At The Rancher's Bidding

He frowned a little, realizing his own wife, a princess of Balahar, had taken to domestic chores with far more enthusiasm than he’d had any right to expect. And she wore motherhood like a golden crown.

Behind him, Rafe cleared his throat. “I thought I would visit the paddocks to see how Khalahari is faring this afternoon. Would you care to join me?”

“Sure.” Tucking his fingertips in the pockets of his jeans, Cade walked beside Rafe. The sheikh was as fanatic about his Arabians as Cade was. Rafe couldn’t wait for Khalahari, the prize mare of the Desert Rose, to foal. If Cade would let him, Rafe would probably take the mare back to Munir with him.

Cade could understand that. He’d been obsessed with the ranch and his Arabians until he’d had a family of his own. Marriage had been the first step. But when Rena gave birth to the twins—Zach and Natalie—Cade discovered nothing in the world could compare to being a husband and father.

WHEN IT SEEMED as though they had been driving for a long while along a dirt track, Allie grew anxious. She had thought Cord a neighbor of the Colemans’ Desert Rose Ranch. So far she had seen nothing but grass wilted by the summer heat, elms and oaks spaced by nature to provide splashes of shade, and cows lazily chewing their cuds.

“How much farther to your cattle ranch?” she asked.

“We’ve been on Flying Ace land for about five minutes now, but the house is a ways yet.”

“Your ranch is that big?”

“Big enough. A couple of thousand acres.”

“But that is larger than the Desert Rose.”

“Yep. Cows need more land than horses. You gotta keep moving them around, changing pastures so they don’t overeat the grass.”

He must be a wealthy man, indeed, Allie thought. “This name, Flying Ace—where did it come from?”

He shot her a grin that creased his cheek and made him look far younger and even more attractive than only a moment ago.

“Rumor has it my grandfather won the ranch in a poker game.”

“An ace flew from the deck into his hand, yes?”

“More likely it flew out of his sleeve into his hand.”

She stared at him blankly, then choked on a laugh when she realized what he meant. “Your grandfather cheated?”

“Now, he never ’fessed up to such a thing. But word has it no cowboy for a hundred miles around ever sat down at a poker table with him again.”

She did laugh then, delighted with the prospect of living on Cord Brannigan’s ranch for some amount of time. At the palace her brother was so dour, so serious, she rarely saw him laugh. Only in the women’s quarters could she relax and be herself. Even then she had to use caution not to make an error in protocol. Or be too friendly with her ladies-in-waiting. Heaven forbid she should make a scene at the local bazaar or spend too much money on fripperies like scarves and shoes. Word would get back to her brother.

He was so confoundedly bossy! At least with her that was true.

She could only sympathize with a woman who found herself married to Rafe, subject to his arrogance and unbending ways.

Though the air was warm blowing in the open truck windows, she shivered with distaste at the thought of marriage and her betrothed. She vowed to view each moment of freedom at the Flying Ace as a taste of ambrosia. She would fill herself with memories to last a lifetime.

Only then would she be able to face the future she dreaded.

Chapter Two

Allie’s breath caught at her first glimpse of the Flying Ace ranch house. Although not as large as the one at the Desert Rose, the sprawling adobe structure seemed to fit into the landscape as if nature had put it there. A wrought-iron gate stood open to welcome visitors, and Cord drove the truck beneath an arched entry into an inner courtyard. It was almost like entering the palace grounds in Munir, but without the guards at the gate.

America was indeed a wonderful country. So free and open. A safe haven—albeit a temporary one for her.

“Your home is lovely,” she said as he parked beside a stone walkway leading to a covered entry and a wide wooden door.

“We make do.” His modest response made her smile.

Excitement fluttered through her midsection as he escorted her up the walkway, his hand pressing lightly at the small of her back. Had she expected a butler to greet them at the door, she would have been disappointed. Instead, Cord simply lifted the latch, shoved open the door and ushered her inside.

The temperature was ten degrees cooler in the dim interior of the high-ceiling great room than it was outside, the recessed windows in the wide adobe walls preventing direct sunlight from penetrating. Heavy oak furniture and comfortable leather couches were arranged around a large fireplace that no doubt heated the room efficiently in winter. Paintings of horses and Western landscapes decorated the walls.

He dropped her bag on one of the couches. “Brianna!” he shouted.

“In here,” a woman’s voice answered.

“Come meet our new, uh, housekeeper.”

Troubled, Allie frowned. She had not thought to ask of Cord’s marital status or if he had a concubine living with him. But perhaps Brianna was simply one of his servants.

A pretty woman with a long blond ponytail appeared from down the hallway. Fresh faced and no older than Allie, she wore jeans and a cotton blouse tucked in at the waist.

“Leila, I’d like you to meet my sister, Brianna Taylor. She handles the ranch’s bookkeeping and keeps the paperwork flowing for me.”

“Hi,” the young woman said, smiling. “I didn’t really think the sheikh would, you know—”

“Sheikh Ashraf does very much as he pleases,” Allie said, wishing she didn’t have to defend her brother.

“I, uh, made a deal with Leila to put her on the payroll as a housekeeper while she’s here,” Cord interjected.

Looking puzzled, Brianna nodded. “Fine. I’ll put together the paperwork.”

He cleared his throat. “I thought maybe you’d show Leila to Maria’s room, get her settled there, at least temporarily.”

“Maria?” Allie questioned.

“Our housekeeper,” Brianna explained. “She’s visiting her daughter in El Paso to help with a new baby.”

“Oh, but you do have other servants, yes?”

“Five or six hired hands, depending on the time of year,” Cord said. “They stay in the bunkhouse out back, but I sure wouldn’t want them to hear you calling ’em servants.”

“There is no one else?”

“Nope. With just me and Brianna, we don’t need a whole lot of help around the house.”

Panic twisted in Allie’s belly. How could such a big ranch have only one servant? She would not be able to hide. Too soon they would know the truth.

Picking up her satchel, Cord tried to pass it to his sister.

Brianna stepped back a pace, her gaze dancing between her brother and Allie, a curious smile playing across her face. “Look, I was right in the middle of doing the quarterly reports. Why don’t you show Leila to her room, give her a tour of the place?”

Allie leaped at the possibility. Surely a woman would more quickly discover her masquerade than a man. She would be better off with Cord as her guide. “Yes, a tour would be nice. Thank you.” She smiled her warmest smile.

Hesitating, Cord looked as if he was about to refuse, his eyes roving over Allie in a probing way that started her heart beating faster. Then he nodded curtly. “Okay. Your room is this way.”

Without giving his sister another glance, Allie followed Cord through a spacious dining room in the opposite direction from which Brianna had earlier appeared. The more distance she kept from the other woman, the better.

In the large kitchen, there was another table, though not as big as the one in the dining room. Stainless-steel appliances looked new and efficient. At least she supposed they were efficient. Allie had little idea how any of them operated. The kitchens were not a part of the palace she visited often, not since she’d sneaked in there as a child.

Immediately adjacent to the kitchen, Cord stopped at a doorway. “Okay, here’s your room.”

She stood at the threshold while he stepped inside. A handmade quilt covered the modest-size bed, doilies edged with crocheting protected the top of a walnut chest of drawers, and a small, colorful hooked rug lay beside the bed on the wooden floor. Quaint. And smaller than her dressing room at the palace.

“You’ve got your own bathroom and TV,” Cord said.

Swallowing her dismay at the simple quarters, she said, “I am sure I will be quite comfortable.” Gaining her freedom, however briefly, had its price.

“You can get settled in and—”

“I would very much like to see the rest of the ranch, if I may.” Feeling the cloak she wore was no longer necessary, she unfastened the plain, gray garment and tossed it on the bed, revealing the simple sheath dress she wore. The gold bracelets and necklaces she normally wore she had sent home with Leila. “I have never before visited a cattle ranch.”

Cord’s eyes widened. Damned if they didn’t nearly fall out of their sockets, he thought. He stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets, trying to look anywhere except at Leila. Without her billowing cloak, she was more slender than he had imagined, but every inch a woman. The swell of her small breasts pressed against her bodice; her bare arms were as graceful as a dancer’s, with tiny wrists a man could span with his finger and thumb. Long, straight hair the color of Texas pecans streamed down her back.

Desperately, he tried to think of some reason to send her back to her home in Munir right away. Or at the very least come up with an excuse why he couldn’t give her a tour of the ranch.

He failed on both counts.

“Sure. I’ll show you around a little. Then you’ll probably want to get dinner started.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, that’s kind of what housekeepers do. Cook dinner. Clean house. You know.”

“But I don’t know how to cook.”

His brows tugged together as he struggled with indecision. This was not what he had expected. In fact, nothing about Leila was quite what he had expected, including her soft accent with traces of British school English. “Tell me just what is it you did for your, uh, princess.” Lord, he hadn’t stammered this much since he’d invited Marijane Morgan to the eighth grade dance and then gotten her braces locked with his when he tried to kiss her.

Allie thought fast, trying to recall what it was that Leila did so competently for her, serving her in their women’s quarters.

“I prepared my mistress’s bath daily, oiled her body, helped her to dress in the finest silk gowns that money can buy. I brushed her hair.” Feeling slightly wicked and more adventuresome than she had thought possible, she stepped forward and ran her fingers through the thick waves of Cord’s saddle-brown hair. “I could do all of that for you, if you wish.”

“No. That’s okay.” His ruddy complexion flushed even darker and he edged away from her. “Let’s, uh, take that tour and we’ll deal with the rest of your, uh, responsibilities later.”

Shifting her hair in front of her shoulder, she smiled. She had no wish to argue with his decision. The longer she could put off the reality of being a housekeeper, the happier she would be. Cord, too, if he knew how few domestic skills she possessed.

CORD WAS PROUD of the Flying Ace. Since his father’s death five years ago he’d upgraded the facilities and added to the herd through careful breeding and management. It was his home, his life. He poured all of his energy into the ranch and it never disappointed him, even in bad times.

Which was more than he could say about the women in his life.

When Cord had been twelve, his mother had deserted the family. A year ago he’d discovered that she’d gone off because of his father’s infidelity—an infidelity that had resulted in Brianna’s birth. The unexpected news that he had a half sister had surprised him, but didn’t excuse the fact that his mother had abandoned Cord.

A few years ago, he had decided he was ready to settle down, start a family of his own. He had the rings in his pocket when he flew to Houston, where Sandra Maddox, the woman he’d been dating, was working. Problem was, she’d gone off to California the day before with a married man. Cord had been played for a besotted fool.

Nope, these days it didn’t pay to trust a woman.

Or perhaps he was the problem. He wasn’t lovable—either in the eyes of his mother or the woman he’d finally chosen to marry.

He slanted Leila a glance as they walked toward the weathered wood barn and adjoining stables. He couldn’t deny that she got his juices going, but she sure wasn’t suitable for ranch life. He’d give her a week, two at the most, and she’d be long gone, very likely back to her home country. He loved Texas as much as the next man, but it wasn’t an easy place to live, not on a ranch, anyway. The summer could be hotter than Hades, the winters cold enough to freeze the teats off a heifer. In between there was plenty of hard, demanding work, wide-open spaces and a sense of accomplishment he’d never be able to find with a desk job.

“Do they raise any cattle where you come from?” he asked.

Her hair shifted like a veil as she turned toward him, the sun catching the strands and making them gleam like polished agate. “Oh, no, we raise oil. A great deal of it. And we export large quantities of steel and cement. Munir is a very wealthy country.”

“Then you like it there?” he asked hopefully. Maybe she’d get homesick and want to go back sooner rather than later.

Her slender shoulders lifted in a shrug of denial. “Women do not have as much freedom there as they do in America.”

Reaching the corral, he placed a booted foot on the lower fence rung and leaned his elbow on the top. “Guess you don’t get to ride much at home then, and that’s why your mount got away from you.”

She lifted her head in a haughty manner and her eyes sparked. “That is not true. I am an excellent—” She stumbled momentarily, obviously remembering the incident. “The horse spooked. Dirt blew in his face. I do not know why he did not respond to my command.”

He smiled at her bravado. Two days ago she’d been terrified. Now she was—arrogant.

One of the cow ponies, a dun-colored mare with a darker brown mane, trotted over to the fence and stuck her head over the top. Without hesitation, Leila rubbed the mare’s nose and scratched behind her ears.

“Her name is Betsy. You like horses?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. Although this one is not as elegant as my broth—the pure-blooded Arabians in Sheikh Ashraf’s stables. Still, she is very pretty.”

“She can run rings around any Arabian you can name when it comes to rounding up cattle. Those Arabians are all show and no go, as far as I’m concerned.”

She sniffed. “If you say so.”

Her comment amused rather than irritated him. “If you stick around long enough, I’ll give you a shot at riding one of my cutting horses.”

Her interest perked up immediately. “You would do that?”

“Sure. We’ll pick you a gentle one. Wouldn’t want to risk another runaway.”

“I promise, if your horse has been properly trained, I will keep him under control this time.”

Despite her previous lapse, Cord pretty much believed Leila. Attitude had a lot to do with a rider’s ability to handle a horse. Leila was so self-assured that most of his remuda wouldn’t try any shenanigans while she had a hold of the reins. Which made him wonder what had gone wrong earlier in the week.

“Come on. There’s more to see.” He gestured toward the adjacent barn.

She gave the horse a final rub between the ears, crooning, “I will come again, pretty Betsy, and bring you a carrot next time. Would you like that?” The cow pony nodded her approval.

Cord walked Leila into the barn, standing back to watch her reaction. He could all but see her delicate little nostrils quiver at the earthy scents of hay and manure, leather, neat’s-foot oil and liniment.

She turned, a bemused expression on her face. “I was rarely allowed in the stables at the palace. This smells so…alive.”

“Yeah.” So was she. Caught in a column of sunlight beaming in through the hayloft window, she looked radiant. Glowing with vitality and filled with sensual promise. It was enough to make a man rethink his long stint of celibacy. Which, in this case, was not a good idea. An honorable man did not mess with a woman who was so obviously innocent. At least in this part of Texas, that wasn’t done.

A mewling sound came from the back of a nearby stall.

Leila peered in that direction. “Oh, look, a kitten.” She slipped into the stall, picking up a young brown-and-black ball of fluff with white paws that looked to be only a few weeks old. “She is so tiny. Where is her mother?”

Cord shrugged with indifference. “Hard to tell. We usually have a couple of barn cats around to take care of the rodents.”

“But she should not leave her baby all alone.” She rubbed her cheek across the kitten’s head. “This little one is lonely and frightened. Hungry, too, I think. Perhaps the mother is injured.”

Her concern for a feral cat raised to fend for itself amused Cord. “I’m sure her mom will come back. Why don’t you leave the kitten there, and we’ll check later.”

With obvious reluctance, Leila made a nest of hay in the corner of the stall, murmured reassuring words to the kitten, then tucked her into the nest as though she were putting a baby to bed for the night.

“I will come back later to be sure you are all right, little one. I promise.”

He gestured for her to leave the kitten. There were more outbuildings to be seen.

One of his hired hands, Joe Piedmont, picked that moment to come strolling into the barn, his long legs so bowed he could probably walk right over a five-hundred-gallon propane tank without touching the sides.

“Hey, boss,” he drawled.

Cord dragged his attention away from Leila. “Joe, this is Leila. She’s going to be our housekeeper for a while.”

The cowboy’s jaw dropped, then he scrambled to yank his battered hat from his head. “Howdy, miss. Glad to meetcha.”

She honored him with a dazzling smile. “It is my pleasure, Mr. Joe.”

The cowboy’s face flamed a bright red, and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his scrawny neck.

Cord grimaced. “There somethin’ you want from me, Joe?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Meeting Leila had obviously caused him to lose his train of thought. In a few more minutes, he’d probably forget his own name. “We was wondering when you wanted us to start weaning the calves.”

“Tomorrow would be as good a time as any, assuming the weather holds.”

“Gotcha, boss.” Struggling to get his hat on straight, he backed toward the wide-open barn door. “Sure was nice to meetcha, miss. The fellas will be real happy to have you around.”

“Thank you, Mr. Joe,” she said sweetly.

“Joe’ll do, miss.”

She nodded just as Joe backed into the side of the door, practically knocking himself out. He spun around and hurried outside, moving faster than Cord had seen him go since one of the breeding bulls got stung on the rump by a bee.

Cord stifled a laugh. Getting any work done around the ranch was going to be tough until his hands got used to Leila being there. Which might take quite awhile.

His assessment of the situation was confirmed when Red Galliger happened to amble by while Cord was showing the calving barn to Leila. Ty Thomas and Pablo Ramirez came around to get an eyeful as they passed by the bunkhouse. At the chicken coop, Lester Smith joined the crowd. By the end of the week, Cord figured he’d have cowpokes from every ranch within a fifty-mile radius hanging around.

He wasn’t quite sure why that bothered him so much.

Even the old rooster who guarded the henhouse let out an ear-piercing crow of welcome and flapped his wings to show off.

Leila’s eyes sparkled with all the attention. “So you raise chickens as well as cows?”

“All the eggs and drumsticks you could ask for,” Cord said. “Speaking of which, maybe we ought to let you get started on supper and let my men get back to work.” He gave his cowhands a pointed look, which eventually got them moving back to whatever chores Leila’s arrival had interrupted.

“As you wish.” Leila tossed her head in much the same way the lead mare of a wild herd would, letting the world know that no stallion, however powerful and ambitious, could get her to do a thing she didn’t want to.

Cord decided that didn’t bode well for him or the Flying Ace Ranch.

ALLIE HAD PROCRASTINATED about as long as she could.

She’d hung her few garments in the minuscule closet, set out her soaps and lotions in the bathroom, which seemed even smaller. Fortunately, when she tested the bed, it appeared to have a firm mattress. She would sleep well. Assuming Cord did not send her packing when he discovered she’d never cooked a meal in her life.

Straightening her shoulders, she walked from her room to the kitchen, which was rather like entering a foreign land. There were so many cupboards, so many gleaming appliances, she didn’t know where to begin. Tentatively, she opened the cabinet beneath the sink and frowned at the plastic container half-full of garbage.

“Maria keeps most of the cleaning supplies on the service porch, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

Allie jumped at the sound of Brianna’s voice.

“No, I was just getting acquainted with where things are.”

“Before Maria left, she stocked the pantry and freezer with enough food to last us a month. I’m sure you’ll find everything you need.”

Assuming she could find the pantry. Leila smiled weakly. “Of course.”

“If you’ve got a minute, I need for you to fill out these papers for my payroll records.” She placed a form on the kitchen table along with a ballpoint pen. “You know how the government is about details.”

Happy to delay her cooking task, she sat at the table and bent over the form. “Leila Khautori,” she printed. For the address she wrote “Flying Ace.” She had no idea what the phone number might be, and she certainly had no references or prior employment experience. Finally she slid the form back to Brianna, who looked it over.

“Your social security number?” she asked.

“I do not know what that is.”

“You mean you don’t know your number, or you don’t have one?”

“I am sure I do not have one.”

Brianna’s smooth forehead puckered into a disapproving frown. “You’ve really got to have one or I can’t handle the taxes and withholding.” She thought a moment, visibly trying to think through the problem. “I guess the best thing is for you to apply for one at the Bridle post office, and we can wait till your number arrives to send in the paperwork.”

“That would be the same place I can get a green card?”

Wincing, Brianna shook her head and picked up the form Allie had just completed by forging Leila’s signature. “Why don’t I talk with Cord? I’m sure he has something in mind.”

Allie hoped so. “Tell me, Brianna, what kind of food does Cord like to eat?” Something simple, she prayed. Although given Allie’s culinary expertise, a bunch of grapes would be the only meal within her capabilities.

“He’s not real fussy. Like most bachelors, I suppose. Anything you’d like to fix I’m sure would be fine with him. He does like his coffee black and strong, though, particularly in the morning.”

Given the proper ingredients, that was one thing Allie felt she could handle. “And this pantry you speak of?”

Brianna’s gaze slid to a door next to the entrance to Allie’s bedroom. “That’s it. What you don’t find there will probably be in the fridge or in one of these cupboards. There’s also a freezer in the barn with a side of beef in it, but you probably won’t need that.”

Not likely. “You have been most helpful. Thank you.”

“Don’t plan anything fancy. We usually eat here in the kitchen when it’s just the two of us.”

“Eating with the servants. How democratic.”