Call Of The West. MYRNA TEMTE

automatic pilot. He ate, slept and did his job. He answered when someone spoke to him. He fended off at least a million well-meaning expressions of sympathy when news of the Double Circle’s sale got out, claiming that he was fine.

      But he wasn’t fine. He was anything but fine.

      Every time he thought about someone as clueless and flaky as Hope DuMaine owning his ranch, he wanted to hit something. He tried not to think about it, but that was like trying not to breathe—it only worked for a little while. The instant he let down his guard it all came rushing back, bringing a fresh wave of anger with it.

      The one time he’d ever felt anything close to this before was the day Ellen’s doctor had told him she wasn’t going to make it. He’d skipped denial, gone straight to anger and stayed there. It had been the only thing that allowed him to be strong for her sake, when what he’d really wanted was to break down and bawl like a little kid.

      Of course this wasn’t the same situation. Not even close. Nobody was going to die because he couldn’t buy the Double Circle.

      But the sense of loss and lost dreams was eerily similar.

      Knowing he couldn’t go on carrying around so much pent-up rage, he decided to take Rebel out for a ride and check the cows on their summer range. Fresh air, a change of scene and some time alone couldn’t hurt. Halfway between the house and the barn, he heard an approaching vehicle.

      He paused to see who it was and felt his blood pressure surge when Hope’s little red car emerged from the cloud of dust it had kicked up. Aw, man, he wasn’t ready to see her again. Back teeth clamped together, he marched into the barn, grabbed a bridle from the tack room and went out to the horse pasture.

      Just about the time he’d caught Rebel and finished putting on his bridle, Jake heard Hope’s voice calling his name. His muscles tensed. Before he could even think about a possible means of escape, she walked around the side of the barn, waving when she spotted him.

      Her hair was back to an auburn shade, but today’s eye-popping outfit consisted of a low-cut halter top and a pair of indecently short cut-off jeans so tight it was a wonder she could walk in them. The top was made out of a soft suede material nearly the same buckskin color as Rebel. Long strands of fringe decorated with Native American beads and feathers hung across the front and played peek-a-boo with the curves of her breasts every time she moved.

      Her high-pitched, slide-on sandals matched the color of her shirt and forced her to take short, bouncy steps that made her hips and breasts sway. Add in those long, gorgeous legs and she was an erotic visual feast in motion. His pulse hiccupped with every stride.

      Aw, damn. How did she get to him like this every stinkin’ time?

      “Hello, Jake.” She gave him a tentative smile. “Have you got a minute?”

      “I’m getting ready to head out,” he said, hoping she’d think the raw note in his voice came from gruffness rather than arousal. “This isn’t a good time.”

      “Is there ever going to be a good time for us to talk?”

      “Doubt it.” He clicked his tongue at Rebel and set off for the barn.

      Some people weren’t bright enough to get a hint. Jake suspected Hope simply ignored them whenever it suited her purposes, even when they were less than subtle. She followed him right into the barn, waited until he’d started brushing the dirt off Rebel’s hide, then leaned back against a stall door and crossed one foot over the other.

      She waited a full minute, but when he remained silent, she said, “I don’t plan to run the Double Circle into the ground.”

      “Nobody ever plans to do that, but it happens.”

      “Well, it’s not going to happen to my ranch.”