The Rancher's Seduction
Author
Catherine Mann
Reads
16.3K
Chapters
13
HarlequinOne
Tallulah Benson had been told at a young age that she’d been given an exciting name to go with a fairy-tale future. She just wished her life hadn’t stalled out at the floor-sweeping version of Cinderella. No crystal slippers for her. She spent her days in sneakers.
She climbed the icy steps to the porch on the sprawling ranch home. To call it a log cabin would be an understatement since the two-story structure sported over eight thousand square feet—or so the job assignment had stated.
Bottom line, Tallulah—Tally—was grateful to have steady work as a housekeeper to pay her bills. If this latest gig cleaning for one of the oil-wealthy Steele family members went well, her résumé would be padded for more jobs cleaning for the rich and famous, which carried a substantial bump in her hourly rate. She needed the work. Both of her parents had died before her eighteenth birthday. She had no cushy savings or family safety net to fall back on.
By nineteen, she’d learned all too well how harsh life could be when no one had her back. Ten years hadn’t dimmed the pain of giving up her baby for adoption, even knowing she’d made the right decision for her newborn son. These days, she controlled her life.
Tally stabbed the doorbell, the tones pealing through the walls of rancher Marshall Steele’s home.
Marshall had used a twice-a-week cleaning service in the past. But a recent accident during a rodeo had left him with a broken arm during the Christmas season. So she’d been hired full-time for six weeks, at his doctor’s recommendation. The opportunity she’d been waiting for.
She had a history with his family.
She tapped the doorbell again, but no one came. She knocked on the thick oak door and—
A blistering curse cut the air.
Another expletive reverberated, followed by a substantial splash. She gripped the thick wooden rail, looking around. The frozen pond out front was clear and unbroken. Thank goodness. Winters in Alaska could be treacherous.
More curses carried on the late-afternoon wind. Now that the shock had passed, she realized the shouts were most definitely coming from the back of the house.
She secured her grasp on her heavy purse and picked her way faster down the steps and along the slick walk. Her feet crunched through packed snow, trees creating an icy arbor as she followed the voice to the back of the ranch-style mansion.
A glass dome covered a pool area.
She peered through the frost-speckled windows. Unable to believe what she saw, she blinked, and still the strange vision was clear as day.
A towering man with jet-black hair waded chest-deep in the water with his arm overhead to keep his cast dry.
It could only be her boss, Marshall Steele. Risking his cast—or worse yet, risking slipping into the depths—to save a dog.
Marshall inched closer to a scruffy little mutt paddling in panicked circles. Tally’s heart squeezed in sympathy for the dog, her gaze drawn to the pup’s unlikely savior. Time to quit gawking and act.
She prayed the side door of the solarium was unlocked. She tugged and—thank goodness—the sliding glass panes parted. “Hello? Can I help you?”
A gust of wind blew through the open door, rippling the man’s discarded jacket by the pool, Stetson on top shuddering slightly.
He didn’t answer, his focus on the dog. Maybe he hadn’t heard her?
Rushing closer, she needed to help before he got the plaster wet. And the poor pup was gulping in water, growing more frantic by the second.
Tally tugged off her boots and slid out of her coat before wading down the steps. “Hello? Let me get the puppy before you get your cast wet or slip—”
He glanced over his shoulder.
She almost lost her footing. His coal-dark eyes chased away the chill in an instant, sparking tingles of awareness. Such magnetism. Such mystery.
Such raw sex appeal.
It wasn’t fair for one man to be that handsome and rich. His thick black hair curled ever so slightly from the water. He had impossibly long eyelashes and dark eyes with an exotic air. The hard lines of his body broadcast muscles earned the old-fashioned way and not through a gym.
This was her boss?
Heaven help her. Life wasn’t fair sometimes. Given the secrets she held, the sensual draw posed a serious risk. But her need for peace with the past and a steady future insisted she hold firm to taking this job.
She shrugged off the unwanted attraction and focused on plunging deeper into the pool, wading, then swimming past him in awkward splashes as the warmed waters pulled at her clothes.
“Be careful,” he called, his deep voice muffled by the water in her ears. “Don’t get bitten.”
She didn’t bother answering. She hadn’t thought about the scared canine biting an unfamiliar person. But the possibility didn’t deter her. The pup needed saving, and her boss needed to keep his cast dry. Yet another twist on her imagined fairy-tale life. She did the saving these days.
Swooping an arm forward, she wriggled her fingers. And just missed the mutt. She heard more splashing behind her as her boss—Marshall—approached.
The dog’s head dipped from sight. Panic flared inside her, followed by determination. She dived underwater and powered toward the sinking dog. She stretched her arms, making every inch count. She reached with both hands and sank her fingers into the fur, hauling the little fella tightly to her chest.
Kicking hard, she powered to the surface and extended her arms upward. The soggy scrap squirmed in her grip, gasping for air. Her feet found the bottom, and she started toward the shallow end.
Slamming straight into a steel wall of wet man.
Of course he couldn’t have conveniently been some flabby octogenarian. Her boss was so hot, she half expected the water dripping from him to start steaming off his muscled body instead.
“Um,” she stuttered, “excuse me.”
“Nothing to excuse. You’ve saved the day.” His low voice was as sexy as those muscles.
“Hardly.” She eased past him. She’d worked too hard to nab this job to let wayward attraction derail her.
In sync, they sank back onto the pool steps, side by side, his thigh against hers.
“Thanks for getting Nugget,” he said gruffly, taking the squirming dog from her with one hand. Not a puppy at all, but a full-grown small-breed dog. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said breathlessly, wondering why she didn’t move away. “How’s your cast?”
“Fine, no worries.” His injured arm rested on the edge of the pool, the soaked mutt tucked under his other arm. “I appreciate your assistance out there. Nugget slipped into the pool as we were coming in from a walk. He got disoriented and couldn’t find the steps.”
This scraggly little brown scrap was his? She would have expected this man to have some large breed, a hunting dog maybe.
What other surprises did this Alaskan oil baron heir have in store?
“Glad to have been of service,” she said.
“And you are?” He lifted an eyebrow, his gaze flickering ever so quickly over her wet shirt. Not lingering so long to be offensive, but just enough to relay interest.
And he didn’t know who she was.
Awkward.
She should have realized... “I’m your new housekeeper, Tallulah Benson. People call me Tally.”
His smile faded, and he stepped from the pool. When he stood, water dripped from his soaked jeans. Denim clung to one of the best butts she’d ever seen.
“Ah. Tallulah Benson. Right. You’re the person my doctor and stepmother conspired to hire.”
Conspired? His stepmother—Jeannie Steele—had implied she was merely helping him with the interview process. Tally rose, the enclosed area not as warm now that she was drenched. “I was under the impression your arm limits mobility for certain tasks.” She cast an exaggerated glance at the shimmering waters. “Such as swimming.”
“I would have managed,” he said on his way to a set of shelves with stacks of folded towels. “Worst-case scenario, the cast might have needed to be replaced.”
“No doubt you would have been just fine.” Provided he hadn’t slipped. “But you don’t have to manage. Are we going to stand here and catch pneumonia while we argue, or am I hired?”
“Hey, I’m sorry to be a bear.” He pulled a tight smile, flexing his hand at the end of his cast. “I know this isn’t your fault. You’re just doing your job.”
“So happy we’re finally on the same page about my working here.”
“For six weeks. But just so we’re clear, I’m not incapable of taking care of myself.” He opened a large cabinet and pulled a towel free, wrapping up the shivering pup.
“Understood. And I’m not a nurse. I’m here to clean and cook for you.” She grinned, crinkling her nose. “And save your puppy.”
The glimmer of humor in his dark eyes sparked a hunger deep in her belly. She’d been so busy working the past couple of years to make ends meet, there’d been virtually no time for dating, much less something more intimate. Not that it was a possibility with her boss, especially not this boss. She was holding on to secrets about her father’s role in his family’s tragedy.
“Please help yourself to the towels. I would get one for you, but I’m limited these days.”
She reached past him for the fluffy terry cloth, more to shield herself than to dry off. Her breasts were beading with awareness, much to her embarrassment. Hopefully he would chalk it up to the cold weather. She prided herself on her professionalism. She might not be from an oil-rich family like him, but she was proud of her work. Of the life she’d built all by herself.
Life hadn’t been as easy for her as it had been for Marshall Steele, born with money and good looks.
She hugged the plush towel.
An awkward silence fell between them, a truly inauspicious start to her first day on the job. This man—his well-being—was a part of her job description.
“Are you all right? Did you get your cast wet or slip before I arrived?” she asked. “We should get you checked out by the doctor.”
“You’re not my nurse, remember?” He tossed her words back at her. “And you don’t look anything like a Tallulah.”
He’d been expecting someone more...formal perhaps? There wasn’t much she could do about that right now. But she would earn his respect with her job performance. “Well, I guess that’s why people call me Tally.” She smiled. “The service said you’d asked for live-in help over the Christmas season while your arm heals.”
“Live-in?” He tossed aside the damp towel and wrapped a fresh one around the dog. “I was expecting day service.”
“It’s a long drive from town, especially if the weather’s bad, which is typical this time of year.” She struggled to keep the panic out of her voice, her teeth chattering. “I was told there would be room and board included.”
“My stepmother overreached. Just because she’s been married to my father for a few months doesn’t give her the right to schedule my life.”
A cold knot started in her stomach. Tally had heard rumors that things were strained blending families when the Steele patriarch had married the widowed matriarch of their business rivals, the Mikklesons. The news had been full of bumps in the road as the Steeles and Mikkelsons merged their companies into the Alaska Oil Barons.
Tally needed to make him understand her need to stay here. “I’ve already sublet my apartment to an older couple from Kansas who want an extended Alaskan Christmas.”
“Sounds like you’re in a pickle.”
His dismissive tone set her teeth on edge. This wasn’t a game to her. This position was crucial to her finally putting her past to rest. She needed to keep the job, and she didn’t have the disposable income to just find another place to live. Never again would she be flat broke and vulnerable.
“I signed a contract. It clearly states room and board are included.”
“I’ll reimburse you, and you can stay in a hotel.” And still he hadn’t opened the door into the house.
Someone as wealthy as Marshall Steele couldn’t possibly understand what it felt like to have no one to depend on, no options.
“Your stepmother will be upset.” She searched for the right tone to persuade him to go along with Jeannie Mikkelson Steele’s plan. “She seems like a very caring person with your best interest at heart.”
“And she’s your boss.”
“No. Actually, you are my boss.”
“If I let you stay.” His half smile encouraged her.
And enticed her.
She hugged her towel tighter around herself. “We can debate the details later. Right now, it seems there are more pressing matters at hand. Such as caring for the dog and finding dry clothes.” She held up a conciliatory hand between them. “Can we please table this discussion until we’re both in dry clothes?”
His eyes flashed with heat again, just a hint, that awareness staying in the respectful realm while still flattering. “Fair enough.” He nodded toward the door. “Follow me and I’ll show you to a guest suite. I assume since you planned to stay, you have a suitcase.”
“I do.” She rushed to add, “And please don’t insist on getting it. It won’t look good on my résumé if you break your other arm.”
He chuckled, but his jaw had a stubborn set. “If I let you carry your own luggage, I’ll have to surrender rights to my Stetson. You can hold Nugget while I get your things out of your car.”
He passed the dog to her. Without another word, he disappeared outside in his wet clothes. She cuddled the little dog—some kind of tiny terrier—close. Her boss was a stubborn one, all right. She would do well to remember that and tread warily. Surrendering on the suitcase issue seemed wise. She secured the towel around the shivering dog and cradled him like a baby.
Working for anyone in the oil-rich Steele family would prove to be a boon in more ways than one. She could pad her résumé in a way her previous jobs hadn’t provided. And being with the Steele family could give her the opportunity to somehow make peace with her past. She desperately needed to find resolution for how the long-ago tragedy in Marshall’s life had eventually led to her own father’s suicide. He’d been her last living relative, other than a newborn baby she’d given up the next year.
How surreal that her life, her past, was so entwined with this man’s. Not that he or his family even knew who she was. And she preferred to keep it that way for now. As far as they knew, she was just the temporary maid service.
But she was also the daughter of the drunk airplane mechanic responsible for the death of Marshall’s mother and sister.
“Nugget, it appears our quiet bachelor-pad lifestyle has suffered an invasion,” Marshall Steele said to his scrappy little mutt, currently sprawled on the bathroom floor, clearly savoring the heated tiles.
Easing the arm of a T-shirt over his cast, Marshall couldn’t stop thinking about the new cleaning lady who would be living under his roof for the next six weeks.
He preferred the solitude of his ranch home, or of recreational time spent riding and reading. Solitude was something the rest of his overlarge family didn’t seem to understand. The cleaning lady was the latest in their well-meaning attempts to help him. He’d thought their insisting on the holiday charity fund-raiser being held at his house was a rather heavy-handed way of interfering with his social life. But sending a sexy woman to live in his house for the next six weeks was definitely going overboard.
And yes, he was grouchy as hell after taking a tumble at the end of a rodeo ten days ago, breaking his dominant arm in two places. The cast and sling left him barely able to dress himself. He was stuck wearing shirts a size too large so he could wedge his cast through. Thanks to one ill-timed kick from a horse, he couldn’t even manage to save a ten-pound mutt from a paddle in a pool.
A mutt currently drifting off to sleep, unimpressed with anything Marshall had to say.
He worked the button fly on his jeans, trying to keep his mind off images of his new housekeeper in her suite changing into dry clothes, too. Images of her sleeping under his roof at night.
Having her work days here helping prepare for the upcoming fund-raiser to be held at his home would have been somewhat simpler to manage than having her be his damn babysitter. But it wasn’t fair to penalize her for his family’s overreach.
Which left him with a dilemma.
He believed her when she said she’d sublet her place to save money. And she was correct that his stepmother—and therefore his father, too—would be upset if Marshall rejected help recovering. But Tally was a significant distraction.
He kept a rigid control over his world now, a far cry from his partying years full-time on the rodeo circuit. He’d played hard—drunk hard. Too hard. He’d been sober now for four years. Not a minute of it easy, but then taking it one day at a time was part of the program.
He should have known better than to step back into the rodeo ring, even for a onetime special show. For an instant, he’d been distracted by demons from the past, and now he had a broken arm to show for it.
As well as the knowledge it could have been much worse if that hoof had caught him in the gut or head.
He needed to get his focus back and his life reined in again. Holidays were difficult enough with the stress they brought, but with his recent accident... He was in a vulnerable place. He needed to steer clear of any temptations that could derail his sobriety.
He picked up the phone and dialed his father. “Dad, you and I need to have a talk.”
Jack Steele chuckled on the other end. “About what?”
“I’m not sure what agenda you and Jeannie have going on, but it’s not going to work.” The two were inseparable. Marshall found it tough to believe his father wouldn’t know about the new employee. He snagged his socks from the top of his dresser and sat on his king-size bed.
“You’ll have to give me more information. I’m in the dark.”
Marshall thumbed the phone on speaker with a frustrated sigh so he could tug on his socks one-handed. “Just because so many of your kids are settling down doesn’t mean I’m interested in joining the ranks of the duly domesticated.”
“So you keep telling us,” his father answered. “And what does this have to do with Jeannie?”
“I agreed for her to hire a part-time housekeeper. Not a live-in Victoria’s Secret supermodel.”
His dad laughed again, louder this time. “Son, I don’t see why the two are mutually exclusive. Seems that would be politically incorrect and downright wrong to factor looks into the hiring equation.”
Something was up. He just didn’t know what. “Did Jeannie interview the prospects?”
The line went silent.
“My point exactly.”
“So the housekeeper’s that attractive?”
Understatement. Her red hair, perfect curves and personality full of grit had sparked a fire in him. “Well, it didn’t help that she was starring in a wet T-shirt contest when we met.”
His father spluttered on the other end of the phone. “Run that by me again?”
“I was in the pool fishing out Nugget—”
“Whoa. Hold on. You were swimming with your cast on?”
“The dog fell in, so to call my rescue efforts ‘swimming’ is a stretch. Besides, I kept my arm above the water.” He tugged on gym shoes. Even putting on his boots was an ordeal.
“That was damn reckless,” his father said softly. “What if you’d reinjured yourself, worse this time?”
“Then I would have gotten patched up again. I couldn’t let Nugget drown. You would have done the same.”
A low grunt carried through the phone line. “True enough. How did the pup end up in the pool?”
“We were coming in from a walk,” he said, casting an eye at the scraggly pup who had come into his life when a member of his AA group had moved to Europe, “and Nugget ran through the sunroom door full tilt straight into the water.”
“Then the new hire showed up?”
“Exactly. Tallulah Benson’s got spunk, I’ll give her that.” He couldn’t shake the memory of seeing her plunge into the water, determination firing in her hazel eyes. And for heaven’s sake, how was it he remembered her eye color? “She jumped in, pushed right past me and scooped up Nugget.”
“Ah, thus the wet T-shirt reference.”
“Uh-huh.” The revived image of her soaking wet with all those curves on display threatened to steal his focus clean out from under him. “I was worried about her getting bitten since the mutt was so freaked out by this point. But she handled things with complete calm and competence.”
“She’ll need it to deal with you.”
“Are you insinuating I’m difficult?”
“Not insinuating. I’m stating facts. You’re stubborn, which can be good when you have a task to accomplish and bad when it holds you back from asking for help.” He paused. “I’m concerned about you.”
There was something in his father’s voice that gave Marshall pause. No one knew about his alcoholism. But had his dad somehow figured it out? Was the cleaning lady some kind of family spy to keep track of his sobriety?
The thought felt paranoid, but there was something reserved about Tally’s sparkling hazel eyes, a hint of secrets...
Although who was he to judge? He had secrets of his own to keep from her.
“Dad, let’s just say the position of the live-in cleaning lady is contingent upon my say-so and leave it at that.”
No matter how intense the draw of his housekeeper, he was going to table the attraction for as long as she was working for him.
