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was proudest of, was his ability to choose them. To pick out a horse in that milling, constantly moving herd took a good eye, sound judgment and a knowledge of horseflesh. He hadn’t made many mistakes, and he was proud of that.
    He wasn’t so proud of his major life decisions. Skipping college. Getting married and settling down at eighteen. Allowing Max the freedom to run wild on the ranch. And now this. Agreeing to become a symbol for a men’s cologne. What would the people in Harmony say when they found out? Hopefully the ad campaign would be a big flop, so they wouldn’t find out. If they did, he’d tell them it was only to benefit Max’s college education.
    At this rate, however, the boy would be lucky to graduate from Harmony High School. Tearing up the front lawn doing wheelies. Running over innocent women. A vision of Bridget in her linen shorts and her black eye, uncomplaining as he pressed an ice pack on her eyelid, made his heart thud in his chest. He would never admit it to anybody, but he’d had an uncontrollable desire at that moment to take her in his arms and tell her she was going to be all right. Fortunately he was able to control that uncontrollable desire, or God knows where he’d be. Probably in court for sexual harassment.
    For one crazy moment as he’d watched her lower lip tremble when he dismissed her from his house, he had wanted nothing more than to haul her back into the house and kiss her. He’d repressed the feeling until now. Denied that it ever happened. It was useless to think about it to relive it. The only rational explanation was that it had been so long, so damned long since he’d kissed a woman. Since he’d seen a woman blush. Since he’d desired a woman.
    Not that he desired Bridget McCloud. She was not his type.
    He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out her wrinkled card. What was that doing there? He remembered distinctly stuffing it in his pants pocket And that was days ago. He pressed it to his nose and inhaled her scent which still clung tenaciously. Like Bridget herself. Clinging tenaciously to the idea that he was going to be her Wild Mustang Man. The card only reminded him that she didn’t know the meaning of the word no. That there was no stopping her once she had an idea in her head.
    Though today he thought he’d gotten through to her, when he’d said that nobody would really want to smell like a wild mustang. He sure wouldn’t. And he didn’t think she would, either.
    He grinned, remembering how she’d sputtered when he’d mentioned the smell of the horses. How her cheeks reddened, her spine stiffened. Teasing her, putting her on the spot, watching her reactions, was more fun than he’d had in years. The funny thing was the more she talked about herself the more he wanted to know. That was not part of the plan. She was not part of the plan.
    Since Molly died, his plan was to get by. To make a living for himself and Max. To put a rein on the boy’s energies and try to channel them into constructive paths. To keep Molly on a pedestal. To remember her as the perfect wife. His one and only wife. He hadn’t looked at another woman since Molly died. Why bother? He’d pledged himself to her some fifteen years ago, and he would never go back on his honor. As he told his father, she would have done the same for him.
    So why was he grinning like a jackal as he drove down the highway toward home, thinking about some city girl who was more interested in image than substance? Who was more at home at a perfume counter than at a 4-H meeting. Who put her career ahead of getting married and having a family. He didn’t understand that. If Max’s devotion to her was an indication, she’d make a good mother.
    He shook his head. What business was it of his if she became the mother to a set of quintuplets? They were going to have a working relationship, the looser the better. She’d assured him he could continue his work, to lead his life. She’d better be right.