Courtship, Montana Style

“You’re not really a housekeeper, are you?”

She shook her head. “Not really. But I can learn, I’m sure of it.” As though his interrogation had been too tiring, she sat down at the end of the couch and leaned back, closing her eyes in a gesture of defeat. “Are you going to send us away?”

A part of him knew that’s exactly what he ought to do. If she really was in the witness protection system—which he didn’t believe—the government should have been responsible for putting her in a safe place.

But whatever was happening, she was in some sort of trouble. A woman didn’t run away with her baby on a whim, bridal gown or not. From what he’d seen of her, Lizzie was a good, loving mother. He gave her points for that.

But the fact that a groom had been left at the altar was troubling to say the least.

Even so, the irrational part of his brain argued that she should stay on the Double O for reasons that had nothing to do with the wedding gown, a groom or her baby—or any real or imagined witness-protection program—but simply because he wanted her here. Wanted the sultry scent of her to linger in a room after she left. Wanted to see the quick flash of her smile, even when it wasn’t directed at him. Wanted to hope she wouldn’t always be sleeping in the bed across the hall.

Damn it, he was getting ahead of himself. Sure, he lusted after her. She was a beautiful woman. But the truth of the matter was she and that little baby brought out his protective instincts. He couldn’t turn away a person in trouble or in need. He had an idea she was both.

In frustration, he shoved his fingers through his hair. “You and Susie-Q can stay for now. But if you bring trouble down on the Double O, you’re outta here. Is that understood?”

She lifted her head, her eyes a deep navy-blue and glistening with unshed tears. Slowly she pursed her lips then licked them. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I promise you won’t be sorry.”

He already was sorry, but mostly because he didn’t have the right to carry her upstairs and do with her what his libido had been demanding since she showed up in his driveway with her classy BMW, sophisticated airs and a chubby baby girl a man would be proud to call his own.

“Lizzie—”

“Yes?”

“Most of the boys who come here lie to me about one thing or another at first. Eventually they learn they can trust me. I hope you will, too.”

She didn’t answer. Instead she turned away, diaper bag in hand, and headed up the stairs.

He watched her go. Having Lizzie in the house was going to make changes in his life.

Including a hell of a lot of cold showers.

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