Stranded with the Rancher

She rested her forehead on his collarbone. “I have a few ideas.”

Her droll humor startled a laugh from him. “I hope we’re on the same page.”

Her answer was to kiss him sweetly. Breathing heavily, he stepped away, trying to elude temptation. “I think one of us is supposed to say this is going too fast.”

She shrugged, leaning back on her hands. “I’ve had a terrible crush on you for over a year, even when you were being an obnoxious, overbearing plutocrat.”

“Ouch.” His wince was not feigned. Hearing her description of his less-than-stellar qualities made him squirm. “I thought we called a truce.”

“Under duress and the threat of apocalypse.”

“Then I’ll say it again,” he muttered quietly. “For the moment, I’m not going to fight with you or try to make you see reason.”

She crooked a finger. He went to her like a kite on a string, hoping she didn’t recognize the hold she had on him.

* * *

Stranded with the Rancher

is a Texas Cattleman’s Club: After the Storm novel—

As a Texas town rebuilds, love heals all wounds …

JANICE MAYNARD is a USA TODAY bestselling author who lives in beautiful east Tennessee with her husband. She holds a BA from Emory and Henry College and an MA from East Tennessee State University. In 2002 Janice left a fifteen-year career as an elementary school teacher to pursue writing full-time. Now her first love is creating sexy, character-driven, contemporary romance stories.

Janice loves to travel and enjoys using those experiences as settings for books. Hearing from readers is one of the best perks of the job! Visit her website, www.janicemaynard.com, and follow her on Facebook and Twitter.

To police, fire and rescue personnel who rush in

during times of chaos to keep us all safe … Thank you for what you do …

Contents

Cover

Excerpt

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Extract

Copyright

One

Drew Farrell glanced at the sky. Storm clouds roiled and twisted, setting his mood on edge. He shoved the truck’s gearshift into park, jammed his Stetson on his head and strode across the road. Dust billowed with each angry step, coating his hand-tooled cowboy boots.

Deliberately, he crossed the line that separated his property from his neighbor’s. Beth Andrews. His beautiful, long-legged, sexy-as-hell neighbor. After two years of butting heads with her at regular intervals, you’d think he would be immune to her considerable physical appeal.

But no. Her naturally curly blond hair and green eyes hit his libido at a weak spot. Sadly, there was no twelve-step program for men wanting women who drove them nuts.

He approached Beth’s organic produce stand and ground his teeth when he saw she had multiple customers waiting. Cooling his heels, jaw clenched, he courted patience. But he wanted to lambast her with righteous indignation while his temper was hot.

Like every day recently, at least a dozen cars had parked haphazardly up and down the private lane, causing congestion and spooking Drew’s prize-winning thoroughbreds in the adjoining pasture. This morning, his men had been forced to move seven horses to a grassy field on the opposite side of his property, for no other reason than because Beth had started selling pumpkins.

Pumpkins, for God’s sake. The traffic she had created during the summer—selling squash and tomatoes and a dozen other vegetables—had increased tenfold since she’d put up signs all over Royal advertising fall harvest decorations. At least during the summer months the crowd was spread out. But come October first, it was as if everyone within a fifty-mile radius of Drew’s ranch had decided they had to buy one of Beth’s fat, healthy pumpkins for their porches.

As Drew waited impatiently, several of the patrons loaded up their purchases and drove away. Finally, only one woman remained—a young blonde. Very pregnant. From what Drew could tell, she had picked out the largest pumpkin she could find. Beth and the customer squatted to lift the pumpkin from its perch on a bale of hay. The big, orange orb slipped out of their hands, nearly rolling onto their feet.

Oh, good grief. Snapping out of his funk, Drew strode forward, determined to stop them before somebody got hurt. The thing must weigh forty pounds.

“Let me do that,” he said, elbowing them out of the way. “One of you has a baby to consider and you, Ms. Andrews, ought to know better.” The spark of surprise and irritation in Beth’s eyes made him want to grin despite his surly mood. The pregnant woman’s car sat only a few feet away in the handicapped parking spot. For Halloween, Beth had designated the space beside the shed with a sign and a skeleton holding a crutch. She was creative—he’d give her that.

Hefting the pumpkin with ease, he set it gently in the trunk. Fortunately, the base of the thing was pretty flat. Given its weight, there was little chance it would roll over unless the driver made a reckless turn.