Fit To Be Tied. Carol Finch

      JESSICA WAS SO TIRED by the time she returned home from work that she had trouble putting one foot in front of the other. Thanks to Devil Devlin’s prank that caused sleep deprivation she had dozed off at her office and awakened to find a debit and expenditure form stuck to her face. If her secretary hadn’t volunteered to stay late to type up the tax sheets and drop them in the mail, Jessica couldn’t have gotten the federal forms and payroll checks completed on time. Teresa, devoted employee that she was, shooed Jessica from the office, insisting that she go home and get some rest.

      That was precisely what Jessica planned to do—after tending her animals and mowing a few rounds on the riding mower. One glance at the ominous sky indicated a soggy weekend ahead. The TV meteorologists were forecasting a break in the drought that would undoubtedly test the strength of the trench Jessica dug in her pond dam.

      Halfheartedly, Jessica made the rounds to feed her animals. As usual, Mother Goose followed like a shadow. After fueling the mower, Jessica shoved the machine into high gear. It was nearly dark before she found time to sit down, prop up her feet and nibble on the dinner she had nuked in the microwave oven.

      A firm rap resounded at the door. Frowning curiously, Jessica set aside her plastic plate. She opened the door to see Devlin Callahan decked out in a starched and pressed Western shirt, trim-fitting blue jeans and polished boots. Her jaw dropped to her chest, and she stood there gaping at him like a tongue-tied idiot.

      Good gracious, no man—especially not this man—had a right to look so devastatingly attractive. When he flashed her a knock-you-to-your-knees smile that generated enough wattage to see her through a blizzard, an unwilling jolt of attraction zapped her. In one tanned hand, which was devoid of jewelry, Devlin held a bouquet of roses.

      Roses for her? Couldn’t be. The man hated her, she was sure of it.

      Jessica was not mentally, physically or emotionally prepared to confront this handsome rascal. She was too exhausted to go another round with him, most especially when he looked like every woman’s secret dream standing there on her front porch. This man redefined the words dangerous and tempting, but Jessica had made a pact to play it safe. She wanted no part of him.

      “I brought the roses for—” he began.

      Jessica did the only thing she could possibly do to prevent being overwhelmed by the devil’s own temptation, who had caught her off guard while she looked and felt her absolute worst.

      She shut the door in his face.

      The roses he had extended to her got caught inside the doorjamb, and the door snipped off their delicate heads in one vicious whack. Jessica glanced at the decapitated flowers that lay on her grungy barnyard boots, then took quick inventory of her attire. Gawd, she looked like an abandoned orphan in her jungle-print T-shirt and holey jeans that were tucked in the tops of her boots. Her off-center ponytail dangled in tangles on one side of her head. The long strands were snagged with twigs and coated with grass clippings. There wasn’t a speck of makeup on her face to conceal the circles under her eyes. In short, she was a pitiful mess, and he, damn him, looked scrumptious enough to eat.

      Well, she had blown any chance of reconciliation, even if now was the time for one—which it wasn’t, not when she didn’t look presentable or feel mentally alert.

      Frustrated, exasperated by her purely feminine reaction to a man she wanted very much to dislike, Jessica marched across the room to plop down on the sofa, hoping Devlin would give up and go away.

      DEVLIN STARED at the stems in his hand and willed himself not to lose his temper. He managed a grin, recalling Jessica’s disheveled appearance and stunned expression. She didn’t remotely resemble the sophisticated professional woman he had encountered earlier in the week. He approved of Jessica’s looks when she was all mussed up like a hardworking farmhand. She appeared more approachable.

      With that image firmly etched in his mind, Devlin rapped on the door. “Porter, I came by to ask you out to dinner,” he called politely.

      “I already ate,” she called back.

      “Well, then, how about tomorrow night?”

      “Not interested,” she hollered.

      Hoo-kay, this wasn’t going well, thought Devlin. Now what?

      Tired of talking to the door, Devlin stepped carefully into the flower bed and tapped on the living room window. He could see Jessica sitting rigidly on her leather sofa, staring at the far wall.

      “So how about going to the ice cream social with me Sunday evening?” he asked politely.

      She turned briefly to glance in his direction, then faced forward again. “I’d rather eat gravel, but thanks so much for asking. Just go away.”

      When she bounded to her feet and headed toward the kitchen holding what looked to be a plastic food container, Devlin scurried around the house…and came face to beak with the guard goose, which quacked an objection to his presence.

      “Well, tough,” Devlin muttered as he veered around the feathered obstacle.

      Devlin leaned close to the kitchen window to gain Jessica’s attention. He had girded himself to be nice to this woman and, by damned, he wasn’t leaving until she agreed to speak to him in a civil, rational, mature manner.

      When Jessica saw him standing there, she gasped in surprise and clutched her chest as if her heart was about to pop out.

      Before she could yell at him, he turned up the voltage on his smile and asked, “Okay, so how about if we take in a movie Saturday night?”

      She glared at him even as she backed away from the window. “I’d have more fun dating a corpse,” she said before she pivoted and stalked off.

      Struggling for hard-won composure, resolved not to drop the reins on his temper, Devlin watched Jessica veer toward the staircase. He glanced at the rickety lattice and second-story balcony and decided to go for it. Never let his brother say that Devlin hadn’t done all within his power to make amends with the dragon lady.

      Tossing aside the rose stems, Dev stepped upon the supporting beam of the trellis, then hauled himself to the roof. He grabbed the base of the balcony railing to hoist himself upright, stepped over to the warped door, then rapped lightly on it.

      Jessica shrieked in alarm. “Are you trying to spy on me while I’m undressing to take a bath, you pervert?” she asked huffily. “Be warned. Sheriff Osborn is definitely going to hear about this!”

      “Calm down a minute, Blondie,” he called before she made a grab for the phone. “I’m only trying to be neighborly and make amends for my prank. Only it wasn’t exactly a prank, because I was trying to muffle the jungle sounds so my cattle wouldn’t bolt and run again. And thank you for trenching your pond dam. My brother and I sincerely appreciate it.” He tried out another charming smile. “If you’ll only let me come in so we can sit down and work out our differences—”

      “No,” she interrupted.

      Devlin noted Jessica was a decisive kind of person. She didn’t take time to consider his offer, just cut him off with an unequivocal no. He, however, wasn’t leaving until they negotiated some kind of truce.

      “I want to talk to you, Porter. You might as well accept the fact that you aren’t getting rid of me easily.”

      “Then I’m calling the cops, Peeping Tom!” she threatened loudly.

      When he saw her lunge for the phone, Devlin tried to open the door. Unfortunately, his foot went through a rotted board on the balcony, and he staggered to regain his balance. He howled in alarm when the rickety railing gave way behind him.

      Devlin cartwheeled across the sloped roof, clawing desperately for a handhold—and found none. When he took a header off the roof, he attempted to twist in midair so he could draw his legs beneath him.

      Waste of time. The crape myrtle shrub that shaded the back porch came at him at alarming speed.

      “Argh!”