Hot Holiday Rancher

Rage had filled him. He’d believed the worst of his friend. That a big-city job with a fancy salary at Perry Holdings had gone to Vincent’s head. That he’d forgotten who he was. Jesse had responded with anger.

And then, a few weeks after their strange encounter, Vincent Hamm was dead. And not just dead—murdered.

A brief angry voice mail from Jesse to Vincent had turned up in the authorities’ investigation. A handful of words. Crazy. But Jesse, ever a rule follower and ever meticulous, had a solid alibi. He’d been three hours away at a cattle auction. His location south of Houston was certifiable, easily tracked through his purchase records and through his hotel visit. Nearly all his time was accounted for. There was no feasible way he could have been the murderer. As a law-abiding man, he’d voluntarily submitted to a lie detector test, which he’d passed. He wanted Vincent’s actual killer to be found. Sooner rather than later.

He thumped the edge of his own mug, heat transferring ever so slightly from the ceramic to his fingertips.

Jesse’s attention returned to the present as he heard the creak of the guest suite door and soft footfalls on the hardwood floor. Then there she was. Esme Perry.

He stood slowly. Damn.

The mug was no longer the only thing throwing heat in the kitchen.

Esme walked deeper into the kitchen, looking too damn sexy in his Texas A&M sweats. Even wearing his athletic socks bunched down around her ankles, she somehow made it all work into an elegant ensemble right down to her diamond stud earrings.

“Well, Miss Esme, you are definitely unmistakable now,” he said, nudging her mug and the bottle of schnapps toward her.

“It’s nice to be dry again.” She gestured to her wet hair. “At least somewhat.” She poured some of the liquor into the mug, stirred thoughtfully. Almost absently.

She lifted the mug to her lips, and he found himself unable to look away, imagining how soft they would be.

“I’m glad to help.” He waited for her to sit before reclaiming his place on the barstool. “Did you reach home to let them know you’re okay?”

“I did. Just now. I called my sister Angela. We were talking about plans to meet for brunch.” Her delicate nose scrunched with worry. “We haven’t had much time to talk lately since she got back together with Ryder.”

Everyone in Royal had been blown away at the news when Angela and Ryder had gotten engaged. A Perry and a Currin? Unimaginable. Then they had broken things off, and now were apparently a couple again.

Jesse shook his head. He wanted something more stable in his life. “You and she are close?”

She hesitated for a telling moment. “Angela and Melinda are twins. Then I have a brother, Roarke. We all love one another.”

He’d heard the gossip that Roarke was rumored to be Ryder Currin’s biological son, rumors so strong they’d taken a DNA test. A test that proved Roarke truly was a Perry. Still, the whole ordeal must have put a strain on their family. “That’s not the same as being close.”

“The twins are close, and our brother has always gone his own way. He’s happy, though, working at Perry Holdings in Houston in a newly formed ethics department. He still does part-time work offering legal, too.”

“He sounds like quite the crusading attorney for the underdog. I imagine you’re proud of him.”

“I am. It wasn’t easy for him to find his own path. He and Dad butt heads because our father expected Roarke to go into the family business. But that’s enough of our family drama.” She shrugged, her hair rippling over her shoulder in a blond waterfall. “So you have siblings?”

Her eyes flickered to the photograph tucked on the marble countertop.

Esme was observant. He’d give her that.

“I have a sister. She’s all the family I have left, actually. I thought I was going to lose her not too long ago. Her appendix ruptured and she had to have emergency surgery.”

Hospital runs and the smell of antiseptic filled his memory. The bargaining and praying for his sister’s life he’d done were still a visceral memory in his stomach.

“I’m so sorry. Is she all right now?”

“She is.” He looked at the mug in Esme’s hand, thankful for his sister’s recovery.

“Thank goodness. Still, that had to have been a scary time for you.”

“It was.”

Rain continued to fall outside, filling the pause with controlled chaos.

She looked into her mug, swirling the hot chocolate around without meeting his gaze. “Actually, you weren’t wrong. My sisters have a special bond. My brother, well, his earlier move to Dallas wasn’t all that surprising. Now that he’s back, that seems to be changing some. Regardless, I’m still stuck somewhere in the middle. But that’s all right. Not everyone has the same relationship.”

“You don’t sound like it’s okay.”

She raised an eyebrow in surprise, then took another sip of the hot chocolate as she leaned on the granite countertop. She spread her fingers out wide as if soaking in the cool texture. “About those three someones… I’m dying to know more.”

“Dates.”

Her eyes went wide, and she inched back. “All three? At the same time?”

“Whoa. It’s not what you’re thinking.” He held up his hands defensively, chuckling. “I signed up for a dating service, a matchmaker. She’s lined up a trio of candidates. They were each supposed to come out here individually to meet with me, to see my ranching lifestyle and decide if it’s off-putting. It’s not for everyone.”

Her gaze flickering away at the mention of ranching not being for all, she wriggled her toes in his overlarge socks. “A matchmaker. Seriously?”

“Plenty of people sign up for online services. I opted for the matchmaker because of lack of time.” Absolutely the truth. And he found a certain sort of…practicality about having an expert match him with someone with similar interests. It saved time rather than meeting scores of women socially and trusting fate to somehow work out his future.

Her forehead furrowing in confusion, Esme leaned slightly forward. “Why do you want to have a girlfriend if you don’t even have time to look for one?”

Well, that was easy enough to answer. “I don’t want a girlfriend. I want a wife.”

Three

“A wife?” Esme repeated, certain she couldn’t have heard him correctly. Hot cocoa cradled in her hand, she studied him through narrowed eyes, but couldn’t read if he was serious or not. Which could have something to do with how she kept looking at his impossibly broad shoulders. “You’re punking me, aren’t you?”

“Not at all.” He set his coffee cup aside. “I’m looking for a wife.”

A flash of disappointment rippled through her. Silly really, since the last thing she wanted was a rancher. “A wife. Not simply a date. That’s just… Well, I’m surprised you’re already thinking that far down the road about someone you haven’t even met.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Your shock is a little insulting.”

“But you’re a man.” Her eyes were drawn to his arms before she could stop herself. His muscular arms. Arms that had carried her so effortlessly.

“And that comment is decidedly sexist.” His green eyes flashed with heat.

She grabbed her mug quickly. She should probably hush before she alienated him altogether. “I apologize. I only meant it’s a leap from first date to the altar.”

“Apology accepted.” He reached for the refrigerator door, his flannel shirt pulling taut along his muscular chest. “Whipped cream?”

“What?” she asked, startled, her gaze shooting back up to his face.

“For your hot chocolate.” He held out a can, pointing in her direction.

Her mind traveled sexy pathways, imagining things they could do with that sweet treat.

“Uh, sure.” She reached for the can, spraying a swirl inside her mug, when she really wanted to fill her mouth with the stuff and quench at least one hunger. “Of course, there’s no reason in the world why you shouldn’t find love.”

“I didn’t say anything about love,” he said in the most logical of voices. “Just marriage.”

Again, he’d surprised her. This man wasn’t at all what she’d expected from reading about him online before her trip to Royal. “Marriage but no love?”

The thought of that chilled her with memories of her parents’ loveless marriage. Too many nights, her mother had cried herself to sleep over her husband’s staying late at the office yet again. Esme wanted more for herself than that and felt sorry for anyone willing to settle for less.

“Why not? I have my life in order—this house, the ranch.” He ticked off points one finger at a time. “The timing is right for the next step. A wife. Then kids.”

He’d laid out the events as matter-of-factly as he’d laid out the ingredients to make her hot chocolate. He’d described the process of creating a family as if he was listing the week’s upcoming groceries.

She raised an eyebrow. “Do these three mystery women know they’re expected to pop out children right away?”

Esme imagined what his dream woman was like. What she wanted. What would make her forsake the idea of love.

Not that Esme had had a lot of luck in that department. Still, she wasn’t giving up on finding love—when the time was right, with the man who was right.

She gulped down more hot cocoa and struggled not to wince as it burned her tongue.

“We all filled out extensive questionnaires. Our wishes for the future are in line.”

Well, now, that wasn’t subtle at all. “And I’m in the way.”

Esme blinked a sting of jealousy. She’d only just met Jesse. And while he was sure one sexy cowboy with his slightly tousled blond hair, she knew better than to assume they were anything more than two very opposite people stuck together riding out a rainstorm.

With precise, athletic footfalls, he made his way over to the window and looked outside into the tempest.

“In this storm, I seriously doubt any of them will be showing up.” He turned to her and his gaze held on her upper lip, and she realized she had a hint of whipped cream clinging there.

Jesse returned to her, offering her a napkin. She took it, dabbing her mouth slowly. His eyes flamed hotter and she wondered what it would have been like to let him kiss her upper lip, to taste him in return.

She swallowed hard to will away the sensation. “How do they feel about being a part of this edition of Catch a Bachelor: Rancher Style?”

He shot her an amused glance, easing back a step. “This isn’t a reality show.”

“Of course not.” She rolled her eyes, struggling for levity. “No cameras.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “And they’re coming at different times so they don’t cross paths.”

“How very…civil.” And cold. “How do your brides-to-be feel about this emotionless transaction?”

“To be fair, they know about the process. No one’s being deceived.”

He leaned against the island, an arm’s length away. Esme’s eyes drifted to his shiny engraved belt buckle. Snapping her attention back to their conversation, she considered the less robotic aspects of such an arrangement. All likes and dislikes already sorted. Everyone knowing the rules of the game. Everyone understanding expectations, too. No mystery. Nothing as quirky as fate intervening.

That was something, at least. “Glad to hear it.”

A slow, disarming grin spread across his face. “Are you interested in joining the process?”

“Whoa, nuh-uh.” She held up her hands in protest. “I’m in no hurry to fill a nursery, and I’ve had enough of ranch living.”

He tipped his head to the side, studying her, amusement in his eyes replaced by curiosity. “Yet you grew up on a ranch.”

Her childhood home on the outskirts of Houston was a sprawling mansion, almost castle-like, surrounded by pastures, elegant barns. The spread was a huge, billion-dollar cattle-and-horse operation started by her maternal grandfather, then passed on to her parents. And even with all of that, Esme had still moved into the city the first chance she had.

“Exactly. No more ranching for me.” And that was all the reminder she needed for why she should keep her distance from this man and stay focused on her reason for being here. “Thank you for the hot cocoa and the clothes and the rescue. I should turn in for the night.”

She rinsed her mug and made fast tracks for the guest suite before she was tempted to stay in the kitchen. To listen to the warm timbre of his voice.

To imagine the taste of whiskey from his coffee on his tongue if he kissed her.

Sleep had been a difficult commodity for Jesse, with images of his surprise houseguest filling his dreams. Visions of her soaking wet, yet equally enticing in sweats. What would it be like to peel those clothes from her body?

Restless, he’d finally given up sleep just before dawn and gone to the barn to burn off energy.

His cowboy boots reverberated on the cement floor as he approached Juniper’s stall. Grabbing the supple brown leather halter and lead, he made his way into the stall of his newest horse.

Juniper, a young dapple gray mare, stretched her neck, giving her tangled mane a shake. She sniffed his hand, her whiskers softly touching his palm. The horse exhaled warm breath against his fingertips, a welcome sensation in the cool, damp morning air. Stepping closer, Jesse slipped the cognac halter on her head and led the mare to the crossties, where his brushes were waiting for him.

He never grew tired of this, the connection with his horses and the land. Ranching was more than a job to him. It was a way of life.

Picking up a currycomb, he moved his hand in circular patterns. Excess hair and dirt gathered in the brush.

Other horses poked their heads from stalls. The barn held two rows of twelve stalls. Buddy, his first gelding, lazily chewed on hay, dropping bits of straw onto the ground. Flash, a muscular chestnut quarter horse, loosed a whinny. Beneath his hands, Juniper sucked in a breath before belting out an answering noise.

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