LITMIR.BIZ

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who owned the place probably couldn’t spare the time because she was too busy talking to all those wild animals caged behind her house.

      Devlin mentally kicked himself—and not for the first time—because he hadn’t purchased this property when it came up for sale eight months earlier. At the time, Devlin and his brother thought the price of the land was too steep. But Miz Jessica Porter—who was obviously clueless about property value in Oklahoma cattle country—had forked over the dough for her homestead. Now Devlin had a nutty neighbor he didn’t want and a bunch of exotic animals who roared and howled and squawked and drove his livestock through the fences.

      He bounded from his pickup and stalked toward the porch. He spied the puddle-jumper sports car that was parked in the driveway. Typical city slicker, he thought. That low-slung car wouldn’t last a year on these rough country roads. Anybody with half a brain knew that. All except Miz Jessica Porter, keeper of the zoo, that is.

      Devlin pounded his fist against the door, waited until he ran out of patience—which took all of two seconds—then beat on the door with both fists.

      “Porter! Open up! I know you’re in there!” he shouted. “We have to talk! Now!”

      His booming voice triggered the high-pitched cry of a peacock. A moose bellowed in the near distance, and a goose honked in chorus. Devlin rolled his eyes in frustration and swore inventively.

      A few more seconds passed while unidentified screeches and roars erupted in the near distance. Devlin raised both fists to pound on the door again…and accidentally whacked Miz Jessica on the forehead when she whipped open the door unexpectedly.

      His image of a frustrated, middle-aged spinster sporting a hooked nose, beady eyes and pointed chin dissolved when Devlin encountered a woman so astonishingly attractive he wondered if he was staring at some kind of optical illusion.

      Eyes the color of a tropical rain forest zeroed in on him. Hair the color of sunbeams glistened around her enchanting face. His gaze dropped to survey an alluring figure that Hugh Hefner would kill to photograph.

      Encountering Jessica Porter in the flesh was equivalent to being shot with a stun gun. This was his kooky neighbor? This was the zookeeper? No, couldn’t be. Must be some mistake.

      “Porter?” he asked doubtfully.

      “Yes. You bellowed, sir?”

      Her snippy tone and angry glare assured Devlin that this drop-dead-gorgeous female was no pushover. She met his gaze directly and took a combative stance in the doorway. She assessed his grimy T-shirt, dusty jeans and scuffed boots and frowned in blatant disapproval.

      Devlin couldn’t say why she so thoroughly disapproved of him. Could’ve been the fact that he’d pounded on her door, yelled at her, then accidentally konked her on the noggin. Or could’ve been that she didn’t like the looks of a sweaty cowboy who’d spent the day riding the range and shared his horse’s fragrance.

      Sophisticated snob, Devlin concluded as he surveyed Jessica’s crimson red silk power suit that shouted expensive. He suspected she had taken one look at his faded work clothes and decided she was entirely too good for him. Well, fine. She didn’t like hardworking cowboys, and he didn’t like prissy debutantes. So they were even.

      “I’m Devlin Callahan, your nearest neighbor,” he said abruptly.

      “You’re my closest neighbor? How unfortunate for me.” Her voice dripped sarcasm.

      “That goes double for me, Blondie,” he countered, then glared at her.

      Not to be outdone, she glared right back.

      “I’m here because your zoo animals spooked my sheep and cattle for the fourth time in two months. You’re gonna have to load up those animals and haul them to a wildlife refuge. As you can plainly see, this is ranch country.”

      Her chin shot up and, although the woman was a good eight inches shorter than Devlin, who stood six feet three inches in his riding boots, she still managed to look down her nose at him. How’d she do that?

      “For your information, Culligan—”

      “Callahan,” he corrected tersely.

      “Whatever,” she said, dismissing him as if she had the same regard for him as for a clump of Brussels sprouts. “For your information, I have a license to house and care for my exotic animals. Each animal has its own unique personality and special need. I can communicate with them. I understand them.”

      “You talk to your animals?” he asked, then scoffed. “Now why doesn’t that surprise me?”

      She glared meat cleavers at him. “I’m sure that if you toured my wildlife sanctuary even a man like you would realize that my animals are safely and securely housed and pose no threat whatsoever.”

      A man like him? Devlin wasn’t sure what she implied, but her tone of voice alerted him that he had been insulted. “Lady, I don’t care if your animals have rings through their noses and bells on their toes. They are upsetting my livestock, and I want them gone. And you along with them!”

      That really must have ticked her off, because she braced her fists on those curvaceous hips, planted her well-shod feet shoulder-width apart, stuck her face in his and stated, “If you don’t approve of living next door to my wildlife sanctuary, then you can pack up and move. I have no intention of budging from this spot, because I like it here, and so do my animals. Furthermore, if you have future complaints, then take them up with the sheriff in Buzzard’s Grove, not that it will do you any good.”

      “Look, lady—”

      “Jessica Porter. Miss Porter to you, Culligan,” she said in that snippy tone that made Devlin grind his teeth in irritation.

      “Here’s the deal, lady. My brother and I run a large cattle and farming operation—”

      “And I’m supposed to be impressed?” She gave him another one of those condescending looks. “Sorry to disappoint you, Culligan. Cowboys are a nickel a dozen in this neck of the woods.”

      “I don’t give a rip whether or not you’re impressed,” Devlin retorted. Damn—the woman knew exactly which buttons to push! “The point is that this zoo may be fun and games to you, may fill up the endless hours in your lonely, miserable life, but our livestock is our livelihood. Your exotic animals snarl, hoot, howl and growl all hours of the day and night and cause cattle stampedes. I spent the whole livelong day gathering cattle because of your zoo. The problem can be alleviated if you’ll get rid of those menaces.”

      She glowered at him good and hard. “Can I help it if your wimpy cattle and timid sheep bolt and run because of an unfamiliar noise? You don’t see my animals leaping fences just because dumb cows moo or sheep baa. My fences and pens are holding up just fine. Obviously your ability to build solid restraining fences is lacking.”

      Devlin was getting nowhere fast. Miss Hoity-Toity didn’t want to see his side of the situation, didn’t care that he’d busted his butt on roundup and fence repair.

      “Fine,” he muttered in exasperation. “Then you can pay for my time and the expenses, and I won’t complain—as much.”

      She scoffed and looked down her nose at him again.

      “Your livestock is on the rampage and you want me to pay for the fence repairs? My animals are housed in sturdy pens and cages, surrounded by twelve-feet-tall chain-link fences. It seems to me that I’m not the one with the problem here, Culligan. You are.”

      “No, you are the problem!” Devlin snapped, at the end of his patience. He skewered her with a glower. “Snippy, dim-witted city slicker. Go back where you belong and take your zoo with you!”

      Her chin went airborne as she squared her shoulders and clenched her fists by her sides. “This is where I belong, the only place I belong. I’m here to stay, so you better get used to the idea!” she said, puffing like a blowfish.

      They exchanged significant

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