Tight-Fittin' Jeans

Tight-Fittin' Jeans
Mary Lynn Baxter

MR. MARCHThe Stubborn Cowboy:Garth Dixon had no hankerin' for a wife, but the blond vixen next door had him scheming for a chance at a no-strings fling… . The Southern Beauty: No way was Tiffany Russell giving in to her hot-tempered, secretive neighbor - even if his smoldering good looks set her body on fire! There was no doubt that the latest female to hit Pennington, Utah, was trouble, but Garth never could resist a challenge - especially one in tight jeans.Since the cowgirl from Texas clearly seemed set on ignoring her neighbor, he knew it was up to him to show her the meaning of passion-filled nights… .MAN OF THE MONTH: Could this rough-edged cowboy end up getting roped and tied by love?

“You Know You Want Me,” He Said. (#uf1f59c0a-2f17-58b9-b637-116ffbe2801d)Letter to Reader (#u65272560-7b5d-5749-9dd4-f0b646423f5b)Title Page (#u2324a2ab-a70d-5cd8-8a41-7d7d55bdc310)About the Author (#u3671fdf7-832f-5b5b-9490-bace364cc1dc)Prologue (#ue750cb7e-4afb-5c14-b14b-8622c4c75c6e)Chapter One (#ubc703447-89ec-5cb6-a9d6-b4c63efbc0b2)Chapter Two (#uce0d0c40-ee53-5dff-ad27-d4ccb7d7c026)Chapter Three (#ub07647c7-f317-5417-ab6b-623ac0e3a043)Chapter Four (#ua5d0f8b9-a538-548c-80b5-1e011b509be8)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

“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:

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Tight Fittin’ Jeans

Mary Lynn Baxter

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://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.”