Cowboys And Cradles

There was pride in her voice, she knew, and she was proud of what she’d achieved. It had taken long years filled with hopes, dreams and sheer hard work to put the Sassy Lady line on department store racks across the country. And it was a vindication of sorts that her designs were done with the full-figured female form in mind.

She’d been chubby as a child, chubbier yet as a teen. Those years bridging the gap between childhood and college had been the most difficult of all for her, and she remembered them well.

Yo, hefty hips.

Sometimes she could still hear that mocking chorus of deep voices thrown from a passing convertible, one crowded with a bunch of thoughtless punks out for a joyride on a hot summer night. Not that they’d been punks to her. Back then, they were her peers, boys she went to high school with, which only gave their taunting remark all the more power to hurt her.

And, of course, it hadn’t ended there. In a society that valued thinness almost as highly as wealth, she’d felt less than worthy throughout her young adulthood, a feeling she’d since discovered was familiar to others standing on the wrong side of the scale. Although she’d lost weight as she’d grown older, she continued to struggle with more than a few extra pounds she could have done without. Still, she’d won the battle not to let that bother her too much. Not most of the time, at any rate. Trying on swimsuits under a store dressing room’s unforgiving light could still make her wince, she had to admit.

Not that those swimsuits had been anywhere near dowdy. Not any longer. Clothing styles for women with bodies not built along Barbie lines had taken a dramatic turn over the past several years. She’d been a part of that transformation and had reaped its rewards—all of which had her proud enough of her achievements to burst the pearl snaps on a shirt that fit well and made a fashion statement.

“Sassy Lady,” Ryder murmured, breaking into her thoughts. “Somehow it seems to suit.”

His sudden grin, flashing a string of strong, white teeth, was so starkly male—and so all-out appealing because of that fact—she felt the impact ripple a path through her and had to steel herself to keep it from showing. The last thing she needed, she told herself, was to let him know he could affect her that way. The very last thing.

He was used to being in charge, that was as plain as the nose on her face. Regardless of what he seemingly had no trouble making her feel—right down to her toes, she couldn’t deny—she had to keep her wits about her and maintain as much control as she could over this conversation. Too much depended on the outcome.

“So I suppose we’ll agree that where ranching is concerned, I’m over my head,” she said, marshaling her forces.

“Seems to sum things up,” he said, his tone as dry as dust.

“I need you…badly,” she added, seeking to be bluntly businesslike yet regretting those last words the minute they made it past her lips. Far from her intention, they’d come out loaded with innuendo.

For a split second something sizzled in the air. Something that had nothing to do with business. Something far closer to silk sheets than balance sheets. “That is, I need your expertise,” she tacked on hastily.

His grin had turned just a bit smug around the edges. “And I take it you can afford to pay for it.”

“I’m not opposed to giving you a raise,” she replied, glad to be on less dangerous ground. “Name your price, and we’ll see if we can make a deal.”

Ryder drew in a breath and shifted his gaze to a large, bare window. Name your price, he thought as the words rang in his mind. He wondered what it was.

Did he really want more money?

It seemed to have lost its appeal, he had to admit, now that his main use for it had disappeared. What remained was a long-held goal that might never be attained. He could move on and start over somewhere else, of course, maybe even try city life for a while.

But he discarded that last notion in a heartbeat as he watched a hawk streak past in the distance, cutting a swift path through the sky. Whatever he chose to do in the future, he knew down deep that he’d spent too much time in open spaces to live in a cramped city for any length of time. The sprawling desert, rolling hills and low mountains of the Southwest were almost as much a part of him as they were of the bird he’d just viewed. He’d never be able to—

It rose up and hit him squarely between the eyes. Something he should have realized the minute he got a good long look at Eve Terry. From her stylish haircut to her manicured fingernails to her—no doubt—manicured toenails, the whole fancy package said she belonged in the city. A big, thriving, fast-paced city. Like Dallas, where she’d come from. A ranch on the outskirts of Tucson wasn’t the end of the world, but it was hardly the world she was used to, not by a long shot.

She wouldn’t stick it out. Couldn’t, he was certain—certain enough to waste no time in using that newfound knowledge to his advantage.

“I don’t want a raise,” he said, breaking the silence. He turned his head, locked his gaze to hers. “What I want is the right of first refusal on buying this place if you decide to sell.” When you decide, he added to himself. “I’ll give you exactly what you paid for it, down to the last penny.” Given a little time, he could come up with the extra financing, surely. She’d probably last at least a couple of weeks.

As though she’d guessed his thoughts, Eve’s jaw tightened. “I’m staying,” she said flatly. “I subleased my apartment, sold my furniture, gave away my plants, shipped what I’ll need to continue my design work here and sent out 123 change-of-address cards. I’m here for good.”

“Then it shouldn’t be difficult to give me what I want,” he countered.

They stared at each other for ten humming seconds before she nodded. “Okay. You’ve got the right of first refusal, and I’ll be glad to put it in writing.”

Ryder heaved an inner sigh. He felt better than he had in weeks. Losing Amos Cutter, as mule-headed as the old man could be on occasion, had been a blow. Amos, along with cantankerous Pete Rawlins, had been the closest thing to family he’d had for many years.

But things were looking up again. For the moment he’d still be part of the ranch. And when his boss got bored with playing cowgirl and went hightailing it back to where she belonged, he’d—

Eve’s voice hauled back his attention. “Now, since I’ve given you what you asked for, I’d like something in return.”

He should have known it wouldn’t be that simple. Simple, it was becoming as clear as daylight, was not a word to be used in connection with this woman.

“And what’s that?” he asked warily.

She didn’t hesitate a second. “I want your agreement that you’ll remain with the Creedence Creek for the next six months, no matter what I decide to do here.”

Ryder ran his tongue over his teeth. Agreeing to stay was no problem. Long before those six months were up, he’d probably be the owner. It was the “no matter what” that bothered him.

Somehow he’d assumed the ranch would remain pretty much as it was, going on as it always had. A foolish assumption, he now realized. Yet what could she possibly plan to do with it? he asked himself, frowning in thought.

Suddenly something occurred to him, and it was horrible enough to make him shudder. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me you want to turn this place into one of those god-awful dude ranches. Please, whatever you do, don’t tell me that.”

Looking amused, she shook her head and sent shiny silver hoops swinging from delicately shaped ears. “I won’t tell you that.”

He let out the long gust of air he’d been holding back. “Thank the Lord…and thank you.”

“You’re welcome. But I still don’t have your agreement,” she reminded him.

Since, in his opinion, practically nothing could be worse than playing mother hen to a bunch of greenhorns who didn’t know a horse’s rear from a hole in the ground, Ryder nodded. “You’ve got it—and I’ll put that in writing.”

Eve slapped her palms on the desktop and stood up. “Good, that’s settled then. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”

He should have been equally pleased—would have been, if the last turn the conversation had taken wasn’t still bothering him. She wanted him to ask, was waiting for it, in fact. A sly glint in her eye told him that. If he had a lick of sense, he wouldn’t open his mouth. But he had to know.

“All right. Spill it. What do you intend to do with the place?”

Her lips curved in a slight smile. “I’m sure you’ll be glad to learn that I’m leaving most of it as it is.”

He threw a swift look up at the beamed ceiling. Thanks again, Lord.

“I have some real changes planned for this house, though,” she tacked on with an appraising glance around a room that contained no more than the basics.

And this woman would want more than the basics. Of course, she would. Curtains, drapes, a few rugs scattered about. Some pictures on the white stucco walls. That’s what she had in mind, he assured himself. Simple stuff.

Then he remembered that simple didn’t apply here. She didn’t even travel simple. He’d already been told she’d arrived with enough luggage to sink a battleship, and more stuff was likely on the way.

Again, he didn’t want to ask. Again, he found himself asking anyway. “Exactly what kind of changes do you have in mind?”

As she’d done earlier, Eve met his gaze head-on and didn’t so much as blink. “To be exact, I’m turning a portion of this house into a day care center.” The words were soft, the underlying tone firm. “A free day care center.”

He frowned. He couldn’t have understood her correctly. Surely he couldn’t have. “A day care center?”

She nodded slowly. “A day nursery, actually.”

“A nursery?” His frown deepened.

“Mmm-hmm. You know…for babies.”

Chapter Two

“Babies.”

Eve had to bite her lower lip to keep from laughing out loud. Judging by the blankly stunned expression on Ryder Quinn’s face, she had surprised him, and surprised him well. “Yes, those little darlings who pop out nine months after mom and dad go to bed and do a lot more than sleep.”

He looked at her as if she had just said she’d landed from another planet. “You are flat-out crazy!”

“You’re welcome to think so,” she calmly informed him. “However, the attorney general of this state, being a perceptive woman, considers it a great idea.”

Ryder chewed that over for a second. “And where did you happen to bump into her?” he asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“At a charity fund-raiser during Super Bowl celebrations a few years ago. We’ve kept in touch for quite a while. She loves the Sassy Lady line, by the way.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

“Believe what you want, but the end result is that she’s willing to help me deal with all the bureaucratic regulations involved in this type of thing. If she’s as good as her word, which I don’t doubt for a minute, the center should be up and running in a couple of weeks.”

Ryder sat down on the edge of the desk, looking so disgusted she almost felt sorry for him. Almost. “Is the first lady, or maybe the Queen of England, in on this too?”

She had to smile. “No, they both missed that fundraiser.”

“What other big shots do you know?”

She searched for someone who would truly impress him. Unfortunately she’d never run into Clint Eastwood. “Well, I did meet Brad Pitt once.” For about thirty seconds.

After studying her for a long moment, Ryder blew out a resigned breath. “You’re not making any of this up, are you?” Since it wasn’t really a question, she remained silent. “This isn’t a bad dream. You really are going to turn this place into a Bonanza for babies—the old TV show with a big twist.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “if you want to put it that way. My plan is to give new mothers who can’t afford other forms of day care a chance to either work or go back to school. The service will be free of charge, but if it allows even one woman to keep a child she wants to keep, I’ll consider myself well paid.”

Something in her voice must have alerted him. His gaze was suddenly probing. “This is personal, isn’t it, Eve?”

She turned to walk toward the window, saw the sun low on the horizon. Sunsets here, she’d already discovered, could be spectacular. “Yes, it’s personal,” she replied quietly. “I want to help mothers keep children, because mine didn’t keep me.”

Eve lifted a hand and rubbed a dark smudge from the glass. “The thing was, she wanted to keep me, which I only learned a few years ago. She wasn’t married when I was born. She is now. Her husband seems like a good man. They lived in Tucson when we all met for the first time, in probably a nicer area of the city than I suspect she once lived in. Now they’ve moved to El Paso. I stopped by to see them again on the drive here. They have three children. It appears to be a very happy family. I might have been part of it, if the woman who gave birth to me had had the resources at seventeen to care for a baby.”

“What happened after she gave you up?” Ryder asked softly.

Eve switched back to face him. “I was lucky. Two great people adopted me. When I was old enough to understand, they were straightforward about the adoption, and I was comfortable with it because I never doubted they loved me. I grew up in a middle-class area of Dallas, had lots of friends. I was happy. Yet something was always…missing. A link with the past, I suppose you could say. For instance, my adopted parents were small in stature—I was taller than both by the time I was thirteen. Where had my height come from? I often wondered. Then, too, I loved to draw almost from the time I could walk. Crayons were far more treasured than toys. Neither of the people who raised me had any artistic leanings. I learned from my birth mother that she’d always loved to draw. And my biological father, who didn’t stay around long enough to see the child he’d created, gave me my height. Apparently, he was a very tall man.”

Ryder ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, I guess I can understand this whole thing a little better now. But why here? A nursery setup on a ranch?”

“One that’s close enough to the city to allow a mother to bring her child here if she has access to a car,” Eve pointed out. “If she doesn’t, I’m willing to provide transportation. As far as babies are concerned, they don’t care if they’re being cared for in the biggest skyscraper or the smallest hut on the planet. A full tummy, a dry diaper, someone to hold them—that’s their world.” She paused. “You may think I’m crazy again, but after meeting my birth mother I took a drive. I needed some time alone before I went to the airport for the flight back to Dallas. Somehow I wound up on Creedence Creek Road. I saw the ranch in the distance and—I’m not sure how to explain it—something just clicked. Right from that moment I wanted to live here.”

She smiled faintly. “Perhaps there’s a homesteader, or maybe a cattle rustler, in my family tree. Anyway, I asked a local real estate agency to let me know if the property ever went on the market. You know the rest. Long before I signed the purchase papers, though, one of my goals was to establish a free day care facility someday, somewhere. It seemed as though fate was working in my favor when I was able to do it here.”

“I’m glad fate’s working in someone’s favor,” he muttered, seemingly more to himself than to her.

She’d been going on and on, she abruptly realized. This man now knew a good part of her life history, and she knew practically nothing about him. Except that he’d wanted the ranch just as much as or maybe more than she had. Perhaps far more.

“Why did it have to be the Creedence Creek, Ryder?”

She’d struck a nerve. The way he stilled completely for an instant told her that. He didn’t pretend not to know what she referred to. And he didn’t respond immediately. Several silent seconds passed before he spoke.

“It’s a long story.”

A civil way of saying, Mind your own business, she knew. And she would. Yet she couldn’t help wondering.

“Well, all my cards are on the table now, and I suppose I should give you a last chance to back out.” She stepped forward, held out a hand. “Do we still have a deal, cowboy?”

Ryder studied her for a long moment before he took her hand in his for a firm handshake. “We still have a deal, lady.”

JUST OVER A WEEK LATER, Ryder watched a large truck pull up to the back of the ranch house. Although he was more than fifty yards away, standing near a corral, he had no trouble making out what two uniformed deliverymen quickly began to unload. One sparkling white baby crib after another was hauled out and lined up in a long row.

“You got to do something, Ry. The woman’s a pure menace.”

Ryder clamped a companionable hand around the sturdy shoulder of the person standing beside him. “Hang in there, Pete. I told you she won’t be here long.”

And he didn’t plan on revising that statement, Ryder reflected. No, not for a minute. Eve Terry was sincere about the whole thing, he had to give her that. She’d meant everything she’d said before they’d shaken hands to seal their agreement. But she hadn’t changed his mind about anything. She wouldn’t be able to stick it out.

Right now he had to hope Pete Rawlins could dredge up enough patience to make it through until the inevitable happened, well aware that to the solidly built man on the far side of sixty only four things in life were truly important: a tender steak, a decent brand of whisky, a big-screen television and no fussy female around to spoil his enjoyment of the other three.

“How long’s long?” Pete asked.

Ryder shrugged. “A few weeks. Maybe a couple of months.”

“Months.”

“Could be,” he had to acknowledge. “So far she’s had plenty on her plate to keep her busy. She hasn’t had time yet to start getting bored.”

“She’s been busy, all right.” Pete snorted his displeasure. “Amos must be turning over in his grave. Jeez, he’s probably spinning like a tumbleweed on a gusty day! Frilly curtains and fancy rugs all over the house. One whole side of the place looking like a circus ad with that clown wallpaper everywhere. And the kitchen…Why’d she have to mess with the kitchen?” A hint of anguish underscored that question.

“All she did was buy a new refrigerator and put in a dishwasher,” Ryder said in a soothing tone.

“The old fridge was fine, and we don’t need a dishwasher.”

We will when the baby bottles start piling up. Ryder decided not to voice that thought. Pete obviously had enough to handle at the moment.

“Do you know what was in one of the dozen shopping bags she hauled in this morning? A tablecloth.” If Pete had said horse manure, it would have come out the same way. “Jeez. How’s a man supposed to enjoy his supper when he has to face a tablecloth?”

Ryder’s lips twitched. “It’s a new experience, I know.” He waited a beat. “Of course, you could always eat with the bunch down at the bunkhouse.”

As expected, that suggestion was turned down flat. “There’s been enough changes around here. For more years than I care to count, I fed the whole crew, and then Amos and I had our supper in the room off the kitchen where we could see the mountains. Along the way, you joined us. Now Amos is gone, but you and I are eating together at that old oak table, even if it does have a fancy-dancy cloth on it.”

“I appreciate your sticking by me, Pete. I’d hate to face that trial alone.”

He knew he’d laid it on too thick when a sidelong glance found midnight-black eyes narrowing. Once Pete’s hair had been as dark as his eyes. Now black hair had given way to silver, although it was still as plentiful as ever.

“This is nothin’ to joke about, Ry,” the older man said. “It’s serious. And you wouldn’t be alone at that table. You’d be eating with her.”

As if on cue, Eve stepped out of the house, wearing more “upscale Western wear for women,” as she’d termed it. She began to instruct the two deliverymen, and the lined-up cribs soon made their way up the short porch steps and through the back door.

Sharing the evening meal was about the only time Ryder had spent with his boss since their initial meeting, a deliberate decision on his part. He was staying out of her way as much as he could, but she probably hadn’t even noticed. She’d been busy as a bee giving the house a makeover and driving Pete crazy.

Much of his own days had been spent outdoors. While the good weather held, there was plenty to be done. March, typically a dry month, might turn out to be wetter than normal. A large storm was brewing in the Pacific, and rain was a definite possibility, the forecasters said, hedging their bets, as usual. But rain or not he had to put some time in at the ranch office soon. He had records to update and investments to check on. Ordinarily, he enjoyed working at the computer, but he wasn’t looking forward to the next session. It would put him too close to Eve Terry.

“How old do you suppose she is?”

Since Ryder had already given the matter some thought, he had a ready answer. “Around thirty, I’d guess.”

“Humph. She looks younger. Of course, that makeup females use can probably change night into day.”

Ryder had a hunch Eve would look just as good without a stitch of makeup, and he didn’t even want to consider how she’d look in nothing at all. A vivid dream picturing that sight had already rattled his peace of mind. It was one of the reasons he was staying out of her way.

Okay, make that the first and foremost reason, he admitted. Certain parts of him were way too attracted to her, and if he didn’t keep a rein on his libido, things could get…complicated.

Ryder’s brow knitted under the wide rim of his black Stetson. If he had to come up with a single word to describe his past relationships with women—and there hadn’t been all that many after his younger, wilder days—that word would probably be uncomplicated. Complications were something he’d never felt he could afford, not as long as the major part of his time and attention was solidly focused on eventually owning the Creedence Creek—a firmly held goal grounded in the past, with roots going back many years.

Thirty-three years, to be exact.

Those roots could be traced back to the day he was born, a fact he’d always kept to himself.

Now, at least for the present, a woman stood between him and his ability to achieve that goal. When she packed up and left, he’d have what he wanted. The last thing he needed was to start wanting her, as well. And if he were foolish enough to act on it, things were bound to get complicated in a hurry.

So it has to be kept simple, Quinn, he told himself. But he hadn’t forgotten that simple didn’t apply with this woman.

“Must be close to time to start supper,” Pete said. He took a step forward, then stopped dead as the rev of an engine suddenly made itself known. “This must be the other female who’s supposed to show up today. Jeez, it’s a regular invasion!”

After negotiating a bend in the gravel road with a flourish, a bright-red coupe zipped neatly into a spot behind the truck. A woman with a trim figure and copper-colored hair got out. She wasn’t young, yet there was nothing at all matronly about the yellow, short-skirted suit she wore, her fashionably high heels or the spring in her step. As she approached the back door, it opened and the deliverymen walked out. She turned and gave both men a frankly appraising glance as they departed before continuing on her way.

“Well, will you look at that. She was checkin’ out their rears, Ry.”

Ryder’s chuckle was deep and low. “She’s seen quite a few, I imagine. Remember, she’s a nurse.”

CLORIS MUNROE was like a breath of fresh air, brisk and invigorating. Eve had come to that conclusion minutes after meeting her in Tucson earlier that week. A hint of a Southern drawl, a legacy of her Louisiana childhood, seemed to be the only thing remotely lazy about Cloris. Her credentials were top-notch, her references excellent. During her thirty-year career as a pediatric nurse, Cloris had cared for untold numbers of children. She had also raised two of her own.