Her Mistletoe Cowboy. Marie Ferrarella

of several reasons, none of which I can share with you without risking getting slapped.”

      She laughed shortly and shook her head. “Is that your idea of a compliment?”

      “No,” he replied with a deliberately innocent expression, “that’s my idea of the truth.”

      She took a quick inventory of the teens in the corral. While most looked respectfully polite, none of them looked as if they were even remotely naive or backward. Just what kind of bill of goods was Garrett trying to sell her?

      “You’re telling me that these boys aren’t used to women?” It wasn’t so much a question as an accusation.

      “No, but with the possible exception of my sister-in-law, I’d say that they’re definitely not used to women who look like you.”

      “Eurasian?” she guessed. Kim was well aware that in a backwoodsy place like this, she didn’t exactly blend in with the local population for obvious reasons.

      “Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of the word gorgeous,” he told her.

      This one was a smooth operator who used his charm to get by, Kim thought. “Emphasis on the word line.”

      “Well, if we’re going to be emphasizing words, in this case I’d zero in on the word truth,” he told her with the same casual air he might have employed rattling off all the merits of his favorite beer.

      Casual, but at the same time, loaded. The man was single-handedly raising the immediate temperature around her. He was definitely smooth. As smooth as any so-called stud she might have encountered in one of the upscale watering holes or restaurants in San Francisco.

      “What are you doing in a place like this?” she asked him honestly. He was the type she would have figured would be chomping at the bit to get out of town and the first one to take off the moment his high school diploma hit his hand.

      “Helping my brother,” Garrett answered without a moment’s hesitation. His eyes met hers and she could feel her stomach tighten just a sliver. “I thought you already knew that.”

      “I was filled in,” Kim acknowledged. “But there’s a difference between being told something and understanding why.”

      “Nothing to understand,” Garrett assured her as Jackson, finally finished with instructing one of his “hands,” as he referred to the teens, approached them. “This ranch saved my brother’s life and when he wanted to return the favor, or rather, pass it on, he asked me to help him. There was no way I would have ever turned my back on that.”

      “So you’re the loyal type.” In her family, it was competition rather than loyalty that ruled. At least, between her sisters—and possibly her parents, as well. She was the one on the outside, the one who merited their pity and just maybe her sisters’ smug superiority.

      “Something like that,” Garrett allowed.

      The next moment, he took the opportunity to table this uncomfortable discussion and did the honors of introducing his brother to the woman he had convinced Jackson should come here.

      As he handled the introductions, Garrett mentally crossed his fingers and prayed he wasn’t going to regret this.

      And that Jackson wouldn’t wind up holding it against him.

      “Jackson,” he smiled broadly at his older brother, “this is Kimberly Lee. She’s the writer that Western Times Magazine sent to write about our work here at the Healing Ranch.”

      Jackson, Kim immediately noted, was as tall and as handsome as his younger brother. His face was a little leaner and his cheekbones were a bit more prominent, but their hair was equally sleek and black and their eyes were both a surprising, intense, remarkable shade of blue.