When Logan heard Olivia stir upstairs, he left a note by the coffee maker then hastened out the back door. He didn’t want to give her any opportunity to weasel out of their bargain, and needed to saddle the horses.

He’d be taking Casey, his favorite twelve-year-old gelding. Casey was born when Logan had been on summer break when he was attending Annapolis. He spent the entire month with the foal, rubbing him down for hours to ensure he didn’t fear humans. He was trying something new at the time and it had paid off. Whenever he was home, Casey followed Logan around the pasture and it never mattered how long Logan was away, the horse always greeted him with snorts and nickers.

Olivia’s horse was the same twenty-year-old sorrel gelding she’d met yesterday, Chicken. The name didn’t fit, because Chicken wasn’t skittish in the least. He ambled along, rarely ever broke into a jog, and it took a seasoned rider to convince him to step up to a lope. Yep, Chicken was the best beginner’s horse in the herd.

Logan took his time brushing the two, picking their hooves and saddling them. He wanted this day to be perfect. Olivia had given him her all when they were sparring. Though his flame for her had never flickered, it wasn’t until she was aiming deadly kicks at his head that he realized she still liked him. If he’d been a terrorist, she wouldn’t have missed. And if she’d been serious about returning to London, she wouldn’t have let him win. Well, she didn’t exactly let him win, but her defense to his choke hold had been a millisecond late. And that’s when his spirits rose.

When he rode out of the barn with Chicken in tow, Olivia was waiting on the porch, just as his note had instructed. She wore tight-fitting jeans, the flannel shirt untucked, one of Logan’s Navy ballcaps with her hair pulled back and, best of all, she looked like dynamite in the cowboy boots Sylvia had bought. Leggy, curves in the right places.

He pulled Casey to a stop in front of the hitching post. “You look like a mighty fine wrangler in that getup.”

She gave him a sober blink. “Is that so, cowboy?” No, given her accent, the whole wrangler fantasy fizzled, but still didn’t detract from her allure.

He casually slung his leg over Casey’s withers and slid to the ground. “Come on. I’ll give you a leg up and adjust your stirrups.”

She ambled down the stairs. “Chicken looks a lot bigger when he’s not in a stall.”

“He’s a pussy cat.” Logan took her hand and led her to the horse’s nose. “Let him smell your palm and give him a pat so he knows who’s riding him.”

“You don’t just jump on?”

“The horse likes it better if you introduce yourself first.”

“Who knew?” She let Chicken sniff, then smoothed her hand down his neck while a smile spread across her lips. “You’re a handsome fella, aren’t you?”

Logan gulped, wishing she was talking to him. A wisp of hair from her ponytail blew across his nose. He caught the knee-weakening scent of fresh rain and nearly groaned. God, he had it bad, and he was still in the doghouse. Ignoring his urge to pull her into an embrace, he showed her how to hold the reins and mount. Once she was securely in the saddle, he adjusted her stirrups and gave her thigh a pat. “You’re all set.”

“I know you’re laughing right down to your toes.”

“Laughing? Not at all. I’ve wanted to show you my spread since we arrived.”

“Is that what’s this is about? Showing me the backwoods of the wild west?”

He threw a leg over Casey’s back and took up his reins. “I wanted to share something I love with you.” The words came out low with an edge. No matter how much he tried, she just didn’t get it. She was just too citified. Olivia didn’t want to ride horses and she didn’t want to be in Montana. Dammit, he should stop trying to make her like it. Maybe she was right. They ought to head back to ICE and pick up where they left off—not the work-spouse thing, but the hunting terrorists thing.

He wasn’t the duchess’ type. She’d made that imminently clear a dozen times since they’d met.

A knot formed between his shoulder blades. She agreed to a goddamned picnic, and they were going to enjoy the hell out of the day if it killed him.

***

Olivia rode behind Logan, half-expecting him to point to every rock and tell a story, but he just rode in silence.

And she felt wretched.

He’d been keen to show her his place and she’d done nothing but act like a highbrow, wallowing in her own misery. There’d been great deal of emotion in his last words. Resignation and frustration were there for certain. But the worst was disappointment. She’d pushed him away, and pushed too far.

Her gut twisted.

It was just as well. Neither one of them could engage in a relationship.

No matter how much I’d like to.

She rode along, watching his back, worrying about him. What was he thinking? Had she deeply hurt his feelings? Was he angry? He’d been nothing but kind to her. The man had bent over backward to be accommodating. And she’d spat in his face every chance she got, blaming him for letting al-Umari slip through their fingers. Again.

But it wasn’t his fault.

Nothing was his fault, especially Olivia’s ever present self-loathing.

She liked Logan a lot. More than any guy she’d dated as of late. Damn. She had to admit it. She liked him more than any guy ever. And he’d always acted the gentleman. She took in a long breath. “I’m sorry if I was short with you.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Olivia blinked, a tad rebuffed. She didn’t much care for it when the roles reversed and he started playing the masochist.

But that was her fault, too.

She pointed to a peak that rose above the forest. “What mountain is that?”

“Broken Leg Mountain.”

“Are we heading up there?”

“Not your first time out. I thought we might go to Horseshoe Lake. It’s nearby and secluded.”

“Is that the big fishing lake you told me about?”

“No.” A bit of command returned to his voice. “People come from miles around to fish Flathead Lake. It’s world famous.”

She smoothed the reins through her fingers. “Does Chicken trot?”

“You think you’re ready to step it up?”

“He’s not going to rear or anything?”

“Not Chicken.” Logan tapped his heels and, as soon as Casey took up a trot, Chicken followed. Olivia didn’t even have to do anything. But she flopped in the saddle, her bum slapping the leather like a bag of grain.

Logan glanced back. “Press your heels down. Move with the horse. He’s got a smooth gait.”

Olivia did as told and the jostling stopped. “There’s a lot to this, isn’t there?”

He shrugged. “I suppose anything worth doing well takes practice. You didn’t earn your black belt overnight, did you?”

“No. I did not.”

“Me, neither. In fact, being a quick study isn’t my strong suit.”

“No? Then what is?” she asked.

“Being tenacious.”

He can say that again.

By the time they reached a grassy point jutting into Horseshoe Lake, Logan seemed more like his old self, and the fresh air had made Olivia’s head clear. She felt human for the first time in weeks.

He was so at home there in Montana. Not that Olivia hadn’t bivouacked in the hills of Cambodia or in the arid Middle East. On her visits to Kenya, she’d had it rough—didn’t have to ride a horse, but accommodations were piss-poor, sometimes without running water. Montana was beautiful—stunning. There were evergreens everywhere and the heady fragrance of pine and forest filled the air.

They dismounted and she watched him hobble the horses. “Do you like to go fishing?”

“Love it. I’m a fly fisherman from way back.”

“I’ve never been.”

He straightened. “Nothing clears the mind better than spending the day on a river. Just a man and his rod.”

She almost laughed out loud—the image she’d conjured of his rod was definitely not a fishing pole. “I’ll take your word for it.”

He gave a sad smile. “I guess it’s another acquired skill. I haven’t had much time for fishing since I became a SEAL.”

“I know what that’s like.” Olivia rubbed her hands. “So, what did you pack for lunch?”

“A taste of France—baguettes with brie, fruit. Hope you don’t mind, but I kept it simple.”

“Simple works.”

After she spread the blanket, he set out the food. It all looked so provincial. Logan sat with his knees up, his heels digging into the blanket, which didn’t look comfortable at all. Olivia figured she ought to try to be ladylike and rested her knees to the side. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been on a picnic—probably didn’t want to, either.

She pointed to the thermos. “What’s in there?”

“Hot tea.”

“No wine?”

“I thought about wine but, since you’re British, I figured you might enjoy a nip of English Breakfast.” He pulled two tin cups out of his saddle bags, then untwisted the top of the thermos.

She held up a cup. “We need some scones or biscuits.”

He reached in the saddle bags again. “How about shortbread?”

“Delicious. Which should we eat first?”

“Your choice.”

She picked up a knife and sliced the brie. “Let’s have a free for all. Have you ever tried brie on shortbread?”

Finally, those penetrating teal eyes met her gaze. “I have not.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Nor have I, but it sounds good to me.” She slathered a biscuit with cheese and held it up to his lips. “Will you do the honors?”

He opened his mouth and let Olivia feed him. “Mm.” His eyes grew wider as he chewed. Good Lord, if any man could make chewing look sexy, Logan Rodgers pulled it off like he was born to seduce by eating. He watched her from beneath his long, black eyelashes, with a cocky grin playing on his lips.

Butterflies flitted through her stomach.

“It’s good,” he said, taking the knife from her hand while his fingers brushed hers with a flicker of energy.

After seducing her further with a wink, he slathered a biscuit with brie and raised it to her lips. When he slid the combo into her mouth, Olivia’s taste buds exploded. Brie and shortbread was fantastic. A new favorite. He watched her as she chewed, then brushed her cheek with the back of his knuckle. “I’m glad you came with me.”

“Believe it or not, so am I.” She twisted the corner of her mouth. “I suppose I needed a kick in the tush.”

“Nah.” He batted a hand through the air. “You needed to recharge.”

She sighed and looked to the tops of the pine trees. “So you recharge here, fishing and riding horses?”

“I do. And mustering cattle.”

“I haven’t seen your cattle.”

“They’re grazing in the pasture down by Jason’s place.”

She looked up to the trees—nature, birds singing. Montana was so peaceful. “Why do you do it?”

“What?”

“Travel halfway around the world to fight bad guys.”

He rocked back on his elbow, looking even sexier than before, more relaxed, as if he were a part of the nature surrounding them. “It’s in my blood. Much the same as it’s in yours, I guess. I love it here, but it gets old after a while, and every time I see the news about some moron hurting innocent people, I can’t sit idle. It’s like an internal firecracker blasting out a call to action.”

“My call never really goes away.”

“Mine, either, I suppose. Maybe one day.”

Her lips parted as she stared into his eyes. God help her, he looked too delicious not to kiss. Her breathing shuddered as she moved closer, wanting him, but not trusting herself at the same time. When she hesitated, Logan threaded his fingers through her hair and, rising up to meet her, he captured her mouth.

Olivia timidly kissed his lips.

Logan moaned, his tongue pushing inside.

Olivia froze as the memory of the blade of a knife skimming her lips hit her like a brick. Tensing, she gently urged him back down to the blanket. “I can’t.”

Logan sat up, swiping a hand across his mouth. “God damn, my heart isn’t like a faucet you can turn on and off.”

“Sorry.” She shook her head, feeling like a worthless lout. “I-I just don’t do well unless I’m on the job.”

He gave her an angry stare. “You know I get a rush from the job, too. But there’s more to life than fighting thugs. There’s a spark between us, you can’t deny—”

“I know, but I cannot—”

“You can!” He sat up with a grunt, putting his back to her. God, the gesture felt like he’d just slammed a door. “You just won’t. Not until you stop blaming yourself for your parents’ death.”

Ice water shot through Olivia’s blood. No one ever spoke about what happened in Pakistan. Never! And he had no right to bring it up now. “How dare you?”

He rolled to his knees and started shoving the food into his saddle bags. “I was a fool to think you might like it here. I was a fool to think you might like me. I’ve been around your kind plenty, and all you people think about is yourselves…how you feel, what you want, where you want to be. No one else matters because it’s all about you.” He looked up with the most hurt and hateful expression she’d ever seen cross his face. “Isn’t it?”