POOKIE'S MESS

"We will keep a better eye on him," Rose promised. "And besides, I'm leaving..."

"That's what your niece said the last time," Mrs Martin rinsed a knife and dropped it in the sink while Rose hurriedly sopped up the rest of the quarter-size puddle in a corner and tried to think of what to say to stop Mrs Martin from walking out the door. "But you can't watch him every minute. There's biscuits, too, for heating."

"Thank you, but..."

"I'd planned on slicing up some fresh tomatoes,"

Mrs Martin said, heading past the table toward the back door. "There's plenty in the garden."

"He gets nervous, that's all, especially when he hears loud noises." Rose tried to explain, not that Mrs Martin was listening.

Pookie sat in his bed and watched Rose clean up his latest mess. His ponytail hung to one side, His face needed a good scrubbing and he was coated with a layer of Texas dust. Even the dog had been spending too much time with the cowboys.

"Hmmph," Mrs Martin said, brushing past Andrew he started to enter the kitchen. He didn't seem bothered by the housekeeper's grumpiness. Instead he watched Rose rise from the floor and put the paper towels in the trash, then he leaned against the counter and helped himself to a cup of coffee as the back door slammed shut.

"You are not going to ask what's going on?"

He took a sip of coffee before answering. "I figured Mrs Martin just quit."

"That's true, but..."

"Because the runt over there messed on her floor again?"

"He's not a runt. And he doesn't mean to be naughty." Rose washed her hands at the sink, then looked around for a dish towel. Not finding one, she used Mrs Martin's apron to dry her hands.

"No," the cowboy said, eyeing the dog and looking more amused than he had a right to. "Shorty doesn't seem to mind having him around. Maybe Mrs Martin would come back if we sent pook here to live in the bunkhouse for the rest of your stay."

"No," she said. "I'd worry about him too much. I'd be afraid the cowboys would forget he was around and step on him." And there was no way she was going to admit that the little dog kept her company at night. "And anyway, I'm going to..."

"I can see your point," Andrew admitted, as he and Pookie looked at each other. "None of the men are going to carry him around like you do." He turned to Rose. "Well, don't worry about Mrs Martin. that's the fourth or fifth time she's quit being housekeeper around here. We will figure out something." He glanced toward the kitchen table and frowned. "What is that?"

"My suitcase." It was a complete unnecessary reply, Rose realized. This man had the ability to keep her off balance and turn her into a babbling idiot. "That's what I was trying to tell you."

He arched one eyebrow as he looked at her. "So you have decided to move in with me."

She almost laughed, but settled for what she hoped was a ladylike smile. "Not quite."

He stepped closer and set his coffee cup on the counter. "What about the wedding? I'm surprised you are not staying for the big day."

"And I will be surprised if it takes place," she said.

He was only a foot away but he radiated enough sexual awareness to make her skin tingle. She made a big deal out of folding the apron. "I had this same conversation with Francisca this morning."

"Did you," Andrew murmured, reaching for one of the blue ties hung from the bundle in her hands.

He tugged on it, and Rose didn't let go. Instead she allowed him to pull her closer. "That's better."

She knew exactly why it was better when he dipped his head and touched her lips with his.

Within seconds they were mouth to mouth, tongue to tongue, an Instant conflagration of heat and longing. She was against that wonderfully hard chest, and, lower, against another intriguing hardness. She heard him groan, felt his hands run down her spine to cup her buttocks and hold her close against him.

It was all she could do to stay on her feet.

And then she didn't, because he'd taken her by the waist and lifted her onto the counter, which

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