Hot Holiday Rancher
Hot Holiday Rancher
Catherine Mann
“I don’t want a girlfriend. I want a wife. ” When Houston heiress Esme Perry is stranded at Jesse Stevens’ ranch days before Christmas, he’s torn. This sexy city girl is totally wrong for him. So why does he find her utterly, impractically irresistible?
Being stranded for Christmas
never had so much sizzle!
Texas Cattleman’s Club member Jesse Stevens just hired a matchmaker to lure an appropriate wife to his remote ranch. But when a flash flood dumps Houston heiress Esme Perry on his doorstep instead, days before Christmas, is it a sign? Esme is smart, sexy…and a big-city girl to the core. Totally wrong for him. So why can’t they keep their hands off each other?
USA TODAY bestselling author CATHERINE MANN has won numerous awards for her novels, including both a prestigious RITA® Award and an RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Award. After years of moving around the country bringing up four children, Catherine has settled in her home state of South Carolina, where she’s active in animal rescue. For more information, visit her website, catherinemann.com (http://catherinemann.com).
Also by Catherine Mann (#u359c0538-a906-5383-9cbb-97439e1d4a79)
Alaskan Oil Barons miniseries
The Baby Claim
The Double Deal
The Love Child
The Twin Birthright
The Second Chance
The Rancher’s Seduction
The Billionaire Renegade
The Secret Twin
Texas Cattleman’s Club: Houston miniseries
Hot Holiday Rancher
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Hot Holiday Rancher
Catherine Mann
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-09278-4
HOT HOLIDAY RANCHER
© 2019 Harlequin Books S.A.
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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To my children, the best gift all year round!
Contents
Cover (#uec9c5dde-5bf2-57fa-ae75-0f7b97ac30ec)
Back Cover Text (#u90f27d2a-6794-5d76-8981-1fc8b93593bb)
About the Author (#u51dccef0-c271-5110-bcb5-d5fcd59e60ac)
Booklist (#u31832233-71f6-5c91-a11a-59918dcaef5c)
Title Page (#udea9a013-acd1-5fde-ac5d-fdce58eb9601)
Copyright (#ub3c823b2-f491-56ef-b781-4f2e93fe2b95)
Note to Readers
Dedication (#u024b7f86-a23a-5a1e-a057-dca3311c4e8b)
One (#ude037b18-7844-595a-903f-8f9b9b422d87)
Two (#u0d7f20ef-041a-52af-bebb-5f5b502af11a)
Three (#u1e564d91-fa02-53c1-9933-8f142cfd25b3)
Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
One (#u359c0538-a906-5383-9cbb-97439e1d4a79)
Esme Perry had basked in the sun on a private beach in the South of France. She’d surfed with the best of them in California, Hawaii and Australia. But not even the threat of heatstroke or sharks had concerned her as much as the rush of water rolling down the country Texas back road toward her low-slung Porsche.
Rain sheeting against her windshield, Esme shifted into Reverse, willing her pulse to slow. Be calm. Take deep breaths. A quick three-point turn should have her ready to race out of harm’s way. It would be a tight maneuver since the road was narrow, bracketed by a ditch on one side and sycamore trees on the other. It was tough enough to make such a maneuver during the daytime, but after dark? In the middle of a storm?
Not that she had a choice but to move. Flash floods were dangerous, especially in the country.
But her V-8 engine could outrace just about anything. Perhaps the Porsche wasn’t the best choice for dirt roads, but she’d been excited about her early Christmas gift to herself.
Two points into Esme’s three-point turn, the wave of rainwater slammed into the side of her vehicle. Her stomach clenched. She struggled to control the steering wheel as her car slid along the mud-slicked road. The Porsche’s back end fishtailed. Her foot slipped off the clutch, her spiky heel wedging under the brake. The heel snapped. But she didn’t have time to mourn the demise of her favorite leopard-print pumps. The Porsche lurched, then spun out, whipping the wheel from her clenched grip.
Her heart rose into her throat with panic as she battled what felt like g-forces slamming her against the door. Worse yet, she couldn’t see due to vertigo and the rush of water over her candy apple–red hood. Was she close to the side of the road? How deep was the ditch? Where were the trees?
And, oh God, were those headlights or lampposts?
She braced. Struggled not to close her eyes. And prayed.
The spinning stopped, her car halting with a jolt. But not a crash. She exhaled a shaky breath, her ears ringing so loudly it almost drowned out the rain pounding the roof and a Christmas carol flowing from the speaker.
“Silent Night”?
Hardly.
But she was all right, in one piece, as was her car. With luck, she could still reach her destination before bedtime. She would have arrived earlier, but an accident on the interstate from Houston to Royal had delayed her arrival. At least she was close enough to her destination to walk. According to her GPS, the front gate to Jesse Stevens’s ranch should be less than a mile away.
She pressed the clutch, threw the car into Neutral and pressed the ignition.
The engine turned over. Then spluttered out.
She tried again and…
Nothing. Not even a catch.
She’d bought the stick-shift model, a purist when it came to her sports cars. She liked the control of a manual transmission, a talent she’d learned when teaching herself to drive on one of her father’s older trucks on their Houston ranch. She’d been determined to perfect the skill, to win his approval.
Not much had changed on that front, since she was here to please her dad, to bolster his image with the charter branch of the Texas Cattleman’s Club here in Royal, in hopes that he could be president of the new Houston branch.
Her PR plan would start with a surprise visit to Royal’s own Jesse Stevens, an influential player at the TCC. If she could ever get there.
She bit back a curse, weighing her options. The odds of a tow truck showing up out here in this weather were slim. Should she wait to see if the car started and risk getting hit by another wave? Or start walking? In her broken shoes. In the rain. And mud. Sighing in resignation, she angled to get her umbrella.
Bracing, she opened the door, and rain sheeted inside. She wedged her umbrella through the opening, although it was fast becoming a moot point. Even her Prada trench was losing the fight against the deluge. Frigid water lapped around her ankles, soaking the hem of her slacks as she leaned into the wind, shivering. Still, she was determined to forge ahead, one step at a time.
She couldn’t bear the thought of telling her father she needed to postpone the promotion trip. He’d put his trust in her, and even knowing a thirty-four-year-old woman shouldn’t care this much what her father thought, she couldn’t deny she was still trying to win his approval, to be something other than the often-forgotten middle child.
In college, she’d found her niche with an aptitude for public relations. It was her chance to shine. When her father had taken note of her success after graduation, he’d hired her as PR executive for the family business, Perry Holdings.
And if ever Sterling Perry had needed a promotional face-lift, it was now, when the new Houston Texas Cattleman’s Club was cranking up. Fledgling organizations hated nothing more than a scandal.
And her father’s good name had taken quite a few blows, first with an arrest on charges of orchestrating a Ponzi scheme that nearly caused a collapse of one of his investment funds.
No sooner had her father gotten out from under the weight of the fraud rumors than he was under suspicion for the murder of a Perry Holdings assistant. And, as if her father wasn’t already stressed enough, just last week a Currin Oil executive named Willem Inwood had been arrested under suspicion of being behind the Ponzi scheme. He wasn’t talking yet, but already people were coming forward saying he was the one who’d started those nasty rumors.
Now, even though his innocence had been proven on the murder charge and Ponzi issue, he still needed a serious image makeover if he expected to win the club’s leadership spot.
And she intended to give him that fresh start, with some help from Jesse Stevens. Wrestling her bedraggled umbrella, she trudged ahead another couple of steps.
Were those lights flickering ahead? Hope and wariness jockeyed inside her. She was so very cold and soggy. But this also wasn’t Houston, with her high-rise condo secured by round-the-clock guards.
She pulled one hand from the umbrella and reached inside her coat to her cross-body bag, fumbling for her can of Mace.
The lights drew closer, grew stronger, until the glow focused into two beams. High off the ground. A truck. The driver’s-side door swung wide and a large, looming figure jumped out, ducking into the rain while holding his Stetson in place.
She gripped her Mace harder. She’d taken self-defense classes in college, but she was seriously off-balance with one broken heel and the other spiked into the mud.
“Ma’am, what are you doing out here tonight? Are you waiting for a tow truck?”
That voice. It couldn’t be… But her ears told her it was. After all, she’d spent countless hours watching videos of Jesse Stevens giving interviews, memorized them, in fact, to decide the best tactic for approaching him. She tilted her head to catch sight of his face below the brim to confirm.
And she gasped.
No picture could do him justice. Even with the Stetson covering his blond hair, he bore the look of a cowboy Viking. An image she found difficult to let go of once it came to life in her mind.
Spluttering on a mouthful of rain, she tucked her Mace can back into her purse, no longer needing protection.
She should have suspected the truck could belong to Jesse Stevens. She was near his ranch, after all. But still, weren’t the odds higher it would be one of his employees rather than him at this hour, in the rain?
Yet there was no doubting who this man was, even in the dark with just his headlights slicing through the night. She’d done her research on the man and his spread well before this excursion to meet him, persuade him.
But she wasn’t ready to let him know who she was. Not just yet. She swallowed hard. “My car won’t start, and the cell reception is garbage out here in the middle of nowhere.”
“Speaking as the landlord of the Middle of Nowhere, I’ve never had any trouble with mine.” Rain dripped from the brim of his hat as he towered over her. “You should check with your provider.”
Was that irony or irritation coating his words?
Not good if she’d already made him angry. This would be over before it started.
She longed for higher heels to make her taller, closer to his eye level. “I’ll be sure to look into my provider as soon as I find dry clothes. If you could just help me call for a tow, I’ll get my suitcase so I can change. I’m freezing to death.”
It was cold for Texas, even in December.
“Your car’s not going anywhere tonight, ma’am. And there’s no way either of us should risk walking back over to your vehicle to retrieve your luggage. The ground could give way at any time.”
Her foot slipped. She looked quickly at him. “It’s just my broken shoe.”
Then her other foot shot out from under her. She lurched to the side, her umbrella whipping away in the wind. Her arms pinwheeled as she lost her balance, tumbling toward the rushing swell of water alongside the dirt road.
Strong hands clasped her waist and stopped her fall. Before she could catch her breath, he’d hauled her against his chest. His warm breath fanned her cheek.
“Are you all right?”
Other than goose bumps that had nothing to do with the cold because she was in the arms of a Viking cowboy? “I’m fine.” Her words came out husky. “Thank you.”
“What are you doing out here this time of night in such crummy weather?” Thunder rolled in the distance.
She braced her palms on his impossibly broad shoulders and looked straight into Jesse Stevens’s emerald green eyes. “I’m looking for you.”
Jesse Stevens held the drenched woman against him, her willowy body enticing even through her soaked raincoat and his hastily-tossed-on jacket. He’d been making a last check of the horses, concerned about the thunder spooking them, when he’d seen the car lights. He’d been surprised, not expecting anyone until tomorrow. Not that he was complaining.
The matchmaker he’d hired had outdone herself in sending this candidate.
He wondered which of the three contenders this was—the single mom, the veterinarian or the Miss Texas pageant runner-up. This woman certainly could be the latter, and that might explain the high heels and flashy car choice. The height seemed to be right, based on the stats in her profile. Although it was difficult to tell much in the dark. He was definitely curious to learn more about the husky-voiced siren. All the more reason to resist the temptation to hold on for an extra second or two.
Stepping back, he still cupped her elbow. Just to make sure she didn’t lose her balance, of course. “Are you okay? You weren’t hurt when your car spun out, were you?”
She nodded, pulling one foot, then the other, out of the mud. “I’m fine, thank you. I truly didn’t expect the weather to get this bad.”
Given her slick trench and Porsche, she had more of a city-girl vibe that he had doubts would hold up out here. But the matchmaker would have told her about him and his rural lifestyle. He’d sure filled out a checklist of his criteria for the kind of woman he was looking for.
“Ma’am, the road is at risk of giving way further. You need to get to safety. My truck can take an alternate path that’s not accessible to the public.”
“Let’s go, then.” She started forward, her purse tucked tight to her side, but her foot sank deeper into the mud, stopping her progress. Sighing, she cursed under her breath. Like a sailor, no less.
An unexpected surprise. She had grit to go along with all of that glam. He could still feel the imprint of her against him.
She glanced up at him, her eyelashes spiky wet, her ponytail slick and sleek down the front of her coat. “The heels aren’t holding up well out here.”
“Then I’ll carry you.” He wasn’t sure where the invitation came from, but now that he’d said it, the idea had taken root. An appealing option, and with each passing second, an increasingly necessary one.
“Whoa, wait.” She held up a manicured hand, with two chipped nails and another broken. “That’s a bit extreme.”
“Ma’am…” He smiled. “The longer we talk, the worse the roads will be. And I don’t know about you, but I’m cold even though I have on boots.”
Indecision flickered across her face. But then she shivered and her hand lowered. She nodded quickly, her teeth chattering.
All the invitation he needed.
He scooped her up into his arms, tucking her against him as he made tracks toward his truck. With a squeak of surprise, she looped her arms around his neck, a light scent of something floral and exotic riding the humid air to tempt his nose. Her body fit against him, the curve of her breast pressed to him.
So much for feeling cold. Heat fired through his veins. But he needed to learn more about her. His days of sowing wild oats were in the past. He was ready to settle down, build a family, and he wasn’t waiting around for chance to bring him the woman he needed.
He’d contacted a selective, high-priced matchmaker to assist him in the search. His days were packed with running his ranch. His only social life involved the occasional event at the Texas Cattleman’s Club and he already knew every one of the members. He wanted a wife, children—heirs. He didn’t believe in grand romance or love. But he was a firm advocate of the benefits of a winning partnership.
Yes, he more than wanted a wife. He needed a wife and he was prepared to offer that spouse his full partnership in return. A win-win for them both.
Once he found the right candidate.
Stopping by the passenger side of his dual-cab truck, he set the woman on her feet carefully, ensuring the ground beneath her was safe before he let go. The rain was coming down in buckets.
He opened the door for her, offering a hand as she stepped on the running board. Damn, those dainty shoes of hers were mighty mangled. She hadn’t been prepared. The clasp of her cold fingers in his hand reminded him of how badly this stormy evening could have turned out for her.
And it still could if he didn’t get his butt in gear and drive back to the house. He braced a hand on the hood as he jogged around to the driver’s side. Once behind the wheel, he slammed his door closed against the wall of rain being blown inside.
At least the heater was still blasting, since he’d never turned the vehicle off. He swept aside his Stetson, flinging it to the back seat beside a horse blanket and a thermos.
“I’m so glad you came along,” she said, her teeth still chattering. She kicked off her broken shoes and wriggled her toes under the blast of warm air circling at the floorboard.
“And I’m glad I saw you out there.” He started to ask her name, but the rain picked up pace on the roof. It could wait. “I hate to think what could have happened to you if those waters swept your car away.”
As she’d said right away, she knew who he was. So he didn’t have to worry about reassuring her she was safe to come with him.
“You were right to question the wisdom of my driving into this storm,” she conceded. “I was so eager to get here, I just kept thinking I could outpace the weather.”
She shook her head, laughing softly. The husky melody of her chuckle filled the truck cab, stroking his senses. That matchmaker sure had a knack.
He cleared his throat. “And the weather still might win if we don’t get moving.”
Jesse eased the four-wheel-drive vehicle out of Park and accelerated carefully. The tires spun, then caught, the truck surging forward, toward the dim twinkling of Christmas lights strung along the split-rail fence. The storm smudged the glow until it was just a smear of green, red and white.
“I’m sorry to inconvenience you so late,” she said. “I certainly intended to arrive earlier.” The truck jostled along a rut in the road and she braced a hand against the door.
“You’d have had better luck with a utility vehicle instead of that sports car of yours.”
“It would appear so.” She squeezed excess water from her ponytail, her wet hair clearly blond now in the glow of the dash.
But he wasn’t any closer to identifying which of the matchmaker’s candidates she might be.
“I’m Jesse Stevens, as you already seem to know. And you are?”
“Esme Perry. Nice to meet you, Jesse.”
He looked over sharply in surprise at her name. She was not one of the three women the matchmaker had provided. Surely he couldn’t have forgotten a recommended candidate. Perhaps he’d missed an email from the matchmaker?
Except… Wait… Alarms sounded in the back of his mind. There were plenty of Perrys in Texas. But one branch in particular was heavy-duty on the radar of the Royal branch of the Texas Cattleman’s Club. “Perry, as in…”
“Yes, my father is Sterling Perry. We’re very excited about the new branch of the Texas Cattleman’s Club opening in Houston. My father sent me here to talk to you. To do a little recon,” she said with a sassy smile.
Disappointment churned. She hadn’t been sent by the matchmaker. He focused on the path ahead, a back road on higher ground to his home.
“A spy in our midst,” he said dryly. Granted, one helluva sexy Mata Hari.
“Not anything so nefarious.” She tugged at the belt of her trench coat. “I’m just here to see how you run things at the Royal branch.”
“Or to curry favor for your dad.”
She straightened in the seat, clearly bristling at the criticism of her father. But it wasn’t any secret that Sterling Perry had a sketchy past and a quest for power.
A quest that was currently playing out in a battle with Ryder Currin as they vied for control of the new Houston branch, to be opened in a historic building site, a former luxury boutique hotel. Ryder Currin was a self-made man. Whereas Esme’s family was led by the old-money, charming, larger-than-life patriarch Sterling Perry, who continued to grow the Perry fortune in banking, real estate and property development.
Jesse’s impression of the man? All show but little substance.
Was this woman like her dad? It seemed so, judging by her car and her clothes and her defense of her father.
He pulled up to his ranch home. More lights glimmered in the trees lining the driveway, and a wreath glowed on the front door of his white two-story house. A sprawling place he’d had built with hopes of one day having a family of his own. His parents were dead. He only had one sister, and while he loved her, she had her own life.
Now he was ready to build a future for himself.
Keeping his eyes off the woman beside him, he steered off the path and onto the driveway, circling around back. More twinkling lights marked the way. He’d arranged for decorations outdoors to make his place more welcoming, but hadn’t gotten around to the indoors. His life definitely needed a woman’s touch.
He activated the garage door opener, steered into the six-bay garage, and turned off the truck as the automatic door closed behind them. “You can stay at my place until morning…or until the weather blows over.”
“I appreciate the offer. Clearly, I’m in no position to turn you down.” She gestured to her bare feet and soggy clothes.
“Call it club loyalty. It would be irresponsible of me to send you back out into this weather.” He draped a hand over the steering wheel and allowed himself an unrestrained look at the bombshell beside him. “But I don’t talk about club business in my off-hours, so I won’t be discussing your father or the Houston chapter.”
“Fair enough. I just have one question, nothing about the Texas Cattleman’s Club.” She tipped her head to one side, her raincoat parting to reveal the curve of her breasts in the soaked silk shirt. “Who did you think I was?”
Two (#u359c0538-a906-5383-9cbb-97439e1d4a79)
Toying with her seat belt and not in any hurry to leave the truck just yet, Esme waited for Jesse’s answer, more curious than she would have liked to admit about what mystery woman he was expecting. Even knowing that cowboys weren’t her type, she couldn’t deny the appeal of those piercing green eyes.
He cocked an eyebrow as he reached for his Stetson. “I certainly didn’t think you were one of the infamous Perry family.”
She bristled at the censure in his voice. “Infamous?” she repeated, the bubble of romance officially burst. She unbuckled her seat belt and reached for the door handle. “That’s rather harsh, don’t you think?”
“I didn’t mean to offend,” he said as his boots hit the pristine cement floor of his six-car garage with a solid thud. “Your father was investigated on fraud charges and the murder of a Perry Holdings assistant not too long ago.”
Vincent Hamm had gone missing, the assistant presumed to have quit and moved to the British Virgin Islands to spend his life surfing, based on a text he’d sent his boss. But then his body had been discovered with a bullet wound to the chest, his skull bashed, making identification difficult. But DNA tests had confirmed the man’s identity.
Esme slammed the door, the sound reverberating in the dimly lit space. Her damp and muddy feet slipped ever so slightly as she charged forward alongside a speedboat, her toes still so icy cold, her mangled shoes dangling from her hand. An SUV, a motorcycle and a pair of four-wheelers filled the rest of the space. The man sure liked his toys.
Or maybe his family did?
She glanced at his left hand as he tapped the security code at the door leading into the house. No ring. But then, there was still the mystery woman.
Esme pulled her focus back to her reason for being here. To clean up her father’s image among the Texas Cattleman’s Club members here in Royal.
“My father was cleared of fraud and the murder of Vincent Hamm.” All hell had broken loose when the body was found at the site of the new Texas Cattleman’s Club, where her father’s construction company was doing the renovations. The murderer still hadn’t been found. “As I recall, you were under suspicion, too, after leaving an angry message on Hamm’s voice mail.”
“Valid point.” He waved her inside with a broad hand, his square jaw flexing. “Lucky for me, I have an airtight alibi.”
While he turned on the lights, she flung her damp hair over her shoulders and unbuttoned her trench coat. “Clearly there’s something more you want to say?”
Texas landscapes lined the walls of the corridor, one end leading to a washroom and the other leading into the house. He eyed her for a moment, sizing her up before nodding tightly. “Your father has led a cutthroat life in the business world. Sterling Perry may not be guilty of this, but the man he has been made it easier to believe it could be him.”
She couldn’t deny the truth in that. But that was still her daddy Jesse was talking about. “You certainly know how to win friends and influence people.”
Sighing, he swept off his hat. “Ma’am, you’re clearly tired. I’ll make you something to drink—decaf coffee? Tea? Hot chocolate?”
She was exhausted. But she had a narrow window of time. If she kept bristling this way, she would lose the chance to plead her father’s case to be the president of the Houston branch of the club. It was tough enough already with all the politics back home, given the other contender for the position was his longtime rival, Ryder Currin, who her father felt had unjustly gotten an oil-rich piece of land that should have stayed in the family. It didn’t seem to matter to Sterling that he already had more money than royalty and that Ryder had made the bulk of his fortune through savvy investments.
Although they had to get along these days since Ryder was seeing her sister Angela, that didn’t change the fact that her dad wanted the position. And Angela would have to live with that, because Esme intended to make this happen for her father.
“Hot chocolate, please, if it’s not too much trouble.” It sounded like something that would take longer to make. Give her more time to collect herself. Mold herself into the perfect influencer. “And no worries. I’m thick-skinned like my father.”
A fib. She actually was the most sensitive of her siblings, but that would smooth things over for now.
As the sensitive sibling, she’d learned early how to play family peacekeeper. To de-escalate tension and defuse situations—even though her heart often thudded loudly in her chest and panic rose in her blood.
With footfalls uncharacteristically silent for such a tall, broad-chested man, he moved into the laundry room. Light flickered on, and Esme peered inside the well-kept pale yellow room with green plant accents. He pulled clothes out of a basket on top of the dryer, then strode with cowboy swagger back to her. He motioned down the hallway. Sconces on the wall provided a warm light as they made their way to the massive kitchen. He placed the neatly folded clothes on the island.
With a surveying glance, she took in the open, sprawling layout. White granite countertops provided a sleek contrast to the dark wood cabinets. Open shelves displayed simple white dishes and mugs. A countertop overlooked a large bay window that, despite the night storm raging outside, offered an enviable view of the large barn and fence. Unlike the interior of the house, the barn and fence sported twinkling Christmas lights.
A thick but unfinished sandwich took up the majority of a white plate on the countertop. He must have been eating there when he’d spotted her car outside.
Jesse’s rough-cut smile lit up his green eyes. “Good, I’m glad to hear you’re tough. If we’re going to be trapped here together until the road’s cleared, it will be easier if we get along.”
Trapped? Now, that sounded promising.
“True enough.” She slid off her trench coat.
The room went silent as his eyes flickered with awareness, taking in her damp blouse and slacks. Her chilled skin warmed at his gaze.
Then he looked away, clearing his throat as he picked up a remote control off the island and thumbed on the sound system. Holiday tunes played softly, jazz renditions. That surprised her. She would have expected him to pick country music.
Rubbing the back of his neck, he walked over to the double wooden doors of his pantry. Intricately carved, the wood depicted a rearing horse on a landscape. It was a touch of personality in this state-of-the-art kitchen that was otherwise pretty much devoid of personality. He removed a bag of marshmallows and a mason jar filled with hot chocolate mix and set them on the counter. He pulled out milk from the fridge.
“Well, then, Esme, let’s agree not to talk about your father.” He spun a pan in his hand, setting it down on the front right burner.
Not discussing her dad was rather counterproductive to her reason for braving the storm to see him. But she wasn’t going to argue with him. She would work her way back to the subject when the opportunity arose.
“Fair enough.” And while she waited, she couldn’t resist asking, “Let’s start with who you were expecting.”
“Actually, three someones.” The milk simmered on the gas stove.
He reached up to the open shelves, selecting an oversize mug. His hands were calloused and capable, telling a story. He didn’t just own this massive spread. He worked it.
Surprise lit through her. “Three people you didn’t know and wouldn’t recognize?”
So…mystery women. What was this man up to?
Jesse had maneuvered to a well-stocked bar next to the stainless steel fridge. She noticed a sole picture beside it—of a girl in her twenties who shared his intense green eyes. A sibling perhaps? It was the first—and only—sign of personal effects she’d spotted since entering his ranch house/mansion. A private man, then.
He held up a bottle of peppermint schnapps and quirked an inquiring eyebrow. She nodded and he set the bottle on the counter beside the rest of the ingredients.
“In my defense, Esme, it was dark when I found you and you were—are drenched. Speaking of which, you should change before you catch a cold. Your hot chocolate will be ready soon.” He stood toe to toe, the spicy and damp scent of him teasing her senses. He passed over the stack of clothes—sweats, a tee and socks—his calloused knuckles brushing hers. “I’ll tell you all about the three mystery women when you get back.”
Her hands still tingling from the light touch, she sure hoped her father appreciated her efforts here. Because she suspected focus on her task was going to be tough to come by with Jesse Stevens.
She wasn’t even one day into this promotional excursion and already she’d made a mess of things. One that not even the longest, steamiest of showers could make right.
Esme was no stranger to luxury, but she still appreciated the plush robe and heated floors in the guest bathroom he led her to.
An all-Texas bathroom for sure, with a touch of modern rustic charm in the form of the polished horns on the wall opposite the luxurious Jacuzzi. But there was also a large tinted window that offered a view of the Christmas lights lining the fence. The only other lights came from a bunkhouse in the distance.
Under this roof, she was alone. With Jesse Stevens.
Exhaling hard, she plucked one of the lotions from the basket on the counter. She opened the top and inhaled the delicious scent of peppermint, which reminded her of that spiked cocoa waiting for her. Along with the man.
Smoothing the lotion onto her legs, she found her thoughts drifting back to Jesse. His broad shoulders. His blond hair spiked and mussed. Her skin tingled from more than the minty cream.
She’d never doubted her professionalism. Her cool head. And while she worked for the family company, she’d allowed this to become too personal. This wasn’t even about the business. This was about her father’s quest to be the president of a club. Which many would have thought meant she was doing a favor, not a job.
Many would be wrong. This was more than a favor. She was trying to earn her dad’s approval. Even knowing that shouldn’t matter so much to her, an adult woman, she couldn’t dodge the truth.
She risked a glance in the mirror. With her hair wet and snarled, she was a mess. A far cry from how she’d started the morning with a spa day. Even her manicure hadn’t survived, one nail broken and two others chipped.
It was almost comical, really, as if all her professional facade had been wiped away. Her slacks were ruined. Her silk blouse very likely unsalvageable, too.
All that was left of the real her were her champagne-colored satin underwear and her diamond stud earrings.
At least she had something to wear other than the robe. She stepped into the baggy sweatpants, then the Texas A&M pullover, the fabric warm and tantalizing against her bare skin. She tugged on the athletic socks, bunching them around her ankles. A far cry from the heels she’d slipped on this morning with such relish. But as least she was warm. And clean.
She left the steam-filled bathroom and returned to her suite. Swiping her phone from the coffee table, she dropped down into the desk chair next to the fireplace. Stones flanked the fireplace, giving the guest suite the feel of a swanky cabin. Her toes sank into the plush rug as she FaceTimed her sister.
Of all of her siblings, Angela Perry worried the most. And judging by the four texts Esme had received while she was showering, her sister was imagining every worst-case scenario.
She propped the phone against a leather-bound book on the desk to free her hands to brush through the rat’s nest that had replaced her hair.
Within a few rings, her sister’s blond hair and rounded face came into view. Angela sat on the ground in front of the new gas fireplace she’d just had installed, flames flickering. Orchestral carols played softly in the background.
“Well, hello there.” Angela stared back at her, her blue eyes flaring in surprise. “You look…not like yourself. No offense meant.”
“None taken.” Running the brush through a knot in her hair, Esme laughed lightly. Her sister had never been a clotheshorse, preferring an understated style. A love of fashion had been at least one thing Esme could share with Melinda, since Angela and her twin had just about everything else in common.
They even lived in the same condominium building—an upscale thirty-two-floor limestone high-rise with wraparound windows and expansive views. The twins had even chosen the same layout, Angela on the fifteenth floor and Melinda on the twenty-fourth.
“Well, this has been quite a day. Or night, rather.”
Angela tossed a scrap of Christmas wrapping paper into the fire behind her, then reached for another roll. “Definitely not the image of my glamorous sister.”
“Stranger things have happened.” But heat still stung her cheeks. One of the ways Esme gained her confidence—and kept her sensitive soul in check—was through a careful curation of makeup, hair and luxurious clothes. The oversize sweats she was wearing rattled her. Threw her off-balance.
Though, if she were being honest, not any more than her sexy host.
Her sister’s thin fingers moved deftly over a small stack of jewelry boxes with elegant silver script reading “Diamonds in the Rough.” Esme guessed the packages were for her and Melinda, not that she could see inside. Most likely Melinda’s contained something to celebrate her baby on the way. The pregnancy had been a surprise to Melinda and her new husband, Slade, but a welcome one. And pregnancy hadn’t slowed down her sister’s philanthropic works one bit.
To her right, Angela had a bin filled with gold and red foil paper with intricate bows. Designer-level gift-wrapping supplies. A small stack of already-wrapped presents glistened in the fire glow. Esme always told her sister they could afford to pay someone to wrap the gifts for them, but Angela insisted she enjoyed doing it herself, making each one a work of art.
And Christmas was all the more special since Angela had reunited with her former fiancé, Ryder Currin.
Angela ripped clear tape off to secure the golden foil on one of the smaller jewelry boxes. “I’m glad you called. I was starting to get worried. Weather reports are looking terrible in Royal.”
Esme thought of the soaked, muddy clothes she had carefully placed in a bag next to the bathtub. She winced a little. “The reports are accurate.”
“But you’re okay?” her sister asked, genuine worry in her voice.
She nodded, enjoying the soft sounds of violins surging through “Ave Maria.”
“I got caught in a flash flood, but lucky for me, I was close to Stevens’s ranch. He saw my headlights and came to my rescue.”
“Sounds like a close call. I can’t imagine your low-slung car held up well in those conditions.”
“You can get the judgy tone out of your voice. I know you weren’t a fan of my purchase.” Esme worked the last of the tangles from her hair, smoothing the brush down the length until she was satisfied that all the knots were out. At least she’d managed to restore some semblance of order in her life.
“It’s your money to do with as you please,” her sister said as she reached toward a stack of unwrapped presents. Picking up a handsome brass shaving kit, she started sizing up the necessary material to wrap it.
“Well, you can rest easy. My next purchase will come with four-wheel drive.” Sporty four-wheel drive.
Angela set down the paper and peered into the screen, her blue eyes fixed but still kind. The look of an older sister. “I just care about you.”
“I know.” It was tough to discard the defensiveness sometimes, feeling like an outsider with her sisters’ twin bond. “And thank you for caring.”
Her sister nodded, continuing her methodical wrapping. Without looking up from lining up the edge of the paper with machinelike precision, she said, “So, what’s the progress with Jesse Stevens?”
“I’ve barely had time to shower, much less make progress.”
“Shower?” She raised a blond eyebrow. “At Jesse Stevens’s house? You’re there now?”
“Yes, and no need to sound scandalized. I was drenched. I needed to change.” She glanced down at her clothes. When was the last time she’d worn sweats? High school maybe. Or middle school. As rarely as she could manage. “But enough about me. How was your date with Ryder last night?”
Her sister had been engaged to none other than their father’s longtime nemesis Ryder Currin, who also happened to be in the running to head the Houston branch of the Texas Cattleman’s Club. Angela and Ryder had broken up, but were now back together again with Sterling Perry’s blessing. Esme would wager money a reengagement wasn’t too far off.
She just hoped Ryder was really right for her sister. He’d been married twice before—divorced from the first wife and widowed by the second. He had one child from each of those marriages, plus an adopted daughter. All adults. Such a complicated blended family.
Angela deserved to have a man love her unconditionally.
“I never thought he and I would have another chance, but things are good, really good.”
Her blue eyes turned wistful and the smile that warmed her face drew a pang of guilt from Esme over her doubts and concerns.
“I wish I could have been there for us to talk all about it in person over lunch.”
Angela nodded, her smile still present but soft. “That would have been fun, but I understand.”
Her sister leaned back to the pile of gifts—a cashmere scarf, leather-bound books, artisanal reclaimed-wood trays. The silver strands in her chunky gray sweater glimmered.
Christmas was coming at the end of the month and Esme hadn’t even begun her shopping. She wished she had her sister’s love for organization and gift-giving. Maybe then she would feel more connected to the holiday. “If only I’d waited to leave…”
“Dad appreciates what you’re doing for him. This is important.”
Was it, though? More important than being with her sister? She’d tried to convince her dad that this could wait a couple of days, but he’d insisted. And she hadn’t stood up to him. She’d even had the weather as an excuse and she hadn’t taken it.
“Well, I’ll be back in Houston before you know it. We can have brunch and chat over mimosas.”
“That would great. Just let me know when you’re finished there and I’ll line it up with Melinda, too. We’ll definitely need to make it brunch and not breakfast, since Melinda still gets morning sickness.” She chewed her fingernail thoughtfully, then added, “Perhaps we could include Tatiana, as well, if you don’t mind.”
Esme bit her lip to keep from blurting how she wanted to do things on her own with Angela, without their sister, much less Angela’s bestie, Tatiana Havery.
Tatiana, a vice president at Perry Holdings who specialized in real estate, had been going through a tough time ever since it came out that Willem Inwood was her estranged half brother. And now that he’d been arrested last week? It would be petty to exclude her.
“Mimosa brunch with you, Melinda and Tatiana. Count on it. Maybe we should invite Ryder’s two daughters. I could get to know my future nieces better.” She chuckled at the irony of that, since Ryder’s daughters were both adults. There was an age gap between Ryder and Angela, but since her sister didn’t mind, then who was Esme to judge?
“Okay, then. I will.” Angela fluffed her golden-blond hair, surveying the mess of ribbon and foil paper strips around her. “All right, sis, I need to clean up this mess. Thank you for checking in. Please stay in touch.”
“I will, just as soon as I have something to report.” Esme waved before signing off.
Sighing, she swept her hair into a loose topknot. Casual glam, she told herself.
Time to face her sexy host and try not to wonder if a kiss from him would taste of peppermint schnapps.
Jesse stared out the kitchen window at the water pooling outside, covering the driveway. As the storm continued to rage, he was glad he’d reached Esme when he did.
No denying it, the woman who’d crashed into his life this evening had made quite an impression. He thought about the way her wet clothes clung to her, outlined her shapely body.
Not that she was his type. Too city. Too polished for a ranch lifestyle. Not that it mattered. He had three potential matches coming to the ranch.
Still, his thoughts drifted to the way her wet hair fell in waves. No. He couldn’t deny being intrigued by the woman who was currently cleaning herself up in his shower as the rain pelted down.
In the oversize mug, he stirred the hot chocolate. The mug in his hand had been a gift from his little sister. She’d made it in a pottery class, rightly guessing that something homemade would mean more to him. He could buy anything he wanted.
His sister had a knack. The pottery was expertly crafted. She’d called it part of her robin’s-egg collection.
He wasn’t an overly sentimental man, and even though he and his sister weren’t close, this mug represented his last link to family. To something grounding.
After giving the hot chocolate a final stir, he popped the top of the peppermint schnapps, deciding Esme should be the judge of her alcohol level. He didn’t want to pour too much. Who knew what her alcohol tolerance was? And he wasn’t one to take advantage. He prided himself on being a man of honor.
And he needed to stay focused on his search for a bride, someone who wanted to share this lifestyle with him and build a family.
He turned back to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee with a shot of whiskey in it. Then settled onto a barstool at the kitchen island where his half-eaten sandwich still waited. Fried steak between two thick slices of Texas toast. He took another bite and washed it down with his spiked coffee, the taste firing through his veins on this damn long day.
As he continued to eat his sandwich to the rhythm of rain and thunder, he reflected on the events of the last hour. Now he regretted calling Esme’s family “infamous.” The word had a crueler inflection than he had meant. Especially since Esme’s father was no longer a suspect in the murder. He understood too well what it felt like to be wrongly accused.
Tearing into another bite of his sandwich, he went over the events of the murder investigation in his mind.
He’d been shocked when he was questioned by keen Houston detective Zoe Warren. All because of an argument he’d had with Vincent Hamm. Someone he’d thought he could count on. His kid sister just graduated with an MBA from one of the top programs in the country. Not only was she his sister and he had a strong sense of family, but his sister was also brilliant, with a sharp mind for business. Jesse had asked Vincent to help get his sister in at Perry Holdings. But Vincent refused to even set up an interview for Janet.
Jesse took another sip of his coffee, still trying to understand why, despite all the favors Jesse had done for him, Vincent wouldn’t lift a finger to help.
Rage had filled him. He’d believed the worst of his friend. That a big-city job with a fancy salary at Perry Holdings had gone to Vincent’s head. That he’d forgotten who he was. Jesse had responded with anger.
And then, a few weeks after their strange encounter, Vincent Hamm was dead. And not just dead—murdered.
A brief angry voice mail from Jesse to Vincent had turned up in the authorities’ investigation. A handful of words. Crazy. But Jesse, ever a rule follower and ever meticulous, had a solid alibi. He’d been three hours away at a cattle auction. His location south of Houston was certifiable, easily tracked through his purchase records and through his hotel visit. Nearly all his time was accounted for. There was no feasible way he could have been the murderer. As a law-abiding man, he’d voluntarily submitted to a lie detector test, which he’d passed. He wanted Vincent’s actual killer to be found. Sooner rather than later.
He thumped the edge of his own mug, heat transferring ever so slightly from the ceramic to his fingertips.
Jesse’s attention returned to the present as he heard the creak of the guest suite door and soft footfalls on the hardwood floor. Then there she was. Esme Perry.
He stood slowly. Damn.
The mug was no longer the only thing throwing heat in the kitchen.
Esme walked deeper into the kitchen, looking too damn sexy in his Texas A&M sweats. Even wearing his athletic socks bunched down around her ankles, she somehow made it all work into an elegant ensemble right down to her diamond stud earrings.
“Well, Miss Esme, you are definitely unmistakable now,” he said, nudging her mug and the bottle of schnapps toward her.
“It’s nice to be dry again.” She gestured to her wet hair. “At least somewhat.” She poured some of the liquor into the mug, stirred thoughtfully. Almost absently.
She lifted the mug to her lips, and he found himself unable to look away, imagining how soft they would be.
“I’m glad to help.” He waited for her to sit before reclaiming his place on the barstool. “Did you reach home to let them know you’re okay?”
“I did. Just now. I called my sister Angela. We were talking about plans to meet for brunch.” Her delicate nose scrunched with worry. “We haven’t had much time to talk lately since she got back together with Ryder.”
Everyone in Royal had been blown away at the news when Angela and Ryder had gotten engaged. A Perry and a Currin? Unimaginable. Then they had broken things off, and now were apparently a couple again.
Jesse shook his head. He wanted something more stable in his life. “You and she are close?”
She hesitated for a telling moment. “Angela and Melinda are twins. Then I have a brother, Roarke. We all love one another.”
He’d heard the gossip that Roarke was rumored to be Ryder Currin’s biological son, rumors so strong they’d taken a DNA test. A test that proved Roarke truly was a Perry. Still, the whole ordeal must have put a strain on their family. “That’s not the same as being close.”
“The twins are close, and our brother has always gone his own way. He’s happy, though, working at Perry Holdings in Houston in a newly formed ethics department. He still does part-time work offering legal, too.”
“He sounds like quite the crusading attorney for the underdog. I imagine you’re proud of him.”
“I am. It wasn’t easy for him to find his own path. He and Dad butt heads because our father expected Roarke to go into the family business. But that’s enough of our family drama.” She shrugged, her hair rippling over her shoulder in a blond waterfall. “So you have siblings?”
Her eyes flickered to the photograph tucked on the marble countertop.
Esme was observant. He’d give her that.
“I have a sister. She’s all the family I have left, actually. I thought I was going to lose her not too long ago. Her appendix ruptured and she had to have emergency surgery.”
Hospital runs and the smell of antiseptic filled his memory. The bargaining and praying for his sister’s life he’d done were still a visceral memory in his stomach.
“I’m so sorry. Is she all right now?”
“She is.” He looked at the mug in Esme’s hand, thankful for his sister’s recovery.
“Thank goodness. Still, that had to have been a scary time for you.”
“It was.”
Rain continued to fall outside, filling the pause with controlled chaos.
She looked into her mug, swirling the hot chocolate around without meeting his gaze. “Actually, you weren’t wrong. My sisters have a special bond. My brother, well, his earlier move to Dallas wasn’t all that surprising. Now that he’s back, that seems to be changing some. Regardless, I’m still stuck somewhere in the middle. But that’s all right. Not everyone has the same relationship.”
“You don’t sound like it’s okay.”
She raised an eyebrow in surprise, then took another sip of the hot chocolate as she leaned on the granite countertop. She spread her fingers out wide as if soaking in the cool texture. “About those three someones… I’m dying to know more.”
“Dates.”
Her eyes went wide, and she inched back. “All three? At the same time?”
“Whoa. It’s not what you’re thinking.” He held up his hands defensively, chuckling. “I signed up for a dating service, a matchmaker. She’s lined up a trio of candidates. They were each supposed to come out here individually to meet with me, to see my ranching lifestyle and decide if it’s off-putting. It’s not for everyone.”
Her gaze flickering away at the mention of ranching not being for all, she wriggled her toes in his overlarge socks. “A matchmaker. Seriously?”
“Plenty of people sign up for online services. I opted for the matchmaker because of lack of time.” Absolutely the truth. And he found a certain sort of…practicality about having an expert match him with someone with similar interests. It saved time rather than meeting scores of women socially and trusting fate to somehow work out his future.
Her forehead furrowing in confusion, Esme leaned slightly forward. “Why do you want to have a girlfriend if you don’t even have time to look for one?”
Well, that was easy enough to answer. “I don’t want a girlfriend. I want a wife.”
Three (#u359c0538-a906-5383-9cbb-97439e1d4a79)
“A wife?” Esme repeated, certain she couldn’t have heard him correctly. Hot cocoa cradled in her hand, she studied him through narrowed eyes, but couldn’t read if he was serious or not. Which could have something to do with how she kept looking at his impossibly broad shoulders. “You’re punking me, aren’t you?”
“Not at all.” He set his coffee cup aside. “I’m looking for a wife.”
A flash of disappointment rippled through her. Silly really, since the last thing she wanted was a rancher. “A wife. Not simply a date. That’s just… Well, I’m surprised you’re already thinking that far down the road about someone you haven’t even met.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Your shock is a little insulting.”
“But you’re a man.” Her eyes were drawn to his arms before she could stop herself. His muscular arms. Arms that had carried her so effortlessly.
“And that comment is decidedly sexist.” His green eyes flashed with heat.
She grabbed her mug quickly. She should probably hush before she alienated him altogether. “I apologize. I only meant it’s a leap from first date to the altar.”
“Apology accepted.” He reached for the refrigerator door, his flannel shirt pulling taut along his muscular chest. “Whipped cream?”
“What?” she asked, startled, her gaze shooting back up to his face.
“For your hot chocolate.” He held out a can, pointing in her direction.
Her mind traveled sexy pathways, imagining things they could do with that sweet treat.
“Uh, sure.” She reached for the can, spraying a swirl inside her mug, when she really wanted to fill her mouth with the stuff and quench at least one hunger. “Of course, there’s no reason in the world why you shouldn’t find love.”
“I didn’t say anything about love,” he said in the most logical of voices. “Just marriage.”
Again, he’d surprised her. This man wasn’t at all what she’d expected from reading about him online before her trip to Royal. “Marriage but no love?”
The thought of that chilled her with memories of her parents’ loveless marriage. Too many nights, her mother had cried herself to sleep over her husband’s staying late at the office yet again. Esme wanted more for herself than that and felt sorry for anyone willing to settle for less.
“Why not? I have my life in order—this house, the ranch.” He ticked off points one finger at a time. “The timing is right for the next step. A wife. Then kids.”
He’d laid out the events as matter-of-factly as he’d laid out the ingredients to make her hot chocolate. He’d described the process of creating a family as if he was listing the week’s upcoming groceries.
She raised an eyebrow. “Do these three mystery women know they’re expected to pop out children right away?”
Esme imagined what his dream woman was like. What she wanted. What would make her forsake the idea of love.
Not that Esme had had a lot of luck in that department. Still, she wasn’t giving up on finding love—when the time was right, with the man who was right.
She gulped down more hot cocoa and struggled not to wince as it burned her tongue.
“We all filled out extensive questionnaires. Our wishes for the future are in line.”
Well, now, that wasn’t subtle at all. “And I’m in the way.”
Esme blinked a sting of jealousy. She’d only just met Jesse. And while he was sure one sexy cowboy with his slightly tousled blond hair, she knew better than to assume they were anything more than two very opposite people stuck together riding out a rainstorm.
With precise, athletic footfalls, he made his way over to the window and looked outside into the tempest.
“In this storm, I seriously doubt any of them will be showing up.” He turned to her and his gaze held on her upper lip, and she realized she had a hint of whipped cream clinging there.
Jesse returned to her, offering her a napkin. She took it, dabbing her mouth slowly. His eyes flamed hotter and she wondered what it would have been like to let him kiss her upper lip, to taste him in return.
She swallowed hard to will away the sensation. “How do they feel about being a part of this edition of Catch a Bachelor: Rancher Style?”
He shot her an amused glance, easing back a step. “This isn’t a reality show.”
“Of course not.” She rolled her eyes, struggling for levity. “No cameras.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “And they’re coming at different times so they don’t cross paths.”
“How very…civil.” And cold. “How do your brides-to-be feel about this emotionless transaction?”
“To be fair, they know about the process. No one’s being deceived.”
He leaned against the island, an arm’s length away. Esme’s eyes drifted to his shiny engraved belt buckle. Snapping her attention back to their conversation, she considered the less robotic aspects of such an arrangement. All likes and dislikes already sorted. Everyone knowing the rules of the game. Everyone understanding expectations, too. No mystery. Nothing as quirky as fate intervening.
That was something, at least. “Glad to hear it.”
A slow, disarming grin spread across his face. “Are you interested in joining the process?”
“Whoa, nuh-uh.” She held up her hands in protest. “I’m in no hurry to fill a nursery, and I’ve had enough of ranch living.”
He tipped his head to the side, studying her, amusement in his eyes replaced by curiosity. “Yet you grew up on a ranch.”
Her childhood home on the outskirts of Houston was a sprawling mansion, almost castle-like, surrounded by pastures, elegant barns. The spread was a huge, billion-dollar cattle-and-horse operation started by her maternal grandfather, then passed on to her parents. And even with all of that, Esme had still moved into the city the first chance she had.
“Exactly. No more ranching for me.” And that was all the reminder she needed for why she should keep her distance from this man and stay focused on her reason for being here. “Thank you for the hot cocoa and the clothes and the rescue. I should turn in for the night.”
She rinsed her mug and made fast tracks for the guest suite before she was tempted to stay in the kitchen. To listen to the warm timbre of his voice.
To imagine the taste of whiskey from his coffee on his tongue if he kissed her.
Sleep had been a difficult commodity for Jesse, with images of his surprise houseguest filling his dreams. Visions of her soaking wet, yet equally enticing in sweats. What would it be like to peel those clothes from her body?
Restless, he’d finally given up sleep just before dawn and gone to the barn to burn off energy.
His cowboy boots reverberated on the cement floor as he approached Juniper’s stall. Grabbing the supple brown leather halter and lead, he made his way into the stall of his newest horse.
Juniper, a young dapple gray mare, stretched her neck, giving her tangled mane a shake. She sniffed his hand, her whiskers softly touching his palm. The horse exhaled warm breath against his fingertips, a welcome sensation in the cool, damp morning air. Stepping closer, Jesse slipped the cognac halter on her head and led the mare to the crossties, where his brushes were waiting for him.
He never grew tired of this, the connection with his horses and the land. Ranching was more than a job to him. It was a way of life.
Picking up a currycomb, he moved his hand in circular patterns. Excess hair and dirt gathered in the brush.
Other horses poked their heads from stalls. The barn held two rows of twelve stalls. Buddy, his first gelding, lazily chewed on hay, dropping bits of straw onto the ground. Flash, a muscular chestnut quarter horse, loosed a whinny. Beneath his hands, Juniper sucked in a breath before belting out an answering noise.
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Catherine Mann
“I don’t want a girlfriend. I want a wife. ” When Houston heiress Esme Perry is stranded at Jesse Stevens’ ranch days before Christmas, he’s torn. This sexy city girl is totally wrong for him. So why does he find her utterly, impractically irresistible?
Being stranded for Christmas
never had so much sizzle!
Texas Cattleman’s Club member Jesse Stevens just hired a matchmaker to lure an appropriate wife to his remote ranch. But when a flash flood dumps Houston heiress Esme Perry on his doorstep instead, days before Christmas, is it a sign? Esme is smart, sexy…and a big-city girl to the core. Totally wrong for him. So why can’t they keep their hands off each other?
USA TODAY bestselling author CATHERINE MANN has won numerous awards for her novels, including both a prestigious RITA® Award and an RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Award. After years of moving around the country bringing up four children, Catherine has settled in her home state of South Carolina, where she’s active in animal rescue. For more information, visit her website, catherinemann.com (http://catherinemann.com).
Also by Catherine Mann (#u359c0538-a906-5383-9cbb-97439e1d4a79)
Alaskan Oil Barons miniseries
The Baby Claim
The Double Deal
The Love Child
The Twin Birthright
The Second Chance
The Rancher’s Seduction
The Billionaire Renegade
The Secret Twin
Texas Cattleman’s Club: Houston miniseries
Hot Holiday Rancher
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Hot Holiday Rancher
Catherine Mann
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-09278-4
HOT HOLIDAY RANCHER
© 2019 Harlequin Books S.A.
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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To my children, the best gift all year round!
Contents
Cover (#uec9c5dde-5bf2-57fa-ae75-0f7b97ac30ec)
Back Cover Text (#u90f27d2a-6794-5d76-8981-1fc8b93593bb)
About the Author (#u51dccef0-c271-5110-bcb5-d5fcd59e60ac)
Booklist (#u31832233-71f6-5c91-a11a-59918dcaef5c)
Title Page (#udea9a013-acd1-5fde-ac5d-fdce58eb9601)
Copyright (#ub3c823b2-f491-56ef-b781-4f2e93fe2b95)
Note to Readers
Dedication (#u024b7f86-a23a-5a1e-a057-dca3311c4e8b)
One (#ude037b18-7844-595a-903f-8f9b9b422d87)
Two (#u0d7f20ef-041a-52af-bebb-5f5b502af11a)
Three (#u1e564d91-fa02-53c1-9933-8f142cfd25b3)
Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
One (#u359c0538-a906-5383-9cbb-97439e1d4a79)
Esme Perry had basked in the sun on a private beach in the South of France. She’d surfed with the best of them in California, Hawaii and Australia. But not even the threat of heatstroke or sharks had concerned her as much as the rush of water rolling down the country Texas back road toward her low-slung Porsche.
Rain sheeting against her windshield, Esme shifted into Reverse, willing her pulse to slow. Be calm. Take deep breaths. A quick three-point turn should have her ready to race out of harm’s way. It would be a tight maneuver since the road was narrow, bracketed by a ditch on one side and sycamore trees on the other. It was tough enough to make such a maneuver during the daytime, but after dark? In the middle of a storm?
Not that she had a choice but to move. Flash floods were dangerous, especially in the country.
But her V-8 engine could outrace just about anything. Perhaps the Porsche wasn’t the best choice for dirt roads, but she’d been excited about her early Christmas gift to herself.
Two points into Esme’s three-point turn, the wave of rainwater slammed into the side of her vehicle. Her stomach clenched. She struggled to control the steering wheel as her car slid along the mud-slicked road. The Porsche’s back end fishtailed. Her foot slipped off the clutch, her spiky heel wedging under the brake. The heel snapped. But she didn’t have time to mourn the demise of her favorite leopard-print pumps. The Porsche lurched, then spun out, whipping the wheel from her clenched grip.
Her heart rose into her throat with panic as she battled what felt like g-forces slamming her against the door. Worse yet, she couldn’t see due to vertigo and the rush of water over her candy apple–red hood. Was she close to the side of the road? How deep was the ditch? Where were the trees?
And, oh God, were those headlights or lampposts?
She braced. Struggled not to close her eyes. And prayed.
The spinning stopped, her car halting with a jolt. But not a crash. She exhaled a shaky breath, her ears ringing so loudly it almost drowned out the rain pounding the roof and a Christmas carol flowing from the speaker.
“Silent Night”?
Hardly.
But she was all right, in one piece, as was her car. With luck, she could still reach her destination before bedtime. She would have arrived earlier, but an accident on the interstate from Houston to Royal had delayed her arrival. At least she was close enough to her destination to walk. According to her GPS, the front gate to Jesse Stevens’s ranch should be less than a mile away.
She pressed the clutch, threw the car into Neutral and pressed the ignition.
The engine turned over. Then spluttered out.
She tried again and…
Nothing. Not even a catch.
She’d bought the stick-shift model, a purist when it came to her sports cars. She liked the control of a manual transmission, a talent she’d learned when teaching herself to drive on one of her father’s older trucks on their Houston ranch. She’d been determined to perfect the skill, to win his approval.
Not much had changed on that front, since she was here to please her dad, to bolster his image with the charter branch of the Texas Cattleman’s Club here in Royal, in hopes that he could be president of the new Houston branch.
Her PR plan would start with a surprise visit to Royal’s own Jesse Stevens, an influential player at the TCC. If she could ever get there.
She bit back a curse, weighing her options. The odds of a tow truck showing up out here in this weather were slim. Should she wait to see if the car started and risk getting hit by another wave? Or start walking? In her broken shoes. In the rain. And mud. Sighing in resignation, she angled to get her umbrella.
Bracing, she opened the door, and rain sheeted inside. She wedged her umbrella through the opening, although it was fast becoming a moot point. Even her Prada trench was losing the fight against the deluge. Frigid water lapped around her ankles, soaking the hem of her slacks as she leaned into the wind, shivering. Still, she was determined to forge ahead, one step at a time.
She couldn’t bear the thought of telling her father she needed to postpone the promotion trip. He’d put his trust in her, and even knowing a thirty-four-year-old woman shouldn’t care this much what her father thought, she couldn’t deny she was still trying to win his approval, to be something other than the often-forgotten middle child.
In college, she’d found her niche with an aptitude for public relations. It was her chance to shine. When her father had taken note of her success after graduation, he’d hired her as PR executive for the family business, Perry Holdings.
And if ever Sterling Perry had needed a promotional face-lift, it was now, when the new Houston Texas Cattleman’s Club was cranking up. Fledgling organizations hated nothing more than a scandal.
And her father’s good name had taken quite a few blows, first with an arrest on charges of orchestrating a Ponzi scheme that nearly caused a collapse of one of his investment funds.
No sooner had her father gotten out from under the weight of the fraud rumors than he was under suspicion for the murder of a Perry Holdings assistant. And, as if her father wasn’t already stressed enough, just last week a Currin Oil executive named Willem Inwood had been arrested under suspicion of being behind the Ponzi scheme. He wasn’t talking yet, but already people were coming forward saying he was the one who’d started those nasty rumors.
Now, even though his innocence had been proven on the murder charge and Ponzi issue, he still needed a serious image makeover if he expected to win the club’s leadership spot.
And she intended to give him that fresh start, with some help from Jesse Stevens. Wrestling her bedraggled umbrella, she trudged ahead another couple of steps.
Were those lights flickering ahead? Hope and wariness jockeyed inside her. She was so very cold and soggy. But this also wasn’t Houston, with her high-rise condo secured by round-the-clock guards.
She pulled one hand from the umbrella and reached inside her coat to her cross-body bag, fumbling for her can of Mace.
The lights drew closer, grew stronger, until the glow focused into two beams. High off the ground. A truck. The driver’s-side door swung wide and a large, looming figure jumped out, ducking into the rain while holding his Stetson in place.
She gripped her Mace harder. She’d taken self-defense classes in college, but she was seriously off-balance with one broken heel and the other spiked into the mud.
“Ma’am, what are you doing out here tonight? Are you waiting for a tow truck?”
That voice. It couldn’t be… But her ears told her it was. After all, she’d spent countless hours watching videos of Jesse Stevens giving interviews, memorized them, in fact, to decide the best tactic for approaching him. She tilted her head to catch sight of his face below the brim to confirm.
And she gasped.
No picture could do him justice. Even with the Stetson covering his blond hair, he bore the look of a cowboy Viking. An image she found difficult to let go of once it came to life in her mind.
Spluttering on a mouthful of rain, she tucked her Mace can back into her purse, no longer needing protection.
She should have suspected the truck could belong to Jesse Stevens. She was near his ranch, after all. But still, weren’t the odds higher it would be one of his employees rather than him at this hour, in the rain?
Yet there was no doubting who this man was, even in the dark with just his headlights slicing through the night. She’d done her research on the man and his spread well before this excursion to meet him, persuade him.
But she wasn’t ready to let him know who she was. Not just yet. She swallowed hard. “My car won’t start, and the cell reception is garbage out here in the middle of nowhere.”
“Speaking as the landlord of the Middle of Nowhere, I’ve never had any trouble with mine.” Rain dripped from the brim of his hat as he towered over her. “You should check with your provider.”
Was that irony or irritation coating his words?
Not good if she’d already made him angry. This would be over before it started.
She longed for higher heels to make her taller, closer to his eye level. “I’ll be sure to look into my provider as soon as I find dry clothes. If you could just help me call for a tow, I’ll get my suitcase so I can change. I’m freezing to death.”
It was cold for Texas, even in December.
“Your car’s not going anywhere tonight, ma’am. And there’s no way either of us should risk walking back over to your vehicle to retrieve your luggage. The ground could give way at any time.”
Her foot slipped. She looked quickly at him. “It’s just my broken shoe.”
Then her other foot shot out from under her. She lurched to the side, her umbrella whipping away in the wind. Her arms pinwheeled as she lost her balance, tumbling toward the rushing swell of water alongside the dirt road.
Strong hands clasped her waist and stopped her fall. Before she could catch her breath, he’d hauled her against his chest. His warm breath fanned her cheek.
“Are you all right?”
Other than goose bumps that had nothing to do with the cold because she was in the arms of a Viking cowboy? “I’m fine.” Her words came out husky. “Thank you.”
“What are you doing out here this time of night in such crummy weather?” Thunder rolled in the distance.
She braced her palms on his impossibly broad shoulders and looked straight into Jesse Stevens’s emerald green eyes. “I’m looking for you.”
Jesse Stevens held the drenched woman against him, her willowy body enticing even through her soaked raincoat and his hastily-tossed-on jacket. He’d been making a last check of the horses, concerned about the thunder spooking them, when he’d seen the car lights. He’d been surprised, not expecting anyone until tomorrow. Not that he was complaining.
The matchmaker he’d hired had outdone herself in sending this candidate.
He wondered which of the three contenders this was—the single mom, the veterinarian or the Miss Texas pageant runner-up. This woman certainly could be the latter, and that might explain the high heels and flashy car choice. The height seemed to be right, based on the stats in her profile. Although it was difficult to tell much in the dark. He was definitely curious to learn more about the husky-voiced siren. All the more reason to resist the temptation to hold on for an extra second or two.
Stepping back, he still cupped her elbow. Just to make sure she didn’t lose her balance, of course. “Are you okay? You weren’t hurt when your car spun out, were you?”
She nodded, pulling one foot, then the other, out of the mud. “I’m fine, thank you. I truly didn’t expect the weather to get this bad.”
Given her slick trench and Porsche, she had more of a city-girl vibe that he had doubts would hold up out here. But the matchmaker would have told her about him and his rural lifestyle. He’d sure filled out a checklist of his criteria for the kind of woman he was looking for.
“Ma’am, the road is at risk of giving way further. You need to get to safety. My truck can take an alternate path that’s not accessible to the public.”
“Let’s go, then.” She started forward, her purse tucked tight to her side, but her foot sank deeper into the mud, stopping her progress. Sighing, she cursed under her breath. Like a sailor, no less.
An unexpected surprise. She had grit to go along with all of that glam. He could still feel the imprint of her against him.
She glanced up at him, her eyelashes spiky wet, her ponytail slick and sleek down the front of her coat. “The heels aren’t holding up well out here.”
“Then I’ll carry you.” He wasn’t sure where the invitation came from, but now that he’d said it, the idea had taken root. An appealing option, and with each passing second, an increasingly necessary one.
“Whoa, wait.” She held up a manicured hand, with two chipped nails and another broken. “That’s a bit extreme.”
“Ma’am…” He smiled. “The longer we talk, the worse the roads will be. And I don’t know about you, but I’m cold even though I have on boots.”
Indecision flickered across her face. But then she shivered and her hand lowered. She nodded quickly, her teeth chattering.
All the invitation he needed.
He scooped her up into his arms, tucking her against him as he made tracks toward his truck. With a squeak of surprise, she looped her arms around his neck, a light scent of something floral and exotic riding the humid air to tempt his nose. Her body fit against him, the curve of her breast pressed to him.
So much for feeling cold. Heat fired through his veins. But he needed to learn more about her. His days of sowing wild oats were in the past. He was ready to settle down, build a family, and he wasn’t waiting around for chance to bring him the woman he needed.
He’d contacted a selective, high-priced matchmaker to assist him in the search. His days were packed with running his ranch. His only social life involved the occasional event at the Texas Cattleman’s Club and he already knew every one of the members. He wanted a wife, children—heirs. He didn’t believe in grand romance or love. But he was a firm advocate of the benefits of a winning partnership.
Yes, he more than wanted a wife. He needed a wife and he was prepared to offer that spouse his full partnership in return. A win-win for them both.
Once he found the right candidate.
Stopping by the passenger side of his dual-cab truck, he set the woman on her feet carefully, ensuring the ground beneath her was safe before he let go. The rain was coming down in buckets.
He opened the door for her, offering a hand as she stepped on the running board. Damn, those dainty shoes of hers were mighty mangled. She hadn’t been prepared. The clasp of her cold fingers in his hand reminded him of how badly this stormy evening could have turned out for her.
And it still could if he didn’t get his butt in gear and drive back to the house. He braced a hand on the hood as he jogged around to the driver’s side. Once behind the wheel, he slammed his door closed against the wall of rain being blown inside.
At least the heater was still blasting, since he’d never turned the vehicle off. He swept aside his Stetson, flinging it to the back seat beside a horse blanket and a thermos.
“I’m so glad you came along,” she said, her teeth still chattering. She kicked off her broken shoes and wriggled her toes under the blast of warm air circling at the floorboard.
“And I’m glad I saw you out there.” He started to ask her name, but the rain picked up pace on the roof. It could wait. “I hate to think what could have happened to you if those waters swept your car away.”
As she’d said right away, she knew who he was. So he didn’t have to worry about reassuring her she was safe to come with him.
“You were right to question the wisdom of my driving into this storm,” she conceded. “I was so eager to get here, I just kept thinking I could outpace the weather.”
She shook her head, laughing softly. The husky melody of her chuckle filled the truck cab, stroking his senses. That matchmaker sure had a knack.
He cleared his throat. “And the weather still might win if we don’t get moving.”
Jesse eased the four-wheel-drive vehicle out of Park and accelerated carefully. The tires spun, then caught, the truck surging forward, toward the dim twinkling of Christmas lights strung along the split-rail fence. The storm smudged the glow until it was just a smear of green, red and white.
“I’m sorry to inconvenience you so late,” she said. “I certainly intended to arrive earlier.” The truck jostled along a rut in the road and she braced a hand against the door.
“You’d have had better luck with a utility vehicle instead of that sports car of yours.”
“It would appear so.” She squeezed excess water from her ponytail, her wet hair clearly blond now in the glow of the dash.
But he wasn’t any closer to identifying which of the matchmaker’s candidates she might be.
“I’m Jesse Stevens, as you already seem to know. And you are?”
“Esme Perry. Nice to meet you, Jesse.”
He looked over sharply in surprise at her name. She was not one of the three women the matchmaker had provided. Surely he couldn’t have forgotten a recommended candidate. Perhaps he’d missed an email from the matchmaker?
Except… Wait… Alarms sounded in the back of his mind. There were plenty of Perrys in Texas. But one branch in particular was heavy-duty on the radar of the Royal branch of the Texas Cattleman’s Club. “Perry, as in…”
“Yes, my father is Sterling Perry. We’re very excited about the new branch of the Texas Cattleman’s Club opening in Houston. My father sent me here to talk to you. To do a little recon,” she said with a sassy smile.
Disappointment churned. She hadn’t been sent by the matchmaker. He focused on the path ahead, a back road on higher ground to his home.
“A spy in our midst,” he said dryly. Granted, one helluva sexy Mata Hari.
“Not anything so nefarious.” She tugged at the belt of her trench coat. “I’m just here to see how you run things at the Royal branch.”
“Or to curry favor for your dad.”
She straightened in the seat, clearly bristling at the criticism of her father. But it wasn’t any secret that Sterling Perry had a sketchy past and a quest for power.
A quest that was currently playing out in a battle with Ryder Currin as they vied for control of the new Houston branch, to be opened in a historic building site, a former luxury boutique hotel. Ryder Currin was a self-made man. Whereas Esme’s family was led by the old-money, charming, larger-than-life patriarch Sterling Perry, who continued to grow the Perry fortune in banking, real estate and property development.
Jesse’s impression of the man? All show but little substance.
Was this woman like her dad? It seemed so, judging by her car and her clothes and her defense of her father.
He pulled up to his ranch home. More lights glimmered in the trees lining the driveway, and a wreath glowed on the front door of his white two-story house. A sprawling place he’d had built with hopes of one day having a family of his own. His parents were dead. He only had one sister, and while he loved her, she had her own life.
Now he was ready to build a future for himself.
Keeping his eyes off the woman beside him, he steered off the path and onto the driveway, circling around back. More twinkling lights marked the way. He’d arranged for decorations outdoors to make his place more welcoming, but hadn’t gotten around to the indoors. His life definitely needed a woman’s touch.
He activated the garage door opener, steered into the six-bay garage, and turned off the truck as the automatic door closed behind them. “You can stay at my place until morning…or until the weather blows over.”
“I appreciate the offer. Clearly, I’m in no position to turn you down.” She gestured to her bare feet and soggy clothes.
“Call it club loyalty. It would be irresponsible of me to send you back out into this weather.” He draped a hand over the steering wheel and allowed himself an unrestrained look at the bombshell beside him. “But I don’t talk about club business in my off-hours, so I won’t be discussing your father or the Houston chapter.”
“Fair enough. I just have one question, nothing about the Texas Cattleman’s Club.” She tipped her head to one side, her raincoat parting to reveal the curve of her breasts in the soaked silk shirt. “Who did you think I was?”
Two (#u359c0538-a906-5383-9cbb-97439e1d4a79)
Toying with her seat belt and not in any hurry to leave the truck just yet, Esme waited for Jesse’s answer, more curious than she would have liked to admit about what mystery woman he was expecting. Even knowing that cowboys weren’t her type, she couldn’t deny the appeal of those piercing green eyes.
He cocked an eyebrow as he reached for his Stetson. “I certainly didn’t think you were one of the infamous Perry family.”
She bristled at the censure in his voice. “Infamous?” she repeated, the bubble of romance officially burst. She unbuckled her seat belt and reached for the door handle. “That’s rather harsh, don’t you think?”
“I didn’t mean to offend,” he said as his boots hit the pristine cement floor of his six-car garage with a solid thud. “Your father was investigated on fraud charges and the murder of a Perry Holdings assistant not too long ago.”
Vincent Hamm had gone missing, the assistant presumed to have quit and moved to the British Virgin Islands to spend his life surfing, based on a text he’d sent his boss. But then his body had been discovered with a bullet wound to the chest, his skull bashed, making identification difficult. But DNA tests had confirmed the man’s identity.
Esme slammed the door, the sound reverberating in the dimly lit space. Her damp and muddy feet slipped ever so slightly as she charged forward alongside a speedboat, her toes still so icy cold, her mangled shoes dangling from her hand. An SUV, a motorcycle and a pair of four-wheelers filled the rest of the space. The man sure liked his toys.
Or maybe his family did?
She glanced at his left hand as he tapped the security code at the door leading into the house. No ring. But then, there was still the mystery woman.
Esme pulled her focus back to her reason for being here. To clean up her father’s image among the Texas Cattleman’s Club members here in Royal.
“My father was cleared of fraud and the murder of Vincent Hamm.” All hell had broken loose when the body was found at the site of the new Texas Cattleman’s Club, where her father’s construction company was doing the renovations. The murderer still hadn’t been found. “As I recall, you were under suspicion, too, after leaving an angry message on Hamm’s voice mail.”
“Valid point.” He waved her inside with a broad hand, his square jaw flexing. “Lucky for me, I have an airtight alibi.”
While he turned on the lights, she flung her damp hair over her shoulders and unbuttoned her trench coat. “Clearly there’s something more you want to say?”
Texas landscapes lined the walls of the corridor, one end leading to a washroom and the other leading into the house. He eyed her for a moment, sizing her up before nodding tightly. “Your father has led a cutthroat life in the business world. Sterling Perry may not be guilty of this, but the man he has been made it easier to believe it could be him.”
She couldn’t deny the truth in that. But that was still her daddy Jesse was talking about. “You certainly know how to win friends and influence people.”
Sighing, he swept off his hat. “Ma’am, you’re clearly tired. I’ll make you something to drink—decaf coffee? Tea? Hot chocolate?”
She was exhausted. But she had a narrow window of time. If she kept bristling this way, she would lose the chance to plead her father’s case to be the president of the Houston branch of the club. It was tough enough already with all the politics back home, given the other contender for the position was his longtime rival, Ryder Currin, who her father felt had unjustly gotten an oil-rich piece of land that should have stayed in the family. It didn’t seem to matter to Sterling that he already had more money than royalty and that Ryder had made the bulk of his fortune through savvy investments.
Although they had to get along these days since Ryder was seeing her sister Angela, that didn’t change the fact that her dad wanted the position. And Angela would have to live with that, because Esme intended to make this happen for her father.
“Hot chocolate, please, if it’s not too much trouble.” It sounded like something that would take longer to make. Give her more time to collect herself. Mold herself into the perfect influencer. “And no worries. I’m thick-skinned like my father.”
A fib. She actually was the most sensitive of her siblings, but that would smooth things over for now.
As the sensitive sibling, she’d learned early how to play family peacekeeper. To de-escalate tension and defuse situations—even though her heart often thudded loudly in her chest and panic rose in her blood.
With footfalls uncharacteristically silent for such a tall, broad-chested man, he moved into the laundry room. Light flickered on, and Esme peered inside the well-kept pale yellow room with green plant accents. He pulled clothes out of a basket on top of the dryer, then strode with cowboy swagger back to her. He motioned down the hallway. Sconces on the wall provided a warm light as they made their way to the massive kitchen. He placed the neatly folded clothes on the island.
With a surveying glance, she took in the open, sprawling layout. White granite countertops provided a sleek contrast to the dark wood cabinets. Open shelves displayed simple white dishes and mugs. A countertop overlooked a large bay window that, despite the night storm raging outside, offered an enviable view of the large barn and fence. Unlike the interior of the house, the barn and fence sported twinkling Christmas lights.
A thick but unfinished sandwich took up the majority of a white plate on the countertop. He must have been eating there when he’d spotted her car outside.
Jesse’s rough-cut smile lit up his green eyes. “Good, I’m glad to hear you’re tough. If we’re going to be trapped here together until the road’s cleared, it will be easier if we get along.”
Trapped? Now, that sounded promising.
“True enough.” She slid off her trench coat.
The room went silent as his eyes flickered with awareness, taking in her damp blouse and slacks. Her chilled skin warmed at his gaze.
Then he looked away, clearing his throat as he picked up a remote control off the island and thumbed on the sound system. Holiday tunes played softly, jazz renditions. That surprised her. She would have expected him to pick country music.
Rubbing the back of his neck, he walked over to the double wooden doors of his pantry. Intricately carved, the wood depicted a rearing horse on a landscape. It was a touch of personality in this state-of-the-art kitchen that was otherwise pretty much devoid of personality. He removed a bag of marshmallows and a mason jar filled with hot chocolate mix and set them on the counter. He pulled out milk from the fridge.
“Well, then, Esme, let’s agree not to talk about your father.” He spun a pan in his hand, setting it down on the front right burner.
Not discussing her dad was rather counterproductive to her reason for braving the storm to see him. But she wasn’t going to argue with him. She would work her way back to the subject when the opportunity arose.
“Fair enough.” And while she waited, she couldn’t resist asking, “Let’s start with who you were expecting.”
“Actually, three someones.” The milk simmered on the gas stove.
He reached up to the open shelves, selecting an oversize mug. His hands were calloused and capable, telling a story. He didn’t just own this massive spread. He worked it.
Surprise lit through her. “Three people you didn’t know and wouldn’t recognize?”
So…mystery women. What was this man up to?
Jesse had maneuvered to a well-stocked bar next to the stainless steel fridge. She noticed a sole picture beside it—of a girl in her twenties who shared his intense green eyes. A sibling perhaps? It was the first—and only—sign of personal effects she’d spotted since entering his ranch house/mansion. A private man, then.
He held up a bottle of peppermint schnapps and quirked an inquiring eyebrow. She nodded and he set the bottle on the counter beside the rest of the ingredients.
“In my defense, Esme, it was dark when I found you and you were—are drenched. Speaking of which, you should change before you catch a cold. Your hot chocolate will be ready soon.” He stood toe to toe, the spicy and damp scent of him teasing her senses. He passed over the stack of clothes—sweats, a tee and socks—his calloused knuckles brushing hers. “I’ll tell you all about the three mystery women when you get back.”
Her hands still tingling from the light touch, she sure hoped her father appreciated her efforts here. Because she suspected focus on her task was going to be tough to come by with Jesse Stevens.
She wasn’t even one day into this promotional excursion and already she’d made a mess of things. One that not even the longest, steamiest of showers could make right.
Esme was no stranger to luxury, but she still appreciated the plush robe and heated floors in the guest bathroom he led her to.
An all-Texas bathroom for sure, with a touch of modern rustic charm in the form of the polished horns on the wall opposite the luxurious Jacuzzi. But there was also a large tinted window that offered a view of the Christmas lights lining the fence. The only other lights came from a bunkhouse in the distance.
Under this roof, she was alone. With Jesse Stevens.
Exhaling hard, she plucked one of the lotions from the basket on the counter. She opened the top and inhaled the delicious scent of peppermint, which reminded her of that spiked cocoa waiting for her. Along with the man.
Smoothing the lotion onto her legs, she found her thoughts drifting back to Jesse. His broad shoulders. His blond hair spiked and mussed. Her skin tingled from more than the minty cream.
She’d never doubted her professionalism. Her cool head. And while she worked for the family company, she’d allowed this to become too personal. This wasn’t even about the business. This was about her father’s quest to be the president of a club. Which many would have thought meant she was doing a favor, not a job.
Many would be wrong. This was more than a favor. She was trying to earn her dad’s approval. Even knowing that shouldn’t matter so much to her, an adult woman, she couldn’t dodge the truth.
She risked a glance in the mirror. With her hair wet and snarled, she was a mess. A far cry from how she’d started the morning with a spa day. Even her manicure hadn’t survived, one nail broken and two others chipped.
It was almost comical, really, as if all her professional facade had been wiped away. Her slacks were ruined. Her silk blouse very likely unsalvageable, too.
All that was left of the real her were her champagne-colored satin underwear and her diamond stud earrings.
At least she had something to wear other than the robe. She stepped into the baggy sweatpants, then the Texas A&M pullover, the fabric warm and tantalizing against her bare skin. She tugged on the athletic socks, bunching them around her ankles. A far cry from the heels she’d slipped on this morning with such relish. But as least she was warm. And clean.
She left the steam-filled bathroom and returned to her suite. Swiping her phone from the coffee table, she dropped down into the desk chair next to the fireplace. Stones flanked the fireplace, giving the guest suite the feel of a swanky cabin. Her toes sank into the plush rug as she FaceTimed her sister.
Of all of her siblings, Angela Perry worried the most. And judging by the four texts Esme had received while she was showering, her sister was imagining every worst-case scenario.
She propped the phone against a leather-bound book on the desk to free her hands to brush through the rat’s nest that had replaced her hair.
Within a few rings, her sister’s blond hair and rounded face came into view. Angela sat on the ground in front of the new gas fireplace she’d just had installed, flames flickering. Orchestral carols played softly in the background.
“Well, hello there.” Angela stared back at her, her blue eyes flaring in surprise. “You look…not like yourself. No offense meant.”
“None taken.” Running the brush through a knot in her hair, Esme laughed lightly. Her sister had never been a clotheshorse, preferring an understated style. A love of fashion had been at least one thing Esme could share with Melinda, since Angela and her twin had just about everything else in common.
They even lived in the same condominium building—an upscale thirty-two-floor limestone high-rise with wraparound windows and expansive views. The twins had even chosen the same layout, Angela on the fifteenth floor and Melinda on the twenty-fourth.
“Well, this has been quite a day. Or night, rather.”
Angela tossed a scrap of Christmas wrapping paper into the fire behind her, then reached for another roll. “Definitely not the image of my glamorous sister.”
“Stranger things have happened.” But heat still stung her cheeks. One of the ways Esme gained her confidence—and kept her sensitive soul in check—was through a careful curation of makeup, hair and luxurious clothes. The oversize sweats she was wearing rattled her. Threw her off-balance.
Though, if she were being honest, not any more than her sexy host.
Her sister’s thin fingers moved deftly over a small stack of jewelry boxes with elegant silver script reading “Diamonds in the Rough.” Esme guessed the packages were for her and Melinda, not that she could see inside. Most likely Melinda’s contained something to celebrate her baby on the way. The pregnancy had been a surprise to Melinda and her new husband, Slade, but a welcome one. And pregnancy hadn’t slowed down her sister’s philanthropic works one bit.
To her right, Angela had a bin filled with gold and red foil paper with intricate bows. Designer-level gift-wrapping supplies. A small stack of already-wrapped presents glistened in the fire glow. Esme always told her sister they could afford to pay someone to wrap the gifts for them, but Angela insisted she enjoyed doing it herself, making each one a work of art.
And Christmas was all the more special since Angela had reunited with her former fiancé, Ryder Currin.
Angela ripped clear tape off to secure the golden foil on one of the smaller jewelry boxes. “I’m glad you called. I was starting to get worried. Weather reports are looking terrible in Royal.”
Esme thought of the soaked, muddy clothes she had carefully placed in a bag next to the bathtub. She winced a little. “The reports are accurate.”
“But you’re okay?” her sister asked, genuine worry in her voice.
She nodded, enjoying the soft sounds of violins surging through “Ave Maria.”
“I got caught in a flash flood, but lucky for me, I was close to Stevens’s ranch. He saw my headlights and came to my rescue.”
“Sounds like a close call. I can’t imagine your low-slung car held up well in those conditions.”
“You can get the judgy tone out of your voice. I know you weren’t a fan of my purchase.” Esme worked the last of the tangles from her hair, smoothing the brush down the length until she was satisfied that all the knots were out. At least she’d managed to restore some semblance of order in her life.
“It’s your money to do with as you please,” her sister said as she reached toward a stack of unwrapped presents. Picking up a handsome brass shaving kit, she started sizing up the necessary material to wrap it.
“Well, you can rest easy. My next purchase will come with four-wheel drive.” Sporty four-wheel drive.
Angela set down the paper and peered into the screen, her blue eyes fixed but still kind. The look of an older sister. “I just care about you.”
“I know.” It was tough to discard the defensiveness sometimes, feeling like an outsider with her sisters’ twin bond. “And thank you for caring.”
Her sister nodded, continuing her methodical wrapping. Without looking up from lining up the edge of the paper with machinelike precision, she said, “So, what’s the progress with Jesse Stevens?”
“I’ve barely had time to shower, much less make progress.”
“Shower?” She raised a blond eyebrow. “At Jesse Stevens’s house? You’re there now?”
“Yes, and no need to sound scandalized. I was drenched. I needed to change.” She glanced down at her clothes. When was the last time she’d worn sweats? High school maybe. Or middle school. As rarely as she could manage. “But enough about me. How was your date with Ryder last night?”
Her sister had been engaged to none other than their father’s longtime nemesis Ryder Currin, who also happened to be in the running to head the Houston branch of the Texas Cattleman’s Club. Angela and Ryder had broken up, but were now back together again with Sterling Perry’s blessing. Esme would wager money a reengagement wasn’t too far off.
She just hoped Ryder was really right for her sister. He’d been married twice before—divorced from the first wife and widowed by the second. He had one child from each of those marriages, plus an adopted daughter. All adults. Such a complicated blended family.
Angela deserved to have a man love her unconditionally.
“I never thought he and I would have another chance, but things are good, really good.”
Her blue eyes turned wistful and the smile that warmed her face drew a pang of guilt from Esme over her doubts and concerns.
“I wish I could have been there for us to talk all about it in person over lunch.”
Angela nodded, her smile still present but soft. “That would have been fun, but I understand.”
Her sister leaned back to the pile of gifts—a cashmere scarf, leather-bound books, artisanal reclaimed-wood trays. The silver strands in her chunky gray sweater glimmered.
Christmas was coming at the end of the month and Esme hadn’t even begun her shopping. She wished she had her sister’s love for organization and gift-giving. Maybe then she would feel more connected to the holiday. “If only I’d waited to leave…”
“Dad appreciates what you’re doing for him. This is important.”
Was it, though? More important than being with her sister? She’d tried to convince her dad that this could wait a couple of days, but he’d insisted. And she hadn’t stood up to him. She’d even had the weather as an excuse and she hadn’t taken it.
“Well, I’ll be back in Houston before you know it. We can have brunch and chat over mimosas.”
“That would great. Just let me know when you’re finished there and I’ll line it up with Melinda, too. We’ll definitely need to make it brunch and not breakfast, since Melinda still gets morning sickness.” She chewed her fingernail thoughtfully, then added, “Perhaps we could include Tatiana, as well, if you don’t mind.”
Esme bit her lip to keep from blurting how she wanted to do things on her own with Angela, without their sister, much less Angela’s bestie, Tatiana Havery.
Tatiana, a vice president at Perry Holdings who specialized in real estate, had been going through a tough time ever since it came out that Willem Inwood was her estranged half brother. And now that he’d been arrested last week? It would be petty to exclude her.
“Mimosa brunch with you, Melinda and Tatiana. Count on it. Maybe we should invite Ryder’s two daughters. I could get to know my future nieces better.” She chuckled at the irony of that, since Ryder’s daughters were both adults. There was an age gap between Ryder and Angela, but since her sister didn’t mind, then who was Esme to judge?
“Okay, then. I will.” Angela fluffed her golden-blond hair, surveying the mess of ribbon and foil paper strips around her. “All right, sis, I need to clean up this mess. Thank you for checking in. Please stay in touch.”
“I will, just as soon as I have something to report.” Esme waved before signing off.
Sighing, she swept her hair into a loose topknot. Casual glam, she told herself.
Time to face her sexy host and try not to wonder if a kiss from him would taste of peppermint schnapps.
Jesse stared out the kitchen window at the water pooling outside, covering the driveway. As the storm continued to rage, he was glad he’d reached Esme when he did.
No denying it, the woman who’d crashed into his life this evening had made quite an impression. He thought about the way her wet clothes clung to her, outlined her shapely body.
Not that she was his type. Too city. Too polished for a ranch lifestyle. Not that it mattered. He had three potential matches coming to the ranch.
Still, his thoughts drifted to the way her wet hair fell in waves. No. He couldn’t deny being intrigued by the woman who was currently cleaning herself up in his shower as the rain pelted down.
In the oversize mug, he stirred the hot chocolate. The mug in his hand had been a gift from his little sister. She’d made it in a pottery class, rightly guessing that something homemade would mean more to him. He could buy anything he wanted.
His sister had a knack. The pottery was expertly crafted. She’d called it part of her robin’s-egg collection.
He wasn’t an overly sentimental man, and even though he and his sister weren’t close, this mug represented his last link to family. To something grounding.
After giving the hot chocolate a final stir, he popped the top of the peppermint schnapps, deciding Esme should be the judge of her alcohol level. He didn’t want to pour too much. Who knew what her alcohol tolerance was? And he wasn’t one to take advantage. He prided himself on being a man of honor.
And he needed to stay focused on his search for a bride, someone who wanted to share this lifestyle with him and build a family.
He turned back to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee with a shot of whiskey in it. Then settled onto a barstool at the kitchen island where his half-eaten sandwich still waited. Fried steak between two thick slices of Texas toast. He took another bite and washed it down with his spiked coffee, the taste firing through his veins on this damn long day.
As he continued to eat his sandwich to the rhythm of rain and thunder, he reflected on the events of the last hour. Now he regretted calling Esme’s family “infamous.” The word had a crueler inflection than he had meant. Especially since Esme’s father was no longer a suspect in the murder. He understood too well what it felt like to be wrongly accused.
Tearing into another bite of his sandwich, he went over the events of the murder investigation in his mind.
He’d been shocked when he was questioned by keen Houston detective Zoe Warren. All because of an argument he’d had with Vincent Hamm. Someone he’d thought he could count on. His kid sister just graduated with an MBA from one of the top programs in the country. Not only was she his sister and he had a strong sense of family, but his sister was also brilliant, with a sharp mind for business. Jesse had asked Vincent to help get his sister in at Perry Holdings. But Vincent refused to even set up an interview for Janet.
Jesse took another sip of his coffee, still trying to understand why, despite all the favors Jesse had done for him, Vincent wouldn’t lift a finger to help.
Rage had filled him. He’d believed the worst of his friend. That a big-city job with a fancy salary at Perry Holdings had gone to Vincent’s head. That he’d forgotten who he was. Jesse had responded with anger.
And then, a few weeks after their strange encounter, Vincent Hamm was dead. And not just dead—murdered.
A brief angry voice mail from Jesse to Vincent had turned up in the authorities’ investigation. A handful of words. Crazy. But Jesse, ever a rule follower and ever meticulous, had a solid alibi. He’d been three hours away at a cattle auction. His location south of Houston was certifiable, easily tracked through his purchase records and through his hotel visit. Nearly all his time was accounted for. There was no feasible way he could have been the murderer. As a law-abiding man, he’d voluntarily submitted to a lie detector test, which he’d passed. He wanted Vincent’s actual killer to be found. Sooner rather than later.
He thumped the edge of his own mug, heat transferring ever so slightly from the ceramic to his fingertips.
Jesse’s attention returned to the present as he heard the creak of the guest suite door and soft footfalls on the hardwood floor. Then there she was. Esme Perry.
He stood slowly. Damn.
The mug was no longer the only thing throwing heat in the kitchen.
Esme walked deeper into the kitchen, looking too damn sexy in his Texas A&M sweats. Even wearing his athletic socks bunched down around her ankles, she somehow made it all work into an elegant ensemble right down to her diamond stud earrings.
“Well, Miss Esme, you are definitely unmistakable now,” he said, nudging her mug and the bottle of schnapps toward her.
“It’s nice to be dry again.” She gestured to her wet hair. “At least somewhat.” She poured some of the liquor into the mug, stirred thoughtfully. Almost absently.
She lifted the mug to her lips, and he found himself unable to look away, imagining how soft they would be.
“I’m glad to help.” He waited for her to sit before reclaiming his place on the barstool. “Did you reach home to let them know you’re okay?”
“I did. Just now. I called my sister Angela. We were talking about plans to meet for brunch.” Her delicate nose scrunched with worry. “We haven’t had much time to talk lately since she got back together with Ryder.”
Everyone in Royal had been blown away at the news when Angela and Ryder had gotten engaged. A Perry and a Currin? Unimaginable. Then they had broken things off, and now were apparently a couple again.
Jesse shook his head. He wanted something more stable in his life. “You and she are close?”
She hesitated for a telling moment. “Angela and Melinda are twins. Then I have a brother, Roarke. We all love one another.”
He’d heard the gossip that Roarke was rumored to be Ryder Currin’s biological son, rumors so strong they’d taken a DNA test. A test that proved Roarke truly was a Perry. Still, the whole ordeal must have put a strain on their family. “That’s not the same as being close.”
“The twins are close, and our brother has always gone his own way. He’s happy, though, working at Perry Holdings in Houston in a newly formed ethics department. He still does part-time work offering legal, too.”
“He sounds like quite the crusading attorney for the underdog. I imagine you’re proud of him.”
“I am. It wasn’t easy for him to find his own path. He and Dad butt heads because our father expected Roarke to go into the family business. But that’s enough of our family drama.” She shrugged, her hair rippling over her shoulder in a blond waterfall. “So you have siblings?”
Her eyes flickered to the photograph tucked on the marble countertop.
Esme was observant. He’d give her that.
“I have a sister. She’s all the family I have left, actually. I thought I was going to lose her not too long ago. Her appendix ruptured and she had to have emergency surgery.”
Hospital runs and the smell of antiseptic filled his memory. The bargaining and praying for his sister’s life he’d done were still a visceral memory in his stomach.
“I’m so sorry. Is she all right now?”
“She is.” He looked at the mug in Esme’s hand, thankful for his sister’s recovery.
“Thank goodness. Still, that had to have been a scary time for you.”
“It was.”
Rain continued to fall outside, filling the pause with controlled chaos.
She looked into her mug, swirling the hot chocolate around without meeting his gaze. “Actually, you weren’t wrong. My sisters have a special bond. My brother, well, his earlier move to Dallas wasn’t all that surprising. Now that he’s back, that seems to be changing some. Regardless, I’m still stuck somewhere in the middle. But that’s all right. Not everyone has the same relationship.”
“You don’t sound like it’s okay.”
She raised an eyebrow in surprise, then took another sip of the hot chocolate as she leaned on the granite countertop. She spread her fingers out wide as if soaking in the cool texture. “About those three someones… I’m dying to know more.”
“Dates.”
Her eyes went wide, and she inched back. “All three? At the same time?”
“Whoa. It’s not what you’re thinking.” He held up his hands defensively, chuckling. “I signed up for a dating service, a matchmaker. She’s lined up a trio of candidates. They were each supposed to come out here individually to meet with me, to see my ranching lifestyle and decide if it’s off-putting. It’s not for everyone.”
Her gaze flickering away at the mention of ranching not being for all, she wriggled her toes in his overlarge socks. “A matchmaker. Seriously?”
“Plenty of people sign up for online services. I opted for the matchmaker because of lack of time.” Absolutely the truth. And he found a certain sort of…practicality about having an expert match him with someone with similar interests. It saved time rather than meeting scores of women socially and trusting fate to somehow work out his future.
Her forehead furrowing in confusion, Esme leaned slightly forward. “Why do you want to have a girlfriend if you don’t even have time to look for one?”
Well, that was easy enough to answer. “I don’t want a girlfriend. I want a wife.”
Three (#u359c0538-a906-5383-9cbb-97439e1d4a79)
“A wife?” Esme repeated, certain she couldn’t have heard him correctly. Hot cocoa cradled in her hand, she studied him through narrowed eyes, but couldn’t read if he was serious or not. Which could have something to do with how she kept looking at his impossibly broad shoulders. “You’re punking me, aren’t you?”
“Not at all.” He set his coffee cup aside. “I’m looking for a wife.”
A flash of disappointment rippled through her. Silly really, since the last thing she wanted was a rancher. “A wife. Not simply a date. That’s just… Well, I’m surprised you’re already thinking that far down the road about someone you haven’t even met.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Your shock is a little insulting.”
“But you’re a man.” Her eyes were drawn to his arms before she could stop herself. His muscular arms. Arms that had carried her so effortlessly.
“And that comment is decidedly sexist.” His green eyes flashed with heat.
She grabbed her mug quickly. She should probably hush before she alienated him altogether. “I apologize. I only meant it’s a leap from first date to the altar.”
“Apology accepted.” He reached for the refrigerator door, his flannel shirt pulling taut along his muscular chest. “Whipped cream?”
“What?” she asked, startled, her gaze shooting back up to his face.
“For your hot chocolate.” He held out a can, pointing in her direction.
Her mind traveled sexy pathways, imagining things they could do with that sweet treat.
“Uh, sure.” She reached for the can, spraying a swirl inside her mug, when she really wanted to fill her mouth with the stuff and quench at least one hunger. “Of course, there’s no reason in the world why you shouldn’t find love.”
“I didn’t say anything about love,” he said in the most logical of voices. “Just marriage.”
Again, he’d surprised her. This man wasn’t at all what she’d expected from reading about him online before her trip to Royal. “Marriage but no love?”
The thought of that chilled her with memories of her parents’ loveless marriage. Too many nights, her mother had cried herself to sleep over her husband’s staying late at the office yet again. Esme wanted more for herself than that and felt sorry for anyone willing to settle for less.
“Why not? I have my life in order—this house, the ranch.” He ticked off points one finger at a time. “The timing is right for the next step. A wife. Then kids.”
He’d laid out the events as matter-of-factly as he’d laid out the ingredients to make her hot chocolate. He’d described the process of creating a family as if he was listing the week’s upcoming groceries.
She raised an eyebrow. “Do these three mystery women know they’re expected to pop out children right away?”
Esme imagined what his dream woman was like. What she wanted. What would make her forsake the idea of love.
Not that Esme had had a lot of luck in that department. Still, she wasn’t giving up on finding love—when the time was right, with the man who was right.
She gulped down more hot cocoa and struggled not to wince as it burned her tongue.
“We all filled out extensive questionnaires. Our wishes for the future are in line.”
Well, now, that wasn’t subtle at all. “And I’m in the way.”
Esme blinked a sting of jealousy. She’d only just met Jesse. And while he was sure one sexy cowboy with his slightly tousled blond hair, she knew better than to assume they were anything more than two very opposite people stuck together riding out a rainstorm.
With precise, athletic footfalls, he made his way over to the window and looked outside into the tempest.
“In this storm, I seriously doubt any of them will be showing up.” He turned to her and his gaze held on her upper lip, and she realized she had a hint of whipped cream clinging there.
Jesse returned to her, offering her a napkin. She took it, dabbing her mouth slowly. His eyes flamed hotter and she wondered what it would have been like to let him kiss her upper lip, to taste him in return.
She swallowed hard to will away the sensation. “How do they feel about being a part of this edition of Catch a Bachelor: Rancher Style?”
He shot her an amused glance, easing back a step. “This isn’t a reality show.”
“Of course not.” She rolled her eyes, struggling for levity. “No cameras.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “And they’re coming at different times so they don’t cross paths.”
“How very…civil.” And cold. “How do your brides-to-be feel about this emotionless transaction?”
“To be fair, they know about the process. No one’s being deceived.”
He leaned against the island, an arm’s length away. Esme’s eyes drifted to his shiny engraved belt buckle. Snapping her attention back to their conversation, she considered the less robotic aspects of such an arrangement. All likes and dislikes already sorted. Everyone knowing the rules of the game. Everyone understanding expectations, too. No mystery. Nothing as quirky as fate intervening.
That was something, at least. “Glad to hear it.”
A slow, disarming grin spread across his face. “Are you interested in joining the process?”
“Whoa, nuh-uh.” She held up her hands in protest. “I’m in no hurry to fill a nursery, and I’ve had enough of ranch living.”
He tipped his head to the side, studying her, amusement in his eyes replaced by curiosity. “Yet you grew up on a ranch.”
Her childhood home on the outskirts of Houston was a sprawling mansion, almost castle-like, surrounded by pastures, elegant barns. The spread was a huge, billion-dollar cattle-and-horse operation started by her maternal grandfather, then passed on to her parents. And even with all of that, Esme had still moved into the city the first chance she had.
“Exactly. No more ranching for me.” And that was all the reminder she needed for why she should keep her distance from this man and stay focused on her reason for being here. “Thank you for the hot cocoa and the clothes and the rescue. I should turn in for the night.”
She rinsed her mug and made fast tracks for the guest suite before she was tempted to stay in the kitchen. To listen to the warm timbre of his voice.
To imagine the taste of whiskey from his coffee on his tongue if he kissed her.
Sleep had been a difficult commodity for Jesse, with images of his surprise houseguest filling his dreams. Visions of her soaking wet, yet equally enticing in sweats. What would it be like to peel those clothes from her body?
Restless, he’d finally given up sleep just before dawn and gone to the barn to burn off energy.
His cowboy boots reverberated on the cement floor as he approached Juniper’s stall. Grabbing the supple brown leather halter and lead, he made his way into the stall of his newest horse.
Juniper, a young dapple gray mare, stretched her neck, giving her tangled mane a shake. She sniffed his hand, her whiskers softly touching his palm. The horse exhaled warm breath against his fingertips, a welcome sensation in the cool, damp morning air. Stepping closer, Jesse slipped the cognac halter on her head and led the mare to the crossties, where his brushes were waiting for him.
He never grew tired of this, the connection with his horses and the land. Ranching was more than a job to him. It was a way of life.
Picking up a currycomb, he moved his hand in circular patterns. Excess hair and dirt gathered in the brush.
Other horses poked their heads from stalls. The barn held two rows of twelve stalls. Buddy, his first gelding, lazily chewed on hay, dropping bits of straw onto the ground. Flash, a muscular chestnut quarter horse, loosed a whinny. Beneath his hands, Juniper sucked in a breath before belting out an answering noise.
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Catherine Mann
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 23.04.2024
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О книге: “I don’t want a girlfriend. I want a wife. ” When Houston heiress Esme Perry is stranded at Jesse Stevens’ ranch days before Christmas, he’s torn. This sexy city girl is totally wrong for him. So why does he find her utterly, impractically irresistible?