Книга - Cowboy Seeks Perfect Wife

Cowboy Seeks Perfect Wife
Linda Lewis


RUMOR HAD IT…Rafe McMasters was looking for a wife! Shouldn't be a heap of trouble for the town's most eligible bachelor. Until Rafe got an unexpected houseguest–and tongues began wagging about the chorus girl who'd come to stay….Sidonie Saddler was far from a suitable bride, but the red-haired beauty in the bedroom next door made Rafe almost forget his wifely requirements. All the cowboy could think about was waking up next to passionate Sidonie, day after day after day….Sidonie didn't go for arrogant ranchers, but she couldn't let sexy Rafe settle for a second-best bride. She'd just show him that even a carefree chorus girl could be a settle-down wife. That is, if the chorus girl fell in love….









Table of Contents


Cover Page (#u4369e9dc-5ba1-5eeb-a5f4-913ef41ef271)

Excerpt (#ud6b1d928-0230-5257-90bb-9c5209b8a9c0)

Dear Reader (#ud81f16be-6c46-54be-b935-75f4c727d658)

Title Page (#u3777019b-7cb3-59b8-9dcd-ff7eb3debd36)

Dedication (#u869f9cfc-8977-5fb6-8df3-875b25b6e93d)

About the Author (#ueac7a227-8fbb-5237-b596-37d1427efc44)

Chapter One (#uda50f204-bb08-51f8-8451-dfe03ab48cad)

Chapter Two (#u1ad097d8-1b98-54ea-9144-bbbe847bd003)

Chapter Three (#uf69448e3-f404-54ff-a234-a28754aa45e6)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




“You ought to be afraid of staying the night alone with me,” Rafe said.


Sidonie laughed. “I’m not scared.”



“Maybe you should be,” he muttered. “I’ve been known to take advantage of sweet, young things.”



“I’m not sweet,” Sidonie said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Then she kicked off her shoes and began rolling the leg warmer down her right leg.



“What are you doing?”



“Getting ready for bed.” She took off the other leg warmer. Grabbing the hem of her sweater, she pulled it up far enough to expose her midriff.



“You won’t take your clothes off in front of me.”



“Oh, yes I will.” Sidonie grinned before giving him a pitying look. “Give it up, McMasters. I’m staying no matter what you say.”



She pulled the sweater over her head. When she could see again, the door was closing. Slowly.



“Good night, Mr. McMasters,” she cooed sweetly.




Dear Reader,

Love is always in the air at Silhouette Romance. But this month, it might take a while for the characters of May’s stunning lineup to figure that out! Here’s what some of them have to say:

“I’ve just found out the birth mother of my son is back in town. What’s a protective single dad to do?”—FABULOUS FATHER Jared O’Neal in Anne Peters’s My Baby, Your Son

“What was I thinking, inviting a perfect—albeit beautiful—stranger to stay at my house?”—member of THE SINGLE DADDY CLUB, Reece Newton, from Beauty and the Bachelor Dad by Donna Clayton

“I’ve got one last chance to keep my ranch but it means agreeing to marry a man I hardly know!”—Rose Murdock from The Rancher’s Bride by Stella Bagwell, part of her TWINS ON THE DOORSTEP miniseries

“Would you believe my little white lie of a fiancé just showed up—and he’s better than I ever imagined!” —Ellen Rhoades, one of our SURPRISE BRIDES in Myrna Mackenzie’s The Secret Groom

“I will not allow my search for a bride to be waylaid by that attractive, but totally unsuitable, redhead again!”—sexy rancher Rafe McMasters in Cowboy Seeks Perfect Wife by Linda Lewis

“We know Sabrina would be the perfect mom for us—we just have to convince Dad to marry her!”—the precocious twins from Gayle Kaye’s Daddyhood

Happy Reading!

Melissa Senate

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont L2A 5X3




Cowboy Seeks Perfect Wife

Linda Lewis







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For Melissa Jeglinski’s mother, Delphine Jeglinski. Because she has such a wonderful daughter, and because she read my first book and liked it.




LINDA LEWIS


did not begin writing until she was fifty, having frittered away her youth on law school and a career as a tax attorney. However, she did find time during those wasted years for reading, reading, reading. Romance novels are her favorite genre because the woman always wins and the books always end happily. When it was time to decide on a retirement career, writing romance novels won hands down over preparing tax returns. Fortunately, Silhouette went along with her plan and agreed to publish her books. Linda lives in New Orleans with five cats and a long-haired Chihuahua named Tupsa. Write her at P.O. Box 6098, New Orleans, Louisiana 70174.




Chapter One (#ulink_aeb38d17-9c94-5be5-bcb5-31e29fcf95b7)


Sidonie Saddler slammed her foot on the brakes, and her brand-new red pickup truck shuddered to a stop. The small dog on the seat next to her slid onto the floor and looked accusingly at Sidonie.

“Sorry, pup. I wasn’t expecting a gate. Are you okay?”

The solemn-faced dog hopped back onto the seat, turned around three times and curled up into a ball. Sidonie gave the animal a quick pat and opened the truck door. She eyed the shiny aluminum gate illuminated by the headlights. “There shouldn’t be a gate,” she muttered, wincing as she straightened her left leg to get out of the truck.

The road only led to one place, her father’s ranch— her ranch for the twelve years since his death. Sidonie unfastened the gate and swung it open, then returned to the pickup and drove through. She hadn’t lived in the country for years, but she remembered to stop and close the gate behind her.

“We’re almost home,” she told her passenger. Excitement began to build inside her, muting the painful throb from her left knee. Against doctor’s orders, she’d taken the brace off for the drive from Dallas to Cache, Texas, and she’d been paying the price since Alvarado. Ignoring the pain, Sidonie wondered at her strong feeling of homecoming. She’d always thought of herself as a gypsy wanderer, a rolling stone, not á homebody.

Lately, though, even before the accident, she’d begun having these strange longings for home and hearth. At first she’d shrugged them off and gone on to the next rehearsal, the next opening with her usual enthusiasm for the new and different. New people and different places had always been the lure that kept her moving on, never settling down.

But a new kind of excitement gripped her now, and the feeling had grown with every mile. She was going home. Embarrassing to admit, but the sound of the pickup’s wheels on the paved road sounded suspiciously like Dorothy’s voice in The Wizard of Oz. She could swear the tires were humming, “There’s no place like home, no place like home.”

But Cache, Texas, hadn’t been her home for years. Not since she was five. She hadn’t visited the place more than two or three times since Buck died. She hadn’t gotten emotional on those trips, so why this time?

After a few moments she figured it out. Sanctuary. She was heading for sanctuary. The ranch was going to be her refuge while she healed and regained her strength. This feeling of homecoming wouldn’t last. As soon as her body was well and strong again the old restlessness would return and she’d be on her way again.

But when she caught her first glimpse of the frame house with its wraparound porches, Sidonie had to swallow a lump the size of a grapefruit. Blinking tears away, she patted the little dog on the head. “Home, sweet home,” she murmured, a little embarrassed by her weepy sentimentality.

She sat for a few moments drinking in the moonlit scene. The hackberry tree she’d first climbed when she was eight stood on the side of the house, one of its branches still drooping temptingly close to Sidonie’s bedroom window. Crepe myrtle trees her mother had planted flanked the short walk to the front porch, and pecan trees towered over the back of the house. “Everything is just the same.” Sidonie sighed, relieved. She hadn’t known until that moment how much she longed for something familiar, something unchanging.

“Enough being maudlin,” she said briskly, blinking the mist from her eyes. It wasn’t like her to get emotional over a place, even the place where she’d been born.

Sidonie opened the truck door and got out, waiting until the dog had jumped to the ground before starting up the walk. Wagging its tail, the little dog followed her to the front porch.

The porch light was on, thank goodness. When she’d called Judge Longstreet to have the water and electricity turned on, she’d only talked to his answering machine. The welcoming light proved he’d gotten the message. It had occurred to her, on the long drive from Dallas, that it might take more than a few hours to get the job done. The thought of arriving at a cold, dark house in the middle of the night had almost made her stop at the next motel and wait until morning to finish the drive. That would have been the sensible thing to do.

Sidonie reached down and scratched the scruffy little dog behind her ears. “But if I’d done the sensible thing, I wouldn’t have met you.”

Remembering how the dog had been cowering under a picnic bench at the rest area where she’d stopped to stretch her legs, she had to blink away more tears. Poor little thing, so lost and alone. She’d lured the abandoned and starving dog to her with cold French fries left over from a stop at a Dairy Queen.

“Come on, dog, let’s get in out of the cold.”

The porch light went off the instant Sidonie put her key in the lock. The small hairs on the back of her neck rose as the door swung open before she turned the key. Someone was in the house! Sidonie’s brain barely registered the dark, masculine shape in the shadowed doorway before she reacted instinctively.

She kneed the man in the groin.

Unfortunately she used her injured knee to do it. The man fell to the floor and folded into a fetal position. Sidonie fell on top of him, clutching her knee. He did not break her fall—the man was as hard as the hardwood floor.

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” moaned Sidonie.

“Ow! Ow! Ow!” groaned the man.

The dog seemed to think it was a game. She was dancing around, yapping at the two entangled humans.

The man shoved Sidonie aside and rolled onto his knees. After a few deep breaths, he got up. Bent over, he staggered to the wall switch and turned on the hall light.

“Why did you do that?” he snarled. “Who the hell are you?”

“Who the hell wants to know?” Sidonie snarled back as she struggled to a sitting position. That was as far as she could get by herself.

She eyed the man leaning against the wall, gasping for breath. He didn’t look like a burglar. More like a banker—if bankers ever had a sleepy, rumpled sort of look. He was wearing a white shirt, unbuttoned and untucked in, and dark blue trousers. A conservatively striped red-and-navy silk tie hung loosely around his neck.

The clincher was his feet. They were bare. No shoes, no socks. He couldn’t be a burglar. Everyone knew burglars wore black, from their ski masks to their rubber-soled shoes.

“Why did you knee me?” he asked again, through tightly clenched teeth.

“I didn’t expect anyone to be in my house. Why are you here?”

“I live here.”

“No, you don’t.” She held out her hand. “Help me up.”

“Yes, ma’am, at your service, ma’am,” he said, hobbling closer. His overly polite response did not sound completely sincere to Sidonie, but she took his hand, anyway.

The man yanked her upright before she was ready to stand. Her knee promptly buckled, and Sidonie fell into the man’s arms. Holding on for dear life, she couldn’t help but notice that he wasn’t a flabby kind of banker. Solid as a rock. Sidonie looked into the man’s dark brown eyes. An involuntary shiver ran down her spine. This man might not be a burglar, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous.

“What did you say your name was?”

“McMasters. Rafe McMasters,” he muttered, trying to unwind Sidonie’s arms from around his neck.

“Don’t let me go! I’ll fall.”

He let her go, and she promptly fell at his feet. Or would have if he hadn’t grabbed her around the waist at the last minute.

“What’s wrong with you, Miss…?”

“Sidonie…Saddler,” she gasped, gritting her teeth against the pain. “Nothing’s wrong with me. I have a little problem with my knee, but it’s only temporary.”

“I have a problem with your knee, too,” he said. “I sure as hell hope it’s only temporary. Wait a minute. Did you say Saddler? You’re Buck Saddler’s daughter?”

“Sidonie immediately felt safer, and not because McMasters still had his arms around her waist. If the man had known her father, he couldn’t be too dangerous.

Before she could do more than nod, McMasters swung her into his arms and carried her into the parlor. Setting her down on the couch, he asked, “What are you doing here?”

Sidonie stuck her nose in the air, partly to convey a haughty attitude and partly to cover her confusion. Dozens of men—most of them dance partners—had swung her into their arms. But none of them had affected her as this man had done. With only a touch, and an impersonal one at that, he had her heart pounding and her palms sweating. She eyed him suspiciously. He still looked like a banker. It couldn’t be him making her feel all hot and bothered. The strange weakness she’d felt in his arms must be a side effect of her medication. Except she hadn’t had a pill all day.

“Well? Are you going to answer me?”

Her chin came up another notch. “Here happens to be my home.”

“Not now it isn’t. And not for another three months. I lease this place.”

“Oh, no, you don’t. The land maybe, but not the house. I never lease the house. Judge Longstreet wouldn’t do that without telling—” Sidonie. stopped.

She hadn’t actually read the last lease the judge had sent her, but the cover letter had mentioned something about new terms. “Uh-oh. We may have a problem.” She reached down and rubbed her knee. “Would you mind getting my knee brace out of the pickup?”

He started for the door.

“My suitcase, too, please and thank you.”

He paused and looked over his shoulder, frowning. “You won’t be needing that. You’re not staying.” He turned away and walked out the door.

“My pain medicine is in the suitcase,” she called after him.

While she waited for his return, Sidonie shrugged out of her black leather trench coat. She was wearing a pale pink angora sweater with cherry red skorts and pink leg warmers. Sidonie loved pink and red, and she didn’t care a fig what the world thought about redheads who wore clashing colors.

And she didn’t care what McMasters said about a lease. She was staying in her house. If anyone was leaving, he was. She’d evict him. Judge Longstreet would tell her how to go about it. Satisfied that it was only a matter of time before she had her house to herself, Sidonie stood up. She was bent at the waist, touching her toes, when McMasters returned, carrying her brace in one hand and her battered suitcase in the other.

She straightened up and reached for the ceiling, stretching first her left, then her right side. When McMasters caught sight of her, he stopped in his tracks and gaped. Sidonie sighed. She often had that effect on men. She attributed it to her spectacular body and her flame red hair. Males, she had learned, were often impressed by such superficialities.

While he stood staring at her with his mouth open, she looked him over, but more discreetly. She, having a dancer’s appreciation for a beautiful body, could admire his tall, rangy frame without ogling. His face wasn’t bad, either—if a square jaw, bold cheekbones and a sensuous mouth appealed.

She took her suitcase from him, being careful to avoid touching him. She was almost sure it hadn’t been his touch that had caused her pulse to race, but she wasn’t taking any chances. Not while she was tired and coping with her bewildering feelings of homecoming.

McMasters closed his mouth, narrowed his eyes and gave her another look she recognized. Pure, unadulterated desire. Tiny chills skittered down her spine, and she could hear her pulse pounding in her ears. If he was exhibiting the signs of instant lust, maybe what she was feeling was the same thing. Several seconds ticked by as they looked at each other.

With an effort, Sidonie tore her gaze from his hypnotic stare and set the suitcase down and opened it. She couldn’t want a man she’d just met. She didn’t have time for lust, if that truly was what she was feeling. Rummaging through the case, she located her bottie of pain pills. She held it up with a triumphant grin. “Thanks, I needed this.”

“Do you want a glass of water?” he asked, frowning at her.

Maybe she’d misread him, too. At second glance, he looked more aggravated than attracted. “That would be nice.”

He left the room and returned in a few minutes with the water. As he handed it to her, he glanced at the open suitcase at her feet.

“Is this all you brought with you?”

“Yes.” That was all she owned, besides her temporary investment in the pickup. Sidonie prided herself on being able to carry all her worldly possessions in one suitcase.

“Good. You’re not planning on a long stay.”

“Just long enough for my knee to heal. A few weeks, a couple of months at most.”

“You won’t have any trouble finding a room to rent somewhere. For the rest of tonight, you can go to the motel over on Highway 283.” He came closer and handed her the molded plastic brace. “Close the gate on your way out.”

“I closed the gate on my way in. Why is there a gate? The road doesn’t go anywhere but here.”

“Now it goes to my place, too, and I put up the gate so the road wouldn’t become public property. I like my privacy. So feel free to leave, the sooner the better.”

Sidonie fitted the brace on her leg and fastened the Velcro straps. “I’m staying in my house. In my room,” she said firmly. “That’s not negotiable.”

He crossed his arms, calling Sidonie’s attention to his broad chest. “Everything’s negotiable, Miss Saddler,” he drawled. “But I can tell you right now, you’re not staying here.”

“Why not?”

McMasters clenched his square jaw. “I have a lease.”

“So you say,” Sidonie rejoined coolly. “May I see it?” She could tell that request knocked him off balance. Sidonie smiled seductively, intending to keep him that way.

He shook his head. “Not tonight. The lease is at the bank, in my safety-deposit box.”

“Tomorrow, then. But until you can prove you belong here, I’m staying.” She reached for her suitcase and started for her bedroom at the rear of the house. “You can stay, too, of course. I wouldn’t dream of making you go to a motel at this time of night.”

Making a choking sound, he moved in front of her, blocking her exit from the parlor. “I was here first,” he said, snapping his dark brows together in a menacing scowl.

It didn’t scare her. She was not in the mood to be intimidated by a…banker. “Not really. I was born here.” She squeezed by him.

He sucked in his breath as she brushed against him. Sidonie turned her head away, to hide her smug smile. There was more than one way to handle a man, especially the pompous kind, but this way worked so well.

He let her pass, then followed her so closely Sidonie could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck. She walked faster, not caring that speed accentuated her ungainliness.

“What kind of female are you, anyway? You ought to be afraid of staying the night alone with me.”

Sidonie laughed. She wasn’t falling for his dangerous man act. “I’m not scared.”

“Maybe you should be,” he growled. “I’ve been known to take advantage of sweet young things.”

“I’m not so sweet,” she countered.

“Not that young, either.”

She stopped in her tracks. “There’s no need to be insulting.” Twenty-eight wasn’t old, even for a dancer. She still had a few good years left, provided her knee cooperated.

“I don’t suppose you’re worried about your reputation, either.” He put his hands on her shoulders.

Sidonie jumped. She could handle him fine, as long as he didn’t touch her. She tried to shrug out from under his hands, but he only tightened his grip. “What does that mean?”

“A lady would worry about what people will say when they find out she spent the night with me.”

Sidonie tossed her head, sending her red hair flying. “Would she, really? Is spending the night with a banker considered unladylike in this part of the world?”

“I’m not a banker,” he said, taking his hands away. He sounded startled.

At the door to her old bedroom, Sidonie turned to face him. “No? A preacher, then?”

“Hell, no.”

She waited. Apparently he wasn’t going to elaborate. “I’m a dancer. And you might as well know—I don’t care what people, say about me.”

“I didn’t think so. But I do care what people say about me. You can’t stay here.”

Sidonie arched an eyebrow. “Why?”

He rolled his eyes back. “I have a lease.”

“And now you have a roommate to go with it.”

“I don’t want a roommate! The lease—which you signed—entitles me to exclusive possession of this house for three more months.”

“You don’t have to stay. I won’t sue you if you break the lease.”

A muscle worked in his jaw. “I’m staying. You’re leaving.”

“No, I’m not. Get used to it, McMasters. And don’t worry. Like I told you before, I don’t care what people will say.”

“No, you wouldn’t, would you? Your type isn’t bothered by gossip,” he said, sneering.

“My type? Golly, gee whiz. You must be one of those old fogies who think show business isn’t respectable. I’ve heard about your kind. Repressed, inhibited—”

He reached for her.

“Hey!” Sidonie slapped his hands away. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“First I’m going to shut you up. Then I’m throwing you out.”

“You can’t do that.” Sidonie backed into her room. “I need to stay here. I don’t have anyplace else to go.

“The motel,” he said, advancing toward her.

“I took a pain pill, remember?” She whimpered, shooting him her best pitiful look. “Once it kicks in, I won’t be able to drive.”

“Not a problem. I’ll drive you there.”

She glared at him. So much for appealing to his sensitive side. The man was a cold, unfeeling clod. And a sanctimonious snob, to boot. How could she ever have thought he was attractive? “I’m not going to a motel, especially not a tacky no-tell motel like the one on 283. This is my home, and I’m staying right here, lease or no lease.”

“Don’t try to con me, Miss Saddler. You may own this place, but it’s not your home. You haven’t lived here since you were five years old.”

“I beg your pardon. I’ll have you know I spent every summer here until Daddy—until I was sixteen. And I’ve been back to visit a few times since then, when I was between jobs.”

He was not impressed. She could tell by the way he continued to look at her as if she were the poster girl for tacky behavior.

Narrowing her eyes, she tried another angle. “Look, Mr. McMasters. I can’t go anyplace else. I don’t have any money. Medical bills, you know?” She pointed to her knee. “Plus, I used the last of my ready cash to buy a pickup.”

“I’ll advance you next month’s rent.”

Exasperated, Sidonie threw up her hands and turned her back to him. She wasn’t getting anywhere with the arrogant, stubborn son of—“Oh, look. Isn’t that cute?”

With a triumphant grin, Sidonie pointed to the dog curled up in a ball in the middle of her white fourposter bed. “We can’t go to a motel. They don’t allow pets. Where are the sheets? As soon as I make up the bed and take a quick shower, I’ll—”

“The dog can stay. You can pick her up tomorrow. What’s her name?”

“I don’t know. We just met. Go away, McMasters. I’m tired, and I want to go to bed.” Sidonie sat on the edge of the bed and unfastened the brace. Then she kicked off her shoes and began rolling the leg warmer down her right leg.

“You ought to give the dog a name if you plan on keeping her.” His gaze shifted from the dog to her. “What are you doing?”

“Getting ready for bed.” She took off the other leg warmer, revealing a tiny scar on her left knee. Grabbing the hem of her sweater, she pulled it up far enough to expose her midriff.

“You won’t take your clothes off in front of me.”

“Oh, yes, I will.” Sidonie grinned. Modesty was one virtue a dancer lost early. She’d undressed onstage, offstage and backstage, in crowded, communal dressing rooms for years. She gave him a pitying look. “Give it up, McMasters. Me and the no-name dog are staying.”

She pulled the sweater over her head. When she could see again, the door was closing. Slowly.

“Good night, Mr. McMasters,” she cooed sweetly.

The door opened a crack and she could see one eye flashing balefully. “All right! One night. You can stay here one night. But that’s it. Tomorrow you’re finding someplace else. Understand?”

“You don’t have to shout,” she yelled.

“I never shout,” he yelled back, slamming the door shut.



Rafe stared at the bedroom door he’d run for, the minute Sidonie started her striptease. Except she hadn’t been teasing. She’d been playing to win, and she had succeeded. She was sleeping in his house. Only for one night, sure, but that was bound to be one night too many. If anyone found out, and odds were that someone would, the good people of Proffit County would have a new episode to add to the saga of Rafe McMasters. They’d talk and talk about him and the redheaded temptress who now sat triumphantly behind the closed bedroom door.

They’d think he hadn’t changed at all.

Tugging his tie from around his neck, Rafe paused at the door to his room. He’d been getting ready for bed himself when he’d heard someone drive up. He glanced at his watch. That was only half an hour ago. He’d been tired, ready for sleep, until she’d shown up and attacked him.

Now he was wide-awake. With a disgusted groan he turned on his bare heel and walked through the house to the front room. Heading for the window, he pulled the curtains back and looked up the hill opposite the house. He could see the dark outline of his house silhouetted against the night sky.

A fierce sense of pride filled him. He’d done it! It had taken fifteen long years, countless hours of hard work and a little luck, but he was finally back where he belonged. The land had been the first step. No one in his family had ever owned his own land. Beginning with his great-grandfather, the first McMasters to settle in Proffit County, the men in his family had worked for other men all their lives. Rafe had vowed to change that, and he was well on his way to succeeding.

Over the years he’d bought the land, a few acres at a time. Now he owned a good part of the county— enough land to challenge Emmet Clancy for the title of biggest rancher in the area. But that was only the first step in executing his lifelong plan. Rafe glanced at his house on the hill again. In a few months he’d be living in the biggest and best house in the county. After that he needed only one thing to reach his goal. A wife.

For years Rafe had planned on becoming a rancher, a respected member of the community, marrying a woman who knew what it meant to be a rancher’s wife. He’d almost realized his goal years ago, when Cathy Sue Clancy had agreed to marry him, but then—

With a muttered oath Rafe stopped that line of thought. No guilt, no regrets. He’d find another woman, someone with the all the right qualities. Together they would raise a family and build a solid, respectable life together. His mouth curved in a sardonic smile. He could kiss that part of his plan goodbye, unless he could get Sidonie out of the house, and fast. No self-respecting woman—no lady—would keep company with a man living with a chorus girl.

He knew all about Sidonie. People still talked about her and her mother, the Las Vegas showgirl Buck had married thirty years ago. Almost as much as they talked about him.

Sidonie could call herself a dancer all she wanted to, but he knew darn well she only danced in the chorus. That made her a chorus girl. A tightening in his loins forced him to admit Sidonie was well endowed with all the talent needed for that job—long legs, sensuous curves and clear blue eyes filled with seductive promises. If he wasn’t looking to settle down, she’d be exactly the kind of woman he’d enjoy getting to know—in the Biblical sense. But he’d sown all his wild oats years ago. No more flings for him, no matter how tempting his unwelcome guest.

Even if his feet weren’t firmly set on the road to respectability, a man would think twice before getting involved with someone like Sidonie. Look what a dancing girl had done to Buck Saddler. Broken his heart, that’s what. After only a few years of being a rancher’s wife, Belle had left him for the bright lights of Broadway, taking Sidonie with her. After that, they hadn’t stayed put in any one place for long.

Buck had shown him postcards and playbills from every major and not so major American city, and more than a few European ones. Belle and Sidonie had traveled all over the world. Rafe suppressed the sudden twinge of envy caused by visions of London and Paris. Looking up the hill at his house, he concentrated hard on why he’d come back to Proffit County. He’d seen some of the world himself—mostly corporate boardrooms and luxury hotels, now that he thought about it. But there would be time to travel again, once he had his plan fully realized.

First he had to get rid of Sidonie.

His reputation would have sent any other female running for cover, but Sidonie obviously didn’t know anything about him. The one time his notoriety might have been of some use, he had to come up against a woman who’d never heard the stories about his wild and woolly youth She hadn’t run. She’d kneed him.

He should have grabbed her by the scruff of her shapely neck and thrown her out the door. He would have, too, if her surprise attack hadn’t taken him out of the match.

By the time he’d recovered, his brain had registered several important facts about her. One, Sidonie Saddler was the daughter of the best friend he’d ever had in Proffit County. Two, she was injured.

And three, she could give a ninety-year-old eunuch erotic dreams.




Chapter Two (#ulink_d5f010d4-6331-5ca7-9e08-b268dd4fa55a)


Sidonie was awakened by a cold nose and a whine. She got up and let the dog out the front door, then looked for her reluctant host. Rafe McMasters was nowhere to be found but he’d left an envelope addressed to her on the kitchen table. It contained a check for a thousand dollars and a brief note. “Happy house hunting.” He’d signed it “McMasters.”

Sidonie tore up the note, but she folded the check and put it in her handbag. Lease money went to Judge Longstreet for deposit into her trust account. After she fed the dog a can of chili she found in the pantry, Sidonie returned to her bedroom.

Her single suitcase rule didn’t allow for many clothes, so her wardrobe consisted mostly of rehearsal outfits—leotards, tights, shorts and slacks. She unpacked, hanging her colorful clothes—she favored primary colors over pastels—in her old closet. While stashing her underwear in the dresser, she found several pairs of faded jeans folded in the bottom drawer, along with a couple of Western shirts. Neither her old clothes nor her current wardrobe coordinated with the black plastic brace.

The brace was standing in the corner of her bedroom. She left it there. She had to go to town, and she couldn’t wear the hateful thing when she drove. She topped a chrome yellow leotard and matching tights with a turquoise wraparound skirt that ended a few inches above her knees. As soon as she’d dressed, she returned to the kitchen.

“Come on, pup.” The small dog licked the last of the chili from its mouth and followed Sidonie to the pickup.

Once they were on their way, Sidonie looked at the dog. “The fuddy-duddy was right about one thing. You need a name.” Scratching the dog behind the ear, she thought for a moment. “Gypsy. You’re a gypsy, like me. That’s what I’ll call you.”

She dropped Gypsy off at the vet’s, then headed for the Proffit County Courthouse and Judge Tyler Longstreet’s courtroom.

“Well, well, well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” Judge Longstreet enveloped Sidonie in a bear hug and led her into his chambers. “When you walked in, all bright and shiny like a new penny, I couldn’t believe it. You’re really here.” He hugged her again, then held her away from him. “How’s the knee?”

“Getting better.”

“When did you get in? Did you get my message?”

“Late last night. What message?”

“I called the hotel to tell you not to go home. You have a tenant, remember? Where did you stay last night? With Maggie and the doc?”

“No. I haven’t seen Maggie yet. Tenant. That’s what I want to talk to you about. Judge.” She paused for dramatic effect. “There’s a man in my house.”

“I know that. Isn’t that what we’ve been talking about? Your tenant, Rafe McMasters. He leased the place a few months back.”

“I only lease the land.”

“You didn’t read the last lease before you signed it, did you?” He shook his head. “Sidonie, girl, how many times have I told you—”

“Always read before you sign. I know. But the leases have always been the same, up until this one. Why did you lease the house?”

“Didn’t you see the rent he’s paying? Your trust account is pretty healthy, even after taking out that chunk for your medical bills, but you can’t touch the principal until you’re thirty. Not for everyday living expenses, only for emergencies. You won’t be thirty for two more years. You’re going to need that extra .money for food and rent and other necessities, while you figure out a new way to earn a living.”

“I’ll earn a living the same way I always have— dancing.”

The judge frowned. “Not according to what the doctors told me. They said—”

“Never mind what they said. I know more about what my body can do than any doctor. I’m going to be fine. All I need is a place to relax and time to get back in shape.”

Tyler looked like he wanted to argue with her, but instead he asked, “Where did you stay last night? You never said.”

“I stayed at home, but I had to fight that man tooth and nail to do it. He’s the most—”

The judge’s mouth dropped open. “You stayed the night with Rafe McMasters? You got into a fight with him?”

“I never laid a hand on him.” A knee but not a hand. Judge Longstreet didn’t need to know about that. “What’s wrong? You look shocked.”

“I’m not shocked. Surprised, maybe. You…and Rafe McMasters. Oh, my.”

He still looked shocked to Sidonie. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Judge. Believe me, we didn’t make mad, passionate love on the kitchen table.”

“I didn’t think you did. I know you and Rafe wouldn’t…”

He looked embarrassed. Sidonie grinned. The judge had always been more naive than a man his age, in his profession, should be. “You’re right about that. We definitely wouldn’t. He’s not my type.” She wasn’t sure what her type was, but arrogant, self-righteous fuddy-duddies didn’t even make it to the bottom of her list. Not even if they had bodies to die for.

Judge Longstreet’s bushy white eyebrows came together in a puzzled frown. Clearing his throat, he continued. “Harrumph. I’d have thought a wealthy, handsome man was almost any woman’s type.” His brow smoothed. “But you’re smarter than most women, aren’t you? What have you learned about McMasters?”

“That he’s living in my house and he looks down his nose at dancers. What else should I know about him?”

The judge shot her a disappointed look. “That’s all?”

Rafe had put every nerve ending she had on red alert every time he’d touched her, but she wasn’t going to tell that to Judge Longstreet. She shook her head.

“Nothing else? Too bad. Rafe McMasters’s homecoming has been the main topic of conversation around here for weeks. Of course, now that you’ve shown up, there will be something new to talk about. But the two of you together—oh, my. Him, the prodigal son come home, and you, looking just like your mother. All big, blue eyes and long, long legs…” Tyler’s eyes glazed over momentarily, then he caught himself. “Harrumph. That is to say, you two will be a major topic of conversation around these parts.”

“That’s what he said. But why?”

“He left town under something of a cloud fifteen years ago. No one’s heard from him since. Then he turns up out of the blue three months ago, holding title to half the county. Turns out he’d been buying up land here in Proffit County for years, through a nominee. But we still don’t know where he was all those years, or what he’s been up to.”

“Okay, I can see how people might find that a little bit interesting, but why would they talk about me?”

“You know how the town’s always been fascinated by your mother and you. You two are the only show business folks ever to come from Cache.”

“We’re not exactly famous, either one of us. Mom never made it out of the chorus line until she gave up dancing and became a choreographer. Neither have I.”

“You’re the closest thing to famous around these parts. Especially after that video you were in with that rock star—what’s his name?”

“Duke Devlin. I do well enough for my purposes, but I’m a long way from being a star.” Sidonie shrugged. “But if people find me and the stuffed shirt fascinating, they can talk about us all they want.”

“Stuffed shirt? That’s how you see him?”

She nodded warily. “Don’t you?”

“Not hardly. Rafe McMasters was the roughest, toughest cowboy in Proffit County when he was a young man. Doing real well on the rodeo circuit, he was. But he was always in trouble, right up to and including the day he left town. Now he’s back, throwing money around like it was water. How did he make his fortune? Answer me that, if you can.”

Ignoring the question, which was obviously rhetorical, Sidonie concentrated on the image the judge’s words conjured up—Rafe McMasters in tight jeans and cowboy boots, a Western shirt straining to cover his muscled chest…Sidonie blinked and the image was gone.

“Cowboy? Rough and tough? You can’t mean Mr. Prude and Prejudice. Judge, the man wears a three-piece suit to bed. Did you say he left town under a cloud? What on earth did he do?”

“Never you mind. You get out of here and find a place to stay. I’d let you stay with me, but a pretty young thing like you living with an old bachelor like me would cause tongues to wag, too. Why don’t you go see the widow Harris? She runs a real respectable boardinghouse.”

“I’m beginning to remember why Mom left here. She always told me people in Cache were much too concerned with everyone else’s business.” Sidonie walked around the desk and placed a kiss on the judge’s receding hairline. “I’m staying at my place.”

“You can’t stay there. Not as long as Rafe is in residence.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. How do we get him out of my house?”

“He’ll be out in three months. That’s when the lease is up.”

“Can’t we break it, somehow?”

“I drew it up. You signed it. It’s unbreakable.”

Sidonie left the judge’s chambers dismayed, but far from discouraged. She’d find a way to stay on her land, in her house, and she knew just who to go to for help. She drove to the home of her best friend in Cache, Maggie Malone Parker.

“Sidonie!” Maggie hugged her so hard she thought her ribs might snap. “When did you get here? I thought you weren’t coming for another week or two. Your medical files haven’t even gotten here yet.”

“I broke out of the rehab center. I couldn’t take it any longer. I wanted to come home.” Sidonie swallowed the lump in her throat and hugged Maggie back.

Holding her friend at arm’s length, she gave her a searching look. Maggie Parker was a petite…blonde. This week. She had a habit of changing her hair color every few months. Maggie claimed it was the only adventurous thing she ever did, but Sidonie knew better. They’d always been equally talented when it came to cooking up schemes.

“Aren’t you supposed to be wearing a brace? And should you be driving? Where did you get that cute little truck?”

Laughing, Sidonie let Maggie lead her into the cozy cottage. “Yes, probably not and Dallas. I went straight from the airport to the dealership.”

“You bought it? Does that mean you’re home for good?”

“No. No.” Sidonie frowned. Trust Maggie to figure out right away that it didn’t make sense for her to buy a pickup. Once she had a job and was back on the road again, she’d have to sell it. “I know I should have rented a car, but I wasn’t sure how long I’d be here. And I thought I’d stay in Texas for a while— there are lots of opportunities for dancers, at least in the summer. The State Fair musicals, Casa Mañana in Fort Worth…” She trailed off. She’d always been able to read Maggie like a book. Now she was reading disbelief. “I am going to dance again, Maggie,” Sidonie said softly.

Another fierce hug. “Of course you are, sweetie. When did you get in? Just now?”

“No, late last night.”

Confusion showed on Maggie’s face. “Last night? Where did you stay? Not at that tacky motel at the edge of town.”

She shook her head. “At home, of course.”

Maggie’s eyes widened. “You spent the night with Rafe McMasters?”

“Good grief! Does the whole town know he’s living in my house?”

Nodding her head vigorously, Maggie pushed Sidonie in the direction of the kitchen. “Yes, indeed. Everyone knows Rafe is staying at the Saddler home place. You spent the night with him?”

“You make it sound like we slept together. We weren’t even in the same room, Maggie. Only under the same roof.”

Maggie had the grace to blush. “Well, of course you didn’t sleep with him. You just met. But you’ve got to tell me everything. Where’s he been all these years? Why did he come back, do you know?” Maggie was practically drooling.

“I have no idea. We spent our time together exchanging insults, not life stories,” Sidonie said dryly. “First Judge Longstreet and now you. What is so intriguing about Rafe McMasters and his homecoming?”

Maggie sighed. “I’ve heard stories about him ever since I was” knee-high to a grasshopper. The man’s a legend. But no one’s seen or heard from him for fifteen years—not since he jilted Cathy Sue and ran off with that exotic dancer.”

Sidonie’s jaw dropped. “A stripper? He ran off with a stripper?”

“Practically left poor Cathy Sue waiting at the altar. Although I shouldn’t call her poor. Her daddy’s the richest man in Proffit County. Or he was, until Rafe came back. Folks are saying he’s got more money than Emmet Clancy ever thought about.”

“I don’t know who or what you’re talking about.”

“No, that’s right, you wouldn’t. Cathy and Rafe were in high school together—eight or nine years ahead of us. It started out as a real romantic love story—Cathy Sue, the daughter of the biggest rancher in the county, and Rafe, the son of one of his cowhands. Rafe wasn’t a hand, though. He was on his way to being a championship rodeo cowboy. That’s when Cathy Sue and he got together.”

Maggie sighed dreamily. “For a while, it looked like they would live happily ever after. Mr. Clancy eventually came around and gave his blessing to the engagement. A big church wedding was in the works—I know because one of my cousins was going to be a bridesmaid. And then, boom, it was all over. Rafe left town and never came back.”

“With a stripper?”

“Well, that part of the story’s a little fuzzy. Some of the men in town saw Rafe a few months later in a honky-tonk in Fort Worth. He was with a woman a few of them claimed they’d seen a whole lot of— although, when push came to shove, none of them would actually admit they’d been to a burlesque show.”

“I don’t think it’s true. I can’t see him running off with a dancer.”

“Why not?”

“The way he looked at me after I told him I dance for a living—like I just crawled out from under a rock.”

“Get out of here! I never saw a man look at you with anything but lusty admiration.”

“Well, Rafe McMasters does not admire me, and the feeling is mutual. I still don’t see why Rafe’s a legend if all he did was break up with his girlfriend. Did Cathy Sue go into a decline and die of a broken heart?”

“Not hardly. Getting jilted by Rafe was the only bad thing that ever happened to Cathy Sue, and she recovered from that blow pretty fast. She married her dad’s foreman—J. D. Nicholls—a few months later.”

“Well then, how did he get his reputation?”

“Rafe McMasters is a mystery. If he was fooling around with the exotic dancer, where did he meet her? He’d been in Cache for months, recovering from an injury. If he wasn’t cheating on Cathy Sue, why did he leave her? She never would say. Our sweet Cathy Sue’s too much of a lady to air her dirty linen in public.”

“Do I detect a hint of sarcasm? Don’t you like Cathy Sue?”

“Not much. She’s always been there for me and every other female in Proffit County to compare ourselves to—the ideal Texas lady, a cross between a Southern belle and a pioneer woman. Trust me, we all suffer by comparison.”

Chuckling, Sidonie asked, “And just what makes her so special?”

“Everyone thinks Cathy Sue is the ideal homemaker, the perfect wife and mother—with the possible exception of J.D. and Darcy, her husband and daughter. They are the ones who actually have to live up to her impossibly high standards. I swear, living in the same town with her is like living next door to Martha Stewart.”

“Now, that is interesting. Why would Rafe dump someone like her? Based on our brief time together, I’d say a female paragon is exactly his type.” Why that should give Sidonie a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she couldn’t begin to fathom. She sniffed dismissively. “Too bad she’s married. If she were still available, they could reconcile. Then he could move in with her and leave my house to me.”

“Some folks do think Cathy Sue is the reason he’s come back. Including Cathy Sue, for one. Oh, she doesn’t say so, just gets a wistful, faraway look in her eyes whenever his name is mentioned. J.D.’s not too happy, either. Probably afraid he’s not up to the competition if Rafe really does make a play for his wife. After all, Rafe has his own ranch now, the biggest in the county from what I hear. J.D.’s still only the foreman at the Clancy spread. I have a feeling that if he wanted to, Rafe could get Cathy Sue with one crook of his little finger.”

“He wouldn’t do that.” Somehow she’d gotten the definite impression that, no matter how stuffy he was, Rafe McMasters was an honorable man. Not the kind to chase atter a married woman.

“You’re probably right. I doubt Rafe has suddenly decided he made a mistake all those years ago. He’ll find someone else to marry.”

“What makes you think he’s going to marry anyone?”

“That huge house he’s building. It’s much too big for one man. He must be planning on starting a family. Wouldn’t it be great if he found a woman even more perfect than Cathy Sue? It would be refreshing to see the blue ribbons at the Proffit County Fair on something she didn’t make.”

“Cathy Sue beats out your peach cobbler?”

Maggie nodded. “Every damn year.”

Sidonie patted Maggie on the shoulder. “All right. Here’s the plan. We’ll shoot her. Where does this Cathy Sue person live?”

Maggie giggled. “That’s going too far, even for us. And I have to admit, the talk about him and Cathy Sue is pure speculation. And that’s only one story. Some folks think he’s back to get even with J.D., the theory being that if J.D. hadn’t snapped Cathy Sue up so fast, she would have waited for Rafe. Other people think Rafe wants to ruin Emmet.”

“Why would he want to do that?”

“All kinds of reasons, most of which are kind of vague. He’s a real mystery.”

“Well, someone else can solve him. I’ve got other things to do. Like hug my goddaughter. Where is she?”

“Elizabeth’s at school of course. She’s so excited about you coming home. She’s discovered ballet on the learning channel and she wants dance lessons.”

Sidonie frowned. Dance lessons? Maggie knew Sidonie’s feelings about teaching—that was what dancers did after they retired. Was Maggie pushing her toward a new career, too? “The closest dance studio is in Dallas, isn’t it?”

Maggie didn’t pursue the subject. “Where are you going to live until Rafe moves out? I’d offer to let you stay here, but we only have the two bedrooms, now that Rayburn’s turned one into a study.”

“I have a place to stay. Unfortunately I’ll have to share it with McMasters. It turns out he really does have a lease on the house, and Judge Longstreet says I can’t get out of it.”

Maggie shot her a dubious look. “Do you think he’ll go for a roommate?”

“Not willingly. That’s why I came to you. We have to figure out a way to make him go for it. You always were good at getting people to do what you wanted.”

Maggie grinned. “Don’t let Rayburn hear you say that—I’ve got him convinced he’s the boss.”

Crossing her heart, Sidonie grinned back. “My lips are sealed.”

Maggie’s brows drew together in fierce concentration. “There was something…I know! I saw it in the paper just this morning. He’s advertised for a live-in cook/housekeeper. But I’m pretty sure he means for the house he’s building. It won’t be finished for another month or so.” She rummaged around in a stack of magazines and pulled out the latest copy of the Cache Register, the town’s weekly newspaper.

Sidonie snatched it out of her hands. “Let me see that.” Turning to the classified ads at the back of the paper, she quickly ran her eye down the columns. “Aha! You’re right, Maggie. Here it is.” She scanned the ad. “This is perfect. I won’t even try to talk him into letting me stay. I’ll just apply for the job. I’d have to clean and cook for myself, anyway.”

“Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched, Sidonie. Every woman in town under eighty is going to apply for that job.”

“But I’ve got the inside track. My suitcase is already unpacked. And the ad does say to start in two months. I’ll just have to convince him he needs a housekeeper now.”

“Well, maybe that will work. I guess you can clean all right. But you can’t cook.”

“Yes, I can. Well, a few things. I’ll learn others, if I need to.”

“Are you sure it’ll be safe? Living with a man like that?” Maggie shivered, just like she’d done when they’d told ghost stories at slumber parties.

Sidonie suppressed an answering shiver. Rafe McMasters should not induce shivers in anyone, except maybe a clone of Cathy What’s-her-name. He certainly was not her type. Oh, if what the judge and Maggie said were true, he might have been at one time—she was as much a sucker for bad boys as any red-blooded American female. But a rancher in banker’s clothing? No way.

“A man like what? He might have been a troublemaker when he was younger, but he’s changed. Now he’s an upright, uptight solid citizen. And you know there is nothing stuffier than a reformed rogue.”

“Rafe McMasters?” Maggie’s face fell. “Say it isn’t so.”

“Can’t. The man’s a dull, stodgy businessman. And, as far as I could tell on our short acquaintance, he’s happy about it, to boot.”

After leaving her friend’s house, Sidonie swung by the vet’s to pick up Gypsy. Bathed and groomed, she still looked like a mutt. “Never mind. I love you, anyway.”

The telephone was ringing off the wall when she and Gypsy got home, and no one was there to answer it. Rafe must be giving her plenty of time to clear out. Sidonie hesitated only a second before picking up the receiver. It might be some poor woman looking for a job, one that had already been filled.

Rafe McMasters might not know it yet, but he had a housekeeper. Her.

“Hello. McMasters residence.”

“Hello. Who’s this? Don’t tell me—I might have known he wouldn’t waste any time. Boy thinks he’s wasted too much time already.”

“Who is this?”

“Fielding. Cornelius Fielding. I thought he might have gotten tired of country life by now, be ready to come back to the Windy City. Plenty of women here, I told him. Plenty of other business opportunities, too, if he became bored with commodity trading. But he’s had his mind made up, and nothing I offered could change it. Three things he wanted and now I guess he’s got them all.”

“Cornelius Fielding?” The man was talking a mile a minute, but his name had registered. “The billionaire?”

“Please. Multibillionaire. The richest man in the United States—except for that computer genius, darn him. Fat lot of good it does me, if I can’t keep a good man on the payroll. What’s your name, young lady? He must have swept you right off your feet. Fast worker, that Rafe McMasters. Always has been. Saved my life, you know. That’s how we met. Been working for me ever since, until he finally got enough money to execute his plan. Rafe’s big on planning things out, you know. First part was easy—knew he’d get that part. Land and a house. All that takes is money, and I did teach him a thing or two about making money. But I thought finding a woman, the right woman, would have been harder. It should have been. Especially one with all those essentials.”

“Essentials?” The man was talking so fast, Sidonie could barely keep up.

“Qualifications he said he wanted for his wife. Told him he shouldn’t set his standards too high. Not too low, either. But perfection’s hard to come by. No offense, but I thought maybe he’d never find you. What did you say your name was? See it on the wedding invitation, I know, but I like to know what to call the people I care about.”

“Sidonie. Sidonie Saddler. And I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. Rafe works for you?”

“Worked. For almost fifteen years. Told me from the first he’d be moving on when he was ready to go after his dream. Not in those words, you understand. Rafe says he doesn’t dream, he plans. Whatever he calls it, it looks like he’s done it—gotten the whole kit and caboodle. The land, the house and the woman. You be good to him. Rafe McMasters deserves the best.”

“Mr. Fielding, you’ve—”

“Corny, call me Corny. I’m going to be godfather to your children. Didn’t he tell you that? You don’t object, do you? Good thing to have a muitibillionaire as a godfather.”

“No kidding. But, Corny—”

“Sid—what did you say your name was again? Sidney?”

“Sidney with an o in the middle. Sid-oh-nee.”

“Well, Sidonie, I like you. “Fraid I wouldn’t, you know. Rafe’s idea of an ideal woman wasn’t mine. So, when’s the wedding?”

“I have no idea. I’m not his fiancée, I’m his housekeeper.”

“Housekeeper?”

“Well, he doesn’t know it yet, but I’m applying for the job. He’s living in my house, and he advertised for a housekeeper. I want to stay here, and I don’t mind cooking and cleaning, so it should work out Don’t you think?”

“My, my. This sounds interesting. How did he end up in your house?”

“He rented it. Behind my back.”

“Not like Rafe to be underhanded—”

“Oh, he wasn’t. My financial guardian rented the house to him while I was in New York, not knowing that I would need it. I’ve decided not to evict Mr. McMasters, as long as he lets me stay here with him.” She paused. “You know him better than I do. What do you think? Will he go for it?”

“You don’t sound like any housekeeper I ever met. How much experience do you have?”

“None. But how hard can it be to keep a house clean? I’m not afraid of work.”

“Can you cook?”

“Sort of.”

“What do you do, Sidonie? Interesting name, that. Don’t think I’ve ever heard it before.”

“My mother wanted an unusual name for me—one that would look good on a marquee.”

“Ah. You’re an actress.”

“No. A dancer. But I hurt my knee and I need a place to stay while I get back in shape. I thought I had one, but then I got here—”

“A dancer? Who can’t cook.” Cornelius chuckled. “Tell me, young lady, what do you look like?”

“I’m tall, five feet eight inches, red hair, blue eyes. And Rafe doesn’t think I’m a lady. Why?”

“Lady or not, you sound like the right woman to me—just the person to teach that boy what really is essential in a marriage.”

“I don’t want to marry him. I want to live with him. I mean, I just want to live in my house. As his housekeeper. Do you think he’ll agree to that?”

“If Rafe doesn’t hire you, or marry you, you come to Chicago and look me up. I’ve been a widower for twenty years—thought I’d never find another wife as good as the first one, but you might change my mind. And, Sidonie, tell him I said to remember my motto— Never Pass Up An Opportunity.”

“I’m not sure he’ll think of me as an opportunity.”

“If he doesn’t, he’s a fool.”




Chapter Three (#ulink_b65c8bc7-775d-5da7-af71-8063dacc5f41)


“All right, Miss Saddler. You’re hired.”

She flashed him a smile that made his knees go as weak as his head. He had to be soft in the head—he’d just agreed to make Sidonie Saddler his housekeeper.

His live-in housekeeper. He’d have to move, of course. No way could he live under the same roof with her—not if he wanted a rat’s chance in a maze of courting any of the ladies in the county. No decent woman would put up with a chorus girl, even if she were disguised as a housekeeper.

Rafe pushed himself away from the kitchen counter he’d been leaning on and headed for the door. “Come into the study and I’ll give you your instructions.” Wrestling with his problem—how to keep Sidonie safe and himself sober and respectable—made the words come out curt and cold. He was halfway down the hall before he realized she wasn’t following him. He glanced over his shoulder.

Sidonie was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. When he caught her eye, she said coolly, “I’ll be with you as soon as I feed Gypsy.”

He should have known Sidonie wasn’t going to be a subservient kind of servant. “Gypsy? Oh, that’s what you named the mutt. I guess she’ll be staying, too.”

“That’s all right, isn’t it?”

For the first time that afternoon, Sidonie looked worried. Mostly she’d been doing a great imitation of a steamroller. She’d flattened him out in a New York minute.

“Yeah, the dog can stay.” Rafe made a disgusted noise as he stomped to his study. What had he done? A woman like her living in the same house was the last thing he needed. Housekeeper? Ha! No one was going to buy that story. Sidonie sure as hell didn’t look like a woman who knew how to cook and clean.

But she was hurt, and her injury reminded him of his own knee problem years ago, the injury that had ended his career as a rodeo cowboy. He’d come to this very place to heal—first his body and later his heart. After he’d recovered, Buck Saddler had loaned him a stake, enough money for a new start in another place. Buck had been thrown from a horse and killed before Rafe could pay him back.

Rafe had decided that leasing Buck’s ranch house for twice the going rate would finally wipe out the old liability. Apparently his way wasn’t good enough for whatever fate had sent Buck’s daughter home. Helping Sidonie was going to be the interest on the debt

Rafe couldn’t turn Sidonie away from her own home, not after all Buck Saddler had done for him, not when she was hurting and looking for a safe place to curl up and lick her wounds. She needed time to figure out what she was going to do with the rest of her life. He’d been there. He knew what it was like to have the future you’d planned blow up in your face.

Rafe sat down at his desk, put his face in his hands and groaned. He’d always had a weak spot for strays and underdogs, but he’d never adopted a chorus girl before. With her flaming red hair, blue eyes and long, long legs, Sidonie was bound to cause trouble. And trouble was something he’d sworn he was going to stay away from the day he left Cache. With one notable exception—the night he’d first met Cornelius Fielding—he’d kept his vow.

And he was his own man, now. No one was going to mistake him for someone who could be bought this time around.

He leaned back and stared at the door, squaring his jaw. No redheaded, blue-eyed temptress was going to lead him around like a bull with a ring through his nose. The fact that his unwanted houseguest had wakened his long-dormant hormones was just bad timing. A few more weeks and he’d be engaged, and his hormones could rage all they wanted to. He could wait.

The cause of his dilemma strolled through his study door, a satisfied smile on her face. He couldn’t fault her for looking smug. He had met her less than twenty-four hours ago, and she’d gotten everything she’d wanted from him so far. That had to stop. If he didn’t let her know right now who was the boss of this outfit, no telling what she’d be up to next.

“Sit.” He nodded at the chair in front of his desk.

“Standing’s more comfortable. My knee.” She pointed to the brace on her left leg.

He cleared his throat and tried again. “Your duties are—

“Oh, I know. I cook your meals, clean the house…do your laundry. In a day or two I’ll know whether you wear boxers or briefs.” She winked at him, a slow, sexy wink, and his toes curled in his loafers.

He held up a hand. “Let me do this, all right? I’d like to feel like I’m the one in charge.” She shot him a surprised look, but she kept her mouth shut for a change. “I expect breakfast on the table at six, lunch at noon and dinner at six. I want real food, meat and potatoes. No quiche, no pasta and no fancy French sauces. Understand?”

She nodded. That worried look flashed across her face again. Damn. She probably didn’t even know how to cook something simple. On top of everything else, he was going to starve. He shifted his gaze away from Sidonie. He couldn’t look at her—if she batted those baby blues at him one more time, he’d be agreeing to sweep and dust and bring her breakfast in bed.

Staring out the window, he continued. “I’ll let you know if I’m not going to be here at mealtime. I’m stocking my ranch, so I’ll be doing a lot of traveling in the next few months—visiting ranches with breeding stock, going to cattle auctions here and in the neighboring counties. We probably won’t see that much of each other.” He hoped.

When he forced himself to meet her gaze, he caught her grinning at him. She sobered immediately and nodded. “Is that all?”

“No. When I’m away, you’ll be responsible for feeding and watering the stock on this place. Right now that’s only my horse and one Beefmaster steer, but there’s more on the way. The breeding stock I buy will have to stay here until my barn and corrals are finished. Can you handle it?”

“Sure.” She frowned. “I’ve heard of Longhorns and Shorthorns, Angus and Herefords, but what’s a Beefmaster?”

“Another breed of cattle. Tom Lasater developed it—breeding for six essential traits.”





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/linda-lewis/cowboy-seeks-perfect-wife/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.