Rancher's Wife

by Anne Marie Winston

  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 pas
sing?

  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 sever
al 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.