The Rancher Needs A Wife

“It catches the school board’s approval?”

She lifted her mug in acknowledgment. “You heard about that, did you?”

“News travels fast around here. You should remember that.”

She cocked her head. “Was that an observation or a warning?”

One of Will’s slow smiles spread across his dark features. “Take it any way you choose.”

Fitz Kelleran, barefoot and damp around the edges, jogged down the narrow service stairs and dropped a grade-school spelling text on the kitchen table. Even in worn work clothes, the man was ridiculously handsome. His golden-boy features and devilish charm had given him his start in the movies; his talent kept him on Hollywood’s A list. “Morning, Will.”

Will nodded a greeting.

Fitz headed for the coffee and nudged Maggie aside with his hip. “Morning, Margaret.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Margaret?”

“Oops. Sorry. I forgot that’s what your ex calls you.”

“You didn’t forget. You don’t forget a thing. In fact, you seem to have an annoyingly efficient instant recall of most conversations, word for word.”

“It’s not instant,” he said with one of his dazzling grins. “It’s permanent.”

“Except when it suits you.”

“That’s the annoyingly efficient part.”

“Children.” Jenna carried a laundry basket piled high with bath towels past the table, headed toward the mudroom. Her gold hair was threaded with silver, but her features and figure were still youthful. “Please. If you must bicker, take it outside.”

“It’s too cold to bicker outside,” said Fitz. “May we bicker in the office? How about whispered taunting? Only the tauntee would hear it, I swear.”

“Can it, Kelleran.” Maggie finished her coffee and turned to rinse the mug. “I don’t have time for any of your nonsense.”

“I could make it fast.” He leaned in and lowered his voice in a sample whisper. “Come on, Maggie. One good insult, to start the day right.”

“Can it, or I’ll tell Ellie you’re bugging me again.”

That shut him up fast. There was something oddly endearing about the way the man pretended to live in abject terror of her pint- size former sister-in-law.

Maybe that’s what had gone wrong in her own marriage. Not enough playful pretense or genuine concern. At least, not on her husband’s part. Alan was the premier member in their unequal partnership, the one with the blue-blooded background, the one with the ivy-league education and the finely tuned sensibilities. Recently she’d realized that his expectations weren’t so much a subtle tutoring as a smothering burden.

But it was too early in the day for regrets and recriminations. And she’d already spent too much time this morning indulging in memories. She needed to concentrate on the business she’d intended to discuss with Fitz when she’d headed to the house this morning.

“That was a nice offer that was announced at the board meeting last night,” she said. “Very generous.”

“Thank you.” He sipped at his coffee. “And that was an interesting proposal you made.”

“Interesting?”

“Very interesting.” He saluted her with his mug. “And well prepared.”

“Two compliments in one morning.” She waved her hand in front of her face. “I’m all aflutter.”

“I wouldn’t let the local males know you’re such an easy mark, if I were you.”

“Don’t worry about it. And don’t worry about my plans for the theater.” She settled back against the counter and crossed her arms. “I did my research.”

He nodded. “And plenty of it.”

“So…”

“So?”

“So, what do you think, Will?” she said, turning to the ranch foreman for a little extra

support. “Don’t you think improving the stage area would be a good use of those funds?”

“I think I’m going to have to think long and hard on this whole situation.”

“How long?” she asked.

“Until it’s over.” Will gave her a wink and sipped at his coffee.

“Then it’s a good thing you don’t have a part in making the decision,” she said. “But some people do. Some people have a serious responsibility.”

Fitz donned a suitably sober face. “Responsibility.”

“Yes. A very serious one.” She shook her head with a sigh. “Making the right decision is a heavy burden. It can impact the future in countless ways.”

“Hmm,” murmured Fitz. “I suppose I could deal with that burden by offering another donation next year.”

“Yes, you could.” She unfolded her arms and checked her manicure. “Or you could double this year’s.”

“Yes, I could.” Fitz’s serious frown slowly dissolved into a wicked grin. “But I won’t.”

She raised one eyebrow. “You won’t even consider the option?”

“Nope.” He rocked back on his heels. “I want to see you try to get people to change their minds. Ten bucks says you can’t do it.”

“I’m not going to bet on something this important.”

“Ten bucks, and the loser takes out a full-page ad in the Tucker Tribune. Winner chooses the wording.”

She choked back a laugh. “No.”

“Afraid you’ll lose?”

“It’s not a competition.”

“No one said it was.”

“It’s going to turn into one,” said Will. “I hope you realize that. Both of you.”

Before Maggie could respond, Jody, her twelve-year-old niece, bounded down the stairs. “Morning, everyone. What’s for breakfast?”

“Your gran mentioned something about French toast,” said Will. “I’m hanging around to see if she meant it.”

“Jenna’s making her French toast?” Fitz looped an ankle around a chair leg and snagged a place at the table. “Sorry to give such late notice, Will, but I won’t be helping you repair the south well house this morning. I quit.”

“You can’t quit,” said Jody as she dropped into her seat. She pulled a napkin into her lap and tucked hair the same reddish hue as her mother’s behind one ear. “You’re the boss.”

“Explain that to your mom,” said Fitz. “Please.”

Fitz may have purchased the ranch after the fire’s destruction pushed Granite Ridge’s shaky finances to the edge of bankruptcy, but Ellie remained in charge, managing the day-to-day details as she had since Tom’s death.

“You knew what you were getting into when you married her,” said Jody. “I warned you.”

“You did not.”

“Yes, I did. I said, ‘Fitz, watch out.’”

“That had nothing to do with marrying your mother. That was before I stepped in that pile of shit out behind the barn and ruined my dress loafers.”

“It could be the same thing, only different. Like a metaphor.” Jody shot him a smug smile. “We studied similes and metaphors in English this week.”

“And you obviously paid close attention.” Maggie decided to join the breakfast crowd and squeezed in beside Will. “That was a wonderful comparison. Slightly abstract, but loaded with meaning.”

Ellie strolled in from the dining room. She’d probably been up since dawn, working on the books in the office off the front entry. “Morning, everyone.”

Fitz caught her hand as she passed him on her way to the coffeepot. Maggie noticed the quick squeeze he gave her fingers before he released them, and the way his hot and hungry gaze followed her across the room.

Had Alan ever looked at her like that? She couldn’t remember. And surely a look like that would be something a woman would never forget.

“Time for the spelling review.” Fitz picked up the text and flipped through the pages. “Ready, Jody?”

“Ready.”

“Satellite.”

Jody dutifully spelled out the word as Jenna came back into the room and began to assemble breakfast supplies on the counter.

“Reception,” said Fitz.

Ellie selected a large skillet from the overhead rack and turned to adjust the flame under a burner. Jody spelled the word.

“Remote.”

Will tipped his chair back against the wall with the hint of a smile as Jody continued the exercise.

“Control.”

“Hold it right there.” Ellie spun around with the skillet in her hand.

“Oh-oh,” said Jody. “Bad timing.”

“Satellite reception?” Ellie glared at Fitz. “Remote control?”

Jenna’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, and Will’s smile spread across his face. Fitz’s innocent expression was a testament to his skill as an actor.

“It’s an experiment, Mom,” said Jody. “We’re studying subliminal advertising in English this week.”

“Subliminal,” said Fitz. “S-u-b-l—”

“I know how it’s spelled,” said Ellie. “And I know what the two of you are up to. And it’s not going to work.”

“I told you.” Jody glanced at Fitz with a sigh.

“You did not. You said it was a good idea.”

“The satellite TV hookup, not the spelling stuff. That was Fitz’s idea,” she told her mother.

“I can tell when something is Fitz’s idea,” said Ellie. “It’s usually harebrained and half-baked, and comes at me from every point on the compass for weeks at a time.”

“Got to give the man points for trying,” said Will.

Ellie aimed the skillet at him. “You stay out of this.”

“Thanks, Will.” Fitz gave him a comrade-in- arms nod. “I appreciate it.”

“I’m not risking my health on your account,” said Will. “I kind of like the idea of a couple more channels to watch late at night.”

“Since when do you watch TV at night instead of reading?” Ellie asked.

“Well, now…I’ve changed my habits of late,” said Will. “I thought it might be nice to watch some of those nature shows, but I guess there are plenty of other things I could find to do instead of reading.”

At the sink, Jenna made a strangled sound.

“Oh, for crying out loud.” Maggie rose from the table and began to crack eggs into Jenna’s big mixing bowl. “Get the satellite hookup, Ellie. Better yet, get Wes to drag cable out here. Hell, have him dig a ten-mile-long ditch and put it all underground so you don’t have to look at it. It’s not like your husband can’t afford it.”

“That’s not the point.” Ellie didn’t sound too sure of the point any longer, but that wouldn’t pry her stubborn grip from it. Once she’d dug into something, it could take a few sticks of dynamite—or an extra-strength dose of Fitz’s charm—to shake her loose.

“While you’re at it,” Maggie continued, “I’d like to have a hookup at the cabin. There are lots of educational shows I could be recording for school.”

“Hundreds of them,” Jody added.

Fitz stood and carefully removed the skillet from Ellie’s hands. He set it on the counter and wrapped his arms around her waist. “We missed one of my old movies last night. The one where I played a downhill racing skier.”

Ellie smiled and softened against him. “That was Robert Redford.”

“It was? I get myself mixed up with him sometimes.”

“In your dreams, Kelleran.”

“That’s my favorite cue.” He bent and scooped Ellie over his shoulder. Ignoring her shrieks, he headed toward the stairs. “And I’m suddenly in the mood to continue this discussion in private. Jenna, kindly save some French toast for two. The missus and I will have our breakfasts later.”

Jody shook her head with a worldly sigh. “Looks like I’ll need a ride to school again, Aunt Maggie.”

“Sure, kiddo.” She watched with a smile as her brother-in-law toted his bride up the stairs. “I’d like a chance to discuss this subliminal advertising concept with you.”

CHAPTER FOUR

MAGGIE SAT IN A lumpy booth at the Beaverhead Bar & Grill Friday night and stared at her best friend from her school days, Janie Morgan Bardett. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Wish I was,” said Janie as she shoved her empty beer glass to one side. “And on top of mistaking a grizzly for a brown bear, the idiot fumbled his load and the bear got within twenty paces before he finally got a shot into him.”

“At least it got so close there was no chance of missing a second time.”

Another autumn, another hunting season. Another round of tracking lore and venison recipe exchanges. Nothing much had changed in Tucker, it seemed, including the primary topic of conversation each year at this time.

Certainly nothing much had changed in Tucker’s only bar. The music in the jukebox, the beaver profile on the cocktail napkins, the ugly brown felt on the pool tables, the smudged walls and blue-hazed atmosphere, the aroma of hot grease and cold brews was all just as she’d left it fifteen years ago. Even the stale peanuts in the battered plastic bowls looked suspiciously familiar.

A loud crack behind their booth signaled the start of another round of pool. The betting was nearly as impressive as the bragging, if a woman had the kind of heart that fluttered over cowpoke paychecks and poorly disguised sexual analogies involving cue sticks and pockets. Apparently a pair of twenty-something coeds who’d hiked down from the Continental Divide found it all, like, totally fun.

“Speaking of fumbling loads…” Janie drummed her short-nailed fingertips on the table. “Why was Alan letting you investigate fertility treatments when he was…well…”

“Busy proving he wasn’t infertile?” Maggie sighed and took a fortifying sip of wine. Her personal life was a source of unceasing fascination, and Janie claimed her right, as former number-one confidante, to have first crack at the best and juiciest details. “Which he accomplished by knocking up one of his grad students.”

“I don’t understand.” Janie leaned forward. “I mean, all that effort with all those doctors, and then he goes and pulls something like that?”

“I don’t think it’s something anyone understands, including Alan. He had a history of risky behavior with grad students.” And as one of the most popular professors and academic advisors in the English Literature department of a Chicago university, he’d had a steady supply of fresh, young, poetry-adoring fans. “That’s how I met him.”

“Yeah, but he wasn’t married when you were dating him.”

“That only makes it slightly less unethical,” said Maggie with a weary sigh. “Although I did drop the class after I started sleeping with him.”

“Why were you the one most at fault in that scenario?” Janie asked with a frown. “He’s the one who was hitting on students.”

Maggie’s mouth twisted in a wry grin. “He didn’t have to hit very hard.”

“I hate to admit it, but he was a handsome bastard.”

“You don’t have to talk about him in the past tense. He’s still alive.”

“Yeah, well, he’s still a bastard, too.” Janie shook her head. “What did you see in the guy, anyway?”

“You mean, besides the incredibly good looks?” Maggie spun her glass in a slow circle. “He was everything I wanted to be. Sophisticated, refined. Knowledgeable about things like art and good food. He socialized with interesting, important people.”

“The one time I met him, he seemed like he had a stick stuck so far up his butt it would pop out his nose if he sneezed.”

Maggie grimaced. “He didn’t enjoy visiting here.”

And he’d elaborated on every reason why not. He hadn’t been able to find a common point of reference with any of the members of her family, so he couldn’t relax at the ranch. He was unable to comprehend Tucker’s ambiance, so he felt handicapped when trying to communicate with its citizens. He apologized for everything with genuine regret, and he made it all sound as if the root of the problem was his inability to appreciate things from a different perspective, but there was a simpler way of expressing the truth.

Alan was a snob.

“Well,” said Janie, “I don’t suppose I can blame him for that. Tucker doesn’t exactly compare to Chicago.”

“No, it doesn’t.” The soft thunk of a ball in the pocket was followed by a triumphant howl. “But then, Chicago doesn’t compare to Tucker.”

Maggie raised her glass and stared at the pale amber wine. “You and Trace have a good life here,” she said, “and you’re raising a couple of wonderful, beautiful girls.”

“They’re special, all right.” Janie sat back with a smug grin. “And I have to admit, I can’t imagine them being happy anywhere they didn’t have plenty of room to ride their horses.”

“I missed riding like that, when I moved away.” The homesickness for wide open spaces and the freedom to move through them on horseback had been a physical ache those first few weeks in her cramped college dorm room with its stark view of boxy high-rises.

“And now I bet you miss Chicago.” Janie sighed and leaned an elbow on the table. “All the things to do, the shows and the museums and the shopping.”

“Sure.” Maggie caught the eye of the bartender and signaled for refills. “I miss it every day.”

Janie straightened and waved as Trace sauntered into the room. He waved back at his wife, tossed a scowl in Maggie’s direction and stopped by the long, curved bar to engage in what appeared to be a serious conversation with Wayne.

“Wonder what that’s all about?” asked Maggie.

“You can’t guess?” Janie folded her arms on the table. “I have to warn you, you’ve landed on Trace’s shit list for that stunt you pulled at the school board meeting last night.”

“It wasn’t a stunt. Not exactly, anyway.”

“Damn,” muttered Janie. “Looks like girls’ night out is ending early. Here comes a double dose of man.”

Wayne and Trace approached the table, carrying their own drinks and the refills.

“Mind if we join you ladies?” asked Trace. He slipped in beside Janie and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

“If you promise to behave.” Janie flicked a finger against the edge of his hat. “No school board business.”

Maggie shifted to the side to make room for Wayne. He handed her a second glass of wine and then slowly folded his lanky frame into the tight space.

“We were just talking about how much Maggie misses Chicago,” said Janie.

“Figures,” said Trace. “Things around Tucker aren’t half as lively as goings-on in the big city. Not without stirring something up. Umph.”

He jerked slightly and glared at his wife.

“So,” she said, “what do you miss most, Maggie?”

“The shopping, I guess.” She sipped her wine. “About this time of year, I started looking forward to the holidays. All the lights, the crowds. The parties.”

“Parties.” Janie leaned forward. “What were those like? Nothing like the ones around here, I’ll bet.”

“No.” Maggie shook her head, comparing the colorful, stomping, free-for-all fun of a barn dance to the little-black-dress formality of a college reception. “Not the same at all.”

“We can make our own kind of party,” said Trace. He cocked his head toward the dance floor, where a couple of cowhands were shuffling to and fro with the hikers. And then he swiveled out of the booth and turned to face his wife. “Dance with me, Janie,” he said. “Come and rub up against me like you used to.”

“How can a gal resist an invitation like that?” She shot a grin at Maggie and wiggled her way along the long bench seat. “That’s just about the hottest offer I’ve had in weeks.”

Maggie watched them walk to the dance floor, hand in hand, and flow into each other with the practice of a couple that knew each other’s every move. She smiled at Trace’s awkward bear hug of a dance hold and the way Janie’s eyes laughed up at him.

She held on to her smile, floating on her own sentimental mood. And then her smile died, bit by bit, when she glanced at Wayne and found him staring at her.

Those big brown eyes of his could be unsettling when he turned them on something other than the floor. Deeply set, filled with secret shadows, they seemed to bore right into her and probe at her sensitive spots. She waited in vain for the corners of his mouth to gradually tip up in one of his shy smiles to ease the intensity of his expression.

She leveled a challenging look at him, daring him to break away first, willing him to cut her loose so she could suck in the air she suddenly needed so badly. But he pinned her in place with that soul-deep gaze, held her absolutely still as he angled his big frame to the side and slid along the bench to straighten and stand over her, long-limbed and wide-shouldered and blocking out the room behind him, one big, tough hand extended toward hers where it rested on the table.

She hesitated to take it, and in the next moment grasped it to prove that his silent invitation didn’t unnerve her. And then he was slowly leading her toward the other pairs of bodies swaying in the smoke and the music, and guiding her just as slowly toward him, and pulling her smoothly into his arms.

She knew he was a working man, but it was still a shock to feel granite-hard muscle beneath the worn cotton of his shirt. She knew he was tall, but it was still a surprise to feel him rest his chin on top of her head. The feel and the fit of him was an alien thing, so different from the softer, shorter partner she’d grown accustomed to.

Tonight was filled with foreign sensations—the tacky floor clutching at her heels, the tang of pine and leather and yeasty malt, the powerful shoulder beneath her fingertips, the rasp of calluses against her palm, the heat of a wide, long-fingered hand spread low across her back. Foreign, and somehow familiar. A strangely intoxicating blend.

“Are you missing Chicago enough to be thinking about going back?” he asked. His voice rumbled through her.

“I’m not going back.” She lifted her chin and looked at him. “I don’t believe in going back—or backward. I’ll give some other city a try.”

His hand shifted to her waist, pulling her close as Trace and Janie swung into their path. Her chest brushed his shirt front, and her breath backed up in her lungs.

This was crazy. This spine-tingling reaction to a dance with an old school friend was pure foolishness. It was all these strange sensations—they were too much for her to process at once. It was the second glass of wine that was making her a little light-headed, and the thud of the bass from the jukebox that was making her pulse throb. And it might be the fact that she was out of practice with this kind of contact with an adult male. Other than a few brotherly hugs from Will and Fitz, she hadn’t been this close to a man in nearly a year.

He raised his hand again to the spot above her waist, and she was aware of the press of each of his fingers. She tipped her face back to find those deep, dark eyes of his trained on hers. They drifted slowly down to her mouth, and she realized that she’d let him kiss her, that she wanted him to kiss her. It was the light-headed, out-of-practice part of her that willed him to do it, begged him to do it.

With a final twang the music ended, and they parted from each other by slow and reluctant degrees—the subtle retreat of a shoulder, the slight shift of a leg, the long slide of his palm down her back, the soft tug of her fingers from his hand.

“Thank you, Maggie.”

She wanted to speak, to snap off the odd thing sprouting between them with a flip remark, but all she could manage was a nod.

He settled his hand again at her waist and guided her back to the booth where Janie was collecting her jacket and purse.

“I’m heading out,” said Janie with a quick, one-armed hug. “Got to hurry and get the sitter home before time runs out on the hot offer I got out on the dance floor.”

Maggie squeezed her back and promised to call soon to make a date for another girls’ night out.

When she turned, intending to invite Wayne to join her for another drink, she discovered he’d disappeared without a word.

Since it was Wayne, she should have expected it.

What surprised her was the quick, hot slap of disappointment.

CHAPTER FIVE

THEA GASTINEAU, the icy-gray and ramrod-stiff principal of Tucker High School, straightened her glasses on her thin nose and studied Maggie across the faculty room table during Monday’s lunch break. Maggie met her gaze with her most confident smile.

Thea tapped a clawlike finger on the proposal Maggie had slipped into her office mailbox that morning. “You’re sure you want to do this.”

“Absolutely sure.”