"Love at first sight?  Yes.  Love over time?  Yes.  But there are no shortcuts to the heart." ~ Maverick to his sons one night, after their mother had passed, when they wondered how a man ever knew he'd found the one woman for him

PROLOGUE

     Howdy, AussieClove.  What's shaking down under tonight?  I just got home from riding a bull in Lonely Hearts Station, and then me and some of my bros decided to drink some of the wildest concoction on the planet.  We ended up baying at the moon along Barmaid's Creek, with some crazy gals for company.  You should have seen me ride that bull--if he hadn’t come back around to the left, I would have been the first brother in my family to ride that cursed piece of cowhide, Bloodthirsty Black.  TexasArcher

 *

     G'day, TexasArcher.  Nothing shaking here except maybe my head.  My sister Lucy is devastated tonight.  She and her husband have learned they can probably never have children.  As far as my work goes, I had a stunt tonight that involved a boat, some fire, a shark, and two guys in what I would call thongs.  I think guys should never wear swim clothes that are smaller than their . . . well, you know.  What do cowboys wear under those Wranglers?  What do they wear to bed?  Do they wear their hats all the time?  How many hats do you own?  AussieClove

     Man alive, AussieClove.  Sorry about your sister--it's too bad.  Around our ranch, we're having a population explosion.  We've got babies popping out all over the place.  I'm never having kids.  In fact, I'm never getting married.  Too complicated.  One time, I was stuck in a truck with my twin brother, Ranger, and his now-wife, Hannah, and they griped at each other for days.  I finally escaped, but Ranger wasn't so lucky.  He rolled down an arroyo and demanded that an Indian medicine man marry him and Hannah, because he was convinced he had to get married to live.  My twin's weird.  I have five hats.  I wear briefs, and sometimes nothing.  What do Aussie girls wear under their clothes, and more to the point, what do stuntwomen wear to do stunts with men in banjo-floss-tightie whities?  I can tell you right now, banjo-floss-sized drawers would never hold everything of mine.  TexasArcher

  *

I'm sure.  AussieClove J

CHAPTER ONE

     Clove Penmire's heart pounded as she got off the bus in Lonely Hearts Station, Texas.  For all her fascination with cowboys and the lure of the dusty state she'd read so much about, she had to admit small-town Texas was nothing like her homeland of Australia.

     A horse broke free from the barn across the street, walking itself nonchalantly between the two sides of the old-time town.  A cowboy sprinted out of the barn and ran after his horse, but he was laughing as he caught up to it. 

Clove smiled. From the back she couldn't tell if the man was handsome, but he was dressed in Wranglers and a hat, and as far as she could tell, the cowboy was the real thing.

     She had traveled to Texas for the real thing.

     That sentiment would have sounded shallow, even to Clove, just a month ago.  But having learned that her sister, Lucy, could not have a child, Clove's thought processes had begun a new course.  Still, people all over the world couldn't always conceive when they wished.  They adopted, or pursued other means of happiness.

     She wasn't overly-overly worried, until Lucy had confessed that she thought her husband might leave her for a woman who could bear children.

     Clove's thought process took a decidedly new trajectory, one that included fantasies of tossing her brother-in-law into the Australian Ocean.

     Lucy had laughed a little sadly and said that perhaps she was only imagining things.  Clove murmured something reassuring, but inside, fear struck her.  Lucy loved her physician husband.  He'd always seemed to adore her.  Men didn't leave women because they couldn't bear children, did they?  Was that the cost for being unable to provide a man with progeny?  Robert was a wonderful man; Clove had been so surprised, and distressed at the turn of events.

     The cowboy hauled his horse around, leading it back toward the barn.  Clove could hear him lightly remonstrating his wayward beast, but the horse didn't seem too concerned.

     The cowboy caught her interested gaze, holding it for just a second before he looked back at his horse.  The man was extremely handsome.  Breathtakingly so.  Not the cowboy for her, considering her mission, and the fact that she was what people politely referred to as . . . the girl with the good personality.

     The girl everybody loved like a sister.

     The girl men liked to be friends with.

     And even worse, The Nerdy Penmire.

     She sighed.  If Lucy had gotten all the beauty, their mother always said with a gentle smile, then Clove had gotten all the bravery.  Which was likely how she'd ended up as a stuntwoman.

     The stuntwoman with the thick glasses, people described her, when they couldn't remember her unusual name and didn't know she could overhear them.

     Had she the face of other Australian exports like Nicole Kidman, for example, she might have been in front of the camera.  But she was the body double in stunts, and truthfully, her job was an exotic one.  Lucy said Clove had the life other people dreamed of.

     Maybe.

     Clove watched the cowboy brush his horse's back with his hand, and fan a fly away from its spot-marked face.  He was still talking to it; she could hear low murmuring that sounded very sexy to her ears, especially since she'd never heard a man murmur in a husky voice to her.

     "Archer Jefferson!" someone yelled from inside the barn.  "Get that cotton-pickin', apple-stealin', dog-faced Appaloosa in here!"

     "Insult the man but not the sexy beast!" he yelled back.

     Clove gasped.  Archer Jefferson!  The man she'd traveled several time zones to see!  Her TexasArcher of two years' worth of e-mail correspondence!

     He was all cowboy, she realized, more cowboy than she'd come mentally prepared to corral.  "Whoa," she murmured to herself.  "Both of you are whoa."

     Okay, a man that drool-worthy did not lack for female friends.  Why had he been writing her for two years when he would never meet her?  She wrinkled her nose, pushed her thick glasses back, and studied him further.  Tight jeans, dirty boots.  Long, black, unkempt hair under the black felt hat—he'd never mentioned long hair in their correspondence.  Deep voice.  Piercing eyes, she noted, as he swung around, catching her still staring at him.  She jumped, he laughed, and then tipped his hat to her as he swung up onto the "dog-faced" Appaloosa, riding it into the barn in a manner which the stuntwoman in her appreciated.

     And yet, her inner stuntwoman wondered about the feat which she'd come to pull off.  Just how difficult would it be to entice that cowboy into her bed?  Archer had put the thoughts in her mind about his virility, with his Texas-sized bragging about his manliness and the babies popping out all over their Malfunction Junction ranch, enlarging their fruitful family tree.

     Seeing him, however, made her think that perhaps he hadn't been bragging as much as stating fact.  Her heart beat faster.  He had said he wasn't in the relationship market. 

     But a baby, just one baby . . . one stolen seed from a family tree that bore many . . .

     Maybe she wasn't brave, as her mother claimed.  Maybe she was simply bad.

     "Howdy!"

     She jumped as Archer strode across the street to where she stood.

     "Are you lost?" he asked.

     "No," she said, her gaze taking in every inch of him with nervous admiration.  "Yes."

     He grinned.  "My name's Archer Jefferson."

     She wished he wouldn't smile at her that way.  Her heart simply melted, despite the cold chill of February.  He made her dream of a blazing fireplace, soft blankets, and naked him holding naked her tight.

     "Can I help you?" he asked.  "If you're looking for a job, the cafeteria is that way.  If you're looking for a hairdo," he said, eyeing her braided hair momentarily, "I'd choose that salon over there.  The Lonely Hearts Salon.  Owner's a friend of mine.  Salon owner across the street, of The Never Lonely Cut'n'Gurls, isn't."

     She felt him studying her glasses, the cursed thick things that gave her clear vision when she was doing stunts.  Contacts made her eyes itch and burn.

     Lucy said Clove hid behind her glasses.  Clove blinked, thinking that right now a curtain was the only thing she'd feel truly hidden behind.

     "You sure are a quiet little thing," Archer said.  "Don't be scared.  We're all real friendly here."

     Scared!  She was a daredevil!

     But if she told him that, in her lilting Aussie accent, he would know right off.  And then her plan would go awry.  In fact, he would think she was nuts for coming all the way to Texas without telling him.  He would know it was no accident that she came to be standing outside the rodeo he had told her he was participating in.

     "I'm not scared," she said.  "Thank you for your concern."

     "Ah, she speaks, and it is good," Archer said.  "I've got to run, but if you need anything, just grab someone off the street to help you.  This is a friendly town, if you bypass the Cut'n'Gurls."

     "I'll do that."

     He tipped his hat, and with a flash of long-legged denim glory, he disappeared into the arena building again.

     Her breath slowly left the cage it was bound in.

     No doubt his genes were as sexy as his jeans.  He was far hotter than the thong-wearing models she'd last stunted with.

     Now she just had to get those jeans off of him.

     He hadn't seemed particularly inclined to strip down to the "boxers or nothing" of which he'd boasted for her.  Not even a flash of male attraction had lit his eye.  "I don't know if I can do this," she murmured, suddenly doubtful of her mission.

     He was terribly manly.  And she had very little experience with men.  Lucy had always been the one who warmed to hearth and home.

     She took a deep breath.  For Lucy's sake, she had to make herself be brave.

     She walked into the walkway where Archer had disappeared.  He was leaning against a rail, looking at his Appaloosa.  Seeing her, he grinned.  "Glad you came in.  I was just thinking you might need a hotel."

     Her throat gulped of its own accord.  "Ah," she said,  "I was wondering . . ."

     "Yes?" he said, smiling down at her.

     He was so tall.  "Would you care to go to dinner with me?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

     The friendly smile slipped from his face.  His gaze touched her glasses.  Then a forced veneer of friendly came over his expression.  "I'm sorry.  I can't."

     She blinked, knowing her face was bright red.

     "Okay.  Thanks, anyway."

     Backing away, she saw sympathy in his gaze.

     She turned and tried to walk away with as much dignity as possible.  He was not remotely interested.  How humiliating!

This was not going to be easy.  In fact, it likely was impossible.

     On the other hand, she was a stuntwoman known for her never-fail-nerves.  And she hadn't paid for a round-trip airline ticket to wind up going back home without a Texas-bred souvenir.

     For Lucy's sake, she needed to bring out the daredevil residing inside her and let it loose all over this cowboy.

*     *     *

Archer Jefferson watched the little fraidy-cat walk away with some regret.  My goodness, she was a shy one!  Traveling by herself required some bravery, though, and somehow she'd wound up here.  If he had a rule—and usually he didn't—it was that most women were to be avoided.  He'd learned from watching his brothers fall that women came in exciting, colorful packages; some fun to open, some not.  But a shy woman didn't hold much threat to his well-being.  And that one, with her oversized specs and timid little voice couldn't put fear into a flea.

Scratching his head, he thought about her dinner invitation.  Much as he might have enjoyed showing a newcomer the town, he had to get his horse ready for the show.  Honky-Tonk was a tricky Appaloosa.  She thought she knew things she didn't, and they'd had more than one disagreement between them about who was boss.  He always was the boss, a fact Honky-Tonk respected, but she required consistent reminding.

His brothers laughed and called his Appaloosa dog-faced, dumb as a dog, and dirty dog.  "Beam-him-up Spotty Dog!" they'd razz. Or just say Dog, and everyone knew who they were talking about.

"Pfft.  What do they know?" he said to Tonk.  "You're just a bit sassy.  You think you're entitled to your own opinions.  But we both know better, don't we?"

She pinned an ear back and gave him a sidelong stare.

"Women and opinions just go together like butter and bread," he continued, grabbing a hoof pick to start cleaning Tonk's hooves.  "That little thing who was just in here, I bet an opinion would scare her.  She's afraid of her own shadow."

Tonk leaned lazily on one leg, shifting her weight so that she crushed her cowboy up against the stall.

"Get off, Tonk!" Archer demanded, shoving at her with all his might.

She shifted again, taking her weight away, then shaking her mane so that it flipped gaily.

Archer narrowed his gaze, wondering if Tonk was laughing at him.  It did seem that his Appaloosa had her fair share of womanly arts, conniving and one-upping being some of them.  He'd watched seven brothers before him fall prey to the wedding ring chase, and he knew quite well that females had a spectrum of tricks up their dainty sleeves.

The last brother who'd fallen was Calhoun.  That had set off a chain-reaction in itself.  Calhoun had settled at the ranch, the first brother not to leave the ranch with his new wife.  Calhoun had brought his wife's family, namely, two children—Minnie and Kenny--and a grandfather, Barley, with him.

For some reason, all this had kicked off some bad moods around the ranch.  Not that he had a new family, but Calhoun's success, Archer guessed, had generated some brotherly angst.  Calhoun had the kids, the father-in-law, the occasional roadshow participation as a rodeo clown--for which his wife, Olivia, adored him--but Calhoun also made a large hit with his paintings.  Though he'd started out painting nudes, he had switched over to family portraits and had a waiting list for people who wanted him to commit their children to canvas.

He was that good.

Unfortunately, Crockett, the family's best artist, had taken umbrage at this as he had been the first painter.  Crockett felt Calhoun had one-upped him in the creative department.  Archer frowned as he worked his way through the mud in Tonk's hoof.  Usually, the brothers were happy for each other.  But youngest brother, Last, had a new baby on the ranch, along with the baby's mother Valentine, something no one had been happy about at first.  That was probably when all the turmoil had begun.

But no, the trouble had to have started when Mason left.  Oldest brother, and patriarch of their clan, he just picked up and took his wandering feet onto the road one day, and didn't come back for months.

He'd said he'd attempted to find out what had happened to their father, Maverick.  The brothers knew that was a well-worn drum solo, since Mason was nearly knocked to his knees when Mimi Cannnady, their next-door-neighbor, married another man and had his baby.

Mimi and Brian were divorced now, a friendly divorce, which it should have been, considering that Brian had never come to the Cannady ranch often.  Archer squinted, thinking about that.  With Mimi's father, Sheriff Cannady, being ill, they'd figured on seeing Brian more often.  But he never came around much after the wedding, not even when the baby was born.  By then, the Jefferson brothers had figured all was not well with the marriage, so maybe Mason had done the right thing by hotfooting it out of there.

Mason had been very fond of spending time with Mimi's brand new baby, Nanette.

Archer sighed.  "I still think Crockett's problem is that Calhoun stole his thunder by turning out to be a commercially-viable artist.  Or it could be that Crockett lost his twin, Navarro, when he went off to Delaware with his wife.  Maybe that twin-connection got cut, and Crockett's feeling ornery."

Tonk gave him a sly gaze.

Maybe all the craziness around Malfunction Junction-- really Union Junction Ranch, though no one called it that-- was the result of twelve brothers growing up together with no motherly/sisterly/aunty touch to soften them.

It did seem things were declining in some ways.

Last was never going to settle with Valentine, though he seemed to be receiving better marks for his daddy skills.

Mason was never going to get his head straight about Mimi.  All the brothers except Mason knew that Mimi was going to put her ranch up for sale in order to move into town.  She couldn't take care of a ranch herself, anymore.

Archer dreaded the day Mason had to face the facts of that.

Bandera never shut up about poetry.  He wrote it, he sang it, he reviewed it and recited it, and if he didn't shut his face, Archer was going to smother him in his sleep.  Why couldn't Bandera be quiet about his angst?  Edgar Allen Poe was getting on Archer's nerves.  Sylvia Plath he was done with.  And if he heard any more Lord Byron he was going to cry. 

Crockett needed to just paint and shut his yap about Calhoun stealing his thunder.  There was room for two artists in a family tree, for heaven's sake.  Commercial wasn't necessarily da Vinci.

"I'm the only brother who keeps my pipe shut," Archer told Tonk.  "My insanity is on the down-low.  I write, I write a woman who is far away and who will never bother me, and I keep it in my head where it belongs.  As far as I can see, I add no turbulence to this family ship.  Why can't the rest of my brothers be more suave?  Debonair?"

It sounded like Tonk groaned.  He gave her a tap on the fanny.  "Hey," he said, "no comments from you.  Or maybe I don't defend you the next time my brothers call you dog-faced."  He frowned, looking at the pretty colors of his spotted equine.  She was beautiful!  What was it about her that they didn't get?  So Tonk was a little unusual.  He liked unusual things.

She reached out with her back hoof, not really kicking at him but giving him a little goose.  He stepped back, eyeing her warily.  "Tonk," he said, his tone warning.

She flipped her mane at him.

"Excuse me," he heard.

Archer glanced up to see the little plain newcomer looking at him.  "Yes?"

"I was just offered employment at the Never Lonely Cut-n-Gurls salon."

"You were?"  Straightening, he stared at her.  Marvella was ever on the lookout for fresh "stylists."  He would be surprised if she considered this one stylist material.  Marvella's stylists were known far and wide to be babes—and if they weren't babes, then supposedly they were possessed of talents supernatural to men.  If you were a man, and your hair wasn't laying quite like you wanted, if you had a bad hair day, or if your hair wasn't as quite as abundant as it once had been, the Cut-n-Gurls could help you out.

"Yes."  She nodded her head.  "But I thought you mentioned that they weren't your friends."

"They're not, that's true.  What is it that you do?" he asked, staring at her speculatively.  Maybe there was more to her than he'd first thought.  Marvella had a pretty good eye for these things.

"I  . . .  I'm not doing anything right now," she said.  "I'm on vacation."

"So, what did you tell her?"  Archer felt a little worry assail him.  Half his tongue wanted to tell the little newcomer that employment with Marvella was wages she'd soon dream of giving back.

"I told her, no, thank you.  I thought you said to avoid her."

"I think it would be best.  Not that I'm always right."

She nodded.  "I know.  Even your horse knows that."

Archer frowned.  "What do you mean?"

She shrugged.  "She doesn't like you."

He was outraged.  "She likes me fine!"

She shook her head.  "No, see how she distances herself from you?  She thinks you're bossy.  Trying to enforce yourself upon her."

His jaw dropped.  "She's a horse.  I'm supposed to enforce myself upon her."

"She doesn't like it.  She's trying to tell you that you're annoying."

Well, that was it.  He didn't have to listen to some half-baked claptrap like that.  Tonk and he had a special relationship.

"How long have you had her?"

"Tonk and I have been together six months," Archer said defensively.  "And Tonk thinks I'm . . ."

"Bossy."  She reached a hand over the stall, and Tonk slid her nose under her fingers.  "I understand, girl.  Men can be very trying."  Not that she knew first-hand, but from what her sister was going through, it was an obvious fact.  Maybe she would never get married herself.

"Are you trying to do that horse talking thing?" Archer asked.  "I don't use horse psychology.  I mean, I talk to Tonk, but I'm really just amusing myself.  I don't believe we're actually communicating--"

Her brows raised.  She stared at him, her gaze challenging.  Disbelieving?

Something about that attitude caught Archer.  He looked at her more closely, seeing the eyes behind the specs.  "Why do you wear those glasses?  You have beautiful eyes you're hiding."