Bandera Jefferson wants freedom from Malfunction Junction and his eleven brothers' misadventures--but when he meets Holly Henshaw, a wedding planner running from her own wedding, he is suddenly drawn to sexy black polka dots, hot air balloon lovemaking, and a family secret in the twelve-book Tina Leonard series, Cowboys By The Dozen! Holly is more than a match for the strong, freedom-seeking Texas cowboy--and she wants to belong to Bandera--forever!

EXCERPT

"What I think," Bandera Jefferson said, "is that he who lives by the sword, dies by the sword. Ernest Hemingway, in a not too kind moment, if you ask me."

"What are you blabbing about?" Bandera's oldest brother and head of the Jefferson family, Mason, demanded.

"I'm talking about our moved-to-town, much-missed next door neighbor, Mimi. If Mimi wants you to be her deputy, Mason, you'll be in heap big trouble. But you'd probably also be the happiest you've ever been, because the path of the sword has always been your way. Mimi being your sword, of sorts. Your lure to the wild side. Everybody needs one of those. In fact, I wish I had a lure to the wild side. Preferably not in female form, or at least not Mimi form. Methinks you miss the gal," Bandera boldly finished.

Mason grunted. "That soliloquy was philosophical and annoying, all at once. And incorrect, I might add."

"I took the road less traveled," Bandera recited, "Frost, of course, and he may have been having a sanguine moment, not that your moment is sanguine. Mason, I've been looking through Maverick's old books, and did you know Dad liked to underline famous quotations?"

"Which is why you have a healthy respect for them. That doesn't mean you know what you're talking about, though." Mason put his hat on before getting into the truck. "Famous quotations are only useful if you abide by their advice, Dad's notwithstanding."

"Where are you going?" Bandera demanded.

"None of thy business," Mason said, "quoting me, in my favorite conversational reply, known as Butt-Out-Ski."

"I don't like it. It's too low-brow, not that I ever really understood the terminology of low and high brows. It's like Last's shoes-in-the-road obsession." He mulled the youngest brother of the family. "Where does a brow come into the picture, anyway?" he murmured, his tone wondering as he stared into the truck. "Hey, you've got a duffel in there! Stuffed full. You can't go off and leave us again! We're bone thin on the ranch as it is." His eyes bugged. "Mason, you can't pull another disappearing act. The ranch needs you. We need you." He frowned, staring at his brother, who clearly wasn't listening to him. "This is because of Mimi and that deputy stuff, isn't it? Mason, listen. If you don't want to run for deputy, tell her you're not interested. Tell Mimi you'll help her with her campaign and that's it. No more adventures. Say 'Mimi, our hijinks are at an end. You and I are no longer wayward kids'." He gulped. "Quoth Bandera, from a trough of desperation, on an unseasonably hot Texas day in June."

Mason shook his head. "I need to talk to Hawk and maybe Jellyfish."

"The phone's in the kitchen," Bandera said hopefully, "or you can use my cell if yours is dead."

"Gotta be in person." Mason turned on his truck.

"A duffel means more than one or two days." Bandera blinked, thinking fast. What if Mason decided not to come back again for months? His brother was under a lot of stress. It wasn't just the ranch-it was Mimi, too. Mason had never retrieved his heart from Mimi's clutches, and this deputy thing wasn't sitting well. It was temptation of the highest order, the thought of working daily with Mimi since they no longer shared the easy comfort of being neighbors. "Don't you leave this driveway," Bandera said, "I'm grabbing my stuff and I'm going with you." Someone had to bring Mason back from the edge of great madness.

"No." Mason began backing the truck up. From the window he said, "You need to stay here. There's work to be done."

But there was a brother to lose, too. There wasn't time to call a family counsel, and Bandera knew an emergency when he saw one. None of the brothers would allow Mason to go off like this, not with him acting all secretive. A day or two at the max with two brothers down was better than six months of Mason off in the wilds nursing his obtuse heart. "If you move from here," Bandera said, standing up to his brother for maybe the first time in his life, "I will follow you in my truck. You will see me in your rearview mirror like a hound from hell on your tail."

Mason sighed, putting the truck in park. "You're an idiot."

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never harm me," Bandera said.

"And if you recite one thing while we're gone," Mason said, "I promise to do you some type of harm."

Bandera loped off to get his stuff. In the hallway, he ran into Crockett. "I just discovered Mason in the midst of another Houdini," Bandera said. "Not much time to talk, but go out there and stall him, okay? Just in case he decides not to buy my hound from hell threat."

"What?" Crockett looked out the window.

"Just go keep him occupied!" Bandera ran up the stairs. He tossed jeans, boots, socks, a passport just in case-

Last came into the room. "Running away from home?"

"No, but I think Mason was. He's got his duffel in the truck and he was heading off to see Hawk." Bandera threw a toothbrush into the bag, and dug around for other things he might need.

"Why?" Last asked. "Can't he just call Hawk?"

"Apparently not. Which is why I'm riding shotgun. Unless you want to go?"

"No, thanks. I don't want any part of Mason." Last backed up. "I'll pack a cooler for you."

"Thanks." Running down the stairs and crossing the lawn, Bandera jumped into Mason's truck. "Crockett, you're a good man."

Crockett shrugged his shoulders as he leaned his forearms on Mason's window. "I'd go with you, but someone's got to work around here."

Mason grunted. "'Bout time you did something."

Crockett slapped his brother's hat down over his face. Mason moved it back into position. "What's that?"

Last slammed the truck bed after he put the cooler in. "Snacks. Stop and get more ice."

"Jeez." Mason looked at Bandera. "We're only going a few hours down the road. Do you think you'll need much more survival gear?"

Bandera pulled some licorice strings from his pocket. "I'm good to go on the road less traveled. Frost, of course, again. I really like the wintry old poet."

"Damn it!" Mason gunned the truck, making Crockett jump back from the truck and Last hustle to the side of the drive. "I swear I'll strangle you with your licorice. And then you'll die by your own sword."

"I can tell it's gonna be fun," Crockett called. "Goodbye, Huck Finn! See ya, Tom Sawyer!"

"Just a regular bunch of comedians," Mason mumbled as he pulled from the drive.

"So what's the adventure all about?"

"Maverick, the long-lost father," Mason said. "Why else would I need Hawk and his erstwhile loony sidekick Jellyfish?"

"Jelly isn't loony," Bandera said. "He's existential, man."

Mason grunted.

"So what does Maverick have to do with anything? What do you think you can find now that you didn't before?"

"Nothing maybe. Maybe Hawk would be better at turning over rocks and running through dead end signs than I would be. I'm hiring him. Or them. Professionalism is what we need."

"Whatever." Bandera looked out the window as they passed many miles of their ranch. "Mason, maybe we just better accept the fact that we're never going to know what happened to Dad."

He knew it was the wrong thing to say the second he said it, and Mason's silence was seemingly loud with disapproval. Only Mason could communicate disapproval so effectively without making a sound. Bandera sighed as he looked at the picturesque view speeding past his window. "We have one pretty spread of land. I'm going to miss Malfunction Junction."

"We're only going to be gone a few days," Mason said. "It's not like you need your teddy bear or anything."

"I wouldn't make fun of sleeping with teddy bears," Bandera said. "If you were sleeping with your little bear, you'd not be off trolling after the past."

"Lovely," Mason said. "Why don't you find your own little bear, and keep your nose out of my business?"

"Because I like your business," Bandera replied. "It's much more interesting than mine. All I know about my little corner of the world is that I like it the way it is. Women bring chaos, and though I appreciate chaos, I prefer low-brow chaos."

"What are you talking about?"

"I like my women a little on the rowdy side," Bandera said. "Not too sweet, not too sour. Not too good, and not too bad. Mostly, I like them wearing a white frilly dress with a white, black polka-dotted thong underneath. Or a reversible pattern. I don't care, just so long as I get the dots. There's just something about them that spells chaos to me. I like it."

"Way too much information," Mason said with a sigh. "Could this conversation not sink to low-brow chaos?"

"You see why I'll never marry," Bandera said. "I'm looking for perfection."

"If that's perfection, we're all in big trouble."

"One day, Mason, someone's going to tell you the truth about your own perfect-hey, look at that!" Bandera craned his head to look at the woman on the side of a road, waving a large sign. She was wearing blue jean shorts, and a white halter. If he didn't know better, he'd think the halter had black polka dots on it, big ones. "Probably a car wash," he murmured. "Slow down, Mason."

"No," Mason said. "There's no time. This is going to be a fast trip. It's an information-seeking venture, not a woman-hunt. Nor do I need a car wash."

They whizzed past so fast Bandera could barely read her sign. The blonde flashed it at him, holding it up high so that he got a dizzying look at jiggling breasts in the halter top. White teeth, laughing blue eyes and legs so cute he was sure the fanny she was packing had to be just as sweet. He unlocked his jaw. "Stop, Mason!"

Mason stomped the brake, sighing. "Why couldn't you have stayed home?"

"That woman's sign says she needs assistance," Bandera said righteously, although he really thought it had read "I'm Holly."

"And Lord only knows we never leave a lady without assistance." Mason glanced up into his mirror. "I sense trouble in a big way."

The lady bounced to Mason's truck door. "Hi," she said.

"Howdy," Mason and Bandera said together. "Can we help you, miss?" Bandera asked.

"I'm waiting for my cousin," she said. "Obviously, you are not he."

Mason was silent. Bandera took off his hat. "Did your car break down, miss?"

"No." She smiled, and dimples as cute as baby lima beans appeared in her cheeks. Bandera felt his heart go boom!

"I'm getting picked up by my cousin," she said. "That's why my sign says 'I'm Holly.'"

"I know I'm confused," Mason said. "And nowhere on her bright white placard do I see the word Assistance. Or even Help!" He sent his brother a disgusted grimace.

"My cousin and I haven't seen each other in a while," Holly said.

Bandera stared at her high-piled blonde hair with some fascination. It had pretty twinkly jewels among the strands, which complemented the iridescent sequins he noticed scattered on the white halter top. "So that's a cue card you're holding. Also I heard something about wedding, but I'm ignoring that part. It's a phobia we have in our family."

She sighed. "You're just too smart, cowboy."

"Okay," Mason said. "You'll have to pardon us. We need to be getting along, miss. Normally, we don't stop for ladies holding signs, but we thought you needed help."

"Actually, I do," she said. "I could use a kiss."

Bandera's jaw dropped. "A kiss?"

"Sure. I'd like just one kiss before I leave Texas." Her blue eyes laughed at him, and the thought occurred to him that Mason was far closer to her than he was, and that was a durn shame if she was wanting kissing.

"Why?" he asked.

"I'm feeling dangerous," she explained, "since I just caught my fiance in bed with my best friend."

"Ouch," Mason said.

"Precisely. So I called my cousin, and this is our prearranged meeting place. A girl ought to be kissed on her wedding day," she said, looking at Bandera.

Bandera's heart did a funny ding inside him. She sure did have kissing on the brain. He might be intrigued about that except his danger quotient was already exceeded with Mason the runaway brother.

"So you're running away," Mason said. "A bride on the run. Haven't we had one of those in our family?"

"That was a groom on the run," Bandera said dryly, giving his brother a pointed look. "Plural, actually."

"I'm going on a well-needed sabbatical," Holly corrected.

"Actually, you have an itch to get as far away from your fiancé as possible," Mason theorized.

"You understand me totally. I am trying really hard not to cry," Holly said. "You might have noticed my hair is done, my gown is chiffon and sequins-this is the top, the skirt I discarded-and I left the ring on the condom box Chuck left on the kitchen counter. I think the dough must have begun rising while they were in the kitchen."

"Kitchen?" Mason asked.

Holly shrugged. "They'd moved to the bedroom and didn't hear me come into the house. There was a red bra lying in the fruit bowl, and a trail of clothes leading into the den." She sighed, and blinked her eyes quickly, which made her look like a doll. A doll trying not to cry.

"I think the condom box was the right place to leave your engagement ring," Bandera said, trying to be sympathetic. He really did not want her to cry. She was too pretty to be sad, he thought. I would make her smile all the time.

Mason groaned.

"So about that kiss," Bandera began, unable to resist.

"Mike should have been here by now," Holly said. Her gaze sought the long, empty road behind the truck. A stray curl from the pretty upsweep of her hair brushed along the back of her neck.

Bandera watched her lips bow up as she worried and wondered what man would be stupid enough to cheat on a mouth that could pucker into a perfect bud of plumpness.

"Guess we should be going since she doesn't need a ride, Bandera," Mason said uncomfortably. "She looks like she'd like to be alone."

"Not so fast." Bandera looked at Holly again. "Haste makes waste, you know."

"Who said that?" Mason demanded, his tone low.

"Some wise man." Bandera took a deep breath. "Ride with us."

Holly turned to face him. "With you?"

He shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"

"Why not indeed?" Mason said dryly. "We have nothing pressing."

"What about my cousin?" she asked.

A motorcycle pulled up behind Mason's truck, a loud gunning noise punctuating his arrival before he shut the engine off. A large, ponytailed man got off the bike, walking toward them.

"Cousin Mike?" Holly said.

"Yeah. Hey, Henshaw."

They embraced briefly before Mike looked at Bandera and Mason. "They bothering you?"

"No," Holly said hastily. "They thought I needed help."

He shook his head. "Your mother's going to be worried."

"My mother will understand," she said. "She wouldn't want me marrying a man with the morals of a . . . bull."

"Whew," Bandera said. "Well, time for us to hit the road, Mason." He figured they should. She might be cute, but she had issues. "Too bad about the kiss, though."

"What kiss?" Cousin Mike demanded, bristling.

Bandera thought many men would probably want to kiss this beauty. "No kiss here."

"I was feeling the desire to rebound," little Miss-Adventure said. "Love the one you're with and all that."

Bandera blinked with appreciation of her recitation. He reconsidered his fear of blatant seduction and capture. What harm could she do him with Mason around? She looked like a holly. She looked like a rosebud. Gosh, he was certain she could be a Gertie May and he'd still find her ravishing. "You probably get kissed all the time."

"I've never been kissed by a cowboy," Holly said.

Mason's brows raised. "Bandera, I'm going to let you drive. I need a nap."

"He's not the kissing type," Bandera explained to Holly.

"No, I'm not," Mason said, getting out. "Excuse me," he said to the giant fireplug that was Cousin Mike. Then he crawled into the back seat of the double cab.

Holly's gaze roamed over Bandera's face as he got out of the truck and moved to the driver's seat. He smelled perfume and noticed her size was dainty compared to his-a tiny bundle of femininity.

"I'd best go with Mike," she said, looking up at him with what he thought was awe. For the first time in his life, he realized he liked being tall. Sweeping her up into his arms would be no problem. Carrying her over his shoulder, her little fanny bouncing by his face, would be fun. Making love to her would be-

"My mother would be upset if I rode off with two strange men," Holly said.

The fantasy shot, Bandera eased behind the steering wheel and closed the door. He wanted to say that he thought he and Mason had less strangeness about them than Cousin Mike, but figured that might not be the suave thing to espouse. "We'll be off, then."

"Thanks for the offer, though. 'Bye, cowboy."

Bandera nodded, tipping his hat. "Best of luck to you." Putting the truck in Drive, he pulled away.

"Thought you were going to do it there for a minute," Mason said.

"No, you didn't," Bandera replied, his gaze watching the rearview mirror. Holly was getting on the back of the giant motorcycle, and putting a helmet on. Even from this distance, it was easy to admire her nice long legs. "I never kiss women who practice seduction on the rebound."

"Not when they have a Cousin Mike attached to them, anyway," Mason said. "That seemed like a high-risk scenario."

"Wonder why her fiancé was such a dope? Why do girls always hook up with losers?"

Mason grunted. "I think any comment at this point should be a sonnet from Wordsworth, but I can't think of one."

"Maybe Shakespearean tragedy." The motorcycle was coming up behind them, traveling at a good clip. It passed them, and Holly waved, one long blonde curl flying out from underneath the helmet. "I hate tragedies."

"A runaway bride is a tragedy."

"A runaway anything is a tragedy. Trains, horses, brothers. All four-hanky events." He was coming up on the motorcycle again. Watching it carefully, he passed, wondering why it was slowing. Holly waved at him, then raised her fingers and shot something through his open window.

He snatched it from his lap. All white. No black polka dots. His gaze flew back to the road, and to her, as she rode away.

Mason sat up to stare over the seat at the lacy white missile. "It's that thing the groom is supposed to throw to his groomsmen," Mason said, shocked. "Whoever catches it is next to get married, so the legend goes. I've known grown men who wouldn't be in the same room with a garter."

Bandera met his brother's wide gaze in the mirror, his heart thundering harder than it ever had in his life. The satin felt slippery and unusual between his rough fingers.

"You caught it," Mason said. "Hope you're ready."

CROCKETT'S SEDUCTION

All he wanted was the one woman he couldn't have.

Artist, rancher, bull rider, Crockett Jefferson has always been a man of strong passions. So when he finds himself thinking passionately about the one woman he shouldn't--Valentine Cakes, the mother of his brother's child--this sensitive cowboy knows he's in trouble. Valentine has no idea of how Crockett feels about her, but she does think the handsome cowboy is sexier than any man has a right to be. Of course, she isn't about to let on--trying to win Crockett would cofirm everything the Jefferson men once thought about her: That she was a gold digger after a wealthy cowboy. Crocket and Valentine are sitting on a powder keg--and it'll only take one sweet kiss for the whole thing to explode!

REVIEWS

"The latest "Cowboys by the Dozen" contemporary ranch romance is a delightful tale starring two individuals who cannot help but stare at one another, but each believes they must not act on their desire because of Annette. The story line has a soap opera feel to it as do most of the novels in the series yet the Jefferson brood and their extended families are nice people trying to do the right thing though at times that hurts. These two people in love try to hide how they feel because both fear a relationship between them will confuse and hurt a small child." - Harriet Klausner, The Best Reviews

EXCERPT

Sometimes she riled my temper, but she always made me smile,

- Maverick Jefferson to his sons after his wife, Mercy, passed away.

Crockett Jefferson wondered if Valentine Cakes—the mother of his brother's child—ever realized how much time he spent staring at her. His deepest, darkest secret was that she evoked fantasies in his mind, fantasies of the two of them, laughing, touching, kissing—

"Well, that's that," his eldest brother, Mason, said, looking over at Hawk and Jellyfish who had come to the Malfunction Junction ranch to deliver news. Bandera and his wife, Holly, had just floated away in a hot air balloon full of wedding wishes and dreams. Hawk's and Jellyfish's arrival was fortuitous to get Mason's mind on something besides weddings, Crockett thought, since he was never happier when one of them was getting hitched. Not that Mason would ever do the deed himself, even if Mimi Cannady served herself up on a golden platter garnished with fidelity and caring. Sometimes, Crockett pitied Mason for not seeing the bounty that was right under his nose. Hell, they all pitied Mason. He wanted his eleven brothers married, and then what? "You'd think a marrying fever had hit this ranch," Crockett said, slyly hinting that perhaps Mason might not be immune, before Crockett once again found his vision glued to Valentine and her tiny daughter, Annette. His eyes had a habit they didn't want to give up, no matter how much family drama flowed around him.

Hawk looked at Mason. "Do you want to know what we learned about your father before or after you eat your piece of wedding cake?"

Crockett sighed, watching the fiery little redhead as he heard the pronouncement about Maverick. With regret he took his gaze off of her—she was holding her daughter and a box of heart-shaped petit fours she'd made for Bandera's wedding. Being an artist of sorts, he appreciated both Valentine's lovely baked goods and her beauty. She smiled at him, her pretty blues eyes encouraging, her mouth bowing sweetly, and his heart turned over.

She could never know how he felt about her.

He really didn't want to feel the way he did about the mother of his brother's child.

Hawk and Jellyfish moved under a tree with Mason so they could talk. Reluctantly, Crockett followed.

"We were able to find confirmation that Maverick was in Alaska, for some time," Hawk said. "Your father lived with an Alaskan woman of mostly Eskimo descent. She found him slumped in a boat one day, floating off-shore. Not knowing who he was or where he'd come from, she had friends help her carry him to her home. When he awakened, Maverick had no memory of where he'd come from. In an untraveled area and far from any town which might have had a tourist group he might have become unattached from, Mannie kept him with her for four years, always hoping he might tell her something about himself."

Crockett looked at Mason, who surely had to be feeling the same lead in the pit of his stomach that Crockett was. Excitement and some relief filled him that some trace of Maverick had been found—but he also knew there was more to the story, and it couldn't be all good, or Hawk and Jellyfish wouldn't have returned.

Jellyfish put a hand on Mason's shoulder. "You should know that Maverick never did tell Mannie anything about himself. She awakened one day to find him gone. He'd left behind enough whale meat and food to keep her for a long time, as well as material. Gifts, but not his heart, she told Bandera and Mason. He was a natural wanderer, and even the entire four years he'd stayed with her, she'd sensed he wasn't really with her by the distant look in his eyes as he searched the horizon."

"Oh, jeez," Crockett murmured. They were all wanderers like Maverick. Their father might have lived for many more years, searching for his heart.

"Maybe there is more to learn," Hawk said. "But we felt it was important to come home to let you know the news of your father, so you could decide what more you need to learn."

A deep tug settled in Crockett's chest. Now they would hold a family counsel to decide. That was a good thing, since all the brothers were still here, with the exception of Bandera. Before Bandera had floated away, Mason had announced that he'd enjoyed everybody being together so much for Bandera's Fourth of July wedding that he intended to hold a family reunion every summer at the ranch. He wanted the family together at least twice a year—Christmas in the winter, and Fourth of July for the summer.

The pond was warm enough then for the children to swim, Mason had stated.

But Crockett knew it really had nothing to do with pond water. Mason just wanted the brothers and their families together, on so-called Malfunction Junction ranch which was the home of their hearts.

Crockett had to admit there was something to family bonding as he watched Valentine help her tiny daughter across the field to the inflatable jump house. But right now, he wanted to get away from all thoughts of family—and Maverick. It simply hurt too much to know that their father had been living on whale meat in a hut somewhere. It was life—but it wasn't life with them. Could Maverick have been happy at all? Had he lost his memory? Or had his heart given out after their mother had died? Crockett doubted they'd ever know all the answers. They'd been haunted too many years by the questions--and they'd all learned various techniques of dodging the painful soulsearching.

"Thanks, guys," Crockett murmured to Hawk and Jellyfish since Mason seemed dumbstruck. "I'm sure Mason will call a family consult after dinner to discuss what you told us. Stick around. Helga's made ribs and sweet peas, grilled corn, and I believe Valentine whipped up some blueberry pies. Comfort food is what we all could use right now. And good friends."

That said, he headed in Valentine's direction. He grabbed the box of petit fours from her so that she could play with Annette. "Go on," he told Valentine. "You jump, too."

"Thank you, Crockett." Giving him a smile which tugged at his heart, Valentine pulled off her shoes and got inside the bounce house, bouncing and jumping gently with her daughter. He supposed it was a shame that Valentine and his youngest brother, Last, had not worked out as a couple. And yet, they had a beautiful little daughter; Annette was such a sweet baby. The Jefferson brothers had backed Valentine in her own business and she'd bought the bakery in town, renaming it Baked Valentines.

He would never have dreamed that the one-time receptionist at Marvella's beauty salon, Never Lonely Cut'n'Gurls, would have been such a smart businesswoman—and an awesome baker. It was hard for him to understand why Last didn't love this talented, hardworking woman—and he was just as puzzled as to why his own heart yearned to be near her.

First Calhoun, then Last. He was getting in a groove of being very jealous of his brothers, and that worried him. Resentment was a new feeling for him. Growing up, they'd just had each other.

Lately, he'd found himself stewing over things a man shouldn't, and it was affecting the way he felt about his family.

With pleasure, he noted that all of Valentine bounced when she bounced. Her hair, her breasts, even her laughter seemed to go up and down as she played with her daughter. He loved watching her be a mother.

Crocket lowered his head for a second, pushing his cowboy hat down on his head, thinking. Before his brother, Calhoun, had stolen his thunder and his creativity by becoming a better artist than he—commercial, Calhoun always said, as if that made it better and more acceptable—Crockett had put his soul into painting nudes. He could spend hours thinking about the beauty of the female form. It was a good life, cowboying by day, painting by night.

Now he seemed to think about Valentine all the time. Which was only getting him frustrated.

Valentine turned and fell over, laughing. Her jeans-clad bottom jiggled-—and Crockett's artistic eye was transfixed.

He'd never seen anything with such rounded perfection. Bountiful, and sexy. Lush and full.

"Only sculpting would do that form justice," he mused, his artistic side bursting to creativity. "The warmth of fired clay, touched with the hue of a rosy—"

"What?" Valentine asked, sitting up to look at him. "Do you want to join us, Crockett?" His mind ablaze with creative thoughts, a new idea, and a fierce desire to be near her, Crockett set the petit fours platter on the ground, pulled off his boots, and got into the bounce house. Annette giggled because he was unstable, not used to being on something jiggly, so he put his hands down and bounced the floor a little to make her pop up and lose control, too.

Valentine playfully pushed back, catching him off guard. This time, it was Crockett who flew—right into her lap.

Oh, God, she felt good. She was every bit as soft as she looked, and even better, she smelled like cinnamon. Her smile faded as she stared down at him, seeing something in his eyes he didn't want her to see.

Bad, bad timing.

Rolling away, he rose to his feet. Valentine watched him, her smile completely gone now, her gaze questioning.

He was going to ruin a good friendship with his curiosity about Valentine. Curiosity? That was a funny, shifty word for what he now realized was full-blown desire.

And that was a path toward certain heartbreak.

CHRISTMAS, TEXAS STYLE

To save his parents' ranch from falling into the wrong hands, Sam Johnston must marry. A quickie wedding to Lily Bartholomew brings more than he bargained for--including some shocking news about his new in-laws. But the biggest shock of all is that the baby on the way is actually four babies, set to arrive just in time for Christmas!

EXCERPT

July 1

Dear Sam,

The Bartholomews have made us an offer we cannot refuse, although we never imagined we might one day sell to folks we don't particularly like. That being said, we have to play the hand we are dealt. You don't seem to want to settle, and Phin doesn't want to work the ranch. We have agreed to sell to the Bartholomews by Christmas of this year—if it appears neither of you intends to take over the reins. Hopefully, the length of time we have managed to negotiate will give you time to discover what is really in your heart. Love, Mom and Dad

P.S. Even though you're thirty-three, it's not too late to settle down, marry a good girl like Mary Phillips who understands ranch life, and start a family.

Sam Johnston drove into Union Junction, Texas, on a black and windy day which matched the sadness in his heart. The last thing he wanted to do was return to Montana, but Phin had overnighted their parents' letter to him in Lonely Hearts Station. Sam had been riding in a rodeo, and though his wrist ached from a twist he'd taken on a bounty bull that had meant business, his pride and his heart hurt more right now.

It bothered him that his parents felt that their golden years depended upon his return to Falling Hills. He would have liked a little more time to figure out what was best for everyone.

Phin, of course, was playing devil's speed bump, trying to keep his parents from sticking him with the responsibilities. At twenty-nine, Phin wasn't about to wear the family saddle of responsibility.

Sam sighed, parking his truck and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he looked at the Union Junction Hair Salon. He needed time to think, and this stop between nowhere and Lonely Hearts Station was good enough. A haircut, some lunch, and maybe a beer with the locals might take the burn out of his mood.

He really enjoyed traveling the country, soaking up every town's characteristics. His life goal was not to be tied to one place, one way of life, or even one woman.

In Montana, if a man was going to survive, it was best to have a woman if for no other reason than to cook food and share some body heat.

Maybe settling down wouldn't be such a bad thing. He frowned. Mary Phillips would not be his choice, despite his parents' broad hint about his high school sweetheart. It was true Mary understood ranch life, but if he didn't understand himself, how could a gentle soul like Mary?

The wily ace in his parents' letter was the offer from the Bartholomews. If two families despised each other more than the Hatfields and McCoys, it was the Johnstons and Bartholomews. Could his folks possibly be serious about selling out to such scurvy, no-good dime store cowboys? The Bartholomews would keep the best part of the huge Falling Hills ranch for themselves, then carve the rest up into profitable condos and retail sites. They weren't above cutting deals with the state for use of their land—in return for power and position. In short, they were belly-crawlers who hid under a ranching family's hat for the sake of money and tax breaks.

Phin was the point on the triangle between his parents and Sam. Phin could easily take over. He liked living in Montana, and he liked the ranch. But Phin wanted Sam to handle the business matters so that Phin could chase his dream of renovating a ski resort or golf course.

Would Phin take charge if Sam stayed on the road? Even Sam doubted it. Phin mainly took care of Phin.

"Hey, Cowboy," a voice called.

He glanced up at the tiny blonde staring at him from her position on the porch of the salon. Getting out of the truck, he shut the door and tipped his hat to her. "Ma'am."

"It's Miss," she said, "Come on in and have a glass of tea, traveler. We don't bite in here."

"Nobody said you did," he said mildly. "I'm just trying to decide if I want a trim or not."

She shrugged. "You can get one of those in Montana, when you return. Or here. Suit yourself."

His truck door was emblazoned with the family business name and logo, so she was paying attention. But she was just a bit too spunky for him. "Do you work or just run your mouth?"

She sized him up as he stepped onto the porch. "Hello, Sam Johnston," she said, "my name's Lily. And I multi-task, as most hairdressers do."

"More cut and less lip, that's all I'm looking for," he said crossly.

"Fine." She pointed the way inside, looking mighty fine, he noticed, in worn blue jeans and a white blouse. "I've never had an unhappy customer."

He wasn't giving her much to work with, Sam thought. His mood stunk since he hadn't fully digested the contents of his parents' letter, and even if he had, he'd still feel like being in a grumpy mood. Sitting in the chair she indicated, Sam winced when she picked up scissors.

It was the gleam in her eye which made him cautious. "I'm not certain you're trustworthy."

Her smile was nothing short of Mona Lisa as she put the scissors on the table again.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Waiting for you to take off your hat. As good a stylist as I am, I can't cut hair around your Stetson."

He grunted, removing his hat. "Did I tell you I just wanted a little taken off?"

His gaze met hers in the mirror. Lily ran her hand through his hair, considering the previous cuts he'd lopped himself. Her touch felt wonderful, he was annoyed to discover, and he liked her confident demeanor.

Something about her smelled like honeysuckle he remembered from his childhood.

In fact, an irritating bulge was growing under the zipper of his jeans, and he wasn't happy about it. "I knew of a Lily once, a long time ago."

She looked at him. "Did you?"

"It's not a very common name."

"Hm. How do you expect me to cut your hair if you keep talking?" she asked.

"I thought you multi-task." He shifted, placing his hat in his lap and glad for the cover.

She touched the uneven strands. "I presume you did the work yourself?"

He nodded. "Maybe I shouldn't quit my regular job."

"Not if you're better at it."

"I'm not sure if I am or not." He sighed. "So I guess you hear a lot from your clients."

"A lot I'll never tell, cowboy." She looked in the mirror at him curiously. "Hairdresser-client privilege."

He had to tell somebody. His mind was on fire and his heart was torn. She was as safe as anyone. Heck, Lily probably wasn't even her real name. He had known of a Lily, but this woman could not possibly be that girl. That Lily was the daughter of his family's arch enemies—or rivals, if one wanted to be gentle about it. Lily was reputed to be spoiled and generally a young girl who grew up with all the perks her family, the Bartholomews, could give her. They also, from what he'd heard, taught Lily the same bellycrawler-hiding-under-a-ranching-hat tricks they thrived on.

But this hairdresser seemed professional, responsible, and a bit too sassy for his tastes, he decided, as a much longer strand of hair than he was comfortable losing hit the floor.

"Sorry," she said, "you really butchered it. I'm trying to be conservative, but it's very uneven."

Well, she was forthright. "Hey, would you charge me extra for an opinion?"

She shook her head. "Hairdressers listen. They don't give more opinion than a 'mm, you don't say. Did he really do that, hon? How do you survive?' kind of thing." Her gaze leveled on him in the mirror. "At least that's my schtick."

It was better than anything he had at the moment, and he really wanted one person's opinion, just one person who lived outside his family. And he felt like he could trust Lily. "My folks want me married."

She nodded. "Most parents want to see their children happy."

"I'm not so sure marriage would make me happy." He frowned. "Especially not to Mary Phillips."

The scissors, which were poised to cut, stayed still.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing." She blandly returned to scrutinizing his hair. "There, all finished."

He stared at her. "You just started!"

"You said you wanted a trim. That's what you got." She put her scissors away.

Feeling his hair, he had to admit that the back was smoother. And it was still long, the way he liked it. But he wasn't through talking to her! "How much do I owe you? And can I talk you into dinner?"

She shook her head as he rose. "No, but thank you, anyway. And the cut is twenty-five. I'm giving you a discount since you're passing through town."

"Thanks." He dug out his wallet and gave her fifty bucks. "If I don't settle down very quickly, my folks are going to sell our family ranch to some low-down, scurvy, good-for-nothing people."

"Really?" Lily put the money in her pocket and looked at him. "Who?"

"The Bartholomews," Sam said.

Lily had known who the darkly handsome cowboy was the moment he'd parked his truck—emblazoned with the Johnston ranch logo on the truck door—in front of the Union Junction beauty salon. She'd seen him ride in some rodeos, and knew she wasn't the first woman to think he was hotter than a Texas sunrise.

What she hadn't known was how much he despised her family. It was clear by the look in his dark eyes that he was down and needed a listening ear—yet it couldn't be hers. "Are they as bad as you think they are?"

"Yeah. But nothing I can't handle, if I was interested in taking over the family ranch. I just don't think I am."

This was getting far too personal, she decided. If he discovered that she was a Bartholomew, he'd feel tricked. "Cowboy, I have another appointment."

"I apologize." Glancing around, he said, "Now?"

"In a few moments." She looked up at him defiantly. "I do appreciate the generous tip, however. You didn't have to be quite so generous. Your hair wasn't in that bad of shape."

He grinned at her. "Have dinner with me. I can show you the real meaning of generous."

Her eyes widened in spite of herself. If he was any other man, she might be tempted to say yes. He was packing an awful lot of temptation into that smile. She shivered. "You make it hard to say no, but I'm afraid I must."

"Your six o'clock just canceled, Lily," someone called from another room. "You're done for the night."

"Here we go," Sam said, taking her by the arm and escorting her from the room. "Dinner with a stranger."

"No," she said, laughing in spite of herself. "Sam, it's a really bad idea."

"Because you never cross that hairdresser-client line?"

He was smiling down at her, his grin in a lazy, crooked crescent, and Lily's heart jumped in spite of herself. "I never have, that's true."

"Good. I've never dated a woman who cut my hair, either. Then again, you are the sexiest stylist to tame my hair."

She stared up at him, wondering if she should tell him who her family was. Clear it up right now, and see if he still offered dinner. "Sam—"

"I'm in the mood to drive," he said.

"Drive? You just got into town."

"I know. But I heard there's a barbeque tonight at a ranch called Malfunction Junction—"

"No," Lily said. "How about we take a picnic out into the country?"

He smiled, and she thought she saw the hint of a wolf light his face. "Sounds good to me."

"Great. This will please all of us. Follow me."

"All of us?" He did as she asked, following her into the upstairs of the salon.

She opened her bedroom door, and a giant Golden retriever bounded off her bed to greet her and inspect him. "Meet Samson. Our latest rescued pet."

"Samson. I get it." He grimaced as Samson put hairy paws on his chest, looking up at Sam. "Down, young lad."

She laughed. "Samson." Dragging him off of Sam, she showed the delighted dog to his own dog bed. "We just got him last week, and I'm not sure I'm going to be able to let him go. He seems to have adopted me."

"Very comfortable bed," Sam observed. "If that was my bed, I'd probably stay, too."

Lily felt herself blush. "Well, Samson will come along on our picnic. You'd be surprised what a listening ear he has. You can tell him anything."

Not to mention that Samson would provide a chaperone of sorts. She put a leash on Samson and handed it to Sam. "If you don't mind doing the honors, I'll pack the picnic."

He took the leash from her, eying Samson. "If you rescued him, where's his family?"

"We're not sure yet. He might have run away or he might have been dumped. He's very friendly and still a junior dog, so he could have gotten nosy and kept on going, not realizing he was getting lost. But it doesn't matter. He has a home with me for as long as he needs."

"You are one lucky dog," Sam told the dog.

He might not think that if she told him it was her parents his ranch might be sold to. "Water, fruit, some crackers, and even a candy bar," she said, packing it all into a picnic basket. "That's just about perfect."

"Yes, it is," Sam said. "When I stopped here tonight, I didn't imagine I'd be having this much fun."

She turned, looking into the dark brown of his eyes. "That's an awfully nice thing to say."

"I'm not being polite, Lily of Union Junction," he said. "I really do feel luck be a lady tonight."

LAST'S TEMPTATION

Do You Believe In Magic?

He may be a grown man, but daredevil Last Jefferson is running away from home. Yet in escaping his own family, he runs right smack into another! Esme Hastings casts a spell under the big top as sexy magician Poppy Peabody--but being mom to her orphaned niece and nephew is her most important job. Unfortunately, convincing a judge she can provide a stable home will take more than a wave of her magic wand.

Before Last takes off halfway around the world, he brings Esme and the kids back to the Malfunction Junction ranch in Texas. There's room to spare and they need to settle down, but Last can't stay. Sue, he and Esme have fun together, but it could never work. Besides, this cowboy isn't ready to be a family man. Right?

MASON'S MARRIAGE

Mimi Cannady had no regrets. Spending that night with the cowboy had been the right thing to do — their beautiful daughter was living proof. And since the word commitment used to make Mason Jefferson buck like a bronc, marrying another man the very next day was a good idea, too. But now it's time for the truth....

When the sheriff from Malfunction Junction finds out he's a father, he's delighted. Naturally, Mason assumes claiming his daughter means claiming her mother, and he'll finally get the only woman he's ever wanted. However, Mason soon discovers he's got it wrong.

No cowgirl worth her salt would allow a man to simply waltz right in and take over. He'll just have to hang on to his hat — until Mason woos Mimi the way he should have all along....

EXCERPT

There were many important memories in Mason Jefferson's life, some so poignant that they were etched like sand-scratched glass in his mind. One was realizing his father had gone away, leaving him in charge of a family of rambunctious, grieving boys. That was the moment Mason had first learned the meaning of the word responsible.

After that, he'd been responsible for a hell of a lot. It wasn't easy being a parent when all he'd known how to be was a boy.

Another sharp memory was the day Mimi had gotten married. Right up until the moment she'd said "I do," he'd believed she would not marry another man. He'd had every right to think that, since just the night before he had made wild, uninhibited love with her. It was the only time in his life he could truly say he'd let loose the mantle of responsibility that he'd worn over the years — and he'd loved every sweet moment of it.

"May God forgive me," he muttered to himself as he sat in a hard-backed wooden chair, one of the pieces of furniture that came with the sheriff's office.

"May God forgive me for the sin of loving another man's wife."

But there was no forgiveness for that, which he knew too well by now. The price to pay for stealing forbidden love was that you paid forever. He'd paid every time he'd seen Mimi, every holiday, every waking moment of his life.

The price was never enough to stop a man from the folly of his ways. Love would not stop just because a man knew the price was out of his reach.

Mason crossed his ankles and rested his boots on the old, well-worn desk that had belonged to Mimi's father, the former sheriff, Sheriff Cannady. This was his office, and it would take a long time for Mason to be able to believe the truth of the bronze door placard that read Sheriff Mason Jefferson.

In contrast to the office, the sign was bright and shiny, with its black letters stern against the bronze. So official. So steeped with responsibility. He had the sheriff's office, and his chair, and his desk. But he did not have the sheriff's daughter.

And now, whether he liked it or not, the final price to pay for all he'd been given, for all he'd pushed aside to be with Mimi that one night, was learning that Nanette was his daughter. Mason sighed, and stared at the ceiling, barely noticing the new coat of paint.

He remembered the day Nanette had been born. He'd helped deliver her, his own hands trembling with amazement as he'd held her. Stubborn Mimi had refused to leave her very ill father to go to a hospital, and her husband, Brian Flannigan, had been working in Houston or Austin or somewhere. Mason had stepped in, the mantle of responsibility heavy on his shoulders, to help Mimi, though the biggest part of his heart was fiercely glad that he'd gotten to share that moment with the woman he cared so much about.

The baby had let out a fierce wail of welcome to her new world, and the sound was another sharp-scratched memory he would never forget — God's miracle writhing between his big palms. Mason had shaken a mental fist at the price he would pay for being unrepentantly glad that it was he in that room and not Brian.

He had never cared about mental costs, anyway. If he had one goal in life that he would never speak aloud — not to his youngest brother, Last, not to anyone, not even Mimi — it was that he would never, ever crack as his father had. "Damn it," he whispered under his breath. "I will never leave anything behind that I love."

In spite of the anger and too-deep sense of betrayal he felt for Mimi now, Nanette was never going to think that her father had left her behind. It was his solemn vow. For stealing forbidden love, he was willing to pay the price forever.

Mimi was just going to have to deal with that.

There was nothing heroic about a man who decided that he would be a father to his child, no matter what, Mimi decided, watching Mason pack up Nanette's things.

"Mason," she said, "you're being an ass. You cannot take my daughter and move her out to Malfunction Junction."

Mason didn't stop folding Nanette's clothes as he put them methodically in her little pink suitcase.

"Mason!" Mimi reached out to take the suitcase away from him. "No."

Silently, he looked up and met her eyes. His gaze was so flat and devoid of the friendship they'd once shared that Mimi released the suitcase when he put his hand on it.

This was not the result she'd envisioned when she'd confessed her secret, and her heart was completely broken. Not only had she lost Mason, who was her best friend and the man she'd loved all her life, but he seemed determined to take the one fragment of her world that she'd hung on to with gratitude and wonder. Nanette was her salvation, her dream come true, her only piece of Mason — Mimi had accepted that there would be no more than the child of their one stolen night.

"Mason, please," she said. "You know a child needs its mother. Nanette won't understand."

He snapped the suitcase shut. "Nanette would understand even less a father who didn't put her first in his life. She belongs on my ranch, and that's where she's going to live." His tone had flattened out, and now he picked Nanette up in his big arms. "A father puts his family in front of everything else on the planet. And if you don't agree, ask your father if he was putting you first all the years he raised you after your mother left."

She stepped back from his words. "Mason, it's not the same thing!"

He walked out the door and her words fell unheeded. Over his shoulder, Nanette looked at her with big eyes, completely satisfied to rest her chin on her father's shoulder and go with him.And why shouldn't she?All she'd ever known was that Uncle Mason was one of the three people who loved her most: her mother, her grandfather and her uncle Mason.

Only Uncle Mason was really her father, and it was time Nanette knew it. Mimi blinked back fast tears and resisted the urge to run after Mason. He couldn't just take his child, Mimi thought wildly. But who would stop him? He was Nanette's father, he was completely within his rights to at least partial custody and he was the sheriff.

A growing sense of desperation filled her, tightening her stomach. She ran out the front door to his truck as he switched on the engine. The truck window was open and she put imploring fingers on Mason's strong chest. "Mason, I'm coming, too! Don't rip us apart!"

He removed her fingers and shook his head. "You've done enough, Mimi. Some space between me and you is what is badly needed."

He drove off, leaving Mimi stunned. Watching the truck pull away felt like a slow-motion tragedy from a movie. Her breath caught in her throat and her chest cramped, hurting more than anything she had ever felt. It was her heart, she was certain it was. Two of the three people she loved most on the planet had just left her, and the pain was more than she could bear.

She sank to her knees. Yes, she'd made the wrong choice. She'd lied. But she couldn't believe that the man she'd grown up with had turned away from her in her hour of greatest need.