скачать книгу бесплатно
Willy looked down at his boots. Scuffed one toe in the dust. “Kinda hoped you’d meet a purty woman,” he muttered.
An image of the beautiful blonde in the sports car sprang unbidden to mind. “Now why would you want that?” Hank asked defensively.
“Tucker and I can handle the logging horses and the grain fields. Reba’s got the house in hand. You need someone to occupy your heart so you stop bringing strays—like that damned pig—onto this spread. As it is now, it’s more Noah’s ark than ranch.”
As if on cue, a barn cat with her litter of kittens paraded across the packed dirt of the barnyard, then wound herself around Hank’s legs. Trying to shake off the image of the woman at the bus stop, he bent and picked up the ginger mama. “Are you trying to tell me we don’t need a few good mousers?”
“Mousers are one thing. Vietnamese pot-bellied pigs are another. And hissy-spitting llamas. And crippled mules. And half-blind dogs. And mean Canada geese.” Willy threw his arms in the air in obvious exasperation. “And any other wounded, abused or abandoned animal you can think to haul back here.” He jammed his fists on bony hips, leaned forward and skewered Hank with a one-eyed Popeye stare. “Hell, you spend almost as much time on these castoffs as you spend on your legitimate business.”
“Your point?” Hank tried to look stern, but failed as the ginger cat licked the tip of his chin. He respected Willy too much to remind the foreman that he had been one of the “castoffs” Hank had rescued.
“The point, as if you didn’t know, is that a man needs something to love, sure. But it should be a woman.”
A sudden slice of pain across his heart, Hank gently put the mama cat down in the midst of her mewling kittens. Years ago he thought he had found a woman to love, only to find out she didn’t love him enough to live the hard but rewarding life of a rancher’s wife.
“Well, you’re out of luck,” he replied with a forced grin. “I didn’t see a woman that so much as even tweaked my curiosity.”
Lie.
Willy rolled his eyes. “Well, if you plan to continue sleeping with the dogs, Bowser needs a flea bath. Bad. Like today.” He turned in a huff, then stumped across the yard toward the barn, muttering under his breath every step of the way.
Hank shook his head. Willy made it seem as if his boss’s single state was some kind of degenerate condition. He yanked his Stetson off and rubbed his forehead. The ranch’s Noah’s ark aspect, as Willy referred to it, took no time at all. What chewed up the moments was the foreman’s infernal and constant confrontations on the topic of women. His insistence that an unmarried state was an unnatural state.
Heading for the ranch house and a ton of paperwork, Hank slapped his hat against his thigh in frustration. It was easy for Willy to comment. He loved Reba. A good-hearted country woman. There weren’t many women like her. Women who loved the life Hank lived. Who loved the solitude, the lack of city or suburban lights. Who loved hard physical work. And the animals. Both the purebreds and the strays.
Despite those challenges, Hank had a deep, dark secret that he wouldn’t admit to Willy: he was ready to settle down. He had a thriving business, his own ranch and money in the bank. He’d love to find that perfect woman, get married and raise a whole passle of energetic kids. A family of his own.
He thought miserably of the delicate blue-eyed suburban beauty in her little red convertible. For the life of him, he couldn’t picture her on a ranch.
Feeling uneasy for more than one reason, Neesa rang the Russell doorbell again. This was a pretty sneaky way to get Kids & Animals sponsored. She hugged the warm casserole tightly to her. With this little delivery she hoped merely to extend a neighborly hand...and have Mr. Whittaker admit to being a rancher. She could take the “coincidence” from there.
Normally she’d come right out and say, I heard you were a rancher. I need your help. But a faintly formidable look in this man’s eyes told her he wouldn’t appreciate her listening to gossip about him or asking for favors—very large favors—before the introductions were cold.
The door opened. At the sight of handsome Hank Whittaker looming above her, Neesa nearly lost her grip on the dish of chicken and dumplings. Oh, my, but the man was twice as imposing up close as he had been from a distance. And even without the Stetson to shadow his eyes, his gaze was dark and penetrating. Riveting her attention and rendering her speechless.
“Yes?” The hint of a smile played at the corner of his sensuous mouth.
“M-Mr. Whittaker...”
“Hank.”
“Hank.” She inhaled sharply. “I’m Neesa Little from up the street. I understand you’re caring for Carey and Chris for the weekend.”
The hint of a smile developed into a broad, sexy grin. “Word travels fast.”
“Yes,” she whispered almost inaudibly, extending the casserole. “I thought you could use some supper.” Under his grin and those devilishly dark eyes, she found it hard to concentrate, let alone form a coherent sentence. “Just being neighborly,” she added weakly.
“Why, thank you.” He chuckled, and the sound was even sexier than the sight of the grin. “Step in and let’s see if we can find room.”
“Room?”
He opened the door wider, then stepped aside to allow her to enter the foyer. She always felt a little uncomfortable when she visited her neighbors—except for Claire and Robert who were childless but “trying.” These homes were enclaves of kids and more kids and even more kids, and always drove home Neesa’s own unmarried, perennially childless state.
Sure enough, from the family room, she could hear the sound of a video game and childish laughter. Too, a delicious mixture of aromas filled the air. Clutching the dish of chicken and dumplings, she felt sheepish. He already had supper under control.
The he in question had headed down the hallway. Trying to concentrate on her mission and not the masculine sway of his broad shoulders and narrow hips, Neesa followed as Hank silently led her into the kitchen where, to her complete amazement, covered dishes filled every inch of counter space.
“Now, let’s see if we can find a spot for yours.” He turned, and she started at the unmistakable twinkle in his eyes. “This is one neighborly neighborhood.”
So it would appear.
Visualizing a line, a very long line, of well-groomed suburban moms bearing casseroles—winding toward the Russell house, she suddenly laughed out loud.
“My reaction exactly.” He reached for the casserole she carried. “Y’all sure do have Chris and Casey’s best interests at heart.”
Neesa nearly choked on the rising guilt. “What do you plan to do with all this?”
“I’m freezing most of it. That way Cilia won’t have to cook for a month.”
“Cool, huh?” Eight-year-old Chris entered the kitchen. He grinned. “Hey, Miss Neesa, what did you bring?”
“Chicken and dumplings.”
“Hank’s favorite.” The boy lifted the lid of a dish on the counter and extracted a breaded chicken leg. “Me, I like mine fried.”
“Don’t you dare take that back in the family room,” Hank warned. “Your mama would give me a tongue lashing and more.”
“I won’t.” Chris headed for the back door. “I’m going to eat it on the deck, then I’m going to the basement to dig out our swim stuff. Pool opens tomorrow, remember.”
“How could I forget?” Hank didn’t look thrilled at the prospect.
“I take it you’re not a swimmer?”
“The swimming part’s fine. I’m just not keen on doing it in a cement pond.”
“Cement pond.” Neesa laughed aloud again. “Why, you sound like Jethro—”
“Of the Beverly Hillbillies,” he finished for her. “I know. It’s a cross I bear.” He rolled his eyes dramatically.
She hadn’t expected him to be approachable and funny and self-deprecating. No. On the contrary, at the bus stop he’d seemed aloof and stern and very macho. Maybe the difference was in the Stetson. Right now, he wasn’t wearing it. And without it, he was still drop-dead gorgeous, but gorgeous in a way that didn’t push her away. That made her, instead, want to get to know him better.
A dangerous thought.
His dark hair was straight and a little too long to be manageable. His forehead was broad and intelligent. Under dark brows, even darker eyes took in everything. Didn’t miss a trick. Tonight his strong jawline and chin showed the blue of a five-o’clock shadow. Very masculine. Neesa wondered if a heavy beard meant...
Mentally admonishing herself to remember the point of this visit, Neesa took a step backward as if standing outside his considerable aura might protect her.
“Hank!” Little six-year-old Casey Russell hurtled into the room. “Nobody will play video games with me! I’m all alone in there. Chris left me. Nobody loves me.” In a piping voice, her blue-streak complaint held more drama than substance.
“How awful!” Hank scooped the girl into his arms. “I love you. If I ever had a little girl, I’d want her to be just like you.”
Casey blushed, clearly enjoying the compliment. Still she affected a pout. “But nobody will play pokey pony with me.”
“Did that fact make you lose your manners?”
Casey gave him a perplexed stare.
“We have a guest. Say hey to Miss Neesa.”
The child snuggled against Hank’s neck. “Miss Neesa isn’t a guest. She’s our neighbor. She gives real big chocolate bars at Halloween.”
Hank raised one dark eyebrow in question.
“True,” Neesa replied, chuckling. “My favorite.”
“Remind me to come back to the neighborhood for Halloween,” he said, his voice low and lazy, his eyes now a seductive shade of dark gray. “I love trick or treat.”
She just bet.
He lowered Casey to the floor. With one big hand he ruffled the little girl’s hair. “Let me walk Miss Neesa to the door. Then I’ll play pokey pony with you. Now scoot.”
The man obviously liked kids. That would be perfect in her professional scheme of things. It was an automatic out, however, in her personal relationships ball game.
When Hank turned to look at Neesa, it was with the same soul-searching gaze he’d sent her this morning. Only in the close confines of the kitchen, it seemed a hundred times more potent. Why did he throw her one of those looks when she was feeling most vulnerable? Her knees suddenly went wobbly. She felt color drain from her cheeks. Felt unexplainably giddy.
“Are you all right?” He reached for her. Encircled her upper arms with a strong grip. “You’re looking mighty peaked all of a sudden.”
His touch only increased the giddiness.
“I’m fine,” she managed, drawing away from him with difficulty. “It’s just that it’s been a long day at work.”
“And here you thought to bring us supper.” His eyes turned the color of smoke. Tender. “We’re much obliged.” Lordy, if he’d been wearing the Stetson, he most certainly would have tipped it.
“You’re very welcome.” The words stuck in her throat. She prayed her knees would hold. “I’d better be going.”
Concern flickering in those dark eyes, he walked her to the door, then opened it for her. “See you at the pool tomorrow?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She attempted a smile. “I’m not much for cement ponds, either.”
He smiled with enough wattage to blow a fuse. “Well, Miss Neesa. See you at Halloween then. Save me a real big chocolate bar.”
He winked and slowly closed the door, leaving Neesa standing on the Russells’ front doorstep, weak-kneed, flustered and frustrated. Flustered because she’d just experienced a full-blown case of attraction for a stranger who, for all she knew, had a wife and kids of his own back at the ranch. Kids. It was clear from just a few moments of observing him that he was a natural-born parent. Even if he were single, his obvious desire for children would eliminate him from her eligible bachelor list.
She was frustrated, too, because she’d paid good money for that chicken and dumplings at Myra’s Diner. Even as good as it had smelled, it hadn’t come close to getting Hank Whittaker to admit he was a rancher. Hadn’t provided the opportunity for Neesa to innocently say, Is that right? Funny, but I’ve been on the lookout for a rancher for my Kids & Animals program....
She harrumphed softly. Now she had to dig her bathing suit out of mothballs and visit that cement pond tomorrow.
Chapter Two
“Hank?” Poolside, eight-year-old Chris Russell stopped blowing air into the rubber raft. “Why aren’t you married?”
Why wasn’t he married?
Funny, but you could hem and haw and evade a similar question from an adult, but a kid deserved an honest answer.
From his lounge chair Hank reached for a soft drink in the cooler. The noises and bustle surrounding the neighborhood pool assailed him. He longed for the quiet of his ranch. But Chris’s stare didn’t waver, and his question remained unanswered.
“I almost was,” Hank replied simply.
“What happened?”
“Oh, she was a city gal, and I was a country boy. We just couldn’t agree on most of the things you need to go about your daily business.”
“Did you love her?”
“Yup.” Now, that was the godshonest truth. And it had hurt like hell when she’d left him. The memory of it stil did, at times. The pain provided a good reminder that he might search high and low, but it would take a very special woman to become a rancher’s wife.
“I could help you find someone new.” Chris grinned. “My teacher’s real pretty.”
“Have you been talking to Willy?” Hank growled playfully. Reaching for the rubber raft, he ruffled the boy’s hair en route. “Here. Let me blow this up for you. Otherwise it’ll be dark before you get in the water.” He began to blow up the raft, safe from Chris’s questions. At least if Chris asked them, he now had an excuse not to answer them.
Casey streaked by with a friend.
Hank lifted his head from the task at hand. “Casey! Slow down, darlin’. The lifeguard will kick us all out, and Chris here hasn’t even had a chance to dip his toes in the water.” He sighed heavily. Would he survive this suburban weekend?
“Looks like you have your hands full.” The voice was soft and sultry and very familiar. But he’d heard so many new voices in the past twenty-four hours.
Peering up from under the brim of his Stetson, Hank saw a shapely silhouette etched against the early-afternoon sun. Shadow obscured the face, however.
“I don’t need the raft,” Chris said suddenly. He leaned close and whispered in Hank’s ear. “She’s even prettier than my teacher.” Before Hank could answer, the boy dashed off, executing a cannonball in the deep end of the pool.
“This seat taken?” That unmistakably feminine voice again.
“It is now. It’s yours.” Tipping his hat, Hank gallantly rose from his lounge chair while inwardly bemoaning the loss of his privacy. “Ma’am,” he added to give the invitation a distancing formality.
“Neesa. Please.”
Oh, that voice. Neesa Little of the angel blue eyes and the tiny red sports car. His suburban weekend just got more complicated.
Having fully expected that he’d never see the woman again, he’d allowed himself to flirt with her—just a little—yesterday evening when she’d come bearing chicken and dumplings. Damned good chicken and dumplings. But now here she stood, intending to occupy the lounge chair right next to him. Perhaps for the rest of the afternoon.
Regrets settled over him like dusk over the mountains, even as his pulse picked up in her presence.
Her beautiful blue eyes were covered with dark sun glasses, but her other attributes, covered only by a short. silky top, were much in evidence. He noticed for the first time that she wore no wedding ring. Trying to swallow, he found his tongue and throat uncommonly parched.
As Hank returned to a sitting position, Neesa lowered a small canvas bag to the pool deck, then spread a towel on the lounge next to his. Kicking off sandals, she perched, ramrod straight, hands folded in her lap, on the very end of her chair. “Well!” Her voice became breathy. Despite the pool paraphernalia, she didn’t look as if she came here often.
In fact, with her creamy smooth skin and delicate build, she didn’t look as if she was much the outdoors type at all.
