Her Torrid Temporary Marriage. Sara Orwig

of spring wildflowers. “We got a lot of rain last week,” she remarked.

      “Glad to have it. You’ve got good water on your land with Cotton Creek.”

      “Yes, thank heaven,” she replied, knowing she had better water resources than he did and wondering if that was a large part of what prompted his proposal.

      “Josh, this really is impossible,” she blurted nervously. The man tied her in knots. He was appealing, sexy, popular with everyone in the county—she didn’t belong with him.

      “What’s impossible?” he asked easily. “My proposal?”

      “Yes. I don’t think you’ve given enough thought to it.” She fished in her pocket and withdrew a slip of paper. “I sat down and thought of the women I know who live here and can marry you.”

      He laughed, a throaty chuckle that sent tingles spiraling through her. “Did you now! How do you know what kind of woman I would like to marry?”

      “You proposed to me—and I’m all but a stranger—so you’re obviously not particular.”

      “I’m damned particular. I gave this a lot of thought already,” he said, shooting her a glance that made her toes curl. Momentarily she forgot her list as she thought about Josh Brand spending hours thinking about her and considering her as marriage material. Even if it was a loveless marriage, it still involved getting emotionally entangled. The idea of emotional entanglement with the man beside her took her breath away.

      “Well, go ahead. Who’s on your list?” he asked with amusement.

      She straightened the paper. “How about Reba Talmadge?”

      He shook his head. “Too unreliable.”

      “Reba?” Reba lived in Latimer and was the town librarian in Spencer, a neighboring town. As far as Mattie knew, Reba was practical and reliable and rather attractive. And she had just broken an engagement.

      “All right, how about Candice Webster?”

      “She was the first nanny. And no. Definitely not.”

      Biting her lip, Mattie glanced at him. He gave her one quick glance in return, and she looked into his eyes filled with determmation. When he returned his gaze to the road, she noticed a muscle flexing in his jaw.

      “Alyssa Hagen?”

      “Never. Woman never stops talking and has a laugh that would drive a man to flight.”

      Worried, Mattie ran her gaze over her list. The man was damned particular! “Barb Crandall?”

      He reached over and withdrew the list from Mattie’s fingers, balled it up and tossed it into a litter bag on the dash. “Thanks, anyway. I think I’ve made the best possible choice. And I’ve considered every female I’ve ever known.”

      Mattie bit her lip again and turned to look at the land. She was flattered, astonished, wondering if she would ever get over her amazement. And she was uneasy. She couldn’t possibly marry Josh Brand. The notion was totally unthinkable. The man could have almost any woman he wanted. Why would he want her?

      They rode in silence while her thoughts seethed. She should just outright ask him, but it was difficult. She couldn’t even deal with him on this introductory level. It was beyond imagination to think about marrying him and dealing with him daily about everything in her life. And he disturbed her. She was intensely aware of him. He was too attractive, too incredibly masculine. She rubbed her damp palms together nervously.

      “Relax, Mattie,” he said quietly.

      “It’s difficult under the circumstances.”

      “We’re just going to a simple dinner and discuss our futures.”

      She didn’t reply and watched the sun slanting in the sky, shadows growing slightly longer, until he turned onto his ranch road. Too soon to suit her, his sprawling ranch house came into view. She couldn’t recall having seen his home before. The house was long. The overhang of the sloping roof covered a porch that circled the house. Pots of flowers hung from the roof and more pots with bright red hibiscus stood on the porch. A hummingbird darted among the flowers. Beyond the house were various structures: a barn twice the size of hers, a corral, a bunkhouse, a shop, another building that might be an office, two small buildings. She saw a tractor in a shed and another pickup parked in front of the three-stall garage. The buildings were in good shape, and the place appeared thriving and welcoming. Josh parked the truck and came around to open the door.

      “C’mon. I’ll show you the house. Rosalie took Elizabeth to her house. It’s just down that road a ways,” he said, pointing to a road that angled off from the house and disappeared between stands of oaks.

      Nervous, Mattie climbed out of the pickup and followed him across the porch. He opened the back door and waited while she entered the kitchen.

      “How about a beer? Wine? Iced tea?”

      “Tea sounds good,” she said as she looked around at the oak cabinets and terrazzo floor. The room was spacious and inviting, the aroma of hot bread still hovering in the air. On the tile counter she saw two pans with golden loaves swelling over the sides.

      He handed her a glass of iced tea. “Sugar or lemon?”

      “No, thanks.”

      He set his cold beer on the kitchen table and moved closer, resting his hands lightly on her shoulders. The warmth of his hands kindled a responding warmth in her. She was intensely aware of him, suspecting he thought nothing of the casual touch of his hands on her or his standing so close to her.

      “Mattie, relax. You look as if I’m the devil and I’ve asked you to sell your soul.”

      “That’s sort of how I see you. Your proposal shocked me, and I think you should find a nanny and forget a loveless marriage,” she said, noticing his thick lashes, his sculpted lips. When he moved close to her, his presence made her more nervous than ever.

      “Come look at my house,” he urged in a coaxing voice that she couldn’t resist.

      She nodded, and he moved away. Even though the kitchen was spacious, he dominated it with his height and broad shoulders and his raw masculinity. Her gaze slid down his back to his slim hips, and her mouth went dry.

      He turned to slant her a curious glance. “Are you with me?”

      “Yes!” Burning with embarrassment because he had caught her studying his hips, she caught up and walked beside him into a large, comfortable family room, in forest green and brown decor, with a stone fireplace. A game table stood in one corner and an antique rifle was mounted above the fireplace. The furniture was large, as if it had been selected for a tall man. She crossed the room to a wall paneled in knotty pine and covered with pictures.

      “That’s the rogues’ gallery,” Josh remarked, coming to stand beside her, his shoulder lightly brushing hers. “Here’s great-grandpa Daniel Brand.”

      “Who tried to kill my great-grandfather,” she said with amusement as she moved closer to look at the faded picture of a bearded man with a beak of a nose above a thick mustache.

      “I think it was the other way around,” Josh replied lightly, and she laughed.

      “At least by the time our fathers took over the ranches, they weren’t shooting at each other. They just didn’t speak unless they had to.”

      “That’s Daniel’s rifle mounted over the fireplace. He made that table,” Josh said, pointing to a sturdy, simple table that had nicks in the legs from hard use. He pointed to a picture of horses on the opposite wall. “My grandfather hung that picture. It was his favorite, so we’ve always kept it. The little rocker was my grandmother’s chair.”

      “Your roots go back like my family’s.” Mattie moved along the row of pictures, examining another faded photograph of a dark-skinned, black-haired woman and Daniel Brand.

      “That