Romancing the Cowboy
Judy Duarte

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Judy Duarte always knew there was a book inside her, but since English was her least favourite subject in school, she never considered herself a writer. An avid reader who enjoys a happy ending, Judy couldn’t shake the dream of creating a book of her own.

Her dream became a reality in March 2002 when the Special Edition line released her first book. Since then, she has sold nineteen more novels.

MILLS & BOON

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To Colleen Holth, who has been my friend for almost as long as I can remember. Thanks for letting me rope you into just about anything. I love you, Col.

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Copyright

Chapter One

“I need to talk to you about Edna.” At the sound of Doc

Graham’s age-worn voice over the telephone line, Jared Clayton’s gut clenched and his chest tightened. This, he suspected, was the moment he’d been dreading. The call he and his two brothers had known would someday come.

He’d been sitting in the worn, tufted-leather chair in his study, the ledger spread across the polished oak desktop, when the phone rang.

Edna Clayton, who was known as Granny to most folks in the small Texas community of Brighton Valley, had adopted Jared when he’d been a gangly adolescent. At the time, he’d had nowhere else to go except the county home for boys. And for the next twenty years, the elderly widow had been the only real mother he’d known.

Jared waited for the small-town physician to tell him the reason he’d called. Instead, Doc asked, “How long has it been since you visited the ranch?”

“A year or so.” Jared made of a point of spending the major holidays with her and whichever brother could make it, although he’d missed being home last Christmas, due to a crisis on his own ranch—a divorce that had caught him completely by surprise. “But I call regularly.”

Oh, yeah? a small voice asked.

When was the last time he’d picked up the phone to chat with her, to ask how things were going?

A couple of weeks, he suspected. Or maybe a month.

Guilt rode him hard. He hadn’t meant to let it go that long. And the fact that he’d been so damn focused lately—first on his divorce, then on his seriously injured brother—didn’t help. At this point, neither Jolene nor Matthew seemed to be a good enough excuse.

“When did you talk to her last?” Doc had been Granny’s best friend for as long as Jared could remember, but this was the first time Jared had felt as if he’d been called on the carpet by the man. Or maybe it was his own guilt doing a number on him.

“I meant to give her a call this evening,” he lied, thinking he ought to actually schedule the time on his calendar so this wouldn’t ever happen again. He’d make a point of checking in with her weekly, if not daily.

“It’s just as well that you haven’t yet done so.”

“Why? What happened?”

“At this point? Nothing, but her memory is failing, and she’s been having some health problems.”

“Like what?” At seventy-nine, any number of things could wear out or go haywire. Maybe Jared ought to bring her to his ranch to live with him so he could keep an eye on her, but she’d always been so independent and set in her ways. And the old Granny, the one who’d raised him, would never agree. He’d have to hog-tie her and throw her over his shoulder in order to convince her to leave the Rocking C, the only home she’d had in nearly sixty years.

“I can’t seem to control her blood pressure,” Doc said, “even with medication. She has a heart murmur, and I’m afraid she may not have much time left.”

A stab of grief shot through him, stirring up his memories—the good ones. Granny and his adopted brothers, Matt and Greg, were the only family he’d ever really had.

“Since I doubt Edna will let you boys know what’s going on, I thought I’d better call.”

Jared couldn’t help thinking that Granny’s heart had worn out over the years. The idea wasn’t founded upon medical science by any means, but it seemed as though all the good deeds and charity work she’d done over the course of her life had finally taken their toll.

For as long as folks in Brighton Valley had known her, Granny had been taking in strays of all shapes and sizes—human ones, as well as the four-legged variety. And Jared thanked his lucky stars that he’d been one of them.

He had his own spread now, nearly a hundred miles away, but that didn’t mean he didn’t love her dearly. Granny was the only woman who had always come through for him and never let him down—one way or another.

“Give it to me straight, Doc.”

“Well, I think she needs to go into Houston and see a cardiologist, but I’ve never seen a woman so dang stubborn in all my life.” Since Doc had attended the local high school with Edna and was pushing eighty himself, that was saying a lot.

“Is she all right living out on that ranch alone?” Jared asked, thinking that they might need to hire a nurse to look after her if he couldn’t talk her in to moving in with him.

“She’s not alone,” Doc said. “That’s another issue completely. Right now, she’s got a full house.”

“What do you mean?” The last time Jared had gone by the ranch, the only ones living there had been Granny and Lester Bailey, the foreman, plus a couple of newly hired greenhorns who tried hard but didn’t know much about cattle. Thank goodness the other hands knew what to do without being told. “Who’s she taken in now?”

“A whole passel of women, one of whom looked pregnant to me. And there’s at least one kid.”

Oh, for Pete’s sake. Jared, of all people, ought to be understanding of Granny’s hospitality. But she was getting older now and was more vulnerable than she’d been in the past.

“Looks like I’d better make a trip south tomorrow.” Of course, he’d have to find someone to look after Matthew. Jared had a bad feeling about leaving him alone, especially in his present frame of mind.

“You probably ought to consider staying at Edna’s for a while,” Doc added.

“Why is that?”

“I spoke to Grant Whitaker about her yesterday when we were eating breakfast down at Caroline’s Diner.”

Grant was Granny’s CPA, at least he had been. He had to be Granny and Doc’s age. Or at least getting close. “Hasn’t he retired yet?”

“Nope. He still works for Edna and a couple other longtime clients. And he was concerned about something. He decided to run it by me first, before bothering you boys with it.”

Jared stiffened. “What was he worried about?”

“Grant seems to think there’s a discrepancy in her accounts.”

“What kind of discrepancy?” Jared asked.

“He says there have been a significant number of electronic withdrawals over the past few weeks.”

“I don’t know how in the hell that could have happened. Granny doesn’t even have a computer.”

“Apparently, she does now. Her new bookkeeper talked her into getting one.”

She hired a new bookkeeper? One who had access to online banking, account numbers and passwords? Jared gripped the receiver until he thought he might choke the truth out of it. “I’m not going to wait until morning. I’ll give her a call now and tell her…Hell, I’ll think of something. Either way, I’m leaving this evening.”

“Good. If she were my mother, I’d want to know.”

“If someone is taking advantage of her, they’ll wish they weren’t.”

“Now, don’t go in there half-cocked, son. There could be a logical explanation for all of this.”

Yeah. Right.

Granny needed him.

And now it was his turn to be there for her.

As he disconnected the line, a flash of lightning briefly illuminated the oak-paneled study. He pushed himself away from the desk, then strode to the open window in slow steady steps as a rumble of thunder rolled across the evening sky.

The scent of rain mingled with smoke from the chimney. He could smell the storm coming. For a moment, he considered waiting it out and driving after it passed, but he didn’t think on it too long.

He needed to get to Granny’s ranch and find out what he was up against. He shut the window, then glanced at the clock on the bookshelf. 8:38 p.m. It would be late by the time he and Matt arrived.

Jared had a key to the back door, but he didn’t want to let himself in without telling Granny he was coming. So he dialed her number.

“Hello?” a woman answered, her voice laced with a slight Latina accent, her tone soft and gentle.

All the frustration and worry that had been swirling inside caused Jared to snap in a manner that was more sharp and brusque than usual. “Who are you?”

She paused momentarily. “Why don’t you introduce yourself first?”

Patience had never been one of his virtues, not when he wanted answers. “In case you didn’t hear me the first time, who the hell are you?”

She cleared her throat, yet the softness remained. “I’m Sabrina. I work here.”

“Let me talk to Mrs. Clayton.”

“I’m not sure I want you to.”

“Excuse me?” His voice, rock hard and determined, mocked her velvety tone.

“She’s resting, and I’d rather not see her upset.”

Jared didn’t know who this woman was, but he didn’t like her already. “Why in blazes would I call to stir her up?”

“You seem to be irritated about something, sir. And I can’t see any point in raising her blood pressure.”

“Listen here, Sabrina. You’re raising my blood pressure. All I want to do is talk to Edna, to ask how she’s feeling, to check on her.”

She remained silent for the longest time, as if trying to determine whether she was talking to a friend or a foe.

“This is Jared,” he said, although she didn’t respond right away.

Hadn’t Granny even told those women about him? About how she’d adopted not only Jared, but also two other boys, who loved her and would do anything to protect her?

Apparently not.

The memory lapses Doc had mentioned came to mind, and Jared was even more determined to set things right. Even if it meant backpedaling and reining in a conversation that he now realized had started off on a bad foot.

“Maybe we ought to slow down a bit and clear the air. I’m Edna’s oldest son. And I’d like to talk to her. I get a little riled up when someone tries to put me off.”

“She told me about you. I’m sorry. I’ll get her.”

When the woman set down the receiver, silence filled the line. A barrage of questions begged for answers. And not just questions about Granny’s health, the women who’d infiltrated the ranch and the loss of money in Granny’s account.

What had Granny said about Jared?

It could have been any number of things, he supposed. But sometimes Granny had a way of revealing secrets, things a guy would rather keep to himself. And her lack of discretion was one reason he hadn’t gone into details about the divorce with her, just the irreconcilable differences part.

The real reason Jolene had left him remained deeply hidden within a ragged crevice in his heart.

“Jared?” that familiar, maternal voice asked. “Is that you?”

“Yes, Granny. How are you doing?”

“Fine as frog’s hair,” she responded. Then she made a fruitless attempt to cover the mouthpiece of the phone and speak to someone else, most likely Sabrina. “Thank you, dear. No, I’ll lock up for the night. Go on to bed.”

“Granny?” he asked, a bit put out that she’d be chatting with one of the moochers instead of him.

“I’m sorry. Where were we?” Granny asked.

“I asked how you were doing.”

“Oh, yes. I’m doing just fine. How about you? Are you well?”

Jared had been doing okay until Matthew moved in. And until Doc had called this evening. “I’m all right. Keeping busy.”

“What about Matt?” Granny said. “Is he doing okay, too?”

“Yes,” Jared said, not wanting to worry his mother. But the truth was, although Matt seemed to be mending physically, he’d been depressed ever since the accident.

Of course, Jared really couldn’t blame him. Matt had been the driver in the accident that killed his fiancée and her son. And he’d been the only one in the vehicle to survive.

“Does he still have to use a wheelchair?”

“Yes, but hopefully that’s only temporary.” Jared had built ramps to help him get in and out of the house, even though he seemed to prefer being inside. Or near the liquor cabinet.

“I’m sure it’s tough on him,” Granny said. “A man like Matt doesn’t cotton to being laid up.”

Jared wouldn’t like it, either. And while he wasn’t sure what Matt would say about the decision to go back to the Rocking C for a few days, he thought it might do him some good.

“You don’t usually call so late,” Granny said. “Is there something wrong?”

He suspected so, which was why he decided to lie about his reason for going back to the ranch and staying for a few days. “Matt and I have a couple of business meetings in Houston over the next week or so. We thought we’d come down, stay with you and drive back and forth.”

“Why, of course. I’ll ask Tori to make up beds in the den and in the guestroom.”

“Who’s Tori?”

“My new maid.”

“Then who is Sabrina?” he asked.

“She’s my new bookkeeper.”

Aw. The suspected thief. “What’s she doing at your house this late?”

“She and her nephew live here.”

The hordes had begun to move in, ready to pounce and take advantage of one of the kindest little old ladies in Texas. And Jared wasn’t going to let that happen.

“I guess I’ll meet her when we get there.”

“When are you coming?” she asked.

“Late tonight. But don’t wait up. I’ve got a key.”

And once Jared got to Granny’s ranch, he was going to take control of a sorry situation, evict a few freeloaders and see to it the thief ended up in jail.

It was after midnight, but Sabrina Gonzalez had never been able to sleep very well in an unfamiliar house. So it was no wonder she was wide-awake on one of the twin-size beds in the small guestroom Mrs. Clayton had given her to share with Joey. Her new job, which had been a blessing in and of itself, came with room and board, too. That was a bit out of the ordinary for a bookkeeper, but Sabrina wasn’t about to complain.

Besides, the room inside the Clayton ranch house was only temporary, since Mrs. Clayton planned to remodel an old cabin on the grounds. Sabrina and Joey, her six-year-old nephew, would move in as soon as it was ready for them. But God only knew how long that would be. The rustic structure hadn’t been used in ages, so it would need a lot of work to be livable.

Sabrina stopped by Joey’s bedside and gently caressed the top of his head.

Carlos, her twin brother and Joey’s dad, had been convicted of a crime he hadn’t committed and was currently serving time in prison, so Sabrina had stepped in as a guardian.

At first, when Mrs. Clayton’s job offer came through, Sabrina had declined to take it, since the ranch was quite a drive from Houston and she hadn’t found a competent and trustworthy sitter for her nephew yet. But the elderly woman had invited both Sabrina and Joey to live at the ranch, insisting that it was best for the motherless boy to be near a loved one at a time like this and not in day care.

How could Sabrina argue with that?

Joey stirred, and she shushed him until he grew still. Before leaving the room, she stopped by the closet for a robe, then hesitated. The door squeaked terribly when it slid open, and she hated to make any unnecessary noise.

Besides, what would it hurt to walk out into the kitchen wearing just her nightgown? There were only women in the house.

A night-light lit her way downstairs, the steps creaking under her weight. She walked into the living room, where she flipped on a lamp, illuminating the room. Then she went to the kitchen.

Connie, the new cook, was a sweetheart, but she hadn’t been hired for her culinary skills. The oatmeal cookies she’d made, however, were the best Sabrina had ever tasted.

Rather than turn on every light in the house, Sabrina decided not to flip on the switch. She could make her way through the dimly lit kitchen easy enough.

She opened the fridge and poured herself a glass of milk, just as a car engine sounded outside. She glanced at the clock. 12:17 a.m. Surely, Edna wasn’t expecting company. Maybe someone on the highway had made a wrong turn and was lost. The driver would figure it out soon enough, she supposed, and head back to the road.

She plucked two of the chewy cookies from the plastic container in which Connie had stored them and wrapped them in a paper towel to take into the living room, where she would eat them as she thumbed through a magazine.

But the vehicle didn’t turn around or back out. Instead, the engine continued to idle, and the headlights remained on.

A door opened and shut.

When Sabrina heard a baritone whisper through a window that had been left partially open, she froze. Another voice responded, this one a bit louder.

One of the hired hands?

Maybe so.

She pinched off a bite of one cookie and popped it into her mouth, relishing the taste of raisins and spice, then took a sip of milk.

More voices—all male—sounded. Another door opened, then shut.

“Be quiet,” a man said, as he neared the window. “I don’t want to wake up anyone in the house.”

“I hate this,” another added.

“We don’t like it, either. Just sit back and enjoy the ride, kid.”

Footsteps sounded at the back porch. It might be the end of spring, but a winter frost crept up Sabrina’s spine. Her heart pounded out an ominous dirge in her brain and perspiration beaded on her forehead.

As quiet as a cornered mouse, she tiptoed toward the kitchen counter, where the butcher block rested. She set down her milk and cookies, then grabbed the biggest weapon she could find—a meat cleaver—and held it with both hands, ready to defend herself.

Maybe it was Lester, the ranch foreman, and some of the hired hands. Maybe they had reason to be awake and milling about at this time of night.

That had to be it, yet her pulse escalated until she could hear it throbbing in her ears. An avid mystery reader with a wild imagination, Sabrina often thought in terms of worst-possible scenarios. And she tried to keep that in mind, tried to remain calm.

She could scream, waking everyone in the house. And what if there was a perfectly good explanation for all of this?

Then the new ranch bookkeeper would look like a fool.

The lock clicked, as though someone had a key. Or perhaps someone was picking it.

Should she scream now?

The door to the mudroom swung open, revealing a group of men outside, their forms barely illuminated by the headlights of a vehicle. The one in front, a tall, thirtysomething hulk of a man with wheat-colored hair, held a key in his hand and gaped at her. “Who the hell are you?”

If she’d witnessed a crime and stood behind a mirrored window, looking at a lineup and listening to each voice, she’d recognize that one.

Jared Clayton.

She didn’t know whether to cry in relief or anger. “Didn’t anyone teach you to knock on doors?”

“Not at this house.”

“Hey,” a voice behind him said, “get a move on. This is heavy.”

Jared stepped aside, and several of the ranch hands carried a dark-haired man and the wheelchair in which he was still seated through the service porch and into the kitchen, where they lowered him to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” she said, more in response to the injured man’s plight than anything.

From what she’d heard, the one-time rodeo cowboy had been involved in a tragic car accident a while back, and he’d been recuperating at Jared’s ranch. Yet her gaze and her focus turned to Jared. “You scared me.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jared’s features—quite handsome in the light—softened a tad. “And you don’t think seeing a shedevil, wielding a meat cleaver in her hand and dressed like a ghost in flowing white didn’t give me a start, too?”

Sabrina glanced down at her gown, realizing how threadbare the fabric had become, how sheer the material.

Her hair hung down her back, but she freed the side tresses, allowing them to cover the front of her gown the best they could.

As Matthew wheeled himself out of the kitchen and into the living room, the ranch hands backed out the door, closing it and leaving her with Mrs. Clayton’s oldest son. He still hadn’t formally introduced himself, although he really hadn’t needed to.

He crossed his arms across a broad chest and shifted the bulk of his weight to one, denim-clad hip. “Who are you?”

She crossed her own arms, hoping that would help hide what her hair couldn’t. “I’m Sabrina Gonzalez.”

“The bookkeeper who’s taken up residence in my mother’s house.”

It wasn’t a question, yet his tone, his condescension, set her off, provoking a retort that was completely out of character. “And you’re the rude, arrogant man who called earlier.”

Jared had been accused of worse, but he didn’t take any guff off anyone. Never had, never would.

Granny had done her best to teach him and his brothers to be cordial and polite, but it didn’t come easy to Jared. Not when he had reason to believe someone was a liar or a cheat. And he didn’t trust Sabrina Gonzalez any farther than he could throw her—something that wouldn’t be too tough. She was just a slip of a thing, with a slinky veil of black hair that nearly reached her waist.

Jared, who’d always favored long-haired women, found it intriguing. Attractive.

But he didn’t dare give this particular woman more than a passing glance. She was, after all, the one with the easiest access to Granny’s accounts. And it didn’t take much skill to put two and two together. He could do the math on that.

“Are you going to put down your weapon?” he asked.

She glanced at the cleaver, then replaced it into the butcher-block holder. Turning to face him again and recrossing her arms, she gave a little shrug. “The ranch is off the beaten path, and I wasn’t sure if this was a home invasion.”

“My guess is that you watch too much television.”

Her eyes, the color of a field of bluebonnets in the spring, were big and expressive. Her lashes, thick and dark, didn’t need mascara.

She was a beautiful woman, even without makeup and dressed in an old gown. Of course, her bedtime attire and sleep-tousled hair had an appeal in and of itself.

To much of one, he decided.

He knew better than to allow himself to be swayed by lust and did his best to shake off any sexual interest in her.

“So what were you doing awake and prowling around in the house at this hour?” he asked

She paused, as if deciding whether to tell the truth or to lie. “Sometimes I have trouble falling asleep, so I came for a glass of milk.”

“You might try whiskey. It works for me.”

The hands that she’d tucked under her arms loosened, leaving him a glimpse of the gentle swell of her breasts.

Her white cotton gown had seen better days, but her body was damn near perfect. What he could see of it, anyway.

He pulled out a chair from the antique oak table, took a seat and studied her.

Early twenties. Just over five feet tall. High cheekbones, big eyes. Lips that were kissable in spite of the pretty pout she wore.

He wondered what her hard-luck story had been. “So how’d you meet Granny?”

She remained standing. “I was referred by Mr. Whitaker, and I came out to the ranch for an interview.”

Grant referred her? If so, that was interesting. Grant had been the one to pick up on the discrepancies in the account.

“I’d originally applied for work at his office,” she added, “but he’s cutting back on his workload. He knew Mrs. Clayton needed a bookkeeper, so he gave her a call.”

By the way she tried to cover herself, Jared suspected she was embarrassed to be standing before him in her nightgown, but apparently she was too proud to make excuses and flee.

And he was too ornery to give her a reason to leave.

Besides, he had some questions to ask her.

That is, until a young, sleepy voice sounded in the doorway of the kitchen. “Aunt Sabrina?”

The woman turned to where a small, dark-haired boy of about five or six stood, rubbing his eyes.

She crossed the distance between them, placing her hand upon his shoulder. “It’s okay, Joey. I’m sorry the men woke you. Why don’t you go back to bed? I’ll be there in a minute.”

“I was worried ’bout you,” he said. “Worried you left me here and wouldn’t come back.”

She stooped, her gown pooling onto the kitchen floor. She wrapped her arms around the boy. “I’d never leave you, Joey. Not on purpose.”

“But my mommy…”

“I know, honey. But that wasn’t on purpose.”

Jared raked a hand through his hair. He wasn’t sure what that was all about. But it sounded like the hint of a hard-luck story to him, and knowing Granny, she’d been more swayed by Sabrina’s tale of woe than her qualifications, resume or references.

“Come on,” Sabrina told the boy. “I’ll walk you back to the bedroom.”

As she ushered Joey through the doorway, her hair covered most of her back, swaying with her steps. But the thin material of her nightgown did little to hide her shapely hips.

Jared suspected she wasn’t aware that the light was playing a trick on her, baring a slight outline of the panties she wore. Something decent and conservative. A pair worthy of any churchgoing matron.

Yet on Sabrina, with her ebony hair flirting with the elastic waistband, they fit her bottom in a way that would tempt a saint. And Jared was far from saintly.

Especially when he was determined to uncover a liar and a thief.

Chapter Two

On most nights, when those dreaded bouts of insomnia struck, Sabrina would finally fall asleep just before dawn, only to find it hard to wake up when it was time to begin the next day.

But that wasn’t the case this morning.

After having had the liver scared out of her by Jared Clayton and his entourage last night, she hadn’t been able to sleep at all. Of course, as much as she’d like to blame that on his unannounced arrival, it had been the tone of his voice and the implication in his words that had set her emotions on edge. He’d talked to her as though she were some kind of imposter or second-class citizen.

Standing in the kitchen, with his hands slapped onto his hips, golden-brown eyes narrowed with suspicion, square jaw lifted in challenge, he’d been a formidable opponent. And if he hadn’t struck such an intimidating pose, she might have found the blond-haired rancher handsome.

Okay. So she’d found him handsome anyway. That didn’t make him particularly appealing. Not to her. The kind of man she wanted for herself was caring and gentle, someone who pondered a situation before barking out commands or making rash judgments and snide comments.

Someone not at all like her employer’s oldest son.

Sabrina’s thoughts turned to the day she’d first arrived at the ranch. When Mrs. Clayton had given her a tour of the house, they’d stopped near the rustic stone fireplace in the spacious living room, where Sabrina had gravitated toward a hodgepodge of silver-framed photos gracing the mantel. When she had a family and a home of her own, she would display photographs, too.

One picture in particular piqued her curiosity, and she’d reached for the pewter frame of a young boy mounted on a black horse. His eyes fairly glistened with joy and a smile dimpled his cheeks.

“That’s Jared the day he went out with the men for the very first time,” the elderly woman had told Sabrina. “He was so proud. His early years had been spent in the city, so he had to learn to rope and ride first, but he was a natural. You would’ve thought he’d been born in a saddle.”

Grant Whitaker, the elderly CPA who’d passed Sabrina’s resume on to Mrs. Clayton, had mentioned something about the three boys the woman had adopted, all of whom had been down-and-out youngsters with nowhere else to go.

As Sabrina had studied the happy young boy in the photo, she’d been curious about his background. But since she’d always been one to keep her own…humble beginnings to herself, she didn’t prod for any more information than her employer wanted to share.

“Jared’s the oldest of my three sons,” Mrs. Clayton had said. “He’s grown up to be the kind of man a woman can depend upon. I suppose some would say he’s loyal to a fault.”

For a moment, Sabrina had wondered if the elderly woman had been trying her hand at matchmaking, but decided she was probably talking in a mother/son or family sense. Jared had certainly seemed to be looking out for his mother last night—if you could call a rabid dog protective.

Of course, he might have had good reason for being in a foul mood, like an abscessed tooth or a migraine headache. Still, try as she might, Sabrina couldn’t imagine that scowling, brash man to be the same smiling boy she’d seen in the picture on the mantel.

As Sabrina had returned the frame to its rightful place, Mrs. Clayton had added, “Jared’s a good boy. Of course, all my sons are.”

That hadn’t always been the case, though. From what Sabrina had heard in town, Edna “Granny” Clayton had opened her heart to people in need over the years, and no one had needed a home—or a firm hand—more than the three boys she’d adopted. Yet her generosity and kindness hadn’t stopped there.

In the past few weeks, she’d not only taken in Sabrina and Joey, but she’d given Tori McKenzie and Connie Montoya jobs and a place to live, too. So now that Jared and his brother had arrived, the house was bursting at the seams. Of course, the living situation would improve once the cabin was renovated and one of the outbuildings was converted into two small apartments for the household staff.

Sabrina didn’t know about the other two women, but she was really looking forward to the move.

As a child, she and her family had been forced to live with various relatives and she’d grown to hate feeling like a charity case. All she wanted was to have a home of her own, a place no one could ever take away from her, but she would be content with what she had now and do her best to create a stable environment for her nephew.

She plumped her pillow for the umpteenth time in the last hour or so, then rolled to the side of the bed and glanced across the room to where Joey slept. She was able to see his blanketed form without having to turn on the light, which meant morning had arrived, so she climbed from bed.

Before heading to the bathroom, she stopped at the window, drew open the white eyelet curtains and peered out at the grassy pasture where several horses grazed, then over to the big white barn. Near the double doors, some of the hired hands had begun to gather.

The Rocking C wasn’t anything like the home she’d imagined having in the city, but Joey seemed to like it here, which was all that really mattered.

She let the curtains fall back into place and made her way to the shower. She was glad her room had a private bathroom she only had to share with Joey. She turned on the spigot, waiting until the water was the right temperature, then stepped inside. When she was done, she wrapped a towel around her and blowdried her hair. Then she dressed in a pair of khaki slacks, a neatly pressed white cotton blouse and a black sweater.

Just months ago, she’d dreamed of living in the city and wearing business suits to work—a dream she would have to put on hold until Joey was older.

Still, she’d tried to dress the part of a professional on her first day at the Rocking C by wearing a skirt and blazer.

“Well, now, don’t you look nice,” Granny had said. “But dressing up all fancy isn’t necessary around here.”

Sabrina had glanced down at her outfit, then at the elderly woman who’d hired her. “I suppose this is a bit over the top for a bookkeeping position at a ranch, but I wanted to let you know I take this job seriously.”

“I’m glad to hear it. But you’ll be a lot more comfortable around here in denim and flannel.”

Sabrina hadn’t been able to go that far, so slacks and blouses had been a compromise. And even though Granny had purchased several pairs of jeans and some feminine-cut T-shirts as a surprise, Sabrina hadn’t been able to wear them. Not for work.

Now ready to face the day, she took one last peek at her nephew, then quietly let herself out of the bedroom and started down the hall. The rich aroma of freshbrewed coffee wafted through the sprawling, fivebedroom ranch house, letting her know she wasn’t the first one up and moving about. A cupboard door opened and closed in the kitchen, suggesting that Connie had started to prepare breakfast. Sabrina wondered if the new cook had any idea there would be two more joining them for the morning meal—Jared and Matthew.

She supposed it didn’t matter. Connie tried hard, and although her meals weren’t anything to shout about, she usually prepared enough to feed an army.

Sabrina wasn’t much of a breakfast eater herself, especially when she’d had a midnight snack. But last night she’d only had two cookies. If Jared hadn’t shown up, she might have gone back for more, but she hadn’t wanted to leave her room.

Before she could get three steps down the hall, she heard papers being shuffled in the dark-paneled, masculine office and stiffened. She’d become somewhat territorial about the room in which she worked. With Edna’s permission, she’d spent the better part of two days arranging the furniture and setting up a filing system that suited her.

More paper shuffled and a drawer slid open.

Was Edna looking for something she’d misplaced again?

As Sabrina approached the open doorway, she spotted Jared seated at the desk, rifling through one of the drawers. Several open files lay across the scarred oak desktop.

“Looking for something?” she asked.

The rugged rancher glanced up. For one fleeting moment, he donned the expression of a boy who’d been caught with his hand in the church offering plate, but he quickly doused it.

Straightening, he leaned back in the seat, the leather and springs creaking from the shift in his weight. “Nope. Nothing in particular.”

In that case, he’d been snooping, which she didn’t appreciate one bit.

She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorjamb. “The office was a mess when I came to work, so I’ve organized it. I know exactly where everything is and can put my hands on it instantly. So if you ever decide what it is you need, just let me know. I’d be glad to get it for you.”

His gaze traveled the length of her and back, as though he was trying to assess her—body and soul. A glimmer of masculine interest flashed in his eyes, and it was all she could do to remain ramrod straight. Calm. In control. She was determined to keep her pulse rate steady and her temper on an even keel.

“It’s obvious that you’ve made a lot of changes,” he said. “Granny used to file things in piles and stacks.”

“I can’t work like that.”

“Ah, so you’re a control freak.”

She tensed. Over the years, she’d taken some ribbing because of her need to take charge of her life, but she couldn’t help it. “I prefer to think of myself as organized.”

He rocked back in the chair, causing it to strain and groan. “Where did you meet Grant Whitaker?”

Sabrina didn’t like the idea of being interrogated and had the urge to tell Jared where he could get off. But she’d worked hard in college, choosing to bypass student loans and financial aid for reasons of her own, and didn’t want him or anyone else to think of her as a charity case. Not anymore.

“I was majoring in accounting at the University of Houston and met Mr. Whitaker while applying for a job in his office. He wasn’t hiring, but suggested I call Mrs. Clayton, since she’d recently told him she was looking for a bookkeeper. I needed the job, and she needed me. It’s as simple as that.” She strode toward the desk. “While I don’t usually waste my time speaking to rude, obnoxious people, you’re my employer’s son, so I’m trying to be polite. But I don’t owe you anything, Mr. Clayton. Least of all an explanation.”

A grin tugged at his lips, and a hint of—amusement? Admiration?—lit the gold flecks in his eyes. “I thought accountants were supposed to be mild-mannered. You’ve got a little spunk.”

A part of her felt compelled to thank him, but she kept quiet.

“I suppose I’ve been…snappy,” he admitted, “so I apologize. But there are a lot of people living here, all of them strangers, and I just want to make sure no one is taking advantage of Granny.”

“Your mother strikes me as being a good judge of character.”

“She always used to be.”

Sabrina glanced at the files on the desk and eased closer so she could see what he’d been reading. “For someone who claims he isn’t looking for anything, you sure have dug through quite a few files.”

“Actually,” he said, “I’m the executor of Granny’s estate and I always go over the books when I’m in town.”

“She didn’t say anything to me about that.”

“It probably slipped her mind.”

That was certainly possible, Sabrina supposed. “Then maybe it’s a good idea if we talk to her about it at breakfast. I’d feel much better if she gave me her okay.”

Instead of responding to her comment, he studied her. His hazel eyes, were compelling when they weren’t narrowed or fired-up in anger. Mesmerizing, actually, so she broke eye contact.

About the time she assumed he wasn’t going to respond at all, he said, “Your hair looks better down. Like you wore it last night.”

The compliment, as well as the masculine appreciation in his tone, knocked her off balance, and she lifted her hand to feel along the side of her hair. Making sure the strands were in place, she supposed.

He cleared his throat. “Anyway, you don’t need to worry. I’ll put everything back where I found it.”

“That’s all right.” Sabrina reached for a file, intending to gather them all together and make sure they ended up in the right place. “I’ll do it.”

Jared’s hand clamped on to her wrist, and a jolt of heat shot straight through her chest, nearly taking her breath away. Time stood still, as sexual awareness hovered over her, unbalancing her.

She yanked free of his grip, a knee-jerk response that was more from the shocking zing of his touch than from being restrained.

Her parents had allowed themselves to be ruled by hormones instead of good sense. And look where that had gotten them.

Sabrina was determined not to make the same mistake, especially when she could clearly see that Jared Clayton wasn’t the man for her.

“I’m not finished looking at those.” As he withdrew his hand, his gaze softened ever so slightly.

“I have no problem allowing you to have the run of the office. But only if Mrs. Clayton gives her okay.”

He leaned back in the chair, the leather and springs protesting again. Another grin eased across his lips, causing the warrior in him to relax some. “I value honesty, integrity and a good work ethic, Sabrina. So I hope that’s what’s going on here.”

That’s exactly what was going on. But the way he studied her made her wonder if he thought she had some kind of ulterior motive.

“Maybe we’ve started out on the wrong foot,” he said, his eyes gentling even more.

He was right, but it wasn’t Sabrina who’d set the ground rules. “I’m sure your mother would prefer that we be allies rather than adversaries.”

“Is it too late to start over?”

She wanted to tell him it was. To insist the two of them might never see eye to eye.

Yet as her their gazes locked, as her heart rate slipped into overdrive, she wasn’t so sure.

Jared hadn’t been able to find anything suspicious in the office, so just before seven, he stopped by the kitchen to share a cup of coffee with the men who were downing the last bit of their breakfast—overcooked strips of bacon and misshapen, unevenly browned pancakes. Since Connie, the so-called cook, was nowhere to be seen, Jared suspected that she’d had been too embarrassed to stick around and witness the consumption of the meal.

But rather than hang out with the men any longer, Jared made small talk while he finished his coffee, then excused himself to check on his brother.

It was rare that Jared ever felt as though he was in over his head, but in this case, with three women to question, as well as some of the ranch hands—if he could ever get them alone—he could use Matt’s help.

His brother’s bedroom door was closed, so he knocked lightly.

“Who is it?” Matt asked.

“It’s me.”

“Come on in.”

Jared opened the door and entered the room. Matt was seated in his wheelchair. His dark brown hair was a tousled mess and he hadn’t shaved in days. What most people might not know was that Matt’s spirit had been more broken than his body.

“Want me to help you take a shower?” Jared asked.

“Maybe later.” Matt nodded his head toward the office door. “Find out anything?”

“Not yet, but I haven’t been able to go back too far. If worse comes to worst, I’ll give Grant Whitaker a call.”

“What are you going to do if you find out who’s been tinkering with Granny’s accounts?”

“Press charges for a start.”

Last night, after Doc had called, Jared had given his brother the news. He’d hoped hearing about Granny’s failing health and the missing funds might pull Matt out of the slump he’d been in ever since the accident.

“You have to come with me,” he’d told his brother last night. “I’m going to need help convincing Granny to sell her place and move in with me.”

But if truth be told, Jared had feared leaving Matt alone in his condition. No telling what he might do, even if he’d never made any outright threats to end it all.

Why else would he refuse to go to physical therapy?

If Jared had been the one laid low by shattered bones, he’d be champing at the bit to get better and back on his feet.

Now he was hoping that Matt’s love for Granny would pull him out of the depression that threatened to keep him in that damn chair for the rest of his life.

“I need your help,” he told Matt.

“What kind of help?”

In the past, Matt had always been just as protective and vigilant about the ranch and their mother’s well-being as Jared was, but believing he’d caused the accident that killed his fiancée and her son had crippled him worse than the injuries he’d suffered that fateful night.

“I need you to keep your eyes and ears open. One of the strays Granny took in is a thief, and I’m not sure which one.”

“What about the new bookkeeper?” Matt asked. “She has access to the bank accounts. Have you questioned her yet?”

“I wanted to do some poking around first.” A small part of him hoped the lovely, dark-haired beauty with the skill and the opportunity to rob Granny blind was every bit as ethical and efficient as she claimed to be, although he couldn’t say why. Someone was responsible for the missing funds, and heaven help whoever it was.

“Come on.” Jared stepped behind Matt’s wheelchair and began to push him out of the bedroom. “Let’s go have breakfast, although I gotta tell you it smells much better than it looks. I just hope it tastes okay. When I was in there earlier, I didn’t see any of the ranch hands go for seconds.”

As Jared and Matt entered the hall, they blocked the way of a tall, shapely redhead, who jerked back and gasped in surprise.

Jared opened his mouth to ask which of the freeloaders she was, but having already bumped heads with Sabrina, he decided to exercise a little more diplomacy this time. “We haven’t met. I’m Jared Clayton, Granny’s son, and this is Matthew, my brother.”

“Tori McKenzie. The new housekeeper.” Her gaze slid toward Matt, and curiosity played out on her face.

To her credit, she didn’t ask any questions, which Matt probably appreciated. He didn’t like talking about the car accident that had also ended his rodeo career.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Tori said.

“Same here.” Jared forced a grin, yet doubted his brother made the same attempt. Matt didn’t find much to smile about these days.

Tori stepped aside by entering the open doorway to the bathroom, allowing room for Matt’s wheelchair to pass, and Jared continued on his way to the kitchen.

“Well, now,” Granny said from her chair at the antique walnut table that had been in her family for years. “Isn’t this a treat? All we’re missing is Greg.”

The youngest of the three boys, Greg, had always been in the limelight, first as a star football player in college and now as a country-and-western singer.

“Greg’s on tour this month,” Jared said.

After Doc’s phone call last night, Jared had called his youngest brother, who was ready to cancel whatever shows necessary to come home, but Jared told him to hold off and that they’d keep him posted on the situation.

“Greg’s getting pretty popular,” Granny said.

“That’s true, but the last time we talked, he mentioned wanting to come home for a visit as soon as he could swing it. I have a feeling he’s going to surprise you one of these days soon.” Jared didn’t mention that the conversation had taken place last night.

The back door opened and shut, then a petite woman with short blond hair entered through the mudroom. She was attractive, Jared supposed, although he’d always been partial to brunettes.

Especially those with long dark hair—like Sabrina, he realized, although that was one attraction that wasn’t going anywhere.

“Can I freshen anyone’s coffee?” the blonde asked, as she headed to the sink and turned on the water to wash her hands.

Granny lifted her cup. “I’ll have a tad more. And now that you’re here, let me introduce you to my sons, Jared and Matt. Boys, this is Consuela Montoya. But she wants to be called Connie.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” The woman smiled shyly, then reached for the coffeepot and replenished Granny’s cup. “Anyone else?”

“Not yet,” Matt said.

“I’ll pass.” Jared studied the woman, noting that her hair had been dyed. Had she been a brunette who’d come in to some cash lately?

Highlights like those were expensive. He knew because his ex had emphasized the blond streaks in her hair that way. And nothing about Jolene or her tastes had been cheap.

“By the way,” Granny said, “someone made me an offer on the Nevada property.”

Jared wasn’t aware that she’d had any out-of-state land or holdings. “What property is that?”

“It’s a large parcel that Everett purchased years ago.” Everett was her late husband, a man who’d passed away just before Jared had been adopted, which meant Granny had owned the land for at least twenty years. “Didn’t I tell you boys about it?”

Jared looked at Matt, who shook his head.

“Well, I plumb near forgot all about it. Everett bought it ages ago, although I can’t remember exactly when.”

“And someone wants to buy it?” Jared asked.

“Yep. And he’s courtin’ me, too.”

Courting her? Jared furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

Granny laughed. “Not courting me like a moonstruck lover. He’s just calling and sweet-talking me some, hoping I’ll sell. And to tell you the truth, I think it’s time. Everett said it would be a good investment for our old age.”

“Where is it located?” Jared asked.

“Not too far from Las Vegas. Everett always thought the town would grow and that the property would be valuable someday.”

“So do you want to sell?” he asked.

“If they make me a decent offer.”

Jared feared, at her age, she might not be able to negotiate a real-estate deal—not without being taken advantage of. And who was to say what a “decent offer” was? “Why don’t you let me talk to that guy the next time he calls?”

“All right.” Granny took a sip of coffee, then watched as Connie took a platter of pancakes from the oven, where they’d been kept warm, and placed them on the table. Each one was an uneven shade of brown and shaped like the ink blots on a Rorschach test. Jared wondered if the hands had chosen the ones that looked more edible and left these behind.

“Hotcakes anyone?” Connie asked.

Matt merely stared at the stack, and Jared wondered if he’d make it until lunch if he didn’t eat any of them.

“Thanks,” Granny said, snagging one that was a little too dark around the edges for Jared’s taste. “They’re looking better each time you make them, Connie. I told you perfect flapjacks just take practice.”

It seemed pretty apparent that Granny hadn’t required her new cook to provide references.

Before long, they were joined at the table by Sabrina and her nephew, whose eyes widened when he spotted Jared. “We never get to eat with the cowboys.” Then his gaze lit on Matt and his wheelchair.

Jared had to give the kid credit for biting his lip, rather than commenting.

After Granny made the introductions, Sabrina dug through the pile of hotcakes and found one shaped like an egg. It was a perfect shade of brown on one side, and nearly white on the other.

She placed it on the boy’s plate, but he seemed more interested in Matt’s chair. Curiosity grew in his eyes.

“My grandfather has a wheelchair,” the boy finally said. “But it isn’t as cool as yours.”

“Mine’s pretty cool,” Matt said.

Was Jared the only one who sensed sarcasm in his brother’s tone?

“What happened to you?” the boy asked. “My grandpa fell down and broke his hip.”

“Matt broke his legs,” Granny explained, probably assuming her middle son would shine the kid like he usually did when someone brought up the subject. Or maybe she was just trying to take the heat off him. “Thank God he won’t have to stay in the chair forever.”

Maybe not, although that was left to be seen. But either way, Matt would never compete in the rodeo again, which was his life. So Jared suspected his brother didn’t get a whole lot of comfort from that. If he did, you’d think he’d be trying harder to get better.

“Have you started physical therapy again?” Granny asked.

Wrong question, Jared could have told her. But he didn’t.

Matt tensed, then glanced at her, his expression blank. “No. Not yet.”

Footsteps sounded, and the redhead—Tori—joined them at the table, taking a seat next to the boy.

“How’d you sleep last night?” Tori asked Granny.

“Only woke up once to use the bathroom,” Granny said. “You were right about that medication.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

It was bad enough that three strangers had infiltrated Granny’s life and home, but it was even worse to have them buttinginto her personal habits.

“Hey, cool,” Joey said, as he pulled his fork out of the gooey middle of his hotcake. “They’re cream-filled.”

“Uh-oh. Sorry about that.” The blond cook snatched away the boy’s plate. “That’s not cream filling, it’s batter. I guess that one needs to be cooked a little more.”

This was crazy. Jared wondered if Sabrina, the bookkeeper, knew how to run an adding machine or if Tori, the maid, knew which end of the broom was up.

He had to talk Granny into selling the ranch and moving in with him, where he could take care of her. Too bad she was every bit as stubborn as she was good-hearted.

A knock sounded at the door. Before waiting to be invited in, the ranch foreman entered the mudroom. “Sorry to interrupt breakfast, but Earl Clancy just split his head wide-open. He’s refusing to go into town and see a doctor, but it looks pretty bad to me.”

“He needs to go anyway,” Sabrina said. “If he’s worried about the cost, worker’s compensation will take care of it.”

Tori scooted her chair away from the table. “I’ll go take a look at the wound. Maybe I can talk Earl into getting it checked.”

“Thanks, ma’am.” Lester turned toward the door and placed his hat back on his head. “I’d sure appreciate that.”

The redhead reached into a cupboard near the refrigerator and pulled out a white metal box with a red cross on the front. Jared wondered if she had first-aid training, suspecting that she might have. Still, that didn’t make her Florence Nightingale.

“You know,” he said, getting to his feet, “I think I’ll go check on the injured man myself. If he needs a doctor, I’ll drive him into town.”

And even if he didn’t, Jared wanted to get the foreman off by himself. Lester Bailey had been working for the Rocking C for almost as long as Jared could remember, and if anyone had a handle on Granny’s mental state, it was him.

“I’ll keep the hotcakes warm for you,” the cook said.

“Thanks, Connie. But don’t bother.” Jared would much rather pick up something to eat in town. As he reached the back door of the mudroom and grabbed his hat, footsteps sounded behind him.

“Wait a minute.”

He turned to see Sabrina heading after him, a plastic container in her arms. “Why don’t you take a couple of cookies with you? Think of them as a hearty bowl of oatmeal-on-the-run, only better.”

Jared, who’d always had a sweet tooth, reached inside and pulled out one of the plumpest cookies he’d ever seen. “Who made these?”

“Connie did.”

The cook?

“She’s a whiz at making sweets and desserts. So I don’t think one will be enough.” She handed him a couple more.

He took the cookies she offered, then watched as she reached into the jar and pulled out one for herself. After taking a bite, she closed her eyes, relishing each chew.

Jared had never known that eating could be so damn sexy. His mind wandered to the vision Sabrina had made last night, wearing that flowing white nightgown and with that veil of hair sluicing over her shoulders and down her back.

Now, as she murmured a “Mmm” in delight, it set off a wave of hunger inside of him. And he wasn’t talking about food.

But under the circumstances, the cookies would be a healthier choice.

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