The Rancher's Housekeeper

“How did you know where to come?” The ad indicated only that the ranch was near Sundance, Wyoming. Twelve miles, in fact. He’d only listed a box number.

“I realize I was supposed to respond with an email, but I didn’t have access to a computer. By the time the bus dropped me off this afternoon in Sundance where I’d decided to start looking for work, I figured that if someone knew where you lived, I’d just come straight here.

“So after I bought my bike at the shop, I rode over to the Cattlemen’s Stock and Feed Store. Everyone working there said they knew Colt Brannigan, the head of the Floral Valley Ranch. The owner sang your praises for taking over after your father died and making it even more successful. Then this older rancher who was just leaving was kind enough to tell me where to find the turnoff for your ranch.”

Colt was dumbfounded by her explanation and her resourcefulness, especially the fact that she’d bought a bike. He could always call there to verify she’d actually made the purchase. “You rode all the way here on the highway at night?”

“Yes, but it wasn’t dark then. I need transportation to get around. Since I don’t have a driver’s license yet, I can’t buy a junker car.”

“Isn’t a new bike expensive?”

“Yes, but the bike at the shop in Sundance was on sale for $530.00. They threw in the used helmet for ten dollars. I would have bought all new clothes, but after that I only had $160 left of the money I withdrew from my prison savings account. I spent some of it on food, the space blanket and my shoes.”

He blinked. “You earned the money in prison, I presume.”

“Yes. They pay twenty-five cents an hour. That resulted in forty dollars a month for the thirteen months I was incarcerated.”

Thirteen months in hell. What crime had she committed?

Colt ran his thumb along his lower lip. “So you came out of there with $520.00?”

“Seven hundred actually. I worked some extra shifts and they also give you fifty dollars when you leave.”

He would never again begrudge his taxpayer dollars going to an ex-felon who’d paid her debt to society and had been freed from prison. “So how much money do you have on you now to live on?”

“Ninety-two dollars. That’s why I need a job so desperately. I’m a good cook. In prison I did every job from helping in the kitchen and cleaning to laundry and warehouse work, to hospital and dispensary duty and prison-ground cleanup. I’m a hard worker, Mr. Brannigan. If you called the prison, they’d tell you I put in forty-plus hours every week with no infractions. Do you know of anyone in this area who might be looking for help?”

Anyone?

She was looking at someone who needed a housekeeper and an additional caregiver for his mother as soon as yesterday!

He rubbed the back of his neck, pondering his shock that he would even consider the possibility of her working for him when he knew next to nothing about her except the worst. Though she was definitely a survivor, the culprit tugging at him was the vulnerability in those intense dark blue eyes.

Before he could formulate his thoughts, let alone give any kind of answer, Titus came flying through the kitchen to greet Hank, who’d just walked in the back door with Mandy. Their presence surprised Colt because he’d thought Hank was with their mother.

Colt had been so deep in conversation, he hadn’t heard Mandy’s car. Since Hank had broken his leg, she’d been the one chauffeuring him around.

She smiled. “Hey, Colt—”

“Hey yourself, Mandy.” She was a cute smart blonde from Sundance who’d known Hank since high school, but as usual he had eyes for someone else. This time they’d ignited with interest after swerving to the very female stranger standing in the kitchen.

Taking the initiative, Colt said, “Geena Williams? This is my brother Hank and his friend Mandy Clark.”

Everyone said hello and shook hands. Hank could see the backpack and space blanket. He was dying to ask questions, but Colt wasn’t ready to answer them and said nothing to satisfy his brother’s burning curiosity.

“We’ll be in the family room,” Hank eventually muttered before they disappeared with Titus at their heels.

Geena reached for her parka and put it on. “I know I’m intruding. If you wouldn’t mind me sleeping in the back of one of those trucks parked outside, I’ll be gone first thing in the morning.”

Colt had already come to one decision. Ignoring her comment he said, “You’ve had a long day. Take the coat off, Geena. I’m going to fix you a sandwich and some soup before you go to bed in the guest room. Tomorrow will take care of itself.”

He’d heard that saying all his life and wasn’t exactly sure what it meant. However, he didn’t want to do any more thinking tonight. What he ought to do was drive her into town and fix her up at a hotel, but he was bushed. At least that was the excuse he was telling himself for keeping her here. She could sleep in Mary’s former quarters down the other hallway.

Geena had done a lot of dreaming in prison. It had been the only way to escape the bars confining her. But not even her imagination could have conjured the living reality of Colt Brannigan.

She didn’t know such a man existed outside her fantasies. By the way the men at the Cattlemen’s Store had described him, she’d thought he must have been older to be a legend already. But Geena estimated he was in his mid-thirties. There was no sign or mention of a wife.

When she’d first seen him beneath the kitchen light, the intelligence in those hazel eyes examining her came close to taking the last breath out of her. She stared back in disbelief at the ruggedly gorgeous male who was without question in total charge of his world. Tall, dark and handsome was a cliché women had used for years, but in her mind he could have been the one who’d inspired the words.

Yet, putting all of those qualities and attributes aside, it was his kindness to her that made him unique and set him above other men. Instead of throwing her off his property, he’d brought her inside and fed her, given her a beautiful room and bed to sleep in, even after she’d told him she’d just gotten out of prison.

In a daze over everything that had happened, Geena emerged from the bathroom wearing a clean bathrobe she’d found hanging on the back of the door. Smelling sweet and squeaky clean, she turned out the lights and padded over to the queen-sized bed. She’d taken a bath and a shower, luxuriating in the products he’d provided for her to use.

All day and evening she’d been doing things unassociated with prison for the first time in over a year. The taste of freedom was indescribable. No more feeling of doom. No more fear that every second of your life from now on would be lived in constant purgatory. No more prison smells, no more sounds during the night of other prisoners being sick, coughing, sobbing, raging or fighting with other inmates through the walls.

No more claustrophobic gray cell, no more clank of prison bars or guards telling you when, where and how you would live, how you would talk and answer. No more living in a enclave with women who wanted nothing to do with each other, who lived to be on the outside with a man again. If any of them could see Mr. Brannigan …

While she sat on the side of the bed to finish drying her hair with a fluffy yellow towel, she looked out the tall picture window. It took up close to a whole wall of the spacious bedroom with its cross-beamed ceiling. She’d purposely left the curtains open so she could see the full moon casting its light across the foot of the hand-carved wood bed.

The room was filled with Sioux artifacts; rugs of the Lakota tribe covered the hardwood floor. On one wall hung a Sioux tapestry in predominantly red colors. Over the bed was an authentic beaded Sioux tobacco bag.

After her host had accompanied her to the room and left, she’d walked over to study the dozen framed photographs placed on the dresser. They featured a short Lakota woman. In some she was alone, in others she stood surrounded by her native family, all of whom were in ceremonial dress. Whoever she was she held a place of great honor in this wonderful ranch house. Though modernized in parts, it had to have been built at least a hundred and fifty years ago.

When her hair was dry enough, Geena formed it into a braid that fell over one shoulder. Her last act was to set the clock-radio alarm for four in the morning. Then she was finally able to lie down on two comfy pillows and relax.

Mr. Brannigan had gone out of his way to feed her and make her comfortable for the night. Geena couldn’t help but think of the man who’d been rescued by the Good Samaritan. His gratitude couldn’t have been any greater than hers for Mr. Brannigan’s goodness. As soon as she could, she would repay him.

For now her first priority was to get some sleep before she slipped out of the house at first light and pedaled back to Sundance. She’d wanted the housekeeper job here, but since that wasn’t possible, she’d take any job that would give her a roof over her head. If nothing turned up in Sundance, she’d double back to Spearfish, South Dakota, and look there.

One way or the other she had to stay close to Rapid City, the place where she needed to begin the search for Janice Rigby, the woman who’d once lived with Geena’s brother before disappearing. Before he’d died, he’d told Geena that Janice was expecting. If she’d had the baby, it might be Geena’s only living relative. She ached for the family she’d lost. To have a little nephew or niece … Time was of the essence for Geena to find out.

Geena could probably get her old job back in Rapid City with FossilMania, but she didn’t dare. For the present she needed to remain invisible to the people who’d known her before she’d been arrested. One of them might see her and alert Janice she was out of prison. For some strange reason, Janice had never liked Geena. She didn’t want to frighten the other woman off before Geena could catch up to her.

But she’d worry about all that tomorrow. For what was left of the rest of the night she’d dream about Colt Brannigan.

CHAPTER TWO

COLT entered the den and patted Titus’s head. “I’m going to keep you company for a while.” After closing the door, he moved over to the desk and sat down at the computer. Too wired to sleep right now, he typed the name Gina Williams in the search engine. She’d been in prison. There might be something about her from some old newspaper and magazine articles.

Nothing came up but a lot of other females whose profiles were online. He tried a different spelling. More of the same. On a whim he searched for a list of different spellings. Up came Jean, Geenah, Jeenah, Jina, Jeana, Geana, Ginah, Giena, Jiena, Gienah, Geena.

He tried each one. After putting in the last name on the list, he was ready to call it quits for the night when twenty entries popped up. All of them recounted the brutal slaying of Rupert Brown, an eighty-one-year-old widower of Rapid City, South Dakota. The collector of priceless Old West and Indian artifacts had been attacked and slain by Geena Williams, twenty-six, the tenant living in the basement apartment of his house.

Colt shot out of the chair, feeling as if he’d been the one stabbed. Geena had committed murder? That murder?

He rocked back on his cowboy boots, unable to believe it. While his mind and body were reeling, he grabbed the back of the chair until he could get a grip on his emotions, but adrenaline kept him on his feet.

He remembered hearing about the sensational murder on the evening news. The killer had been a beautiful young single woman. That’s why she’d looked familiar to him.