Nevada Cowboy Dad

“How could I live in the same house with a female like you and not want you?” Rusty said. Letter to Reader Title Page Dedication About the Author Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Epilogue Copyright

“How could I live in the same house with a female like you and not want you?” Rusty said.

“You’re beautiful,” he continued. “And all woman.”

Stunned, Lucy kept her head down. “Please,” she said belatedly, “don’t say those things.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t. I didn’t come to the Lazy S for that. I want a family, Rusty.”

“Family,” he echoed in disbelief. “You mean you want to treat me like some kind of...of brother?”

At least he understood, she thought, relieved. She nodded firmly. “Yes. A brother.”

Surprising her, he threw back his head and guffawed. “Woman, I think maybe you’ve lost a few head of cattle from your herd.” His laughter filled the fall air. “There’s nothing brotherly about the way I feel about you, Lucy. And you’re not being truthful with your own feelings if you say you think of me that way.”

Dear Reader,

As spring turns to summer, make Silhouette Romance the perfect companion for those lazy days and sultry nights! Fans of our LOVING THE BOSS series won’t want to miss The Marriage Merger by exciting author Vivian Leiber. A pretend engagement between friends goes awry when their white lies lead to a real white wedding!

Take one biological-clock-ticking twin posing as a new mom and one daddy determined to gain custody of his newborn son, and you’ve got the unsuspecting partners in The Baby Arrangement, Moyra Tarling’s tender BUNDLES OF JOY title. You’ve asked for more TWINS ON THE DOORSTEP, Stella Bagwell’s charming author-led miniseries, so this month we give you Millionaire on Her Doorstep, an emotional story of two wounded souls who find love in the most unexpected way...and in the most unexpected place.

Can a bachelor bent on never marrying and a single mom with a bustling brood of four become a Fairy-Tale Family? Find out in Pat Montana’s delightful new novel. Next, a handsome doctor’s case of mistaken identity leads to The Triplet’s Wedding Wish in this heartwarming tale by DeAnna Talcott. And a young widow finds the home—and family—she’s always wanted when she strikes a deal with a Nevada Cowboy Dad, this month’s FAMILY MATTERS offering from Dorsey Kelley.

Enjoy this month’s fantastic selections, and make sure to return each and every month to Silhouette Romance!

Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor, Silhouette Romance

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I dedicate this novel to all the fine organizations that support verbally abused and physically battered women, and most especially to the Nicole Brown Simpson Charitable Foundation. For any abused wife: Please, take heart, and get help.

DORSEY KELLEY can hardly get off a horse long enough to write books. She helps ranchers move cattle around in annual drives, participates in roundups and brandings and hams it up in parades. Now she is learning to team rope because, she says, “It’s so dam much fun!”

When she isn’t horsing around, Dorsey plays tennis, takes her three daughters to the mall and makes her husband crazy with planning even more ranch trips.

Chapter One

She was coming back. And she was bringing her money with her.

That was all Rusty Sheffield allowed himself to think about as he waited on horseback for the sleek sports car to make its way up the gravel drive of the Lazy S Ranch. The expensive engine almost purred, he thought broodingly, as out of place on the Nevada cattle ranch as antlers on a sheepdog.

Impatient and frustrated, Rusty yanked off his hat and slapped at a clump of dried mud on his thigh. Dust rose from both his hat and his worn jeans, making thin clouds in the chill air. Damn, he hated what he was about to do, hated the reason for this meeting with Lucy Donovan.

Still, every time he reviewed the ranch’s dismal finances the truth was a fist slamming agonizingly into his gut. He resettled his hat, but there was no denying it—he was getting desperate.

Lifting the reins, he urged his sorrel gelding out the corral and toward the gravelled area where Lucy had parked her car and was now emerging.

“Welcome back.” He touched his Stetson and forced out the courtesy. “It’s been a long time.”

Lucy lingered in the embrace of her car’s door, blinking nervously as if she needed shielding. She was small, her chin-length hair straight and plain, with ebony strands that now blew in the slight breeze.

She’s awful damn pretty. The errant thought came to Rusty out of nowhere, as did images he hadn’t replayed in years. He remembered big, frightened green eyes that seemed to see everything, and ragged-cut hair, dark and tattered as old black silk. He remembered her forlorn expression.

He didn’t remember pretty.

“Oh, I didn’t see you there,” she said, and twisted to face him.

Her hands clutched the car’s streamlined window frame and he noticed she wore a severe gray suit with heels. Her body was slim, with every curve a man liked to see. Little Lucy had become a woman.

“Uh,” she said, “it has been a long time. Fifteen years since I’ve been here.”

“Since the divorce,” Rusty said, dismounting. “Our parents must have had the shortest marriage on record.” Six months, to be exact, Rusty remembered silently, before Lucy’s mother decided she didn’t like country living—and didn’t like the rancher with whom she’d exchanged vows. She’d packed up her car, her annoying little lap dog and Lucy.

“How is your mother?” he asked. Best to get the formalities over with.

“Living abroad,” she answered curtly. “Remarried. A shipping magnate this time, I think.”

“You don’t talk to her much, then?”

She shrugged, but under her calm, he could feel her emotions. Lucy and her mom weren’t cut from the same cloth; he knew that from way back.

Not that it mattered to him. None of his business.

He saw her glance over the sprawling two-story house, the white-painted outbuildings of barns, sheds and bunkhouse. His gaze followed hers, seeing what she saw, and he winced. How evident was the peeling paint? How obvious the overgrown weeds, the half-broken fence posts?

“It’s the same,” she whispered, though her words drifted to him on the cold breeze. “Nothing’s changed. Nothing.”

“That bad, huh?” His jaw clenched.

“No.” For the first time she fixed her gaze fully on his. “It’s wonderful. I feel like...like I’m home.”

The direct impact of her emerald eyes hit him with far more force than was right. A memory of the tiny urchin she’d been, crouched in the old oak tree in the meadow, came streaming into his consciousness. At fifteen, he’d been more concerned with his horses, his friends and the sassy neighbor girl than the mousy kid his new stepmother had brought to the ranch.

Up in the oak, Lucy had been crying; Rusty had seen the tear tracks on her pale cheeks. He’d tried to coax her down, but she’d shaken her head.

So he’d climbed.

Since he’d already learned she spoke in nothing but monosyllables, he didn’t question her. They merely sat together, a fifteen-year-old boy and a ten-year-old girl, watching the sun cast swaths of amber and gold over the cottonwoods in the meadow. They probably clung to that big branch together for an hour, wordless, until darkness transformed the sun’s golden streaks to cobalt and then to black.

When the first stars winked into existence she let him help her down. He put her behind his saddle and rode with her to the house. On the ground, she’d looked up at him with those incredible eyes and he’d seen her chin tremble. He’d smiled at her and tousled her hair. She’d given him a shy, tremulous smile in return. It was the first and only expression of happiness he’d ever seen in her, a spark of joy in an otherwise wan countenance.

Now Rusty shook his head, impatient again, but this time with himself. He had no time for reminiscing.

“Come to the house,” he said more abruptly than he’d meant to. “Fritzy can make coffee.” Fritzy—the family’s always-smiling housekeeper—had been with the Sheffields for twenty years.

He called out, and a youth appeared from the barn to take his horse. Down at the branding chutes, men were working cattle, roping them one by one and applying the hot Lazy S brand. Turning back to Lucy, he asked, “You want to stay the night, don’t you? I expect it’s too far to drive back. Got any luggage?”

Taking careful steps in her heeled shoes, she came out from her hiding place and opened the trunk. “Yes, it’s here.”

Bending down, she went to grasp her tweed suitcase when he quickly reached out, saying, “I’ll get it,” and bumped her shoulder.

She gasped—a startled big-eyed doe.

Rusty frowned, wondering what had gotten into her. Why was she so skittish? After all, he was the one with the right to be nervous, not her. She was going to get what she wanted. He would be the loser.

Still, he didn’t like the way she flinched from him, as if he’d done something wrong or was contemplating it. The idea offended him; he’d never harmed a woman in his life or even wanted to.

He must have scowled because she mumbled, “Sorry.”

“No apology needed.” Shaking his head, he hefted her large suitcase from the trunk.

“Thank you,” she said in a voice so low it was nearly a whisper. Her slim fingers curled beneath her chin now, her eyes lowered to screen her expression. But the flash of what he’d seen there disturbed him. Rusty didn’t know what turns her life had taken, but one thing was certain. Lucy Donovan hid many secrets.

Lucy trailed Rusty Sheffield into the house, berating herself for jumping like a frightened rabbit when he’d only wanted to help her carry the suitcase.

But she didn’t like men who took over a situation like they’d been voted boss. She was uncomfortable around aggressive, overtly masculine men.

Somehow she hadn’t been prepared for the incredibly handsome, overwhelming maleness Rusty exuded. Formerly auburn, his hair had darkened nearly to brown. At least, she thought so from what she could see of it under his hat. No longer a gawky youth, the man had grown to over six feet tall. Beneath his yoked Western shirt his chest was brawny, his arms, revealed by his rolled-up sleeves, were thick with muscle. His thighs were powerful, his waist narrow. He even smelled good, like fresh-turned earth and high-mountain winds.

Oh, she noticed everything about him, cataloged the changes that maturation had wrought. And it seemed to Lucy that everything about him was too much. He was too big, too observant, too handsome, too... well, manly.

Rusty Sheffield made her edgy.

She wished she were completely composed, a woman with confidence and style and sophistication. But miserably she knew she’d never done anything meaningful in her life. The counselor she’d seen had told her that confidence was developed when someone worked hard at a task or skill and became proficient at it. She had recommended Lucy learn a profession, or go to college and earn a degree, perhaps start a business.

Coward that she was, she’d done nothing of the kind.

Still, she did have one goal. A goal that for once she intended to reach.

If only she weren’t so anxious.

“This way,” Rusty instructed, preceding her through the front door of the wood-sided house. The screen frame banged behind her in exactly the same way it had fifteen years ago. She smiled.

Inside, the house had experienced few changes, as well. The old davenport with its cabbage-rose print still reigned as the centerpiece of the large living area. It was flanked by antique tea carts with Tiffany lamps and faced by several oversized leather chairs. Gray river rock lovingly laid fifty years before formed the fireplace with its mantel, which held a collection of figurines. Against the wall a hall tree held coiled lariats, and at the bottom, neat rows of cowboy boots lined up like soldiers waiting to be called to service.

In the kitchen across the hallway, Lucy heard someone stirring, probably Fritzy. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted to her.

More pleased than she could say, Lucy sighed, but Rusty set her suitcase down and walked straight through to the small office his father had formerly occupied. She guessed the room was Rusty’s now.

“Sit down.” He pointed to a striped seat opposite, throwing himself into a castered chair to regard her levelly across the desktop. Behind him bookshelves rose to the ceiling, and the file cabinet beside his desk had papers overflowing the drawers. The room gave her the impression of ordered chaos. He said, “I want to get this over with as soon as possible.”

She lowered herself into the striped chair, but found she couldn’t relax enough to rest her spine against its back.

“Over the telephone, you said you had money,” he began bluntly, and she forced herself not to wince. “What is it you want, exactly?”

Lucy drew a deep, deep breath. If ever she needed courage, it was now. Please, she prayed to the Powers Above, please let my dream come true. Lacing her fingers together in her lap, she plunged in. “As you know, I’ve heard about the death of your brothers. The news traveled fast. I’m so sorry. The accident was a terrible tragedy.”

Stone-faced, he gave only a curt nod.

The head-on collision between his brother Landon’s pickup and an eighteen-wheeler had made sad, local headlines. A freak accident, both Landon and his other brother, Tom, had died instantly, as had the other driver. Folks said the resulting fiery explosion had echoed for miles. Investigating authorities never discovered what made Landon’s truck cross the center divider. Authorities guessed he’d been reaching for one of his ever-present cigarettes. Or possibly stretching down to the cell phone kept on the floor between the two seats.

Lucy hadn’t met Tom or Landon. The boys were away during her short stay at the ranch. But she knew they’d been well liked.

“As a result, you now hold full title to the Lazy S, right?” She glanced around the room. “I don’t suppose you ever expected to, with two older brothers who would have had first claim here.”

He hesitated. “No.”

“Rusty, I told you when I called I have money, and it’s true. My life hasn’t been terribly...eventful,” she said, awkward yet determined to get through this, “but I did get married.”

She saw his eyebrows arch, though she didn’t blame him for his surprise. She wasn’t any great catch. At least that’s what Kenneth had always enjoyed saying.

“Well, a year ago, my husband passed away—” she forced herself to stare Rusty straight in the eyes “—leaving me a wealthy widow.”

His gaze drifted away and his expression became thoughtful. Rubbing his chin, he said, “I see.”

Probably not. He probably saw only what he wanted to, but she needed to press on. With uncharacteristic boldness, she blurted, “I want to purchase the Lazy S.”

“Purchase it?” He stared at her. “The whole place?” His pitying glance raked her. “I thought maybe you just wanted to lease a couple of acres, maybe run a few horses or build a cabin. The Lazy S comprises several thousand acres of prime grazing land. We have water rights to the creek, twelve hundred head of mother cows and as many calves, a hundred and fifty horses and dozens of blooded bulls. The property alone is worth a small fortune.”

Casually he tossed out a figure, let it hover in the air between them like an alien spacecraft.

Lucy did not blink.

He studied her face. After a moment, disbelief gave way to dawning awareness. “You’ve got that much?”

Again, she merely kept her gaze steady and waited for him to draw his own conclusions. The spacecraft vanished, left only the trailing vapor of Rusty’s incredulity.

Taking off his hat, he stabbed stiff fingers through his thick hair. It was brown, as she’d thought, the deep rich color of brewed coffee. After a moment he let out a long, slow breath. She could feel his shock and sense his struggle to assimilate her changed status in life.

Lounging back in his chair, he stacked his booted feet atop a low file cabinet. “Well, that’s something. Lucy, I guess you’ve done all right for yourself.”

“It wasn’t me,” she corrected him quickly. “I didn’t do anything to earn it. It was my husband’s—his commercial real estate business.”

“But it’s yours now.”

“Yes.” She shifted uncomfortably. “But I didn’t—that is—” She caught herself. It was not part of her plan to explain every single thing to him. She cleared her throat. “Well, will you sell?”

Dropping his boots to the wooden floor with a thud, he got abruptly to his feet. He snatched up his hat, jammed it on his head and pulled it low across his eyes. With his big palms splayed over the desk, he leaned toward her. “Not if you had ten million, Lucy. Not twenty. Maybe from your rich sugar daddy you learned you can buy most things. But not everything. Not the Lazy S.” Straightening, he took swift strides away from her. “Thanks for coming. You probably won’t want to spend the night after all. It was...interesting seeing you again.”

“Wait,” she cried. Now she’d gone and done it. She’d insulted his masculine pride. “I didn’t mean to offend you.” But he was already pacing through the living room toward the front door. Hurrying after him, she caught her foot on a table leg and stumbled, nearly falling. He didn’t turn.

“Rusty,” she said, “I’m not trying to put you out of your family home.”

At the front door Rusty kept walking. “Sure sounds like it.”

Outside, afternoon sunlight momentarily blinded her, though the bright rays offered no warmth. Cold fall air bit at her exposed throat, numbed her fingers. “No...you don’t understand.” He was halfway to the barn. “Stop, Rusty, please,” she said again. “There’s more. I don’t want you to leave the ranch. I want you to stay on.”

In the shadows of the great barn, he slowed. He turned to face her, hands on hips. “Beg pardon?”

Reaching him, she knew she was wringing her hands but was powerless to stop. “I know about your financial troubles, Rusty. I know that before their deaths your brothers heavily mortgaged this place. Your law career in San Francisco was successful and you’ve made a good living, but it’s not enough to put the ranch in the black.”

His face hardened. “How do you know all that?”

Apologetically she said, “I’ve got my own lawyers. You know they can find out anything.”

With a snort he pivoted and disappeared into the barn.

She followed. Coming out of direct sunlight, she found it dark inside, and for a moment could hardly see. The air was cooler and full of the smell of alfalfa hay and animals. She wrapped her arms about her middle and suppressed a shiver. Long banks of stalls with horses inside, a tack room that held halters and bridles and work saddles and a grooming area took up the big barn.

She found him pulling on heavy work gloves and standing beside stacks of baled hay. “I’ll pay whatever price you ask, Rusty. I need the ranch. I... I need you.”

At this last he paused and gave her a slow up-anddown perusal. “For what, Lucy?” he asked in a dangerously quiet voice. “What do you need me for?”

Groping for courage, she deliberately stiffened her spine. “To manage the property, of course. To direct employees, make business decisions, buy livestock—I don’t know. For all of what’s needed. I...I don’t know the first thing about running a cattle ranch.”

He glanced derisively at her sling-backed pumps. “No kidding.”

Shivers began to tremble through her. She couldn’t back down now; he had to be made to understand. “I don’t know much about ranching, Rusty. But I do know one thing. The time I spent here was the best of my life. I need this place.” She gestured around. “It sounds crazy, but...I need that big old friendly ranch house. I need the smell of horses, hot from a run. I need familiar people around me. I...need the oak tree in the meadow.”

As he looked into her eyes she wondered if he understood her. She wondered if he remembered their aftemoon in the tree together—that day so long ago when she’d been weeping because her mother had declared that she found horses boring and cattle smelly. She was getting a divorce as soon as she could hunt down an attorney. She was bored, bored, bored—not least of all with her husband, Howard Sheffield, the “unsophisticated, countrified bumpkin” she had married in a temporary fit of Las Vegas-inspired insanity.

“We’ll be leaving the Lazy S,” Lucy’s mother had announced to her, “first thing in the morning!”

The memory sprang alive in Lucy’s mind, of her heartache and then of seeking solace high up in the tree, its shielding branches her only comfort. The scene was so tangible in her mind she fancied she could almost reach out and touch that sunset’s glorious golden colors. Almost touch the kind boy Rusty Sheffield had been.

She had to keep going forward, stop reliving the past. “I-I’ve got an idea, Rusty, of what we might do here. We could bring in people who want a taste of country life—stressed-out people from the city. They could put on jeans and ride and help move cattle.” As a child she had gained so much here; was it any wonder she wished others to experience the same happiness? “I figure they could stay for a week or two,” she went on with growing enthusiasm, “enjoy this marvelous place. See what it’s like to—”

“A dude ranch?” He cut through her ardent stream with a disbelieving guffaw. “You mean to turn the Lazy S into a greenhorn hotel?”

“Well, call it what you will.” She shrugged, trying not to be put off by his discouraging tone. Once she could fully explain, fully define the entire scope of her vision, he would comprehend everything. “I’ve put a lot of thought into this, worked out the details in my mind. I realize the notion is new to you, Rusty, and you need time to digest everything, but it could be like a...a health ranch. We could put in a swimming pool, have yoga classes—”

“No half-dressed yogi is gonna run around here spouting New-Age manure.” His expression closed her off like the slamming of a door. “We don’t need any damn pool, either. We’re simple folk. If we get hot, we just jump in the creek.” Features stiff, he collected a pair of hay hooks and thrust them into a thick bale. For a disturbing instant she had the crazy notion he’d like to use the hay hooks on her.

To heft the heavy bale into a wheelbarrow, he braced his feet. “I don’t know how I’ll get out from under this financial mess, but I won’t sell the Lazy S. And it won’t ever become a dude ranch.”

But why not? she wondered, blinking at him.

Recognizing a brick wall when she slammed into one, Lucy felt fingers of despair reaching into her heart like tendrils of mist before an ominous fog. Her attorneys had been so sure Rusty would jump at the chance to avoid certain bankruptcy that she had counted on his agreement. And the lawyers, the accountants and the bank officials had all concurred: without her, he would go bankrupt.