He blinked twice at the beat-up old van with lurid green and pink panels emblazoned with huge yellow flowers. Jesus. It was the Mystery Machine. And about as out of place here in rural Colorado as a tractor on Fifth Avenue. The vehicle pulled to a halt and the engine cut, and Grady half expected Scooby and the gang to tumble out as the door opened.

They didn’t.

A woman slid down from the cab. Grady had been expecting a woman—Susan something something, his uncle had informed him when he’d arrived to get the cottage ready yesterday—but it didn’t mean he had to like it. Living outside Credence meant not having to be sociable with anyone, least of all a woman who filled out blue jeans in ways that made him remember how much he liked women in denim.

Grady had decided a long time ago on a solitary life and was not, consequently, settling-down material, despite his well-meaning uncle’s assertions about the joys of holy matrimony. He’d sure as hell stayed away from Credence during the summer when a nationwide ad campaign had brought busloads of single women to the small eastern Colorado town, hoping a few might stay and make Credence their home—and some of the Credence bachelors their husbands.

A couple of dozen had stayed, but he wasn’t interested in any of them. Or this woman, either. He’d told his uncle repeatedly the last couple of weeks that he didn’t want the cottage rented to some artist, and it was hardly his fault accommodations were scarce due to the sudden spike in population.

That ridiculous ad campaign hadn’t been his idea.

But the land—several thousand acres of it—including the cabin and the cottage belonged to his uncle, and Burl Grady had the final say. Not that Burl had ever played that card until now, but it was the first time in three years Grady had regretted knocking back his uncle’s very generous offer to sign over the ranch to him forthwith rather than waiting for it to come to him in his uncle’s will.

He had enough money to buy his own damn ranch but his uncle had wanted to retire, and taking over the reins had been the one way Grady could think of to repay his aunt and uncle for stepping up during the worst time of his life.

Except now he had to put up with Little Miss Blue Jeans for a month.

She didn’t see him as she walked toward the white fence that partitioned off the field to the front of the cabin, but Grady couldn’t look away. She was hard to ignore. Her hair was contained in a bright-green knitted hat, so he had no idea whether she was blond, brunette, or redhead, but her knee-high Ugg-type boots and her sweet rounded ass swinging in those jeans were way more fascinating anyway.

Neither short nor tall, she was amply proportioned, a fact emphasized by her leaning on the top rail of the fence, which pushed out her ass. Grady shut his eyes. He’d never gone for skinny—he liked fullness and curves and this woman needed a flashing neon sign attached to hers.