Saddle Up

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

Dedication

About The Author

Dear Reader

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Copyright

He Must Have Pulled The Craziest
Stunt Of His Entire Life By
Marrying That Woman.

Jeremiah had never responded so strongly to anyone in his life, nor had anyone ever responded that way toward him. But he had to let Bridget have her freedom, chalk last night up to a fantasy and get on with his life.

Yeah. He’d tell her she was right, that what had happened was insane. Besides, his feelings weren’t the only ones he had to consider. He had—

“Jeremiah?”

He was so deep in thought that he had no idea his privacy was being invaded until he heard the husky female voice.

He swung around and stared at the woman who was now his wife and knew with a certainty born of old that he could never willingly let her go.

Dear Reader,

Can you believe that for the next three months we’ll be celebrating the publication of the 1000th Silhouette Desire? That’s quite a milestone! The festivities begin this month with six books by some of your longtime favorites and exciting new names in romance.

We’ll continue into next month, May, with the actual publication of Book #1000—by Diana Palmer—and then we’ll keep the fun going into June. There’s just so much going on that I can’t put it all into one letter. You’ll just have to keep reading!

This month we have an absolutely terrific lineup, beginning with Saddle Up, a MAN OF THE MONTH by Mary Lynn Baxter. There’s also The Groom, I Presume?— the latest in Annette Broadrick’s DAUGHTERS OF TEXAS miniseries. Father of the Brat launches the new FROM HERE TO PATERNITY miniseries by Elizabeth Bevarly, and Forgotten Vows by Modean Moon is the first of three books about what happens on THE WEDDING NIGHT. Lass Small brings us her very own delightful sense of humor in A Stranger in Texas. And our DEBUT AUTHOR this month is Anne Eames with Two Weddings and a Bride.

And next month, as promised, Book #1000, a MAN OF THE MONTH, Man of Ice by Diana Palmer!

Lucia Macro,

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Saddle Up
Mary Lynn Baxter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my aunt, Bess Hinson,

for all the years of love and support.

MARY LYNN BAXTER

sold hundreds of romances before she ever wrote one. The D&B Bookstore, right on the main drag in Lufkin, Texas, is her home as well as the store she owns and manages. She and her husband, Leonard, garden in their spare time. Around five o’clock every evening they can be found picking butter beans on their small farm just outside of town.

Dear Reader,

Saddle Up was such a fun book to write, as marriages of convenience are one of my favorite reads. I hope they’re one of yours, too. The story involves a rancher in Utah, Jeremiah Davis, who is a widower and lonely. Yet he’s leery of making another commitment—until he enters an auction for charity and is won by a stranger in town, Bridget Martin.

Their attraction is hot and instantaneous. And through circumstances seemingly beyond their control, they end up marrying the day they meet, making the secrets each harbors as lethal as their attraction.

I’m honored to be counted among the Silhouette Desire family. Writing for Desire is like anticipating a Friday night date; it’s thrilling, titillating and highly entertaining.

Saddle Up is a part of the Desire Celebration 1000, which makes this book extraspecial to me. I hope you, as a reader, will find it just as special.

Prologue

Jeremiah Davis had once been a proud man—proud of his land, his cattle and his wife. Now, as he rode across an open pasture looking at the fence that would need mending next week, he thought about something his father had told him as a child—pride goeth before a fall.

And fall he had, as far from upright as the rotting miles of fence posts stretching into the horizon. First, he’d made a bad investment—one that had cost him his financial cushion, leaving him on the edge of disaster. Then, a bad calf crop had devastated any profits for this year. Finally, his wife had been taken from him.

He was a lonely man now, bereft of everything that had once meant so much to him. Pride. Again he thought about the word.

The Davis ranch was in southwest Utah. The closest town, Pennington, was comprised of a general mercantile and one filling station with a cold water fountain. Once daily, a train flew through town, causing all the otherwise indolent hounds to howl and show a sudden burst of energy before settling back into the Utah dust.

Maybe he should call it quits. To hell with ranching. It was all his father had ever done, and what had it gotten him? Jeremiah looked into the horizon toward Hurricane, a town where he could get a real job. But did he truly want a real job? How could he survive in the eight-to-five world of asphalt, suits, choking collars and “Let’s do lunch?”

The ranch house loomed ahead, a native rock structure that had once glistened with the attention of his mate, someone who’d shared his love for this land. Now, the house reflected his emotions, almost as ramshackle in appearance as his inner turmoil.

To hell with this, he thought. He could wallow in misery from now on and nothing would be accomplished…but if he didn’t eat something soon, the Davis graveyard would have yet another inhabitant.

Once inside, he tossed his hat on a nearby chair and strode to the kitchen, popping a skillet onto the range. A couple of eggs cracked into the pan might have worked if he’d added a little bacon drippings, but what did he know? He and Margaret had had an understanding. She didn’t try to run the ranch, and he didn’t try to run the house. Instead, the eggs stuck, turned black, filled the room with smoke and set two dogs to howling.

Disgusted, he dumped both eggs and the skillet in the garbage and opened his last bag of pork cracklings. Dammit, something had to change.

The phone interrupted his tantrum, and he answered it with a mouthful of cracklings.

“Hey, Jeremiah. What’s up?”

“Same garbage, different day, Nelson.”

“You sound funny.”

“It’s my lunch—straight out of the bag.”

“Sounds like you’re chewing on dried locusts. Listen, if you need a meal, come on over. Sharon—”

“Thanks, but no thanks. Last time I showed up, you had some heifer from Nevada all lined up for me.

“Speaking of heifers, that’s what this call’s all about.”

“Forget it. I’m not interested in another woman. I’ve told you that already. No just has one syllable, so what’s your problem with understanding it?”

“You need to listen, Davis. What I’m about to ask you is in the best interest of the whole community. Hell, maybe even all of southern Utah.”

Jeremiah rolled his eyes, knowing Johnny Nelson. His ranching friend was a good man, but persistent as a rash. He would have to hear him out just to get rid of him.

“Okay, shoot.”

“We’re going to have an auction, my friend.”

“I already lost my shirt at one auction this year. Why in hell should I want to go to another one?”

“No, you’ll love this one.”

“All right,” Jeremiah said in a resigned voice. “Go on. I’m listening….“

One

“Bridget!” Tiffany cried. “Check out what’s on TV!”

Bridget Martin ran to Tiffany’s living room carrying a bowl of dip and a bag of chips. “What is it?”

“Look for yourself. I’ve never heard of anything like this before.”

A WNN talk show host was interviewing two uncomfortable looking men who were sitting on a couch.

“Now that’s a hunk of manhood!” Tiffany pointed to the one on the left.

“What’s all this about?”

“Shh. Listen.”

Bridget wasn’t keen on the two men being interviewed. Neither caught her fancy. Both were okay as far as looks went, but then, she wasn’t such a good judge of that right now. Men were not at the top of her priority list.

“Did you hear that?” Tiffany was asking.

“No, what did he say?”

“You’re not listening!”

Bridget did as she was told and found the gist of the conversation not only incredible, but insane. The men were from a remote ranching community in southwestern Utah, close to the Nevada state line, where, apparently, there were more men than women.

As a result, these men were advertising the fact that they intended to hold a community auction and put themselves and some of their friends on the block, hoping that women would come from all over the United States and bid on them.

“But aren’t there any local women?” the host asked. “I mean, why can’t you—”

Tiffany’s hunk spoke up. “The nearest single women our age are a long way off. When I take a lady home after a date, I’m lucky to be back at the ranch by daylight, and there’s still a day’s work ahead. We’re mostly farmers and ranchers…and we can’t afford to lose time chasing all over southern Utah and Nevada.”

The camera focused in on the host, who was all smiles. “There you have it, ladies. You heard it first on WNN. If there are any of you who need a man, here’s your chance.”

He turned his attention to the men on the couch. “So, exactly where is this auction taking place?”

“Pennington, Utah,” the hunk replied, then gave the date and time.

“And do you men keep the money that’s bid on you?”

The other man, a half hunk, shook his head. “No, sir. All proceeds from this auction go to a shelter for battered women, not that we have many of those. All we’re asking for is the chance to meet some eligible—and hopefully attractive—ladies who wouldn’t mind ranch life in Utah.”

Bridget groaned, then added, “Sure thing, buddy. I’m real anxious to spend my life barefoot and pregnant in southern Utah! In between kids, I could rope steers and brand calves. Maybe take a few quilting lessons. Yee hah!”

Tiffany turned to Bridget, her face animated. “This is a hoot. Let’s go!”

Bridget rolled her large brown eyes, even as her smile broadened. The word “dramatic” fit Tiffany Russell to a tee. But then, that didn’t seem so odd when she remembered that Tiffany’s ambition in life had been to be an actress, only that hadn’t panned out. Instead she’d had to settle for working in one of Houston’s largest and most prestigious department stores as a buyer for women’s clothing.

Too bad becoming an actress hadn’t become a reality, Bridget thought, because with Tiffany’s long blond hair, gray eyes and sharp wit, she would have been a killer on stage. But it wasn’t to be.

“God, Tiff, what would make anyone want to go bid on some sodbuster, anyway?”

“I don’t know…I guess I’m just bored. My life’s headed straight down the toilet.” Tiffany gestured dramatically as if to better illustrate her point.

Bridget laughed outright, only to suddenly turn sober. “Believe me, I know how unhappy you are.” She paused. “If it’s any consolation, my life’s headed in the same direction…but I’m still not grabbing the next plane to Pennington, Utah!”

“Do you suppose planes even land there?”

“Who knows? From the way those men made it sound, you probably have to fly to Salt Lake City, then work your way down by pack mule. What do I know about Utah?”

“About as much as I do. Still, your life’s not in the toilet. That’s a bunch of baloney, and you know it.” Tiffany’s lips curved downward. “Oh, just forget I said anything. It’s just that I’m down. I hate my job so much.”

“Well, at least you have one,” Bridget countered on a more sober note.

Tiffany’s eyebrows perked up. “I’ll trade places with you anytime. Heck fire, you’re a big-time Houston lawyer with brains and looks.”

“And no job, remember?”

Tiffany made another gesture. “Not for long. Every firm in this town will soon be knocking on your door.”

“Wrong, Tiff. The very second word got out that I filed a sexual harassment suit against Mason Wainwright, the you-know-what hit the proverbial fan. From then on, my name was mud. Job or no job, as long as I remain in Houston, it’ll stay that way.”

“All the more reason to take a mule to Utah!”

Bridget’s voice took on its best courtroom tone. “Miss Russell, there are games of chance and games of fat chance. My going to Utah comes under the latter category, even if there’s no future left here for me.”

“That’s not true, and you know it. Your old man’s one of the best attorneys in Houston, and he’s got clout! Why, he can open doors for you that would be cemented shut for the normal person. All the other firms are afraid of him!”

“Even if he was willing, I wouldn’t let him.” A pained expression dulled Bridget’s features. “Right now, I’m not his fair-haired child. He and Mother are both…upset.”

Tiffany’s lips formed a semblance of a smile. “Why don’t you say furious and be done with it?”

Bridget’s answering smile was equally lukewarm. “Okay, they’re furious.”

“See? Don’t you feel better having gotten that off your chest?”

Both women were seated on the couch in Tiffany’s apartment, which looked more like an art deco studio than a typical Houston dwelling. Tiffany had rented the upstairs in an older home in the refurbished Heights area and furnished it with upscale junk, or at least, that was Tiffany’s way of describing it. Although Bridget would never even have looked at this place, much less lived here, it fit her friend’s personality perfectly.

Now, after reaching for an oversize pillow near her, she tossed it at Tiffany. “No. As a matter a fact, I don’t feel a bit better. I’d rather tell them to their faces what I feel.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“They’d both have heart attacks on the spot.”

“So?” Tiffany grinned.

“You’re bad to the bone, girl,” Bridget said, but found herself grinning, as well.

“I’d rather call it truthful.”

“Okay, so my parents went ballistic when I brought that civil suit, but they’re still my parents.”

Tiffany frowned. “Look, I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” Bridget interrupted, her tone distant. “First off, they’ve never learned how to loosen up. And second, they expect me to be just like them.”

“Which you’re not and never will be.”

“Sometimes I think I must’ve been adopted. As uptight as they are, I can’t imagine them conceiving me!”

“Sorry, but you look too much like your mother. And, I might add, she’s still a knockout.”

“She’d thank you for the compliment.” Bridget paused again. “Right now, my parents are pretty far down on my list.”

“That’s too bad, but I understand. Hey, you want some coffee?”

Bridget shook her head and plunged a potato chip into the clam dip. “No, but if you have any tea made, I’ll have a glass.”

“I’ll make some,” Tiffany said, getting to her feet and heading for the kitchen. “Instant only takes a minute.”

Bridget watched her leave, then reached for another pillow and hugged it against her chest. She wondered if her friend really did understand, having come from a household of five other siblings and parents who let their kids do their own thing.

Even though Bridget couldn’t identify with that kind of upbringing, she envied it. She had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Added to that was the curse of being an only child. She bore the brunt of everything right and everything wrong, according to her parents’ rules.

Bridget hugged the pillow closer, her thoughts still stuck on her parents, who at the moment were more an aggravation than an asset. If only they had been more supportive of her decision to file that suit, things might have been different. Hell, if they had been even a little supportive, she wouldn’t be in the predicament she was in now.

Unfortunately, they had been anything but supportive. In fact, they had been outraged and demanded that she withdraw the suit minutes after she’d returned from the courthouse.

“How dare you do something like that without consulting me first?” Allen Martin had bellowed.

“Why, Dad? You weren’t the one Wainwright tried to maul! Besides, I’m grown and responsible for my own actions.”

“Well, you sure couldn’t prove that by me.”

“Your father’s right, honey,” Anita Martin had chimed in. “I can’t believe you’d smear a good man’s name.”

“Didn’t either of you hear what I told you? Dammit, Wainwright—”

Her father had cut her off, his voice cold. “Not another word, young lady, especially using that kind of language. Mason Wainwright is a longtime friend and excellent attorney. You know we all go to church together—or you would know if you’d attend more often. He’s a deacon, for heaven’s sake! Hardly the type to come on to you like a man of the world!”

Bridget’s laugh was bitter. “Oh, he’s a man of the world, all right—with Russian hands and Roman fingers!”

Allen bristled. Anita gasped.

Bridget wanted to scream, unable to believe this was happening. How could they take that vile man’s word over hers? She shouldn’t have been surprised, though. Despite her father’s retirement, he kept in touch with everything that was going on in the legal field through his “of counsel” status, and his expert opinion was still sought after by a host of attorneys. However, in Bridget’s heart, nothing excused his siding with a man she knew to be an oversexed hypocrite, deacon or not.

“Look, it’s obvious you think I’m making a mountain out of a molehill, and that’s okay. You’re entitled to your opinion. But I’m not going to back off.”

Much to her dismay, she did have to cat her words and back off.

“I bet I know what you’ve been thinking about,” Tiffany said in a disapproving tone, waltzing into the room and setting Bridget’s iced tea on the coffee table. “Your parents, right?”

Bridget sighed, then rubbed the back of her neck, registering her exhaustion. “You’re right.”

“So are you going to listen to them?”

“As in dismissing my suit?”

“Yep.”

“I already have.”

“Honestly, Bridget, when are you going to let them stop running your life?”

“I didn’t do it for them, Tiff. The other attorney in the office, the one who was supposed to corroborate my story, since she’d been a victim herself, clammed up. She refused to testify, and there went my case. Without her, it’s a swearing match.”

“Mmm, sounds like old Wainwright put the screws to her.”

“I suspect he threatened to blackball her just like he did me, only she’s divorced with two kids to consider.”

“So what are you going to do?”

Bridget shrugged her slender shoulders. “Start pounding the pavement, I guess. I still have a burning ambition to become every bit as good a litigator as my dad or better, then open my own practice. Working for these large firms isn’t my cup of tea. Unfortunately, that’s the only way you can get the experience it takes to make it on your own.”

“Only now you’re ostracized.”

“That’s a mild word. You’d think I had leprosy or something.”

“It’s really that bad, huh?”

“Yes, it is.” Gloom was mirrored in Bridget’s face. “I can always go to Dallas, or maybe San Antonio— if I can get at least one good recommendation from the firm.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

“I’m not.”

“So what does Hamilton think about all this?” Tiffany raised her hand. “Don’t answer that. Let me guess. He’s as furious as your parents.”

“Righto.”

“Jerk.”

In spite of her friend’s sarcastic tone, Bridget’s lips twitched in good humor. She just couldn’t get mad at her friend. “I guess it’s safe to say that you don’t like my fianc6-to-be.”

Tiffany snorted. “Fiancé, hell. You have no intention of marrying Hamilton Price. You never have. If anything, he’s too much like your old man, more so, actually. Hamilton wears his underwear so tight, it’s a wonder he can breathe.”

“Please, don’t start on Hamilton, okay? Besides, we’re a long way from walking down the aisle. We’re not even engaged.”

“Good…cuz I gotta tell you straight, friend, you and Hamilton have nothing in common. Nada. El zippo!”

“I know,” Bridget said, sighing.

“At least there’s one bright point in all our misery.”

“And just what is that?” Bridget asked.

“It’s not what, it’s where.” Tiffany pointed at the screen. “There!”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Hell, no, I’m not kidding. I’m more serious than I’ve ever been in my life.”

Bridget harrumphed. “Well, as far as I’m concerned, you’re on another planet. Circling Jupiter would be my guess.”

“Hey, come on, where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Where it ought to be, in the toilet, along with my career.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. That’s why we both need a change of scenery.”

“But you’re working, Tiff. You didn’t get fired.”

“Yeah, but I have oodles of vacation time I haven’t taken.”

“I almost believe you’re serious.”

“You’re damn straight I’m serious.”

“But…but why?” Bridget sputtered.

“Because it’s something different. It’s a hell of a good way to look at some great bodies—” Tiffany paused and giggled. “And who knows, I might even find one I’d like to spend the rest of my life with.”

Bridget stared at her friend in amazement. “I don’t know whether you’ve gone completely off Jupiter or you’re just plain old horny.”

“I expect it’s a bit of both.” Tiffany wrinkled her nose. “So what do you say, want to go with me?”

“Not on your life.”

“Why not? You need to lighten up. You take life far too seriously. Anyway, what can it hurt?”

“Nothing, except that it’s a waste of valuable time, time I don’t have.”

“Oh, come on,” Tiffany pleaded. “Do it for me.”

“I love you, Tiff, and I’d do almost anything for you, only not this. There’s nothing you can say or do that would convince me to go with you to that godforsaken place.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. How much?”

“Fifty bucks,” Tiffany said.

Bridget grinned, scrambled off the couch and headed for the door.

“Where are you going? You haven’t even finished your tea.”

“I’m leaving before some of whatever you’re suffering from rubs off on me.”

“Chicken.” Tiffany wasn’t satisfied in just saying the word. She had to follow it up with wing-flapping and a few buck-buck-bacaws.

Bridget shrugged. “Call me anything you like, but the answer is still no.”

Tiffany repeated the noise.

Ignoring her, Bridget added, “And while we’re at it, you might as well fork over that fifty bucks ahead of time. There’s no way I’d even consider such a cockamamy thing.”