And Cowboy Makes Three (Cowboys To The Rescue 2)

by Martha Shields

  As she peeked, the college-age man touched the doorbell again.

  Buzzzzzssstttt. Buzzzzzssstttt. Buzzzzzzzzzssssssttttt.

  “Okay, already.” Claire swung the door open to a blast of cold air.

  The young man looked up in decided relief. “Claire Eden?”

  Yes.

  “I’ve got a delivery for you. If you’ll just sign right here.” He held out a clipboard and pointed to a line on a form.

  Claire signed, then held out her hand for the manila envelope the young man had under his arm. Along with the envelope, he handed her a set of keys.

  “What’s this?” she demanded.

  “The keys.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I can see they’re keys. What to? They don’t come with any instructions?”

  He pointed to the envelope. “That’s probably the owner’s manual. Or there might be one in the glove compartment. I didn’t look on my way over. But since it’s used, you never—” “Glove compartment?” This conversation was getting weirder by the minute. “Like in a car?”

  “Of course like in a car. That’s what we’re delivering.” He pointed to a sleek red sports car parked in front of her town house.

  Claire’s jaw dropped. “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “There must be some mistake. That’s not my car.”

  “You’re Claire Eden, aren’t you? And this is the right address. No mistake, ma’am.”

  “But you...I don’t... Where’d it come from?” she demanded finally, afraid she already knew.

  “You don’t know?”

  “Right. I got a Porsche delivered yesterday, and a Maserati the day before that. Just tell me, okay?”

  He consulted his roster. “A Jake Anderson arranged for the delivery.”

  Claire groaned and sagged against the doorjamb. “So last night wasn’t a dream.”

  “Excuse me, ma’am?”

  “Never mind.” She straightened and held out the keys. “Here. You can just take it right back. I’m not taking delivery.”

  The young man waved the clipboard. “You already did.”

  “But I didn’t know what it was.” She stepped forward, trying to force the keys on him.

  He backed up. “Look, lady. I’m just doing my job. I was told to drive this red Jaguar to this address and get your signature. I did. Have a nice day.” He turned and sprinted toward a bright green truck idling behind the Jaguar.

  Claire threw her hands up as the truck sped out of the parking lot, then her eyes fell to the sleek red Jag crouched before her. She approached slowly, as if it would come alive any minute and pounce. The bright November sunlight bounced off the chrome, and she could see her baffled reflection in the highly polished paint.

  Why would Jacob Anderson send her a car? A car, for Pete’s sake. Most men started with flowers and candy. Not Jake Anderson. He went right for the jugular. Or Jaguar, as the case may be.

  A cold wind swept down from the Rockies, sending shivers over her skin.

  She didn’t know what his motives were, but she couldn’t accept such an expensive gift. And she certainly intended to tell him. Spinning on her heel, she strode back into her apartment and headed for the nearest phone.

  The door swung open before Jake had time to ring the bell.

  Claire stood with fists planted on her hips. “What the heck do you think you’re doing?”

  A brow shot up. “Am I late?”

  “No, you’re not late. You’re ten minutes early. But that’s not what I’m talking about.” She pointed behind him. “I’m talking about that.”

  He didn’t have to turn to know what she was referring to. He’d already spotted the red car when he drove up. “I see it arrived safely. How is it running?”

  “I wouldn’t have the faintest idea. I didn’t touch any part of it except the keys. Nor am I going to.”

  “Don’t like the color? Me, neither, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

  Her flashing eyes narrowed. “I’m not a beggar.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” He nodded at a couple leaving their town house two doors down. “Can I come in? We’re attracting attention.”

  She looked as if she was about to refuse, then she caught sight of the couple, too, and reluctantly swung back to let him in.

  As Jake stepped into the carpeted entryway, he took in her garb—faded blue jeans that hugged her legs and hips topped by a gray University of Wyoming sweatshirt. “Why am I not surprised you haven’t dressed?”

  “I haven’t decided if I’m going with you or not,” she announced as she closed the door against the cold.

  “I thought you wanted to talk me into giving you a job.”

  “I do, but—” She stopped and took a deep breath before saying in exaggeratedly patient tones, “Let’s get back to the subject, shall we? Why did you send the car? I tried calling you all afternoon but you weren’t in your office and—surprise, surprise—your private number isn’t listed.”

  “I was busy.” He wasn’t about to tell her doing what—not yet. “Your car is in the shop, isn’t it? In need of major repair?”

  Her chin rose a notch. “Well, yes, but—”

  “I happened to have an extra, and I thought you might be able to use it. So I sent it over.” Jake held out the flowers in his hand. “Here, these are for you.”

  Claire ignored the offering. “It’s your car? How many do you have?”

  “It’s Alan’s car. A little flashy, I know, but that’s the way Alan was.”

  She gasped. “It’s Alan Townsend’s car? You gave me a dead man’s car? He’s not even cold yet. How could you do something so...so...”

  “Practical?” He lifted a brow. “Alan doesn’t need it anymore. I don’t need it. But you do. It’s as simple as that. A gift from one friend to another.”

  The expression flashed across her face that he’d seen the night before when he mentioned being friends—a little hope, a lot of panic, and a lot of confusion. Why did the idea of being his friend upset her? Most people would jump through hoops of fire for the chance.

  Suddenly her acceptance of the vehicle he’d so casually sent over during his busy day became a symbol of her accepting him—and that was of paramount importance for his plan to succeed.

  She, however, doggedly held on to her indignation. “I can’t accept a car from you, and certainly not one like that. The insurance alone would bankrupt me.”

  “Consider it a loan, then. You can drive it until your car is repaired or replaced. The insurance is paid up through the end of the year.”

  Claire stared blankly at the flowers he held—long—stemmed pink roses wrapped in green tissue. She found it difficult to let go of the anger that had grown in direct proportion to her frustration as she tried to get him on the phone. But—dern his hide—he was being so nice. She never would’ve dreamed Jake Anderson would remember a minor detail like her car breaking down. much less be thoughtful.

  “You might as well drive the car. It’ll just sit in a cold garage until I have time to find a buyer.”

  His voice was calm. coaxing, but the knuckles on the hand holding the flowers were white, as if her acceptance meant a lot to him. Why would that be, unless his claim to have no friends was true? She’d heard that it’s lonely at the top, and Jacob Anderson was at the top of so many lists she couldn’t name them all. It was just so hard to believe he wanted her as a friend. Plus, she had a feeling he wanted more than friendship, which would ultimately prove disastrous to any working relationship they might have.

  On the other hand, if she wanted a job with a decent salary she needed to be nice to this man. Why was that so hard to remember? If she didn’t get this job—or one that paid as much—she wouldn’t have enough money for a baby. She needed to swallow her pride. Having a baby was worth just about anything.

  “All right, then. A loan. Thank you.” She reached out and rescued the flowers from his death grip. “Sorry I got so worked up. I thought...I don’
t know what I thought, exactly—”

  “That I was trying to seduce you?” he supplied with a faint smile. “Trying to buy my way into your affections?”

  She returned his smile crookedly. “Not really. I don’t know how rich men operate, but a Jaguar at a lady’s front door before you’ve even had your first date seemed a little much, even for a multimillionaire.”

  “Oh, we operate pretty much like the next guy. Seducing with fancy dinner dates and sweet words...and flowers.”

  She glanced down at the flowers then back up again, her mouth dry. “Is that a joke or a warning?”

  “Probably a little of both.”

  Claire turned on her heel. “I need to put these in water.”

  Jake followed her into the kitchen. “You’d better get dressed. The party starts in half an hour.”

  Claire filled the vase with water, glad of the excuse not to face him. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have anything to wear. I was so busy being upset about the car I didn’t have time to go shopping. You go on without me.”

  Jake took the flowers from her hands and plopped them into the vase. Instead of pointing out that the ends needed to be cut off, she allowed him to turn her around.

  “I don’t want to,” he said firmly. “Surely you have something that’ll do.”

  She glanced down his tuxedoed form. The dark suit fitted like it had been sewed around his tall, muscular form. The pleated white shirt contrasted sharply with his skin, while the black coat emphasized his dark hair and eyes. Though he’d never be a fashion model, he was a man—from his short-cropped hair to his broad shoulders to his long legs. “I’m not exactly in the jet set. I haven’t needed a formal dress since college.”

  “Do I have to remind you I still haven’t given you a job?”

  She stared at him a long moment. “There’s a name for this. It’s called blackmail.”

  “It’s called keeping the boss happy.”

  His low, husky voice sent shivers of apprehension along her skin. “Just how happy do you expect to be kept? If you think that giving me a job gives you control over my life, you can—”

  “No. I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. Let me try again.” He took her hand in his. “Please go with me, Claire. I have to give a speech tonight, and I hate giving speeches. I’d like to have you there.”

  The simple request tugged at Claire’s heart. Jake Anderson hated to give speeches. The small insecurity brought him down a notch or two off his lofty perch, to an almost human level. He seemed to need a friend tonight. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t use a friend herself. Besides, this man was about to give her a job that would make her dream of a family possible. The least she could do was be there to applaud his speech.

  “I do have a black velvet dress I could fancy up with some pearls. I suppose, in a pinch, it could be considered formal. It’ll take me about twenty minutes to change.”

  “Sounds perfect.” He squeezed her hand, then smiled with blatant male satisfaction. “Need help with any buttons or zippers or anything?”

  There was so much testosterone oozing from this man Claire felt her toes curling. To hide her reaction, she ducked under his arm. “In your dreams.”

  As she pushed through the swinging door she heard his deep, rich voice asking softly, “How did you know?”

  The lights in the museum auditorium dimmed as Jake strode to the podium. Claire sat back in her seat and looked around covertly. She’d never been to a highbrow function like this. The guests were the cream of Denver society. She doubted if anyone there was worth less than a million dollars—except her.

  She felt like a guppy in a bowl full of goldfish.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen...” Jake’s deep voice echoed across the room, bringing her thoughts and eyes back to him.

  His speech was brief and to the point, introducing the new president of the museum foundation. Claire joined in the polite applause as he finished and made his way toward her, Claire Eden.

  She still couldn’t quite believe she was Jacob Anderson’s date. Maybe she needed to pinch herself.

  She smiled automatically as he settled in the seat next to her.

  As the new president began to speak, Jake slipped an arm along the back of her chair and leaned close. “How did I do?”

  Claire turned her head only to realize her lips were a breath away from his. His warm scent engulfed her. Not an expensive cologne—as far as she could tell he didn’t wear any. Just a clean smell, unmistakably male. It drew her to him like a honeybee to nectar. If she lifted her chin just a tad...

  She gave herself a mental slap. She was not going to think of Jake in sexual terms. She’d already promised herself. “You did fine. I don’t know what you were talking about when you said you were uncomfortable making speeches. You looked like you were born to the job.”

  He shook his head. “I was born a long way from places like this.”

  With that cryptic statement, he straightened and turned his attention to the next speaker, but kept his arm on the back of her chair.

  As the speaker droned on, Claire tried to recall the personal information she’d heard about Jake. The only thing she could remember was that he was born on a ranch near Pawnee, Colorado. She also recalled Jake telling her about him and Alan riding across the hills of their ranches.

  She frowned. He grew up on a ranch, which meant he grew up as a cowboy. That wasn’t good. In her opinion, cowboys were the lowest form of life on earth, and she’d vowed to steer clear of them for the rest of her life.

  She studied his profile, trying to ignore the pleasure that tingled through her every time she looked at him.

  No, Jake was not a cowboy, no matter what his upbringing. He didn’t wear boots or jeans or a cowboy hat. He didn’t drive a worn-out old pickup. He didn’t smell of manure or talk about pulling breach calves at the dinner table.

  She turned back to the speaker with a wry smile. Jake Anderson a cowboy? Right. And bulls and bears really did roam down Wall Street.

  It was ten o’clock by the time Jake helped her into his Jeep, then slipped under the wheel. “I hope you’re not tired.”

  Claire shook her head. “I slept until almost noon.”

  “I was planning on dinner, all right?”

  “I guess we need to finish our discussion, don’t we?”

  “We certainly do.”

  “All right, then. Where are we going?”

  “My place.”

  Claire froze. “Your place?”

  “We’ll have more privacy there.”

  “More privacy for what?”

  He glanced at her. “For discussing creative ways to use tax loopholes, of course. What did you think I meant?”

  “I want to make one thing perfectly clear, Jake Anderson. I’m not going to sleep with you just to get a job. I don’t work that way.”

  Stopped at a light, he met her eyes. “If you slept with me to get a job, I wouldn’t give it to you. I don’t work that way, either. If I hire you, it’ll be because I think you’re the best.”

  Claire nodded, glad when the light changed and he turned his attention back to the road. To her relief, Jake began a discussion on tax laws that took all her concentration. It continued until they walked through the door of his penthouse.

  Claire stopped just inside the living room and tried not to gape. The decor could’ve graced the pages of Architectural Digest.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  “It’s...beautiful.”

  “Do I hear a but?” he asked.

  “Do you actually live here? It’s almost too beautiful, and...”

  “And what?”

  “It just doesn’t look like you.”

  Jake glanced around his spacious apartment, really seeing it for the first time since he’d had it decorated. Or rather, since Melissa had it decorated. No, it didn’t look like him. It looked like the woman he’d almost made the mistake of marrying three years ago. He hadn’t changed it because he h
ardly ever noticed the decor. The little time he spent at home was in his bedroom or study. These “living” rooms were only used when he had guests, which was rare during the past few years.

  He watched Claire run her hand over a ceramic vase he’d never touched. “How would you change it?”

  She smiled at him crookedly. “I’m not a decorator. You’ve seen my town house. I don’t have matching anything. When I need a piece of furniture, I buy what I like at the time, usually at a yard sale.”

  “Your place looked fine to me. Very...eclectic.”

  She smiled. “That’s a kind way of putting it. But it’s comfortable.”

  He took her coat and laid it on a couch, then showed her into the dining room. They settled down to eat the meal served by his housekeeper. He employed a middle-aged couple to look after his apartment, but they mostly stayed out of his way unless he brought guests home.

  Jake barely tasted the food. Though his attention remained focused on Claire as she did her best to convince him of her accounting expertise, he didn’t hear half of what she said. He’d spent the day making that decision, so he didn’t need any more convincing. Instead, he found himself fascinated by the way the black velvet dress she wore moved along the curves of her upper body. Was it actually possible to be jealous of fabric?

  As they ate the main course, Jake became aware that his answers were becoming less and less coherent. So he forced his attention away from Claire’s body and concentrated on her lips. Unfortunately, her full, wide mouth reminded him that he’d been wondering all day how it would feel to kiss her. He couldn’t get the image out of his mind.

  “That was an excellent meal,” Claire said. “Thank you, Mrs. Sanchez. And please thank Mr. Sanchez for cooking it this late. Can I help with the dishes?”

  The housekeeper nearly dropped the plate she’d just picked up. “No, ma’am,” she said, clearly flustered. “We have a dishwasher.”

  Claire nodded, and Mrs. Sanchez reached for Jake’s dish. He looked down in surprise at the half-finished piece of cherry pie she was taking away. He couldn’t remember anything else he’d eaten.