Courtship, Montana Style

“Our resident expert on the value of assorted car parts is Fridge—Arnold Bullock,” Walker continued. “He can empty a refrigerator in one sitting and a junkyard in about fifteen minutes, if you give him a chance. Which we try not to do.”

Her amused smile shot a flush to the boy’s cheeks, which were just beginning to show the first signs of growing whiskers.

“And Bean Pole here is Chad Stringer, one of my best cowhands on a horse.” On land, he was so clumsy he was barely able to walk around without falling over his own feet, a trait Walker recalled all too clearly from his own adolescent years. “He outgrows a pair of jeans faster than Fridge can empty the refrigerator.”

Lizzie nodded to the boys. “I’m glad to meet all of you.”

“You’ve met Speed, my foreman, and the dog’s name is Bandit.”

She smiled at the dog and reached down to let Bandit smell the back of her hand. While she petted the top of his head, she kept the baby safely out of the dog’s reach.

“Now then, the formalities are taken care of…” He tucked his fingers in his jeans pockets. “I don’t know what made you think my comment in that magazine meant I was ready to hire the first housekeeper who showed up at my door. Or any housekeeper, for that matter, and certainly not one with a baby. You’ll have to go back to wherever—”

“Aw, boss,” Scotty complained. “I know how to take care of a baby. I can even change diapers. It’s a snap.”

Lizzie Thomas seemed unperturbed by Walker’s announcement. “Merry Maids anticipated you might need some convincing so they’ve agreed to cover my salary during my probationary period in order that I might prove my worth to you. So if someone could show me to my quarters?”

She was going to stay? Good God, things were going from bad to worse. And why did she avoid looking him in the eye, her gaze darting away every few seconds like a truant caught out of school? Something was definitely not right here.

“Well, now,” Speed drawled, “I’d say that’s mighty generous of your employer.”

“Can I carry the baby?” Scotty asked. “I’ll be real careful.”

“Of course.” The youngster received another one of her smiles.

“Have you got suitcases and stuff?” Fridge asked. “I can carry them—”

“Wait!” Walker bellowed again. “I guess I didn’t make myself clear. We don’t need a housekeeper or a baby—”

The baby in question added her own objection, startled awake by Walker’s shouting. Speed, all three boys and Miss Thomas hastened to soothe the infant, losing interest in what Walker had to say. In contrast, Bandit retreated to the side of the house, running at a crouch.

Scotty picked the baby up out of the car seat, holding her to his shoulder and patting her on the back with considerable expertise. Meanwhile Lizzie began directing her remaining devotees to her luggage in the BMW’s trunk and the baby’s supplies in the back seat.

Walker stood in the driveway with about as much animation as a tree stump, having no idea how things had gotten so far out of hand. In a matter of minutes, Lizzie Thomas had bewitched his foreman and his boys. And if the truth were known, she’d come close to doing the same to Walker. That slow, sexy smile of hers and her bluesy voice were enough to make any man rethink the merits of extended celibacy.

Except her story didn’t make any sense. Housekeepers didn’t simply show up at a man’s front door willing to work for nothing. Not when he had adolescent boys in the house who were allergic to baths and cleaning up after themselves.

Nope. Something was screwy about Lizzie Thomas’s story. It would be downright interesting to know why she, or someone else, had gone to so much trouble to set up this cockamamy scheme.

For the moment, Walker figured he didn’t have much choice but to follow everyone else into the house. Soon enough he’d discover what Lizzie was up to.

And then she’d be gone in a hurry.

As he pulled open the screen door, he caught the lingering scent of a sultry perfume, feminine and inviting, and a little bit tropical. Not the boys. And sure as hell not Speed.

At some gut level, Walker sensed that if Lizzie stuck around very long, the Double O would never be the same.

For the life of him, he couldn’t be sure whether that was a good thing—or a bad one.

ELIZABETH STIFLED A SIGH of relief as she entered the house. Never in her life had she been so brazen. Lied so blatantly. Or been so rude. But she had managed to get past the first obstacle, which had turned out to be Walker Oakes himself.

The magazine article had been deceiving. From the photo of Walker wearing a Stetson pulled down low on his forehead and a weather-aged sheepskin jacket, she had assumed he’d be a much older man. Not midthirties with saddle-brown hair, an arresting face that squint lines had filled with character and a rugged physique snugged into skintight jeans. She might well have given up her plan if she’d known what a formidable opponent he’d be. Nothing like the men in her life who wore dark suits and ties to work and designer polo shirts on the golf course.

“Ms. Lizzie, where do you want me to put your stuff?” Fridge asked.

She shuddered at the nickname she’d given herself. Her mother would have a fit if she knew, much preferring the formal version.

“Perhaps we should ask Mr. Oakes his preference?” She tipped her head back to look up at him with the sweetest expression she could manage. Given his height, a woman dancing with him would find his shoulder a perfect spot to rest her head—and she wondered wherever that thought had come from.

Skeptical bronze eyes snared her. “I think you know my preference.”

“Yes, well…” She swallowed hard. He was not going to be an easy man to fool. “I suppose I could drive back into town—”

“Now don’t you go troubling yourself about driving anywhere,” Speed said. “This here house has got more bedrooms than you can shake a stick at.”

“She could stay in the bunkhouse with us,” Bean Pole volunteered.

Instantly rejecting the idea, Walker told the boy, “Not on your life.”

Ignoring the exchange, Speed continued. “Seems to me the big ’un across from the boss’s would do you just fine. And this here wee little tike—” he stuck his finger out for the baby to grab “—she’d be fine in the old sewing room Mrs. Oakes used.”

Elizabeth shot Walker a look. “Mrs. Oakes?”

“My father’s wife. She’s been gone from the ranch a long time.”

“Oh.” A tiny surge of relief skipped through her awareness. The article hadn’t, after all, said anything about Walker being married. But it could have been an oversight. And a woman would have seen through her scheme immediately. She’d have recognized Elizabeth didn’t know thing one about being a housekeeper.

“I’m sure the sewing room will be perfect for Suzanne,” she said.

“I’ll jest go on upstairs, see to it the room ain’t too much of a mess.” The antithesis of his name, Speed strolled toward the stairway at a pace that would get him to the second floor along about next Tuesday.

“Wait. We haven’t got a crib or anything for the baby to sleep in,” Walker protested.

“That’s not a problem,” Elizabeth assured him. “I brought a portable playpen along. It’s still in the car.” One of several purchases she’d made in Reno with the cash she’d withdrawn from the bank. She’d then made a side trip to a junkyard where she’d switched license plates with a Jeep that had been totaled, a little trick she’d learned from reading mysteries. With luck, no one would even notice or be able to trace her.

“I’ll get the playpen,” Scotty volunteered.

“No, I will,” Fridge insisted. He dropped the suitcase he’d carried in only minutes ago.

“Hold the baby a sec, boss.” The boy thrust Suzanne into Walker’s hands. “Fridge doesn’t know squat how to put a playpen together. He’ll probably bust it.”

Both boys went running out the door to the car, Bean Pole traipsing along at a slower pace, leaving Walker standing there, the baby in his big hands, and looking as though Scotty had handed him a bomb that was about to go off.

“Well, hello there, Miss Susie-Q,” he said, eyeing the baby with apprehension.

“Here, I’ll take her,” Elizabeth said.

“Yeah, it might be better if you—”

Suzanne gurgled a happy sound and smiled up at Walker. And then, still smiling, she launched milky spit up all over the front of his blue denim shirt.

Elizabeth groaned and reached for her daughter. She’d really have to teach Suzanne more socially acceptable ways to impress a man.

Chapter Two

Looking down at his shirtfront, Walker winced. “I trust I shouldn’t take Susie-Q’s comments personally.”

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Oakes.” Lizzie offered him a cloth diaper in exchange for the baby. “I’m afraid she’s having some trouble digesting the formula.”

“You might want to consider changing brands.”

“I’m sure she’ll adjust soon.”

Not soon enough for the sake of his shirt, Walker thought as he wiped away the spit up. Despite the mess, he noticed the kid’s smile carried a wallop. Just before she hurled her lunch on him, he’d had the fleeting thought that having a baby around the house wouldn’t be all that bad. Having a good-looking housekeeper around wouldn’t be awful, either.

Susie-Q’s milky projectile had brought him back to reality. He hadn’t advertised for a housekeeper. Hiring one who had a baby to care for didn’t make any sense, even if it didn’t cost him a dime. Given that the would-be housekeeper was the sexiest woman he’d seen in a long while would only complicate matters further.

With the boys outside arguing about who would put up the playpen and Speed upstairs doing whatever he was doing, Walker found himself alone with Lizzie. Not a good situation when she was fussing with the baby, looking maternal and feminine. The sounds she made and the gentle way she rocked Susie-Q made him think of lullabies and loving mothers. Not that he’d had much experience with any maternal females except his heifers and their calves.

His own mother hadn’t thought enough of Walker to keep him around after she found a new husband.

“Miss Thomas—”

“Why don’t you call me Lizzie? It would be so much easier, don’t you think?”

No matter what name he called her, it wasn’t going to be easy to throw her out, not when his boys were already stuck on her.

“It seems to me—” he began.

“I’m sorry. Is there somewhere I could change Suzanne? She’s soaked through.”

Now that was a really good reason to be nervous about having a baby around the house. They did stuff he didn’t know anything about—and didn’t want to.

He shrugged helplessly. “Sure. Wherever you want.”

Holding the baby on her shoulder, she glanced around the room for a spot that suited her. By now she had a streak of milky stain on her cotton blouse, which had been neatly tucked in at her waist and had tugged free. Her hair was beginning to come loose from its twist. Still there was something glamorous about her, a dose of sophistication Walker wasn’t used to. A certain grace that couldn’t be learned mucking out stalls.

Walker would lay down a sizable bet in any Nevada gambling casino Lizzie Thomas could name that she was not a housekeeper by trade.

But who the hell was she?

With a flick of her free hand, she tugged a light blanket from the diaper bag the boys had left in the living room and spread it out on the rug. With the ease of a dancer, she settled next to it and lay the baby down.

“There you are, sweetie,” she crooned. “I know those old wet diapers are yucky so we’ll get you some nice dry ones. How would you like that, huh?”

Susie-Q pumped her chubby little legs, gurgled and blew out a bubble.

In spite of himself, Walker felt his lips tilt into a smile. “Speed’s right. She is cute.”

As Lizzie lifted her head to bestow one of her smiles on Walker, he felt a punch in the gut that erased everything else in the room except this woman and her baby. He had the eerie sensation she belonged there.

But that wasn’t possible.

Oliver Oakes had drilled into his head to keep away from fancy women and city slickers. They couldn’t make it on a Montana ranch. The winters were too tough; they found the isolation oppressive. They didn’t have what it took to be a rancher’s wife. Oliver knew. He’d married one. Within five years he’d lost her and the sons she’d borne him.

In all the years he’d lived with Oliver—since he’d arrived at the Double O as a rebellious fourteen-year-old foster kid—Walker had found the foster father who had eventually adopted him was dead right about most everything he said.

Blinking and shaking his head, Walker knew whatever he’d imagined as he looked down at Lizzie had been caused by months of celibacy and the same isolation that drove women away.

He really needed to get into town more often.

Squatting down on his haunches next to her, he said, “You want to tell me what’s going on here?”

“I’m changing Suzanne’s diaper.”

“I know what you’re doing with Susie-Q, what I want to know is—”

“Do you give everyone a nickname?”

He frowned. “I suppose.”

“What’s yours?”

She was the most distracting woman. Or at least her perfume was. Nothing like the scents he smelled all day, barn smells and prairie sage. Better than both. A scent he could go on inhaling every day and still look forward to taking his first breath the next morning.

He swallowed hard. “Speed and the boys call me boss.”

“The boys don’t call you Dad?”

“Most of the youngsters who come here have issues about their fathers. No sense to push their buttons. And giving them a nickname gives them a chance to be someone else, someone whose old man hasn’t beaten the tar out of them or whose mother didn’t abandon him. Someone who can start over without any strikes against them.”

She bent over the baby again, snapping her overalls back together. When she lifted her head, Walker could have sworn there were tears in her eyes, but maybe it was just the light that made the blue glisten like a high-mountain lake on a bright summer day.

“I think that’s a wonderful concept,” she said, her voice huskier than usual. “And so does Susie-Q, don’t you, sweetie?”

She hugged the baby, and something in her eyes brought a lump to Walker’s throat. He’d seen that same haunted look in the eyes of the boys who’d come to him over the years. Wary desperation. A need for sanctuary. Fear that he’d turn them out just as their families had.

He didn’t doubt for a minute that same look had been in his eyes the day he showed up at the Double O.

Damn it all! How could he send this woman and the baby away? Whatever her real story was, he didn’t have the heart to do that.

Not as long as she didn’t pose a threat to the Double O Ranch.

“Come on, Slick.” Standing, he picked up the diaper bag. “I’ll show you to your room.”

Her nicely arched brows rose. “Slick?”

“Yeah. As in city slicker.”

“What makes you so sure I’m a city slicker?”

“Must be something about that BMW you’re driving and the fancy designer label on your rear end.” Not to mention her sexy perfume or how nicely her rear end fit into those blue jeans.

As she started to stand, holding the baby to her shoulder with both hands, he took her arm to help her up. His fingers closed around smooth skin, pampered by expensive creams, and warm to the touch. In contrast, his hands were callused and rough enough to abrade her tender skin.

Pulling his hand away, he tried not to let the velvety feel of her flesh imprint itself into his memory. That was as hopeless as trying to erase a brand from the rump of a calf. No matter how long the animal lived, the evidence of the mark would still be there.

Elizabeth grasped Suzanne more tightly as an unnerving surge of feminine awareness shot through her. During the few seconds Walker touched and then released her, her body had responded in an elemental way to his sheer masculinity, the rugged texture of his palm against her skin in what was little more than a quick caress. Even after he’d let her go, her heartbeat kept up its rapid cadence.

Oddly she’d never reacted in quite that way to a man—not even Steve, whom she had loved with all of her heart, she thought with a stab of guilt. Certainly Vernon hadn’t caused her pulse to speed up by simply touching her. She wasn’t one to swoon or be dazzled by a handsome face.

Indeed Walker’s features were too solid, too sharply honed, to make him a candidate for a GQ cover model. He set his jaw too sharply, pale squint lines fanned out from golden-brown eyes set deeply in his tanned face, and a slight bend in his nose suggested it had once been broken.

No, not a beautiful face but one that was altogether too potently masculine for her taste. Or so she’d thought until he touched her.

“Do you, uh, want me to carry the baby?” he asked, as he walked beside her toward the wide staircase to the second floor. The dark walnut banister looked smoothed by age and, if she knew anything about boys, a thousand youthful slides down it.

“I think for the sake of your shirt, I’d better keep her.”

His lips slid into a wry smile. “My shirt’s already a loss.”

That wasn’t quite true. From her perspective, a man with a little baby dribble down his shirt held a certain appeal. It meant he wasn’t afraid to be gentle.

Of course, Susie-Q had done more than just dribble. Spitting up hadn’t been much of a problem when she was nursing, the baby digesting breast milk far better than she did formula. Not for the first time, she regretted Vernon’s demand that she wean Suzanne before the wedding—and her foolish agreement.

She should have stood up for the best interests of her baby. From now on, that’s exactly what she was going to do. She’d learn to be strong for Suzanne’s sake.

A half-dozen doors led off the upstairs hallway and the carpet was worn thin leading to each room.

“The boys sleep in the bunkhouse?” she asked.

“During the summer. They think of it as one long sleepover. Winter time it’s too cold out there and I make ’em sleep inside. Besides, they’ve gotta get up early to catch the school bus.”

“How far is it to their school?”

“About an hour, maybe more, assuming the bus can get through.”

“Get through?”

“We get a little snow here now and then.”

Elizabeth suspected that was a serious understatement. This close to the Canadian border, winter blizzards had to be as common as wildfires in California.

He gestured toward an open door at the front of the house, and she stepped into the room where Speed was fluffing up a pillow. A light breeze fluttered lace curtains at the windows and brought with it the warm, dry scent of sage.

“Here you go, ma’am.” Speed propped the big pillow at the head of the bed. “I gotcha some clean sheets. The blanket might smell a bit musty—”

“This is awfully nice for servants’ quarters. Don’t you have—”

“Unless you want to bunk with the boys,” Walker said, “this is what you get.”

Somehow as housekeeper she’d pictured a private room off the kitchen where she and Suzanne would stay, not a guest bedroom opposite her employer’s room. She shrugged. “In that case, I’m sure everything will be fine.”

The room really was lovely, the view a hundred and eighty degrees of prairie and rolling, tree-covered hills. In an unpretentious way, the room and view were both more elegant than her parents’ home where her mother had spared no expense on furnishings.

Smiling, she imagined Steve would have liked it here. An adventure, he would have said.

A sharp blade of regret slid through her that this adventure was one she and her baby would have to experience without him. Almost a year had passed since she’d laid her beloved Steve to rest and she still felt the raw edge of grief whenever she thought of him. Somehow—for her baby—she had to find a way to go on.

“Miss?”

Blinking back her tears, she turned to the foreman. “Yes?”

“I’ll get the boys to bring up your suitcases,” Speed said.

Right on cue, the sound of booted feet came thundering down the hallway. Fridge arrived first with the playpen in hand. “Ya want this in here?” he asked Speed.

Complaining at the top of his voice, Scotty arrived lugging Elizabeth’s much heavier suitcase, which he’d hauled up from downstairs. “Just ’cuz you’re the biggest doesn’t mean you’re the boss of everybody else!” He dropped the bag by the bed with a thud.

“Put the playpen next door,” Walker ordered.

Speed tried to take the folded playpen from Fridge but it popped open, one of the corners catching Speed in the chest and driving him backward.

Bean Pole ambled in with the smaller bag of Suzanne’s things and stumbled over the bigger suitcase, barely catching himself before he fell flat on the freshly made bed.

Walker snared the back of the boy’s shirt, steadying the youngster as if he’d anticipated a pratfall.

In spite of herself, Elizabeth stifled a grin, not because of the boy’s awkwardness but rather the dynamics of the entire Laurel-and-Hardy scene. That Walker was taking the whole situation so calmly spoke volumes about his patience and how well he related to adolescent boys.

Finally wrestling the playpen under control, Speed carried it to a sunny room adjacent to the bedroom.

“I know how to set it up,” Fridge insisted, following him.

Scotty dashed in after them. “Don’t, either! I had to show you!”

Bean Pole followed. “I can help.”

Elizabeth glanced at Walker and he met her gaze, an amused twinkle in his eyes.

“The boys seem very helpful,” she commented.

“Normally they avoid every chore I give them until I threaten them with mayhem or no TV for a week. The no TV part works the best.”

She imagined so. Despite Walker’s rugged appearance, she didn’t think his physical threats would be credible. Beneath his rough exterior, he had a gentle spirit. That’s what she had sensed in the article and why she’d sought refuge here.

“I’ll get the boys out of your hair so you can get settled. It’s about time they started fixing supper anyway.”

“I imagine cooking will be part of my job duties?” she asked with more than a little trepidation. No matter what, she was determined to not sit back and let others wait on her. She’d lived that way long enough.

He waved her off. “They’ve got the routine down pretty good but don’t expect five-star restaurant grub. It’s more likely to be sloppy Joes.”

Given her limited cooking experience, the adolescents would probably do a better job than she could. Which didn’t mean she couldn’t learn. “I’ll take over tomorrow, then.”

He frowned. “Whatever.” He looked down at his shirtfront and started to unbutton it. “Meanwhile, I’m going to get out of this shirt before it starts to reek any more than it already does.”

“If you show me where things are, I can do the laundry.” Not that she had any more experience at that chore than she did at cooking. Growing up in a house full of servants plus attending a string of boarding schools, she hadn’t been highly motivated to develop her own domestic talents. But from necessity she had become acquainted with Laundromats during her college years.

“Not necessary. We’ve got it covered.”

And he didn’t need her around mucking things up, she could almost hear him say.

She watched with curious fascination as he tugged his shirttail from his jeans, letting the shirt hang open. A white V-neck T-shirt pulled tautly across his chest and she chided herself for the shimmer of regret that he wore an undershirt at all.

With a final, “We’ll call you when supper’s ready,” he followed the rest of his cowhands into the sewing room to sort out the continuing bickering about the playpen—an easy-opening playpen she had managed with little effort the two nights she’d stayed in motels en route to Montana.

Smiling to herself, she walked around to the far side of the room and placed Suzanne on the bed. “We’re going to be fine here, Susie-Q. You’ll see. And it will only be for a short while, just long enough for me to decide what to do next.”