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Cattleman's Heart
Lois Faye Dyer
One look at the shirtless cowboy sauntering toward her, and Rebecca Wallingford knew she was in trouble. Now Jackson Rand was telling her in a husky drawl that sent shivers up her spine that she'd be living with a houseful of men!Jackson had expected the company to send a man–not this beautiful, big-city female who played poker with the boys and was making herself right at home on his ranch. But it was more than chance that had brought Rebecca out west. Now it would take all the love this cattleman had to give, once he uncovered her shocking family secret….
“Save me a waltz.”
Luke’s voice was suddenly deeper, and tension vibrated between them.
His words reminded Rebecca of the last time they’d waltzed together and how it felt to be held in his arms.
The need to leave her chair, to take the short two steps separating them, run her hands over the bare muscles of his chest and arms and lift her mouth to his was nearly overwhelming. The force of emotions he raised in her was disconcerting. She decided to obey the alarm bells that were screaming caution in her brain.
“I will—if you’re there.” Which was as noncommittal as she could be without refusing him outright. She stood. “And since it sounds as if it’s going to be a long day tomorrow, I think I’ll try to get some sleep.” She turned toward the screen door, hesitating to say good-night, before she pulled open the door.
“Good night.” His voice was hushed, quieter than usual, but it still sent shivers up her spine.
Dear Reader,
Well, it’s that time of year again—and if those beautiful buds of April are any indication, you’re in the mood for love! And what better way to sustain that mood than with our latest six Special Edition novels? We open the month with the latest installment of Sherryl Woods’s MILLION DOLLAR DESTINIES series, Priceless. When a pediatric oncologist who deals with life and death on a daily basis meets a sick child’s football hero, she thinks said hero can make the little boy’s dreams come true. But little does she know that he can make hers a reality, as well! Don’t miss this compelling story….
MERLYN COUNTY MIDWIVES continues with Maureen Child’s Forever…Again, in which a man who doesn’t believe in second chances has a change of mind—not to mention heart—when he meets the beautiful new public relations guru at the midwifery clinic. In Cattleman’s Heart by Lois Faye Dyer, a businesswoman assigned to help a struggling rancher finds that business is the last thing on her mind when she sees the shirtless cowboy meandering toward her! And Susan Mallery’s popular DESERT ROGUES are back! In The Sheik & the Princess in Waiting, a woman learns that the man she loved in college has two secrets: 1) he’s a prince; and 2) they’re married! Next, can a pregnant earthy vegetarian chef find happiness with town’s resident playboy, an admitted carnivore…and father of her child? Find out in The Best of Both Worlds by Elissa Ambrose. And in Vivienne Wallington’s In Her Husband’s Image, a widow confronted with her late husband’s twin brother is forced to decide, as she looks in the eyes of her little boy, if some secrets are worth keeping.
So enjoy the beginnings of spring, and all six of these wonderful books! And don’t forget to come back next month for six new compelling reads from Silhouette Special Edition.
Happy reading!
Gail Chasan
Senior Editor
Cattleman’s Heart
Lois Faye Dyer
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Constance Martynow, a wonderful sister-in-law and devoted fan, who welcomed me into the family and has offered constant support over the years.
You are deeply loved, gratefully appreciated. Thank you.
LOIS FAYE DYER
lives on Washington State’s beautiful Puget Sound with her husband, their yellow Lab, Maggie Mae, and two eccentric cats. She loves to hear from readers and you can write to her c/o Paperbacks Plus, 1618 Bay Street, Port Orchard, WA 98366.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter One
“I ’m definitely not in California anymore.”
Rebecca Parrish Wallingford turned in a slow circle, her gaze sweeping the ranch yard. She braced herself against the open door of the rental car and took in the buildings set in a neat half circle around the dusty square. Weather and time had long since stripped the paint from the two-storied ranch house until it was a uniform dark gray. A tall, gnarled maple shaded the left side of the house, its leafy branches brushing against gray wood, the second story’s sashed windows and the roof of the deep porch that edged the front of the house. A matching maple sheltered the other side of the house, set back and slightly nearer the far end of the structure.
The building was silent, slumbering beneath the hot June sun. If people were within, Rebecca could neither see nor hear them.
She glanced past the house to the sprawling outbuildings on her left. New lumber and shingles created a patchwork of pale color against the weathered walls and roof of the large barn while the attached corral was constructed entirely of raw, unpainted wood. Three dusty pickup trucks stood outside a long shed just beyond the corral. The sound of hammers thudding against nails and the high-pitched scream of a saw slicing through wood broke the afternoon quiet.
A man stepped from the dim interior of the shed into the hot sunlight and strode toward the trucks.
He glanced toward the house, saw Rebecca and abruptly changed direction to angle away from the back of a truck loaded with lumber, and move toward her.
He was shirtless, a tool-hung carpenter’s belt riding low on his hips, its weight dragging the waistband of faded denim jeans below his navel. A straw cowboy hat shaded his face, leather gloves on his hands. Rebecca stared, riveted by the slow saunter of long legs, the gleam of hot sunlight on sleek brown shoulders, the supple flex and shift of muscles as he moved.
“Afternoon, ma’am.” He halted a few feet away. “Something I can do for you? Are you lost?”
His voice was a deep drawl. She felt the impact of his gaze when it met hers as if he’d reached out and touched her.
Shivers feathered up Rebecca’s spine and heat grew, easing its way through her body. Her black linen suit and white cotton shell, chosen for traveling in the summer heat, felt suddenly much too warm. Shocked by her reaction, she took a mental step back and desperately sought detachment.
Sweat dewed the angles and hollows of his face, dampening the ends of his hair where it curled, a shade too long, behind his ears and at his nape. Thick eyebrows, the same deep brown as his hair, arched over dark gold eyes, the sharply defined cheekbones—fit companions to a blade of a nose that was slightly crooked. Rebecca wondered fleetingly if he’d broken it sometime in the past. His wasn’t a classically handsome face but there was something so essentially male about him that Rebecca felt threatened by the raw power he exuded. At five feet eight inches tall, she rarely felt intimidated by males, but this man made her vividly aware that she was smaller boned and distinctly feminine.
Her reaction set alarm bells jangling inside her head.
And the way he was looking at her, his golden eyes hooded, hot with more than the afternoon heat, only made the alarms ring louder.
Other men had looked at her and she’d known they wanted her. She’d never felt the slightest physical reaction. Her heart hadn’t pounded harder. Her skin hadn’t heated. That this man could arouse a reaction with only a look was irritating beyond words.
“I hope I’m not lost. I’m looking for Jackson Rand, owner of the Rand Ranch.”
His gaze sharpened, a faint frown creasing his forehead.
“I’m Jackson Rand.”
Oh no. Rebecca stiffened. Her day had swiftly gone from bad to worse.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Rand.” She forced herself to step forward and extend her hand, steeling herself. His much bigger hand engulfed hers, his fingers and palm callused and hard against hers for a brief moment before he released her. “I’m Rebecca Wallingford with Bay Area Investments—I believe you’re expecting me.”
If Rebecca had stiffened, Jackson Rand went rigid. His gaze narrowed, swiftly flicking over Rebecca from head to toe in a swift searing assessment.
“No, I’m expecting a man named Walter Andersen.”
“Walter had a minor heart attack yesterday and I’ve been assigned to take his place. I trust I haven’t arrived at an inconvenient time?”
He stared at her for a long moment without speaking, his gaze unreadable.
“No,” he said finally. “The timing isn’t inconvenient, but I wasn’t expecting a woman.” He gestured toward the shed and barns. “We’re updating the outbuildings but the house hasn’t been touched and there’s no room for a woman.”
“I’m sure the accommodations you planned for Mr. Andersen will be perfectly fine for me, Mr. Rand. As long as I have a bed, somewhere to shower, brew a pot of tea and plug in my laptop, I’ll be perfectly comfortable.”
“I doubt that, lady. The house has four bedrooms and, at the moment, three of them are occupied by me and my crew. You’ll be the only woman in a house full of men.”
Rebecca schooled her face not to reflect her instant dismay. She’d been told that the owner of Rand Ranch would provide housing, but sharing that housing with a crew of men wasn’t a possibility she’d considered. Her mind raced, considering the problem.
“Did you assign a room to Mr. Andersen or was he going to share?”
“He would have had a room to himself,” Jackson said shortly.
“Then I’m afraid I don’t see the problem, Mr. Rand.”
“You don’t? Then let me lay it out for you. Moving a woman into a house with four men for several months is asking for trouble. Lots of trouble. And I’m too damn busy to deal with it.”
Rebecca struggled to ignore the quick rise of anger at his blunt comment. “I’m a professional, Mr. Rand. I often have to work with men. I’ve never had a problem before and I don’t expect to have one here.”
“Expect to.” His frown deepened. “Hank is too old to chase you, but he flat doesn’t like women and he’s not going to want you around. Mick and Gib are more likely to hit on you and fight over whoever wins.”
“I’m an engaged woman, Mr. Rand,” Rebecca said evenly, wondering just what she was getting into. I can always drive into Colson and look for a room if this situation becomes impossible. But Colson was a thirty-mile drive each way, which was the reason Jackson Rand had agreed to house Walter Andersen in the first place. “And, therefore, off-limits. But if your employees don’t respect my position, then I can deal with the problem.”
His expression didn’t change, but Rebecca didn’t miss the irritation that gleamed in Jackson Rand’s eyes.
“I doubt it, but I’ll put a lock on your door.”
She met his barely concealed frustration with a cool glance and lift of an eyebrow. “I appreciate that. Now, if you would show me where I’ll be staying, Mr. Rand. I’ve been traveling since 5:00 a.m. It’s been a long day.”
For the space of a heartbeat, Jackson didn’t move, his gaze unreadable. Then he seemed to reach a decision, tugged his hat lower over his forehead and nodded toward her car.
“Is your luggage in the trunk?”
“Yes.”
He held out his hand. Rebecca dropped the car keys into his palm, and he strode past her to the back of the car.
Rebecca drew a deep breath and bent, stretching across the interior of the car to reach for her purse and laptop on the passenger seat. Leather bags in hand, she closed the car door and turned, halting in midmovement when she nearly bumped into Jackson.
Startled, she took a quick step back, brought up short when her back met the warm metal of the car.
Jackson didn’t comment. He merely nodded toward the house, a suitcase in each hand and one tucked beneath his arm.
“After you.”
Vividly aware of the man walking behind her and the ease with which he carried her heavy bags, Rebecca moved past him. A split-rail fence enclosed the expanse of cropped grass surrounding the house and a weathered gate was set into the rails to access the stone path leading to the porch steps.
The metal latch on the old gate was shiny and new, opening easily beneath her hand. She stepped through onto the stone path and paused, thinking to close the gate behind Jackson, but he gave it a nudge with his boot and the old gate swung silently closed on new, well-oiled hinges.
Rebecca moved up the path ahead of him. Accustomed to the micromaintained, upscale homes in her native San Francisco, Rebecca was fascinated by the old house. Upon closer inspection, she realized that one of the three wide, shallow porch steps was new wood, obviously recently installed. The older boards on the porch floor creaked softly beneath her feet, Jackson’s boots ringing hollowly as he followed, then reached around her to pull open the screen door.
The room beyond was a square entry hallway with scarred wooden floors that gave onto a stairway to the right, an open doorway to a living room on the left, and a hallway ahead that clearly led to the back of the first floor.
What she could see of the old house reminded Rebecca of a friend’s house undergoing restoration in Daly City, one of the older suburbs of San Francisco.
“The bedrooms are upstairs.”
Jackson’s deep drawl startled Rebecca, and she turned to follow him upstairs, trailing her hand over the newel post and the oak banister, worn smooth and satiny.
Five doors stood open along the hallway, a worn runner patterned in faded pink cabbage roses filling its length.
Jackson strode down the hall ahead of her.
“This is the bathroom. There’s only one.” He barely paused as he passed the door.
Rebecca caught a quick impression of black-and-white tiles, a pedestal sink and a huge claw-foot white bathtub as she inhaled a heady mix of soap and male aftershave.
“You can use this bedroom.” He disappeared through a door at the far end of the hall.
Rebecca paused on the threshold, swiftly scanning the room. Jackson deposited her bags at the foot of a simple, white-painted iron bedstead. An oak nightstand with a lamp centered atop its otherwise bare surface was next to the bed, and an old but solid oak dresser stood against the far wall, across from the open doors of a small closet where a cluster of empty wire hangers hung on the wooden rod. A small, square table was placed beneath the window; a straight-backed wooden chair next to it didn’t match the table but looked sturdy enough.
No pictures hung on the bare walls, no curtains draped the tall, sashed window. The room held only the bare essentials but it was scrupulously clean.
“It’s not fancy.”
Rebecca glanced quickly at Jackson and found him watching her, arms folded across his chest.
“It’s fine,” she assured him, smiling slightly at his look of disbelief. “Believe me, I’ve stayed in much worse places. This is perfectly okay.”
“If you say so.”
He looked unconvinced, but shrugged and moved toward the door. He paused on the threshold, looking back at her.
“Make yourself at home. I’ll be working down at the barn until six or so, but this evening we can go over the books.”
“That sounds good,” Rebecca agreed.
He nodded abruptly, turned on his heel and left.
