Free The Rancher's Bride by Stella Bagwell

entering the courtyard, Rose reached for the doorhandle.
    “Thank you for the lift, Harlan,” she said, her eyes fixed safely on her lap. “And don’t worry yourself about getting Pie back tomorrow. Just drop him by whenever you have the chance. I’ll pay you for whatever feed you give him.”
    His door opened and she glanced over to see him climbing out to the ground. Bemused, she watched him skirt the front of the cab, then open her door.
    “You won’t pay me anything for horse feed,” he said, then raised his arm toward her. “Put your hand on my arm.”
    She frowned. “What?”
    “Put your hand right here,” he ordered while tapping his forearm. “I’m going to walk you to the door.”
    “That isn’t necessary. I’m fine now.”
    “Maybe so. But this way I’ll know you made it to the house without collapsing.”
    Rose had never collapsed in her life and she certainly didn’t want Harlan thinking she was weak. For some foolish reason, she wanted him to see her as a strong, confident woman. Yet he seemed to want her to lean on him and that idea went straight to Rose’s heart.
    Reaching out, she curled her fingers over his thick forearm. At once, she was struck by the warmth of his skin, the tickle of body hair, the hardness of his muscles.
    Her heart lurched, then went into a mad gallop as she slid from the seat to stand beside him.
    “I guess I am a little tired,” she told him. But she didn’t feel it. When she was close to him, touching him, her whole body buzzed with excitement. It didn’t make sense.
    Except for a faint night-light burning in the kitchen, the back courtyard was dark as the two of them slowly made their way toward the house. As they walked, Harlan was acutely aware of Rose’s small hand on his arm. It had beenyears since a woman had touched him or needed him in a physical way. To have Rose leaning on him swelled his chest with inexplicable emotions.
    The night had grown late and nothing was stirring except a soft breeze whispering in the pines. Rose was very aware of the quietness as the two of them stepped onto the porch.
    “Here you are,” he said.
    “Yes. Well…good night, Harlan.”
    His hand closed over hers, preventing Rose from stepping away from him. Her eyes lifted to the shadowy lines of his face and her heart slowed to a heavy thud, thud.
    “Rose, I—” he paused and his fingers pressed her hand even tighter against his arm. “I just wanted to say that…when you first told me about your financial problems, I was skeptical. I knew your father needed money last year, but I didn’t think it was…well, I thought you and your sisters might be the sort who liked to live—” he broke off awkwardly.
    “Above our means,” she finished dryly.
    A sheepish expression on his face, he said, “Something like that. And I feel bad about it now.”
    She looked down at the toes of their dusty boots. His were wide and rounded, hers narrow and pointed. They were very nearly touching. So were their thighs and hips and the whole idea made it hard for Rose to breathe.
    “You shouldn’t apologize for that, Harlan. You don’t know me or my sisters, or how we live.”
    No, he hadn’t known much about the Murdock daughters, but he was quickly learning about this one, he thought. And the more he learned, the more he was drawn to her.
    “But I knew your father,” he persisted. “At least, I thought I knew him. It’s hard to believe he would have left his family in such financial trouble.”
    Rose looked up at him and was surprised to find something like sadness on his face. When Harlan had calledTomas his friend, he must have truly meant it, Rose thought. “Daddy was only fifty-three. I don’t think he planned on dying and leaving things the way he did. I believe he thought he’d eventually make the money back and none of us would ever be aware of his problems.”
    “He must have been living under a hell of a load,” Harlan said thoughtfully.
    “I’m sure it’s what