ANNE SLOWLY DESCENDED the wide, carpeted stairs. Zoey was sound asleep, her breathing surprisingly even, only the slightest rattle in her chest. The steamy bath had helped, and her mother’s jetted tub was a child’s delight. Zoey, overly tired from the time difference, had balked at getting out.
They’d avoided a tantrum, but the diplomatic effort had depleted Anne’s reserves. She longed to crawl into her mother’s four-poster bed, but the day wasn’t over.
Anne tried to make her mind blank. Normally before a business meeting, she would have been making mental notes, eager to stake out her territory from the get-go. But Zoey’s brief disappearance earlier in the day had unnerved Anne.
A child raised in the city knew the hazards, the predators. Life in the country—especially a ranch miles from town—presented a different set of pitfalls. Anne would need to watch Zoey carefully, and the weight of that responsibility felt like an elephant on her back.
Anne hadn’t been surprised to find her daughter at A.J.’s side. Zoey loved men, and Anne almost wept when she thought of Barry Fraser, who was living in Japan with his second wife and seemingly happy to have little or no contact with his beautiful daughter.
Maybe a summer surrounded by a bunch of cowboys would be a good thing, Anne thought, although the memory of the eighteen months she’d lived on the ranch in high school didn’t fill her with hope.
As she neared the ranch’s office, she breathed in the smell of coffee and immediately perked up. Her mouth watered and her step became a bit jauntier. Six months of trying to wean herself from caffeine had done nothing to erase the craving.
The thought of stirring cream into the pungent black brew was so distracting she almost missed Will’s remark. “A division of power might work in government—hear me, might, but I’m not sure two people can run a place like this without creating friction.”
A new image replaced the picture of her lovely café mocha. Two bodies in a passionate embrace. Friction of another sort. Her cheeks burned and she shook her head to erase the thought. Good Lord, have I been without a man for so long I’ve turned into a sex fiend?
Exerting the kind of control she prided herself on, Anne walked into the well-appointed office. Her mother had fretted over the decor, anxious to create a feeling of comfort and elegance. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves bracketed the rock fireplace, and hardwood flooring emphasized the room’s spaciousness. Persian rugs, a distressed-leather sofa against the wall and two chairs at angles in front of A.J.’s massive desk completed the look. Tucked unobtrusively behind the door stood an oak cabinet that held the computer and operation center for the ranch.
“We’re like two peas in a pod,” Esther had crowed with triumph when she called Anne to describe the finished product. “A.J. has his space—nice and tidy—and I can close the doors on my mess so we’re both happy.”
Anne joined the men. “Sorry it took so long. Zoey was overtired, which made bedtime difficult.”
“Is she breathing okay?” A.J. asked.
Anne wanted to hug him for asking. He truly was a dear man. She could understand why her mother had called him the love of her life. Esther had been quick to point out that her second marriage in no way detracted from the first. “I don’t want you to think I didn’t love your father,” she once told Anne. “But George and I were just kids when we married and had you. We loved each other, but A.J. and I have a different kind of love. Older. Wiser. We fill in each other’s gaps.”
“She’s doing great. Her air purifier is up and running and I changed the bedding this afternoon, so she should be fine. Thanks for asking. And I really appreciate you giving us the master suite. We could have gotten by with a single room.”
A.J. made a scoffing sound. “You’ll sleep better having her next door but not in the same bed. And you’re gonna need your sleep. This is a busy place once the guests start arriving.”
That thought made the butterflies in Anne’s belly flutter. She hadn’t worked one-on-one with the public in years. “When exactly will that be? I looked over the calendar,” she said, motioning toward the computer hutch, “but I couldn’t quite decipher the code.”
A.J. snickered. “Your mother had her own method. I left everything alone thinking you’d want to do it your own way. The guest list is a file marked Coming.”
Oh, dear, Anne thought.
A soft chuckle to her left made her hope she hadn’t said the words aloud. She looked at Will, who’d politely risen when she walked into the room and was still waiting to return to the pewter leather chair with its matching hassock.
“Sit down,” she said, hurrying forward. “Please. It’s late and I’m sure you’re tired from your drive.”
She quickly lowered herself into the chair adjacent to his. Once she was settled, he sat, kicking out his legs to recline slightly. His boots were clean and polished and his ankles crossed, exposing the plain leather upper of his boot. Nothing showy.
It struck her that Will didn’t fit the image she had of a professional cowboy. For one thing, he wasn’t a big and burly guy. An inch or so under six feet, he seemed fit and lean, but not overly muscular. And aside from the boots, his clothing was what ninety percent of her male acquaintances wore outside the office—broken-in jeans and a Henley T-shirt. Only the ornate belt buckle at his waist—an oval of highly polished silver and gold with some inscription she couldn’t read—lent a distinctly western flair.
“Coffee?” he asked in a low, raspy bass that must have been tuned directly to her hormones.
Anne heard, “Sex?”
A spot in her lower belly buzzed, her breasts tingled, and her heart skipped a beat. She couldn’t find a single word in her vocabulary to give in reply.
Will cocked his head and lifted the steaming mug in his right hand as if to communicate by sign language.
Mercifully, Anne’s brain kicked in. “No, thank you. I’ve been trying to kick the habit.”
“Bad timing,” he said with a sympathetic grin. “According to Gramps, we go through more coffee around here than at an AA meeting.”
“I’m a tea drinker now. Herbal mostly.”
He shook his head as if the idea was too far outside his ken to grasp.
Anne turned to A.J. “So, what have I missed? Are you still planning to leave in the morning?”
Will answered. “I tried to talk him into sticking around another couple of days, but he’s a stubborn mule.” The gentle rebuke was softened by his tone, which seemed filled with genuine fondness.
A.J. rose from his chair behind the desk and walked to an oversize map of the United States, which had been tacked to the wall with colorful pushpins. He pointed at the state of Maine. “I’ve got a long way to go.” She sensed at the edge of his determination a hint of despair. Anne realized just how little thought she’d devoted to A.J.’s grief. Torn between a sick daughter and a deceased mother, Anne had stuffed her anguish onto the back burner and handled the funeral as if the whole thing was happening to someone else. In the months that followed, she’d devoted her attention to work, rather than deal with the pain that hovered on the perimeter of her consciousness.
Maybe, she thought, if I’d stuck around and helped with grief counseling, this whole pilgrimage could have been avoided.
“A.J.,” Anne said, too tired to move, “I don’t want to sound like a broken record, but I know from experience that transitions are smoother when the previous management oversees the change of command. Even a day or two would help.”
He shook his head so forcefully that his oiled silver hair fell across his forehead. He swiped it back. “I told your mother spring. If I wait any longer it’s gonna be summer.”
She might have argued the point, but he didn’t give her a chance. Instead he returned to the desk and picked up a sheaf of papers held together by a thick black clip. When he handed them to her, Anne recognized the logo on the cover page. “Sign these and drop ’em off at the bank. You, too, Will. The manager suggested using two-signature checks. That
way everybody knows where the money goes.”
He returned to the map and glanced at it as he spoke. “And I set up a power of attorney for you both with my lawyer. Stop by his office, too. Sooner the better, I reckon.”
Anne’s hand trembled as she perused the official-looking documents. “A.J., do you think it’s wise to leave everything you hold dear in the hands of two novices? Shouldn’t there be some kind of safeguard?” She spotted the line that listed the types of accounts. “At least, hold back your savings.”
He sighed weightily. “You and Will are my only heirs. If you run the place into the ground, then you get less when I die. If you decide to sell it off while I’m gone, then I won’t have nothin’ to worry about when I get back.”
The defeatist tone was so not A.J. that Anne couldn’t speak.
Will reached across the space between their chairs to take the papers from her numb fingers. “Don’t worry, Gramps, we won’t let the place fall apart. The Silver Rose will be here for as long as you want to run it.”
Anne wished she shared her new partner’s confidence. She could hire staff, revamp the Web page, update the reservation system and handle the guests once they started arriving, but could she manage all that plus keep her daughter safe, hold on to her real job and prevent her head from exploding?
Possibly, but what was she going to do about the crush she still had on Will Cavanaugh?
CHAPTER THREE
AN UNFAMILIAR SOUND—the murmur of male voices—entered her dream. Anne tried to interpret the words, but the harder she focused the more awake she became. Suddenly, her eyes blinked open.
Daylight.
Panic sent a spurt of adrenaline through her veins. She sat up and looked around, trying to remember where she was. Her fingers tingled as she swept back the covers. The chill of morning made contact with the prickle of sweat under her arms, producing a shiver.
Anne never slept past five. Her day was jam-packed from start to finish. Oversleeping meant playing catch-up.
She leaped out of bed as if she were in her own room. Her left foot landed on an uneven mass, and when she tried to hop away from the obstacle, her right foot became entangled in the bulky covers. With a strangled cry, she careened forward, her hands slapping the bare oak floor. The handmade rug she’d noticed last night had gotten pushed aside by her suitcase, which she’d left open beside the bed.
Her flannel pajamas provided little protection against the rigid plastic rim of her weekender. Too tired last night to finish unpacking, she’d planned to tackle that first thing. She’d even set her alarm to go off early.
“Why didn’t the buzzer work?” she muttered, disentangling her feet and scooting sideways so she could examine her wounds.
The faded yellow and pink daisy print of her pajamas showed a few spots of blood, and Anne gingerly pulled back the material, exposing her shin.
She’d live, but the inch-long scrape wouldn’t go well with her shorts.
She blotted the blood with a tissue she found in the pocket of her robe, which had followed her to the floor, then glanced at her trusty travel clock on the bedside table. Even at a distance she could see that she’d forgotten to push the On button.
With a huff of frustration, she rose, ignoring the twinge in her shoulders and knees.
The sound of an engine revving joined the rumble of voices. Anne didn’t want to miss telling A.J. goodbye, so she snatched up her robe—a space-saving jersey number that had seen better days—and hobbled toward the door. She paused at the French doors between her room and Zoey’s.
In preparation for their visit, A.J. had pushed Esther’s sewing machine into one corner and installed a white, wrought-iron daybed for Zoey to use. Cozy and utterly charming, the room was every little girl’s dream. Knowing Zoey needed sleep to help her body acclimate to a new time zone, Anne decided not to wake her.
When she touched the pounded-brass doorknob, Anne recalled her conversation with Will the night before. She’d assumed that Will would be occupying one of the upstairs rooms, but he’d informed her in no uncertain terms he’d already picked out his cabin at the far end of the compound. “I need my space,” he’d told her after A.J. had retired to spend his first night in the motor home. “I’m not housebroken.”
When Anne expressed concern about having strangers down the hall from where her daughter was sleeping, Will had promised to install a self-closing hotel lock. If she hadn’t been so tired, Anne would have argued that losing the revenue from one cabin, which rented for twice the rate of a single room, could adversely affect their bottom line. But given her ridiculous attraction toward him, she’d finally decided the extra distance might be good.
Realizing she was barefoot, Anne scanned the room for her slippers. The spacious suite faced east, and a watery blue light filtered through the miniblinds. Anne had been grateful to discover that her mother had kept fussy window treatments to a minimum upstairs. Curtains, carpets and down-filled comforters were attractive dust catchers that could aggravate Zoey’s asthma.
Not spotting her footwear, Anne decided she could handle cold feet for a few minutes. She walked into the hall and looked around to get her bearings. A.J. and Esther had undertaken some remodeling since Anne lived here. The hallway seemed wider, and they’d added a skylight, which provided enough light to see by without turning on switches.
The old farmhouse was functional and had served the Cavanaugh family well over the years. Anne’s mother had added a badly needed dose of style, although Esther’s tendency to collect treasures warred with Anne’s inclination to reduce clutter. The housekeeping staff would stay busy.
Anne hurried downstairs, thankful for the wool carpet runner. Its Oriental design was a dramatic blend of red, black and amber. She paused at the foot of the stairs to cinch the fabric belt at her waist. Morning light filled the entry, which was painted an unusual shade of tarnished gold. Her mother’s choice of color scheme wouldn’t have been Anne’s pick, but she had to admit the effect was warm and oddly welcoming. A cathedral ceiling and refurbished chandelier added to the room’s expansive feeling. The front door stood open; a hunk of firewood kept the exterior screen from closing.
To avoid lingering on the flagstone flooring, Anne dashed across the foyer, her goal the rubber welcome mat. As she crossed the threshold, she spotted Will charging headlong up the steps, a battered thermos in his right hand and a half-eaten chocolate doughnut in his left. Only his quick reflexes kept Anne from winding up on the floor.
“Whoa,” he said, wrapping the chocolate-doughnut hand around her shoulders and pulling her against him when she overcorrected.
Her senses weren’t prepared for the impact of Will Cavanaugh first thing in the morning. Fresh air and fabric softener mingled with coffee and chocolate—two of her favorite vices.
She looked up, too dazed to move. His chestnut-brown hair looked damp and springy. An unruly lock spilled across his forehead. She was close enough to see the line left by his razor where it trimmed his sideburns. When he grinned, a whiff of spearmint toothpaste made her wiggle free. She hadn’t brushed her teeth yet.
The sparkle of laughter in his medium-blue eyes could have been because she was obviously disconcerted or because he read her mind. Either way, he had Anne at a disadvantage and that was a bad way to start the morning—and a new job.
“Sorry,” she said, stepping back. “I didn’t want to miss A.J.”
“He sent me in to wake you up and fill his thermos,” he told her, before he polished off the doughnut. “I’ll take my time.”
His generosity made her instantly suspicious. In her business, men were usually most considerate when they were setting you up for something, Anne thought as she hurried across the painted porch to the steps. She had no idea what to expect from this partnership, and last night, she had been too tired to set boundaries. She and her new partner needed to take a meeting—a serious heart-to-heart.
The wording made her miss a step. She landed flat-footed on the bit
terly cold concrete sidewalk. Is that frost? A shiver ran through her as she saw the flattened-out grass in the fenced yard.
“Anne,” a voice called from behind her.
She looked over her shoulder.
“It got down to thirty degrees last night,” Will said, holding up a pair of sneakers in one hand. “Too cold to go barefoot.”
She remembered leaving her shoes by the back door. Thoughtful and considerate. You don’t see that much anymore, she had to admit as he pitched the shoes to her in a graceful arch. They landed on the grass a few inches away.
“Nice shot,” she said, bending down to pick them up.
Will’s eyebrows wiggled playfully. “I knew all those horseshoe tournaments would come in handy someday.”
He disappeared inside before she could thank him. Anne looked at the shoes, just slightly scuffed from landing toe first on the grass. If she were honest, she’d admit that she found his thoughtfulness even more unnerving than his smile. She couldn’t remember the last time a man went out of his way to see to her needs.
Another shiver hit her—one that had nothing to do with the brisk morning. She was going to have to be extra cautious, she decided. They had a very long three months ahead of them and she wasn’t going to screw it up by getting her heart broken by a love ’em-and-leave-’em cowboy.
Anne was well aware of Will’s reputation. Her mother had despaired of him ever falling in love and settling down. “He’s a rolling stone—just like his daddy,” Esther once bemoaned. “So far, he’s barely even slowed down long enough to gather a little dust, let alone moss.”
Pushing aside all thoughts of Will, Anne crammed her icy feet into her shoes. Tiny bits of sand and debris stuck to the soles of her feet, making it difficult to walk. Slowly, she made her way to the driver’s-side door of the boxy camper. Engine idling, the motor home resembled an oversize refrigerator on wheels.
A Cowboy Summer (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 5
