Temporary Rancher. Ann Evans

      “Sweetie,” Riley crooned gently, rubbing her hands up and down her daughter’s slim back. “It’s not going to hurt you.”

      “No, Mom. Look!” Wendy said. “See what it did?”

      The girl snatched up the bath towel they had used to hide the buffalo head. Sure enough, when Riley glanced up at the wall, the creature was no longer covered. And from this angle, he did look pretty mad.

      “He threw it over my face,” Wendy exclaimed, tears sparkling in her eyes.

      “Wendy. The towel must have slipped loose when the air-conditioning kicked on.”

      “No, really! He tried to smother me in my sleep!”

      “Oh, brother,” Roxanna muttered, sitting up in bed to scratch her head.

      “Rox, be quiet,” Riley said with a twinge of frustration.

      Since she’d spent those days in the hospital last year, Wendy had become clingy and fearful. She also tended to be a bit paranoid. Everything from the tiniest ant on the sidewalk to Bigfoot was personally out to get her. Riley didn’t have a clue how to fix it.

      She sat on the bed hugging Wendy tightly, and stared up at the buffalo. Enough was enough. The damned thing was coming down.

      Trying to lighten the mood, Riley yanked up her pajama bottoms and stood on the mattress. “All right, varmint,” she told the head. “This apartment isn’t big enough for the both of us.”

      With a giggle, Rox bounced to her feet, nearly sending Riley off the side of the bed. Wendy had planted herself in one corner, waiting to see how her mother would save the day.

      Now that she was standing, Riley was nearly eye-to-eye with the thing, and she could almost feel sorry for it. Its dark hair was matted and dusty. A huge chunk had been taken out of its left ear. She couldn’t help wondering if that had happened before or after it had met its tragic end. But it still had to go.

      She reached up and grabbed a horn in each hand, wiggling the head to see if there was any give. There wasn’t. Whoever had mounted it up there had intended it to stay secure through a tornado.

      Riley tugged some more, every which way she could think of. “Come on,” she groaned between clenched teeth. “Give it up. Come down from there.”

      “Don’t touch it!” Wendy squealed from behind her, but there was a giggle in her voice.

      “Go, Mom!” Roxanna encouraged. “You’re like the Incredible Hulk.”

      The mounting plaque didn’t budge. The buffalo looked bored. All Riley succeeded in doing was breaking a fingernail. She blew hair out of her eyes and redoubled her efforts.

      “No one scares my kids, you hear me?” she threatened. “Don’t make me get my chainsaw.”

      Roxanna, bouncing on the bed, laughed at that.

      Poor Wendy gasped, but at least she seemed caught up in this crazy new adventure. “You’re making it mad. What if it tries to eat us?”

      Riley might have refuted that possibility, but she didn’t get the chance. From the doorway of the bedroom, a male voice said, “I’m pretty sure the buffalo is a vegetarian.”

      This time, all three of them screamed.

      CHAPTER THREE

      WHATEVER QUINTIN HAD thought he would run up against when he’d heard that scream, it hadn’t been three pajama-clad females in a face-off with a stuffed buffalo head.

      Returning from the trip to Dallas with five Dutch Warmbloods in his thirteen-horse trailer, he’d seen the muddy blue SUV parked close to the horse barn. He’d assumed it belonged to Riley Palmer.

      But now, having let himself into the manager’s apartment with his spare key, he didn’t know what the hell was going on.

      He’d found a woman, standing with her back to him, tussling with the buffalo head mounted above the bed. Two children—little girls—were cheering her on, and all three females were so intent on their mission that they were unaware of his presence. He blinked in surprise. It wasn’t every day you ran into a woman trying to go three rounds with a buffalo head, accompanied by her own small cheering section.

      But he’d expected a man. One man only. Riley Palmer. This was definitely not that man.

      He watched, filled with curiosity, as the blonde continued to rail against the buffalo. He couldn’t help staring—those thin, shorty pajamas defined her rear end nicely and complemented a pair of strong, slender legs that went on forever.

      She seemed to be trying to amuse the children, or maybe lessen some unknown fear. That scream had been real enough. But now, with every one of her tugs, the kids urged her on, laughing in that little girl way that would make anyone want to be part of the fun.

      The woman paused for a moment, and one of the kids gasped out her suspicion that the buffalo might eat them. Quintin had decided it was time to reveal himself, but answering the child’s question only seemed to scare the crap out of them.

      Almost as though it was planned, they yelped and squealed in unison. The woman reached to gather the children close, a sweet, protective gesture. He’d bet money these were her kids.

      The problem was, they were probably Riley Palmer’s, as well, and wherever the guy was right now, he and Quintin were going to have to talk. No mention had been made about bringing a family. Or even having one, for that matter. Lots of ranchers hired married couples to run both the house and the ranch, but that hadn’t been Quintin’s plan. He hadn’t wanted to bring an entire family on board.

      Kids at Echo Springs, for God’s sake. Underfoot and in need of constant attention.

      He felt a weary kind of irritation. Palmer should have told him. Now Quintin would have to send them packing. Valuable time lost, as well as an upheaval for this mom and her children.

      They stared at him, mouths open, eyes full of uncertainty. Twins, he realized, with a lot of their mom in them. Same silky blond hair. Same eyes, the color of a tropical sea.

      Their mother, obviously realizing how scantily clad she was, snatched up a portion of the sheet and pressed it against her breasts. In spite of his annoyance, Quintin almost laughed at that.

      Relax, honey, he wanted to tell her. Believe me, I’ve pretty much seen everything you’ve got.

      She might be another man’s wife, but Quintin could still appreciate a good-looking female, and this one had prettiness to spare. He’d been out of circulation for a while, but he couldn’t deny the effect a pair of big blue eyes and honey-blond hair could have on his system.

      When she lifted that strong chin as if to brazen out the awkwardness of the situation, Quintin felt his lips twist. Palmer had chosen well. This woman was no shrinking violet.

      “I’m sorry to have frightened you ladies,” he said. “I knocked, but I think you were too busy fighting with the buffalo to hear me.”

      The woman came off the bed quickly, but with surprising grace in spite of the fact that she pulled the sheet with her. She marched over to him, straight as a drum major. In her bare feet, she was much shorter than he was in boots, even with those long legs.

      She held out her hand. “You must be Quintin Avenaco. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

      He took her slim fingers in his. Her handshake was firm, and he felt an odd twinge of regret that very soon he’d have to send this family on their way. And where was Riley Palmer while his wife and kids were taking on stuffed monsters?

      “I’m Quintin,” he confirmed. “And I assume you’re Riley Palmer’s wife?”

      He saw her swallow hard before answering. Whatever she intended to say, she didn’t like it. “Actually… I’m Riley Palmer.”

      Quintin