Cowboys And Cradles

Eve felt downright lucky to have won this woman’s agreement to act as the sole full-time member of the day care staff. She told her as much as they got better acquainted over coffee in the long dining room off the kitchen, where a wide landscape could be viewed through tall windows now framed in ivory lace.

Cloris aimed a small smile over the rim of a stoneware mug. “Thanks, Eve, I appreciate that. But I think I’m the one who lucked out.” She set her mug down on the floral-print tablecloth, leaned back in a rustic oak chair. “When my husband and I split up after our kids were grown and on their own, I have to admit I felt sorry for myself. Too sorry for too long. Finally I got up the spunk to face myself in the mirror and say, ‘Cloris, you need to get on with your life, get rid of a house that’s too big for one person and get involved in something new.’ Caring for children isn’t new, of course, but living on a ranch definitely qualifies. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Good.” Eve took a short swallow of the coffee she’d made. It might not be the best in the West, she conceded, but it was better than the take-no-prisoners brew Pete favored. “The nursery area is already set up, for the most part. I’ll show it to you shortly. It used to be the largest bedroom and a smaller connecting room. Your bedroom will be directly across the hall from the nursery. Mine is next to yours. We’ll have to share a bath. I hope you don’t mind.”

After a quick shake of her head, Cloris said, “I made some inquiries about additional help. Anna Montez, a retired nurse who lives in the area, is willing to work on a part-time basis.”

“That’s terrific.” Eve nodded. “Things are moving right along. I’ve made arrangements with a couple of used-car dealers in town to provide cars to women who want to bring their babies here but don’t currently have transportation. Whether they’re going back to school or work, they’ll probably need them for that, as well, and the dealers will bill me by the month.”

Cloris pursed her bright-coral lips. “I hate to say this, but cars can be stolen, and you’d be liable.”

“I know. But if someone trusts us with her child, wouldn’t it be petty in comparison not to trust her with a hunk of metal?”

“You have a point. And a soft heart, I think.” She smiled. “But it’s clear that you also have a sharp mind and a lot of determination. This is a wonderful thing you’re doing here, Eve.”

“No, it’s just something I feel I should do, since I have the resources.” She had already shared her reasons during their earlier meeting. “What’s wonderful is being able to talk to someone who’s equally enthusiastic about it.”

A teasing twinkle entered Cloris’s blue eyes. “Don’t the cowboys around here appreciate your efforts?”

“Not exactly,” Eve replied dryly.

“I saw two of them standing near a fenced-in area behind the house as I pulled in. I have to admit one caught my eye.”

Ryder Quinn, Eve concluded without hesitation, having seen him and Pete over by the corral, watching cribs being unloaded and no doubt wishing her a thousand miles from where she was. Her business manager had probably caught the eye of scores of women, though he was avoiding her as much as possible. She was certain of that, and hadn’t made an issue of it because it suited her to keep some distance between them for the time being. The humming awareness that had leaped to life for a sizzling moment on the day they’d met remained fixed in her memory, despite her considerable efforts to forget it.

Unaware of Eve’s thoughts, Cloris went on. “He was very distinguished looking, with a splendid head of silver hair.”

Eve blinked as realization struck. Then she began to laugh. Then she began to roar. Ryder wasn’t the cowboy under discussion. It was Pete!

“How about letting me in on the joke,” Cloris suggested when Eve finally got herself under control.

She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I’m sorry, that was probably rude of me, but I couldn’t help it. I’d be willing to bet that Pete Rawlins, the silver-haired man and our ranch cook, would rather be boiled in oil than be the object of any woman’s attention.”

“He doesn’t like women?” Cloris ventured.

“That’s putting it mildly. Pete firmly believes a woman’s place is anywhere other than within a mile of him.”

“I see. Obviously, he’s one of those poor, unfortunate males who don’t have the good sense to appreciate a woman.”

“You got it.”

Cloris smiled in a way that boded ill for poor, unfortunate men. “Do you mind if a Southern belle has a little fun?”

Eve grinned. “Not at all—as long as I can watch.”

The back door opened, then closed with a familiar near slam. “There’s Mr. Charm now.” Raising her voice, Eve called, “Pete, would you come here for a minute?”

Boots stomped their way closer. Seconds later Pete poked his head through an arched doorway and viewed the two women with a crystal-clear scowl. “I’m here.”

“I’d like you to meet Cloris Munroe,” Eve said. “She’ll be heading up the day care staff. Cloris, this is Pete Rawlins.”

Cloris draped an arm over the back of her chair and flashed a million-kilowatt smile. “I sure am glad to meet you…sugar.” Her smooth-as-silk, rich-as-cream tone would have made Scarlett O’Hara proud. The playful wink that followed would have turned an entire generation of younger women who had never mastered that trick green with envy.

Pete’s jaw dropped and stayed down.

If possible, Cloris’s next smile was even more brilliant. “Eve’s been telling me you do the cooking around here. I’m sure you’re a marvelous chef.”

Dead silence reigned until Pete got his bearings and shut his mouth with an audible snap. “I’m a plain cook, not some fancy chef,” he muttered, jamming his hands into the side pockets of well-worn Wranglers.

“Now, there’s no need to be modest. I can hardly wait to taste the treat you have in store for us tonight.” Oh, so slowly Cloris ran her tongue over her lips. “I’m really looking forward to it…sugar.”

Pete’s throat worked as he swallowed hard. “Yeah, well, ah, I got to go.” He spun around on one heel and all but fled.

“I do believe Mr. Charm has met his match,” Eve remarked with satisfaction.

“Could be,” Cloris said, eyes sparkling. “What’s he cooking for dinner tonight?”

Eve’s expression turned rueful. “I can almost guarantee beef in some form. It’s occurred to me during the past week that the link between cowboys and cattle may be so strong they can’t bear to eat anything else.”

RYDER DEFTLY CUT another slice of T-bone and listened to a conversation that seemed to be ruining someone’s appetite. Raising his gaze, he aimed a look down the length of the table and found Eve’s expression to be perfectly innocent. Too perfect. She knew exactly what was going on, he thought, chewing his meat. She might even have put Cloris Munroe up to it.

“No, I didn’t say beef was bad for a person,” Cloris corrected softly, batting her eyelashes at the man sitting across from her. “And, in case I haven’t mentioned it, you do have a way with a steak, sugar. It’s just that red meat isn’t good for a body all the time. Now a lean piece of chicken—”

“I like my chicken fried,” Pete broke in, clenching a knife and fork in opposite hands as though they were weapons and he was a desperate man.

“Oh, fried is scrumptious, sugar. No one south of the Mason-Dixon line would disagree with that. Still, we all have to remember our cholesterol count, as depressing as it can be, and lean chicken, baked fish, or even boiled shrimp—”

“Shrimp! I’d rather eat a bale of hay than a plateful of those slimy things.”

Cloris pursed her lips. “Come to think of it, hay could be a good source of fiber. But a whole bale, sugar?”

A sudden cough didn’t quite smother Eve’s chuckle. She was in on it, all right, Ryder told himself.

Pete’s chair tottered as he shot to his feet. “Real food for real men is what I cook. It’s been good enough for the folks around here since God knows when, and it’s good enough now.” That said, he grabbed his plate with one hand and stomped out.

“Isn’t he a darling man?” Cloris asked of no one in particular. She forked up a helping of mashed potatoes and continued her meal as though nothing at all unusual had occurred.

Ryder’s gaze met Eve’s. “You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t leave.”

“I doubt he’ll do that,” she replied, her tone confident. “He’s probably waiting for me to leave.” Like you are, a glint in her eye added silently. “But I’m staying.” She paused for a beat. “And since I’m staying, I think it’s time I took some riding lessons. Can you suggest someone here who could help?”

Not me.

As determined as ever not to spend more time in her company than strictly necessary, he considered the alternatives as he polished off his steak. It didn’t take long to come up with one. “Zeb Hollister will get you started. He’s our most experienced horseman.”

And he was bound to be less than thrilled about riding herd on a greenhorn. But the old wrangler would do it and keep her out of trouble at the same time, Ryder decided. He’d make it an order if he had to. When it came to the working part of the ranch, he was still in charge. Zeb and every other man on the place knew that. He’d made certain they knew it.

Eve reached for her water glass. “Fine. Early tomorrow afternoon would be a good time for me.”

“I’ll set it up for one o’clock.” Ryder tossed his napkin beside his empty plate and pushed back from the table as pots and pans clanked loudly in the background. “Pete’s probably thrown out dessert, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll check in at the bunkhouse. There may be a few stray crumbs of pie left, if I’m lucky.”

He was barely gone when Cloris slid a sidelong glance Eve’s way. “That man does things to a pair of jeans.”

Having just watched a tight male backside depart, she could hardly argue the matter. “Mmm-hmm,” was her reply.

“He doesn’t look like a business manager,” Cloris tacked on.

“He does when he wears a suit, trust me.”

Despite the fact that she hadn’t seen him in one since the day they’d met, Eve had no trouble recalling the sight. He’d done it to make a point, she was sure. Ryder Quinn, businessman. Impressive? Yes. But then, he’d probably be impressive stripped down to—

No, Eve, don’t go there, she warned herself. Fully clothed, he already captured too many of her thoughts. Much too many of them, she had to admit.

Showing flawless table manners as she had throughout the meal, Cloris dabbed her napkin at the corners of her mouth. “Does Ryder stay at the bunkhouse he mentioned?”

Eve went back to her dinner. “No. Although the single hands stay there, as a rule, while the married ones have homes of their own, Ryder lives in the original house that was built when the ranch was first settled. I’ve been told that it’s a short drive from here, up a steep road toward the mountains. I haven’t had a chance to see it yet.”

Truth was, she’d made no effort to see it, although it was part of her property. And she was in no hurry to change that situation. She knew she’d be better off not being able to picture where a certain man spent his evenings when he left after the late-day meal they regularly shared.

“Pete stays here,” she added. “His bedroom and a small bath are on the other side of the kitchen.”

“So only the three of us will be living here,” Cloris summed up, then winced as metal met metal with a sharp clang.

Eve carefully removed a thin edge of marbled fat and stabbed a last piece of steak. “That’s right. It’s just you and me and Mr. Charm.”

THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON Eve walked down a gravel road, headed for the corral and adjoining stable located closest to the house. Other ranch buildings, a tall tin-roofed barn, sheds of various shapes and sizes, together with the large stone bunkhouse, marked the landscape. Up above, fluffy white clouds drifted, creating a moving patchwork quilt of sun and shade on hard-packed ground.

Cloris had left after lunch to visit a friend who was actively involved in several local charities; it was time to spread the news about the day care center and what it had to offer. Pete, sulking to beat the band, had stationed himself in front of the large-screen television in the living room.

And Eve had set out for her date with Zeb Hollister. She’d met Zeb, along with many of the hands, on her second day at the ranch. The bearded man might resemble Willie Nelson more than John Wayne, she thought, yet his bowlegged stance said he’d been all but born in a saddle.

As she approached the corral, taking quick strides in her cream-colored boots, a cowboy came into view leading a stocky gray horse out of the stable. He lifted a gloved hand and waved when he saw her. It wasn’t Zeb, or anyone she readily recognized. Tall and lanky, he couldn’t have been more than in his early twenties.

“Hello, Miz Terry,” he called, his voice ripe with an easygoing twang. Turning his head, he aimed a look over his shoulder. “Come on, Buttercup, old girl. Step lively and meet your new owner.” In response, Buttercup continued to plod along, clearly unenthusiastic about the news.

“I’m Cody Bodeen,” the cowboy said as he and Eve faced each other over a slatted wood fence seconds later. In a courteous gesture that took her by surprise, he lifted his dusty beige hat and tipped it forward, revealing sun-bleached hair before he resettled it on his head. A friendly gaze assessed her in a sweeping glance too quick and casual to give offense.

“I’m glad to meet you, Cody Bodeen,” she said, reaching up to touch the pristine rim of her own creamy Western hat. “I don’t think you were here the day I met a bunch of the hands.”

“No, I was helping stubborn strays fixed on leaving find their way back to the herd.” He grinned ruefully. “They usually save that treat for me.” Then his grin widened. “But I lucked out today. I get to help you.”

Eve arched an eyebrow. “Did Zeb head for the hills when he found himself elected to give riding lessons?”

“Uh-uh. He had an emergency—nothing real serious,” he tacked on before she could ask. “His oldest granddaughter called from Bisbee. Her husband’s out of town and her car broke down in the middle of the highway while she was driving one of her kids to a doctor’s appointment. Zeb and another hand went to see if they could get it started again, or at least get the kid to the doctor. If the head honcho were around, he might have taken Zeb’s place instead of me, but he left for Tucson this morning and he’s not back yet.”

Puzzled, Eve asked, “The head honcho?”

“Ryder Quinn. To the men who work here, he’s the head honcho. You’re the owner now, so you’re the big boss.”

Not only the boss, the big boss. Because the title amused her, and because she was sure it would not amuse the “head honcho,” Eve smiled. “Why don’t we get started?”

Cody nodded his agreement. “Come in through the gate next to the stable and I’ll introduce you to Buttercup.”

If the long-suffering look in her eyes was any indication, Buttercup wasn’t overjoyed to meet her owner, and Eve decided the feeling was mutual after a frustrating hour of coaxing the mare around the corral and achieving no more than a snail’s pace.

Finally she’d had it. She halted at the spot where Cody leaned against the fence. “There have to be horses on this place with a little more zip.”

He nudged his hat back and gazed up at her. “Buttercup’s the one the head honcho picked out for you, Miz Eve.”

That information didn’t merit a second thought, not as far as she was concerned. “Well, I’m ready to pick something else. I’ve got the basics down, but I’ll never get beyond them if the Old Gray Mare won’t even break into a trot.”

Cody pushed away from the fence. “Guess you have a point. But the head—”

“I’ll deal with him,” Eve assured the ranch hand, and went on before he could offer any further objection. “Let’s look at some of the other horses.”

There were three in the stable, she found as they entered through wide double doors with Buttercup trailing behind. The huge stallion she’d almost collided with occupied the first stall they came to. He snorted a greeting.

“This is Lucky,” Cody said. “He belongs to Ryder Quinn. No one else rides him,” he added hastily, as though he were afraid she might decide to do exactly that.

She ran her tongue around her teeth to foil a grin and moved on. The two remaining occupants were less impressive than Lucky, she had to admit. Still, they had to be more lively than Buttercup. She’d parted her lips, ready to ask a question about a cinnamon-colored horse, when a high-pitched whinny drew her attention to the back of the building.

“That’s Sable,” Cody told her as she turned toward the sound. “She’s only been here a few weeks. Could be they’ll hitch her up with Lucky when the time’s right.”

Sable. A fitting name, Eve decided after walking forward for a closer look. Black as coal and sleek as satin, the mare pranced to the front of the stall, then tilted her head at a playful angle and blew out a soft breath. Obviously far beyond lively, she was a strong, spirited mixture of muscle and grace. And a beautiful, dark-eyed flirt, as well.

Eve was entranced. “Does she belong to Ryder Quinn, too?”

“No, she’s yours,” Cody replied, moving to stand next to her.

Hers. Up to that moment she’d considered the animals that had come with the ranch as merely part of the property. Now she knew just how wrong she’d been. There was a bond here, she realized, and with it came responsibility. Ultimately the fate of this and every other animal she owned rested with her. And, when it came to this particular one, there was also a thrill of possession she couldn’t deny.

She reached up and gently rubbed the mare’s ebony forehead, watching as dark eyes viewed her with a saucy gleam. “I want to ride her.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Miz Eve.” Cody’s easygoing manner abruptly turned serious. “Sable can be a handful when she sets her mind to it.”

Eve dropped her arm and turned to face him. “Are you saying she’s dangerous?”

“No,” he admitted reluctantly. “Just…frisky.”

One corner of Eve’s mouth quirked up. “Hmm. Maybe even…sassy?”

He lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah, I suppose.”

That did it. In a flash, the prospect of riding Sable became irresistible. “Saddle her up, Cody Bodeen.”

He let out a resigned sigh. “The head honcho’s probably gonna be teed off when he finds out about this.”

“And I told you I’d deal with him,” she countered smoothly yet firmly. “Remember, I’m the big boss.”

Another high whinny seconded that statement.

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