The Cowboy's Million-Dollar Secret

Two

Leanna’s Buick roared like an expensive sports car. It wasn’t a good sign since the station wagon wasn’t moving—unless you counted the slight backward roll.

She pursed her lips and pressed the gas pedal once again. Nothing. The gauges gave no indication of distress, but something was definitely wrong with her car. Taking her foot off the brake, she coasted backward off the road and onto the grassy verge and then turned off the engine. Heat immediately filled the interior, forcing her to roll down the windows while she debated her options.

Arch’s chauffeur had walked her though filling the assorted fluid tanks before she’d left Carlsbad, but that was the extent of her knowledge about the inner workings of a car. She pulled the latch and climbed out to take another look beneath the hood, but to her inexperienced eye everything appeared as it should.

Sweat plastered her clothes to her body within minutes. She nibbled a nail. Her car had to be repaired. One of the most important lessons she’d learned growing up was that you had to have a plan B—a way to escape if a situation became ugly. It was the reason she’d saved a portion of her salary—the portion her mother’s treatment didn’t consume—and bought her own car a few months ago.

She stared into the distance at the heat haze wavering on the asphalt. Barbed-wire fencing stretched along either side of the road, marking dry, empty pastures. She hadn’t passed another car on the six-mile stretch of road between here and the Double C Dude Ranch. If Brooke’s directions were correct she was closer to the gas station and rooming house than the ranch.

As much as she loved to read about knights and heroes, she’d learned the hard way that they rarely walked off the pages of a book.

She secured the vehicle and hiked toward help.

Hot, tired, and sweat-soaked from the skin out, Leanna wasn’t in the mood for bad news.

“Transmission’s shot,” Pete said without losing the toothpick stuck between his teeth. The man was every Hollywood cliché she’d ever seen of a small-town garage mechanic. His overalls were stained and the bill of his ball-cap faced backwards. Every third sentence he spit a stream of tobacco into a paper cup.

She daubed the sweat from her brow with Patrick’s bandanna and tried to ignore the way his scent lingered on the fabric. “How much to repair the car?”

“New parts, fifteen hundred. Rebuilt, eleven. It’ll take me about a week either way.”

Her stomach sank. She’d destroyed all of her credit cards after her mother’s last binge, and she’d emptied her bank account paying in advance for three months’ worth of her mother’s rehab at the new and expensive clinic. Arch’s estate had only allowed her two thousand dollars for the entire Texas trip—a portion of which she’d spent on the way here. “Rebuilt.”

“Cash. Up front.”

She tried not to wince, but she wouldn’t receive a paycheck from the dude ranch until the end of the month. If she paid the mechanic now she wouldn’t be able to afford a room at the Pink Palace. She’d barely be able to buy food. At least working at the dude ranch included most meals.

Regret pulled her gaze back to the plate glass window. Down the road, the elegant lines of a large Victorian house with a resident ghost called to her. “Can I pay you half now and half at the end of the month?”

“Don’t extend credit to strangers—especially the ones with out-of-state tags.”

“I’ll be working at the Double C Dude Ranch.”

“Ask Caleb’s missus for an advance on your salary. She’s a Californian, too.” He made it sound like she’d come from another planet not just another state.

She made it a practice never to owe anybody anything, except Arch, and she was here to clear that debt.

Between the time she’d run away at fifteen and when Arch had found her sleeping in one of his classic cars eight months later, she’d hidden in all kinds of places. It looked like she’d have to again tonight.

She took one last wistful glance at the Palace’s twin-turreted structure and vowed that one day she’d own a home with a deep front porch, window boxes and porch swings. Right now she needed a place to sleep. Reluctantly she counted out the money.

“Could you give me a ride to the Double C?”

Patrick found his father hunched over breakfast before sunup. The ashen tone of his skin and the tired slump of his shoulders worried him. “You have trouble sleeping again?”

“No.”

A blatant lie. He’d heard his father pacing the floor because he’d also been awake thinking about the Double C’s new hostess. He couldn’t do her job and his, too, if she didn’t measure up.

He couldn’t afford to be attracted to her.

“Why don’t I run you by the clinic this morning and get the doc to check your blood pressure?”

“I ain’t going to the doctor. Won’t get nothing but a little bottle of pills and a big bill.”

“You can’t put a price on your health, Pop.”

“Tell that to those bandits.”

The muscles in Patrick’s neck knotted. They’d had this argument a dozen times. Nothing short of an ambulance would get Jack Lander to the clinic. “How about taking it easy today? The heat index is going to be up there.”

“You take it easy if you want. I got work to do.”

“Caleb gave me the name of a couple of college kids. I hired them to help here while I’m managing the dude ranch.”

His father scowled. “Can’t afford it.”

“Caleb’s paying me enough to cover both salaries.”

“You hired your brother’s rejects?”

He gritted his teeth, counted to ten and wondered if he should have his own blood pressure checked. “The kids are majoring in animal science at Tech, and they need on-the-job experience. Helping them helps us.”

“Well, I ain’t interested in baby-sitting greenhorns.”

Talking was a waste of breath when his father was this tetchy. “I’m heading over to the Double C. Keith and John will be here by nine. I’ll be back to get ’em started.”

Arguing with his father before his first cup of coffee guarandamnteed he’d start the day in a foul mood. Patrick headed for his truck and took out his frustrations on the gearshift during the short drive to the property next door.

The Double C had been a part of Crooked Creek until a decade ago when Caleb’s first wife had nearly bankrupted them. They’d been forced to sell half the ranch to keep from losing the entire spread. The new owner had opened a dude ranch which Brooke had bought right out from under their noses a few months back. And then Caleb had married her. Worse, his brother had fallen in love—an affliction Patrick planned on fighting all the way to his grave.

His newest sister-in-law had crazy ideas about operating a motivational retreat. City-slickers getting in touch with their inner souls, or some such hype. Caleb had convinced her to try running a dual operation for a year, but Patrick worried that her motivational thing would take off and she’d phase out the dude ranch.

He was probably the only one who hoped she wouldn’t decide to close the dude ranch portion of the Double C. His brother and his father preferred ranching, but for him working with the dudes was like summer camp—a little grit, but mostly fun. Each week brought new faces and a fresh crop of enthusiasm. It beat the heck out of riding drag and eating dust behind a herd of cattle. Besides, the dudes actually begged to do the dirty work. It left him feeling a little like Huck Finn when he pawned off his chores.

He glanced at his watch as he parked in the shade beside the barn. None of the crew was due until after lunch. Since the next batch of guests would arrive tomorrow, he’d have to work his tail off today. The sooner he started, the sooner he’d finish.

He stomped up the back porch stairs of the Double C homestead.

“Good morning.”

He whipped around at Leanna’s husky greeting. She lay curled in a lounge chair in the far corner of the porch with Brooke’s mangy mutt Rico at her side. With her hair mussed and hanging over her shoulders, she looked soft and sleepy. And sexy. He slammed the door on his wayward thoughts.

“You’re early. Trying to score points with the boss?”

She smiled up at him. “Would it work?”

He couldn’t help but grin back. “Nope. Beating me to work makes me look bad.”

She scratched the dog behind his ragged, partially chewed-off ear and cupped the mutt’s face. “Rico won’t tell. Will you, boy?”

You had to like a gal who’d befriend a butt-ugly dog. He dug in his pocket for his key and unlocked the door.

“Brooke said you’d give me keys and introduce me to everyone.”

Evidently, Brooke and Caleb had made him social director before they’d left last night. Brooke wasn’t handling mornings well in the first trimester of her pregnancy and preferred not to travel early in the morning.

“Should be a set of spares inside.”

Leanna unfolded in increments as if her muscles were stiff. He thought it a little odd considering her age—or lack of age. “You look like you’ve been ridden hard and put up wet.”

As soon as the words came out of his mouth an image formed in his mind—an image that had nothing to do with mistreating a horse. Down boy. He shoved open the door and motioned her to go ahead.

“Uh…no, just a strange bed. Do you mind if I make coffee?”

He followed her into the kitchen, wondering if the lack of caffeine was causing his mind to wander in the wrong direction. “Go ahead.”

She searched through the cabinets looking for the fixings. Each time she reached up, the strip of skin between the waistband of her baggy pants and the hem of her loose butter-yellow T-shirt widened.

His hormones obviously realized he was fixin’ to hang’em out for a long dry spell and were already rebelling.

With enormous effort he yanked his gaze away and reached past her for the coffee. His chest brushed her shoulder. Her hip nudged his. By the way his body reacted, she might as well have jumped on the kitchen table and started a bump-and-grind strip show.

Damn, he needed coffee. And a cold shower. He shoved the can into her hands and hustled across the room before he gave in to the urge to see if her skin felt as warm and smooth as it looked.

“Thanks.” Her voice sounded a little husky.

He squinted at her. Was she having as hard a time catching her breath as he was? Get your head outta the gutter and back on business, Lander. “You and Brooke handled all the paperwork yesterday?”

She scooped coffee grounds into the filter and smiled at him. “Yes, and she explained the dude ranch schedule. Guests arrive on Saturday and stay through Wednesday afternoon. The staff has Thursday and half of Friday off.”

“Why’re you early?”

Her cheeks looked flushed, but it was probably just a reflection of the sunrise coming through the window. “I need to familiarize myself with where everything is before we get caught up in the guests’ arrival.” She stretched to put up the coffee.

He caught another glimpse of skin and inhaled, but it wasn’t coffee he smelled—not unless Brooke had switched to a prissy vanilla-scented brew. Suddenly it struck him that he and Leanna were the only ones in the house. Clearing his throat, he wiped a hand across his face. The bristles reminded him that in the rush to avoid another argument with his father he’d forgotten to shave.

“She gave you the uniform?”

“Yes, but she said I didn’t have to wear it until tomorrow and then only for the first two days to help the guests identify me as an employee. Can you tell me where Rico’s food is kept?”

“Laundry room.”

She called to the dog and walked out of the room. Patrick caught himself tracking her—or rather the hip-rolling motion of her tight, round hind quarters, and shook his head. Label the gal off-limits, and danged if he didn’t develop a one-track mind.

Quit thinking about her and get back to work, dammit. It wasn’t like he didn’t have a truckload to do. He snatched up the computer printout Caleb had left him and scanned the information about the incoming dudes. Most were families with kids, but there were a few couples and singles. He’d learned the hard way to keep his eye on the singles.

He heard the splash of coffee into a mug and turned. Leanna had returned so quietly he hadn’t heard her. She lifted the pot in his direction and arched a brow. He nodded and she filled his cup.

Leaning against the counter, she asked, “Brooke said you had two brothers besides Caleb. Are you close?”

He jerked his gaze away from the freckles splashed across her nose and discovered a toe ring on her sandaled foot. Different. Sexy. Heat curled in his belly. Aw, hell, did he have to discover a foot fetish now? “As close as most, I guess.”

“Do you help Caleb and Brooke with the dude ranch often?” She pursed her lips and blew on her steaming coffee, and he almost forgot her question. She’d painted her pouty mouth today. Red. Ripe. Ready.

Wrong. Man, he needed to go back home and start this day over. He rubbed the back of his neck. She’d asked him a question. What was it? “Brooke’s only owned the place a few months, but Caleb and I used to help the previous owner regularly.”

“You live next door with your father?”

“Yeah.”

“How does he feel about you working here?”

Where was the line of questions leading, and why did he feel as if he were being interviewed? “Probably glad to have me out of his hair.”

“You don’t get along?”

It could take him all day to answer that one. “Not as good as we could. Why?”

He thought she smiled into her coffee mug. “Just curious.”

“Right. If we’re playing twenty questions then why’re you here?”

She stilled and slowly lifted her gaze to his. “I needed a job.”

“In Texas?” He sipped his coffee and discovered Leanna made a danged good brew. It wasn’t strong enough to put hair on a man’s chest, but it came close. Had to like that.

She gnawed her lip and lifted her chin. “I’ve been fascinated with Texas since I read about it as a teenager, and this job seemed like the perfect opportunity to fulfill a dream. Brooke interviewed me over the phone and hired me.”

“So you decided to pack everything you own in the back of your car and satisfy your curiosity?”

“Yes.”

He couldn’t imagine loading up his truck and leaving his family behind. This patch of land in McMullen County, Texas, was his home. Two of his brothers had left home, but they’d had good reasons. Brand had traveled the rodeo circuit for ten years because they’d needed his winnings to hold on to the ranch. Cort had gone all the way to North Carolina for college because he’d had a partial scholarship at Duke.

Why had Leanna left home? Uprooting herself for a temporary job didn’t make sense. “Are you on the run?”

Her face paled, and her eyes widened. “From what?”

“Or whom.”

“I’m not running from anything or anyone.” She sounded pretty defensive for somebody who had nothing to hide.

“What did your family say when you took off?”

She glanced away. “I don’t have any family who’ll worry about me.”

He recognized a dodge when he saw one, and something in her tone didn’t sound right. “Show me your ID.”

“What?” She set her mug down on the counter with a thump.

“You look like a teenager. Your car’s packed with God-knows-what. You allegedly leave a job in a movie star’s mansion to hide out on a dude ranch halfway across the country. It doesn’t add up. I figure either you’re lying about your age or you’re on the run. For all I know you could have robbed the dead guy and skedaddled across the state line.”

Folding her arms across her chest, she frowned. “You’re incredibly suspicious.”

He pulled his gaze away from the taut fabric stretched over her breasts. “Did you steal his silver?”

She gaped at him. “No.”

“Nothing crammed in your car belonged to Arch Golden?”

Guilty pink climbed her cheeks. “I didn’t sneak anything out of Arch’s house.”

Yep. Evasive. “Where’s the ID?”

“I don’t have it with me.” He made a face and she continued, “I showed all the proper documentation to Brooke yesterday. I didn’t bring my purse today.”

Right. He’d never known a woman who went anywhere without the arsenal she carried in her purse. “Where is it?”

Again she averted her gaze. “I…I left it under…my bed.”

Sure she had. “Lemme see your car’s registration.”

“My car is at Pete’s.”

She had an answer for everything, but the last one he could and would check out with a phone call. Brooke had left him in charge, and danged if he’d let anything go wrong. His days of letting folks down were over. “How’d he die?”

She blinked and shook her head as if he’d surprised her. “Who? Arch?”

He nodded.

“Lung cancer. Do you smoke?”

What difference did it make if he did? “Never have. Expensive habit. You?”

“No.” She fiddled with the hem of her shirt.

“Do you have any secrets I need to know about, kid?”

Her deer-in-the-headlights expression sent alarm bells clanging in his mind. “Secrets?”

His gut twisted into one big knot of apprehension. Aw hell, Brooke, what have you dumped on me? He didn’t have time to police the Double C’s hostess. “Vices. Bad habits.”

“As many as your average citizen, I guess.”

An average citizen from a Hollywood movie star’s neighborhood was a whole different species from the folks he was used to dealing with. He couldn’t head off a problem if he’d never heard of it. “Like what?”

She rubbed her forehead with one long, slender finger. Her hand was steady and her skin and eyes were clear. He could probably rule out substance abuse.

“I have a weakness for jelly beans.”

He snorted in disbelief. “Now that’s scary. What else?”

She angled her chin and narrowed her eyes. “I like lobster with drawn butter and two-hour bubble baths.”

And just like that, his body took that wrong-way detour again. A picture of Leanna in a tub with her long hair piled on top of her head and bubbles teasing the tops of her breasts immediately formed in his mind. He chugged several sips of coffee to distract himself from that irrational, illogical, impossible fantasy and scalded his tongue.

What in the hell was wrong with him that he’d be fantasizing about a gal still wet behind the ears? Wasn’t thirty-six too young for a midlife crisis?

She arched a brow. “You?”

“Ask anybody. I have more vices than any man ought to.”

She frowned and shoved away from the counter. “If I want to figure out where everything is and go over the menus and cabin assignments before the others arrive I should get started.”

She hightailed it out of the room, leaving him wondering what he’d said to make her run away.

Leanna closed a guest room door, moved on to check the towels, sheets and soaps in the next one. She’d give anything to crawl into one of those beds and sleep for a couple of hours.

Darkness had fallen by the time Pete had dropped her off at the dude ranch entrance last night, and after lugging her suitcases up the mile-long driveway, she’d been too tired to poke around in the inky shadows looking for a place to sleep. Since Brooke had mentioned that the ranch would be empty for the night, she’d stashed her luggage under the porch and crashed on a lounge chair. Luckily she’d packed bug repellant because the mosquitoes here were huge, and they liked California cuisine—namely her.

At first light she’d found the barn and made use of the big concrete stall used for washing the horses to shower and change clothes. With a little snooping, she’d found an out-of-the-way building which looked to be unused except for furniture storage. After picking the lock, she’d stashed her bags and returned to the main house, only to drift off to sleep while waiting for Patrick to arrive.

She yawned and arched her stiff back. Living with Arch had spoiled her. She used to be able to sleep anywhere. Tonight she looked forward to stretching out on the long sofa in the storage building, without the bugs. Maybe Rico would keep her company. She’d felt safe with the tough-looking dog beside her.

As she moved from room to room, her mind drifted back to this morning’s conversation with Patrick. He’d said he and his father didn’t get along. That was good—at least as far as the inheritance went. He might be reluctant to announce his true paternity if he and the man who’d raised him were close.

She wondered if Mr. Lander knew Patrick wasn’t his son. Carolyn’s letters suggested he didn’t. If he didn’t, her surprise wouldn’t be a pleasant one.

After Arch made it in Hollywood, he’d written to Carolyn wanting to claim his son. She’d promised to write again when she’d broken the news to Patrick about his true paternity and asked her husband for a divorce. The letter never came, because Carolyn had died.

Stopping in front of the mirror, she smoothed her hair and reapplied her tinted lip balm. Her mother constantly urged her to “do something with herself,” fearing she’d never catch a man if she continued her plain-Jane ways. Tonya, who’d had more lovers than Tootsie had rolls, couldn’t understand that not every woman wanted to depend on a man to keep food on the table and a roof over her head.