“Of course.”
“Okay, then. You don’t have a job or a place to go. You can stay here until the baby comes.”
“That’s generous of you.”
His eyes narrowed. “Generous, nothing. Just taking care of what’s mine.” One corner of his mouth curved upward, as if to soften his words. “You said, too, I have a right to my child.”
“You do.”
“And he won’t be born the wrong side of the sheets. Stay here, stay married. I play the genuine husband. You act like the loving wife. And we both pretend the past three months never happened.”
Her heart clenched. She didn’t know what it meant to be a real wife. The disaster of their few weeks of marriage had proved that. And Lord knows, she didn’t have any role models to follow. If she had, she might not have been caught in this no-win situation.
The baby would win.
She had to give the baby and Gabe a chance. Had to give them something better than her own disrupted childhood spent trailing along after her mother, while her father was left behind.
“My men can’t know it’s all a sham,” he continued, as if she’d already agreed to his plan. “I’d be a laughingstock. Of course, that’s something I’ve had to get used to since you left. I’m not going through that again. We’ll pretend when we’re with them, and out in public. And since we’re both so old-fashioned—and still married—you’ll move back into my bed.”
“No.” Shaking her head, she shot up from her chair.
Upstairs earlier, she’d fled past Gabe’s bedroom—their bedroom, for such a short time.
“No,” she repeated. “Sleeping together is not an option.”
“Why not?”
Because I can’t resist you.
And I’ll die before I’ll let you know it.
“What’ll the boys all think?” he persisted.
“They live in the bunkhouse. They won’t know I’m not sharing your bed.”
The words made her heart ache, triggered memories of cuddling together in the king-size bed with the feather mattress and cozy quilt. Of falling asleep wrapped in Gabe’s strong arms, and of waking up with their limbs entwined.
Except for the sleeping arrangements, what he offered now wasn’t much different from the reality of their brief marriage. A sham from the beginning, built on sexual attraction, not love.
But they’d made a child together.
She swallowed hard. She’d longed for her parents to get together again. For them all to be a family and share a happy, stable home.
How could she deny those things to her child?
Slowly, she sank to her seat again. “All right. Maybe we can work this out. I’ll act like the perfect wife. But I’m not making any promises.”
She would stay. Not to sleep with him or give in to her attraction to him. Not even in the hopes of making him love her. She would stay because she had to do the right thing for their baby.
When he frowned, she knew he would never agree.
But a split second later, he nodded, and her fate was sealed.
Chapter Three
Gabe hauled the last of Marissa’s suitcases into the guest room for her and set them on the bed beside the rest. Typical city girl, with a mess of luggage.
When they’d come home from Vegas he’d toted only a couple of suitcases up to their bedroom. But back then, she hadn’t planned on getting married and moving to Dillon, Texas, inside of two weeks.
“Looks like this is the last of it.” He took a lightweight carryall from his shoulder and dropped it onto the small pine chest.
“Thank you.” She unzipped the bag, and he spied something soft and pink and lacy. The sight set his pulse to galloping—and sent him to the bedroom doorway.
“I’ve got work to do,” he muttered.
She nodded.
He hightailed it out of the room, out of the house, and down to the barn.
He’d once liked a lot of things about Marissa. Her smile. Her changeable eyes. Her compact but curvy body. Listening to her when she talked and laughed. When she cried out as they’d made love.
And he’d damned sure liked taking off those soft, pink, lacy things she tended to wear to bed.
He wiped his brow and strode into the barn, where he found Warren up to his elbow in saddle soap.
The older man eyed him. “Everything okay?”
“Fine.” He reached for a polishing cloth, worked it back and forth in his hands.
“The missus still up at the house?”
“Yep.” Was she? A band of pressure tightened around his chest, and he flexed both arms, hoping for some relief.
“Big surprise, her just showing up like that.”
“Yeah.”
“She settling in again?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Right talkative this morning, ain’t you, boss?”
He gritted his teeth to hold back a sigh. Like a dog ferreting out a skunk—or a little old woman fishing for gossip—Warren wouldn’t let up until Gabe had come out in the open.
Leaning sideways, he peered through the barn doorway. The Mustang still sat to one side of the driveway. The weight on his chest eased.
“Yeah, she’s settling in again,” he said. He might as well go whole hog to persuade Warren. Convince him, and the rest of the hands would follow. Then, with any luck, his friends and neighbors would, too. “It was all a misunderstanding, what happened before. We worked it out. She’s staying.” He nodded for emphasis. “Just needs a few days to get comfortable, get things sorted out.”
“Nice that she’s plannin’ to stick around.”
Was that doubt in Warren’s voice? He’d fastened his squinted stare to the saddle in front of him.
The man’s uncertainty didn’t surprise him. His own faith in Marissa’s staying power was as shaky as a newborn calf.
“Might be good to introduce her around a bit, boss, let her get to know folks.” Warren looked sideways at him. “Reckon you’ll be taking her to Doc’s Christmas party this weekend.”
His words sounded more like a statement than a question. It gave him pause.
Gabe hadn’t planned on going to Doc’s party himself—he’d kept close to home most of the time Marissa lived on the ranch and hadn’t had much taste for gallivanting after she’d left.
Still, he’d made a deal with her about putting up a front. If they were going to pull this off, if she was really going to “settle in,” he’d need to keep to the bargain. And already he was blowing it. He hadn’t realized how hard he’d have to work at this playacting with Warren and the boys, or with all his neighbors and friends.
Well, there was one thing he could say that would satisfy Warren.
He clutched the polishing cloth and announced recklessly, “She’s going to be taking over kitchen duties, starting with supper tonight.”
“Yeah?”
Finally, a note of enthusiasm. Anything would be better than Gabe’s so-called cooking.
The more he thought about the idea, the better it sounded. Having Marissa prepare the meals would free him up, keep his cowhands happy and reinforce the image of her as his loving wife.
And, most important of all, it would give him a way to keep her on the ranch.
UNABLE TO SIT STILL in the small guest room, Marissa reached for her suitcase. She had to do something to keep busy. Keep her hands—and her mind—occupied.
She had scheduled the detour to Texas as a side trip that would last about an hour. Never had she expected to be staying here. But, one look at Gabe’s light brown eyes, and she was caught up in the magic again.
She hadn’t been able to resist him. Wistfully, she recalled how he had “propositioned” her, so to speak, just minutes after they’d met.
She couldn’t think about that. Those magical days were over.
Fine. She had so much more to consider now.
For the baby’s sake, she would stay here and find the strength of will to resist Gabe. She would prove she was nothing l
ike her mother.
A knock sounded behind her. Startled, she whirled, clutching a handful of items from the suitcase.
“Gabe! What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you. What else?”
His eyes were riveted to a spot at her midriff. She looked down to find her hands overflowing with silk bras and panties, then looked up and saw the heat in his eyes. She felt an answering warmth flush her cheeks.
“D-did you need something?”
“Yeah.” He nearly growled the word.
She stood frozen for a long moment, knowing what could so easily happen between them right then. What had so easily and so often happened in the past. And what she had to avoid at all costs until she knew where she stood.
“Why don’t we talk in the kitchen?” she suggested. “I’ll be there in just a minute.”
He nodded and walked away. She flushed again, realizing how caught up in memories she must have been, not to have heard his steady footsteps approaching. She had to leave all those memories behind her, where they belonged. She’d have to be on her guard.
Exhaling, she dropped the undergarments onto the bed and followed Gabe’s path. She settled into the familiar chair near the kitchen door.
Gabe came to sit opposite her. “You can take on some chores around here.”
She frowned. “Since when do you decide things for me?”
“I’m not deciding. I’m making you an offer.”
“It sure doesn’t sound like that to me. Why don’t you just ask me, instead of giving me an order?”
He looked at her in obvious confusion. “I am asking.”
She gave up. “What is it?”
“I want you to take on some cooking duties.”
“Oh, really? Why? Did Mary go on strike?” In her short time on the ranch, Marissa had met—and done her best to avoid—the cook, who’d made it plain she needed no help from an outsider.
“They moved back East with their kids and grandkids.”
They, she recalled, included the cook’s husband, who had some kind of management job on Gabe’s ranch.
“I don’t know much about your kitchen,” she told him. “I tended to stay away since Mary told me I was ‘a mite different from the last woman of the house.’” She waited, but of course Gabe said nothing. He had never said much about his family life. She wondered what his mother had been like, how much she had done to shape Gabe into the man he was today.
In her case, her father’s money had helped shape her, though Gabe didn’t know about that.
What he had known very well, though—and had just as likely forgotten—was the fact that she was trained as a chef. They had met in Las Vegas only because she had been in town for a cooking convention. He had probably forgotten that, too.
She lived to cook. Loved to cook. But it wouldn’t hurt to keep quiet until she got a better idea of what Gabe wanted.
“You said some cooking duties?” she repeated.
“Yeah. Breakfast and supper.”
“Not lunch?”
“Nah. Give you a break on that.”
“You’re too kind,” she said drily. “The men don’t usually come in from the ranch at lunchtime, do they?”
“That’s right.” He paused. “So, you up for it?”
“I don’t know.” She said it slowly, not wanting to make things too easy for him.
“C’mon.” He added, “The bunkhouse kitchen’s all set up with a six-burner stove and industrial-size icebox.”
“It is?” Much better suited for cooking for a crowd. And for preparing some of her more complicated menus.
“Only decent meals you’ll get around here is if you cook ’em yourself.”
“Hmm…well, in that case—”
“Great! The boys’ll be tickled to hear the news.”
When he rose and turned away, Marissa couldn’t hold back a grin.
She certainly wanted to eat healthy, nourishing meals for the baby. She really needed something to occupy her during the long, lonely days on the ranch.
And she desperately needed something—someone—to run interference between her and Gabe. Warren and the rest of the cowboys would do the trick. She couldn’t have planned anything more perfect herself.
“Everything you need’s either in this kitchen or the other.” He took a sheepskin jacket from a peg on the wall and pulled open the door. Sunshine and chilly air filled the kitchen. “See you at suppertime.”
“I’ll be ready,” she promised.
“Me, too, honey.” He gave her a grin that chased all the cold air away. “Ready for putting on a good show for the boys.”
LATE THAT AFTERNOON, looking at the pots simmering on the stove, Marissa frowned.
As a chef, she had prepared banquets for hundreds, yet she felt more nervous about serving this first simple meal.
Simple was the key word, all right. She had found the refrigerator bare except for some breakfast staples, and the pantry sadly lacked in variety.
Well, she’d made do and hoped they would enjoy it.
She wanted this dinner to go well. It was the first time she would be sitting down to eat with them all.
In the weeks she had spent here in September, the ranch hands and Mary had taken their meals in this bunkhouse kitchen. The cook had left covered dishes, kept warm in the oven, at the main house.
Gabe and Marissa hadn’t lingered long over these meals. Instead, they had retired early in the evenings to his bedroom….
She forced her mind back to her dinner.
When the kitchen door opened, she took a deep breath and turned to greet her dinner companions. The first man strode into the kitchen—Gabe.
He had obviously just showered and changed into clean clothes. The crisp white Western shirt made his hair look darker than ever. With an effort, she shifted her attention and smiled at the handful of men who had crowded into the open doorway behind him.
It looked like they wore fresh shirts, too, as if they’d dressed for a special occasion. She was touched by the effort. Maybe they were as nervous about this first meal as she was.
For a minute, they all stood staring at one another.
The oldest of the bunch, Warren, broke the silence. He rubbed his hands together energetically. “Whoo-hoo—something’s smelling mighty good around here.”
The other men chorused agreement.
“What can we do to help, missus?”
Warren’s offer broke the ice, and soon he and the younger men were pouring drinks and transferring bowls of hot food to the table.
Amid all the bustle, she’d lost sight of Gabe. A moment later, when he appeared next to her at the stove, she nearly jumped.
“Did you forget something, honey?” he asked in a low, intimate tone guaranteed to set her pulse soaring.
She looked pointedly from him to the neatly set oak table, then back to him. “No, I don’t think so.”
He slid an arm around her waist and cupped his hand around her hip. Warmth started where his fingers touched. It spread out and down and through her.
“How about a kiss for your hardworking husband?”
She shot a look over her shoulder. A conversation had broken out at the table, and all eyes focused on one of the men sitting at the opposite end of the room.
“At the moment, your acting skills aren’t necessary,” she hissed at Gabe, keeping her voice down. “No one’s paying a bit of attention to us.” Sidestepping, she lifted a bowl of peas from the stove. “Would you set this on the table, please?”
He didn’t move.
She thrust the bowl toward him. Smiling, she shifted closer, letting his body block her completely from everyone’s view. Then she glared at him. “Two choices, Gabe Miller,” she murmured. “Take the bowl of peas. Or clean up the mess from the floor.”
His hands were instantly beneath the bowl. But as he removed it from her grasp, he leaned forward and skimmed her mouth with his.
She couldn’t call it a kiss, only a brief bru
sh of their lips, but the friction zinged straight down to her toes.
He grinned. “Always happy to oblige a lady.”
He obliged her, all right, whenever it came to a meeting of bodies. And she couldn’t do a thing to resist him. Yet he had no trouble resisting her when it came to a meeting of the minds.
She moved on unsteady legs to slip into a vacant chair between Warren and another man.
Gabe raised a brow but managed to keep any other expression from showing. He took a seat at the opposite end of the table and pulled a dish of Duchess potatoes toward him.
Staring at her, he said, “Looks tempting.”
“Thank you.” She hoped the men would attribute her burning cheeks to standing so close to the stove.
“Gotta beat Gabe’s cooking,” said the tallest, lankiest cowboy, a redhead with scattered freckles and a wide grin.
“Watch it, Hank,” Gabe warned. But he laughed. “Hank fancies himself the next best thing to a stand-up comedian,” he said good-naturedly.
Warren turned to her, his face serious. “I told the boss me and the boys were grateful to have you here.”
Voices rang out around them.
“Sure are.”
“Yep.”
“Got that right.”
“Thank you,” she told them all, fighting to keep wistfulness from her tone.
She didn’t need gratitude from Gabe, but she couldn’t help wishing he was happy to have her there, and as something other than a means of restoring his reputation.
Avoiding his eye, she said, “It sounds like Gabe isn’t much of a cook.”
Hank guffawed. “Ma’am, that’s about like saying a coyote doesn’t make for a very good pet.”
She laughed as the others chimed in.
As they continued eating their dinner, any shyness Marissa might have felt around the men dissolved. They alternately complimented her cooking and tried to outdo each other with tales of Gabe’s worst moments in the kitchen.
“Food’s important to a man,” Eddie, a young cowboy, told her. “Specially when he’s gotta be out on the range all day in this freezing weather.”
“Yeah,” added Jared, a quieter, dark-haired man. “And especially when he’s a growing boy who can’t get his fill of sweet things.”
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