Isaac West stood at the door of the feed store, letting his eyes adjust to the late November sunshine pouring down on Hope, Oklahoma. Some days a guy just preferred clouds. This happened to be one of them. The bright sunshine made his head spin and needlelike jabs of pain above his temple warned that a headache would knock him down before he could get back to the ranch.

It had been a good two months since he’d had the last headache. He’d kinda hoped he’d seen the last of them.

“Isaac, are you okay?” Mrs. Adams, the owner of the feed store, called out to him, her voice filtering through the long tunnel that had been his hearing for the past six years.

“I’m good.”

“You’re looking a little on the pale side. You want me to call Jack and have him pick you up?”

He didn’t bother with denials. In a town the size of Hope, everyone knew everyone else’s business. Mrs. Adams meant well. After all, as she liked to point out, she’d known him since he was knee-high to a grasshopper.

“Nah, I’m good,” he assured her. “Right as rain.”

He pulled a toothpick from his pocket and stuck it between his teeth. Might as well just get it over with. He pushed the door open and headed down the sidewalk in the direction of his truck. He stumbled a bit as he stepped down off the curb and lurched to the left, falling against a bright red sports car. The driver of that car slammed her door and glared at him.

He cringed a little. Partly from the madder-than-a-wet-hen look on her face, mostly because the slamming car door vibrated through his skull.

“What in the world is wrong with you?” She spoke with a sweeter-than-honey Oklahoma accent that matched her honey-blond hair and big brown eyes. But the spark in her voice said she was more than a little put out.

If it had been any other day, and if he’d been any other man, he would have flirted. Today wasn’t a good day for being charming. He did try to tip his cowboy hat in a way that appeared chivalrous, when really, he just wanted to get home and away from everyone. Even pretty women.

“Sorry, ma’am, I lost my balance.”

She came around the back of her little car and stepped in front of him, blocking the path to his truck. She was a head shorter than his almost six feet, and she was too thin. She was kind of pale, too. Like she didn’t sleep much.

He shouldn’t judge. It wasn’t like he got a full eight hours every night. More like eight hours every two days. And a woman definitely didn’t want someone pointing out that she needed a steak, mashed potatoes and more sleep.

At that moment she was surveying him with a less-than-appreciative gleam in her milk-chocolate brown eyes.

“Balance, my foot. Hand over your keys.” She tipped her chin up. “I have a nine-year-old daughter, and the last thing I want is someone in your condition behind the wheel of a car. Or a truck.”

He grinned a little and her eyes narrowed.

She extended her hand, nails manicured to perfection with the prettiest dark pink polish, and arched an eyebrow at his reluctance to hand over his keys. It took him at least five seconds to realize she thought he was drunk. He almost laughed. Almost.

She was pretty enough that he didn’t mind the insult. After all, she had no way of knowing. People, he realized, saw what they wanted to see.

As it happened, she smelled like sunshine and he wouldn’t mind a ride home.

“Stop grinning and say something!” she demanded. Most women waited

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