by Susan Meier
“You’ll be the most logical reason for Dad’s extra nervousness, since your being home is the new thing in Dad’s life. I’m guessing Mark will assign his daughter Rayne to investigate and with her experience on the Baltimore newspaper she’ll easily uncover that you spent four years on and off running with Senator Martin’s daughter. And once Rayne finds Jen Martin, she’ll find Ruthie.”
Rick shook his head. “I don’t think so. Jen lived with her mother in Europe while she was pregnant and had Ruthie there. No other paper has picked up on it.”
“Maybe not. But what if Rayne does? What do you think her instincts will tell her to do if she discovers that while Senator Paul Martin, high-profile member of the board of directors for Americans for Morals, was preaching family and commitment in his latest campaign, his daughter abandoned her child to a guy most noted for being a rodeo bum?”
Not insulted by Tia’s description because it was accurate, Rick knew exactly what Rayne would do. She would sell the story to a national newspaper or magazine. Then Rick would be in big trouble. There was only one way for a man who made a career out of being a staunch supporter of family to counter his own daughter abandoning a child: rescue the child from her disreputable parents and raise the child himself.
Rick kissed Ruthie’s cheek. There was no way on God’s green earth he was going to let that happen. Not only did he love Ruthie, but Jen had told Rick a thing or two about Senator Martin after seeing her dad posturing on television one day. The most revealing of which was that he’d forced her mother to sign a nondisclosure agreement when they divorced because he had been physically abusive toward both Jen and her mother. Jen had had no reason to lie, and Rick couldn’t think why the senator would want a nondisclosure agreement unless he’d done things in the marriage that he couldn’t afford to have revealed. That also explained why Jen’s mom found it necessary to move halfway around the world to be away from him. She was afraid of him.
It wouldn’t be the first time a politician lived a double life. And, truth be told, Rick didn’t give a damn if Senator Martin preached one thing and practiced another, as long as he didn’t try to get custody of Rick’s baby.
“If you think this through,” Rick said, as his sister continued to gather toys and stuff them into the navy-blue quilted diaper bag, “there’s really no reason for me to ever tell anybody who Ruthie’s mother is.”
Tia shrugged. “For now. As long as nobody goes digging, you may never even have to bring up who Ruthie’s mother is. But you’re eventually going to have to tell Ruthie.”
“Not really. I was toying with the idea of telling Ruthie that her mom is dead.”
Tia grimaced, as she continued to gather Ruthie’s things. “I don’t know, Rick. I think that might come back to burn you. Jen could change. She could suddenly grow up and want to see her little girl and then she will look like the mom desperately trying to have a relationship with her daughter and you’ll look like the dad who lied.”
Knowing that was true, Rick said nothing.
Zipping the diaper bag closed, Tia said, “You don’t have to make any decisions today, Rick. You have two whole weeks until the election.”
“You mean two long weeks to hide her.”
“Yes, but once the election is over your secret will be safe. Whether dad’s reelected or not, Rayne will lose interest in him and have no reason to check into your life.”
“Except that she’s just plain mean.”
Tia laughed. “Hey, stop worrying. Until all this is settled, between Mom and me, you’ll always have a babysitter. And since you don’t get off work until after dark, it’s not as if you have to sneak Ruthie into the Meljac’s guesthouse. If you think about it, technically, we’re not even really keeping Ruthie a secret. We simply aren’t announcing her.”
Tia walked to the refrigerator. “I made some more formula,” she said, changing the subject as she slid the bottles into the side compartment of the diaper bag. “I also went online and found a pediatrician for you. Since I was already surfing the net I read up on what and how much she’s supposed to eat and I discovered it is okay for her to be eating the rice cereal that her mother had put in the diaper bag she left with you.”
Rick smiled and nodded, glad he’d done the right thing by guessing Jen had been feeding Ruthie the cereal since a box had been packed with her things. But inside he was anything but happy. When Jen had showed up at his door with Ruthie, he’d thought she’d come back to him because she loved him. He’d foolishly thought that becoming a mother had caused her to see how right they were for each other and that it was time for them to be a family. He remembered how joy had flooded him. He had loved her with ever fiber of his being and when she had left him the year before it had damned near killed him. So, when she suddenly appeared that night, all he could think of was being grateful for a second chance.
After Jen put Ruthie to sleep, they’d made love and he had been the happiest man alive. It had never occurred to him that she was conning him, suckering him into believing everything was fine so he wouldn’t suspect that she intended to sneak out in the middle of the night. Nothing had surprised him more than when he awakened to find himself alone with the baby. Her note had actually threatened a lawsuit if he told anyone she was Ruthie’s mom. She had so casually, calculatedly left him and their baby that anything he felt for her died an instant death.
Now, all he wanted was to raise his baby in peace. As long as Jen kept Ruthie a secret and Rick kept Ruthie a secret there was no reason for her dad to find their baby and get involved. And that was exactly what Rick wanted. Privacy.
“All packed,” Tia announced, helping him hook the strap of the diaper bag on his left shoulder since Ruthie was nestled against his right. “I’ll see you in the morning. At four or so.”
He grimaced. “I’m really sorry about this.”
“Hey, it’s not a problem. Drew gets up when you do, so I do, too. Besides, as I said, I need the practice.”
Rick smiled his thanks and left his sister’s house. Ten minutes later he pulled his pickup in front of the guesthouse for Seven Hills Farms. Ruthie pounded her rattle on her car seat, which he had strapped onto the backseat of his extended cab, and Rick turned around.
“Didn’t we talk about this?”
She cooed and gurgled and Rick shook his head, then shoved his way out of his truck and opened the back door that gave him access to Ruthie. She slapped his nose with her rattle.
“Didn’t Daddy tell you that you have to keep down the noise?”
She tilted her head in question, as he lifted her from the car seat. Perching her on his left arm, he reached inside to loop his fingers through the strap of the diaper bag and yanked it out.
Making his way up the steps of the small porch to the front door, he glanced around at the little Cape Cod house, thinking how perfect it was for him and Ruthie. There were two bedrooms on the second floor, so they could sleep in the same general area and he could hear her when she cried in the middle of the night. Gene had shown him a cozy green kitchen filled with appliances, a living room furnished with a comfortable overstuffed sofa and chairs and a den where he could put his computer and network into the farm’s system to do the books. Best of all, it was far enough away from the farmhouse that no one could see or hear what he did. A side road veered off Seven Hills’s main access route and brought him to the secluded guesthouse. He didn’t even have to pass the Meljac residence to get home.
That was another thing that had fallen into place with this job. Being so far away from the main house, there was no danger Ashley Meljac would discover Ruthie. It was clear from their meeting that morning that Ashley would like nothing better than to be rid of him. But he wasn’t going anywhere. Gene Meljac hadn’t precisely said that he was retiring, but he was showing all the signs. This time next month Gene could call, find everything running smoothly without him and realize he didn’t need to run the farm anymore. Then this job with the perfect house, far enough out of civiliz
ation where a man really could keep a secret, would be his.
He wasn’t letting some born-to-shop Paris Hilton wannabe run him off. Especially since he was absolutely positive that once she saw the real work of managing a farm she’d turn up her nose and hightail it to the nearest mall.
In fact, now that Rick thought about it, by this time tomorrow he intended to have proven to Princess Ashley that she didn’t really want to run a farm at all.
Chapter Two
Rick only had to open three doors in the convoluted maze of halls in the upstairs of Gene Meljac’s sprawling home before he found Ashley’s bedroom.
He flicked a switch as he stepped inside, lighting the two lamps on her bedside tables. Those, unfortunately, illuminated a ten-foot-tall tufted white leather headboard that led to yard after yard of crinkled pink material that looped around to create a canopy. A pink rosebud bedspread covered the small lump he assumed was Ashley. At least twenty pillows of varying shapes and sizes—and shades of pink—were scattered about on the bed to cushion her every move.
He shook his head. Wow. He’d certainly pegged this one right.
“Come on, princess,” he said, grabbing the thick rosebud comforter and yanking it off.
He instantly regretted that. The sight that greeted him took his breath away, and he couldn’t stop his gaze from traveling from Ashley’s pink-tipped toes, up her bare long legs, to the pink fur-trimmed hem of her tiny pink nightgown with some kind of top that looked like a fur-trimmed bra.
He sucked in some air. He should have left the cover on. But it was too late now.
“Come on,” he said, grabbing her foot to pull her off the bed but she was so silky soft he couldn’t get a grip. His hand slid from her heel to her toe and she giggled.
“Stop that!” She nestled into her pillow. “And come back to bed.”
Rick’s mouth fell open in shock, but his libido instantly decided joining her was a fabulous idea. He nearly slapped himself for even considering it. Never in a million years would he again be interested in another woman accustomed to creature comforts. Ashley might not be so spoiled as to abandon a child in favor of trips to the Mediterranean the way Jen had, but she was obviously pampered. All he had to do was look at the multiple doors on the right-hand wall. They undoubtedly led to a closet, dressing room and private bath, most likely with a spa. This suite was bigger than any bedroom in his parents’ home. Hell, this suite was bigger than any apartment he’d lived in since he’d struck out on his own. He didn’t want anything to do with another woman who needed an entire room for her clothes.
“Get up!” he yelled, resisting the urge to smack her butt to get her moving. “You want to run the farm, fine. Then I’ll teach you to run the farm. But that means you have to get up!”
She shifted on the rosebud sheets. “What?”
“Today’s the day you start learning to run the farm, remember?”
Her eyes popped open. She bolted up in bed, saw him, glanced down at herself and screamed.
“No one’s here,” he said frantically searching the room until he found a frothy see-through pink thing that he assumed was the “cover-up” to her little pink nightie. He scooped it up and as he released it to toss it to her, the pink fur tickled his palm. His blood began to hum through his veins. Wild thoughts scampered through his brain. Luckily he was smart enough to ignore all of it.
“So screaming won’t do any good. Besides, I’m here to get you for work, not for what you apparently offered somebody last night.” He shook his head. “I’ll bet you have some dreams in that getup.”
She snatched her cover-up in midair. “My dreams are none of your concern.”
“Except your dream about running this farm.” He crossed his arms on his chest. No matter what his percolating hormones thought, he didn’t intend to deviate from his plan to get rid of her. Not even for the various and sundry fun and games that automatically sprang to mind just looking at that nightgown.
“Now get up.”
She tied the belt of the pointless robe. “In case you haven’t noticed, I am up.”
He looked at his watch. “Great. And only twenty minutes after everybody else is in the barn.”
She gaped at him. “What?”
“What do you think? Horses sleep until noon? Fat chance. Kiss your late nights goodbye, sweetheart.”
She drew a breath. “If farm managers have to get up at—” she peered at the digital clock on her bedside table “—four-thirty! Are you insane?” She jumped out of bed and stormed over to him.
Rick forced his eyes away from her legs only to find himself staring at her breasts, then the long column of her neck, then her blazing green eyes.
“I’ll get up at five.”
“All rightie, then. When your dad calls I’ll tell him you must not want to learn because you refuse to get up when everybody else does.” He turned and strode toward her bedroom door.
“You wouldn’t!”
He faced her again. “I would. You think a farm is a big game?” he asked, motioning around the room. “With your pretty pink foo-foo stuff all over the place? But most of us live and die by whether or not this farm makes money and while I’m here, it will.” With that he pivoted toward the door again. “You’re in the barn in ten minutes or I’ll be telling your dad.”
He left the room and Ashley fumed. Not because he threatened her but because he’d had the audacity to come into her room. She ripped off her cover-up as she marched into her walk-in closet and searched for a pair of jeans suitable for a day in the barn.
He hadn’t merely come into her room, he’d come in and pulled off her covers. She glanced down at her basically see-through nightgown and groaned. It would probably take less than five minutes for her fetish for pretty nighties to get around the barn. She’d just handed Rick Capriotti the ammunition he needed to keep her from gaining the respect of the hands.
Damn! This was not at all how she had pictured this morning would turn out. She hadn’t exactly seen herself arriving at the barn, shaking hands with Rick and giving everyone in the barn a pep talk. She hadn’t even imagined herself and Rick Capriotti getting along. But she had envisioned some sort of compromise. This farm was her home and her heritage and she wanted to run it with the grace and dignity of a well-bred Southern lady. But right at this very minute, Rick Capriotti was probably robbing her of that chance by telling everyone she wore a little pink nightie trimmed in fur that made her look like one of Santa’s off-season elves.
She took a breath, told herself not to panic and decided the only way to handle the gossip would be to meet it head-on. That was the lesson she’d learned when she came home after her marriage crumbled. For four long weeks every room she had walked into had suddenly gotten quiet. Then she had realized that if she would talk about her disastrous marriage, admit she lost half her trust fund and answer any questions, eventually the gossip would die, if only because the townspeople would have nothing to speculate about. They would know everything.
So, she’d spilled her guts to Ellen Johnson, wife of the diner owner, who usually acted as hostess, and it worked like a charm. Within a week, everybody knew her story, and bored because there were no unanswered questions, they moved on to the next gossip topic.
And that was exactly how she’d handle the nightie scandal. She would address it head-on.
Ten minutes later she was in the main barn, striding down the cement aisle that separated the two long rows of stalls. When she stepped into the office, Rick glanced at her, looked at his watch, then smiled. “You had thirty seconds to spare.”
Not about to be baited, she returned his smile. “I didn’t shower.”
“Most of us don’t before a day of mucking stalls.”
Her pretty smile collapsed. “Mucking stalls!”
“What? You think you’re going to start at the top?”
“I am the top! I own this farm.”
“Let’s get something straight. Your dad owns the farm or I wouldn’t be h
ere and you wouldn’t be putting up with me.”
Toby Ford walked into the office, carrying the morning paper and a cup of store-bought coffee, and wearing a flat tweed cap that made him look like the epitome of the English gentleman that he was. Though he was close to forty, his boyish face and rakish charm reminded Ashley of someone her own age.
“Morning, Miz Meljac,” he said, taking off his hat, and not meeting her gaze. From his awkwardness Ashley guessed Toby was the first person Rick had told about her nightgown, and the place she’d have to start with damage control.
She straightened her shoulders. “No need to be so formal, Toby, since it’s clear you probably know more about me this morning than you knew this time yesterday.”
Toby peeked at her. “Excuse me?”
“Oh come on, now. If we’re all going to work together, we might as well be honest.”
“About what?” Toby’s eyes widened.
Ashley glanced from Toby to Rick, who was smirking, and then back to Toby again. “He didn’t tell you anything…about…well, this morning?”
“I just got here,” Toby replied at the same time that Rick said, “A gentleman doesn’t tell what he sees in a lady’s bedroom.”
Ashley’s eyes narrowed.
This time when she spoke she had to ungrit her teeth. “Mr. Capriotti felt it was okay to come into my bedroom to wake me this morning.”
Leaning back on the old-fashioned wooden office chair that sat behind the gunmetal-gray desk, Rick linked his hands behind his neck. “Let me ask you something, Toby. If you had a laborer who wasn’t on time for work, what would you do?”
Toby shrugged. “Fire him.”
“My point exactly.” Rick turned his gaze on Ashley. “So you had a choice, sunshine. Get your butt down to this barn or get fired. Since I suspected you didn’t know that rule, I did you a favor by waking you.”