compelling than temper flares between these two spirited individuals. And what could be more confounding than falling in love with someone from the wrong side of the fence, and the opposing side of the feud? Devlin and Jessica are about to find out that love flagrantly disregards boundaries.
I hope Fit To Be Tied brings you a smile and a few hours of reading pleasure.
Enjoy!
Carol Finch
This book is dedicated to my husband Ed and our children—Christie, Jill, Kurt, Jeff and Jon—with much love. And to our grandchildren, Brooklynn, Kennedy and Blake. Hugs and kisses!
1
THIS IS THE LAST STRAW! Devlin Callahan fumed as he buried the needle of the speedometer on his pickup and barreled down the gravel road, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake. He did not have to put up with this nonsense! And he wasn’t going to, either. He intended to confront this problem the same way he handled every other problem—head-on—even if he had to deal with that female kook who bought the forty acres bordering the west fence of the Rocking C Ranch.
The zoo—as Devlin referred to the menagerie of exotic animals housed next to his cattle and sheep—was a constant disturbance. The zookeeper was about to get an earful, because Devlin had had it up to his eyeballs! He and his brother had spent the whole cursed day on horseback, rounding up frightened cattle and repairing broken fences. Damn it, there was enough to do on the Rocking C without unscheduled roundups.
Devlin hadn’t met his new neighbor, but he disliked her, and her zoo, sight unseen. The frustrated old biddy probably filled the emptiness in her meaningless life by surrounding herself with exotic animals that had no business whatsoever being housed in cattle country.
Slamming on the brake, Devlin skidded sideways in the loose gravel, hung a left, then smirked when the zookeeper’s antiquated two-story farmhouse came into view. The house was screaming for a coat of paint. The yard begged to be spiffed up. Devlin grudgingly admitted that the colorful flowers surrounding the foundation and gushing from the plastic pots on the porch perked up the place, but the old house definitely needed some cosmetic repairs to restore it to its former grandeur.
Of course, the female fruitcake who owned the place probably couldn’t spare the time because she was too busy talking to all those wild animals caged behind her house.
Devlin mentally kicked himself—and not for the first time—because he hadn’t purchased this property when it came up for sale eight months earlier. At the time, Devlin and his brother thought the price of the land was too steep. But Miz Jessica Porter—who was obviously clueless about property value in Oklahoma cattle country—had forked over the dough for her homestead. Now Devlin had a nutty neighbor he didn’t want and a bunch of exotic animals who roared and howled and squawked and drove his livestock through the fences.
He bounded from his pickup and stalked toward the porch. He spied the puddle-jumper sports car that was parked in the driveway. Typical city slicker, he thought. That low-slung car wouldn’t last a year on these rough country roads. Anybody with half a brain knew that. All except Miz Jessica Porter, keeper of the zoo, that is.
Devlin pounded his fist against the door, waited until he ran out of patience—which took all of two seconds—then beat on the door with both fists.
“Porter! Open up! I know you’re in there!” he shouted. “We have to talk! Now!”
His booming voice triggered the high-pitched cry of a peacock. A moose bellowed in the near distance, and a goose honked in chorus. Devlin rolled his eyes in frustration and swore inventively.
A few more seconds passed while unidentified screeches and roars erupted in the near distance. Devlin raised both fists to pound on the door again…and accidentally whacked Miz Jessica on the forehead when she whipped open the door unexpectedly.
His image of a frustrated, middle-aged spinster sporting a hooked nose, beady eyes and pointed chin dissolved when Devlin encountered a woman so astonishingly attractive he wondered if he was staring at some kind of optical illusion.
Eyes the color of a tropical rain forest zeroed in on him. Hair the color of sunbeams glistened around her enchanting face. His gaze dropped to survey an alluring figure that Hugh Hefner would kill to photograph.
Encountering Jessica Porter in the flesh was equivalent to being shot with a stun gun. This was his kooky neighbor? This was the zookeeper? No, couldn’t be. Must be some mistake.
“Porter?” he asked doubtfully.
“Yes. You bellowed, sir?”
Her snippy tone and angry glare assured Devlin that this drop-dead-gorgeous female was no pushover. She met his gaze directly and took a combative stance in the doorway. She assessed his grimy T-shirt, dusty jeans and scuffed boots and frowned in blatant disapproval.
Devlin couldn’t say why she so thoroughly disapproved of him. Could’ve been the fact that he’d pounded on her door, yelled at her, then accidentally konked her on the noggin. Or could’ve been that she didn’t like the looks of a sweaty cowboy who’d spent the day riding the range and shared his horse’s fragrance.
Sophisticated snob, Devlin concluded as he surveyed Jessica’s crimson red silk power suit that shouted expensive. He suspected she had taken one look at his faded work clothes and decided she was entirely too good for him. Well, fine. She didn’t like hardworking cowboys, and he didn’t like prissy debutantes. So they were even.
“I’m Devlin Callahan, your nearest neighbor,” he said abruptly.
“You’re my closest neighbor? How unfortunate for me.” Her voice dripped sarcasm.
“That goes double for me, Blondie,” he countered, then glared at her.
Not to be outdone, she glared right back.
“I’m here because your zoo animals spooked my sheep and cattle for the fourth time in two months. You’re gonna have to load up those animals and haul them to a wildlife refuge. As you can plainly see, this is ranch country.”
Her chin shot up and, although the woman was a good eight inches shorter than Devlin, who stood six feet three inches in his riding boots, she still managed to look down her nose at him. How’d she do that?
“For your information, Culligan—”
“Callahan,” he corrected tersely.
“Whatever,” she said, dismissing him as if she had the same regard for him as for a clump of Brussels sprouts. “For your information, I have a license to house and care for my exotic animals. Each animal has its own unique personality and special need. I can communicate with them. I understand them.”
“You talk to your animals?” he asked, then scoffed. “Now why doesn’t that surprise me?”
She glared meat cleavers at him. “I’m sure that if you toured my wildlife sanctuary even a man like you would realize that my animals are safely and securely housed and pose no threat whatsoever.”
A man like him? Devlin wasn’t sure what she implied, but her tone of voice alerted him that he had been insulted. “Lady, I don’t care if your animals have rings through their noses and bells on their toes. They are upsetting
