Courting the Cowboy Boss: Reclaimed by the Rancher

by Janice Maynard

  The evening waned along with her need to hold him at bay. Would she end up sharing his bed? Why shouldn’t she? Becoming Case’s lover might well turn out to be the highlight of her adult life.

  She knew most of the available men in Royal. Not one of them had sparked more than a fleeting interest in her over the years. So maybe she was destined to be happily single, a focused businesswoman, a dutiful daughter and a generous friend.

  Living alone was not a dreadful thought. She understood Case in that respect. There was something to be said for peace and quiet and the chance to spend time with your thoughts. Case valued his privacy. Mellie valued her independence. It was a match made in heaven.

  Temporary. Wildly enjoyable. Mutually satisfying.

  Regretfully, the two of them were not going to get intimate tonight.

  At nine o’clock she eased out from under her not-unwelcome burden and stood to stretch the kinks out of her muscles. Case never made a sound. He was deeply asleep.

  His chin was shadowed with the beginnings of a dark beard. Even though she had seen him numerous times with his customary scruffy facial hair, now he looked far less civilized.

  She felt guilty for leaving him like this. Still, he was a grown man and she was under no obligation, ethically or otherwise, to stay. Parker Reese would check on him eventually.

  After tidying the kitchen and gathering her things, she slipped out the front door and locked it behind her. Unfortunately, when she arrived at home, she found her father sitting on the doorstep again.

  Nine

  She greeted him with a grimace. “It’s late, Dad. What do you want?”

  He didn’t even offer to help her carry anything into the house. Which, unfortunately, was typical. Harold Winslow spent most of his time worrying about Harold Winslow.

  “I need to borrow fifty bucks, baby girl. Just until Monday. I’m good for it.”

  She’d long since given up keeping track of her father’s IOUs. His requests were always modest amounts. Fifty here, a hundred there. Even when she gently reminded him he owed her money, he was all smiles and apologies. But the repayment never took place.

  It was her own fault. All she had to do was cut him off, and he would get the message...eventually. But regardless of his failings, Harold was her father. He’d helped raise her, and he’d been the one she’d clung to when her mother died. He was her own flesh and blood.

  “Why do you need the money, Daddy?” She dumped everything on the kitchen counter and confronted him.

  Harold gaped, his expression both astonished and cagey. She’d never before pressed him about where the cash went. She hadn’t wanted to know.

  His bloodshot eyes stared back at her. “I had a lot of bills this month,” he muttered.

  “Is that why you don’t have enough left for drinking tonight and tomorrow?”

  “I don’t appreciate your tone,” he snapped.

  She had definitely ruffled his feathers. But at the moment, she was so tired and dispirited she didn’t care. “I’m not an ATM. I have expenses of my own and a business to support.”

  “Where have you been tonight?”

  The change of topic caught her off guard. After a split second’s hesitation, she saw no reason to dissemble. “I took dinner to Case Baxter. He has the flu.”

  “Well, ain’t that sweet.”

  Her father’s colloquial sarcasm nicked her patience. “I’m tired, Daddy. And it’s late. Why don’t you go home and have a rum and Coke...without the rum.”

  Harold’s face turned red. “What’s gotten into you, girl? If you think hangin’ out with that fancy-ass richer-than-God cowboy makes you something special, you’re wrong. Big-shot ranchers don’t marry women who clean their toilets.”

  His deliberate crudeness broke her heart a little bit. Was this what they had come to? She refused him one time and he attacked?

  Her chest aching with emotion, she reached for her purse, opened it and took out a handful of bills. When she held out her hand, Harold grabbed the money as if he was afraid she might change her mind.

  Suddenly, her father was all smiles. “You’re good to your old dad. I won’t forget it.” He folded the money clumsily and stuffed it in his shirt pocket.

  She dug her teeth into her bottom lip, trying not to cry. “I’m done, Daddy. This is the last time. I want you to get help.”

  “I told you...I’m fine. Don’t know why you’re kicking up such a fuss about a little bit of cash.”

  “I’ve been looking at the rental income. You could be living like a king.” She helped out with the Winslow Properties business, and though she wasn’t in that office very often, she knew enough to realize the incoming cash was substantial. And she also knew that Harold wasn’t pouring any of that money back into upkeep and development.

  “You worried about your inheritance? Is that it?”

  The insult barely registered. She had figured out a long time ago that her father would be lucky not to end up a pauper. “I’m worried about you,” she said quietly. “And though you may not believe me, I’m done. No more handouts.”

  He backed toward the door, his posture hunted. “I may sell the Courtyard,” he said defiantly. “I’ve had inquiries from a company called Samson Oil.”

  The Courtyard was an old renovated ranch several miles west of town. It included a large barn and a collection of buildings that housed a growing and thriving arts community, consisting of both studios and retail shops. The land on which the Courtyard sat increased in value day by day.

  “You know selling would be a big mistake.” He was threatening her. Manipulating her. Classic addict behavior.

  Harold shrugged. “That’s your opinion. I gotta go. See you later.”

  Before she could react, he disappeared. Moments later she heard the front door slam.

  She sank into a kitchen chair and buried her face in her hands. If she had stayed at Case’s house, she could have avoided her father tonight.

  Scarcely five minutes had passed when her doorbell rang again. Damn it. If Harold had come back, she was going to have a little hissy fit. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and stood up, grabbing a paper napkin to use as a makeshift tissue.

  Rarely did she let her father get to her. But as she blew her nose, she conceded inwardly that his barbs had hit the mark. He was often a mean drunk, and tonight was no exception.

  It was a distinct relief to find Amanda Battle on the other side of the door. “Come in,” Mellie said.

  “I won’t stay long. I know it’s late.” Amanda slipped past her, shivering dramatically. “What happened to the warm days?” The sheriff’s wife was tall and slim and full of energy.

  “We’re headed toward the holidays. It was bound to happen. What’s up, Amanda? I doubt you came to see me for a discussion about the weather.”

  Amanda chuckled. “The guys are playing poker at our house. I had to get out of there for a few minutes. Besides, I need a firsthand report. Nathan called Case a little while ago to see how he’s doing, but you know how men are. Case said he was fine.”

  “You don’t believe him?”

  “Parker told us Case was in bad shape. He said if you hadn’t shown up at the ranch to clean yesterday and found Case, he might have ended up in the hospital.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that. I’m glad I happened to be there. I did take dinner to him this evening. He was grumpy but overall seemed somewhat better.” Better enough to flirt, anyway. Not that she was about to tell Amanda that.

  “You’re definitely a Good Samaritan. But don’t worry. Several of his friends and their wives and girlfriends have put together a meal schedule. We won’t let him starve. You’re off the hook with a clear conscience. And Parker is going to keep tabs on Case’s flu symptoms.”

  “That’s grea
t.”

  Mellie knew Amanda didn’t mean to sound dismissive...or as if she were kicking Mellie to the curb. Even so, the unintentional message was clear. Mellie was not part of that tight-knit circle of friends. It was ridiculous to let her feelings be bruised. Maybe because she had recently gone several rounds with her father, she was feeling fragile.

  Amanda glanced at her watch and sighed. “I’d better get back. I promised Nathan I’d throw together some nachos.”

  Mellie raised an eyebrow. “At this hour?”

  “When this crew convenes, they like to pretend they’re all eighteen again.”

  “You wouldn’t have it any other way. I hear it in your voice.”

  Amanda shrugged, her expression sheepish. “Yeah. You know me—I love to cook for people. And these guys work so hard it’s fun to see them unwind.”

  “Nathan is lucky to have you.”

  Amanda’s grin was smug. “Yes, he is.”

  Mellie walked her friend outside, feeling unmistakably envious of Amanda’s good fortune. What would it be like to be loved in such a way that you knew the other person would never let you down or disappoint you, at least not in any significant way?

  Ila Winslow had been that person for Mellie. But once she was gone, Mellie had been forced to face a few cold, hard truths. Love, true love, whether familial or romantic, was rare and wonderful.

  * * *

  The next day dawned bright and sunny, which seemed a shame given Mellie’s mood. She would have much preferred gray and gloomy so she could blame her low spirits on something other than the fact she was not going to see Case Baxter today.

  She attended church and brunch with a friend, then popped by the gym for her regular yoga class. In the locker room afterward as she showered, washed her hair and changed, she felt much better. Case was a blip on her radar. No need to get all hot and bothered about a guy who wasn’t even her type.

  Yeah, right. Her sarcastic inner woman-child sassed her.

  As was her custom, Mellie had left her cell phone in the car. No one ever needed her on Sunday, and she always relaxed more knowing that she was unplugged from the electronic world, even if only for an hour and a half.

  It was a shock to return to her vehicle in the parking lot and find that her cell phone had exploded with texts.

  My cleaning lady has gone missing.

  Twenty minutes after that: I pay double time on Sundays. Are you interested?

  Mellie stared at the screen. Interested in what? The shiver that snaked down her spine had less to do with cold air hitting her damp hair than it did the prospect of deliberately placing herself beneath Case’s roof during nonbusiness hours.

  Then a third text: You’ve already been exposed. Why not keep me company?

  Why not, indeed? She slid into the driver’s seat, uncertain how to answer. She decided to go with bland and professional and see what happened. I don’t work on Sundays, she texted. Hope you’re feeling better. I thought I would stay out of your way for now. Once you’re well, I can pick up where I left off.

  She made it a habit not to text and drive, so on the way home she ignored the series of dings indicating she had new messages. It wasn’t until she pulled into her garage that she let herself read Case’s responses...one right after another.

  I don’t give a damn right now if my house is clean and organized.

  I’m bored.

  Give a guy a break.

  How humiliating was it that her hands shook as she used her phone? Case was telling the truth. He was bored, and he thought Mellie was available. She should ignore him...pretend her cell was turned off...or invent a very important function she simply couldn’t miss.

  Gnawing her lip, she walked a fine line between cordial and suggestive. You sound grumpy.

  Of course I’m grumpy, he shot back. I’m in solitary confinement.

  You probably deserve it. Oops. That definitely sounded flirtatious. JK, she added rapidly.

  Her phone stayed silent for a full two minutes. She’d offended him. Yikes.

  Finally, he wrote back.

  Please come see me, Mellie. I’ll be on my best behavior. And you don’t need to cook for me. I’ve got enough food here to feed an army regiment.

  Well, shoot. She was a strong person, but not strong enough to say no to something she really wanted. She tapped the screen.

  Okay...give me an hour. Do you need me to bring anything?

  Just you.

  As a woman, she was generally low maintenance. An hour should have been enough time to get ready and drive out to the ranch. But she dithered over what to wear. Finally, she chose a charcoal-gray wool skirt with knee-high black leather boots and a scoop-necked black sweater with a gray chevron pattern across the chest. Silver hoop earrings and a silver necklace with a key charm completed her look.

  The outfit was probably too dressy. But she could always let him think she had worn this to church. Her mother’s voice echoed in her head. Never pretend to be something you’re not, Mellie. Tell the truth, even if it hurts.

  Mellie stared in the mirror, tucking a stray fiery strand behind her ear. For a moment, she contemplated leaving her long hair loose. But that might send the wrong message. Since she wasn’t exactly sure what it was that she wanted to communicate to Case Baxter, it was probably smarter not to be quite so...flamboyant.

  Her hair was hard to miss. Which was why she often kept it confined to a knot on top of her head or in a ponytail. Neither style seemed appropriate for tonight. She pulled the thick mass of red and gold to the side of her neck, secured it with a hairband and let it fall over one shoulder.

  As she examined her reflection in the mirror, she saw much more than a young woman dressed up for an evening that was definitely not a date. She saw uncertainty. Maybe a slice of anxiety. Most visible, however, was the undercurrent of excitement.

  Grimacing, she turned and fled before she could change her mind again about what to wear. She grabbed her coat from the closet by the front door, slid her arms into it, freed her hair and scooped up her car keys.

  The early evening had turned foggy. Case’s house appeared out of the gathering gloom like a regal old lady, sure of her place in the community. Lonely, perhaps, but unapologetic. A light beside the front door offered a welcoming glow.

  Mellie felt her pulse wobble as she climbed the steps to the porch.

  Case met her at the top of the stairs, the door half-open behind him. “It’s about time,” he said. When he grinned, she knew he was teasing.

  “You shouldn’t be outside,” she said. “It’s freezing.”

  He put an arm around her shoulders and steered her into the house. “I had to get some fresh air. It’s like a tomb in here.”

  As he took her coat, she smiled wryly. “Nicest tomb I’ve ever seen.”

  He shrugged. “I’m still running a fever. You can’t trust anything I say.”

  And wasn’t that the crux of the matter?

  She laughed because he wanted her to. Still, the irony was not lost on her. “Do you really have a temperature?”

  Case stopped short and bent his head. Taking her hand, he placed it on his forehead. “See.”

  He wasn’t kidding. “How long since you’ve had medicine?”

  “I don’t know. Four hours? Five? It’s probably time.”

  “Case...”

  “Don’t scold me,” he said. “It makes me hot, and I’m too weak to ravish you.” He urged her along the hallway and into the den. A roaring fire in the fireplace added warmth and color to a room that was sophisticated but comfy. A silver tray laden with an assortment of decadent treats was set up on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

  After surveying the chocolate-dipped strawberries, champagne and candied fruits, she shot Case an incredulous glance. “Where
on earth did this come from? Your friends have outdone themselves.”

  He sat down rather suddenly, his face an alarming shade of white. “My friends brought fried chicken and green beans. I ordered this stuff online from a specialty shop in town.”

  “Ah.” The small luxuries seemed an odd choice for a man recovering from the flu. But then again, her personal experience with wealthy men was practically nonexistent. Perhaps for Case, this was the equivalent of buttered popcorn and jujubes at the movie theater.

  “Sit down,” he said gruffly, his eyes closed. “I’ll be okay in a minute.”

  “Did you actually eat any of the fried chicken?” she asked.

  “Not yet. I took a shower.”

  The unspoken inference was that getting his hand-delivered meal onto a plate was more than he could handle. Poor man. “Rest for a few minutes and I’ll bring your meal in here.”

  “Thanks.”

  He was trying so hard to act tough, but the flu was no respecter of persons. Even a broad-shouldered, macho, athletic guy like Case Baxter could fight back only so far before admitting defeat.

  In the kitchen she saw that Case had piled a few dirty dishes in the sink. On the granite-topped island she found a large disposable aluminum pan filled with an enormous amount of fried chicken. And it wasn’t from the chain restaurant in town. This was the real deal.

  Her mouth watered. So much for the yoga class. Ignoring her better judgment, she fixed two plates with crisp chicken breasts, home-canned green beans and fluffy yeast rolls with butter. Who knew what her host wanted to drink? But the truth was, he should have plenty of water.

  Balancing two bottles she plucked from the fridge, she picked up the plates and carried them back to the den. Her host had fallen asleep again.

  She stood there looking at him for long minutes, wishing she could put a name to the yearning that tightened her throat and forced her to blink moisture from her lashes. For years she had kept an eye out, always wondering if there was some special guy out there for her. But Prince Charming never showed up.