The Rancher's Mail-Order Bride Read online

  He raised his brows at the drama in her voice. “Were you wigging out?”

  “Yes.” She used her thumb to push the ice cream off the spoon onto the pie. “I hate to admit it, but each day I felt like I was coping less and less. It’s hard to say exactly why or what was causing it.”

  “I’d imagine getting a divorce and being pregnant is enough to bring even the strongest women down a notch.” Unable to help himself, he snagged her hand, brought it to his mouth. “You’ve got a drip of ice cream.” He licked the sticky sweet cream from the pad of her thumb. “Right there.”

  She went absolutely still, her lips parted, her misty green eyes following every movement he made. He might have smiled at her stunned expression, but he was a little dazed himself.

  The yip-yip of a coyote drifted through the window, breaking the spell.

  She took a breath, pulled her hand away.

  He reached for his fork, surprised how unsteady his own hand was, and nearly moaned as the homemade pie dazzled his taste buds.

  “So, what did you do for work where you lived? Or did you have a job? I know you said your ex was an attorney.”

  She put away the ice-cream carton, poured coffee and sat back down before answering. “Yes, Allan was in a high-income bracket, but he never felt like we had enough. He liked to spend and entertain. So I worked at a shipping port doing clerical work for a company that paid me an obscenely huge wage.”

  “Obscenely huge, huh?” With his fork he pointed to where her ice cream was melting atop her pie.

  “Well, it was much better than average. Great benefits.” She spooned a bite of dessert, toyed with the puddles of white that smeared her plate, glancing covertly at her thumb and then at his mouth.

  “And the problem?” he asked, trying not to be aroused by her thoughts. Because crazy as it seemed, he could see what she was thinking. About him licking her fingers. Wondering if he’d do it again if she were to dip them into her plate.

  And he would. In a heartbeat. And that’s not all he’d want to lick….

  “It was tedious work,” she said, jerking him back to attention. “No challenge. I was cooped up in a windowless office. Even going outside on break was boring, just a sea of asphalt parking lots, the smell of diesel from eighteen-wheelers lined at the gates waiting to drop off their containers to be loaded onto the ships, a freeway overpass mere yards away jammed night and day with too many cars.”

  Hearing her describe it, he realized she’d have been wilting like a flower in the Sahara. “So you opted for the Big Sky Country.”

  “It’s beautiful here. Different. Peaceful. Definitely has atmosphere.”

  “You don’t have to convince me. I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”

  “You work very hard, though, and in terrible weather conditions sometimes.”

  He shrugged. “As you said, it’s what a person’s used to. I grew up here, never knew any other type of life. This one fulfills me, so much so that I’d never even consider something else.”

  “That’s such a wonderful way to feel. Everyone should be in love with their life, their work.”

  “And you definitely weren’t.” He hesitated. “Uh, how are you fixed for money? I’m assuming Allan’s paying you child support for Ian—” He stopped, his brows drawing together when she shook her head. “He’s not?”

  “No. After the divorce papers came, he called and told me not to expect child support payments. He gave me the house and my car and the money in our checking account. I sold the house to pay off the mortgage and the car to pay off the loan, then bought the SUV and came here to start over.”

  “There are laws to make him pay. These are his kids.”

  “He’s somewhere in Jamaica—out of reach. And he doesn’t want his kids.”

  “That’s inexcusable.”

  “That’s Allan.”

  If Wyatt’s brows got any lower, they’d cover his eyes. “Doesn’t sound to me like you came out on the best end of the stick.”

  “Oh, but I did. I got Ian and my baby. So don’t go feeling guilty again, Wyatt. Coming here was my choice.”

  “Based on letters you thought I wrote.”

  “True. But I have savings and stock market investments. The insurance from my last job will see me through the birth of this baby.” She pressed a hand to her swollen stomach. “So I’m not destitute. And I have skills to get work.” Though she hadn’t thought about working. Ozzie—masquerading as Wyatt—had told her the ranch would be her work. Being a wife and mother and companion would be her work.

  In today’s climate of feminism and two-income families, it wasn’t always politically correct or even feasible to want to be a homemaker. But that’s exactly what Hannah wanted.

  A loving career as a mother and a rancher’s wife.

  By coming to Montana, she’d taken a big chance with her life and that of her kids. Gambled on a dream. On a man. Her cowboy.

  But the rules of the game had changed and now, basically, she was here at Wyatt’s ranch exchanging cooking and cleaning for room and board.

  And instruction on ranch life.

  He was training her to be someone else’s wife.

  And she desperately wanted to be his.

  “OHMYGOSH, ohmygosh, ohmygosh!” Hannah quickly shut the door that blocked the kitchen from the rest of the house, and sprinted out the front door. Ian was on the porch.

  “Stay right here, Ian. Don’t go in the house.” She continued down the porch steps and ran across the yard, dodging puddles left by the small rainstorm that had passed through overnight.

  As though he could sense her coming, Wyatt looked up from the horse he was about to mount, saw her and was now striding just as quickly in her direction, meeting her halfway.

  “Slow down, Hannah. You could fall. Running can’t be good for the baby.” His hands wrapped around her shoulders to steady, to soothe. The brim of his hat shaded his eyes, but couldn’t disguise his concern.

  “I’m fine.” She wished she had a moment, or the sanity, to bask in his genuine protectiveness. But her mind could only concentrate on one thing.

  A furry, horrible thing.

  “You’re not fine. What’s wrong?”

  “Skunk…” Her hands were shaking and so was her voice. Her lungs wouldn’t seem to fill with enough air, yet she labored as though she’d just run a mile.

  Lord have mercy, this was not in her fantasy brochure.

  “What?”

  She swallowed, tried to steady her voice, made every effort to speak slowly and rationally, without fear or revulsion.

  “There’s a skunk in the kitchen. I apologize for continually interrupting your work, but—but would you please go shoo it out?”

  Wyatt felt his lips twitch. “Darlin’ you don’t shoo a skunk.”

  “Okay, poor choice of words. And don’t you dare laugh at me. Even I know what happens when you get too close to one of those creatures! However, that’s the extent of my knowledge, and I’d like it out of my kitchen, please.”

  My kitchen. He couldn’t quite define how her possessive choice of words made him feel.

  “Best thing to do is leave the doors open and wait till he wanders back out—and hope he doesn’t decide to cozy up in the rest of the house first.”

  “I shut the kitchen door, so he’s hemmed in. I don’t think the back door is wide-open, though. Ian must have left it ajar.” She grabbed a strand of hair that blew in her face. “How long do you suppose the skunk will take to, uh, wander? I’ve got stuff to do.”

  “Hard to say. I’ll go open the back door all the way.”

  He started across the yard and realized she was following him. He smiled. Every day he was a little more charmed by this city woman who’d burst into his life uninvited—at least by him. He didn’t want to feel these soft feelings, but they just wouldn’t quit, no matter how many talks he had with himself.

  He paused, turned, and she nearly slammed into his chest. His hand shot out to steady h
er. “You might want to stay clear. No telling how close he is to the back door.”

  “You mean he might spray you?”

  “Could.”

  “Should you get someone else to help you?”

  “No sense in two of us getting a stink bath.”

  “Oh. Of course not. I’m so sorry about this.”

  “It’s not your fault, Hannah. Why don’t you make sure Ian stays on the porch?”

  She reversed directions, mounted the steps and watched from there, noting that Ian was preoccupied with the puppies and hadn’t caught wind of what was going on. Thank goodness. He’d probably want to chase the darn skunk.

  The billy goat wandered into the yard, chewing as usual. Heaven only knows what he was eating. That silly goat was always munching on something. It was a wonder he wasn’t as big as a steer. And how he kept getting loose from his leash was a constant baffle. The darn animal was a highly skilled escape artist.

  “Billy, no. Don’t go over there. Come here. That’s a good goat.” Reluctant to leave the safety of the porch, she nevertheless went down the steps so Billy wouldn’t come up. Next thing he’d be wanting to come in the living room and sit on the furniture. He was entirely too free on the grounds as it was. No sense allowing him to think he could have the run of the house, too. He’d probably eat the couch.

  “Why don’t you go over there and torment the rooster? He’s entirely too full of himself. Chase him a bit and bring him down a peg or two, hmm?” She shoved, urging the goat away from the house and away from Wyatt’s direction.

  It seemed that each day she was bombarded with something new. And though she’d asked for this, idealized this life-style, it was a lot to assimilate in one short week.

  First the introduction to the farm and ranch animals. Then it was snakes and peacocks. Now the skunk. Never mind the lovesick goat intent on eating everything in sight.

  All these new experiences were exhilarating yet daunting, and invariably surrounding or attached to some kind of feathers, fur or scales.

  She wondered what could be next, then realized she hadn’t interacted with the llama yet. Peachy.

  She was going to master these animals, come to friendly terms with them, or die trying.

  Except for the snakes and skunks. She had to draw the line somewhere.

  Wyatt came back around the house to the front porch, feeling his heart soften when Ian popped up from playing with the puppies.

  “Hi, Wyatt!” he chirped, bouncing up and down, raising his arms. “You could pick me up!”

  “I don’t know. I might not have enough muscles.”

  Wyatt lifted the boy, perching him on a shoulder, and Ian giggled.

  “Yeah! I’m way, way big up to the sky! I’m stwong, too.” He plucked off Wyatt’s hat and transferred it to his own head, his face nearly disappearing under the Stetson.

  “Ian, calm down,” Hannah admonished.

  “’Kay. See my p-puppies, Wyatt? They’re sleepin’. They got tired.”

  “Then you ought to let them have a nap.” This little boy was so cute and Wyatt fought the intense feelings that welled in him. The sound of Ian’s voice, his little-boy smell, his constant questions and hero worship, his mischievous streak, were all part of a package that Wyatt had once dreamed about.

  But not anymore. Those dreams were dead and buried.

  “Any luck with the skunk?” Hannah asked.

  “The door’s open. It’s a waiting game right now.” He noticed that Skeeter and the men were still in the corral waiting for him. But Hannah was trapped on the porch and he was about to go move part of the herd to a closer pasture. “How do you guys feel about hanging out with me for the day?”

  “I’ve interrupted you enough.”

  “Hannah, I don’t mind.” He saw Skeeter start in their direction, and when Ian waved exuberantly and nearly wiggled them both off balance, he set the boy on his feet. Like a gamboling puppy, Ian skipped off the porch and met Skeeter, bouncing around the old cowboy’s legs, asking questions and imparting information without pause, never waiting for answers or affirmations.

  Skeeter grinned and stopped a few feet away from the porch. “You coming, boss?”

  “Actually, I was just trying to talk Hannah into joining us. Got a curious skunk playing house in the kitchen.”

  “That’ll never do.” Skeeter’s gaze bobbed to Hannah’s stomach. “Don’t know how advisable it’d be for Miss Hannah to ride, though.”

  “I could ride,” Ian said.

  Wyatt smiled, an idea taking form. The adventure would be perfect for the boy. “Hannah and I can take the truck.”

  “What are we talking about here?” Hannah asked.

  “We’re going to round up part of the herd, park ’em closer to home and ready them for branding.”

  “You want us to go on a cattle drive?”

  “Just a short one. It’ll only take part of the day.”

  “Not a bad idea,” Skeeter said. “Ian, here, can ride out with me.”

  “On a horse?” Hannah asked faintly.

  “Sure. He’ll be safe as a kangaroo in its mama’s pouch.”

  “Yeah!” Ian shouted.

  “How safe is that?”

  “A bit bouncy, but protected.”

  “Please, Mama?” Ian looked up at her with such hope she knew she’d have to set aside her own fears.

  She trusted Skeeter. And she trusted Wyatt. If he didn’t feel it was safe for Ian to ride, he’d say so.

  She looked at Wyatt. “Are you sure?”

  “Skeeter’s main job is to ride herd on the boys. He’ll only be traveling at a walk. It’ll be an easy ride. You and I will take the truck. It’ll do you good to get out of the house. See a little more of the countryside, more of the double M.”

  “Should I change?”

  He looked down at her tennis shoes and jeans, the lightweight sweater that skimmed her thighs. Everywhere his gaze touched was like a physical caress. “You’re fine like you are. What do you say?”

  She glanced at Skeeter. “Are you sure you don’t mind taking Ian?”

  “Don’t mind a bit.”

  She nodded, feeling excitement build. “Okay. Ian, you mind Skeeter, now.”

  “’Kay.” His grin rivaled the sun as he hop-skipped alongside Skeeter toward the corral and the saddled horses.

  Wyatt put a hand at Hannah’s waist and guided her off the porch, then held open the door of the crewcab pickup. The men on horseback got a head start.

  “We’ll check the drops first and catch up,” he told her, starting the truck.

  “What on earth are the drops?” She kept her eyes on her son who was mounted in front of Skeeter on a sleek-looking chestnut horse.

  “Calves. We’ve separated the heifers that are still pregnant and parked them nearby in case there’re problems. Several times a day, we check that group for new baby calves and any signs of mamas in distress that need to be moved to the calving shed.”

  “Oh.” The suspension on the truck was sturdy, and though the ride was bumpy, it was smoother than being on horseback. Hannah felt a bit of anxiety when the men on horseback turned in the opposite direction.

  “Relax. They’ll be fine. And we’ll meet up with them in a bit.”

  She smiled self-consciously. “Am I that transparent?”

  “You’re a mother.”

  It pleased her that he understood. With the window down, Hannah appreciated the sweet song of nature around them. The light storm that had blown in and out last night left the air clean and fragrant. Raindrops dripped off the pine boughs that had been planted close to the house to serve as a windbreak. A woodpecker searched for a meal high in a tree. As they rolled along the road by a creek, she feasted her eyes on a field of yellow daisies waving in the sun.

  Spring seemed to have bloomed on the landscape overnight. Puffy clouds scuttled by like silent ghosts in a bright-blue sky, holding court over a sea of green grass. A meadowlark burst into song atop a fence post a
nd the border collie, Bandit, raced ahead of the truck, darting off to chase a grasshopper or some other insect.

  “Are there a lot of baby cows still to be born?”

  “Some. Most of the late ones are already in the pen where we can watch them, but you never know if you’ve missed a few. The guys ride the range several times a day and check on them.”

  They were following a rutted trail bordered by a fence on one side and the creek on the other. Wyatt slowed the truck by a fence post that was listing as though it were a causality of a hit-and-run vehicle.

  He put the truck in park. “Hang on a second. Let me see if I can straighten that post.” He grabbed a hammer and a pair of gloves out of the back and went over to attend to the downed fence.

  From the open window of the truck, she watched him work, his hat pulled low over his brow shading his face from the sun, his shoulders straining at the seams of his chambray shirt as he tugged and pounded at the barbed wire and steel post.

  She was struck again by how capable this man was. He took care of what was his and did a darn fine job of it. His hands could wield wire cutters or maneuver a two-thousand-pound bull. They could cradle a puppy, ruffle a little boy’s hair, or reverently cup a woman’s pregnant belly.

  Her heart gave a skip when she recalled his touch, the way he looked at her. It was unique and totally new to her.

  From her experience with men in the city—and Allan in particular—they were so preoccupied and stressed, they’d glance at a woman but never give her their full attention. Their minds would wander to stock quotes, legal briefs, computers or whatever—perhaps even their latest mistress as no doubt Allan’s had.

  Here, though, it was so different. Maybe it was the slower pace. More than likely, it was the man. Because when Wyatt Malone looked at her, he really looked at her. With his whole being and undivided attention. She had an idea he knew where she was at all times—aware.

  Protective, but not smothering. It was thrilling.

  Even more thrilling was imagining how he would be as a lover. Would he bring that single-minded intent to the bedroom? She was certain he would. Based on his soul-stirring kisses, this man would be a dream.