Turning over, he balled his hand and gave his pillow a good whack. Head on the plumped-up pillow, he closed his eyes. Blast it all, if he didn’t picture her pretty, round face and expressive blue peepers. A man could get lost in eyes like those.

But it was the memory of the towel wrapped around her gentle curves that made him shrug off the blanket and toss the pillow across the room.

Sitting on the edge of the cot, he dropped his elbows on his lap and pressed his forehead into the palms of his hands. It wasn’t just that she couldn’t ride; she was an Easterner through and through. Like others of her ilk, she had no interest in the land. All those Eastern folks cared about was money. Like the carpetbaggers who had reaped high profits from the reconstruction of the South, the same sort of vultures benefited from the sweat of western cattlemen. They did it through exorbitant stockyard charges, commissions, and bad loans. As much as he hated putting Emily in that same group, he feared she too would try to bleed him dry at the end of their deal.

Oh yes. He had every reason to distrust her and not just moneywise. He couldn’t imagine her getting her hands dirty. Or clothes soiled. Or sitting up all night with a distressed cow.

The only place he could imagine her was in his bed, and that would never do. He had a very clear picture in his head of the kind of wife he wanted, the kind of wife the ranch needed. And his bride clearly didn’t fit that mold.

He tried to think of the positive side. They would be together for only a short while. One year. Twelve months. Fifty-two weeks.

But the more the memory of her wrapped in a towel kept popping into his head, the more he worried. How fetching she’d looked. How utterly desirable.

He clamped down on his thoughts. For the love of Pete! What was the matter with him? She was off-limits. That was the promise made. She’d told him in no uncertain terms that should he cross the line, the deal was off.

The question was, how could he keep his side of the bargain for a full year when it was all he could do to get through one blasted night?

11

The crow of a rooster drifted through the open windows as Emily stepped into the kitchen the following morning. The rising sun cast a ribbon of golden sunlight across the room, suggesting a cheeriness she didn’t feel.

Still shaken by last night’s encounter with Chase, she tried to make sense of her confused feelings. She wasn’t afraid of him. Nor did she worry that he would demand his husbandly rights.

Her feelings for him were far more complex and unsettling, far more worrisome. It wasn’t just that she found him attractive. At times, she’d felt a connection she hadn’t felt with any other man. Like when they’d laughed over something Mrs. Buttonwood had said. Then there were instances when she’d wanted to throttle him. How could one man invoke such mixed emotions?