Say You'll Marry Me

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She fought a grimace, bracing one hand against the hay at her back as she struggled to dislodge her foot.

One of his gloved hands grasped hers, while his other arm slid around her waist to pull her upright. The movement sent another stab of pain through her ankle, and she sucked in a breath.

“That doesn’t sound like you’re okay,” he said.

“Quit pulling.”

“I’m trying to help.”

“Well, stop.” He let go, and the sudden loss of support made her clutch at his arm for balance. “No, don’t.”

“Which is it? Stop or don’t?”

“Stop pulling, but don’t go,” she snapped back. “It’s not like you can just yank me free.”

He went still except for a twitch in his clenched jaw, and the flex of muscle beneath her grip on his corded forearm. Ridiculously, she wished she wasn’t wearing gloves so she could feel the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips. God, she needed help, because already the heated scent of him was messing with her head, urging her to lean closer—

“What the hell do you want me to do?” his curt voice cut off her thoughts.

Ah, jackass to the rescue.

She blew a flyaway strand of hair from her eyes and gave him a glare from beneath her lashes. “Just stand there and look pretty.”

Chapter 2

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Look pretty?

Joy’s annoyed retort surprised a spark of humor in Logan. He managed to contain it to a twitch of his lips even as he silently acknowledged he was being a jerk. It was an automatic defensive reaction around her that he’d perfected years ago in high school.

“Where do you want me? Up in the loft or on the wagon?”

Both, actually, and not to put up hay. Hell, he shouldn’t want her at all, but he did, and had for far too long. She just had no clue. Not then, not now. And after her innocent question, he’d spent the past hour nearly killing himself to keep from thinking about climbing up into the hayloft and stripping off her clothes.

It hadn’t worked.

Especially now that he stood close enough to smell the faint scent of her fruity shampoo. In the light from

the open doors, he could see the layer of hay particles and dust on the damp skin near the neckline of her tight tank top, and the rest of him registered the softness of her curves as she leaned against him to ease her injured foot free.

He forced his attention up. His gaze landed on the freckles spattered across the bridge of her nose and cheeks, then lowered to a pair of enticing lips that just begged for him to taste.

No, begged was the wrong word given the irritation souring her expression. He bit back an impatient growl. It really sucked being physically attracted to a woman he didn’t particularly like, or even respect.

Well, the respect part had eased a bit this morning considering the work she’d done. Once he’d understood what she was really asking, his surprise had been just as deep. She’d pretty much avoided him like the plague since moving home from Nashville late in the spring. And other than occasionally caring for the horses when she had her friends Tara Carter and Jenny Clark over to ride, he hadn’t really seen her do much work.

They’d grown up neighbors, but he doubted she had any clue who he was until this past summer. He’d been a senior to her freshman, and he’d bet she was still just as spoiled as she’d been back then. When she wasn’t lazing about on the front porch or by the pool in back with her grandmother, she cruised into town in her little red convertible as if training for the Indy 500.

Ten years ago, she had no use for the son of the poor farmer down the road, and she wouldn’t have any use for him now, either. Because now he was the poor farmer, just counting the days until the damn bank took over the family property he’d promised his dad he wouldn’t lose after Brent took off after graduation and never looked back.

Joy shifted again, bringing him back to the present when her breasts brushed against his forearm as she worked her boot free. The tightness in her expression didn’t ease, and he forced his brain to focus beyond the rising simmer beneath his already heated skin.

“Can you walk?” he asked.

“It’s just twisted.”

“You should probably put your foot up and ice it right away.”