“I need to cook. And you’re worse than Greg in the kitchen. Go. Write. Enjoy the peace and quiet. Your hovering is driving me batty.”
Sadie closed her eyes and groaned in frustration. Three days. She had been in town for seventy-two hours and they were already making each other crazy. A month would be torture unless she started focusing on her book.
“Promise me you will rest after this casserole is in the oven,” Sadie said, “and I’ll leave you alone until dinner.”
“Scout’s honor.”
Sadie pursed her lips. “We were never Girl Scouts, Laurel.”
“I know.” Her twin waved the spoon at the screen door. “Out. Be back at seven for dinner.”
Sadie marched down the squeaky wooden steps and into the yard. She’d walked over. After living in Manhattan, it seemed odd to drive the equivalent of a few city blocks to visit her sister. She moved through Laurel’s overgrown backyard, not slowing down when she reached the mowed field indicating Aunt Lou’s farm. Following the fence line to the cow pasture, she headed for the red wooden barn. Her cute, quaint guesthouse stood on the other side of the cows’ home.
Sadie studied the barn as she approached. The building shone like a freshly washed fire truck in the midday sun. Someone had painted it recently. The metal gate at the front of the barn swung open. Sadie froze.
Mr. Ruggedly Handsome, the man who wanted “just hot sex, no whips,” walked out carrying a bucket. If she believed in fate, she would have thanked her lucky stars for depositing him on her doorstep. But she’d stopped believing in fairy godmothers and magic wands years ago. And destiny? It had never handed her anything. Her career, her success—those she chalked up to hard work and drive. No, it wasn’t fate; it was coincidence, and an opportunity to learn more about him.
Sadie watched him set the bucket down. Jeans hugged the backside she’d admired that first afternoon at The Quilted Quail and a gray army T-shirt showed off his muscular arms. Leaving the gate open, he disappeared inside. When he came back, he carried two more large blue buckets, his biceps flexing from the exertion.
Sadie bit her lip. She could return to her desk in the guesthouse and write, or she could offer to help Mr. Ruggedly Handsome with his buckets. Her brain didn’t even have a chance to vote before her legs started moving toward the barn.
She had hours to kill before dinner. She couldn’t think of a better way to spend her day than working alongside Logan, drawing him into conversation. She wanted to see him laugh again. He’d been full of humor at the bookstore, teasing her in the stacks. Then, one quick drive around town and he’d become withdrawn and quiet. Any woman in her shoes would be curious.
“Hi, stranger,” she said, offering him a smile.
Logan stopped a few feet outside the barn, but he held on to the buckets, which suited her fine. She didn’t mind seeing his muscles in action. His gaze ran down her body, taking in her plain black tank top, jean shorts that skimmed the tops of her thighs and slip-on canvas flats. Maybe not the best outfit for the farm.
But then he looked her straight in the eyes. Not a hint of disapproval there. No, she was willing to bet her next book advance that the soldier-turned-farmhand liked what he saw.
“Sadie.” The way he said her name—it was as if he’d expected to run into her. He paused before adding, “Good to see you again.”
She smiled. “I’m renting the guesthouse. If you’re working here now, soldier, you might be seeing a lot of me.”
“Lou is my aunt.”
Her smiled faded. He could have mentioned that in the car. Was that why he’d pulled away?
“I’m helping her out while I’m home,” he added.
“Need a hand?”
“I’m good. Just watering cows,” he said. “I don’t want to keep you.”
He turned to the fields. The water in the buckets sloshed up the sides with each step. Sadie fell in beside him. She wasn’t going to let him get away. Not this time.
“Laurel kicked me out. I could write, but I’d rather procrastinate and enjoy the fresh air.” She moved closer and that sharp need she’d felt in the bookstore sent her pulse racing. She wanted to grab the front of his T-shirt and pull him up against her. Instead, she reached for one of the buckets.
Logan stepped to the side. “I’ve got this. If you don’t mind walking through cow fields, I could use a hand running the hose out to the watering troughs near the barn. It will reach the first two enclosures.”
He was sending her out to pasture. Alone. “I think I can handle that.”
He nodded. “The hose is at the back of the barn. Half of the herd is in the first field, but they shouldn’t bother you. The back one is empty at the moment. I’ll be working in the front if you need help.”
Logan turned and headed off. Sadie took that as her cue to start her chores. The sooner she finished, the sooner she could find him and ask for another task, one that required two people. Eventually she’d learn why he was so intent on pushing her away.
Two hours later, Sadie knew she’d found trouble. She’d filled the first two troughs easily enough. Then she’d spotted the third, smaller pen with tall metal fencing set apart from the others with one big cow pacing in circles. Figuring she would be doing Logan a favor, one he might thank her for later, she pulled the hose over and opened the metal gate.
Big mistake. The cow, or rather the bull—how had she missed the horns?—charged past her, knocking her off her feet. Her eyes widened in horror. She waited for the animal to run for the road. But, no, he headed straight for the pastures Sadie had just watered, and gracefully—which was flat-out astounding given his size—leaped over the lower wire fence.
“Shit, shit, shit!” She sprung to her feet and ran for the barn. She needed to find Logan. Fast. And she had a sinking feeling this wouldn’t make him laugh.
* * *
LOGAN HAD KNOWN he’d run into Sadie. She was living on his aunt’s property. Part of him—the same part that reacted to the sight of her long legs in those shorts—had been eager to see her again. But common sense told him to stay away from the sexy, vibrant writer.
Ten paces back from the last empty water trough, Logan’s phone vibrated in his pocket. Not many people had his number. It was probably Aunt Lou calling to harass him about the raffle.
Logan set the overflowing buckets down and retrieved his cell, glancing at the caller ID. Or his commanding officer calling him back to active duty.
“Colonel,” he said.
“Reed,” Lieutenant Colonel Walt Johnson barked. “How are you?”
He closed his eyes and pressed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and finger. “Fine, sir. Ready for duty.”
“I’m not calling you back yet. You’re to remain on R & R until we handle the fallout from your last mission,” Johnson said. “I am in New York with Chief Cross. Your teammate will be working with the writer who is so damn intent on digging into your little joyride. Cross will act as her official liaison, helping her set up interviews with your team. Unofficially, he’s under orders to control the message of her book.”
“Sir, if there is anything I can do—”
“There is. Sit tight and stay the hell out of trouble. Don’t talk to the press. I don’t care if a kid wants to interview you for their fourth-grade paper. The answer is no. Do you understand?”
There was only one response to that question. “Yes, sir.”
“Trust Chief Cross to do his job.”