The Rancher And The Redhead

by Leigh, Allison

  In the barn he studied the newest additions to the herd. Despite their early birth in the middle of a snow-covered field, one of the calves was doing just fine. The little guy’s Mama leisurely looked Matt’s way, her big brown eyes velvety soft, undisturbed that he was messing with her baby. Satisfied, he turned to the other. If the cow didn’t accept the little orphan soon, the second calf wasn’t going to make it He pushed the cow’s hind quarters with the flat of his hand to move her out of the way. She flicked her tail once, then shifted, turning her attention to the grain in the bin attached to the solid rear wall.

  He filled a clean pail with warm milk from the cow and hunkered down in the stall, patiently coaxing the small calf to drink by dipping his fingers into the milk and drawing the calf to the pail.

  He’d been annoyed with Joe’s attitude. Oh, sure, Jaimie drove him nuts. Okay, maybe not all the time. As for all those jobs he’d been hearing about...well, she obviously hadn’t found her niche with them.

  It seemed to Matt that, despite Jaimie’s...exuberance...once she set her mind to learning how to do something, she worked at it until she had it mastered. She might be a city girl, but hadn’t she more than pulled her weight baling hay at the end of last summer when she’d been visiting Joe and Maggie? Even Emily, who’d pretty much grown up on the Double-C, was a menace when it came to haying. But Jaimie—

  Well, Jaimie sure as shootin’ hadn’t managed yet to drive one of his trucks without bringing it back sporting a dent or a new scratch.

  But she cooks hash browns just the way you like ’em, and the big house hasn’t looked so cared for since...since...

  All right, so he couldn’t remember a time. Maybe before his mother had died. Emily was a terrific housekeeper—homemaker, he amended—but Squire had shuffled her off to boarding school when she’d been a teenager, and she’d never really had the opportunity to take charge of the Double-C’s household. And Maggie did a great job. But...

  He swore inwardly.

  There had never been many woman around the Double-C. And Jaimie, with her wildly waving hair and impractical diamond bracelet, her green Christmas tree cutouts and red hearts everywhere, was like a breath of fresh air.

  Matthew pinched the bridge of his nose, his headache’s foothold gaining ground. He was crazy, he decided abruptly. His brains were scrambled, just like Squire had accused earlier. He wanted her. That was all. He certainly wasn’t going to entertain the absurd notion of her becoming a permanent part of the Double-C.

  The last time he’d considered such foolishness, he’d been in college and idealistic as a new pup. What had happened? He’d gotten his guts stomped on by a pair of Italian high-heeled size sevens, that’s what had happened. Because the girl, BethAnn Watson, the first female Matthew had ever loved, had made it plain that she had no intention of languishing away on a remote Wyoming ranch.

  He’d been good enough to sleep with, but not good enough to marry. She’d sure proved that, when she’d ended up marrying his good buddy Bill Pickett.

  Matthew shook his head. BethAnn should have stuck to the excuses she’d used with Matthew. Because she’d only made it through two harsh winters before she’d driven her truck into a tree. It might have taken Matthew a while to realize it, but he did believe that she really had fallen for Bill. Nothing less would have ever budged her on her opinion of ranch life. But even then she’d been unable to stand the loneliness. Being away from her friends. From malls and movie theaters. She’d ended up using liquor to ease the loneliness.

  In the end it had killed her.

  Since his experience with BethAnn, Matthew had been excruciatingly careful to keep his heart uninvolved. There’d been women here and there. Women he shared common interests with. Women who knew that a pleasurable night or two didn’t mean breakfast together in the morning. Much less orange blossoms and babies.

  But Jaimie was different from those women. What he felt for Jaimie...well, he’d admit to a certain affection if pressed, but it was pure want. Impure want, if a person wanted to get technical. And as soon as Jaimie went on her way, things would get back to normal.

  Barely a fourth of the milk was gone when the calf refused any more. Sighing, Matthew ran his palm over the little body, then pushed himself to his feet, cleaned up and retrieved his now-cold coffee from where he’d set it on a corner post.

  He hated losing a new calf.

  Blaming his unsettled feelings on that, he sucked down the dregs of coffee and headed back to the big house. The clear night sky stretched out forever. Golden light gleamed from several windows of the big house, and he stopped cold as he saw a familiar figure pass by the large window over the kitchen sink. She reappeared in the mudroom, her head bent as she concentrated on something out of his vision.

  His fingers curled around the empty mug. Who was he kidding? He wasn’t sure he even knew what normal was anymore.

  A half dozen long strides carried him to the house and through the newly adjusted storm door. Jaimie looked over her shoulder when he entered. She flushed to the roots of her auburn hair and looked at the bundle of blue jeans in her hands. Water rushed through the pipes, filling the machine.

  “It’s a little late for laundry, isn’t it?”

  Avoiding his eyes, she busied herself pulling scraps out of the pockets before adding each pair to the wash. “It’s ours,” she said. “I, uh, hope you don’t mind. Maggie’s machine stopped working the other day. Doesn’t agitate. Joe was gonna fix it, but—”

  “Jaimie.” Her eyes glanced his way then bounced back to the laundry. He wiped his boots on the little rug, leaving a streak of mud behind, and moved over to stand by the dryer. “Use whatever you need. I’ll get someone to take care of Maggie’s machine this week.”

  “I’m sure Joe will get to it.”

  Matthew shrugged. Maybe Joe would, maybe he wouldn’t. In the meantime, Matthew would make sure that the machine got fixed. By someone. Daniel was a whiz with all sorts of machines. He caught a pair of jeans before it hit the floor, and handed them to her.

  “Thanks,” she murmured, her fingers searching. She pulled out several small packages, glancing at the items before she set them on the shelf above the machines. Matthew watched the hectic color leave her cheeks just as quickly as it had arrived. He looked at the contents in her palm.

  “Yours?” he drawled.

  Jaimie closed her fingers over the packets, feeling the foil crinkle. “That’s none of your business.” Matthew’s pale eyes were expressionless. She hated it when he did that. Not that she was very good at reading what he was thinking, anyway.

  She pushed the packets into her front pocket and shoved the jeans into the washing machine just as it began agitating. She hastily shut the lid, stifling a wince at the noisy slam.

  He rubbed his forefinger across the edge of adhesive tape on his forehead. “They’re not yours.”

  She moistened her lips, prepared to argue. But she couldn’t. She’d never been good at lying. Knew it never served a good purpose. “No,” she admitted. Her stomach clenched as she waited for some comment.

  But Matthew simply looked at her. “Well,” he said after a long moment. “Good night.” He turned on his heel and left her standing in the cool mudroom.

  With her brother’s condoms burning a hole in her pocket.

  Chapter Nine

  When her alarm chirped a few minutes past five the next morning, Jaimie was sure she’d never felt more tired in her life. Still, she dragged herself out of bed and into the shower. Ten minutes later, conscious if not quite coherent, she emerged, clean and dressed. Joe sprawled across the couch, a lit cigarette propped between his fingers.

  She halted in front of him. Disgust mingled with love. “Trying to burn down the place?”

  He blinked, then jackknifed forward to dump the long ash into the beer can sitting on the coffee table. “Hey, sis.”

  She added dismay to the emotions tangling through her. “You’re drunk.”

  He shook his head
, focusing carefully on her. He lifted the cigarette and took a long, deep pull. “Nope.”

  Jaimie glanced at the door to Maggie and Joe’s bedroom. At least it was closed. She nudged aside several empty beer cans and sat on the coffee table. The memory of what she’d found in his jeans burned fresh in her mind. “Joe, what’s wrong? This isn’t like you.”

  “Nothing’s wrong.”

  She wished that she weren’t so familiar with the actions of a man bent on being unfaithful to his wife. Unfortunately she’d had years of experience as a teenager, watching her parents. “I washed your jeans last night,” she said.

  “Gee. Thanks. Am I supposed to give you a gold star for the day?”

  “No.” She stifled the anger rising in her. “Why don’t I give you these, instead?” She pulled the small packets from her pocket and held them out to him.

  Seemingly unconcerned, he took another drag. then pushed the butt into an empty can.

  “Don’t insult me by saying they’re not yours,” she warned softly.

  He snatched the packets from her. “It ain’t your concern.” He stood and walked out, pulling on his coat as the door slammed shut behind him, leaving her no opportunity to respond.

  Jaimie wrapped herself in her own coat and scarf and quietly cleaned up the mess he’d left on the coffee table before following him out into the dark morning. The sight of the lights in the rear windows of the big house didn’t soothe her this morning.

  Squire would already be in the kitchen, drinking his coffee from that crazy saucer, while Sandy slept under the table. Matthew and Daniel would probably be out checking the stock. It might be Saturday, but that didn’t mean diddly to a cow bringing a new calf into the world.

  She should be grateful that Matthew would be busy. That he wouldn’t be sitting at the table, watching her cook his breakfast as he’d done so many mornings in the past. Moving carefully, she headed toward the house. The snow Matthew spoke of hadn’t come in the night, but the ground was covered with slick patches of ice. A soft meow distracted her, and she stopped, peering into the darkness. “D.C.?”

  The cat sprang across the build-up of crusty snow at the edge of the gravel road. Jaimie bent down and picked her up, carrying her toward the house. “What did you do? Ditch Sandy for a while? I’ll bet you’re hungry.” She rubbed the cat’s head. “Want me to find you some tuna?”

  “You’re spoiling that animal.”

  Jaimie startled, her foot sliding on the step, and Matthew steadied her with a quick arm. She jerked her elbow out of his hand. How could such a large man move so quietly? “She’s pregnant She deserves some spoiling.”

  Matthew narrowly missed the storm door as it slammed shut behind Jaimie. He sure didn’t need another close encounter with that bloody door. He let himself into the mudroom, watching her croon to the cat as she passed through to the kitchen, leaving her coat and scarf piled on the washing machine. “What’s eating you?”

  Jaimie slammed the tuna can onto the counter and attacked it with the can opener. “Nothing.”

  “Right.”

  She sliced him an irritated look before scooping the tuna onto a plate, which she set on the floor. D.C. practically climbed onto the plate in her haste to eat. Jaimie’s hair, unruly and damp at the ends, swayed about her back as she filled Sandy’s bowl with dry food, then yanked the waffle iron from the cupboard and plugged it into the outlet above the stove. She jerked open the refrigerator with enough force to rattle every bottle stored in the door shelves. Eggs, milk and margarine found their way to the counter. “Where’s Squire?”

  “He decided to drive down to Casper. Left late last night.”

  Her shoulders sagged. Then she shoved back the long sleeves of her plain gray sweatshirt and pointed to the growing pile on the counter. “Squire always wants waffles on Saturday morning.”

  “I imagine he can persuade Gloria to meet his needs,” he assured her drily.

  Rolling her eyes, she sniffed. “Well, do you want any? Waffles that is?” Pink climbed into her cheeks.

  He was hungry. He could’ve easily fixed himself something to eat and saved himself this grief. But this was his house. His kitchen. And he paid her to cook. “Sure.” He pulled out a chair and sat. “Dan is out, though. He’s heading over to Jefferson’s with a load of hay.” It didn’t take a rocket scientist to recognize the dismay in her expression.

  Sipping his coffee, he reached for the file folder he’d laid on the table earlier. Receipts and invoices practically sprang from the confines when he opened it. “How’s Maggie?”

  “Still pregnant. So you’re still stuck with me for a few more weeks.” She punctuated her words by cracking an egg. Which promptly dripped down the side of the bowl onto the counter, since she’d split it clean in two.

  Matthew clamped down on his ire. “Maybe you’d better go back to bed and climb out of the other side. The right side this time.”

  “Maybe I don’t need your advice.” She reached for another egg. At least this one ended up inside the bowl. Though he saw her carefully pick out a piece of shell and flick it into the sink. Then she added flour.

  “Maybe you don’t need this job.” He regretted the words as soon as he said them.

  Her shoulders stiffened. “Go ahead. Fire me. It certainly won’t be the first time I’ve been canned.” She turned to face him, bits of egg and flour clinging to her fingertips. Defiance colored her features, but it was the expression in her eyes that made him hold his tongue.

  Fear.

  In fact, her green eyes, usually vivid and full of sass, looked whipped. She fully expected him to tell her to start packing her gear.

  “Sit down.”

  “I prefer to stand when being fired.”

  “I’m not gonna fire you,” he said, irritated. “Sit down.” He closed the file abruptly. “Please,” he tacked on after a long moment.

  She picked at the sticky flour. Worrying the inner corner of her lip, she rinsed her hands, then sat.

  “What’s bothering you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re as antsy as a cat in a roomful of rocking chairs. Is it cabin fever? It probably gets pretty boring for you here in the dead of winter.”

  Her lashes dipped. That cloud of pink bloomed on her cheeks again.

  “You haven’t had a day off in weeks, have you? Not since we—” He broke off. He didn’t want to bring up that night in Gillette. He didn’t want to bring up a whole passel of things. “That’s my fault,” he continued, determined. “I should’ve told you that you weren’t expected to stay on the ranch seven days of the week. Even Joe takes off on Friday nights.”

  Her expression tightened, and he wondered what on earth he’d gone and said this time. Lord, the woman was prickly. “You, uh, could use one of the trucks, if you needed.” What was he saying? She’d used one of the trucks to drive Maggie to that one doctor’s appointment. He hadn’t been able to miss the fresh scratch stretching down one side of the vehicle when they’d returned.

  Her lashes lifted, and he nearly groaned. Tears swam in her eyes, turning the dark green to shimmering emerald.

  “Don’t,” she warned, her voice husky. “Don’t start being nice.”

  He didn’t want her to cry. Oh, man, he did not want her to cry. “Yeah, well, I don’t want it to get out, either.” Her tongue sneaked out, leaving a glistening lower lip when it retreated. He shifted in his seat. “Might ruin my image.”

  It was such a ridiculous statement that Jaimie couldn’t help feeling her heart lighten. It wasn’t his fault that she couldn’t be around him without wanting to throw herself in his arms. It wasn’t his fault that her brother was acting like an idiot. Or that, once Maggie’s baby came, she would no longer have a reason to stay at the Double-C.

  She swallowed that worrisome detail and concentrated, instead, on the here and now. “You are a nice man.” Before she could help herself, she leaned across the table, touching his jaw. Golden stubble prickled against her palm.
“The nicest man I know.”

  “Don’t fool yourself.”

  Jaimie’s breath caught. Then he glanced away and she decided she’d imagined that sharp, hot look in his light eyes. She brushed her tingling palm against her jeans and rose. “Look, I know I’m not much use to you around here.” Working at the counter, she measured and poured. “But you’ve let me stay for Maggie’s sake.” She blindly reached for a wooden spoon and started stirring the waffle batter.

  “You’re even paying me.” She watched the batter drip from the spoon when she stopped stirring. “I just...well, I should’ve said thank you a long time ago.” She heard his chair scrape and looked over her shoulder.

  “I don’t want your thanks.” He gathered up the folder. “And you’re earning your keep,” he said gruffly. Then, without looking at her, he strode out of the room. A moment later she heard the distinctive, woefully familiar, sound of his office door slamming shut.

  Jaimie’s shoulders sagged. Silently she turned to the waffle iron and poured the smooth batter into the center. Fifteen minutes later she checked the table over once more. Hot, crispy waffles. Two eggs, sunny side up. Maple syrup, still warm from the microwave. Orange juice. Counters clean. Dishwasher unloaded.

  She went through the dining room and back behind the wide staircase to Matthew’s office door. She nibbled the corner of her lip, then quickly rapped her knuckles on the door. “Breakfast is on the table,” she called.

  Feeling like a ninny, she hightailed it up the stairs before he even answered. She stopped at the linen closet at the top of the stairs and pulled out a stack of fresh sheets. She heard Matthew come out of his office just as she went into Daniel’s room.

  Matthew stopped short at the sight of the laden table. Hunger curled through his stomach and he sat down at the lone place setting, forking a waffle onto his plate. “Nice,” he muttered, sliding an egg onto the waffle before dumping syrup over the whole thing. If he was nice, he would go upstairs and tell her to come down and eat, too. He could hear her moving around above his head. How easy it would be to go up there...behind a closed door...