"Does it involve Goose?"

"Nope."

"How about rounding up anything with four legs?"

She lifted a brow. "No."

His smile was slow and sexy as hell. "Well, then, I'd love to." Good as his word, he stood up, water running down his heart-attack-inducing body. She quickly turned her back, and his soft laugh scraped at her belly.

"You've already seen it all," he reminded her. "In fact, you've even touched or kissed most of it."

"I'll meet you in the corral," she said quickly, and walked away, grinding her jaw when he laughed. She didn't need the reminder of what she'd done to and with that body. If she didn't know exactly what she'd missed out on that night, she'd guessed a million times since.

But the truth of the matter was that he hadn't wasted time wondering, he'd simply replaced her with another woman, countless times over. Remember that, she told herself.

When he met her outside a few minutes later, he was dressed the part of a horse handler in jeans, a white T-shirt with a blue plaid flannel unbuttoned over the top of it, complete with boots. No hat though, and no gloves, bringing home that this was not just another Eddie or Stone, or even Tucker. This man didn't belong here, didn't really want to be here. "It's simple," she said, and handed him a spare set of gloves, along with the reins of Misty, another particularly kind, sweet mare. On her back sat one of their guests, a forty-something man named Lee who spoke little to no English.

Callie smiled up at him, then she said to Jake, "Just walk them around the corral until Lee gets used to the feel of the horse beneath him. Misty'll be good."

As if looking to agree, Misty lowered her head and bumped it into Jake's chest.

He took a staggering step backward. "Jesus."

"She's waiting for you to take a carrot out of your pocket."

He sent her a baleful look. "That's not a carrot in my pocket."

"Ha, ha." She pulled a carrot out of hers and stepped close, slipping it into his front pocket. She hadn't meant anything by it other than to put him more at ease, and to give him something to bond with Misty over, but when the horse started nudging him for the carrot, his eyes widened.

"Holy shit-" He hastily pulled the carrot out and practically threw it at Misty. "Now stop frisking me."

Misty knocked his chest again, and snorted her thanks.

Callie laughed. "Maybe I should save you this time."

Jake turned his head, interested. "Really? What did you have in mind?"

"Nothing. Never mind," she said hastily at the heat flaring in his eyes. "But if you want to back out of this-"

"No." He shot Misty another long look. "I can do it."

And he did. He walked that corral for hours, without another incident or complaint, making her rethink some things-such as his willingness to adapt, to change and accept. It appeared he had plenty of that, for whatever he came up against, leaving her to wonder exactly whose willingness to adapt and change and accept was really at stake here.

7.

It took a day longer than planned, but eventually all of their guests did get the hang of being on a horse by themselves. Jake continued to help, and though he used only his left arm, he seemed to manage well enough for a guy who had no more horse sense than their guests, twice catching Keito from falling off his father's lap. In fact, their guests thought Jake was the best cowboy they'd ever seen.

Tucker decided it was beginner's luck.

Two days later, the guests helped round up the cattle as planned, driving them into the main corral-with Eddie's, Stone's, Tucker's, and Callie's help.

Jake didn't ride.

Tucker had no idea if that was because he'd had enough of being involved, or if Callie hadn't invited him, or if he'd just not gotten up in time.

He didn't care. Sure, he'd cared once, but then Jake had walked out of his life and hadn't looked back.

And Tucker had woken up to the ways of blood ties. They meant nothing. He'd found his real family right here at the Blue Flame, and it had nothing to do with genes.

After the roundup, they inoculated the cattle with the new serum Eddie had driven into town for. The guests loved it all. In fact, Tucker didn't think they'd ever had a more enthusiastic group than this one, who even with no experience and hardly any grasp of the English language seemed to be having the time of their lives.

It was infectious. Typically Tucker just...existed, glad to be away from what had been a vagabond life, glad for the steady job, glad to be around people he cared about and who cared in return. But once in a while, like today, something bubbled up from within that he nearly didn't recognize-happiness.

It felt good, very good.

That night, Amy served the guests homemade stew and cornbread. The scent of it teased his nose as he came inside the big house. In fact, he stood there in the hallway, taking the time for a big sniff, listening with pleasure as the dining room on his left rang with laughter and conversation he couldn't understand.

Amy burst out of the double doors, carrying a tray of empty plates, her cheeks glowing.

"Hey there." Smiling at just the sight of her, he reached for her tray.

She pulled back. "I've got it."

Remembering how fast she was, and just how strong, he held up his hands in surrender. "Fine, you've got it-Are you blushing?"

"No."

More laughter rang out from the dining room. He eyed her some more. "They loved your food, didn't they?"

"I thought they'd hate western food, but..."

God, she was something to look at. Long, dark hair, and even darker eyes, which were looking anywhere but at him. She wore black jeans and a white T-shirt layered beneath a black long sleeved one, with an apron around her slim waist that read: TODAY'S MENU-TAKE IT OR LEAVE IT. "I have to go." She indicated with a jerk of her chin that he should move out of her way.

Because he wasn't stupid, he backed up to give her plenty of room, then followed her into the kitchen.

"You're probably hungry. I'll serve you." She didn't look at him as she moved directly to the sink and dumped her tray.

Typically, the staff either ate with their guests in the dining room or by themselves in the kitchen afterward. Tonight, with the language barrier, he'd assumed everyone would be waiting in the kitchen, but there was no one there but the two of them.

Amy turned to the cabinets and reached for a plate for him.

"Where is everyone?" He took the plate from her hands.

She snatched it back. "Callie just left to have a late dinner with Michael. Eddie and Stone went out, too. They said you didn't want to go."

No, he hadn't felt like making the usual rounds tonight. But he was restless. Truth was, he'd been restless for some time now.

She took the plate to the stove and lifted a lid off a pot, from which came such a mouth-watering smell he brainlessly moved toward it. "I swear to you," he said, leaning in. "I've never smelled anything so good in my life."

She pointed at him with the wooden server. "I don't want to have to hurt you again, but I don't appreciate personal comments."

Tucker fought with a grin. "I was talking about your stew."

At the priceless look on her face, he lost his battle and let his grin loose. "And though you smell heavenly yourself, I promise, I would never have dared told you so."

Silently, she ladled some stew into his bowl. He reached for it, and as he had before, waited until she looked at him to take it. "Thank you. But I don't expect you to serve me."

"It's my job."

"It's your job to serve the guests. The rest of us are just grateful for your leftovers. You cook like an angel, Amy."

"No offense, but I've seen you eat chili right out of a can, so I'm not going to consider you a great judge."

He laughed, but started eating where he stood, stopping to let out a heartfelt moan at the first taste. "Okay, maybe you could have served me anything and I wouldn't have complained, but honestly, there's just something about your food."

And about her, he thought.

Clearly deciding to forget about him, she began working at the counter, dropping some ingredients into a large bowl, sometimes stopping to stir, but rarely measuring anything. Eggs, flour, sugar...

Still eating, he watched her, and when she got to the chocolate, he was drawn closer. He came up beside her, not behind her. He'd learned that much. He'd like to know why she hated to be touched, or who'd put that trapped doe expression on her face that she sometimes got, but he knew she sure as hell wasn't going to tell him a thing.

She slanted him an irritated glance. "What?"

"What are you making?"

"If I said 'nothing for you,' would you go away?"

"Nope."

She sighed. "Cookies. For the picnic you're taking the guests on tomorrow."

"Cookies." His stomach rumbled hopefully. "Maybe I should stick around and taste them, just to make sure you've got it right."

"I don't think so."

Her face had gone sullen, and he went still. He'd been flirting playfully, harmlessly, but she wasn't. In fact, she'd clearly been happier when she'd forgotten he was watching her. Surprised, he took another long look, but realized the truth. This was not Amy trying to flirt back, or being coy. She really wanted to be left alone. That was hard for him to imagine, as he hated to be alone. But he figured she had good reason to prefer her own company to anyone else's.

With a big spoon, she began dropping little balls of dough onto a cookie sheet, her movements stilted now, and he didn't miss how she kept him in her peripheral vision, where she would know where he stood at all times.

Suddenly he was no longer hungry, or interested in playing with her. "You're safe here, you know," he said quietly.

Going still for one telling second, she went back to dropping cookies on the greased cookie sheet.

"The Blue Flame." He managed a smile past the odd lump in his throat. "We're sort of a collection of misfits and outcasts and former wanderlusts."

Picking up the full cookie tray, Amy let her shoulder jab him in the chest, just hard enough to set him back a step, as she passed him on her way to the oven. "Excuse me."

Her charming little way of reminding him not to get too close, he supposed, rubbing his chest. When she'd settled the cookie sheet in the oven, she straightened and wiped her hands on her apron. Then she looked him right in the eyes. "I'm not a misfit or an outcast or a former wanderlust. I'm just trying to do my job and stay out of everyone's way, yours included."

"My mistake, then."

"Yeah." She turned to the sink and began to rinse dishes. Dismissing him.

With a sigh for the brick wall he'd hit, he took one last envious look at the cookies beginning to rise in the oven, and did as she wanted, left her alone.

Late that night Callie sat on her bed reading a magazine instead of sleeping because images kept popping into her head. Jake pulling her from beneath Sierra's flailing hooves before she could get stomped on. Jake coaxing that poor, starving dog into letting him save her puppy. Jake finding Keito and keeping him safe.

Jake kissing her, touching her, as if she'd been more important at that moment than air.

She couldn't get the thought of him falling through a roof out of her mind, and all that he must have suffered. He had to be hurting, and missing his life. Missing his job. She was so lost in the wondering about that, when the soft knock came at her door, she nearly fell off the bed.

She looked down at herself. The sunshine-yellow spaghetti-strapped satin tank top and matching panties she'd just gotten on sale from the Internet absolutely weren't suitable for company. She grabbed a robe. "Who is it?"

"Me."

She had no trouble recognizing the low, deep voice, and even if she hadn't, the way her body tightened in response would have told her it was Jake. Her body always knew him, craved him, even when her mind tried to resist.

He knocked again, just once, and she rested her forehead on the door, her heart beating like a wild drum.

"Callie?"

She put a hand to her chest as if she could hold her heart safe. In the light of day she could have resisted him, but there was no light here, no warmth, no sun, and suddenly she needed him. "I'm not dressed."

"I don't care. I just want to see you."

He sounded like maybe he was hurting, and one thing she'd never been able to do was ignore someone in pain. She debated with herself for another second, then opened the door.

He didn't say a word, just looked at her with that intriguing, irresistible mixture of affection, the need to strangle her, and a longing that nearly brought her to her knees.

So he felt it, too, she marveled, all the pent-up emotions that drove her so crazy. "Are you all right?"

"Yes." He paused. "No." He let out a breath. "Actually, I'm not sure." He started to step in but she mustered up some pride and blocked him. He just looked at her with those eyes of his and everything within her quivered in reaction to the hunger there.

"Is your shoulder hurting?" she asked.

"If I said yes, is that the password?"

"Jake-"

"Because it's killing me. But that's nothing new."