Tight-Fittin' Jeans

“You Know You Want Me,” He Said. Letter to Reader Title Page About the Author 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

“You Know You Want Me,” He Said.

“You want me as much as I want you. It’s been that way since that first time I kissed you.”

“This is crazy.”

“I’ll go crazy if I can’t have you.”

Fire raged in his dark, compelling eyes; only, something else was there, as well—a challenge. He was challenging her to deny what he’d said on both counts. She couldn’t, and he knew it.

Besides, he was right. To have sex with him was what she’d wanted, too; only, she hadn’t even realized that until now, until he’d voiced that challenge.

Her gaze dropped. When at last she raised her head, her breathing was coming in short spurts.

“Ready to do something about it?”

“Garth—”

“Come here,” he said, his voice raspy, almost unrecognizable.

Dear Reader,

I know you’ve all been anxiously awaiting the next book from Mary Lynn Baxter—so wait no more. Here it is, the MAN OF THE MONTH, Tight-Fittin Jean’s. Mary Lynn’s books are known for their sexy herpes and sizzling sensuality...and this sure has both! Read and enjoy.

Every little girl dreams of marrying a handsome prince, but most women get to kiss a lot of toads before they find him. Read how three handsome princes find their very own princesses in Leanne Banks’s delightful new miniseries HOW TO CATCH A PRINCESS. The fun begins this month with The Five-Minute Bride.

The other books this month are all so wonderful...you won’t want to miss any of them! If you like humor, don’t miss Maureen Child’s Have Bride, Need Groom. For blazing drama, there’s Sara Orwig’s A Baby for Mommy. Susan Crosby’s Wending Fever provides a touch of dashing suspense. And Judith McWilliams’s Practice Husband is warmly emotional.

There is something for everyone here at Desire! I hope you enjoy each and every one of these love stories.

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

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

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Tight Fittin’ Jeans

Mary Lynn Baxter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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.

Prologue

Would today be the day he had another heart attack? Could be, Garth Dixon told himself, especially when he felt as if a hippo were sitting on his chest. What bothered him the most was wondering when the “big one” was going to hit. He’d already come face-to-face with his mortality, and he hadn’t been impressed, since he was only forty.

Realizing he was using the rickety post on the porch to hold himself upright, he straightened to his full six-foot-two-inch height. Hell, the doctors might think he had one foot in the coffin and the other on a banana peel, but he was determined to prove them wrong.

His ticker would be good as new if he could just survive this godforsaken place. Ah, Pennington, Utah. If anyone had told him he would end up in this small farming and ranching community, holed up in a rustic cabin, nursing a cantankerous heart, he would have laughed.

Well, he wasn’t laughing now, not by a long shot. He wasn’t sure he would be able to laugh again until he was away from here and back in Dallas, in his corporate of fices. Just thinking about that, and all the work he’d been forced to leave behind, caused a tight squeezing around his chest, something he couldn’t allow to happen.

The problem was, he didn’t have anything else to think about. Work was his life. The only thing in front of him now was the sun setting in the west, perhaps the most beautiful sunset he’d ever seen. But then, he wasn’t into sunsets. If that was all he had to look forward to, then he might as well sit on a keg of dynamite and wait for it to blow.

He needed a challenge. He needed something he could sink his teeth into, which was exactly what he could not do. So what did that leave? Learning to be a connoisseur of sunsets? God forbid.

Yet, like it or not, he had to alter his life-style, or else. It was the “or else” that made the sweat suddenly pop out on his skin as if he were a teenager at his first dance. He would do what he had to do; he always had. He’d had to learn to live with the scars on his soul, but it would be a cold day in hell before he lived with them on his heart.

Disgusted with his thoughts, Garth glared at the sunset once more, with reinforced resentment, then tromped back inside the cabin. He was about to plop down on the couch when the phone rang. He stopped in midaction. This was the first time in a week he’d heard that sound.

Garth grimaced, thinking that before he’d been forced into this change of scenery, he’d come to think of the receiver as a permanent part of his body. He wished it was his office calling, but he knew that wouldn’t be the case. Under no circumstances were they to bother him. His family, however, was. a different matter.

“Dixon,” he said, then realized he didn’t recognize the voice on the other end of the line.

Once the conversation had ended, Garth hung up, a bit disconcerted. The caller was a man who owned a nearby ranch, Jeremiah Davis, whom he had run into on several occasions at Irma Quill’s general store.

Garth paused in his thoughts, a smile relaxing his drawn features as his mind switched gears to Irma, who was in a class all her own. In fact, he’d never met anyone like her, except in books and on TV. With her birdlike features and antiquated way of dressing, bonnet and all, she reminded him of a character straight out of “Little House on the Prairie.”

Since he’d been in Pennington, Irma seemed to have taken a liking to him, though he hadn’t encouraged her. Still, when she insisted on loading him down with homemade bread and jam, he hadn’t turned it down; the smell never failed to revive his appetite.

However, it wasn’t Irma he should be thinking about now, but rather, the favor Jeremiah Davis had asked of him. Jeremiah had told him there had been an emergency in his family and asked Garth if he would keep an eye on things while he was away, explaining that he was leaving his daughter behind with a friend.

Garth had consented, though he wasn’t excited about the neighborly deed, as he didn’t particularly want to be neighborly.

Hell, all he wanted was a one-way ticket back to Texas.

One

“You don’t run this department, you know.”

Tiffany Russell eyed her boss, at the same time swallowing a scathing retort. She was well aware that she wasn’t in charge of ladies’ fine apparel, and that was the problem. She knew she should be.

Hazel Mason, unaffectionately known as “Witch Hazel,” might have enough style to make her large, rawboned stature seem elegant, rather than offensive, but that was as far as her assets went. Tiffany held fast to the notion that the woman’s tongue was sharper than her mind. When it came to doing something different, to branching out, Hazel was not interested, period.

Tiffany mellowed her voice as much as she could. “I’m aware of that, Hazel. Still, I can’t see why you object to entering the twentieth century.”

“If that’s meant to be funny, it isn’t.”

“Look,” Tiffany said, pushing a wad of natural blond hair behind her ear, “if we don’t do something soon, the competition is going to continue to kick our butt right into oblivion.”

“And you seriously think your idea of half-naked models parading through the racks serving pineapple is going to up the sales?”

“I do.”

“Well, I don’t.” Hazel’s tone was as cold as her blue eyes. “Even if I agreed with the beach-party idea, which I don’t, that line of swimwear you want to buy is simply too far-out for our ladies.”

“I beg to differ with you,” Tiffany countered, standing firm. “Anyway, how will we know until we try?”

“It’s simply too costly a gamble. And since I have the final word, it’s not going to happen.”

Tiffany literally had to bite her lip to keep from voicing another opinion, one that would most likely get her fired, even though keeping her thoughts to herself went against her grain. She wanted to lash out at this woman, whose face now reminded her of a prune, it was so severely wrinkled in distaste.

She doubted Hazel’s hair had ever been out of that bun, or that she’d ever done anything daring, such as wearing a two-piece bathing suit The idea of her parading naked in front of a man was even more incredible. How she’d ever had two kids was beyond Tiffany. She would bet her favorite Magic Lift Bra that Hazel and her husband made love with the lights out and the covers over their heads.

“Well?”

Tiffany shook her head and stared at her boss. “Well, what?”

“Don’t you have work to do?”

“Right”

A few minutes later, Tiffany was back in the stock-room., staring at the boxes of clothing that had arrived late yesterday afternoon. Ordinarily, she would have torn open the boxes filled with lovely clothes and accessories with vigorous anticipation, thinking of how lucky she was to have Christmas on a daily basis.

But not today. She was still seething from her goround with Witch Hazel. These confrontations were coming far too often. Tiffany loved her work, though she didn’t necessarily love the company she worked for. As a buyer for women’s clothing for Cunningham’s at the Galleria, she had her own ideas of the market and what would sell and what would not

Unfortunately, her boss did not agree with her.

Feeling her frustration and anger rising, Tiffany turned her back on the boxes and made her way into her office, which was nothing but a cubbyhole. But it was hers, and she could be alone there and give in to the emotions churning inside her.

She perched on the edge of her desk and swung her foot. Hell’s bells, maybe she ought to quit. But she wasn’t a quitter. Too, she wasn’t ready to give Hazel the satisfaction of running her off. She couldn’t deny, though, that she was going home every day with a headache.

Suddenly Tiffany’s frown burgeoned into a smile as thoughts of her best friend, Bridget, leaped to mind. At one time, Bridget’s career as an attorney had been in the toilet, or so she had thought. Now she was happily married and living in a small town in Utah.

Tiffany’s smile broadened. She took full responsibility for her friend’s sudden and unorthodox marriage. Why, if she hadn’t insisted Bridget attend that crazy bachelor auction, she wouldn’t have bid on Jeremiah Davis and won him.

Tiffany laughed out loud as she thought back on the moment when Bridgat had lunged out of her chair and yelled, “One thousand dollars!”

Aghast, Tiffany had jerked Bridget back down in her seat. However, the damage had already been done. Bridget had gotten what she paid for, a tall, slow-talking rancher who wasn’t about to let the best thing that had ever happened to him slip through his fingers.

Shaking her head, Tiffany eased off the desk and walked over to where she kept her two-cup coffeemaker. She filled a cup full of French vanilla and sipped; although it soothed her stomach, it did nothing for her clicking mind.

While she envied Bridget many things, her marriage was not one of them. Tiffany had come close to getting married only once; thank God it hadn’t come about. The man had been—and still was—a lush, though she hadn’t realized it. Even at thirty, which years ago would have classified her as an old maid, a ring on her finger wasn’t what she wanted. Her desires leaned more toward life’s amenities: a great job, a nice house, a fancy car and a hefty bank account, and not necessarily in that order, either.

Although she had none of the above at the moment, Tiffany intended to remedy that. Her goal was to eventually have enough money, borrowed or otherwise, to open her own shop, a shop that catered to rich and privileged women. Working at Cunningham’s was merely a stepping-stone.

Tiffany took another generous mouthful of coffee, savoring the taste, only to have it tainted by sudden thoughts of Hazel. She wasn’t sure just how much longer she could take the woman’s abuse, along with her lack of enthusiasm. She had about as much innovative energy as molasses running uphill.

“Grrr,” Tiffany muttered, then drained her cup.

There had to be a way to get through to her boss without jeopardizing her job. At the moment, however, nothing came to mind. She was always walking that fine line between getting ahead and getting canned.

Another smile flirted with her lips as thoughts of Bridget resurfaced. It had been only a little over a year since she and Bridget had had that conversation about how low both their lives had sunk.

Of course, Bridget’s hadn’t, not really, since she was from a wealthy family here in Houston, with money of her own, to boot. Tiffany, on the other hand, had nothing to fall back on—no family and no money.

That was why she couldn’t waltz into Hazel’s office and tell her what she could do with her antiquated ideas and this job.

“Yo.”

Tiffany, unaware that her privacy had been invaded, jumped, then whipped around. The intruder was Gretchen Wheeler, one of the salesclerks.

“Sorry,” Gretchen said. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t. What’s up?”

Gretchen made a face. “Hazel’s dander.”

“Great.”

“She wants to see you.”

“What else is new?” Tiffany’s mouth curved downward. “I get out of her sight for five minutes and she goes berserk.”

Gretchen gave her a sympathetic look, though she appeared uncomfortable at being the go-between who bore the unhappy message.

“Thanks,” Tiffany finally said, letting Gretchen off the hook. “I’ll see you later.”

Gretchen nodded, then left. Tiffany stood for a moment, contemplating walking into Hazel’s office and telling her what she could do with both her demands and the job; then the phone rang.

Thinking it was the witch adding insult to injury, Tiffany grabbed the receiver and said a curt “Yes.”

“Whoa! Down, girl.”

Tiffany threw back her head and laughed, having recognized the voice right off. “Why, Jeremiah Davis, fancy you calling me.” Then her voice sobered and her stomach lurched, as it dawned on her that something was amiss. First off, Jeremiah was calling, instead of Bridget, and second, it was in the middle of the day. “I take it this isn’t a social call.”

“You’re right.”

Her stomach gave another lurch, and at the same time fear clogged her throat; she couldn’t utter a word. Something must have happened to Bridget or Jeremiah’s six-year-old daughter, Taylor, from his first marriage.

As if Jeremiah had picked up on her fear, he went on, “ices Bridget. She’s been injured in a car accident, but she’s going to be okay.”

Tiffany picked up on the desperate ring to his voice, but she didn’t acknowledge it. “Thank God,” she whispered, sitting down before her knees could give way under her. “Was she alone?”

“Yeah. She slammed into a school bus, which caused damage to her spine and legs.”

“How much damage?” Tiffany hated asking that question, but she had no choice. She might as well know the good, the bad and the ugly now as later.

“She’s partially paralyzed, though the doctor says it’s not permanent.”

“What can I do to help?”

Jeremiah hemmed and hawed, then finally said, “I was wondering if it’s possible for you to take some vacation time and baby-sit Taylor. I can’t leave Bridget, and my aunt’s not able to keep Taylor. She’s had a slight stroke, and...” He hesitated. “I wouldn’t ask, but—”

“I’d be insulted if you hadn’t.” And Tiffany meant it, even though she didn’t have any vacation time left. Maybe all wasn’t lost Maybe this unexpected twist of events was the answer to her problem.

She could resign, then look for another job when she returned from Utah. Although her savings account was far from what she wanted it to be, it wasn’t all that shabby. If she had to, she could dip into that, then replace what she’d used.

“Tiffany?”

“I’m on my way.”

With that, she replaced the receiver, then listened as her heart banged against her rib cage. Even though she was concerned for her friend, she suddenly felt like a prisoner who had just been released from death row.

“Yes, yes, yes!”

She left her office and headed straight for Hazel’s, a bounce in her steps.

Two

Tiffany stood in the small hospital room in Hurricane, where Bridget had been taken following the accident, though Tiffany had yet to talk to her. A lab tech was in the process of drawing blood from Bridget’s arm.

Unable to watch the procedure, Tiffany kept her eyes averted. Needles gave her the willies, especially when they were used to penetrate the skin.

She had contemplated going to the ranch first and dumping her bags. But in her eagerness to see for herself that her friend was not critical, she had rented a car at the airport and come straight here.

Jeremiah had insisted on meeting her flight, but she’d insisted otherwise, pointing out that he needn’t be concerned about her, that he had enough on his plate at the moment. As if he’d realized she was as headstrong as his wife, he’d let out a sigh and given in.

Now, as Tiffany continued to wait, she peered out the window into a park, serene and breathtakingly lovely with cotton wood, pecan and mulberry trees galore. She had forgotten just how beautiful this part of the country was, even in July. When she stepped outside at the airport, she had felt the incredible heat, but it wasn’t that humid, cloying heat that was so much a part of southeast Texas.

Yet she wouldn’t trade Texas for Utah, not in this lifetime, anyway. She had to smile, still unable to comprehend how her socialite friend, Bridget, had managed to adapt so well. Tiffany sighed out loud. She guessed love had brought about that miracle.

Thank God she was immune from that bug biting her, especially if it meant she had to remain in these parts. Tiffany made a face. Oh, Hurricane, which was a fairly nice-size town, was all right. In fact, compared to Pennington, where Bridget and Jeremiah lived, it was a thriving metropolis. Still, there was nothing in either place for her except her dear friend.

Living in the woods, off the land, was not for her. As soon as she had fulfilled her loving obligation, she would be gone, back to the bright lights.

“Tiff, you made it.”

At the sound of Bridget’s voice, Tiffany swung around. She didn’t move, though, until the nurse and lab tech had left. Then she made her way toward the bed. But at the sight of her friend’s pinched features, Tiffany’s forthcoming smile didn’t materialize. Under close scrutiny, Bridget seemed a mere shadow of her former self.

Tiffany. hadn’t seen Bridget since she married Jeremiah, which was a year ago now. Bridget’s short red hair had been vibrant, and her brown eyes had been alive with fire and humor. Both had diminished to a shocking degree.

A chill darted through Tiffany. Had Jeremiah glossed over the situation? Was Bridget’s condition much worse than he’d let on? Tiffany knew that he loved his wife more than life itself and couldn’t contemplate the thought of her being less than whole. Perhaps that thought alone accounted for his inability to face facts.

Tiffany, forcing a smile, stepped closer to the bed. Despite Bridget’s obvious attempt to reciprocate the smile, her mouth was pinched with pain.

“Hi, sweetie,” Tiffany said, leaning closer and brushing Bridget’s warm cheek with her lips.

Bridget grabbed her friend’s hand, tears filling her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re here. I was afraid you couldn’t come. Or wouldn’t.”

“Hogwash,” Tiffany responded in a low voice, all the while fighting back her own tears. If she gave in and boo-hooed the way she wanted to, the room would wash away. Besides, now was not the time to let her emotions have free rein. She had to maintain a brave front, for Bridget’s sake. “Nothing short of two broken legs would’ve kept me away.”

“I can believe that. When you make up your mind, you’re the stubbornest, most hardheaded person I know.”

“All I can say is, it takes one to know one.”

They both chuckled then fell silent.

Tiffany was the first to break that silence. “So, where do you go from here?”

“To a specialty hospital in Vegas, where they’re going to put me in traction for heaven only knows how long—several weeks, I imagine.”

“Stretch the old bod, huh? Ouch!”

“I know,” Bridget said in a wan tone. “I can’t tell you how badly I dread it, but I have to get well, and not just for myself, either. There’s Jeremiah and Taylor.”

Tiffany heard the desperation in her friend’s voice, and it broke her heart. “Shh...dvn’t work yourself up into a dither. You’re going to be just fine. And you do want to get well for yourself. Why, you know you’re irreplaceable on the end of that hoe. From what I understand, you’ve developed magic in them there fingers.”

Bridget rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. It would be closer to the truth to say that Jeremiah tolerates my crooked rows and merely turns his head when I mistake plants for weeds and chop them down.”

“Oh, well,” Tiffany said with a grin, “I bet he prefers your other talents to that one, such as your ability to cook a mean Lean Cuisine.”

“If I live to be an old lady leaning on a cane, I’ll never live that one down.”

“You sure won’t.”

“So, how long can you stay?” Bridget asked.

“As long as I’m needed.”

“Thank God. I hate leaving Taylor. She’s upset, and—”

“Hey, she’s going to be just fine. Aunt Tiffany’s going to see to that. We’ll be big buddies before you know it. All you have to do is get well.”

“I feel like such an idiot. If I’d been concentrating on my driving instead of the carnival at Taylor’s play school, then I wouldn’t have had the accident.”

“What exactly happened? I haven’t had a chance to talk to Jeremiah about the details.”

“I was blinded by the sun, and before I knew it, I was looking at the rear of a school bus. In order not to hit it, I veered, then lost control. The next thing I knew I was skidding down an embankment, straight for a tree.”

“God, you’re lucky it didn’t mangle your insides.”

“I credit my seat belt with saving my life.” Bridget paused. “Still, I have a long way to go before I’ll be one hundred percent.” Her voice broke. “I was hoping to get pregnant, and now that’s out of the question.”

“For now, but not forever. Just remember that. Besides, you’re like me. You’re a fighter. In a few months, your curvy bod will be as good as new.”

“Oh, Tiff, you’re so good to me, and for me.” Bridget’s voice cracked again. “I’m so thankful you came, and so is Jeremiah. It’s been terribly hard on him, with the ranch and all.”