Cowboy Daddy (16 page)

“Can you teach me crafts and stuff?”

“Sure. Next time we go into town, we’ll find a crafts store and I’ll get you started on counted cross-stitch. It’s easy and the results can be beautiful.”

“Cool.” She motioned to the piles of catalogs. “Can we do my room first? I saw something in Dolly’s room I’d like to do here. So can we?”

“If your father doesn’t mind.” Anne picked up a ring of paint samples. “Let’s ask him tonight and then get started in the morning.”

“You’re the best.” Laurel came up to her and wrapped her arms around her waist. “I’m glad you’re here with me. We belong together.”

Anne set down the samples and hugged her back. Despite her misgivings, it felt right to be here. She closed her eyes and concentrated on memorizing everything about this moment. When she opened her eyes again, she saw Jake standing in the doorway. From the look on his face, she figured he’d overheard Laurel telling her that she was glad Anne was here. A stark expression swept through his eyes, and she knew their fragile peace had once again been destroyed.

* * *

“M
om didn’t do much regular cooking,” Laurel said as she rinsed the green beans. “We had a housekeeper. Mom was really busy with her charity work a lot of the time. She didn’t have a job. Mom said it was important for people with money to give something back to the community.”

“That’s a good philosophy,” Anne said, and bit down on her lip to keep from screaming. While Laurel avoided mentioning Ellen around her father, she didn’t feel that same restriction with Anne. In the past hour, she’d included the word “Mom” in almost every sentence.

They’d finished their tour of the house. Anne had a brief impression of large rooms filled with small amounts of furniture. In Jake’s room, a king-size bed had dominated one wall. There had been a few scattered garments and his still-packed suitcase, but little else. Her guest room suffered the same fate. A bed, a small dresser and her suitcase. At least she had her own bathroom and some much-needed privacy. She adored her daughter, but she’d spent the past three days in close contact with Laurel and could use some breathing space.

Which probably makes me a crummy parent,
she thought grimly as she searched for a casserole dish.

“They’re in here,” Laurel said helpfully, pointing at a shelf in the center island.

“Thanks.” She rinsed off the chicken she’d defrosted in the microwave. On the way to the house they’d stopped at a local vegetable stand for fresh produce, but everything else in the meal would have to be either canned or frozen.

Anne dug around in the pantry for a package of rice. “I can’t find the rice, Laurel.”

“We don’t have any Mom didn’t like it.”

Anne started to stand up, but she bumped her head on a pantry shelf. The sharp pain brought tears to her eyes.

“I heard that crack,” Jake said, silently appearing at her side. “You okay?”

“Fine,” she said curtly, and turned away from him. She rubbed her head and willed herself to ignore him.

He’d been doing that since they’d arrived. Drifting in and out of rooms. Showing up in the middle of conversations, then leaving. She knew what he was doing; she knew he was checking on her. He didn’t trust her not to say or do something in the presence of his daughter. Anne fumed. He just plain didn’t trust her. But he could sleep with her.

She wasn’t completely upset that they’d given in to the sexual tension between them. She wasn’t happy about it, but it wasn’t a total surprise. The attraction had been too powerful for their vulnerable states. It almost made sense. Almost. But what really steamed her was the fact that he was actually able to do as he’d suggested and put that night out of his mind. She hated that he was able to engage her in casual conversation as if nothing intimate had ever occurred. It took all her mental power and self-control to keep from blurting out something inappropriate, or reaching to touch him. Now that she’d tasted his male passion, she wanted more.

Laurel hovered nearby. “Do you want some ice for your head?”

“I’m fine,” she said again. If there wasn’t rice, she’d have to come up with something else. She remembered seeing a frozen potato dish in the freezer. She rummaged around until she found it and set it on the counter.

Laurel looked at the package. “Are we having that with chicken?”

Anne drew in a deep breath. “Is that a problem?”

“Well, Mom always served that with pork, didn’t she, Dad?”

The threat of tears returned, but not just because her head was hurting. Ellen had been gone two years. Shouldn’t Laurel have let go of all these little traditions? Anne rubbed her swelling bump. She didn’t have a clue as to what was going on with Laurel. Maybe she clung to the rituals because they were all she had.

“I think we can have them with chicken this once,” Jake said.

Anne didn’t dare turn and look at him. She didn’t want to see anything like compassion in his eyes.

“I don’t expect you to take the place of a housekeeper,” he said, leaning against the island.

Anne moved around him and picked up the chicken. She placed it in the dish and sprinkled on the spices. “I don’t mind cooking,” she said. “I never have much of a chance at home.”

“Are you sure?”

No, she wasn’t sure about anything. “Of course.”

“I’ve put a call in to an agency. Because of our location, it may be a little while until I can get someone full-time. I appreciate your help.”

She put the cover on the chicken dish and popped the casserole into the oven. After setting the timer, she forced herself to smile then turn toward him.

He leaned against the island, one hip resting on the tile with his opposite leg crossing over in front and the toe of his boot touching the floor. He’d folded his arms over his chest. The blue polo shirt hugged his broad shoulders, snuggling up to skin that two nights ago she had touched and tasted. His brown eyes studied her with equal thoroughness, and she wondered what he was looking for. Would he be pleased with what he saw or would she again come up short?

She thought about the pictures in the library and how perfect Ellen had looked in each of them. Even the candid shots. Anne became aware of her wrinkled shorts and T-shirt. She’d been in her clothes all day on the road and she looked like it. She brushed a stray strand of hair out of her face. No doubt her makeup had long since faded. She was a mess.

Laurel set the table, then excused herself from the room. When she was gone, the tension in the kitchen cranked up noticeably. Anne became aware of her breathing, of the heat from the oven, which was nothing compared with the heat from the man in front of her. And he was a man. Every lean inch, every masculine line. Her body cried out for what she had known. He might be able to forget what had flared between them, but she would remember long after these two months were over.

She wondered if he would take advantage of the moment of privacy. She wanted him to pull her close and claim her mouth. She wanted him to touch her and love her and— “What time do we eat?” Jake asked.

“About seven.”

He nodded. “I need to go talk to my manager and see how the horses got along.” With that he, too, left the room.

She stared around her, at the unfamiliar room and furniture. She thought about the need filling her body. Apparently she’d been wrong about the tension. How could it have been there if only she could feel it? He didn’t remember their love-making. He didn’t trust her.

Anne checked the oven, then headed for the stairs and her room. She wanted a long shower before dinner.

As she stepped into the spray of hot water, she told herself she’d been a fool. Of course she’d expected some problems during the two months she’d planned on spending here. But it was even worse than she’d imagined. She’d forgotten what it was like not to fit in. She felt awkward and self-conscious about everything she said or did. She didn’t know the right food or where anything was. She was entering another woman’s domain. It didn’t matter that Ellen Masters had been dead for two years and had never even lived in this house. Every item and every person in this house bore her mark. Everyone except Anne.

As the water poured down her face and mingled with the tears, Anne wondered if it was too late to go home.

* * *

J
ake stared at the open ledger in front of him. Several of the mares were going to be ready to breed soon. He was still mentally debating about whether to cover them with his own stallions or go outside the ranch. He weighed the expense with the value of fresh bloodlines.

He leaned back in his wooden chair and glanced around the office. It still looked the same as it had when his grandfather had lived here. Trophies and ribbons covered most of one wall. The large window that overlooked the paddock gleamed from its weekly washing. Like the old man before him, Jake wanted to be able to see what was going on with his horses. The battered desk was close to a hundred years old. Only the computer equipment and table were new additions. He was a long way from his penthouse office in his father-in-law’s executive suite. A long way from Dallas and the life he’d known before.

He heard a knock on the door.

“Come in,” he called.

Anne stepped into his office. She was carrying a tray, which she placed on the corner of his desk.

“You’ve been in here all morning,” she said. “I thought you might be hungry.”

He glanced at the plate of sandwiches, the cut-up fruit and the pot of coffee. He already had a mug of his own, but there was a second one beside the pot. In the two weeks that she’d been at the ranch, they’d settled into a sort of routine. It consisted of him avoiding her and her letting him. He knew that she was spending her days alone now that Laurel was in school. He told himself he should encourage her to fix up the house if she wanted to. God knows he wasn’t interested in picking out wallpaper. He even felt guilty about leaving her every morning while he came out to the barn or to his office beside the tack room. But it had been easier to stay out of her way and try to forget what happened every time they were in a room together. Now she had made the first tentative move toward a normal relationship and he couldn’t throw it back in her face.

He picked up his mug. “Looks like you brought an extra cup. Why don’t you sit down and keep me company.” He motioned to the leather chair in front of his desk.

“I don’t want to disturb you,” she said, nervously wiping her hands on her jeans.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want the company.”

“Thanks.” She smiled and took the seat.

She didn’t wear much makeup. Just something around her eyes and a little lipstick. Still, when she smiled, her whole face lit up. He liked that. He was also starting to like the freckles. He noticed there were exactly eleven on her nose. He’d caught himself counting them at odd times. Like when she sat across from him at dinner or when she earnestly asked if it was all right for her to bake a cake to celebrate Laurel’s first day at school.

Even in southern Colorado, late September meant the arrival of fall, so she’d exchanged her shorts for jeans. The soft denim hugged her generous curves. Jake kept trying to picture Ellen in jeans, but he didn’t think his late wife had ever worn them. He tried to remember her in any trousers so that he could use the memory of her slender hips and long legs as a talisman against Anne’s sensuality. But he couldn’t summon her to his mind. He was forced to admire the swell of Anne’s hips and the way her breasts filled the front of her blouse. At least the table shielded him and she wouldn’t be able to see the result of his erotic thoughts.

Anne poured herself a cup of coffee, then refilled his mug. She stared around the room, glanced quickly at him, then away. He sensed her apprehension. It made him feel like a complete bastard. It wasn’t her fault he couldn’t put the memory of their lovemaking out of his mind, so instead of continuing to try, he chose to avoid her. It wasn’t her fault he couldn’t bear to watch his daughter grow to love her more and more each day, so he hid out in his office. It wasn’t even her fault that Laurel had wanted to meet her in the first place. For that last one, he only had himself to blame.

This is really—” How are you—?”

They spoke at the same time. “Go ahead,” she said shyly.

“How are you getting on?” he asked. “Do you miss work?”

She shrugged. “Some. The pace is certainly different. In Houston I generally work about sixty hours a week. With that woman coming in to clean twice a week, there’s not much for me to do here.” She grinned. “I can only bake so many cookies without all of us getting fat.”

“I—” He drew in a breath. Hell, just ask her, he told himself. She deserved a little cooperation. “I’d appreciate it if you’d consider helping Laurel decorate the house.”

“She’d mentioned wanting to do that,” Anne said, staring at him intently. “But I didn’t want to step on any toes.”

He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Don’t sweat my toes. I don’t know anything about furniture or color schemes or Berber carpet from shag. I’d prefer not to wake up to daisies in my bedroom, but other than that, I’m pretty easy to please.”