The Bride Wore Spurs (The Inconvenient Bride Series, Book 1) by Sharon Ihle

"See if you can't squeeze hard enough to get a thunderstorm underway, or we'll be here till nightfall." And that wouldn't have been a very good idea; he decided, given his sudden and surprising state of excitement.
    Every time Hazel swished her tail or stamped a foot, which was frequently; a startled Lacey leaned back against him, bringing her soft body into contact with his and her heavenly scented hair flush against his nose. It wouldn't be a very good idea, to just get up and leave her there, not while she was still so tentative and uncertain of herself. And yet if he was forced to stay in this position with his hips so close to her bottom—a curvy little backside in constant rotation as she wriggled back and forth on the stool while she went about her task—he didn't know how much longer he could keep his hands off of her. And as a half-breed, Hawke knew his status well enough to understand that could never happen, even if the Irishwoman had let on that she'd consider marrying him. For reasons he hadn't figured out yet, something wasn't quite on the up and up with Miss Lacey O'Carroll. Before the week was out, he intended to find out exactly what it was.
    Dark as those thoughts were the spark she'd set off in him flared instead of dying out as she worked, and Hawke finally had no choice but to abruptly stand and turn his back to her. "You can finish here by yourself," he snapped. "When the pair of teats you're working on go dry, switch to the other set until they re empty, too. I've got to go cheek on my mares." Then he stalked off down the aisle.
    Surprised by Hawke's curt departure, Lacey paused to wipe a few beads of perspiration from her brow with the edge of her sleeve. She didn't know what the devil she'd done wrong this time, but the man seemed gruffer now than he was when he found her squeezing his rooster. More surly even than he'd been when he found out she was the mail-order bride he hadn't ordered. Why had he turned on her now? She was getting the required bucket of milk from Hazel—what more could he possibly expect?
    Muttering to herself over the man's unpredictable nature, Lacey went back to milking the cow. Her poor hands ached so much by the time the first set of teats were dry, she didn't know how she would find the strength to empty the other pair, but somehow, she carried on. Just as exhaustion overtook her and she could squeeze no more, Lacey thought she glimpsed something moving across the aisle. Happy to release Hazel, she glanced toward the section of the barn featuring a couple of large, closet-like rooms containing all manner of ranch equipment and fodder. As she peered into the murky interior of the one which held several bins filled with aromatic grains and hay, something small and dark bolted around the corner and disappeared. She blinked and looked again. Now all was still. Had her mind begun playing tricks on her again?
    To calm her suddenly racing pulse, Lacey tried to convince herself that if indeed she'd really seen a creature, it was nothing but a large cat—or something of that nature. But as she went back to milking Hazel, she could almost feel a pair of eyes on her. Disturbingly human eyes. Vaguely distressed by the fact that the sensation wouldn't go away, when at last the cow was drained, Lacey dragged the full bucket out of the stall, and quickly went in search of Hawke. She found him checking the feet of a pale yellow mare in one of the three stalls he'd forbidden her to disturb.
    "Excuse me, Mr. Hawke," she said in a small, worried voice, "but I'm finished with Hazel. The bucket's full up with milk, too."
    "Like I said before, the name's just plain Hawke." In better spirits now, he lowered Taffy's clean hoof and let himself out of her large, airy foaling stall. As he latched the tightly fitted door, he turned to Lacey and asked, "Do you like horses?"
    "I can not say, that I remember."
    "You don't remember? How can you forget whether you do or don't like horses?"
    "W-what I