LITMIR.BIZ

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      Jimmy had nothing against women being savvy when it came to love, he just didn’t want all that savvy directed at him when he wasn’t ready to do anything about it. Most of the women he knew wouldn’t get all spruced up for a man unless he’d already handed over the ring, and Jimmy hadn’t even narrowed down the candidates, much less decided on the future Lady Mission.

      He knew Deb had started the column to push him away, to draw the line between them and remind him that she wasn’t the sort of girl a guy could take home to his mama. But damned if she didn’t come back every few weeks with some short, serious article. Like the one she’d done on Cletus Wallaby who’d cost the good citizens of Inspiration major tax dollars because of his falsified expense reports, or the one she’d done to rally support for the local animal shelter.

      It was those serious, caring articles that never failed to cool his anger and stir his admiration. And they also made him wonder exactly how many rumours regarding Deb’s bedroom exploits were rooted in fact and how many were pure speculation based on the sophisticated, worldly image she portrayed and the fact that this was a small town and gossip a favorite pastime. He knew she’d dated all of the twenty or so eligible men in town. What he had trouble swallowing was that she’d bedded all of them, because as turned on as she’d been by his kiss, he’d sensed her surprise, as well.

      “Don’t you have better things to do than harass innocent women?” Deb’s voice drew Jimmy back to the here and now and the fire flashing in her blue eyes.

      “Sure do. Today, I’m teaching a lesson to a guilty woman. You break the law, you have to pay.”

      “But you parked in my spot on purpose.”

      “Barely.” He shrugged. “I’m not too good at parallel parking.”

      “Well, neither am I. So sue me.” The minute the words were out of her mouth, a wave of red crept up her neck and fueled her cheeks.

      “That’s what I’m doing, sweetheart.”

      And in a big way. He’d counted on the fact that Judge Baines, still soured over Deb’s exposure of Cletus, the judge’s longtime fishing buddy, would go for the maximum judgement allowed. Having his early weekend fishing trip put off by a Friday morning hearing didn’t help matters. Deb didn’t stand a chance, which was exactly why Jimmy had hauled her into court.

      Not that he needed the outrageous judgment. This wasn’t about damages. It was about finishing what they’d started.

      She wanted him. He’d felt it, seen it, even if she had spent the past year denying it. He’d no more been able to forget the taste of her—warm woman and sweet peppermint and sinful promise—than he’d been able to shake the urge to breathe. Over the past year, reading her articles, seeing her around town, talking to her, hell, even arguing with her, had intensified the attraction. She was in his head, under his skin, in his blood.

      At first, he’d tried to deny the chemistry between them. He’d been so damned mad after the dunking booth incident, which had been her intention all along. To push him away, piss him off, keep distance between them. She wanted him, but she didn’t want to want him because she, like every other female in town, knew he had marriage on his mind. If there was one thing he’d learned about Deb Strickland, it was that she was single and proud of it.

      Good. While Jimmy did have marriage on his mind, he wanted a strong, solid woman who knew her cattle better than her cosmetics. One who wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty to give one hundred percent to a thriving ranch that demanded so much.

      Too much.

      He shook away the thought. The ranch was his life now, and he would do what he had to do. For his mother and father. For the future of the Mission spread. Duty called, and so he didn’t, couldn’t want a woman like Deb Strickland, with her fancy clothes and painted nails and city-slicker persona, in his life.

      But in his bed, wearing nothing but a smile and some pineapple-flavored body glaze…now that was a different matter altogether.

      Deb huffed, the heart flashed, and Jimmy’s body gave an answering throb.

      “I’m begging you to rethink this, Judge Baines.”

      “No time, missy. I’ve got a great big catfish with my name on it out in Morgan’s Pond and you’ve made me as late as I’m gonna get.” The gavel slammed down as the judge stood up. “I rule in favor of the plaintiff for four thousand dollars.” He shrugged off his robe to reveal a plaid shirt and blue jeans, and grabbed the rod and reel propped in the far corner. “Good day and happy fishing.”

      Jimmy barely had time to stand before the three file clerks and the court reporter closed in on him.

      “Congratulations, Jimmy.”

      “You deserve it.”

      “How’d you like that sardine sandwich I made you last week?”

      By the time Jimmy smiled and talked his way past the women, Deb Strickland and her tattoo had disappeared.

      He should have been thankful.

      She was sure to come at him, guns blazing, ready to rip his head off and mount it on the wall above her desk over at the In Touch. He’d waited this long to make his proposition. A few more days, maybe even a couple of weeks wouldn’t make much difference. Besides, Jimmy had always been a patient man where women were concerned, which was why he’d invested so much time in pursuing a woman with such a hands-off attitude.

      He had work waiting—a plowed over fence in the north pasture, a pen full of cattle needing vaccinations, and Valentino, his stud bull, was due in Austin tomorrow to be photographed for a layout in Texas Cattleman featuring prize livestock.

      He needed to get things settled, to pack. He didn’t need a confrontation to take up more time when he was already running short.

      But damned if he didn’t want one.

      DEB FOUGHT to keep from shedding even one of the tears burning her eyes as she headed down the hallway. Deb Strickland didn’t cry, no matter how grossly unfair Judge Baines’s verdict.

      Four thousand dollars. Where was she supposed to come up with that kind of money?

      With barely two thousand left in her own savings account—a quarter of which she’d already planned to transfer to the newspaper account to help cover Wally’s salary—she was scraping bottom already. She had three hundred open on her Visa, eighty bucks in her checking account, Granny Lily’s decrepit house, a car that wasn’t even halfway paid off, a lifetime supply of Go Girl cosmetics she’d won back in a magazine competition in college and a newspaper that barely generated enough revenue to cover expenses.

      Most of the time, it didn’t, which was why she’d nearly depleted the nest egg Granny Lily had left her.

      She fought back the urge to turn around, stomp back into the courtroom and punch the plaintiff’s infuriatingly handsome face.

      She would have done in a second except she’d traded Sonia at the beauty shop a month of free advertising for a French manicure just yesterday. She wasn’t about to waste a precious nail on some pigheaded cowboy, even if said cowboy was Jimmy Mission.

      Especially because it was him. He was completely off-limits. Cowboy non grata. The more distance between them, the better.

      “Hey, Slick, wait up.” His deep voice rumbled behind.

      “Get lost.” She picked up the pace.

      “I want to talk to you.”

      “And I want to strangle you, but lucky for you my personal beauty regime prohibits physical violence. Go away.”

      He stopped, but his voice followed her. “Why are you so dead set on running away from me?”

      The question rang in her ears, prickling her ego and she turned on him before she could think better of it. “Why are you so dead set on ruining my life?”

      “Last

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