Texas Pride. Barbara McCauley

he asked, though something told Dylan he wasn’t going to like the answer.

      “Well, I don’t exactly have any blueprints.”

      He was right. He didn’t like the answer. “You didn’t call in an architect on a project this size?”

      “Oh, I called one, all right. I just couldn’t afford him. All I have are a few preliminary sketches and permits for the work Jake and Jared did. I thought maybe I could just sort of figure it out as I went along.”

      Dylan stared at Jessica in disbelief. “Let me get this straight. You thought you could just figure out how to rebuild this entire town—without blueprints?”

      “Actually,” Jessica said, her expression full of guilt, “I was hoping you...well, whoever I hired, I mean, might be able to handle it.”

      He struggled not to raise his voice. “Me? On the salary you’re paying me, I’m supposed to spend God knows how many hours drawing up plans, too?”

      “I don’t expect anything, Dylan,” she said, holding his gaze with her own. “If you don’t want to do it, I’m sure I can manage to pull something together for you.”

      “You don’t pull together blueprints, Jessica,” he said sharply. “You draw them. Slowly and carefully.”

      This job of his was getting increasingly more complicated by the moment, Dylan thought with annoyance. Hell, before long, this woman would probably have him paying her for the privilege of working here. If he had an ounce of sense or a lick of pride, he’d get back on his bike and keep riding.

      But this job had nothing to do with sense or pride, he reminded himself. With a sigh, he ran his hands through his hair and faced Jessica.

      And the instant he looked at her, he knew he’d never ride on out. Her eyes, a soft deep blue, were wide as she stared back at him. A man could drown in those eyes. There was passion there. Determination. The combination of the two was deadly. He’d never met anyone like her before. Two days ago he’d have laughed at the idea that anyone like her even existed.

      But here she was, standing in front of him, her chin tilted upward, her eyes bright. She was a dreamer. An idealist. She hadn’t learned yet that people couldn’t be trusted. That they were only out to get what they wanted for themselves.

      She’d learn soon enough.

      He stepped closer to her. “All right. I’ll do it. But with all this extra work and no pay, I’m going to need a little incentive.” He lowered his voice as he searched her face. “Something to make it worth my while.”

      Her body stiffened at his suggestive tone, and when her gaze locked with his, anger darkened her eyes. “And what exactly would you consider worth your while, Mr. Grant?”

      He leaned closer still, bringing his face within inches of hers. “You have to cook for me.”

      Dylan struggled not to laugh when Jessica’s lips parted in surprise, and when he found himself staring at that enticing mouth longer than good sense dictated, he straightened and backed away.

      “You want me to cook for you?”

      He nodded. “You do know how to cook, don’t you?”

      “Of course I know how to cook.” She frowned. “But there’s no usable kitchen in Makeshift. Unless I go to town or to one of my brothers’ places, it’s sandwiches and raw vegetables.”

      “Sandwiches are fine for lunch, but I want a hot meal at night and a big breakfast every morning.” He took malicious delight in the gasp Jessica uttered. “And if I see so much as one raw vegetable, I’m out of here.”

      She folded her arms and faced him. “And just how do you expect me to cook without a stove or oven?”

      “Well—” Dylan scratched at his chin thoughtfully “—people ate hot food here before, didn’t they?”

      “Yes,” she answered carefully.

      “So I guess if you were going to figure out how to rebuild this town without blueprints, you can figure out how to cook without electricity.”

      Cook without electricity? Jessica stared at him. She was still reeling from his first assault on her senses, when she’d thought he was about to proposition her. She’d been furious, of course, and ready to tell him where he could go. And yet, at the same time, she’d felt an excitement course through her. Then when he’d told her he wanted her to cook for him, he’d caught her completely off guard again. She’d always been so sure of herself. Of who she was and what she wanted. For the first time, she felt off-key and out of balance.

      She didn’t like it one bit.

      This project, like the man standing in front of her, was getting more complicated by the minute. But what choice did she have? She had no idea where to begin, but as he’d said, she’d figure it out.

      She sighed heavily and shook her head. “All right, Dylan. But let’s hope it won’t be your words you eat, instead of my food. Either one is going to be hard to chew.”

      * * *

       “He’s staying, Lucas! He’s staying!”

       Lucas smiled as Meggie floated upward toward the saloon ceiling and spun. He’d never tire of watching her. One hundred and twenty years hadn’t dimmed that pleasure.

       “I will reserve my judgment on that just now,” Lucas said. “I most certainly didn’t like his provocative manner of speaking to her.”

       “Oh, yes, he is a rogue, isn’t he?” She smiled brightly. “But I knew he was teasing her. And you did, too, or you would have stopped him.”

       Lucas nodded. “I admit I admire his resourcefulness. But I’m not sure why Jessica would object to cooking for him.”

       Meggie floated back down and faced Lucas. “I suppose you think a woman should be thrilled at the idea of slaving over a hot stove for a man all day?”

       Lucas wrinkled his brow. “It’s a woman’s duty. Why should she object?”

       Meggie put her hands on her hips and frowned. “You are an oaf, Lucas Kincaid. Things are not the same as they were for us. Men and women have both changed. Their thinking is quite different.”

       He loved the way her nose wrinkled when she was irritated with him. “Perhaps what men do today might be different from our time, my dear, but what they are thinking is certainly not. And Mr. Grant’s thoughts regarding Jessica are precisely the same thoughts I had when I first met you.”

       In spite of her annoyance at Lucas, Meggie couldn’t help but smile. “Every time Dylan stands close to Jessica, I feel something. Almost like a pulse of energy that moves from them into me. Did you feel it, too, Lucas?”

       He nodded. “Yes. I feel it. I don’t understand it or what it means. But we will soon, my love. Very soon.”

       Meggie leaned close to Lucas, wanting his nearness even though there could be no physical contact. “Put your arms around me, my darling. Let’s pretend, if only for a moment, that we are truly holding each other.”

       Lucas held out his arms and Meggie moved into them, wishing desperately that Dylan Grant was the answer to their prayers.

       “I love you, Lucas,” she said quietly.

       “And I, you,” he answered.

       They stood there quietly, pretending it was another time and place. “Lucas,” Meggie asked, “do you think Jessica will be angry when she finds out Dylan hasn’t been completely truthful with her?”

       Lucas