Under the Mistletoe with John Doe by JUDY DUARTE Page A

give anything to learn more about his, she wasn’t eager to face the changes that the past might make in her life. Not if it might hurt her parents.
    He grew pensive for a moment, and she figured that he was wondering about his family, about the place he’d come from, and her heart went out to him.
    As he glanced down at his feet, she took the time to study him. He was dressed in one of the new outfits she’d purchased—jeans and a flannel shirt. And he was wearing Doc’s jacket again. He looked like any of the local ranchers, albeit a lot more handsome. Yet she hadto remind herself that he was a stranger, no matter how familiar he seemed.
    â€œSo how did your day go?” she asked, trying to draw him from the thoughts that appeared to be dragging him down.
    He looked up and shrugged. “I managed to get some work done. I repaired a gate on the corral and mucked out the stalls. Then I made friends with a couple of horses.”
    She couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ve got to get you out into the real world and around more people.”
    â€œI don’t know about that,” he said. “Buck and Sadie are awfully nice. And they pretty much go along with everything I say.”
    â€œThere’s something to be said about that, I suppose.”
    Their gazes locked, and the humorous moment passed, leaving something else in its wake. Something charged with heat.
    â€œWould you like to go riding with me someday?” he asked.
    Was he thinking that the outing would be a date?
    The spark in his eyes and a spike in her heart rate suggested that he was. Yet in spite of all the reasons she should decline, she couldn’t help thinking a ride on a Sunday afternoon would be a nice change to her routine.
    â€œSure,” she said, “but you’ll have to give me a gentle horse. I’m really not what you’d call a cowgirl.”
    â€œIt’s pretty easy. I’ll teach you whatever you need to know.”
    â€œYou’ve got experience with horses?”
    â€œI think so.” His brow furrowed as he gave it some further thought.
    So the man she’d considered a city boy had country roots? Or was she wrong about her assumptions?
    She could see the same questions in his eyes, the frustration at not even knowing a few of the basics.
    Unable to help herself, she reached out and stroked his cheek, fingering his solid, square-cut jaw, the faint bristle of his beard.
    His gaze locked on hers, stirring up something deep within her, and any reservations about getting involved with him flew out the window.
    As he lowered his mouth to hers, his musky, masculine scent assaulted her better judgment and set her mind swirling in a maelstrom of desire.
    This was so not what she’d planned, but it no longer seemed to matter.
    He brushed his lips against hers, once, twice, a third time. Then he took her mouth and claimed it as his own.
    The kiss intensified, and she opened her mouth, letting his tongue mate with hers. She leaned into him, wrapping her arms around him, holding him close.
    Closing her eyes, she let herself go, losing herself in a surge of pheromones and need, kissing him deeply, thoroughly.
    She couldn’t remember the last time she and Doug had kissed—certainly long before their split. But she couldn’t remember it being anything like this. She tried to blame it on hormones and the sexual drought she’d been living in since her divorce. But something told her it had nothing to do with biology and everything to dowith the man whose hands were exploring her back, her hips, her…
    Oh, Lordy. Her knees were giving out on her, and an ache was settling deep in her core, demanding she throw caution to the wind. But Doug’s deception was still too fresh on her mind, and so was her decision not to get involved with a stranger.
    So she placed her hand on John’s chest, where his heart pounded in a primal rhythm, announcing that the kiss had