Rancher's Proposition

His thoughts circled back to Lyn…nobody remembered anything much after her daddy passed away and the ranch changed hands. They thought she’d married. The couple had drifted over to Rapid, someone thought. But nobody had seen her in a while, which was unusual enough in western South Dakota to raise eyebrows. Wonder where that Hamill girl went off to? The area was so sparsely populated that the locals joked that they knew everyone in the whole damned state.

He stopped in the mudroom that he’d added on recently and peeled off his boots. He carried both his shirt and his undershirt in his hand; he’d taken them off outside the door, shaken them out and used them to dust himself down. Tossing them into the washing machine, he moved into the adjacent bathroom to shower off the rest of the day’s grime. When he was finished, he grabbed one of the big bath sheets his sister Silver had bought when she redecorated his home, wrapping it around his waist. He’d seen Lyn outside firing up the barbecue grill when he’d come in, so he strode through the house in nothing but his towel. God, it felt good to get that scratchy seed off him.

Padding up the stairs, he walked down the hall to his bedroom. Every time he walked through the house, he felt more and more satisfied at the changes that had been made. And still were being made. He’d hired carpenters to repair some of the woodwork and sagging doors right after he’d bought the place. Then Silver had hired painters and wallpaperers and she’d gone through and spruced the place up with her own little touches, adding stenciling, rugs and window treatments. He’d been called out of town while she was still working on it and when he’d gotten home, she’d practically finished redecorating. Good thing, too, since she’d decided to marry Deck only weeks later. Now she was busy designing their own home while she got ready for the baby that would arrive near Valentine’s Day.

His bedroom door was ajar and he pushed it wide as he walked into the room.

Lyn whirled at his entrance, one hand going to her throat where she stood in front of his dresser putting away stacks of clothing. She didn’t make a sound, but her face went so completely white she scared him.

“Whoa, sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you were outside.”

“I— I wasn’t.”

He nearly smiled but she still looked too rattled. “I can see that.” He waited, but she didn’t move a muscle. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Um, how about you finding some other chore to do while I get dressed?”

“Oh!” The color flooded back into her cheeks and she flushed a deep scarlet in keeping with her vibrant hair. “I’m sorry. I’ll just— I’ll just get out now.” She scurried past him, head down, edging sideways so as not to touch him, and vanished down the hallway before he could say another word.

Cal shook his head ruefully as he closed the bedroom door. Dropping the towel, he stood naked, hands on his hips while the cool air circulated by the ceiling fan he’d had installed washed over him. Poor thing. He’d seen some of the evidence of what had been done to her, and he’d heard more. Her ex-husband must have been a pathetic excuse for a man. No real man would hit a female much less beat her the way Lyn had been beaten. He felt a flicker of bone-deep rage at the thought of the bruises that she’d still borne when he’d first brought her to the ranch. That beautiful skin should never have known a bruise.

Her skin was so fair and milky-white that it was practically translucent, and he’d found himself fascinated by the parade of tiny freckles that marched across her nose. Every time he was near her, he had to hold in check the urge to reach out and trace them with a fingertip. She had a light scattering of freckles over her arms, as well, and he wondered if there were any other parts of her that were freckled.

Then he grimly shook his head, looking down the length of his body, which had responded instantly to thoughts of Lyn. He was a first-class jerk, lusting after a skinny little female who’d been manhandled like she had been. This was getting ridiculous. He needed a woman. He’d been too busy in New York those last few months to bother dating much, and he’d been celibate since he’d moved home. No wonder he was fantasizing about his housekeeper.

Maybe it was time to start thinking about looking for a wife. Even before the last couple hectic months, when he’d been busy transferring all his hard-won clients to other brokers he trusted and hammering out the buying arrangements for the ranch, he hadn’t minded his single state. Most of the time he’d been too tired by the end of a wild day on Wall Street and when he had wanted feminine companionship, he’d availed himself of the multitudes of liberated single career women who didn’t want attachments any more than he had. But now…now things were different. Now he could devote time to a family if he started one. As he dressed and started down the stairs, the word stuck in his head, replaying over and over. Family…family…family… He was determined to have a family of his own some day, a real family, with both parents in the household and a bunch of kids running around—nothing like the rather lonely existence he’d known growing up. Though his father had loved him, he’d keenly felt the difference between what he’d always thought of as “real” families and his own.

His annual summer visits with his mother in Virginia only reinforced the loneliness. He was the outsider. His mother, her second husband and Silver, his half sister, were a happy, tight-knit trio. He’d always wondered if his own life would have been like that if his mother hadn’t abandoned his father and him.

Lyn had supper ready when he walked into the kitchen, and he sniffed the air with interest. “What do I smell?”

She turned from the stove, where she was transferring a pot of steaming broccoli to a serving dish. “Marinated pork chops. It’s not fancy.” Was it his imagination or did she sound faintly defensive?

“I don’t care how un-fancy it is,” he assured her. “It smells fantastic.”

And it was, as were the homemade muffins, the stewed apples and the devils’ food cake she set before him when the table had been cleared. It was just the two of them, since the men who worked for him had families of their own and went home at the end of the day. He’d gotten into the habit early on of telling her all about his day, mostly as a way of filling the silence at the table. Tonight was no different except that she asked questions a few times instead of nodding and raising an eyebrow to get him to continue.

She grimaced when he told her about the young rabbit that had gotten caught in the sickle. “I know it’s impossible to miss them, but it always made me cry,” she said.

Cal nodded. “Well, I did manage to avoid hitting a fawn today. You should have seen him run.”

Her eyes glowed, a striking emerald in the evening light coming through the big window by the nook where the kitchen table was set, and he was reminded of cats’ eyes in the dark. “They’re so sweet when they’re little,” she said. Then she chuckled. “Of course, I even think calves are sweet, so I guess my judgment is suspect.”

Cal smiled at that. “God, I missed this life. I didn’t even realize how much until I got back again. I can’t wait for calving season.”

Her eyebrows rose in that silent way of hers. “You have to get through winter first,” she reminded him.

“Don’t I know it,” he grumbled. “It’s going to be a long one.” He rose from the table then, picking up his plate to take it to the dishwasher.

“Oh, don’t. I’ll do that.” Lyn rushed over and whisked the plate from his hand, along with the water glass and fork he’d lifted.

“I don’t mind. You work hard enough during the day,” he said.

“But I mind,” she said. “You work hard, too, and this is what you’re paying me for.” She crossed to the dishwasher and rinsed the plate before setting it in the rack.

“I haven’t told you how much I appreciate you giving me this chance,” she said slowly.

“You don’t have to. I promised Silver I’d hire you but I also told her I couldn’t keep you on if you didn’t work out. I need someone I can depend on to be in charge of the house.” He gazed across the kitchen at her. “I can depend on you. The job is yours as long as you want it.”

She stared at him, and to his dismay her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He shrugged, uncomfortable with her gratitude. “No big deal.” And before she could really get the waterworks flowing, he beat a hasty retreat to the living room to catch the evening news. But as he sat, trying to focus on what was happening in the rest of the world, he was far too conscious of the woman moving around in the kitchen. When she finally turned out the kitchen light, his body relaxed in relief as she started for the stairs.

“Good night,” she said.

“Good night.” Now he wished he could get her to sit down and talk some more. He was fascinated by her husky, musical voice. That voice smacked of long afternoons making love in dim bedrooms and every time she spoke, his body reacted to the promise in those sexy tones. Just yesterday, when she’d been helping him bandage his finger, that voice had distracted him into an erotic dream. Then her whole face had lit up when he’d told her she seemed like she was getting better, and he hadn’t been able to resist hugging her. The feel of her warm, firm frame against his—

And this was ridiculous! Here he was again, in a hot sweat having totally inappropriate dreams about his housekeeper. He practically leaped out of the chair and grabbed the phone off the kitchen wall, rapidly punching the buttons.

Deck answered on the third ring. “What?” The single word was a snarl.

“Well, that’s a heck of a way to greet your brother-in-law.”

“You’re interrupting us. What do you want?” Deck sounded distinctly disgruntled and Cal realized exactly what he’d interrupted. He grimaced. Was everybody in the world getting next to a warm body except for him?

“A woman.”

“Then go find one.” The receiver clicked off decisively on the other end.

Cal sighed. Lifting the phone again, he punched in Deck’s brother Marty’s telephone number. He hit the speakerphone as he ambled across the kitchen and yanked open the refrigerator door, surveying its contents. As his best buddy’s voice came on the other end of the line, he selected a soda.

“Lucky Stryke.”

“Hey, neighbor. Is your kid in bed?”

“Yeah. Thank God.” Marty’s answer sounded heartfelt and Cal grinned. He’d been around Marty’s daughter, Cheyenne, a number of times since his move back out here, and she was…unforgettable. A stunning little beauty who looked like her dead mother and acted—unfortunately—a lot like her deceased aunt Genie, who’d been a hell-raiser from the day she was born until the day she died young in the accident that was reason he’d left South Dakota all those years ago.

“What are you up to?” Marty’s voice called him back from the past.

He popped the top on his soda and leaned against the counter. “Where the heck do you go when you want to meet women out here?”

A low rumble of laughter vibrated through the connection. “A bar.”

“That’s not the kind of woman I want to meet,” Cal said.

“Oh, hell.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re starting to sound like me. You got marriage on your mind?”