The Texas Rancher's Family

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  Her little brother regarded Mac with hero worship. “No problem. We’re here whenever you need us.”

  “I appreciate that.” Mac touched an index finger to his forehead in a salute. “Nicholas, Ms. Monroe, I’ll see you then.”

  * * *

  MAC GOT IN LATE and promptly took care of the personal situation that had summoned him home. Midmorning the following day, he stopped by corporate headquarters in downtown Philadelphia, to give his boss an update.

  Louise Steyn motioned him into her office and shut the door behind them. Elegant as always in a tailored designer suit, she slipped behind her desk. “When do you think you’ll have this deal wrapped up?”

  Mac settled in a chair opposite her. “Another month, maybe two.”

  “What’s the holdup?” she asked.

  How could he explain that even their company’s name—North Wind Energy—was offensive to the prickly Texans? “It’s complicated.”

  “Laramie County should be jumping at the chance to lower their electric rates.”

  Maybe they would be if it had been a community comprised mostly of suburban homes, and the size of their electric bills was the only quandary, Mac reasoned. “There are a lot of ranches. The residents are very attached to the land, and how each property looks.”

  Louise shrugged. “They’ll like clean, plentiful, renewable energy even more.”

  “I’m on it,” he promised. All he needed was a decent forum to make his pitch, and a place to situate the wind farm. He had the first and was close to getting the other.

  Louise paused to look him in the eye. “Everything okay at home? I heard there was some kind of crisis that brought you back to Philly last night.”

  Mac thought about the tears—from both females—that had greeted his arrival. “I’m handling it.”

  Louise gave him the same look she’d given him two and a half years before. “If there’s anything you need in that respect...” she volunteered.

  He ignored the tinge of pity in her manner. Life went on. The difficulty he was navigating was only temporary. “Thanks,” he said quietly, rising from his chair. “I’ll keep that in mind.” The meeting over, he turned and headed out.

  Selling a project he could handle. Dealing with the domestic drama on the home front? He could manage that, too, with a few temporary adjustments. It was the pretty owner of Monroe’s Western Wear who was a thorn in his side.

  Mac knew she was one of the most respected businesspeople in town. Heck, if you considered the reputation of the boots Erin Monroe made, in the entire state. People listened to her. And not just because she was smart and savvy, warm and hospitable. Or had an enticing figure, honey-blond curls and big green eyes.

  They paid attention to her because she was a natural leader. The kind of person who could make something take place. Or not.

  If she was as against the wind farm as she had appeared in their brief conversation, he was going to have a tough time bringing North Wind Energy’s biggest project yet to fruition.

  But that had to happen—and fast—because making it a reality was the only way he was going to be able to get his home life under control, once and for all.

  Chapter Two

  Erin was in her second-floor studio, putting the finishing touches on a pair of custom boots to be picked up later that afternoon, when Darcy Purcell, her best friend, part-time employee—and next customer—stuck her head in. “He’s back. And he’s not alone.”

  Erin didn’t even need to ask who “he” was. Mac Wheeler had been the source of endless speculation in the two days he had been gone. Partly because he had left town so suddenly that he’d had to cancel half a dozen appointments with landowners. The rest, because he had managed to talk her into allowing him to skip the line and get fitted for a pair of custom boots at triple the asking price. That action alone had cemented his reputation with the locals as a foolhardy Yankee.

  After all, no one in Laramie wasted money, if they could help it.

  Erin wrapped the boots in tissue paper and put them in a box emblazoned with the customer’s name. “I could care less,” she said, pushing aside the memory of the attractive interloper.

  Darcy followed Erin downstairs to the cash register. “Don’t you want to know what I heard?”

  “No.” Erin set the boots beneath the counter, then frowned as a sleek black limo with tinted windows pulled up at the curb. The rear door on the driver’s side opened and Mac emerged. His strides long and lazy, he circled around the back of the vehicle, then walked into the rustic interior of her family’s store.

  If anything, with his dark hair rumpled and his blue eyes intent, he was more devastatingly handsome than ever. Wearing khaki slacks, a button-up shirt and loafers, he still looked preppy, but a lot more casual and approachable than he had in a suit.

  Erin found herself wishing he was still ridiculously overdressed...so she wouldn’t be noticing the big man’s perfectly toned shoulders and chest.

  “Your appointment isn’t for another two hours,” she said.

  “I know.” He flashed an apologetic grin that did funny things to her insides. “I’ve had some...complications. I was hoping we could get the measuring done a little earlier.”

  “I’m sorry.” Erin indicated her happily married friend, glad to have an excuse to wait until her brother was on the premises, and could not only play chaperone, but distract them with his myriad questions and comments. “I have an appointment with Darcy next.”

  As determined as ever to get Erin back in the dating game, Darcy promptly volunteered, “I’ll trade with you.”

  Mac grinned. “Oh...thanks! I really appreciate that.”

  “No problem.” She beamed, sashaying toward the door. “See you both later.”

  After Darcy left, he turned back to Erin and pinned her with his gaze. Another shimmer of awareness sifted through her.

  Erin thought about the property taxes coming due on the ranch and tried to focus on business. “Have you ever had custom footwear made before?” she asked, gesturing toward the stairs.

  He fell into step behind her. “No.”

  Trying not to think of his eyes on her behind—how did she know what he was looking at as they climbed the stairs?—she took in an enervating breath and did her best to treat him like any other customer.

  She turned at the top of the stairway and smiled. “The first thing is the measuring. If you’ll have a seat—” she led him over to a straight-back chair “—and take off your shoes...”

  Mac settled his large frame with grace while Erin pulled up a stool. Heart pounding, she attached a piece of paper to a clipboard and set it on the floor in front of him, then asked him to stand once again.

  When he was on his feet, she slipped a hand around his ankle and guided his right foot onto the center of the paper. His socks were as fine a fabric as the rest of his clothes.

  “How long have you been doing this?” Mac asked.

  Glad to have something else to concentrate on other than him, she picked up a pencil and traced the outline of his foot on the paper. “I started learning the art of boot making when I was twelve. I was eighteen when I made my first pair, all on my own.”

  Erin slid another piece of paper onto the clipboard, marked it for the left foot and, holding that foot firmly in place, traced around it, too.

  “And now your little brother is learning the art?”

  Erin gestured for Mac to sit back down. She picked up his right foot and wrapped the measuring tape around the metatarsal bone just beneath his toes. “Nicholas can measure for the last—the replicated form of your foot that the boot is made to fit. And take orders, if the customer knows exactly what he or she wants, as most cowboys who come in here do.” Erin paused to write down the numbers on the sheet of paper with the outline of Mac’s right foot. “He’s not interested in helping formulate a design or the actual crafting of the boot.”

  Mac watched as she measured the middle of his arch. “So it’s just the two of
you?”

  Erin nodded. She grasped his foot and stretched it out, so his toes were pointed downward, then measured just above the center of his heel and around the ankle bone. “And the help we employ, like Darcy, who works here part-time. She says it’s to support her custom-boot habit.” Which, Erin knew, was pretty much true. Darcy had almost as many pairs of boots as Erin did.

  Mac smiled, nodding at her to continue.

  “Although my siblings and I all grew up helping out in the store.”

  Erin had him stand again. All business now, she asked, “Are you going to wear your pants inside your boots or over?” Because that would make a difference.

  When he said, “Over,” she guided his weight squarely over his foot, then measured around his calf. Finished, she recorded that figure, then guided him to sit down again so she could take the measurements of his left foot.

  While she worked, Mac relaxed his foot in her grip, and asked casually, “Your family owns a ranch, too, don’t they?”

  Still aware of him in a way she definitely shouldn’t be, Erin nodded, telling herself there would never be anything between her and this out-of-towner, no matter how many sparks his nearness generated. “The Triple Canyon Ranch,” she answered.

  Mac waited for her to finish writing down some stats before saying, “It’s my understanding the property hasn’t been used for agricultural purposes in years.”

  Erin gestured for him to stand again. When he did, she knelt in front of him and wrapped the measuring tape around his left calf. “Not since my parents died, when I was twenty-three.”

  “I’d heard as much,” he murmured.

  Erin made a final notation and straightened, studying the expression on his face. Romantic fantasies faded as reality took over. She let her gaze slide over him and guessed wryly, “And you’re thinking our ten thousand acres would be perfect for a wind farm.”

  Mac slid his feet into his shoes. “The topography is wide open, and rough enough to generate a lot of wind. It’s tucked into a remote corner of Laramie County, yet within easy reach of the county power plant.”

  A trickle of unease went through her. “You’ve seen our property?” she asked in shock.

  Guileless blue eyes held hers. “Via helicopter, yes.”

  “And that’s why you wanted boots,” she accused. “So you could talk me into selling the property to North Wind Energy?”

  His gaze held hers without apology. “Or leasing, long-term, if your family would prefer.”

  Furious at having been played, Erin stood. “First of all, I don’t own the property myself,” she told him icily, carrying the clipboard over to the counter, wondering if she should shred all her notes right now. “I share the rights with my siblings.”

  Mac didn’t seem the least bit put off. “I understand there are five of you.”

  He certainly had done his homework.

  Erin lounged against the counter, her arms folded in front of her. “That’s right. Sixteen-year-old Nicholas, whom you met the other day. Bridget and Bess, my twenty-two-year-old twin sisters, who are both finishing up nursing school at San Angelo State University. And my brother Gavin. He’s thirty-three, a year younger than me, and is currently completing his residency in cardio-thoracic medicine.” None of them were interested in agriculture, or the store. Nicholas just worked there part-time to earn spending money. But all of them shared an emotional attachment to the ranch house and the land four generations of Monroes had grown up on.

  Mac continued, “I’d like to talk to all of you.”

  Erin just bet he would.

  But before she could formulate a reply, the bell jingled on the first floor and then the front door slammed. “Mom!” Sammy and Stevie yelled in unison.

  Saved by her sons. Relieved, Erin flashed a pointed smile at Mac. “I’ve got to go.” She brushed past him and headed for the stairs.

  He was right behind her. “We haven’t finished.”

  “Oh, I think we have,” she said over her shoulder, as cheerfully determined as he was.

  The bell jangled again.

  The door opened just as Erin reached the main floor. A young girl with messy blond curls—and an ice-cream cone in her hand—charged in, sobbing, “Daddy!” A uniformed chauffeur trailed behind her.

  At the sight of the hopelessly distraught child wailing for her father, Erin’s heart clenched in a way it hadn’t in a good long while. Suddenly, it was all she could do not to burst into tears herself.

  “Daddy!” the little girl yelled again, tears of indignation streaming down her face as the cone she was holding lost its top, and strawberry ice cream landed on the floor with a splat. “I’m tired of Texas!” The girl tossed the cone aside and stomped her foot. “I want to go home! Right now!”

  * * *

  TALK ABOUT BAD TIMING, Mac thought, while striding to the rescue.

  “As you can see, despite your reassurances, this is not working,” the uniformed young woman told him with an indignant sniff. “I am a chauffeur, not a babysitter.”

  No kidding. He should have followed his instincts and brought Heather into the store with him, despite the driver’s assurances it would be okay. He’d figured the appointment would take just twenty or thirty minutes, long enough for him to set up a meeting with the whole Monroe clan.

  But that hadn’t happened, and now his little girl was in meltdown mode. Mac knelt and gathered his sobbing daughter into his arms. “Heather, honey, it’s all right....” he soothed, holding her close.

  “Daddy, you said this would be fun!” she cried.

  Aware they had the attention of everyone in the store, he patted her back. “I thought watching a movie and eating ice cream in the limo would be fun for you,” he said lamely.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he couldn’t help but notice Erin observing from the sidelines with a strangely paralyzed look on her face.

  “But I want you to stay with me!” Heather clung to him all the tighter, shifting his focus back to his weeping daughter.

  He could hardly blame her for being upset. She’d had way too much change in her life in the past few days. What she needed was normalcy, stability. Not that he seemed able to give her that at the moment.

  The two boys who’d entered the store edged closer to Erin, their eyes fixed on Heather. The younger one elbowed his mom. “What’s her problem?”

  Heather turned to look at him. Her tears momentarily forgotten, she pushed away from Mac and demanded with equal curiosity, “Who’s he?”

  From the sidelines, a group of cowboys looking over a display of Wranglers shifted uncomfortably.

  Cringing, Mac couldn’t blame them. He hated emotional scenes, too.

  Erin motioned for the salesclerk behind the counter to help the men. Her eyes glistening brightly, she stepped toward Mac and his little girl. “Hello, Heather,” she said with a smile. “My name is Erin and this is my son Sammy. He’s eight. This is my other son, Stevie. He’s ten. How old are you?”

  Heather sniffed, her misery fading fast. “I’m six.”

  “We have a toy corner in the back of the store. Would you like to see it?”

  Heather looked at Mac. “Can I, Daddy?”

  He released her. “Sure.”

  “Come on. We’ll show you,” Sammy said, reaching out and taking her hand.

  Stevie fell into step beside them. “Mom, is it okay if we get our after-school snack?”

  Erin blinked. For a moment there she’d been a million miles away, lost in her own thoughts as her sons quickly bonded with the little girl.

  “Sure,” Mac said again, when she looked at him for permission.

  “You can have a snack,” Erin told her boys, “but share whatever you get with Heather, too.”

  “Okay, Mom.”

  The children strode off, still hand in hand.

  Although Mac couldn’t help but wonder about the emotional expression that had flitted over Erin’s face, he turned his attention to the mess his daughter had made. �
��Do you have anything I can clean this up with?” he asked.

  Erin glanced at the strawberry ice cream puddled on the floor. “Don’t worry about it.” She pivoted and went to the counter, returning with a roll of paper towels and a bottle of cleaner. Mac couldn’t help noticing how her hips swayed beneath her nicely fitted jeans, or the way her calico print shirt clung to her breasts as she knelt down.

  Desire sifted through him, so fierce and unexpected it took him a minute to access some working brain cells. His body tightening with a demand that hadn’t been met in way too long, he hunkered down beside her and caught her hand. “Let me do that.”

  Silky skin heated beneath his fingertips as she sucked in a startled breath. Their glances met as she studied him with big green eyes.

  Damn, but she was pretty, Mac noted, despite his attempt to keep his interactions with her businesslike. She was feminine everywhere she should be. Delicate features, a heart-shaped face and upswept honey-blond curls only added to her womanly allure.

  She was obviously successful—which he liked. Stubborn—which was probably going to make her harder to persuade. But persuade he would, Mac vowed. “I’ll clean this up.”

  Her teeth raked across her soft, plump lower lip. “You really don’t have to do that.”

  He gave her his most persuasive smile. “I insist.”

  The truth was, he wanted to do something else entirely with her.

  But that wouldn’t help him fulfill his agenda. And he’d do well to remember the real reason he was here....

  Flustered, Erin handed him the necessary supplies and gave him room to work.

  Not long after he had finished, the door jangled again. A group of ladies strolled in, followed by Erin’s brother.

  “Sorry I’m late, sis. I—” Nicholas stopped dead at the sight of Mac. “I thought you weren’t coming till later.”

  Erin filled him in, “He switched appointments with Darcy, so I took his measurements for the last.”

  “What about the rest of the ordering process?” the teen asked.

  “I’m going to do that later,” Mac promised.