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Courtship, Montana Style
Charlotte Maclay


From Runaway Bride…The beautiful woman snuggling a baby in her arms spelled trouble, and Walker Oakes knew it the instant she appeared on his ranch applying to be his housekeeper. Well, the gruff bachelor planned to send the sophisticated city slicker packing. Then Lizzie showered his foster sons with the motherly attention they'd missed and gazed at him with wary eyes that aroused all of his protective instincts….To Rancher's Bride?Second thoughts about her impending, loveless nuptials sent Lizzie seeking refuge in Montana. What she hadn't expected were the warm kisses she shared with Walker–or the way they made her feel. Lizzie wasn't about to let down her guard and fall for the rugged cowboy. So why did she hope that Walker's family needed two more to be complete?







She had no right to dream of a relationship with Walker

Or even to want one. She’d imposed on his hospitality and pleaded with him to give her refuge. He’d already gone beyond what most men would have done. To take further advantage of the friendship he’d offered when her own life was still in disarray would be the height of unfairness to them both.

Which didn’t mean she couldn’t admire his seat in a saddle, the way he moved as though part of his mount, the man and animal of the same mind as they walked beside the herd. A man of the land comfortable with himself.

Yes, she could admire, but she didn’t dare touch. Because she was confident, once she touched Walker in an intimate way and he touched her in return, that she’d never be satisfied with anything less….


Dear Reader,

What a special lineup of love stories Harlequin American Romance has for you this month. Bestselling author Cathy Gillen Thacker continues her family saga, THE DEVERAUX LEGACY, with His Marriage Bonus. A confirmed bachelor ponders a marital merger with his business rival’s daughter, and soon his much-guarded heart is in danger of a romantic takeover!

Next, a young woman attempts to catch the eye of her lifelong crush by undergoing a head-to-toe makeover in Plain Jane’s Plan, the latest book in Kara Lennox’s HOW TO MARRY A HARDISON miniseries. In Courtship, Montana Style by Charlotte Maclay, a sophisticated city slicker arrives on a handsome rancher’s doorstep, seeking refuge with a baby in her arms. The Rancher Wore Suits by Rita Herron is the first book in TRADING PLACES, an exciting duo about identical twin brothers separated at birth who are reunited and decide to switch places to see what their lives might have been like.

Enjoy this month’s offerings, and be sure to return each and every month to Harlequin American Romance!

Happy reading,

Melissa Jeglinski

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin American Romance


Courtship, Montana Style

Charlotte Maclay






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Charlotte Maclay can’t resist a happy ending. That’s why she’s had such fun writing more than twenty titles for Harlequin American Romance, Duets and Love & Laughter, plus several Silhouette Romance books, as well. Charlotte is particularly well-known for her volunteer efforts in her hometown of Torrance, California; her philosophy is that you should make a difference in your community. She and her husband have two married daughters and four grandchildren, whom they are occasionally allowed to baby-sit. She loves to hear from readers and can be reached at P.O. Box 505, Torrance, CA 90508.




Books by Charlotte Maclay


HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

474—THE VILLAIN’S LADY

488—A GHOSTLY AFFAIR

503—ELUSIVE TREASURE

532—MICHAEL’S MAGIC

537—THE KIDNAPPED BRIDE

566—HOW TO MARRY A MILLIONAIRE

585—THE COWBOY & THE BELLY DANCER

620—THE BEWITCHING BACHELOR

643—WANTED: A DAD TO BRAG ABOUT

657—THE LITTLEST ANGEL

684—STEALING SAMANTHA

709—CATCHING A DADDY

728—A LITTLE BIT PREGNANT

743—THE HOG-TIED GROOM

766—DADDY’S LITTLE COWGIRL

788—DEPUTY DADDY

806—A DADDY FOR BECKY

821—THE RIGHT COWBOY’S BED * (#litres_trial_promo)

825—IN A COWBOY’S EMBRACE* (#litres_trial_promo)

886—BOLD AND BRAVE-HEARTED ** (#litres_trial_promo)

890—WITH VALOR AND DEVOTION** (#litres_trial_promo)

894—BETWEEN HONOR AND DUTY** (#litres_trial_promo)

915—WITH COURAGE AND COMMITMENT** (#litres_trial_promo)

929—AT THE RANCHER’S BIDDING

943—COURTSHIP, MONTANA STYLE










Contents


Chapter One (#u84b49946-07f0-5291-9d5c-81e8b7ed2c1f)

Chapter Two (#ud54e7662-3f1c-5feb-b563-32dd4b3fb470)

Chapter Three (#u89516456-8221-5b10-8fcc-a6849f814a19)

Chapter Four (#u52f98b32-98c5-5743-8636-bb17e4bfe92e)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One


“There is no question, my dear, you will be the most beautiful bride Marin County has ever seen. Trés elegant. Your wedding will be the social occasion of the year.”

The owner of Gloriana’s Bridal Boutique hovered around Elizabeth Tilden, all part of the service in the most extravagant bridal shop in the most exclusive county in California, located across the bay from San Francisco.

Gloriana lifted the veil from Elizabeth’s head and clipped it to a hanger. “I know you will not be as foolish as one of our patrons, a young lady who walked out of the church at the very last minute last week with the groom already standing at the altar. Such a waste. All that food at the reception and such a lovely gown.” The boutique owner made a tsking sound and shook her head.

Elizabeth wondered if canceling the wedding meant the woman was foolish—or courageous, a trait Elizabeth sorely lacked. She hated disappointing anyone and shied away from confrontation. For as long as she could remember, she’d been a nice girl.

But sometimes nice girls finished last.

Where had that other bride found the backbone to walk away from her own wedding?

Lowering the zipper at the back of Elizabeth’s gown, Gloriana said, “I have no such fears you will do such a naughty thing, walking out on your handsome husband-to-be. Your family would be so upset. Yours is one wedding day that will go off like clockwork, as they say.”

With care, Elizabeth stepped out of the tulle-and-lace gown with its rows and rows of tiny pearls and grand sweeping train. She felt far less confident about her fast-approaching wedding day than Gloriana did.

Three days to go, and what Elizabeth saw in the full-length mirror was a reluctant bride. Not terrified. Not simply getting cold feet or having second thoughts. But a bride who no longer believed marriage to Vernon Sprague was the smart thing to do, no matter how vigorously her family encouraged her match to the wealthy investment counselor.

But she’d never have the audacity to risk a terrible scene with her mother. Or Vernon, for that matter. Hadn’t she already buckled under their combined wishes more times than she cared to count? If only things had turned out differently….

She’d grown up a member of the country-club set and met Steve Poling when she was an awkward twelve-year-old. For her it had been love at first sight. Or perhaps adoration was a better word.

It took Steve several years to notice her, but by high school they started dating. At least while she was home for summer vacations they saw each other. He was fun to be with, bringing an excitement into her otherwise restricted life. His bold even sometimes reckless behavior appealed to her.

By the time Elizabeth entered college, they were dating each other exclusively—except she attended a private women’s college in New England and he was studying petroleum engineering at UCLA. After they both graduated they planned to marry. But first Steve wanted to get his career on solid footing. Then came his chance for a grand adventure—an oil exploration trip to the Amazon River basin. He couldn’t resist the opportunity.

Only after he’d left town had she realized she was pregnant. Steve hadn’t hesitated once he learned she was expecting. He arranged to fly home. They’d marry—

Even after a year, Elizabeth’s throat still tightened on the painful knowledge that if he hadn’t been coming home to marry her in haste his plane never would have crashed. He’d be alive today. And they’d be together, she, the man she’d loved all through adolescence and the baby they’d created together.

A small army of assistants dressed as French maids flitted into the private dressing room, scooping up the gown and veil to be safely wrapped for the trip to Elizabeth’s home and thence to the same church on Saturday that had seen equally extravagant weddings for three prior generations of Morley-Tilden women.

Still in her satin slip, Elizabeth sat down after everyone had left the dressing room. Despite her worries, she smiled at the precious sleeping baby in the carrier she’d placed on the floor next to the plush-velvet couch. Suzanne.

Her baby…and Steven’s.

As unintended as her pregnancy had been, Suzanne was now her life. Her love.

That was far from the case for Vernon, who had shown little interest in her three-month-old daughter.

Elizabeth’s parents had been heartsick—and embarrassed—to learn she was pregnant and unwed, a social scandal, they’d said. With grief weighing her down, Elizabeth had agreed to become engaged to Vernon Sprague, a wealthy investment counselor with considerable political clout. The perfect brother-in-law to enhance her brother Robert’s political ambitions. The marriage—of money, influence and wealth—would take place after the baby’s birth. There would be no disgrace for the Tilden name.

Through a haze of despair and guilt, Elizabeth had agreed to the arrangement. As usual she had given in to the wishes of her prominent family.

But now she was responsible for another person’s future happiness. She needed to decide what was best not only for herself but for her baby as well, a far more important decision.

She ran her fingertips over the blond fuzz on the top of Suzanne’s head, so light in color it was barely visible and as soft as down. A deep, abiding love filled Elizabeth’s chest, making it difficult to draw a breath.

How in heaven’s name could she raise her daughter to be a strong woman when she’d always been such a weakling?

Since her morning visit with her older sister, Elizabeth had more doubts than ever about her impending marriage. Victoria, like their mother, lived with the knowledge of her husband’s infidelities and was miserable because of it.

Not only had this past year left Elizabeth with nagging questions about Vernon’s faithfulness, but he’d already talked about hiring a nanny and sending Suzanne to boarding school as soon as she was old enough.

Elizabeth balked at the suggestion and they’d had a terrible argument, the issue as yet unresolved. But she vowed she would never give her baby over for someone else to raise. She’d experienced too much of that in her own childhood.

Struggling with indecision, idly she picked up a women’s magazine on the coffee table and flipped through the pages. An article caught her eye about Montana’s Foster Dad of the Year, a rancher in a remote part of the state who provided refuge for unwanted children.

That’s what Elizabeth and her baby needed. A refuge. A place where she would have the time and freedom to decide what was best for their future without the interference of her family and the pressure she had so much trouble resisting.

She was such a wimp when it came to wanting to please her family.

That’s why simply moving into an apartment of her own wouldn’t do, although she could easily afford to live on her own because of the trust fund her grandmother had left her. She needed to be far away from her family. And Vernon. In an entirely different state where she’d avoid any chance they’d find her, confront her, and she’d bow to their will once again.

In her heart, she knew starting a new life was the best thing she could do for her daughter.

Reading down the page, her gaze landed on a quote in bold type from Walker Oakes, the rancher in question. “We’re pretty self-sufficient here on the ranch, but with this many teenage boys it would sure be nice to have a housekeeper.”

A housekeeper.

That wasn’t such a hard job. Not that Elizabeth had any experience to qualify her for that kind of employment. But how difficult could it be to dust and vacuum and put a load of wash on? Surely a college graduate who spoke Italian, German and French with some fluency could handle the job with a minimum of effort.

With a mental stiffening of her spine, she glanced one more time at the article, folded the magazine and tucked it beside Suzanne in the car seat. That’s where she and her baby would go, to Montana, as unlikely a place as she could imagine. No one in her world would come looking for her there, certainly not on a remote ranch where she’d be an anonymous housekeeper.

If that other bride had found the courage to walk out on her wedding day, Elizabeth could drum up enough spunk to leave now before it was too late—and escape the confrontations she so dreaded.

For Suzanne’s sake, she could do it because she couldn’t imagine raising her child in a household where her father ignored her.

As her own father had been indifferent to her.

The only remaining problem was to avoid leaving a trail that would lead Vernon or her family to her secret hideaway in Montana before she reached her decisions. To make her admittedly impetuous scheme work, she’d have to be resourceful—and lucky.

She’d also have to lie convincingly, another talent she lacked. For the sake of Suzanne’s future, she’d damn well learn! This was no time to let her well-developed conscience get the upper hand.

This cowboy’s ranch was going to be a refuge for both her and her baby. Meanwhile, she’d pretend to be someone she wasn’t—a strong, determined woman who could handle a dust mop as well as the next woman. If her acting was good enough, maybe she’d actually become that confident person.

A half hour later, with her wedding gown in the trunk of her BMW and Suzanne still dozing comfortably in her car seat, Elizabeth drove to her bank to make a substantial withdrawal. Later she’d call her mother to assure her that she was safe—and ask her to cancel the wedding. Speaking to her on the phone would be much easier than in person.

Worst case, she could hang up and turn off her cell phone.

STEPPING UP ONTO THE BACK porch of his ranch house, Walker Oakes slapped his Stetson against his thigh and stomped his boots. Dust billowed up like a miniature tornado.

By June the rangeland in this part of northern Montana should have been boot deep with nutritious grass for his cattle to graze. Instead a cold, dry winter had led into an even dryer spring, stunting the grass, leaving barely enough for the prairie dogs to nibble on. The lightest breeze stirred up a dust devil. Riding herd on his cattle meant eating dirt from dawn to dusk.

Muttering a curse under his breath, he went into the house and hooked his hat on a peg in the mudroom.

The well-equipped kitchen was huge with a table big enough to seat a dozen people when stretched to its limit. This time of year it only had to handle five: himself, the three boys currently in his foster care and Speed Pendrix, his foreman, the slowest talking, slowest moving man north or south of the Missouri River. A man Walker Oakes would trust with his life, and had more than once.

Walker needed to know the going price for beef cattle so he headed for his office to check online. Unless they got rain and got it damn soon, he was going to have to cull his herd, getting rid of cows that hadn’t produced a calf this spring. He might even have to sell off some of the yearlings at half the price he’d be able to get after a summer’s grazing fattened them up. Sometimes to save a ranch a man had to walk a tight-rope, making tough decisions.

As he walked through the living room with its big rock fireplace and heavy, overstuffed furniture, he heard a car approaching the ranch house. He glanced outside as it stopped in front.

Most of his Grass Valley neighbors came to visit via the back door. None that he could think of drove a fancy silver-blue BMW that looked near new. Like him, pickups were more their style.

Curious, he opened the door, shoved open the screen and stepped outside into the warmth of late afternoon.

The young woman who exited the BMW was a sweet little filly with flaxen hair she had pulled into some kind of a twist at the back of her head. So slender a good wind would blow her over, he wondered if, like his cows, she wasn’t getting enough feed lately. Still, she moved with the grace of a dancer and was a mighty pretty sight after riding herd all day on cows and all night on adolescent boys filled with a combination of rebellion and hormones they didn’t know how to tame. And the way she filled out a pair of city slicker blue jeans was something to write home about.

He stepped off the porch at the same time Bandit, a black-and-white mostly Border collie rounded the corner and took up a position beside him, tail wagging watchfully.

“Can I help you, miss?” Walker asked. No doubt he’d have to direct her where she had intended to be, which surely wasn’t at the Double O Ranch.

Standing in full sunlight, the stranger shaded her eyes with her hand. “I’m looking for Walker Oakes.”

That was a surprise. She wasn’t lost after all, though she didn’t look like she belonged anywhere more Western than a dude ranch. “You found him.”

“Oh, good. I’m, uh, Lizzie Thomas. I’m here about the job.”

Job? He hired extra hands during roundup and hay-harvest time, but none that looked like this woman.

He walked toward the stranger so he wouldn’t have to yell—and so he could get a better look at her. Dutifully Bandit remained at his heel.

As he drew closer, Walker decided his visitor was worth more than a second look. She had the face of a Greek goddess with high cheekbones, slightly pouty lips and a complexion no rancher’s wife could ever achieve, however many gallons of skin cream she applied.

“Sorry. You must have the wrong place. I’m not hiring right now.” Not extra cowhands or a woman with pure, unadulterated sex appeal.

“Unless you’ve already filled the position…” Turning, she opened the BMW’s back door. A moment later, she produced a baby’s car seat—

Walker’s eyes widened.

—with the baby included.

“I’d like to apply to be your housekeeper.”

“Housekeep—?” He choked, feeling as off balance as though someone had slipped him a rogue bronc when he wasn’t looking. “Is this some kind of a joke?”

Bandit crept forward, sat down and cocked his head. His tail continued to slowly sweep the ground as he craned for a better look at the baby.

Casting a quick smile in the dog’s direction, the woman hooked her arm through the car seat handle, holding it in front of her. With her free hand, she handed him a magazine. “According to this article, you need a housekeeper. I’m applying.”

He shook his head. “You’ve got a baby,” he said stupidly. “You can’t possibly expect—”

“I didn’t think in government service you were allowed to discriminate.”

He frowned. This Lizzie person had the most intense blue eyes, which were currently zapping him with blue-lightning strikes. “I’m not a government employee,” he pointed out, and suddenly he’d lost all interest in Western hospitality. Which wasn’t like him at all. He was an easygoing guy. Friendly with everybody. Which meant maybe the boys had figured out how to play a practical joke on him, and he should just go along.

“Perhaps not, but you do take money from the government to assist in the support of the foster children placed in your care.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. None of this sounded right, and it sure as hell wasn’t funny. Was she accusing him of stealing the money? “I spend every dime of that money on the kids.”

“Of course. Nonetheless, accepting government funds means you cannot discriminate against working mothers. It’s the law.”

What the hell! He’d never discriminated against anyone. Ever! He liked women. Even mothers. A lot! And now this sexy female was telling him—

“Hey, boss, what’s goin’ on?” Speed Pendrix sauntered around the corner of the house, his loose-limbed walk somewhere between a stroll and a full stop.

Moving at the same pace, Bandit got up to greet the foreman.

“This woman says I’ve got to hire her to be my housekeeper,” Walker told Speed.

“Well, now, ain’t that nice.” He ambled up to the car, a big, foolish grin on his face as he took in Lizzie and the baby, who was dressed in pink overalls and a matching denim cap. “Don’t ya know, we surely could use some housekeeping help and darned if she’s not the purdiest little thing I’ve seen in a month of Sundays.”

“Why, thank you, Mr….”

“Jest call me Speed, ma’am. Everybody does.” He tipped his wide-brimmed straw hat.

Extending her hand, Lizzie granted the foreman a radiant smile that would have curled Walker’s toes if it had been meant for him. Which it wasn’t. All she’d done was shoot daggers in his direction. And he’d shot them back, he admitted. But he’d had reason, damn it!

“It’s nice to meet you, Speed.”

“Cain’t say as I remember a time when we had a baby around here. It’ll be a nice change.”

“Now wait a minute,” Walker objected. “She can’t come waltzing in here and expect—”

His three-man crew of adolescents came bursting out of the house, the screen door banging against its stop. They leaped off the steps—Bean Pole stumbling as he landed—and surrounded the woman and her car. Bandit wove his way between the adolescents’ legs.

“Yo, man! Look at them wheels!”

“Hey, she’s got a baby. My mom had a baby.”

“Bet I could get you fifty, maybe sixty bucks for those cool hubcaps. You wanna sell, lady?”

“Hold it!” Walker bellowed. He’d lost control of the situation and he damn well was going to get it back.

The boys snapped to attention. Even the woman pulled her shoulders back, her expression startled and wide-eyed.

“Let’s take this whole thing a little slower,” Walker said. “This lady is—”

“Lizzie Thomas,” she repeated.

“From?” he prodded.

“Merry Maids, Inc.”

Which Walker had never heard of but, based on the out-of-state license plates on her car, he concluded it was in Nevada. “And you’re here because?”

“Because you stated very clearly in this magazine article that you need a housekeeper.”

She spoke in a reasonable tone, her voice slightly bluesy and very sexy, yet it wasn’t a reasonable statement at all. He didn’t need a housekeeper. Well, he did, but he couldn’t afford one and he sure as hell wasn’t equipped to house a woman and her baby at the ranch.

“Wow! That’s great!” Scotty, the youngest of the boys at age twelve, leaned forward to chuck the baby under her chin.

“Your hands are dirty, son,” Walker warned.

“No, they’re not. I washed ’em—”

“Enough! I’m not going to start an argument about dirty hands. We’re going to start from the beginning and do this right.” So Walker could get to the bottom of what was going on.

“These are my foster sons, Miss Thomas. Take off your hats, boys.” They all responded, even Speed. “Scotty here is the one enamored of the baby. His real name is Donald MacLeod and you can figure his red hair is one of the reasons we call him Scotty.”

“Hello, Scotty. It’s fine if you want to touch Suzanne. A little dirt won’t hurt her.”

Walker scowled. This was his show, his ranch. No pretty little filly with a quick smile and long, red fingernails was going to muscle her way in here without his say-so. Which he wasn’t about to give.

“Our resident expert on the value of assorted car parts is Fridge—Arnold Bullock,” Walker continued. “He can empty a refrigerator in one sitting and a junkyard in about fifteen minutes, if you give him a chance. Which we try not to do.”

Her amused smile shot a flush to the boy’s cheeks, which were just beginning to show the first signs of growing whiskers.

“And Bean Pole here is Chad Stringer, one of my best cowhands on a horse.” On land, he was so clumsy he was barely able to walk around without falling over his own feet, a trait Walker recalled all too clearly from his own adolescent years. “He outgrows a pair of jeans faster than Fridge can empty the refrigerator.”

Lizzie nodded to the boys. “I’m glad to meet all of you.”

“You’ve met Speed, my foreman, and the dog’s name is Bandit.”

She smiled at the dog and reached down to let Bandit smell the back of her hand. While she petted the top of his head, she kept the baby safely out of the dog’s reach.

“Now then, the formalities are taken care of…” He tucked his fingers in his jeans pockets. “I don’t know what made you think my comment in that magazine meant I was ready to hire the first housekeeper who showed up at my door. Or any housekeeper, for that matter, and certainly not one with a baby. You’ll have to go back to wherever—”

“Aw, boss,” Scotty complained. “I know how to take care of a baby. I can even change diapers. It’s a snap.”

Lizzie Thomas seemed unperturbed by Walker’s announcement. “Merry Maids anticipated you might need some convincing so they’ve agreed to cover my salary during my probationary period in order that I might prove my worth to you. So if someone could show me to my quarters?”

She was going to stay? Good God, things were going from bad to worse. And why did she avoid looking him in the eye, her gaze darting away every few seconds like a truant caught out of school? Something was definitely not right here.

“Well, now,” Speed drawled, “I’d say that’s mighty generous of your employer.”

“Can I carry the baby?” Scotty asked. “I’ll be real careful.”

“Of course.” The youngster received another one of her smiles.

“Have you got suitcases and stuff?” Fridge asked. “I can carry them—”

“Wait!” Walker bellowed again. “I guess I didn’t make myself clear. We don’t need a housekeeper or a baby—”

The baby in question added her own objection, startled awake by Walker’s shouting. Speed, all three boys and Miss Thomas hastened to soothe the infant, losing interest in what Walker had to say. In contrast, Bandit retreated to the side of the house, running at a crouch.

Scotty picked the baby up out of the car seat, holding her to his shoulder and patting her on the back with considerable expertise. Meanwhile Lizzie began directing her remaining devotees to her luggage in the BMW’s trunk and the baby’s supplies in the back seat.

Walker stood in the driveway with about as much animation as a tree stump, having no idea how things had gotten so far out of hand. In a matter of minutes, Lizzie Thomas had bewitched his foreman and his boys. And if the truth were known, she’d come close to doing the same to Walker. That slow, sexy smile of hers and her bluesy voice were enough to make any man rethink the merits of extended celibacy.

Except her story didn’t make any sense. Housekeepers didn’t simply show up at a man’s front door willing to work for nothing. Not when he had adolescent boys in the house who were allergic to baths and cleaning up after themselves.

Nope. Something was screwy about Lizzie Thomas’s story. It would be downright interesting to know why she, or someone else, had gone to so much trouble to set up this cockamamy scheme.

For the moment, Walker figured he didn’t have much choice but to follow everyone else into the house. Soon enough he’d discover what Lizzie was up to.

And then she’d be gone in a hurry.

As he pulled open the screen door, he caught the lingering scent of a sultry perfume, feminine and inviting, and a little bit tropical. Not the boys. And sure as hell not Speed.

At some gut level, Walker sensed that if Lizzie stuck around very long, the Double O would never be the same.

For the life of him, he couldn’t be sure whether that was a good thing—or a bad one.

ELIZABETH STIFLED A SIGH of relief as she entered the house. Never in her life had she been so brazen. Lied so blatantly. Or been so rude. But she had managed to get past the first obstacle, which had turned out to be Walker Oakes himself.

The magazine article had been deceiving. From the photo of Walker wearing a Stetson pulled down low on his forehead and a weather-aged sheepskin jacket, she had assumed he’d be a much older man. Not midthirties with saddle-brown hair, an arresting face that squint lines had filled with character and a rugged physique snugged into skintight jeans. She might well have given up her plan if she’d known what a formidable opponent he’d be. Nothing like the men in her life who wore dark suits and ties to work and designer polo shirts on the golf course.

“Ms. Lizzie, where do you want me to put your stuff?” Fridge asked.

She shuddered at the nickname she’d given herself. Her mother would have a fit if she knew, much preferring the formal version.

“Perhaps we should ask Mr. Oakes his preference?” She tipped her head back to look up at him with the sweetest expression she could manage. Given his height, a woman dancing with him would find his shoulder a perfect spot to rest her head—and she wondered wherever that thought had come from.

Skeptical bronze eyes snared her. “I think you know my preference.”

“Yes, well…” She swallowed hard. He was not going to be an easy man to fool. “I suppose I could drive back into town—”

“Now don’t you go troubling yourself about driving anywhere,” Speed said. “This here house has got more bedrooms than you can shake a stick at.”

“She could stay in the bunkhouse with us,” Bean Pole volunteered.

Instantly rejecting the idea, Walker told the boy, “Not on your life.”

Ignoring the exchange, Speed continued. “Seems to me the big ’un across from the boss’s would do you just fine. And this here wee little tike—” he stuck his finger out for the baby to grab “—she’d be fine in the old sewing room Mrs. Oakes used.”

Elizabeth shot Walker a look. “Mrs. Oakes?”

“My father’s wife. She’s been gone from the ranch a long time.”

“Oh.” A tiny surge of relief skipped through her awareness. The article hadn’t, after all, said anything about Walker being married. But it could have been an oversight. And a woman would have seen through her scheme immediately. She’d have recognized Elizabeth didn’t know thing one about being a housekeeper.

“I’m sure the sewing room will be perfect for Suzanne,” she said.

“I’ll jest go on upstairs, see to it the room ain’t too much of a mess.” The antithesis of his name, Speed strolled toward the stairway at a pace that would get him to the second floor along about next Tuesday.

“Wait. We haven’t got a crib or anything for the baby to sleep in,” Walker protested.

“That’s not a problem,” Elizabeth assured him. “I brought a portable playpen along. It’s still in the car.” One of several purchases she’d made in Reno with the cash she’d withdrawn from the bank. She’d then made a side trip to a junkyard where she’d switched license plates with a Jeep that had been totaled, a little trick she’d learned from reading mysteries. With luck, no one would even notice or be able to trace her.

“I’ll get the playpen,” Scotty volunteered.

“No, I will,” Fridge insisted. He dropped the suitcase he’d carried in only minutes ago.

“Hold the baby a sec, boss.” The boy thrust Suzanne into Walker’s hands. “Fridge doesn’t know squat how to put a playpen together. He’ll probably bust it.”

Both boys went running out the door to the car, Bean Pole traipsing along at a slower pace, leaving Walker standing there, the baby in his big hands, and looking as though Scotty had handed him a bomb that was about to go off.

“Well, hello there, Miss Susie-Q,” he said, eyeing the baby with apprehension.

“Here, I’ll take her,” Elizabeth said.

“Yeah, it might be better if you—”

Suzanne gurgled a happy sound and smiled up at Walker. And then, still smiling, she launched milky spit up all over the front of his blue denim shirt.

Elizabeth groaned and reached for her daughter. She’d really have to teach Suzanne more socially acceptable ways to impress a man.




Chapter Two


Looking down at his shirtfront, Walker winced. “I trust I shouldn’t take Susie-Q’s comments personally.”

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Oakes.” Lizzie offered him a cloth diaper in exchange for the baby. “I’m afraid she’s having some trouble digesting the formula.”

“You might want to consider changing brands.”

“I’m sure she’ll adjust soon.”

Not soon enough for the sake of his shirt, Walker thought as he wiped away the spit up. Despite the mess, he noticed the kid’s smile carried a wallop. Just before she hurled her lunch on him, he’d had the fleeting thought that having a baby around the house wouldn’t be all that bad. Having a good-looking housekeeper around wouldn’t be awful, either.

Susie-Q’s milky projectile had brought him back to reality. He hadn’t advertised for a housekeeper. Hiring one who had a baby to care for didn’t make any sense, even if it didn’t cost him a dime. Given that the would-be housekeeper was the sexiest woman he’d seen in a long while would only complicate matters further.

With the boys outside arguing about who would put up the playpen and Speed upstairs doing whatever he was doing, Walker found himself alone with Lizzie. Not a good situation when she was fussing with the baby, looking maternal and feminine. The sounds she made and the gentle way she rocked Susie-Q made him think of lullabies and loving mothers. Not that he’d had much experience with any maternal females except his heifers and their calves.

His own mother hadn’t thought enough of Walker to keep him around after she found a new husband.

“Miss Thomas—”

“Why don’t you call me Lizzie? It would be so much easier, don’t you think?”

No matter what name he called her, it wasn’t going to be easy to throw her out, not when his boys were already stuck on her.

“It seems to me—” he began.

“I’m sorry. Is there somewhere I could change Suzanne? She’s soaked through.”

Now that was a really good reason to be nervous about having a baby around the house. They did stuff he didn’t know anything about—and didn’t want to.

He shrugged helplessly. “Sure. Wherever you want.”

Holding the baby on her shoulder, she glanced around the room for a spot that suited her. By now she had a streak of milky stain on her cotton blouse, which had been neatly tucked in at her waist and had tugged free. Her hair was beginning to come loose from its twist. Still there was something glamorous about her, a dose of sophistication Walker wasn’t used to. A certain grace that couldn’t be learned mucking out stalls.

Walker would lay down a sizable bet in any Nevada gambling casino Lizzie Thomas could name that she was not a housekeeper by trade.

But who the hell was she?

With a flick of her free hand, she tugged a light blanket from the diaper bag the boys had left in the living room and spread it out on the rug. With the ease of a dancer, she settled next to it and lay the baby down.

“There you are, sweetie,” she crooned. “I know those old wet diapers are yucky so we’ll get you some nice dry ones. How would you like that, huh?”

Susie-Q pumped her chubby little legs, gurgled and blew out a bubble.

In spite of himself, Walker felt his lips tilt into a smile. “Speed’s right. She is cute.”

As Lizzie lifted her head to bestow one of her smiles on Walker, he felt a punch in the gut that erased everything else in the room except this woman and her baby. He had the eerie sensation she belonged there.

But that wasn’t possible.

Oliver Oakes had drilled into his head to keep away from fancy women and city slickers. They couldn’t make it on a Montana ranch. The winters were too tough; they found the isolation oppressive. They didn’t have what it took to be a rancher’s wife. Oliver knew. He’d married one. Within five years he’d lost her and the sons she’d borne him.

In all the years he’d lived with Oliver—since he’d arrived at the Double O as a rebellious fourteen-year-old foster kid—Walker had found the foster father who had eventually adopted him was dead right about most everything he said.

Blinking and shaking his head, Walker knew whatever he’d imagined as he looked down at Lizzie had been caused by months of celibacy and the same isolation that drove women away.

He really needed to get into town more often.

Squatting down on his haunches next to her, he said, “You want to tell me what’s going on here?”

“I’m changing Suzanne’s diaper.”

“I know what you’re doing with Susie-Q, what I want to know is—”

“Do you give everyone a nickname?”

He frowned. “I suppose.”

“What’s yours?”

She was the most distracting woman. Or at least her perfume was. Nothing like the scents he smelled all day, barn smells and prairie sage. Better than both. A scent he could go on inhaling every day and still look forward to taking his first breath the next morning.

He swallowed hard. “Speed and the boys call me boss.”

“The boys don’t call you Dad?”

“Most of the youngsters who come here have issues about their fathers. No sense to push their buttons. And giving them a nickname gives them a chance to be someone else, someone whose old man hasn’t beaten the tar out of them or whose mother didn’t abandon him. Someone who can start over without any strikes against them.”

She bent over the baby again, snapping her overalls back together. When she lifted her head, Walker could have sworn there were tears in her eyes, but maybe it was just the light that made the blue glisten like a high-mountain lake on a bright summer day.

“I think that’s a wonderful concept,” she said, her voice huskier than usual. “And so does Susie-Q, don’t you, sweetie?”

She hugged the baby, and something in her eyes brought a lump to Walker’s throat. He’d seen that same haunted look in the eyes of the boys who’d come to him over the years. Wary desperation. A need for sanctuary. Fear that he’d turn them out just as their families had.

He didn’t doubt for a minute that same look had been in his eyes the day he showed up at the Double O.

Damn it all! How could he send this woman and the baby away? Whatever her real story was, he didn’t have the heart to do that.

Not as long as she didn’t pose a threat to the Double O Ranch.

“Come on, Slick.” Standing, he picked up the diaper bag. “I’ll show you to your room.”

Her nicely arched brows rose. “Slick?”

“Yeah. As in city slicker.”

“What makes you so sure I’m a city slicker?”

“Must be something about that BMW you’re driving and the fancy designer label on your rear end.” Not to mention her sexy perfume or how nicely her rear end fit into those blue jeans.

As she started to stand, holding the baby to her shoulder with both hands, he took her arm to help her up. His fingers closed around smooth skin, pampered by expensive creams, and warm to the touch. In contrast, his hands were callused and rough enough to abrade her tender skin.

Pulling his hand away, he tried not to let the velvety feel of her flesh imprint itself into his memory. That was as hopeless as trying to erase a brand from the rump of a calf. No matter how long the animal lived, the evidence of the mark would still be there.

Elizabeth grasped Suzanne more tightly as an unnerving surge of feminine awareness shot through her. During the few seconds Walker touched and then released her, her body had responded in an elemental way to his sheer masculinity, the rugged texture of his palm against her skin in what was little more than a quick caress. Even after he’d let her go, her heartbeat kept up its rapid cadence.

Oddly she’d never reacted in quite that way to a man—not even Steve, whom she had loved with all of her heart, she thought with a stab of guilt. Certainly Vernon hadn’t caused her pulse to speed up by simply touching her. She wasn’t one to swoon or be dazzled by a handsome face.

Indeed Walker’s features were too solid, too sharply honed, to make him a candidate for a GQ cover model. He set his jaw too sharply, pale squint lines fanned out from golden-brown eyes set deeply in his tanned face, and a slight bend in his nose suggested it had once been broken.

No, not a beautiful face but one that was altogether too potently masculine for her taste. Or so she’d thought until he touched her.

“Do you, uh, want me to carry the baby?” he asked, as he walked beside her toward the wide staircase to the second floor. The dark walnut banister looked smoothed by age and, if she knew anything about boys, a thousand youthful slides down it.

“I think for the sake of your shirt, I’d better keep her.”

His lips slid into a wry smile. “My shirt’s already a loss.”

That wasn’t quite true. From her perspective, a man with a little baby dribble down his shirt held a certain appeal. It meant he wasn’t afraid to be gentle.

Of course, Susie-Q had done more than just dribble. Spitting up hadn’t been much of a problem when she was nursing, the baby digesting breast milk far better than she did formula. Not for the first time, she regretted Vernon’s demand that she wean Suzanne before the wedding—and her foolish agreement.

She should have stood up for the best interests of her baby. From now on, that’s exactly what she was going to do. She’d learn to be strong for Suzanne’s sake.

A half-dozen doors led off the upstairs hallway and the carpet was worn thin leading to each room.

“The boys sleep in the bunkhouse?” she asked.

“During the summer. They think of it as one long sleepover. Winter time it’s too cold out there and I make ’em sleep inside. Besides, they’ve gotta get up early to catch the school bus.”

“How far is it to their school?”

“About an hour, maybe more, assuming the bus can get through.”

“Get through?”

“We get a little snow here now and then.”

Elizabeth suspected that was a serious understatement. This close to the Canadian border, winter blizzards had to be as common as wildfires in California.

He gestured toward an open door at the front of the house, and she stepped into the room where Speed was fluffing up a pillow. A light breeze fluttered lace curtains at the windows and brought with it the warm, dry scent of sage.

“Here you go, ma’am.” Speed propped the big pillow at the head of the bed. “I gotcha some clean sheets. The blanket might smell a bit musty—”

“This is awfully nice for servants’ quarters. Don’t you have—”

“Unless you want to bunk with the boys,” Walker said, “this is what you get.”

Somehow as housekeeper she’d pictured a private room off the kitchen where she and Suzanne would stay, not a guest bedroom opposite her employer’s room. She shrugged. “In that case, I’m sure everything will be fine.”

The room really was lovely, the view a hundred and eighty degrees of prairie and rolling, tree-covered hills. In an unpretentious way, the room and view were both more elegant than her parents’ home where her mother had spared no expense on furnishings.

Smiling, she imagined Steve would have liked it here. An adventure, he would have said.

A sharp blade of regret slid through her that this adventure was one she and her baby would have to experience without him. Almost a year had passed since she’d laid her beloved Steve to rest and she still felt the raw edge of grief whenever she thought of him. Somehow—for her baby—she had to find a way to go on.

“Miss?”

Blinking back her tears, she turned to the foreman. “Yes?”

“I’ll get the boys to bring up your suitcases,” Speed said.

Right on cue, the sound of booted feet came thundering down the hallway. Fridge arrived first with the playpen in hand. “Ya want this in here?” he asked Speed.

Complaining at the top of his voice, Scotty arrived lugging Elizabeth’s much heavier suitcase, which he’d hauled up from downstairs. “Just ’cuz you’re the biggest doesn’t mean you’re the boss of everybody else!” He dropped the bag by the bed with a thud.

“Put the playpen next door,” Walker ordered.

Speed tried to take the folded playpen from Fridge but it popped open, one of the corners catching Speed in the chest and driving him backward.

Bean Pole ambled in with the smaller bag of Suzanne’s things and stumbled over the bigger suitcase, barely catching himself before he fell flat on the freshly made bed.

Walker snared the back of the boy’s shirt, steadying the youngster as if he’d anticipated a pratfall.

In spite of herself, Elizabeth stifled a grin, not because of the boy’s awkwardness but rather the dynamics of the entire Laurel-and-Hardy scene. That Walker was taking the whole situation so calmly spoke volumes about his patience and how well he related to adolescent boys.

Finally wrestling the playpen under control, Speed carried it to a sunny room adjacent to the bedroom.

“I know how to set it up,” Fridge insisted, following him.

Scotty dashed in after them. “Don’t, either! I had to show you!”

Bean Pole followed. “I can help.”

Elizabeth glanced at Walker and he met her gaze, an amused twinkle in his eyes.

“The boys seem very helpful,” she commented.

“Normally they avoid every chore I give them until I threaten them with mayhem or no TV for a week. The no TV part works the best.”

She imagined so. Despite Walker’s rugged appearance, she didn’t think his physical threats would be credible. Beneath his rough exterior, he had a gentle spirit. That’s what she had sensed in the article and why she’d sought refuge here.

“I’ll get the boys out of your hair so you can get settled. It’s about time they started fixing supper anyway.”

“I imagine cooking will be part of my job duties?” she asked with more than a little trepidation. No matter what, she was determined to not sit back and let others wait on her. She’d lived that way long enough.

He waved her off. “They’ve got the routine down pretty good but don’t expect five-star restaurant grub. It’s more likely to be sloppy Joes.”

Given her limited cooking experience, the adolescents would probably do a better job than she could. Which didn’t mean she couldn’t learn. “I’ll take over tomorrow, then.”

He frowned. “Whatever.” He looked down at his shirtfront and started to unbutton it. “Meanwhile, I’m going to get out of this shirt before it starts to reek any more than it already does.”

“If you show me where things are, I can do the laundry.” Not that she had any more experience at that chore than she did at cooking. Growing up in a house full of servants plus attending a string of boarding schools, she hadn’t been highly motivated to develop her own domestic talents. But from necessity she had become acquainted with Laundromats during her college years.

“Not necessary. We’ve got it covered.”

And he didn’t need her around mucking things up, she could almost hear him say.

She watched with curious fascination as he tugged his shirttail from his jeans, letting the shirt hang open. A white V-neck T-shirt pulled tautly across his chest and she chided herself for the shimmer of regret that he wore an undershirt at all.

With a final, “We’ll call you when supper’s ready,” he followed the rest of his cowhands into the sewing room to sort out the continuing bickering about the playpen—an easy-opening playpen she had managed with little effort the two nights she’d stayed in motels en route to Montana.

Smiling to herself, she walked around to the far side of the room and placed Suzanne on the bed. “We’re going to be fine here, Susie-Q. You’ll see. And it will only be for a short while, just long enough for me to decide what to do next.”

When she looked up she saw Walker across the hall in his bedroom, the door standing open. He’d shed both his shirt and T-shirt, revealing a smooth back with well-defined muscles that rippled as he moved. His physique hadn’t been built in the airless confines of an upscale gym somewhere in the middle of a big city, she realized, but by years of hard work on his ranch. He’d earned every sculpted inch of his lean body.

Elizabeth had never earned a damned thing, including her own keep. The best she’d done was work as an unpaid gofer for the charitable foundation her family supported. They’d offered her a small salary but she hadn’t wanted to take money away from people who truly needed it.

With a raging sense of self disgust, she turned away from the tempting view across the hall. Why on earth hadn’t she noticed how stunted her life had become?

WALKER COULDN’T BELIEVE his eyes.

Every one of the boys was scrubbed clean and had their hair slicked back like a bunch of cowboys ready to whoop it up in town on Saturday night. Even Speed looked like he’d spiffed up for the evening. In this case, however, he suspected the sudden interest in cleanliness had more to do with their houseguest than the day of the week.

“You boys have supper ready?”

“Yes, boss,” they chorused.

Lined up in front of the kitchen counter, they looked like soldiers standing at attention ready for inspection. They’d even hung their hats on the mudroom pegs, an event that only happened under the threat of dire punishment if they wore them while at the table.

“I made baked pork chops,” Fridge announced.

“I did the mashed potatoes,” Scotty added. “And the baked apples are in the oven now.”

“I figured she might like some veggies.” Bean Pole dipped his head. “My mom used to—when she was sober.”

Walker glanced at Speed, who lifted his shoulders in an easy shrug. “Biscuits.”

Apparently Walker was the only one who hadn’t contributed to the meal preparations. He’d been searching out the current price of beef, a project that had been interrupted earlier. The news wasn’t good. Evidently a lot of ranches were selling off their stock due to the drought, and the prices reflected a downward spiral.

He eyed the boys. “Well, are you gonna ask her to join us, or do you plan for us to eat it all ourselves?”

He’d seen a few stampedes in his life. But nothing like the boys jockeying for position as they raced out of the kitchen. For a moment, he thought Bean Pole was going to make it into the lead. No such luck, though. He bashed into a chair, spinning it around, allowing Scotty to squirt past him.

Shaking his head, Walker said, “It might be worth it to keep Lizzie around if it meant the boys would wash behind their ears more than once a year.”

“That it would,” Speed agreed. His weather-worn face shifted into a grin, and he looked far younger than his sixty-some years. “She is a pretty thing, ain’t she?”

Walker wouldn’t deny it. “She doesn’t belong here.” Not with her shiny long fingernails, her enticing scent or her designer jeans. Or the way she made him feel he’d been missing something.

“Cain’t hurt the boys to have a female around for a while.”

“I got along fine without a woman hanging over me all the time.”

“If you say so, boss.” Leaning back against the counter, Speed crossed his arms over his chest.

Walker’s foreman had the most irritating way of telling him he was full of beans without saying a single damn word. He’d been doing that since Walker was a rebellious, snot-nosed fourteen-year-old who’d showed up at the Double O with no prospects and nowhere else to go. Sometimes Walker wondered if it had been Oliver Oakes who’d adopted him—or Speed. The answer was probably some of both.

A hushed sound came over the room. Almost magical.

Walker shifted his attention to the entrance to the kitchen, a swinging door he always propped open.

She’d spruced up, too, as if that were possible. She didn’t look like any housekeeper he’d ever seen as she moved into the room as smoothly as a dancer arriving on stage. The summery dress she wore had a full skirt that floated at her knees, revealing calves that were both firm and smooth. The capped sleeves and scooped neck of her top showed off ivory skin that had rarely been blessed by the sun but looked just right for a man’s caress.

Walker’s hands ached to do just that, and he folded them into fists.

“Supper’s ready.” His throat had closed down so tightly, he was surprised he’d been able to speak.

“Yes, the boys told me.” She smiled demurely.

Walker’s reaction wasn’t demure at all.

Behind her, her youthful entourage brought in the baby and her portable car seat, which they placed on a chair beside her. They hovered, groveling, hoping for some small crumb of attention, which she scattered among them bit by bit.

“Fridge!” Yanking out his own chair, Walker sat down, angry at himself because he wanted some of that attention to come his way. “Think you could serve supper sometime before we all pass out from hunger?”

Elizabeth watched in amazement as the boys exploded into action. A huge plate of pork chops appeared in the center of the big table, surely enough to feed the entire population of Grass Valley. The bowls of mashed potatoes and vegetables confirmed her belief that a hungry army of neighbors would be showing up at the door any moment. When Scotty produced a pan full of a dozen baked apples, the scent of cinnamon filling the room, and Speed added a mountain of steaming biscuits, she knew it had to be true.

With much chair scraping and jockeying for position, the boys took their places at the table. All eyes landed on her.

“It all looks delicious,” she said, not quite sure what was expected of her. If she’d been at home, a servant would discreetly arrive, probably with a tureen of soup, and served her mother first then the rest of the guests. When that course was completed, her mother would ring a tiny bell and the servant would reappear to clear the bowls away.

Here she was supposed to be doing the cooking and serving, not sitting like a guest at the table.

“Why don’t you help yourself, Lizzie?” Walker suggested. “The boys will pass you what you need.”

She might be wrong but she still couldn’t quite believe… “Shouldn’t we wait for the rest of the guests?”

A puzzled look lowered his dark brows. “You’re it as far as I know.”

“You mean to tell me the six of us are going to eat all of that food?”

His grin softened the hard angles and planes of his rugged face, making him appear more approachable and more handsome. “Guess you haven’t been around teenage boys much.”

Returning his smile, she reached for the nearest serving dish, which was mounded high with mashed potatoes, a treat she hadn’t allowed herself in years in an effort to watch her weight. “Hollow legs, I gather.”

“Arms, legs, stomachs and sometimes their heads,” Speed added, nudging Fridge with his elbow. “Help yourself, boys.”

Passing Elizabeth each dish first before serving themselves, the boys demonstrated considerable self-restraint. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought she landed at an exclusive boarding school not a working ranch. Somehow she suspected they were all on their best behavior and that tickled her.

From the way Walker kept glancing around from his seat at the head of the table, she imagined he was surprised by the way the boys were acting, too—out of character for active adolescents.

“Are all of you boys from Montana?” she asked in the hope of getting them talking and therefore more at ease.

Fridge claimed Chicago and Scotty named Minnesota while Bean Pole remained shyly silent.

She tried a few more conversational gambits but the boys were either too busy eating or tongue-tied by her presence. It might take several days before they were entirely comfortable with her, she realized. Walker, too, unless he was always this quiet.

She’d only made it halfway through her gigantic meal when Suzanne started to fuss. Elizabeth picked her up.

“Looks like Susie-Q would like some dinner, too,” she said. She scooted back from the table. “I’ll get her bottle.”

“Can I feed her?” Scotty asked. He jumped to his feet. “I used to feed my mom’s baby, until they all moved away without me.”

Elizabeth swallowed a gasp. The boy’s mother had moved and left her child behind? What a dreadful—

“Feeding a baby’s not so hard,” Fridge said. “I could do it.”

“Why don’t we let Scotty do it this time?” Elizabeth suggested. She reached out and touched the boy with her hand. “And then later tonight you can have a turn, Fridge, if you’re still interested.”

Scotty looked pleased with himself and Fridge seemed grateful.

Softly, Bean Pole asked, “Could I feed her tomorrow?”

Feeling a band tighten around her chest, Elizabeth nodded. “Of course you may.” These young men were so emotionally needy, it nearly broke her heart. They made her own problems pale by comparison. “Susie-Q is going to be in seventh heaven with all you boys paying her so much attention.”

She glanced to the head of the table. An almost imperceptible nod from Walker told her she was doing the right thing by letting the boys help in the baby’s care.

WITH THE BOYS FULLY ENGAGED in feeding Susie-Q, Walker and Speed were stuck doing the supper dishes.

“That was some dinner, wasn’t it?” Walker commented as he rinsed a plate and slid it into the dishwasher.

“Yep. I thought there for a minute somebody had slipped us a whole bunch of new boys who knew how to use a fork right and kidnapped the old ones.”

Walker chuckled. “Guess we’ll have to have women out to the ranch more often so the boys can practice their manners.”

“Sounds like a plan to me, long as they’re as purdy as Miss Lizzie.”

“That might be a little more difficult to arrange.” He couldn’t think of a single female in Grass Valley, married or not, who would match up with Lizzie. There probably wouldn’t be all that many in Billings, for that matter.

After giving the table a final swipe with a damp cloth, Speed rinsed it out and laid it across the arm of the faucet.

“There’s something I think you ought to know, boss.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, now, I’m not quite sure what it means but when we was getting Miss Lizzie’s gear out of the trunk of her car, a box stuck in the back popped open.” Thoughtfully, Speed ran his palm across his evening whiskers.

“And?” Walker prodded.

“Looked to me like there was a fancy wedding dress stuffed into the box. You know, all white lace and stuff.”

Staring at his foreman, Walker tried to grasp the meaning of Speed’s discovery.

Why in hell would a Merry Maids housekeeper travel from Nevada to Montana with a baby in the first place? And why would she have a wedding gown in the back of her car?

Heck of a thing to pack for a long trip. Or for scrubbing floors.

“What do you think?” Speed asked.

“I think I’d better have a chat with our housekeeper.” And do it before some prospective groom showed up at his front door with a shotgun in his hand.




Chapter Three


Elizabeth knew the instant Walker entered the living room. It was as though he radiated a magnetic force that drew every eye in the room, most especially hers. She suspected he’d get the same reaction at a fancy charity ball in San Francisco as he did here, every woman drawn to him.

There was no sign of Speed, who she assumed must have gone to the bunkhouse after the kitchen cleanup. Or maybe even into town, such as it was with a business district no more than two blocks long.

Bean Pole, who was sitting awkwardly on a foot-stool in front of Scotty and the baby, complained, “Scotty won’t let me and Fridge hold Susie-Q.”

“She’s asleep. You don’t want to wake her, do you?” Scotty insisted, speaking softly but with an air of superiority as the resident expert on babies.

Deciding she needed to regain control of the parenting duties, Elizabeth rose from the couch. She felt Walker’s appraising gaze and wondered what he was thinking. Men often found her attractive; she recognized the look. But she saw something else in Walker’s eyes that didn’t bode well for her scheme—the shadow of suspicion.

“Let’s put Susie-Q back in the car seat,” she said to the boys. “She’ll nap for a while and then will want to play again before she goes down for the night.” She carried the car seat to a quiet corner of the room out of the bright light, signaling Scotty to bring the baby. “When she’s ready for her last feeding, Fridge can give her a bottle.”

“Doesn’t she eat any real food?” Bean Pole asked.

“Not yet. In another month I’ll start her on cereal and some vegetables.”

The three adolescents formed a protective semicircle around the baby, watching as though she were the most fascinating thing in the world. Elizabeth agreed with that assessment, of course. In the past three months, she’d spent a good many hours observing Suzanne in every situation imaginable. But to have teenage boys find her baby equally intriguing surprised her.

Lazily Walker strolled the rest of the way into the room. “A watched pot never boils, boys.”

Scotty glanced over his shoulder. “Huh?”

“I mean, you might as well relax and let the baby sleep.”

“Maybe there’s wrestling on TV,” Fridge suggested, glancing at the twenty-four-inch set strategically placed on a bookshelf near the fireplace.

Scotty gave him a thumbs-down on that idea. “The noise would wake her up.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Fridge argued.

“You always start yelling ’n’ stuff,” Bean Pole said.

“You’re the one who—”

Elizabeth winced as the bickering rose in volume. Insults were hurled. One shove became two, and she suddenly worried the wrestling match would take place right in the middle of the living room, putting Suzanne at risk of becoming an innocent victim.

But before she could take action, Walker intervened.

“That’s it, boys.” He didn’t shout or react in anger. Even so, the adolescents responded instantly, freezing in midmotion, their mouths slamming shut. “Settle down or take it outside where it belongs.”

Her admiration for Walker’s ability to handle rambunctious teenagers kicked up a notch. Raised as she had been in a family where decorum reigned as gospel, she could barely imagine the day-to-day physicality of living with three adolescent boys. Yet Walker hadn’t flinched. He was every inch a match for the three of them combined.

That thought gave her a little shiver of apprehension. Walker was so big, so strong, a woman would have no choice but to yield to his strength if he demanded it.

Yet, like the boys, she sensed an inner gentleness in Walker. A woman would have no reason to fear him, at least physically.

Protecting her heart would be a different matter.

SEVERAL HOURS LATER, arms folded across his chest, Walker leaned against the doorjamb of the sewing room watching Lizzie as she tucked the baby in for the night. A mighty pretty picture she created bending over the playpen but a puzzling one.

A woman with a wedding gown who wore no rings and acted like a debutante not a housekeeper.

The house was quiet now. The boys had gone back to the bunkhouse after lavishing attention on both Lizzie and the baby, hanging around the house until Fridge had his chance to give the ten o’clock bottle.

But the time had come for Walker to get down to business. He couldn’t put off asking his questions any longer.

“The boys sure have taken a liking to you and the baby, Slick,” he said.

Her head came up as though she’d forgotten he was there. “They’re sweet. All of them.”

“I usually describe them as ornery, rebellious and stubborn. Typical teenagers with pasts that haven’t been easy.”

She gave him a faint smile. “It’s obvious you’re doing a good job with them.”

About twenty times a day he questioned both his sanity and whether he was doing right by the youngsters. Still, he did the best he could. He couldn’t ask more than that of anyone.

Giving the baby a final caress, she stepped away from the playpen.

“Will she sleep through the night?” he asked.

“I hope so. But with so much excitement and being in a new place, it’s hard to say.”

He moved away from the door, and she followed him into the hallway where a low-wattage lightbulb cast muted shadows up and down the corridor, disguising the worn wallpaper and carpeting.

In contrast, Lizzie glowed with quiet vitality, her silver-blond hair shiny even in the dim light and her cheeks blooming with a trace of color. There hadn’t been a woman living in this house in more than thirty years. Suddenly that felt wrong, almost as though the house had been incomplete all these years and no one had noticed.

Aware his thoughts were leading him in an unwanted direction, he cleared his throat. “You and I need to talk.”

“It’s been a long day and it’s late. Would you mind if we waited until tomorrow? If Suzanne wakes up—”

“Tonight would be better. I don’t want the boys interrupting us.”

Her gazed flicked to his face for a moment, then she glanced back over her shoulder at the sleeping baby.

“Susie-Q will be fine,” he said. “If she wakes up you’ll be able to hear her downstairs.”

“I wish you had a baby monitor.”

“We’ve never had any need. Teenage boys can yell pretty loud.”

She hesitated again. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“We can talk in your bedroom, if you’d rather. Or mine.”

With a quick shake of her head, Elizabeth rejected both of those options. If she was going to be grilled by a sexy cowboy she didn’t want to be anywhere near a bed. She was already far too aware of Walker’s elemental maleness and the fact that they were alone in the house. She wasn’t about to tempt fate.

She turned on her heel. “Downstairs will be fine.” Her sandals slapped on the worn carpeting as she strode ahead of him. Now was the time to stay calm so she could keep her story straight. This was a perfect place to hide out. Except for the hum of tension she felt whenever Walker was near, the solitude of the ranch and the wide-open range were ideal for serious thinking.

And for learning how to be the woman she wanted to become.

Even the presence of the boys provided a sense of normalcy that would help her focus on what she wanted for her daughter’s future and her own. Help her find the strength she needed to stand up to her family.

Walker was the only fly in the ointment. He was simply too unsettling for a woman’s peace of mind.

She walked into the living room that was still strewn with baby equipment—Suzanne’s car seat, a receiving blanket, the diaper bag—all of which she’d have to take upstairs. She started to gather them up.

“Speed tells me there’s a wedding gown in the trunk of your car.”

Her head snapped up. Damn! She’d forgotten all about the dress.

“Is that a problem?” she asked, faking a bland expression.

“Not unless a groom shows up here toting a shotgun.”

“That’s not likely to happen on my account.”

“Why? Because there isn’t a groom? Or he doesn’t know where you are?”

Heat crept up her neck. Despite the current situation, she wasn’t used to lying. It made her ill to her stomach. The pork chop she’d eaten for dinner did a roll in her midsection and threatened to do worse if she didn’t come clean. Which she didn’t dare. “What makes you think it’s my gown?”

He eyed her skeptically. “Is it?”

“I was taking it to the cleaners’ for my sister,” she blurted out.

“Try again, Miss Thomas. People who are telling the truth don’t blush.”

The heat on her cheeks grew even more intense. “People who are being grilled by a great big lummox of a cowboy might do a lot of blushing.”

He lifted his dark brows, etching his forehead with a double row of creases.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you,” she said. Wherever had her manners flown? Ever since she’d been able to walk and talk, her parents had drilled politeness into her head. Doing what was expected of her. Behaving properly. In the past three days she’d forgotten every lesson they’d taught her. Or more to the point, at the ripe old age of twenty-five, she’d finally decided to rebel against everything she’d ever known. To take charge of her own life—for Suzanne’s sake as well as her own.

His lips quirked ever so slightly. “No insult taken. What I’m after is the truth.”

Which was exactly what she couldn’t tell him. Not yet. She didn’t trust him enough for that. “If you’d like, you could call the Merry Maids corporate office to check my references.”

“No one’s likely to be around the office at eleven o’clock on a Saturday night.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

Purposefully he walked over to the big native-rock fireplace, picked up the poker and jabbed at a charred log left over from the last fire. “I’d like to know what’s going on now so I don’t have to start making phone calls on Monday morning.”

At least he wasn’t threatening to call the police. So far.

Bending over, she scooped up Suzanne’s blanket and stuffed it in the diaper bag, frantically trying to come up with a story Walker would buy. It’s not like she had a whole lot of experience lying, a serious omission in her liberal-arts education, she now realized.

“Have you ever heard of the witness-protection program?” she ventured.

He stared at her with narrowed eyes but he didn’t immediately dismiss her latest ruse. “Are you saying you witnessed a crime and are hiding out from the criminals?”

Perhaps with enough practice, she’d get prevarication down to a credible art form. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the details.” And she really, truly didn’t want to risk her family finding her just yet.

It was bad enough her hasty departure might place her family’s ambition to see her brother Robert successfully launched in a political career in jeopardy without Vernon’s support. She didn’t want to deal with her guilt on that subject.

Sliding the poker back into its holder, Walker closed the fireplace screen and considered Lizzie’s latest story. Assuming she really was from Nevada as her license plates suggested, he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d come across a criminal element. Hadn’t he heard about the mafia taking over Las Vegas? But he’d thought the state had cleaned up its act. Not that he paid much attention to any news that didn’t involve the weather or the price of beef.

Maybe she had witnessed a crime. Or maybe she’d been scheduled to marry some mafia hit man and had run away at the last minute with her gown in the trunk.

But the way she still couldn’t meet his gaze told him she’d lied to him again.

He walked over to the couch and picked up a cloth diaper she’d used for a spit-up rag, handing it to her.

“Have you broken the law?”

“Oh, no,” she gasped. “Nothing like that.”

For the first time, he believed her. Her response had been too quick, too insistent, to be a lie. He exhaled, surprised by the sense of relief he experienced.

“How ’bout Susie-Q? Is she really your baby?”

“Oh, my God! Did you think—of course she’s my baby!”

He nodded. “I don’t doubt it. She’s got your smile.”

“Don’t you like babies?”

“I like ’em fine, I guess. But it seems to me, being a housekeeper and taking care of your baby at the same time wouldn’t be easy.” With each of her answers, he had new questions.

“I’m sure a lot of stay-at-home moms would agree with you.”

“How about Susie’s father?”

“He…he died.” Her throat worked as though she were trying to tamp down her emotions. “About a year ago.”

“I’m sorry. But are you telling me you’ve been driving around for a year with your wedding gown in the trunk of your car.”

“No. I was going to marry someone else. It was a mistake and I…”

“You’re not really a housekeeper, are you?”

She shook her head. “Not really. But I can learn, I’m sure of it.” As though his interrogation had been too tiring, she sat down at the end of the couch and leaned back, closing her eyes in a gesture of defeat. “Are you going to send us away?”

A part of him knew that’s exactly what he ought to do. If she really was in the witness protection system—which he didn’t believe—the government should have been responsible for putting her in a safe place.

But whatever was happening, she was in some sort of trouble. A woman didn’t run away with her baby on a whim, bridal gown or not. From what he’d seen of her, Lizzie was a good, loving mother. He gave her points for that.

But the fact that a groom had been left at the altar was troubling to say the least.

Even so, the irrational part of his brain argued that she should stay on the Double O for reasons that had nothing to do with the wedding gown, a groom or her baby—or any real or imagined witness-protection program—but simply because he wanted her here. Wanted the sultry scent of her to linger in a room after she left. Wanted to see the quick flash of her smile, even when it wasn’t directed at him. Wanted to hope she wouldn’t always be sleeping in the bed across the hall.

Damn it, he was getting ahead of himself. Sure, he lusted after her. She was a beautiful woman. But the truth of the matter was she and that little baby brought out his protective instincts. He couldn’t turn away a person in trouble or in need. He had an idea she was both.

In frustration, he shoved his fingers through his hair. “You and Susie-Q can stay for now. But if you bring trouble down on the Double O, you’re outta here. Is that understood?”

She lifted her head, her eyes a deep navy-blue and glistening with unshed tears. Slowly she pursed her lips then licked them. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I promise you won’t be sorry.”

He already was sorry, but mostly because he didn’t have the right to carry her upstairs and do with her what his libido had been demanding since she showed up in his driveway with her classy BMW, sophisticated airs and a chubby baby girl a man would be proud to call his own.

“Lizzie—”

“Yes?”

“Most of the boys who come here lie to me about one thing or another at first. Eventually they learn they can trust me. I hope you will, too.”

She didn’t answer. Instead she turned away, diaper bag in hand, and headed up the stairs.

He watched her go. Having Lizzie in the house was going to make changes in his life.

Including a hell of a lot of cold showers.




Chapter Four


Elizabeth snapped Suzanne into a clean jumper outfit and lifted the baby to her shoulder. She really could use a changing table. A proper crib, too, for that matter.

“Come on, Susie-Q. We’re going to make breakfast for the boys.” Surely, even blurry eyed from being up with her daughter three times during the night, Elizabeth would be able to pull together scrambled eggs and toast for a bunch of hungry cowboys. How hard could it be? And she wanted to start as soon as possible making herself useful around the house lest Walker think of an excuse to send her away.

Besides, if she intended to be an independent woman, she needed to start now by learning to do for herself and her baby. A housekeeping job—albeit an unpaid one—was a perfect opportunity.

She slipped Suzanne into the Snugli carrier she’d purchased in Reno, adjusting it so the baby was comfortable against her chest and her own hands were free to get some work done.

At a few minutes past six, she hurried downstairs and found the kitchen empty, the only sign of life the coffeemaker with a freshly brewed pot on the warmer. Someone was up, probably Walker. And since the boys apparently hadn’t arrived for breakfast yet, she’d have time to feed Suzanne, a task she dearly loved.

She quickly fixed a bottle, poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table.

The kitchen was as big as the one in her parents’ home, the appliances almost as new. But the old wooden table, scarred by use, gave it a homey feel missing in the glass and chrome version she’d grown up with.

Humming while Suzanne drank her formula and she sipped her coffee, a feeling of contentment swept over Elizabeth, more satisfying than she had felt in a long while. The months of wedding plans, not to mention her pregnancy and paralyzing grief over Steven’s death, had taken its toll. The tension that had been plaguing her, making her shoulders ache and keeping her teeth on edge, eased away.

She sighed with relief.

The back door banged open, and she jumped at the sight of a stranger standing there. Tall and rangy with midnight-black hair, he had the distinctive features of a Native American.

“Well, now, looks like my brother has been keeping secrets from me.” The smallest hint of a smile teased at the corners of his lips.

Her jaw went slack. Walker’s brother? Except that both men were tall, there wasn’t an iota of family resemblance.

When she continued to sit there mute, he strolled into the kitchen as if he owned the place. He tipped his hat to the back of his head. “I’m Rory, and you must be…” He left the question dangling, waiting for a response.




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