Hot Holiday Rancher

by Catherine Mann

  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

  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 br
oken 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.”