The Rancher And The Redhead

by Leigh, Allison

  “You do, if you want to work here. I told you a long time ago that those canvas tennis shoes were little better than nothing. If you can’t be bothered to get some in town, why haven’t you borrowed a pair of Maggie’s? Or there’s probably a pair in Emily’s room, still. She always kept extra boots here for when she visited.”

  Jaimie thought of her petite, blond sister-in-law. And of Emily, Matthew’s even more petite, delicate, brunette sister-in-law. “Well, that would be fine,” she said with exaggerated patience, feeling like an Amazon for even having to point out the fact to him. “Except their feet are about two sizes smaller than mine.”

  He shrugged. “So get your own pair. Like I told you to.”

  She propped her fists on her hips. “And how do I do that? Hmm? You told me never to get behind the wheel of one of your precious vehicles again. That I was to keep myself in the house where I couldn’t do any serious damage. Remember?”

  Actually, he had forgotten he’d told her that. His temper had gotten away from him when she’d managed, yet again, to back one of the pickup trucks into a fence post. The woman was truly a menace behind the wheel of a truck. In the year and a half since her first visit to the ranch, she’d managed to back three different trucks into three different fences. And that was during the time when she’d spent only weekends with her brother and Maggie.

  He wondered if she had better luck in Drive than Reverse. It was probably just as well that the woman didn’t own her own vehicle now.

  Still, he couldn’t have her going around the place without suitable boots. She would probably end up with pneumonia or something. He didn’t need that on his conscience, too.

  “I have to go to Gillette this afternoon.” He picked up his fork. “We’ll get what you need then.”

  She was silent for so long that he looked up from his food.

  “Is that an invitation?” Her voice was all silky and smooth, and if he’d been a fearful man, he would have ducked at the knives shooting from her bright eyes.

  “Call it what you want.” He forked a bite of fluffy omelet into his mouth. It practically melted on his tongue. “Two o’clock. Make a list and be ready. We’re not going to spend the afternoon browsing the malls.”

  Jamie’s eyes narrowed as he bent his attention back to his breakfast. She hoped he choked on it. “Fine.” she snapped. But he never even looked back up at her. His attention was already divided between the invoices he’d been studying when she came in and his meal.

  She glared at his head. The fact that it was an exceptionally nice head did nothing to soothe her mood. Nor did it help that her mouth fairly watered simply by looking at him. He was the Marlboro Man, come to life. Better really, because Matthew didn’t smoke. But he came complete with well-worn denim jeans that only accentuated his long, muscled thighs, and soft flannel shirts that seemed to stretch for miles across his broad shoulders. He was as large as a towering oak tree. And as solid. He had to be a walking, talking temptation to half the women in Wyoming, Colorado and Utah combined. Unfortunately, around her he had the temperament of a grizzly awakened from his winter’s sleep.

  So why on earth did she find him so darn appealing?

  Chapter Two

  After leaving Matthew in his office, she returned to the kitchen and cleaned it up, then ran back to the foreman’s house where she was staying with Joe and Maggie. The cozy brick cottage was beyond several barns, about a half mile from the big house.

  She found Maggie, shaky and wan, fixing herself a cup of soup, and Jaimie shooed her sister-in-law back into bed. It was proof that Maggie felt really crummy when she didn’t put up much of a fight. Jaimie prepared a light meal for her, then hastily scribbled the list of supplies that Maggie suggested.

  She quickly tidied up the cozy two-bedroom home, then hurried back to the big house to prepare Squire’s lunch. As she passed the large, empty bunkhouse on her way, she felt inordinately grateful that the only people working the ranch at the moment were Matthew and his younger brother Daniel, Joe and herself. She wasn’t sure what she would have done if she’d have had to cook for a dozen men in addition to her other chores.

  It was a wonder to her how Maggie had managed. But then, Maggie had been raised on a dairy farm in Wisconsin. She had grown up feeding farm hands, cows and horses alike. The closest Jaimie had ever gotten to a horse was when she took riding lessons at the YMCA in Phoenix when she’d been in high school. She’d never seen a cow up close until she’d come to visit Joe and Maggie shortly after they’d moved to the Double-C:

  Eventually Jaimie managed to swab down the mudroom. She bent over to wring out the cotton mop head, grunting slightly at the effort it took. Straightening, she heaved a sigh and arched her back. Looking about her, she felt ridiculously satisfied at the shining linoleum. In addition to the mudroom, she’d even mopped the kitchen floor. See if Mr. Blond-and-Beautiful could complain about that.

  Huffing her hair out of her eyes, she folded her arms over the mop handle and looked out the window of the storm door, seeing the now-familiar gravel road, the snowy fields that seemed to stretch on forever. Who would have thought she would ever end up on a remote Wyoming cattle ranch, pinch-hitting for Maggie while she was supposed to be taking it easy with her pregnancy? But then, if it weren’t for her brother, Joe, being here, Jamie would probably still be in Arizona or California, trying to figure out what to do with her life. Maggie had known how disconnected Jaimie had been and had encouraged her to move closer to them in Wyoming. They were family.

  The only thing keeping Jaimie in the Southwest had been habit. She’d already visited the Double-C and her brother and sister-in-law. Knew that the wild, rugged landscape and the warm-hearted people there offered more than her current existence.

  So she’d packed up and moved to Wyoming, landing the job at Bennett Ludlow’s office—not that he’d been over-run with job candidates. But Bennett and her brother had become friends when Joe and Maggie first moved to the Double-C a few years back, and it had seemed ideal for Jaimie to take the job with Bennett.

  She’d happily given it—and his roving hands—up, though, when Maggie needed her support.

  Heaven knew that Maggie didn’t appear to be getting much support from Joe these days.

  At thirty-five, Joe was eight years older than Jaimie. Somehow or other, over the years, he’d ended up in Wisconsin, marrying Maggie when the ink on her high school diploma had still been wet. That had been ten years ago. Jaimie and her mother had flown to Las Vegas where Maggie and Joe had eloped, and she’d been a bridesmaid in the wedding. Still in her last year of high school, it had all seemed terribly romantic to Jaimie.

  She rubbed her forehead. It had seemed romantic to her then, but the cool distance between her brother and his wife these days was anything but.

  She sighed as she returned the mop to the cupboard. Hefting up the bucket, she dumped it in the oversize sink that was positioned on the far side of the washer and dryer.

  She’d just finished rinsing out the sink when she heard the clomp of boots on the steps outside, and the door flew open, bringing with it a shivering draft of cold air. “Take off your—” she stared in frustration at the fresh trail of muddy snow “—boots.”

  Squire looked down. “Give it up, girl. This is what a mudroom is for.”

  Jaimie yanked off several paper towels from the holder affixed above the utility sink. “Then why does he keep harping at me to clean it up?” She glared at the he in question and crouched down to wipe up the footprints.

  The door slammed shut behind him, and Matthew shrugged out of his jacket. “It’s two. Aren’t you ready to go yet?”

  “Does it look like I’m ready?” She pushed at his boot. “Lift.”

  He frowned at her, but he lifted his foot and she slid a cotton rug under.

  “You’re not gonna traipse those muddy, gritty wet boots all over my clean floor,” she muttered, situating the rug under his other boot.

  “My floor?”

&nbs
p; Squire chuckled and patted her shoulder as he stepped around them. “You still going in to Gillette?”

  “Yeah.” Matt bent and snatched the paper towels from her hand before she could start wiping off his boots. “Leave it,” he said brusquely. “If you need anything, add it to the list on the counter.” He raised his voice so Squire could hear.

  Jaimie popped up and stood in his way when he would have followed Squire into the kitchen. “Wipe off your boots.”

  Matthew was tall enough to look right over the top of her auburn head. But there she stood, clearly planning to bar him if he should step off the dinky rug without tending to his boots first. He could simply pick her up and place her out of his way. In fact, the idea of closing his hands over her arms had a decided appeal. He crumpled the paper towel in his fist. And wiped his boots.

  “We’re leaving in ten minutes,” he growled when she cleared the path to the kitchen. “Be ready.”

  Jaimie peered around the door, watching him stride through the kitchen. Lordy hallelujah, the man had an attitude. And the most incredible backside...

  “You gonna stand there all afternoon?” Squire inquired.

  She realized he was standing at the kitchen door, waiting to close it, keeping the heat in the kitchen. “I was thinking about it.”

  He closed the door behind her when she passed into the kitchen. “You’d best be getting ready, girl. He’ll leave without you.”

  “And I’d be stuck with whatever he decided I needed. He’d probably buy boots two sizes too small,” Jaimie finished. “Don’t forget to take your medicine,” she reminded as she sat down and began pushing her feet into the tennis shoes. “You need to eat first—”

  Squire snorted. “I’m old, missy, not senile.”

  She straightened and grinned. She wasn’t sure exactly how old Squire was, but knowing he’d married before he’d been twenty, she guessed his early sixties. He stood tall and straight. Almost as tall as his son, and his silver-gray hair was thick and brushed back from a striking face, carved with years of experience. His ice blue eyes were startling against his tanned face. Just looking at him told her what Matthew would look like in another twenty years or so. “You’re a sexy coot,” she teased. “I know Gloria Day thinks so.”

  He grunted at the mention of the other woman’s name. One of his nurses when he’d been hospitalized several months ago, they’d been more or less dating since Squire’s return home. “Your time’s ticking away,” he reminded, rather than comment on Gloria.

  “I should run back and check on Maggie.” She glanced at the clock on the microwave. “If we’re late—”

  “Don’t worry. Joe’ll be back in by suppertime. I’ll even check on her myself,” Squire assured. “You got about six minutes.”

  She was already out the door. Her shoes slipped and slid over the snow and gravel as she jogged back to check on Maggie who was now soundly sleeping. She grabbed her coat, mittens and purse, and slip-slided her way back in just enough time to climb breathlessly into Matt’s Blazer as it idled alongside the big house.

  His arms were folded over the top of the steering wheel, and his dark brown cowboy hat was pulled low over his forehead as he watched her settle into her seat. “You’re late.”

  The interior of the truck was nice and warm, but she still huddled into the depths of her coat. “Not by much.” She set her purse on the floor by her feet then stuck her fingers in front of the heater vents. “Or you wouldn’t have waited. Oh, that feels good.” She drew in a long breath and wiggled her fingers in the stream of heat.

  He tipped his hat up a notch with a gloved hand. “Try wearing gloves. Or is that somethin’ else you don’t have?”

  She pulled the mittens out of her pocket and waved them in front of his nose.

  “They’d do more good on your hands,” he suggested drily.

  She made a face at him, but pulled on the brightly knitted mittens. She looked out the window as he worked the truck around on the circular, gravel drive that fronted the big house. At least it had once been gravel. Now, except for deep wheel ruts, the gravel was covered with a thick coat of dirty, crusty snow.

  She couldn’t help the twinge of excitement she felt. Whether it was from the prospect of being in Matthew’s company for the next few hours, or the idea of going to town, she couldn’t tell. Probably a healthy dose of both. Jaimie hadn’t seen another face, aside from Joe and Maggie, Matthew, Squire and Daniel, for nearly three weeks. Not even Jefferson, another one of Matthew’s brothers, and his new wife, Emily, had been by the Double-C during that time. They were the Double-C’s closest neighbors, owning the spread directly east. More than ten miles away.

  This place was a far cry from Phoenix, Arizona.

  It was painfully silent in the truck as Matthew drove toward the main gate of the Double-C. The only sounds were those made by the gravel and slush beneath the big tires, and the steady throb of the engine. Both of which seemed to underscore that looming silence.

  Never in her life had she been tongue-tied, she thought, sliding a look his way. Not until she’d met Matthew Clay.

  She sighed faintly and looked back out the side window. Her goose bumps finally died, and she unzipped her coat, settling more comfortably against the seat. As they approached the junction where the Double-C joined a paved road, he pulled over to the side and, reaching through the open window, retrieved the bundle of mail stuffed in the mailbox and dumped it on the seat between them.

  From the corner of his vision, Matthew watched her slip off her mittens, which she’d been fiddling with for the past five minutes. He reached over and flipped on the radio. His fingers drummed on the steering wheel. What on earth had possessed him to bring her with him to town? He could’ve had her write down what size boots she wore. Then she wouldn’t be sitting beside him, filling the truck with the lemony scent of her hair.

  He glanced her way, but she was looking out the side window. Her hair streamed over the shoulders of her bright purple coat. Her toes, in those ridiculously inadequate shoes, tapped in time to the soft music from the radio.

  He cast about in his mind for something to say, then felt like an idiot. So what if it was Valentine’s Day? She wasn’t a date, for cripe’s sake. He didn’t need to make small talk.

  They backtracked to stop at his brother’s place, but didn’t stay to visit as Emily was elbow deep in bread dough and Jefferson—well Jefferson, as usual, was trying to distract his wife. And doing a decent job of it, if the glob of bread dough on the front of his sweater was anything to go by. Jefferson was clearly recuperating well from the surgery he’d had less than two months earlier. Matt added Emily’s items to his list for town since he knew she didn’t want to leave Jefferson any more than necessary. He could have called her on the phone, but hadn’t. He wanted to see with his own eyes how his brother was doing. Stopping gave him the excuse. Unfortunately the stop seemed all too brief when Matthew contemplated the long drive yet ahead of them.

  He was far too aware of the way Jaimie tucked her chin into the raised collar of her coat and hurried after him as they left Jefferson’s house.

  “Doesn’t it ever stop blowing?”

  He held open the door for her as she clambered up into the truck. “Nope.” He rounded the Blazer and climbed in.

  In just the few minutes it had taken to walk from the protection of the house to the vehicle, her nose had turned pink with cold. She jiggled on the seat, her hands tucked between her thighs.

  “Cold?” Now there was a brilliant observation.

  “I never thought I’d have fantasies about a Phoenix summer,” she muttered. “But right now, 112 degrees sounds pretty good.”

  Then why don’t you go back there where you belong and leave a man in peace? He started the engine, then reached behind the seat for a folded blanket he kept sitting on the back seat. He tossed it on her lap. “Here.”

  Her hands hurriedly spread the red-and-black-checked wool over her legs. “I like Emily and your brother. They�
��re very happy, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah. Finally.” He wheeled the truck around and headed for the main road. In minutes they whizzed past the Double-C’s main gate toward the state highway.

  “Emily is about five months along now, isn’t she?”

  He shrugged. “About that.”

  “Why is Jefferson the only one of you guys who’s married?”

  Jaimie’s nose was still pink and he upped the heater a notch. “’Cause he’s the only one of us who has found the right woman,” he said, feeling impatience curl through him. Why couldn’t he get the dozens of ways he could warm her up out of his head? He turned the heater full blast this time and pushed all the vents in her direction.

  “Surely there’s—”

  “There’s not a lot of women in these parts,” he said abruptly.

  “Maybe not, but this isn’t some isolated island, either.”

  “No. It’s Wyoming. Where the winters can last for eight months of the year.”

  “So?”

  He shrugged, wondering why he felt so edgy. “There aren’t many women I’ve known who’re willing to put up with it.” The understatement was so huge, he wondered why he didn’t choke on it.

  “Emily ‘puts up’ with it. She loves it here. So does Maggie.”

  “They’re exceptions.”

  She gave a snooty little sniff. “Spoken like a man.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.” She adjusted the blanket. “Don’t you want a wife? Children?”

  What he wanted was sex. With her. And that was completely out of the question. Irritation skittered down his spine and he dragged his thoughts from tiny red hearts decorating thermal shirts. He checked the highway and smoothly passed a slower-moving Jeep. “What for?”

  “What for?” She flopped her hands. “What do you think, what for? For love. For someone to hold at night when it’s below zero outside and the snow is piling up in six-foot drifts. For a child to pass the Double-C on to. To teach your kids how to care for the land. To share your love for it—how it’s the only thing in the world that lasts.” She looked out the window. “What for,” she muttered, shaking her head.