"You have your loan yet?"

"I'm getting to that." Misery spilled over her expression. "That's one of those complicated things."

And he suddenly understood her misery. "You want to borrow the money from me."

"Yes," she whispered, her eyes filled with uncertainty and defiance and hope and dread all at once, and they were sparkling with unshed tears, which she blinked furiously at. "The bank wasn't very interested."

Hell, he thought as his heart constricted. He could only imagine what she'd been through that she'd admit to having trouble. "I'm sorry. Can't you try another bank?"

"Ah… no." Her head bowed. "I tried every bank, around. I'm a bad investment." Her voice broke and so did his heart.

"God, don't cry. It's okay, the money is yours."

"We'll pay you back, you know." Her voice wobbled.

"I know," he said quickly, slapping his pockets for a damn handkerchief, which of course he didn't have.

"With interest." She wiped her nose on her sleeve. "We always pay our debts." Her breath hitched funny, sounding like a hiccuping sob.

Damn. "It's no problem." He stepped toward her, dying to ease her pain, but she backed away, hand up to hold him off.

"I want to draw that up in a contract," she insisted. "We won't screw you, Ty."

He stood an inch from her, watching her struggle with pride and dignity. He'd never felt so helpless in his life. "I never thought you would," he said quietly. "I trust you, all of you."

"Still, it's important to us that we do this legally. On the record." Her eyes went hot and filled again. "This is not charity."

His helplessness doubled. Tripled. "Of course it's not."

"Well, okay, then," she whispered.

Afraid to come within ten feet of her substantially aching pride when she'd made it clear his comfort wouldn't be welcome, he slammed his hands in his pockets, but he really wanted them on her, pulling her close, holding her against him. While he was dealing with those shocking possessive thoughts, she turned on her heels and walked over to yet another pile of long-forgotten debris.

"Let's get to work," she called out, voice gruff. "There's a lot of it."

"Yeah." He heard her sniff and his heart squeezed again. "Let's get to work."


* * *

One week later, with summer in full bloom, Zoe was poring over the financial records for Triple M.

Maddie and Delia were painting the inside of the house, and she was putting her business degree to good use after all. A burst of uncontainable excitement hit her.

Yes, her calculator was small and ineffectual and there was too much to do. Yes, she still thought of her mother's abandonment far too often. And yes, she still dwelled every second or so on one Ty Jackson, but other than that, things were looking pretty darn good.

"Daydreaming, Slim?"

"Go away," she said, keeping her eyes glued to her work, because if she looked at him she might make a fool out of herself and throw herself in those capable arms.

"You say the nicest things."

She'd like to stop thinking about him, dwelling over the strange but unaccountable attraction that wouldn't go away. But he was around, nearly every day, and it was hard to forget someone whose face she had to constantly see. More than that, it was getting hard to forget the man who'd done nothing but help her.

He walked into the room and around her desk. He was behind her now, she could feel him with every ounce of her being. His body heat seeped into her back, and before she could stop herself, she peeked at him over her shoulder.

A corner of his mouth curved. "Well, hello."

He hadn't said a word about the loan, for which she was both grateful and suspicious. He hadn't said a thing about their last conversation before that, either, the one where he'd had the nerve to demand she admit she felt something for him.

"I'm working," she said unevenly.

"I can see that," he said, humor heavily laced in his voice. One work-roughened finger reached out and traced over her doodlings.

She stared at that finger. Unbidden came the erotically shattering image of what that callused finger could do to her skin. Goose bumps rose on her arm, which he promptly made all the bigger when he slowly ran his fingers over them.

"Cold?"

How could a voice be rough as sand and smooth as silk at the same time? And why did he affect her this way? He did it again, that little tingly thing with his fingers and she shivered violently. "Stop that!"

"Stop looking at you?" he asked innocently.

"Stop touching me."

"Are you sure?" He leaned close, a corded, tanned forearm on either side of her as he planted his hands on her desk. His chest snugged up to her back, his face came close to hers. "Because while your mouth is saying one thing, Zoe," he whispered, "your body is telling me another entirely."

She realized she'd pressed back against him, and that her nipples had hardened at his first touch and were straining eagerly against her white T-shirt. She groaned, closed her eyes and spun in her chair away from him.

He laughed, low and husky, a sound that she reacted to with her entire body. "Guess this means you're not ready to give up the fight and jump me."

"Not quite." But her body yearned to do just that. "Please, Ty, I need to work."

He whistled on his way out the door, grinning broadly.

"And just for the record," she told him haughtily, "it's cold in here."

He laughed and shut the door.

Leaving her alone. Again.


* * *

Cade called with no news. He was still waiting for the judge to open their records. Delia and Maddie took the news as due course, but Zoe nearly burst with tension.

She had to get out for a while and walk or she thought she might go crazy. So many unanswered questions. Where was her mother now?

Why hadn't her father and mother been together?

Were her parents ever married?

And why hadn't Ty kissed her again?

She walked and walked, until she was no longer even on their own land, but Ty's. Wearing black jeans, black sneakers and a black jacket against an even blacker night, Zoe crept into his barn with a singular purpose.

And found the colt.

He was every bit as precious as he'd been the day he'd been born, and her heart melted as she moved close, drawn by life, drawn by hope and love. Some of her terrible inner turmoil eased, and leaning on the stall to get a better look, Zoe found herself smiling for the first time all day.

The baby horse lifted his head and sniffed. Then, after butting gently against his momma for freedom, he bounced toward Zoe, but just as she would have been able to touch him, he bolted away.

"He's skittish."

Zoe gasped and whirled, blinking in the semidarkness.

"Just me," Ty said, lifting his hands. "Seems Danny isn't the only skittish one tonight."

"Danny?"

Ty shrugged and reached into the stall. Danny leaped right up to him for a scratch behind his ears, which Ty obliged. Danny had been the name of Ben's stuffed horse, and from as early as he could remember, Ben had dragged that dirty, old, bedraggled horse around everywhere they'd gone. Ty had taken one look at Abby's foal and had known what his name would be. "It fit," he said, turning his attention back to Zoe. He looked down at her feet and sighed. "Tennis shoes. Again."

"Yeah, well, boots are-"

"Expensive, I know." His expression was grim. "You're not going to use any of the loan for yourself, are you."

"No. I want a ranch, Ty. I know that sounds like a dumb thing for a city girl to say, but that's what I want."

"And you want Triple M to be yours."

She froze, shocked. Was she as transparent as that? Or did he just know her better than anyone else ever had? She recovered with effort. "Delia and Maddie deserve it every bit as much as I do," she said carefully.

"Yes, they do." He was closer now, and she could feel the very heat and power of him, so easily and carefully restrained.

"I understand, you know," he told her. "I feel that need to belong somewhere, too."

In the dim light of the barn their eyes met. His were surprisingly open and warm and caring. "It doesn't make you a bad person, Zoe. Don't add guilt to your already-loaded burden."

Did he really understand? The pain in his gaze told her he did. She'd seen flashes of his inner anguish before. What made him hurt so? Was it his past? "How do you know what it's like?"

"I know because I came from nowhere." He let out a breath, then spoke, his reply low and harsh. "Belonged nowhere and to no one."

She hadn't expected an answer, for he guarded his privacy as strongly as she. "What about your parents?"

"My mother was a hooker, my father a thief." He paused. "He liked to hurt people. She liked to watch."

Zoe hadn't known she could feel so much pain over words, simple words, but she did.

Abby shifted, nuzzled Danny. Danny made a sound of warm contentment and pushed closer.

Mother and baby as it should be.

Zoe sighed. "Life sucks sometimes, doesn't it?"

A small, humorless smile crossed his face. "Yeah, it does."

Yet he hadn't let life get him down for long, she thought. Maybe she could understand his drive now, his need for control. He would do anything it took in order to be different from his parents, and she could respect that.

She had to touch him more than she needed her next breath, so she took his hand, which he squeezed lightly. His eyes warmed, and she knew he realized this was the first time she had touched him first.

"Is there anyone else in your family?" she asked.

"No."

There was a great, encompassing hurt in his voice now instead of anger, and she knew there was more he wasn't telling. "Did anyone help you?"