by Cathie Linz
“Mel Gibson in Maverick?” Maeve suggested.
“Only harder.”
Maeve’s earthy laughter was positively wicked.
“I mean darker,” Tracy stammered, feeling like a teenager. “Jeez, you’re making me blush, Aunt Maeve.”
“I told you that heading for the ranch would be good for you after your broken engagement.”
“I know you did.” Feeling restless, Tracy got up and started pacing the room. “The ironic thing is that I went to see Dennis that afternoon to tell him that I had doubts about us getting married. After finding him in bed with another woman, I could understand where my doubts were coming from,” she ended tartly.
“You suspected that Dennis might be cheating on you?”
“No,” Tracy admitted. “It wasn’t that I had doubts because I thought he was cheating on me. I had doubts about whether or not I loved him. Or whether or not he really he loved me.”
“And now?”
“Now I know he never loved me, at least not the way I want to be loved. As for my feelings, I think I wanted to love him rather than really loving him. I felt anger at his betrayal but a bit of relief as well now that I had a bona fide reason for calling off the engagement. He was very convincing in the beginning of our relationship in the way he chased after me.” She paused in front of the window, the mountain range out beyond the large cottonwood tree reminding her once more that she’d come a long way from Chicago. “I’m certainly relieved that I found out what kind of man he was before I married him, glad that I trusted my instincts and went to see him when I did. Did I tell you that when I informed Dennis that our engagement was off, he didn’t believe me?” She resumed her pacing. “He kept saying he could explain. He even tried to justify his behavior by telling me that she was a client and he was just trying to keep the client happy. When that didn’t work he threatened to fire me if I didn’t marry him. That’s when I told him that not only was I breaking off our engagement but I was quitting my job as well.”
“Good for you.”
“And that’s when I checked into a hotel and called you telling you that I needed to get away.”
Maeve immediately picked up the story from here. “And I told you about Zane needing a housekeeper. You see how things all work out in the end? You had a need, he had a need, together you fulfill each other’s needs.”
The image Maeve’s words created had more to do with sexual needs than practical ones. Tracy shifted, feeling incredibly warm all of a sudden. “I wouldn’t put it exactly like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you make it sound like we’re...” Tracy’s voice trailed away as an erotic image took hold.
“Yes?” Maeve prompted.
Shaking her head, she booted the forbidden picture from her mind. “Nothing. I have to tell you that I still can’t quite believe that I just packed up and came out here.”
“Believe it, dear. And enjoy it”
THAT NIGHT Tracy didn’t dream about Dennis at all. Instead she dreamt that just like Gulliver who had been tied down by the Lilliputians, she too had been tied down with incredibly tough ropes except hers were made of burned bacon, and her little tormentors were named Lucky and Rusty. Somehow she was wearing Dorothy’s red shoes from The Wizard of Oz and wasn’t able to click them to get back home again.
You’d better wake up or you’re going to get a crick in your neck. The thought permeated her foggy dream. Unless you want to stay here all tied up.
It’s just a dream, she sleepily thought. I want to see what happens next.
The sound of pounding woke her up. She blinked owlishly. Dawn was just beginning to lighten the darkness of her room. Was it time to get up? She tried, only to be stopped in her tracks.
“Damn it, Tracy,” Zane growled from the other side of her bedroom door. “You’re late again.”
“I’m all tied up at the moment,” she shouted back.
“Just get yourself downstairs, pronto.”
“Can’t do that,” she said.
“Why not?” he demanded.
“I think you should come in and see for yourself,” she said.
Zane walked into her bedroom to find Tracy’s bed completely covered with twine crisscrossing just a few inches above her body, effectively pinning her in place.
“It would appear that your little darlings were busy last night,” she noted tartly. “Unless you find it necessary to tie all your housekeepers to their beds to keep them from running off?”
4
ZANE COULDN’T TAKE his eyes off Tracy. She was all creamy skin and lush curves. Her green eyes sparkled with irritation. She wore an ivory nightgown that displayed a generous amount of cleavage. More cleavage than he’d seen in some time, he realized as his body reacted to the sight.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she muttered.
“Like what?” he said, unable to tear his gaze away from her for a moment.
“Like I’m on the menu for breakfast.”
She did look good enough to eat, he decided, the thought of him lapping his way across her bare skin only adding to the already tight fit of his jeans. Did she taste as soft as she looked?
“Would you just untie me?” she said in exasperation.
“Oh, right” Feeling a tad bit guilty about his erotic feelings, Zane moved forward to try and tackle the closest knot. It happened to be near her waist. There wasn’t enough wiggle room for her to shift out of his way as the back of his knuckles brushed against her satin-covered body.
He heard her inhaled breath. It matched his own. Muttering under his breath, he moved on to her ankles where he managed to get a few inches undone before running into another knot, this one along the side of her leg. He got that one undone and was starting to make headway when he suddenly found himself following the twine trail that lead him directly to...her breasts.
His fingers froze in the process of working on another knot, but that only meant that his fingers were now grazing the bare skin on the curve of her left breast. And yes, her skin was as soft as it looked. Sweat formed along his upper lip as he was consumed with the sudden urge to taste her, to take her.
A quick glance into her startled eyes told him that she felt it too, this chemistry pulsing between them.
TRACY HELD HER BREATH as Zane’s fingers moved across her skin, exploring her instead of the narrow cord holding her captive.
Now it was no longer just the twine pinning her to the bed, it was also the heated intensity of his gaze, the raw temptation of his touch. His fingertips were work roughened and they didn’t so much glide over her skin as they explored with a velvety touch—from her collarbone down to the lacy edge of her nightie and back up again.
The outline of her nipples was now clearly visible beneath the thin material of her nightgown as her body signaled its arousal. It was if her body had a mind of its own, for it certainly wasn’t obeying her logical commands to behave.
This nightgown had been part of her trousseau. She’d planned on wearing it for Dennis. Instead here she was with a ruggedly lean and sexy cowboy seducing her with his fingertips, which were getting ever closer to the aching apex of her nipples. Would he...would she...yes! He grazed the peak of her breast with his thumb and her back arched as far as it would go given her twine prison. Her movement trapped his hand between her breast and the narrow cord, further embedding his touch into her body and her psyche.
Heat, exquisite and elemental, swept through her entire body. Her heart was soaring like a shooting star as excitement burned deep within her. The sound of his breathing coincided with hers—fast, shallow pants of anticipation. Or impending disaster.
The sensations buffeting her were as uncontrollable as a lightning bolt. Not a good thing.
“No,” she gasped, trying to retain some semblance of sanity.
Zane immediately yanked his hand away, his stark expression making his chiseled cheekbones stand out even more than usual. They weren’t the only things standing out, she n
oticed with a guilty look at his jeans.
Getting to his feet, he reached into his pocket and pulled something out. Light from the overhead fixture flashed on the silvery metal of...a knife! He’d just flicked open a pocketknife the size of Colorado! She’d heard of guys who got upset when a woman said no, but hauling out a sharp weapon was extreme.
Eyeing him warily, she said, “Now let’s stay calm here and talk about this.”
“What’s to talk about? The knife is for me to cut the twine, not your neck,” he retorted sharply.
She recovered quickly. “Of course. I knew that.”
“Yeah, right. That’s why you were looking at me like I was a serial killer or something.”
“You forget, I’m from the big city. I don’t trust people with knives.”
“I won’t forget you’re from the big city,” he said, the tone of voice making it clear that her origins were less than stellar in his book.
“You’ve got something against people from the big city?”
“You could say that.”
“I just did,” she said, annoyed by his comment. “What exactly do you have against city dwellers?”
He looked up from his work to pin her with his gaze, as intensely blue as a Rocky Mountain sky. “Why do you care?”
“Because I work for you, and it might help me understand you.”
“Don’t bother,” he told her as he threw aside the last of the twine. “Understanding me isn’t part of your job. Cooking and taking care of my kids is.”
Having said those words, Zane closed his knife, jammed it back into his pocket and headed out of her room as if the hounds of hell were at his heels.
“And good morning to you, too,” Tracy muttered as she finally sat up in bed, freed of the physical binds put on her by his children, but not freed of the memory of Zane’s touch.
THE GOOD NEWS was that she didn’t actually burn anything at breakfast, the bad news was that the eggs were overdone and the bacon rubbery. Which meant perfection was somewhere between yesterday and today. And she had no doubt that perfection would be easier to attain, or to at least approach, once the new stove was delivered in two days.
She now knew that she was cooking breakfast for six—Zane, his father, his two hellions, and two full-time ranch hands. There were two more temporary hands—teenagers working for the summer, Buck told her—but they ate before they got there. They needed to be fed lunch, however.
“Spring and fall are our busiest times on the ranch,” Buck told her as she cleared the breakfast dishes from the huge oak table in the dining room. “Right now we’ve just finished up all the inoculations and branding. I reckon you already met Murph’n’Earl here.” Buck rolled the two names together into one. “These two sons of a buck have been working here since Zane was knee-high to a grasshopper.”
Tracy blinked at the image of Zane being anything but the ruggedly sexy man he was now. Meanwhile the two ranch hands, who stood shifting from one leg to the other, were nervously rolling up the brims of their hats in their hands with awkward shyness.
“Go ahead and talk to her, boys. She won’t bite.”
When the men just shuffled their feet, Buck grew impatient and elaborated on the introductions himself. “The tall hombre with no meat on his bones is Murph. The other fella with the silly grin on his face is Earl.”
“I’m Murph,” the taller of the two men confirmed, his voice like tumbling gravel. “And this here’s Earl.” He nodded toward his friend.
By contrast, Earl was shorter and stockier although far from heavy. Both men possessed the kind of timeworn faces that told of years spent outdoors. She made a mental note not to go outside without plenty of sunscreen. While the lines on their faces gave them character, she doubted that the same would be said about her. Meanwhile their bashfulness endeared them both to her.
Tracy smiled at them. “It’s nice meeting you both. I’m sorry the breakfast wasn’t all that good this morning. But I’m still having trouble with that ancient monstrosity.”
“You mean Buck here is giving you trouble?” Murph asked.
Tracy tried not to laugh. “I was referring to the stove, not to Buck.”
“I may be ancient but I sure ain’t no monstrosity,” Buck grumbled. “You two layabouts best stop shooting the breeze and get to work. I ain’t running no dude ranch here.”
“Everyone thinks they’re a comic,” Buck added for Tracy’s benefit as the two men shuffled their way out. “Truth is that no one had the sense of humor that Cockeyed Curly did. Now there was a man with a dose of brains. Wrote his own poetry, he did. Nowadays cowboys are famous for writin’ poetry, but in them days Cockeyed Curly was something of a celebrity. Course that could have been because of all those trains and banks he robbed. At each one, he left a poem meant to drive the local constabulary plumb crazy. One of my favorites goes like this.
Curly was here to help you out,
That money is heavy there’s no doubt.
So I lift it from you to lighten your load.
Make it easier for you to get down the road.”
When Tracy laughed, Buck was obviously thrilled with a ready audience and immediately launched into a long-winded poem of his own that lacked Curley’s wit and seemed to go on and on.
When he finally paused long enough to draw breath, she quickly inserted, “I’d better go see what the twins are up to.”
Pushing open the kitchen swing door, her mind was already focused on how she was going to deal with the children after their nightly prank on her.
They were waiting for her in the kitchen, where Zane had set them to work doing dishes as punishment. While appearing to be suitably chastened as they’d made their joint apologies to her beneath their father’s steely gaze before breakfast, one look in the twins’ eyes and she could tell that the battle wasn’t over yet. In fact, it may have only just begun.
A small part of her was tempted to give them a taste of their own medicine, no matter how childish that might seem. But she suspected they’d be happy if she’d attack. It would put her on their home turf—which of course she already was by living in their house. But it would mean playing the game the way they liked to play it and the way they’d no doubt played it with all the other housekeepers they’d already run off.
When you react you are hooked, she reminded herself. The same could be said about her reaction to Zane that morning in her bedroom. She wasn’t about to get hooked.
This wasn’t about Zane, this was about managing his kids. She smiled as inspiration struck.
“I appreciate being included in your western welcome ritual,” she told them, her voice deliberately friendly.
“What’s a ritual?” Rusty asked suspiciously, lifting a soapy hand to shove a lock of brown hair out of his eyes.
“A ceremony,” Tracy explained. “Like tying me to the bed so your father could untie me.”
“That’s not why we did it,” Rusty said.
“No?” Tracy pretended confusion. “Then why did you do it?”
“To make you leave.” Rusty plunked another dish in the murky water.
“Why would you want to do that? So you can cook and clean for everyone by yourselves?”
Both twins looked outraged by the idea. They both turned their backs to the sink to glare at her. “We’re just kids!”
Tracy met their gazes head on. “You seem smarter than just kids to me.”
“We do?” Lucky was clearly pleased by this news, while Rusty appeared more doubtful.
“Sure you do.” Tracy smiled before leaning closer to confidentially confess, “You may even be smarter than I am. Because for the life of me I don’t understand how getting rid of me helps you.”
Lucky looked at Tracy as if she were denser than a rock. “Because then Pa will have to stay home all day with us.”
Bingo! So that was what was behind their shenanigans. She nodded slowly. “Yes, I can understand how you’d want to spend more time with your father.” I wouldn’t mi
nd spending more time with him myself. The wayward thought ran through Tracy’s mind before she shoved it aside. “How about if I help you spend more time with him?”
“How can you help us?” Rusty scoffed.
“I’ve got my ways,” Tracy assured them. “Let’s talk.”
ZANE WAS STANDING ankle deep in manure, which he considered to be a fitting reminder of the kind of deep cow patties he’d be in if he allowed himself to be reeled in by a city girl like Tracy. Been there, done that. He’d learned his lesson well after his ex-wife, Pam, had put him through the wringer.
He’d met her in a bar down in Denver. She’d wiggled up to him, all sultry like, in a pair of jeans that look as if they’d been spray-painted on. She’d claimed that she had a thing for cowboys and asked if she could buy him a drink. Instead he’d insisted on buying her one and she’d insisted that they dance afterward. They’d done more than just dance.
He’d been plumb loco over her. He’d gone down to Denver every chance he got, putting thousands of extra miles on his new truck. She’d gazed at him with her baby-blue eyes as if he was the best thing since sliced bread, and he’d believed her when she’d said she loved him and would love to live on a ranch.
But the reality was that after two years Pam had had her fill. She’d up and told him that it was time for her to move on, to follow her dream of becoming a Vegas showgirl, a dream he’d known nothing about until that moment. Maybe he should have gotten suspicious when she’d insisted on naming the twins Rusty and Lucky after the lead characters in her favorite movie—Viva Las Vegas.
She’d said that the twins would be in her way in Vegas, packed up her rhinestone duds, and taken off in her sporty car with a hefty check in her pocket because, after all, she’d need money to set up her new life. And if she didn’t get it, maybe she’d take one of the twins after all. Zane had given her the money. Gladly.
There were times when he still found it hard to believe that she’d chosen to leave her kids behind. He’d walk though fire for the twins and fight to the death to protect them, but Pam had never shown any maternal feelings for them. Instead she’d bitterly complained that they’d nearly ruined her figure and took too much of her time.
