The Playboy's Own Miss Prim (Bachelors of Shotgun Ridge) by Mindy Neff

Author:Mindy Neff
Language: eng
Format: mobi, azw3, epub
Tags: Contemporary Fiction, Harlequin American Romance, Series, Contemporary, Romance, Nonfiction, Literature & Fiction
Publisher: Harlequin American Romance
Published: 2013-06-17T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Ethan couldn’t find his boots. Katie was yelling her lungs out in the bedroom—obviously having suffered no ill effects from yesterday’s choking horror—and here he stood in his socks, unable to get completely dressed for the day. To heck with it.

He grabbed his hat off the marble-top dresser and frowned when he noticed tufts of fur flying. On closer inspection, he realized it was cat hair.

Dora.

Katie’s cries got louder. He stepped up his pace and was in the yellow room in three strides.

“All right. No sense in all the racket, I’ve got decent ears.” He lifted her out of the crib and nearly swore. Wet as a frog, she’d just soaked his shirt, too. Again. She immediately hushed and smiled.

Snatching up a diaper from the bottom of the box and a clean little outfit with pink bunnies on it, he headed back toward his room.

Dora was standing at the bottom of the stairs. “I’ve got her,” he said, realizing she’d heard Katie’s cries and had probably thought he’d forgotten about the kid or gone hard-of-hearing or something.

And while he was in a fine snit and she was within glaring distance, he stopped and turned the full force of his displeased gaze on her.

“Have you by any chance been photographing cats?”

“Why, yes. How did you know?”

He held out his fuzz-filled hat. “Woman, don’t you know a man’s hat is sacred?”

“Uh, no.”

“Well it is. And speaking of sacred articles of clothing, you haven’t seen my boots, have you? Brown?” he described. “Nice and soft and well broken in?”

She wouldn’t meet his gaze. That didn’t bode well. Dora always met his gaze head-on. Most of the time the trait was fairly disconcerting.

“Dora?”

“Um, I might have seen them…somewhere.”

“Don’t tell me you put the cat in there, too.”

“No, of course not. The boots were for the puppies.”

He didn’t even bother to sigh. He had a soggy baby on his hip who’d already soaked the front of his shirt with pee and was now drenching his shoulder with slobber. He’d overslept—Dora’s fault because he’d had erotic dreams about her—Katie was almost out of diapers, and today was the day the Callahans had planned to tease Warrior and Sunday Best who’d make an excellent match, though they’d previously resisted each other.

But the baby still had to be fed, he had to change, and by the time he’d accomplished all that, the fireworks were likely to be over. Plus he had to deal with cat hairs in his hat and God knows what the puppy had done in his boots.

And while he stood there with his insides ripping every direction in turmoil, Dora gazed up at him with her fresh-faced innocence; her killer body in frayed jeans shorts and breast-hugging tank top; her sun-streaked blond hair kissing her smooth shoulders and tumbling over her back.

She was the antithesis of him in every way. He was earthy, worldly and organized. She wouldn’t know organized if it came up and shook her hand in formal introduction.

So what was it

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