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marry me, didn’t you?” She forced her voice not to shake.
    “Now hold on one goddamn minute,” Roscoe sputtered. “You need to tell me what in the tarnation you’re talking about here.”
    Logan shot him a hard glare. “This is none of your business, Turner.”
    “I’m the goddamn foreman so anything to do with this ranch is my business.”
    Matt glanced at Roscoe. “Pa’s dying request was that Logan and I marry.” She looked back at Logan. “So I’ll ask again, did you agree?”
    For a long heartbeat, he chewed on the inside of his cheek, the sure sign he was thinking on something serious. His eyes, darker than snow-laden clouds, never wavered from hers. Would he say no? And why did that thought roil in her stomach like sour meat? The need to turn tail and run from this humiliation burned through her. As it was, she hardened her resolve and continued to stare him down.
    At last, Logan’s head made a slow move up and down. “I did.”
    She fought the relief which flooded her veins. “Why didn’t you just say so then?”
    He tucked his chin back at her surly tone. “Thought maybe you’d want to wait a bit. Out of respect for your father.”
    She shook her head. “Pa wanted us to marry. Besides, it doesn’t make sense to have the reverend come all the way out here twice. Might as well get it done.” She walked toward the cookhouse.
    Logan fell into step beside her. “If you’re sure.”
    “Goddamn it!”
    The outburst turned them both back around to face the forgotten foreman. Roscoe stood, hands on his hips, his face redder than a cockscomb. “What the fuck is going on, Matt?”
    Logan stiffened, but she shrugged off the crude remark. “I explained it. Pa wanted me to marry Logan.”
    “And you agreed to this?”
    “I did.”
    Roscoe swung his gaze to Logan. “And you agreed?”
    Logan nodded once. “Yep.”
    “Why?”
    Roscoe’s question was aimed at Logan, but Matt answered, “Because the ranch is my dowry.”
    With deadly calm, Roscoe pointed his scowl at her. “What did you say?”
    She slanted up her chin. Taller and beefier than Logan, with black, unkempt hair, Roscoe had always reminded her of wild mountain man. He used his size to intimidate those around him, but she’d never given him that kind of power over her, no matter how threatening he acted. Yet an ominous ripple traversed her skin at the loathing in the foreman’s beady, black eyes. “Logan gets the ranch when he marries me.”
    Roscoe narrowed his gaze and took a step. Logan moved in front of her, his arms board straight and his hands fisted.
    “I’ve been at this goddamn ranch for six fucking years,” Roscoe ground out through clenched jaws. “ I’m the foreman and I deserve to be the owner. I woulda fuckin ’ married you if it meant gettin ’ it.”
    Matt stepped from behind Logan, her own ire rising. “Well, Pa didn’t ask you, did he? He must not have thought you’d be a good ranch owner. Or husband.” She threw the last comment out just to dig at the foreman’s hide.
    Roscoe snaked a hand out and grasped her arm in a crushing grip. “You fucking bit—”
    Logan’s fist connected to Roscoe’s jaw. The big man thrust her away and staggered back three steps. He regained his balance, a hand to his chin. Because of the funeral, all the guns had been left in the bunkhouse. Good thing, because the glare Roscoe sent Logan had murder written all over it.
    Logan again positioned himself in front of Matt. “That’s my future wife you’re addressing.”
    Tingles spouted in her stomach at Logan’s protective stance even as she peeked around his body.
    “You best apologize, Turner, for disrespecting her and me.”
    Roscoe straightened. Hatred blazed in his eyes. “Fuck you.”
    Logan’s chuckle held no humor. “No thanks. Pack your gear, Turner. You’re done here.” He wrapped an arm around Matt’s shoulders. Even through her thick coat, the shielding heat of his body seeped into her skin. Something