Chapter Three

 

The Bar J was a recipe for disaster.

A woman virtually alone in the middle of nowhere with livestock to care for, a deaf teenager on the property, and bad weather a fact of life. If Declan hadn't been wrestling his conscience at two in the morning, Claudia would probably be out here—her bare knees on display over boots three sizes too large for her—trying to use a hacksaw to free a horse from looming tragedy.

"What got into you?" Declan asked the horse.

Strawberry was curled in the bedding, looking as sweet and serene as if he were auditioning for a nativity play. Thunder boomed to the south, and the horse shuddered.

"Don't like storms, then? I can understand that, you being from a species that prefers to run from trouble. Hard to run in a twelve-by-twelve stall."

The barn was sturdy post-and-beam construction, not a prefab metal frame set up on a concrete slab. The smells were good—horse, hay, manure, leather—putting Declan in mind of his grandfather's farm in Fife.

The horse stuck its front legs out straight and made as if to rise.

"Careful, laddie. You've had a fright."

Claudia had had a fright, too, but she'd known what to do and had been ready to do it. Declan hadn't had a fright, he'd been in a flat damned panic when he'd seen Claudia scampering across the muck in wellies, a jacket, and a sweater.

Daft woman. Daft, determined woman.

Strawberry clambered to his feet and shook like a wet dog.

"Take it easy." Declan opened the stall door and stood in the doorway, ready to go to the horse, though he'd no clue what to do if the gelding got to bucking and carrying on. Strawberry stuck out his big nose in Declan's direction and hobbled closer.

"You buggered up your back end," Declan said, scratching behind the horse's ears. "Claudia will fuss at you for that. You've given her one more thing to worry about."

Declan was still scratching the beast, scolding him, and saying prayers the animal wasn't permanently lame when the lights hummed to life at low illumination.

Claudia came up the aisle wearing what Declan's mum would have called snow pants—waterproof on the outside, probably fleece on the inside—along with the big sweater and open jacket she'd worn earlier. Her hair was still in two braids, but now Declan had the luxury of noticing how long and thick those braids were.

"I brought hot chocolate," Claudia said, brandishing a thermos. "I see the patient is standing."

"He can move a bit, though he's stiff. He likes to have his back rubbed."

Claudia came into the stall. "Don't we all? Strawberry, that has to be the stupidest maneuver I've ever seen a horse pull. You better be sorry, and I hope I don't have to shoot your ridiculous butt tomorrow morning."

She was not teasing.

"He's on his feet. Why would you shoot him? Can't you give a fellow some time to come right?" Or maybe explain why he's come to steal your ranch?

Strawberry turned enormous brown eyes on his owner, as if echoing Declan's question.

"I hate to put down any of my stock," Claudia said, tucking the thermos under her arm and stroking Strawberry's neck. "They rely on me to keep them safe and healthy, and if they're injured, that's at least partly on me. A horse in constant pain, one whose movement has to be limited for his own safety, can easily colic. If the colic is bad, you can lose the horse, and it's an awful way to go. I'll spare a dying horse pain if I can. I owe them that."

She'd apparently had to make that decision at some point, possibly more than once. The idea of Claudia taking aim at an animal she cared for ripped at Declan's soul.

"He's not dying," Declan said. "If I can do anything to help, you've only to tell me."

"Let's see what we're dealing with. The painkiller should be kicking in. If Strawberry can't walk now, he's probably done for. Even if he can get around, he might still be done for before this is all over."

You're not done for, Declan silently promised the horse.

"Are you confident walking him?" Claudia asked.

Strawberry lipped at his hay, which had to be a good sign.

"My grandda had plow horses," Declan said. "I haven't been around horses for a while, but I'm sure the basics will come back to me."

Claudia fetched a halter with an attached lead rope from the hook on the outside of the stall door. "Strawberry, time for a little stroll up the barn aisle with your new best friend Declan."

Declan led the horse up the aisle at a slow, uneven clip-clop, and Strawberry came along docilely beside him. The rain pattered steadily against the roof, and the thunder was now distant, but the temperature, if anything, had dropped.

"Lead him back to me and keep to his side," Claudia said.

They repeated the exercise twice more, and each time the horse seemed to move more freely.

"Shall I put him up?" Declan asked.

"For now. I'll walk him every fifteen minutes or so until morning and hope he doesn't colic. Thanks, Declan. Would you like some hot chocolate before you go back to bed?"

Declan would not be going back to bed any time soon. "Halter on or off?"

"Off is safer. As much foolishness as this horse has got up to, he'll be sticking a foot behind his ear next."

Claudia patted Strawberry's rump as Declan led the horse past her, and Strawberry let out a horsey sigh.

"Shall we have some of that hot chocolate?" Declan asked.

"Excellent idea, and then you can return to your nice, cozy room," Claudia said, unscrewing the cap from the thermos. It looked to be a military surplus item, able to withstand avalanches and floods without breaking.

She poured half a cup into the cap and held it out to Declan. Steam rose against the barn's chill, and the fragrance of chocolate cut through the other aromas in the barn.

"Ladies first, Claudia."

She took a sip and passed it to Declan. "Right now, I'm not a lady, I'm a worried horse owner. I appreciate the help, Declan, but there's no sense in both of us losing a night's sleep."

"If you think I'll leave a scathing review of your B&B on some website, don't be daft."

She pulled the stall door closed, pausing to blow the horse a kiss before throwing the latch. "I'm not worried about scathing reviews. I'm worried about my guest going without sleep when he was already pretty raggedy before he set foot on my property. I'm worried about nobody being at the house if Kara wakes up and forgets to check her phone for text messages. I'm worried about—"

Declan passed her back the drink.

"I'll stay for a short time, Claudia." Too short a time. "Allow me that."

She wrapped her hands around the cup of hot chocolate, as if the warmth were more important than the sustenance or sweetness.

"Suit yourself, Declan. Not like I could toss you over my shoulder and haul you to the house."

She was teasing him, possibly. Declan let the remark pass and busied himself piling a pair of straw bales against the opposite wall of the aisle, then using a fleece cooler from the tack room to cushion the straw.

"I wouldn't have thought to do this," Claudia said, settling on one side of the straw bales. "I would have pulled up a stool and wished I'd remembered to bring my gloves. 

"I'm an engineer," he said, draping a second fleece around her shoulders. "I like to solve problems by building things."

A straw bale could seat two people, if they sat right next to each other.

Claudia held out one side of the fleece. "Cuddle up, Mr. Engineer. Here in the Canyon, we like to solve problems by being friendly."

God help me. Declan tucked an arm across Claudia's shoulders and cuddled up.

***

Claudia had dated a few guys in college, but the horses had prevented her from getting serious with anybody. If a man was jealous because a woman got up and did barn chores rather than lingered with him in bed, that man was not keeper material.

When college had been behind her, Daddy had gotten sick, Kara had arrived, and barn chores had become more than a way to start the day.

The last time Claudia had been intimate with a man, she'd been in the backseat of some cowboy's pickup on a Saturday night at the Sugar Shack. What should have been a stolen moment between consenting, if somewhat tipsy, adults had become a bruised elbow, disappointment, and a vague sense of resentment on the way home.

For that, she'd paid a babysitter and shaved her legs?

"You've done this before," Declan said, from his place beside her on the straw bales. "Spent the night out here fretting over your beasts."

"Many times." Claudia had never before had a big, warm guy to share a fleece with, one who didn't hog the hot chocolate, or sidle off to bed at the first opportunity. "Tell me about your job. I gather night watches aren't part of it?"

"My job." Two words were enough to convey a sense of distaste. "I am Director of Special Projects for Brewster Energy, and I report to the CEO, Thad Brewster himself. He's very charming."

"You make charming sound like one of the seven deadly sins."

Declan had plucked four long pieces of straw from the bale and was weaving them into a curved shape. Claudia had never seen anybody weave straw before, though she suspected Declan could knit, pet Hotay, deal cards—anything—and his hands would be attractive to her.

"I haven't much charm myself, not as he epitomizes the term. Smart people don't trust him, and that means they ought not to trust me either."

That did not sound good. "What sort of special projects do you do for this guy?"

"I'm a hired gun, Claudia. If Brewster wants to take over an ailing competitor, I make that happen. If he wants an environmental scientist hired away from some think tank, I bring it about. I've handled the press after accidents on the rigs. I've sent flowers to Brewster's mother on her birthday because he couldn't be trusted to remember."

Claudia suspected Declan hadn't described his job this way to anybody else, maybe hadn't even admitted this view of it to himself.

"Is this what you went to engineering school for?"

The straw in his hands had become a woven circle, a little bit of craft from nothing. "I went to engineering school to build solutions and make the world a better place, of course. Did you know there's engineering specifically aimed at serving deaf people? I keep an eye out for the articles and send them to my cousin."

What would it be like, to endure some of the most demanding schooling on the planet and have no chance to use it?

"What's deaf engineering?"

Across the barn aisle, Boo subsided into his straw bedding, and Strawberry slurped at his water bucket. Good signs. If Boo was relinquishing guard duty, then Strawberry must be giving off the calm-horse vibe.

"Deaf design is mostly common sense," Declan said. "If you're deaf, you talk with your hands. As you're walking along with somebody else who's signing, you can't be as focused on where you're going, so the way should always be smooth—a paved path, not a gravel walk, and no sharp turns where curves will work. If you're relying on your eyes to see communication, the color scheme should emphasize soft blues and greens, because they won't cause eyestrain."

Interesting, that Kara had chosen blues and greens for her room. "What else?"

"Lots else. Corridors should be wider so two people can sign and walk side by side. Steps should be replaced with ramps, and seating for groups should always be in circles or horseshoes, never in rows…I have a whole binder full of information on this topic. Acoustics can be sacrificed to some extent, but lighting needs special consideration. I have a binder on elder care spaces and another on group homes for vets with PTSD. We can build spaces that heal and support rather than isolate and defeat, and it's often not even a matter of increasing the construction budget."

Declan was passionate about the profession he no longer contributed to. While Claudia was…

"I'm falling asleep." Which was no way to start the week. "I can't leave Strawberry. If he starts to colic, I want to catch it early. You should go to bed."

Claudia would miss Declan's warmth, though, and his company.

"Let's take the pony for a walk," Declan said. "Then you can go to sleep, and I'll take the first shift. Why don't I wake you in a couple of hours?"

She should chase him away from the barn, but his arm around her shoulders was a comfort, his company something more precious even than that.

"We'll walk the pony and take shifts, but when it's my shift, you go up to the house, Declan. I can handle the horse well enough."

Strawberry again came out of his stall stiff and walked out of the worst of his lameness. Declan resumed his place beside Claudia on the straw bales, and she dozed off with her head on his shoulder while rain pattered on the roof.

A last thought circled in her awareness, like a fly over a picnic basket. Declan didn't trust his own boss, but he'd also said that smart people should not trust Declan. That had to be lonely as hell, to be perceived always as an outsider or a threat.

Claudia felt no threat at all from Declan, but the sensible part of her, the part of her that could put down a suffering animal, or fire a drunk ranch hand, wondered if Declan had been warning her.

Though what harm could he possibly do her? He'd be gone in a week, and Claudia hoped that week might be quite enjoyable for them both.

***

Declan made a cup of strong coffee, took a guess, and added a dash of cream along with a squirt of agave nectar, then made his way to the barn. The sun was just coming up, and Kara wasn't yet awake. A certain cowgirl had ordered Declan from the barn nearly two hours ago.

He'd obeyed rather than keep Claudia awake arguing.

The air was cold, still, and silent. Out beyond the ranch house, the underbrush was probably alive with birds, lizards, mice, deer, coyotes, and more, but for a moment, Declan let the peace of the Canyon settle over him.

The idea of turning a beautiful, functional ranch into a management training center—or whatever Brewster wanted to call his corporate country club—was obscene.

And Declan was supposed to make it happen.

He took a sip of coffee—perhaps larceny had already become second nature to him—and slid the barn door open. Claudia was still curled up on the straw bales outside Strawberry's stall. Before Declan had been banished to the house, he'd made Claudia a bed. Five straw bales pushed together in the barn aisle, with two thicknesses of fleece coolers above and below and saddle pads for her pillow.

Strawberry was on his feet, peering at Declan hopefully.

"I haven't any breakfast for you," Declan said softly, "though I'm sure the boss will have your meal served directly."

Claudia stirred beneath her horse blankets but didn't open her eyes, so Declan sat on the bale at her side and passed the coffee cup under her nose.

"Wakey-wakey," he murmured. "Hungry ponies calling."

Nothing.

I'm going to steal your ranch, if you let me.

Brewster would play dirty to get what he wanted too, and he'd expect Declan to tell him exactly what sharp practice, sly maneuver, or threat would bring the game to a quick and satisfactory conclusion.

On the theory that a man might as well be hung for a lying scoundrel as a thief, Declan leaned down and kissed Claudia's forehead.

"Wake up, Claudia. I've brought coffee, and you promised me breakfast with all the fixings."

Blue eyes peered up at him. "You say it wrong. Fixin's, not fix-ings. Good morning."

Kissing her properly, on the mouth and a few other places, would be so easy, so delightful. Declan sat back. "How's the patient?"

"Stoved up something awful, and I feel like he walked right over me a time or two into the bargain." Claudia hiked up onto her elbows. "You mentioned coffee."

Declan set the mug by her hand and rose, ostensibly to study the horse, though his objective was to put distance between himself and Claudia. 

"I can help feed," he said. "Kara's not awake yet, that I could see."

Claudia sat up and took a sip of coffee. "This is perfect. You want a taste?"

He wanted much more than a taste. "I prefer tea, thank you. Shall I walk the horse?"

"Nah. He and I about wore a rut in the barn aisle last night. I'll give him some more pain medication and turn him out in the round pen. He can wander around some, but not enough to get stupid. Did I thank you for playing superhero last night?"

Kick me in the balls, why don't you? "I bent a metal bar. You would have used the hacksaw just as effectively in very short order. Shall I throw some hay?"

He'd also kept an arm around Claudia as she'd dozed, a tidy, warm bundle of strength and temptation beside him. He'd said a few prayers for the horse, but he'd said more prayers for himself, because this time, his job had painted him into a corner without windows.

"You can put the straw bales back where they belong. I'll throw hay. That damned bent bar will have to be replaced."

She arched her back in a long, luxurious stretch, then came over to stand beside Declan outside Strawberry's stall.

"This is one of my best lesson horses. Old Strawberry's part catcher's mitt when I'm trying to teach a kid how to jump. I don't think he'll be doing lessons for quite a while. Thank God I didn't have to shoot him. Kara competed in her first schooling shows on this guy, and I still enjoy a round or two on him every so often."

She slipped an arm around Declan's waist, and the moment would have been sweet, except Declan's conscience was jabbing a muck fork at his masculine inclinations.

"I'll put away the straw," Declan said, slipping away.

Because the feed had been measured and set out the night before, the morning chores went quickly. Declan tidied up the straw bales and shook out the coolers. Claudia tossed three hay bales down from the lofts overhead, and each horse was given a quarter of a bale to munch on.

Water buckets came next, in a routine Declan had learned as a boy on his grandfather's farm. When each horse's buckets had been filled, Claudia went down the aisle stall by stall and fed grain in the same order she'd thrown hay and topped up buckets.

"I'm for breakfast and a hot shower," Claudia said. "Kara will catch a ride to school with friends, but she'll have time to turn the horses out before she leaves. If you want to ride this morning, we can, though the ground will be soft in places."

What Declan wantedto do was get in his rental car and drive all the way back to Houston—or maybe kiss Claudia witless.

"Breakfast sounds good."

Resigning from his job sounded better, except that wouldn't deter Brewster from taking possession of the ranch, and it would result in a lot of problems with the good folk at Immigration Services. Declan's salary was generous, and he banked or invested most of it, but all the money in the world couldn't replace a valid work visa.

"So you think this place would be easier for Kara if I built ramps where all the steps are?" Claudia asked as they walked across the muddy barnyard.

"She's familiar with her home, so the ramps wouldn't be of as much use to her, but generally, yes. The less a deaf person has to divide her attention between monitoring a conversation and monitoring the terrain, the safer she'll be."

Claudia walked along beside him in silence, a tired woman who had no idea the tempest Declan had brought to her doorstep.

"Kara will probably inherit this place," she said, when they reached the house. "I ought to fit it out for her safety and convenience."

Kara would not inherit this ranch, not if Brewster had his way. "You ever think of selling instead? You could build new and incorporate all of the latest deaf engineering innovations. Visual doorbells, a strobe light on the landline phones, access for a service dog."

Claudia stopped on the back terrace. "You're making me feel guilty, Declan. Kara does so well, between her tablet, her phone, her fluency, her education plan…but someday she'll be an old woman, and those details—the doorbell that flashes in every room of the house, the access for a dog, the landline with a visual ringer—will matter. I'm so busy trying to get through every season that I've lost track of the bigger picture."

She turned to face the rising sun. One of her braids was coming unraveled, and wisps of straw clung to the hem of her sweater. Her profile was a work of art. Resolute, graceful, determined, tired…

Declan endured a sense of bone-deep knowing, as the sun gilded Claudia's hair and broke across land as beautiful as it was harsh.

This was the woman he'd been waiting for. Claudia was honorable, resilient, loyal, and strong. She would fight Brewster with everything in her, on behalf of the five generations of Jensens before her and the five generations to come.

He could love this woman, and yet, his job was to betray her.

***

"My radar is getting rusty," Claudia muttered.

Hotay sat in the kitchen windowsill, licking a front paw. He sent Claudia a glance that suggested the bacon had cooked long enough, and her love life, or lack of one, wasn't a priority.

"You are a public health hazard in this kitchen, cat. How about you go ask Declan if he needs any towels?"

Declan had said something about grabbing a shower when he and Claudia had got back to the house. Kara had scarfed up her oatmeal, turned out the horses, and gone off to school, and now the house felt…full of beds.

Not the kind of beds the proprietor of a B&B needed to make up fresh either. The kind she might tumble into with her only guest.

"He's not giving off the do-me signals." Claudia turned six silver-dollar pancakes in succession. "And yet, he's not giving off the go-away signals. A night in the barn has turned me up loco."

A night in the barn dozing against Declan's muscular shoulder, watching him walk away when she ought to have been studying her injured horse, and dreaming of him on the straw-bale bed he'd put together for her.

She'd set the table in the kitchen, because morning sun made the breakfast nook cheerful. A pair of precocious daisies that had sprung up on the south side of the hay shed were in a mason jar at the center of the table.

Not the kind of breakfast a director of special projects for an international oil company likely expected. Memory brushed against Claudia's focus on the food preparation. Declan had said something last night about his boss…

Why would a high-powered troubleshooter take a notion to cross more than five hundred miles of Texas to spend a week at a small B&B that more often provided pony rides to city girls taking a break from shopping?

Claudia took the bacon off the back burner and laid strips on paper towels. Hotay watched her every move, the same way Claudia had been hyperaware of Declan since she'd awoken to find him sitting at her hip, a cup of coffee in his hand.

"Even the way he holds a coffee cup is sexy. I'm in such trouble, cat." Though how much trouble could two people get into in the space of six days?

Claudia crumbled up a strip of bacon onto a paper plate and opened the back door. Hotay launched off the windowsill like a feline missile and was soon nose-down in his breakfast.

When the table was set, Claudia realized she couldn't hear the shower running. Ten minutes later, her belly was rumbling, Hotay was pawing the back door, and still no Declan.

She turned off all the burners and made her way to Declan's room, then tapped on his door. "Food's ready."

No reply, suggesting Declan had stepped out on the back terrace. Claudia knocked again, counted to ten, then opened the door.

Moses in the bulrushes.

Declan MacLeod lay on his side in the bad, one knee bent, eyes closed, his right arm jammed beneath the pillow. The sheets were tangled around one calf, but the rest of him, the muscular, beautiful, mouthwateringly naked rest of him, was on display.

The line from his back to his waist, over his flank, down to his knee was male poetry, and the pattern of auburn hair trailing from his chest to his belly a road map of feminine fantasies. His left hand resting against the mattress was palm up, his fingers half-curled in a gesture of unconscious invitation.

To study him while he slept was wrong—trespassing on his privacy—and irresistible. The male animal could be such an attractive beast, and this version of Declan, without the camouflage of manners or clothing, was luscious.

And he was apparently enjoying some marvelous dreams—of her?

Claudia let herself have one last, longing, look—my, my, my, the Creator had been generous to Declan MacLeod—then silently closed the door. The temptation to climb into that bed with him had her pressing her back to the wall and taking slow, deep breaths.

Two things stopped her from stripping down in the hallway and making some of her dreams come true.

First, in dealing with men, Claudia believed in a sauce-for-the-goose philosophy. In college, had she been a guy who loved to ride, no question her routine would have included a lot of early mornings at the horse barn. Girlfriends would either accommodate that priority or find another guy to hang with. Claudia had expected her own equestrian ambitions to be given the same respect, albeit with limited success.

In this case, if a guy had presumed to climb into her bed on less than forty-eight hours'acquaintance—even if that guy had been Declan—she'd probably have woken up feeling a mite crowded.

She took five more slow, deep breaths.

The second realization holding her back had to do with not trusting her welcome in Declan's bed. He'd been a perfect, if friendly, gentleman last night, but most times when Claudia had pitched—a kiss, an arm around his waist, an invitation to cuddle—he'd let the ball go sailing past him.

Was he being a Scottish version of a perfect gentleman, or—the idea nearly had her sliding down the wall—was he being kind to a woman who ought to know better?

Dadgummit.

"Declan, wake up." Claudia rapped on the door for good measure. "Breakfast is ready."

A muffled sound came from beyond the door.

"If you're not in the kitchen in five minutes I will personally throw you out of that bed."

"I'll be there!"

He showed up in the kitchen wearing jeans, a heliotrope T-shirt that had a picture of that famous castle on it—Eileen Somebody—his hair damp-combed into order.

Claudia wanted to kiss his cheek in greeting, get him out of those clothes, and mess up his hair.

"Have a seat," she said, putting a dish of bacon on the table, then taking a chair. "Pancakes are to your left, and I'm calling dibs on the butter. Tell me about how you landed your special projects job."

Maybe if she understood Declan better, she could decipher his signals more easily.

He took three little pancakes—only three—and two strips of bacon. His idea of a serving of butter wouldn't keep Hotay busy for two minutes, and he used enough syrup to attract about one low-flying insect.

"How I got my job was simple. I was in the middle of designing a one-room schoolhouse for a village on the northwest coast of Scotland, and one of Brewster's exploratory boats got in trouble."

Claudia poured maple syrup over all four of her pancakes. "Why a one-room schoolhouse?"

"Two reasons. First, they are excellent educational environments. The children learn to focus, to work independently, and to absorb a lot of passive learning. Second, the northwest of Scotland is sparsely populated. Some of the villages are accessible only by boat, and their Internet access is dodgy. The simpler the school building, the more affordable it is. These pancakes are quite good."

They were quite small too.

"So you were minding your own business, designing this school, and a boat got in trouble?"

"In more ways than one. Brewster has never admitted it, but I suspect his boat wasn't supposed to be in the Minch at all. Brewster has North Sea projects, which is east of Scotland, while the boat was sailing about among the Western Isles. In any case, the boat ran aground on a shoal when a storm was bearing down. I figured out how to free the boat before it and all the scientific equipment aboard got smashed to bits. Brewster decided to thank me in person."

Maybe Declan made a powerful first impression on everybody.

"And from there, you were offered a job. Is that how you got to Texas?"

He used his fork differently from a lot of Americans, putting the fork in his mouth tines down. Claudia liked knowing that detail about him, and attributed it to a European upbringing.

"When I was working on my master's, I did some summer oceanographic work in San Diego, and drove back to the East Coast on I-10. Texas fascinated me. I had a chance that autumn to do two conferences in Houston, and I was hooked. When Brewster offered the job out of his Aberdeen office, I leaped at it. That was more than two years ago."

This recitation might have come from any guest over Claudia's breakfast table, though she served breakfast most often in the dining room or on the front porch. She was abundantly aware of Declan's knee casually bumping hers under the table when he reached for more bacon.

"Why Texas?" Claudia had her own answers to that question, but she wanted to hear his.   

"The people are friendly, for one thing. They have plans and dreams and a forward energy I didn't find back home. The sun doesn't go into mourning every winter, or require you to hang blackout curtains in the summer. There's history here—some of it violent and sad—but not endless millennia of contention, turning half the backyards in half the neighborhoods into historical sites. Would you like more pancakes?"

"Help yourself. Juice?"

"Please."

They ate in silence for the time it took Claudia to finish her pancakes and snitch a fourth strip of crispy bacon. All manner of questions presented themselves for Claudia's consideration:

Are you gay? None of her damned business, of course.

Have any interest in a Texas fling? Except Declan was a good-looking guy who knew how to handle himself. If he was interested, he'd have let Claudia know it by now.

How would a nice Scottish guy like you come on to a woman he's just met?

"I was hungrier than I realized," Declan said, when he'd demolished eight pancakes and a half-dozen strips of bacon. "That syrup is different from what I have back home."

I'm hungrier than I realized too. "Good old Vermont maple syrup," Claudia said. "Can I get you anything else? Cup of coffee? Tea?"

Me? Good God, she was a disaster. Maybe all women went a little nuts the year they turned thirty.

"How about if I help with the dishes, and then you can put me in the saddle? For today, sticking to the arena probably makes the most sense, though if you think the footing isn't solid, I've brought plenty of work with me, and I can keep myself occupied."

"I can put you in the saddle. Did you bring a pair of boots?"

"I did, and gloves. Your advert said you have riding helmets here."

"Never climb aboard without a helmet on, Declan. That one's non-negotiable or I could lose my insurance. Fetch your boots, and I'll put the dishes to soak."

He didn't take orders very well, something Claudia could grow to like about him. Instead of toddling off to put on boots, he put away the butter, syrup, and juice, wrapped up the bacon, and as Claudia washed the dishes, he dried and put away.

And that was…Claudia's own dad had considered the kitchen a woman's domain. He wouldn't even wash out a coffee cup if a clean one was available to use instead.

Claudia pulled the stopper from the drain and watched the water disappear. Declan, I'm falling for you.

Nobody said stuff like that, not after a few days' acquaintance. And yet, at the Sugar Shack and honky-tonks all over Texas, people managed to find dance partners without making idiot declarations.

So Claudia gave up on the words, and when Declan had folded the dish towel just so over the handle of the oven, she stepped in close, wrapped her arms around him, and kissed him on the mouth.