In A Cowboy's Embrace

“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.

But five minutes after putting her bags in her room, she still didn’t know the secret of getting dinner here so quickly, though she’d searched the entire kitchen and the minuscule phone book for the number of a pizza or deli delivery service. Even Chinese would have worked. The best she could find was a diner in town and Sal’s Bar and Grill. Neither of them delivered.

She went down the hall, glancing briefly into the living room where Stevie was watching TV, and knocked on Cliff’s door. There was no sound of water running, so he must have finished his shower.

“Be there in a minute,” he called.

“I can’t find the phone number.”

There was a pause. Then the door opened and Tasha realized she’d made a serious mistake in timing. He had a clean pair of jeans on, which he hadn’t yet bothered to snap, and no shirt. The broad expanse of his chest, furred by only a modest amount of sandy-blond hair, invited a woman’s caress. His nipples peaked in perfect circles of brown; muscles ribbed his washboard stomach. Overall he reminded her of the bronze sculptures on display in New York City museums but far warmer and more tempting to touch.

She licked her lips. Being this man’s housekeeper was definitely going to be a challenge when her mind kept toying with other ideas.

“What phone number?” he asked.

It took her a couple of heartbeats before she recalled why she was standing at his bedroom door. “For a deli or pizza place that delivers. I can’t find a thing in the phone book—”

His shaking head suggested she’d made another error in judgment. “No pizza parlors here, Goldilocks. What I had in mind was for you to fix dinner.”

“Fix?” A few minutes ago Melissa had been Goldilocks. Now Tasha had acquired the nickname.

“As in cook. You do know how to cook, don’t you?”

“Well, of course I do.” She gave a disdainful huff. “Every Greek girl learns to make baklava almost before she can walk.”

He shook his head again, a truly irritating habit he’d developed. “Let’s try for soup and sandwiches. More times than not, that’s what Stevie and I have when Sylvia isn’t around.”

Tasha could handle that. Cliff didn’t have to look at her as if she were totally incompetent. In the city, you ordered takeout. No need to spend your time slaving over a hot stove. It didn’t mean she couldn’t cook—just that she didn’t have many occasions to. She was on the road a lot, and when she wasn’t her hours were grueling.

As she walked away from his bedroom door, she wondered if he’d be all that swift at picking delis out of the phone book that wouldn’t stiff him with a bad case of salmonella or inflate their charges. It took talent and experience to survive the inhumanities of the big city.

From her perspective, cow country looked easy.

TEA SANDWICHES. She’d removed the damn crusts and cut them in triangles. Cliff could hardly believe this was what Tasha considered dinner, but he was too hungry to complain.

With the same delicacy as her mother, Melissa selected one of the tuna triangles and took a dainty bite.

Cliff ate his in a single gulp and took another one from the plate Tasha had prepared.

“My mommy says you’ve got horses, Mr. Swain.”

“Why don’t you call me Uncle Cliff and I’ll call you Melissa. Unless you’d rather I call you Ms. Reynolds?” he teased.

She giggled. “I’ve got an Uncle Bryant, too. We’re going to see him tomorrow and my Aunt Ella.”

“Eat your dinner,” her mother reminded the girl, who after one bite had evidently forgotten her meal.

“I’ve got a horse all my own,” Stevie said. “She’s a cow pony and goes like the wind. Her name’s Star Song.”

“Can I ride her?” Melissa asked. “Can I?”

“Sure. I guess.” Stevie shrugged and glanced at Cliff for direction.

“Now wait a minute, young lady,” her mother said. “I don’t want you trying to ride on your own. You’ll need proper lessons—”

“I can teach her,” Cliff said impulsively before thinking through his offer. If he had his way, Melissa and her mother wouldn’t be here long enough to saddle a horse, much less learn to ride one. “Or maybe your Uncle Bryant can teach you.”

“Can you teach my mom, too? She’s never, ever even been on a horse.”

In an instinctively mothering gesture, Tasha smoothed her daughter’s flyaway curls. “Thanks, but I’m not sure I trust anything that outweighs me by eight hundred pounds.”

Though she was tall, Tasha probably weighed little more than a hundred pounds. Not any more than a decent bale of hay. She had fine bones without an extra ounce of fat on her, long, slender fingers accented by the polish she wore and graceful hands she used to advantage whenever she wanted to make a point.

Cliff swallowed hard as he considered what else her hands would be capable of doing. “I’ve got a gentle mare that wouldn’t give you any trouble.” Not nearly as much trouble as his own imagination was giving him tonight. “She’s about eighteen years old and as placid as a horse can be. Used to be able to cut a calf away from its mama slick as glass, but she’s too old to work now. She could use some exercise, though.”

“I’ll think about it.” With a noncommittal smile, she turned her attention to her cup of chicken noodle soup.

From the looks of things, Tasha didn’t eat enough to keep a sparrow going—a skimpy cup of soup and a quarter sandwich. Meanwhile, Cliff devoured everything on the plate and finished Melissa’s uneaten sandwich. Finally he rummaged in the refrigerator for some leftover roast beef slices and gravy Ella had sent home with him after last Sunday’s supper and zapped a plateful in the microwave. If Tasha stuck around for as long as a week as his housekeeper, he’d be nothing but skin and bones, too weak to chase down a jaywalker, forget an ornery steer.

The kids finished their supper, such as it was. With a warning that it was almost bedtime, they charged off to Stevie’s room to investigate his toys.

Cliff carried his plate to the kitchen counter. “Tell me, how is it a woman like you, I mean, a cover model and all, agreed to fill in as my housekeeper?”

Stacking the kids’ soup bowls and plates, Tasha rose from her chair and brought them to the sink, moving so gracefully she appeared to exert no effort at all.

“Ella said I’d mostly be playing nanny while you’re at work, and I love kids. Stevie’s adorable, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Running water over the dishes, he wondered how he could tactfully phrase his question. “I understand why you’d want to come visit your sister on a vacation. Heck, you haven’t even seen her baby yet. But take a job? That, well, kind of surprises me.”

She slid the dishes he’d rinsed into the dishwasher, already full from a couple of days’ worth of meals. “To tell you the truth, I recently broke up with my fiancé and I need to catch my breath.”

“Hey, that’s rough, but wouldn’t just hanging out for a few days with your sister be better instead of trying to—”

“Unfortunately, my fiancé—who I literally caught in bed with a younger woman—was also my agent and business manager. It doesn’t look like he did anything illegal, if you don’t count two-timing me and sleeping with a bimbo, but he spent practically every dime I earned.” She shoved the dish rack into place and looked under the sink for the detergent, then poured some into the cup. “I’m very close to being broke.”

“Broke,” he echoed.

She lifted her slender shoulders in a self-deprecating shrug. “I guess I’m the real bimbo for having been so trusting. Anyway, I subleased my apartment for a few weeks to a friend from Paris and came here to lick my wounds and thought I’d earn a few dollars in the process.”

On a sudden surge of anger on her behalf, Cliff gritted his teeth and his hands folded into fists. “I’d say any man who’d even look at another woman when he had you has got to be crazy or totally stupid.”

“Why, thank you.”

Her grateful smile warmed him in ways he hadn’t felt in years, sending heat coiling through his chest and to his lower regions as well.

Ah, hell! He couldn’t throw her out of the house, not when she was short on money and suffering from a broken heart. If she wanted to be his housekeeper for a couple of weeks, he’d have to grin and bear it. And take a helluva lot of cold showers.

“We’d better get the kids to bed and hit the sack ourselves,” he said more gruffly than he’d intended. “The Double S is in the middle of a roundup. Days start early around here.”

Her eyes brightened with wary interest. “A roundup? Can Melissa and I come along to watch? She’d love it.”

Wonderful! The hired hands would probably be watching Tasha instead of keeping their minds on their own business. He could only hope no one got killed stumbling all over themselves to impress Ms. Goldilocks and her little girl.

Including himself.

Chapter Two

“He’s beautiful.” Inhaling the scent of baby powder, Tasha forced away a sharp stab of envy as she held three-month-old Jason Bryant Swain in her arms for the first time. Never again would she hold a baby of her own. And that knowledge formed an ever present ache in her chest she knew would always be there.

Cliff had dropped off Tasha and the children at the Swain ranch house early that morning. She and her sister had visited, waiting until Jason was awake and fed and ready for his day. Meanwhile, Melissa and Stevie had turned the front porch into a makeshift jungle gym, climbing on the railing and leaping off the steps to entertain themselves.

Stroking the baby’s soft cheek, Tasha swallowed the raw sense of disappointment at fate’s cruel trick. “You did good, big sister.”

Ella fussed with Jason’s knit cap, motherly pride radiating from her like a lighthouse beacon. “It wasn’t all my doing. Bryant contributed a few good genes, too.”

“From your glow, I’d guess he’s contributing more to your health and welfare than just a few baby genes.”

Ella’s healthy complexion took on the rosy hue of a woman in love and her eyes filled with mirth behind her big round glasses. “Let’s say marriage and motherhood agree with me.”

A couple of inches shorter than Tasha, her hair a shade or two darker, Ella had always been the smart one in the family. Tasha had spent her adolescence envying her sister’s good grades and the respect she’d received from being smart instead of simply pretty. But Ella’s hasty marriage last summer to Bryant Swain had startled everyone in the family. Tasha was glad the relationship was working out. A claim she couldn’t make about either her too young marriage to Robert Reynolds when she’d learned she was pregnant with Melissa, or her recent botched engagement.

Definitely time for her to swear off men. Her judgment regarding the opposite sex left a lot to be desired.

“We’d better go,” Ella said, picking up a light jacket from the back of the couch and slipping it on. “The kids are itching to get out to where they’re branding the calves. If we aren’t careful, those two are likely to head off on their own.”

“All the way from New York, Melissa’s been asking when she’d get to see real cowboys.”

Ella laughed. “We’ll take the truck.”

“Thank goodness we don’t have to ride a horse.”

“I’m not quite ready for that yet.”

They went out the back way—leaving the door unlocked, Tasha noted—and called the children around to the side of the house where the truck was parked. Well-kept barns and outbuildings suggested the ranch was a prosperous enterprise, though Ella had said raising cattle was always a risky business financially.

“Learning to ride is one of my goals for this summer,” Ella said. “When I get good enough, I may even take up barrel racing.”

“Ella! You wouldn’t!” Tasha choked on a surprised laugh, but was unable to suppress a ripple of fear that sped through her. “You’ll get yourself killed.”

Her sister grinned at her. “Well, if not barrel racing, there’s a women’s mounted drill team. Maybe I could do that instead.”

From Tasha’s perspective, that didn’t sound all that much safer.

Shaking her head, Tasha strapped Jason in his car seat and stood back while Stevie and Melissa clambered into the rear seat of the truck with the baby.

Whatever had gotten into her sister, moving from New York to California and then without warning all the way to Montana? This was a nice enough place to visit for a week or two, no doubt peaceful in a way that would help Tasha put the disappointment of the past few weeks behind her. But she was a city girl. Horses and cows—and all that went with them—weren’t her cup of tea.

Still, as she thought of the Swain brothers, she had to admit there was something very appealing about the rugged, outdoor men who lived in the West.

But that didn’t mean she was going to get involved with her handsome employer.

Speaking of which, she’d better see if Ella had some recipes she could share. Last night it was pretty obvious tuna sandwiches and soup weren’t going to hack it for a man who expended thousands of calories rounding up little doggies all day. And she didn’t think her typical salad greens and cottage cheese would cut it, either.

She grinned at the thought. Wouldn’t her modeling friends and fashion designer colleagues get a kick out of seeing her now, in jeans and sharkskin boots, bouncing in a pickup along nothing wider than a rutted trail en route to round up a bunch of cows destined to be turned into hand-tooled leather jackets?

DUST AND DIRT rose fifty feet straight up toward a cloudless sky before dissipating in a slight breeze. The noise was astounding—bawling cows, squealing calves and cowboys shouting X-rated obscenities children shouldn’t hear. The air reeked of smoke and burning leather.

“Mommy, look what they’re doing!” Melissa made a dash for the pen where they were branding the new calves.

Tasha snared her daughter by the back of her jacket. “Oh, no you don’t, young lady. Don’t you go running off on your own. Those cows will trample you if you’re not careful. You are to stay right next to me like we’re glued together.”

“But, Mommy!” Melissa whined.

Stevie had already raced ahead and was climbing the wooden fence surrounding the pen. “Stevie!” Tasha shrieked, envisioning the boy toppling over and falling beneath the hooves of the agitated animals.

Ella slipped little Jason into a sling across her middle and cuddled her baby next to her. “Stevie will be fine. He knows to stay out of the pen.”

Tasha lacked her sister’s confidence. The entire scene was as chaotic as the New York theater district right after the Broadway shows released their audiences, spilling them out onto the streets and sidewalks all at once. No one seemed to be in charge of the choreography. Cowboys on horseback darted through the milling herd, ropes twirling over their heads. Clutches of cows and their calves danced back and forth trying to avoid capture and separation. Swirling dust softened the edges of the scene, making it all look surreal. Or nightmarish.

Tasha would sooner make her way through Times Square on New Year’s Eve than journey into that chaos.

But Melissa, like an eager puppy on a leash, tugged her forward.

As they approached the fence, Tasha noticed one of the cowboys miss with his lariat, the rope falling harmlessly to the ground. Another cowboy twisted around in his saddle so quickly he nearly unseated himself.

“Watch what you’re doing, Shane!” Cliff yelled.

“Ri…ght, boss.” The boy’s voice cracked.

“Looks like the hands have noticed your arrival,” Ella said, amused.

“Next time I’ll wear a sack over my head.”

“Sis, with your perfect size six figure, it’s going to take more than a sack to get these men to ignore you.”

Tasha knew she drew the attention of men like pigeons to peanuts. It was both blessing and curse. She needed her looks because of her job, but at heart she was shy and wished—just once—that a man would admire her for something more than an accident of birth.

At least the swearing appeared to have subsided, she thought with relief.

Cliff reined his mount around, exiting the branding pen. He was no better than Shane had been. When Tasha had shown up wearing skintight jeans and a rhinestone-studded denim jacket, he’d almost dropped his teeth along with his lasso. Her langorous walk was sweet, hot sex on the hoof and capable of blowing holes in a man’s good sense with every sway of her curvy hips.

He rode to where she and her sister were standing. “Morning, Ella.” He tipped his hat to Tasha. She ought to be wearing a hat, too. But then he wouldn’t have the pleasure of seeing her white-gold hair held back from her face with a couple of fancy combs and hanging loose down her back. “You two getting reacquainted?”

“It’s wonderful to have my sister here,” Ella said, tipping her head back so she could see from beneath her straw hat. “Thanks for looking after her.”

“I thought she was supposed to be looking after me.”

“Oh, I’m sure she’ll do a good job of that, too.”

Cliff wasn’t quite sure what to make of Ella’s quiet, self-satisfied laugh or the gleam in her eyes. Maybe it was just a trick of the sunlight glancing off her glasses.

Straddling the fence, Stevie said, “Can I help you cut out the calves, Dad?”

“Sure you can. I’ve got Star Song all saddled for you.”

“You’re going to let him ride into that mess?” Tasha asked, her expression stunned, even a little frightened if Cliff read her right.

He shrugged. “Sure. Someday he’ll own part of the Double S.”

“But he’s only five years old.”

“Going on six,” the boy corrected, clambering down from the fence.

“I’m almost seven,” Melissa said. “Can I help, too?”

“You certainly may not!” Tasha admonished her.

Reaching down, Cliff gripped his son’s forearm and hefted him to the back of his horse. “You’ll have to wait till you learn how to ride, Melissa. Stevie’s been riding since before he could walk.”

Melissa’s angelic face soured into a pout. “Girls can do all the stuff boys can.”

“Sure they can,” Cliff agreed. Except Melissa and her mom weren’t likely to stay around long enough for either of them to become good riders. And that reminded Cliff he didn’t want Stevie to get too attached to either of them. Sometimes he caught the boy in the master bedroom studying his mother’s picture, his expression heart-wrenchingly sad. Cliff didn’t want his son to go through another emotional loss like that. Nor did he want to face the bleak sense of abandonment again that had dogged his own life since he and his twin brother were deserted by their biological mother. They’d been about four at the time and he still had a vague recollection of his mother crying.

He circled his horse, coming up beside Tasha, who quickly stepped away from him, placing Melissa safely behind her.

For the moment, Tasha was his housekeeper, and because of his need for child care Cliff had no choice but to treat her as such. Until she decided to move on or he made other arrangements. “I’ve got to work the four-to-twelve shift tonight. I’ll plan to take my dinner break about seven, if that’s okay with you.” Maybe if he gave her some warning, she’d come up with something more than tuna sandwiches for supper.

“That’s fine, but—” She glanced around as if she’d landed on an alien planet. “You mean to tell me you’re going to work all day punching cattle, or whatever you call it, then work another eight hours tonight?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He thumbed his hat back on his head and added a big dose of drawl to his Western accent. “Can’t leave the good folks of Reed County unprotected from rustlers and other varmints just so’s I can stay home with a pretty little lady.”

She looked up at him slack-jawed.

“My daddy’s a deputy sheriff,” Stevie explained. “He catches bad guys.”

“You got that straight, bucko.” Though for the past year a band of rustlers had been operating in the area and neither he nor Sheriff Colman had been able to get a decent lead on them.

“All right. I’ll have dinner ready about seven.”

“Steak and potatoes would be good,” he suggested in the hope of avoiding another batch of tea sandwiches. “And when you’ve got a minute, Sylvia washed a bunch of my uniform shirts before she left for her daughter’s place but didn’t have time to iron them. Could you take care of that for me? They’re in the laundry room.”

That cute little inverted V formed between her eyebrows again. “Anything else you’d like taken care of, Deputy Swain?” she asked tautly.

Yeah, there was something else he’d like, but he wasn’t going to go down that path. In fact, he’d be better off if she decided she didn’t much like the idea of playing housekeeper, even if she did need the money—a topic they hadn’t discussed in any detail yet. Though, come to think of it, Ella knew what Cliff had been willing to pay. She’d probably mentioned the salary to her sister.

“I’ll let you know if I think of anything.” With that, he tapped his heels to his horse and rode toward the remuda where the string of extra mounts were tethered away from the action.

Tasha blew out a sigh; her jaw ached from clamping her mouth shut instead of coming back at Cliff with a smart remark. “Are all cowboys that chauvinistic?” she asked her sister.

“They tend to be a bit arrogant, which is part of their appeal.”

Melissa wrapped her arms around Tasha’s waist, hugging her. “What’s chuff-in-istic, Mommy?”

“It’s when a man thinks all a woman is good for is to cook his meals and wash his clothes.”

Ella’s laughter rippled through the air, adding a high note to the masculine sounds of the roundup. “Oh, I think Clifford has something else on his mind when he looks at you, Sis, but it’s a little too soon for him to pursue that particular activity.”

“What’s Aunt Ella mean?”

Heat flooded Tasha’s cheeks. “Don’t ask, sweetheart. Just don’t ask.” The possibility that Cliff harbored the same sensual thoughts that had plagued Tasha since last night was unsettling. Despite what others might think of her, or how they judged her from her appearance alone, she didn’t engage in recreational sex. And developing a deeper relationship with Cliff would be beyond foolish. She was a New Yorker. He was a Montana cowboy. Speaking of which…

“How is it I got the distinct impression from what you told me that Cliff needed a nanny for his little boy, not so much a housekeeper? You wouldn’t be trying a little matchmaking in your spare time, would you, sister dear?”

“Moi? Why, whatever do you mean?”

Tasha glared at her sister. She’d been ambushed, darn it all, and she wasn’t going to stand for—

“Morning, missus.” A bowlegged cowboy had climbed the fence and dropped down beside Ella. He lifted his hat, uncovering a nearly bald head except for a curly fringe of carrot-red hair. Immediately Tasha recognized him from Ella’s wedding day—Rusty the ranch foreman.

“Hello, Rusty. Good to see you again,” Tasha said, extending her hand.

Giving her a big grin, and wiping his hand on his dusty trousers, he shook hands with her. “Welcome back to Montana, ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

Ella said, “Rusty’s been wonderful to me and Bryant. I don’t think the ranch could get along without him. I know I couldn’t.”

“You’d do jest fine.” He peered at the baby cradled in the sling across Ella’s chest. “He’s growing like a weed, ain’t he? He’ll be riding broncs with his daddy in no time, I reckon.”