To Desire a Wilde

Chapter 3

Shilah strode into the sprawling, five-thousand-square-foot house he’d called home for nearly twenty years, withdrew his jacket and lifted his Stetson from his head, absently tossing both on the hallway table.

He sidestepped the ladder that rested against the wall near the laundry room, along with a variety of other building materials, making a mental note to remind his brothers to tell the construction crew to clean up after themselves when they broke for the day. If they didn’t, he would be the first in line to duck and hide when Lilly came after them for “messing up my house.”

Hopefully, the general mayhem and mess would soon be over, finishing the construction that would add two additional wings on the house to accommodate their growing family. Although their home was large enough now for everyone, with both of Shilah’s brothers engaged, the decision had been made to add separate suites for them, for privacy.

The distant smell of lunch permeated the air, but there was no sign of Lilly or anyone else in the spacious kitchen. He glanced over at the antique grandfather clock in the foyer. It was almost time for Yasmine and the others to start preparing for dinner. But, as he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, he couldn’t wait for the others and made his way to the fridge. He withdrew a cold beer, and, twisting off the cap, he tipped his head back and allowed the bitter amber to slide down his throat.

“You do realize that it’s not even four o’clock, huh, bro?”

Shilah knew it had to be too good to be true—that he might actually have a moment to himself alone, when he could think in private about the bombshell life had just thrown, in the way of Ellie Crandall.

He didn’t bother turning to face his brother, but simply finished off his beer before placing the empty bottle on top of the marble counter near the fridge. Reluctantly he turned to face Holt.

As usual, a shit-eating grin was split across his youngest brother’s face, and as usual Shilah ignored it, simply lifting a brow. “I’m sure it’s five o’clock somewhere.”

Holt nodded his head. “Yeah, guess you’re right about that.” Holt pushed away from the bar-style counter and walking farther into the kitchen.

Shilah moved to the side, to allow him to reopen the fridge. When he pulled out an assortment of sliced turkey and ham, along with a variety of toppings, Shilah’s stomach rumbled in response.

Holt glanced over his shoulder, meeting his eyes. “You missed lunch too?”

“Yeah,” Shilah answered. “Just got back from the south pasture. I was hoping Lilly left me a plate from lunch.”

“Naw, Lil is resting. Ellie and the new kitchen girl did lunch today.” He threw Shilah a forlorn look. “And Yaz didn’t even make lunch for me. Guess my baby missed the memo.”

Shilah raised a brow. “Which one was that?”

“You hungry?” he asked, and Shilah nodded his head.

After withdrawing two plates from the overhead cabinet, Holt went about deftly slicing tomatoes and pickles. “The one that says the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” he groused, and Shilah barked out a laugh.

Recently, Holt had become engaged to Yasmine Taylor, their housekeeper Lilly’s niece. Although Lilly was much more than a housekeeper to the men, having been a part of the ranch before Shilah, Holt and Nate had arrived as foster kids.

Thinking back, Shilah had a hard time remembering when the woman wasn’t a part of their lives, as she’d been more like a surrogate mother to Shilah and his two brothers from the time they were young.

Her niece Yasmine had been a part of the ranch for nearly as long, coming to live with them when she was a child, as well. Soon after graduating high school she’d left, and her visits to the ranch after that had been few and far between. She’d come home last month to help Lilly recover after her knee-replacement surgery and.

Shilah glanced at his brother, holding back a laugh when he bit out a curse after slicing into his finger, again grumbling about his woman and her neglect.

… And that was all she wrote, Shilah finished the thought. Penthouse—the nickname Holt had been given when he’d played pro ball, known for changing his women as often as most men changed their shorts—had fallen and fallen hard. And Yasmine had fallen just as hard, the pair inseparable since their engagement. When Holt wasn’t working, he could be found with Yasmine, helping her as she planned the opening of her own catering business, as well as meeting with producers for a cooking show that would begin taping in the fall.

“Grab some bread. Yaz and I made some rye last night,” Holt said, making a sound with his mouth and smacking his lips.

At that, Shilah turned to his brother, raising a brow. “You and Yaz?”

“Yep, she’s been giving me cooking lessons. In exchange she allows me to give her lessons in … well, let’s just say my baby is learning the ABCs of how to treat her man.” A grin of remembered pleasure crossed his face. He turned to Shilah. “Just need to slice it,” he said, nodding his head toward the pantry.

Holt frowned, his thumb in his mouth. “What? You don’t like rye bread?”

Shilah laughed. “First you rant about her not taking care of you, then you’re talking about helping her cook and then waxing poetic on how well she treats her man. ABCs of how to treat her man, my ass.” Shilah laughed. “You’re so whipped it ain’t even funny, man.”

Holt shrugged, humor lighting his pale blue eyes. “If I don’t grouse every once in a while, y’all will think I’m getting soft.” He winked. “Can’t have that. My babe likes me … hard.”

“Whoa!” Shilah threw up his hands. “I’m a man. And your brother. That doesn’t get me excited, the thought of you getting hard,” he said, tossing the sack holding the bread toward Holt. Which his ex-NFL brother easily caught, an ever-present half grin on his face. “In fact, it makes me wanna hurl.”

With both of his brothers, Nate and Holt, engaged, for the first time in a long time Shilah felt alone, in a way he hadn’t felt in longer than he wanted to remember.

Not that he wasn’t happy for them; it was just that at times lately it hit him that soon his brothers would start families of their own, and the thought was unsettling.

He lifted a bag of chips he’d found on the shelf and walked toward the island-style counter in the middle of the kitchen and placed it alongside the bread.

“You’re a lucky man. Nothing wrong with appreciating what you’ve got.”

He felt Holt’s curious gaze on him as they quickly made sandwiches for their makeshift lunch.

Holt sat next to him on a barstool, took a healthy bite of his sandwich and swallowed. Around the bite, Holt began, “You know, Yaz has this friend—”

“Has Nate returned from Cheyenne yet?” Shilah interjected. There was no way in hell he was going to let his brother finish that particular train of thought. Damn, was he so pitiful that Holt thought he needed fixing up?

Shilah was perfectly happy remaining the single man in their family. Besides the yearning he’d felt when he’d watched his brothers with their brides-to-be, sharing secret smiles or going to bed early, eyes only for each other, Shilah knew that love and happily-ever-after wasn’t in the cards for him.

He’d known that from the time he was a young boy. He was too … flawed, for any woman to ever love him.

Immediately the image of Ellie Crandall came to his mind, as unexpected as it was sudden.

He forced away the conflicting feelings he felt at seeing her again.

Although he’d chosen to go to a local college when he wasn’t working at the ranch, he’d often spent his free time at the library, studying and cramming four years of college into two. Soon after graduating, he’d devoted his time fully to the ranch, working long, hard days. At that point the ranch had begun to grow—he and his brothers as well had worked alongside Jed to see to that.

Although his brothers had gone on temporarily to pursue other interests, it had been for the betterment of the ranch. Nate, the oldest, had been involved in a lucrative stint of bull riding, and Holt in the NFL. The money they’d earned was used to improve and expand the ranch.

Within a short time, their profits had skyrocketed as they’d diversified, adding breeding of thoroughbreds to their menu, the money that earned allowing them to expand even more.

It had taken the death of Jed for all three brothers to come home and work the ranch full-time, dedicating themselves to seeing it become the vision Jed had for it.

Ellie’s arrival on the ranch had brought back memories, memories of a special time in his life, some painful, held deep in his subconscious, but all of them close to his heart.

“Not yet. He and Althea should be home by the weekend,” Holt replied, answering his question about Nate, bringing Shilah’s attention back to the present.

Recently, a national food conglomerate, Rolling Hills. had begun to buy … or consume, as he and his brothers had come to believe, many of the family-owned ranches at an alarming rate, leaving Wyoming Wilde as one of the last in the area.

Less than a year ago, a representative from Rolling Hills had approached him and his brothers in an offer to buy out the ranch. They hadn’t considered the offer, although lucrative, but their refusal to sell had fallen on deaf ears.

“Any word yet on anything? Did Nate find out anything more about who, if anyone, is behind this shit?” Shilah asked, in disgust.

Not only had Rolling Hills been after their ranch relentlessly, over the last year freak accidents had been accruing at an increasing rate, from isolated fires breaking out, to animals being misplaced on their way to slaughter.

Some were minor, some more serious in nature. As the “accidents” increased, more and more the brothers suspected someone was out to get them. And the only “someone” that came to mind was Rolling Hills.

The latest incident was by far the most serious. It could prove disastrous for the ranch’s continuation and was the reason Nate and Althea had made a trip to Cheyenne.

“Thank God our brother has friends in high places, or we would have been up the proverbial creek,” Holt said, a hard edge entering his voice.

Nate had been tipped off by a friend who worked for the USDA that a someone anonymous had made accusations that Wyoming Wilde Ranch was knowingly selling tainted meat.

With that, the men now knew that all the previous accidents hadn’t been coincidences. Someone … more accurately, Rolling Hills, had taken the game to a whole new level, and the threat could prove fatal for Wyoming Wilde.

“I spoke with Nate this morning. Before any of this goes further, Nate’s friend has arranged an outside contractor to come to the ranch and review our facilities.”

Shilah frowned, thoughts of Ellie momentarily placed in the back of his mind.

“Review our facilities? What the hell for?”

Holt shook his head. “Hell, at least they didn’t shut us down. Actually, it’s a good thing. This way we can prove no tainted meat is coming from Wyoming Wilde.” Before Shilah could comment, Holt continued. “Speaking of which,” he said, standing and carrying his plate to the sink. “I don’t know if you remember Doc Crandall’s daughter, Ellie?” At that, Shilah’s gaze flew to his brother’s, narrowing.

Blithely, Holt continued, “Check this out. This could either be a good thing for the ranch or bad. Depending on how it all pans out. Anyway,” he said, wiping his hands on a dishrag after cleansing the plate and placing it in the drainer, and with only a raised brow accepting Shilah’s plate as well. “Turns out she followed in her old man’s footsteps and became a vet.”

Shilah hid his surprise at the announcement. He realized that during his earlier exchange with her he never asked Ellie what she did for a living, or what had brought her to the ranch. The thought that he might be seeing her on a more regular basis, that she might be helping her father out, filled him with a heady anticipation.

“Damn, no, I didn’t know,” he said, hiding his reaction.

“Gets better than that.”

Shilah impatiently waited for Holt to continue, gritting his teeth when his brother frowned over the plate he’d just cleaned and tsked at himself, before wiping away a smudge of food he’d missed.

“When the hell did you become Betty Homemaker? Give me the damn plate!” Shilah said, snatching the plate and placing it in the drainer.

“Hey, what’s up with you?”

Shilah exhaled a breath, knowing his behavior was odd and not wanting his brother, known for his … unusual sense of humor, to discern the reason.

“Just nerves, man. This whole thing with Rolling Hills is getting under my skin,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief when his explanation seemed to appease Holt.

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Same here. Sorry about that. Guess my baby is having an influence on me when it comes to the kitchen. She pitches a fit if everything isn’t cleaned up,” he said with a shrug.

Although he wanted nothing more than to turn the tables and rag on Holt for his newfound domestication, Shilah’s mind was divided between concern for the ranch and what, if anything, Ellie had to do with it.

He ran back through their conversation in his mind. When he’d first asked her the reason for her return to the ranch, he’d wanted to bite out his tongue, seeing the laughter flee from her eyes, replaced by the somberness that she often seemed to carry around her like a stone weight.

After that, he’d managed to bring the smile back to her face, making her laugh outright a few times, and he’d been happier than he should have been. She was just a girl from his past, he reminded himself, and immediately his inner voice mocked him with the memory of how good she’d felt … how right she’d felt against him when she’d stumbled and he’d pulled her close for a moment.

No. She was a woman from his past, one he hadn’t seen or thought of for years, and nothing more.

“Yeah, well, anyway, our little Ellie has grown up and is working for the USDA. And apparently she’s the vet they assigned to come and investigate.”

“Wait a minute … back up. Ellie is investigating us?” When his brother stared at him as though he had grown two heads, Shilah realized that he must have lost a thread of their conversation, his mind on Ellie.

“Uh … yeah. We just talked about that. USDA is sending out their own investigator about the report?”

“Yes, I got that part. I missed the part about what Ellie has to do with that. How exactly … when …did she get involved with the case?”

“Now, that I don’t know. But I’m sure Nate will fill us in when he gets back home.” A glance at his watch and Holt cursed. “Damn, I was supposed to leave ten minutes ago to pick up Yaz from town.”

With that he bolted out of the kitchen, leaving Shilah with his thoughts.

Left alone, Shilah thought back to his conversation with Ellie. Each time he’d been set to ask her about what she’d been doing, somehow the conversation had turned and he’d been doing the talking. A seed of doubt crept into his mind. Had she been so absorbed in him … in the conversation, to distract him away from asking what she was doing at the ranch?

He shook his head. No, not Ellie. Besides, she wouldn’t do anything to harm the ranch, he reasoned. She loved it as much as any of them did.

But why hadn’t she told him why she was on the ranch? The question nagged at him as he left the house, turning over in his mind Ellie’s reason for not mentioning her role with the ranch.

Chapter 4

“Is that you, baby girl?”

No sooner had Ellie walked inside her parents’ house, than she heard her mother calling out to her.

With a tired sigh, she placed her bag down on the hallway table and walked farther inside, spying her mother in the kitchen, an apron tied around her ample hips.

“Is Dad home?” she asked.

“No, he got a call from the Petersons. Seems one of their prize goats has gone into a difficult labor,” her mother replied, casually.

Ellie laughed. To any other person that would have seemed like an odd statement, but she’d learned it all in stride, having grown up with a father who not only worked as the veterinarian for the Wilde Ranch, but also served as a veterinarian to farm animals and pets … and goat farmers. Although many of the local farms and ranches had been sold to major corporations, her father maintained a thriving practice.

She walked into the kitchen, leaned over her mother’s shoulder and inhaled.

“Hmm … that smells great, Mom. What are you making?”

“Oh, just a little something I threw together.”

Ellie opened the refrigerator, pulled out a can of cola and grinned at her mother.

“Something you just threw together, huh?” she asked, seeing the small smile playing around the corners of her mother’s mouth.

“It’s your favorite—pot roast. It’s not every day my only child returns home,” she quipped. Although it was said lightly, Ellie frowned. She opened her mouth to remind her mother that she didn’t know how long she’d be home, but just as quickly closed it.

That was just it. She herself didn’t know how long that would be.

Her return home had come at a time when she was deciding the next course in her career, her life.

Instead of joining her dad in practice after graduating, Ellie had chosen to do an extended study in animal husbandry at an overseas tertiary institution. Although her parents had been proud of her, having been chosen among thousands of applicants, she knew her father had also been disappointed that she hadn’t joined him in his practice.

But, as much as she loved her parents, appreciated them, after the accident she’d suffered as a child and the looks of pity she’d come to abhor as she’d grown older, Ellie knew that she had to leave Lander, the home she’d grown up in.

Even if that had meant leaving her parents, and the community, the only home she known for all of her life.

Completing the extended study, she’d elected to remain for a period of time as an associate professor as well as vet for the small rural community she’d come to love. But, after her last visit home, she’d been struck by how much her parents had aged despite their active lifestyle, and decided it was time to come home.

Not only for her parents, but for herself, as well.

A ghost of a smile graced Ellie’s mouth as she watched her mother fussing over the food she’d prepared. Ellie had been home for almost a week, and every day her mother had “thrown together” something special for her for dinner. And breakfast, as well as anytime Ellie walked into the house.

She glanced around the immaculately kept home. Nothing was ever out of place. From the crocheted doilies set on the highly polished kitchen table that her father had made when he’d first married her mother, to the cherrywood floors and every knickknack in between, everything was neat and orderly.

Her mother turned toward her, a small smile on her face, “It’s good to have you home, baby. We’ve missed you.”

A wealth of emotion passed along the older woman’s features and Ellie paused before moving toward her mother near the stove.

“Have a seat, Mom. Let me do that,” she said softly. But when she tried taking the plate from her mother’s hand, she was gently, but firmly, moved away.

“You go sit down and tell me how your day went. I told you … I enjoy doing this,” her mother replied. Ellie shook her head, but lifted her cola can from the counter and sat at the table. Her glance went over the table set with silverware. In the middle of the table a basket was filled with bread, a large bowl of salad nearby.

“How’d the first day go? Did you get to talk to the boys?” Leandra Crandall asked, as she went about filling two plates before walking to the table and placing them down. Immediately she walked to the refrigerator and removed a pitcher of tea and brought it to the table.

Running a critical eye over the table, making sure she hadn’t left anything out, finally Ellie’s mother sat down next to her.

Ellie reached over to remove a roll from the basket, her stomach growling. Her mother’s sharp tap on the back of her hand and scowl stopped her from taking a healthy bite. Ellie bit her lip to prevent a laugh at the silent admonishment.

“Oops, sorry, Mom,” she mumbled, and bowed her head as her mother said grace.

Once her mother had blessed the food to her satisfaction, she turned to Ellie, raising a brow.

“What?” Ellie asked, swallowing down a sigh. If her mother didn’t just let her eat, she would scream.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Did you get to talk to the boys?” Leandra asked.

“If by boys, you mean Nate or Holt, the answer would be no.”

“And what about Shilah?” her mother replied, as she began to eat.

“No,” Ellie replied shortly, after a brief pause. When her mother stared at her she felt like a deer caught in the headlights.

“What, Ma?” she asked, around a bite of food.

She felt as she had as a child whenever her parents caught her telling a lie. She felt the tips of her ears burn, something that happened whenever she hedged on the truth.