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time. This reason is right. You and I have a good thing here. And this would make us one of the biggest ranches in the state — even with the huge operations.”
    “We’re not going to get married.” This had to be some kind of a bad dream that I had yet to wake up from. Please, God. “This is a ridiculous idea.”
    Paisley’s smile only faded a little bit. “I’ll give you some time to think about it,” she said. “I know this is all kind of sudden. But the thing is, you’re going to have to move fast. The bank isn’t going to dally around about taking your family’s ranch. If you wait too long, even marrying me isn’t going to save this place.”
    She let the sheet drop once more, and my eyes were treated to the sight that was the woman Paisley had become.
    “It’s not as if marrying me would be pulling teeth, Avery,” she said, running her hands over her breasts, not taking her eyes from mine, enjoying the effect her little show was having on me. She rose gracefully from her sitting position and crossed the distance between us in two lithe strides. “I think you’d like being married to me.” She pressed her front to mine, my cock jumping helplessly at the contact, and kissed me long and hard. She’d just woken up, but her mouth tasted fresh, as if she’d chewed mint or somehow managed to brush her teeth while I’d been passed out.
    Then, as suddenly as she’d kissed me, she backed away again and pulled her clothes on as if we were a married couple already, not taking care to cover herself up whatsoever. I remembered that she’d neglected to wear panties underneath that denim skirt last night, wondered if it was comfortable.
    “Let me know, Avery, but make it sooner than later,” she said, giving me a last searing stare before leaving me dumbfounded and alone in my trailer.
    Her truck roared to life just outside, gravel skittering beneath the tires as she drove away.
    How in the world was I going to wake up from this dream — and was it actually a nightmare?

Chapter 3
    There was one good thing I had to say about the ranch. When I was really invested in the work, it numbed my mind to all other things.
    I grabbed the clipboard of cattle log papers — Chance must’ve put everything back in order when he returned to the ranch yesterday evening — saddled my horse, and took off. He was concerned that there were cattle missing, and I was concerned that Paisley Summers had finally ensnared me in a trap she’d been constructing for years.
    I’d address the missing cattle situation before turning my attention back to Paisley. I just couldn’t think about her right now.
    The sun was already well above the horizon by the time I reached the herd. I could see Hunter in the distance riding the fence line, checking for breaks. That was his favorite job because he liked to ride the hell out of his horse. I couldn’t blame him. He’d lost his leg in Afghanistan. The man deserved to go fast.
    To drive images of Paisley naked and spreadeagled on my bed, I poured myself into the cattle logs, squinting at the tags on the ears of the herd, parsing them out, weaving the horse between them to make sure I counted all of them. We were missing five, but that couldn’t be right. Five was ludicrous. The cattle stuck together with few exceptions. There was a reason why “the safety of the herd” was a saying. Cattle just stuck together. Even though predators were rare here — coyotes sometimes worried us — the mentality remained. Where would the other five be?
    I issued a recount, carefully recording each and every animal in the log, but came up short again. Who said I needed a cattle log to tell these things? I was usually dead on — when I was mentally invested. That was the key to my ranching success, apparently. Chance was always on me about not caring.
    After updating the logs, I urged my horse into a gallop to catch up with Hunter, still circling the pasture.
    “Hey!” I shouted, trying to get his