In A Cowboy's Embrace

Stevie muttered something unintelligible as Cliff tucked him in, then rolled to his side, curled into a ball, instantly falling back into deep sleep.

The night-light cast an orange glow in the room, enough to see the usual clutter had been straightened, the toy box lid closed, the wooden train set in its place on the brightly painted play table Cliff had constructed for Stevie’s second birthday, when he’d still had his mother.

Cliff lifted his eyes, meeting Tasha’s gaze. The room felt strangely warm, the air sultry with her seductive perfume. She stood on one side of the room, the twin beds between them. Yet he could almost feel the heat of her body touching him.

“Where’s Melissa’s father?” he asked quietly.

“I have no idea. Our marriage, such as it was, only lasted two years. He said he needed to find himself. The last I heard he was looking in Australia.”

Cliff couldn’t imagine walking out on his child—or on a wife like Tasha, for that matter.

“This guy you were engaged to…was Melissa upset when you broke it off?”

“Just the opposite.” With a quick check of her child, Tasha left her bedside, moving closer to Cliff as soundlessly as a moonbeam. “Nick wasn’t very fond of kids. She picked up on that right away, which should have given me a clue that he wasn’t exactly the best catch of the year.”

“Love can do funny things to people.”

She glanced away from him. “I’m not sure love was involved—for either of us. More like convenience, although I admit there was some sexual chemistry. He was my agent and business manager. We often traveled together. It was, well, easy to get involved. It was also a mistake.”

He’d like to be able to console her, but that would be a mistake, too.

With a shake of his head, he cleared the image of holding her in his arms. “Morning comes early around here. We’d better call it a night.”

“More roundups tomorrow?”

“One more day and we ought to have it licked. For this season.”

“Good night, then.” She slipped past him, heading for the guest room.

He inhaled her lingering scent, and cursed himself for wanting to follow her all the way to her bed.

HE’D JUST POURED his first cup of morning coffee, and the mug froze halfway to his mouth when Tasha walked into the kitchen. No woman had a right to look that good first thing in the morning—her hair sleep-mussed, her face free of makeup and her cheeks naturally flushed.

Darn it all, he’d like to see her sleepy-eyed, her hair mussed from a night of his lovemaking—an image that had kept him awake most of the night. Not gonna happen, he reminded himself.

“I heard you up.” Pulling her cotton robe modestly around her, she smiled a lazy greeting. “Should I wake the children?”

He tried to act natural, as if he were used to having a beautiful woman in his kitchen every morning. “No, let ’em sleep. If they want to come out to the ranch later, you can bring them.”

“Fine.” Barefoot, her toenails an intriguing raspberry red, she glided to the coffeepot and poured herself a mug.

“You know how to find the place now?”

“Ella showed me what to look for at the turnoff. Evidently that new invention called street signs hasn’t reached Reed County yet.”

“We’re a little backward,” he admitted, taking a gulp of coffee. It burned as it slid down his throat. “But then, only strangers would need signs, and we don’t get many tourists.”

“Really? The countryside is beautiful, in its fashion. Reed County must be a well-kept secret.” Glancing around the kitchen, she asked, “Do my housekeeping duties include making you breakfast?”

“I’ve already got the oatmeal on.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I’ll do toast. Thanks, anyway.”

He nodded toward the toaster on the counter. “Help yourself.” Getting down a bowl from the cupboard, he stirred the oatmeal.

Someone knocked on the back door.

Cliff swiveled his head that direction, dismayed to find Winifred Bruhn staring at him through the door’s window. Not waiting for an invitation, she marched right into the kitchen.

“Now, isn’t this a cozy domestic scene!” Her gray hair was frazzled and windblown, her omnipresent notebook in her hand.

He leveled her his harshest look, which didn’t seem to faze her. “You’re supposed to wait until someone says come in after you knock.” Her sudden arrival had startled him so badly, he’d nearly dropped the damn pot of oatmeal on the floor.

“Pshaw! I can’t wait on folks when I’ve got a newspaper deadline to meet.” She looked Tasha up and down with the eye of a predator—or someone about to make an arrest on behalf of the morality police. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting this young lady.”

Impatient, and angered by the woman’s unspoken insinuations, Cliff made perfunctory introductions. “What do you want, Winnie?”

“You say she’s your housekeeper?” she asked, busily scribbling notes that would no doubt appear in the local gossip column. And probably be vicious in the conclusions drawn.

“Would you like some coffee, Ms. Bruhn?” Tasha asked smoothly, though a blush had risen to her cheeks.

“She doesn’t have time for coffee. She has a deadline to meet, right, Winnie?”

The woman lifted her nose, sniffing with an air of superiority. “I’ve come by to tell you Bobby Bruhn has decided to run against you for sheriff. I’d like a statement—”

“Bobby? He doesn’t have any law enforcement experience. What makes him think—”

“I assure you, the full weight and influence of the Reed County Register will be behind Mr. Bruhn’s election.”

“He’s your nephew, for crying out loud!”

“It’s time for a change in this county, a breath of fresh air. Now I can print your reaction to Mr. Bruhn’s candidacy or I can indicate, despite the efforts of the press to gain an interview, you were otherwise engaged….” She eyed Tasha pointedly. “And that you had no comment. The choice is yours, Deputy Swain.”

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