by JoAnn Ross
“Whatever you want.” She poured the batter into the pans, then carried them carefully to the oven. She was so intent on getting them on the rack without spilling the batter, she didn’t notice Clint coming up behind her.
“Whatever I want?” the deep voice rumbled in her ear. “What if I want you?”
She managed to shut the door, then turned around. “I was talking about the cake—”
“You’ve got flour on your face.”
“I said I was a good cook,” she said, feeling strangely entranced by the lambent flame in his eyes. “I don’t recall saying I was neat.”
“Actually, it’s kinda cute…there’s a little bit here.” He ran the back of his fingers along the line of her jaw, then touched her cheek. “And here.”
“Clint—” His touch created sparks on skin that already felt uncomfortably warm. It had to be the heat of the oven, Sunny assured herself. It couldn’t be anything else.
“I like the way you say my name.” He ground the now unwanted cigarette out in a nearby ashtray, then lowered his head. His lips brushed the sensitive hollow behind her earlobe. “In that throaty little voice, tinged with desire. And just a touch of fear.” He nipped at her earlobe, his teeth tugging gently. “Are you afraid of me, Sunny?”
“Of course not,” she stammered weakly, as she tried to back away. But he kept moving toward her, effectively fencing her in between the countertop and his body.
“Liar.” His mouth moved to her temple, beneath the froth of gilt curls.
Clint Garvey was like no other man she’d ever been assigned. He burned with a ferocious intensity that, in all honesty, did frighten her. Just a little.
“This isn’t going to work,” she warned as he threaded his hands through her unruly waves.
She had the most amazing hair. It felt like silk, smelled like a mountain meadow in wildflower season and gleamed like a blazing noontime sun on the Fourth of July. It was the kind of hair a man could wallow in.
“What isn’t going to work?” He skimmed his fingers down her neck.
“Trying to frighten me away.” Her heart picked up its beat as his palms smoothed over her shoulders, turning her muscles to mush. “Because I’m not going.”
“You sound pretty sure of yourself.” His hands slid down her arms, his long fingers encircled her wrists, holding her hostage. “When is it going to sink through that bright blond head of yours that I’m the one calling the shots around here?”
Sunny’s mouth had gone so dry she had to swallow before she could speak. “You need me.” Her voice, usually so steady, was soft and raspy and thick with the turbulent emotions she couldn’t comprehend.
His grin was quick and decidedly lascivious. “You called that one right, sweetheart.” He moved even closer, until the tile counter was digging into her back and he was pressed against her, so closely that she could feel his heart thudding within the strong wall of his chest.
Her mind clouded, her blood swam as the friction between his aroused male body and her own strangely restless one threatened to set them both on fire.
“You need me,” she agreed, trying to tug her hand loose from his restraint. “But not this way. I told you, I came here to be your housekeeper.”
“That was yesterday. Today you’re my fairy godmother, remember?”
“I need to explain about that—”
“It doesn’t matter.” His voice was rough and raw. Anger flared as he viewed the edgy, yet strangely innocent desire in her dazed eyes.
The lady was emotional quicksand. Clint figured it was his recent penchant for self-destruction that had drawn him to her. That and the inescapable fact that his throbbing body had completely disconnected itself from his mind.
He shook his head to clear it of the hot, unruly thoughts he had no business thinking, let go of her wrists and moved back a step. “As soon as the road clears, I’m taking you back to town.”
“And if I refuse to leave?”
Good question. Short of physically dragging her out of his house, he wasn’t sure what he could do. “I suppose I could call the sheriff and have him arrest you for trespassing,” he mused out loud.
“You wouldn’t do it.”
“You sound awfully sure about that.”
“I am.”
There was a long silence as Clint stared down at her. “Hell,” he said finally.
“Does that mean I get the job?”
Even as he told himself he’d be crazy to let this woman sleep under the same roof as him, the aroma of baking cake teased at his senses, weakening his resolve. “It means I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try. For a few days.”
Now that she’d won the little battle of wills, Sunny could afford to be gracious. She also decided this was not the time to bring up the rodeo in Tombstone. Clint was a man accustomed to making his own decisions, and she’d just have to make him believe that defending his championship was his own idea.
“Thank you,” she said solemnly, managing, with effort, to restrain the triumphant smile that was trying to break free. “You won’t be sorry.”
“That’s probably what the captain of the Titanic said when he was greeting the boarding passengers,” Clint muttered. “You should know, right off the bat, that I can’t afford to pay much. I know people think ranchers are rich, but—”
“I don’t need any money.”
“Oh, excuse me. I forgot. As a fairy godmother, you can just wiggle that cute little nose and conjure up piles of dough.”
“Normally, that would be the case,” Sunny agreed, deciding that to point out that fairy godmothers didn’t twitch would only get them off track. “However, there was this little glitch and I’m afraid I’ve lost my powers.”
“Oh really?” He folded his arms. “Talk about rotten timing. So, I guess this means you’re not going to be able to give me a demonstration?”
Sunny thought about her three wishes and decided that wasting one just to uphold her pride and prove she was what she said she was would be terribly foolhardy, even for her.
“I’m afraid not.”
“Too bad.” Surprising her yet again, he ducked his head and brushed a quick kiss against her pouting lips. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said. “I always thought that bibbity-bobbity-boo stuff was overrated, anyway.”
The brief flare of heat from his kiss sent shock waves all the way down to Sunny’s toes. She pressed her fingertips against her tingling lips, watching as he pulled the jacket from the hook by the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Now that it’s stopped snowing, I’m going to get a shovel from the barn, dig the truck out and finish fixing the tire. Then I’ve got some errands to run in town. Do you want me to pick anything up?”
“Pick anything up?”
“Groceries, cleaning supplies, anything like that?”
“Oh.” Sunny was, quite literally, stumped. She had no idea what a mortal housekeeper might need. “Why don’t you just get some basics?” she suggested, hoping he wouldn’t ask her to be more specific.
She was more than a little relieved when he merely shrugged and agreed. Sunny watched as he waded through the drifts of snow toward the barn.
Then she set to work, cleaning up the bowls and beaters, finding the task much more difficult when forced to do it the mortal way.
6
THIRTY MINUTES AFTER Clint had driven off to town, a fireengine red Jeep Cherokee pulled into the driveway, a thick evergreen tied to the roof. Sunny, up to her elbows in soapsuds, watched out the kitchen window as three women got out of the Jeep. A moment later, the doorbell rang.
Catching a glimpse of her reflection in the toaster, Sunny sighed. She was, to put it charitably, a mess. Her hair had sprung loose of its clip and the front of her apron was spattered with chocolate from the fudge frosting she’d made. Drying her hands on the apron which was already wet from washing dishes, she went to answer the door.
“Hello,” a visibly pregnant woman said with
a polite smile. “I’m Noel Giraudeau—”
“Princess of Montacroix,” Sunny acknowledged, recognizing her immediately.
“Formerly of Montacroix,” Noel corrected easily. “I’ve been living in Whiskey River for several months.” She nodded toward the auburn-haired woman on her left. “This is Tara Delaney. And this,” she said, turning to the woman on her right, “is Mariah Callahan.”
“Hi,” Tara Delaney greeted her with a friendly smile. But Sunny, who was getting intensely strong vibes from the trio, feared she viewed a flash of recognition in the woman’s green eyes. Which was impossible, she assured herself. On all the other occasions she’d come to earth, mortals had never realized she wasn’t really one of them.
“Hello.” Although Mariah Callahan’s expression was polite, her tone was as chilly as the weather.
“Please, come in,” Sunny invited.
“Is Clint home?” Noel asked as the trio entered the house.
“I’m afraid not, he’s driven into town for supplies, but—”
“I don’t mean to be rude,” Mariah broke into Sunny’s explanation, “but may I ask who, exactly, you are? And what you’re doing in Clint’s house?”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” Sunny held out her hand. “I’m Sunny, uh—” her mind whirled, seeking a last name “—Snow,” she said as she glanced past the women before shutting the door. “And I’m Clint’s new housekeeper.”
Mariah ignored the outstretched hand, her lapse in manners drawing a puzzled glance from Noel. “I didn’t know Clint was looking for a housekeeper.”
Mariah Callahan’s hostility was more than obvious. Realizing that this was the sainted Laura’s sister, Sunny decided that it was only natural for her to be resentful of anyone who appeared to be taking Laura’s place. Although all three women were beautiful, Mariah was the most stunningly desirable woman Sunny had ever seen. If her older sister had possessed even a hint of Mariah Callahan’s feminine appeal, the task of finding Clint a new woman to love had just gotten a whole lot tougher.
“I answered his ad in the Rim Rock Record,” Sunny said.
“Really?” It was Noel’s turn to look surprised. “I hadn’t realized Clint had placed an ad. My fiance—” she informed Sunny “—is publisher of the Record.”
“Which doesn’t mean he proofreads every classified ad,” Tara countered.
“True,” Noel agreed absently, looking at Sunny with renewed interest. Sunny watched as something flickered in the princess’s blue eyes. She also noticed Noel’s quick questioning glance toward Tara, who seemed to answer with a faint, almost imperceptible nod of her head.
“Would you like some coffee?” Sunny asked.
“We wouldn’t want to interrupt your cleaning,” Noel said.
“How did you know—”
“Your apron gave you away.” Tara smiled. “And we’d love some tea. Mariah’s stomach was a bit queasy on the ride over here and—“
“And I’m fine now,” Mariah broke in sharply. There was no mistaking her tone or her attitude. Sunny could serve her Earl Grey on a silver platter with freshly baked pastries, and she still wouldn’t be able to win Mariah Swann Callahan’s approval.
“It’s no trouble,” Sunny insisted. “If you’d just like to go into the living room—”
“The kitchen will be fine,” Noel said. “It’s so much cozier, don’t you think?”
“We should be going,” Mariah argued stubbornly. “You have a doctor’s appointment soon.”
“Not for another hour and a half.” The warm smile Noel gave Sunny was a decided contrast to her cool, pale blond appearance. “Everyone has been hovering over me for months.”
“It’s not hovering to make certain the doctor examines you,” Mariah snapped. “After all, Noel, you’re due today.”
“Today?” Sunny’s startled gaze dropped to Noel’s abdomen.
“First babies are always late. I’ll be fine.” That seemed to settle the matter, and although Mariah looked less than pleased, the women followed Sunny into the kitchen.
Sunny filled the kettle with water, placed it on the stove, and silently thanked Andromeda for the tea bags in the pantry cupboard. “I think I have some cookies around here somewhere.” She began rummaging around on a shelf for the box she was sure she’d seen earlier.
“How long have you been a housekeeper?” Mariah asked suddenly.
“I arrived here yesterday.”
“I was referring to your previous work. I assume you have references?”
“Of course,” Sunny lied blithely, relieved when the phone on the wall suddenly rang. She picked it up. “Hello? Oh, yes, she’s here.”
She held out the phone toward Noel. “It’s Mac.”
Noel sighed. “What a surprise. It’s been at least five minutes since he last checked in.” She took the receiver Sunny was holding out to her. “No, darling,” she said, “no pains yet.”
She rolled her eyes as she listened to what were obviously words of husbandly concern. “I promise, the moment I feel so much as a twinge, I’ll call you….
“Of course I’m not alone. Tara and Mariah are keeping a close eye on me. Yes, they have the numbers for the hospital and the doctor, but I’m sure I’ll be able to make the calls myself.” Another pause. “Yes, dear. I know, just in case.”
She put her hand over the mouthpiece and grinned at her friends. “I’m to give you the number of Mac’s pager. In case he has to leave the office.”
Tara laughed. And even Mariah smiled.
“Goodbye, darling,” Noel said. “Yes, I promise. Yes. First thing. Now, if you don’t let me go, I’m going to embarrass myself. Yes, I love you, too.” She hung up and turned to Sunny. “I hate to ask, but if I could use your bathroom—”
“Of course. I’ll show you—”
“Oh, don’t bother, I know where it is. And your tea water’s ready.” She’d no sooner spoken than the kettle began its strident whistle.
Sunny poured the four cups of tea and served them with the chocolate mint Girl Scout cookies she’d located. She’d just put the plate on the table when the princess returned.
“Is everything all right?” Tara asked.
“I keep telling everyone I’m fine. Gracious, you’d think I was the first woman in the world to have a baby.”
“You may not be the first,” Sunny said, “but it’s a miracle every time a child comes into the world.”
“That’s so true,” Noel replied softly. She seemed lost in a pleasant memory for a moment, then returned to her brisk self. “The reason we came here today,” she said, “was to bring Clint a tree.”
“A tree?”
“A Christmas tree,” Mariah said. “We didn’t think he’d get one on his own.”
“I don’t believe he’s in a very festive mood,” Sunny allowed.
“That’s not surprising,” Mariah returned sharply. “After all, the poor guy lost the only woman he’d ever loved. The only woman he will ever love.”
Sunny got Mariah’s message loud and clear. Clint had always loved Laura, always would, and only a fool would think he’d ever be able to care for another woman. Understanding that Mariah had obviously loved her sister very much, Sunny was not offended. Neither was she going to allow Mariah Callahan to deter her from her assignment.
“It was a tragic loss,” she agreed. “But it was Laura who was killed. Not Clint.”
The challenge had been met and countered. An expectant silence settled over the kitchen as everyone waited to see how Mariah would respond.
“You don’t know Clint like I do.”
“That’s true.” Sunny’s nerves were tense, nevertheless she forced her most sincere smile. “But I do know that it’s not good for him to be dwelling on the past so much.”
Mariah arched a gilt brow and looked about to argue when Sunny added, “And I’m sure, as his friend, you want him to be happy again.”
“Of course I do,” Mariah answered.
“We all do,” Noel agreed
.
“Which is why we brought the tree,” Tara said, returning the conversation to the reason for the women’s visit in the first place. “We were hoping to get him to at least acknowledge the holiday.”
“Especially after he stood us up for Thanksgiving dinner.”
“I think the tree is a lovely idea,” Sunny told them. “And I’m sure he’ll appreciate the gesture.”
That little matter taken care of, Noel, who seemed to be the spokesperson for the group, deftly steered the conversation into safer waters, informing Sunny of the upcoming Whiskey River Christmas tree-lighting ceremony and Santa Claus parade. From there they went on to a brief discussion of the weather and the sudden early blizzard that seemed to have caught all the area weather forecasters by surprise.
As she sipped her tea, Sunny began to relax and enjoy the feminine companionship. “Do any of you know a woman named Charmayne Hunter?” she asked suddenly.
Noel and Tara shook their heads. Mariah’s gaze sharpened. “I know Charmayne.” Her tone did not suggest she liked her. “Why?”
“I heard the name mentioned in town,” Sunny lied. The truth was she’d read it in Clint’s file. “I went to school with a Charmayne Hunter and thought perhaps it might be the same person.”
“Well, it isn’t. Charmayne grew up in Whiskey River. I think I heard she’s living in Las Vegas now, teaching barrel racing. She also had a thing going with Clint for a while. That is what you’re asking about, isn’t it?”
The challenge hung between them. Sunny decided to meet it head-on. “You don’t like me very much, do you?”
“I don’t know you.”
“True.” Sunny fiddled with her spoon for a moment, framing her response. “Would it make any difference,” she murmured, “if I told you that my only interest in Clint is that he’s happy?”
“That’s all any of us want,” Noel said smoothly, placing her hand on Mariah’s arm, as if silently counseling restraint. She glanced up at the kitchen wall clock, then turned to the others. “Since the road’s undoubtedly still going to be a bit icy, I suppose we’d better take the tree off the car roof and get going.”