The Rancher and the Runaway Bride Part 1
Autor
Susan Mallery
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5
Chapter One
Brady Jones leaned back in his chair, ignoring the loud creak as worn springs protested his weight. They’d been doing it since his dad had retired five years ago. Like everything on the West Texas ranch, the chair wasn’t new or fancy, but it worked and he figured it would outlast them all.
He glanced from the application he held to the woman perched uneasily on the straight-back wooden chair in front of his scarred desk. When she caught him looking, she gave him a big smile that didn’t make a dent in the worry lurking in her dark blue eyes.
Another hard-luck case, he thought as he dropped the application onto the printouts he’d been going through when she arrived. He’d always been good at spotting them. For one thing, the duffel bag at her feet was too small to contain more than a couple changes of clothing. She’d hitched a ride to the ranch instead of driving. Then there was the matter of her application. Too many lines left blank, too many vague references he wouldn’t be able to check out. No home address. No relatives.
He should kick her out on her shapely butt, because he didn’t need her kind of trouble, or temptation. That particular lesson had been hard won and never forgotten. These days he avoided women with mysterious pasts.
He should get rid of her, but as Tex would be happy to tell him, he was a bleeding-heart sucker for anything or anybody in need. So instead of saying the position had already been filled, he leaned back further, placed his booted feet on the desk and gave the woman an encouraging nod. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself, Ms.—” he glanced at the application “—Ms. Rita Howard.”
“I’m good with horses,” the woman said quickly. “I didn’t grow up on a ranch, but I’ve had lots of experience. I’ve been riding since I was about seven. I started with English and dressage, but one day I used a western saddle and I was hooked.”
This time her smile reached her eyes, brightening them until they gleamed like sun-soaked lake water on a perfect summer day. Brady nearly groaned out loud. He didn’t want to notice that, nor did he want to admit that he was itching to reach across the desk and touch one of the black curls springing free from her braid. She’d obviously combed her hair recently and braided it tightly in an effort to keep the curls in order, but it was a hopeless task. He would bet that by the end of the day, her hair was in complete disarray. Unfortunately, the image enchanted him.
“I worked in a stable all through high school,” she said. “I know my way around horses, Mr. Jones—”
“Brady,” he said, interrupting.
“Okay. Brady. I work cheap, I’m dependable, I don’t make trouble.” She shrugged. “I understand your reservations. You don’t know me from a rock, so you’re going to have to take my word about my good qualities.” She bit her lower lip. “I guess that’s it.”
She had a heart-shaped face and a cupid’s bow mouth. Stupid details to notice, he told himself. He would hire her or not hire her based on her abilities and his gut. His daddy had always taught him to listen to his gut, and so far, it had only let him down once. Of course, that other time had involved a woman, too, but he wasn’t going to think about that now.
Logically he shouldn’t give her a try. There was no reason to trust anything she’d said. Especially the part about not making trouble.
“There’s one thing you left out,” he said, lowering his feet to the floor. “You’ve got nowhere else to go.”
He met her gaze squarely, watching pride wrestle with reality. If only she knew how hard he wished she would claim some other job opportunity or a friend willing to take her in. He didn’t want this to be the end of her line.
She blinked twice, but didn’t speak. He swore silently. She didn’t have to speak; the quiver at the corner of her mouth said it all.
“I’ve gotten by before,” she said, and rose to her feet. “I’ll manage. Thanks for the interview, Mr. Jones.” She picked up her duffel bag and an expensive-looking purse.
Brady waited for the feeling from his gut. There wasn’t one. Only the voice in his head telling him to be damn careful because he’d been down this particular road before and it had a way of flattening a man.
“How about a week’s trial?” he said. “If things work out, you can stay on.”
She’d made it to the office door, where she paused, then turned back. “You’re saying if I don’t like the working conditions or job description, I’m free to move on to something more upwardly mobile?”
He grinned. “Sure thing. A place with a corner office, maybe.”
Another black curl worked its way free and dangled by her cheek. She shifted her purse to her shoulder and brushed the strand away impatiently. “I’d like that. The job, not the corner office.”
“Great,” he said, even as his gut belatedly kicked in. The feeling warned him that the decision he’d just made was going to change his life forever. He could only hope this time it would be for the better.
He rose to his feet and named a salary. “That’s weekly and includes room and board,” he added. “The stables are your responsibility. You’ll be up early. I want the horses fed by five so they’ll have at least an hour to digest their food before the cowboys get them some time around six. After you muck out the stalls, you’ll be responsible for exercising any horses not being used that day.”
Rita nodded. “I’m familiar with the work involved. I know I don’t look very strong, but I’m tough and I’m good. You’ll have to wait and let me prove that.”
Because he was ten different kinds of a fool, Brady actually wanted her to show him she was terrific. He wanted to be dazzled, and not just by her smile. Obviously he needed to get out more.
“You have a week,” he said. “There are a couple of high school boys who work in the afternoon. They take care of the horses when the cowboys are done, so you won’t be responsible for that. Any extra time you have, you tell Tex and he’ll give you chores. You have Saturday and Sunday afternoons off.”
“Sounds great. Is there something you want me to do now?”
“You can start in the morning.” He studied her face, trying to discover her secrets. A pointless exercise. She would tell him or not, in her own time. Maybe it was better if he didn’t know. For both of them.
He crossed the worn wooden floor and stopped next to her. Her left hand hung at her side. He picked it up and turned it over so he could see her palm.
At the base of her middle finger sat a large circle of raw skin. Other blisters—some healed, some still filled with clear fluid—formed an angry pattern across her flesh. He rubbed a couple of thick patches, feeling the calluses formed by hard work.
Rita Howard might know her way around a stable, but she hadn’t been doing the hard work until just recently. What was her story? Had she lied about everything?
He was so deep in thought he barely noticed the burning. When he registered it, he nearly flung her hand away as if it had bit him. Maybe it had.
Heat flared, starting in the center of his palm, going bone deep before boiling up his arm to his chest, then moving lower. Hot, mind-numbing, sexual heat—the kind that made a man behave like an ass, then not have the good sense to regret it in the morning.
He bit back a curse. He didn’t need this woman on his property, and he sure as hell didn’t need to want her in his bed.
His mind obligingly took that image and shifted it until he was lost in a mental tangle of bare arms and legs, burying his need inside her and his hands in her curly dark hair. According to his brain, a bed was not required.
Moving slowly, so she wouldn’t know what he was thinking, he released her hand, then shifted and leaned against the wall. The action did two things. First, it put some distance between them so he could work on developing a little self-control. Second, it allowed him to casually adjust his position, folding his arms over his chest and crossing his ankles in an effort to draw her attention away from that part of him that had instantly and violently reacted to the unwelcome fantasy.
“Judging from your hands, you haven’t been working with horses,” he said, pleased his voice sounded completely in control. “What have you been doing?”
She shrugged, apparently unaware of the battle he fought for control. “A little of everything. I waitressed in Phoenix and found out I’m not much of a people person. I like them one at a time just fine, but the pressures of a lunch crowd are too much for me.” She clutched her duffel bag close to her midsection. “In Albuquerque I worked as a maid in a big hotel. Now I’m here.”
“Are you moving east?”
Her gaze darted away. “I don’t have any specific plans.”
But she was on the run. Had he really been hoping she was just some kid on a summer adventure? Life wasn’t that simple. This particular woman was in trouble, and despite his wayward hormones, Brady was going to do his best to stay clear of her.
There was, however, one thing he had to know. “Rita,” he said, his voice stern. He waited until she looked at him before continuing. “Are you on the run from the law?”
Her blue eyes widened and shock parted her mouth. Even before she spoke, he read his answer. Whatever her troubles, she hadn’t done anything illegal.
“Of course not,” she said. “I swear.”
Conversations like this were not part of her life plan, Randi thought glumly, wishing there was a way to convince the man in front of her she wasn’t a recently paroled felon. She wanted this job. More important, she needed it. Despite her proud words that she would get by, the truth was she was down to her last five dollars and getting pretty desperate.
“Okay,” Brady said. “I had to ask. I hope you understand.”
“No problem.”
“Come on. I’ll show you around.”
He led the way from the office at the back of the barn and through the stables. Randi followed behind. The familiar smell of horses and hay relaxed her. At least she would enjoy working here. She’d hated both waitressing and being a maid, although she’d kept the jobs until she’d felt the need to move on. After all, when one was on the run, one didn’t get a whole lot of choices, employment-wise.
“Report any problems with the horses to me immediately,” Brady was saying. “Even if it’s four in the morning and you don’t think I’m up. We’ve got a vet on call. I’d rather pay for an unnecessary visit than lose one of the animals.”
“I can do that.”
She glanced around at the large, clean barn. Judging from the little she’d seen, the ranch was successful. Maybe it was her imagination, but she had the sense that people had been happy here. At one time she would have laughed at herself and claimed she was being fanciful. In the past few weeks, she’d learned to listen to her senses. Being on her own had taught her to pay attention and trust herself. There was no one else she could depend on.
At the entrance to the barn, Brady paused. “The bunkhouse is over there,” he said, pointing to a long, low one-story building on his right.
Big windows looked out on the lawn and the large shade trees beyond.
Randi settled her duffel bag strap over her right shoulder. “It looks very nice.”
“Yeah.” Brady was lost in thought. “I have a cook. Tex. He prepares three meals a day. The dining room is in front. He rings a bell when the food’s ready. Don’t be late.”
She tried to ignore her growling stomach and the fact that she hadn’t eaten yet that day. “No problem.”
“Actually, there is.” Brady shook his head and turned to his left. Away from the bunkhouse.
She followed his gaze and saw a white two-story house. A wide porch wrapped around the first floor. Late summer roses bloomed by the back porch.
“Well, Rita, we have ourselves a situation.”
She smiled politely as she wondered if she would ever get used to her new name. At least she didn’t stare blankly when someone called her that. When she’d first run away from the wedding and those men with guns, her only thought had been to stay alive. Changing her name had made her feel safer. It was probably unnecessary, but it was too late now. Brady thought of her as Rita Howard and that’s who she was going to continue to be.
“There are over a dozen cowboys on the ranch,” he said.
“Okay.”
“Counting Tex and myself that’s nearly twenty men. Except for my dog, Princess, a few of the cats and some breeding stock, you’re the only female around.”
“Oh.” His words sank in. “Oh,” she repeated as heat climbed her cheeks.
“Yeah. Oh. So I’m going to give you a room up at the main house. I’m the only one who sleeps there, and I’m about as safe as they come.”
That wasn’t true, she thought, eyeing his broad shoulders and muscular thighs. She would bet he could be pretty dangerous when he chose to be. What he really meant was he wasn’t interested in her so she wouldn’t have to worry. It was no more than she expected. While children didn’t run in horror when they saw her walking down the street, no man had ever lost control because of her beauty, either.
“I appreciate the concern,” she said. “It won’t be a problem.”
“It better not be. I don’t want you making trouble with the men.”
Rita grinned. “Brady, don’t let that thought keep you up nights. I swear, if you catch me having my way with one of your cowboys, you won’t have to fire me. I’ll quit. As tempting as all that testosterone sounds, I’m going to do my best to resist.”
His answering smile caught her unaware. His eyes got all scrunchy, and there was a dimple in his left cheek. Until this moment she hadn’t noticed he was handsome, in a rugged cowboy kind of way.
Don’t be stupid, Randi told herself. The last thing she needed was to start thinking of Brady as anything but her employer. Hadn’t she learned anything in the past few weeks? She’d nearly married a man she didn’t love, and running out on the wedding had almost cost her her life.
“Fair enough,” he said, and led the way to the house.
Once inside, he quickly showed her around. She had brief impressions of worn but well-made furniture, lots of light and more room than a single man could possibly need.
“Is there a Mrs. Jones?” she asked as Brady headed for the stairs.
He glanced back at her. “My mom?”
“No. Are you married? Will your wife mind me being here?”
He turned away. “I told you that you were the only female here. My parents are away traveling.”
“Then, I won’t bother introducing myself to them.”
As he walked down the hallway, he pointed to partially open doors and identified which belonged to whom. His room was at the top of the stairs, a guest room stood across the hall. His parents’ bedroom was next to that and hers was down at the end.
The twelve-by-fourteen room had big windows that overlooked the barn and the bunkhouse beyond. She could see the leafy trees, the backyard and out into the open pastures. A tall dresser stood opposite the window. A desk sat in the corner. Like the rest of the furniture, the four-poster bed was light oak. The comforter and throw pillows were a neutral beige and light blue, and someone had draped a hand-crocheted throw on the foot of the bed.
“There’s a bathroom in there,” Brady said, pointing to the door on the right. “Closet’s on the other side. There’s towels, soap, I’m not sure what else. Let me know if you need anything.”
She moved past him, into the room. Sunlight spilled onto the hardwood floor. Oval rugs sat next to the bed and in front of the dresser.
“It’s great,” she said. “Thanks.”
“It’s not fancy, but it’s clean. A couple of ladies come in from town every couple of weeks and go over the place. They were here last week.”
She touched the smooth surface of the dresser. “They seem to do a great job.”
Brady stepped into the hallway. “Make yourself at home. You can use the television in the living room if you want. There’s a stereo in the study. I know it’s tough being in a strange place, so feel free to look around. Dinner’s at five. We eat early so we can go to bed early.”
At the mention of food, her stomach growled. No doubt the cook served simple food in large portions. She couldn’t wait.
Brady hovered for a couple of seconds, then nodded. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
“I’ll be there.”
He left. She stayed by the dresser until his footsteps had faded. A minute later she caught sight of him leaving the house and heading back to the barn. She crossed the floor and watched him.
If this were a movie from the fifties, Randi had a feeling John Wayne would be playing the role of Brady Jones. The rancher appeared to be honest, hardworking and trustworthy. There was something solid about him. Maybe it wasn’t a romantic description, but it was one that made her feel safe. In the past few weeks, being safe had become a priority.
She folded her arms over her chest and curled her fingers into her palms. The action reminded her of Brady’s touch when he’d taken her hand in his. His strong fingers could have crushed her easily, yet she hadn’t been afraid. There’d been nothing threatening about his gesture, nothing sexual. He’d checked on her the way he would check on one of his horses—impersonally.
Except for a couple of pats on her butt when she’d worked in the truck stop, his was the first physical contact she’d had with a man in weeks. If things were different…
But they weren’t, she reminded herself briskly. She was a runaway bride with no plan. A man had tried to kill her and she didn’t know why. For now, all she wanted to do was survive and think. Eventually she was going to have to figure out what to do.
“Eventually,” she said softly. “But not today.”
She unpacked. As all she had were a spare pair of jeans, three T-shirts, one long-sleeved shirt and some underwear, it didn’t take long. The bathroom vanity had double sinks and lots of drawers and cupboards. Her brush, toothbrush and toothpaste barely filled two shelves in the medicine cabinet. A quick glance showed her the shower was clean and there was bar soap as well as shampoo. She opened the bottle and sniffed the expensive liquid. It was a far cry from the cheap stuff she’d been using. Amazing what she’d gotten used to in such a short period of time.
As she crossed the bedroom and headed for the hallway, she realized that except for feeling safe and talking to a few friends, there was little she missed of her old life. She didn’t even mind not belonging, maybe because she’d never belonged.
Briefly she allowed herself to wonder what her mother must be thinking. Assuming the older woman was over her fury. Randi shuddered at the thought of what her mother was going to say to her. So far, she’d avoided having that conversation.
“You’re a chicken,” she told herself. “A smart chicken, but a chicken all the same.”
She’d wanted to tell everyone she was all right so they wouldn’t worry, but she hadn’t wanted to talk to her mother. Instead, she’d phoned her brother Noah.
She didn’t want to think about that phone call she’d made the morning after she ran off, about the worry in his voice as he’d tried to talk to her through the static on the line. Eventually, they’d been cut off—by the stormy weather, she supposed. But in all these weeks, she’d never gotten the nerve up to call again. She liked to think she would have already gone back to face everyone—if it hadn’t been for those men with guns.
But she hadn’t mentioned them in her too brief conversation with Noah. Instinctively she’d guessed that he wouldn’t believe her. Why would he? It was such an insane story, she barely believed it herself. In the light of day it was easy to laugh off what had happened as some bizarre misunderstanding. But at night, when she was alone, the fear returned, and she knew that those few seconds when she’d faced death had been very, very real.
At least she’d recognized her brother had been right with his assessment of her character before the wedding. It was time for her to grow up. And that was what she was going to do while she was on the road. Grow up. Take responsibility for her actions and stop expecting other people to rescue her.
Maybe she should call again. It had been too many weeks since they’d tried to talk. But she didn’t really have anything to tell Noah, or anyone.
She reached the bottom of the stairs and looked around at the large main room. Long sofas and overstuffed chairs filled the floor space. The homey prints, brass floor lamps and magazine-covered tables were so different from the cool elegance of her mother’s house. There wasn’t a nonfunctional antique in sight. Randi figured she should have been appalled or at least contemptuous. But she wasn’t. If anything, the room drew her in, invited her to stay awhile, to be comfortable. To be safe.
This room felt like home.
She crossed to the fireplace and stared at the pictures on the mantel. They showed an attractive couple, first as newlyweds, then in different stages of their lives. Randi picked up one that featured the parents and an eight- or nine-year-old Brady standing next to a horse. He proudly showed off a blue first-place ribbon.
The couple stood close, their arms brushing in a way that was intimate yet comfortable. The man beamed with pride as he rested his right hand on his son’s shoulder. Brady had his father’s size and strength, and his mother’s winning smile.
Randi touched the glass covering the picture and ignored the stab of longing. Someday she would find a place to belong and someone to love. Someday she would figure out what she wanted and be grown up enough to make it work.
Brady Jones was a lucky man. She hoped he was smart enough to appreciate all he had.
