Lonesome Ryder

Not that her attraction to him mattered, Laura reminded herself sensibly. Attracted or not, she was here to fill a temporary position that would enable her to make a down payment on the quaint little farmhouse she’d seen for sale when she drove into Hoot Owl’s Roost—or Hoot’s Roost as the locals referred to the rural community. She’d fallen in love with the house immediately and she intended to accumulate the money to make the farm her own—by her own means, without the unwanted assistance of her overprotective brothers who’d probably find all sorts of fault with the house.

Moving to Oklahoma was a declaration of independence from her well-meaning but smothering brothers. Laura wanted to prove to herself, and to her brothers, that she could manage her life and make sensible decisions without her brothers’ constant input. That was another reason why this summer job and this situation with Wade was so important to Laura. She could reassure her brothers that she could handle herself around a man without falling head over heels for the first one she met—one who hadn’t been screened and checked out by her brothers.

“Laura?”

She glanced over her shoulder to see Quint and Vance sauntering downhill, looking more devastatingly handsome than any two men had a right to, smiling the kind of smiles that made females from eight to eighty sigh in appreciation. All that glossy raven hair and those swarthy physiques wrapped in chambray, denim and leather were impossible to ignore. But in Laura’s opinion, Wade Ryder was the biggest, baddest, most dangerous heartthrob of all. And why? Because she detected a hint of vulnerability and defensiveness about him that she identified with. Because he was far from perfect and she’d spent too much time around her all-too-perfect brothers who put Mary Poppins to shame.

“The job’s yours,” Quint announced. “We put your luggage in a spare bedroom. We’ll be around at the end of the week to check on Wade and see how you’re managing with him.”

Laura smiled gratefully. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate your company. I’ll see that his household runs smoothly while he recuperates.”

Vance grinned slyly. “You might offer Wade a massage every now and then,” he suggested. “He’s sore and achy after my bull steamrollered over him.”

“Plus, Wade’s home could use a cheery touch,” Quint inserted with a smile. “You know, a few bouquets of wildflowers, all the windows flung open wide to allow plenty of light and fresh air, that sort of thing.”

“And change things around a bit,” Vance added. “The place has looked the same way for years. New furniture arrangements might perk him up a little.”

Laura frowned when the Ryder cousins exchanged amused glances. “Sure. No problem. I can handle that.”

“Well, then, we’ll get to work and leave you and Wade to get acquainted.” Quint touched the brim of his hat and nodded politely. “See ya in a few days. We’ll be back to inoculate Wade’s cattle for him.”

“Bye, Laura,” Vance said with a wave and a grin.

When the men climbed into the fire-engine red pickup and roared off in a cloud of dust, Laura squared her shoulders, stiffened her resolve and headed for the house to unpack her belongings. She was going to be helpful and cheerful and prove to Wade that she wasn’t an unwanted inconvenience in his home. He’d find no fault with her, she vowed. She’d take her job seriously and put in a hard day’s work for a hard day’s pay.

This would be no different than the first week of a new school year, she mused as she strode toward the sprawling ranch-style brick home on the hill. It always took her and her students several days to get acquainted and for them to adjust to her way of conducting class. It took a week for her to evaluate the various personalities of her students and determine the best way to deal with them. The same held true for Wade Ryder. In a week she’d know how to handle him and her duties. Things at the ranch would run like a well-oiled machine, she convinced herself.

Mentally prepared, Laura pasted on a smile and ventured inside the house. Wade was still ensconced in the massive leather recliner in his very masculine, no-frills living room. The ranch décor, with landscape paintings of rolling hills, rustic barns and grazing livestock, fit this rugged rancher, Laura decided. The room lacked a woman’s touch and the heavy drapes were drawn—save the one window near the front door. She’d take Vance and Quint’s suggestion to give this dark room an open, visitor-friendly appearance.

“What the hell do you have in those three coffins my cousins dragged in here? Dead bodies?” Wade asked abruptly.

The snide questions and the harsh tone in which they were delivered caused Laura’s smile to wither on her lips. She halted in midstep. “Coffins?” she repeated, bemused.

“Yeah, those coffin-size suitcases,” he said, grimacing as he leaned sideways to retrieve the glass of ice water on the end table. “In case you haven’t noticed, this is a ranch, not a resort hotel that requires scads of fancy clothes to attend scheduled activities. A couple of pairs of faded jeans and T-shirts are all you need.”

Laura reflexively flinched at his catty insinuation that her country-club attire, packed in those coffin-size suitcases—as he referred to them—was inappropriate for her new job. If Wade was trying to aggravate her, he’d succeeded. While it was true that she came from a privileged background she never flaunted wealth and she certainly didn’t consider herself better than anyone else. But one look in Wade’s direction indicated that he thought that she thought she was just a step below royalty and hadn’t put in a day’s work in her life. That was nowhere near accurate. She and her brothers prided themselves in being hard workers. Wade had no right whatsoever to presume anything about her when they’d only just met.

Man, this guy was a real piece of work! He might be as handsome as sin but he acted like the very devil!

“I’ll go unpack,” she said between her teeth as she made a beeline across the spacious room.

“That’ll probably take you the rest of the day,” he said, then smirked. “I guess I can forget about your squeezing in time to scrounge up something for my supper.”

The smart-ass comment brought her up short. She glanced back at those glittering green eyes that shouted disapproval and animosity. “My job description is to cook, clean and ensure you take care of yourself during your recuperation, Mr. Ryder,” she said in a tone she usually reserved for ill-mannered students. “Supper will definitely be served. What time do you usually eat?”

He scoffed, as if she’d asked a stupid question. “This is a ranch, Seymour. You’ve obviously never been within shouting distance of one before, or else you’d know that supper is scheduled around chores that always come first.”

She smiled in mock sweetness. “And obviously you won’t be attending your usual chores for a while.” Her rejoinder caused his brows to bunch up on his scratched forehead, which gave her a small degree of satisfaction. “Therefore, we can establish a schedule for eating and you can depend on my having food on the table at dinnertime. Now, I’ll ask again, Mr. Ryder, what time would you like to eat this evening?”

“Six forty-five,” he grunted, then wet his whistle with ice water.

Laura was pretty sure the same said liquid flowed through the man’s veins. What a foul-tempered bear he was! He might have rugged sex appeal oozing from his pores and a body like nobody’s business, but he had the disposition of a wounded grizzly and he was making no effort to make her feel wanted or welcome.

“Fine, six forty-five it is,” she said.

“Good. I’ll eat in here…in my recliner…by myself.”

He made it crystal clear that he didn’t want or need her company. Not that she cared, of course. She’d rather eat in a cafeteria with a bunch of teenage students during a food fight than dine with him anyway.

When she walked off he jacked up the volume of the TV where an old Western, starring John Wayne, was playing. If he was trying to annoy her, he was doomed to disappointment this time. She was a John Wayne fan from way back and The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance was one of her favorites.

Liberty Valance had nothing on Wade Ryder, she decided on her way down the hall. Both men leaned toward mean and nasty and deserved a good shooting.

2

LAURA NEATLY STACKED HER underwear and socks in the empty dresser and hung her clothes in the walk-in closet. Pensively she contemplated ways to give the living area a more welcoming appearance. For sure, she’d let plenty of light into that dark room, place scented candles and potpourri on the end tables and fill the area with vases of wildflowers. Then she’d rearrange the furniture to give the room better balance.

Laura stashed her suitcases in the corner of the closet then hiked off to appraise the kitchen and check to see what kind of food was on hand for supper. She was pleased to find an ultramodern kitchen at her disposal, but the reckless arrangement of food in the cabinets offended her sense of order. She set about organizing the boxes, cans and jars in alphabetical order so she wouldn’t waste valuable time rummaging to locate items while cooking.

She was halfway through the process when Wade hobbled into the kitchen on his crutch and braced his battered body against the doorjamb. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he all but roared at her.

Refusing to let him rile her, Laura pivoted and tossed him a high-voltage smile. “I’m reorganizing the kitchen.”

“It was the fine the way it was,” he grouched. “I’ll never find a damn thing now.”

“You won’t have to because I’m in charge of KP duty for the next six to eight weeks,” she reminded him, striving for a noncombative tone—which wasn’t easy since he was glaring thunderclouds on her sunny smile.

“You’re working here, not taking over the place,” he growled. “Put that stuff back where it was…now.”

Even bruised and mauled, the man could still come off looking ominous and intimidating. Laura forced herself not to shrink away from him the way she’d done when they first met. Learning to hold her own was good practice, she realized. Her fairy godbrothers were no longer waving their magic wands, paving the way for her and running interference. She’d landed her new teaching position by herself and she was taking absolute control of her life for the first time in twenty-five years. Wade was a test of her character and gumption and she had no intention of failing the test.

“When my employment is terminated I’ll arrange your kitchen the way you had it.” She gestured carelessly toward the cabinets. “I’ll cram stuff on the shelves so you’ll have to waste time locating ingredients. Happy now, Mr. Ryder?”

“No,” he mumbled, shooting her a disgruntled glance.

Admirably she shrugged off his hostility and resumed the task of arranging items that began with N. Silence reigned for several moments while she progressed through O and P and skipped over Q to place a box of rice on the shelf.

“Where’re you from, Seymour? You don’t speak Oklahoman.”

“Colorado.” She plunked down the spaghetti sauce next to the rice.

“What happened? Did the school administration fire you and you had to leave the state to outrun your reputation?”

Laura gnashed her teeth as she swiveled around to meet Wade’s insolent smirk. The man didn’t know how close he’d come to having a jar of spaghetti sauce smack him right between his moss-green eyes. “No, as a matter of fact I come highly recommended by my principal.”

She had no idea why she was defending herself to him. She certainly didn’t owe him an explanation and he didn’t deserve one. She’d never had acceptance issues with her associates, either. Most people gravitated toward her friendly, nonconfrontational nature. All except His Grouchiness. He seemed to derive wicked pleasure from provoking her.

“No doubt, you came with all sorts of recommendations,” he said in a tone that implied scandalous activities. “Did the principal’s wife resent the competition? Did you move on before she stamped a scarlet letter on your forehead?”

Laura quivered with outrage. The horrible man had the audacity to stand there, assassinating her character, judging her by his lowlife standards and condemning her in one felled swoop. “I was not having an affair with my principal,” she defended hotly. “For your information my principal was a she!”

“Gad, that’s even worse,” he said distastefully.

The man was insufferable! “I came here to be on my own and work in the same school system with my college roommate, not that it’s any of your business,” she all but shouted.

Wade shook his tousled raven head. “I’ve got a news flash for you, Seymour, the PTA isn’t going to approve of striking up your old affair with your college roommate, either.”

Laura didn’t know what possessed her to react so violently to his goading. Her ability to apply restraint and self-control, after years of dealing with challenging students, failed her completely. Before she realized what she’d done, the container of salt that she had clenched in her fist was sailing across the room and smacked Wade squarely in the chest. With a horrified gasp, she watched him stare at the container that plopped on the tiled floor. He turned his death-ray glare on her and Laura’s face flushed with mortification. Damn it, she’d let him get to her.

With extreme effort, Wade doubled over to retrieve the salt container then tossed it back to her. “I guess you don’t think I’m injured in enough places already, huh?”

Regretful and embarrassed, Laura emitted an inarticulate sound and refused to meet his mocking gaze.

He smiled wickedly, then added, “I’ll bet your résumé failed to mention that you’re prone to violence when provoked. How many students have you clobbered when they’ve managed to tick you off, Seymour?”

Laura was so frustrated and angry that she was shaking. Her heart jackhammered in her chest, spurred by an overdose of adrenaline. She wanted to grab this infuriating rascal by the throat and strangle him for making her lose her temper. She almost never lost her temper. But Wade Ryder, the devil incarnate, had witnessed her complete loss of control.

“You aren’t going to let loose with the waterworks, too, are you?” he taunted. “If you’re going to cloud up and rain every day, I’ll make sure I have flood insurance.”

“I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of seeing me cry,” she snapped at him. “Just go away.”

“Nope, this is my house and my kitchen.”

“Fine then, I qu—” Laura shut her mouth so fast she nearly cropped off the tip of her tongue. No matter what the man said to her, no matter how often he goaded and insulted her, she wasn’t going to quit. She wanted this job. She needed this job for a dozen good reasons.

He arched a dark, challenging brow, daring her to complete that sentence. “Yes, Seymour? You were saying?”

Laura might not have been the modern-day version of Einstein, but she was smart enough to deduce that A: Wade Ryder didn’t like her. And B: He didn’t want her crowding his private space. And C: He was trying to provoke her into quitting her new job before she had twenty-four hours under her belt. She didn’t understand why he wanted her gone because she didn’t know him well enough to determine what made him tick. But, for pure contrariness alone, she wasn’t giving this cantankerous rancher the satisfaction of hearing her say she quit. She wasn’t a quitter and she’d dealt with troublesome students during her four years of teaching at the elite private school in Colorado—a job her brothers had pulled a few strings to secure for her….

The thought served to bolster her firm resolve. She was going to tough it out on her own, no matter how snide and sarcastic Wade Ryder proved to be. She wasn’t a wuss, even though most of her former students weren’t in the juvenile delinquent category of kids who tested her temper and challenged her authority on a daily basis—not like Mr. I’m-Gonna-Give-You-Hell-Just-To-See-If-You-Can-Take-It Ryder. No matter how mad he made her—and he’d made her plenty mad already—she wouldn’t quit. She’d stay, if only to aggravate him.

“I’m not quitting,” she told him as she squared her shoulders and tilted her chin to a determined angle. The fact that she was trembling with frustration probably detracted from her defiant stance, but she’d get better at dealing with this rascal. Now that she knew he was deliberately trying to get rid of her, she’d refuse to take him seriously, wouldn’t allow him to annoy her. In fact, she could be as disagreeable as he was if she really tried.

“If you aren’t quitting then you better toughen up,” he goaded her. “I have no intention of letting up on you.”

“Why? Because it goes against your sour, surly nature to be nice to people?” she flung back.

Wade didn’t so much as flinch when she flashed him a smirk. With jerky, agitated motions, she resumed stocking the kitchen cabinets in alphabetical order. He felt like a first-class ass for provoking Laura. His conscience—which he was trying to ignore—was screaming some pretty raunchy curses at him for behaving so badly.

Silently he marveled at her organizational abilities that the White House would envy. Hell, the woman could probably run a small country all by herself and still take a couple of days’ vacation each week. But if he was to succeed in his campaign to rout Ms. Temptation from his house then he couldn’t pay her compliments or cut her any slack.

An apology flocked to his tongue, but he refused to voice it because being nice to her would defeat his purpose. And damn it, he was uncomfortably aware of Laura Seymour in her trim-fitting, perfectly creased jeans and her pink knit blouse that displayed the full rounded swells of her breasts. Her perfume kept trying to lure him across the kitchen to get a stronger whiff and his good hand itched—and so did the injured one—to map the alluring contours of her goddesslike body.

Sheesh! Of all the women in all the world why did she have to be the one hired as his temporary housecleaner, cook and bottle washer…? Bottle, that’s what he needed, he decided instantly. After a few drinks he’d be numb to the goddess in designer jeans.

Wade hobbled across the room and reached up to the top shelf to retrieve a bottle of hooch. He accidentally bumped into Laura when she grabbed the box of tea bags to align them beside the spaghetti sauce. Her breasts brushed the side of his left arm and Wade snatched a quick breath—only to be assailed by that citrusy scent that had been driving him crazy from the far side of the room.

When he glanced down his gaze collided with those enormous powder-blue eyes, surrounded by a hedge of long, thick lashes. Then his attention dropped to the teasing hint of cleavage displayed by her V-necked blouse. Feeling like a kid who’d been caught with his hands in the cookie jar—or wherever—because he knew that she knew what had momentarily distracted his attention, his gaze bounced guiltily back to her face. Her full, tempting lips were only a scant few inches from his. Wade didn’t dare draw breath, for fear of breathing in her essence so deeply that he’d succumb to the reckless urge to kiss her and find out if she tasted as delicious as she looked. Gawd, he’d known she’d be pure trouble!

“What are you doing?” she asked, a hitch in her voice, a flush of color on her face.

Checking you out, though that’s the last thing I’d planned to do, the voice of honesty replied. But Wade decided to play dumb. He could do dumb if he had to. “Whaddya mean, what am I doing?”

Blushing profusely, her gaze focused on his mouth, Laura gestured toward the top shelf where his hand had stalled in midair. “If you’re reaching for that whiskey bottle, that isn’t a wise idea. Pain medication doesn’t mix with liquor. Your doctor wouldn’t approve, Mr. Ryder.”

“First off, I decided to forego that pain medication because it makes me woozy.” He ignored her when she muttered something about preferring woozy to downright cranky.

“Secondly, you can drop that mister stuff, professor,” he instructed, then backed away from temptation personified.

“I’m not a college professor,” she clarified. “I’m a secondary school instructor.”

“Yeah, whatever. Fact is that my doctor is Jack Daniel’s and he makes house calls.” He snatched the bottle off the shelf and set it on the counter with a decisive thump. “Hand me two glasses.”

“I don’t want a drink,” she informed him.

“I’d hope not. You’re on the clock. I want two glasses, one for each hand.”

She stared pointedly at his left wrist that was draped in the sling. “You only have one good hand,” she reminded him.

“So what? Just hand me the damn glasses.”

She didn’t move, just stared him down as if he was one of her belligerent students.

“Fine then, I’ll get it myself, which only goes to prove that I don’t need you.”

Before Wade could reach around her to grab the glasses she plucked them off the shelf and set them down with a clank.

“Thanks, professor,” he said, and not very politely.

“You’re welcome, Ryder. But you should know that you don’t get extra credit for doing things for yourself when you’re supposed to be resting all those body parts you injured while bull wrestling.”

“I wasn’t bull wrestling,” he corrected.

“Yeah, whatever.”

When she tossed his caustic words back in his face he gnashed his teeth, then realized his jaw was as sore as the rest of his abused body.

“According to your cousins’ version of the incident that required immediate medical attention,” she went on, “you valiantly distracted the big bad bull before he flattened Vance and Quint. But I suspect that you were just trying to clamber out of the way so that thousand-pound brute could vent his frustration on your cousins.”

Wade’s chest swelled with indignation—which served to remind him that his ribs were exceptionally tender. “I didn’t turn tail and run,” he huffed and puffed and blew her theory down. “My cousins may be ornery cusses, but I didn’t see any sense of all three of us getting trampled so none of us could handle the ranch chores.”

“Oh, I see,” she said in pretended thoughtfulness. “You just wanted an excuse to take some time off and let your cousins handle the hard work.”

The comment cut like a Weed Eater. “Hell no! Are you nuts, lady?” he roared. “The last thing I wanted was to be laid up and have a woman under my roof!”

Wade slammed his mouth shut and cursed himself soundly. It was never wise to let the enemy know your battle plan. If Laura hadn’t figured out that he was trying to get rid of her any way he could, she surely suspected it now.

She regarded him through her narrowed gaze then went back to alphabetically stocking the shelves. “So, you’re saying that you’re afraid of women and that fear defines who you are.”

“I’m saying nothing of the kind,” he said, highly affronted. He twisted the cap off the whiskey with a vicious jerk and purposely slopped the amber liquid on the counter as he filled his glasses. “You think I’m afraid of you? Not hardly. You’re all of five foot nothing and I’m six-three in my stocking feet. Whaddya gonna do? Break my other leg? I don’t think so!”

“I’m not referring to physical fright,” she clarified. “I’m talking about emotional terror.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he protested.

She reached over to grab a dish towel to mop up his mess then tossed him a sly glance. “Then you’re saying that you don’t appreciate women in the same capacity that most men do.”

“If you’re asking if I like sex, which is none of your business, by the way, the answer is: Yes, I like sex as much as the next heterosexual guy. I just want sex on my terms. No strings attached, no commitment.”

“So basically you’re saying you just don’t like women, but you don’t mind using them to scratch the occasional itch,” she paraphrased.

Hoo-kay, so that sounded cold and insensitive. But yeah, she’d pretty much hit the nail on its proverbial head. Thanks to Bobbie Lynn he’d never let a woman close enough for prolonged periods of time to form an emotional attachment. “Right,” he replied. “Sex is impersonal. You get some when you need some. Like filling an empty fuel tank.”