Sweat dripped down her forehead into her eyes. She’d long ago discarded her hat, and the sleeves of her shirt were now completely soaked from wiping them across her face. She’d have taken off the hot, soggy boots, too, if she weren’t petrified of what she’d be standing in without them.

  Cursing under her breath, she lifted another forkful of manure and dumped it on the growing pile in the wheelbarrow beside her, holding her breath this time to keep sawdust from flying up her nose. She’d done three stalls so far, but it felt more like fifty. Each time she thought she was finished and could go find herself a nice, cool place to pass out, Ryder would move the wheelbarrow to another stall and tell her to keep working.

  The one good thing about her predicament was that her debt ought to be paid off by dinner. She figured each stall had to be worth about ten thousand dollars, so she only had two to go.

  “This is cruel and unusual punishment, Nash,” she called out. “I should turn you in for running a sweatshop ring.”

  “You think that’s bad, wait till you start on the cow barn,” he said easily. “You’ll need a shovel instead of a fork.”

  She frowned, thinking about that for a minute. And then her eyes widened as she realized why she would probably need a shovel. Yuck.

  “No way,” she vowed, dropping the pitchfork and stomping out of the stall. Hands on hips, she glared at Ryder and the horse who seemed to think he was a licensed masseur.

  “That’s it. I’m done. Consider my debt paid,” she said, grabbing her hat and stalking down the walkway. The only reason she’d stuck with it this long was because she was pretty sure he didn’t think she would…or could. And, dammit—she might be a city girl; she might like her mani-pedis and fancy, five-dollar coffee drinks, but she’d wanted to prove she wasn’t an entirely useless bit of fluff. She could keep up with the “big boys”—even if those boys were rough and tumble cowboys who’d never seen the inside of a manicure kit or wouldn’t know a triple-shot venti half-sweet non-fat caramel macchiato if someone poured one over their heads.

  “Hey,” Ryder called after her. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Home. Guam. Timbuktu. Anywhere away from you,” she threw over her shoulder.

  He caught up to her and grabbed the back of her pants to halt her progress.

  “Get your hands off of me,” she growled, struggling to break his hold. “I’m not mucking anymore stalls. I’m not mucking the cow barn. I’m not doing any other disgusting chores just because you think I owe you something.” She slapped at his hands, twisting and turning to reach him. “If anything, you owe me. You owe me new clothes to replace the ones you just made me ruin, you owe me a pedicure for the feet that have probably contracted jungle rot in these damn boots, and you owe me a lung transplant to replace the ones that are now filled with sawdust and horse manure.”

  He grasped the front of her pants and swung her around, holding her from both angles now. “Settle down,” he said, giving them a tug.

  “Settle down? Settle down?” she all but shrieked. “You’re insane. I married a madman, and you want me to settle down.” The sides of his mouth turned up, and if she hadn’t been so furious, she’d have probably thought he looked boyish or charming.

  “If you hate it that much, darlin’, you don’t have to muck anymore stalls.”

  She froze. “I don’t?” she asked cautiously.

  “Nope.” His smile widened.

  “Then I can go home?”

  “If you consider my house home, yes. And while you’re in there, you can clean up a bit. I figure your housekeeping abilities ought to be worth something toward your debt.”

  Her teeth clamped together, blood pounding in her brain. “Ooooh,” she ground out. And then she stomped on his foot. As hard as she could. Even through his worn leather boots, she was pretty sure he felt it.

  He cursed and let her go.

  Taking advantage of his pain, she ran away from him and out of the barn.

  But she didn’t get very far. Her sweaty feet kept slipping inside the rubber boots, causing them to scrape painfully against her heels. She was exhausted from working so hard, and every muscle in her five-foot-four frame screamed in agony—her back, her legs, her arms, even her neck.

  When she reached the corral, she stopped, sagging against the top slat of the fence connected to the stable. Breathing ragged, she rested her head on the splintery wood and waited for Ryder to catch up. After all, he only had a stubbed toe, she had a stubbed body.

  A second later, he ambled into the sunlight and leaned against the fence next to her. He stared out toward the horizon, not trying to touch or argue with her. She lifted her head to look at him, wondering what he was up to.

  “I love this place, you know,” he said softly.

  “How can you love it?” she asked, awed and more than a little confused by his admission. Her nose wrinkled at the very thought of going back in that barn. “It’s hot. The animals are big and stinky, and there are flies everywhere,” she gritted out, swiping at one of the pests as it buzzed around her face.

  He chuckled. “Yeah. Isn’t it great?”

  She rolled her eyes, sure he really was insane if he could feel an ounce of fondness for a place like this. Now her apartment in Chicago—there was a home to get dreamy over. Air-conditioned comfort; a beautiful sofa to relax on; soft, thick carpeting to curl her toes into; even a gas fireplace she could sit in front of during the winter, sipping hot cocoa and watching the snow fall outside the sliding doors that led to the balcony. Walking around outside during a Chicago winter was a different story, but for the most part, Ryder didn’t know what he was missing.

  “I’ve had my eye on this piece of land since I was about twelve years old,” he continued. “It didn’t take me more than a heartbeat to lay claim to it when my parents offered to help me start my own homestead. It’s so peaceful here.”

  She bit down on a scoff. Personally, she hadn’t had a moment’s peace since waking up in his bed, but she decided not to remind him of that fact.

  “You can look out across the fields and see for miles.”

  She turned her head in the direction he indicated. He was right. A wide swath of green dappled with brown stretched out in front of her. Small hills and valleys, with dots that she thought must be horses and cows. It was picture perfect, like a television commercial or magazine layout inviting you to enjoy the beauty of a real farm or dude ranch.

  But it was still hot and stinky.

  She started to say so when she noticed the expression on Ryder’s face. Pride, joy, contentment. He really did love it here.

  Monica was stunned. How could anyone find joy or satisfaction in getting dirty and sweaty, working with huge farm animals that could crush you with only one hoof, and coming home with brush burn on his face? The boots and hat were none too comfortable, either, she was learning. The blazing sun beat down on her and perspiration gathered at her hairline, waiting for the moment when she removed the hat so it could come pouring down her face.

  True to her classic sitcom-loving nature, the theme to Green Acres began thrumming through her brain. She used to think the show was hilarious, with its fish-out-of-water characters and storylines. But much like Eva Gabor, she’d been dragged into the country by her farm-loving husband, with no idea when she’d be able to get back to her normal life in the city…and suddenly it wasn’t nearly as amusing.

  “Over there is where I want to build the equine therapy barn and corral,” he continued, pointing. “It’s going to cost an arm and a leg to get set up, but there’s a boy in town who needs it. A lot of folks from all around who need it. That’s what the money you promised is going for, since the bank turned me down for a loan. Can’t say I blame them,” he added with a shake of his head. “It’d be my third, and I’m not exactly winning any races at paying back the first two.”

  Equine therapy. That was downright…noble. And now she knew what that whole EAT thing on their impromptu business contract meant.

  Her heart squeezed, and for just a moment she wished she could reach into her pocket and write him a check to cover whatever strange notions had tumbled from her mouth last night. But she couldn’t, and there was no time like the present to get her broke ass out of Dodge.

  As much as she was enjoying this quiet moment with her new husband—and surprisingly, she kind of was—she didn’t think she could handle sticking around much longer. She’d cleaned a few stalls, discovered that farm living was not the life for her, and now it was time to head back to civilization. Regardless of his edict that she couldn’t leave until she’d handed over the wad of cash she’d promised. While under the influence of alcohol and heartbreak, no less. There should be a law against taking a person’s word amidst circumstances like that.

  “That sounds great. Good luck with everything. I happen to enjoy city life, though, so thanks for the tour and showing me what I’ve been missing all these years living in the asphalt jungle,” she said, slowly moving away from the fence. Maybe if she played it casual, he’d continue his easy-going reminiscence and barely even notice her absence.

  A few steps away, she turned and headed for the house. So far, so good, she thought, picking up the pace.

  The sound of his heavy boot steps caught up to her a split-second before he did. “Hold on there, Rapunzel.”

  His honey-rich voice rolled over her spine even as her shoulders hunched around her ears at having her departure halted yet again. And as hard as she fought it, she did love the soft way he called her Rapunzel.

  “What now?” she asked, frustrated, looking up in to his intense, azure eyes.

  “I told you once, you aren’t leaving until I get my money. Just because I said you could stop mucking doesn’t mean I changed my mind.”

  “And I told you,” she stressed, tired of this same argument. “I don’t have any money. I cleaned three filthy horse stalls for you, isn’t that enough?”

  He laughed. “Not hardly.”

  Hitching one hip, she said, “Then how much was all that work worth? Maybe I can send you a check for the rest.” She could probably scrape together a thousand dollars or so just to get him off her back.

  “About ten bucks,” he answered.

  “Ten bucks? Ten bucks?” she ranted. “But I worked for hours. I cleaned three stalls. I stink.”

  He leaned close and sniffed the arm of her shirt. His eyes went wide at the odor wafting from beneath the material. “You do at that. But I’ve smelled worse. And two hours of work at five dollars an hour is still only ten bucks.”

  “Five dollars an hour? I was right, you are running a sweatshop. What I did is worth, like, thirty thousand, at least.”

  He threw his head back and whistled through his teeth. “You sure do think a lot of yourself, sweetheart. But it’s not like you scrubbed down the stalls with your toothbrush. You just scooped out the piles of—”

  “Never mind.” She held up a hand, not wanting to hear the rest. She also didn’t want to argue with him anymore. Even at only minimum wage, the work she’d done was worth more than ten dollars, and they both knew it.

  “It’s about time you came to terms with the fact that I don’t have fifty thousand dollars, and keeping me here against my will, making me do filthy, disgusting chores, isn’t going to change that. But the least I can do is give you a little something—for your trouble. How does a hundred dollars sound?”

  His mouth turned down, brows drawing together in a deep frown. “Like chicken feed. You’ve already caused me more than a hundred dollars’ worth of trouble, and this ranch wouldn’t run for one day on that much.”

  “Well, take it or leave it,” she said decisively. “It’s the best offer you’re going to get, and I really do have to get back to Chicago.”

  She tried to move away again, but again he stopped her.

  “What is with you?” she asked with a frustrated huff, stomping one bare, sweaty foot in her floppy rubber boot. She was beginning to understand what his horses must feel like, being led around by leashes and kept in stalls no larger than a kitchen sink.

  “Look, lady,” he said sharply, his eyes narrowed as he demanded her attention. “I understand that you were drunk and didn’t know what you were getting into when you badgered me into marrying you.”

  “Badgered?” she repeated in a high voice. She’d badgered him? Well, he was certainly returning the favor now.

  He ignored her outrage. “But I asked you a dozen times if you were sure and every time you said yes. And you may be able to survive from paycheck to paycheck as a big-shot photographer, even after Matt ran off with your savings, but some of us aren’t so lucky. We have mortgages to pay, stock to feed, barns to rebuild, fields to tend to, and fences to mend.” Releasing her elbow, he swept off his hat and brushed the back of his arm across his forehead. “I wouldn’t have gone through with your stupid plan if you hadn’t promised me enough money to get that new barn up and buy the equipment we need so I can get the bank off my back and this place in working order again. Believe me.”

  Monica stared at him, speechless. The lines around his eyes looked deeper in direct sunlight, attesting to just how hard it was to run a ranch. Especially with bills to pay. And not just minor expenses like rent and utilities, but mammoth ones like paychecks for his hands and oats for twenty cows and horses, maybe more.

  In a drunken stupor, she had promised him enough to get him out of debt. And in the bright light of day, she’d taken it all back.

  She looked at the rounded toes of her ugly yellow boots and tried to think of some way to apologize, maybe even help him get the money he needed.

  Then it came to her. Not a brilliant idea, she supposed, but considering what this man had already been through and done for her, she didn’t think he would be overly surprised when she sprang it on him. He’d gone along with most of her original plan, after all, now she just had to get him to continue along the same path. Which shouldn’t be too hard, if she really could give him the money she’d promised.

  “Okay, so you really, really need the money.” She could sure use it, but she didn’t really, really need it. The fifty thousand she’d given Matt had been left over from her trust fund, only a small amount of which she’d used for college before quitting to become a fashion photographer. With residuals and payments for recent jobs trickling in, she wouldn’t have any trouble keeping her head above water…at least for the next couple months. Meanwhile, it sounded like Ryder may be going under for the third and final time. If she helped Ryder now, he could eventually pay her back, as their deal specified. With interest. Provided no huge emergencies came up between now and then, she thought she could swing it.

  Besides, if they didn’t do what she had in mind, Matt would still have her money, she still wouldn’t, and none of them—except for Matt, of course—would be any better off than they were at this very moment. That seemed patently unfair.

  Plus, if it kept her from having to muck any more stalls, it would be well, well worth it.

  She took a deep breath and pushed her own hat back on her head. “Fine, I’ll stay. On two conditions: I don’t have to clean up after any more disgusting farm animals, and you get Ned or somebody to take care of things here while we’re on our honeymoon.”

  Chapter Nine

  There are two things a man’s gotta do to keep his wife happy: First, let her think she’s gettin’ her way. Second, let her have it.

  Ryder didn’t strangle her. He did give her a glare that could freeze ice cubes in Hades, but he didn’t strangle her.

  Striding over to the corral, he hiked one foot and one arm on the graying wooden slats. When he spoke, his words were slow, with a calculated calm that made Monica want to jump over the fence with the cows, just to be on the safe side. “What honeymoon?”

  “Most married couples do have honeymoons, you know,” she said, being purposely obtuse.

  His gaze settled on her face and by its strength, she wondered if he had X-ray vision. It certainly felt as though he was staring right through her.

  “Yeah, I know most people have honeymoons. But we’re not most people,” he said. “From your reaction when I mentioned it this morning, I didn’t think the idea of sharing a bed settled too well with you.”

  She swallowed and focused on the brim of his hat rather than his cobalt blue eyes. “I’m only opposed to the idea because I’m still in love with Matt,” she lied. A part of her still wanted to get even with her ex for what he’d done to her and put her through, and she cringed when she thought of all that was supposed to have been between them. But she didn’t think she was truly in love with him anymore. How could she love someone who would betray her so thoroughly, so brutally?

  No. If truth be told, she was becoming less attached to Matt and more attached to Ryder. Well, maybe not attached but attracted. He was a damn fine-looking man. And since she’d met him, he’d rescued her from making a fool of herself at someone else’s wedding party, married her just to aid her drunken plot for revenge, and carried her across the yard because she had no shoes.

  Aside from making her sift around in dirty sawdust and insisting she pay him money she didn’t have, he could easily be the hero of every fairy tale she’d ever read as a child—and a few fantasies she’d come up with as an adult. Little Red Riding Him, The Emperor and His New and Quickly Discarded Clothes, The Princess and the Penis…

  She cleared her throat and rested her arm on the rail of the fence, cheeks heating at the path her thoughts were taking. “I realize that my original plan to get back at Matt was a little off the wall,” she said.

  Ryder lifted an eyebrow.

  “All right. A lot off the wall,” she conceded. “But even though I was slightly tipsy—”

  “You were drunk off your ass.”

  She cleared her throat, wishing he would let her get through this one assertion without interruption. “Fine. Even though I was quite intoxicated, you still married me. Frankly, I don’t understand that. You could have dumped me at the nearest bus station and never looked back. You could have stuck a ring on my finger and only pretended we were married. I wouldn’t have known the difference. But you really did it.”