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Sara Wingate has just graduated as a vet, and she's landed a job in the small town of Plains, Montana, where her family live. She's come home at last.
Mitch Carter has given up his life as a top notch rodeo cowboy, and he's also come home to be his father's right hand man on the Carter Ranch. But his heart's still back at the rodeo-until he and Sara meet in a pen full of pigs.
Mitch knows she's the one for him, but can he compete with the demands of her career?
Sara loves the rodeo cowboy--but will he be content away from the broncos and bulls?
"---His hair was very dark, Sara noted, at least the parts she could see under his hat. Somewhere between black and brown, long over his ears, sort of silky looking.
“Let’s get at it,” he growled. “It’s either that or butcher the whole infernal herd of pigs while Dad’s in town.”
The idea had merit, and they both considered it longingly for just an instant.
“Better pull on this suit. It’s none too clean in there,” Sara suggested.
She thought he was going to object, but he glanced again at the mess she was in and, with a few well-chosen cusswords, pulled the rubber coverall over his lean length and zipped it angrily.
“Boots?” Sara held Floyd’s mucky gum boots aloft, grasping them by the tops to avoid the manure. “I think these might fit you.”
She was actually enjoying herself for some perverse reason, probably because of the aloof way in which Mitch had sat on that fence just a short time ago, removed from it all, making her intensely uncomfortable. There was a certain poetic justice in having him join her.
He hesitated again, and both he and Sara studied his dusty leather boots.
“Damn it to hell.” With an exclamation of disgust, Mitch finally leaned back against the truck’s bumper and, bending one knee, smoothly pulled off his boot, exposing a green sock with a large hole in the toe.
There was something touching and vulnerable about a man with a hole in his sock. Sara silently handed him first one rubber boot and then the next, stifling a sudden urge to giggle at the sulky glower on his handsome features.
The suave cowboy of a few minutes ago had been transformed by the shapeless vet’s garb, except for the worn felt hat that seemed to be part of his head. Sara suspected he’d draw the line at taking the hat off, and she was right. The hat stayed, crammed down tight on his skull with the gesture he’d used several times before, as if he were adjusting his helmet before going into battle.
“Let’s do it.” Mitch carefully placed his leather boots up on the truck’s tailgate, cast a baleful glance down at the filthy rubber boots on his feet, cursed under his breath and led the way toward the pigpens.">
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