Maybe Married. Leigh Michaels

      She huffed out a sigh as she came close enough he could see her face. “Bad morning. Sorry.”

      He looked closer. “I’ll be damned. Carrie? Carrie Coulter?”

      Blue eyes looked up into his. “That’s right. And you are?”

      It only took a half second after the words were out of her mouth for who he was to register. “Oh, my God. Duke Duggan?”

      He hadn’t seen Carrie since what, third grade? Back then she’d had a space between her front teeth and freckles, and sandy blond hair that she always wore in a perky ponytail with pieces sticking out at her temples. Once he’d called her Freckle Face and she’d kicked him in the shin so hard he’d had the bruise for two solid weeks.

      She still had the same pieces of hair sticking out and curling by her hat brim and the same freckles, too, only they were a little bit lighter now and the space was gone from her teeth as she gaped up at him, mouth open. Huh. Carrie Coulter had turned out quite attractive when all was said and done, even dressed in dirty jeans and a bulky jacket that didn’t do her figure any favors.

      “Well,” she finally said softly. “I think hell just froze over. Didn’t think you’d ever make it back here.”

      “Why not?”

      He watched her lips as she answered. They were very fine lips, full and pink without even a touch of gloss or lipstick. “Your grandfather always wanted you kids to come back and you never did.” Her eyes took on an accusing look. “I think it broke his heart.”

      “His heart broke when my dad died,” Duke stated dispassionately. “Don’t get me wrong. I liked my time here as a kid, but after Desert Storm...” He frowned down at her. “It was always about my dad. Wanting us to take over the place since my dad never would.”

      Duke had heard it so many times as a kid, how his father had failed the family. It was no wonder that Duke had rebelled against the idea of joining the ranch, instead determined to honor his father by following in his footsteps and joining the army. But it hadn’t only been about rebellion. Duke had wanted to be a soldier and he didn’t regret that move in the least. Not even considering his injuries. He’d served his country and done it proudly. It was all he’d ever really wanted to do.

      “You didn’t hear how much he talked about you,” she replied, a little tartly, he noticed. Clearly Carrie had been devoted to the old man.

      “You knew him better than I did.”

      “My point exactly. What are you doing here, Dustin?”

      She was mad. That had to be the only reason she reverted to his real name. He’d been Duke for so long that he was surprised anyone would even remember that his birth certificate said Dustin. It felt as though she was addressing a stranger.

      He made a point of hooking his thumb in a careless gesture, motioning toward the back of the truck where two duffels sat side by side. “I’m here. As one-third owner of Crooked Valley Ranch.” To prove it, he took the letter out of his breast pocket and handed it to her, ignoring the slight feeling of panic he got just saying the words.

      She opened it, walked away a few steps as she read the words. Words that had caused several reactions within him when he’d opened the envelope. Anger, grief and, strangely enough, fear. After all the places he’d been, things he’d seen, danger he’d been in, it was the idea of taking over Crooked Valley that made him most afraid.

      He could tell she said something because he heard the muffled sound of her voice, but couldn’t make out the words. He turned and took a few steps through the crackly grass until he was facing her again. “I beg your pardon?” he asked.

      She held up the letter. “I had no idea. When Joe died, I asked Quinn what we were supposed to do and he said keep working until we heard differently from the lawyers. When did you get this?”

      “Last week,” he confirmed.

      “And your brother and sister?”

      He shrugged. “I don’t know, I haven’t talked to them lately. They have commitments. I don’t. Not at the moment anyway.”

      She folded the paper and handed it back to him. “Well, I have to say I’m a bit relieved. We’ve all been wondering what was going to happen with the ranch. But what about the army? Are you just on leave, or what?”

      It stung more than a little to have to respond, “The army’s in the past. By the way, who’s Quinn?”

      There. He’d changed the subject. He’d rather not talk about the circumstances around his leaving his former life. It was still too fresh.

      “Quinn Solomon. The ranch manager.”

      “And you’re what, a ranch hand?” He couldn’t help but smile a little at the idea. Most of the girls he knew wouldn’t be caught dead with manure on their boots, dirt on their face and less-than-perfect hair. It seemed impossible that the cute little girl he’d teased in school was now working on his ranch. That would make her his employee....

      All traces of friendliness disappeared from her face. “No sir,” she corrected him. “Quinn’s the manager, and I’m the foreman of the cattle side of the business. And if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back to work. We lost two heifers to coyotes last night. I need to bury the bodies.”

      Bury the bodies? Coyotes and heifers?

      Duke had had visions of riding the range, surveying his domain, moving cattle from pasture to pasture and some sort of idyllic, carefree life for a few months while he made some hard decisions. That vision hadn’t included predators and dead bodies and digging graves. That wasn’t his idea of stress relief. He’d had enough of that sort of thing during his deployments.

      “You need some help?” he asked, knowing he couldn’t send her out there to tackle it alone.

      She turned back to face him, which made it easier for him to understand her next words. “I’ve got a couple of hands who’ll help me. Why don’t you go get settled? You’d only get in the way anyway.”

      She strode off before he could form a suitable reply. Okay, so he was a greenhorn. He admitted it. But he was part owner of this ranch and she worked for him now, even if it was a formality. Her dismissive tone definitely grated on his nerves.

      He turned away, hopped back into the truck and drove over to the main house. Once he figured out where he was going to stay, he’d deal with Carrie Coulter and her uppity attitude.

      * * *

      CARRIE’S HEART BEAT against her ribs the whole way back to her ATV.

      She’d wondered what Joe’s plans for the ranch were. Wondered if she’d find herself out of a job and left with a mountain of bills still to pay and a winter’s worth of heating to come out of her bank account. It was an enormous relief to know that she still had employment and that she’d be able to keep the wolf from the door. And a pain in the ass to find that her new boss didn’t know ranching from his armpit. Duke Duggan had always had too high an opinion of himself in school. He’d grinned and teased and called her Freckle Face and pulled her ponytail. She remembered. It had been a relief when he moved away. Sort of.

      And my, hadn’t he grown up. She tugged on a pair of gloves, swung her leg over the seat of the quad and fired up the engine. She gave the throttle a shot of gas that sent her lurching away from the barn and toward the twin tracks leading down the hillside to where the herd was grazing. She couldn’t banish the memory of his deep blue eyes staring down at her in surprise, or the intent way he watched her face as she spoke. Never mind he was now at least six feet tall and, from the looks of it, all lean muscle. His hair was military-short and had looked naked without a hat. If it grew out, she imagined it would be a rich auburn, not quite brown and not quite red.

      Son of a...

      She bounced over a hard rut and gripped the handlebars tighter. Why the hell should she care what color his hair