LITMIR.BIZ

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at the back of the barn. Half of the herd is in the first field, but they shouldn’t bother you. The back one is empty at the moment. I’ll be working in the front if you need help.”

      Logan turned and headed off. Sadie took that as her cue to start her chores. The sooner she finished, the sooner she could find him and ask for another task, one that required two people. Eventually she’d learn why he was so intent on pushing her away.

      Two hours later, Sadie knew she’d found trouble. She’d filled the first two troughs easily enough. Then she’d spotted the third, smaller pen with tall metal fencing set apart from the others with one big cow pacing in circles. Figuring she would be doing Logan a favor, one he might thank her for later, she pulled the hose over and opened the metal gate.

      Big mistake. The cow, or rather the bull—how had she missed the horns?—charged past her, knocking her off her feet. Her eyes widened in horror. She waited for the animal to run for the road. But, no, he headed straight for the pastures Sadie had just watered, and gracefully—which was flat-out astounding given his size—leaped over the lower wire fence.

      “Shit, shit, shit!” She sprung to her feet and ran for the barn. She needed to find Logan. Fast. And she had a sinking feeling this wouldn’t make him laugh.

      * * *

      LOGAN HAD KNOWN he’d run into Sadie. She was living on his aunt’s property. Part of him—the same part that reacted to the sight of her long legs in those shorts—had been eager to see her again. But common sense told him to stay away from the sexy, vibrant writer.

      Ten paces back from the last empty water trough, Logan’s phone vibrated in his pocket. Not many people had his number. It was probably Aunt Lou calling to harass him about the raffle.

      Logan set the overflowing buckets down and retrieved his cell, glancing at the caller ID. Or his commanding officer calling him back to active duty.

      “Colonel,” he said.

      “Reed,” Lieutenant Colonel Walt Johnson barked. “How are you?”

      He closed his eyes and pressed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and finger. “Fine, sir. Ready for duty.”

      “I’m not calling you back yet. You’re to remain on R & R until we handle the fallout from your last mission,” Johnson said. “I am in New York with Chief Cross. Your teammate will be working with the writer who is so damn intent on digging into your little joyride. Cross will act as her official liaison, helping her set up interviews with your team. Unofficially, he’s under orders to control the message of her book.”

      “Sir, if there is anything I can do—”

      “There is. Sit tight and stay the hell out of trouble. Don’t talk to the press. I don’t care if a kid wants to interview you for their fourth-grade paper. The answer is no. Do you understand?”

      There was only one response to that question. “Yes, sir.”

      “Trust Chief Cross to do his job.”

      “I do.” Logan’s team was like family. They had each other’s backs. Always. And Hunter Cross never failed when it came to a mission—or a woman. But if he messed this one up? Logan’s career was likely over. The last thing the top brass wanted to see was mistake and Special Forces in the same sentence. Not to mention the fact that after publicity had rained down on the SEAL team who’d taken out bin Laden, the army wanted the Rangers to stay out of the media. Period.

      “Expect a call in the next few weeks. When that call comes, be ready to return to work. Do whatever you need to do. Talk to a shrink if that is what it takes. The minute you set foot on base, I need you here and focused. One hundred percent. Are we clear?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      The line went dead. Logan slipped his cell into his pocket and reached for his water buckets. It was almost over. In a few weeks, this clusterfuck would be behind him. All he had to do was make damn sure he had a handle on how to move forward with his life, how to be something more than the guy who’d lost his young wife to cancer. And while he worked on that, he had to keep a low profile, stay out of the media and away from writers.

      Like the one living in his aunt’s guesthouse and watering his cows. Didn’t mean he couldn’t daydream about Sadie’s long legs, or—

      “Logan! Logan!” The mental picture in his head, the one he’d been unable to stop replaying over and over since she’d walked up to him wearing those too-short shorts, carried a similar soundtrack, but without the panic.

      “Logan!”

      He dropped the filled buckets and ran toward the sound of Sadie’s voice. She came racing around the corner, barreling straight into him. He pulled her close, preparing to take the brunt of the fall as they hit the ground. Stumbling back a step, he felt something hit the back of his knees, sending them both tumbling into a recently filled trough. She landed squarely on top of him, her long wet limbs tangling with his, rubbing back and forth as she flailed about in the water.

      “Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” she said.

      The adrenaline rush combined with the feel of her body against his. The wet, frantic friction overloaded his senses. He could feel every inch of her wet limbs gliding over his. And it was too damn much.

      Without a word, Logan dunked his head back and let it sink under the water, hoping to find some perspective. But the only thing waiting for him was wanting. It had been so long since he’d felt anything like it. The desire to strip away her shirt, to touch her, while she rode his thigh...

      Christ, she’d knocked all the common sense out of him. He couldn’t go there. Not with her. As far as threat levels went, she was more than a few notches above a fourth-grade reporter, even if he didn’t know for sure if she was a journalist.

      Slowly, he lifted his head. Sadie’s wild thrashing had stopped. Her hands rested on the side of the tub, lifting her top half out of the trough. Her bottom half straddled his waist, a knee on either side of him, but she was doing her best to keep her body lifted off his.

      “What happened?” he asked.

      “I let the bull escape.”

      “You went into Titan’s pen?” He looked her over, this time checking for signs of injury. “Are you okay?”

      “I’m fine.” She pressed down on the sides of the trough and lifted herself out. He missed the contact instantly. “But he jumped the wire fence.”

      Logan sighed. “And now he is in with the heifers.”

      “I’m sorry.”

      He stood, his soaking wet clothes forming a puddle in the dirt at his feet. “Not your fault. I should have warned you to steer clear of him.”

      She crossed her arms in front of her chest, obscuring his view of the tank top clinging to her like a second skin. He wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or not.

      “What do we do now?” she asked.

      Logan looked out at the heifers’ field. He had a list a mile long of the things he wanted to do, but he knew what needed to be done. “Round him up.”

      They spent the next hour chasing one very determined bull. Or rather, he chased the bull and Sadie did her best to distract him, running around in those damn shorts. Still, he had to give her credit. She put her heart into the chase, waving her arms, screaming at Titan. She looked so damn cute he half expected the animal to follow her home. Hell, he wanted to.

      When they finally secured the bull in his pen, she turned to him. “Not how you planned to spend your afternoon?”

      He let out a laugh. “No.”

      She smiled and it lit up her whole face. “Come back to the guesthouse with me. Those rocking chairs on the front porch are calling my name. And I owe you a cold drink.”

      He knew he should turn around and head back to his chores. Maybe

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