“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

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For Ann, who always loved a cowboy hero

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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.

Yo, hefty hips.

Sometimes she could still hear that mocking chorus of deep voices thrown from a passing convertible, one crowded with a bunch of thoughtless punks out for a joyride on a hot summer night. Not that they’d been punks to her. Back then, they were her peers, boys she went to high school with, which only gave their taunting remark all the more power to hurt her.

And, of course, it hadn’t ended there. In a society that valued thinness almost as highly as wealth, she’d felt less than worthy throughout her young adulthood, a feeling she’d since discovered was familiar to others standing on the wrong side of the scale. Although she’d lost weight as she’d grown older, she continued to struggle with more than a few extra pounds she could have done without. Still, she’d won the battle not to let that bother her too much. Not most of the time, at any rate. Trying on swimsuits under a store dressing room’s unforgiving light could still make her wince, she had to admit.

Not that those swimsuits had been anywhere near dowdy. Not any longer. Clothing styles for women with bodies not built along Barbie lines had taken a dramatic turn over the past several years. She’d been a part of that transformation and had reaped its rewards—all of which had her proud enough of her achievements to burst the pearl snaps on a shirt that fit well and made a fashion statement.

“Sassy Lady,” Ryder murmured, breaking into her thoughts. “Somehow it seems to suit.”

His sudden grin, flashing a string of strong, white teeth, was so starkly male—and so all-out appealing because of that fact—she felt the impact ripple a path through her and had to steel herself to keep it from showing. The last thing she needed, she told herself, was to let him know he could affect her that way. The very last thing.

He was used to being in charge, that was as plain as the nose on her face. Regardless of what he seemingly had no trouble making her feel—right down to her toes, she couldn’t deny—she had to keep her wits about her and maintain as much control as she could over this conversation. Too much depended on the outcome.

“So I suppose we’ll agree that where ranching is concerned, I’m over my head,” she said, marshaling her forces.

“Seems to sum things up,” he said, his tone as dry as dust.

“I need you…badly,” she added, seeking to be bluntly businesslike yet regretting those last words the minute they made it past her lips. Far from her intention, they’d come out loaded with innuendo.

For a split second something sizzled in the air. Something that had nothing to do with business. Something far closer to silk sheets than balance sheets. “That is, I need your expertise,” she tacked on hastily.

His grin had turned just a bit smug around the edges. “And I take it you can afford to pay for it.”

“I’m not opposed to giving you a raise,” she replied, glad to be on less dangerous ground. “Name your price, and we’ll see if we can make a deal.”

Ryder drew in a breath and shifted his gaze to a large, bare window. Name your price, he thought as the words rang in his mind. He wondered what it was.

Did he really want more money?

It seemed to have lost its appeal, he had to admit, now that his main use for it had disappeared. What remained was a long-held goal that might never be attained. He could move on and start over somewhere else, of course, maybe even try city life for a while.

But he discarded that last notion in a heartbeat as he watched a hawk streak past in the distance, cutting a swift path through the sky. Whatever he chose to do in the future, he knew down deep that he’d spent too much time in open spaces to live in a cramped city for any length of time. The sprawling desert, rolling hills and low mountains of the Southwest were almost as much a part of him as they were of the bird he’d just viewed. He’d never be able to—

It rose up and hit him squarely between the eyes. Something he should have realized the minute he got a good long look at Eve Terry. From her stylish haircut to her manicured fingernails to her—no doubt—manicured toenails, the whole fancy package said she belonged in the city. A big, thriving, fast-paced city. Like Dallas, where she’d come from. A ranch on the outskirts of Tucson wasn’t the end of the world, but it was hardly the world she was used to, not by a long shot.

She wouldn’t stick it out. Couldn’t, he was certain—certain enough to waste no time in using that newfound knowledge to his advantage.

“I don’t want a raise,” he said, breaking the silence. He turned his head, locked his gaze to hers. “What I want is the right of first refusal on buying this place if you decide to sell.” When you decide, he added to himself. “I’ll give you exactly what you paid for it, down to the last penny.” Given a little time, he could come up with the extra financing, surely. She’d probably last at least a couple of weeks.

As though she’d guessed his thoughts, Eve’s jaw tightened. “I’m staying,” she said flatly. “I subleased my apartment, sold my furniture, gave away my plants, shipped what I’ll need to continue my design work here and sent out 123 change-of-address cards. I’m here for good.”

“Then it shouldn’t be difficult to give me what I want,” he countered.

They stared at each other for ten humming seconds before she nodded. “Okay. You’ve got the right of first refusal, and I’ll be glad to put it in writing.”

Ryder heaved an inner sigh. He felt better than he had in weeks. Losing Amos Cutter, as mule-headed as the old man could be on occasion, had been a blow. Amos, along with cantankerous Pete Rawlins, had been the closest thing to family he’d had for many years.

But things were looking up again. For the moment he’d still be part of the ranch. And when his boss got bored with playing cowgirl and went hightailing it back to where she belonged, he’d—

Eve’s voice hauled back his attention. “Now, since I’ve given you what you asked for, I’d like something in return.”

He should have known it wouldn’t be that simple. Simple, it was becoming as clear as daylight, was not a word to be used in connection with this woman.

“And what’s that?” he asked warily.

She didn’t hesitate a second. “I want your agreement that you’ll remain with the Creedence Creek for the next six months, no matter what I decide to do here.”

Ryder ran his tongue over his teeth. Agreeing to stay was no problem. Long before those six months were up, he’d probably be the owner. It was the “no matter what” that bothered him.

Somehow he’d assumed the ranch would remain pretty much as it was, going on as it always had. A foolish assumption, he now realized. Yet what could she possibly plan to do with it? he asked himself, frowning in thought.

Suddenly something occurred to him, and it was horrible enough to make him shudder. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me you want to turn this place into one of those god-awful dude ranches. Please, whatever you do, don’t tell me that.”

Looking amused, she shook her head and sent shiny silver hoops swinging from delicately shaped ears. “I won’t tell you that.”

He let out the long gust of air he’d been holding back. “Thank the Lord…and thank you.”

“You’re welcome. But I still don’t have your agreement,” she reminded him.

Since, in his opinion, practically nothing could be worse than playing mother hen to a bunch of greenhorns who didn’t know a horse’s rear from a hole in the ground, Ryder nodded. “You’ve got it—and I’ll put that in writing.”

Eve slapped her palms on the desktop and stood up. “Good, that’s settled then. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”

He should have been equally pleased—would have been, if the last turn the conversation had taken wasn’t still bothering him. She wanted him to ask, was waiting for it, in fact. A sly glint in her eye told him that. If he had a lick of sense, he wouldn’t open his mouth. But he had to know.

“All right. Spill it. What do you intend to do with the place?”

Her lips curved in a slight smile. “I’m sure you’ll be glad to learn that I’m leaving most of it as it is.”

He threw a swift look up at the beamed ceiling. Thanks again, Lord.

“I have some real changes planned for this house, though,” she tacked on with an appraising glance around a room that contained no more than the basics.

And this woman would want more than the basics. Of course, she would. Curtains, drapes, a few rugs scattered about. Some pictures on the white stucco walls. That’s what she had in mind, he assured himself. Simple stuff.

Then he remembered that simple didn’t apply here. She didn’t even travel simple. He’d already been told she’d arrived with enough luggage to sink a battleship, and more stuff was likely on the way.

Again, he didn’t want to ask. Again, he found himself asking anyway. “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.” The words were soft, the underlying tone firm. “A free day care center.”

He frowned. He couldn’t have understood her correctly. Surely he couldn’t have. “A day care center?”

She nodded slowly. “A day nursery, actually.”

“A nursery?” His frown deepened.

“Mmm-hmm. You know…for babies.”

Chapter Two

“Babies.”

Eve had to bite her lower lip to keep from laughing out loud. Judging by the blankly stunned expression on Ryder Quinn’s face, she had surprised him, and surprised him well. “Yes, those little darlings who pop out nine months after mom and dad go to bed and do a lot more than sleep.”

He looked at her as if she had just said she’d landed from another planet. “You are flat-out crazy!”

“You’re welcome to think so,” she calmly informed him. “However, the attorney general of this state, being a perceptive woman, considers it a great idea.”

Ryder chewed that over for a second. “And where did you happen to bump into her?” he asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“At a charity fund-raiser during Super Bowl celebrations a few years ago. We’ve kept in touch for quite a while. She loves the Sassy Lady line, by the way.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

“Believe what you want, but the end result is that she’s willing to help me deal with all the bureaucratic regulations involved in this type of thing. If she’s as good as her word, which I don’t doubt for a minute, the center should be up and running in a couple of weeks.”

Ryder sat down on the edge of the desk, looking so disgusted she almost felt sorry for him. Almost. “Is the first lady, or maybe the Queen of England, in on this too?”

She had to smile. “No, they both missed that fundraiser.”

“What other big shots do you know?”

She searched for someone who would truly impress him. Unfortunately she’d never run into Clint Eastwood. “Well, I did meet Brad Pitt once.” For about thirty seconds.

After studying her for a long moment, Ryder blew out a resigned breath. “You’re not making any of this up, are you?” Since it wasn’t really a question, she remained silent. “This isn’t a bad dream. You really are going to turn this place into a Bonanza for babies—the old TV show with a big twist.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “if you want to put it that way. My plan is to give new mothers who can’t afford other forms of day care a chance to either work or go back to school. The service will be free of charge, but if it allows even one woman to keep a child she wants to keep, I’ll consider myself well paid.”

Something in her voice must have alerted him. His gaze was suddenly probing. “This is personal, isn’t it, Eve?”

She turned to walk toward the window, saw the sun low on the horizon. Sunsets here, she’d already discovered, could be spectacular. “Yes, it’s personal,” she replied quietly. “I want to help mothers keep children, because mine didn’t keep me.”

Eve lifted a hand and rubbed a dark smudge from the glass. “The thing was, she wanted to keep me, which I only learned a few years ago. She wasn’t married when I was born. She is now. Her husband seems like a good man. They lived in Tucson when we all met for the first time, in probably a nicer area of the city than I suspect she once lived in. Now they’ve moved to El Paso. I stopped by to see them again on the drive here. They have three children. It appears to be a very happy family. I might have been part of it, if the woman who gave birth to me had had the resources at seventeen to care for a baby.”

“What happened after she gave you up?” Ryder asked softly.

Eve switched back to face him. “I was lucky. Two great people adopted me. When I was old enough to understand, they were straightforward about the adoption, and I was comfortable with it because I never doubted they loved me. I grew up in a middle-class area of Dallas, had lots of friends. I was happy. Yet something was always…missing. A link with the past, I suppose you could say. For instance, my adopted parents were small in stature—I was taller than both by the time I was thirteen. Where had my height come from? I often wondered. Then, too, I loved to draw almost from the time I could walk. Crayons were far more treasured than toys. Neither of the people who raised me had any artistic leanings. I learned from my birth mother that she’d always loved to draw. And my biological father, who didn’t stay around long enough to see the child he’d created, gave me my height. Apparently, he was a very tall man.”

Ryder ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, I guess I can understand this whole thing a little better now. But why here? A nursery setup on a ranch?”

“One that’s close enough to the city to allow a mother to bring her child here if she has access to a car,” Eve pointed out. “If she doesn’t, I’m willing to provide transportation. As far as babies are concerned, they don’t care if they’re being cared for in the biggest skyscraper or the smallest hut on the planet. A full tummy, a dry diaper, someone to hold them—that’s their world.” She paused. “You may think I’m crazy again, but after meeting my birth mother I took a drive. I needed some time alone before I went to the airport for the flight back to Dallas. Somehow I wound up on Creedence Creek Road. I saw the ranch in the distance and—I’m not sure how to explain it—something just clicked. Right from that moment I wanted to live here.”

She smiled faintly. “Perhaps there’s a homesteader, or maybe a cattle rustler, in my family tree. Anyway, I asked a local real estate agency to let me know if the property ever went on the market. You know the rest. Long before I signed the purchase papers, though, one of my goals was to establish a free day care facility someday, somewhere. It seemed as though fate was working in my favor when I was able to do it here.”

“I’m glad fate’s working in someone’s favor,” he muttered, seemingly more to himself than to her.

She’d been going on and on, she abruptly realized. This man now knew a good part of her life history, and she knew practically nothing about him. Except that he’d wanted the ranch just as much as or maybe more than she had. Perhaps far more.

“Why did it have to be the Creedence Creek, Ryder?”

She’d struck a nerve. The way he stilled completely for an instant told her that. He didn’t pretend not to know what she referred to. And he didn’t respond immediately. Several silent seconds passed before he spoke.

“It’s a long story.”

A civil way of saying, Mind your own business, she knew. And she would. Yet she couldn’t help wondering.

“Well, all my cards are on the table now, and I suppose I should give you a last chance to back out.” She stepped forward, held out a hand. “Do we still have a deal, cowboy?”

Ryder studied her for a long moment before he took her hand in his for a firm handshake. “We still have a deal, lady.”

JUST OVER A WEEK LATER, Ryder watched a large truck pull up to the back of the ranch house. Although he was more than fifty yards away, standing near a corral, he had no trouble making out what two uniformed deliverymen quickly began to unload. One sparkling white baby crib after another was hauled out and lined up in a long row.

“You got to do something, Ry. The woman’s a pure menace.”

Ryder clamped a companionable hand around the sturdy shoulder of the person standing beside him. “Hang in there, Pete. I told you she won’t be here long.”

And he didn’t plan on revising that statement, Ryder reflected. No, not for a minute. Eve Terry was sincere about the whole thing, he had to give her that. She’d meant everything she’d said before they’d shaken hands to seal their agreement. But she hadn’t changed his mind about anything. She wouldn’t be able to stick it out.

Right now he had to hope Pete Rawlins could dredge up enough patience to make it through until the inevitable happened, well aware that to the solidly built man on the far side of sixty only four things in life were truly important: a tender steak, a decent brand of whisky, a big-screen television and no fussy female around to spoil his enjoyment of the other three.

“How long’s long?” Pete asked.

Ryder shrugged. “A few weeks. Maybe a couple of months.”

“Months.”

“Could be,” he had to acknowledge. “So far she’s had plenty on her plate to keep her busy. She hasn’t had time yet to start getting bored.”

“She’s been busy, all right.” Pete snorted his displeasure. “Amos must be turning over in his grave. Jeez, he’s probably spinning like a tumbleweed on a gusty day! Frilly curtains and fancy rugs all over the house. One whole side of the place looking like a circus ad with that clown wallpaper everywhere. And the kitchen…Why’d she have to mess with the kitchen?” A hint of anguish underscored that question.

“All she did was buy a new refrigerator and put in a dishwasher,” Ryder said in a soothing tone.

“The old fridge was fine, and we don’t need a dishwasher.”

We will when the baby bottles start piling up. Ryder decided not to voice that thought. Pete obviously had enough to handle at the moment.

“Do you know what was in one of the dozen shopping bags she hauled in this morning? A tablecloth.” If Pete had said horse manure, it would have come out the same way. “Jeez. How’s a man supposed to enjoy his supper when he has to face a tablecloth?”

Ryder’s lips twitched. “It’s a new experience, I know.” He waited a beat. “Of course, you could always eat with the bunch down at the bunkhouse.”

As expected, that suggestion was turned down flat. “There’s been enough changes around here. For more years than I care to count, I fed the whole crew, and then Amos and I had our supper in the room off the kitchen where we could see the mountains. Along the way, you joined us. Now Amos is gone, but you and I are eating together at that old oak table, even if it does have a fancy-dancy cloth on it.”

“I appreciate your sticking by me, Pete. I’d hate to face that trial alone.”

He knew he’d laid it on too thick when a sidelong glance found midnight-black eyes narrowing. Once Pete’s hair had been as dark as his eyes. Now black hair had given way to silver, although it was still as plentiful as ever.

“This is nothin’ to joke about, Ry,” the older man said. “It’s serious. And you wouldn’t be alone at that table. You’d be eating with her.”

As if on cue, Eve stepped out of the house, wearing more “upscale Western wear for women,” as she’d termed it. She began to instruct the two deliverymen, and the lined-up cribs soon made their way up the short porch steps and through the back door.

Sharing the evening meal was about the only time Ryder had spent with his boss since their initial meeting, a deliberate decision on his part. He was staying out of her way as much as he could, but she probably hadn’t even noticed. She’d been busy as a bee giving the house a makeover and driving Pete crazy.

Much of his own days had been spent outdoors. While the good weather held, there was plenty to be done. March, typically a dry month, might turn out to be wetter than normal. A large storm was brewing in the Pacific, and rain was a definite possibility, the forecasters said, hedging their bets, as usual. But rain or not he had to put some time in at the ranch office soon. He had records to update and investments to check on. Ordinarily, he enjoyed working at the computer, but he wasn’t looking forward to the next session. It would put him too close to Eve Terry.

“How old do you suppose she is?”

Since Ryder had already given the matter some thought, he had a ready answer. “Around thirty, I’d guess.”

“Humph. She looks younger. Of course, that makeup females use can probably change night into day.”

Ryder had a hunch Eve would look just as good without a stitch of makeup, and he didn’t even want to consider how she’d look in nothing at all. A vivid dream picturing that sight had already rattled his peace of mind. It was one of the reasons he was staying out of her way.

Okay, make that the first and foremost reason, he admitted. Certain parts of him were way too attracted to her, and if he didn’t keep a rein on his libido, things could get…complicated.

Ryder’s brow knitted under the wide rim of his black Stetson. If he had to come up with a single word to describe his past relationships with women—and there hadn’t been all that many after his younger, wilder days—that word would probably be uncomplicated. Complications were something he’d never felt he could afford, not as long as the major part of his time and attention was solidly focused on eventually owning the Creedence Creek—a firmly held goal grounded in the past, with roots going back many years.

Thirty-three years, to be exact.

Those roots could be traced back to the day he was born, a fact he’d always kept to himself.

Now, at least for the present, a woman stood between him and his ability to achieve that goal. When she packed up and left, he’d have what he wanted. The last thing he needed was to start wanting her, as well. And if he were foolish enough to act on it, things were bound to get complicated in a hurry.

So it has to be kept simple, Quinn, he told himself. But he hadn’t forgotten that simple didn’t apply with this woman.

“Must be close to time to start supper,” Pete said. He took a step forward, then stopped dead as the rev of an engine suddenly made itself known. “This must be the other female who’s supposed to show up today. Jeez, it’s a regular invasion!”

After negotiating a bend in the gravel road with a flourish, a bright-red coupe zipped neatly into a spot behind the truck. A woman with a trim figure and copper-colored hair got out. She wasn’t young, yet there was nothing at all matronly about the yellow, short-skirted suit she wore, her fashionably high heels or the spring in her step. As she approached the back door, it opened and the deliverymen walked out. She turned and gave both men a frankly appraising glance as they departed before continuing on her way.

“Well, will you look at that. She was checkin’ out their rears, Ry.”

Ryder’s chuckle was deep and low. “She’s seen quite a few, I imagine. Remember, she’s a nurse.”

CLORIS MUNROE was like a breath of fresh air, brisk and invigorating. Eve had come to that conclusion minutes after meeting her in Tucson earlier that week. A hint of a Southern drawl, a legacy of her Louisiana childhood, seemed to be the only thing remotely lazy about Cloris. Her credentials were top-notch, her references excellent. During her thirty-year career as a pediatric nurse, Cloris had cared for untold numbers of children. She had also raised two of her own.

Eve felt downright lucky to have won this woman’s agreement to act as the sole full-time member of the day care staff. She told her as much as they got better acquainted over coffee in the long dining room off the kitchen, where a wide landscape could be viewed through tall windows now framed in ivory lace.

Cloris aimed a small smile over the rim of a stoneware mug. “Thanks, Eve, I appreciate that. But I think I’m the one who lucked out.” She set her mug down on the floral-print tablecloth, leaned back in a rustic oak chair. “When my husband and I split up after our kids were grown and on their own, I have to admit I felt sorry for myself. Too sorry for too long. Finally I got up the spunk to face myself in the mirror and say, ‘Cloris, you need to get on with your life, get rid of a house that’s too big for one person and get involved in something new.’ Caring for children isn’t new, of course, but living on a ranch definitely qualifies. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Good.” Eve took a short swallow of the coffee she’d made. It might not be the best in the West, she conceded, but it was better than the take-no-prisoners brew Pete favored. “The nursery area is already set up, for the most part. I’ll show it to you shortly. It used to be the largest bedroom and a smaller connecting room. Your bedroom will be directly across the hall from the nursery. Mine is next to yours. We’ll have to share a bath. I hope you don’t mind.”

After a quick shake of her head, Cloris said, “I made some inquiries about additional help. Anna Montez, a retired nurse who lives in the area, is willing to work on a part-time basis.”

“That’s terrific.” Eve nodded. “Things are moving right along. I’ve made arrangements with a couple of used-car dealers in town to provide cars to women who want to bring their babies here but don’t currently have transportation. Whether they’re going back to school or work, they’ll probably need them for that, as well, and the dealers will bill me by the month.”

Cloris pursed her bright-coral lips. “I hate to say this, but cars can be stolen, and you’d be liable.”

“I know. But if someone trusts us with her child, wouldn’t it be petty in comparison not to trust her with a hunk of metal?”

“You have a point. And a soft heart, I think.” She smiled. “But it’s clear that you also have a sharp mind and a lot of determination. This is a wonderful thing you’re doing here, Eve.”

“No, it’s just something I feel I should do, since I have the resources.” She had already shared her reasons during their earlier meeting. “What’s wonderful is being able to talk to someone who’s equally enthusiastic about it.”

A teasing twinkle entered Cloris’s blue eyes. “Don’t the cowboys around here appreciate your efforts?”

“Not exactly,” Eve replied dryly.

“I saw two of them standing near a fenced-in area behind the house as I pulled in. I have to admit one caught my eye.”

Ryder Quinn, Eve concluded without hesitation, having seen him and Pete over by the corral, watching cribs being unloaded and no doubt wishing her a thousand miles from where she was. Her business manager had probably caught the eye of scores of women, though he was avoiding her as much as possible. She was certain of that, and hadn’t made an issue of it because it suited her to keep some distance between them for the time being. The humming awareness that had leaped to life for a sizzling moment on the day they’d met remained fixed in her memory, despite her considerable efforts to forget it.

Unaware of Eve’s thoughts, Cloris went on. “He was very distinguished looking, with a splendid head of silver hair.”

Eve blinked as realization struck. Then she began to laugh. Then she began to roar. Ryder wasn’t the cowboy under discussion. It was Pete!

“How about letting me in on the joke,” Cloris suggested when Eve finally got herself under control.

She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I’m sorry, that was probably rude of me, but I couldn’t help it. I’d be willing to bet that Pete Rawlins, the silver-haired man and our ranch cook, would rather be boiled in oil than be the object of any woman’s attention.”

“He doesn’t like women?” Cloris ventured.

“That’s putting it mildly. Pete firmly believes a woman’s place is anywhere other than within a mile of him.”

“I see. Obviously, he’s one of those poor, unfortunate males who don’t have the good sense to appreciate a woman.”

“You got it.”

Cloris smiled in a way that boded ill for poor, unfortunate men. “Do you mind if a Southern belle has a little fun?”

Eve grinned. “Not at all—as long as I can watch.”

The back door opened, then closed with a familiar near slam. “There’s Mr. Charm now.” Raising her voice, Eve called, “Pete, would you come here for a minute?”

Boots stomped their way closer. Seconds later Pete poked his head through an arched doorway and viewed the two women with a crystal-clear scowl. “I’m here.”

“I’d like you to meet Cloris Munroe,” Eve said. “She’ll be heading up the day care staff. Cloris, this is Pete Rawlins.”

Cloris draped an arm over the back of her chair and flashed a million-kilowatt smile. “I sure am glad to meet you…sugar.” Her smooth-as-silk, rich-as-cream tone would have made Scarlett O’Hara proud. The playful wink that followed would have turned an entire generation of younger women who had never mastered that trick green with envy.

Pete’s jaw dropped and stayed down.

If possible, Cloris’s next smile was even more brilliant. “Eve’s been telling me you do the cooking around here. I’m sure you’re a marvelous chef.”

Dead silence reigned until Pete got his bearings and shut his mouth with an audible snap. “I’m a plain cook, not some fancy chef,” he muttered, jamming his hands into the side pockets of well-worn Wranglers.

“Now, there’s no need to be modest. I can hardly wait to taste the treat you have in store for us tonight.” Oh, so slowly Cloris ran her tongue over her lips. “I’m really looking forward to it…sugar.”

Pete’s throat worked as he swallowed hard. “Yeah, well, ah, I got to go.” He spun around on one heel and all but fled.

“I do believe Mr. Charm has met his match,” Eve remarked with satisfaction.

“Could be,” Cloris said, eyes sparkling. “What’s he cooking for dinner tonight?”

Eve’s expression turned rueful. “I can almost guarantee beef in some form. It’s occurred to me during the past week that the link between cowboys and cattle may be so strong they can’t bear to eat anything else.”

RYDER DEFTLY CUT another slice of T-bone and listened to a conversation that seemed to be ruining someone’s appetite. Raising his gaze, he aimed a look down the length of the table and found Eve’s expression to be perfectly innocent. Too perfect. She knew exactly what was going on, he thought, chewing his meat. She might even have put Cloris Munroe up to it.

“No, I didn’t say beef was bad for a person,” Cloris corrected softly, batting her eyelashes at the man sitting across from her. “And, in case I haven’t mentioned it, you do have a way with a steak, sugar. It’s just that red meat isn’t good for a body all the time. Now a lean piece of chicken—”

“I like my chicken fried,” Pete broke in, clenching a knife and fork in opposite hands as though they were weapons and he was a desperate man.

“Oh, fried is scrumptious, sugar. No one south of the Mason-Dixon line would disagree with that. Still, we all have to remember our cholesterol count, as depressing as it can be, and lean chicken, baked fish, or even boiled shrimp—”

“Shrimp! I’d rather eat a bale of hay than a plateful of those slimy things.”

Cloris pursed her lips. “Come to think of it, hay could be a good source of fiber. But a whole bale, sugar?”

A sudden cough didn’t quite smother Eve’s chuckle. She was in on it, all right, Ryder told himself.

Pete’s chair tottered as he shot to his feet. “Real food for real men is what I cook. It’s been good enough for the folks around here since God knows when, and it’s good enough now.” That said, he grabbed his plate with one hand and stomped out.

“Isn’t he a darling man?” Cloris asked of no one in particular. She forked up a helping of mashed potatoes and continued her meal as though nothing at all unusual had occurred.

Ryder’s gaze met Eve’s. “You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t leave.”

“I doubt he’ll do that,” she replied, her tone confident. “He’s probably waiting for me to leave.” Like you are, a glint in her eye added silently. “But I’m staying.” She paused for a beat. “And since I’m staying, I think it’s time I took some riding lessons. Can you suggest someone here who could help?”

Not me.

As determined as ever not to spend more time in her company than strictly necessary, he considered the alternatives as he polished off his steak. It didn’t take long to come up with one. “Zeb Hollister will get you started. He’s our most experienced horseman.”

And he was bound to be less than thrilled about riding herd on a greenhorn. But the old wrangler would do it and keep her out of trouble at the same time, Ryder decided. He’d make it an order if he had to. When it came to the working part of the ranch, he was still in charge. Zeb and every other man on the place knew that. He’d made certain they knew it.

Eve reached for her water glass. “Fine. Early tomorrow afternoon would be a good time for me.”

“I’ll set it up for one o’clock.” Ryder tossed his napkin beside his empty plate and pushed back from the table as pots and pans clanked loudly in the background. “Pete’s probably thrown out dessert, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll check in at the bunkhouse. There may be a few stray crumbs of pie left, if I’m lucky.”

He was barely gone when Cloris slid a sidelong glance Eve’s way. “That man does things to a pair of jeans.”

Having just watched a tight male backside depart, she could hardly argue the matter. “Mmm-hmm,” was her reply.

“He doesn’t look like a business manager,” Cloris tacked on.

“He does when he wears a suit, trust me.”

Despite the fact that she hadn’t seen him in one since the day they’d met, Eve had no trouble recalling the sight. He’d done it to make a point, she was sure. Ryder Quinn, businessman. Impressive? Yes. But then, he’d probably be impressive stripped down to—

No, Eve, don’t go there, she warned herself. Fully clothed, he already captured too many of her thoughts. Much too many of them, she had to admit.

Showing flawless table manners as she had throughout the meal, Cloris dabbed her napkin at the corners of her mouth. “Does Ryder stay at the bunkhouse he mentioned?”

Eve went back to her dinner. “No. Although the single hands stay there, as a rule, while the married ones have homes of their own, Ryder lives in the original house that was built when the ranch was first settled. I’ve been told that it’s a short drive from here, up a steep road toward the mountains. I haven’t had a chance to see it yet.”

Truth was, she’d made no effort to see it, although it was part of her property. And she was in no hurry to change that situation. She knew she’d be better off not being able to picture where a certain man spent his evenings when he left after the late-day meal they regularly shared.

“Pete stays here,” she added. “His bedroom and a small bath are on the other side of the kitchen.”

“So only the three of us will be living here,” Cloris summed up, then winced as metal met metal with a sharp clang.

Eve carefully removed a thin edge of marbled fat and stabbed a last piece of steak. “That’s right. It’s just you and me and Mr. Charm.”

THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON Eve walked down a gravel road, headed for the corral and adjoining stable located closest to the house. Other ranch buildings, a tall tin-roofed barn, sheds of various shapes and sizes, together with the large stone bunkhouse, marked the landscape. Up above, fluffy white clouds drifted, creating a moving patchwork quilt of sun and shade on hard-packed ground.

Cloris had left after lunch to visit a friend who was actively involved in several local charities; it was time to spread the news about the day care center and what it had to offer. Pete, sulking to beat the band, had stationed himself in front of the large-screen television in the living room.

And Eve had set out for her date with Zeb Hollister. She’d met Zeb, along with many of the hands, on her second day at the ranch. The bearded man might resemble Willie Nelson more than John Wayne, she thought, yet his bowlegged stance said he’d been all but born in a saddle.

As she approached the corral, taking quick strides in her cream-colored boots, a cowboy came into view leading a stocky gray horse out of the stable. He lifted a gloved hand and waved when he saw her. It wasn’t Zeb, or anyone she readily recognized. Tall and lanky, he couldn’t have been more than in his early twenties.

“Hello, Miz Terry,” he called, his voice ripe with an easygoing twang. Turning his head, he aimed a look over his shoulder. “Come on, Buttercup, old girl. Step lively and meet your new owner.” In response, Buttercup continued to plod along, clearly unenthusiastic about the news.

“I’m Cody Bodeen,” the cowboy said as he and Eve faced each other over a slatted wood fence seconds later. In a courteous gesture that took her by surprise, he lifted his dusty beige hat and tipped it forward, revealing sun-bleached hair before he resettled it on his head. A friendly gaze assessed her in a sweeping glance too quick and casual to give offense.

“I’m glad to meet you, Cody Bodeen,” she said, reaching up to touch the pristine rim of her own creamy Western hat. “I don’t think you were here the day I met a bunch of the hands.”

“No, I was helping stubborn strays fixed on leaving find their way back to the herd.” He grinned ruefully. “They usually save that treat for me.” Then his grin widened. “But I lucked out today. I get to help you.”

Eve arched an eyebrow. “Did Zeb head for the hills when he found himself elected to give riding lessons?”

“Uh-uh. He had an emergency—nothing real serious,” he tacked on before she could ask. “His oldest granddaughter called from Bisbee. Her husband’s out of town and her car broke down in the middle of the highway while she was driving one of her kids to a doctor’s appointment. Zeb and another hand went to see if they could get it started again, or at least get the kid to the doctor. If the head honcho were around, he might have taken Zeb’s place instead of me, but he left for Tucson this morning and he’s not back yet.”

Puzzled, Eve asked, “The head honcho?”

“Ryder Quinn. To the men who work here, he’s the head honcho. You’re the owner now, so you’re the big boss.”

Not only the boss, the big boss. Because the title amused her, and because she was sure it would not amuse the “head honcho,” Eve smiled. “Why don’t we get started?”

Cody nodded his agreement. “Come in through the gate next to the stable and I’ll introduce you to Buttercup.”

If the long-suffering look in her eyes was any indication, Buttercup wasn’t overjoyed to meet her owner, and Eve decided the feeling was mutual after a frustrating hour of coaxing the mare around the corral and achieving no more than a snail’s pace.

Finally she’d had it. She halted at the spot where Cody leaned against the fence. “There have to be horses on this place with a little more zip.”

He nudged his hat back and gazed up at her. “Buttercup’s the one the head honcho picked out for you, Miz Eve.”

That information didn’t merit a second thought, not as far as she was concerned. “Well, I’m ready to pick something else. I’ve got the basics down, but I’ll never get beyond them if the Old Gray Mare won’t even break into a trot.”

Cody pushed away from the fence. “Guess you have a point. But the head—”

“I’ll deal with him,” Eve assured the ranch hand, and went on before he could offer any further objection. “Let’s look at some of the other horses.”

There were three in the stable, she found as they entered through wide double doors with Buttercup trailing behind. The huge stallion she’d almost collided with occupied the first stall they came to. He snorted a greeting.

“This is Lucky,” Cody said. “He belongs to Ryder Quinn. No one else rides him,” he added hastily, as though he were afraid she might decide to do exactly that.

She ran her tongue around her teeth to foil a grin and moved on. The two remaining occupants were less impressive than Lucky, she had to admit. Still, they had to be more lively than Buttercup. She’d parted her lips, ready to ask a question about a cinnamon-colored horse, when a high-pitched whinny drew her attention to the back of the building.

“That’s Sable,” Cody told her as she turned toward the sound. “She’s only been here a few weeks. Could be they’ll hitch her up with Lucky when the time’s right.”

Sable. A fitting name, Eve decided after walking forward for a closer look. Black as coal and sleek as satin, the mare pranced to the front of the stall, then tilted her head at a playful angle and blew out a soft breath. Obviously far beyond lively, she was a strong, spirited mixture of muscle and grace. And a beautiful, dark-eyed flirt, as well.

Eve was entranced. “Does she belong to Ryder Quinn, too?”

“No, she’s yours,” Cody replied, moving to stand next to her.

Hers. Up to that moment she’d considered the animals that had come with the ranch as merely part of the property. Now she knew just how wrong she’d been. There was a bond here, she realized, and with it came responsibility. Ultimately the fate of this and every other animal she owned rested with her. And, when it came to this particular one, there was also a thrill of possession she couldn’t deny.

She reached up and gently rubbed the mare’s ebony forehead, watching as dark eyes viewed her with a saucy gleam. “I want to ride her.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Miz Eve.” Cody’s easygoing manner abruptly turned serious. “Sable can be a handful when she sets her mind to it.”

Eve dropped her arm and turned to face him. “Are you saying she’s dangerous?”

“No,” he admitted reluctantly. “Just…frisky.”

One corner of Eve’s mouth quirked up. “Hmm. Maybe even…sassy?”

He lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah, I suppose.”

That did it. In a flash, the prospect of riding Sable became irresistible. “Saddle her up, Cody Bodeen.”

He let out a resigned sigh. “The head honcho’s probably gonna be teed off when he finds out about this.”

“And I told you I’d deal with him,” she countered smoothly yet firmly. “Remember, I’m the big boss.”

Another high whinny seconded that statement.

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