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Cowboy To The Altar
Rosemary Carter
Beauty and the…cowboy!If Morgan Muir wanted to play at cowboys and Indians, Jason Delaney wasn't going to stand in her way. He just wished she hadn't chosen his ranch as her playground. Morgan might have a good reason for wanting to find out about ranching life but Jason didn't care. There was no room for a model at the Six-Gate Corral–no matter how cute. There had been one Mrs. Jason Delaney…he was determined there would never be a second!Morgan Muir was dangerous–already she was threatening to destroy the three things that he most valued: his solitude, his sense of being invulnerable and his resolve that Jason Delaney and women didn't mix–period!From the author of Family Man.
“No woman will ever hurt me again. No woman, Morgan.” (#ubcbce6da-2a6d-53a6-9c3d-6fed87d41363)About the Author (#u5f558654-cdd5-5a50-91e4-142c75838270)Title Page (#u5b6cd958-b6f2-53dd-9b2b-e1a0f7507f1c)CHAPTER ONE (#u243ab425-c819-58ff-8378-e633964ef0fc)CHAPTER TWO (#uf9f69b9e-7c8d-55c2-ada4-24d1d81a8c09)CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“No woman will ever hurt me again. No woman, Morgan.”
If Morgan were sensible, she would leave things at that....
But Morgan, it appeared, was not sensible. “Not all women are alike,” she said softly. “One bad experience and you’re turned off all women?”
“Not in the way you seem to think, Morgan Muir. I like women. I like the feel of a woman in my arms, a woman’s soft body against mine. But I don’t want a woman in my life. Ever again.”
“You’re a stubborn man, Jason.... You’ve decided that all women are like your ex-wife.”
“Prove to me that they’re not,” he challenged.
“I’ll prove it.”
“How?” He was intrigued.
“In the only way I know.”
And then, giving him no time to react, Morgan closed the distance between them. Jason was still seated as she leaned over him and put her lips against his.
Rosemary Carter was born in South Africa, but has lived in Canada for many years with her husband and her three children. Although her home is on the Prairies, not far from the beautiful Rockies, she still retains her love of the South African bushveld, which is why she likes to set her stories there. Both Rosemary and her husband enjoy concerts, theater, opera and hiking in the mountains. Reading was always her passion, and led to her first attempts at writing stories herself.
Cowboy to the Altar
Rosemary Carter
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHAPTER ONE
‘WHO on earth can that be?’
Jason Delaney pushed back the broad brim of his stetson hat, his dark eyes narrowing at the sight of the vehicle that was approaching the ranch-house. The road was used mainly by pick-up trucks—a small car, like the one now coming through the trees, was a rarity.
The dog, following close on the heels of the broad-shouldered man, gave a token growl. Aging though Scot might be, he was not so old that he had forgotten that the ranch was his territory. Jason looked down at the big dog, who had once had no equal when it had come to working with cattle, and for a moment his eyes were troubled.
But this was not the time to think about the dog for the car was just stopping in front of the house. The driver’s door opened, and a girl emerged.
A girl! Jason stiffened. It was a while since a female had been at the ranch.
The big dog growled and moved towards the girl.
‘Scot!’ Jason called a stern warning. ‘Back, Scot.’
To his surprise, the girl said, ‘Oh, that’s OK, I’m not frightened.’ And, bending towards the dog, she said, ‘Aren’t you lovely?’ She stroked Scot between the ears, and the dog quietened in seconds.
The girl straightened. As she came towards him something tightened inside Jason. She was so light, so graceful—her movements made him think of a dancer.
‘Hi, there,’ she said with an enchanting smile.
‘Hi,’ he returned, looking down—quite a long way down—into the prettiest face he had ever seen.
Her hair was the colour of ripe corn, her eyes as blue as the Texas sky on a cloudless day. Her waist was so tiny that a man could circle it easily with his hands, and then have some space to spare. Through a cream shirt, tucked neatly into beautifully cut matching pants, a pair of small breasts hinted at promise and perfection.
After a long moment Jason said, ‘Wasn’t expecting company. Guess you’re lost. Tell me where you’re headed, and I’ll give you directions.’
She had to tilt her head in order to look at him. ‘Lost? I don’t believe so. This is Six-Gate Corral, isn’t it? I saw the name on the gate as I turned in.’
‘Right—this is Six-Gate Corral.’
‘Good! Then I’ve come to the right place. And I’m not company, exactly. I’m Morgan Muir.’
The way she said it was as if she expected him to know who she was. But the name meant nothing to him. Jason looked at her, puzzled.
‘Morgan Muir,’ she repeated. ‘The new cook.’
‘You have to be kidding!’ The words exploded from his lips.
‘Why would I do that? Look, Mr...’ She stopped.
‘Delaney. Jason Delaney.’
‘Jason Delaney?’ She looked amazed. ‘Owner of Six-Gate Corral?’
Jason nodded curtly. ‘Owner, that’s right.’ His eyes were suddenly hard. ‘I’m a busy man, Miss Muir. I don’t have time for games.’
‘Neither do I.’ For the first time she looked angry. ‘Look, I’ve done absolutely nothing to deserve your hostility.’
‘OK, then, suppose you tell me why you’re really here.’
‘I did—I’m the new cook.’
‘The hell you are!’
Her eyes sparkled as her hands curled into fists. Five and a half feet of challenging woman. Quite a sight. ‘I will not let you intimidate me, Mr Delaney.’
‘Is that what I’m doing?’
‘You’re trying your best to. You have a cook by the name of Brent, don’t you?’ And when Jason nodded she went on, ‘Off on vacation for a month, and in need of a substitute?’
An alarm bell rang in Jason’s mind. ‘How would you know that?’ he asked aloofly.
She gave him a saucy look. ‘Brent’s ad appeared in a ranching magazine, and I happened to see it. I called him, we talked and he gave me the job.’
Jason frowned. ‘I see.’
‘Didn’t he tell you?’
‘No.’
‘I guess it slipped his mind.’
Jason looked down at her, an enticingly fragile figure. Her eyes returned his look—wide, blue, confident. ‘Anyway, Brent will be waiting for me. He’ll want to tell me all about my duties.’
‘Sure of that, are you?’ Jason asked derisively.
‘Of course.’ Her eyes were challenging now. ‘He must have told you something about me.’
‘Only that he’d arranged for someone to take his place while he’s on vacation.’
‘Well, then!’
‘Not a word about hiring a woman. Morgan...’ Jason frowned. ‘Now that I think of it, Brent did mention the name. But Morgan is a man’s name, not a woman’s.’
Morgan laughed, the sound making Jason think of music. ‘It’s one of those names that can belong to a man or a woman. Is Brent here, Mr Delaney? If he is, he’ll be able to clear up this misunderstanding in a minute.’
‘He’ll certainly have some explaining to do,’ Jason said grimly.
Turning away from Morgan, he shouted, ‘Brent!’
Minutes later a familiar figure came into view. Jason was in his early thirties; Brent was more than double that age—a weathered man with bow legs and skin like an old leather saddle which had been left out too long in the Texas heat. Like Jason, he wore boots and a stetson but his were more battered. In his hand was an ancient suitcase.
‘You called me, Jason?’ As his eyes fell on Morgan he stopped short. ‘Miss Muir...’ he said uneasily.
‘Hi, Brent,’ she said with a smile.
Jason stared from one face to the other in amazement. ‘You really do know each other?’
A blue-eyed smile touched her face. ‘Brent and I met in Austin—didn’t we, Brent?’
‘I don’t believe it!’ Jason exclaimed.
‘You may as well,’ the annoying girl said serenely.
Turning to Brent, she held out her hand to him. ‘Nice to see you again.’
Shyly the old cowboy glanced at the proffered hand. Jason suppressed a smile as he wondered whether Brent would take it. He did—quickly, jerkily—in the manner of one who had had limited contact with women and was, in fact, a little scared of them. As if Morgan Muir were a being from another world—which, in a sense, she was, Jason thought in wry amusement.
Brent dropped Morgan’s hand a second after touching it. Beneath the leathery tan his face was flushed. ‘Be on my way now, Boss.’
‘Not so fast, you old rogue,’ cautioned his employer.
‘Jason?’
‘Who is this woman?’
Brent shot Morgan a quick look, before turning back to Jason. ‘Miss Muir. Reckon she’s the new cook.’
‘New cook be damned! Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I did, Boss. Told you I’d arranged a replacement.’
‘You didn’t say she was a woman.’
The old cowboy shifted his feet on the sun-baked ground. ‘Maybe not,’ he admitted at length. And then added hopefully, ‘Did tell you her name, though. Positive I did.’
‘Morgan. A man’s name. Don’t look so innocent, you old scoundrel; it won’t wash with me. You know very well I thought the cook was a man.’
‘Maybe so...’
‘Well, then?’ Jason was becoming more exasperated by the second. ‘Why didn’t you hire a man?’
‘Couldn’t get one,’ Brent said simply.
‘I should tell you not to come back, you old reprobate,’ Jason growled.
Brent looked affronted. ‘Only one answer to the ad,’ he protested indignantly. ‘Not as if I didn’t try to find someone else.’
‘Nice to know I was hired because I was the only option,’ Morgan said wryly.
‘We don’t employ females at this ranch,’ Jason told her crisply. ‘I’m sorry there’s been a mistake, but now that you understand the position I’m sure you’ll want to leave.’
‘No.’
‘No?’
Looking down at Morgan, Jason saw an expression that he didn’t quite trust. He hoped quite fervently that she would not take it into her pretty little head to cry. Tears would be absolutely the last straw.
But Morgan did not cry. ‘No,’ she said again, this time with a firmness that Jason would not have suspected in the circumstances. ‘I will not leave.’
‘Did employ a female once, Boss,’ a treacherous Brent chose that moment to put in. ‘Woman called Emily. Remember?’
Emily Lawson, a large, amiable woman. She had been the ranch cook before Brent. Mother of three cowboys and grandmother of a huge brood of children, Emily had adored ranches and cooking with almost equal passion. Besides preparing meals for the cowboys, she had advised them on their personal problems and rallied them when their spirits were low.
Emily Lawson and little Miss Morgan Muir were complete opposites: whereas the former had been an asset to the ranch, the latter could only be a nuisance and a threat. Jason did not have to analyse why this should be so; he knew it instinctively.
‘Of course I remember Emily,’ he said impatiently. ‘She was different.’
‘Wasn’t a looker,’ Brent agreed with a sly sideways grin. ‘Plain as a tree-stump Emily was.’
Jason could have cheerfully throttled the man. Why bring Emily up now? Whose side was Brent on, anyway—Morgan Muir’s or his?
His lips tightened ominously. ‘Emily is not under discussion now. This won’t do, Brent, and well you know it.’
