The Rancher Gets Hitched & An Affair of Convenience

by Cathie Linz

  “I know why the kids did that.”

  “So do I.” Zane kept his eyes on King not Tracy. “To get rid of the housekeeper.”

  “So you’d spend more time with them.”

  Her words made him frown. “So now you’re a child psychologist, huh?”

  “I promised the twins I’d talk to you.”

  “They can talk to me themselves anytime they want,” he said.

  “They want to talk to you all the time.”

  “True enough,” he acknowledged.

  “The twins want you to spend time with them, so I thought it might be nice to have ‘twin time’ after dinner.”

  “To have what?” He looked at her. Big mistake. Her lips were parted and her green eyes glowed. He hurriedly shifted his eyes back to King, who was nowhere near as nice a shade of green as Tracy’s eyes.

  “Twin time. An hour or an hour and a half with just you and the twins. I could spend time with Buck then so he wouldn’t feel left out. He could tell me more tall tales about the west and the adventures of Cockeyed Curly.”

  “I already spend time with the kids.”

  “You sit in the same room watching TV, but it’s not the same thing.”

  He glared at her. Who was she to be telling him how to raise his kids? She hadn’t been there when they’d both come down with chicken pox at the same time and he’d stayed awake for three days to take care of them. “And you figured this all out after only a day or two in my house?”

  “I didn’t have to figure it out,” she replied. “The twins told me that if there was no housekeeper you’d have to stay home with them.”

  At a loss for words, Zane shoved his fingers through his dark hair. Why had his kids told this satin-covered city girl who’d only been on the ranch a few days something they hadn’t told him? There were times he wished he could stay home with his kids and forget about everything else, but he had a ranch to run. If he didn’t work, they wouldn’t be able to keep a roof over their heads.

  As if able to read his thoughts, Tracy said, “I’m not in any way trying to say that you’re doing anything wrong with the twins, heaven knows I’m no expert, even if I did mastermind the Tyke Bike campaign.”

  “The what?”

  “The Tyke Bike. It was the hottest item on every kid’s Christmas list a few years ago. Remember, I told you that back in Chicago I was in advertising. Well, part of my job was making people stop and go wow about a product.”

  She’d certainly made him stop and go wow, as she put it.

  Tracy finally became aware of the heated look Zane was giving her. She also belatedly noticed that the opening of her robe was gaping more than it should. She rectified that as the kids came clomping up the stairs.

  “We heard her scream,” Rusty said, his hair falling into his eyes. “Grandpa wouldn’t let us come up till now. What happened?”

  “She was just surprised by King,” Zane replied, running a fond hand through his son’s unruly hair. “King wasn’t supposed to be loose until Tracy moves downstairs. I wonder how that happened.”

  “Only wimps are scared of iguanas,” Rusty scoffed before his mouth dropped open in shock at the sight of Tracy picking up the iguana like a pro.

  “Hi, fella,” she cooed.

  “Her dad worked in the reptile house of a zoo,” Zane told the twins.

  For the first time the twins gazed at her with approval in their blue eyes. They were clearly impressed.

  And so was Zane.

  Impressed by the cleavage she’d been showing earlier or her way with iguanas, she wasn’t sure. She only knew that she liked impressing him, liked it far too much.

  6

  AH, BAD DE PAINT FUMES. She’d recognize that smell anywhere. The last ad campaign she’d done before leaving Chicago had been on Chic Celebrity Room Paint. She’d had to test the colors before being able to write the ad copy about them.

  Here in Colorado, the paint wasn’t Paul Newman Baby Blue or Marilyn Monroe Blond or Smashing Pumpkins Orange. Here Zane was tackling the job of repainting the housekeeper’s room like a man possessed... and he was painting it white. Plain white.

  The housekeeper’s quarters were located down a short hallway off the kitchen, isolated from the rest of the house.

  The twins had wanted to help their father, but Buck had taken pity on Zane and had taken the kids off on a trip to their Uncle Cord’s cabin in the mountains. Only Buck’s promise that they’d look for Cockeyed Curly’s treasure map while they were there had drawn the kids away.

  Before leaving, Buck had told her that Cord was the loner in the family, while Reno was the charmer. Which left Zane as what? she wondered. The responsible one, the stubborn devil of a cowboy whose kisses made her knees melt and her insides hum? An apt description in her view, but one she doubted the rest of his family shared.

  Tracy had opened the kitchen windows to let in some fresh air. For once it wasn’t because she’d darkened some pot or ruined some meal. It was because she was getting giddy from the paint fumes.

  She certainly wasn’t getting giddy about being alone in the house with Zane. Compared to the male models she’d worked with on advertising layouts, he wasn’t even that exceptionally good-looking. Or even as good-looking as Dennis was in his smooth yuppie kind of way. Dennis lived for Italian suits and vintage California wines, for his own cappuccino and latte machines, his own coffee grinder and special blend of beans. Zane was nothing like Dennis.

  She was still trying to figure out why she’d responded to his kiss the way she had in the barn last night. Here she was, thirty years old, and she’d never felt such passion, never desired a man more—not even Dennis. Despite those hormone-driven feelings, she’d spoken the truth when she’d told Zane she was no more eager to get involved with him than he was with her. She’d just been politer about it.

  She hadn’t told him he didn’t fulfill any of the qualifications she had for a future mate. Partly because she no longer had a list of qualifications. Not after Dennis. He’d shot that theory out of the water. She’d thought he was everything she’d wanted in a man—but he was minus a few things, like integrity for one.

  Zane seemed to have plenty of that. And a love and loyalty for his family that was admirable. Just like the Cartwright family on Bonanza. But come to think of it, none of those Cartwright boys ever did find the right woman for them.

  Wiping down an already clean countertop, Tracy wondered who the right woman would be for Zane. Apparently it wasn’t her. Which was just fine by her. She was just here for the summer, enough time to get a new perspective on her life and what she wanted to do with it—whether she wanted to return to Chicago or start fresh somewhere else.

  For the time being, all she wanted was a cool drink of lemonade. The pitcher she’d made last night had plenty left. Maybe Zane would like a glass, too? It was only polite to ask him. What any housekeeper would do. Then she’d get to work on the living room while Buck and the twins were out of the way.

  Last night Tracy’s response to King, the iguana, had instigated a breakthrough of sorts with the twins. Rusty had actually shown her his snake, Precious, and had done so with pride rather than mischief in mind.

  As for their father, well there was no telling what was on his mind. He wasn’t saying, and she sure wasn’t asking. When she brought him a glass of lemonade, he just took it from her and drank it all down, said thanks and then went back to working. He had a pair of painter’s overalls on over his jeans and denim shirt.

  “The painting would go faster if we both worked on the room,” she noted.

  “Painting isn’t part of your job. Besides I’m almost done in here.”

  She tried to ignore the slight sting his dismissal caused. She’d never thought of herself as having a thin skin before. She’d always been able to blend her creative and her business sides together with a professionalism that precluded her having hurt feelings if a client didn’t like one of her ad ideas.

  The problem here was that she
wasn’t pitching an ad campaign, so the rejection wasn’t of her work, it was of her. Personally. Not professionally. Not that he was all that impressed by her professionalism as a housekeeper. So what would impress him?

  She needed to forget about all this relationship stuff and concentrate on cleaning the living room. Practical stuff like stacking old newspapers and gathering up dirty clothes. She had yet to tackle the wash, come to think of it. One peek in the laundry room and the mountain of clothes waiting there had sent her scuttling back to the kitchen.

  Before leaving, she took a quick glance around the housekeeper’s room, which was large and airy with a window facing the range of mountains. Since Zane had finished painting one side of the room already, he’d removed the tarp from the few pieces of furniture on that side of the room. The rustic pine bed, nightstand and chest of drawers were more intricately designed and crafted than the set upstairs.

  Noticing her gaze on the furniture, Zane said, “My brother Cord made those.”

  “He’s very talented. There’s a huge demand for handmade western-style furniture,” she added, running a hand over the smooth headboard.

  “So he tells me.”

  “It must be nice having all your family live so close by.”

  “Family is important out here.”

  “Family is important wherever you are,” she gently corrected him.

  Looking away, he said, “I...uh...I told the twins we’d spend twin time together tonight.”

  Tracy smiled. “I’m so glad! What did they say?”

  “They didn’t have to say anything,” he noted gruffly. “The look on their faces said it all.”

  “They were pleased.”

  “Yeah. They were pleased.” Zane’s blue eyes met hers, and for an instant she felt like she’d stuck a wet finger in the toaster, something she’d done the other morning and gotten a zing of an electric shock.

  Don’t get sappy, she warned herself. She was just suffering from withdrawal symptoms because she didn’t have an ad campaign to work on, although she had already done a few sketches for a possible label for Buck’s Barbecue Sauce. Just doodles really, but it kept her occupied when she’d had a hard time falling asleep last night. And it was better than thinking about Zane.

  “Well, I should get back to work,” she said, already taking a few steps toward the door. “Do you want me to start packing up my stuff to move it down here?”

  “No sense packing it all up only to unpack it again. Just bring down the drawers and dump ’em in the drawers here. The room should stop smelling of paint in about another hour or two.”

  During that time, Tracy focused her energies on cleaning the living room. And she discovered that the carpeting was green, a yucky avocado green from the sixties, but a cleaner green than it had been thanks to some heavy-duty vacuuming from a machine that had probably been built when Kennedy was president.

  When Buck mentioned that the house had hardwood floors beneath the grungy carpet she’d been tempted to suggest taking up the worn-out carpet and letting the flooring beneath take its place. She could already see it in her mind’s eye—the mellow glow of oak flooring with the scattering of Native American rugs—Navajo maybe. In earth tones. It was enough to get her creative juices flowing.

  It was probably too soon to go redecorating Zane’s house. After all she’d only been there a few days. But she had already ordered new appliances for the kitchen, they were coming tomorrow. Maybe in a week or so she’d bring up the matter of removing the carpet and resanding the floors. How hard could that be?

  Once the living room had been restored to some semblance of order, Tracy moved upstairs to get her things. She only had an hour or so before she had to start the evening meal. Was it too soon to have spaghetti again? She’d managed that fairly well, since all that was involved was boiling pasta and opening ajar of sauce and warming it up.

  Wanting to be more efficient, she put all her things in two drawers, filled to overflowing, and then put one on top of the other to carry downstairs. She had just enough room to see over the top, if she was careful.

  She was careful, but the combination of both drawers was heavier than she thought it would be. The top drawer was about to slide sideways when Zane came to her rescue halfway down the stairs.

  “Here, give me that.” He took both drawers from her and briskly made his way to her new quarters.

  “Just set the drawers on the bed,” she requested, trailing right behind him.

  When he did as she asked, a mound of her silky lingerie slid out of the drawer. He instinctively grabbed for it, and a moment later her apricot-colored bra-and-panty set was dangling from his fingertips. He looked at the clothing as if it were a poisonous snake about to bite him.

  The man had been married. Surely he’d seen women’s underwear before? Just not her underwear. She snatched the clothing from his hands. The tips of her fingers brushed his, and she shivered at the contact.

  Everything simple became rich with meaning when she was with him. Her startled eyes met his. She was close enough to see them darken. He could speak volumes with those blue eyes of his, and she was beginning to learn his visual language. He wasn’t a man of many words, but with eyes like those he didn’t have to be. They spoke for him, said what he couldn’t or wouldn’t. That she wasn’t the only one who felt this intense attraction, that he was tempted by her, that she had power over him just as he had power over her. Sensual power.

  Then he blinked and the moment was over. “What’s for supper?” he asked as if nothing had happened.

  “Spaghetti?” she said. “Or I could make my specialty, Shrimp de Jonghe, if you have any shrimp in the freezer.”

  “Shrimp isn’t exactly cowboy food.”

  “It’s very healthy and good for you.”

  “You don’t aim on changing our eating habits, do you?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Other than having Lucky use a napkin rather than wiping her mouth on her shirtsleeve, no, I had no plans to change anyone’s eating habits.”

  “I meant serving up those fancy yuppie meals with a spoonful of mystery food in the middle of an empty plate decorated with fancy swirls of sauce.”

  “You’re not a fan of French cuisine, I gather.”

  “I prefer real food.”

  “Only because you’ve never eaten crème brûlée.” She licked her lips just at the thought of the dessert.

  Zane was not equally impressed. “It’s just pudding with a sugary crust on top,” he scoffed. “You think I’ve never eaten in a French restaurant? I went to college in Seattle. They’ve got plenty of French restaurants there. You don’t have to look so shocked. You think I’ve never been off the ranch?”

  “I don’t know what to think.” That much was true. Just when she thought she had Zane pegged, he went and startled her. She couldn’t decide whether she liked that or not.

  THE NEXT DAY Zane was in a bad mood for some reason, but the good news was that the new appliances were delivered without incident. That’s how she’d like her life to be for a week or two—without incident.

  But it wasn’t meant to be. At least, not yet While her spaghetti last night had been good, she’d ruined the eggs this morning—her last time cooking on the old stove. The new one hadn’t been connected in time for lunch so she’d had to make tuna fish sandwiches. Cowboys weren’t real fond of tuna fish, she quickly learned. At least not the cowboys on the Best ranch.

  Once the appliances were installed and the workman had departed, she couldn’t wait to show Zane how great the kitchen looked. She grabbed him the minute he walked in the mudroom, not even waiting for him to actually walk into the kitchen.

  “Come look!”

  “Look at what?” he asked as she dragged him over to the sink.

  “Everything.” She held her arms wide to embrace the entire kitchen, sparkling clean, with the new white stove and dishwasher. Standing before them like a game-show model, she waved her arms toward the shining appliances. “Self-cle
aning oven, electronicignition burners. And the dishwasher does pots and pans, too. And I found room for the things I brought with me from Chicago. See, I came prepared. I’ve got a salad shooter, and a cookie shooter.”

  “The only thing we shoot around here are housekeepers who can’t cook,” Zane growled.

  Fed up with his crabbiness—he’d been like this all day—she responded by sticking her thumbs in her ears and wiggling her fingers at him.

  He stared at her in astonishment.

  “A little something your kids taught me,” she noted demurely. “Consider yourself lucky I didn’t pour honey over you the way the kids almost did to me this morning. They had an open plastic bottle of it rigged to the top of the door frame into the pantry.”

  Zane couldn’t answer. He was all caught up in the image of her covering him with honey.

  “They assured me it was a little something left over from when I first arrived and they wanted me to leave. I think it was a test of sorts and I passed it. Since you told them you’d be spending more time with them, things have been much better. In fact, aside from this honey incident they’ve been remarkably good, considering.”

  “Considering?” Zane’s voice was raspy. He knew what he’d been considering. Tracy. Wearing honey and a wicked smile. Nothing else.

  “Considering they are the Best twins, able to strike fear into the hearts of shopkeepers and housekeepers alike.”

  He laughed.

  She smiled at him, her delight evident. “You should do that more often.”

  He had a feeling he would be with her in the house. It was hard not to when she was so bright and chipper. Not to mention sexy. And he wasn’t going to mention it or even think about it. Yeah, right. And pigs could fly.

  FEELING CONFIDENT NOW that she was cooking on a new stove, Tracy decided to try out the new pressure cooker she’d brought with her and use it to make Potage Saint Germain, or split pea soup.

  As she’d told Zane, her specialty was getting people to stop and say wow. And okay, so they were saying wow about her cooking because it was so bad right now, but that would change. She’d picked up a magazine called Quick Cooking at the supermarket the other day and had gotten plenty of ideas from that.