

"You didn't know?" Gus sounded surprised.

"I didn't know." J.D.'s fury was banked, but no less hot. He could feel it seething inside him, a pain so sharp licking at his innards that he spoke tightly, barely letting the words past his lips. That son of a bitch!

"That's weird," Gus said, perplexed.

Weirddidn't begin to cover it.Anger didn't begin to cover it.

"Gotta go," J.D. told his brother. He hung up the phone. Then he picked up the cup of coffee he'd been planning to drink.

Instead he threw it across the room.

Then he'd gone looking for Trey.

Chapter 1

�^�

The ring of the telephone joltedLydiaawake.

She knocked it off the nightstand groping for it in the dark. Then, breathless, she yanked it to her ear, cleared her throat and managed her most-poised, it's - the - middle - of - the - night - but - you - won't - catch - me - napping, lawyerly tone.

"LydiaCochrane."

She got an obscenity for her trouble.

Then, "Where's Rance?" The voice was rough, decidedly male and oddly familiar. "I called Rance."Not you was understood.

Lydiapulled herself upright and took a deep breath. "Mr. Phillips's calls are being forwarded to my number this weekend," she said firmly. "I'm the lawyer on call."

Another muttered obscenity. "I need to talk to Rance."

"Well, you can't." Why did men think only another man was qualified to be a lawyer? "Mr. Phillips is unavailable. I'm your only option. So do you want a lawyer, whoever you are, or shall I go back to bed?"

The length of the silence that followed told her more clearly than words what his answer was. But at last he said, "This is J.D. Holt. I need you to bail me out."

Lydiaalmost swallowed her tongue. Something inside her � her heart? her stomach? � did a complete flip-flop, then scrabbled for a toehold on her rib cage.

"J-J.D?"His name came out as almost a gasp. Then, "J.D.," she repeated. Better this time. Still breathy, but at least modulated. "Bail you � out. Of jail." Which went without saying. She took a deep breath. "Of course. I'll be right there." She started to put the phone down, then stopped, realizing that she needed to ask, "You're in the, um � Murray Jail?"

"I'm in the Murray Jail, sweetheart," J.D. agreed, his tone mocking, just as she knew it would be. But then he sighed wearily. "Look, this is no place for you. Just call Rance and go back to sleep."

Lydiastiffened. "I am not calling Rance. I am as capable of bailing you out as you were of getting yourself in there in the first place, Mr. Holt. I'll be right there. Just wait."

And there was stupidity for you,Lydiathought savagely as she banged down the phone and clambered out of bed.

As if he would be going anywhere!

* * *

"He didwhat? "

"Socked Trey Phillips in the mouth. Just walked right into the bar and nailed him." Jim Muldoon smacked his fist against his other palm for emphasis. The sound madeLydiawince.

He handed her a photo.Lydiastudied it, still trying to make sense of it. J.D. Holt, Trey's foreman, had punched his boss out?

Apparently so. Trey's lip was puffy. He was scowling fiercely. Fortunately all his teeth seemed to be intact. "He's pressing charges?" she asked.

"If he didn't, we'd charge 'im anyhow," Jim said cheerfully. "A feller can't just sock another feller 'cause he feels like it."

"And he just � felt like it?" She should have remembered to ask J.D. what he'd been arrested for. But at four in the morning she was not at her best.

"Ticked off, he was. That's what I hear." Jim explained. "Apparently he just found out Trey sold the place.His place. The one his daddy owned, I mean."

Oh, God.

"Just found out?"Lydiacouldn't mask her surprise. "But I thought� He didn't know?"

Jim shrugged. "Don't seem so. And it don't seem like he was too happy when he got the word."

"I � see." She felt a little ill. She wanted to sit down.

Jim patted her on the shoulder. "You don't got to worry 'bout him bein' violent now," he assured her. "He ain't mad at you. Just Trey � an' probably whoever bought the ranch." Jim grinned. Then he shook his head. "But I reckon he knows better'n to go after the old man again."

Lydiaswallowed. "That's comforting."

"Hey, don't worry. You're on his side," Jim said. "Besides, even though J.D.'s a mite hot-headed, he'd never touch a woman or a child. It was the ranch upset him. An' Trey. He's settled down now, or I wouldn't have let him call you."

Lydiadredged up a smile and hoped Jim was right. Then she gave him the money for the bond.

Jim put it in the desk drawer, then got out the keys for the cell block. "I'll be filin' the paperwork on Monday. Reckon Kristen will be in touch."

Kristen Brooks, who had grown up withLydia, was nowMurray's assistant county attorney.

"She'll have the charges all spelled out," he said as he opened the door to the Murray Jail's tiny cell block.

"Fine."Lydiawasn't thinking about Kristen. She wasn't thinking about the charges or about anything Jim was saying as he led her back toward the farthest cell from the door.

She was busy trying to compose herself. She was trying to act calm, cool and professional, to behave like a thirty-two-year-old woman with a University of Iowa law degree and a reputation for both intellectual acuity and common sense � andnot like the lovestruck junior high schoolgirl with braces and a four point GPA she'd been the first time she'd been face-to-face with fifteen-year-old bad boy, J.D. Holt.

"Your ride's here," Jim said, his tone almost jovial as he clomped toward the last cell.

Lydiaheard the creak of the metal bed as the prisoner got up. Boots scraped on the concrete floor. Jim rattled the key in the lock, then pushed the door open.

Lydiawiped damp palms on the sides of her jeans one last time, then pasted her best professional-lawyer look on her face as Jim stepped aside.

And there he was: a glowering, grown-up J.D. Holt.

He was lean and tough and hard as nails. Exactly the way she remembered him. He wore the ubiquitous faded Wranglers, a thin cotton shirt and a battered, straw cowboy hat that was the summer uniform of theMontanacowboy. On the surface he looked no different than Rance or Trey or any other man inMurrayCountywho made his living on a ranch.

It was what wasinside those clothes that made J.D. Holt different. Deep. Hard. Dangerous.

The first time she'd recognized that, she'd been twelve years old and had gone with her banker father to the Holt ranch. He'd gone to discuss a loan with J.D.'s father, Dan.

Lydiahad gone to dream � to feed her fantasies of growing up and marrying a cowboy, of riding and roping and living on a ranch. She'd thought she might see Gus, who was in her grade at school. Gus, with his dark reddish-brown hair and twinkling green eyes, was the cutest boy in seventh grade.Lydiahad hopes that he might grow up and turn into that cowboy of her dreams.

Gus, unfortunately, had been nowhere around when her father and Dan Holt shooed her out toward the corral.

"J.D.'s out there," Dan Holt had said.

And her father had nodded. "Go visit with J.D."

Nobody,Lydiacould have told them at the ripe old age of twelve,visited with J.D. Holt!

Girls like her � reasonably well behaved, hardworking, studious little girls � crossed the street when they saw J.D. coming.

Not because he'd ever done anything to them � he couldn't be bothered. But he was three years older, even though only a grade ahead of her, and he had the reputation at school of being a holy terror. Teachers despaired of him. The principal didn't know what to do with him. His fights and scrapes were legendary.

If anybody looked cross-eyed at J.D. Holt,Lydia's friend Kristen told her, he would pound them into a pulp.

Cross-eyed as a child � and too literal-minded for her own good �Lydiahad made up her mind to keep well away from J.D.

But that afternoon, in spite of herself, she couldn't.

She'd stood next to their car and looked around, memorizing the house, the yard, the barn, the land. Then her gaze had found the boy in the corral working with a skittish young paint horse. It was J.D.

He didn't pay any attention to her. His focus was entirely on the horse as he rode bareback, moving in easy broad curves, then stopping and cutting in and out. It was beautiful, like watching a dance. When the horse faltered or didn't seem to do what J.D. wanted him to do, he responded quietly, gently. There was none of the fierceness or impatience she'd seen at a distance in the schoolyard.

In the corral he was cool, calm, patient. He might have been a different person.

Intrigued,Lydiahad edged closer. As she approached the corral, the young horse caught her scent. His ears twitched, his head jerked, he shied and reared.

Anyone else would have fallen off.

J.D. didn't.

His legs hugged the horse's sides and, not even glancing her way, he leaned down and rubbed his cheek against the horse's neck near his ear. He spoke softly, and as he talked his hands stroked. The horse still nickered, moving restlessly, but he didn't rear again. He pawed the ground. J.D. kept talking, soft and low, guiding him,Lydiaguessed, with the pressure of his knees.

She was sure he knew she was watching him, but he never looked at her once.

When they were moving easily again,Lydiawent right up to the fence and stepped up onto the bottom rail so she could loop her elbows over the top rail and watch.

She half expected J.D. to yell at her or tell her to scram.

But he didn't. All his focus was on the horse. And the horse, apparently deciding that she was no threat, was paying attention to J.D. once more. AsLydiawatched, they began their cutting and weaving dance again, horse and rider moving as if they were one.

He was the cowboy she'd always dreamed of. He amazed her. Astonished her. Delighted her. Intrigued her. There was much more to the rough-edged J.D. Holt than she'd ever thought. And as she leaned on the railing, she watched him more closely than she watched the horse.

He seemed so much bigger than Gus. So much older. So much closer to being a man. He was only fifteen. But already he was a cowboy.

A real cowboy.

Lydiafelt a sort of primal awareness quicken somewhere deep within.

The screen door banged. "Come on, Lydie," her father called. "Time to go."

Lydiahadn't wanted to. She'd wanted to hang there, watching J.D. ride that horse forever. She'd wanted to study the play of his muscles beneath his thin cotton shirt. She'd wanted to watch the tightening of his thighs beneath the soft denim of his jeans.

She'd wanted him to turn and say, "I know you.You're Lydia Cochrane.Gus says you want to live on a ranch. You want to marry a cowboy? I'll wait for you."

The very thought sent her stumbling off the fence.

But still she couldn't leave, not without one last look. Not without just one small acknowledgment from J.D. Holt that she was alive and sharing the same universe with him.

She'd looked back, determined to smile at him.

He'd glared right through her.

He looked at her now with that same hard insolence.

AndLydia, despite her determination to be indifferent, wasn't.

Deep inside she felt that same adolescent curiosity and excitement and nervousness lick at her. The primal awareness of J.D. Holt as a man, as "other" � strange, tantalizing. forbidding and tempting � that she'd had clear back when she was twelve turned over and kicked in just as sharp and insistent as ever.

"Sure you want 'im?" Jim drawled.

The words jolted her. She flushed, because, at that very instant she did. Shewanted J.D. Holt � in a very basic, very physical, very idiotic way.

She shoved the thought � the desire � right out of her head. "I'm his lawyer," she said crisply.

"She posted your bond," Jim told J.D. as he jerked his head and J.D. moved past him into the narrow hallway. "You skip out, she's responsible."

Walking behind him,Lydiasaw J.D. shrug.

"He won't skip out," she said firmly, as if saying it would make it so. It was like being given the reins of a wild stallion. She had no idea what he would do. So she took refuge in her responsibility, taking the papers Jim handed her and scrawling her signature on them.

J.D. didn't say a word. But she could feel his presence, as if something was vibrating in the space between them. She straightened up and handed the papers back to Jim.

Jim glanced over them, then nodded. "All set. Keep your nose clean," he said to J.D. "And stay the hell away from Trey. I'll keep my eye out for a place for you to move to. Trey says you're supposed to be out first of September."

Judging from the harsh intake of breath beside her,Lydiaknew that was the wrong thing to say. She spun around and, without thinking, grabbed J.D.'s arm. It was pure reflex, as if she would be able to prevent him doing the same thing to Jim that he'd done to Trey.

Fat chance. But whether she could have physically prevented disaster or not, her hand on his arm stopped him. He looked at it, then at her.

Eves as clear and light a blue as J.D. Holt's should have been cold as ice, but they weren't. They burned her with their intensity, andLydiaalmost pulled her hand away.

Instead she curved her nails a little more firmly into the hard muscle beneath her fingers. Then she gave Jim a brittle smile. "Thank you," she said, since J.D. clearly wasn't going to. Then to him she said, "Let's go."

She didn't think he was going to move. And God knew she certainly wasn't going to be able to make him. But finally he gave one quick, sharp jerk of his head and started toward the door.

Once they were on the sidewalk,Lydialet go of his arm as quickly as if she'd been holding the business end of a branding iron, then rubbed her damp palm on the side of her jeans.

It was just beginning to get light, the barest hint of a late-August, gray dawn peeking over the mountains to the east. There was no traffic onMain Street. No movement. No life.

Just the two of them � she and J.D. Holt.

She wasn't touching him now, but somehow it felt even more intimate just standing next to him. She slanted a quick glance his way.

He scowled at her from beneath the brim of his hat. "How d'you know I won't skip out?" His voice was flat and hard.

She tried a smile. "You're not a fool."

He snorted. "Reckon the jury's out on that one." He sounded disgusted. He tugged irritably at the brim of his hat and rocked on the soles of his boots.

"You could be right,"Lydiasaid, starting toward her car. "Punching Trey wasn't the brightest thing to do."

"I don't need a damn sermon."

"I don't intend to give you one," she retorted. He might be every bit as attractive as he'd ever been physically, but he had all the charm of a bull with an ingrown horn. "Come on. I'll give you a ride home."

She thought he was going to refuse, and the sane, sensible part of her wished he would. But he fell into step alongside her.

"He had it coming," he said as he settled into her Jeep. The confines of her car seemed all of a sudden exactly that � confining. J.D.'s broad shoulder nearly touched hers. If she glanced sideways, she could see clearly the rough stubble on his jaw, the tight set of his hard mouth.

Lydiadidn't glance sideways. She started the car. She didn't speak again until they were on the road heading out of town. "Jim Muldoon said he � sold the ranch," she ventured finally.

"Myranch," J.D. corrected her.

"But he owned�"

"He promised to sell it tome! You don't think I was workin' for that bastard for the past three years because I enjoyed his company, do you?" J.D. spat the words.

She was surprised, as much at the fury as at the words. Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. "I thought � um � well, Rance said you two � got along."

"Yeah, well � that was then."

And this was now. It went without saying.

"You'll plead not guilty, of course."

"Hell of a lot of good it'll do. Reckon there were two dozen witnesses, at least."

Two dozen. Didn't sound good. "I see," she said. WhatLydiasaw was a case she wasn't going to win. And that was the least of her problems.

She flexed her fingers on the steering wheel. She tried to think how pleased and happy with her life she'd been when she'd gone to bed scant hours before. When that line of thought hit a brick wall, she tried to think lawyerly thoughts.Professional thoughts. There were things they needed to discuss, things to get straightened out � things she had to tell him.

But her usual good sense and oratorical skills deserted her. She didn't know quite where to begin. And J.D. wasn't talking. Neither of them said another word until they'd turned off the county highway and were bumping along the dirt road that led toward the Holt ranch house.

Finally, desperately,Lydiatook a deep breath and began. "Why didn't you answer his letter?"

Slouched in the seat next to her, J.D. sat up straight and turned to stare at her. "What letter?"

"He said he sent you a letter�"

"Aletter? You talked to him?"

"Well, I � the other day," she said lamely. "He mentioned � at dinner�" As she spoke, they were bumping around the last bend and came in sight of the ranch house.

Long, low and rambling, it butted up against the foothills, looking out across the valley.Lydiaknew it had been built sixty or seventy years ago when money was tight, and added on to once or twice. It wasn't elegant. Not at all fancy. But it had always struck a town girl like her as a wonderful place to live. Warm and homey. Neat as a pin and freshly painted. It still was.

There had been changes, though. New corrals. A new building that Trey had told her was a stable J.D. had built.

"I thought he was going to train horses there," Trey had said. Then he'd snorted. "Shows what I know. God knows what he's going to do. He sure couldn't be bothered to tell me!"

She'd heard anger in Trey's tone, too, just like she heard in J.D.'s.

Now he said, "I didn't read any letter. He's my boss. I see him damn near every day! What the hell was he doin' sendin' me a letter?"

Lydiashook her head. Trey hadn't explained. Treynever explained. "I think there are some things Trey might not find it � easy � to say face-to-face." At least that was her best guess.

"Like that he'd sold my place out from under me?" J.D.'s voice was harsh, bitter.

"Like he was giving it to you if you agreed."

"What!"J.D. gaped at her.

"That's what he told me. That he'd decided to give it to you. That he wanted you to come by Thursday and sign the papers." She licked her lips quickly.

J.D. shook his head. "He knows I didn't want it given to me!"

"He does?"

J.D. shrugged in annoyance. "He offered � after my dad died."

That was news.Lydiahad never known that. She wondered if anyone besides Trey and J.D. knew that.

"And you said no?" That surprised her, too. Or maybe it didn't.

"I won't be beholden," J.D. said sharply. "I don't need Trey Phillips's charity!"

"I don't think that was the point. Not this time, anyway."

His gaze narrowed. "What was the point?"

"You'll have to ask Trey."

He hadn't told her. He'd just been furious. He'd stamped and fumed and kicked things. He'd called J.D. Holt an arrogant, prideful son of a gun, an ungrateful young whelp, a stubborn, hotheaded, coldhearted cuss. AndLydiawas sure he'd have used stronger terms, but Trey Phillips didn't often swear in front of a lady.

"Why'd he tell you?" J.D. demanded now.

"I had dinner with him Friday night. He was on his own. You know he'd just come back from taking the kids back to Rance and Ellie, and he was, well � a little lonely." She didn't say he'd been furious. "Missing the kids. Josh especially. You know how he dotes on Josh." Rance's oldest son, the one who, for ten years, he hadn't known he had. "So he called and invited me out to dinner. And we � just � got to talking."

"About my place," J.D. said through his teeth.

"Yes."

"And he said he sent me a letter offering me the ranch?" There was an odd note in his voice. A sort of dead calm thatLydiathought might not be calm at all. She shot him a wary look.

He wasn't looking at her. He was staring straight ahead, his knuckles white as his fingers curled into fists on top of his thighs

"That's what he said."

She waited for J.D. to explain, to say he hadn't got the letter.

He didn't. He just stared at the house, then turned his gaze to the corrals, to the newly built stable. His knuckles were white.

"Didn't you get the letter?" she asked hollowly.

He shrugged.

She stared at him. He didn't know?

"I never read the mail."

"But�"

He didn't wait around to listen to her objections. He shoved open the door, got out and banged it shut again.

No "Thanks for the ride," no "Oh, cripes, I blew it." Nothing. Just a banged door and quick, angry strides as he headed toward the stable.

Like it washer fault he was so bullheaded!

Well, fine,Lydiathought.Be that way.

"Jerk," she muttered. She gunned the engine, spun the car around and, if the gravel she sprayed hit him as she left, it was no more than he deserved.

She rolled down the window and slowed just long enough to shout back at him, "What kind of idiot never reads his mail?"

* * *

The kind who couldn't.

Simple as that.

Hard as that.

Unbelievable as that.

Who would believe a grown man couldn't read his mail? Who would guess that the foreman of one of the biggest ranches in the state couldn't read a shopping list? Who would think that a guy who looked just as smart as everyone else was really as dumb as a post?

No one.

Not a soul. Not now. Not ever.

No one knew that J.D. Holt couldn't read.

Not his father. Not his mother. Not even Gus. Though when they were in school, and J.D. made Gus read out loud to make sure his little brother "understood," Gus must have wondered what was going on. But he hadn't asked. And J.D. hadn't said.

He'd never said.

Never admitted it to anyone.

Buthe knew.

His whole life he'd known. As long as he could remember, J.D. Holt had known he was different.

Less.

What made sense to everyone else, was gibberish to him. Meaningless to him. For a whole lot of years � his school years � even terrifying to him.

Everyone else in the whole goddamned world could read.

Everyone!

Except J.D.

When he was little he hadn't seemed much different than anybody else. At first he'd even liked school. He'd liked going on the bus, getting together with the other kids, playing on the playground, listening to the stories the teacher read to them. He'd wanted to learn to do it himself. He'd liked drawing pictures and counting buttons and adding apples and oranges. He'd liked copying the letters from the blackboard. But he hadn't understood what they meant.

Except his name. That he understood. It was simple. A fish hook meantJ . A funny looking half-circle meantD .

He was proud when he could write that. Proud that he could read it.

Things went downhill from there. Fast.

It wasn't that he didn't try. It was that theythought he wasn't trying. It wasn't that he didn't care � not at first, anyway. It was that theythought he didn't care.

"J.D. didn't finish his assignment," they told his mother.

"J.D. was looking out the window," they told his dad.

"J.D. isn't going to pass if he doesn't make an effort." They said that starting in first grade.

Then they said, "He needs more time. He'll get it. If he tries, he'll get it. Another year."

Two years of first grade. He got it � a little. Not like everybody else. He knew his letters. Most of the time. But sometimes he Wroteb when he meantd . And sometimes he wroteq when he meantg . And when he had to read out loud, he just froze because he couldn't remember which was which.

"Slow down," the teacher told him. "Sound it out. Think." Then when he still couldn't do it, she'd ask, "Can anyone help J.D. out?"

Well, everyone could. Everyone did. And they all looked pityingly at J.D.

He didn't want anybody looking that way at him. He didn't want anybody thinking he was dumb! Hewasn't dumb, he assured himself. He could add and subtract as good as anyone. Better. He could do it in his head. He could ride better, rope better, run faster and see farther than anybody in his class. He could tell which of his father's cattle was sick and which was hurt before anyone else could. He knew every cow at a glance, and none of them looked alike to him. Which was more than he could say for those letters on those pages he tried to decipher every day.

They didn't get any more understandable if he stayed in at recess to learn them. They didn't make any more sense if he had to write them fifty times after school. The teacher said he wasn't paying attention, that he was being sloppy. And sometimes she was right. But most of the time he didn't read because he couldn't, and he didn't write because he got it wrong.

"J.D. isn't doing his work," they told his parents. "He's lazy."

He wasn't. But it was better to look lazy than stupid. At least that way it seemed like he didn't care.

He cared. He'd been kept back twice by then. He was eleven, going on twelve. Most of the kids were nine. It was humiliating. He hated it. Hated school. Hated teachers. Hated the stupid little kids who thought he was a stupid bigger kid.

That was the year he started getting into fights.

It worried his mother. It made his dad mad.

It wasn't like he wanted to fight. Not really. But when he fought, they didn't call him stupid anymore. They called him tough.

It was an improvement.

Kids left him alone. And he managed to get enough work done to pass.

"See?" his teachers said. "He's got it. At last."

He hadn't got "it." What he'd got was Gus.

Three years younger than J.D., Gus idolized big his brother. He wanted to run like J.D., to ride like J.D., to do everything J.D. did.

"Then you gotta practice," J.D. told him. "You aren't ever gonna be the best if you don't practice." He made Gus run. He made Gus ride. He made Gus read.

As long as he had Gus, J.D. got by. He did fine in math without any help at all. Occasionally the 6s and the 9s confused him. But eventually he got the hang of them. Numbers, he discovered, were what they were. They didn't change sounds. They made sense.

Letters never did.

He made it all the way to high school on math and on Gus. But that was the end. He couldn't do high school without Gus. He tried. He failed.

"He's not paying attention again," his teachers said.

And before long they were right. He wasn't listening because it wasn't enough. He wasn't writing papers because he couldn't spell the words. He wasn't reading the assignments because he didn't know how.

And, anyway, he had other things he wanted to do � things hewas good at: like training and gentling horses, like tending and doctoring cattle.

So he started missing classes to do them. His father didn't object. He saw how much happier J.D. was at home, working with the animals, than he was in school. And he needed the help.

A trainer himself, Dan Holt had had a bad fall from a shying horse the year J.D. started high school. He hadn't been able to ride for several months.

J.D. could. J.D. did.

Riding was easy. He was good at it. He liked it. He liked horses. They didn't think he was stupid. Neither did the men who brought their business to his dad.

They appreciated his work. They treated him like he was one of them. They thought he was smart.

And even when he dropped out of high school the next year, they just shrugged their shoulders. "Aw, well," they said. "He's got better things to do. Some boys, you just can't keep 'em stuck in a schoolroom."

The day he quit school had been the happiest day of J.D. Holt's life. He hadn't been a failure since.

Until now.

He stared around at the ranch he'd grown up on, the ranch he'd made so many plans for, the new corrals he'd built, the stable he'd finished just last month for the horses he had hoped to board and train. He liked the foreman's job � a lot more than he'd thought he would. But he'd wanted something else � something that belonged to him, something of his own that he'd developed from the ground up. Something that said J.D. Holt could be a success in this world.

But now he knew he couldn't.

Because he was too damn stupid to read his own mail! Because all the figuring and compensating and telling himself there were ways around being able to read ultimately didn't work.

It was gone. His hope. His dream. His future.

Not because of Trey. Not really. J.D.'s throat ached. His chest squeezed as if it was going to strangle his heart. But as much as he'd like to blame Trey, he knew that the old man was, for once, not the cause of his misery.

The fault was his.

The pain was his.

The fury was his.

His fists clenched. His whole body trembled. He blinked against the sudden angry mist that blurred his vision. Then he went into the shed and when he came out, he took a chain saw to his dreams.

Lydiawas in the shower washing off an afternoon's dust from riding horses with Kristen Brooks and her family when the phone rang.

She was tempted to ignore it, but she was on call. So she shut off the shower and reached for the cordless.

"Lydia? It's Jim."

For a moment she couldn't think which Jim. Then she realized it was the sheriff.

"Did I forget something?" she asked. She wasn't accustomed to bailing her clients out of jail. Criminal law wasn't the focus of the practice she and Rance ran.

"No." He paused. It was a long pause. Then he said. "You just gotta come do it again."

"What?"

"He's back. J.D.," Jim explained unhappily, in case there was any question.

"He'sback? In jail? He went after Trey again?" She'd remembered J.D. having a temper. She remembered J.D. being in fights as a kid. But surely a grown man didn't do things like that.

"Nothin' like that," Jim said quickly. "This wasn't assault. It was malicious mischief this time. Property damage.

"Property�"

"You know those corrals and that stable out on the Double H? The new ones? Well, now they're firewood."

* * *

"They weremy corrals! It wasmy stable!" J.D. said furiously. "I built 'em! Where does he get the right�"

"It doesn't matter who built them,"Lydiatold him. They were driving back to the ranch for the second time that day, and she was trying to explain how Trey could have had him hauled in and charged a second time. "They were onhis property."

J.D. muttered something under his breath thatLydiathought it was probably better she hadn't heard.

She shouldn't be here at all, shouldn't have bailed him out, shouldn't have got involved a second time. The first time she'd just been doing her duty as Rance's partner. But now she knew better.

She should have said, "No, sorry. I can't," to Jim. But that would have necessitated explanations � explanations she owed to J.D. before anyone else.

So she'd had to come. She couldn't think what else to do. Jim had wanted to go home.

"It's not that I think he's going to do something stupid," Jim said, then stopped and qualified that. "Somethingelse stupid. Something to hurt himself, I mean. It's just that if he stays in jail, I stay in the office. It's the law. And I've got a wife and three kids and a two-month-old baby at home, and no deputy here�"

What else could she have done? "I'll be there," she'd promised.

But J.D. hadn't come willingly. He'd sat stubbornly on the cot in his cell and said, "How do I know the old bastard won't have me thrown off the land?"

"Jim told you, he said you have until the first of September. Provided you don't keep mowing things down."

"They were my things!"

And so it went. Finally he subsided into silence, and she did, too, trying to figure out how to say what needed to be said without setting off another explosion.

But for a woman with an abundance of intellect and the oratorical skills to convince a jury,Lydiadidn't have a clue as to how she was going to manage this.

Only when she came over the rise and noted that, yes, there weren't any corrals or any stable, just a neatly stacked, very impressive pile of firewood, did she muster up the words to say what she should have said the first time she'd brought him home.

She took a breath and said the words straight out. "We can't represent you."

His head whipped around. "What? Why not? Because there is no defense?" His tone was sardonic. His hard blue gaze seemed to nail her right where she was.

Lydiaswallowed. "No. There's always a defense." Though in this case it was hard to imagine what it would be. "Because I have a conflict of interest."

"Because I hit Trey and he's Rance's father?"

She smiled slightly. "On those grounds, Rance would probably be more than willing to act in your behalf. This � has to do with the ranch."

"My ranch?"

"Myranch,"Lydiacorrected gently. She took a breath and got it over with. "As of September first, anyway. I'm the one who bought it from Trey."

Chapter 2

�^�

Lydia Cochrane owned his ranch? Trey Phillips had sold the Double H to acity-girl lawyer?

To a woman who didn't know one end of a horse from another? His land, his dream would become what? A hobby farm?

"The hell you say!" J.D. stared at her, incredulous, half expecting her to grin and tell him it wasn't true. But he could see from the tilt of her chin and the fire flashing in her eyes that it was.

"My money's as good as anyone else's," she said flatly. "Besides, you didn't want it."

He gaped at her. "Like you asked me?"

"Trey did," she reminded him.

J.D. said a word his mother used to wash his mouth out for, a word he never used in front of a lady. But then, Lydia Cochrane wasn't a lady. She was a lawyer. "Sure he did. He sent aletter! "

"You could have read it,"Lydiasaid mildly. "You could have paid attention to the details of running your ranch. Opened your mail, for instance. If you had, you wouldn't be in this mess now."

"Thank you very much. What do I owe you for that analysis?" he snarled at her.

Something flickered in her eyes. Hurt? Hardly. He was the one who was hurting.She was the one who'd caused it.

Now she pasted on a smile. "Consider it free advice."

He jerked open the car door and got out. "I'll be out by morning," he said over his shoulder. He slammed the car door, wheeled away and started toward the house.

The other car door banged and quick footsteps came after him. "J.D.!"

He kept walking.

"Damn it, J.D. You can't leave!"

"Try an' stop me," he muttered.

A hand grabbed him by the arm and pulled him up short. She'd grabbed his arm this morning in the jail, when she'd probably thought he was going to take a pop at Jim Muldoon. He was surprised again at how strong her grip was He would have shaken her off, but something fierce in her expression made him think she wouldn't be easy to shed.

And the last thing he needed now was to get into a battle with a woman on top of everything else! So he just stood there and stared stonily from her face to the fingers digging into his arm.

Her gaze followed his. Slowly she eased her grip, then dropped her hand. But even then, her eyes were still fierce. "You can't leave," she insisted.

The urgency in her tone reminded him of half a dozen distraught teachers who had, over the years, told him a thousand things he couldn't do.

He shrugged negligently. "Sure I can."

"But you don't need to." She sounded almost desperate as she looked up at him with her big bright eyes.

No lawyer should have eyes like that. And she was standing way too close. J.D. could smell some sort of soft, flowery, feminine scent when the wind shifted. He took a step backward.

"I don't? Why not? You gonna make me an offer I can't refuse?" He gave her an insolent grin. He didn't use it much these days. He was comforted to find it came back quickly. For a moment he thought he'd bested her, thought she'd turn and jump back in that yuppie car of hers and hightail it down the road.

But then Lydia Cochrane's chin came up. "You wish."

And, damn him for a fool, for an instant he did.He andLydiaCochrane?The lawyer and the illiterate? There was a laugh.

"Me? Wish?" He let his gaze slide down her in leisurely appraisal from head to toes. Then he shook his head. "Nope, sorry, sweetheart. Not on your life."

And just like that, the light in her eyes went out.

He actually saw it happen. As if he'd thrown a bucket of ice water right in her face, J.D. saw her blink and blink again � and then her expression became shuttered, stony, cold, flat.

"Of course you wouldn't," she said in a voice as flat as her gaze. "And I assure you, the feeling is mutual, Mr. Holt." Then she turned abruptly and headed toward her car.

"I�"Didn't mean it he started to say. But he had.

She kept walking.

He glared after her, furious. She'd stolen his ranch and now she acted like he'd hurther feelings!

"Hell!" J.D. turned and gave his mother's old mounting block a savage kick, then swallowed a pain-induced curse.

Lydiaturned. She looked at him curiously, quizzically. Then a corner of her mouth twitched as he hopped on one foot.

"Tripped," he muttered as he gritted his teeth and tried to act like he'd just accidentally stubbed his damn toes, not broken them. The pain was hissing through his teeth.

He sawServes you right as plain as day in her expression. But all she said was, "I'll be in touch with the names of some lawyers."

As if that would help.

He glared at her. But she just got in her car and drove away.

Goaded, he shouted, "You do that! Send me a letter!"

* * *

She sent him a letter.

In itLydiatold him politely and professionally that the firm of Phillips and Cochrane would not be able to represent him because of a conflict of interest. She didn't spell the conflict out. No sense in rubbing salt in the wound. She suggested several attorneys he might contact.

She trusted he would readthis letter. Then she put it � and him � firmly out of her mind. For about an hour and a half.

It was hard to put J.D. out of her mind completely. She owned his ranch.

And she felt unaccountably guilty for doing so. It wasn't her fault, she tried to tell herself. It was his. She wouldn't own the ranch if he'd read his mail. The simple fact was, he hadn't.

So the Double H was hers.

Her good fortune. J.D. Holt's bad luck.

She supposed she should say she would sell it to him. That would be the kind, compassionate thing to do.

AndLydiaCochrane � Patron Saint Of The Perpetual Underdog, Rance called her � ordinarily would have considered doing just that, but in this instance she was too selfish.

She didn't much like admitting it. She certainly didn't admire it in herself.

But the fact was, when Trey had said he'd sell it to the first person who came along, she'd jumped at it.

The Double H Ranch was her dream come true. It had been the ranch she'd longed for ever since she'd gone out there with her father all those years ago.

It was the Double H she thought of whenever she pictured her ideal home. It was nothing like her real childhood home had been � a somewhat cold, sterile place where she had existed but had never seemed to fit. After she'd grown up, she'd lived in a series of nondescript apartments that weren't home, either. The current one was a second-floor, one-bedroom in an old, wood-frame building. Her downstairs neighbor was an antique shop, and next door sat LeRoy's Auto Repair. The place had been the only rental unit available in town when she'd come fromHelenatwo years ago.

She'd told herself it was temporary, that she'd find something soon � or she'd decide that coming back toMurraywas a mistake and move on.

But coming back toMurrayhad been a good move.And.she'd assured herself, the right place would open up in time.

She'd never dared hope it would be the Double H. And since it was � well, even a woman likeLydiacould be selfish when it came to hanging on to a dream.

It was odd, really, that she'd felt so attached to a ranch. She'd certainly never spent much time on one. But despite her lack of experience, it was where she felt she'd belonged.

Her whole lifeLydiahad hated being a town kid. She'd envied the ranch kids in her class who came to school each morning on the bus while she and her sister, Letty, had walked the five blocks from their home to the school. They might as well have lived inNew YorkorChicago, she'd wailed at her mother more than once, for all the horses and cows she ever saw.

Being a banker's daughter had been a sore cross to bear. Her mother wasn't sympathetic. Nor was her father. No one was. Not even her best friend, Kristen, who had grown up on a medium-size spread west of town.

"Cows aren't all that great," Kristen toldLydiawith clocklike regularity. "They smell and they're dirty and they drool."

"Drool?"

"Some of them," Kristen insisted. She had a new baby brother, andLydiawondered if maybe Kristen wasn't getting them mixed up, but it didn't seem like something she wanted to get in an argument about.

"Horsesdon't drool," she'd said.

"No, but they step on you," Kristen countered. "They buck you off. They bite, too!"

It was a case of familiarity breeding contempt,Lydiadecided. She let it drop. They didn't talk a lot about ranching after that. They talked about school and homework and getting all A's and which college they were going to go to, and which law school � because Kristen was every bit as ambitious and brainy asLydia.

They also talked about boys.

About J.D.

Kristen was the only oneLydiahad told about the day she'd watched J.D. at the ranch. She was the only one who knew that thinking about J.D. madeLydia's palms damp and her mouth dry. She was the one who had listened toLydiatalk about his incredible blue eyes and his lady-killer grin. She was the only one to whomLydiahad dared to say the wordsJ.D. andnaked in the same sentence.

As in, "I wonder what he, um � looks like � um, n-naked."

Even nowLydiacould remember the way her cheeks had burned and how she'd felt as if she were going to have an asthma attack just getting the words out of her mouth.

Kristen had giggled. Then, "Memorable," she'd guessed, though what either of them knew about naked men in those days was pretty negligible. Kristen at least had that baby brother.Lydiahad only seen pictures.

She doubted they held a candle to J.D. Holt, and she said so.

"A candle?" Kristen had looked at her wide-eyed, then put her hand over her mouth to stifle the giggles. They'd both turned bright red.

Lydiahad made it a point to remedy that gap in her education when she was old enough. It hadn't been particularly memorable. It had certainly never erased the fantasies of J.D. that seemed by now permanently engraved in her mind.

But it wasn't just the fantasy of him naked that had teased her over the years. Though visions of the physical J.D. Holt was a tempting proposition, her fantasies had ranged more widely than the bedroom.

She'd fantasized about riding horseback with him, rounding up calves with him, eating supper with him, walking down the aisle with him. She didn't just want to make love with him; she wanted to make babies with him. She wanted to name them with him and raise them with him, and live forever on the Double H Ranch.

She would never have J.D.

Guys like J.D. Holt had no time � or interest � in girls like her.

But selfish or not, guilt-ridden or not, at least she had the ranch.

"Minus the stable and corrals," Kristen said as they ate together at Bette's Burgers,Murray's hottest lunch spot, the following afternoon. It was a working lunch. Kristen, now the assistant county attorney, wanted to discuss J.D.'s case.

"Yes. Well, you shouldn't be talking to me about it. I'm not on the case anymore,"Lydiareplied.

"But it's your ranch. And we have to find out your feelings."

Lydiahad no intention of talking about her feelings. "Treat it like you would any other case.

Kristen nodded, blonde hair bobbing. "We will. We're going to prosecute to the fullest extent of the law."

Lydia's eyes widened at the vehemence in Kristen's tone. "Oh, now. I don't think� He was upset," she said quickly.

"Upset? He mowed down an entire building because he wasupset? Have you seen that stack of firewood?" She shook her head. "You should hope we nail his ass to the wall."

"He didn't read the letter. He didn't know Trey had offered him the ranch. And the stable was his. He built it." Which was the same lame argument J.D. had given her.

"And that excuses it?" Kristen didn't buy it any more than she had.

"He made a mistake."

"I don't know why you're finding excuses for him." Kristen said sternly. "It's your place he wrecked. You ought to be out for blood. Or money at least. Unless�" she paused with a forkful of potato salad hanging midair as she eyedLydiaspeculatively "�you're still hung up on him."

"I amnot hung up on him!"

But Kristen was studying her burning cheeks. "You are!"

"I'm not. Well, it's just� I'm notdrooling over him."Lydiadefended herself as best she could when it was obvious Kristen knew her well enough not to buy the bluff. "He's just � still seriously gorgeous," she muttered. "It doesn't mean I'm interested!"

"He's gorgeous, all right," Kristen took another bite of her hamburger, chewed and swallowed, then propped her elbows on the table and regardLydiaclosely. "Do you still, like � think about him?Naked? "

It was as if they were teenagers all over again.

"No!"Lydiatook another large mouthful of potato salad and was dimly aware that she hadn't quite finished the last one and might possibly choke to death here and now. Mostly, though, she was aware of Kristen's unswerving, unblinking, prosecutor's gaze. "Not � often," she mumbled guiltily when at last she'd swallowed enough to speak.

Kristen grinned. "I'll bet he's even more memorable all grown-up."

"Well, we'll never know."

Kristen sighed. "More's the pity." She paused, and her voice dropped. "Do you still want him, Lydie? I figured you might. You've got the Double H," Kristen pointed out. "And you used to want to share it with him."

"I was a kid,"Lydiaprotested. "I wanted a ranch, I was dreaming, that's all."

"You used to dream about being a lawyer, too," Kristen pointed out. "And you are one."

"I dreamed about being a cowboy, too,"Lydiasaid dryly. "You can't have all your dreams, Kris. You know that."

"But if you could," Kristen insisted, "would you have J.D.?"

Would she? Really?

"To have and to hold, you mean?"

Kristen nodded earnestly. "For better or worse. Forever and ever."

Lydiatried to imagine life with J.D. Holt as an adult.

She remembered his disdain. Nothing much had changed � except she'd grown up. The ranch, yes.

The man? No. She couldn't imagine that.

* * *

His Honor, Judge George Winthrop Hamilton looked over the tops of his half glasses at the miscreant before him and said in his gravelly voice, "It seems quite straightforward to me. Mr. Holt. Which part of the agreement didn't you understand?"

"The whole damn � er, darn thing! Your Honor," J.D. tacked on belatedly. "It don't � doesn't � make a damn � darn � bit of sense!"

"Your attorney thinks it does," the judge pointed out mildly. "He thinks you're incredibly lucky."

"To be forced to go back to work for that bas � son of a gun � who fired me?"

"I believe," Judge Hamilton said mildly, "that you punched Mr. Phillips in the mouth. Under the circumstances I think you should count yourself lucky that he's willing to change his mind and have you back."

J.D. scowled. "Only because he needs me to work his new horses."

"For whatever reason," the judge went on implacably, "you will work for him for a period of six months in whatever capacity he chooses, to fulfill the terms of this probation. If you do so � without further assaults on his person � Mr. Phillips has graciously agreed that the charge be dropped."

"Don't do me any favors," J.D. muttered.

Judge Hamilton straightened in his chair and looked down the table at J.D. "We could, on the other hand, toss you in the clink and throw away the key," he said flatly. "An alternative that seems more and more appealing."

"But it wouldn't accomplish much in the way of rehabilitation, Your Honor," Kristen Brooks said quickly. J.D.'s own lawyer, Mose Brannan, in whose competence he was having less faith by the minute, nodded his head. J.D. didn't know if Mose had been inLydia's blasted letter or not. He was the only other lawyer in town and eighty if he was a day.

Now J.D. scowled at them both.

"You should consider yourself lucky, Mr. Holt," the judge said. He ticked them off on his fingers. "Second-degree assault. Causing a catastrophe�"

"Catastro�" J.D. practically jumped out of his chair.

Mose hauled him down. He was surprisingly strong for an eighty-year-old man. "It's a legal term."

"Catastrophe," the judge repeated. "Third degree criminal mischief. Quite an eventful evening, I'd say. And considering your prior record�"

J.D. didn't need any reminders. He'd been a hell-raiser as a kid.

Judge Hamilton tapped his fingers on the desk.

J.D. shrugged his shoulders.

"So you will work for Mr. Phillips, and you will remain at the Double H until you have satisfactorily repaired the damage to the property Mr. Phillips sold to Ms. Cochrane."

"Ibuilt those corrals.I built the stable!"

"On Mr. Phillips's land."

"But�"

"Past record, Mr. Holt," the judge reminded him. J.D. subsided into silence, grinding his teeth. "If you do so to Mr. Phillips's and Ms. Cochrane's, and the court's, satisfaction � and if a year passes with no further incidents � those charges will not be filed and your record will be squeaky clean again � almost. Is that clear, Mr. Holt?" Dark, judgmental eyes fixed on him from between the half glasses and the beetle brows.

Unfortunately there was only one answer.

"It's clear," J.D. said. "But she ain't going to want me living there."

The judge turned to Mose. "Are you sure she will want him there?"

Mose looked at Kristen Brooks as if she had all the answers. She probably did, J.D. thought sourly. And Mose would probably even agree to the color of the rope they were going to use to hang him!

"Ms. Cochrane is a compassionate person, your honor," Kristen said firmly. "I have spoken to her. She understands the need to give a criminal the chance to redeem himself."

J.D. choked.

Kristen nailed him with a long, hard look that said, One word and she'd yank the whole thing and he'd be doing five-to-ten in Deer Lodge instead.

"As I was saying, your honor," Kristen went on, as long as Mr. Holt makes an effort to rehabilitate himself," she said to the judge, "I know Ms. Cochrane will be pleased to cope."

* * *

"You saidwhat? "

"I said you'd cope. With having J.D. underfoot all day, living at the ranch, making amends, atoning for his criminal behavior." Kristen grinned. She blew on the back of her knuckles, then polished the imaginary gold medal on her chest.

"Omigod, Kristen! How could you?"Lydiawas gasping like a beached whale and staring up at her friend, disbelieving that even Kristen had done anything so outlandish. But besides the business about him rebuilding the corrals and the stable, there was the other issue. "And he's staying at the ranch?"

"Where else? That way he'll have time to get the work on the stable and corrals done. And so he'll be there with you," Kristen said pointedly, "when you move in."

"When I move in."Lydia's courtroom voice seemed to have deserted her. She felt an odd lack of air. Kristen expected her to move inwith J.D.?

"You own the ranch," Kristen reminded her. "I expect you intended to move in."

"After he moved out. The first of September, I thought. That's what I told him."

"The first of September it is, then," Kristen said. "But I don't think he'll be out by then."

"Then I'll stay in my apartment a little longer."

"Lydie, the whole idea is for him to be there when you're there!"

"That's your idea. Not mine."

"And an excellent idea it is, too. You'll get to know each other, fall in love with each other�"

"J.D. Holt is not going to fall in love with me. He probably hates me! I stole his ranch!"

"You bought Trey Phillips's ranch."

"Same thing. It won't work."

"Why not?"

"Because � because�" But Lydia couldn't explain that living with J.D. in her fantasies was one thing, but having to live with him day after day and be treated not to the love and care of her fantasy cowboy, but to the sardonic smile and dismissive shrug, the "Not on your life, sweetheart," she'd already heard once, thank you very much, wasnot at all appealing.

"I just � can't."

"If you're worried about your reputation�"

"I'm not. I just � I can't. Trust me on this, Kristen."Lydialooked up beseechingly. "Thanks, but � no thanks."

Kristen stared at her, waited for her to change her mind. When she didn't, Kristen huffed. "Well, fine. Be that way. But you still have to go out there. You still have to supervise the repairs. They have to be up to your standards. You have to inspect and approve."

"Of course." She could go out there. Look at the paint job, the mended corral fences, the new glass in the windows. Smile perfunctorily. Nod her head. She breathed deeply. "Yes," she said firmly. Her fantasies could stand that.

"Starting tonight."

"What! Why tonight?"

"It's part of the agreement."

"Me being there is part of the agreement?"Lydiawas aghast all over again.

Kristen nodded. "You supervising. And you signing off on what's been done every day."

"Every day?Signing off? I thought it was 'Now and then.'"

"Well, the every day bitwasHamilton's idea. You know how it is." Kristen tried not to smile. "He agreed that J.D. needed supervision. And who better than you?"

Lydiawanted to wring Kristen's neck. She wanted to tear her own hair. "Nothing's going to come of this."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"Not. It's crazy. It's a crazy sentence."

"It's an appropriate sentence. You were right, what you said."

"WhatI said?"

"That it was a crime of passion. A mistake. A big one, and one J.D. needs to deal with � whatever the reason for it � but not something I wanted to send him up the river for. And neither did the judge. So if he does this � if he goes back and keeps working at Trey's for six months without decking him again or otherwise making mincemeat out of him�" Kristen rolled her eyes and shook her head despairingly "�and if he stays at the Double H and replaces the corrals and the stable,to your satisfaction , then he's home free. All forgiven. All forgotten. No charges will be filed."

Lydiashook her head. "I can't believe he agreed to it."

"What choice did he have? The law has a long memory, sweetie. You get in a fight these days, it follows you around forever. You get in five or six fights and you've got a reputation. We live in the age of computers. So does J.D. Holt, as much as be might wish he didn't. He had to agree or he was looking at jail."

"But�"

"Lydie, you're a lawyer. You know the laws!"

Yes,Lydiaknew the laws. But she also knew Kristen, knew the soft heart that lay beneath her tough exterior.

"You wouldn't have sent him up the river�"

Kristen lifted her shoulders slightly and smiled. "But J.D. doesn't know that."

* * *

"Holt."

The single gruff use of his name, like the approaching footsteps that had preceded them, was not unexpected.

J.D. had been waiting for the confrontation with Trey since he'd arrived at the Phillips ranch when the sun was barely up.

Now he turned from the black gelding he'd been saddling to look at the old man who stood like a gunslinger in the doorway to the barn. For a long moment they just looked at each other. J.D. wouldn't speak. He had nothing to say.

Trey did. "You didn't even read it?" His voice was quiet, but the tone was harsh. There was no doubt about what he meant.

J.D.'s jaw tightened. "No."

AfterLydiahad told him about it, he'd looked for it.

He'd found the letter amid the stack of mail that accumulated until Gus came home and did something with it or J.D. got tired of looking at it and threw it out. He'd opened it and had tried deciphering it. It was three pages long, handwritten.

It obviously said more than "I'm giving you the ranch." But beyond a few words, J.D. could read none of it. He'd stared at it, furious all over again with both Trey and himself. Then he'd crumpled it up and flung it in the trash.

"I didn't read it," he said stubbornly again, and dared Trey Phillips to make something out of it.

He sure as hell wasn't going to ask what it said.

Hell would freeze over first.

Hell would freeze over before he apologized for punching Trey, too, even though he knew it was expected.

Certainly Kristen Brooks expected it. She'd grabbed him by the arm yesterday in the judge's chambers. "You sort this out, J.D.," she'd said as they were leaving. It was a command, not a request.

He hadn't replied. There was nothing he could say. Nothing he would ever say.

He'd shown up, as commanded. He'd do his job for six months because that was what the agreement required.

But he wouldn't apologize. Ever.

He turned away to cinch up the saddle on the horse he'd been training.

"What're you doin'?" Trey demanded now.

"What's it look like?"

The horses were the only reason he was glad to be back. Trey had bought them from a rancher near Choteau, and J.D. worked with them whenever his foreman's duties permitted. He was good at the rest of his job, but the horses were his true love, the one thing he'd regretted leaving.

He'd worked the black every day before he'd left. Now the gelding had gotten skittish. "Nobody ridden him since I left?" be asked.

"Left?" Trey spat the word. "Youquit! "

J.D.'s spine stiffened at the accusation. But he thought of Deer Lodge and the judge and counted to ten, then said, "And now I'm back."

The horse nickered and edged sideways, sensing the tension between them. "Shh," J.D. murmured, rubbing a hand on the horse's neck. "S' all right, boy. Just be cool, feller."

"No one has ridden him," Trey said. "And you won't be, either."

J.D. looked around. "Huh?"

"A feller quits around here, he don't just walk right in and take up where he left off," Trey said sharply. "You quit, you start at the bottom."

J.D.'s hand stilled. "What the hell's that mean?"

"I don't cotton to quitters�" Trey gave the word a sharp twist. "I sure as hell don't give 'em cushy jobs workin' with horses."

J.D. swallowed half a dozen retorts. "Cushy?" He took another deep breath. "You wanted me to train 'em."

"Wanted. Past tense. Now I got other work for you."

J.D.'s eyes narrowed. "What other work?"

"What you're suited to. You come back to work for me, so be it. But as far as I'm concerned, Mr. Holt, you're the lowest of the low. And the only thing you're gonna be doin' with that horse � any horse � is muckin' out after him. So grab a shovel and get to work! And when you've finished with the barn, we'll find something else for you to do." Trey gave him a sardonic smile. "Welcome back."

Then he turned on his heel and headed for the house.

J.D. stared after him in impotent fury, his fingers balled into fists. All the anger he'd convinced himself he had under control surged up so fast he thought it would take his head right off. He wasn't going to do it!By God , he wasn't going to do it!

As if he'd spoken the words aloud, Trey whipped around and fixed him with a knowing look. "Or," the old man drawled, "I suppose you could quit. Again." Then with a snort of disgust, he headed once more for the house.

J.D. ground his teeth. He wanted to kick something. To punch something �someone! He dropped the curry comb and slammed his fist into his palm.

The gelding whickered, eyeing him nervously. It was a beautiful horse. Smart. Powerful. Good lines. It had all kinds of potential. Potential that he, J.D., could bring out if he had the time and put in the effort!

And instead the old man wanted him shoveling out a barnful of�

"No way, Jos�," he muttered and went back to currying. Trey wasn't going to do this to him, wasn't going to treat him like some raw tenderfoot with no more horse sense than a Wall Street banker.

The door to the barn creaked and footsteps sounded again. J.D. didn't turn around. Let the old man talk to his back. Behind him, there was a shuffling of feet, then the clearing of a throat. It wasn't Trey. He would never have been that subtle.

"Um, J.D.?"The voice belonged to Skinny, the oldest and most grizzled of the J Bar R cowboys. "I don't mean to rile you none, but Trey � he said I was to, um, put the horse out to pasture an', er � well, watch you."

J.D. turned and stared at Skinny. "Watch me?"

Skinny shrugged again helplessly. "T'weren't my idea, J.D. I reckon I'm good for more'n that, even with th' ol' ticker not bein' what it used to. But Trey, he's set on me takin' it sorta easy. An' well, far as you're concerned, he's � um, sorta ticked."

More than sort of ticked himself, J.D. muttered under his breath. "You're just gonna sit here. And watch? What about the baling? I thought you were baling hay today?"

"Was s'posed to," Skinny agreed readily. "Drivin' the tractor ain't so bad. An' Trey, he said we would. Later. He figured there'd be plenty of time after you quit."

If anything would get J.D. shoveling, it was hearing that Trey Phillips figured he'd quit!

His teeth came together with a snap. "Well, you just sit yourself down over there, Skinny." He pointed toward a stack of bales in the corner. "An' settle in. You're gonna be here awhile. This is gonna be the cleanest damn barn you ever did see."

He'd show Trey Phillips who was a quitter.

* * *

The barn was just the beginning. Then there was the corral fence. He got to paint the corral fence.

Idiots painted corral fences!

Then he got to change the oil in the trucks. And clean out the insides. And sweep the front porch.

"You sure you don't want me to do a little laundry while I'm at it?" he asked Skinny bitterly.

Skinny consulted his list and shook his head solemnly. "Not today, J.D."

J.D. ground his teeth.

But he wasn't quitting. No matter what.

It was close to dusk by the time he rattled down the road to his own place.

To Lydia Cochrane's place, he corrected himself savagely. He was bone-tired, muscle-aching, dust-covered, and hungry as a wolf at the end of aMontanawinter. He wanted a cold beer, a hot shower, a plate of last night's leftover canned stew and a soft bed � in that order.

What he got was Lydia Cochrane.

"Hell."

He jammed on his brakes at the sight of her car beside the house and the woman herself on his front porch steps. The last thing he needed was Lydia Cochrane tonight! He didn't want to deal with her now.

He didn't want to deal with herever!

"Since when has the world given a damn what you wanted," he muttered. Then, resigned, he stomped on the gas pedal once more.

The truck spun out, kicking gravel as it shot down the hill directly toward the house � directly toward Lydia Cochrane. With luck she would back up, turn tail. Scram.

Instead she stood up on those mile-long legs of hers, tucked her hands into the pockets of her jeans and faced him head-on.

At the last minute J.D. jammed on the brakes, and the truck skidded to a stop ten feet in front of her. He glared at her through the windshield.

Lydia brushed a windblown lock of honey-colored hair away from her face and smiled at him.

Smiled!Like he should be glad to see her!

He jerked open the door and got out of his truck. "Bring your clipboard and your checklist?" he said sarcastically.

Her smile faltered a little. "What?"

"That's why you're here, isn't it? Come to check up on me like the good judge said?" And damned if he didn't spot a clipboard � right there on the porch beneath some large round red tin. J.D.'s scowl deepened and he jerked his head at the offending red tin. "What's in there? The whip you're gonna crack?"

"Actually,"Lydiasaid, "it's cookies."

Chapter 3

�^�

"Cookies?" J.D.'s jaw dropped. He stared at her, incredulous.

Lydia snatched up the tin. "It seemed polite," she said frostily. "Obviously, I was wrong." Clutching the tin tightly against her breasts, she attempted to slip by him to get to her car.

Instinctively J.D. snagged her arm.

The cookie tin went flying. Lydia spun around against him so they stood toe-to-toe, nose-to-nose � and with a few other body parts in clear and obvious alignment, as well.

J.D.'s whole being went on alert. His body instantly, his mind, a little slower on the uptake, took a few seconds to realize what had happened: he was aroused � by Lydia Cochrane!

He couldn't believe it.

And judging from the sudden panicky fluttering of Lydia Cochrane's lashes and the rapid rise and fall of her breasts � againsthis chest! � she couldn't believe it, either.

J.D. thrust her away from him at once and took several quick steps back. Lydia was looking at him, her mouth a smallO of amazement and confusion and something that looked almost like panic.

"I didn't mean� It wasn't� I wasn't�" he said gruffly. But the truth was he had been. And he was sure she knew it.

"Look, I'm sorry. I�" He took his hat off and rubbed his hand through his hair. "It's been a hel � heck of a day and I wasn't expecting�" He groped for a word � any word � that would let him off the hook.

"Cookies?"

"What?" He stared at her, dumbfounded.

"You weren't expecting � cookies?"

Was she joking? It didn't seem likely.

Teasing? Flirting?

Lydia Cochrane?

Hotshot lawyer Lydia? The county whiz kid and former brain of Murray High. Former pain in the butt, J.D. thought, remembering the times she had turned up just when he and her sister, Letty, had been about to get hot and heavy.

He remembered Lydia as someone with no sense of humor at all, let alone interest in the opposite sex.

Had she changed?

Of course she hadn't. No more than he had! They couldn't be more opposite. She had to just be offering him a polite way out of a bad situation.

Carefully ungluing his tongue from the roof of his mouth, he said the only thing that he could. "Yeah. Cookies. I didn't expect � cookies."

It was only the truth. There might be a whole lot of things going on at the moment that J.D. didn't expect, but cookies was definitely one of them.

Lydia gave a brisk nod. "I thought, under the circumstances, it would be a good idea. A peace offering."

"Peace offering?"

"Because I bought the ranch. I know cookies are hardly a substitute. But I felt � guilty."

She felt guilty? He grinned. "Well, salve your conscience. Sell it to me."

Without hesitation, Lydia shook her head. "No."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to sell."

"Why not?"

"I want a ranch."

"You're a lawyer!"

"There's no law that says lawyers can't own ranches."

"You don't have to own mine. There's other ranches for sale. You could buy any of them."

"So could you."

"I want this one!"

"Well, so do I!" The vehemence in her tone surprised him. So did the intensity of her gaze as her eyes locked with his.

Then, as if she were just as surprised as he was, abruptly Lydia looked away. Her fingers knotted into fists. "That's why I feel guilty," she muttered.

J.D. scratched his head. It didn't make sense. "But it doesn't mean anything to you," he argued.

She knotted her fingers together. Her lips clamped tight. She looked away again and didn't say a word.

"It doesn't mean anything to you," he repeated.

"Yes. It does."

He shook his head, still uncomprehending. "What?" he demanded. "What does it mean?"

She flicked a quick glance at him, then her gaze shifted toward the house, then on toward the western mountains. He tried to imagine what she was seeing, what she was thinking. He couldn't.

"When I was a kid," she said finally, "I never felt at home in town. I wanted a ranch when I grew up."

That surprised him. He'd never thought of her as a country girl. "Okay," he said. "But why this one?"

"Why not this one?"

"Because you know I want it."

"You could have had it."

Impasse.

"I don't want to sell."

"Yet."

She shook her head. "I won't."

"I'll bet you will."

Their gazes locked, baffled.

"It ain't a job for sissies," he told her.

"I'm not a sissy!"

He snorted. "Uh-huh."

Her fingers clenched into fists. "I'm not!"

He grinned "Prove it."

Lydia Cochrane's chin lifted. Her eyes flashed. "All right. I will."

"C'mon, then. Let's get to work. You got a barn that needs cleanin'."

He'd shoveled enough today to last him a lifetime, but he was happy to show Ms. Lydia Cochrane what she needed to do. It was a damned shame he didn't keep more horses and make them spend more time in his barn. As it was he only had three and a few cows he was keeping an eye on.

"You ever shoveled out a barn before?" he asked her.

"No."

"Important work. Hygiene's real important. Cows like it real clean," he said solemnly. "Horses, too."

"And if I believe that, you have a load of manure you're going to sell me?" she said tartly.

He grinned. "I will have, once you shovel it, Ms. Cochrane, ma'am."

She took the shovel from him. "Fine. I'll shovel. And you, Mr. Holt, will begin your work. The corrals, I believe?

Or do you intend to start with the stable?"

His jaw tightened just slightly. "The corrals, ma'am." He tipped his hat. "Enjoy."

"It might surprise you," Lydia told him, "to know that I will."

He hadn't intended to work on the damn corrals tonight. He'd intended to fix himself some dinner, then take a long soak in a tub of hot water and curse Trey Phillips and the whole damn mess.

Now he had no choice. If Lydia was going to be shoveling, he was going to be working, too. His stomach growled in protest as he stalked off to find the lumber. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the red tin still lying in the dirt. He rescued it and stuck it on the steps. Then, with a glance toward the barn, he pried it open and took a cookie.

 

Lydia had never given a lot of thought to the nitty-gritty side to ranching. She had plenty of time to contemplate it while she shoveled out the barn.

She knew what he was doing and why. She could hardly blame him. He was right to test her.

Well, she'd show him!

And, really, how different was it from her lawyerly life? More physical, yes. But more than once Rance had likened what he did all day to cleaning out the barn.

She worked steadily, always expecting that any moment J.D. would turn up and evaluate her competence. When he didn't, she thought he might have just put her to work and gone into the house. But then she heard the sound of his saw.

So here they were, the two of them, working on the ranch, just like in her fantasies.

"Happy now?" she mocked herself.

But the answer, no matter how she cut it, was yes.

* * *

He figured she'd do a half-assed job, then offer some excuse and leave. It was hardly the sort of occupation for a town-bred lady, one who'd probably never got dirt under her fingernails in her entire life.

But he was the one who had to quit first, when it got too dark to see. He went to find her in the barn. She was nearly finished. Her formerly spotless jeans were a little less spotless. Her hair, which had been knotted neatly against the back of her head, was now trailing tendrils down past her ears. In the sixty-watt electric light of the barn, she looked as if she'd been exerting � and still was.

"Not finished yet?"

"Not quite."

"You don't need to make it so's we can eat off the ground."

"Hygiene is important to cows," she recited piously. "And horses."

A corner of his mouth twitched. "I think they can get along with it as is."

"Do you have a box?"

"What for?"

"I thought I'd take it with me. Bette at the caf� has a garden. She's always looking for fertilizer."

"You'd want to age this a bit," J.D. told her.

"All right."

"You're serious?"

She nodded solemnly. "Bette will be thrilled."

J.D. wasn't so sure. But he went to find a box. If she wanted to drive home with a box of manure in the back of her Jeep, it wasn't any skin off his nose. Be good for her. She'd better learn to love the smell if she was really going to buy his ranch.

She shoveled it in when he came back with the box. Then he carried it to her car. "I can't believe you're going to do this."

"Believe," she said.

"Any more than I can believe you're really going to stick it out on the ranch," he went on.

"I am."

"We'll see."

They stared at each other. Assessed each other. He knew what she saw when she looked at him � a rough-edged, hardnosed, down-to-earth cowboy. What you saw was what you got with J.D. Holt.

And with Lydia Cochrane?

God only knew.

J.D. sure didn't. He didn't have a clue what to make of a woman like her. She wasn't his type at all � even though his body had, for a few minutes tonight, begged to differ. And that was pure hormones. Nothing important.

The important thing was getting rid of her.

"So," he said, "when're you comin' tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? Well, actually I didn't think I'd come every day. I know that's what the agreement stipulated, but I can see you're working, and it seems a little condescending to make you have me sign it every day." She looked at him hopefully. "It's ridiculous."

"You think comin' here every day is ridiculous?"

"I don't want to � hover."

"When you own a ranch, you're there," he told her implacably. "Every day." He threw the words down like a challenge.

"Youwant me to come every day?"

He shrugged negligently. "Doesn't matter to me what you do. It'syour ranch."

"Yes," she said. "It is."

But as she said the words, her gaze was skipping all over the place, to the barn, to the pasture, to the hay fields, to the fences � as if she was seeing � really seeing � the place for the first time.

"And when you get cattle for this ranch of yours, you're going to have even more work."

"I have cattle."

"Trey sold you cattle?" Was the old man nuts?

"A hundred and twenty head is all. But it wouldn't be a ranch without cattle, would it?"

J.D. shook his head, not in answer, but because he didn't believe this. "You intend to work your cattle?"

She hesitated. "Well, Trey said I could leave them with his. He asked if he could continue to graze his on this land, and I said yes."

J.D. nodded. "So what it amounts to is you're not really ranchin' at all. You'replaying rancher."

"I am not!"

"Of course you are! You're lettin' Trey's hands do all the work."

"I didn't let them shovel the barn, did I?"

He snorted. "One night. And you weren't gonna come back."

"I will!"

"When? While you're sittin' in your fancy office all day billing people by the minute? How're you goin' to look around and see what needs to be done when you're not even here?"

"I'll be here! I'll work!"

"Whatever you say." He gave her an equable, totally disbelieving smile.

She glared at him.

He looked back.

"I'll be here tomorrow. Tomorrow at six. No, I have a late meeting. I can't get here until seven-thirty." She grimaced, then shrugged. "But you might not be here until then, either. Not considering how late you were tonight. So, shall we say tomorrow at seven-thirty, Mr. Holt? Does that suit you?"

"Don't matter to me, ma'am," he drawled. "I just work here."

Lydia's fingers balled into fists. "Don't patronize me."

"Patronize? That's a pretty big word for a cowpoke like me, Ms. Cochrane."

"Look it up, Mr. Holt," she said sweetly. Then she mustered one of those polite-society smiles he was willing to bet she was damn good at. "Tomorrow. Seven-thirty. I'll see you then." And she bent to retrieve the tin of cookies.

It rattled with a few crumbs. Her brows lifted as she looked at him.

He scowled at her.

"I'll bring dinner tomorrow night," she said.

And then she was gone.

* * *

"So," Kristen said, waving a forkful of coleslaw in the air. "How'd it go? Did you make him notice you? Look at you as if you're a woman and not just the person who bailed him out of jail."

"How am I supposed to do that? Why do I want to?" Kristen sighed. "Because he's been the man of your dreams for years. And you bought his ranch. You care, Lydia. You want to get married. You�"

"Who said�"

"You'vesaid," Kristen cut in firmly. "Lots of times. You always said � all the way through law school � that you didn't want to be consumed by your work, that you wanted a life."

"I have a life,"Lydiasaid.

"Uh-huh." How could two syllables contain so much disbelief?

Lydiapoked at her coleslaw, irritated. Shehad always said she wanted to get married as well as be a lawyer. She had always wanted a family, a home. A life.

It didn't seem too much to ask.

And she had never been in any hurry � at least not until very recently � to get it. She'd always been convinced that it would happen when the time was right. Lately, though, she'd begun wondering just when that time would be!

Maybe it was being over thirty that was doing it. She'd been over thirty for nearly two years, now, waiting patiently, and nothing had happened. It happened to other people.

It had happened to Rance!

She'd spent all summer working her tail off, while Rance, who should have been working his tail off right alongside her, had instead avoided the office � he'd literally "run away" � and in so doing, found the woman of his dreams.

He'd not only got Ellie, he'd got four kids as well.

Lydiawanted a child. She wanted a husband.

Maybe her biological clock wasn't winding down yet, but she wasn't a teenager anymore � even though she felt like one around J.D.

It was nuts. She was a competent, clever, successful lawyer. Yet around J.D., she felt like the gawkiest, most awkward, adolescent girl.

She couldn't, for example, get what had happened last night out of her mind.

Nothing happened last night! her mind protested.

But she couldn't forget the way her boots had knocked against his boots. Her breasts had brushed his chest. And his � his � well, a very intimate part of J.D. Holt � that part just below his belt buckle � had brushed against her belly.

The memory was vivid. Imprinted on her brain.

She'd shoveled out the whole barn, determined to show him she belonged. And all the while, all she could think, like some idiot teenager, was not about the ranch, but that J.D. Holt had � however briefly � wantedher .

Hadn't he?

And that was the really distressing part. She wasn't sure.

Lydiaknew men's bodies were not really connected to their brains, and she guessed perhaps simple proximity to a female could have evoked such a response. But it wasn't as if he was still in high school, for goodness' sake! Didn't men get some sort of control eventually?

She would have liked to ask Kristen if a man's body could really behave like that � that oddly, that quickly. Her own experience was so limited she had no way of knowing. Kristen, after ten years with Jerry, would know. And Kristen would love to be asked that question.

ButLydiacouldn't ask.

Kristen would want to hear every detail. She would beam and feel justified. She wouldhope .

AndLydiadidn't know if she dared hope.

Besides, there were some things you couldn't even tell your best friend!

So she would just have to watch closely tonight � though she doubted she would get nose to nose, body to body with J.D. Holt again.

* * *

"What the hell�"

J.D. knew he shouldn't have been surprised. He'd seen the lights on, after all, when he'd driven over the hill. But he couldn't believe she'd really just walked into his house. He'd thought his being an hour late would tick her off so much she'd leave.

Instead she was standing at his stove asking, "How do you like your steak?"

"What do you mean, how do I like my steak?" he demanded. "What are you doin' in my house?"

"Well, technically, it'smy house," she said mildly as she put the steak in the frying pan. "And I should think that what I'm doing is perfectly obvious." She nodded toward the potatoes boiling away and toward the oven where a green bean casserole was cooking. "But in case it isn't, I'm fixing both of us dinner. I said I would."

"You didn't need to," he muttered.

"You need to eat. You ate the cookies."

He flushed with annoyance. "That was yesterday. I was hungry!"

"And now you're not?" She smiled brightly, daring him to tell her he wasn't.

He scowled. "I got stuff to eat. You don't need to cook for me."

"Perhaps not. Perhaps I'm overstepping. But I looked around and saw what needed to be done. I believe you suggested that yesterday when we were conversing."

"Conversing," he muttered under his breath.

"What?"

He glared. "Can't you just say 'talk' like anybody else?"

"I apologize if my choice of vocabulary doesn't suit you. Now, if you'll go wash up, dinner is almost ready." Like she was his mother or something!

He wanted to refuse, but he was filthy. Trey's list had seen to that. He grunted and headed toward the bathroom.

"J.D.?"

He stopped. He glanced back over his shoulder.

"How do you want your steak?"

There was a good half minute of silent battle before J.D. finally answered. "Medium."

* * *

She was a good cook.

He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised at that, either. Every time he turned around, Lydia Cochrane was doing something else and doing it well. She even shoveled manure well. And cheerfully.

It drove him nuts.

"What shall I do tonight?" she asked him when they'd finished eating and he was thinking he hadn't had such a good meal in this house since his mother had cooked one.

"Huh?"

"To be a good rancher," she said patiently. "I need lessons."

J.D. folded his hands on his flat but full belly and tipped his chair back on two legs. "Ranchin' lessons?" That sounded likeLydia. She'd told him at supper that she'd had piano lessons and art lessons and violin lessons as well as French and German lessons. It boggled his mind. She'd seen nothing out of the ordinary about it.

"It's how I learn," she'd said.

"Not me," he'd countered. "I hated school."

"Not all lessons are in school," she'd said. Her mouth bowed into a very tempting smile. He wanted to kiss it.

And where the hell had that come from?

All four legs of his chair hit the floor with a crash. He bolted straight up. "Well, come on, then," he said gruffly. "We'll give you some lessons."

"More shoveling?" she asked as she followed him out the door.

"Not tonight. Tonight you can measure lumber and cut."

"Help you with the corrals, you mean?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "You reckon that's against the rules, Ms. Cochrane?"

Slowly she shook her head, her very kissable mouth pursed. "Not as long as it needs to be done."

They worked together until after ten. He brought the lumber up on the porch and turned on the light so they could work longer.

He probably shouldn't have, but she wanted to get a taste of ranching, didn't she? Well, building a corral was part of it.

Besides, it was sort of entertaining to watch her while she measured. She had this very intent way of looking, her gaze narrowed, her tongue caught between her lips. He liked watching.

He liked watching her breasts when she sawed, too.

They bounced.

She didn't have big breasts, but her chest was by no means flat. He hadn't remembered her being quite so curvy when he'd been dating Letty. But he hadn't dated Letty very long � and he'd never really looked atLydiaback then � except to glare at her.

He looked at her now.

He tried to glare. He didn't want to.

* * *

She had a life!

Other people might not think much of it, butLydiawas delighted.

She still had her cases and her briefs and her confrontations in the courtroom. But she had more than that now. She had a ranch � and a barn and corrals and fences and hay that needed to be cut and cattle that needed to be tended, and she didn't know yet how to do half of it, but she was learning.

And she could hardly wait to get out there every night.

Because of the ranch, of course.

Not J.D.?a voice inside her challenged.

Ah, J.D.

Lydiahad expected that day-to-day encounters with him would teach her just how ridiculous her fantasy was. They would have nothing in common, she'd thought. They would have nothing to say to each other.

But in fact it wasn't true.

At first he'd been curt and hard-edged when she'd asked questions, but it wasn't long before his answers expanded, until he gave her examples, told her stories, made her laugh. He taught her how to change the oil in her car and hammer a nail straight and how to read the sky.

"To know enough to come in out of the rain," he said with a grin.

"And you think most lawyers don't know that?" She arched an only partly indignant brow.

His grin widened. "Well, sure you do. If you watch the weather channel."

Lydiahad plenty of experience working with men. She knew how to work with men. But even with Rance she'd never felt quite at ease being "friends."

Oddly, she did with J.D.

He respected her law degree, but he didn't seem intimidated by it. Some men were. They avoided her. He didn't. He teased her about it.

At night when she lay in bed and remembered what happened each evening, the memories made her smile.

Was Kristen right?

Was something happening?

Did she dare hope?

She was almost afraid to. And yet�

And yet�

* * *

It wasn't any of his business.

J.D. was a fence painter, an oil changer, a corral and stable builder. There was nothing in his job description � or in his agreement with the court � that said he had to care about Lydia Cochrane.

But it didn't stop him poking his nose in her affairs.

He couldn't believe that Trey had really sold her some of his cattle. What the hell did she know about cattle? The old man could have really shafted her!

That was why he'd asked. Because it would be one more reason to think badly of Trey.

"What's this about Trey sellin'Lydiacattle?" J.D. demanded when Skinny appeared with the blasted List of Chores.

Skinny blinked and scratched his head. "Dunno. News to me if he did. Who said so?"

"Lydia."

"Well, reckon he must've then. Don't know why she'd lie about it."

"She wouldn't." He was sure of that. She was a straight shooter, he'd figured that much out. If he'd ever thought she connived to get his ranch, the last week and a half had convinced him otherwise. WithLydia, like with him, what you saw was what you got.

He liked her. He didn't want to see Trey jerk her around.

"Well, if he did, he's out of his mind. Does he think she knows anything about workin' cattle?"

"She said she wanted to learn."

J.D. whirled around to see Trey standing there. The old man eyed him narrowly. "You got a problem with that?"

"Damned right I do. She doesn't know one end of a cow from the other. She's gonna lose her shirt."

"And that bothers you?" Trey's tone was mild but skeptical.

J.D.'s fists balled. "I don't like to see people taken advantage of," he said through gritted teeth.

"And that's what you think I've done."

"You've done it before."

This time Trey's fists curled and he was the one who took a step forward.

J.D. squared around. "Try it," he invited softly.

Skinny sucked in a nervous breath and grabbed J.D.'s arm. "Come on, now," he urged, flapping the list. "We got things to do. Got us some fence to fix."

"Damn the fence." J.D. shook him off. His eyes never left Trey. "Which cattle did you sell her? Decent ones or the ones you wanted to dump?"

"J.D.!" Skinny's teeth were chattering.

"Get a list from Ole and make up your own mind," Trey said. Then he turned and staked back to the house.

Chapter 4

�^�

"Igot some details about your cattle from Ole," he said to her that night when she was holding rails for him so he could hammer the nails in.

She looked surprised.

He shrugged. "Figured you might want to know something about 'em," he said gruffly. "Unless you're an authority."

"Not even close. I � thank you. You can tell me about them?"

"Every one."

"Are they � good ones?"

"Better'n I would've expected." Trey hadn't done badly by her from what J.D. had seen on the list Ole gave him.

It rankled, to be honest. But maybe Trey didn't take advantage of everyone.

J.D. set another nail and gave it a tap. "Course I haven't seen 'em in a while. You'll want to look at 'em yourself." He drew back the hammer and pounded the nail in.

When he'd finished, he looked around at her. Solemn green eyes looked straight into his.

"Yes," she said. "I would."

"I can tell you where they're pastured."

"That would be nice."

He hammered in another nail. "Not that you'll know a damn thing when you look at 'em."

"You're right."

He scowled at her equanimity. "You prob'ly need somebody to hold your hand."

"Or tell me what I'm seeing."

He grunted.So, ask me, damn it. But she didn't say a word.

She just moved where he pointed, grabbed another board and held it right where he wanted it. He pounded a nail in.

"You maybe better get abook ," he said, "to tell you what to look for."

"I've got one."

His head whipped around. "You do?"

"Several," she admitted. "Last Monday when I was inHelena, I bought five."

"Five? They've gotfive books on ranching?" He was amazed.

She shook her head. "Not ranching. They've got hundreds on ranching. I was talking about cattle."

He was flabbergasted. "You boughtfive books on cattle?"

She nodded gravely. "I might not have got that many if I'd known what I was doing. But I thought it was better to learn too much than too little."

He whistled. "Damn."

"It's the best I could do," she said. "I had to start somewhere."

"And you didn't figure the pasture was a good place to start?"

"I wanted to know a little bit before I went out there. I don't like to be surprised."

Neither did he. But he was finding Lydia Cochrane to be one surprise after another.

"I'll see how helpful they were after this weekend," she said cheerfully.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You figure you're just gonna go out there with your books and make those cattle stand still and turn this way and that while you look 'em over, then read about 'em on page forty-three."

She shrugged. "Unless you've got a better idea."

He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. "I reckon I could maybe come with you. Take a look at 'em for you. Tell you what yourbooks ain't gonna mention. If you want."

She beamed. "Would you? That would be wonderful!"

Damn, but that was a smile worth waiting for!

It was the most amazing thing about Lydia Cochrane. She was so all-fired serious most of the time that you forgot she had this great smile � and then you did something that made her happy and she knocked your socks off with it.

"I reckon I could go tomorrow if you've got time."

"Tomorrow?"

"It is Saturday. One nice thing about this court deal," he said. "I don't have to be at work on weekends." He'd worked seven days a week for the past three years, had never even taken a vacation. Cattle didn't get time off. J.D. didn't take any, either.

But he would take some now � as long as he was wielding a shovel and pushing a broom all day, Trey could do without him on the weekend.

"You know how to ride?" he askedLydia.

"Yes," she said promptly. Then, "I'm not great," she admitted.

"Well, ol' Hot Rod will prob'ly suit you."

Her brows lifted. "Hot Rod?"

He grinned. "About twenty years ago."

"Ah." She looked relieved. "I'm glad to hear it." She was still smiling.

She was really pretty when she smiled. J.D. had had plenty of opportunity to study her over the past couple of weeks, and she was really pretty most of the time. But her smile was really something else.

"You may be sorry," he warned her.

She shook her head. "I haven't been sorry yet."

She would be. Please, God, she would be.

J.D. was liking Lydia Cochrane way too much for his own good.

* * *

"Lydia? Are you listening?"

"What? Um, no. Sorry, Rance, I was � thinking about something else."Lydiaput her feet squarely on her living room floor, sat up straight in her chair, and made herself focus on the voice coming through the phone she held at her ear.

"Something other than Becker and Mulholland?"

"Who?"

"Ho, boy. What's going on up there? You got an even bigger case I don't know about?"

"Hmm?" She couldn't bend her mind around this. She was too excited � had been ever since J.D. had promised to show her the cattle tomorrow. It was the food of a thousand fantasies. She and J.D. on the range.Sounds like some sappy 1940s children's book , she chided herself.

"�what we've been looking for!"

"What? I'm sorry, Rance," she said again. "I've had my mind on other things. What did you say?"

"I said I found an 1887 precedent for Becker and Mulholland. A precedent we can use." Rance sounded excited, eager � the way he used to sound before he'd lost all interest in law earlier this year while he was pursuing Ellie.

"Great."Lydiatried to summon a bit of her own mysteriously absent enthusiasm.

"Yeah, I can tell you're thrilled," Rance said. "What other things? Your new ranch?" His voice held a smile and a teasing note.

"Actually, yes."

"I couldn't believe it when Dad told me."

"Believe it."

"What about J.D.?"

"What about him?"

"You don't have a thing for J.D., do you?"

"What?"

"Ellie said you might."

"Don't make a big deal out of this. I just � want a ranch."

"And a rancher?"

"Rance!"

"It's not a bad idea, Lydie," he said gently. "It's just � well, you and J.D�"

"What about meand J.D.? "

"You're not exactly soul mates."

A lot you know,Lydiathought. Once upon a time she might have agreed. But that was before she'd spent the last week and a half working with him every evening. Once she might have said that her interest in J.D. was likely not to withstand any prolonged contact at all.

That wasn't true.

In fact, the more she was around him, the more attracted she got.

Notthat she was telling Rance that!

"Don't go gettin' yourself hurt, Lydie."

"I'll certainly try not to."

"J.D. steps out of line, you tell me."

"Of course, Rance," she replied solemnly.

There was a second's pause. "You want him to get out of line," he accused her.

She laughed. "Well, now that you mention it�"

"Lydie."

"I'm thirty-one, Rance. I think it's about time I got a little out of line."

"You?" He sounded shocked.

"See? That's the problem. Even you don't believe I have a life."

"You have a life. It's just a � pure � life."

"Swell," she said dryly.

"You're not going to go jump in bed with him!"

"Rance! You're my law partner, not my father."

"I can call him, if you want. He'll say the same thing."

"I do not want you to call my father. I want you to butt out."

"I don't want you to get hurt."

"I won't."

"Yeah, right." He took a breath. "Lydie. You have no experience."

"So it's time I got some."

He groaned. "I need to talk to J.D."

"You do not!"

"Well, somebody's got to save you from yourself."

"Maybe this is the way I'm saving myself."

There was a pause. Then, "Lydie," he said after a moment, "have you completely lost your mind?"

"No, I don't think so," she said consideringly. "I think I might finally have found it."

"God help us," Rance muttered.

* * *

"I don't know how to saddle a horse."

It wasn't the way she'd hoped the day would start. All night longLydiahad had the most marvelous dreams of J.D. and her, on the range, by the campfire, in each other's arms.

Wholly unrealistic, of course. Undoubtedly a product of her conversation with Rance right before she'd gone to bed. Still, she'd got up in the morning, eager and primed for adventure. Hoping against hope.

And the first thing that had happened was that J.D. had said, "Saddle up," and had pointed her in the direction of the horse and gone about saddling his own.

She'd stood there, feeling like an idiot. She'd planned to impress him with her knowledge. Show him that she knew all about black leg and scours and foot rot and pink eye. But it would be hard to demonstrate any of her useful knowledge if she couldn't get out to the range!

At her admission now, J.D stared at her, his incredulity apparent.

"Sorry." But it wasn't really an apology. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. "I've never had the time or the occasion to learn."

"Right," he said dryly. "The time or the occasion," he muttered.

She bristled at his tone. "It isn't as if I couldn't if I'd tried! I haven't tried."

"Well, you're about to."

He took her into the stall with the bay gelding called Hot Rod and told her to get acquainted with the horse.

"Acquainted?" She blinked in surprise.

He nodded. "Hot Rod here's a sociable fella. He likes to know who's ridin' him. And he'll do better for you if he does. There's a lotta fellas would tell you it doesn't make any difference, that you're the boss and the horse does what you tell it to do. An' that's true enough. But while you're the boss, you've gotta work together, the two of you. And like any partnership it works better if you know and trust each other. So get to know him a little bit, then I'll show you how to saddle him."

He left her in the stall and went to saddle the tall sorrel in the next stall.Lydiacould hear him murmuring softly to the horse as he led it out.

She smiled encouragingly at Hot Rod. "That's a very dashing name you've got," she told him.Lydiahad never been afraid of horses. She'd ridden on and off for many years. But she'd never had a horse of her own, had never been trusted to saddle one she'd been allowed to ride, had never thought of having a partnership with a horse.

Now she rubbed a hand on Hot Rod's sleek neck. "I'm sure we'll get along fine," she told the horse, and was rewarded with a nudge on the breast.

"Oh!" She stepped back. But Hot Rod followed and nudged her expectantly once more.

From the other stall she heard J.D.'s laugh. "Ol' Hot Rod's something of a ladies' man."

Lydialooked up, embarrassed. "What does he want?"

"Well, not what you're thinkin'." J.D. reached into his own pocket and handed her a sugar cube. "Reckon he's lookin' for this."

"Oh. You give him treats?"

"Sure. Sweetens him up a little. Everybody needs a little sweetness in their life."

Their eyes met. AndLydiafelt heat creep into her cheeks at the wholly unbidden thought of what sort of sweetness she and J.D. had shared in her dreams just hours before.

Did J.D.'s face look slightly flushed, too? It was hard to tell in the dim light of the barn. She didn't have a chance to study him further as he bent his head and fished in his pocket, then handed her a few more cubes of sugar. "Keep 'im happy while I finish here. Then I'll show you how." Then he turned back to saddling his own horse.

Hot Rod liked the sugar cubes. He liked it whenLydiascratched him in a particular spot where his jaw joined his neck. He bobbed his head and nudged her again when she stopped.

"Okay," J.D. said. "This is how you do it."

The next thing she knew he was in the stall with her, deftly putting the bridle on Hot Rod, then taking it off and having her do it.

"Like this," he said, and his hands covered hers.

She loved his hands. They weren't lawyer's hands. In fact, the only lawyer she knew whose hands even came close to J.D.'s was Rance, who did his share of cowboying, too. J.D.'s hands were big and broad, with long fingers and calluses. They were capable hands, working man's hands. But astonishingly gentle hands.

Her own fingers tingled at the brush of his callused fingers. It was a heady experience being in the close confines of a horse stall with J.D. Holt.

And since Hot Rod took up most of the room, they were forced to stand close together.

Once she'd put the bridle on to his satisfaction, he tossed a saddle blanket over Hot Rod's back, then settled the saddle on top. Slowly, deliberately he showed her each step. He didn't talk. He just said, "Watch."

And she did as he pulled up the cinch, then tucked it through and down and over and around. Then, when it was done, he took it off again.

"Now you try it."

She almost hit him in the nose with the saddle when she was lifting it onto Hot Rod's back. The horse seemed confused, being saddled, unsaddled, then saddled again � the last time by an incompetent.

But he stood patiently whileLydiafumbled with the cinch.

"Tighter," J.D. said when she stopped.

"Tighter? But won't it hurt him?"

"Hurt you worse if the saddle falls off. He's holdin' his breath. Tighter. There. That's good. Now ease up. Now see, he's breathin'. Pull again."

"But�"

"Pull."

Lydiapulled, sure she already had it tight. But the second pull got her another two inches of cinch.

"You'll end up on your tail in the trail if you don't get that saddle on tight," J.D. told her. "Now let's see you finish it."

He stood directly behind her now, put his arms around her and with his hands he guided hers. AndLydia's heart went into overdrive. She forgot what she was doing.

He wasn't precisely pressed against her, but almost. She could feel his presence. His breath touched heir ear as he spoke.

"Like this," he said, and there was a slightly rough edge to his voice, as if he was having trouble getting the words out.

Lydia's own tongue was welded to the roof of her mouth. She wouldn't have been able to speak if heir life depended on it. She tried to focus on what his hands were doing, tried to do what they showed her to do.

"Yeah, like that." His breath stirred a tendril of her hair.

She swallowed. She stared again at his hands. They were so different from hers � large, strong, rough. One finger was bent, she noted, as if it had been broken and hadn't set properly. He had any number of small scars on them.

"Loop it and pull it. Like this."

She tried to do what he said. She lifted her hands. Her elbow caught him in the ribs. "Sorry." She tried to twist, stumbled and fell back.

His arms went around heir instinctively. And there they stood, pressed together for a heartbeat. And all the wild wonderful dreams of the night before didn't hold a candle to one split second of realty.

Then J.D.'s arms dropped abruptly. He cleared his throat, then stepped around her and finished with the saddle. "There," he said gruffly. "You're doin' fine. You've got the hang of it. Come on. Let's go."

And without looking back, he led the sorrel out of the barn.

* * *

J.D.'s theory had been that if he worked her to death every evening, if he made her get up at the crack of dawn on Saturday to go look at her cattle, if he dragged her all over Montana and back before nightfall on horseback and bored her to tears with the actual medical and economic realities of cattle raising, she'd come to the logical conclusion that ranching was for fools and cowboys � that lawyers had more sense.

J.D.'s theory didn't hold water.

She'd come every night. She'd worked hard. She'd even brought groceries, like it was her responsibility to feed him.

"I can cook," he'd protested, but she didn't pay any attention. Having eaten all those cookies had put the lie to his protestations.

AndLydiawas nothing if not practical. "You don't have time," she said simply.

It was nothing but the truth.

The other hands were baling hay and checking and moving cattle, and he was still shoveling and painting, and yesterday, for God's sake, he'd had to mow the lawn. But even doing crap like that he was working fourteen-hour days.

And thinking aboutLydia.

He didn't want to think aboutLydia. But what the hell else was he supposed to think about? It wasn't as if he had anything meaningful to occupy his mind.

He tried to tell himself he ought to be looking for work. But he still had months to go working for Trey, and nobody wanted to know he'd be available in February. He told himself he ought to start sorting stuff out and looking for another place to live.

ButLydiahad told him there was no hurry.

"I can wait until you're finished at Trey's," she'd told him.

So he didn't put any effort into that, either. Anyway, she might be fed up and want to sell to him by the time that six months were up.

Besides, if the truth were known, be liked things the way they were.

He liked coming home at night and findingLydiathere already. Most of the time there was a hot meal waiting and good conversation.

They talked. They ate.

He was used to eating alone. When his old man had been alive they'd eaten together, but they hadn't talked much. Dan Holt hadn't been much of a conversationalist. J.D. had always assumed he wasn't, either. ButLydiasomehow got him to talk.

She asked a lot about horses. He knew about horses.

He figured he'd bore her silly. But she listened, and she asked intelligent stuff, and she said maybe she'd buy some horses.

"To put in those corrals I haven't finished?" he'd said, raising one brow.

"Oh, well. You're almost done. And then you could teach me."

He wasn't sure about that. He could train horses, but she wasn't talking about training horses. She was talking about trainingher .

He both did � and didn't � want to do that.

He watched her now as she rode. She wasn't a bad rider for having so little experience. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised. He hadn't come across anything yet thatLydiacouldn't seem to handle.

She actually spotted a cow with pink eye before he did.

"How'd you know that?" he demanded when she pointed it out to him.

"It was in one of my books," she said simply.

Books. Cripes.

No. Lydia Cochrane might have a smile that would curl a man's toes and enough determination to impress most men, but she wasn't for him.

"So don't go gettin' any ideas," he said.

"What?"

He jerked, heat flooding his face. He hadn't realized he'd spoken out loud! "Nothin'," he said. "I was just � thinkin'."

Thinking what an idiot he was.

"I think I'm hungry,"Lydiasaid. "I brought some lunch." She patted her saddlebag. "Shall we stop and eat soon?"

"Guess we could."

They'd been riding for four hours. It didn't bother him. He could ride all day. He wondered if, once she got off the horse, she'd be able to get back on again.

"There's a place down by the creek we can stop." He led the way. She followed. He dismounted and watched as she did, too.

The expression on her face when her feet hit the ground and her legs wobbled was encouraging.

"Okay?" he asked her cheerfully, and felt only the slightest pang of guilt for his lack of sympathy.

"Okay." The word came out on a gasp. She clung to the saddle for a moment, then let go, looking like a toddler unsure if she dared take a first step.

"Sore?"

"A little."

He grinned to himself. She loosened the cinch as he'd showed her how to do earlier, grabbed lunch out of the saddlebag, then tottered over and sank down on a rock overlooking the stream.

As J.D. watched, she stretched her legs straight out in front of her, then tipped her head back and lifted her face to the sun.

So much for feeling like he had the upper hand.

How could he when his body had a mind of its own? When it took one look atLydia's gorgeous profile, at the pert lift of her breasts against the knit rib of her pullover shirt, at the way her hair glinted with copper highlights in the sun, and all thoughts of her unsuitability went right out of his head.

He swallowed hard.

ThenLydiapatted the rock. "Come sit down. We'll eat."

He came and squatted on his haunches, as if he could bolt more easily that way if she got too close. But she was busy dividing sandwiches and pouring out cups of coffee. And his stomach was ready to eat, and she didn't look like she was going to jump his bones, so eventually he sat next to her.

He sipped the coffee. It burned his tongue.Like gettin' too interested inLydiawill burn the rest of you,he reminded himself.

But the weather was warm and the food was good, and when the wind shifted he could smell the soft scent of flowers that he'd come to associate withLydia.

She didn't seem so damned formidable when he associated her with flowers. And though he was perfectly happy to spend entire days riding the range on his own, it was pleasant to have someone to share it with, someone to point out the hawk moving in lazy circles overhead, someone to admire his ability to skip rocks across the creek's shallow water, someone willing to take off her boots and go wading, giggling all the while.

"It's cold!" She shivered and danced up and down, then grimaced. "It hurts when I move."

"Too bad," he said unsympathetically. But he felt far too sympathetic for his own good. And he sat on the bank way too long, grinning like a mindless fool.

The moment of truth came when they had to get back in the saddle. He waited for the groan, waited for the protest, waited for her to say enough was enough, she was too stiff to go on.

But she was a game one. He saw her grimace. He saw her wince. But he never heard a word of complaint. She never said she was stiff.

He was the one who got stiff � at least one particular part of him.

It wasn'tLydiain particular he was attracted to, he assured himself. It was just that he'd been a long time without a woman.Any woman would look good to him right now.

And he exactly knew how to solve that problem.

Tonight he'd just go find himself one.

Chapter 5

�^�

It didn't work.

J.D. scowled and banged in another fence post.

At leastClaudia hadn't worked. She hadn't distracted him. Not at all.

It was ridiculous. Claudia Kileen had enough curves and giggles and seductive moves to distract any man. But all the touching and laughing and flirting and nuzzling, and all theTexastwo-stepping this side ofAmarillohadn't distracted him a bit

Going in for a "nightcap" when he took her home, might have. But J.D. couldn't bring himself to do it.

Not that he wouldn't have enjoyed it � he wasn't dead, after all � but it didn't seem fair to use Claudia like that.

A guy ought to want the woman he was with.

Besides that, it had seemed a little dangerous. What if he'd gone to bed with Claudia and still hadLydiaon his brain?

Because when he was out here in the sun and wind, he sure did.

Saturday had been bad. Sunday had been worse.

He hadn't expected her to even show up.

She had.

Granted, she'd moved a little slow. And he'd seen her wince more than once or twice when settling into the saddle. But the look she'd given him had dared him to comment. And if she smothered a couple of groans, she didn't let it stop her.

She'd gone right on asking question after question as they'd ridden up along the Emerson range. She'd studied her damn books, he'd give her that.

She sure knew the questions to ask. And she was interested in the answers.

He'd never met a girl who liked talking about cattle.

He wishedLydiadidn't.

J.D. was used to women on the edges of what he considered his "real life." He'd dated a hundred girls over the years. He'd taken them dancing like he'd taken Claudia. He'd taken them to the movies or to a barbecue on somebody's ranch or to a church social or a wedding.

But he'd never spent any time with a woman doing thingshe liked to do.

He had never taken a girl out riding on the range. Had never discussed calving or branding or the ideal birth weight of a calf.

He'd never met one who wanted to hear that sort of thing.

He kind of liked it.

He just didn't want it to beLydia.

If she had to be in his life, well, so be it. He just didn't want to enjoy it!

But he did.

She'd brought lunch again, and they'd sat in the shade of the pines and looked out across the valley in complete silence.

He'd never met a woman who didn't talk all the time. But whileLydiatalked plenty, she knew when not to. She knew when to just breathe deeply and sigh softly and let the silence settle around them.

And that was dangerous, too.

It made him aware of how alone they were, of how damned tempting she was. It made him jump up and go check on his horse who didn't need checking on. It made him prowl the small stand of pines where they'd stopped, searching for anything that would keep him from reaching forLydia, which was what he wanted to do.

"Time to get movin'," he said abruptly when he could think of nothing else to do besides going to sit back down beside her.

Slowly, as if every muscle was screaming at her, she got to her feet. Gamely, without asking any quarter, she got back on her horse.

And when they were back at the ranch and had turned out the horses, she looked at him with shining eyes.

"This was the best weekend I've ever spent," she said.

He whacked another fence post. "Me, too," he muttered.

And hated the fact that it was true.

* * *

"I need to buy a horse," she told him the next evening.

They were working on the corral. J.D. was finishing the last section, and she was painting. It didn't need painting, but she wanted it painted. Trey's was painted, she told him.

As if that would make him want to do it.

"Trey has some horses for sale," she said. "Have you seen them? Do you know them?"

He didn't want to giveLydiaadvice on buying a horse � especially not from Trey Phillips.

"They're lovely," she went on. "Especially the sorrel mare with the white blaze."

"Dancer," J.D. said before he could stop himself.

"Is that her name?"Lydia's eyes brightened.

J.D. concentrated on the board he was sawing. "She doesn't have a name. I just called her that once or twice."

"It's the perfect name,"Lydiasaid. "She's so graceful. She's absolutely beautiful."

J.D. grunted.He kept sawing.

"Maybe I'll buy Dancer."

"That'snot her name. You don't have to call her that!"

The stubborn Cochrane chin tilted. "I like the name. I'll call her that if I want."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

"Or maybe the pinto. What do you think of that little pinto?"

"Got rocks in his head."

"But he's so friendly. Such a charmer."

"Until you try to ride him," J.D. said dryly. "Look. Are you going to stand around and chatter all night or are you going to paint?"

She blinked at his irritable tone, then shrugged. "Just a little touchy tonight?"

"Hard day," he muttered. He went back to sawing.

She watched for a moment, then out of the corner of his eye he saw her nod. "I won't bother you, then."

She picked up her paint can and moved to the far side of the corral. She started painting. Neatly. Studiously. Carefully.

As if she'd read a damn book on how to do it!

Hell. He tried to ignore her. Tried to focus on his sawing. He sawed. She painted. He finished the last board. She didn't look up.

"The corral is finished," he informed her.

Her head lifted. She looked around. "So it is."

He expected her to go right back to painting. She set her brush down and smiled at him.

He shut his eyes, heard her footsteps approach.

"It's a lovely corral," she said. Her voice was very near. He turned his head away before he opened his eyes again. No matter. She was still within his gaze. "It is," she repeated.

He took off his hat and rubbed a hand through his hair. "Oh, yeah. Fantastic. The best corral inMontana."

"I like it," she said stoutly. "And soon it will be the most beautiful, too." She nodded toward where she'd begun to paint.

He rolled his eyes. And then, instead of just leaving her to it, he found himself asking, "Did you see the black gelding? That's the best horse out there."

And her eyes positively sparkled. "Is it? Why?"

And instead of shutting up and starting to cut the wood for the stable, he started telling her. It was like she bewitched him, like he couldn't shut up around her.

"Must be the lawyer in you," he muttered, disgusted with himself.

A tiny line appeared between her brows. "What's the lawyer in me?"

"Getting me to spill my guts. I never talked so much in my life."

"Do you mind?" she asked seriously.

He shrugged. He wanted to say,Hell, yes, I mind. I don't want to get involved with you .

But on another level he did want to get involved with her. She was a very enticing woman.

"I just don't need to be babbling," he told her.

"You're not. You're advising me. I'll go back out and look at them again tomorrow. Maybe I'll see you there. You could look at them with me. Would you?"

It was one thing to see her here � at Trey's was a different story.

"Maybe," he said vaguely.

He thought,Not if I see you first.

* * *

And thank God, he did see her first.

He was in the field moving the dams and clearing out weeds in the irrigation ditches. It was a dirty, muddy job and not one he wanted her seeing him doing.

So when J.D. saw her car trailing a wake of dust coming down the road from the highway, he found some really low down weeds to keep him busy until she was well past Skinny could come and get him to take her up to the horses.

But while he hoed and hacked for almost an hour, keeping an eye on the house all the time, Skinny never came.

And when he finally did come out of the house and get into his truck, he headed in the other direction � out where Trey had the men baling hay.

What the hell? Was he going to send one of them with her?

J.D. gave the weeds a savage whack.

Not one of them knew those horses the way he did! Not one would giveLydianear as good advice. Not that it mattered to Trey!

Well, the hell with him! The hell with them all! J.D. thought furiously.

And the hell withLydia, too. She could've asked for him to show her!

Yeah? And then what?he asked himself.Maybe she'd come with Skinny to pick you up out of the ditch?

The notion mortified him.

He couldn't explain exactly why, but he did not wantLydiacoming to find him standing here with a hoe in his hand.

He was acowboy , damn it, not some sod-buskin', weed-hackin'farmer!

In the distance J.D. saw the truck come back.

The door to the house opened, and he could just make out Trey andLydiacoming to meet Skinny and another cowboy.

J.D. squinted to get a better look.

Cy?

Skinny had gone to pick up Cy?

Why the hell was Trey sending for Cy? Just because Cy Burgess had an Ag degree and, according to him, knew more than five old-timers combined, he damned sure wasn't any authority on horses!

J.D. imagined Cy saying all those fancy college-boy, etiquette-book things that would amaze and impress a woman like her. Things that would never occur to J.D. in a million years.

Well, hell, let him. And let her fall for it � hook, line and sinker.

He didn't care. Much.

It was just that Cy had an eye for the ladies. He'd go out of his way to impress a woman likeLydia.

J.D. clenched his teeth. He whacked furiously at the stubborn clump of weeds on the edge of the ditch.

As Cy went around and got in, then backed the truck around and headed down the lane, J.D. kicked and hacked. They would drive right past him!

And he had no doubt that Cy would be only too happy to point him out toLydiaas they passed.

He ducked his head and attacked the weeds with renewed fury. The clump caught on the edge of the hoe just as the truck was getting close. J.D. muttered furiously under his breath, then reached down and gave a yank. The clump broke away. The bank did, too.

The next thing he knew he was cartwheeling into the ditch!

"Son of a�" He reached to brace himself as he fell against the opposite side and slid on his butt into the water. "Damn it to hell!"

A cloud of dust, which meant that the truck had passed, settled over him as he sat.

He struggled out. He squished up onto the side of the ditch and sat down to pull off his boots and wring out his socks. His shirt � at least the top half of it � was still fairly dry. Not so his Wranglers.

They were wet and rough against his legs. He would have liked to have taken them off and wrung them out. He didn't because with his luck, damn Cy would come driving back and as they went by, he andLydiawould wave!

Disgusted, J.D. slapped his hat against his leg. He dripped onto the ground. He could go up to the house. He could say he had to go home for a minute. He didn't have to tell them anything. He could just leave. But he wouldn't.

He knew he wouldn't.

He didn't want anyone to see him come dripping up the hill. He didn't want to see Skinny's jaw drop in amazement at the sight of him. He didn't want to see Trey snicker.

And Trey would snicker. There was no doubt about that.

J.D. laid his socks out to dry in the sun. He pulled his shirttails out of his jeans and left them to flap in the breeze, Good thing it was a reasonably warm day, because that made the rest of the afternoon spent in his soggy jeans tolerable.

Barely.

They'd have been a damn sight more tolerable if he hadn't spent the whole time thinking aboutLydia.

He attacked the weeds with renewed fury. Every clump he destroyed, for the rest of the afternoon, had Cy's name on it.

He could just imagine the young cowboy's tongue hanging out ifLydiasmiled at him. She had a killer smile.

She had beautiful eyes, too. Lively and interested. They'd never even blinked when she'd looked at him last night as he'd talked about the horses. It was as if she'd been hanging on every word.

He damned sure didn't want her hanging on Cy's words!

He didn't want Cy ogling her curves, either. She'd been wearing trousers up there at the house. He had seen that much. But from a distance it had been hard to tell how snug they were. She'd better not be wearing those new curve-hugging jeans she wore out to the house every evening.

That'd damn sure give Cy an eyeful.

J.D. had never considered her jeans too tight before. He'd just enjoyed the view.

But he didn't want Cy enjoying it.

He shifted irritably, trying to get a little more room inside his own.

Like most cowboys. J.D. wore his jeans cut to fit when he rode. He didn't need a lot of loose material flapping around when he was in the saddle. Normally they were fine. It was just that they were wet � and shrinking.

And it didn't help to be thinking aboutLydia.

"So stop thinkin' about her," he muttered to himself. He slogged on. He hacked. He scratched. Mostly he itched. And then he squirmed against the rough, damp denim of his jeans. They were clammy, scratchy. Snug.

Way too snug.

And getting snugger by the minute. Hell.

* * *

He left work early. First time in years.

He wanted to get back to the ranch and change his jeans beforeLydiagot there tonight. He'd seen her leave but had stayed well away from any place she might see him. He'd seen Cy go back to the pasture with a horse trailer sometime later.

So she'd bought a horse.

And it would be there when he got home. But she wouldn't be. She never got there until after six. It was usually closer to seven.

Tonight, of course, she was already waiting for him.

She came running, grinning all over her face.

"I got her!" She was absolutely bubbling. "Do you see?"

She pointed, as if he could miss a fifteen-hand horse in the middle of a corral that had had nothing in it when he'd left this morning.

He flicked off the engine and sat, gathering his wits, willing his jeans to stop grabbing him in inconvenient places. "I see," be said gruffly. He gave one last tug on his jeans, opened the door of the truck and got out.

"I couldn't work for thinking about her,"Lydiaenthused. Her eyes were sparkling. "Everything you told me about her kept running through my head all night. And all day," she admitted. "I couldn't get anything done."

Me, neither, J.D. thought.

"So I decided it would be time better spent to go and take another look. I'm not usually an impulsive purchaser � the ranch aside," she said quickly. "But it just didn't make sense to have a ranch and cattle and not have a horse."

This last she said almost hopefully, as if looking for him to agree with her.

He grunted. He wanted to adjust his jeans again. He didn't want to go grabbing his crotch in front of her. "She's a good horse," he allowed.

"Would you � come see her with me?"

"Now?"

His reluctance surprised her. "Why not?"

Indeed why not? Was he actually going to answer that? Tell her that between thoughts of her and a pair of wet jeans, things were getting a little, er, tight.

"Awright," he said grimly. "Let's take a look at this horse."

Lydiapractically danced ahead of him as she went toward the corral. Dancer, since that's what she was determined to call her, was prancing back and forth, ears up, eyes wide, as she checked out these new surroundings.

J.D. made himself watch the horse. It did him no good at all to be staring atLydia's curvy bottom moving on ahead of him in those jeans of hers.

Lydiascrambled up on the fence and Dancer came trotting over. But instead of going toLydia, the horse came right to J.D.

"It's because she knows me," he explained as Dancer poked at his shirt pocket with her nose.

"It's because you give her treats,"Lydiaaccused, but was smiling.

"I do not!"

Still she grinned at him. "You're a softy, J.D. Holt."

No, he wasn't. He was hard as a rock.

"Isn't she lovely?"Lydiacouldn't keep her hands off the mare.

J.D. nodded. "She's lookin' good. Reckon she'll shape up good."

"That's what Cy said. He said she'd be a good horse when she was trained."

"Like he'd know."

Lydiaturned her head and blinked at him. "Trey said he was good with horses. He said he could help me."

"I could've helped you," J.D. said.

"Well, I suggested to Trey that you might, but he said you were really busy."

"Oh, yeah." J.D. didn't know whether to thank Trey for that or not. He was almost surprised the old man hadn't sentLydiaout to see him knee-deep in mud.

"Will you � help me with her?"

"What?"

"Teach me to work with her. Connect with her. The way you do with a horse." She was looking at him earnestly, eagerly.

"You can't find a book on it?" He could have kicked himself the minute the words were out of his mouth.

"Well, I could, I suppose. If you'd rather not bother� Or maybe Cy would�"

"I'll bother."

Her eyes lit up. "That's fantastic."

No, it was insane.

He was insane. He wanted this woman out of here, didn't he?

So what was he doing teaching her stuff that would just make her want to stay?

* * *

"You bought a horse?" Rance sounded halfway between astonished and amused.

"A mare. A three-year-old. One your dad bought in the spring, J.D. says. She's a sorrel with a white blaze and four white stockings. J.D. says she's going to be a good horse."

"I'm hearing a lot of 'J.D. says.'"

"Well, that's because he talks a lot."

"He does?" Rance sounded as though that was news to him. "Are you seducing my foreman, Lydia?"

She laughed, embarrassed. "I wouldn't know how," she admitted.

"Is he seducing you?" Rance asked then, a sterner note in his voice.

"No." She rather wished he would, but he never brushed up against her or touched her unnecessarily.

Maybe he didn't even really like her.

Maybe he was still trying to get rid of her.

Maybe it was time to ask him.

She did � that night when they were working with Dancer in the corral. He was cutting boards for the stable, watching her at the same time � sort of. Mostly he was not watching her almost deliberately. And she rode Dancer up close.

"J.D.?"

"What?"

"Are you still trying to get rid of me?"

"What the hell are you askin' a thing like that for?"

"Because we discussed it once and you said you were."

"You make it sound like I'm going to have you knocked off."

She shook her head. "You know what I mean. Are you?"

He scowled.

"I know you still want the ranch. I could � well, maybe I could sell you part of it."

His brows arched. "Part of it?"

She nodded eagerly. Actually it sounded like a really good idea, the more she thought about it. They could both be there. Not in the same house, of course. She'd have to build a house. Or he would. Or�

"No."

"What? What do you mean, no? I thought you wanted�"

"I said I'd buy the ranch from you. The whole thing."

"We could share�"

"We couldn't share."

"But�"

"No, Lydia. I don't want to buy part of it. And�" he heaved a sigh "�I'm not going to try to get rid of you, either. It's yours."

"But�"

"Yours, Lydia."

Then he turned and walked away.

* * *

Sometimes J.D. thought that if Lydia spent her entire life trying to come up with ways to torture him, she couldn't do a better job than she did unwittingly.

Share the ranch with her!

Oh, yeah. Sure.

Go riding with her when she felt like it. Teach her to work with Dancer when she wanted him to. Then sit back and watch while she brought home more suitable men.

No blinkin' way!

He was back in the field again, hacking at the weeds again. It suited his frame of mind, to attack them viciously, to curse his lack of suitability. To want a woman he could never have.

And all of a sudden a furious voice behind him said,"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

He turned to see Rance striding across the field toward him

It was the first time he'd seen Rance since his wedding. The first time they'd faced each other since he'd punched the old man in the mouth.

And while the two of them might often have agreed that Trey deserved it � and more � J.D. wasn't sure how Rance would feel about him actually having done it.

Now he straightened up and braced himself, just in case Rance decided to return the favor.

Skinny, who'd driven down with Rance in the pickup, must have had a similar thought because he came scurrying after, looking nervous.

Rance slapped his hands on his hips. "We've got five hundred bales of hay to store, eight hundred cows to move, miles of fence to check, and you're makin' mud pies in a ditch?"

Like it was his idea. J.D. gritted his teeth. "Not my fault."

"Whose�" He didn't finish the sentence. His jaw snapped shut.

J.D. turned back to the dam. "Ask your old man."

"My old man has you playin' in the dirt?" Rance gaped.

"Yep."

Rance's breath whistled through his teeth. He continued to stare for a long moment, obviously poleaxed. Then he said slowly, "You really pissed him off, didn't you?"

"The feeling was mutual."

"Evidently." Rance rocked back and forth on his boot heels, considering. "Well, all I can say is, the two of you are damn-fool stupid. Neither one of you has the sense God gave a goat. Come on. Get in the truck. We've got work to do."

"But, Rance, Trey said�" Skinny began nervously.

"Trey isn't runnin' this show," Rance said flatly. "I am. When he had his heart attack, I came home to take over, remember? We don't need you making mud pies, J.D." His tone was firm. "I'll talk to the old man." He turned and started toward the truck.

"Don't do me any favors!" J.D. called after him. He didn't need Rance going to bat for him.

"I'm not doin' you any favors," Rance said over his shoulder. "I'd like to bang your heads together, the two of you. There's work to be done, and you idiots are busy playing games with each other."

Stung, J.D. took one last whack with the hoe, then, shouldering it, followed Rance toward the truck.

Nervously Skinny followed. The three of them sat in silence, shoulder to shoulder, all the way back to the ranch house. Skinny seemed to be holding his breath the whole way. Only when he got out, did he speak. "Trouble," he muttered under his breath as he got out of the truck. "That's what's gonna come of this. Trouble."

And when his prediction was punctuated by the bang of the screen door, he jumped. "Tol' ya," he muttered.

From the driver's seat, Rance swung slowly down onto the ground. J.D. got out, too. He stopped beside the truck and stood his ground as Trey came striding toward them across the yard.

His lip curled. His gaze met J.D.'s. "Been complaining, have you?"

"Dad." Rance's voice was low and hard.

J.D. gritted his teeth. "You know better than that."

Trey shook his head. "I don't understand you," he grumbled.

"Nobody's askin' you to."

There was a second's silence. Then Trey exploded. "You really are a pigheaded, stubborn, son of a�"

"Don't say it!" J.D. came within a hair's breadth of grabbing Trey by the front of his shirt. Instead his fingers curled into fists as he bit out, "Don't say a word about my mother, old man!"

Their gazes locked.

Trey's mouth pressed into a thin. line. For long seconds no words passed between them. J.D. could hear Skinny's teeth chattering, could hear the harsh intake of Rance's breath. He didn't pay them any mind.

This didn't have to do with anyone but him and Trey. Still they glared. Then, slowly Trey's mouth curved into the faintest hint of a smile. "Son of a buck," he finished, his voice almost mild. He looked away across the yard.

Skinny let out an expansive sigh.

"What the hell is goin' on?" Rance demanded.

But neither J.D. nor Trey replied. Neither moved. J.D.'s fists stayed clenched. His eyes stayed on Trey.

Finally the old man's eyes moved. He brought his gaze back to meet J.D.'s squarely. "Your mother was a fine woman."

J.D. nodded curtly. "Yes. She was."

He wanted Trey to be the one to look away first. But he didn't. The old man's hard blue gaze was steady and unwavering. It bored into J.D.'s, searching, questioning, probing.

J.D. didn't want any probing.

He didn't want Trey trying to "understand" him.

He wanted to look away, to avoid the old man's scrutiny. But he wouldn't.

He would stand here forever if he had to.

Finally it was the old man who blinked. He sighed, looking suddenly weary and, for the first time, almost old.

"Skinny, put that hoe away," he said. Then he spoke to J.D. "Go saddle up. We've got work to do."

Chapter 6

�^�

And just like that, he was in the fold again.

Making decisions again. Sending men off to do jobs again. Leading the way. Acting like the foreman.

Of course, Trey never said J.D. was the foreman. Trey never said anything to him at all � except to make some abrupt comment on a bit of business or tell him what needed to be done.

But J.D. knew what was expected. Skinny began deferring to him. No more was said about daily lists of donkey work to keep him busy and annoyed.

J.D. supposed he ought to be glad. It wasn't quite the rapport they'd had beforeLydiahad bought the ranch, but he could live with it.

Trouble was, he wouldn't be around to.

He wasn't staying. Couldn't.

Not after his six months were up, anyway.

He'd thought six months of Trey was going to be hard to take. It was nothing compared to six months ofLydia.

For entirely different reasons.

Who'd have thought it? He andLydiaCochrane?

There was no "he and Lydia," he reminded himself. It was no more than wishful thinking. What his dad had always called, "wantin' to live in cherry pie heaven."

J.D. was well and truly cured of that. He knew that for him, at least, cherry pies were few and far between.

And under the circumstances, moving on was better than having to live next door to a cherry pie he couldn't touch.

He reckoned he could keep his hands off until the six months were up.

But having her there every night, smiling at him, talking to him, riding with him, cooking for him, didn't make it easy.

"Hey," Rance interrupted his reverie. They were moving cattle down off the summer range, it was a glorious day, bright and breezy, with high, scattered clouds. A day that would make any man glad to be a cowboy. "Ellie and the kids are comin' today. They want to see you. Especially Josh. Can you stay for dinner?"

"Dinner?" J.D. hesitated. He was almighty tempted. It would be good to see Ellie and the kids again. And it would be one less evening he'd have to spend with Lydia. But� "At Trey's?"

"Oh, for God's sake," Rance said, disgusted. "What the hell is the matter with you two? We could put you at one end of the table and him at the other. It's one meal, J.D., it wouldn't kill either of you."

It might, J.D. thought wearily. He shook his head. "He wouldn't want me. And I don't want to be there. No disrespect to Ellie. And you." He saw Rance open his mouth to argue and kept right on talking so Rance couldn't. "Just let it be, Rance. Don't push it. It won't work. Not for either of us."

"Why? What the hell happened? Ellie and I get married, he and Sandra take the kids toCalifornia. Everything is hunky-dory � or at least as hunky-dory as it ever is between you and Trey � and the next thing I know, he's back and we're peeling him up off the floor and you're in jail." His eyes searched J.D.'s for answers.

J.D. shook his head. "We never got along. You know that."

"You bickered. You ragged on each other. But you got along," Rance contradicted. "You kept him honest. He respects you."

J.D. snorted.

"He does," Rance insisted.

But J.D. couldn't quite get his mind around that. And even if it was in some small sense true, Trey wouldn't � not if he knew the real reason J.D. hadn't read the letter!

"Tell everybody I'll see 'em before you guys go back home, but I can't come to dinner. Sorry. I got things to do. I'm teachin'Lydiato work with her horse."

"We'll come watch."

"The hell you will."

"Why not? Josh has been yammering about showing you what he's done with Spirit. We can kill two birds with one stone. Sunday okay?"

"Lydiawon't want�"

"Sure she will. She'll be delighted. She loves the kids. I'll talk to Lydia."

Exactly what J.D. was afraid of.

* * *

Lydia could hardly wait.

For once on Sunday she was awake before LeRoy's carhappy cousins started banging on metal in the shop next door. Every Sunday since she'd moved in two years ago, she'd been treated to what she'd come to think of as the "steel fender music" as LeRoy's cousins used his shop to work on their hot rods.

The trouble with getting up so early was that she had to restrain herself from heading out to the ranch the minute she got out of bed.

She managed to keep herself occupied until almostnoonwith laundry, housecleaning, bill paying and brownie and cherry pie baking � her contribution to the meal, she'd told Rance.

But finally she could wait no longer. After all, it was her ranch, she reasoned. Why should she stay away? She locked up her apartment and went down the stairs to her car.

A wolf whistle from LeRoy's garage made her turn her head. Sharky, a brash blond version of LeRoy, was ogling her. When she looked over, he grinned and lifted his cutting torch in salute. "Hey, sweetheart, bringin' us dessert?"

Another cousin, older and but no wiser, looked around and looked her up and down, too. His gaze was frankly assessing, and when be was done he said loudly, "She is dessert, knucklehead."

Then they grinned at each other and at her.

Lydiarolled her eyes and shook her head. Then she gave them a jaunty little wave and bent to put the pie and brownies in her car.

She knew they were probably assessing her rear end. She wondered if J.D. ever did. It embarrassed her to think so, but in all honesty she'd assessed his.

It had been, um, very nice. And she'd found herself wondering, just as she had as a teenager, what it would look like naked.

Notsomething she should be thinking about if she was going to keep her mind focused on G-rated thoughts with Rance and Ellie's family there today!

The early-autumn air was crisp this morning. She drove with the windows down, and the breeze loosened her long hair from the knot in which she had pinned it as she drove out the highway toward the ranch.

She'd made the trip so often now that she felt she could do it blindfolded. But no matter how often she did it, the view before her, of the early snowfall that dusted the peaks and the march of pines up the sides of the mountains, never got old. On the other hand, it seemed forever fresh and inviting. Exhilarating.

Even more exhilarating was the sight that greeted her when she came over the rise.

J.D., shirtless, his Wranglers riding low on his hips, stood on a ladder while he framed the door to the stable.

So much for G-rated.

Lydia took her foot off the gas and allowed the car to coast down the hill toward the ranch house, taking her time � all the time she could, just to look. And wallow.

"You're as bad as Sharky," she reproved herself.

But with a lot more reason, her appreciative female self responded.

If J.D. heard the car, he didn't turn around. He continued to concentrate on his work.

Lydia concentrated on J.D. � on the bunch and flex of muscles in his broad, tanned shoulders and back as he hammered in a nail, on the slight bow of his denim-clad legs, at the sweat-dampened, short dark hair that brushed the nape of his neck.

He had a beautiful neck. Lydia wondered what it would be like to kiss him there.

And she whistled, too, just like Sharky. But hers was for herself alone and was the whistle of indrawn breath.

She wished she could be like Letty. That she could get out of the car and flirt and charm and tease.

But she'd never been able to tease. Not sexually. She would never charm. She didn't know how to flirt. She wasn't Letty.

He likes you, anyway, she told herself.You wouldn't want to get him if you had to put on an act to do it, would you?

Of course not!

Well, maybe�

"Oh, stop," she muttered to herself aloud.

She shut off the engine and got out of the car. "Hi! Good afternoon!"

J.D.'s head turned. She hoped for a smile. But all she got was a "Yeah." And then he went back to hammering.

He hadn't been thrilled yesterday when she'd told him that Rance and Ellie were coming. She'd been surprised.

"I thought you liked Rance," she'd said.

"I do!"

"Then it's Ellie and the kids you don't want?"

He'd scowled. "I like 'em all. I just� Never mind." He'd brushed past her, stalked out to start work on the stable. She'd let him go, unsure what the problem was. She'd merely hoped he would come around.

Later, when he was going into town to pick up some lumber, she'd come running after him and held out a list. "It's just a few things for the cookout tomorrow," she'd said. "I thought you could stop at the store."

"No."

She blinked. Then her eyes had widened with surprise � and shock. "No?"

He scowled and shrugged. "You want this stable done, I don't have time to be your errand boy."

"It's not exactly like I'm making you an 'errand boy,'" she said irritably. "I only asked. Fine. I'll get them later." She turned and went into the house.

An hour later he'd called her from town. "What was on that list? I've got a little time to kill while they're cutting me the boards. I reckoned I could do that shopping for you."

Nonplussed, Lydia had read him the list.

She'd hoped that his changing his mind about the groceries meant he'd changed his mind and was happy Rance and his family were going to come.

Obviously he hadn't.

But when she got to the porch, she got a surprise.

The man who didn't want to be bothered, had unearthed a barbecue grill. It was battered and old and clearly the worse for wear. But it was scrubbed and the grill was clean and it was sitting by the back door.

When she went in she discovered he'd done more preparations. On the kitchen table stood a stack of dinner plates and a heap of silverware.

Lydia looked at it, then out at him, still hammering, still sweating, still utterly gorgeous and incomprehensible.

J.D. Holt, what goes on in that stubborn head of yours?

* * *

He did his bit to help before they got there.

That way, he reasoned, he wouldn't have to bother being sociable when they did. He wasn't much for entertaining. Never had been. Gus was the party animal, not him.

Not that Rance and Ellie and the kids constituted a party. They were more like � well, family. Besides Gus, the closest thing to family that he had.

And he did like them all � just like he'd told Lydia he did.

Most people who didn't know better envied Rance Phillips. J.D. never had. He'd seen Rance grow up. He'd seen the pressure Trey Phillips had put on his son. Rance, to J.D.'s way of thinking, had coped damned well with it.

Other people had been aghast when Rance had thumbed his nose at his father's edicts about where to go to college, what to do with his life. J.D. had cheered him on. And even though, in the long run, Rance had ended up doing pretty much all the things his father had hoped for � and far better than he would have if Trey had been running things � he'd done them on his own terms.

Now J.D. envied him.

For having made a success of his life his own way.

And for Ellie.

J.D. liked Ellie. She was the perfect wife for Rance � the one woman in the world he would know loved him for himself and not his money or his power or his station in life.

Ellie loved Rance. Always had. J.D. had seen it in her expression the minute he'd laid eyes on her.

She also had great kids.

At the wedding reception, Carrie, her littlest, just turned five, had followed J.D. around like a fresh-hatched duck. Her brothers had done their share of tagging after him, too. He'd done mental arithmetic with Caleb and had rescued a nest of field mice with Daniel.

But the one J.D. felt closest to � the one who won his heart � was Josh. Josh, the oldest � the son Rance hadn't known he had � took life every bit as seriously as J.D. He was steadfast, strong and deeply loyal. A boy after J.D.'s heart.

A boy after Trey's heart, too. Once Trey had seen Josh, he'd tried to move heaven and earth to get Rance and Ellie together. And had almost ruined things, sticking his oar in where none was wanted � or needed.

Josh wouldn't have it easy being the heir.

The first time J.D. had met him, no one said the boy was Rance's. Back then he'd just been Josh O'Connor, the son of Ellie and her deceased husband, Spike. Trey had brought him home for a visit � to show him some horses.

At least that was the official story.

It had been clear something else was going on the minute Josh had got out of Trey's truck.

"Take a look around! Just take a look!" Trey had been strutting like a rooster. Preening. Proud enough to pop his buttons.

"Josh here's going to be a horseman," he'd told J.D. proudly. "He's got the makings of a damn good hand."

"Is that so?" J.D. had said mildly, doubting it.

But in matters cowboy, if nothing else, Trey knew the score. Josh was good with horses. He was calm. Steady. Clearheaded. He never showed off. Never said he knew more than anyone else � not like Cy Burgess who talked a better ride than he rode.

Josh and J.D. got along. And J.D. had set about teaching Josh what he knew.

Every now and then, while he was watching something J.D. did, the boy would say, "My dad said�" or "My dad did it this way�"

And J.D. knew he didn't mean Rance.

He meant Spike. Ellie's husband who had died.

J.D. understood.He understood that Josh hadn't even liked Rance to begin with. He'd resented Rance, hadn't wanted his mother to marry him.

That had apparently changed.

Rance had said things were okay between them now. That he and Josh had made their peace.

J.D. was glad � for both of them. He wanted to see for himself.

It was his bad luck that Lydia was going to be here, too.

Having Lydia around when Rance and Ellie and the kids were here was a bad idea.

It would give him bad ideas.

It would make him want things he had no business wanting.

He'd tried to distract himself again last night.

After she'd left, he'd gone into town. He'd been "on the prowl," his mother would have said and shaken her head in dismay.

J.D. didn't ordinarily prowl. But he didn't ordinarily covet a woman he couldn't have. Claudia hadn't solved his problem. But then, be knew Claudia. He reckoned he'd try again.

So he'd stopped by the Murray Tavern.

Saturday nights at the tavern were on the far side of wild. They drew every cowboy within fifty miles whose paycheck was burning a hole in his pocket. And they drew all the women who were eager to help spend those checks.

It didn't take him long to find one. Her name was Jolie and she was from Billings, eager to meet a "real live cowboy" and have a "real good time."

J.D. reckoned he could manage that.

He'd have Lydia out of his head in no time. He gave Jolie a real slow smile and a little quiet cowboy drawl.

But Jolie wasn't interested in the slow smile or the drawl She kissed him on the lips before he had half a sentence out of his mouth.

He stared at her in amazement. Lydia would never have done a thing like that!

Stop, for God's sake, thinking about Lydia!he commanded himself. Forgetting about Lydia was what this was all about.

Two beers and a tequila later, he took her down to the roadhouse to go dancing. She wasn't much of a dancer. Not near as graceful as Lydia.

Forget Lydia, damn it!

He tried. Finally there was a slow dance, and he pulled Jolie into his arms.

"Ah," she breathed as her breasts bumped his chest. She looped her arms around his neck. They did more than bump then. They snuggled.

He pressed closer.

And damned near swallowed his tongue when seconds later her hand slid down his back straight into the seat of his jeans.

"Whoa!" He stumbled to a halt and stared at her.

She giggled and clutched his butt. "Shy, cowboy?"

Her fingers pinched him lightly. He sucked in a sharp breath of air. His body, always eager, responded in expected fashion.

His head, astonishingly enough, still did not.

"Sorry, ma'am. You gotta excuse me. I gotta talk to, um, a man about a horse. I, uh, just seen someone I know."

"Ma'am?" she sputtered."Ma'am?"

But J.D. didn't stop to correct himself. He didn't stop to think at all. He just got the hell out of there.

Back in his truck, his body at war with his head, he tried to sort things out.

He'd wanted a woman, damn it. That was why he'd gone into town tonight, wasn't it?

Yeah. But he didn't want a woman so ready and willing she jumped his bones in the middle of the dance floor. No sirree, he didn't ever want a woman like that.

Never? he asked himself

No, never, he answered firmly.

But as he drove home in the dark, he had time to think.

And he didn't like what he thought � that he wouldn't have minded in the least if Lydia had pinched his butt.

* * *

Not much chance of that, he thought on Saturday afternoon.

It was a madhouse once Rance and Ellie and the kids arrived.

Fortunately they got there not long after Lydia did. Rance had called earlier and asked what else could they bring, and J.D. had said, "Nothin'. But come early and come to work."

What he'd felt last night on the way home had scared him.

He knew he couldn't spend a limitless amount of time in Lydia's company without something happening � something he didn't want to happen.

He was a healthy, red-blooded,hot -blooded male. He hadn't had a woman in a damn long time.

He wanted a woman. No, he corrected himself, he wantedher .

He didn't know what Lydia wanted. But he knew she wasn't a one-night stand. He didn't even think she was an affair. He used to think she was a career woman.

Now he thought she might want to be a wife.

Someday he wanted a wife.

But it wouldn't be Lydia.

He could just see Lydia with an illiterate husband. He embarrassed himself; he didn't want to embarrass her.

Well, he wouldn't embarrass her. She'd never know.

If J.D. had been running the world � and there was a cosmic joke and a half � he'd have given himself a life like this day.

If he'd ever had to plan the afternoon of his dreams � however boring they might appear to anybody else � this would have been it.

Shortly after Lydia showed up, Rance and Ellie, the twins and Carrie appeared. Josh, who was riding over on Spirit, didn't come until later. When he got there, Rance said, they could look at the horses.

In the meantime he and the twins would give J.D. a hand with the stable. It was a warm day, sunny and clear. Not too hot.Paradise, J.D. thought The four of them worked easily. The little boys were eager to help and surprisingly capable. They clearly adored their new dad.

And when Josh put Spirit through his paces so J.D. could watch, he was interested in J.D.'s opinion, but it was to Rance that he looked for approval.

"He's good, isn't he?" Rance said to him after.

"Yep." J.D. nodded. "So are you."

"Huh?" Rance looked at him, perplexed. "As a rider, you mean?"

J.D. shook his head. "As a dad."

Rance's face creased into a smile. "Thanks. I try. It isn't easy. I have more sympathy every day with my old man."

"God forbid," J.D. muttered.

After half an hour or so Lydia and Ellie with little Carrie appeared, bringing the kids lemonade and the men beer. J.D. took a beer gratefully but tried not to do more than glance at Lydia as he did so. "Thanks."

He thought she'd go back into the house. She didn't. They stayed to watch and supervise.

"Men don't know what to do unless women tell them," Ellie said cheerfully, as she set up the picnic table in the yard. "Isn't that right?" She grinned at her husband.

"Don't I always do exactly what you tell me to do?" Rance said in a voice heavy with innuendo and a grin that said more than the words. The heated look that passed between them had J.D. glancing at Lydia to see if she'd noticed.

From the heightened color in her cheeks and her quick look in his direction, he guessed she had.

It was all downhill from there.

The awareness simmered between them all day. Of course it had been simmering ever since the night she'd first come out to the ranch � the night he'd caught her arm and spun her into his arms.

But this was different. This was more.

The whole day was more. It was a family day. A fun day. A joyful day. Exactly the sort of day he'd sometimes dreamed about.

A day with family around. With kids. With a sense of connection.

His mother had died when he was a teenager. His father had never been very social. He, like J.D., was more comfortable with horses than people. But that didn't mean J.D. didn't like being around them.

He did.

And never more so than that afternoon with Rance and Ellie and Josh and Caleb and Daniel and Carrie.

And Lydia.

She fit right in. Of course she did, he tried to tell himself. She was Rance's partner.

She belonged.He was the odd man out.

But that wasn't true.

He belonged, too.

"You're good together," Ellie said to him as she watchedLydiashow off Dancer for Rance.

J.D. started. "What? Oh, you meanthey're good together? She and Dancer?"

"That, too," Ellie agreed. "But I meant you andLydia."

He couldn't help staring at her. Then he shook his head. "Don't be stupid."

Ellie didn't take offence. "It's not stupid. She's alive out here. Lots more alive than I've ever seen her. This place agrees with her. You agree with her."

"I don't have anything to do with it."

Ellie laughed. "Don'tyou be stupid. She's good for you, too."

He scowled and looked away. "What's that mean?"

"That I'm hoping you'll make an honest woman of her, of course."

"I'm not sleeping with her!"

"I know."

He gaped. "You do? How?" The minute he said the words, he regretted them.

Ellie laughed. "You're too hungry. Too edgy. And you eat her with your eyes."

He felt like he was going up in flames.

"So, I hope you get what you want and she does, too."

"She doesn't! There's nothing�! We're not�!" He tried to get a toehold on his equilibrium. "I'm leavin', you know."

She touched his hand. "I'm sorry about what happened about the ranch, J.D."

"Me, too," he said dryly.

"But that doesn't mean you have to leave. Maybe if you talked�"

"No. I'm leaving," he repeated.

"What will you do? Where will you go?"

"I'll find a place." He slanted her a faint smile. "I'll survive. Don't worry about me, Ellie."

"Someone's got to."

He looked at her, surprised.

She smiled at him and touched his hand again. "You matter, J.D. To Rance. To me. To the kids. To Trey."

He snorted.

"ToLydia."

"Leave it, El." He shoved himself away from the fence, unable to deal with any more. "Just leave it. Heels down," he yelled atLydiawho was riding past. "Keep those heels down!"

He should have known he'd get paired withLydiafor the meal. Not that she sat next to him. No. She ended up at one end of the table, and he ended up looking down it straight at her. Exactly the way his mother and dad had looked at each other their whole married life. Ellie arranged it.

Then Ellie somehow got them to go play with the kids while she and Rance did the dishes together.

"We don't mind," she said blithely. "We like doing dishes."

And if Rance disagreed, the way her boot connected with his shin seemed to encourage him to keep his disagreement to himself.

J.D. could feel himself getting swept along on this tide of family feeling � of being connected � and it seemed like it would be swimming against the current to keep fighting it.

And anyway, it was just one. What could it matter?

He knew it wasn't real.

Trouble was, it felt real. He and Lydia. Doing things together. Laughing. Talking. Playing with the kids.

Even Josh noticed.

When Lydia was sitting under a tree, reading with the other three, he sidled up behind J.D. and said, "You gettin' married, too?"

J.D. spun around. "What?"

Josh shrugged guilelessly. "You're lookin' at her."

"Lookin' isn't marryin'."

"Rance used to look at my ma that way." Josh looked pointedly toward the kitchen where his parents were.

"Not the same thing," J.D. said firmly. He changed the subject. "Things � okay? With you and Rance, I mean?"

Josh nodded. "Yeah. It is. He's � okay."

It was high praise, J.D. knew.

"He's a good man, Rance," he said, and repeated what he'd told Rance himself. "A good father."

"Yeah. I guess he is."

They were lucky, J.D. thought.

The whole family was lucky to have each other. His gaze drifted again to Lydia. She was playing a game with the twins now, laughing at something Caleb said, giving Daniel's shoulders a squeeze. She'd be a good mother.

He wished�

Oh, God, he wished�

For one brief moment J.D. thought of a world full of shining possibilities, of hopes fulfilled, of dreams come true.

"J.D.! J.D.!" Carrie banged out of the house. "Come here. I wanta show you somethin'."

"What?" But she grabbed his hand and began towing him toward the shade of the tree.

"Sit," she commanded. And when he'd sat, she plopped down in his lap and picked up one of the books they'd been reading.

A shaft of panic knifed through him. "I don't have time right now, Carrie. Maybe Josh will read it to you." He started to get up.

But Carrie shook her head furiously. "Don't need Josh to read it to me. That's what I wanted to show you."

"Show me what?"

"That I know how. Rance taught me.I'm gonna read."

* * *

It was the best of times

It was the worst of times.

Wasn't that what Dickens said? Of course he was talking about London in the nineteenth century. But Lydia understood the sentiment. It was what the day had been.

It had been perfect. For one day life had been the way she'd always imagined it being. She and J.D. had been a couple, working together, playing together � enjoying family together.

She had seen him at his best. With the horses. He was such a good teacher and trainer. With the children. He was such a good influence, so patient, whether talking to Josh or playing with the twins or listening to Carrie read.

With her.

And then he'd withdrawn.

One minute he'd been sitting under the tree with Carrie, and when he'd got up, he'd just walked away off to the stable. They had company and he'd gone back to hammering boards.

He'd come around to say goodbye when Rance and Ellie and the kids had left. He'd said, "Yeah, sure," when Josh had asked if he'd help him with Spirit again.

But he'd completely withdrawn from her.

He'd gone and got what was left of her cherry pie out of the refrigerator the minute they were alone. "Take this with you," he'd said.

She'd shaken her head. "You keep it."

"I don't like cherry pie," he said flatly.

She hadn't said, And just who was that eating two pieces at dinner? She'd taken the plate from his hand.

"I'll just clean�"

"I'll do it," he said abruptly. "Leave � it."

As if the one word, which was the one she was sure he meant, wasn't quite polite enough.

Well, fine. She could take a hint � even when she didn't understand what was going on.

"I'll see you tomorrow night?" she called after him.

He didn't answer.

She drove all the way back to town, wondering what was going on now.

She knew she would lie awake all night thinking, wondering what happened.

As she drove into town, she spied a deep orange glow at the end of Hurley Street. Just about where she lived on Hurley Street.

As she got closer, she realized she wasn't going to be lying awake in her bed. A look told her she didn't have a bed anymore.

She had half a dozen volunteer firefighters trying to save what was left of her building.

LeRoy's shop next door had burned to the ground.

Chapter 7

�^�

So much for running the world. So much for dreams and hopes and fantasies.

Served him right, J.D. thought as he lay on his bed and stared up into the darkness.

Served him right for ever, even briefly, allowing himself to think of a life like he'd had today � of a wife like Lydia. Of a home with her. Of kids.

A kid �a five-year-old kid! � Carrie O'Connor could read a book better than him!

What the hell business did he have thinking about the rest of his life with a woman � a lawyer, for God's sake! � when he couldn't even read the label on a soup can?

A beam of headlights came over the rise, shone through the window and, for an instant, broke the darkness of the room, then disappeared again.

Damn it to hell.

Just what he didn't need tonight � Gus.

It couldn't be anyone else. And it was just like Gus to turn up unannounced, ready for a day or two of R&R, a few square meals and a nonstop monologue on horses and women.

But it wasn't Gus.

J.D. wasn't sure exactly when he figured out that the noises coming from the other room weren't his brother's doing.

Maybe it was when the kitchen light didn't come on immediately. Maybe it was when the intruder took such care not to make noise that J.D. found himself straining to hear rather than drifting back to sleep to the sound of banging pots and pans.

But he knew for sure when a soft feminine sigh broke the silence when something did drop.

Feminine?

J.D. yanked on his jeans. Then, stealthily, he padded to the bedroom door. In the darkness of the kitchen he saw only one person. A female. The silhouette moving in the moonlight was too slender to be the redhead. Too tall.

It was a shape he knew. One he had memorized.

"Lydia?" His voice broke the silence harshly.

She jumped. Shrieked.

He flipped on the light and advanced on her, scowling. "What the hell are you doing?"

And then he saw that she was white as the moon, her eyes dark smudges, her hair tangled. There was an odd, acrid smell to her clothes.

"What're you doing?" he repeated, more gently this time.

"Fire," she whispered. And he saw that she was trembling. Standing absolutely still and shaking like a leaf.

He reached her, touched her arm. She was wearing a jacket, but through the fabric, she felt cold. "What fire?"

"I went h-home," she said, her voice oddly breathy. She swallowed, then continued, and this time she sounded almost detached. "LeRoy's place burned down. My apartment � the building � it's gone."

He stared. "Gone?" His fingers tightened on her arm.

She nodded. "Everything. Of mine, that is. What the flames didn't get, the water did. It's � gone." She said the word again, as if she needed to keep repeating it. "I'm sorry. I � didn't know where to go. A lot of people said I could go home with them.Kristen. Jim. Bette.But�" she shook her head "�I couldn't. I didn't want to be there. I wanted to be � here."

Her voice wobbled on the last word. She looked horrified, as if by admitting it, she was committing a social gaffe.

And so was he, J.D. felt sure, as he thought,Oh, the hell with it , and pulled her into his arms.

It was as close as they'd ever been. Closer than the night she'd brought the cookies. Closer than he had any business being. Way too close for his physical well-being or his mental health.

He didn't give a damn.

Not about himself.

Only about her.

He couldn'tnot hold her.

Touch mattered. He had told her early on when she got Dancer. "Horses learn they can trust you when you touch them without hurting them. I talk to them through my hands."

Now he was talking to Lydia the same way.

His hands held her, close and sure. He rested his cheek against the side of her head and turned his face toward her so his lips touched her hair. He could still feel her body trembling, could hear the quick shallow thread of her breath. Against his bare chest he could feel the hard, fast pounding of her heart.

Lydia's heart hammered in rhythm with his own. Her fingers, curled into fists, pressed against his sides. Then he felt them uncurl and clutch him, her nails pressing into the muscles of his back. Hanging on.

Hanging on tight.

He stroked her back. He kissed her hair.

"It's good you came," he whispered. "You did right. You should have come. Shhhhh. Hey, I'm here. It's okay. Everything's gonna be all right."

It was the worst possible thing. It was a disaster. Nothing was going to be all right � for him. But right now none of that mattered.

He heard her swallow. Felt her tremble. And then felt the silent sobs that shook her body and the hot scald of tears against his neck. "I'm sorry," she whispered brokenly. Her hair brushed his cheek as she shook her head. "I don't mean � don't mean to do this. Don't want to do � this."

He believed her. He knew her well enough to know she would hate her own weakness. "It's okay," he murmured. "Okay." He rocked her as they stood there, soothed her, comforted her.

Wanted her.

Even then, fool that he was � inappropriate as it was � J.D. couldn't deny it. He shut his eyes.Come on, God. Enough is enough. She doesn't need this tonight .

And neither do I.

Lydia gulped. Her fingers, which had been digging into his back, curled into fists again, as if she were trying to stop herself from hanging on to him. But then, as if the struggle was too great, she flattened them again, hard against his back, holding him closer, harder, tighter.

And J.D. held her � loved her � relished the perversity of the moment that had brought her to him and wondered how long it would last.

How longhe would last!

And then far too soon Lydia let out a quick harsh breath and her hands dropped. But still she sagged against him, her head bent, her forehead resting in the curve of his neck for a long moment. And he murmured, he stroked, he soothed.

He stored up every second. Knew he would remember this the way he remembered those most important moments in his life � the first eight seconds he'd ever lasted on a bronc, the night he'd first kissed a girl, the last conversation he had with his mother before her death.

Finally, with one more shaky breath, Lydia pulled back and looked up at him. She had a determined, albeit watery, smile on her lips.

"Thank you." Her voice wavered only a little. She wiped a hand across her eyes. "I didn't mean to collapse on you."

"You didn't." He wanted to keep holding her, but dropped his hands, too. "Hey," he said lightly, his own voice slightly rough. "No problem. Always ready to lend a shoulder to a pretty woman."

Lydia made a face. "Oh, yeah. Real pretty." She shook her head. "Hardly."

He didn't argue with her. She was a lawyer. He wouldn't win.

But to him she was more than pretty. She was beautiful � whether she was sitting across the table, riding on Dancer, lugging lumber, or out on the range watching a mamma cow feeding her calf. And she'd never been more so than she was now, even with blotchy cheeks and red eyes.

And it made him feel marginally better to know that once, at least, Lydia Cochrane had lost control � even if it only happened when a fire virtually wiped out her life.

"I should go," she said now and started for the door.

He grabbed her arm. "Go? Where? You just said your place burned to the ground."

"I know, but � I can't stay here. I wasn't thinking. I was on automatic pilot, I guess. Going where I've been going lately." She gave a shaky laugh.

"You should have come here. You belong here," J.D. said.

"But I can't stay. You're here."

"I'll leave."

"No! No." The second negative was less sharp than the first, but no less firm. She looked straight at him. "I'm not running you out. I've already caused you enough grief."

"I caused my own grief," J.D. said gruffly. "It has nothing to do with you."

"But you don't want me here."

"Of course I do," he lied.

"No, you don't. Tonight you could hardly wait to get rid of me. You were shoving me out the door."

"I was not!"

"Here's your pie. What's your hurry?"

"I was not!"

"You wanted to get rid of me!"

"Because I can't keep my damn hands off you!"

"What?"She stared at him, mouth ajar.

He spun away. "Forget it. Never mind. I can move up to the bunkhouse at Trey's."

"No," she said again. "Don't! Stay! Did you mean � what you said?"

He would stuff both his boots in his mouth before he would say yes. "Leave it,Lydia."

"No. Did you?"

She was standing right behind him now. He could feel her breath against his naked back. One finger touched him, ran the length of his spine.

"J.D.?" The finger still touched him. "Did you mean what you said?"

"Yesssss." The word hissed furiously through his teeth. She drew a breath. "Well, then�" There was a wealth of promise in her words. They were an invitation. A temptation.

And ultimately, if he responded, J.D. knew they'd be his damnation.

Her finger trailed down his spine once more, and he jerked away from her and stalked to the far side of the room.

"I'm not going to bed with you!"

"But�"

"No!" He wanted to shut his eyes, wanted not to have to look at the forlorn, stricken expression on her face. He didn't dare.

He needed all five senses and every brain cell he had working for him to get out of this mess without making a bigger one. Amuch bigger one.

"Look. Lydia. You can stay here. Youshould stay here. It's your place to be here. But not with me! Definitely not sleeping with me!"

"I love you."

Oh, Christ. "No, you don't."

"I do. I have � for years!"

"What?"He shook his head. God, this was a nightmare. What the hell was going on? The day had been heaven � all the way up to the end anyway � and now he had this?

"Ever since I saw you riding a pinto when you were fifteen," Lydia said with quiet certainty. She swallowed hard, then went on. "I've loved you since then."

"No, you haven't." J.D. was just as certain. "That's not love. That's � that's teenage girl stuff. That's � crazy."

"Maybe. But it's lasted."

"Well, it's got to stop."

"Why? You said you � you couldn't keep your hands off me." She muttered the words, as if they embarrassed her.

They sure as hell embarrassed him! "That's teenage guy stuff," he said. "And, no, I'm not a teenager anymore, but you wouldn't know it from the way I've been actin'." He raked a hand through his hair. "Look, Lydia. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said � what I said. It's just�" But he couldn't find the words. "Men get like this," he ended lamely.

"You're saying it's lust? Hormones? That I could be any woman?"

"No! Yes! I don't know. No, you � couldn't be any woman."

She smiled at him.

"Stop it!"

"Stop what?"

"Smiling!"

"Why?"

"I don't want you smiling! There's nothing to smile about!"

"Of course there is. I'm not any woman." And she kept right on smiling. h fact, her smile seemed to be growing broader. She looked almost happy.

"Hell," he muttered. "I'm leavin'."

But she grabbed his arm as he started toward his room. Caught him and pulled him right against her the way he'd done to her the first night she'd come to the ranch. The way' he'd held her just minutes before. They were face-to-face again. Toe-to-toe. Nose to nose.

"Don't go, J.D."

He didn't move. Barely breathed. Looked into eyes so deep and green he could drown in them. Ached with a need so profound he could die from it.

He wanted to kiss her lips, devour them, strip off her clothes, love her. He wanted to be a part of her, make her a part of him.

And when it was over, what then?

They had no future. If he stayed sane, they wouldn't even grab the moment.

"Don't go."

He shuddered. He bent his head and drew a deep breath.

"Don't go," she insisted.

"I won't go." He gritted his teeth. "But I'm not sleepin' with you."

She just looked at him. Then, "Thank you." she said. And she leaned forward and kissed him.

He swallowed a groan.

"I love you, J.D."

He shut his eyes. "No, you don't."

"I do."

She didn't. She couldn't. Because if she did, God help them both.

* * *

She wasn't sorry.

She'd expected she would be. She'd not only worn her heart on her sleeve, she'd embroidered it bright red and shouted it so he couldn't help but hear.

But she wasn't sorry.

Her passion wasn't unrequited. He'd admitted it. He'd said he couldn't keep his hands off her. Which wasn't a declaration of love, of course, but it was still pretty amazing. And liberating.

The not being able to keep his hands off bit wasn't quite true, though. He managed to do just that.

He took her into the smaller bedroom at the back of the house and together they made up one of the twin beds.

It was the room he'd shared with Gus when they were boys. Nothing much in it had changed, she didn't think. judging from the pictures of high school rodeos and baseball games on the walls and the somewhat threadbare plaid bedspreads that looked about twenty years out of date.

"I'll clear all this junk out tomorrow," he told her.

But she said, "Oh, don't worry. It's interesting. I don't mind it."

"I do," he muttered.

She smiled.

Her apartment had burned down tonight and she couldn't seem to stop smiling. She helped him finish making up the bed, then accepted his offer of some bacon and eggs.

"I'd like to take a shower," she said.

"Sure." He got her a towel and washcloth. "I'll get the bacon cooking."

She watched him as he hurried away. And she said � for the third time that evening, "I love you." She said it softly.

But she meant it.

She couldn't tell if he'd heard.

She didn't mean it.

That nonsense about loving him. She didn't mean it. She was in shock. She'd lost her home tonight. She was destitute, bereft. She didn't know what she was saying.

Dear God, she couldn't mean it? Could she?

He cracked eggs in a pan and laid out rashers of bacon. He tried to think clearly. He couldn't make sense of anything that had happened. His world, pretty unstable anyway lately, seemed to have flipped completely upside down.

Over the sound of the shower he heard her call his name. "J.D.? Can I borrow a shirt?"

"A shirt?"

He turned to see her standing in the hall wearing his bathrobe and � he gulped at the sight of bare legs peeking out beneath it � probably damn little else.

"I need something to put on after my shower. To sleep in," she explained. "I don't have any clothes."

It was not an announcement for the fainthearted.

J.D.'s voice cracked. "I'll get you a shirt. Go on back to the bathroom."

He got her a T-shirt, then grabbed a white long-sleeve dress shirt out of his closet, too. He hadn't worn it since Rance's wedding. Didn't figure he'd wear it again anytime soon. He knocked on the door and stuck them toward her when she opened it a crack.

"Thanks. Um�" she hesitated "�you wouldn't have, um, a pair of � boxers, too?"

Hisunderwear? She wanted to borrow hisundershorts?

He nodded numbly. He brought her a pair of boxers. They were plain, serviceable blue. Nothing fancy. Gus had shorts with stripes and stars and livestock on them, "To wow the ladies," he always said.

No one had ever been wowed by J.D.'s undershorts. Certainly no woman had ever borrowed any, either.

Trying not to think about her slipping her legs into his shorts, he went back to the kitchen and burned the bacon. Then he opened the back door and stuck his head out and breathed deeply of the cool night air. Very deeply.

It didn't help.

Nothing helped.

Especially not coming back in to find her standing in the kitchen clad in his long-sleeve shirt, cuffs rolled back, breasts peeking out from the half-unbuttoned neck, and the hems of his blue shorts visible beneath the shirttails.

"I'll go toBillingstomorrow orGreat Fallsor someplace and get my own stuff," she said. "I'll throw what I have in the wash now, if you don't mind."

His tongue was welded to the roof of his mouth. He could only nod.

"Thanks." She carried her smoky clothes to the small room off the kitchen where the washing machine was. "Do you have anything you want me to put in with them?"

"N-no. No, thanks."

He could see her from where he stood as she opened the lid on the machine and dropped the clothes in. Then she had to bend over to distribute them evenly. The shirttails rose. A shapely rear curved the seat of his shorts.

Was she doing it on purpose? Tempting him to see if he'd crack?

J.D. shut his eyes. He went back outside again. "What are you doing?"Lydiacame to the door and peered out.

"Lettin' the smoke out of the kitchen. Go eat your eggs. I made some more bacon. Help yourself."

"You're very kind."

He laughed raggedly. "Yeah, that's me. Kind to the bone."

"Well, you are. That's why I lo�"

"Don't say it!"

She didn't. But she looked at him pityingly.

"Go eat. Then go to bed," he said gruffly. "It's gonna be time to get up in two hours."

He didn't sit with her while she ate. He didn't want to be anywhere near her. He went back in his own bedroom and stretched out on the bed. He shut off the light, but he didn't take off his jeans. He was afraid, given the mood she was in, she might come jump his bones.

And that would be bad?He asked himself.Cripes, Holt, you're an idiot.

Yes, he was. He ought to just take what was on offer.

But he couldn't.

Still,Lydiadidn't make it any easier when she finally shut off the kitchen light and padded down the hall. Her footsteps stopped just outside his room, and the door cracked open.

"Good night, J.D."

He didn't answer. He pretended to be asleep.

"See you in the morning," she whispered. She started to close the door, then added softly, "You know, sometimes I can't keep my hands off you."

* * *

Thank God it was close to shipping time.

If he hadn't had to be gone all hours of the day and night, J.D. didn't know how he would have survived.

As it was, bringing Trey's cattle in and shaping and sorting the herd took all his time. He was there from dawn till dark, now, and would be until the trucks came.

A good thing, too.

He needed breathing room.

He'd thought it had been hard before, when she'd just been around in the evenings, cooking him dinner, working on the stable or corrals with him, doing the washing up.

But that was nothing compared to what it was like once she'd moved in!

It wasn't justLydiabeing everywhere he was. It was her shampoo in the shower and her hairbrush by the sink. It was her bra hung on the oven handle to "get dry quick," and her stockings over the shower rod, tangling around him every morning.

Those stockings could drive a man right out of his mind. "I hope you don't mind," she apologized. "I don't know what else to do with them."

Strangle me with them, J.D. thought.

They inspired enough night and daytime fantasies to cause permanent sleep deprivation. Even worse, though, were the visions that began rampaging through his head when he'd opened his drawer and pulled out a neatly folded pair of boxer shorts � the ones he knew had curved around her beautiful rear end.

Getting his jeans on over them had been that morning's challenge. The days sinceLydiahad moved in were full of them.

He was used to being able to grab something and head out the door without seeing her in the morning.

Not anymore.

"Morning." She smiled at him from where she stood stirring something on the stove. It was exactly what his mother had done thousands of mornings in his life.Lydialooked nothing like his mother.

She looked like a million bucks. And a lawyer. She was wearing a very tailored, professional-looking gray skirt and jacket over a man-tailored long-sleeve white shirt.

He stared.

Hisshirt? Was she wearinghis shirt?

No. It couldn't be.

But he couldn't convince himself it wasn't, either.

And then she confirmed it. "I couldn't find a blouse I liked with this suit, and I have to be in court inHelenathis morning, so I borrowed yours."

Numb, J.D. shook his head. "Rather you than me," he said raggedly, "if anybody's gotta wear it to court."

She laughed. "I'll be gone at least all week. By the way, there's a calf in the pasture with Dancer."

"A calf?"

One ofLydia's? Now what? And why hadn't somebody told him. Calves, at least, he could do something about.

"Kristen asked me if I'd take him. He was an orphan her boys bottle fed."

"From Doug?" That was Kristen's rancher brother. AtLydia's nod he asked, "How come Doug didn't take him back?"

"Doug would have made sirloin out of him."

"And?" That was what ranching was all about, after all. "And I said we wouldn't. I said we'd talk to him. But I have to go toHelenafor this trial so I wondered if you would."

He stared at her. "Talk to acalf? "

"He's very friendly,"Lydiasaid. "And he gets lonely if no one comes to talk to him. His name isWayne."

"Wayne?"

"The boys are hockey fans. So, will you? Talk to him while I'm gone?"

"You want me to coddle some calf calledWayne?"

She smiled hopefully. "Please."

J.D. wanted to say, No way. He wanted to say, Calves aren't pets. He wanted to say,Wayneis hamburger.

He scowled. Then he said, "Yeah. I guess."

* * *

No way.

He wasn't talking to any blinkin' calf.

He'd be laughed right out of Montana if he started talking to calves.

Besides, he had plenty to do. He wouldn't have time to go check on any calf.

But he did like cattle.

He couldn't pass a cow without giving it a look-see. And, well, he supposed he ought to check on it, see that it was thriving, make sure it was getting along out there with Dancer.

Notto talk to any damn calf called Wayne.

But it felt kind of lonely in the house without Lydia. He'd never felt like this when Gus left.

He was surprised � and annoyed. He thought it would be a whole lot easier with her gone.

When she was in Helena, he wouldn't be tripping over her. He wouldn't be finding her stockings in the bathroom. He wouldn't catch a glimpse of shapely calves poking out beneath her bathrobe. He wouldn't hear her talking on the phone or see her typing on her computer.

She'd be gone.

 But she wasn't.

Not where it mattered.

Not from his head. Not from his heart.

She loved him. That's what she'd said.

He hadn't believed it. Hadn'tlet himself believe it. Had tried damn hardnot to believe it.

But words, once spoken, hung around to haunt another day. And night.

In this case, both.

She was in Helena and he was glad � and he was lonely.

He might as well check on her calf.

It came right up to the fence the minute he got there. It had soulful brown eyes, and it stood there, chewing and watching him.

Waiting.

He scratched its ear like it was a horse or a dog or something.

"Hey, Wayne. How ya doin'?"

Chapter 8

�^�

Lydianever shirked. She never cut corners. She dreamed many nights � and not unhappily � of cross-examinations.

She wanted to go home.

She relished the preparation for a case. She loved opening and closing arguments. She thrilled to the skillful use of the law's fine-edged blade.

She very much wished she was home.

She ate, drank, breathed and talked the law. She took joy in finding a precedent in the dustiest, least memorable case. It was all grist for the legal mill that was her mind.

She wanted to be with J.D.

All the time.

Every day.

She missed him.

She still did her work. She was, she thought, every bit as competent and professional as she ever was. But she wasn't consumed.

At least not with her case.

She was consumed with J.D. She called him at night. She asked about Dancer. About the stable. About the cattle. About Wayne.

Dancer was fine. The stable was coming along. The cattle were doing okay. He talked to Wayne.

"Don't you breathe a word of that," he warned her. "I'll deny it. I'll say you don't know what you're talkin' about, that you're makin' up every blessed word."

"I won't say anything," Lydia assured him, grinning like a fool, hugging the knowledge to herself. Of course she wouldn't say anything. The admission was too precious, too marvelous.

He loved her.

She was sure.

Not that he said so. He didn't. She ended every telephone conversation with, "I love you," and he mumbled something completely unintelligible, and then he hung up the phone.

But he loved her. She knew it. Because he talked to Wayne.

And because he struggled to keep his hands off her. That was love. If he didn't respect her, if he didn't resist, well, perversely, it might not be love at all. Lydia's legal mind had a ball with all the twists and turns of J.D.'s version of upright behavior. She entertained herself at night, after they'd finished talking, by imagining him wanting to touch her, kiss her, make love to her.

 It beat dreaming about cross-examinations, hands down.

It made her vague and dreamy when she wasn't in the courtroom. Rance despaired of her.

"What's the matter with you?" he complained during one late-nighter in the office. "It's like I have to say everything three times before you hear me! Are you obsessing about J.D.?" he asked with a long-suffering sigh.

"I am," Lydia said. She was admitting it now. Once she'd admitted it only to herself and to Kristen. But when she'd finally told J.D. she loved him, when she'd finally determined that she wasn't ever getting over him, well, then she was ready to tell the world.

"And is J.D. equally obsessed?"

"Yes."

Rance's face cracked into a grin. "Fantastic. Ellie and I reckoned he was that day when we came over. Who'd a thought it? You and J.D." He shook his head. "So, when's the big day?"

"What big day?"

"The wedding."

"We haven't got that far yet."

"He hasn't asked you to marry him?"

Lydia shook her head. "This is all pretty new. That's why I'm so eager to get home."

Rance nodded. "I know the feeling. I wasn't exactly into getting my casework done when Ellie and I were getting things sorted out."

"I remember," Lydia said dryly.

"Good deal, you and J.D. Now maybe he won't be so all-fired ready to leave."

That was one of the things she and J.D. had talked about. She couldn't understand why he was still talking about leaving, but he was. He had some leads on places to go, he'd told her just last night.

"My brother Gus is down at Taggart Jones's place, teachin' bronc riding. I'm thinkin' maybe Taggart might have some room for teachin' how to gentle horses, too."

Lydiahad made some mumbling sounds of her own there. He didn't really mean it, she assured herself. He was just waiting until she was home again. Then they'd really talk. He already talked toWayne.

When she got home, he could say, "I love you, too."

* * *

He liked talking to her on the phone.

It was the best of all possible worlds.

Well, maybe not the best. In the best he'd be able to read, and he wouldn't feel like he had no business lying back against his pillows letting her soft voice slide over him like warm honey. He'd be able to say those three words that she said all the time now.

So okay, it wasn't the best world. But it was pretty damn good.

Maybe he was a fool for letting himself enjoy it. But what was he supposed to say? "I don't want to talk to you? You make me want things I can never have."

And then what? Explain?

No way.

So he let her talk. He liked listening to her talk. She didn't talk about her case because it was confidential. If she had, he might have stayed more fully aware of all that separated them. But she didn't. She talked about the ranch, about the cattle, about Dancer. AndWayne.

He couldn't believe he'd actually admitted talking toWayne!

"I don't talk to him every day," he protested. "I just � drop by. Check on him, you know?"

"You talk to him." She was grinning, he could tell right over the phone. "I won't tell," she promised.

She darned well better not! She better not tell about any of the things they talked about. Not that they were real personal, but they felt personal. Their conversations were comfortable. Easy.

J.D. was used to teasing women and laughing with them and bantering with them. But he rarely had a chance to be himself with them.

He was pretty much himself withLydia.

Except, of course, he never told her he couldn't read. When she asked if he was keeping up with the trial through the newspaper, he said he didn't have a lot of time to read. He did sound like he knew some stuff because Skinny had had a paper the other day, and J.D. managed to worm out of him what the article aboutLydia's case had said.

Skinny had given him the paper after and said, "Here. You're so interested, you can read it yourself."

So J.D. had the paper sitting on the kitchen table. Mocking him.

He didn't even know which article it was. He wasn't even entirely sure howLydiaspelled her name.

And still he couldn't bring himself to tell her he was too busy, too tired, too anything to talk.

He talked. He listened. He yearned. He told himself he would be able to walk away when she came home.

God, he was such a liar.

If he'd had any warning, he'd have been able to, he assured himself. Hell, if he'd had any warning, he'd have been gone.

But he came home, dusty and dirty, bone tired from sorting the last of the cattle for shipping, and there she was � standing on the porch, waiting for him.

If he'd been quicker, he might have skidded to a stop before she spied him. Then he might have backtracked, headed out. Run for his life.

But he was thinking about her calling that evening, about how he'd get himself a shower and some grub and get cleaned up and then he'd stretch out on the bed and wait for her to call so he could talk to her, listen to her, live the life he wanted in his dreams.

And then, damn it to hell, the dream became reality and rose up to smack him in the face.

She spotted him and was waving madly. Practically jumping up and down. And, hell's bells, she leaped right off the porch and came running toward him.

He felt a stab of panic, stamped on the brake, and the truck fishtailed in the gravel as he slid to a stop in the yard.

"What the hell! What're you doin'? What's wrong?" He sounded angry. He knew it. He was angry. How dare she come back and not even warn him.

"I'm finished!" She was smiling all over her face. Laughing. Tugging the door of the truck open. "I won!"

Oh. Well, at leastthat was why she was so excited. It had nothing to do with him. And of course she won. Why wouldn't she? She was the smartest woman � smartestperson inMontana, for heaven's sake.

"Good for you," he said gruffly as she grabbed his arm and pulled him right out of the cab of his truck, then wrapped her arms around him and squeezed tight.

His body leaped in response. His heart kicked over. His teeth clenched. He shut his eyes. Hell. Oh, hell.

"Lydie." He tried to struggle to get free. But she held on. She lifted her face to his and kissed him. And damn it all, he kissed her in return. He was an idiot. Absolutely crazy. Had no brain. No sense of self-preservation at all.

Her tongue was in his mouth. He jerked back in shock. "Lydie!"

She giggled, smiling into his eyes. "I've missed you so much. Oh, God, J.D., I've missed you. It's so good to be home." And then she was hugging him again, holding him tight.

And he swallowed hard, willed himself to resist and managed only to savor. He couldn't exactly thrust her away, could he? He'd back off, but he'd have to do it slow and easy. He didn't want to hurt her, after all.

"Let's celebrate," she said.

"Celebrate?" He echoed numbly.

"My winning." She shrugged. "But mostly my being home. Us being together."

He ran his tongue over his lips. He opened his mouth. No words came out.

"We'll go out to dinner. Let's go to Lewistown."

"Lewistown? That's miles!"

"Not so far. Kristen and Jerry go there sometimes. There's a really good restaurant." She looked at him pleadingly. "To celebrate, J.D."

How the heck was he supposed to say no to that?

He went in and took a shower, and all the while he tried to think of some reason not to go. And then he thought maybe it was better to go. They'd have one last meal together. A celebratory meal.

And a farewell meal.

Maybe that wouldn't be so bad. He could have this one last evening � and then he'd say goodbye to his dream.

* * *

Bittersweet.

J.D. could think of no other word to describe the evening.

Every moment was sweet in itself � and bitter in its brevity. To drive to Lewistown with Lydia snug against him, to have her turn her head and smile at him as she talked, to have her touch his arm, his thigh, to have her hair blow against his cheek in the breeze � it was all wonderful.

Enjoy it, he told himself. Store it up.Savor it. Savor her .

Because the pain would come. This wouldn't � couldn't � last.

The restaurant Lydia chose was one J.D. had never been to before. A lawyer friend had recommended it, she said. It was on the upper end of the restaurant scale as far as Lewistown went, catering less to locals than to the hunting and fishing tourist crowd.

Its mellow pine walls had blown-up photos with rivers running through them. There wasn't a faded print of a Charlie Russell cowboy painting anywhere to be seen. The tables had tablecloths, not oilcloth. The light was candle, not fluorescent, and the waitress didn't plunk a cup of strong black coffee in front of him the minute he sat down the way they did at Bette's and the half a dozen other cowboy-oriented caf�s he knew.

Instead she smiled prettily, handed them each a menu and said she'd be back to take their order.

J.D. fingered it uncomfortably.Lydiaopened hers at once and began perusing it.

J.D. perused her. He did his best to memorize her. To trace with his mind's eye the fall of her hair, the curve of her cheek, the softness of her mouth. He wanted to be able to remember later�

"What are you going to have?"

He jerked. "What?"

She laughed. "You're staring. Did you forget what I looked like?"

No, he hadn't forgotten. He didn't ever want to forget. He rubbed the back of his neck. He shook his head.

"You haven't even opened your menu,"Lydiachided. "Don't tell me you're not hungry?"

"I'm hungry." But not for food. Not just for food.

For her. God, he wanted her. Wanted just a taste. Just one taste.

But he knew better. Food was all he would get. All he would ever get.

Dutifully he opened the menu and stared at the gibberish. At the letters he could recognize, at the words that made no sense.

"Ready to order?" The waitress reappeared, beaming at them.

Lydiapointed to an item on the menu. "I'd like the duck," she said. "With the twice-baked potatoes and the green beans. Salad, not soup. And with ranch dressing on the side."

The waitress wrote it down, then looked at him.

He said, "I'll have a steak. Medium rare." Then he opted for all the stuffLydiahad just said.

"How about some wine with dinner?" the waitress asked.

Lydiasmiled brightly. "Shall we?"

And he thought,Oh, hell, why not? and nodded his head.

The waitress handed him a wine list.

Damn.

He stared at it helplessly. He knew how to deal with restaurants. He ordered a steak and that was that. Beer was easy. He picked a brand he knew or took what was on draft. He'd never ordered wine in his life.

He swallowed now. His fingers felt suddenly damp.

"Duck and steak,"Lydiamused. "What would go with both?"

He didn't have a clue. And he couldn't read to see if they had it even if he did. He passed the menu to her. "You choose."

Lydiastudied the menu, made her decision and told the waitress what they wanted. When she brought the bottle, though, she poured out a glass and gave it to him to taste, not toLydia.

He tried to act like he knew what he was doing. It wasn't rot gut, that was for sure. "Fine," he muttered, waited until she poured both glasses, then lifted his desperately to his lips.

Only to catchLydiasmiling at him over the top of hers. She raised her glass toward him. "To us," she said.

Time stopped.

His mind spun.To us . Oh, God, he wished�!

He sucked in a harsh breath and clinked his glass against hers. "To you winnin' your case," he said hoarsely.

"That, too,"Lydiaagreed. And then she took a sip. He did more than sip. He gulped. He needed a little fortification. Alot of fortification. He would've liked to chug the whole damn bottle. And then another.

Being drunk wouldn't solve anything. He knew that. But it might have made the rest of the night easier to get through.

* * *

Anticipation.

The glorious notion of � soon.

The savoring of the moment and, at the same time, the expectation of something even better, sweeter. Later.

Lydiawallowed in it. The food. The wine. The ambience. The man.

Especially the man.

She would have given up any of the rest without an instant's consideration as long as she could keep J.D.

It was even more wonderful, though, to have it all, to share it with him.

She offered him a bite of her duck, then fed it to him off her fork. She watched him eagerly, avidly, hungrily.

Nervously.

Because she wasLydia, after all, and even though being allowed to be honest was liberating, it wasn't stress free. She could still worry. What if he didn't like the food? What if the wine was bitter? What if he didn't like what he saw when he had her naked? What if she was no good at lovemaking?

That last thought alone was enough to make melt-in-her-mouth duck turn to petrified fowl.

She had scarcely any hands-on experience. And while she'd read her share of how-to books, somehow she was convinced that this was one thing that couldn't be mastered by reading about it. The test wasn't going to be true-false, multiple choice or even one of those essays she had always been so very good at.

Her body was going to be on the line � in more ways than one.

But he wanted her, she reminded herself. He'd said so. He didn't want to keep his hands off her.

Surely he would be involved in this "test," too. He wouldn't be lying there passively grading her. Would he?

Of course not!

This was J.D. J.D. of the infinite patience, of the gentle hands and encouraging smile. J.D. � the man she loved.

All she had to do was show him how much.

Believing that got her through the meal. Made her smile again. Made her feast her eyes on him and let the anticipation build. She was nervous.

But she thought he was, too.

He did his share of glancing her way, of meeting her gaze almost hungrily, then looking quickly away. It was as if there was too much heat between them � as if, were they to stare openly, both of them would get burned.

There would be time for burning.

When they got back home, the fires they'd kept banked all evening could flame to life.

Soon. Soon.

They drove back to the ranch in the moonlight. It was a clear night. Autumn frost was sharp in the October air.

Lydiadidn't mind. She slid over next to J.D. "S' cold," she murmured.

He hesitated a moment, then took one hand off the steering wheel to slide his arm around her. Sighing, she snuggled closer, rested her head against his shoulder, rested her hand on the top of his thigh and felt it flex beneath her fingers. She rubbed it experimentally.

Practicing.

He fidgeted. Cleared his throat. "I'll turn up the heat," he said, and pulled his arm back out to do just that.

"Thanks," she said wryly.

He shrugged his shoulders against the back of the seat. "Welcome." The word was a mutter, nothing more. She looked over at him, trying to catch his expression in the moonlight. He was staring straight ahead.

She watched him. Studied his profile. Traced the brush of hair beneath his hat, the strong line of his nose, the brief softness of his lips, the uncompromising hardness of his jaw. She could look at him forever.

Shewould look at him forever.

Still he stared straight ahead.

"J.D.?"

She saw him swallow. His fingers flexed on the steering wheel. "What?"

She didn't speak until he finally glanced her way. Then she smiled. "I'm so glad to be home. I missed you."

"Missed you, too." The words seemed almost dragged from him. He seemed more nervous than she was.

Was that possible? Surely not. J.D. had to have far more experience with sex than she did. But maybe he'd never really "made love," either.

She smiled. She snuggled close again even though the heater was blasting them. She turned her face to his shoulder and kissed it. Then she lifted it and kissed him on the jaw. "I love you," she told him.

His knuckles tightened on the wheel. She heard a gritting sound that she couldn't quite identify. And then slowly, almost reluctantly, it seemed to her, he put his arm back around her again and held her close.

She awoke to find they were bouncing down the gravel road toward the house. "Oh! I'm sorry! I�" she yawned and straightened just a bit. "�I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"No problem." His voice was gruff. He pulled into the yard and parked next to her car. "You been workin' hard."

"So have you."

"Well, I couldn't fall asleep, could I?" He slanted her a grin, and the moonlight caught the whiteness of his teeth. "Somebody had to drive."

"We should have stayed over. Got a motel." She flicked a glance at him to see how he'd react to that.

He licked his lips quickly, then rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. "Well, no need," he said briskly. "We're home now. You go on in to bed. I � I got a couple things to do in the barn." And with that he turned on his heel and strode away.

Lydiastared after him, nonplussed. Chores?Now?

And then she realized what he was doing. He was giving her time to get ready for bed � for him � in private. He knew she wasn't experienced. He was only trying to make her more comfortable.

She smiled � and then she headed for the house.

She showered quickly, unsure how long it would take him to come in. A part of her wondered if he might join her in the shower if she just dawdled long enough. But another part of her wanted to greet him looking her best, not with wet, scraggly hair. So she washed and got out rapidly. Then she dried off and put on her nightgown.

It wasn't exactly a sexy nightgown.Lydiawas more serviceable than sexy. She suspected he knew that. She also suspected he would make quick work of the nightgown. She debated going into his room and waiting for him in his bed.

But to do so seemed presumptuous. Heaven knew she didn't want to be presumptuous. So she went to her own room. She turned off all the lights but one small one beside her bed. She folded back the blankets and slipped in. Then she shoved herself up against the pillows to wait.

She waited. And waited.

She got up and looked out toward the barn. There was a light on. But even as she stood there, it flicked off.

She smiled and watched as the door swung open. Then she stared openmouthed as J.D. led out his horse, closed the door again, mounted and rode away.

Chapter 9

�^�

"Haven't seen you in ages," Kristen said. "I suppose J.D. is keeping you busy?" She grinned and waggled well-shaped blond eyebrows atLydia.

Lydia, not in the best humor, said testily, "I've been inHelena. I had a case, if you recall."

"And won it, too," Kristen said, still cheerful. "I read the papers. And as long as you're not going up against me, I'm rooting for you."

"Thank you."Lydiamanaged a smile. She tried to look as if she were glad to be here. After all, her friendship with Kristen was one of the things that had made coming back toMurraysuch an attractive proposition. That and her desire to get back near the land. And her desire to get back near J.D.

Ultimately, let's face it, it all came back to J.D.

And a fat lot of good it had done her.

"Did you get all settled in before you left?" Kristen asked. She had her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee and was regardingLydiawith a hopeful smile. "It was darn good thinking, you turning me down and moving out to the ranch."

Was it?Lydiawondered. He hadn't come home last night.

He'd never come home. She'd waited up, had paced the floor, had fallen asleep on the sofa. He'd never come.

She'd told herself he must have remembered something he needed to do, either that or he'd got an emergency call on the cell phone Trey had him carry. At least that was what she'd thought until she went to Trey's this morning. She expected to see his truck, which had in fact disappeared from the house while she'd dozed. But it hadn't been there.

"I barely see him," she said to Kristen now, straining to sound matter-of-fact and indifferent. She waited until Claudia had brought their sandwiches, then left before she said, "I was inHelenafor two weeks. I just got back yesterday and now he's gone to Elmer."

At least that's what Trey had told her when she'd showed up on his front porch.

"He didn't tell you he was going?" The older man's brows had drawn down. "Thought he'd asked your permission. They say you've got J.D. well and truly hooked."

"I don't think so."

Trey's gaze had narrowed. "You're hooked, though. Aren't you?" He looked at her intently, the way he used to look at witnesses he was cross-examining.

"Yes," she admitted.

Trey beamed. "Well, thank God for that." He rubbed his hands together. "That's wonderful. Truly wonderful. Couldn't be better if I'd planned it myself."

Lydiajust looked at him. "What are you talking about?"

"You and J.D." He was still smiling. "It's perfect."

Try telling J.D. that,Lydiathought grimly.

She hadn't said it aloud, though, because, knowing Trey, be would do just that. She didn't need Trey messing up her already-messed-up life.

"So, he went to Elmer. How long is he going to be there?" Kristen asked now.

Lydiashrugged. "Two or three days. Trey wasn't sure. He took down some horses that Trey sold Taggart Jones. He also took some others Taggart wanted to look over. J.D.'s supposed to be putting them through their paces."

Kristen grinned. "And then you can put him through his."

Lydiasighed. "Not likely."

Kristen's brows drew down. "What do you mean? You're living with him. You have the hots for him. He has the hots for you."

Lydiadidn't deny that, but she couldn't stop herself from saying plaintively, "Not that it's doing me any good."

"What?"Kristen gaped at her. "I can't believe it. What's the matter with him? What's the matter with you? Why haven't you seduced him?"

"Se � duced?"Lydiathought it might be the first time she'd ever said the word out loud.

Kristen groaned. "Seduced. As in, made it impossible for him to say no."

"I wouldn't know how,"Lydiasaid honestly.

"Then you'll just have to learn."Lydiawondered if they had books on such things. Probably. They had books on everything these days. She said so.

"Not books," Kristen said impatiently. "You can't learn everything from books, for heaven's sake."

"But then, how�"

"You need an expert." Kristen looked around. "Claudia!"

Lydiaalmost leaped out of her chair. "Don't you dare!"

But Kristen wasn't listening. She was saying, "Ah, Claudia. I wonder if you can help.Lydiahas something she needs to know."

* * *

"So," Gus said as he led the way up the steps to his current home-away-from-home, the Jones ranch bunkhouse, "what's this I hear about you livin' with Lydia Cochrane?"

J.D. tripped on the bottom step and damn near went sprawling. He shoved himself upright and glared at his brother. "I'm not living with Lydia Cochrane!"

One of Gus's brows lifted. "No? I beard there was a fire at her place and she moved out to the ranch."

J.D. scowled. "There's living together andliving together ," he said irritably, as he knew better than anybody on earth right now. "There's a big difference."

"Ah." A grin spread across Gus's handsome face. "And which one would you be doin'?"

J.D. gritted his teeth. "I'mnot sleepin' with her!"

"An' madder'n hell about it from the looks of you," Gus said cheerfully.

"Don't talk like that. It's disrespectful to her. She's not that kind of woman!"

Gus's eyes widened. "Not that� Ho, boy." He let out a low whistle and shook his head. The grin was back. "You got it bad."

J.D. frowned. "Got what?"

"The biggest, baddest four-letter word in the world."

J.D.'s hands balled into fists. He took a furious step forward.

Gus took a quick step back."L-O-V-E, bro.Love! What'd you think I meant?"

Gus knew damned well what J.D. thought he'd meant. It was one of the few words he could spell. He could spelllove too. But that was all he could do with it � at least as far asLydiawas concerned.

"Don't be an idiot," he said gruffly. "Me an'LydiaCochrane? The lawyer and the cowpoke? That's rich."

It hurt just to say the words. To put him andLydiatogether. To be so damn far apart.

He'd wanted her so bad last night he couldn't even go back to the house. He knew what would have happened if he had. So he'd invented a chore, had holed up in the barn, had waited for the light to go out inside the house.

He'd waited and waited. It hadn't gone out.

Then he'd caught a glimpse of her through the window.Lydiahad stood in the kitchen wearing nothing but a skimpy nightgown. She'd been looking out toward the barn, looking for him.

"Go to bed," he'd whispered. "Please, just go to bed."

But she hadn't. She'd paced around. She'd disappeared into the other room only to come back to the window to peer out again.

She'd waited � just as he had.

He knew what she wanted.

The same thing he wanted!

The very thing he couldn't let happen. There was no way on God's earth he could make love to her � not when he had nothing to give in return.

"I can't seeLydiahavin' a problem with it," Gus said practically. "She's not a snob. You lose your nuts when you lost the ranch, J.D.?"

Ducking instinctively was the only thing that saved Gus from winding up flat out on the floor. "Hey," he said when he straightened up, backing away, still grinning, but looking decidedly wary. "Just kidding, bro. You're way too touchy these days."

J.D., fists still clenched, breath still coming quick and shallow, turned away. He stared out the window into the darkness. Across the way he could see the lights on in Taggart's place. Could see Taggart talking on the phone, could see his wife, Felicity, moving past. Could see a pair of running preschoolers.

Could see a home. A family.

"I'm sorry about the ranch." The words came through clenched teeth, dragged up from his toes. He owed Gus more than an apology, but it was all his brother was going to get.

"No skin off my nose," Gus said easily. "I wasn't figurin' to come back, anyhow. I'll be here till the end of the week. Then I'll be gone again. You know me."

"Yeah. Maybe I'll come with you."

The spoon clattered to the floor. "What? You wanta ride broncs again? At your age?"

"I'm notthat old!"

Gus looked doubtful. "Reckon you mighta landed on your bead once too often last time you came with me. I thought you were finished runnin' around. Thought you were settlin' down. You sure this doesn't have anything to do with Lydia Cochrane?"

"No!"

* * *

Be prepared.

It was not only the Boy Scout Marching Song, it was the lawyer's rule of thumb � the two-word mottoLydialived by.

She was prepared every day of her life. For every eventuality.

She just hoped she was prepared for this.

For seducing J.D. Holt.

"Seducing J.D. Holt." She said the words aloud, as if hearing them spoken would make them more real, would make her more resolute.

No, she was resolute enough. What she lacked was confidence.

She'd never seduced a man in her life.

"Never?" Claudia was astonished whenLydiaadmitted to it. She'd sought Claudia out in the caf� near to closing time. Now Claudia slapped a cup of coffee in front of her, looked atLydiapityingly and shook her head.

"It's not like I haven't lived a full life,"Lydiaprotested tartly.

"You haven't." Claudia was sure of that. "But you aren't dead yet, sweetheart. So there's still hope. Who you wanta seduce?"

"We don't have to go into names, do we? I mean, a seduction is a seduction."

Claudia snorted. "Not hardly. You gotta know the man. Gotta know what turns him on." She'd fluttered her mile-long lashes, andLydiawished, not for the first time, that her own weren't such stubby little things. "So who's the stud?"

StillLydiahadn't been able to say his name, so Kristen, ever helpful, said it for her. "J.D. Holt."

Claudia's eyes went as round as the fat blue dinner plates. "J.D.? Now there is one hot cowboy. Mmm-mmm." She practically licked her chops.

"This was a bad idea,"Lydiamuttered under her breath to Kristen, who had come along to be sureLydiadidn't chicken out.

Claudia stopped panting long enough to step back and narrow her eyes as she looked atLydia.

Lydia, feeling like a bug pinned to paper, looked at Claudia, then away. She gave serious thought to jumping up and running.

"So you're the reason," Claudia said quite unexpectedly.

"Reason?"Lydialooked at her blankly. "Reason for what?"

"For J.D. sniffin' around my place, then takin' off with his jeans still zipped."

Lydiawas sure her jaw was dragging on the tabletop.

Claudia shrugged. "Mighta known. He had that look about him."

"What look?"

"The lovesick pup look."

Kristen grinned. "Told you!" she crowed.

Lydiashook her head. "You're saying J.D. came to you to � to�" She turned to Kristen. "A very bad idea," she hissed.

"Oh, me an' J.D. go back a long ways," Claudia said. "It don't mean nothin'. We're just friendly-like. Leastways we use' ta be. You wants seduce ol' J.D.?" She was grinning.

"I don't�"

"Yes, she does," Kristen said firmly.

"Well, I can give you some hits," Claudia said. "An' they'll work if J.D. wants 'em to."

"And if he doesn't?"Lydiasaid pessimistically.

Claudia just smiled. "You gotta believe."

* * *

Believe you're sexy.

That seemed to be the first commandment of Claudia Kileen.

"How you gonna make him believe it, if you don't believe it yourself?" she asked flatly. "You gotta have confidence."

That was commandment number two.

"You gotta move slow and languorous-like," Claudia instructed, demonstrating as she swayed around her apartment whileLydiasat like a lump on the sofa and took notes. "Put away that fool paper and get up and try it," Claudia commanded.

Feeling like a fool,Lydiagot up. She sashayed. Like a giraffe. She knocked over a floor lamp.

Claudia swallowed a groan. "Some things don't come natural-like, do they?"

"No,"Lydiasaid, righting the lamp. "They don't."

"You gotta pretend he's watchin' you," Claudia explained. "Lyin' on the bed, lookin' up at you." Her voice got husky, slow, deep.

Lydiathought about J.D. lying on a bed looking up at her. "I don't think I'm cut out for this," she said on a rising note of panic. "I think maybe I better just forget the whole thing." She started for the door.

"Men don't like quitters," Claudia snapped.

Lydiastopped. She looked back.

Claudia held her gaze steadily from across the room. "Didn't ever think you were a quitter," she said.

Lydiaturned. She sashayed back across the room.

She did it fifty times. A hundred.

She practiced moving "slow and languorous like." She learned how to leave a couple of buttons of her shirt open accidentally � or not so accidentally.

"You got to touch him soft," Claudia said.

They weren't going to practice that, were they?

"Neck rubs," Claudia said. "Back rubs. Cowboys got lots of achin' muscles. You start massagin' and well, one muscle leads to another, I always say."

Lydiacouldn't imagine herself saying something like that in a million years.

"You just look and see where he's all tense-like and you put your hands on him," Claudia told her.

"And he'll let me?"Lydiawasn't at all sure about that.

Claudia sighed. "I reckon there really are different kinds of smart."

Lydiareckoned so, too.

She also reckoned that Claudia had done her very best preparing a not-so-gifted student to do what to other people came naturally.

"It'll come natural-like to you, too," Claudia assured her. "You just get yourself in a room alone with the man, let him see you as a woman, and I guarantee you'll do what comes naturally."

Maybe. If she could keep him there. Make sure he didn't go riding off on his horse again.

"Turn the horse loose," Claudia said.

"His truck then."

"Remove the distributor cable."

Lydiagaped.

Claudia shrugged. "Like I said, a gal's gotta be prepared."

By the time J.D. got home,Lydiawas.

* * *

J.D. prepared a half dozen ways to tell her he was moving out, going over to live in the bunkhouse at Trey's.

Actually, it was probably closer to a dozen.

One for every scene he could imagine. Her meeting him at the door. Her walking in when he was packing. Her being in the kitchen cooling dinner when he walked in. Her being down at the pasture talking toWayneor up at Trey's when he brought the empty trailer back.

In every case he would say, "I been thinkin', and I reckon it's about time for me to hit the road."

He didn't want to hurt her. It wasn't her fault, after all.

It was for her own good.

He'd just be matter-of-fact. Determined. Firm but not abrupt.

So he prepared. Thought about it all the way back toMurray. Was sure he had all scenarios covered.

He never thought he'd find her naked.

* * *

Well, so much for being prepared.

That was the first thought that went throughLydia's head when she walked out of the bathroom after her shower early that evening and found J.D. standing at the other end of the hallway.

He was standing stock-still, staring at her, poleaxed.

Lydiastopped, too. Instinctively. And stared right back.

Then she thought � her second thought � that, if it were possible, he looked more rattled than she.

Her third � and happiest � thought was that there were certain similarities between seduction and courtroom drama, after all.

For all that you prepared, sometimes you were thrown for a loop.

That's when it came back to gut instinct.

She had that.

Maybe, she thought, it was exactly what Claudia called "acting natural-like."

"Sorry," she said with a cool huskiness that surprised even herself. "I didn't expect you back so soon." And she moved "languorous-like" down the hall to her bedroom and, tossing him her best I-know-I'm-sexy smile over her shoulder, she went in.

"Oh, God," she muttered. "Oh, God." Her heart was jumping up and down in her chest. Her hands were clammy, and it had nothing whatever to do with her not having dried off well enough.

"Now what?" she asked the Claudia in her mind."Now what?"

And in her mind's eye she could see Claudia smile and wink. "You're in charge, sweetie. Just like in the courtroom," she'd said last night. "Remember that."

"In charge,"Lydiamuttered now. "Right." She put on her panties, then reached for her jeans, then stopped. "In charge," she said again, and took a deep breath.

She went to the closet and got out J.D.'s white long-sleeve shirt. She pulled it on over her bare breasts. She buttoned it up � all except for the top three buttons.

She studied herself in the mirror. Long legs peeked out from beneath the shirttails. Where the neck of the shirt gaped, she could see an inch or so of creamy breast. She fluttered her eyelashes, mussed her long damp hair.

"Dress for the occasion," she told her clients.

Yes, it really was quite a lot like being in the courtroom.

Lydiagave herself one last here-goes-nothing smile and sashayed back out into the hallway.

J.D. was still standing right where she'd left him.

"How were things down in Elmer?" she asked brightly as she headed toward the kitchen � and him.

He closed his mouth, then opened it again to answer. But no words came out. He just stared.

"Trey said you took some horses down for him. He wasn't sure when you'd be back so I wasn't expecting you." She smiled up at him as she passed.

He jumped back, but not before she'd brushed against his chest.

"I'll just see what there is to fix for supper." She opened the refrigerator and bent to look inside.

Behind her she heard him cough, heard him say, strangled, "Lyd � God."

She turned back. "What did you say?"

His face was deeply flushed. He swallowed. "Th-that's my shirt."

"Do you want it back?" Her hands went to the buttons. "No! I mean, no. Not � not right now. I�" he sucked air.

"Want a beer? You look � tense."

He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. "I am tense," he muttered.

"I'll get you a beer." She turned and bent in front of the open refrigerator again, taking her own sweet time to find a bottle of beer, then to fish it out. She used the tail of the shirt to twist the cap off.

J.D. swallowed again. He almost dropped the bottle when she handed it to him.

"Maybe I'll have one, too,"Lydiadecided. She turned around again, bent again.

"Cripes," she heard J.D. mutter.

She turned back, a long-neck bottle in her hand. "What?"

"N-nothing." He took a gulp of the beer.

She twisted another cap off, then lifted the bottle to her mouth and, with Claudia-approved languorousness she took a long, loving swallow. "Want a back rub?"

"No!I mean, no."

J.D. shut his eyes. He seemed to sway on his feet.

The temperature in the room went up about twenty degrees. The look he was giving her said she was sexy and no doubt about it.

Lydia, understanding at least that preseduction jitters were no different than pretrial jitters � and as easily overcome-was loving every minute.

She smiled at him. She touched the mouth of the beer bottle with her tongue.

"God almighty," J.D. muttered. "I need a shower." He turned and bolted down the hall.

Smiling to herself,Lydiawatched him go. She heard the door bang. Heard the shower turn on. Cold, no doubt.

"It won't do you any good," she told him softly. "You want me just as much as I want you. And tonight it's going to happen. Oh, yes it is."

* * *

The shower was a mistake.

It kept him in the house when he should have been running for his life. It got him out of his clothes when he should have been donning a suit of armor.

It didn't freeze him or even distract him.

He was too far gone for that. He burned from within.

He stayed there a long time. A very long time.

Not nearly long enough.

He knew that, the minute he came out again, dried off and dragged on a clean pair of jeans. His body was still restless. Hungry. Wanting.

WantingLydia.

"I'm moving out." He said the words aloud to himself. They sounded tentative. Insubstantial. A downright lie.

He wasn't moving out fast enough, that was for sure.

Lydiawas moving in. On him.

He couldn't believe it. But his body sure could.

Well, she was just damned well going to have to stop. He stalked out of the bathroom and headed toward his bedroom. He'd pull on boots, put on a shirt, then go out and tell her so.

He got as far as the bed.

He sat down and picked up a boot.

Lydiaappeared in the doorway. Still wearing his shirt and not much else.

"Lydia," he warned as she came closer. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her cheeks were flushed. She looked sexy as all get-out.

"Hmm?" She stepped toward him.

He went dead still. Like a buck caught in the headlight of an on-rushing train. Too mesmerized to move. Petrified not to. His fingers curled into a fist around the shank of the boot in his hand. "Lydia."

"I'm right here."

Exactly what he was afraid of. Her voice was soft, enticing. She was close enough to touch now. He was staring straight at the honey-tan length of her legs. He shut his eyes.

"I missed you."

"I had � work to do."

"Mmm. That's what Trey said. But he said you should have told me. Checked with me."

"I'm finished with the stable. With the corrals."

"With me?" Her words were soft as velvet, challenging as Everest.

J.D. swallowed a groan. "Don't," he said.

"Why not? I love you. I told you that."

He shook his head. "It's not that. It's�" But he couldn't find the words. Or maybe he didn't want to find the words.

"If you want me to go, send me away,"Lydiasaid. She was so close now that her bare knees brushed against the denim of his jeans. She reached out a hand, touched his lips.

He looked up at her. And that was when he lost. Lost his resolve. Lost his courage. Lost his common sense.

Lost himself in his need of her.

Just once, God, please. He knew he couldn't have forever. But no man should have to withstand this much temptation.

"J.D.?" His name was a whisper on her lips. Her fingers the brush of an angel's wings against his cheek.

He reached for her, pulled her between his thighs, pressed his face into the softness of her breasts. A shudder ran through him. He groaned.

He felt her fingers on the back of his neck, thumbs kneading. Easy. Gentle. Firm. For once he knew the answer: all of the above.

He slid his hands down past those long shirttails, then back up the length of her legs. He cupped her buttocks, drew her hard against him, then let his hands wander on up the silky expanse of her back.

It was the stupidest thing he'd ever done. The one he'd regret forever.

But not now.

Not yet.

Now he was living in the moment. Living to touch her, to kiss her, to become a part of her. Just this once.

He lay back on the bed and carried her with him so that she lay on top of him. Then he kissed her, long and hard and deep. Kissed her with all the need of a man who has been a long time without a woman, but mostly with the desire that this particular man felt for this particular woman.

And she kissed him in return. Kissed him with an urgency that matched his own. "I love you," she said against his lips.

And he believed it. Knew she wouldn't be doing this if she didn't. Wanted, since he couldn't give her forever, to give her a few brief moments of perfection.

He lifted her away from him so that she sat straddling his hips, watching him as he fumbled with the buttons of her shirt � his shirt. His fingers shook.

"I'll do it," she said.

"No. I want�" He let out a shaky breath. "Let me. Please."

He wanted it all. Wanted the moments. Wanted the memories.

And so she waited. She stroked his arms, his shoulders, his chest while he tried to concentrate on the buttons. There were only four. It took him forever: And then at last he levered himself up on his elbows and eased the shirt apart, then peeled it slowly off her shoulders and down her anus until it pooled behind her across his thighs.

And she knelt before him naked but for a scrap of lace. He'd seen her naked. When she'd come out of the bathroom just a little while ago, he'd seen her naked. It hadn't been the same.

That was an accident. Unintentional. Awkward.

This was for him.

She was trembling now, too. Looking just the slightest bit nervous. As if she had anything at all to be nervous about!

Reverently he lifted a hand and touched her breast, drew a line from one nipple to the other, watched them tighten, watched her shiver and the color come up in her cheeks.

He smiled a little shakily. "You're beautiful."

She gave a quick negative shake of her head, as if she would deny it. But then she took a breath and smiled back at him and let her gaze rove over him until he was sure he was as flushed as she was. And then she said, "You are, too."

He scowled. "Men aren't."

"You are," she insisted. "Ithink you are. And my vote is the only one that counts." And then she bent her head and kissed him again.

Not on the lips this time. On the line, of his jaw. In the hollow of his neck. Along his shoulders, his chest. Both his flat hard nipples. And lower. And lower. The silken fall of her hair brushed his abdomen. He shut his eyes and went rigid. His fingers tightened on her hips.

"Lydieeeee!" Her name hissed through his lips.

She lifted her head, smiled at him. "Yes?" Her breath was hot against his belly, an inch or so above the button of his jeans. Her fingers slid to open it.

J.D. bit his lip. Waited.

Lydiaeased the button open. Eased the zipper down to expose the soft cotton and straining need beneath. She looked at it, then up at him. Then she moved back down his legs, hooked her fingers in his waistband and tugged.

He lifted his hips, felt the jeans slide off and with them his shorts. The cool air hitting the heat of his body was a shock. So was the surge of desire that rocketed through him so hard and fast and urgent that he was in danger of making a fool of himself.

She reached to touch him. He caught her hand.

"What's wrong? Did I do something wrong?"

He shook his head. "Not � hardly. I'm� My turn," he muttered. And doing his best to stay sane, he allowed himself the luxury of once more touching her.

He wanted to go slow. He needed to go slow.

He only had this � this one night. He told himself that.

But his body told him right back that he'd waited long enough. He'd wanted long enough.

He slid the peach-colored scrap of lace down over her hips. He rolled her onto her back and slipped the panties right off her. Then he nudged her knees apart and settled between them.

Slow, his mind said.

No, his body said.

"I love you, J.D.,"Lydiasaid. And then she settled his war for him. She opened her legs, found him waiting and brought him home.

Sex had never seemed like home before.

It had been lusty, fun, sweaty, quick or, sometimes, long and drawn out. It had been a physical release, a momentary distraction, a bodily need attended to.

It had never been like coming home.

But that's the closest J.D. could come to what he felt when he slid into Lydia, when her warmth surrounded him, when her fingers dug into his back and her heels pressed him close.

It was the most wonderful feeling in the world.

He pulled out, just a little. Then came back. All the way. Wanting to feel it again. And he did. He felt it again, stronger, harder, more intense. And again. And again.

He looked down into her eyes and saw love. He saw promise. He saw forever � right there on offer.

And he wanted to weep.

But he didn't. Not then. He just moved and tried to give her what he could. The moment. The memory.

He'd weep later when he was alone.

She loved him with everything she had in her. All the years of longing, all the dreams of him. She loved him with her strengths and with her weaknesses.

Claudia was right. When you got involved in the moment, you were "natural-like."

It was natural to love J.D. Holt.

It was natural to kiss him, to touch him, to take the initiative, then give it to him when he wanted a turn.

She didn't know a lot about men, but she knew enough to love him. She knew enough to wrap her arms around him, to open her body and her mind and her heart to him. She loved him in all the ways there were to love a man.

And when their bodies were sated and they lay, sweat drenched and snug in each other's arms, she sent a silent thank-you to Claudia. Then she kissed J.D.'s lips and studied his sleeping face and told him once more she loved him.

And then she curled back into the embrace of his body and slept. But not before she whispered, "I believe."

* * *

So much for the moment.

It was over.

The night was over.

The loving was over.

He had his memories. And chances were they would kill him.

They already were. The what-ifs � the might-have-beens � the if-onlys � were already making themselves heard.

She was in the kitchen, humming, making breakfast He could hear her as he stuffed his gear into his duffel bags. He crammed it in, as much as he could. He didn't want to come back. He jerked the zippers shut, hoisted the bags and sucked in a deep breath. Then he strode down the hall to face the music.

Lydialooked up, smiling all over her face. And then she saw the bags in his hands and her smile faded.

"I'm movin' out." There. Finally he'd got the words out.

"Moving � out?" The color bleached from her face.

"I finished here. I can do better if I stay at Trey's and work there till my time's up. Then I'm goin' back down the road with Gus." He didn't know why he was explaining. He didn't think she was hearing a word.

He sucked in another breath. "I shoulda gone yesterday," he said.

She stared at him, absolutely unmoving.

"Sorry," he muttered, then strode past her as quick as he could. He shut the door behind him, headed for his truck, got in, gunned it, never looked back.

He was gone.

A day too late.

Better late than never?

Oh, yeah.

Chapter 10

�^

She stopped wanting to kill him by the next afternoon.

Oh, she still entertained thoughts along those lines, still had fantasies of doing dire things to certain of his body parts. But the tears and the wailing and the gnashing of teeth had pretty much stopped.

Now she was blaming herself.

He'd never said, "I love you."

He'd never made any promises. He'd actually done his damnedest to stay clear of her.

Shewas the one who had pressed. The one who had flirted. The one who had been determined to seducehim .

J.D. had just gone along for the ride.

And then he'd left.

He'd even apologized.

She threw things across the room every time she remembered that! She broke three glasses, a coffee mug and a dinner plate before she got a grip.

It wasn't pretty.

Neither was she. Her eyes were red from crying. Her cheeks were blotchy. Her hair, from alternately running her hands through it and tugging on it, was a complete and utter mess.

So much for believing. So much for sashaying. So much for being prepared. So much for hope.

She'd been a fool.

He'd tried to warn her. He'd got on his horse and had ridden away so he wouldn't have to sleep with her, for heaven's sake! But had she taken that for an answer?

No.

And now she deserved every bit of pain that she felt.

She wallowed in it for a day. She didn't answer the phone. She didn't go in to work. She rode Dancer and thought about the mess she'd made of her life.

She talked toWayne, and he listened sympathetically. She scratched him behind his ear. She asked him what she ought to do now, and he looked at her as if she ought to know the answer to that.

A day later, she did.

She knew she had to leave.

She didn't want to. If J.D. hadn't been involved, she would have stayed on the ranch, dug in and made it her home forever. It felt more like home than any place she'd ever been.

She loved the ranch.

But J.D. loved it, too. He loved it more.

It should have been his.Would have been if he'd just bothered to read his mail.

Once she'd thought it odd that he hadn't. She'd never known anyone who didn't. But now that she had lived with him, she could see how superfluous to his life mail was.

It piled up on the sideboard unread unless she read it. He couldn't be bothered. And really, having seen the stuff that he got, she understood why he ignored it. The bills he'd set up for automatic payment. The bank statements only needed filing. The ads and circulars were of no use to anyone. And the rest of the stuff that came was for Gus.

He'd apparently seen Gus when he'd gone to Taggart Jones's place. He'd told her he was going to travel with Gus when be was finished at Trey's. He'd sounded committed. Determined.

ButLydiaknew him now. She knew that for J.D. traveling would always be second best.

He loved this ranch. He belonged here.

He would stay here if it were his.

She would see that it was.

* * *

Skinny found him a spot in the bunkhouse. Actually it was a two-bedroom trailer, and he ended up sharing a room with Cy.

"Lydiaboot you out?" Cy asked cheerfully.

J.D. pretended he hadn't heard. It was that or knock the son of a gun's block off, and he didn't need any more plea bargains. Not now.

He needed to work. Every day. All day. And half the night if he could manage it. He'd have been long gone if that had been an option. Since it wasn't, the best he could do was work himself so hard he'd sleep at night and, for a few brief hours, forget.

It was a hell of a time of year to need distraction.

Shipping was over. Feeding hadn't started. Fencing was pretty much taken care of. In the day he made a circle of the cattle on this range or that one, checked them thoroughly, rounded up strays? He came down in the evening and worked Trey's horses.

Wherever he was, he tried not to think.

Usually he could get into another plane when he was working with a horse. When he was in the corral, he tuned in to the equine mind and out of his own. The world shrank down to the two of them.

Not now.

Now there was always a third in the corral.

Lydia. Everywhere he looked, even when he closed his eyes, she was there.

Smiling at him. Touching him. Loving him.

"J.D.!" It was Skinny, coming on the run. Or as quick as Skinny ever moved. "Hey, J.D.!"

The distraction banishedLydia. That was good.

"Trey wants you. Up at the house. Now!"

Trey wanted him? Now? That was bad.

What the hell did the old geezer want with him this time?

His temper was on a short enough fuse as it was. Trey Phillips was the second to last person J.D. wanted to see right now.

The last one had stared at him from the shaving mirror this morning, had looked at him with a mixture of accusation and disgust. He'd tried to shave. He couldn't stomach looking at his own reflection. He'd averted his eyes and left his whiskers to survive another day.

"I'm workin'," he said over his shoulder.

But even as he did so, he heard the door of the house bang and looked up to see Trey striding down the steps and across the yard straight toward him.

"Put 'im up." J.D. handed the reins to Skinny and climbed over the fence to meet the old man head-on.

"What the hell did you do toLydia?"

J.D.'s jaw went tight. "What do you mean? What's the matter withLydia?"

Trey glanced around at Skinny's avid eyes, at Cy and a couple of other cowboys heading their way. He jerked his head toward the house. "Come on."

He didn't wait to see if J.D. followed, just turned on his heel and stalked back the way he'd come.

J.D. was right on his heels. He didn't know what the hell Trey was doing nosing into his business withLydia, but it was going to stop.

The old man stamped up the steps, banged open the door and headed straight for his office. Then, all of a sudden, he made a sharp turn to the right and cut through the dining room to go into a smaller room at the back of the house.

J.D. had never been there before. He wasn't sure he wanted to be there now. But Trey was all the way in and had turned to wait for him.

J.D. slowed his steps just a little, enough to let Trey know he wasn't jumping to do his bidding.

But all of Trey's impatience was in his eyes. He waited. Waited until J.D. had come into the room which was walled with books. Oh, swell. They were going to have their set-to in a blinkin' library!

"You want me to bring you some coffee?" Clara, the housekeeper, asked.

"No, thanks." Trey didn't even ask him if he wanted any. "We don't need anything. And we don't want to be disturbed."

"You might want to have the sheriff on call," J.D. muttered under his breath.

Clara didn't hear him. Trey did. He shut the door firmly, then squared off to face J.D. "What did you do toLydia?" His voice was hard and flat and angry. His eyes accused.

J.D. had seen similar accusation in his own eyes this morning. He didn't like it from himself. He hated it from Trey.

"I didn't do anything toLydia." Nothing that was any business of Trey's!

"Then why was she crying? Why did she leave? Why did she tell me to give you this?" Trey jerked an envelope out of his pocket and thrust it at J.D.

J.D. stared at it as if it were a rattlesnake.

Trey stuck it under his nose. "Read it! She told me to make you read it! She said she wants to be sure you get the message this time!"

At his sides, J.D.'s fingers knotted into fists.

Trey still held out the envelope. "What did you do to her?"

J.D.'s gaze, avoiding the envelope, met Trey's. Locked. Trey's hard blue eyes bored into him.

This time it was J.D. who had to look away.

"I didn't hurt her � didn'tmean to hurt her," he qualified. His voice was ragged. He jammed his fists into the front pockets of his jeans, bent his head, felt the weight of a thousand didn't-mean-to's press down on him.

He expected another accusation from Trey. But the older man was silent now. His hand had dropped. He held the envelope. But he made no move to thrust it into J.D.'s hand.

He didn't move. Didn't speak.

Beyond the closed door, J.D. could hear the hum of Clara's vacuum cleaner. Farther off he heard the shout of one of the cowboys.

A foot away he heard Trey clear his throat.

"Sit down," the old man said.

Habit made him stand. He took orders from Trey only when they had to do with his job.

"I said, sit down." It was a tone of voice J.D. had never heard from Trey before. Quiet. Finn. Stubborn. He'd heard all those. But there was a hit of weariness in it now. He flicked a glance in Trey's direction.

Trey nodded his head toward one of the leather armchairs and waited.

J.D. sat He didn't sit back. He didn't relax. He leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees. Crouched almost. Ready to spring.

Trey sat in the other chair. At a right angle to his. "What happened?"

J.D. didn't answer. He sighed. Shifted. Gritted his teeth.

"She came here crying," Trey said conversationally. There was no accusation in his voice now. He simply stated the fact. "Not at first. But she had been. She tried not to. She couldn't help it. She told me it wasn't your fault. Said it was hers. All hers."

"It wasn't, damn it!" J.D. looked up at him anguished. "Itwasn't her fault!"

Trey leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over his knee. "What wasn't?"

"What happened! Me makin' love to her!"

There. He'd said it. Admitted it. To Trey of all people!

"It was wrong! I knew nothin' could come of it, and it didn't make any difference. I took advantage of her! Same as you did to my ma!"

Trey let out a pent-up breath, as if he'd been holding it forever. He sat up straighter, his body alert, poised, ready. And then he nodded. "At last."

J.D. glared. "What's that mean? At last?"

"You know exactly what it means. It means the gloves are off. And yes, you're right. You are just like me."

J.D. wanted to deny it. Wanted to stop this. Wanted to shut the old man up.

But Trey said, "You didn't read the letter I sent. You didn't read the one your mother left for you, did you?"

J.D.'s gaze jerked up. "How do you know about that?"

"She called me. Asked me to come to the hospital. Wanted to talk to me. She told me she'd written you a letter, that you'd probably be contacting me." Trey shook his head. "You never did."

J.D. couldn't sit still any longer. He shoved up out of the chair and stalked across the room. He spun around and glared down at Trey. "Why would I want to contact you?"

"To hear what happened."

"I don't want to know what happened!"

"But you know that it did happen." It wasn't a question.

J.D. gritted his teeth. "Yes, damn it! I know!"

"I loved your mother."

"She loved my father!"

"Yes." Trey shut his eyes for a moment. Then he opened them again. "Will you listen?"

J.D. wanted to say no. He didn't want to hear. He didn't want confirmation of his mother's illness-inspired ramblings, those terrible things she'd mumbled in her last pain-filled days.

"Shh, Ma, don't say such things," he'd told her. "It ain't true."

And she'd clutched his hand and looked him in the eyes. "It is," she'd insisted, her voice barely a whisper. "You have � right to know. Wrote you about it. Letter in bureau. Read it."

Of course he hadn't. And not only because he couldn't. Because he hadn't wanted to.

He'd denied it for years. Had fought against all the evidence. Had turned his head � and his heart � away, even though, deep down, he knew it was the truth.

"I'm your father," Trey said now, his blue gaze steady, meeting J.D.'s. "And heaven help us both."

For a long moment they just looked at each other.

Then J.D. turned away, stared out the window. He didn't speak. What was there, after all, to say?

Yippee? Oh, boy, I'm your bastard? I never really belonged to the man who called me his son?

He'd seen a certain irony in the discovery of Josh's existence. And he'd been bitterly amused at Trey's eagerness to claim this illegitimate grandson. But mostly he'd understood Josh's anguish at learning the truth.

He'd lived Josh's pain. He'd loved the man he'd known as father just as Josh had. He thought Dan loved him.

And Trey?

He didn't know or care what Trey thought or felt. He never should have made love to J.D.'s mother.

It would have been better for all of them if he'd never existed at all.

Thank God for Rance. He felt sorry for Rance. The first-born who actually wasn't. He was glad Rance never guessed. He was glad Rance was legitimate. Glad that Rance had been the one to bear up under burdens J.D. could never have stood.

"It isn't neat. And it isn't pretty. And I'm not expecting a happy ending," Trey said quietly. "But I'd like to tell you what happened." He stopped, as if waiting for some sign, some encouragement from J.D.

J.D. couldn't find encouragement in him. But there was no choice any longer. It had been dragged out into the open now. They might as well finish it.

He shrugged.

Trey took that to be the encouragement required. "I'd loved her for years," he said. "Helen. Your mother. Since high school at least. And with the arrogance of youth and looks and money," he said wryly, "I couldn't understand why she didn't love me. But she didn't. She only ever had eyes for Dan." His gaze met J.D.'s for an instant. He smiled slightly, then sighed. "And Dan was my best friend."

J.D. blinked.Best friend?

As far as he knew, his father � Dan � had never had much to do with Trey Phillips. Trey owned the valley. Dan had owned a small, hard-scrabble spread. They had always been on opposite sides of the economic fence. And as long as J.D. could remember they'd never climbed over.

After his mother's ramblings, he'd been sure he knew why.

"You never knew that?" Trey asked. "Well, we weren't friends � after." He sighed. "Dan got drafted. Sent toViet Nam. I didn't." His mouth twisted. "I was atYaleLawSchool. I came home for the summer, worked inHelenafor one of the judges. And one day Helen came to see me. Distraught. She and Dan had got engaged right before he shipped out. And she'd just got word that Danny was missing. She believed he was dead."

J.D. knew a little about that. He knew the story of his father in the plane that had been shot down. He and Gus had listened avidly to tales of Dan's evading capture, of his trek back from behind enemy lines, of his triumphant return. It had taken him weeks. Everyone thought he'd died.

"I thought he'd died, too," Trey said. "He was my best friend, and I thought he was dead." He sucked in a harsh breath, then went on. "We turned to each other, your mother and I. It was wrong. I can't deny that. No more than you would deny that what happened between you andLydiawas wrong. But it happened. And the only excuse I can give you is that I loved her."

He looked up at J.D. then. Squarely. Steadily.

"I told you that in the letter you didn't read. I'd guess your mother told you in the letter you didn't read of hers."

J.D.'s teeth clenched under Trey's unblinking gaze. He stood motionless. He didn't reply. Didn't say a word.

"Dan came back a hero five weeks later. Your mother flew toHawaiito meet him," Trey went on. "She married him there. And a month later, she found out she was carrying you."

A corner of Trey's mouth tipped up in a sad smile. "My first-born son. A Holt. And there was nothing I could do."

J.D. looked at the older man then, surprised at the resignation in Trey's voice. The Trey Phillips he knew never acted as if there was anything he couldn't do. Trey was a mover and shaker. Always had been. He was still one ofMontana's most powerful men.

"Not that I knew at the time. Your folks didn't come back until you were two years old. I didn't even know about you. Knocked me for a loop, let me tell you, first time I saw you with your ma. You were in the grocery store, in one of those carts with the seat in 'em, and she was pushing you. I was married to Christina by then. She was expecting Rance. And we turned the corner of the aisle and ran smack into her with you. I felt like I'd been punched in the gut." A wry smile touched his lips. "And I introduced her to my wife. And she introduced me to you. 'This is my son,' she said. 'Say hello to Mr. Phillips, J.D.' And you looked at me with my own blue eyes and said hello. I just stared at you. Stared at her. Then Dan came up and swung you up into his arms and you called him Daddy. And he held you and looked at me and said, 'What do you think of my son, Trey?' And I looked at him and Helen and you. And I did the only thing I could do. I said you were a fine boy, that he was a lucky man. And then we said goodbye."

He stopped speaking then. He stared past J.D., out the window, but what he saw, J.D. guessed, was nothing beyond the panes. What he saw had to be over thirty years old. Was he just remembering? Seeing the scene all over again? Or was he playing it out differently this time?

How?

The clock chimed the hour.

Trey flexed his shoulders. He looked at J.D. "I wish things had been different. But I have to say, I don't know what I'd change. I loved your mother. After she married Dan, I met Christina. I came to love her even more. She was the right woman for me. Helen was the right woman for Dan. We had our share of pain. We deserved it. You didn't. I'm sorry."

Sometimes in his wildest dreams, J.D. had imagined hearing those words from Trey Phillips's lips. He wasn't sure why he'd wanted them. Wasn't even sure he deserved them.

He'd never understood what had happened between his beloved mother and the richest young man in the valley. His mother's letter had probably told him. It didn't matter, he'd told himself. He knew enough. He didn't need to have it spelled out.

He'd had his suspicions. His theories. He'd painted Trey the villain. He'd painted his mother and Dan the victims.

He saw now that it had been a lot more complicated than that

He'd been wrong.

He stared down at the floor between his booted feet. Felt as if the world was shifting slightly beneath them. Felt it settle again, knew what he had to say.

He lifted his eyes and met Trey's. "I'm sorry, too."

He had to force the words out past the boulder in his throat. But once said, the boulder felt immeasurably smaller. He let out a shaky breath, ventured a quick glance in Trey's direction.

The old man blinked rapidly, then cleared his throat.

"Door's open," he said gruffly. "Whenever you want to come m. However far you want to come in." A smile flickered across his face. "And I'll do my damnedest not to get behind and push you."

A corner of J.D.'s mouth tilted slightly. "Thank you."

Their eyes met then. And for the first time in memory, when their gazes locked, it wasn't in battle. It was in a first tentative attempt at understanding.

"I love you," Trey said.

They were the last words J.D. expected to hear, even now. He stared. His throat worked. He felt a shudder run through him.

"Lydialoves you, too."

J.D. started to shake his head, to deny it. But he couldn't.

Head bowed he stared at his toes. Suddenly, in the stillness he heard the sound of paper ripping. His head jerked up and he saw the older man opening the envelope fromLydia.

As J.D. watched, Trey tore open the flap, extracted and unfolded the paper. Each movement was slow and deliberate, as if he was waiting for J.D. to grab the letter away, to stop him. Once he even stopped himself, waited.

But J.D. swallowed hard, clenched his fists, didn't move, waited, too. He wanted to stop him, wanted to grab the letter and run. But he couldn't � because more than he wanted his pride, he wanted to know.

The old man scanned the letter, then looked up. "The ranch is yours if you want it. She'll sell. She's moved out. Gone away."

"I don't want it! I want � I want � her." The words were wrung from him.

And Trey nodded. He smiled. "Then tell her so."

"Where is she?" She was gone? "Does she � does it say where?"

"Helena. Her apartment. Not far. Reckon you can get there before dark."

Their eyes dueled again. The battle was back. But it was more challenge than hostility.

"If you want her," Trey said.

Did he?

God, yes.

Did he dare?

A better question.

If he went after her, he had to lay himself on the line � the weaknesses and well as the strengths. He had to share with her something he'd never shared with anyone � until now.

Now, without his even saying, Trey knew.

And hadn't really rubbed his face in it. In fact, his expression was warm, gentle almost. Accepting.

He'd never wanted acceptance from Trey Phillips. Trey was the last man on earth J.D. would ever have expected � or wanted � to understand.

But he did. J.D. could see that he did. They stood up and faced each other again. After a long moment, Trey nodded.

"You're a good man," he said. "None better." Trey held out his hand.

Slowly J.D. took it. Shook it.

"Thanks." His voice was low and a little ragged.

Their eyes met again.

Trey touched J.D.'s shoulder. "Good luck, son."

* * *

Lydiawas, in a word, miserable.

She'd done the right thing. She knew that. She told herself that over and over. It didn't make life any easier. It also didn't make her feel any better.

Yet.

The operative word. A very short word to describe the distance between her misery and its resolution.

LikeMontanaweather, she assured herself, grief had its seasons. It might be rain and sleet and snow and muck and misery now. But someday � sometime � it would once again be spring.

Not that she expected to live to see it.

Not inMontana, anyway.

She'd thought getting away toHelenawould be enough. It wasn't. She could look out her window and see the mountains to the east and know that beyond them lay her dreams. She needed more mountains, more valleys, a river or ten. An ocean wouldn't hurt. Distance. Lots of it. Please.

She'd told Rance this morning she wanted to dissolve the partnership, to quit.

He'd stared. And then he'd said, "I guess I'm not surprised. You prefer ranching as much as I do. I've been thinking the same thing. I say we go for it."

He'd flashed her that wonderful Phillips grin. And she'd managed a wan smile in return. She hadn't told him there wasn't a ranch in her future. He'd find out soon enough.

In the meantime, she'd start making plans. Maybe she'd go back toIowa City. OrNew York. OrTimbuktu.

She stood now in her apartment and stared out the window at the mountains.

Just over those mountains�

She gave herself a shake. She went back to packing.Timbuktumight not even be far enough away.

The knock on the door startled her. She'd thought Rance had left at five for the O'Connor place, where he still lived with Ellie and the kids. She couldn't think of anyone else it could be.

She wasn't at all prepared to open the door and find J.D.

Her heart lurched with joy at the mere sight of him, even though she knew there was no point.

"You got my letter."

He nodded. He swallowed, looking more ill at ease than ever. "This afternoon"

"I meant it. I should have sold it to you in the first place. I should never have tried to horn in. It isn't mine. It never will be! I�"

"I didn't read it."

She stared at him, openmouthed. Dumbfounded. "What?"

"I didn't read it," he repeated. He stared right back at her, his eyes bleak. "I can't read."

It was the last thingLydiaexpected him to say.

He couldn'tread? She shook her head in disbelief.Everyone could read!

And yet�

As she stood there looking at him, a thousand memories crowded into her head. Memories of J.D. as a child � a troublemaker, a fighter, a truant.

"J.D. hates school," Gus had told her. "He says it's stupid. He can't wait to leave."

And he'd left at the end of ninth grade.

She had more recent memories, too, of piles of unopened mail, of Trey's letter he'd never read, of the phone call requesting she tell him again the items she needed at the grocery store, of his bafflement with the wine list, of his complete stillness and endless patience as he'd sat and listened to Carrie O'Connor read.

She saw the pain in his face now, the way his gaze slid away from hers, the way his shoulders hunched and his jaw locked.

And she believed.

J.D. watched for only a moment. Time enough to see a million expressions flicker across her face.

Astonishment. Disbelief. Concern. The dawning of the truth.

He turned away. He didn't want to see distaste or dismay or disgust.

Or worst of all, pity.

He jammed his hands in his pockets and wondered why the hell he had come.

To give it a shot. His best shot. To tell her the truth, the whole truth. To show her the worst of him and hope it didn't matter.

He should have known better. And he couldn't blame her for turning away.

Any sensible woman would.

"So you see," he said, turning back and making one last desperate attempt at offhand flippancy, "it would never have worked, you and me. The doctor of juris-whatever and the illiterate cowpoke. It's hormones. It's sex. It's whatever you intellectuals call it � propinquity." He'd heard Trey use the term when he'd been talking about some last ditch effort to find a wife for Rance. "It's�"

"Love,"Lydiasaid.

He stared at her. "What?"

"It's love, J.D." And she reached out and took him by the hand and drew him in. She pushed the door closed behind them and wrapped her arms around him. "Love," she said again, looking straight into his eyes.

"I can't�"

"Read. I heard you. I believe you. Now you do me the favor of believing me. I love you � the boy you were, the man you've become. It doesn't change anything."

"It has to!"

"Why?"

"Because � because�" Because he was afraid he wouldn't measure up. Because he was afraid he'd fail her. Because he was afraid to try. He'd failed so often. So badly.

He didn't want to fail at this.

"Because I'm scared," he told her. And that was the biggest secret of all. Bigger than who his father was. Bigger than his not being able to read. "Because I'm scared I'll let you down. That I won't be enough for you."

"Do you love me?"

"More than my life."

"Then don't walk away from me." Her eyes beseeched him. Her fingers held him, gripped his arms tightly.

And then, as if she realized it at the same time he did, she loosed her grasp. She stepped back. She let him go.

But still she looked at him, and in her eyes he saw the offer of her love, her heart, her soul.

It was the most tremendous gift he'd ever been offered. It staggered him. Terrified him.

And in the end it gave him courage, too.

He couldn't do this alone. But he wasn't in it alone. He was withLydia.

They were in it together.

"I love you," he whispered. He lifted his hands and set them gently on her arms. He drew her into his embrace, wrapped her in his love.

He kissed her then, with all his hopes and all his fears, and, in sharing them, he felt the hope grow and the fear fade. He felt renewed. He felt whole.

He had only one thing left to do.

"Marry me?" He said the words before he could think, before he could doubt, before he could stop himself.

And, thank God,Lydiadidn't keep him in suspense. She launched herself into his arms. She hugged him. She held him. She kissed him.

Best of all she said, "I thought you'd never ask!"

* * *

They married at the weekend before Thanksgiving.

Kristen was the matron of honor. Rance was the best man.

Trey gave the bride away becauseLydia's parents got snowed in and ended up stuck inSpokane.

"You'd think he planned it that way," J.D. grumbled that night as he wrapped his wife in his arms and bundled her into their bed. "In fact, he probably did."

Nothing much had happened on their wedding day from soup to nuts from the ceremony to the reception that Trey hadn't had a hand in.

"He's taking credit for everything," J.D. muttered. "You'd think he planned the whole wedding."

"He did."

He gaped at her. "He'sthe reason I had to wear a tux?"

Lydiagrinned. "Well, he has more time than I do. Besides, he said if we didn't insist, you'd get married in jeans."

"Nothin' wrong with jeans," J.D. rolled her onto her back and braced himself on his hands above her. He dropped a kiss on her nose.

"Not a thing,"Lydiaagreed. "But you looked lovely in your tux." She smiled impishly, then let her gaze wander down the length of him. "You look lovely out of it, too."

J.D. flushed at the compliment, then bent his head again. He touched his lips first to one of her breasts and then the other. "So do you."

He loved her then. Eagerly. Gently. Desperately. Passionately. Loved her in all the ways he knew how to love a woman.

AndLydialoved him back. She made him moan. She made him shiver. She made his toes curl. She made him weak � and strong � at the same time.

She was a surprising, amazing woman. An energetic one.

She wrung him out.

And after, when he had collapsed next to her and begun to breathe again, he stroked her, shoulder to hip, with a hand still trembling and said, "Where the heck did you learn all that? Not � Claudia."

She'd told him about Claudia. About her seduction lessons. But he knew Claudia. Claudia wasn't capable of anything like this!

Lydiasmiled. Then she reached under the bed and pulled out a book.

J.D. frowned. "Abook? What book? Where'd you get it?"

"Trey."

"Trey?"

"It was his wedding present."Lydiagrinned. "He knew you'd been working on your reading�"

Yes, he had been � withLydia's help.

It was slow going, but not nearly as difficult as he'd believed. There were books, she'd told him, about learning disabilities. He'd said he didn't need a book, he knew all about them first hand.

"Not for you. For me," she'd said. "So I can help you."

And she had.

Now as she handed him the book Trey had given them, a grin lit her face. "He said he thought you ought to start with a book you'd enjoy."

J.D. could read the title."KamaSutra?"he said doubtfully. "What's that?"

Then he opened it. His eyes widened, his brows arched. He flipped through it once quickly, then he went back and started again, more slowly.

"Hmmmm," he said.

"Well, now," he said.

"We might want to trythat ," he said, and pointed at a very intriguing picture.

"We could,"Lydiaagreed. She leaned toward him and kissed his shoulder, then nibbled his neck.

He slanted her a glance. Then he went back to studying the drawing. He began to read the text slowly, still a little haltingly, out loud. Then he stopped.

"What's that word?" he asked her.

She looked, then told him, blushing.

He nodded. He read a little more. Stopped. Pointed. "And that one?"

She said it. Blushed again.

He smothered a grin. Kept reading. Stopped.

She looked, started to say the word, her face aflame, then she caught him grinning at her.

"You know darned well what it is!" She lunged at him, tickling his ribs, and he laughed and rolled her onto her back, then fitted himself between her legs once more.

"I do," he agreed. "Now. Thanks to you."

He bent and kissed her. He slid inside her, then deftly he rolled them again so that she sat astride him. He glanced at the book, adjusted their positions. Grinned at her again, raised his eyebrows.

"What do they call this one?"

"J.D.!" she protested, laughing, then stopped and caught her breath as he began to move.

She moved with him, rocked, urged. And he pulled her close, and the two of them shattered together once more.

And later, as J.D. lay there with his wife in his arms, he began to think there might actually be some use for books. He smiled.

"Good ol' Trey," he muttered. "I guess every now and then he has a good idea, after all."

 

* * * * *