4

      “YOU’RE HOVERING.” Laurel stood in front of the stove, a wooden spoon in one hand, the other resting on her belly.

      “You should sit down.” Sadie plucked the utensil from her twin’s hand. “Rest. You’ve been standing over that stove all morning.”

      “We need food,” her twin protested.

      “I just filled your fridge with groceries yesterday.” Sadie had been horrified when she’d looked through her sister’s kitchen and realized her twin was barely getting by foodwise. She knew Laurel and her husband had been struggling since Laurel had lost her job, but Sadie sent money every month despite Laurel’s protests. Her very pregnant sister should not be living off mac and cheese.

      “I need to fill the freezer. Once the baby comes I won’t feel like cooking. And we can’t live on takeout up here like you do in New York.” Laurel snatched the spoon back and turned away from Sadie.

      “Greg can cook for you. Isn’t that part of a husband’s job after the baby comes?”

      Laurel snorted. “He’s not allowed in my kitchen. But even if I did let him in, he won’t have the time, between work and the baby—”

      “Wait, Greg’s not taking time off?”

      “He can’t afford to. As it is they’ve cut his hours at the plant back to thirty-two. That’s how we lost our benefits.”

      “I told you I’d pay the hospital bills. If you need more so Greg can stay for a week or two, the money is yours. I have more than enough to cover whatever you need, especially after this next book comes out.”

      “No. He can’t risk losing his job. I appreciate the offer. So does Greg. But we can’t turn to you for everything. We’re trying to get back on our feet. If Greg does well, if he works hard and gets promoted, we’ll have benefits again. And when the baby’s old enough, I’m going to find another job,” Laurel said, stirring briskly.

      “I know you’re trying. Greg, too,” she said. “But you’re about to have a baby. He should be home with you in the beginning.”

      “I’ll have you here,” Laurel said. “I won’t need him.”

      “I’m here now. Why don’t you let me finish that while you sit down?” Sadie made another grab for the spoon only to have her hand slapped away.

      “I need to cook. And you’re worse than Greg in the kitchen. Go. Write. Enjoy the peace and quiet. Your hovering is driving me batty.”

      Sadie closed her eyes and groaned in frustration. Three days. She had been in town for seventy-two hours and they were already making each other crazy. A month would be torture unless she started focusing on her book.

      “Promise me you will rest after this casserole is in the oven,” Sadie said, “and I’ll leave you alone until dinner.”

      “Scout’s honor.”

      Sadie pursed her lips. “We were never Girl Scouts, Laurel.”

      “I know.” Her twin waved the spoon at the screen door. “Out. Be back at seven for dinner.”

      Sadie marched down the squeaky wooden steps and into the yard. She’d walked over. After living in Manhattan, it seemed odd to drive the equivalent of a few city blocks to visit her sister. She moved through Laurel’s overgrown backyard, not slowing down when she reached the mowed field indicating Aunt Lou’s farm. Following the fence line to the cow pasture, she headed for the red wooden barn. Her cute, quaint guesthouse stood on the other side of the cows’ home.

      Sadie studied the barn as she approached. The building shone like a freshly washed fire truck in the midday sun. Someone had painted it recently. The metal gate at the front of the barn swung open. Sadie froze.

      Mr. Ruggedly Handsome, the man who wanted “just hot sex, no whips,” walked out carrying a bucket. If she believed in fate, she would have thanked her lucky stars for depositing him on her doorstep. But she’d stopped believing in fairy godmothers and magic wands years ago. And destiny? It had never handed her anything. Her career, her success—those she chalked up to hard work and drive. No, it wasn’t fate; it was coincidence, and an opportunity to learn more about him.

      Sadie watched him set the bucket down. Jeans hugged the backside she’d admired that first afternoon at The Quilted Quail and a gray army T-shirt showed off his muscular arms. Leaving the gate open, he disappeared inside. When he came back, he carried two more large blue buckets, his biceps flexing from the exertion.

      Sadie bit her lip. She could return to her desk in the guesthouse and write, or she could offer to help Mr. Ruggedly Handsome with his buckets. Her brain didn’t even have a chance to vote before her legs started moving toward the barn.

      She had hours to kill before dinner. She couldn’t think of a better way to spend her day than working alongside Logan, drawing him into conversation. She wanted to see him laugh again. He’d been full of humor at the bookstore, teasing her in the stacks. Then, one quick drive around town and he’d become withdrawn and quiet. Any woman in her shoes would be curious.

      “Hi, stranger,” she said, offering him a smile.

      Logan stopped a few feet outside the barn, but he held on to the buckets, which suited her fine. She didn’t mind seeing his muscles in action. His gaze ran down her body, taking in her plain black tank top, jean shorts that skimmed the tops of her thighs and slip-on canvas flats. Maybe not the best outfit for the farm.

      But then he looked her straight in the eyes. Not a hint of disapproval there. No, she was willing to bet her next book advance that the soldier-turned-farmhand liked what he saw.

      “Sadie.” The way he said her name—it was as if he’d expected to run into her. He paused before adding, “Good to see you again.”

      She smiled. “I’m renting the guesthouse. If you’re working here now, soldier, you might be seeing a lot of me.”

      “Lou is my aunt.”

      Her smiled faded. He could have mentioned that in the car. Was that why he’d pulled away?

      “I’m helping her out while I’m home,” he added.

      “Need a hand?”

      “I’m good. Just watering cows,” he said. “I don’t want to keep you.”

      He turned to the fields. The water in the buckets sloshed up the sides with each step. Sadie fell in beside him. She wasn’t going to let him get away. Not this time.

      “Laurel kicked me out. I could write, but I’d rather procrastinate and enjoy the fresh air.” She moved closer and that sharp need she’d felt in the bookstore sent her pulse racing. She wanted to grab the front of his T-shirt and pull him up against her. Instead, she reached for one of the buckets.

      Logan stepped to the side. “I’ve got this. If you don’t mind walking through cow fields, I could use a hand running the hose out to the watering troughs near the barn. It will reach