Say You'll Marry Me (Welcome to Redemption #10)

  Say You’ll Marry Me

  Welcome to Redemption

  Book 10

  by

  Stacey Joy Netzel

  “Why would I help you? We don’t even like each other.”

  Truer words were never spoken, but Joy Dolinski needs a fake fiancé, and money is no object. Unfortunately, the one man who fits the bill turns her on with a hot kiss, then turns her down flat.

  Though Logan Walsh desperately needs the half-million Joy offers to save his farm, pride refuses to let him be her charity case. Once he discovers why she asked for his help, a change of heart has the potential to change their future.

  *

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  Dedication

  Aunt Sharon,

  I always look forward to your hugs when we get to see you and really appreciate all your support. Love you!

  Chapter 1

  ‡

  Joy Dolinski felt for the faucet handle while she stared out the kitchen window, across the yard toward the aqua blue horse barn next to the gray machinery shed. As she rinsed the breakfast dishes, she watched her grandfather’s employee stride from his rusty pickup truck to the double doors of the shed. He wasn’t wearing his hat, and sunlight glinted off his brown hair before he moved into the building’s shadow.

  He slid the right side door open, then moved to the left, impressive biceps bunching beneath the short sleeves of his white T-shirt. Worn, faded blue jeans rode low on his hips, a perfect fit to show off his butt and muscular thighs.

  What a waste of a great body.

  Logan Walsh may look like he’d walked straight out of a smokin’ hot cowboy calendar, but the man was an irritable, short-tempered jerk. All summer, he’d barely said more than two words to her. Her grandpa on the other hand, he’d chat with him any ol’ time of the day.

  “You’re wasting water, dear.”

  Joy stiffened at her grandmother’s teasing reproach and quickly reached to shut off the faucet. She lowered her gaze to the dishes, then couldn’t help another peek out the window through her lashes. Logan drove the tractor from the shed, past Grandpa’s new truck and her red convertible, towing the elevator for loading hay into the loft of the horse barn.

  “Why Logan Walsh, Grandpa?” The often-thought question slipped out without permission, and now that it finally sat there in the air, she waited with interest for the answer.

  Of all the people who could use a job in Redemption, why had her grandpa hired the guy who scowled his way through each day? After watching the man far more than she cared to admit the past few months, Joy was positive the frown lines on his tanned forehead were permanent.

  “What kind of question is that, girl? You know as well as everyone else in town how much that boy needs the money.”

  “Working here is not going to save his farm.” Which was probably one reason for his crummy attitude, but it didn’t excuse him directing said attitude at her. It wasn’t like she was the one who’d signed his foreclosure notice.

  And why was he doing everything all by himself? She knew he had a brother who’d been a year or two behind her in school. Where was Brent Walsh while Logan lost the family farm?

  She reached for a towel and dried her hands as she turned around to lean back against the counter in anticipation of her grandfather’s reply to her last statement.

  “Who is Logan Walsh?” her grandmother asked, her grayed eyebrows pinched together over blue eyes.

  Joy swallowed hard at the brief glimpse of pain that tightened her grandpa’s mouth. Then he smiled, wiping the emotion away. “He’s been helping me take care of the horses, remember, June Bug?”

  They waited while the furrow in June Dolinski’s forehead deepened with her battle against the effects of her early-onset dementia. The bad days were coming more often. Still not enough to outnumber the good, but unfortunately, Joy knew all too soon the scale would begin to tip in the other direction.

  “That’s right, I forgot. Ed’s boy.”

  Joy never took offense that her grandpa called her girl at twenty-eight years old, but she did scoff silently at both of them calling Logan a boy. Though she’d guess him to be a year or two past thirty, there was absolutely nothing boyish about his hard-muscled body and granite set jaw.

  Her grandma’s frown turned toward her husband. “Come to think of it, we haven’t seen Ed in quite a while, have we Albert?”

  Because their neighbor Ed Walsh had passed away almost five years ago.

  Joy exchanged a look with her grandpa. Today could go either way.

  Her grandmother’s wrinkled hand lifted to her mouth as her eyes widened. Judging by her horrified expression and the tears that filled her eyes, she’d just remembered the funeral. “Oh, I hate when that happens.”

  Joy crossed to the table and laid a hand on the shoulder of the woman who’d raised her since she was two years old, after her parents were killed in a car accident. “It’s okay, Grandma. We all forget things sometimes.”

  The older woman shook her head. “Not like that.”

  “But you remembered again. You’re doing okay.”

  Outside, the sound of the tractor engine shut off, and the elevator motor started up. Her grandpa set his coffee cup down and glanced toward the window. “I should get out there and help Logan unload. After that first one, there’s another wagon out on the second forty.”

  Reading the distress in her grandma’s expression, Joy gave her shoulder a light squeeze. “How about I go help with the hay, Grandpa? You and Grandma could take a walk down by the pond with Sweet Pea.”

  A grunt from the other room acknowledged the mention of the animal’s name. Summoned by the word walk, Sweet Pea snuffled into the room, nose twitching. Yep, some people’s grandparents had dogs, or cats, or birds. Hers had a pot-bellied pig. One that was so ugly she was cute, with her black and white nose, wiry hair, and curly-que tail.

  Smaller than the average pot belly at just under eighty pounds, the pig went everywhere they could possibly take her. She’d had a litter of piglets last winter, but thankfully, Grandpa had talked Grandma out of keeping any, and Rick Wilde had put up a sign at his veterinary clinic to help find homes for every last one of them.

  Her grandmother swiped a hand over her moist eyes, still recovering from the memory slip a moment ago. “A walk would be nice.”

  “It’s a great morning for it, Grandpa,” Joy added. “Now that we’re past Labor Day, winter will be here far sooner than we’d like, and there won’t be many chances to go before the snow flies. When you get back, you two can work on the puzzle Grandma started yesterday in the sunroom.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “Of course not. Plus, I could use the workout.”

  He shook his head at her excuse, but relented without argument. He never argued with what his June Bug wanted.

  As her grandmother went to get her sweater, he stood and pulled Joy into a quick, tight hug. “Thank you,” his gruff voice sounded in her ear.

  “Anytime, Grandpa. Enjoy the morning, okay? Enjoy Grandma.”

  He nodded as he pulled back. She turned for the upstairs, but not before the moisture in his eyes made a lump of emotion swell in her throat.
The time ahead of them would be hard, so they had to make the best of every moment they could. It was why she’d left her nursing job in Nashville and moved back home last May.

  That, and the fact she’d dumped her fiancé the week before the wedding when she caught him with his secretary in his office. So damn clichéd it was pathetic. Then she found out he’d siphoned over fifty thousand dollars from her accounts under the guise of paying for their wedding arrangements. The thieving, cheating bas—

  “Stop,” she muttered on her way upstairs to grab a long-sleeved, cotton shirt. “No thinking about Luke today.”

  She was over him anyway. Over having her heart broken time and again by men who made her fall for them until they found someone ‘better.’ It seemed there was always someone, something, or somewhere ‘better.’

  Bitterness—and the lingering ache in her chest because she really had loved him at one point—made her frown on her way out the back door. She was done with love. If she couldn’t have what her grandparents had, then forget it. Who needed a man anyway?

  Not her.

  Then she turned the corner and caught sight of Logan tossing hay bales onto the elevator as effortlessly as if each one were a box of Styrofoam packing peanuts. The play of muscles under his already sweat-dampened T-shirt made her mouth go dry. Her heart rate kicked up, and her step faltered.

  After a moment of hesitation, she resumed her stride with determination. It didn’t matter how physically attractive the man was, she’d be cured the moment he opened his mouth.

  “Good morning,” she forced out in a cheerful voice.

  His brown gaze flicked in her direction before he tossed another bale onto the elevator. If it hadn’t been for that brief second of eye contact, she would’ve thought he hadn’t heard her over the loud machinery. See? Sometimes he didn’t even have to speak to give her libido a figurative cold shower.

  “Where do you want me?” she hollered above the noise.

  In the middle of reaching for wrapping his fingers around the strings of another bale, he went still for the space of a few heartbeats, then leaned his weight forward onto his hands and dipped his head to peer at her under his arm. “What?”

  It took effort to keep her gaze from lingering on his nicely-defined, denim covered ass. “I said, where do you want me? Up in the loft or on the wagon?”

  His eyes narrowed before he straightened with a jerk, hefting the bale to swing it onto the elevator. “I don’t need help.”

  Joy was pretty sure he added something else, but she couldn’t make out the words over the rattling of the metal tracks carrying the hay into the loft. She rolled her eyes and strode toward the barn while tugging on a pair of gloves. From the corner of her eye, she saw Logan pause again to watch her go. Then he shook his head and resumed work.

  Idiot shouldn’t look a gift-horse in the mouth. It wasn’t like she was going to take paid hours away from him by helping, there was plenty to keep him busy around the ranch.

  She climbed the ladder into the dusty loft and started hauling bales from the haphazard pile spilling off the top end of the elevator. From there, she lugged them to the corner where they’d left off stacking from the previous cutting of hay in early August.

  It had been years since she put up hay, but she quickly got into the rhythm of lift, haul, stack, and go back for another. The sweet scent of fresh baled alfalfa filled the air, bringing back memories of helping Grandpa fill the loft so many summers ago. They’d had less horses back then, before he’d started rescuing neglected animals, and once the work was done, they used to go for a swim down at the pond to cool off and rinse away the grime.

  Thinking of the clear, cool water was torture as the heat of exertion and rising air temperature sent trickles of sweat down her back and between her breasts. Her tank top stuck to her skin, but she left the long-sleeved cotton shirt on to keep the hay from scratching her arms.

  She had no hope of keeping up with the rate Logan sent the forty-pound bales up, especially when she had to climb the three-deep stack already layered in the loft. Her arms, back, and legs were going to kill her tomorrow, but she determinedly dragged bale after bale up her make-shift stairs made of hay to start on levels four, five, and six.

  Sudden silence took over, telling her Logan had finally emptied the wagon and shut off the elevator. A moment later, his boots thumped on the metal contraption as he climbed up to join her in the loft. On her way back across the top layer, she caught his glance toward her tidy stack and was proud of the progress she’d made.

  The slip of her boot heel into one of the holes between bales made her lose her balance. She caught herself with a flail of her arms, thankful not to fall in front of him and look like an idiot. Navigating the holes where the four corners of the nested bales met was difficult, but she’d gotten the hang of it again—so long as she paid attention.

  Logan didn’t say a word, just grabbed the closest bale and tossed it up to her. It rolled into her shins, nearly sending her backwards onto her butt. She bent to grab hold of the strings with a muttered, “Gee, thanks.”

  “I don’t have all day.”

  Ass.

  Biting her tongue, she hefted the bale, carefully making her way across the uneven surface of the hay to stack it with the others.

  Ten minutes later, she was relieved to see him toss up the last of the load as she grabbed her next bale. After placing it, she backed down off the forth layer and turned around to go get another.

  The surprise of coming face to face with Logan sent her back a step—right into one of the corner holes she’d previously managed to avoid. Her foot sunk, wedging between the bales as she fell back against the hay. The twist of her ankle made her gasp in surprise and pain.

  He tossed aside his bale and was at her side in a moment. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” She fought a grimace, bracing one hand against the hay at her back as she struggled to dislodge her foot.

  One of his gloved hands grasped hers, while his other arm slid around her waist to pull her upright. The movement sent another stab of pain through her ankle, and she sucked in a breath.

  “That doesn’t sound like you’re okay,” he said.

  “Quit pulling.”

  “I’m trying to help.”

  “Well, stop.” He let go, and the sudden loss of support made her clutch at his arm for balance. “No, don’t.”

  “Which is it? Stop or don’t?”

  “Stop pulling, but don’t go,” she snapped back. “It’s not like you can just yank me free.”

  He went still except for a twitch in his clenched jaw, and the flex of muscle beneath her grip on his corded forearm. Ridiculously, she wished she wasn’t wearing gloves so she could feel the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips. God, she needed help, because already the heated scent of him was messing with her head, urging her to lean closer—

  “What the hell do you want me to do?” his curt voice cut off her thoughts.

  Ah, jackass to the rescue.

  She blew a flyaway strand of hair from her eyes and gave him a glare from beneath her lashes. “Just stand there and look pretty.”

  Chapter 2

  ‡

  Look pretty?

  Joy’s annoyed retort surprised a spark of humor in Logan. He managed to contain it to a twitch of his lips even as he silently acknowledged he was being a jerk. It was an automatic defensive reaction around her that he’d perfected years ago in high school.

  “Where do you want me? Up in the loft or on the wagon?”

  Both, actually, and not to put up hay. Hell, he shouldn’t want her at all, but he did, and had for far too long. She just had no clue. Not then, not now. And after her innocent question, he’d spent the past hour nearly killing himself to keep from thinking about climbing up into the hayloft and stripping off her clothes.

  It hadn’t worked.

  Especially now that he stood close enough to smell the faint scent of her fruity shampoo. In the light from
the open doors, he could see the layer of hay particles and dust on the damp skin near the neckline of her tight tank top, and the rest of him registered the softness of her curves as she leaned against him to ease her injured foot free.

  He forced his attention up. His gaze landed on the freckles spattered across the bridge of her nose and cheeks, then lowered to a pair of enticing lips that just begged for him to taste.

  No, begged was the wrong word given the irritation souring her expression. He bit back an impatient growl. It really sucked being physically attracted to a woman he didn’t particularly like, or even respect.

  Well, the respect part had eased a bit this morning considering the work she’d done. Once he’d understood what she was really asking, his surprise had been just as deep. She’d pretty much avoided him like the plague since moving home from Nashville late in the spring. And other than occasionally caring for the horses when she had her friends Tara Carter and Jenny Clark over to ride, he hadn’t really seen her do much work.

  They’d grown up neighbors, but he doubted she had any clue who he was until this past summer. He’d been a senior to her freshman, and he’d bet she was still just as spoiled as she’d been back then. When she wasn’t lazing about on the front porch or by the pool in back with her grandmother, she cruised into town in her little red convertible as if training for the Indy 500.

  Ten years ago, she had no use for the son of the poor farmer down the road, and she wouldn’t have any use for him now, either. Because now he was the poor farmer, just counting the days until the damn bank took over the family property he’d promised his dad he wouldn’t lose after Brent took off after graduation and never looked back.

  Joy shifted again, bringing him back to the present when her breasts brushed against his forearm as she worked her boot free. The tightness in her expression didn’t ease, and he forced his brain to focus beyond the rising simmer beneath his already heated skin.

  “Can you walk?” he asked.