What The Rancher Wants...

She went all squinty-eyed. “Well, I can’t and I’m the housekeeper. Unless you want to do the cooking, you’d better find some way to make the pots and pans stored down there more accessible.”

He thought about it. “Maybe I could have a pull-out shelf installed by one of the ranch hands. Would that work?”

She looked nonplussed by his easy acquiescence. “Yes. That would be fine. Terrific, in fact.” Then her eyes took on a wary cast. “Not Lonny.”

He narrowed his own eyes, trying to read the expression on her face. “Has he said something to you? Made you uncomfortable?”

She turned and picked up the big stew pot she’d been after. “I’d just rather not have him underfoot. I like Shorty. Can he build the shelf?”

She set the stew pot in the sink and turned on the water.

Win didn’t like dropping the subject of Lonny, but he had the impression that Carlene had said all she wanted to. Maybe she’d noticed the way Lonny looked at her too and was embarrassed by it.

With her looks, you might think she was used to that sort of male attention, but Win got the impression that she didn’t like it. “Shorty’s handy, but I need him in the stables right now. Call a carpenter to install the pull-out.”

Turning off the water, she looked at him over her shoulder, a smile of gratitude playing on her lips. “Are you sure?”

“Honey, you can’t be wondering if I can afford it.” Hell, most women were only too happy to spend his money.

She laughed. “No, more wondering if you thought it was worth it. I’m glad you do. I’ll call the carpenter tomorrow. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She went to lift the cast-iron pot and water sloshed over the side. “I forgot how heavy these things are.”

He sidled up behind her and put his arms around her. Taking a firm grip on the handle, he lifted it. “You want it on the stove?”

She stood still, like a rabbit caught in a snare. “Yes, please.”

Her voice came out all breathy and soft. He wanted to lean down and kiss the creamy skin of her neck and see what that did to her voice, but he controlled himself. A mare couldn’t be broken to bit if the handler startled her early on with demands she wasn’t prepared to meet.

He stepped back, using one hand to carry the pot. He set it on the stove for her.

She turned to face him, the skin of her cheeks a rosy hue. He liked this additional evidence that his nearness had an effect on her. Standing so close to her had a pretty strong impact on him too. He’d be walking like a saddle-sore greenhorn, if he weren’t careful. His usually comfortable jeans felt tight enough to do damage right now.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime, honey.”

She busied herself putting the stew together and he just watched. He liked the way she moved, her actions fluid and graceful. When she opened the fridge to pull out the meat, she squatted rather than bending over to get it. Amusement at the action tugged at him. If she thought the view of her thighs pressed against blue denim was any less exciting than her backside, she had a lot to learn about men.

She straightened and put the meat on the cutting block. “What?”

“Something the matter, honey?”

She took in a deep breath and blew it out with her eyes shut, then she opened them. “What are you doing in here? I don’t think you want cooking lessons, so why are you hanging around watching me prepare dinner when you’ve got a stable to return to?”

Her surly tone made him grin. “You’re bossy, aren’t you?”

He could just about hear her teeth grinding together. “You’re the one that told me you want to work uninterrupted—not have to deal with anything domestic. You must have come up to the house for a reason.”

“Yeah.”

“What is it?” She looked as if she’d like to wrap her fingers around his neck, but not with the intention of doing anything nice.

Why had he come up to the house? Oh, yeah. “I was wondering if you could put together a couple of casseroles for the weekend. Rosa used to do it and it helped me out a heap.”

She nodded. “That won’t be any problem.”

“Good.” He turned to leave and then stopped. “Maybe I’ll put that shelf in for you myself, tomorrow.”

“No, really…your idea of calling a carpenter is a good one.”

“If you insist.”

He left the kitchen with the look of consternation on her face fixed clearly in his mind. She noticed him all right. She hadn’t look horrified, just thrown for a loop and he figured that was a good sign.

He’d break that filly to bridle, but first he had to get her used to having him around. Then he’d work on the touching.

Just like a nervous mare and he had a real special touch with nervous fillies, just ask anyone.

Carlene was ready to quit her job as Win’s housekeeper two weeks later. Between Lonny’s glares and Win’s bedroom eyes, she was at her wit’s end.

Win never implied that her job was even slightly reliant on her sleeping with him, but then again he made no bones about the fact that he wanted her in his bed. He hadn’t actually come out and said so, but he watched her with a hot gaze that made her insides melt. It didn’t help that he found more excuses than a student with spring fever did to skip class, to get close to her.

Just yesterday he had insisted on helping her get a large ceramic bowl down from the top shelf in the pantry. That would have been fine except that he didn’t allow her to move out of the way before his strong, masculine body was stretching up and leaning over her to reach the bowl. Again, no problem.

Except that the effect Win’s closeness had on her senses couldn’t be denied. She’d forgotten for one full minute what she’d been planning to do and just stood there, breathing in his scent. He’d noticed. Darn him. And he’d laughed. No doubt he thought she was like a plump peach, ripe and ready to be picked off the tree.

She sighed and cut some more shortening into the flour for the biscuits she was preparing to go with dinner.

She didn’t want to quit.

She liked her new job. Shorty might not know much about cooking, but he was a sweetheart. She liked the rest of the ranch hands as well…except Lonny. She enjoyed cooking for them and Win was a tidy person. Keeping his house clean was a cinch, especially with the help of maid service that came in three times a week. Mondays and Wednesdays and once on the weekend.

She liked everything about working at the Bar G except the way its owner made her feel.

Dealing with an interested male shouldn’t be so difficult. Men had been interested in her since she started wearing a bra, but Win was different. She had an almost overwhelming desire to give in to the invitation she saw in his eyes and that scared her spitless. He’d made it very clear that he wasn’t interested in marriage and she hadn’t changed her mind about an affair. First, because she believed that she deserved more than that and second, because no school board for a small town like Sunshine Springs was going to hire a teacher with a reputation for loose morals. Gossip always got around.

Awareness skittered down her spine and she spun around, dropping the pastry cutter into the ceramic bowl with a clang.

Win leaned against the wall watching her. He did a lot of that, leaning against a wall or something and just watching her. It made her nervous and hot and jittery besides, something she definitely didn’t want to deal with.

She forced a smile to her lips. “Hi.”

He pushed away from the wall and walked toward her. She started getting nervous again as the distance between them closed to less than a few inches.

She backed up, but ran into the counter behind her. “Win?”

He reached out and brushed her cheek. “I thought the flour was for the biscuits.”

“It is.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say. She couldn’t seem to move away either.

“It’s not real attractive makeup, but on you it’s kinda cute.”

“No.” Then understanding dawned. She whipped her hands up and scrubbed at her cheeks, getting rid of any remaining flour Win hadn’t brushed away with his hand. “I didn’t realize I was wearing dinner.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” he said.

“What?” Was it just that his proximity had scrambled her brains, or was he really not making any sense?

His voice dropped to a husky drawl. “I wouldn’t mind you wearing my dinner.”

As the words registered Carlene felt her blood spike with both anger and desire. She forced the anger to the forefront. Placing her hands on Win’s chest, she shoved. Hard. He fell back a couple of paces.

She untied the big white apron she wore to protect her clothes with jerky movements. She yanked it off and tossed it on the table. “That’s it. I quit.”

When Win didn’t say anything, particularly, “I’m sorry and won’t you please stay?” she reached her hand out and poked him in the chest with her forefinger. “Listen here, Mr Bedroom Eyes. I’ve had my fill of you watching me like I’m a mare in heat and you’re the stallion sent to cover me. Do you understand me?”

His smile infuriated her. “I think so.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “Just what do you understand?”

“You don’t want me to look at you like I want you.”

“Well?” she asked.

“Well, what?”

She blew out an exasperated breath. “Are you going to stop?”

He reached out and brushed his fingers down her arm. Desire pooled in her lower belly and she bit back a groan. “I don’t know if I can. I do want you, Carlene. I’m not real sure why that bothers you so much. I haven’t pushed you to do anything about it, have I?”

She had to give him that. “No. You haven’t, but that’s not the point.”

“What is the point? You don’t like feeling like you want me too? I can fix that for you, honey.”

The promise in his voice made her shiver with feelings she did not want to acknowledge or give in to. “Forget it. I’m not interested in a one-night stand and that’s all you’re offering, isn’t it, Win? You don’t want marriage or commitment.”

His fingers curled around her upper arm. “I made my feelings on marriage plain the day I interviewed you, but there’s a whole lot of ground between a one-night stand and marriage. I never said I wasn’t interested in any kind of commitment. I can guarantee you that while you share my bed, no one else will.”

“An affair?” Outrage burned through her and she twisted from his grasp. “You think a no-strings, open ended affair is an appreciable improvement over a one-night stand?”

His eyes narrowed. “You aren’t going to convince me that you’ve married every man you’ve slept with.”

The warmth of desire she had been feeling shifted to a frozen sort of pain. Win was like all the others, making assumptions based on how she looked and not who she was. Wouldn’t he just die laughing if he found out that she was a twenty-six-year-old virgin? She might look like a pinup in a girlie calendar, but she’d fought against the image her entire life.

She dated very little, in high school because she had been more interested in her studies than in boys and in college because once the men she dated figured out that she didn’t put out, they went looking for greener pastures. She had planned to change her innocent status a while ago with Grant Strickland, a truly nice man.

She had decided the time had come. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how you looked at it, her timing had been off. Grant had been in love with another woman and hadn’t been interested. She still felt the heat of embarrassment when she considered how she’d thrown herself at the man. She had truly lousy instincts when it came to men she was attracted to.

And Win was no exception. Their situation made her want to cry. He affected her as no other man ever had, including Grant, but she wasn’t willing to risk her reputation and her goals for something as transitory as an affair, especially an affair with a man who made it clear that long-term commitment would never be an option.

She moved to the door.

She couldn’t stay here. She wanted Win too much. The risk was too great. Grabbing her purse from the broom cupboard, she said, “You can send my check in the mail.”

She had to get out of there before her resolve to keep a lid on her emotions faltered.

Her hand was on the knob to open the door when his fingers clamped around her wrist in a vicelike grip.

Win knew he couldn’t let Carlene walk out that door. He didn’t get what she was so upset about, but he was going to find out. They were attracted to each other. That was not a bad thing. At least, not to his way of thinking.

He kept his fingers locked firmly around her wrist as he pulled her around to face him. “What the hell do you think you are doing?”

She looked at him as if he’d lost a few marbles. “I’m leaving. Now, let go of my arm.”

“No. I’m not letting go of you and you aren’t leaving.” He leaned forward until his face was close enough to hers that their breath mingled. “Do I make myself clear?”

She glared at him and said, “Yes,” between clenched teeth.

He leaned back a little, but didn’t let go of her wrist. “We’re going to talk this out.”

The stubborn woman shook her head at him. Didn’t she know that women were supposed to want to talk things out?

“We have nothing to discuss. You want a convenient sex object for your housekeeper. Only you neglected to mention that as part of my job description. I’m wondering why though…you were quick enough to tell me your no marriage policy. I am not interested in being anyone’s temporary squeeze, so I’m leaving.”

Sex object? Temporary squeeze? Putting a tight lid on his temper, he hooked one hand under her knees and the other behind her back. She screeched something about overbearing, insufferable cowboys, when he picked her up. He ignored her. The powder keg that was his temper was liable to go off if he paid attention.

She kept up a litany of complaints all the way out of the kitchen, through the courtyard, and into his living room. She was shoving at his chest with her fists by the time he dropped her gently onto the couch.

She shot right back up again and stood toe to toe with him, her eyes shooting sparks. “You cannot treat your employees this way and expect them to stay. What did you do, manhandle Rosa until she left?”

The thought of anyone manhandling the two-hundred-and-fifty-pound Mexican grandmother of twelve surprised a smile out of him. “No. Rosa left because her daughter went into early labor with baby number four.”

When Carlene just scowled at him, he sighed and shoveled his fingers through his hair. “Damn it. I didn’t mean to manhandle you either, honey.”

“Don’t call me honey. Employees take just as dim a view of being referred to in a too familiar fashion as they do to being manhandled.”

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