Winning The Rancher's Heart

A NEW BEGINNING

Naomi Jones is ready to shake things up. The widowed single mom and her kids need a big change, so she drives across the country to start her new life. But starting over doesn’t mean getting involved with her handsome boss, Jaxton Stone. Though Naomi enjoys teasing a smile from the gruff rancher’s lips, she’s not sure her broken heart can ever love again.

As an ex-soldier, Jax lives by precise, regimented order...until Naomi arrives at the Dark Horse Ranch and complicates everything. Along with the chaos, the feisty redhead and her children bring fun back to Jax’s life. She may be his total opposite, but Jax can’t stay away from the woman who makes his ranch feel like home.

“You’re a good man, Jaxton Stone.” Naomi sniffled.

No, he wasn’t. He was having all kinds of inappropriate thoughts about her. Wondered what she would do if he bent and brushed her lips with his own. But he couldn’t. Damn it all, he just couldn’t.

“Sometimes,” he said, “doing what’s right for everyone takes a huge leap of faith, but I promise you, it will all work out all right in the end.”

She turned to face him and he warned himself not to move. Not to stare at her lips. Not to lean in close to her. It was the hardest thing in the world to let her go.

“You’re a good mum,” he heard himself say, forcing himself to relax. “Have faith. Trust your heart. It’ll never lead you astray.”

She peered up at him, blue eyes wide, her hair spilling around her shoulders, and he felt himself falling... falling...

“Good night.”

He ran.

Winning the Rancher’s Heart

Pamela Britton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

With more than a million books in print, PAMELA BRITTON likes to call herself the best-known author nobody’s ever heard of. Of course, that changed thanks to a certain licensing agreement with that little racing organization known as NASCAR.

But before the glitz and glamour of NASCAR, Pamela wrote books that were frequently voted the best of the best by the Detroit Free Press, Barnes & Noble (two years in a row) and RT Book Reviews. She’s won numerous awards, including a National Readers’ Choice Award and a nomination for the Romance Writers of America Golden Heart® Award.

When not writing books, Pamela is a reporter for a local newspaper. She’s also a columnist for the American Quarter Horse Journal.

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Dedicated to my darling Lysy Loo,

the daughter of my heart.

We love you, Alysa Panks.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

“Is this it?” T.J. asked, his left elbow brushing her own as her son wiggled on the old Ford’s front bench seat.

Naomi Jones stared at the sign hanging above the dirt road, clenching her palms against the sweat that formed.

Dark Horse Ranch.

“Yes.” She sighed. “This is it.”

“It doesn’t look like much of a ranch,” said her other child from her shotgun position. Samantha sounded about as enthusiastic as a dental patient about to undergo a root canal, but these days her teenage daughter didn’t sound enthusiastic about anything.

She had a point, though, Naomi admitted, but she knew from experience you couldn’t see much of the place from the road. Just a bunch of valley oaks dotting the acreage and the needle-straight line of a road, one that headed toward some low-lying foothills not too far in the distance. It was dusk and the sun had just started to set behind the hills. The dew point had risen and it released the scent of herbs in the air.

New life, new beginnings, she reminded herself.

Goodness knows she’d made a mess of the old one. Not at first. At first it had been heaven on earth. But then Trevor had died and everything had changed, and not for the better. These days Samantha was either a perfect princess or perfectly horrible. It was clear she needed to rein her in. And T.J. Poor T.J. had been bullied since his first day of elementary school. She hoped like heck the move would help.

Here we go.

Her old truck rattled forward. Someone had hit her pickup in the back and taken off without leaving a note. She didn’t have the money to fix it, so duct tape held parts of the bumper together. She should probably have it fixed before it flew off on the freeway or something, but that was what this move to California was all about, too. A good-paying job. A place to live—for free. And, once she sold her home in Georgia, money in the bank.

“Wow,” T.J. said.

She’d been so deep in thought she hardly noticed their surroundings. She looked up at her son’s gasp of amazement and spotted it. Beyond the oak trees, nestled into a craggy hillside, stood a house. A very big house.

“I know, right?” she said, guiding the old truck toward the redwood-and-glass monstrosity. It should look out of place in the middle of the country and yet the home seemed to have sprouted from the very rocks it sat upon. She’d watched enough shows about architecture on television to know it’d been designed by a naturalist, someone who wanted it to look indigenous to the landscape, and had probably cost a small fortune.

“Is that where we’re going to live?” T.J. asked with a tone of reverence.

She glanced at Samantha to gauge her reaction, but as usual, her thirteen-year-old had her head buried in her phone. Then again, in her present frame of mind, they could probably pull up to Buckingham Palace and Sam would pretend indifference.

“We’re actually living around the left side. In the maid’s quarters.”

Sam snorted. Her daughter hated her new job title: housekeeper. One of many things Sam had given her grief about when she’d learned they were moving.

“Can we go inside?” T.J. asked. He pushed his thick-framed glasses up on his nose.

“Not the big house,” Naomi said, smiling when she spotted the way his red hair stuck up on one side. They’d had the window down at one point. “We need to settle Janus into his new digs.”

She glanced in the rearview mirror. The Belgian Malinois must be lying down because Naomi couldn’t see his head between the bars of the plastic crate.

“He’s going to love it here,” T.J. said, wiggling on his seat.

At least one of them was happy with the move, although they weren’t completely free of Georgia just yet. She still needed to go back and arrange for all their furniture and belongings to be stored and/or sold. And she’d have to move some of it out west, which meant another long drive.

“I thought you said there would be horses,” Sam grumbled as they pulled up in front of their new home.

“They’re here.” Somewhere. According to the owner’s sister, Lauren Danners, they’d built the horse facility out back. Lauren had been the one to hire her because her brother, Jaxton Stone, was always out of town. Hooves for Heroes was a therapy center for soldiers with PTSD, although she’d never seen it. A state-of-the-art facility. New, she’d been told. Very expensive.

She pulled up to housekeeper’s entrance on the left side of the main house. Slipping out of the truck, she tucked her cell phone in her back pocket and took a deep breath of the chamomile-scented air. It had rained recently; that was the reason for the moisture in the air. She could smell the earth and the wild oats that grew between the trees. The moisture had settled on the granite stones that ringed the base of the house, turning them a dark rose color. A door had been placed in the middle of the wall—an ornate maple door with a fan-shaped paned window set into the top of it. Narrow windows sat on either side of that door, a small deck with redwood steps leading to the entrance. She wanted to buy some plants for the railings when she had some extra money.

“It doesn’t look like much,” Sam said.

“Wait until you see the inside.”

Lauren had shown her around the fully furnished apartment when she’d flown out for the interview. Three bedrooms. A kitchen. Even a family room that overlooked a back patio with a pool right outside. Not her own pool, of course, but the owner’s. She’d been told her kids could use it, though, as long as she checked with Mr. Stone first.

“Why don’t you let Janus out?” she asked T.J. “He can check out our new place, too.”

Her son dashed to the back of the truck, dodging suitcases and boxes to get to the beige-colored kennel. Poor dog had been cooped up for at least three hours.

“Use the leash,” she warned. The last thing she needed was her husband’s ex-military dog running off and getting lost. That would be a disaster.

“Can’t we, you know, find a place of our own to live?” Her daughter’s face was a mask of distaste as she stared around her. “I don’t want to share a house with someone I don’t know.”

Naomi resisted the urge to make her own face. “We’re not sharing a house, kiddo. We have one right here.” And it’s free. And furnished. And requires no commute.

Sam flicked her long brown hair over a shoulder. “Yeah. The servants’ quarters.”

Was it illegal to spank kids in California? She doubted anyone would blame her if she did. “Sam, please. Give this a try.”

“Whatever.” She flounced off, heading for the front door.

T.J. came up beside her, Janus by his side, the dog’s dark eyes catching on something near the front of the house, although what she couldn’t tell. He was forever looking for trouble, compliments of his military training.

“Don’t worry, Mom. She’ll get over it.”

The fact that her ten-year-old son tried to console her shouldn’t surprise her. He’d been doing that for the past two years, ever since Trevor had died.

“I hope so, bud,” she murmured.

She’d been told the front door would be open, and it was. The apartment, which took up a whole corner of the owner’s mansion, was just as spacious as she remembered.

“Wow,” T.J. said again.

Definitely bigger than their place in Georgia, not that Sam would admit it. She just slumped down on the couch to their right, eyes glued to her phone.

“I’m going to go meet my new boss.” Naomi tried to inject perky self-confidence into her voice. “Sam, can you and T.J. try to unload some of our stuff?”

Sam didn’t answer, just kept clicking buttons.

“Sam.”

Her daughter eyed her from above the top of her phone. “Fine.”

She winced inwardly. The whole journey out to California, she’d tried to convince her daughter that the move was for the best. They’d be near the kids’ grandparents once they made the move out west, too. They’d be living on a ranch. They could even have their own horses down the road once she sold the house. Sam had always loved horses. But Sam hated to leave her friends. She didn’t like California, although she’d never been there before. She hated that her mom would be a housekeeper. Why couldn’t she do something different? Why couldn’t they stay in Georgia? And on and on it’d gone.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, trying to hide her disappointment. At least T.J. was happy. Her son was going from room to room, sounds of “wow” and “cool” being emitted periodically.

As if she didn’t have enough to worry about, a sullen teenager only added to the mix. Jaxton Stone’s sister had said he was a nice man: the perfect brother, she’d said. He worked super hard, which was why he needed a live-in housekeeper. Apparently, her new boss was always off somewhere in the world. He ran a military contracting company. She’d had to Google what that was, a sort of army-for-hire type of thing. They provided protection for corporate executives, too, something she’d never heard of before, but was apparently necessary if the company was big enough that it could afford to pay a ransom. She’d been shocked to read just how dangerous foreign travel could be for the head of a big company, and her new boss made a living keeping those corporate head honchos safe. A very good living, by the looks of it.

Off you go.

She stepped outside and skirted the house to the main entrance. At least her surroundings were pretty spectacular. The home sat on property that looked like something out of an old Western movie, or maybe Bonanza. Rolling hills were covered by dried grass, trees casting inkblot shadows on the ground, taller mountains in the distance. She’d had to cross through those mountains to get to Via Del Caballo, so she knew the ocean lay on the other side. It might have rained this morning, but it was clear now, a few patchy clouds off in the distance. She took a deep breath of the freshly scented air and then squared her shoulders. Lauren had constantly mentioned how great her brother was. She hoped her boss’s sister hadn’t fudged the truth.

The front door sat atop a row of steps like the opening to a Mayan temple. She was just about to make the sacrificial ascent when a sound caught her attention. A dog sat on the massive porch that framed the front of the house. It stared at her curiously from its position by a redwood chair with maroon cushions.

“Hey there, boy,” she said, climbing the stairs quickly. Some kind over overlarge terrier, she thought, smiling at the way tendrils of hair came together at the crown of its head and made it look like it had a Mohawk.

“Bad hair day?” she asked.

The dog just thumped its tail. Skinny little thing. She wondered if it were ill or something.

She smiled down at it and eyed the place. Should she just walk in? Ring a bell?

She pressed the doorbell, stepped back, the dog watching her as she stood there, then moved forward and rang the bell again.

Was he home?

She’d been assured someone would be there to greet her this morning. And the apartment had been unlocked. Maybe he’d stepped out?

She wondered what to do. Wide beams stood above her, the wooden rails reminiscent of pictures she’d seen of Camp David. It smelled new. Like varnish and wood and fresh paint.

He must not have heard me. She peeked through one of the massive windows that lined the front. She didn’t see anybody, so she went back to the door, turning the handle just to see if it was open, not to go inside or anything.

The alarm nearly deafened her. She had to cover her ears it was so loud. The dog that’d been on the porch ran away so fast she wished she could do the same.

Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.

What had she done? She hadn’t even opened the dang thing.

Dear Lord.

She stepped back from the door, staring at it, as if she could somehow will the alarm to shut off.

It swung open.

Blue eyes stared down at her. That’s all she caught a glimpse of before he went back inside. Through the open door she watched as he turned toward an electronic console on the wall, pressed some buttons and silenced the alarm.

Her ears rang. Her face blazed. Her smile nearly slipped from her face.

“Good morning.” She tried to brazen it out.

He slowly placed his hands on his hips, and as Naomi looked into his gorgeous eyes, she knew nothing would ever be the same again.

* * *

“DO YOU ALWAYS just walk into people’s homes?”

The redhead’s smile grew even more strained, and he recognized the grin for what it was—a show of bravado that fooled no one.

“I didn’t walk in, I promise.” She lifted her hands. “I just tried the door.”

“Soooo you could walk in?”

“No, no.” She shook her head, a mass of red hair falling over her shoulders. “I was just seeing if someone was here. I wasn’t going to walk in.”

“Mom!” Behind her, a dark-haired girl came to a stop on his gravel driveway. “Are you okay?”

She turned to greet the teen. “I’m okay.” She waved her away. “Just a little misunderstanding.”

A little boy, younger than the girl and with hair as red as his mom’s, skidded to a stop next. “Man, that was loud.”

“I take it those are the kids?” he asked.

She glanced back at him. “Yup.”

Which confirmed that she was Naomi Jones, although her Southern accent gave it away. The friend of a friend that his sister had interviewed and loved, and whom he’d been forced to hire because Lauren felt sorry for the single mom of two. That wasn’t surprising given that his sister had been raising a child all on her own, but that would soon change since she’d met Brennan Connelly.

“Can I see the inside of your house?” the boy asked, lifting up on his toes as if he might be able to peer over his mom’s shoulder.

The girl smacked him on the head.

“Ow!” the boy cried.

“Come on.” The teen gave them what could only be called a glare of derision. “Let’s let Mom do her housekeeping thing.”

His gaze caught on the woman in front of him, just in time to see her wince. “I’m so sorry.”

He’d have to have been a real jerk not to accept her apology. His men might call him a hard-ass, but it really wasn’t true. Well, most of the time.

“It’s okay.” He stepped back from the door. “Come on in.”

“Thanks.”

She glanced around, her gaze coming to rest on a granite water sculpture at the center of the main foyer. The sound of running water soothed troubled souls, his included.

“I love your house.” She stopped in the middle of the foyer, her eyes—the prettiest shade of blue he’d seen in a long, long time—traveling around the interior. “It reminds me of a guest lodge or something.”

“Thanks.”

Those eyes landed back on him. “I’m Naomi Jones, by the way.”

He could tell she wasn’t sure if she should hold out a hand or simply stand there and keep smiling.

He took the guesswork away from her and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Nice to meet you.”

He saw something flit across her eyes, something that told him he might have just offended her, or maybe disappointed her. “You, too.” She stuffed her own hands in her pockets.

Interesting. Usually mimicking someone’s gestures was a sign of submission, but he doubted that was the case here. He’d seen her tip her chin up a tad. Those bright blue eyes of hers had grown a little less friendly, too.

“So, those were your kids?”

“Yes. T.J. and Samantha.”

“And you’ve settled into the apartment?”

“Well, no. We only just got here. I was told to come straight to you when we arrived. So you could meet me.”

Check her out, his sister had said, although he hated the way saying the words made him feel. His sister had said she was perfect for the job, but that didn’t mean he would think so, too. He’d agreed to hire her as a favor. He’d been telling himself for the past two weeks that he should trust his sister’s judgment, but as Naomi stood in front of him he wondered what the hell he’d gotten himself into.

“Why don’t we go talk in my office?” He motioned that she should follow him past the sunken living room that overlooked the front of the property and up some stairs to his left. He’d had very few people to his private retreat. He could probably count the number on one hand, but he wasn’t surprised by her reaction to the vaulted ceilings and the wrought-iron balustrade as she followed him up the wooden steps. It’d taken a year to build the place, and another three months to build the massive covered arena and apartments out back. He’d spent those last several months flying back and forth between his corporate offices in San Francisco, interviewing hippotherapists and psychotherapists, and securing the purchase of the livestock for his ranch. It’d been a hell of an endeavor, but he’d gotten it done.

“My sister tells me you’ve done this before?”

“Well, not quite,” she said, taking a seat opposite his desk. He watched as she immediately shifted first left and then right, solidifying his own thoughts about his new furniture. Not comfortable. He’d hired a decorator, and he’d begun to suspect that she valued form over function. He liked things the opposite way, something he’d clearly neglected to convey. In his line of work, things needed to be efficient. Someone’s life might depend on it.

“I used to work as an event planner, and before that, I worked for a hotel doing the same thing. But I started out in housekeeping. Worked my way up while I attended college, that sort of thing.”

He’d known that. He’d read her résumé a time or two. “Why do you want to move all the way out to California?”

She stared into her lap for a moment, resting her hands on her jean-clad legs, sunlight from the tall windows in front of her emphasizing the red of her hair. “The kids’ grandparents are moving out here.” She looked up and met his gaze. “My kids love them. I didn’t want Sam and T.J. to be that far away.”

“So you chucked it all?”

He didn’t mean to sound critical, but he could tell by the way she furrowed her brow that she took it that way. “We don’t have anybody else. No other family, no aunts or uncles, and life in Georgia is...challenging.”

“More challenging than moving all the way to California?”

There went that chin again. “We needed a change.”

A big change. At least from the sound of things.

He leaned back. He sat opposite her since he didn’t need to see the view. “This job won’t just be about housekeeping. I know that’s what my sister told you, but it’s going to be way more than that.”

She tipped her head, leaned forward a bit. Her body language told him she didn’t mind this change of plans.

“You’ll still be keeping house to some degree,” he explained, “and managing my household—buying groceries and whatnot—but whoever works here needs to be flexible, too. They need to understand that one day they might be asked to cook for me when I’m in town, or clean a guest apartment, or help one of our guests in some way. It won’t be easy, but it’ll be interesting. You do know how to cook, don’t you?”

“You wouldn’t ask me that if you’d tasted my Southern pecan pie.” She beamed, and he had to admit she didn’t look a thing like he’d expected. He’d expected older. More...harried-looking. She had two kids and he knew that couldn’t be easy.

Drop-dead gorgeous, that’s what she was.