Cowboys And Cradles

“All right,” Ryder found himself asking, “what do you intend to do with the ranch?”

Eve’s lips curved wryly. “I’m sure you’ll be glad to know, cowboy that I’m leaving most of the land as it is. However, I have some real changes planned for the main house.”

Surely she just meant nothing more than some new drapes, a few rugs scattered about, he assured himself. Simple stuff. Then he remembered that simple simply didn’t apply to this woman.

“Exactly what kind of changes do you have in mind?”

As she’d done earlier, Eve met his gaze head-on and didn’t so much as blink. “To be exact, I’m turning a portion of this house into a day-care center. A day nursery, actually.”

She waited a beat, wanting his full attention for the final blow. “For babies.”

Dear Reader,

Mills & Boon American Romance has rounded up the best romantic reading to help you celebrate Valentine’s Day. Start off with the final installment in the MAITLAND MATERNITY: TRIPLETS, QUADS & QUINTS series. The McCallum Quintuplets is a special three-in-one volume featuring New York Times bestselling author Kasey Michaels, Mindy Neff and Mary Anne Wilson.

BILLION-DOLLAR BRADDOCKS, Karen Toller Whittenburg’s new family-connected miniseries, premiers this month with The C.E.O.’s Unplanned Proposal. In this Cinderella story, a small-town waitress is swept into the Braddock world of wealth and power and puts eldest brother Adam Braddock’s bachelor status to the test. Next, in Bonnie Gardner’s Sgt. Billy’s Bride, an air force controller is in desperate need of a fiancée to appease his beloved, ailing mother, so he asks a beautiful stranger to become his wife. Can love bloom and turn their pretend engagement into wedded bliss? Finally, we welcome another new author to the Mills & Boon American family. Sharon Swan makes her irresistible debut with Cowboys and Cradles.

Enjoy this month’s offerings, and be sure to return next month when Mills & Boon American Romance launches a new cross-line continuity, THE CARRADIGNES: AMERICAN ROYALTY, with The Improperly Pregnant Princess by Jacqueline Diamond.

Wishing you happy reading,

Melissa Jeglinski

Associate Senior Editor

Mills & Boon American Romance

Cowboys and Cradles

Sharon Swan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Ann, who always loved a cowboy hero

Born and raised in Chicago, SHARON SWAN once dreamed of dancing for a living. Instead, she surrendered to life’s more practical aspects, settled for an office job, concentrated on typing and being a Chicago Bears fan. Sharon never seriously considered a writing career until she moved to the Phoenix area and met Pierce Brosnan at a local shopping mall. It was a chance meeting that changed her life because she found herself thinking what if? What if two fictional characters had met the same way? That formed the basis for her next novel, and she’s now cheerfully addicted to writing contemporary romance and playing what if?

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Chapter One

He rode into her life like a god on horseback.

If she hadn’t been so busy slamming on the brakes, the startling sight might have actually thrilled her.

Bits of desert dust, red-tinged and light as air, still swirled around them as she discovered he was mortal—and far from thrilled with her. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t tell you exactly what I think of your driving skills, lady.”

Eve Terry squared her shoulders, instinctively reacting both to the words and the clipped tone. He was human, all right, she told herself. And big. Looking up to meet his gaze would be necessary, she knew, even if he climbed down from his saddle and she stood to her full, taller-than-average height. He clearly outweighed her, as well, by more than a few pounds, and she was no lightweight. Still, she refused to let his size, the whole muscled length of him, intimidate her.

Or at least she refused to appear intimidated. Despite a pounding pulse and a racing heartbeat, aftereffects of their near collision, she managed a calm reply. “I can give you a great reason for keeping your opinions to yourself, cowboy. I just happen to be your new boss.”

Beyond a dirt-specked windshield, she watched a sudden frown appear under the wide brim of a battered tan hat. Honing in, she studied well-formed features, unhampered by the thin coat of dusty grime half concealing them. She’d drawn enough faces to recognize good bone structure when she saw it. High cheekbones, a straight nose and a firm jawline. Cleaned up, he would be attractive, she had no doubt. Not that she was interested. Right now she had a list of priorities, and men, even attractive ones, weren’t on it.

“The boss? Not hardly,” he said, his voice low and a bit gritty, tinged with a Western drawl. “This ranch belongs to an outfit in Dallas by the name of E. T. Holdings.”

“I’m Eve Terry, the owner of that company and—as of ten days ago—this ranch.”

She relished the abruptly stunned look in his green eyes before it disappeared in a flash as his frown deepened. Obviously, it would take more than a formidable surprise, even one as plainly unwelcome as this, to really shake this man. “Would you mind telling me why you rode straight in front of my Jeep?”

He stiffened. “You headed straight toward me. Do you always drive down dry gullies like a bat out of hell?”

She’d never driven down a gully before in her life. The Jeep was less than a week old, a last-minute purchase in Dallas, and she’d been testing the four-wheel drive and her ability to handle it. And she had handled it. She’d actually been enjoying the bumpy ride, with the canvas top down and a warm breeze ruffling what there was to ruffle of her dark-blond hair. Until he’d shown up out of nowhere, racing down one steep side of the gully. She’d stopped in the nick of time to avoid a crash.

“You scared the bejeezus out of Lucky,” he added when she didn’t respond to his terse question.

Lucky? He had to be referring to the caramel-colored stallion he’d brought to a swift standstill. It was the biggest horse she’d ever seen. Not that she’d seen all that many from a distance of less than a yard, of course. City life didn’t lend much opportunity for close encounters with horses. Nevertheless, she knew it was male. There was no missing a certain portion of its anatomy. And it was a huge animal. If they had collided, the Jeep would probably have come out the loser.

“I think Lucky can take care of himself,” she said dryly, tapping a finger tipped with red on the steering wheel. “Now, I suggest you get back to work. That is, if you work for this ranch and aren’t just trespassing.”

“I work for it, all right,” he muttered. He didn’t seem any happier about that fact than her earlier claim of ownership.

Great. Just what she needed: another disgruntled employee. The ranch cook she’d met yesterday afternoon upon her arrival could give lessons in how to be a grouch. Yes, she’d shown up unexpectedly, but she hadn’t meant to. Signals had gotten crossed somehow, and her lawyer in Dallas hadn’t contacted the broker in Tucson who had handled the sale. Letting the people here know she was coming would have been the courteous thing to do. Still, whether they liked it or not, she was the boss, and she had to make it crystal clear that she wouldn’t take any guff from anyone.

Especially when they discovered her plans for the Creedence Creek Ranch.

Eve shifted into reverse. “Well, I’ll leave you to do…whatever you were doing.” With that, she shot back a few feet, then made a swift U-turn and headed back the way she’d come. She thought about looking in the rearview mirror to see if he watched her departure. Or maybe to get another look at him, Eve, something inside her said. She didn’t look, didn’t so much as glance. Bad-tempered cowboys were not on her agenda—no matter how good a sight they made.

The man she’d left in a rush stared after her, squinting into the brilliant sunshine seldom absent for long periods in southern Arizona. A trailing cloud of dust faithfully followed the Jeep until it and the dust disappeared, leaving a view of flat desert and rolling hills, with the jagged-peaked Santa Catalina Mountains looming in the distance. Some would call it a picture-postcard setting. He called it home.

She’d taken him for one of the ranch hands. Which was hardly amazing, he told himself. After all, he’d put on his oldest pair of jeans and an equally beat-up denim shirt when he’d given in to the urge yesterday morning to do something he hadn’t done in years. Checking fences, as tiresome as it could be, meant miles of open spaces and some solitary time to decide what he’d do next.

Stay or go?

Even after a wakeful night stretched out on a narrow bedroll under a wide sky crowded with stars, he hadn’t come up with a firm answer. Reason told him to get on with his life and leave behind what fate, or maybe sheer bad luck, had placed out of his reach. Yet a stubborn streak in him that had nothing to do with reason said stay, anyway.

The outcome of that inner war remained in doubt. But one thing was dead certain: the ranch’s new owner was in for a surprise. Those smoke-gray eyes, as big as they’d seemed, could well get bigger. Those elegantly arched eyebrows, dark in contrast to burnished-gold hair worn in a mannish cut shorter than his own, just might take a hike up a silky smooth forehead. Those full lips, shaded a soft red, might even drop open.

He could only hope. Leaning forward, he gave the stallion a brief pat on the neck. “We’ll at least stick around long enough to enjoy the moment, friend.”

Snorting, Lucky nodded his agreement.

HANK SWENSON didn’t look like one of the most successful real estate brokers in the Southwest, Eve decided, viewing him across a large knotty-pine desk that took up a major portion of the ranch’s modest-size office. A small man, he was inches shorter and probably pounds lighter than she was. Yet beneath that deceptively slight frame, she knew, lurked a huge dose of business savvy.

“Sorry about the mix-up, Hank.” They had already progressed to first names. “You should have been told I was coming.”

He nodded a balding head rimmed with gray and settled back in a scuffed leather chair. Like most of the office furnishings, it had seen better days. Only a personal computer and other business machines set up against one wall could be considered even close to new.

“No problem,” Hank replied mildly, “although I have to admit I was a little surprised when you didn’t come to look things over before the final papers were signed.”

Eve’s lips quirked in a faint smile. “I didn’t need to. Several years ago I visited this area and saw the ranch from the main road. By the time I learned it was for sale, I was already certain I wanted to buy the place.”

She could still recall her first sight of the house, its large adobe exterior stark white against a backdrop of desert green and sandy beige, its wide terra-cotta tile roof warmed to a glaze of orange by the sun, high overheard. Far from being new and firmly linked with the present, it was old and rooted to the past…and somehow that made it perfect in her eyes.

But the desire to own the ranch was only one of the results of that brief visit. In many ways it had been a life-altering experience.

“You could have made a better deal by bargaining with Amos Cutter’s heirs,” Hank commented.

Her smile widened. “If that’s a diplomatic way of telling me I paid too much, I’m well aware of what the property is actually worth.”

The figure she named sparked a gleam of respect in Hank’s shrewd gaze. “Which is almost exactly what Ryder Quinn offered.”

Eve leaned forward, propped her elbows on the desk. “But he didn’t get it. I did.”

“True, but can you run it without him?”

“No,” she admitted bluntly. “Or at least not without someone like him. Do you think he’ll leave?”

Hank’s expression turned thoughtful. “Maybe. I’ve known him on a casual basis for a long time, ever since Amos hired him on as a lanky ranch hand. He filled out over the years, took on the job of foreman when it opened up, then went to college nights and became a surprisingly shrewd business manager when Amos’s health started to fail. During all that time, he never made any secret of the fact that he’d be interested in buying if Amos ever chose to sell. More than interested, it always seemed to me. I believe Quinn wanted this property very badly. Why, I couldn’t tell you.”

“Hmm.” Eve absorbed that information. “And Amos Cutter never chose to sell?”

“I think he was seriously considering it toward the end, before that last stroke took him suddenly. Under the terms of a will he’d made out as a young man, his only living relatives—two daughters back East—got everything. Amos hadn’t seen them since his wife left him and took the kids with her nearly forty years ago. They had no interest in the ranch and didn’t waste any time contacting me to put it up for sale.”

“And how did Ryder Quinn feel about it being sold to someone else?”

Hank shrugged a bony shoulder. “He didn’t have much to say. Still, he must have been disappointed. Of course, my friend Amos wouldn’t have said much, either, if he’d been able to see you walk through the front door yesterday.” Hazel eyes took on another gleam, this time of amusement. “He would have been too busy swallowing his tough-as-jerky tongue.”

It was Eve’s turn to be amused. “I didn’t know I was such a dreadful sight.”

Thin lips curved in a wry smile. “On the contrary. You’re a mighty fine sight, Eve.” He paused. “But you are a woman.”

She lifted a brow. “So?”

“The last female to cross that threshold was Amos’s disgruntled wife, and she was on her way out.”

After a startled moment Eve said, “Now it’s clear to me why Pete Rawlins’s mouth worked like a guppy’s when I dropped my luggage on the doorstep and introduced myself. Apparently Amos Cutter had no fondness for women, and I wouldn’t be at all amazed if the ranch cook feels exactly the same way.”

Nodding, Hank straightened a bola tie looped under the collar of a checked shirt worn with a suede vest and corduroy slacks. “Pete’s got about as much regard for the opposite sex as Amos had.” A sudden twinkle in his eyes belied the fact that he was probably close to seventy. “Now, myself, I enjoy every glimpse I can get of a good-looking woman.”

Eve cocked her head. She liked this man. He was certainly the only one who’d made her feel welcome since her arrival. “Are you by any chance flirting with me, Hank?”

His smile was wily as a fox. “I’m trying, ma’am.”

“Sorry to interrupt this party,” a low voice said.

The swivel chair creaked softly as Eve made a half turn to see a tall figure standing in the doorway. Her eyes widened as recognition hit. It was him—the ticked-off male she’d confronted hours earlier. As she’d concluded, his features were attractive minus a layer of dust. But he wasn’t, as she’d assumed, a ranch hand. No ranch hand could afford this man’s wardrobe.

Eve knew fabrics. Quality told. So did expert tailoring. While the Western cut of the charcoal-brown suit that she quickly ran her gaze over might be more casual than a Manhattan banker’s three-piece pinstripe, it was every bit as impressive. The clothes didn’t make the man, though. Not this one. He made the outfit.

No, he wasn’t a ranch hand. But he was a cowboy. And he didn’t need a horse under him to prove it. From polished brown boots emphasizing a solid stance, to glossy dark hair worn just long enough in the back to brush the collar of his ivory shirt, he had a distinct air about him. Rugged. That was the word, she decided. It had taken rugged men—and women—to tame the West and make it theirs.

Oh, yes. He was a cowboy.

Suddenly aware that her lips had parted of their own accord, Eve snapped them shut and looked straight into his green eyes, firmly refusing to let her gaze falter. Something told her that was the best way to deal with this man. Head-on. And she’d have to deal with him. He was Ryder Quinn. All at once she was as sure of his identity as she was of her own.

Hank’s brief introduction confirmed it. “Eve, I’d like you to meet Ryder Quinn. Quinn, this is Eve Terry, the new owner.”

Deciding not to mention that they’d already run into each other, almost literally, she rose to her full height and issued a polite greeting. “I’m happy to meet you, Mr. Quinn.”

RYDER TOOK A DEEP BREATH, filling his lungs full, and tried not to look as though he’d just been punched in the gut, which was exactly how he felt. Stubborn horses had thrown him, wild-eyed steers had done their best to trample him into the dirt, a surly bull had even gored him on one memorable occasion. Never in all of his thirty-three years, though, had a woman threatened to bowl him over. Until now.

Earlier, he hadn’t been able to see much more than her face. Now he had a top-to-toes view. And it was quite a sight. Every bit as shapely as he’d always preferred a woman to be, with plenty of soft flesh to cover strong bones, Eve Terry was a curvy goddess decked out like a cowgirl. An urban cowgirl.

Not for a minute did he believe the fitted jeans hugging well-rounded hips or the stylishly embroidered denim shirt outlining full breasts had so much as brushed against a dusty corral fence. And if those cream-colored boots with the elaborate carving had ever come within sniffing distance of a mound of cow dung, he’d eat the fancy leather belt circling a nipped-in waist—glittering silver buckle and all.

Yet, beneath the sophisticated exterior, there was something earthy about the woman that stirred his blood. Quite simply, she made his mouth water.

She’s also your boss, Quinn, he reminded himself grimly. He was her employee—the hired help—at least temporarily. His boot heels clicked on hard tile as he stepped into the room.

She’d said she was happy to meet him, but he didn’t say the same. It would be a lie, and he didn’t care much for lies, even social ones. When she extended her right hand, he took it in his own, found its texture to be just as he’d expected: soft as satin, with an underlying strength.

“Ms. Terry.” He didn’t have to dip his head far to reestablish eye contact. Since he was over six feet, she had to be around five-ten.

“Call me Eve, please.” Again the tone was soft, with an edge of quiet self-assurance.

He kept her hand in his a second longer than he’d meant to before releasing it to cross his arms over his chest. “All right…Eve. I’m Ryder.”

They took each other’s measure before she finally turned to resume her seat. “Hank tells me you’ve been with the ranch for a long time.”

He considered it a victory that she’d been the one to look away first. A minor one, true. But winning at anything, however small, felt good right now. He had recently lost a great deal. “I’ve been here almost fifteen years, in one capacity or another.”

Imitating his body language, she leaned back and folded her arms under her breasts. “You wanted to buy it.”

He had to admire that blunt statement. Apparently, she didn’t care to beat around the bush any more than he did. “Yes.”

“And I got it instead.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Because I paid more for it than it was worth.”

Her droll frankness almost surprised a laugh out of him. Another study of her gray eyes found intelligence, and more than a hint of good-natured humor.

He nearly groaned. A smart, curvy goddess with a sense of humor. It was a potent combination, one that appealed on several levels, challenged and seduced at the same time. If she’d been anyone but who she was, his male ego might have been afraid he’d wind up begging. When an all-too-clear image of himself doing exactly that slid into his mind, he swiftly shoved it aside and deliberately made his reply curt.

“I figured you had more money than you knew what to do with.”

He didn’t add that he would have done his best to match her offer if there’d been time to seek additional financing. But time had been denied him. Amos Cutter’s daughters had wanted the sale over and done with as quickly as possible.

Eve’s gaze narrowed. “If you think I was born rich and spoiled rotten, you can think again. What I have, I’ve earned.”

“The same goes for me,” he shot back.

Her chin went up. “Want to stay and earn more?”

“Maybe.”

“Good. Let’s talk business.”

Hank cleared his throat, reminding Ryder there was another person in the room. “Well,” the older man said, “I’ll leave you two to…get to it.”

SHE WAS READY to get to it, Eve reflected as she sat forward and set her forearms on the desktop. More than ready. But it wouldn’t be wise to let her temper rule now. She needed a cool head to deal with this—and him.

Rather than taking the chair Hank had vacated moments earlier, her companion braced one hip against a desk corner and looked down at her, his arms still crossed. The significance of that pose didn’t escape Eve. She held the power position behind the desk, but Ryder Quinn had no intention of assuming a visitor’s role.

How to begin? she wondered, and decided to just dig in. “What would it take to get you to stay on as business manager?”

“That depends on how much you need me.”

Trust him to cut to the quick. And it would be pointless to dodge the issue. If he stayed, he’d discover the truth soon enough. “What I know about horses and cattle could be written on a sticky note, with room left over.”

One corner of his firm mouth hiked up. “I figured as much from that fancy outfit you’re wearing.”

His opinion shouldn’t matter, she told herself. But somehow it did. “Do you like it?”

He hesitated, looking as though he might not want to answer. “Yeah, I like it,” he said at last.

Because she sensed that was the truth, she allowed herself a smile. “I designed it.”

He lifted a dark eyebrow. “A hobby?”

Her smile widened. “A business.” She couldn’t help it, she just had to go on. “A big business, actually. When I sold it to an even bigger clothing manufacturer, the profit I banked was enough to buy the Creedence Creek, with a considerable amount left over.”

Now both brows went up. “You mean you bought this place with money you made from clothes?”

Oh, it felt good to finally jar this man. And she still had what she felt would be an even greater surprise in store for him. Eve began to enjoy herself.

“Not just clothes,” she told him, echoing his astonishment. “Upscale Western wear for women, sold under the label Sassy Lady. As I said, it’s a profitable business, and even though I no longer own it, I still design for the line.”

There was pride in her voice, she knew, and she was proud of what she’d achieved. It had taken long years filled with hopes, dreams and sheer hard work to put the Sassy Lady line on department store racks across the country. And it was a vindication of sorts that her designs were done with the full-figured female form in mind.

She’d been chubby as a child, chubbier yet as a teen. Those years bridging the gap between childhood and college had been the most difficult of all for her, and she remembered them well.