A Ranching Man

by Linda Turner

  He started to pull open his desk drawer, but Angel hurried in at that moment, flushed and damp from her own bath. Joe took one look at her and felt his mouth go dry. She wore the same gown she had the night she’d nearly brained him in the upstair’s hallway, this time with a modest robe that concealed her every curve. With her face free of makeup and her hair wild from a hasty blow-dry, she shouldn’t have been the least bit seductive. But she looked warm and soft and damn inviting, and for the moment, all he could think about was getting his hands on her.

  “I’m sorry!” she said breathlessly, snatching Emma’s hand and holding it firmly. “I hope she didn’t disturb you. I was turning back the bed while Laura took a shower, and she got away from me. It won’t happen again,” she assured him, and gave her daughter a stern look that promised her she would hear about this later.

  Far from concerned, Emma only grinned. “Mr. Joe said I could have some candy.”

  “A sucker,” he clarified. “If it’s all right with your mother. She’s in charge and we don’t want to get in trouble.”

  Not the least disturbed at that, Emma said decisively, “I want a red one.”

  Fighting a grin, Joe arched a brow at Angel. “It’s your call, Mama. What’s it going to be?”

  She should have said no. It was bedtime, and Emma had had a long day. But there was a twinkle in Joe’s eyes that had never been directed her way before. Dazed, she felt the punch of it all the way to her toes and had no memory of telling Emma she could have a sucker. But the next thing she knew, her daughter was sweetly thanking Joe for the candy, then taking her hand and climbing the stairs with her to bed.

  An hour later, long after Emma was asleep next to her and Angel sat propped up against her pillows, trying in vain to study her lines, images of Joe haunted her. All she could think of was the unexpected sparkle of laughter in his eyes when he looked at her over Emma’s head, the way the hard lines of his face softened when she thanked him with a kiss on the cheek for the candy, the way her own heart had lurched in her breast when he’d kissed her.

  She had to stop this, she told herself sternly. Every man she’d ever let into her life had hurt her—Emma’s father, Garrett, her own father when he disowned her for following her dreams. And then there was the psycho who stalked her, who claimed to love her at the same time he threatened her daughter’s life. She didn’t want any more pain, any more betrayal. She’d had enough to last her a lifetime.

  But when the shower started in the bathroom across the hall, she couldn’t think of anything but Joe standing under the hot spray of water, his body lean and rugged and far too tempting. Her heart started to pound, and that’s when she knew she could no longer deny the truth. Like it or not, she was attracted to Joe McBride.

  Chapter 4

  It was the smell of frying bacon that woke him. Stirring, Joe rolled over to look at the clock on the nightstand and frowned. It was barely six in the morning. Who the devil was cooking at that hour of the morning?

  Laura, he thought. It had to be. After living with Angel for the past week, he knew she never crawled out of bed before she had to. The studio sent a limo for her at five after six, and he never heard her stir before five. She was usually still combing her hair when she ran outside, and she never bothered with breakfast. He’d assumed she was either watching her weight or ate on the set, but now he had to wonder. Maybe she was just too lazy to get up early to cook breakfast for herself. But Laura was here now, and paid to be at her beck and call. She could slave over a hot stove at the crack of dawn while Miss Hollywood managed to catch a few extra minutes of her beauty sleep, then hand her a breakfast sandwich as she ran out the door to catch her ride.

  Irritation flared in his eyes at the thought of Angel lounging in bed while a woman nearly old enough to be her mother waited on her. And to think that last night he’d actually fallen for her devoted mother routine and begun to wonder if he’d been mistaken about her! What a sucker. How many times did he have to be taken in by her before he remembered who and what she was? A woman who made a living pretending to be something she wasn’t. And she was damn good at it. He’d do well to remember that.

  Furious with himself for letting her fool him even once, he rose from bed and dressed, his mood foul as he headed downstairs. He needed coffee, the stronger the better, and not any made by Angel Wiley’s hired help. The poor woman already had Angel to wait on, then Emma to care for and chase after all day. He could damn well make his own coffee.

  His face set in harsh lines, he stepped into the kitchen expecting to see Laura at the stove preparing some fancy egg dish to go with the bacon for Angel’s breakfast. But the woman puttering around his kitchen was Angel, not her nanny. Dressed in her gown and robe, her hair neatly combed and pulled back from her freshly washed face, she appeared to know exactly what she was doing. Cracking a half dozen eggs into a bowl, she briskly whipped them, then poured them into a hot skillet and began to scramble them.

  Surprised, Joe scowled, not sure he believed what he was seeing; and that was how she caught him. He would have sworn he hadn’t made a sound, but suddenly, she whirled, her blue eyes wide in a face that had gone white.

  “Oh!” she laughed shakily, pressing a hand to her heart as she recognized him. “It’s you. I thought—” She hesitated, only to grimace at herself and wave off whatever she was going to say. “Never mind. I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be up this early. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  She had, of course, but he only said, “I’ve got to drive into Colorado Springs for an auction and thought I’d get an early start.”

  His dark brows knit in a frown, he studied her searchingly. For a second, when she’d first spun to face him, her eyes were shadowed with what looked like fear. Why, dammit? Why was she so jumpy? What—or who—had put that look of terror in her eyes?

  He didn’t like the idea of any woman being terrorized and was tempted to ask her what had her so skittish, but she didn’t give him the chance. “I know this isn’t the time we agreed that I could use the kitchen,” she said stiffly, “but Emma usually gets up with the chickens, and I like to cook breakfast for her whenever I don’t have to be on the set early. I hope that isn’t going to be a problem. If you need the stove—”

  “No.” It wasn’t his agreed upon time to cook, either, so he could hardly complain that she was invading his space. And if she was playing the dutiful mother for his sake, it didn’t matter. Emma was the one who benefited, and only a jerk would deny a little girl the chance to have breakfast with her mother.

  “I just want some coffee,” he growled. “Go on with what you’re doing. You won’t get in my way.”

  She shouldn’t have. When he’d had the house built, he’d made sure the kitchen was large and old-fashioned, like the one in his mother’s house. With so much counter space, they both should have been able to work without going anywhere near each other.

  But when she turned her attention back to her eggs, then made toast, all without saying a word, his attention was on anything but what he was doing. He put too much coffee into the coffeemaker, then almost forgot to add the water. Behind him, he could hear Angel retrieving plates and fought the need to turn and watch her. No, he told himself fiercely. He wouldn’t go there. He wouldn’t ogle her in her nightclothes and watch the knee-length gown and robe she wore ride up the back of her thighs as she reached into the cabinet above her.

  But he wanted to, dear God. He wanted to.

  Swearing softly under his breath, he glared at the coffee machine, willing it to hurry up and do its job so he could get the hell out of there. Time, however, seemed to drag. Finally, the scent of brewing coffee filled the room, and with a sigh of relief, he turned toward the cabinet that held the thick, diner-style mugs he liked to drink coffee out of. At almost the same instant, Angel turned toward the refrigerator for Emma’s favorite jam and they collided in the middle of the kitchen floor.

  Lightning quick, Joe caught her before he could knock her off her feet.
His hands closed around her upper arms to steady her, and between one heartbeat and the next, they were kissing close. And neither of them had a clue how it happened. Stunned, they froze, hardly daring to move, let alone breathe.

  Let go of her. Now!

  The voice of reason barked out the command in his head, but he couldn’t bring himself to follow the order. Not when she was this close and he could see in her eyes the memory of a kiss neither of them had been able to forget. Under his hands, her skin was smooth as silk and so soft that he couldn’t stop touching her. With a will of their own, his fingers stroked her, caressed her, heated her blood and his.

  And with no conscious thought on his part, he drew her closer, then closer still, until he felt the brush of her breasts against his chest and his body tighten with desire. Just a kiss, he promised himself. That was all he wanted. Just one more kiss to see if he’d imagined the sweetness of the first one. After all, what could it hurt? The rest of the household was asleep; there was no one to see. And they both wanted it. He could see the need in her eyes, feel it in the pounding of her heart—

  “Mommy?”

  Emma’s sleepy call caught them both off guard, and for a second, they froze, then they were springing apart like two teenagers caught necking on the front porch. Heat climbing into her cheeks, her eyes avoiding Joe’s, Angel whirled to where Emma stood in the kitchen doorway, sleepily rubbing her eyes and trailing her dearly loved blanky behind her.

  Her heart still pounding crazily, Angel reached her in two strides and scooped her up. “Good morning, sleepy-head,” she said huskily, forcing a smile as she nuzzled her. “I thought you were going to sleep all morning. Are you hungry? Breakfast is just about ready. I made your favorite—bacon and scrambled eggs and toast. How about some milk to go with it?”

  She knew she was chattering, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. Behind her, she heard Joe pour his coffee, but he didn’t stick around to drink it. Yanking open the back door, he strode out onto the porch without saying a word.

  Still feeling as if she’d almost stepped off the side of a cliff, Angel didn’t know how she got through the ritual of breakfast without spilling or dropping something. Her fingers weren’t quite steady, and even though she never glanced toward the back door, her attention was continually distracted by the man on the porch. Was he as shaken as she? Or relieved that Emma had stepped into the kitchen when she had? Would he have kissed her again if she hadn’t? Would she have let him?

  No! she wanted to cry. But even as she tried to convince herself that she never would have allowed herself to be tempted into making that mistake a second time, she couldn’t quite believe it. Not when just thinking about it made her go weak at the knees.

  “I’m sorry I overslept!” Laura said breathlessly as she rushed into the kitchen buttoning the cuffs of her denim blouse. “You should have woke me. What time did little bit get you up? I didn’t hear either one of you.”

  “I wanted to let you sleep late,” Angel told her as she set Emma’s breakfast in front of her. “And my alarm clock here actually didn’t wake up until six-fifteen.”

  Proud of herself, Emma grinned. “I scared Mommy and Mr. Joe.”

  Hot color warming her cheeks, Angel couldn’t deny it. “You certainly did, sweetheart. I almost jumped out of my shoes. Eat your breakfast now before it gets cold.”

  Turning away to pour Laura and her some coffee, she would have sworn her innocent tone was just right to fool even the sharpest ear. But Laura was nobody’s fool. When Angel turned to hand her a steaming mug, the older woman’s gray eyes twinkled knowingly behind the lenses of her glasses.

  “So Mr. McBride’s an early riser, too, is he?” she teased. “Isn’t that interesting? What did the two of you talk about while you were all alone in here? The cooking schedule?”

  The heat deepening in her cheeks, Angel didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or strangle her. “As a matter of fact, we did, Miss Nosey. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “Not at all,” she chuckled. “And evidently you don’t either since you’re not grumbling about the poor man. Does this mean the two of you have made peace?”

  Angel wouldn’t have said that—not when there wasn’t anything the least bit peaceful about the emotions the man stirred in her just by walking into a room—but they weren’t enemies either. “Let’s just say we’re working on it,” she replied simply. “Now that we’ve got that settled, I suggest we eat. The limo’ll be here at eight to pick me up.”

  “Bye, Mommy! See you later!”

  Her smile wide and her blue eyes bright with excitement, Emma gave Angel a big hug and a smack on the cheek, then darted off with Laura to visit the new foals and their mamas in the corral attached to the barn. Watching Emma’s curls bounce as she danced beside Laura in the morning sunshine, Angel felt her eyes mist with tears. Lord, she loved her! And time was passing so quickly. It seemed like only yesterday that she’d brought her home from the hospital. She’d had no experience with babies, had no one she felt she could turn to for advice. She’d been so scared that something would happen to Emma that she’d sat by her crib every night for that entire first week, watching her breathe. And now she was three. Soon she would be in school, and before Angel was ready for it, she’d be grown and married and have children of her own.

  She’d given her love and happiness and, thanks to the success of her movies, had the funds to make sure that she never lacked for anything. But there was one thing that money couldn’t buy, one thing that she wanted more than anything for her daughter, and that was family. And the one man who could help Angel give her that wanted nothing to do with her. Her father, Emma’s grandfather.

  Call him.

  Not for the first time since she’d arrived in Colorado, her heart urged Angel to try to contact her father. He was so close, just three hundred miles away in New Mexico, and she needed to find a way to make peace with him. She owed Emma that, owed her the legacy of her family and a grandfather, who knew nothing of her existence. And she owed herself. James Wiley was a hard man, but there’d never been any doubt in Angel’s mind that he loved her and she wanted him in her life again.

  Call him, her heart coaxed again. You know you want to.

  She couldn’t deny it. It had been years since they’d spoken, even longer since she’d felt his arms wrap around her and hold her tight. Surely if he knew about Emma, about the loving, responsible way she was raising his granddaughter, he would forgive her for turning her back on everything he held dear to chase a dream he couldn’t understand. All she had to do was take a chance and call him.

  A glance at her watch warned her she had only fifteen minutes before she had to be on the set, but she didn’t care. Hurrying into the kitchen, she picked up the phone and dialed the number she still knew by heart.

  “Wiley’s Diner.”

  Her father’s gruff voice barked impatiently in her ear, and she almost laughed aloud at the familiar tone. He would be right in the middle of the breakfast rush and in no mood to be tied up on the phone, but she wasn’t about to hang up now that she’d worked up the courage to call him.

  Tears misting her eyes, she swallowed the lump in her throat and said huskily, “Hi, Daddy. It’s me.”

  For a moment, there was nothing but a sharp intake of breath, and she could almost see the surprise on his face. Then, without a word, he quietly hung up.

  Later, Angel couldn’t have said how long she just stood there with the phone still to her ear, the dial tone buzzing mockingly. They must have been accidentally disconnected, she told herself, and wanted desperately to believe it. But this was no accident, and she knew it. He’d deliberately hung up on her. He couldn’t have hurt her more if he’d reached through the phone and slapped her.

  With trembling fingers, she returned the phone to its cradle, and it was then that the anger set in. Damn him! He could hold on to his grudge with her for the rest of his life if he wanted to, she thought furiously, but by God, he wasn’t going to
dismiss his granddaughter so easily! She’d make sure of it.

  Her blue eyes dark with outrage, she sat down at the kitchen table and quickly wrote him a letter, telling him about Emma. She was, she knew, giving him all the ammunition he needed to condemn her for leading a fast and loose life, not to mention what he would consider an immoral one for having a baby out of wedlock, but she didn’t care. Before the week was over, he would not only know that he had a granddaughter, but he would also have her picture. Pulling one from her wallet, she folded the letter around it and slipped it into the envelope. If he could ignore Emma after that, he wasn’t the man she thought he was.

  She was still fuming when she finally reached the set, and not surprisingly, the day went downhill from there. Nothing seemed to go right. Props were missing, a generator blew, shutting down everything for an hour, and one of the trained horses turned stubborn during the shooting of a vital scene and nearly destroyed a set. And when shooting finally did resume, Angel kept blowing her lines.

  Frustrated, she apologized and tried to focus, but she couldn’t forget the sound of her father hanging up on her. And then there was Garrett. He knew something was wrong—she could see the glint of wicked satisfaction in his eyes—and he took advantage of every opportunity to push her buttons. He threw off her timing, came in too fast with his lines, scratched himself whenever Charles wasn’t looking. She knew exactly what he was doing, but try though she might, she couldn’t get her rhythm. And he loved it.

  Finally, Charles had enough. “Cut, dammit! What’s wrong with you people today? Can’t anybody hit their mark? Or is that too much to ask of professionals making more money than God?” Glaring at the cast and crew alike, he threw down his script in disgust. “To hell with it. Everybody break for lunch and be back here at one. And you’d damn well better be ready to work.”

  No one asked what would happen if they weren’t. Like chastised school kids let out for recess, they all scattered.