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in high heels. She pulled a white cotton camisole on over her head and sauntered out the door just as he was starting downstairs after changing shirts himself. He gave her a startled look; then his eyes took on a heavy-lidded expression as his gaze swept her throat and shoulders, left bare by the sleeveless camisole. Madelyn almost faltered as that very male look settled on her breasts, and her body felt suddenly warm and weighed down. She had seen men cast quick furtive glances at her breasts before, but Reese was making no effort to hide his speculation. She felt her nipples tingle and harden, rasping against the cotton covering them.
    â€œI didn’t think you’d make it,” he said.
    â€œI don’t fuss about clothes.”
    She didn’t have to, he thought. The body she put inside them was enough; anything else was superfluous. He was all but salivating just thinking of her breasts and those long, slender legs. The jeans covered them, but now he knew exactly how long and shapely they were, and, as she turned to close the bedroom door, how curved her buttocks were, like an inverted heart. He felt a lot hotter than the weather warranted.
    She walked beside him out to the barn, her head swiveling from side to side as she took in all the aspects of the ranch. A three-door garage in the same style as the house stood behind it. She pointed to it. “How many other cars do you have?”
    â€œNone,” he said curtly.
    Three other buildings stood empty, their windows blank. “What are those?”
    â€œBunkhouses.”
    There was a well-built chicken coop, with fat whitechickens pecking industriously around the yard. She said, “I see you grow your own eggs.”
    From the corner of her eye she saw his lips twitch as if he’d almost smiled. “I grow my own milk, too.”
    â€œVery efficient. I’m impressed. I haven’t had fresh milk since I was about six.”
    â€œI didn’t think that accent was New York City. Where are you from originally?”
    â€œVirginia. We moved to New York when my mother remarried, but I went back to Virginia for college.”
    â€œYour parents were divorced?”
    â€œNo. My father died. Mom remarried three years later.”
    He opened the barn door. “My parents died within a year of each other. I don’t think they could exist apart.”
    The rich, earthy smell of an occupied barn enveloped her, and she took a deep breath. The odors of animals, leather, manure, hay and feed all mixed into that one unmistakable scent. She found it much more pleasant than the smell of exhaust.
    The barn was huge. She had noticed a stable beside it, also empty, as well as a machinery shed and a hay shed. Everything about the ranch shouted that this had once been a very prosperous holding, but Reese had evidently fallen on hard times. How that must grate on a man with his obvious pride. She wanted to put her hand in his and tell him that it didn’t matter, but she had the feeling he would reject the gesture. The pride that kept him working this huge place alone wouldn’t allow him to accept anything he could interpret as pity.
    She didn’t know what chores needed doing or how to do them, so she tried to stay out of his way and simply watch, noting the meticulous attention he paid to everything he did. He cleaned out stalls and put down freshhay, his powerful arms and back flowing with muscles. He put feed in the troughs, checked and repaired tack, brought in fresh water. Three horses were in a corral between the barn and stable; he checked and cleaned their hooves, brought them in to feed and water them, then put them in their stalls for the night. He called a ridiculously docile cow to him and put her in a stall, where she munched contentedly while he milked her. With a bucket half full of hot, foaming milk, he went back to the house, and two cats appeared to meow imperiously at him as they scented the milk. “Scat,”