In A Cowboy's Embrace

Instinctively Tasha snuggled into the warmth of the man beside her

She relished the steady beat of his heart and the warm feel of his skin beneath her palm. She felt secure. Cherished. Infinitely at ease, as though she’d been lost for a long time and had finally come home.

She squeezed her eyelids closed against the press of sunlight. Morning, she realized. Time to get up, and she wasn’t anywhere near ready to give up the snug place she’d discovered.

Slightly shifting, she wished—

Everything about her stopped, even her breathing.

There was a man in her bed. A big man with a broad chest and muscular arms. A familiar man who smelled faintly of spicy aftershave mixed with the scent of sagebrush.

Her eyes flew open. “Cliff!” she whispered sharply. Mortified, she tried to shake him awake. “Cliff, wake up! You’re in the wrong bed!”

Dear Reader,

May is the perfect month to stop and smell the roses, and while you’re at it, take some time for yourself and indulge your romantic fantasies! Here at Mills & Boon American Romance, we’ve got four brand-new stories, picked specially for your reading pleasure.

Sparks fly once more as Charlotte Maclay continues her wild and wonderful CAUGHT WITH A COWBOY! duo this month with In a Cowboy’s Embrace. Join the fun as Tasha Reynolds falls asleep in the wrong bed and wakes with Cliff Swain, the very right cowboy!

This May, flowers aren’t the only things blossoming—we’ve got two very special mothers-to-be! When estranged lovers share one last night of passion, they soon learn they’ll never forget That Night We Made Baby, Mary Anne Wilson’s heartwarming addition to our WITH CHILD…promotion. And as Emily Kingston discovers in Elizabeth Sinclair’s charming tale, The Pregnancy Clause, where there’s a will, there’s a baby on the way!

There’s something fascinating about a sexy, charismatic man who seems to have it all, and Ingrid Weaver’s hero in Big-City Bachelor is no exception. Alexander Whitmore has two wonderful children, money, a successful company…. What could he possibly be missing…?

With Mills & Boon American Romance, you’ll always know the exhilarating feeling of falling in love.

Happy reading!

Melissa Jeglinski

Associate Senior Editor

In a Cowboy’s Embrace

Charlotte Maclay

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHARLOTTE MACLAY can’t resist a happy ending. That’s why she’s had such fun writing more than twenty titles for Mills & Boon American Romance and Mills & Boon Love & Laughter, as well as several Silhouette Romance books. Particularly well-known for her volunteer efforts in her hometown of Torrance, California, Charlotte’s philosophy is that you should make a difference in your community. She and her husband have two married daughters and two grandchildren, whom they are occasionally allowed to baby-sit. She loves to hear from readers, and can be reached at: P.O. Box 505, Torrance, CA 90501.

Books by Charlotte Maclay

MILLS & BOON AMERICAN ROMANCE

474—THE VILLAIN’S LADY

488—A GHOSTLY AFFAIR

503—ELUSIVE TREASURE

532—MICHAEL’S MAGIC

537—THE KIDNAPPED BRIDE

566—HOW TO MARRY A MILLIONAIRE

585—THE COWBOY AND THE BELLY DANCER

620—THE BEWITCHING BACHELOR

643—WANTED: A DAD TO BRAG ABOUT

657—THE LITTLEST ANGEL

684—STEALING SAMANTHA

709—CATCHING A DADDY

728—A LITTLE BIT PREGNANT

743—THE HOG-TIED GROOM

766—DADDY’S LITTLE COWGIRL

788—DEPUTY DADDY

806—A DADDY FOR BECKY

821—THE RIGHT COWBOY’S BED*

825—IN A COWBOY’S EMBRACE*

Reed County Register

Around Town with Winnie

by Winifred Bruhn

Eligible Bachelor Brothers

Bryant and Clifford Swain have recently set Reilly’s Gulch on fire with rumored bedroom shenanigans!

As you know, the brothers Swain co-own and operate the Double S ranch outside of town. And with any number of virtuous single young women residing in our fine community, these two gentlemen have seen fit to take up with outsiders! What is wrong with the wonderful young women right here in Reilly’s Gulch, I say!

And as if this weren’t enough, apparently there has been a mix-up in the two Swain boudoirs! Ella Papadakis from Los Angeles was dating brother Clifford, but somehow ended up in Bryant’s bed. Her sister, Tasha Reynolds, claims she was merely hired to be brother Clifford’s housekeeper, but seems to have interpreted “keeping house” quite differently!

One must hope, as members of one of Reilly’s Gulch’s leading families, that the brothers Swain will resist temptations of the flesh in favor of setting a strong example for the young people of our community.

Meanwhile, at Sal’s Bar and Grill, this reporter is troubled to note…

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter One

“Daddy! Daddy!” Five-year-old Stevie came running into the kitchen from the back of the house. “Goldilocks is sleeping in your bed! And she brought her mother with her!”

Clifford Swain cupped the back of his son’s head. He’d had a long day rounding up cattle on the Double S and branding this year’s crop of calves on the ranch he and his twin brother jointly owned. He wasn’t at all sure he had the energy to deal with another of his son’s flights of fancy.

Still, a stranger in the house would explain the silver-gray BMW parked out front. No one in the small Montana town of Reilly’s Gulch drove a car like that, certainly not one that was five years old and looked brand-new. Pickup trucks and sport utility vehicles were the favored mode of transportation in this rugged, northwestern part of Montana.

Except for Chester O’Reilly. He’d gotten it into his ninety-year-old head to buy a Mazda Miata from Cliff’s sister-in-law, Ella, and then started a taxi service with it.

“Come on, bucko,” Cliff said to his son. The crime rate in Reilly’s Gulch was so low, he didn’t imagine whomever Stevie had spotted—real or pretend—would pose much of a danger. He should know. When he wasn’t punching cattle, he was a Reed County deputy sheriff and had filed the papers to run for election as county sheriff. “Let’s find out what’s going on.”

“Do you think they ate up all our porridge?”

Cliff grinned at the boy, whose blue eyes sparkled with excitement. “Don’t think you’re going to get out of eating your oatmeal for breakfast if they have. I’ll just buy some more.”

“Aw, gee…” He did a little skip-hop to catch up with Cliff. “Sweet rolls are better.”

“That gooey stuff’ll kill you, kid.” As well as give the boy a sugar high that he didn’t need. Where Stevie was concerned, energy was rarely in short supply.

The sprawling ranch-style house had large rooms and wide hallways. He and his wife had wanted a big family and plenty of space to spread out. But Yvonne had died nearly three years ago. They’d never built the second story, which had been in the original plans.

They’d never had any more kids, either, and that still hurt almost as much as having lost his high school sweetheart.

Cliff peered into the guest room. Actually he’d been sleeping there since Yvonne died. At first there were too many ghosts, too many memories in the master bedroom. Then it simply became a habit to sleep across the hall.

“See, what’d I tell you,” Stevie whispered.

Yep, definitely Goldilocks and her mom, both of them sound asleep on top of the covers, a paperback novel open on the night table. The girl’s hair was tousled with blond ringlets, her face like an angel, but it was the woman who drew Cliff’s attention. Her hair spilled over the pillow like a waterfall made of white gold. At rest, she looked vulnerable. Approachable. Tempting as hell.

Thick coils of heat whipped through Cliff, and he had to fight an instinctive urge to flee…or to join the woman lying on his bed.

A grown-up Goldilocks far more alluring than a younger version. He must have made a sound because the woman stretched, arching as lazily as a sleek cat. Her eyes blinked open. Blue as a Montana sky. A slow smile curved lips specifically made with kissing in mind. She gave him an assessing look, then her gaze slid to his son.

“Hi. You must be Stevie.” A low, seductive voice, husky with sleep.

The boy nodded. “You’re sleeping in my dad’s bed.”

“I am?” She eyed Cliff again with a warm, blue-velvet gaze.

“Did you break any of our chairs?” Stevie asked.

A fascinating little inverted V appeared between her nicely shaped eyebrows. “Chairs?” Effortlessly, she rose to a sitting position, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Her skirt swirled into position, settling like silk across her lap, draping the quick flash of leg that he’d glimpsed. With easy grace, she picked up a silver hair clip from the nightstand, twisted her long hair a couple of times and piled it on top of her head, snaring it in place in a sexy, casual do.

“He thinks you’re Goldilocks’s mother,” Cliff explained, his throat strangely tight and his voice as husky as hers had been.

She glanced at her sleeping daughter, and her smile blossomed into something radiant. Madonna and child with a measure of laughter mixed in. “More like an overtired minx, I’m afraid. We’ve been driving for days and then I got lost.”

From the looks of her long fingernails painted a raspberry red, to her perfectly oval face and her flawless complexion, not only was this woman lost, she’d wound up about two thousand miles off target. Hollywood should have been her destination.

She slipped her bare feet into a pair of leather sandals on the floor beside the bed, her toenails the same bright shade of raspberry as her fingernails. When she stood, she extended her hand to Cliff. “I’m Tasha Reynolds, your new housekeeper. Temporarily, of course.”

Cliff’s jaw dropped to somewhere near his knees. His housekeeper? No way was this the sort of woman he’d expected to fill in for Sylvia Torres while his regular housekeeper was helping her daughter following the birth of Sylvia’s third grandchild. But he’d asked his sister-in-law if she knew anyone….

“Are you Ella’s sister?” he asked, belatedly noting a vague family resemblance to his brother’s new wife. But while Ella Papadakis-Swain was attractive, Tasha was…striking. Tall and willowy, she moved with a dramatic grace that only a man who could meet and beat her height could fully appreciate. A man like Cliff.

“Guilty as charged.” She slipped past him as smoothly as warm butter on toast, taking Stevie’s hand in the process. “Why don’t we let Melissa sleep a little while longer? Four days of travel were hard on her.”

He watched her walk down the hallway—no, she floated down the hallway, Cliff mentally corrected himself, noting the sway of her skirt. She left the scent of the tropics behind her, hot and sultry. No way could he let Tasha Reynolds stay around as his housekeeper. No way, unless she’d allow him to spend twenty-four hours a day in bed with her.

Given he had an impressionable five-year-old son—and she had a young daughter—that wasn’t a viable plan. The only other choice was to ask her to leave. Because no way could he be under the same roof with her for any extended length of time without bedding her.

He wasn’t going to do that.

Especially not when his reputation was likely to be under scrutiny because of his election campaign for county sheriff.

TASHA RELEASED Stevie’s hand when they reached the spacious living room, decorated in Western style with bright colors accenting the earth tones of wood and the native stone fireplace. “Your Aunt Ella tells me you’re five years old.”

“I’m almost six.” The youngster looked like a small replica of his father—close-cropped, sandy-blond hair that on the boy had gone slightly shaggy and was in need of a haircut; baby-blue eyes that on his father held a glint of mischief; a particularly strong jaw and lips that naturally curved upward in an invitation to return his smile.

“My Melissa’s almost seven. She’s looking forward to playing with you.”

“She really isn’t Goldilocks?”

“’Fraid not. But that’s always been one of her favorite stories, too.”

The little boy scrunched his forehead into a frown. “I thought the bears were gonna eat Goldilocks up and I got scared, but they didn’t. The bears around here will eat’cha up if you’re not careful.”

“Yes, well, I’m certainly glad Goldilocks found some friendly bears to play with, aren’t you?”

“I guess. Ricky Monroe kept wanting the bears to rip her head off.”

Tasha shuddered at the thought, and at the same time felt Clifford’s gaze on her. She was used to people looking at her. After all, she was a fashion model on the runways of New York and Paris and posed in front of the camera for cover shots. People admiring her—or at least the clothes she wore—wasn’t unusual.

The way Cliff looked at her was different. Not predatory. Certainly interested. But with a wary gleam suggesting she didn’t belong here.

Well, she didn’t. But every woman deserved a safe place to lick her wounds when she got dumped. Naturally, she’d called her sister, who’d suggested she fill in for Cliff’s missing housekeeper and play nanny to his little boy.

Even though she’d met Ella’s husband—Cliff’s twin—at her sister’s hasty marriage last year, Tasha hadn’t expected this version of the Swain brothers to have such an impact on her. With his narrow hips, broad shoulders and Stetson tipped back at a rakish angle on his head, he was so potently masculine, he made every man in New York City pale in comparison. The guys in Paris couldn’t hold a candle to him either.

If Tasha hadn’t been getting over her latest romantic involvement, she would have considered making a play for Clifford Swain. But she’d turned over a new leaf.

Lust was no longer enough to base a relationship on. And being a single mother was better than settling for something less, like playing second fiddle to an eighteen-year-old modeling phenom who was landing cover jobs by the handfuls.

“You said you got lost?” Cliff sauntered into the room, all long, loose limbs, cowboy boots and sexy hips.

Lost in lust, she thought before she could stop herself. “Ella gave me the directions to her place, but I must have made a wrong turn. More than once,” she admitted with a wry smile. “I swear I went by the same cow six times.”

His lips hitched up. “They tend to look alike.”

“About the seventh time around the loop, I recognized your name on the mailbox. Melissa was whiny and I was exhausted, so I thought I’d crash here and worry about Ella tomorrow. Your door was unlocked.”

“Western hospitality.”

He came closer, and she caught a whiff of him, an elemental fragrance no aftershave designer had managed to bottle—a combination of leather and sweat and something she suspected was pure sex appeal.

“I’ll drive you out to the ranch if you want to see your sister tonight,” he offered.

“I hate to wake Melissa. Why don’t I just call Ella and let her know I got this far? After all, I’ll be staying here.” She shot a look at Stevie and grinned. “Goldilocks and her mom need someplace to hang out so the mean ol’ bears won’t get ’em. What d’ya think?”

The boy giggled. “I don’t think you want to sleep in my daddy’s bed. It’s not big enough for two people.”

To Tasha’s amazement, she felt the heat of a blush stain her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I thought that was the guest—”

“It is. I’ve been sleeping there the past couple of—” He snatched off his hat and tossed it on an end table. “Look, you can take the guest room. I’ll sleep in the master bedroom and Melissa can sleep—”

“She can sleep with me, Dad. I’ve got an extra bed in my room. She might get scared or somethin’ if she was all alone.”

The boy’s generosity touched Tasha’s heart. What a sweet child! Raising his son with no mother around, Cliff had still managed to rear a sensitive youngster who could empathize with the fears of others. That was a very special attribute few people—particularly men—could claim.

“I think she’d like that, Stevie,” she said. “Thank you for offering.”

Cliff’s scowl telegraphed his disapproval, and Tasha wondered why.

Stevie had plopped himself down on the couch, swinging his feet, and one shoe caught a handle on the carryall purse she’d left there earlier, toppling it over. The contents spilled out, including a paperback she’d finished reading last night.

“Careful, son.” Automatically, Cliff stooped to pick up the mess Stevie had made and his hand fell on a magazine that had fallen out of the purse. Tasha’s image gazed back at him from the cover with a come-hither smile. One creamy shoulder was bare, her salmon-colored dress slinky, sophisticated and sexy as the devil’s own. The headline on the women’s fashion magazine shouted Bright Colors for Summer. His mouth instantly went as dry as a hot summer day and his blood heated to match the temperature.

“Hey, look, Dad. That’s Tasha on the front of the magazine.”

She took the magazine from his fingers that had gone nerveless. “I spotted this at a convenience store where we stopped for a soda. I never know which shot they’ll use.” She studied the photo with a critical eye. “Not too shabby, is it?”

“You’re real pretty,” Stevie said.

Tasha gave the boy a warm smile. “Why, thank you, honey.”

“You’re a cover model,” Cliff said as though that weren’t entirely obvious.

“Mostly I do fashion work, designers’ shows, that sort of thing.” She tapped the magazine. “This was a nice gig, though. Gives me some national visibility, which I could use right about now.”

Visibility was right! On every magazine stand across the country, Tasha would be smiling at passersby, tempting men to pick her up and indulge in a little fantasy. He could just hear the raucous laughter and catcalls when the guys at Sal’s Bar and Grill heard she was his housekeeper.

“Nice gig” was a total understatement. He wasn’t an expert, but he’d guess a national cover like this would bring big bucks.

He plowed his fingers through his hair, stiff from the sweat and dirt of a roundup. This was never going to work. Surely if he asked around a little more, he’d find somebody more suitable to be his housekeeper until Sylvia came back—somebody who wouldn’t tie his libido in knots.

Or draw a lot of attention just when he was starting his election campaign for county sheriff. Granted, so far he was running unopposed and had the support of the incumbent sheriff, who was planning to retire. Still, his personal life would be under a microscope for the next few weeks. Having a beautiful single woman living under his roof was bound to raise eyebrows.

He knew his sister-in-law would watch out for Stevie if he needed her to. But Ella had a new baby, and the main ranch was ten miles by road from Cliff’s house, which was located in the corner of the spread closest to town. When he worked nights or had a meeting to attend, he’d have to pick up Stevie, interrupting his sleep to bring him home.

There had to be some other option.

“Look, I’m not entirely sure—”

She bent to scoop a wallet and fallen keys back into her purse, her low-cut neckline blousing out to reveal the swell of her breasts, and Cliff’s tongue got tangled with his good intentions.

“I didn’t bring our luggage in since I wasn’t sure where you’d want us to sleep. Would you mind helping me?”

Stevie hopped down from the couch. “I’ll help you,” he volunteered.

Blessing Stevie with another smile, which perversely Cliff wished had been meant for him, she said, “I think I’m going to enjoy Western hospitality as long as I’m here.”

She took the boy’s hand, and the two of them headed toward the front door. Cliff didn’t have much choice but to follow. It wasn’t in his nature to be rude to a woman—or anyone else, for that matter, unless he was pretty darn sure they’d broken a law. Even then he tried to be courteous. Given the circumstances, he wanted to be tactful with his brother’s sister-in-law. But he wanted her gone.

Yet for the sake of family harmony, having her here for one night wouldn’t hurt him any. Tomorrow he’d discuss how Tasha would be better off to spend her vacation at the main ranch house with her sister.

Outside, the air was unseasonably warm and there was still a touch of light in the late April sky, although the red-streaked clouds of sunset had faded to gray. The distant mountains of Glacier National Park were only faint silhouettes. A couple of bats whipped past the willow tree his wife Yvonne had planted; in the flower beds that she had lovingly tended and Cliff had let go a little wild, weeds bent their heads in the gentle evening breeze. With a son to raise and a job to hold down, there was never enough time to do everything that needed doing.

Tasha popped the trunk on her BMW.

“Nice car,” Cliff commented. Though it wasn’t the kind of car most folks in this part of Montana would want, he admitted, it was more suitable than the Mazda Tasha’s sister had arrived in a year ago.

“Living in New York City, I’ve never had much of a chance to drive it. I think James enjoyed being out on the road.”

“James?”

“That’s the car’s name.” Her easy smile came his direction this time. “As in, ‘Take me home, James.”’

Right, she named her car. Once she saw his truck, she’d probably call it Brute and his police cruiser would be Hi-Ho-Silver.

She handed Stevie a child’s suitcase and lifted out a larger one for herself. “If you could bring my makeup kit, that’d be great,” she said to Cliff, indicating the remaining piece of luggage in the trunk.

“Sure, no problem.” Reaching inside, he grabbed the handle, yanked…and nearly pulled his arm out of its socket. “What the hell have you got in there? The Brooklyn Bridge?”

“You’re not ’pose to swear, Daddy.”

“You’re right, kid.” He rubbed his shoulder. “I forgot.”

Amusement made Tasha’s eyes sparkle even in the dimming light, like the first two stars to appear in the night sky. “A little of this and that. Makeup, cleansers, moisturizers, a blow dryer with a defuser attachment. Only what every woman needs to look her best.”

“What the—” frowning, he glanced at his son “—heck is a defuser?”

“I’ll show you later, if you’d like.”

Cliff wasn’t sure he wanted to know, or if Stevie was old enough to be hearing this conversation. “Let’s get this stuff inside. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. You didn’t happen to put dinner on before your nap, did you?”

Half dragging the smallest suitcase, Stevie staggered along the walkway and up onto the porch that went across the front of the house.

“Dinner?” she questioned. The wheels on her suitcase rattled on the uneven concrete path.

The case Cliff was carrying weighed as much as an anvil and didn’t have wheels. “Uh, that’s what housekeepers usually do—take care of dinner arrangements.”

She brightened. “Oh, sure. I can do that.”

“Great. I’m due for a shower. It’ll take me only about ten minutes and then we can eat.”

Tasha looked at him askance. How on earth did he expect her to have something ready to eat in ten minutes? Maybe that was how things were done in Reilly’s Gulch.