Главная страница | Современные любовные романы | Cowboy To The Altar

Cowboy To The Altar
Rosemary Carter


Beauty and the…cowboy!If Morgan Muir wanted to play at cowboys and Indians, Jason Delaney wasn't going to stand in her way. He just wished she hadn't chosen his ranch as her playground. Morgan might have a good reason for wanting to find out about ranching life but Jason didn't care. There was no room for a model at the Six-Gate Corral–no matter how cute. There had been one Mrs. Jason Delaney…he was determined there would never be a second!Morgan Muir was dangerous–already she was threatening to destroy the three things that he most valued: his solitude, his sense of being invulnerable and his resolve that Jason Delaney and women didn't mix–period!From the author of Family Man.







“No woman will ever hurt me again. No woman, Morgan.” (#ubcbce6da-2a6d-53a6-9c3d-6fed87d41363)About the Author (#u5f558654-cdd5-5a50-91e4-142c75838270)Title Page (#u5b6cd958-b6f2-53dd-9b2b-e1a0f7507f1c)CHAPTER ONE (#u243ab425-c819-58ff-8378-e633964ef0fc)CHAPTER TWO (#uf9f69b9e-7c8d-55c2-ada4-24d1d81a8c09)CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)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)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


“No woman will ever hurt me again. No woman, Morgan.”

If Morgan were sensible, she would leave things at that....

But Morgan, it appeared, was not sensible. “Not all women are alike,” she said softly. “One bad experience and you’re turned off all women?”

“Not in the way you seem to think, Morgan Muir. I like women. I like the feel of a woman in my arms, a woman’s soft body against mine. But I don’t want a woman in my life. Ever again.”

“You’re a stubborn man, Jason.... You’ve decided that all women are like your ex-wife.”

“Prove to me that they’re not,” he challenged.

“I’ll prove it.”

“How?” He was intrigued.

“In the only way I know.”

And then, giving him no time to react, Morgan closed the distance between them. Jason was still seated as she leaned over him and put her lips against his.


Rosemary Carter was born in South Africa, but has lived in Canada for many years with her husband and her three children. Although her home is on the Prairies, not far from the beautiful Rockies, she still retains her love of the South African bushveld, which is why she likes to set her stories there. Both Rosemary and her husband enjoy concerts, theater, opera and hiking in the mountains. Reading was always her passion, and led to her first attempts at writing stories herself.




Cowboy to the Altar

Rosemary Carter







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


CHAPTER ONE

‘WHO on earth can that be?’

Jason Delaney pushed back the broad brim of his stetson hat, his dark eyes narrowing at the sight of the vehicle that was approaching the ranch-house. The road was used mainly by pick-up trucks—a small car, like the one now coming through the trees, was a rarity.

The dog, following close on the heels of the broad-shouldered man, gave a token growl. Aging though Scot might be, he was not so old that he had forgotten that the ranch was his territory. Jason looked down at the big dog, who had once had no equal when it had come to working with cattle, and for a moment his eyes were troubled.

But this was not the time to think about the dog for the car was just stopping in front of the house. The driver’s door opened, and a girl emerged.

A girl! Jason stiffened. It was a while since a female had been at the ranch.

The big dog growled and moved towards the girl.

‘Scot!’ Jason called a stern warning. ‘Back, Scot.’

To his surprise, the girl said, ‘Oh, that’s OK, I’m not frightened.’ And, bending towards the dog, she said, ‘Aren’t you lovely?’ She stroked Scot between the ears, and the dog quietened in seconds.

The girl straightened. As she came towards him something tightened inside Jason. She was so light, so graceful—her movements made him think of a dancer.

‘Hi, there,’ she said with an enchanting smile.

‘Hi,’ he returned, looking down—quite a long way down—into the prettiest face he had ever seen.

Her hair was the colour of ripe corn, her eyes as blue as the Texas sky on a cloudless day. Her waist was so tiny that a man could circle it easily with his hands, and then have some space to spare. Through a cream shirt, tucked neatly into beautifully cut matching pants, a pair of small breasts hinted at promise and perfection.

After a long moment Jason said, ‘Wasn’t expecting company. Guess you’re lost. Tell me where you’re headed, and I’ll give you directions.’

She had to tilt her head in order to look at him. ‘Lost? I don’t believe so. This is Six-Gate Corral, isn’t it? I saw the name on the gate as I turned in.’

‘Right—this is Six-Gate Corral.’

‘Good! Then I’ve come to the right place. And I’m not company, exactly. I’m Morgan Muir.’

The way she said it was as if she expected him to know who she was. But the name meant nothing to him. Jason looked at her, puzzled.

‘Morgan Muir,’ she repeated. ‘The new cook.’

‘You have to be kidding!’ The words exploded from his lips.

‘Why would I do that? Look, Mr...’ She stopped.

‘Delaney. Jason Delaney.’

‘Jason Delaney?’ She looked amazed. ‘Owner of Six-Gate Corral?’

Jason nodded curtly. ‘Owner, that’s right.’ His eyes were suddenly hard. ‘I’m a busy man, Miss Muir. I don’t have time for games.’

‘Neither do I.’ For the first time she looked angry. ‘Look, I’ve done absolutely nothing to deserve your hostility.’

‘OK, then, suppose you tell me why you’re really here.’

‘I did—I’m the new cook.’

‘The hell you are!’

Her eyes sparkled as her hands curled into fists. Five and a half feet of challenging woman. Quite a sight. ‘I will not let you intimidate me, Mr Delaney.’

‘Is that what I’m doing?’

‘You’re trying your best to. You have a cook by the name of Brent, don’t you?’ And when Jason nodded she went on, ‘Off on vacation for a month, and in need of a substitute?’

An alarm bell rang in Jason’s mind. ‘How would you know that?’ he asked aloofly.

She gave him a saucy look. ‘Brent’s ad appeared in a ranching magazine, and I happened to see it. I called him, we talked and he gave me the job.’

Jason frowned. ‘I see.’

‘Didn’t he tell you?’

‘No.’

‘I guess it slipped his mind.’

Jason looked down at her, an enticingly fragile figure. Her eyes returned his look—wide, blue, confident. ‘Anyway, Brent will be waiting for me. He’ll want to tell me all about my duties.’

‘Sure of that, are you?’ Jason asked derisively.

‘Of course.’ Her eyes were challenging now. ‘He must have told you something about me.’

‘Only that he’d arranged for someone to take his place while he’s on vacation.’

‘Well, then!’

‘Not a word about hiring a woman. Morgan...’ Jason frowned. ‘Now that I think of it, Brent did mention the name. But Morgan is a man’s name, not a woman’s.’

Morgan laughed, the sound making Jason think of music. ‘It’s one of those names that can belong to a man or a woman. Is Brent here, Mr Delaney? If he is, he’ll be able to clear up this misunderstanding in a minute.’

‘He’ll certainly have some explaining to do,’ Jason said grimly.

Turning away from Morgan, he shouted, ‘Brent!’

Minutes later a familiar figure came into view. Jason was in his early thirties; Brent was more than double that age—a weathered man with bow legs and skin like an old leather saddle which had been left out too long in the Texas heat. Like Jason, he wore boots and a stetson but his were more battered. In his hand was an ancient suitcase.

‘You called me, Jason?’ As his eyes fell on Morgan he stopped short. ‘Miss Muir...’ he said uneasily.

‘Hi, Brent,’ she said with a smile.

Jason stared from one face to the other in amazement. ‘You really do know each other?’

A blue-eyed smile touched her face. ‘Brent and I met in Austin—didn’t we, Brent?’

‘I don’t believe it!’ Jason exclaimed.

‘You may as well,’ the annoying girl said serenely.

Turning to Brent, she held out her hand to him. ‘Nice to see you again.’

Shyly the old cowboy glanced at the proffered hand. Jason suppressed a smile as he wondered whether Brent would take it. He did—quickly, jerkily—in the manner of one who had had limited contact with women and was, in fact, a little scared of them. As if Morgan Muir were a being from another world—which, in a sense, she was, Jason thought in wry amusement.

Brent dropped Morgan’s hand a second after touching it. Beneath the leathery tan his face was flushed. ‘Be on my way now, Boss.’

‘Not so fast, you old rogue,’ cautioned his employer.

‘Jason?’

‘Who is this woman?’

Brent shot Morgan a quick look, before turning back to Jason. ‘Miss Muir. Reckon she’s the new cook.’

‘New cook be damned! Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I did, Boss. Told you I’d arranged a replacement.’

‘You didn’t say she was a woman.’

The old cowboy shifted his feet on the sun-baked ground. ‘Maybe not,’ he admitted at length. And then added hopefully, ‘Did tell you her name, though. Positive I did.’

‘Morgan. A man’s name. Don’t look so innocent, you old scoundrel; it won’t wash with me. You know very well I thought the cook was a man.’

‘Maybe so...’

‘Well, then?’ Jason was becoming more exasperated by the second. ‘Why didn’t you hire a man?’

‘Couldn’t get one,’ Brent said simply.

‘I should tell you not to come back, you old reprobate,’ Jason growled.

Brent looked affronted. ‘Only one answer to the ad,’ he protested indignantly. ‘Not as if I didn’t try to find someone else.’

‘Nice to know I was hired because I was the only option,’ Morgan said wryly.

‘We don’t employ females at this ranch,’ Jason told her crisply. ‘I’m sorry there’s been a mistake, but now that you understand the position I’m sure you’ll want to leave.’

‘No.’

‘No?’

Looking down at Morgan, Jason saw an expression that he didn’t quite trust. He hoped quite fervently that she would not take it into her pretty little head to cry. Tears would be absolutely the last straw.

But Morgan did not cry. ‘No,’ she said again, this time with a firmness that Jason would not have suspected in the circumstances. ‘I will not leave.’

‘Did employ a female once, Boss,’ a treacherous Brent chose that moment to put in. ‘Woman called Emily. Remember?’

Emily Lawson, a large, amiable woman. She had been the ranch cook before Brent. Mother of three cowboys and grandmother of a huge brood of children, Emily had adored ranches and cooking with almost equal passion. Besides preparing meals for the cowboys, she had advised them on their personal problems and rallied them when their spirits were low.

Emily Lawson and little Miss Morgan Muir were complete opposites: whereas the former had been an asset to the ranch, the latter could only be a nuisance and a threat. Jason did not have to analyse why this should be so; he knew it instinctively.

‘Of course I remember Emily,’ he said impatiently. ‘She was different.’

‘Wasn’t a looker,’ Brent agreed with a sly sideways grin. ‘Plain as a tree-stump Emily was.’

Jason could have cheerfully throttled the man. Why bring Emily up now? Whose side was Brent on, anyway—Morgan Muir’s or his?

His lips tightened ominously. ‘Emily is not under discussion now. This won’t do, Brent, and well you know it.’

‘You’ll do duty in the cookhouse, Boss?’

Once more Jason’s anger exploded. ‘The hell I will! If it weren’t for the fact that you’ve been here since the day I was born I’d fire you on the spot.’

‘I’ll be on my way now, Boss.’

‘You’ll stay and cook until you find someone more—’

Morgan chose that moment to cut in. ‘It doesn’t matter whether Brent goes or stays. It doesn’t even matter whether I cook or don’t cook. It was agreed that I’d spend a month at Six-Gate Corral, and one way or another I intend doing just that.’

She spoke with a firmness that made Jason scowl. ‘I’ve tried to make it clear that I can’t have you here, Miss Muir.’

‘I’ll be staying all the same, Mr Delaney.’ The eyes that met his were steady and unafraid.

‘Not if I can help it, Miss Morgan.’

‘I signed a contract.’ Her gaze turned to Brent, who was looking both intrigued and uneasy at the same time. ‘Tell him, Brent,’ she urged. ‘Tell Mr Delaney what I signed.’

‘It’s true,’ the old cowboy muttered. ‘She did sign a paper.’

‘Why?’ Jason demanded.

‘Had to be sure she wouldn’t let me down.’

‘I would never do that,’ Morgan assured Brent, before slanting a disturbingly winning smile at Jason. ‘The contract protects Brent, and I get to work here for a month.’

Witch, Jason thought, scowling down at her from his six feet four. A very pretty little witch, to be sure. OK, more than pretty—beautiful, if the truth had to be told. But provocative as could be. Aware of her very considerable power over a man and not ashamed to use all the wiles at her disposal in order to get what she wanted.

And if a man’s heart were trampled in the process, well, wouldn’t that just be too bad? Little Miss Morgan Muir—presumably it was Miss—would have got what she wanted. That was all that counted with women, especially the pretty ones.

‘I’ll take a look at that contract,’ he said tightly.

‘Brent has his copy; mine is in the car,’ Morgan told him sweetly. ‘You can see it any time you like.’

‘As soon as possible,’ he informed her crisply over the sinking feeling in his chest. Even without seeing it, he knew already that the contract would be watertight.

Somehow he would have to find a way of getting rid of this girl. After Vera’s defection he had made himself a promise never to get involved with a woman again. He now knew that he had never loved Vera—that the most he had ever felt for his ex-wife had been affection, and even that hadn’t lasted long. He had been lonely when they’d met, and she had managed to convince him that they should be married. For the purpose she had employed several calculated tactics. Hindsight told him that he should have seen through her immediately, but the fact was that he hadn’t.

This girl, this blue-eyed tiny-waisted Morgan Muir, could hurt a man badly. Hurt him far more deeply than Vera ever had. Just a few minutes in her company had been enough to tell him that. Why, already he had an urge—an utterly insane urge—to run his hands through the soft fair hair that curled so enticingly around her small head, to taste lips that looked sweet as fresh honey. Morgan Muir was dangerous. Contract or no contract, he had to find a way of getting rid of her. Quickly.

‘I have every intention of staying,’ she said, as if she had read his thoughts.

‘We’ll see about that.’

‘My mind is made up, Mr Delaney.’ Blue eyes flashed him a challenge.

A pair of cracked cowboy boots shifted once more on the hot dry earth, reminding Morgan and Jason of Brent’s presence. For some reason, they had both forgotten him.

As they turned from each other and looked at the old cowboy he muttered, ‘Guess I’ll be seeing you a month from now, Boss.’

Without another word he shuffled away around the house.

Minutes later the sound of departing hooves had Morgan whirling around. A big horse was proceeding down the road she had just travelled—and on its back was Brent.

‘He’s gone!’ she exclaimed.

Dark eyebrows lifted. ‘Didn’t you expect him to go?’

‘Not so quickly.’

‘I suspect he was ready to leave before you came. That the horse was saddled and ready. That he was alarmed by your arrival and wished he’d left earlier.’

‘You’re intimating he didn’t want to see me.’

‘He knew he’d have to explain.’

‘You’ve made that quite clear, Mr Delaney. Still, I didn’t think he’d go without...’

‘Without?’ Jason prompted.

‘Without explaining my duties. Showing me around...’

‘If you’re a woman of experience you must know your duties already.’

She shot him a saucy look. ‘Obviously I’ll cope. But Brent did say he’d show me around.’

‘Just as obviously he’s not going to.’

‘I guess not...’

‘Shouldn’t matter, though, if you’ve worked before.’ Jason knew that he sounded arrogant.

He had the satisfaction of seeing her look a little uncertain—as if his words had intimidated her. He hoped they had.

‘Look,’ she said, ‘it’s scorching out here. Do you think we could go on talking indoors?’

For a moment Jason hesitated. He didn’t want Morgan Muir in his house, even for a short time; he didn’t need her invading his privacy. Still, she did look hot. He gave a curt shrug and wondered if she would see the gesture as unwelcoming.

‘Why not?’ he said, and led her into the house—into a cool room, all white walls and rather basic low-slung furniture. The graceful figure struck an intensely feminine note against the very masculine background.

Jason’s expression was hard. ‘About your work experience—why do I get the feeling you haven’t had any?’

Morgan had been looking around her. Now she looked back at him, her blue eyes steady. ‘I’ve worked,’ she said quietly, ‘but it’s true I don’t have the kind of experience you’re thinking of.’

‘Don’t tell me,’ he countered sarcastically, ‘you don’t know a thing about cooking.’

This time it was Morgan’s turn to hesitate. ‘I’ve cooked.’

‘On a ranch?’

‘No...’

‘Where, then? A hotel? A restaurant? For a crowd of hungry people?’

Again there was that hesitation, so slight that it might have escaped Jason’s notice if he hadn’t been watching for it. ‘For myself—in my own kitchen.’

His eyes swept the reed-slender body. Suddenly he grinned. ‘Bird’s food?’

She danced him an answering grin. ‘Bird’s food? Heavens, no, since I’m not a bird. But if you’re asking whether I’ve cooked for a horde of men then, no, I’ve never done that.’

Jason looked down into a face with which he could not find even one fault—every feature in it was lovely. ‘But you did say you’d worked. Where? What kind of work?’

Her chin lifted, as if in challenge. ‘Well, actually, I work in a big store, selling clothing. I also do some part-time modelling for the store.’

Jason was astounded. ‘Modelling?’

‘Photographic.’

‘Good grief!’

Her expression became even more challenging. ‘Department store fliers. Glossy fashion magazines that the store puts out for its customers. That kind of thing.’

People everywhere would see her—in different poses, maybe wearing flimsy things. Men—looking at her pictures, imagining her... An ominous expression appeared in Jason’s eyes as he wondered why that thought should bother him.

His lips tightened. ‘So you’re a model.’

‘Part-time.’ Morgan drew herself up. ‘Your tone, Mr Delaney, sounds as if you think there’s something wrong with modelling—there isn’t.’

‘You’re as entitled to your opinion as I am to mine.’ His words were clipped. ‘I do need to know one thing—why are you here?’

‘We’ve been over that. To cook.’

‘You know as well as I do that’s absurd. Models don’t spend their time slaving in hot cookhouses.’

‘It’s what I want,’ she insisted stubbornly. ‘I’m prepared to work as hard as I have to. Do whatever it takes. You’ll never hear me complain, Mr Delaney, and I’ll do a good job.’

‘What’s this all about, Morgan?’ He made himself use her first name.

Her eyes widened for a moment, as if he had surprised her. Then she said, ‘When I saw that ranching magazine Brent’s ad leaped at me.’

‘You’re making no sense.’

Her smile was enchanting. It would be so easy to be disarmed by it. Too easy.

‘I can see it wouldn’t make sense, at least not without an explanation. You see, Mr Delaney, for as long as I can remember I’ve had a dream. When I saw the ad for a replacement cook I felt as if it had been placed there especially for me to read. As if I’d been meant to see it. So much so that after I spoke to Brent on the phone I flew from San Francisco to Austin just for an interview.’

Jason stared at her in disbelief. ‘You flew from California to Texas on the off chance that you might land yourself a temporary job?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Sorry,’ he said flatly, ‘but I still don’t understand.’

Morgan laughed. The man who stood just a foot or so away from her, clenching his hands to stop them from pulling her into his arms, thought that the sound was as sweet as rippling water.

‘I don’t blame you for not understanding. The thing is that for most of my life I’ve wanted to spend three or four weeks on a ranch.’

‘That’s a long time.’

‘I wish it could be longer, but it’s as much time as I can spare from my job. My real life is in the city.’

Real life... ‘Of course,’ Jason said flatly. ‘Models don’t ply their trade on ranches.’ And then added, ‘What kind of dream?’

‘It’s a long story and you don’t want to. hear it right now. But ever since I can remember I’ve had this desire to see the way cowboys work and live.’

Jason’s expression was forbidding. ‘I’ll give you a tour.’

‘No thanks.’

‘I’ll take you out on the range, drive you around in a Jeep. An hour or two and you’ll see all you want.’

‘I want a lot more than that.’

Exasperating woman. ‘I suppose you think cowboys are exciting? I’ve a fair hand with a lariat—I’ll do a few twirls.’

‘Mr Delaney—’

‘Rope a couple of steers.’

‘You really don’t understand.’

Jason was beginning to feel as if he was being caught in a trap with no way of getting out. ‘What is it you want, Morgan Muir?’ he asked harshly. ‘Pointers on how to look your best in boots and a stetson? So that you can look the part when you model next year’s collection of western gear? The kind of things women like you might think are authentic?’

‘Why are you so bitter?’ she asked him.

His lips tightened. ‘Bitter?’

‘Oh, yes. You seem to have such a low opinion of women, Mr Delaney. Or is it just me you don’t like?’ When he didn’t answer she went on, ‘Thanks for offering to show me around, but it’s not what I want.’

‘What do you want?’

‘I keep telling you—a month on your ranch. I’ll pay for the experience with my cooking.’

The walls of the trap were tightening. Jason frowned as he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. ‘I believe you know that you’re trying my patience.’

Morgan’s tone was light. ‘Don’t you think you’re being a little unreasonable.’

Jason decided not to dignify the question with an answer.

He saw Morgan take a breath before she went on. ‘I don’t know why you’re so opposed to me, Mr Delaney. Granted, I haven’t had much experience as a cook, but I will learn and I’m not asking for favours. I saw an ad and I answered it. Brent could have asked me any questions he liked and I would have been honest with him. He didn’t have to hire me—but he did, and he had his own reasons. So now I’m here. All I want is to spend a few weeks on your ranch, and I’m not asking for a free ride.’

‘A model,’ Jason said scornfully, his tone lashing her with the force of his contempt. ‘Bet you don’t know much about hard work.’

‘If I were you, I wouldn’t bet my last dollar on that.’ Anger stirred in the lovely face, brightening blue eyes and staining soft cheeks with an appealing flush. ‘You’re obviously one of those people who think that modelling is all glamour. You’re dead wrong, you know. It’s hard work—gruelling.’

‘Is that so?’ Jason asked cynically.

‘It certainly is! Some days, after hours behind the counter and more hours in front of a camera, I’m so tired that I can’t wait to get home. On days like that it’s an effort just to gulp down a bit of food and make it to bed.’

‘Sounds as if you don’t enjoy your career.’

‘Oh, but I do, Mr Delaney. I enjoy it very much. I’m just telling you that I do know about hard work. In fact, there are times when I’m tempted to...’ She stopped.

‘To what?’ he prompted, interested despite himself.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Morgan said curtly. ‘The fact is that I’m looking forward to cooking for your cowboys.’

‘Morgan—’

‘It’s all part of the dream I was telling you about. Please...please don’t take it away from me.’

There was something about her tone. Her expression. The passion with which she said the last words. Suddenly Jason was swept with a great wish to put his arms around Morgan and make life easier for her. To protect her. He took a step towards her.

In that moment he remembered Vera. She had breached his defences, and he had lived to regret it.

His tone turned to ice. ‘You mentioned a contract.’

She seemed to be making an effort to control her emotion. ‘Yes...’

‘I need to see it.’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’ll get it from the car.’

A few minutes later Morgan was handing Jason a folded envelope. As he took it from her his hand brushed against hers. In a second the wish to protect her turned into a strong desire to kiss her.

Wordlessly he looked at her. To his surprise, he saw that her lips were quivering. Their eyes clashed, dark eyes holding blue ones for an interminable moment. Then Morgan was stepping away from him, and Jason told himself that he was glad of the distance she had created.

He looked down at the envelope in his hand. When he looked up again his expression was sombre. ‘All there, isn’t it?’ he said at last.

She was watching him intently. ‘Sounds as if you’re accusing me of something. What exactly do you mean, Mr Delaney?’

‘You put in every damn clause you could possibly think of.’

‘If there’s something you want to say why don’t you just say it?’

Jason gave a short, derisive laugh. ‘Oh, come, Morgan Muir, don’t look at me with those innocent blue eyes of yours. We both know who drew up this contract.’

Morgan seemed to be controlling her anger with some difficulty. ‘You talk as if I’ve committed a crime. I haven’t.’

‘I take it you typed this.’

‘Brent said he didn’t know how. One of us had to do it.’

‘If that was all there was to it. But you did more than type this, Miss Muir. These words...’ Jason tapped the pages impatiently ‘are not part of Brent’s vocabulary. I doubt he could draw up a contract if his life depended on it.’

‘I still don’t know what I’m being accused of.’

‘Getting what you want. In that, you’re like—’ Jason stopped abruptly.

‘Like?’ Morgan asked curiously.

Jason looked away from her. ‘Someone I know.’

‘A woman?’

‘Not that it’s your concern, but yes.’

An odd expression appeared in Morgan’s eyes, one that Jason had not seen until now. He wished he knew what it meant.

After a moment she said, ‘That’s what I thought...from the way you spoke...’ She paused. When she spoke again her tone was defensive. ‘There’s nothing wrong with the contract.’

‘Except that you’ve ensured your stay at Six-Gate Corral for a month.’

‘Sure I did. But the contract works two ways.’ Morgan’s voice was tight now. ‘It’s true that I made certain of my place at the ranch but, as I said earlier, we’re both protected. Brent knows I’ll be doing his work while he’s gone—that I’ll be taking care of things for him. That was important to him, knowing that the men would continue to eat well while he was away.’ Blue eyes seemed to be asking for understanding.

Jason’s gaze raked her face. ‘I hope you’re not expecting preferential treatment.’

Morgan tilted her chin up at him. ‘Of course not!’

‘Just so long as that’s understood.’

‘Absolutely.’

‘You’ll find the hours long.’

‘No longer than the ones I’m used to working.’

‘The heat will get to you.’

‘I like heat.’

‘Not the kind we get here,’ he said grimly. ‘You were wilting outdoors. You asked to go inside.’

‘You have to admit it’s a scorcher.’

‘It is,’ Jason admitted after a moment. ‘The heat will get to you, nonetheless.’

‘If it does it will be my problem, not yours.’

‘And the dust.’

‘I’ve been in other dusty places. Dust does wash off.’

She was spirited—he had to hand her that much. If what she said was true—the experience with Vera had taught him not to take a woman’s words at face value—then she was certainly determined and fearless.

‘You’ll have to be up long before dawn to prepare breakfast.’

‘When I’m modelling my day often starts at that time.’

He was running out of ways to put her off. ‘If there’s a round-up you could find yourself cooking out on the range, preparing food in a chuckwagon. You wouldn’t find that much fun, Morgan Muir.’

‘Oh, but I would! I’m longing to see a round-up! It’s one of the reasons I’m here.’

Her eagerness startled him. ‘You are?’

Morgan smiled at him, the kind of smile that had a way of shafting its way straight to a man’s heart. ‘Cooking in a chuckwagon—that’s all part of the dream, part of the adventure. So stop trying to frighten me, Mr Delaney. Can’t you see by now that I don’t frighten so easily?’

Jason did see; he saw many things. But he still had a challenge left in him. ‘Don’t assume that the fact you’re a woman—and a model—will carry any weight around here. The cowboys are concerned with cattle and horses; they don’t know the first thing about fashion.’

‘If they did I wouldn’t be here.’

‘I’m not interested in your career either.’

She shot him another one of those heart-melting smiles. ‘I never thought you were.’

His eyes sparkled back at her, and for a second his lips curved in a grin. ‘You’ll be treated just like the men.’

‘Haven’t we been over that already?’

‘I want to be sure you understand.’

‘I do. Feel absolutely free to think of me as one of them.’

The suggestion was so absurd that he gave a shout of laughter. ‘Difficult—when we both know you’re not a man.’

‘Mr Delaney—’

“That’s one thing even you can’t argue about, Morgan Muir—you are not a man.’

Once more he studied her, only this time his eyes went from her face to her delectable body—skimming the line of her slender throat, lingering on the curve of soft breasts and descending to her waist and hips and thighs. When he looked up again he saw that her cheeks were flushed once more and her eyes stormy.

‘I don’t know how to convince you, Mr Delaney. True, I’m not a man, but nothing would please me more than if you treated me like one of the men. I wish you’d believe me. As far as you’re concerned, I’m just one more ranch-hand.’

‘Ranch-hands know they’ll be fired if they don’t perform satisfactorily. This contract...’ Jason handed it back to her contemptuously ‘...doesn’t protect you from that.’

Morgan gave him a cheeky grin. ‘Thanks for the warning. I won’t give you cause to fire me.’

Once more their eyes met. Then Jason glanced at his watch. ‘The men will be returning from the range soon. They’ll be hungry. Time to prepare your first meal, Morgan Muir.’


CHAPTER TWO

MORGAN had just finished making supper when the cowboys began to enter the cookhouse.

They came in singly and in little groups. They were tall, broad-shouldered men, with arms and chests that rippled with muscle. Men with faces that were deeply tanned, despite the stetsons they wore at all times, with far-seeing eyes—as if they were accustomed to looking across great distances. Attractive men, though not one of them was anywhere near as attractive as Jason Delaney. Morgan made the comparison without thinking.

She stood quite still for a moment as she remembered the quiver that had shot through her at her first sight of the ruggedly good-looking rancher. He was so handsome that he could have stepped straight out of a western movie—a gorgeous younger version of a tough Clint Eastwood—the good guy who could take on ten mean men single-handed and not be defeated.

She gave herself a small mental shake. So what if Jason Delaney was the most attractive man she had ever met? He was also impossibly autocratic and arrogant, and he had better not become her yardstick for all men. In fact, the less time she spent in the company of the man the better.

Almost to a man, the cowboys seemed amazed to find her standing at the long cookhouse table.

‘Hi, I’m Morgan Muir,’ she introduced herself. And when they continued to stare at her she elucidated, ‘The new ranch cook. Didn’t Brent tell you about me? Well, maybe not.’

They glanced at one another and then back at her, almost as if she were an alien being blown in by the hot Texas wind—as if they couldn’t quite believe that she was real. Morgan reminded herself that they probably had little daily contact with women. She’d have to give them time to get used to her.

‘I’m really looking forward to getting to know you all better.’ She smiled, the unconsciously lovely smile that had affected Jason so strongly.

‘Sure look forward to it, too, honey—sooner the better,’ responded one of the men. He stood a little apart from the others, a man with a cruel face and lascivious eyes. She’d been wrong about this particular cowboy, Morgan realized. She’d have to watch out for him.

A moment later another cowboy said, ‘Take it easy, Hank.’

‘Don’t need no warning from you, Charlie.’

‘Take no notice of him,’ Charlie advised Morgan. ‘Glad to meet you, Miss Muir. All the men are. Welcome to Six-Gate Corral.’ In contrast to Hank, Charlie had a gentle face and his smile was warm and welcoming.

At least she’d have one friend at the ranch, Morgan thought gratefully. ‘Thanks, Charlie. Please don’t call me Miss Muir, guys. I’m used to being called Morgan.’ Her eyes swept over the men, all except Hank. ‘I guess you’re all pretty hungry after a day out on the range. Supper’s ready.’

She had taken great care with the meal. The cookhouse cupboards and freezers were well stocked with frozen foods, as well as with perishables. Without Brent to -tell her what to prepare and reluctant to ask Jason, Morgan had planned the menu herself. Although she had never cooked for thirty men—a finger-foods party was more up her particular alley—she had always been resourceful.

Steak. The cowboys would like that, and there was loads of it in the freezers. Morgan had marinated the meat in a sauce made of lemon juice and spices, then broiled it and topped it with mushrooms. To accompany this were potatoes, halved and herbed and baked to perfection, a medley of carrots and peas and also a salad. And for dessert there was the frozen apple pie she had found in one of the freezers, warmed up to be served with ice cream. The cookhouse table was well scrubbed but bare. Morgan’s final touch consisted of two glasses—she had been unable to find a vase—filled with wild grasses and placed at either end of the long table for decoration.

When the cowboys had seated themselves she put the platters of food on the table. Then she stood back, waiting while they helped themselves and eagerly anticipating their reaction to the meal she had set before them.

The reaction was not long in coming, only it was not the appreciative one that a bewildered Morgan had expected. The men did not take long to clear the platters. The complaints started when they asked for more food and discovered that there wasn’t any. A rumble of discontent, begun by the obnoxious Hank and taken up by the others, became an uproar. Only Charlie refrained from taking part. He told Morgan that the food was delicious.

‘Delicious be damned!’ Hank roared. ‘Are we men or a bunch of silly chickens?’

‘Chickens!’ Morgan defended herself indignantly. ‘It’s obvious you don’t appreciate a good meal.’

‘Call that a meal, lady? More like an appetizer.’

‘Now, Hank,’ Charlie said, ‘Morgan tried.’

‘Not enough, Charlie,’ called one of the other cowboys. ‘Not enough.’

‘You’re used to Brent’s meals. I understand that.’ Morgan struggled to make herself heard above the din. ‘I’m truly sorry you didn’t like the meal. Tell me what you want and I’ll see you get it next time. All I ask is a bit of time.’

‘We’re hungry now, honey,’ Hank sneered.

‘Hungry now! Hungry now!’ chorused the cowboys. ‘Hungry now!’

Morgan pushed an unsteady hand through her hair. She was at the freezers, about to take out more steak, when a new voice—one ringing with authority—demanded, ‘What’s going on here?’

Morgan spun around as the noise in the cookhouse suddenly stilled. Tilting her head, she found herself looking into Jason Delaney’s rugged, hard-boned face. Stressed though she was, Morgan found herself once again noticing shoulders that were impossibly wide and hips sexily narrow—a body that was lean and muscled.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

‘Came to see how you were getting on,’ he said. ‘Just as well I did, by the looks of it.’

‘You should have seen what this dame tried to pass off as a meal, Boss,’ Hank complained. ‘Steak so small you could hardly see it.’ He held up an enormous hand to demonstrate. ‘Bits of potato with some kind of stuff stuck to them.’ He pointed to the food which one of the cowboys had pushed away in disgust. ‘Just take a look at this, Jason. We’re men, Boss, not a bunch of halfweaned toddlers.’

‘I liked it,’ Charlie said.

‘Charlie’s appointed himself the lady’s shining knight,’ Hank said in disgust. ‘Won’t do, Boss. We’ve all had a hard day; we need to eat. Pretty lady here may make a man feel good at night, but she sure doesn’t know what it takes to feed one.’

‘Watch what you say, cowboy.’ Morgan spoke with a firmness that not a few men would have had rueful cause to recognize, the same firmness with which she addressed men who tried to take liberties with her. Most of the time it was successful in keeping unwanted advances at bay.

Hank, however, was unabashed. ‘Oh, yeah?’ came the insolent drawl.

‘You have a foul mouth, cowboy. I won’t stand for it.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ Hank said again.

‘That’s enough,’ Jason warned levelly.

‘But—’ Morgan said hotly, only to stop as a warning hand closed over her arm.

She was unprepared for the tingling that shot instantly from her wrist all the way up to her shoulder. But the touch did not last for seconds later Jason was turning back to the men.

‘This is Morgan,’ he said calmly. ‘She’s substituting for Brent. She means well but she’s not familiar with our ways yet. Say, why don’t you guys kick a ball around outside? We’ll have some more dinner ready for you in a jiffy.’

To Morgan’s surprise, the cowboys did as he suggested. Minutes later she could hear a ball-game starting near the cookhouse.

Jason’s defence of her had been so unexpected that she said gratefully, ‘Thanks for coming to my rescue.’

The rancher placed a pile of frozen steak to thaw in a huge microwave, before turning to her. Aloofly he said, ‘I didn’t do it for you.’

‘I thought...’ She broke off, dismayed at the hardness she saw in the ruggedly chiselled face. Not for the first time she wondered why Jason had taken such a dislike to her.

‘Didn’t fancy a mutiny on my hands,’ he said drily.

‘A mutiny?’

‘You heard what Hank said—they’re men and they’re hungry.’

‘I didn’t cook enough and I’m sorry about that. But that Hank, he’s crude and a big-mouth,’ Morgan said hotly.

‘He’s also,’ the rancher said, ‘one of the finest cowboys on this ranch.’

‘It doesn’t bother you—the way he talks?’

‘As I said, Hank is an excellent cowboy.’ Jason’s tone was abrupt. ‘An expert at roping a steer or calming an excited horse.’

‘That doesn’t excuse his manners.’

‘I don’t hire men for their fine manners, Miss Muir.’

Her head jerked up. Morgan had never met a man like Jason Delaney—so sexy that her legs felt a little weak when she looked at him, and at the same time so cold and arrogant and contemptuous.

An unaccustomed wildness drove her to speak without thinking. ‘Maybe that’s because you don’t have any manners yourself, Mr Delaney. You’ve been rude from the moment you set eyes on me.’

A hand shot out, grabbing Morgan’s wrist and closing around it with fingers like iron. Dark eyes spoke volumes of contempt. ‘If telling you that I disapprove of your presence at my ranch makes me rude then perhaps that’s what I am. I didn’t invite you here, Morgan. You’re quite free to leave any time you like.’

Morgan tried to suppress the flames which were once more searing her arm, the sudden thudding of her heart and the treacherous, utterly unwelcome stirrings deep in her loins. ‘You’re forgetting the contract.’

Sparks flashed in Jason’s eyes. ‘Notwithstanding the contract.’

‘I know you want to see me go,’ she taunted.

He chose not to answer the taunt directly. ‘You shouldn’t have come in the first place—but you know that.’

‘Brent wouldn’t agree with you.’

‘After the disastrous meal you produced?’

‘Was it really so bad?’ She tried to hide her distress.

Jason didn’t answer her immediately. Tensely Morgan watched him at the microwave, taking out one lot of steak and putting in another.

When he looked back at Morgan his lips were tight. ‘You saw the reaction of the men,’ he said brusquely. ‘Hank was right about one thing—the cowboys have been out on the range since dawn, sweating it out in the heat and the dust. Riding hard, working hard physically. They come back here, expecting a decent meal, and look what they got instead. They had every reason to be angry.’

‘It was a mistake.’ Her tone was low. ‘I realize now that I didn’t cook enough, but I did do my best.’

‘You should have known, Morgan.’

‘If Brent had stayed to explain...to show me around...’ For some reason it was very important that this very dynamic man should think well of her.

‘Any ranch cook worth his or her salt should know how to prepare a meal for a bunch of hungry men.’ His tone was a shade dry. ‘I wish I knew what you were thinking of when you applied for the job, Morgan.’

If only he were not so unyielding. Morgan swallowed hard. ‘I told you, it’s important to me...’

Jason put the thawed steak on the cookhouse grill, then opened a few huge cans of chili. Nobody would go hungry that night, after all.

He turned his head to look at her. A little roughly he said, ‘It won’t work out, you know.’

‘You’re wrong, it will!’

‘I don’t believe it, Morgan. If you’re honest, neither do you.’

‘But I do! And I mean to stay.’

‘I think you should leave tomorrow.’

‘Are you firing me?’ Her voice shook.

Jason was quiet for a few seconds, and Morgan saw a little muscle move in his hard jaw. ‘I don’t have grounds to fire you,’ he said at last, ‘but I’m asking you to go.’

Morgan looked at him unhappily. ‘I made a mistake,’ she whispered. ‘That’s all it was. People have to learn.’

‘There will be other mistakes.’

‘Not if I can help it.’

‘I don’t see any point in waiting, Morgan.’

Suddenly Morgan was very angry. If she didn’t fight Jason he would destroy her dream.

‘I won’t let you do this to me!’ Her voice throbbed with passion. ‘I deserve a chance.’

‘Doesn’t it mean anything to you that you’re riot wanted at this ranch?’

The words were like a hard blow in the stomach, but Morgan managed to hide her shock. Her chin lifted. ‘Not a thing,’ she lied.

She braced herself for Jason’s next verbal assault but, oddly, he was silent. For a few seconds the only sounds in the cookhouse came from the sizzling of the meat and the loud ticking of the clock on the wall.

And then Jason’s expression changed. Morgan saw his eyes going over her, and she drew in her breath. At twenty-two she was used to men. She was often photographed with male models, sometimes just posing with them, often with an arm slung around her shoulders and now and then a hint at something more amorous. Many a man had wanted to make love to her, inside as well as outside the confines of a studio, but she had never been interested. She had learned how to decline, politely but firmly, and still remain friends.

For some reason her reaction to this man was different. Morgan had never felt so disturbed and uncertain. Jason Delaney was undressing her with his eyes and she felt stripped and naked, acutely aware of the sparks which seemed to fill the air between them and conscious of his overwhelming maleness and of her own femininity.

‘It really means nothing to you that you’re not wanted?’ he asked softly.

‘I can only tell you that I intend to do my best.’ Her voice was not quite steady.

In the dark eyes there was a flash of steel and once more that tic in his jaw. ‘It won’t be easy,’ he warned.

‘Maybe not.’ The look she shot him was deliberately provocative. ‘But I asked you earlier not to frighten me. Don’t you understand that your scare tactics have no effect on me?’

After a long moment Jason smiled down at her. ‘I’m beginning to understand,’ he said.

It was a smile which made the anger leave Morgan. She looked at his dark eyes, his hard cheekbones and his sensuous lips—wondering inconsequentially how they would feel against hers—and knew that she had never met anyone as attractive as Jason. Her heart was beating so hard now that she made herself take a quick step away from him lest he heard it.

‘Then you will let me have my chance?’

‘I’ll be watching you every moment.’ Behind the smile lay a threat.

‘I’ll do my best,’ she said again.

‘Let’s both hope it will be good enough.’

The steak was sizzling on the grill and the chili simmering in a huge pot when the cowboys filtered back into the cookhouse. They sat down at the long table and proceeded to eat, amazing Morgan with the extent of their appetites and the size of the portions they piled on their plates. She had not known that men could eat so much.

‘They’re cowboys, not male models watching their figures.’ Laughter glinted in Jason’s eyes, as if he had guessed Morgan’s thoughts.

She was awed. ‘I had no idea.’

The glint intensified. ‘You should know, Morgan, that Brent usually eats in the cookhouse with the men.’

A little taken aback at the thought of sitting down at the long table and partaking of the gargantuan meal, Morgan hastily shook her head. ‘Tomorrow perhaps. I’m not hungry now.’

‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I was going to tell you to eat with me.’

Morgan’s head jerked. ‘With you, Mr Delaney?’

His eyes sparkled at her expression. ‘Since it seems we’re going to be stuck with each other for a while, don’t you think you should start calling me Jason?’

Jason... It was a nice name. Strong. For some reason Morgan looked forward to saying it when she was alone—when she could enjoy the sound of it on her tongue.

‘Well, Morgan?’ he asked.

‘You don’t eat with the cowboys?’ The invitation—if it could be called that—had caught her completely off guard, and she had to say something.

‘Brent usually cooks for me at the house.’

‘In that case, I will too.’

‘Brent cooked enough for a week before he left.’ On a slightly softer note Jason added, ‘You’ve been driving all day. You’re probably exhausted.’

Jason Delaney showing a little human sympathy and friendliness? Miracles would never cease!

‘Not too tired to do my job,’ Morgan said spiritedly. ‘And in case you’re trying to trick me, Jason, forget it—I’m not about to fail another test.’

The tall rancher grinned, a daredevil grin that did alarming things to Morgan’s senses. ‘Neither a trick nor a test. I have enough for two so you might as well share it.’

With difficulty Morgan resisted the temptation to accept. ‘I told you,’ she managed, ‘I’m not hungry.’

Jason laughed, the sound low and dangerous. ‘As you like.’ He made no further effort to persuade her.

When Morgan emerged from the cookhouse some time later there was no sign of Jason. Although it was still hot outside, the western sky was now tinged with pink and long shadows lay over the brushlands. On the hardbaked ground beyond the bunkhouse another ball-game was in progress. Morgan walked in the opposite direction: she had no desire for another unpleasant run-in with Hank.

She was frowning as she looked at the shadows all around her. For the first time since she had arrived at Six-Gate Corral she was wondering where she would spend the night. If her employer had been anyone but Jason Delaney, Morgan would have had no hesitation in asking him what to do, but Jason unnerved her to such an extent that she was reluctant to ask him the question.

Still, she had to sleep somewhere. The ranch-house was obviously off limits—she could not sleep in the same house as Jason—and if there was another suitable building she couldn’t see it. Her car—of course! The thought came to her as she remembered that her suitcase was still in the boot.

But after just a few minutes in the car Morgan knew that she couldn’t spend the night there. After standing in the sun for hours, the car was a hell-hole, hot as a furnace and airless—impossible to breathe in, let alone sleep.

Which left only one place. Morgan recoiled at the very thought of the bunkhouse. How on earth could she bear to sleep there? Sharing quarters with the ranchhands—putting up with the ribaldries of a man like Hank. No, the bunkhouse was definitely out of the question!

There was nothing for it, after all, but to swallow her pride and speak to Jason. Somewhere there had to be an unused building, and he would have to let her use it.

But when Morgan knocked on the door of the ranch-house there was no answer. She walked around to the back, and there was no answer there either. There were no barking dogs and no sign of Jason’s Jeep.

Boy, was she in trouble!

The words she had said to Jason earlier returned to haunt her now: ‘Nothing would please me more than if you treated me like one of the men... As far as you’re concerned, I’m just one more ranch-hand.’

They had been words spoken in the heat of the moment. And now took at the dilemma she was in!

The cowboys were still busy with their ball-game when Morgan, giving them a wide berth, carried her suitcase quickly into the bunkhouse.

Her heart sank as she took in the long room. It reminded her of a dormitory she had once occupied. Beds lined the walls, a cupboard and a bureau beside each one. At one end there was a television set and several chesterfields. The place was clean, even comfortable in its own way, but overwhelmingly masculine.

The thought of sleeping here was so appalling that it occurred to Morgan, for the first time, that Jason could be right. Perhaps, after all, she had no place at Six-Gate Corral. Perhaps she should leave first thing tomorrow.

And then she remembered her dream. I’m here. A month at a ranch. A chance to realize my dream. Seen in that light, it didn’t seem to matter quite so much that she might have to spend the night in the bunkhouse. Her resolve stiffened.

In a dim corner at the far end of the room and at a little distance from the other beds Morgan found one that looked as if it didn’t belong to anyone. She shoved her case quickly beneath it, before climbing—still fullyclothed—between the sheets.

As she lay there, feeling more nervous by the second, new problems came to mind. What on earth was she going to do about dressing, about using the bathroom? But for every problem there had to be a solution. Morgan forced herself to think calmly. She would steal out of the bunkhouse very early in the morning, she decided, long before the men opened their eyes. The cookhouse had a bathroom. And tomorrow she would find some other place to sleep.

It was growing dark outside when the cowboys began to arrive back at the bunkhouse. Morgan lay quite still, the thin grey blanket pulled up to her chin and her breathing as shallow as she could make it—hoping against hope that no one would see her. And, in fact, no one did. They didn’t even come near her bed.

Most of the men gathered around the television, where a baseball game was in progress. Baseball was evidently a favourite game at the ranch, and much debated. There were loud cheers when certain players did well and boos when they performed badly.

In her dark corner Morgan began to relax just a little. Tomorrow she would make other sleeping arrangements. For tonight, despite her doubts, this was going to be OK.

It was quite dark outside when a new voice was heard in the bunkhouse. Around the television the excited comments stilled.

‘Morgan’s missing,’ Jason was saying. ‘The new cook. Anyone see her?’

‘Not since supper.’ That was Charlie’s voice.

‘Pretty lady like her, we’d have noticed her around.’ Hank was speaking. ‘Maybe the cooking’s too much for her and she’s left the ranch.’

Listening to the comments, Morgan lay rigid. Her breathing was shallow, and in her stomach a hard knot of tension had formed. The one thing she had not considered was that Jason might come looking for her. It had been stupid of her perhaps, but there had been more pressing things to think about.

‘She isn’t in the cookhouse, but her car is where she left it.’ Jason sounded strangely troubled. ‘She’s still on the ranch—somewhere.’

‘Maybe she’s in your bed, waiting for you,’ Hank suggested.

‘Cut it out!’ an enraged Charlie shouted.

Jason ignored Hank’s comment. ‘Have to find her. It’s dark now and she doesn’t know her way around. I’ve searched everywhere I can think of. Only place I haven’t looked is here.’

‘The bunkhouse?’ The baseball game was forgotten for the moment as the cowboys stared at their employer, amazed at the suggestion.

‘Could she be in the bunkhouse, guys?’ he asked. To a man, the cowboys said that wasn’t possible but Jason persisted. ‘Before we get out a search party, mind if I scout around?’

He found her minutes later, still trying to make herself invisible in the corner bed. For a long moment he stood scowling down at her, well over six feet of irate man—powerful, dangerous, infinitely intimidating.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded at last. His voice was taut with anger, his face a furious mask.

‘Jason...’ she whispered, so nervous that she was shaking.

‘Nothing but trouble from the moment you got here,’ he snarled. ‘Get out of that bed, Morgan, and be quick about it.’

‘Jason,’ she said again and stopped. By now the cowboys were gathering around the bed.

Not surprisingly, Hank elbowed his way to the front. ‘If it isn’t the luscious Morgan,’ he drawled.

‘Leave her alone, Hank!’ Charlie was there as well.

‘Get lost, kiddo,’ the big man snarled at him. ‘She likes guys, don’t you, honey?’

‘That’s enough, Hank,’ a stony-faced Jason said. And to Morgan he added, ‘Come with me.’

‘Hey, Boss,’ Hank protested, ‘why don’t you let the woman be? Seems to me she’s after some fun. I’ll see she gets it.’

‘You heard me, Hank,’ Jason warned, while beside him Charlie bristled.

Alarmed by the mounting tension, Morgan tried to calm the men. ‘Jason, Charlie, you don’t need to protect me. I can look after myself.’ And to Hank she said, ‘You won’t lay a finger on me, cowboy, so why don’t you get lost?’

The hard-faced man laughed unpleasantly. ‘The pretty lady has spirit. This is going to be fun. I want to get to know you better, honey. Your bed or mine, and d’you want to wait till the rest of them are asleep or d’you want a good time now?’

‘Enough, Hank,’ Jason warned again, a note of anger etching the calmness of his tone.

‘Hell, Boss, why not? This dame isn’t a lady, and I believe she wants to get better acquainted.’

‘Cut it out!’ Charlie yelled.

At the same moment Jason rounded on Hank, his expression savage. As two of the men held Hank back the others looked on disbelievingly. In the bunkhouse the level of tension was so intense that the air crackled.

A few seconds passed. And then slowly, deliberately—as if with an effort—Jason stepped back. Hank’s exhalation of breath was audible. The men who had been holding him loosened their grip on his arms.

Jason turned to Morgan. ‘You’ll get out of that bed right now or I won’t answer for the consequences.’

Mutely Morgan stared up at him, her eyes pleading with him to understand her dilemma. To get out of bed when all the cowboys were watching would be the ultimate in humiliation.

‘Listen to me, Morgan.’ Bending low over the bed with his lips almost touching her ear, Jason spoke in a voice that only she could hear. ‘If you don’t get out of bed right now I’ll have to carry you. I don’t have to tell you that all the men, but especially Hank, will love the entertainment.’

Morgan did not doubt that Jason meant what he said. He left her little choice. With all the dignity she was able to muster in a situation that did not allow for much dignity—and watched by thirty pairs off interested male eyes—she pushed aside the blanket and neatly swung her legs off the bed.

Jason picked up her suitcase and Morgan allowed him to take her arm and propel her through the group of men because she knew that it would do her no good—and probably a lot of harm—to protest. Charlie smiled at her as she was leaving the bunkhouse, and she smiled back. Hank’s lecherous gaze she avoided.

‘I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own case,’ Morgan said when they were well away from the bunkhouse. ‘Anyway, we’re not going in the same direction.’

The remark earned her a furious look. ‘I hope you’re not thinking of going back there,’ Jason snapped. ‘Even you can’t be as stupid as that. I won’t come to your aid again, Morgan, and you can’t expect Charlie to go on protecting you from Hank.’

‘I was never in need of protection,’ Morgan said.

‘Really?’ Jason’s voice was quietly dangerous.

‘Until you came looking for me the men had no idea I was there. Anyway, I’m not going to the bunkhouse, I’m going to my car.’

‘You’re leaving?’ Jason’s tone was odd and his eyes held an inexplicable expression of bleakness.

‘That’s what you’d like, isn’t it?’ Morgan threw the words at him bitterly.

‘Is that what you think?’ Jason asked enigmatically.

Looking up at him, Morgan was struck once more by an appearance that was all rugged toughness. The modelling part of her career brought her into the company of many attractive men. She remembered a man by the name of Casey who had striven for just this tough cowboy effect. But on Casey the stetson and boots, the carefully applied tan and the macho stance had looked contrived—perhaps because Casey was anything but a real cowboy. Jason was the genuine article. For a moment Morgan stared up at him, bemused.

‘I haven’t forgotten your warning,’ she remarked. ‘You said you’d be watching me every moment. I guess you feel free to fire me now. After all, you’ve been wanting me to go ever since you set eyes on me.’

‘What I want isn’t an issue right now.’ Jason’s jaw was inflexible.

Morgan was puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’

‘If you’re thinking of leaving the ranch you’ve left it too late—for today, anyway. It’s dark and you’d get lost long before you reached the highway.’

‘And you don’t want to be responsible if anything happens to me. Jason Delaney, owner of Six-Gate Corral, letting an irresponsible female loose at night on the lonely prairie. Wouldn’t do your reputation much good, would it?’

‘You really are the most provocative woman,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘It will be good riddance when you do hit the road. And you’re right—I don’t want you on my conscience.’

‘Actually,’ Morgan said unhappily, ‘I don’t want to leave. Despite everything that’s happened. I want to stay at Six-Gate Corral until Brent gets back.’

Jason stiffened—no doubt, Morgan thought wryly, because he realized that he was not to be rid of her after all.

‘In that case,’ he asked aloofly, ‘why are you going to your car?’

Morgan looked up at him, and as usual she had to tilt her head. ‘I have nowhere else to sleep.’

Jason was silent for several seconds. When he spoke at last his tone was unwilling, the words abrupt and hard—as if they were being dragged from him. ‘There is a place—I took it for granted you knew that.’

Morgan looked at him hopefully. ‘An outbuilding?’

‘The ranch-house.’

‘I will not sleep with you, Jason Delaney!’ The words were out before Morgan realized how they would sound.

Jason’s hands gripped her arms. They were big hands, and strong. Hands that would be able to rope a steer just as competently as the hands of any of the cowboys. Hands that would rouse a woman to unimaginable heights with the same ease. Morgan was suddenly burning hot.

‘Don’t remember inviting you to sleep with me,’ Jason drawled sarcastically.

Morgan stared at him angrily. ‘It wouldn’t matter if you had. Either way the answer would have been the same.’

An eyebrow lifted. ‘Fact is,’ Jason went on drily, ‘for several good reasons you can’t sleep in the car—so the house is your only option. And I refuse—do you hear me, Morgan? I refuse to argue about it any more.’

In silence they made their way to the house. They walked side by side yet apart, as if each was determined to keep a deliberate distance from the other.

As they went inside Morgan remembered her first impression of the house—that it would have been lovely if it had not been quite so spartan. It was tidy and spotlessly clean, but devoid of any personal touch. There were few pictures, no vases of flowers and not a single ornament.

When Jason had put down Morgan’s suitcase in a guest room that was as neat and functional as the rest of the house he rounded on her. ‘Suppose you tell me what you were doing in the bunkhouse?’

‘I’ve already told you, I needed a place to sleep.’

‘Don’t remember telling you to go to the bunkhouse, Morgan.’

‘You didn’t, exactly—well, at least, not in so many words.’

One eyebrow lifted. ‘You’d better explain since I’m not in the mood for riddles.’

The arrogance of his expression was annoying. ‘You said I’d be treated just like the men.’

Jason stared at Morgan, before breaking into sudden and unexpected laughter. ‘What I said was that you shouldn’t expect special treatment.’ The laughter stopped as his dark eyes studied her intently. ‘I also said—’ his voice was quiet now ‘—that it would be difficult to think of you as one of them.’ His eyes were on her breasts and her hips. ‘In fact,’ he added drily, ‘it would be impossible.’

The expression in Jason’s eyes, that odd tone in his voice, made Morgan shiver. She tried to make herself ignore the feelings he awoke in her. She was already far too aware of his overwhelming masculinity—a quality that had as much to do with his superb build and looks as with his ever-present aura of strength and power. Jason was an implacable adversary, and it was imperative that she kept a clear head in all her dealings with him.

‘Didn’t it occur to you that you were humiliating me?’ she demanded indignantly. ‘Bossing me about in the bunkhouse. Demeaning me in front of the men—in front of that odious Hank. Threatening me.’

‘You didn’t get out of bed the first time I asked you.’

‘Only because the cowboys were standing around, and I was waiting for them to move away. I didn’t want a bunch of guys watching me. Besides, you didn’t ask, Jason, you ordered me.’

‘Have it your own way.’ Jason was impatient now. ‘We keep getting back to one fact. I didn’t invite you to my ranch, Morgan. I wouldn’t have let you have the job had I known about it. I can’t help it if you look at a request as an order. I don’t really care. One thing I do ask you to remember—I am boss here, and if you choose to stay I expect you to play by my rules.’

‘I don’t seem to have any other option,’ Morgan said tensely. And then, because she couldn’t help being interested, she asked, ‘Would you really have carried me out of the bunkhouse?’

‘You bet I would,’ he told her crisply.

He stood not two feet from her, towering above her and radiating such a powerful aura of sexuality that Morgan’s nerve endings felt raw. She ached with the longing to be swept up into those powerful arms and to feel the beat of his heart against her cheek.

Reluctant for Jason to read her emotions in her eyes, she forced herself to look away from him. Unsteadily she said, ‘Despite anything you might think, I’d have been OK in the bunkhouse.’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘I’ve been around men. I can take care of myself.’

‘You really believe you could have handled those cowboys?’ he taunted.

‘Sure. Why not?’

‘I’ll tell you why not.’ Jason’s voice was hard. ‘They’re a lusty lot. Women are a rarity out here, Morgan, and when they’re about they attract attention.’

She knew what he was trying to tell her but his arrogance drove her to challenge him. ‘I still believe I’d have coped.’

‘Don’t be so sure, woman. You’ve only been here a few hours and already there’s tension on the ranch. You’d be blind if you hadn’t noticed it. Hank, aggressive and on the prowl. Charlie, ready to protect you. Too ready. I won’t have violence at Six-Gate Corral, Morgan. The odd spat is normal enough when you get a bunch of men, living and working together—especially tough men, as these are. But out-and-out fighting, alliances forming, one lot of men against another—that kind of thing leads to major trouble. I won’t tolerate it, Morgan.’

‘I don’t like violence any more than you do, Jason.’

‘Then let me warn you, if you insist on staying—and I’m asking you not to—sooner or later the men will come to blows over you.’

‘I don’t believe that,’ she said heatedly. ‘They won’t fight because of me. I won’t be doing anything to encourage them.’

‘You can’t help being yourself, Morgan. Hank won’t change and Charlie will for ever defend what he thinks of as your honour, poor misguided fool.’

Morgan suppressed a shiver. ‘Don’t you think that in time the men will accept me as one of them?’

Jason gave a short laugh. ‘How can they?’ He studied her a few seconds in silence. When he went on his eyes were hard. ‘You said you went to the bunkhouse because you needed a place to sleep. Was that the only reason, Morgan?’

‘What other reason could I possibly have had?’

‘That’s what I’m wondering.’ His tone was heavy with sarcasm.

It wasn’t difficult to understand what he meant. Feeling a little ill, Morgan stared up into the ruggedly handsome face. ‘Why do you dislike me so much, Jason?’ she asked at last. ‘To my knowledge, I’ve done nothing to offend you yet from the moment I came here you’ve shown me nothing but hostility. Why?’

Jason ignored the question. Instead he said relentlessly, ‘Didn’t it occur to you that your presence in the bunkhouse would be regarded as an invitation?’

‘No—because I tried so hard not to be seen.’ Her voice shook.

She saw the flash of steel in his dark eyes and the movement of muscle in his hard jaw. ‘A woman in a bed meant for a man. Come on, Morgan, don’t pretend you’re naïve because I don’t believe it for a moment.’

‘Don’t you care that you’re insulting me, Jason?’

‘Is that what I’m doing?’ he jeered.

‘Yes! How do you think the things you say make me feel?’

Brooding eyes ravaged her face. ‘OK, Morgan, supposing you only went to the bunkhouse to sleep, what would you have done if one of the men had tried something? Really tried?’

‘I’d have defended myself,’ she said shortly. And when she saw the cynical look in his eyes she added, ‘I thought I’d made that clear in the bunkhouse.’

‘You spoke a few brave words. Don’t suppose they meant anything.’

‘Oh, but they did. Neither you nor Charlie would have had to help me, Jason. You see, I’ve been to a self-defence class.’

Jason grinned. ‘Really?’

A second later she was in his arms. It happened so quickly that Morgan was taken by surprise. One moment they were facing each other across the little room and the next the strongest arms she had ever encountered were wrapped around her and Jason’s mouth had fastened on hers.

His kiss was hard, so punishing in its onslaught that for a few seconds Morgan could scarcely breathe let alone think. It was half a minute at least before she remembered the self-defence course she had mentioned and had never had occasion to use. Another half-minute went by before she could think clearly enough to consider what move she should make. And by then the nature of Jason’s kisses had changed.

They became softer and sweeter. There was a tenderness in them which made Morgan dizzy and numbed her thought processes. Sensations she had never experienced stirred in the very core of her being, setting her on fire with their intensity. The body against which she was welded was rock-hard, overwhelmingly masculine, making her feel deliciously feminine. Any thought of defending herself fled from her mind as she parted her lips in response to the demanding mouth over hers, and her fingers buried themselves in the hair at the nape of a corded neck.

When Jason lifted his mouth at last Morgan looked up at him in a daze.

‘What happened to the self-defence skills?’ he asked contemptuously.

‘I...I was about to use them.’

‘Right,’ he said, and she knew that he knew she was lying.

Her cheeks were suddenly flushed. ‘I could have.’

‘Could you, Morgan? Maybe so. On the other hand, if brave intentions are the extent of your ability then I can tell you right now that you wouldn’t stand a chance against a man like Hank.’ He went on as she stared at him wordlessly. ‘A word of advice, Morgan. If you don’t know how to fight a fire, don’t kindle flames.’




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/rosemary-carter/cowboy-to-the-altar/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.