Jared was feeling just as twitchy as his horse. Far from the haven he’d always known, the familiar sights and sounds of Montana brought a crush of memories. And a fresh surge of anger roiled in his belly.
His instinct had been to stay far away from the ranch this week. But his sister, Stephanie, needed him. Besides, Chicago had its own problems at the moment.
Ryder International had just signed a long-term lease to rent space to the City of Chicago in the Ryder office tower that was under construction on Washington Street. For some reason, the mayor had insisted on parading Jared from charity ball to art gallery opening. Jared had been out in public so often that the tabloids started to believe there was a reason to take his picture and stuff a microphone in his face.
It was beyond frustrating. He was a businessman, not a politician or a celebrity. And his personal life was none of their damn business. The reporter from Windy City Bizz camping out at the end of his driveway Monday night was the last straw. When he got back to the city, he was looking into restraining orders and disguises.
But for the moment he had no choice but to come to terms with the home front. He cleared the main equestrian barn, and a cluster of people on horseback at the riding arena came into view. His appearance caught their attention. One horse and rider immediately broke free from the group, trotting down the dirt road to meet him. Both Jared and Tango tracked the pair’s progress past the pens, dotted outbuildings and sparse trees.
“The prodigal returns,” sang his twenty-two-year-old sister, Stephanie, pulling her mare to a halt, raising a cloud of dust in the July sunshine. Her smiling, freckle-flecked face peeked out from her riding helmet. Her long legs were clad in tight jodhpurs and high, glossy brown boots, while a loose, tan blouse ballooned around her small frame. Her unruly auburn hair was tied back in a ponytail.
“I think you’re confusing me with Royce,” said Jared, watching her closely. She might not know what he knew, but they’d all been shaken by their grandfather’s death three months ago.
He halted Tango, who eyed the mare with suspicion.
“At least Royce makes it to my competitions,” Stephanie pointed out, shifting in her stirrups. “He was there to watch me win last week at Spruce Meadows.”
“That’s because he lives on his jet plane,” Jared defended. His brother, Royce, routinely flew from New York to London, Rome and points east, checking out companies to add to the Ryder International empire. Royce was mobile.
“I live in a boardroom,” Jared finished.
“Poor baby,” Stephanie teased. She smiled, but Jared caught the veiled sadness in her silver-blue eyes. Stephanie had been only two when their parents died, and Gramps was the closest thing to a parent she’d known.
“Congratulations,” he told her softly, reflexively tamping down his own anger to focus on her needs. He'd been fifteen when they lost their parents, and he liked to think he’d had a hand in raising her, too. He was immensely proud of her accomplishments as both a rider and a trainer.
“Thanks.” She leaned forward to pat Rosie-Jo, her champion gray Hanoverian, briskly on the neck, but not before Jared caught the telltale sheen in her eyes. “Want to see our trophy?”
“Of course,” he answered. There would be plenty of time later to talk about their grandfather.
“We’ve got a few hours before the meeting.” She drew a brave breath and squared her shoulders, shaking off the sadness as she turned the horse to draw alongside Jared.
Together they headed toward her two-story blue-gabled ranch house.
The annual meeting of the Genevieve Memorial Fund, a charitable trust named in memory of their mother, would take place today. Each year, it was scheduled to coincide with the anniversary of their parents’ deaths. Picturing his parents, Jared felt his anger percolating once more. But he had to suck it up, be a man about it. There was absolutely no point in disillusioning his younger brother and sister. “I saw you in the Chicago paper last week,” Stephanie chimed in as they left the river behind them.
“That was a picture of the mayor,” Jared corrected. He’d done his best to duck behind the burly man.
“They named you in the caption.”
“Slow news day,” he told her, remembering the flashbulbs outside the gallery and how the reporters had shouted inane questions as he’d helped Nadine into the limo.
Stephanie’s expression turned calculating, her tone curious. “So who was she?”
“Who was who?” he asked, pretending he didn’t know exactly where his baby sister was headed. Raised in a male-dominated household, she’d been lobbying for somebody to please marry a nice woman since she was seven years old.
“The bombshell in the picture with you.”
“She was my date,” he offered, letting the statement dangle without elaboration.
Stephanie pasted him with a look of impatience. “And?”
He forced her to wait a beat longer. “And her name is Nadine Romsey. Sorry to disappoint you, but she’s not a bombshell. She’s a lawyer with Comcoe Newsome.”
Stephanie’s interest grew. “Looks and brains. This must be something serious.”
“It was a business arrangement. The mayor invited me to the party, and there were people attending that Nadine wanted to meet.”
Stephanie pouted. “But she’s so pretty.”
“And you’re so hopelessly romantic.”
“Will you take her out again?”
“Only if she needs to get into another party.” He admired Nadine, but he didn’t have any romantic interest in her.
Stephanie compressed her lips in frustration. “You’ve written her off after one date? You know, you’re never going to meet a woman if you don’t get out there and—”
“I’m ‘out there’ 24/7, little sister.” He gestured around the spread. “That’s what pays for all of this.”
Stephanie pointed her nose in the air. “Ryder Equestrian Center brought in a million dollars last year.”
Jared snorted a laugh. “While you spent four million.”
“We also provided dozens of marketing opportunities for the firm, and we improved your corporate image. That is priceless.”
“You rehearsed that, didn’t you?”
“You should get married, Jared.”
“Aren’t you a little old to be angling for a mother figure?”
“I’m looking for a sister now. You should find someone young and fun. Who likes horses,” she added for good measure, kicking her mare into a faster walk.
Jared shook his head. Between the revelation his grandfather had spoken on his deathbed, the mayor and the media, and Ryder International’s accountant’s concerns that the company was expanding too fast, Jared didn’t have a scrap of emotional or intellectual energy left over for romance.
As he followed Stephanie past the open door of a stable, a sudden tingle spread up his spine. He turned sharply and locked gazes with a blond-haired, green-eyed beauty who stood just inside the main doorway. She was wearing blue jeans and a crisp white shirt, and she held a manure fork in both hands.
She quickly glanced away, but his radar pinged.
What was it?
He stared at her a little longer.
It was the makeup. Her makeup was subtle, but she was definitely wearing some. And he’d bet her blond highlights were from a salon, not the sunshine. Her collared shirt was pressed, and the hands that held the manure fork were soft, bare, no gloves.
“Who’s that?” he asked his sister.
Stephanie turned and followed the direction of his gaze.
“Why? You think she’s pretty?”
Anyone could see the woman was gorgeous. But that wasn’t the point.
“I think she’s a rank greenhorn,” he said.
“Her name’s Melissa…something. Webster, I think. You want me to introduce you?” The calculating flare was back in Stephanie’s eyes.
“Stop,” Jared ordered.
His sister grinned unrepentantly.
“She needed a job,” said Stephanie. “She’s from Indiana.”
He wasn’t sure what the hell Indiana had to do with anything. While he watched, the woman awkwardly scooped a pile of horse manure from the wooden floor and dumped it into a wheelbarrow. “If she needed a million dollars, would you give it to her?”
“She didn’t ask for a million dollars. She’s on her way to Seattle. She needed money for bus fare.”
“You’re hiring transients now?”
“She’s mucking out our stalls, Jared, not signing the company checks.”
“I’m not worried about embezzlement. I’m worried about labor cost efficiency.”
He was also worried something wasn’t quite right. Why would a woman that polished take a menial job for bus fare?
She could be running away from something, he supposed. Or she could be running from someone. Which seemed more likely. An ex-boyfriend? Someone’s angry wife? It had better not be the FBI or the state troopers.
He considered her delicate profile, trying to decide if she was a criminal. She tackled the next pile of manure, her city-soft hands sliding up and down the wooden handle.
“She’s going to get blisters,” he voiced the thought out loud.
“You want to give her some gloves?” asked Stephanie.
“Somebody better,” he conceded. Aimless wanderer or criminal on the run, if they were going to employ her, the least they could do was make sure she avoided injury.
“Hey, Melissa,” Stephanie called.
The woman paused and glanced up.
“Grab some gloves out of the storeroom.”
Melissa gave her hands a puzzled look.
“She hasn’t a clue,” said Jared, hit with an unexpected flash of pity. Maybe she was running from an angry ex. He quickly reined in his thoughts. None of his business.
“You sure you don’t want me to introduce you?” Stephanie singsonged.
Jared turned Tango toward the house. “You going to show me your trophy or what?”
“Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
“Yes, I can.” But Jared glanced over his shoulder one last time as they moved away. Manure fork balanced in the crook of her elbow, the woman named Melissa was wriggling her fingers into the pair of stiff leather gloves. The fork slipped and banged to the wooden floor. The sound startled a horse. The horse startled the woman. She tripped on the fork and landed with a thud on her backside.
Their gazes met once more, his amused, hers annoyed.
He turned away, but the flash of emerald stayed with him as he followed Stephanie to the hitching rail in front of the house.
Two
B y the end of the day, the bruise on Melissa’s left butt cheek had settled to a dull ache.
While she swept the last of the straw from the stable floor, a late-model Bentley rumbled its way to the front of the farmhouse. The glossy black exterior might be dusty, but it was still one impressive automobile. And the chauffeur who jumped out of the driver’s seat was crisp in his uniform.
She moved into the oversize doorway, leaning on the end of the broom handle while she waited to see who would emerge from the backseat.
It was an older man, distinguished in a Savile Row suit. He was tall, with a head of thick silver hair. He nodded politely to the chauffeur, then headed up the stairs to the wraparound porch, where both Stephanie and Jared appeared to greet him and usher him inside.
The chauffeur shut the car door. He glanced curiously around the ranch yard before moving to open the trunk. Melissa peered at the house, but there was no way to guess what was going on inside. The man might be a friend, or perhaps he was a business associate.
Jared’s sister’s house seemed like an odd location for a business meeting. Unless, of course, somebody wanted to keep the meeting a secret. Now that was an interesting possibility. Was there something clandestine in the works for Ryder International?
As the chauffeur had before her, Melissa glanced curiously around the yard. Several young riders were practicing jumps in the main ring, their grooms and trainers watching. A group of stable hands were loading hay into a pickup truck beside the biggest barn, and three cowboys were urging a small herd of horses across the river with a pair of border collies lending a hand. Nobody was paying the slightest bit of attention to the Bentley.
Then another vehicle appeared and pulled up to the house. This one was an SUV, larger but no less luxurious than the Bentley.
A thirtysomething man with dark glasses and curly dark hair stepped out of the driver’s seat. He looked Mediterranean, and he was definitely not a chauffeur. He wore loafers, well-cut blue jeans, an open white dress shirt and a dark jacket. He also offered a polite greeting to the Bentley driver before striding up the stairs of the porch.
Melissa’s journalistic curiosity all but ordered her to investigate. She leaned her broom up against the stable wall and started across the yard. She told herself she’d put in a good eight hours today. It was close to dinnertime, and the Bentley was at least vaguely in the direction of the cookhouse. She’d have a plausible excuse if anyone questioned her.
Ironically she’d been disappointed not to get a job down at the main ranch. The foreman there had all but sent her packing this morning when she’d told him she was a stranded traveler. Luckily Stephanie Ryder had been there at the time. The younger woman had taken pity on Melissa and offered her a job at the Ryder Equestrian Center. Melissa had been plotting ways to get back to the main ranch when Jared and his horse had wandered into the yard. Talk about good luck.
Now she was looking for more luck. She smiled brightly at the chauffeur, smudging her palms along the sides of her thighs, wishing she wasn’t covered in dust and sweat, and was wearing something other than blue jeans and a grime-streaked shirt. She wasn’t the greatest flirt in the world, but in the right party dress, she could usually hold a man’s attention.
“Very nice car,” she ventured in a friendly voice as she approached.
The man pushed the trunk closed and gazed critically at the Bentley. “I suppose dust is better than mud.”
She guessed he was about her own age, maybe twenty-five or twenty-six. He was attractive, in a farmboy-fresh kind of way, with blond hair, a straight nose and a narrow chin. He was clean-shaven, and his hair was neatly trimmed.
She slowed her steps, taking in the Montana license plate and committing the number to memory. “Did you have a long drive in?” she asked pleasantly.
“Couple of hours from Helena.”
Helena. Good. That was a start. “So you work in Helena?”
“Three years now.”
She stayed silent for a moment, hoping he’d elaborate on his job or the company. She scanned both his uniform and the car for a logo.
“Your first time at Ryder Ranch?” She tried another approach.
He nodded at that. “Heard about it, of course. Everybody in the state knows about the Ryders.”
“I’m from Indiana,” she supplied.
“Grew up south of Butte myself.” He gave the dust on the car another critical gaze. “There a hose around here someplace?”
She had no idea. “I guess you meet interesting people in your job?” She struggled to keep the conversation focused on his employment.
“I do some.” He glanced around the ranch yard while a horse whinnied in the distance, and a tractor engine roared to life. Unfortunately he didn’t pick up the conversational thread.
But Melissa wasn’t giving up, not by a long shot. She moved in a step closer, tossing back her hair, hoping it looked disheveled, instead of unruly.
Her actions caught his attention, and he glanced at the ground.
She lowered her voice as she gave him her brightest smile. “I’m a little embarrassed,” she cooed. “But should I know the man you dropped off?”
; The chauffeur looked back up. He didn’t answer. Instead, he swallowed hard, and his neck flushed beneath the collar of his uniform.
“I only ask,” she continued, tilting her head to one side, surprised it took so little to rattle him, “because I don’t want…”
He worked his jaw.
She paused, waiting for him, but he didn’t make a sound.
She suddenly realized his gaze wasn’t fixed on her. He was focused on a spot behind her left shoulder. Her scalp prickled.
Uh-oh. She twisted her head and came face-to-face with Jared Ryder.
It was clear he was annoyed. He was also taller than she’d realized, and intimidating, with that strong chin and those deep blue eyes. He wore a fitted, Western-cut shirt and snug blue jeans. His shoulders were broad, his chest deep, and his sleeves were rolled halfway up his forearms, revealing a deep tan and obvious muscle definition.
“Don’t want to what?” he asked Melissa, his tone a low rumbling challenge.
She didn’t have a quick answer for that, and his deep blue gaze flicked to the silent chauffeur. “There’s coffee in the cookhouse.” He gave the man a nod in the appropriate direction.
The chauffeur immediately took his cue and hustled away.
Jared’s tone turned to steel, the power of his irritation settling fully on Melissa. “I’d sure appreciate it if you could flirt on your own time.”
“I…” What could she tell him? That she wasn’t flirting? That, in fact, she was spying?
Better to go with flirting.
“I’m sorry,” she told him, offering no excuses.
He gave a curt nod of acknowledgment, followed by a long assessing gaze that made her glad she was only pretending to be his employee.
“I don’t know why Stephanie hired you,” he finally stated.
Melissa wasn’t sure how to answer that, or even if he expected an answer. The only thing she did know was that she was determined to take advantage of the opportunity to talk to him alone.
“You’re Stephanie’s brother?” she asked, pretending she hadn’t been poring over his press coverage on the Internet.
Seduction and the CEO Page 2