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Rancher's Wife
Anne Marie Winston
Reluctant HusbandIt wasn't easy for a man as proud as Day Kincaid to admit he had trouble he couldn't handle alone. But if he wanted to keep the daughter he loved, he had to find himself a wife - fast. And that meant marriage to a stranger - a woman who awakened longings that had no place in his solitary life… .Wife in Name OnlyThe Red Arrow Ranch seemed the perfect place for Angelique Summer to hide. And her new role as a rancher's wife seemed the perfect cover - until a surprising passion for her hard, embittered "husband" made her wish she was playing the part for real… .
Rancher’s Wife
Anne Marie Winston
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Katrina… I love you, Bean
Contents
One (#ubbf648da-ee81-57a4-9aaa-4fd8b2149205)
Two (#ub466b44d-ecd2-5dca-b3f9-fb2916122a02)
Three (#ufea99538-aabd-54d4-bfeb-fd53e84f81b7)
Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
One
“Hello. My name is Angel.” Angelique Sumner Vandervere closed the door of the dark blue rental car she’d driven out to the Red Arrow Ranch. Smiling, she surveyed the child before her.
The small girl stood at the top of the steps fronting the porch on the big farmhouse. A disreputable white blanket draped over her shoulder and the thumb of the hand that clutched the blanket was tucked firmly in her mouth. Black curls tumbled about her shoulders and wide eyes regarded Angel solemnly. The fingers of her other hand brushed idly back and forth across the ruff of a scruffy-looking black-and-white dog. The dog wasn’t bothering to look friendly, Angel noted, watching his lip curl up to reveal shining white canine teeth.
The little one was dressed in a light cotton shift, perfect clothing for a hot July day in southwestern New Mexico. In contrast, Angel felt hot and grubby in her two-piece traveling suit.
“I’m here to visit Dulcie Meadows,” she said to the child. “Do you know her?”
The little girl nodded shyly from behind the thumb. Beside her, the dog gave a menacing snarl.
Enchanted, Angel ignored the animal and tried again. “Can you find her for me?”
A grin slowly spread behind the thumb but the child made no move.
Angel might have been exasperated but the little girl was so adorable she couldn’t summon up any irritation. The child looked to be about three, and a piercing pain smote her as she made the inevitable association. Emmie was five now, soon to be six. What Angel wouldn’t give to be this close to Emmie, even for a single minute!
Deliberately she pulled her mind back to the present, recoiling from the grief and regret. No sense in crying over what she couldn’t change, she told herself firmly. Digging into her purse, she withdrew one of the candies she always popped into her mouth when her flights took off and landed. “Would you like a piece of candy?”
The child nodded. The thumb stayed in her mouth as she reached for the candy with the other small hand.
“Beth Ann! No!”
The sharp masculine command made both Angel and the child jump. Angel’s hand jerked and the candy fell to the dusty ground. As she looked around for the source of the voice, a cowboy—a big cowboy—wearing a black hat, crossed the porch from a side door in two quick strides. Reaching for the little girl, he swung her protectively into his arms. Then he straightened and turned to face Angel as she stood, frozen in puzzlement and rising outrage.
“Get off my land,” he said, and his tone was deep and menacing. As menacing as the black brows that drew together over hooded eyes shot with dark flames of rage.
He was broad shouldered, deep chested, taller than she by several inches, even in her heels. She had to squash the involuntary leap of fear produced by his aggressive attitude. “I’m sorry if somehow I’ve offended—”
But he didn’t give her a chance to complete the sentence. Setting the child down, the cowboy stepped forward. One big hand shot out and snared her upper arm in an unbreakable grip. Before she could utter a protest, he was literally dragging her back toward her car. Behind him, the dog set up a sharp, vicious barking.
Angel stiffened her legs, seeking purchase on the rough ground, though all that did was ensure that the heels of her expensive leather pumps bumped and scuffed over the earth. Reality receded and the fear she’d succeeded in subduing for weeks suddenly rushed over her. The thing she feared more than anything in the world was happening.
The man—the faceless, nameless one from whom she was running—had found her.
Fear endowed her with exceptional strength. She leaned away, then slammed herself hard against him, banging her head painfully against his chin. He yelped and swore but his hands didn’t loosen. She twisted her body, wriggling and writhing in his grasp, but after the first surprised instant, her efforts appeared to have less than no effect.
“Let me go,” she gasped as he plowed to a halt beside her car. Her voice sounded breathless and ineffective, even to her.
“Get off my land,” he said again. He had both her arms now and he shook her after every few syllables as if to emphasize his words. “Nobody is taking my child away from me ever again. You can go straight back to Jada and tell her—”
“Day, stop!”
The familiar voice of her childhood friend was a welcome relief to Angel. This was all some sort of horrible mistake. She immediately relaxed her body. And was sorry a moment later as her determined attacker yanked open the door of the rental car and slammed her forcefully into the driver’s seat.
“Ooph!” The air whooshed from her lungs and she fell forward over the steering wheel, gasping for breath.
“David Kincaid, you stop bullying Angel at once.” Dulcie’s voice came again, steely anger replacing the mild reproof in her tones. In her peripheral vision, Angel could see her friend hurrying forward, unceremoniously shoving the big cowboy out of her way. “If you would have asked before performing your caveman feats, you might have learned that she’s going to be my guest at this ranch.”
The big man merely folded his arms and stood where he’d planted himself as Dulcie helped Angel from the car. As he glared at her, the dark suspicion didn’t ease even a fraction. “You didn’t tell me you invited someone to visit,” he said to Dulcie. It was almost an accusation.
“I didn’t realize I needed your permission,” Dulcie countered. “I’m here at the Red Arrow, in which we share ownership, to do you a favor. You’d do well to remember it.” Unfazed by his grim expression, she examined Angel anxiously. “Are you all right?”
Angel nodded. “More or less.” She smiled wryly, hoping to defuse the tense moment. “Maybe I should begin again.”
Dulcie’s understanding grin highlighted her dark, sultry beauty. She stepped forward with both arms spread wide, mimicking surprise. “Angel, welcome to the Red Arrow. It’s great to see you!”
Angel laughed at the silly pretense, hugging her shorter friend. “It’s great to see you, too. As usual, it’s been too long.”
“Have you met my brother?” Dulcie’s courtesy had a distinct edge to it when she turned to wave a hand in the direction of the man who still stood behind her, unsmiling. “Angel, my brother, Day Kincaid, older than me by enough years to make him incredibly bossy. Day, this is Angel Vandervere. Angel is a friend of mine from high school. She doesn’t live around here anymore, and I invited her to spend some time with me while I’m at the ranch.”
Angel held out her hand and took a deep breath, determined to get past the awkward moment. Angel Vandervere, not her stage name, Angelique Sumner. Though she assumed Day Kincaid recognized her face from her movies, she was grateful to Dulcie for emphasizing her need for privacy. “It’s nice to meet you,” she murmured.
He didn’t take the offered hand, merely nodded his head once in a curt gesture. “How long will you be staying, Miss Vandervere?”
“I asked her to stay for two weeks,” Dulcie inserted before she could respond. Then the smaller woman addressed Angel again. “I apologize for my brother’s unfriendliness earlier. Day thought you were someone his ex-wife hired to kidnap my niece.”
She knew her eyes widened in shock. That explained his behavior. It didn’t excuse it, she decided, rubbing her arm where her elbow and the car door had had a forceful encounter. But it certainly did explain it. A bubble of slightly hysterical, relieved laughter rose in her throat and she hastily cut it short. After the strain and fear she’d been under for the past few months, she’d looked forward to getting away from L.A. and seeing Dulcie again. How hilarious! That she should be attacked the moment she set foot on New Mexican soil.
The urge to laugh died abruptly as a movement on the porch caught her eye. “I believe your daughter needs some reassurance, Mr. Kincaid,” she said. The sight of the little girl, who was now cowering behind one of the porch posts, lent a decided coolness to her tone. “You appear to have terrified someone other than me.”
“You should know better than to offer candy to a child you don’t know,” he retorted. “If she’s terrified, it’s your fault. Candy is an invitation most children can’t resist. If she takes it from a stranger who turns out to be a friend, then how am I supposed to make her understand it could be dangerous?” Without giving her a chance to reply, he turned away, walking over to lift his daughter into his arms again.
Angel stared at Day’s retreating back as he vanished into the house with the little girl. “Wow. He’s certainly prickly.”
Dulcie gave a rueful sigh. “That’s my brother—dripping with charm.” She gave Angel another concerned once-over. “Are you really all right? From where I stood, it looked as if he was being pretty rough.”
“He was, but I’ll survive.”
Dulcie seemed about to comment further, then apparently thought better of it. “I can’t believe you’re finally here. But you look tired. Why don’t I show you where your room is and you can rest until dinner?”
* * *
Midnight. And she hadn’t been able to sleep. Again.
Angel leaned against the kitchen counter, waiting for a cup of tea to heat in the microwave. She’d hoped it might be different if she felt safe. Here, there would be no telephone calls with silence on the other end. Here, there would be no anonymous letters with carefully typed threats. Even her agent didn’t know where she was.
Her agent—holy smokes! Angel struck her forehead with the palm of her hand. She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten about Karl. She’d have to call him first thing in the morning.
She lifted the cup of herbal tea out of the microwave and wandered into the large, informal living room, shutting off the kitchen light and switching on a single small lamp as she went. The room was decorated in soft earth tones that suited its Southwestern motif. Tea in hand, she was about to sink into one of the comfortable-looking recliners when a display of photos on the rough beams of the floor-to-ceiling shelves caught her eye. Curiosity aroused, she moved closer.
The photos covered three shelves. The first one she examined was a black and white of a very small girl riding astride a somewhat older boy, who knelt on the floor as if he were the child’s pony. The children both had dark curly hair—the little girl’s reached nearly to her waist and she looked as if she was giggling. Dulcie and Day.
There were several more of Dulcie, school pictures in which childhood’s gamine charm clearly showed the promise of beauty. And there was an equal number of her brother. Day smiling and laughing, white teeth bared in a grin as he changed from boy to man. He looked so approachable. Was this really the same man she’d met earlier?
Slowly she moved on, examining the other pictures on the shelves. A second one was filled with even older photos. Kincaid parents and grandparents, stiff and unsmiling in formal photographs. The third shelf...
Baby pictures. Toddler pictures. Scene after scene of little Beth Ann as she grew from a tiny scrap of black-haired humanity into the sweet, shy tot Angel had seen today. Before she could sidestep it, the old hurt had reared up and grabbed her by the throat.
Emmie. She placed a hand across her mouth to prevent the sob that caught in her chest. If things had been different, she might have had a home like this, and these might be pictures of Emmie...her own precious child, who would be sleeping where she belonged, in her own little bed in her mother’s house.
But things weren’t different. She’d made a decision that she’d pay for every day for the rest of her life. Each time she remembered that her daughter belonged to another mother and father now, each time she remembered the wrenching agony of handing her two-month-old baby to its adoptive parents, each time that Adrienne O’Brien sent her the yearly report and photo that the private adoption had included, each time she saw someone else’s little girl, she would pay for her poor judgment.
Unable to look at the pictures for another second, she headed out of the living room. The darkness was absolute once she turned off the lamp. In L.A., nothing, but nothing, was as dark as it was here in Luna County, where people were outnumbered by cattle and a person had to drive miles to see the lights of a town.
She felt her way back to the kitchen in the dark and plunked her mug down on the counter. When the furniture had assumed a shadowy outline, she began to move back to her bedroom. But she wasn’t able to stop the flood of memories as easily as she’d turned off the light.
She hadn’t allowed herself to look back after the awful day when she’d given up her baby to a couple who could give her more than she could. Blindly, almost without forethought or care, she’d concentrated on the modeling and drama courses in which she’d enrolled. She’d been so focused on avoiding any time to think that she’d taken any role offered, from that very first commercial spot until she’d woken up one day to the realization that she was at the top of her profession, with an Oscar nomination to her credit and numerous glowing reviews.
What was she going to do if she followed through with her decision to stop acting? She moved into the dark hallway and felt for the banister at the foot of the stairs. People would say she was crazy, and maybe she was, but her desire for normalcy, privacy, for a life in which she was just another face in the crowd, outweighed anything else. Everything, perhaps, except her need to keep busy. To keep from thinking. Because if she had too much time on her hands, regrets about Emmie would consume her—
A large solid object barreled squarely into her, nearly bowling her over backward. She gasped and managed to bite back the scream that nearly escaped. Reflexively, she clutched at the object to keep herself from falling. Soft fabric. Hard muscle. Her palm scraped across a stubbled cheek. A man. Fear instantly closed her throat.
“What the hell...?”
Reason reasserted itself at the plainly bewildered tone in the masculine voice, a voice she recognized. Get a grip, girl, you’re safe here.
A small light pierced the darkness as the man who’d bumped into her snapped on a tiny lamp standing on a table against the wall. Angel blinked in its sudden glow, assessing Day Kincaid as her eyes adjusted. She’d been too unnerved by his unexpected antipathy earlier to really look at the man. But in the lamplight she realized that he was...quite something to behold.
As she’d noted before, he was several inches taller than her model’s height. His face was rugged, craggy handsome beneath a thatch of dark hair quirking out in defiant waves all over his head despite a severe cut that revealed his ears. Handsome in a hard, weathered way that the picture-perfect actors she worked with could never achieve. High cheekbones cast deep shadows over the dimples in his lean cheeks. His mouth was partially concealed by a thick mustache, but she could tell that he wasn’t smiling. She was equally aware of his scent—a fresh masculine soap mingling with the unmistakable smell of healthy male vigor.
“What are you doing running around the house in the middle of the night?” His voice was deep and gruff and not particularly friendly.
She braced herself mentally. “I couldn’t sleep. I made myself a cup of tea.” She was annoyed at the timorous quality of her voice, but darn it, he’d scared her. Belatedly she realized she was still holding his forearm. She let go and stepped back a pace, straightening her robe.
Silver eyes the color of new coins watched her fingers pull together the gaping edges of her robe, then trailed down over the rest of her body before leisurely coming back to her face. She hadn’t noticed the unusual color of his eyes earlier today. They were striking eyes on a man or a woman. On this man... She became aware that they were inspecting her with a thoroughness that made her very conscious of her own lack of attire.
Angel held the silky fabric closed with one hand and summoned her poise. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Kincaid...”
“No.” He didn’t move.
She lifted her head, fixing him with a haughty stare, one eyebrow raised. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m sorry if I hurt you today,” he said.
His tone was so grudging that she nearly laughed aloud as her momentary sense of alarm passed. “Dulcie made you promise to apologize,” she guessed, and was rewarded when he shifted his gaze to the floor.
“I really am sorry,” he repeated. “I’m not in the habit of treating strangers, especially women, like that, but I thought...it looked to me as if you were trying to kidnap Beth Ann.”
“I understand your concern,” she said. And she did. If she had thought someone was luring her child away, she’d have reacted in much the same manner.
“I doubt you do.” His voice was cool, yet she heard a thread of what sounded like desperation in it. “My ex-wife is Jada Barrington.”
Jada Barrington! Even in Hollywood, the woman’s reputation for excess and self-indulgence was legendary.
“I see you know her.”
“I know of her,” she stressed. “Believe me, we don’t frequent the same circles.”
He continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “She didn’t have the time or the patience to deal with an infant, but now she thinks I’m just going to hand over my child to her so she can play the role of devoted mother whenever she isn’t too busy.”
The bitterness and anger came through clearly, and she began to see why he was so abrupt with her. Jada Barrington was an actress who worked in television. While her current series was excellent and she had a large following, she was widely known to be a difficult actress to work with as well as a wild woman in her time offscreen. Angel had made her name in movies but Day probably equated them as the same brand of trouble. Perhaps he even thought Jada had sent her!
“You don’t—”
But he cut off her response. “I’m not telling you this to elicit sympathy. I’m telling you because now that you’re here, you’re as responsible as everyone else for Beth Ann’s safety. If you see anyone who doesn’t belong on this ranch at any time, you let me know immediately.”
So he didn’t suspect her of being in league with his ex-wife. In fact, he hadn’t mentioned her career at all. Which was just the way she wanted it. Dulcie must have given him his orders. She nodded. “I’ll only be here for two weeks,” she reminded him.
Then the concern that she’d felt since she’d seen the child’s pinched white face after the scene in the yard came back. “You know, Mr. Kincaid, behaving as you did in front of Beth Ann this afternoon can’t be good for her. You don’t want to make her terrified of strangers. Surely there’s some middle ground. Perhaps you could even stage some �safe’ experiences with strange people so that she doesn’t grow up fearing every face in the crowd.”
Day’s expression would have been amusing if she hadn’t been the target of the ire apparent on his face. “If I need advice, I’ll ask for it, Miss Vandervere. Right now I suggest that you return to your room and get some sleep. We rise early and work hard around here. If you’re planning on spending any time with Dulcie, you’ll have to do the same.”
* * *
Late in the morning, Day parked his big pickup truck in front of the drugstore in Deming. He’d already been by the feed store, the grocery and the vet’s office on his round of errands. The faster he got back to the ranch, the happier he’d be. He wanted to ride out and check the fence in the northwest pasture before supper.
Supper. Last night, Dulcie’s guest had been seated across the table from him, and later he’d bumped into her in the hallway—literally. He might not be thrilled about the idea of having a guest on the ranch, especially while he was so worried about the custody suit Jada kept threatening, but he had to admit that Angel Vandervere was easy on the eyes. And when she’d come up against him fully in the dark house, he’d had a momentary fantasy of getting to know those lush curves intimately. She wasn’t really his type, but after seeing her, he wasn’t sure he could say what his type might be these days.
She was tall, taller than he normally liked his women, and she was a blonde. When he’d grabbed her yesterday, he’d been expecting blue eyes, but hers were brown...big and soft and intelligent-looking. Funny that he didn’t remember her at all. But he figured the timing had been wrong when she’d lived in Deming before. Dulcie had told him that Angel had moved there in the seventh grade. That would have been his first year of college, and he had to admit that on the rare occasions he’d been home, he’d been a lot more preoccupied with trying to get Corinne Cantler horizontal in his pick-up than he had been with checking on his younger sister and her giggly adolescent friends.
He shook his head, amused by the memory. Corinne was a waitress in a local restaurant now, and even though she’d been married to Buddy Alderson for nearly fifteen years, she still liked to flirt. In a better humor than he’d been since yesterday, when he’d seen a total stranger baiting his child with candy, he strode into the pharmacy and made his purchases. He had to wait for an antibiotic prescription that one of the hands needed for an infected cut on his finger. While he waited, he idly scanned the racks of magazines and newspapers near the front counter.
He always got a hoot out of the headlines in the tabloids. One rag proclaimed that a three-headed baby had been born to a couple in Pakistan. Another chronicled the life of a professional football player who was suspected of hiring an assassin to kill a fellow athlete. A third speculated on the whereabouts of some actress who had dropped out of the L.A. scene without a word. He glanced again at the grainy photo of the heavily made-up actress in a skintight black sequined gown that plunged far beyond decency, taken the night of the Academy Awards. Angelique Sumner had a truly incredible figure—
The salesclerk called to him that his prescription was ready, and he started to move away from the magazines. Then, drawn by some instinct that raised the hairs on the back of his neck in inevitable dread, he looked at the tabloid photo of the Sumner actress again.
Angelique...Angel. A sick feeling rose in the back of his throat as he realized that the world might not know where Angelique Sumner was, but he did. He’d left her sitting in his kitchen reading to his daughter. Through narrowed eyes, he compared the picture with his mental image of Angel. The woman he’d met hadn’t been bent on improving her looks, and if he hadn’t felt and seen her curves revealed beneath that clingy robe last night, he’d never have noticed her figure beneath the loose clothing she’d worn during the day. She’d had on no makeup that he’d noticed and her hair had been confined in a careless knot atop her head. Even so, he’d recognized a classic structure in the bones of her face and the fine, smooth skin. Yes, with makeup and that blond hair loose and curly, she would become the unforgettable beauty before him. Fury rose, a red mist that kept him standing in front of the magazines desperately trying to master his rage before he lashed out and destroyed anything within reach.
Dulcie. She knew how he felt about actresses! How could she have done this to him? If the press found out where their quarry was, his ranch would be splashed all over the country in one of these trashy papers, especially if his connection to Jada was recalled. The privacy he’d worked so hard to keep for Beth Ann would be gone in the time it took a mean bronc to throw a green rider. His teeth ground together and he grabbed the tabloid off the shelf, throwing it on the counter with the prescription. Suddenly he couldn’t get back to the Red Arrow fast enough.
Two
Day entered the kitchen quietly, resisting the urge to slam the door with all his strength. He couldn’t believe he’d had this...this actress in his house for two days without even knowing it. He slapped the paper down on the kitchen counter. “What the hell is the meaning of this?”
Dulcie, who was chopping lettuce at the sink, jumped visibly. “Don’t do that when I’m holding a sharp knife,” she complained. But as she turned and caught sight of his face, her expression changed from irritation to wariness. “The meaning of what?”
“This.” Day stabbed a rigid forefinger at the article and accompanying photograph. He knew his anger was written all over his face but he didn’t care. “You know how I feel about having my private life exposed to the public. You know how hard I’ve worked to be sure Beth Ann is shielded from—from this, and yet you deliberately invite a woman you know will bring nothing but notoriety to visit this ranch.”
“Oh, excuse me.” Angel—no, Angelique—hovered in the doorway. “I didn’t mean to interrupt a family matter.”
He felt his temperature boil a notch higher at her unfailing politeness. Didn’t the woman ever have an honest moment of irritation or pique? With an acid courtesy of his own, he said, “Come right in, Miss Sumner.”
She froze, and her face showed shock for an instant before she wiped it carefully blank as she took a hesitant step forward. In that instant, he was suddenly sure his suspicions were correct.
He didn’t attempt to hide the hateful sneer in his voice as he said, “I wouldn’t want you to miss this discussion, particularly since you’ve had a hand in deceiving me. How long did you think it would take me to figure out who you were?” He shoved his face close to hers, so furious that he was shaking. “How stupid do you think I am?”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Jada wouldn’t have missed such an obvious opportunity for a stinging put-down. But Angelique Sumner ignored it.
“Dulcie didn’t intend to deceive you,” she said. Her words were quiet, but he could see her delicate jaw set in a surprisingly pugnacious line.
“Oh, no?” He tapped the paper furiously with an accusing finger. “What am I supposed to believe? That she just conveniently forgot to mention her houseguest was one of Hollywood’s darlings?”
Dulcie made a sound of angry protest, but again it was Angel—Angelique—who spoke. “Like me, I imagine she didn’t realize it needed any mention.”
“Why the hell not?” He was so mad he was yelling.
“I thought you knew who I was!” Angel yelled back.
He was so surprised that the quiet woman who’d been floating around the ranch for the past few days could raise her voice that he was momentarily speechless. She even looked shocked at herself.
Taking a deep breath, she said more quietly, “Dulcie and I have been friends since high school, long before I started acting professionally. I assumed you knew who I was before I came here.”
Dulcie stepped forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with her taller guest. “I honestly thought you knew, Day. It wasn’t meant to be a secret.”
He had the distinct impression the two women were uniting against him. When they put it that way, his anger seemed all out of proportion. Still, he wasn’t willing to back down so easily. He said, “If you weren’t trying to hide anything, then why doesn’t the press know where you are?” Again he pointed to the headline.
Angel sighed. “I deliberately didn’t tell anyone where I was going. I needed some space to think, to make some decisions I’ve been putting off. When Dulcie extended the invitation to come to the Red Arrow, I knew it was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. She’s not related to me. There are no obvious connections. I was careful about leaving town and I’ve been making an effort to be inconspicuous—”
“You don’t say,” Day drawled, giving an exaggerated glance at her dolled-up image in the photo and then looking back at her.
She paused and gave him an uncertain smile, clearly not sure whether he was baiting her or not. Then she said quietly, “I realize that you must have some strong reservations about my presence here. If you like, I’ll leave.”
“No!” Dulcie glared at Day. “She’s not hurting anyone. Angel couldn’t hurt anyone.” She crossed her arms defiantly. “If she leaves, I leave.”
Day grimaced. Given a choice, he would have accepted Angelique Sumner’s offer to remove herself from his ranch. But he needed Dulcie. Pilar, the ranch housekeeper of thirty years, had retired when she broke a hip two months ago. Since then, he’d had to hire and fire three housekeepers.
Finally, Dulcie had agreed to come and stay with Beth Ann until he could find yet another replacement. If Dulcie left, he couldn’t keep Beth Ann with him.
He’d had the idea of sending her to a baby-sitter’s house while he was out on the range some months ago, but when Jada found out, she’d used it to make him look like an unfit father. No, he had to keep Beth Ann here. Which meant he needed Dulcie. Which meant he was stuck with Angel whatever-she-was-going-to-be-called for the next two weeks.
“All right,” he said. “You win.” He wasn’t certain which one of the women he was addressing. “But no more secrets.”
“It wasn’t a secret.” Angel’s voice was firm and vehement. “But after seeing how worked up you are, I’d have to say you’re right. I wouldn’t have told you because I’d have figured you’d have a paranoid hang-up with my career.”
“And you’d be right.” His words were flat and unapologetic. Turning, he snatched his hat from the peg where he’d hung it and slammed out of the kitchen. As he passed through it on his way to the barn, the only refuge he had away from the house, he gave the door of the utility room a satisfying bang.
* * *
Sunlight streaming across her face woke her, making her squint and throw an arm across her eyes. Morning. Slowly Angel swam out of the depths of sleep, hating the exhausted feeling that always dogged her these days. Why had she thought it might be different, better, here? She was lucky to fall asleep before dawn. Same old story. She couldn’t sleep, and when she did, she couldn’t get awake again. Catch-22.
The clock said 9:25. She sat up, forcing herself out of lethargy. This was her third full day on the ranch and she’d hoped to help Dulcie with her chores. Sleeping in like a slothful vacationer was not what she’d had in mind. Besides, it would only confirm all the bad things Day Kincaid was convinced she embodied. Darn grumpy man anyway.
Her stomach growled loudly—past time for breakfast. Quickly she made her bed and dressed, leaving her face bare of makeup and confining her hair in a wide barrette at the back of her head. As she opened her door, her stomach growled again. Kitchen. Food. She was used to eating at the crack of dawn. She went down the steps and headed for the kitchen.
Dulcie was making cookies. As she entered the room, the delicious smell assaulted her empty stomach with an almost physical pain.
“Hi, sleepyhead.” Dulcie smiled from the counter where she was working. “I guess you want some breakfast.”
“Yes, but I don’t want you to wait on me,” Angel said as she lifted a still-warm cookie from the tray cooling atop the range. “I’ll help myself.”
As she turned to remove a brimming pitcher of orange juice from the refrigerator, Beth Ann peeped around the corner of the counter, where she must have been playing at Dulcie’s feet. Two fingers were tucked into her mouth and a worried frown wrinkled her small forehead. Striking silver eyes exactly like her father’s peeped from beneath a fringe of black bang as she assessed the newcomer.
Angel was struck by the cautious quality of the child’s surveillance. It was as if she was testing the atmosphere to see if it was safe to show herself. Angel had spent much of the day yesterday playing with the little girl, and she’d thought they had gotten past the shy stage. What could make a three-year-old so wary? She decided to pretend everything was normal. As far as she was concerned, it was.
“Hello there,” she said. “Is it all right if I eat a cookie for breakfast?”
The little girl giggled, her small face losing its anxious look. “No. Cookies are for d’ssert. Cereal is for breakfast.”
“Out of the mouths of babes,” Dulcie intoned. “Around here, the men expect some kind of dessert with every meal. I feel like all I do is bake.”
“Why don’t you let me help? I love to bake.” Angel sat down with a piece of toast and the cookie she’d pilfered. “And please tell me what else I can do. I’ve been lounging around here like a guest in a resort hotel for the past few days.”
“You’ve been entertaining Beth Ann, which can be a job in itself.” But Dulcie threw her an assessing look. “If that was just a polite offer, you’d better tell me now. I’m desperate enough to accept any help that comes my way.” She shook her head and smiled. “I never fully appreciated everything the housekeeper did until she wasn’t here to do it anymore.”
“Well, then, let me help.” Angel looked forward to immersing herself in old-fashioned chores. Maybe while she worked, she could take a good look inside herself and figure out exactly what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.
“I can help, too,” Beth Ann announced. She gave Angel a mischievous smile. “Af’er you read me more stories.”
“Oh ho! So you like my stories, do you?” Angel patted her knee and Beth Ann immediately scampered across the floor to climb into her lap, wriggling like an enthusiastic puppy. “So what stories shall we read today?”
Later, she finished mixing the filling for the crème de menthe brownies she’d made for dinner and set it in the refrigerator. As she swept the kitchen floor and ran a bucket of water to mop it, she thought again about her future. And her past. She’d once thought that money would solve all her problems. If only it could be that easy! Even before the anonymous stalker had begun his campaign of terror, she’d been thinking of leaving the world of scripts and cameras. Building the illusions that went into a film had been consuming enough to help her through the bad time after Emmie’s adoption, but somehow it wasn’t really her.
So who was she anyway? She sighed as she saw Day riding a big black horse toward the barn. He sat the horse with a fluid grace that spoke of years in the big Western-style saddles. Despite knowing what he thought of her, she found her gaze drawn to him again and again. Yes, he was handsome, but she was used to handsome men. She knew many of them were as shallow as their physical beauty.
Then why wasn’t she able to ignore him? Any time he was in the vicinity, her antennae quivered and twitched with a fascination she was afraid could prove fatal if she didn’t keep it under strict rein. For heaven’s sake, the man didn’t even like her! As she watched, he swept off his hat and beat it against his leg, sending a swirl of dry New Mexico dust off on the light breeze. His dark hair gleamed with fiery highlights under the merciless sun, and as one of the hands called out to him, she saw his white teeth flash in a grin.
He was vibrant and full of life, a complex man who wanted to rid his ranch of her presence as soon as possible. He saw her as a flat, one-dimensional creature. Actress. To him, there was no more to her than that. After hiding from herself and her feelings for so long, she was afraid his contempt might have some merit.
“Are you cooking, Miss Ban-ban-banderbeer? Can I stir?”
Shaken from her introspection, Angel looked down. Little Beth Ann stood beside her, poised to climb onto a nearby stool but obediently waiting for permission. Angel’s heart softened in immediate pleasure.
“Of course you can help me, honey,” Angel assured her, smiling as she lifted the child onto the stool, then hugged her close for a moment. Beth Ann was warm and pliable, wrapping her arms around Angel’s neck and returning the hug.
“I’m a good stirrer,” the tot told her solemnly.
Angel stifled a smile. “I bet you’re the best. Did you just wake up from your nap?”
“Uh-huh. Aunt Dulcie said if I didn’t get in your way, I could help you.” The little face sobered, that entirely too-adult anxiety creeping into her tone. “I promise I’ll be quiet.”
Angel studied the child. Who could have sought to stifle this precious baby’s enthusiasm and curiosity? Indignation rose within her and she said, “You don’t have to be quiet and you most certainly can stay. In fact, I’m not sure I can frost these brownies without your help. What do you say?”
Sunshine brightened the room as the child’s face lit up. “Okay!” she shouted.
Angel laughed. “Okay,” she repeated.
“What’s okay?” The voice belonged to Day.
She looked up, a trace of defiance rising within her. She would not let him squelch Beth Ann’s pleasure in the chore. “Shouting is okay. So is helping me with these brownies.”
“Oh.” He eyed her and his daughter for a minute. “Thank you for letting me shout.”
“Daaaddeee!” Beth Ann was giggling. “She meant me, not you.”
“Are you sure?” He frowned as if he couldn’t trust what he was hearing.
“Yes.” The little one climbed down from her stool and bounced across the room to wrap chubby arms around Day’s knees. Then she climbed nimbly into his arms, shrieking with laughter when her father bussed her neck with his mustache. “I like Miss Banderbeer,” Beth Ann announced. “Can she stay for a long, long time?”
Day hesitated. “She’s only here for a vacation, filly.”
“But why can’t she—”
“Let’s dance,” he interrupted. Holding Beth Ann against him, he began to move around the room as the child squealed with glee.
Angel continued to frost the brownies, but she was all too aware of him. A quiet happiness filled her heart. Suspicions she hadn’t been aware she harbored dissolved as she watched the way he responded to his daughter. Day clearly wasn’t the one who had made her afraid to behave like a normal child. She hated to think ill of someone who wasn’t able to defend herself, but it looked as if Day’s dislike of his ex-wife might have some solid foundation.
She watched his long legs as he lifted Beth Ann and twirled once around the room in a three-step. His jeans were well worn and faithfully followed the muscled strength of his thighs. The child clung to his wide shoulders—
Her thoughts halted in disarray as the object of her thoughts met her gaze over the top of his daughter’s head. Intent and thoughtful, his eyes held enough masculine interest to make her flush and return her own attention to her work.
When he moved his gaze from her, she could almost feel the change and she risked another quick glance at him. He was looking at his daughter again, smiling at the child. He set Beth Ann back on the stool beside Angel.
“Gotta go, filly,” he said, brushing her cheek with his whiskered jaw until she squealed with laughter. “See you at dinner.”
And he was gone. Just like that, the room drained of energy, vitality. In her mind’s eye, Angel saw him dancing with Beth Ann, his large frame surefooted with a confident masculine grace other men could never hope to match. Whoa, girl, she told herself. Don’t get carried away. He’s your host. Not your main squeeze.
* * *
Day found Angel in the kitchen again after dinner, after he’d read to Beth Ann and tucked her in for the night.
“You sure are spending a lot of your vacation working,” he said, setting a glass on the counter.
She smiled at him, up to her elbows in soapy water. “I don’t mind,” she said. “It’s a welcome change.”
That smile hit him right in the gut and he sucked in his breath. She was a beautiful woman. Too beautiful. He didn’t trust the way she seemed to be infiltrating his life. “Don’t get too used to it,” Day warned, his voice harsh with hostility.
Her smile faded. So did the quiet happiness in her eyes. “We’re not all the same, you know,” she said.
“Who’s �we’?” He was wary, knowing what she meant without needing the answer.
“Actresses,” she clarified. “We come in all shapes and sizes and colors, and our personalities are just as diverse.”
If she’d gone any further, he’d have been able to get angry. As it was, her small rebuke did what feminine whining could never have achieved: it made him feel guilty. He hadn’t been raised to treat people as he’d been treating her. Still...
“You’re right,” he said, seeking a truce without giving in. “I shouldn’t judge all actresses by one lousy experience. But I find it hard to believe that you could be happy here, doing housework on a ranch when you’re used to so much more. I keep thinking you must have some ulterior motive for wanting to help out. I’d like to know up-front what it is.”
Her hands stilled in the dishwater and he knew he’d been right. She did have some hidden agenda.
“I need time—time to think,” she said with a tentative look at him from under her lashes.
“Time to think?” he repeated.
“Yes. I have some...decisions to make that will affect my future, and I can’t consider all the angles while I’m working. So yes, I guess I do have an ulterior motive.” She picked up a pan, then pointed it at him for emphasis. “But that doesn’t mean what I need has to be in conflict with what you need, does it?”
Put like that, she sounded so reasonable he could do nothing other than agree. “I guess not,” he said. Then it struck him. They were having a conversation that consisted of something other than accu-sations and screaming demands. Given his suspicions, this whole talk could have degenerated into the very same kind of shouting match he and Jada often had.
If she were like Jada. She’d reminded him that she might be different, and in this respect he had to agree that she was. Intrigued by that thought, he pulled a kitchen chair toward him, straddling it backward.
“I’m curious. How did you get to Hollywood from Deming?”
She shrugged, shooting him a single startled glance while her hands hesitated in the water again. “The usual way, I suppose. I joined the drama club in high school and realized I liked acting. Other people told me I was good at it.”
“And...?”
“And so eventually I decided to try to make a living at it.”
It was an answer but he wasn’t satisfied. He studied her expressionless face, longing to shake her out of her habitual calm, wondering what piece of the puzzle that was Angel he was missing. Then he said, “You speak as if you didn’t light out of town the day you got your diploma.”
A half smile lit up her features. “I did. But I only went as far as Albuquerque.”
Her eyes had a faraway look, seeing into some time and place from which he was excluded. It shouldn’t have bothered him, but it did. “If you didn’t go to Hollywood right away, what did you do?”
She came back then from wherever she’d gone. It was like watching someone in the distance gradually grow in size as they came nearer and nearer. Then she looked at him, and the pain in her wide brown eyes was a shock he wasn’t prepared for. “I got married,” she said.
He couldn’t speak for a moment. If anyone came after him with a question, he couldn’t formulate an answer if his life depended on it. All he could think was, That wasn’t in the magazines.
She’d gotten married. He didn’t like the feeling that simple sentence gave him, like an ugly, jealous fist that thumped into his stomach and stayed there like a lump of day-old oatmeal eaten in a hurry.
Finally sanity returned. And with it, the awareness that he hadn’t responded to her bombshell in any way. He said the first thing that came to him. “Who to?”
The corner of her mouth kicked up a little, though it wasn’t a mirthful response. “His name was Jimmy,” she said. “He was from up near Albuquerque and I met him at a rodeo my senior year of high school.”
Ah, he had it now. “And when the marriage didn’t work out, you headed for Hollywood,” he said.
“No.” She emptied the last of the dishwater and hung the dishcloth up to dry, clearly signaling an end to his grilling. “I headed for Hollywood after Jimmy died.”
* * *
Day wondered about Angel’s husband all day as he rode his land checking each of the thirty-five wells that kept his cattle from dying of thirst in the arid desert region. She’d met him at a rodeo.... Had she married a professional rider, one of the wandering men who followed the circuit or had he simply been a spectator?
Had she loved him? Mourned his passing?
Cynicism reared its head as he recalled the information printed in the article he’d read about her. One headline in particular kept reverberating in his head.
A Legion of Lovers. The article had listed her numerous entanglements since she’d arrived on the West Coast, detailing liaisons with famous men from every field of entertainment. He knew better than to believe it all, but separating the facts from the fiction was beyond him.
He made a last notation in the small notepad he carried in his breast pocket, replaced it and wheeled his horse away from the cottonwood well, so named because of the trees that marked its location. Why was he still thinking about Angel anyway? She was just a temporary guest in his home.
And one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. She had no business doing housework. He’d been too angry the first time he’d seen her to take in her appeal, but since then...since then he’d found her difficult to ignore. Though she didn’t doll herself up like the woman who’d posed for her publicity shots, he found her classic features more striking each time he saw her. He’d already caught himself fantasizing about pulling her hair out of the simple elastic band in which she habitually wore it and running his fingers through the silky, straight golden strands. Yep, he’d caught himself more than once.
Fool, he told himself. You’ve already paid the price for one beautiful, useless woman in your life. When are you going to learn?
When he came in the door before dinner, she was in the kitchen again, kneading dough with quick, competent motions. Had she even been outside since she’d arrived? Before he could give himself time to think, he blurted, “Tomorrow, if you’d like, I’ll give you a tour of the ranch.” Then a thought struck him. “That is, if you ride.”
“I ride, though it’s been a while.” She blew her bangs out of her eyes and turned the bread dough into a pan, covered it with a cotton cloth and reached for the next hunk of dough. Then she looked up from her work and smiled at him. “That would be lovely if it won’t keep you from your work.”
He shrugged, beaten to his knees by that smile. “I can do some work as we go.”
He left her before he did anything more foolish than he already had, heading for his room to shower and change before dinner. When he returned, the men were starting to arrive, and Dulcie was carrying plates of food into the dining room. He walked into the kitchen, intending to help her carry dishes to the table.
Angel was perched on a stool at the built-in desk, the telephone cord wrapped around the fingers of one hand as she spoke into the receiver. Her face was alive with amusement and pleasure, more animated than he’d seen it since her arrival. He wondered who could put that look on her face.
* * *
Angel laughed as her agent scolded her for the tenth time. “Calm down, Karl. I’m fine. I simply needed a little space for a while. Just tell everyone that I’m taking a well-deserved vacation.”
“Where on earth are you and why haven’t you called?” Her agent didn’t sound amused.
She guessed she couldn’t blame him. It must be a bit nerve-racking to have your hottest property disappear without warning.
Karl went on. “I tried your number all day yesterday but all I got was that detestable machine you insist on using to screen your calls.”
She forced a light laugh. Karl knew how much anxiety that screening diverted. Her anonymous caller had stopped trying to reach her after she’d installed that machine. Apparently he was too smart to leave a voice trail for the police. “What’s so urgent it couldn’t wait?”
Paper rustled over the wire and she could almost see him adjusting his glasses. “Well, Muffy Fenderson invited you to a—”
“Send my regrets.”
“But Angelique, exposure is everything—”
“I’m not going, Karl. Anything else?”
He must have heard the note of finality in her voice. “Not really. Oh, some actor called, said he knew you and wanted your number to invite you to dinner. Janson Brand? I’d never heard of him.”
She’d met him during her first days in L.A. Nice enough, but not an acquaintance she wanted to renew. All she did want right now was to be left alone. “Tell anyone who calls I’m unavailable for an indefinite period.”
“Angelique!” Karl sounded almost panicky. “I can’t say that. It will bring the press sniffing around with even greater fervor than they’ve already shown. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Karl, relax. I’m fine. You’re the one who told me I needed a break, remember?”
“But, darling, I seem to recall I suggested the South of France, with me dancing attendance.”
“The South of France sounds lovely. I’ll consider it.” She pressed on, conscious of a desire to conclude the conversation. Talking to Karl reminded her too much of all the things she wanted to forget about. “I’m going to be out of town for a few weeks. I’ll call you when I get back, okay?”
“A few weeks?” Her normally unflappable agent sounded distinctly taken aback.
Angel laughed with real feeling. “Don’t worry. I promise I’ll call.”
“No, wait! What if I get an offer you can’t refuse? At least give me your number.”
“All right.” She gave him the Red Arrow number. “But don’t call me unless there’s an emergency. I’ll call you when I’m ready to come back.”
* * *
After dinner, she helped Dulcie clean up.
“I’ll wash, you dry.” Dulcie tossed her a dish towel. As she ran a basin full of water to begin soaking the pans, she said, “You’ve surprised me.”
“I have? How?” Angel smiled as she put glasses into the dishwater, remembering that Dulcie used to be able to read her like an open book.
“You haven’t asked a single question about how my brother got mixed up with a famous face like Jada Barrington.”
“I did wonder—” Angel hesitated “—but I’ve learned the value of privacy and I try to extend it to other people.” Then she grinned. “Besides, I can hardly imagine asking Day. Your brother isn’t exactly thrilled with my presence here.”
Dulcie sobered. “I know. And I blame every ounce of his attitude on Jada. Day has gotten a lot harder and a lot tougher since his marriage ended. The worst of it is, it’s my fault they ever met. I regret that stupid bet every day.”
“What bet?”
“The bet I made with Day.” Dulcie sighed. “Several years ago we heard that Jada was filming a special project in Lake Valley, a ghost town north of here. They needed local cowboys as extras. I bet Day they wouldn’t use him and he went just to prove me wrong. Jada took one look at him and decided that he would make great publicity. She was just starting out then, remember?”
Angel nodded. She thought of the way Day’s jeans had molded his long legs, those unforgettable eyes and the easy confidence he wore like a favorite hat. It was easy to see how any woman would take a second look at Day Kincaid. But the man she’d met didn’t seem the type to be easily manipulated by a woman. “So she bowled him over?”
“Not exactly.” Dulcie’s words confirmed her first thoughts. “But he was flattered by all the attention at first. Jada can be very persuasive, and for a while I think Day honestly thought she loved him. Anyway, I’ll give you the short version. Jada got pregnant, and when Day found out, he married her even though he wasn’t happy about it. She’d never have roped him otherwise. Jada thought Day would dance to her tune but when she found out he had no intention of ever joining her in L.A., they had some knock-down-and-drag-out fights like you can’t imagine. The result was that she went back to L.A. before the baby was born. When Beth Ann arrived, Jada couldn’t have been less interested. Day brought Bethie here when she was three days old, and until last year, Jada hadn’t even seen her.”
“What changed that?”
“Beth Ann is three now. As she got older, it occurred to Jada that the mother angle will enhance her somewhat soiled image. She’s been insisting on visitation and hinting at custody for several months.”
“That’s awful if it’s the only reason she wants Beth Ann.” Doubt crept in because she couldn’t imagine anyone not loving that sweet little girl. And she knew better than most how vicious the press could be. Maybe she’d been wrong in assuming that Jada had mistreated her child. Maybe the woman wasn’t as bad as she had been made out to be. “Maybe she misses her and regrets the time she’s lost.”
Dulcie snorted. “And pigs fly. Whenever Beth Ann comes back from a visit to Jada, she’s a silent mouse who’s afraid of her own shadow. She’s terrified of getting punished for getting dirty and she shies away from sudden movements as if she thinks she’s going to get hit.” Her face darkened. “Day’s trying to get full custody and I, for one, am hoping he succeeds.”
Angel thought of the love in Day’s rough tones when he kissed his daughter’s forehead, and of the way he’d given her his exclusive attention when he’d danced her around the kitchen earlier. There was no question that he adored his daughter. If what Dulcie believed was true, then she, too, hoped Day would succeed in gaining full custody, for the child’s sake.
Three
When Day came into the kitchen before the crack of dawn the next morning, he was surprised to note that Dulcie must have gotten there before him. The lights and the radio were on and a cup of aromatic coffee, half-consumed, was sitting on the counter. A thud in the walk-in pantry alerted him to her whereabouts.
“Want me to start on lunches?” he called.
“Either that or the pancakes.” Angel stepped out of the pantry, a loaf of bread and a dozen oranges carefully balanced in her arms. Her heavily lashed eyes were sleepy lidded and appealing; her bright hair spilled over one shoulder from the elastic band in which she’d confined it.
Too startled to keep silent, he blurted, “I wasn’t expecting you!”
She gave a small shrug and smiled. “I told Dulcie to sleep in this morning, at least until Beth Ann gets awake.”
Day pulled out one of the chairs and plopped down, pulling on his boots and stomping into them, surreptitiously studying Angel as she moved around his kitchen. She was dressed in jeans—not designer jeans, but sturdy work jeans faded from use—and a long-sleeved shirt that she’d tucked into the jeans. It was surprisingly serviceable clothing, even if it did fit her like a second skin, making him all too aware of the body beneath the clothing.
He thought about the offer he’d made yesterday in a temporary fit of insanity. A day in her company was going to be sheer torture. “You still interested in riding out with me this morning?”
“Yes.” Across the room, his gaze met hers and she quickly dropped her own.
“You ever take your hair out of that ponytail?”
Startled, she looked up again. “What?”
“I said—”
“Yes. Sometimes.” Her speech was rushed as if she was nervous. “But it’s more practical to wear it this way, especially if I’m going to be working all day.”
He digested that as he took the bread from her and started slapping thick ham sandwiches together. True, he’d offered to show her the ranch today, but he’d assumed that he’d swing back by the house about ten o’clock and prod her into action. He hadn’t expected to spend the entire day with her trailing around behind him.
The telephone call he’d overheard last night replayed in his head against his will, and he wondered sourly if “Karl” was missing her more than she appeared to be missing him. The current lover, perhaps? One of several? She hadn’t sounded sorry to be brushing him off as she had.
He watched her from beneath his lashes as she set the long table in the dining room with quick, efficient motions. She paused to heat the large cook pot and mix up a huge quantity of pancake batter, then threw on a large skillet of bacon and sausages.
“There are more of those brownies in the pantry from last night,” she said as she filled a pitcher with orange juice and another with milk, then started a second pot of coffee.
He finished wrapping the sandwiches and brownies, assembling them into individual lunches with an orange and a bag of chips. Then he added a container of raw vegetable sticks and jugs of iced tea and water to each pile, as well, watching her expertly juggle the breakfast preparations.
One thing he had to say for her, she knew her way around a kitchen. “You do this kind of thing before?” he asked.
She paused to flip a pancake onto a waiting platter. “My daddy worked on a ranch up near the Black Mountains when we lived here before. I helped in the kitchen a lot.” Her voice was husky and rich with reminiscence. “I know how much food it takes to feed hungry men.”
He found himself reacting to the sound of her, the smell of her, clean, fresh and female, as she brushed by him to carry a loaded tray of food into the dining room. Scowling, he picked up another one and followed.
He didn’t want to notice her. He didn’t want to wonder if her breasts beneath the snap pockets of the traditional Western shirt were as round and full as they looked, if her slender hips and long legs would cradle a man as perfectly as he suspected. He didn’t want to imagine what she’d look like sprawled beneath him with her hair flung over the pillow and her pouty lips begging him to take her.
But she was fast becoming all he could think about. Only ten more days. It was almost a prayer. She’ll be leaving in ten more days.
“...look like you got out of bed on the wrong side, Boss.”
He became aware that sometime during his fantasizing he’d taken his seat at the head of the table. The speaker was Joe-Bob, the youngest of the cowhands he employed and one of the only three who weren’t married. Wes, his foreman and right-hand man, was grinning as if he knew exactly what Day had been thinking.
Day scowled at them both. “Listen up,” he announced to the table at large. “Here’s the schedule for today....”
By the time he had finished detailing assignments and answering general questions, the meal was over. The hands stampeded through the kitchen to snag their lunches and the day began.
Angel, who had been sitting quietly at his left throughout the meal, began to clear the table. When she stood, his hooded gaze slid down her body despite his best intentions. As it reached her waist, the buckle on her belt caught his eye.
Without thinking, he slipped a finger through a belt loop on her jeans when she started to move toward the kitchen. “Whoa, there. What’s this?” He raised a disbelieving brow. The buckle on her belt was the unmistakable silver prize buckle awarded to junior rodeo champions for barrel racing.
Angel shrugged. “I used to fool around with rodeo competition when I was a teenager.”
He snorted, suddenly aware of the hot press of her flesh against the backs of his fingers. “Lady, if you won this, you did a hell of a lot more than fool around.” He removed his fingers and stepped away, feeling that he’d narrowly escaped being burned. Damn the woman! She had enough sex appeal for five.
In her company, he was starting to feel as frustrated as a stallion penned in the stall next to a mare in heat. Worse, actually, because there was no way he could allow himself to take what his body wanted from this woman. Abruptly he turned on his heel and left the kitchen. He needed some air.
Corky came snarling out from under the porch to growl at his ankles until Day pointed a stern finger at the dog. “One of these days I’m gonna get rid of you, you old faker.” The dog appeared ferocious to strangers, but everyone on the ranch knew he was all bluster and no business.
While Angel finished cleaning up the kitchen, he saddled his horse and another for her—not the placid little mare he’d first had in mind, but a spirited gelding that would more easily keep up with the work he wanted to accomplish. Still, until he saw her swing easily into the saddle, he hadn’t believed she could ride so well.
Jada had hated horses.
He deliberately put the thought out of his mind as they rode out of the yard. Today he wanted to check on the stock in several areas of his range. Tomorrow he’d ride out with some of the men and cull the ones that weren’t healthy, get them ready for sale.
The morning went fast. Angel was as good a rider as that buckle she wore had indicated. If she was in any discomfort, she hadn’t made a peep and she kept up with his pace easily, handling the gelding’s early liveliness with aplomb until he settled down to work. She had borrowed a hat from Dulcie’s old collection and, riding beside her, he had the oddest feeling of...of rightness, as if he was meant to do this with a woman at his side one day.
Not this woman. He instantly rejected the idea. Angel lived a life-style foreign to his, one that he’d tasted and found as poisonous as the deceptively lovely tansy that covered his land in the spring.
The hours slipped away and the angle of the sun told him it would soon be lunchtime. He hadn’t made lunches for Angel and himself because he’d planned a loop that would take them back to the house by noon. He liked to try to get in to the house to have lunch with Beth Ann a couple of days each week, except during branding, when there was no time for anything except the endless cycle of bawling calves and their anxious mamas. Circling around now to come back toward the house, he paused near the front entrance to the ranch road, where the rock columns with the Red Arrow Ranch sign suspended above them in black iron greeted visitors.
“See that bull over yonder?” he asked when Angel reined her horse in beside him.
She nodded. “The one with the white blaze down his forehead?”
“Yep. Don’t forget that blaze. Old Red’s the only bull on the ranch with that face. He’s got a mean streak a mile wide, and it’s directed solely at two-legged creatures.”
Angel regarded the bull solemnly. “Why do you keep him?”
“He’s a great stud. Comes from solid stock and his calves fetch good prices. And if we handle him from horseback, he’s as docile as any bull is ever going to be.” Day squinted into the sun. “I doubt you’ll ever have cause to remember this, but I’ll tell you anyway. As long as you’re in a vehicle or on horseback, you’re just part of the scenery to him. But don’t ever let him see you walking around. Couple of years ago, he rolled a pickup over on one of the hands who had gotten out to check a bad tire.”
Angel sucked in a breath and her face paled. “Did he kill him?”
Day shook his head. “Guy got lucky, dived back through the window and stayed inside even after Old Red turned it over.” He laughed grimly. “We had to tranquilize the crazy animal until we could get the pickup towed.”
Angel shuddered. “I’ll remember.”
Her voice was thready and he glanced at her in concern. “Hey, you don’t have to worry. Like I said, as long as you don’t walk around in front of him, you’ll be fine.”
“You went away to college, didn’t you?”
Day raised his brow at the seemingly irrelevant topic. “Yes. I majored in agricultural economics at New Mexico State.”
“That’s why you don’t remember me, because I moved here the year you left. But what you also don’t know is that two years later my dad was killed in a bull-riding exhibition.”
An icy shock ran down his spine. He vaguely remembered his own father telling him about a hand from the Double Dos who’d gotten hammered by a bull at a rodeo. “Did you see it?”
She shook her head, and he noticed that she seemed to be regaining her composure. “I was preparing for my own contest. When we heard that somebody had gotten gored, we all went running over to see—and it was my dad.”
Day reached across the space that separated their horses and covered her hand where it lay on the horn of her big Western saddle. “I can’t imagine. That must have been pretty horrible for a young girl.”
“It was.” She looked at him, her eyes unusually sober, and he realized abruptly how gently good-humored she was most of the time. A man could get used to that kind of quiet presence at his side. If he was the kind of man who needed that, which he wasn’t, he reminded himself.
The ride back to the ranch house from the road was only a few miles, and they rode into the barn in plenty of time for lunch. The last half hour, he was aware of Angel trying to find a more comfortable spot in her saddle.
“Ooh-ouch,” she said, shifting in her seat as he dismounted. “I enjoyed that so much I forgot I’m not used to hours of riding anymore. I’m going to be sorry later.”
Day held up his arms. “C’mon, softy, I’ll help you down from there.”
She smiled ruefully, grimacing as she slid out of the saddle, but the expression faded as his hands clasped her waist and drew her down before him.
He set her on the ground. He knew he should remove his hands from her soft flesh, step back and break the moment, but all the willpower in the world couldn’t have made him release her. Her gaze clung to his, her eyes dark and inviting, and all around them the smell of leather, horseflesh and hay warred with the peculiar feminine fragrance that his body already recognized as being uniquely hers. Damn, but she’d gotten under his skin fast. Unbidden, the thought came that she’d probably done the same thing to hundreds of other suckers.
How many other men had been seduced by those eyes? How many others had inhaled that scent, or been driven crazy by the subtle, soft invitation of her body so near?
It was an intrusion, an uncontrollable break in his concentration, and he recoiled as if she were a rattler delivering a warning buzz. The telephone conversation he’d overheard came back to him and he told himself not to be a fool. This woman had legions of men at her feet already. He wasn’t going to be one of them.
“Who’s Karl?” he asked aloud.
Her forehead wrinkled and the clouded bemusement in her eyes gradually cleared. “Karl? He’s my—” She stopped and her brows snapped together as the accusation in his voice registered. “What business is it of yours?” she demanded in as sharp a tone as he’d ever heard her use.
Day turned away, unwilling to acknowledge the jealousy eating at him, and began to unsaddle his horse. “Anything that happens on my ranch is my business,” he said in a deceptively mild tone. “If your lovers are going to start showing up after you dump them, I want to be prepared.”
“My—?” She stepped back a pace and shook her head as if to clear it. “What does Karl have to do with— You think Karl is my lover?” Her voice rose at the end as if she found the very idea unfathomable.
Hell, for all he knew, maybe the guy was her husband. He forced himself to tune out the snippets of intimate conversation he’d overheard and concentrated on unbuckling her saddle and heaving it off her horse, but she slapped his hands away.
“Just go away. I can take care of my mount myself.” She was madder than he’d ever seen her, red flags of color staining her fair cheeks, her brown eyes nearly black.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “This animal is my responsibility, and I’ll stay until he’s properly cared for.”
She practically gritted her teeth at that and he could see her mouth working in impotent rage. She led the horse to his stall, but in the middle of brushing him down, she whirled with the brush in her hand, pointing it at him like a weapon.
“Karl is my agent,” she said in a voice that shook with fury. “And if you have any other sleazy thoughts floating around in your head, you can keep them to yourself because I’m done worrying about what a jerk like you thinks of me!” She put the horse away, gave him feed and fresh water, cleaned her tack in icy silence and then turned on her heel. “Thank you for the tour,” she said with icy politeness as she stomped out of the barn.
Behind her, Day couldn’t suppress a grin. She sure got high-and-mighty when she got mad. And Karl was her agent, not her lover. But the grin faded as he remembered the headline on the tabloid he’d picked up the day before. She might act offended, but nobody could collect a reputation like that without there being some grounds for it. His ex-wife was living proof of that.
* * *
For the next several hours, Angel pitched in with all the housework she could, which suited her fine. The clean air, the simple yet necessary tasks, the solitude...all were working their magic on her taut nerves, even if Dulcie’s pigheaded brother was determined to believe the worst of her. Determined not to let him get to her, she hummed to herself as she pegged the last of a basket of sheets to the clothesline, then retraced her steps into the house. Passing through the utility room, she entered the laundry room at its opposite end.
It was amazing how many sets of clothes a big man working outdoors could dirty. She grimaced as she started the washer for a load of shirts, then bent to remove several pairs of long-legged jeans from the dryer as the washer chugged into another cycle.
Day’s, she thought. She knew the three hands who lived in the bunkhouse took care of their own laundry and the other three were married, so these clothes must belong to Day. Day...he fascinated her against her will. Something about him appealed to her senses, called to her so strongly that she had to fight back the urge to seek him out, to resist trying to get to know him better, even though he’d been less than welcoming. It would never work anyway. He couldn’t stand her.
But down deep, she thought he must be a good man. In the days she’d been here, she’d seen how hard he worked. And yet he always had time for Beth Ann in the evenings, no matter how exhausted he appeared. The kind of man she’d dreamed of meeting someday.
The kind of man that doesn’t exist, she reminded herself.
Her next handful of fabric yielded a tiny pair of overalls, and she smiled, her mood lightening. She was going to have to keep in touch with Beth Ann after she left the ranch. The thought was incredibly depressing. In just four short days, the little girl had woven herself into Angel’s heartstrings in a way Angel knew was going to last forever. As Beth Ann grew more used to Angel, she was beginning to chatter uninhibitedly, following her around the house to “help” with the chores Angel volunteered to do. The only reason Beth Ann wasn’t with her right now was because she’d gone down for her customary nap after wheedling Angel to read her two stories.
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