Harlequin Romance July 2013 Bundle: A Cowboy To Come Home ToHow to Melt a Frozen HeartThe Cattleman's Ready-Made FamilyRancher to the Rescue

by Donna Alward

  The reminder of her almost-wedding washed away his errant desire to kiss her. She’d already run out on the guy she’d promised to marry—she was the kind of woman who’d let a man down without a second thought. And he didn’t need someone like that in his life.

  * * *

  In no time at all Meghan was sitting astride Cinnamon, a gentle mare. Cash led her on a brief tour of the Tumbling Weed. She couldn’t help but admire all the beautiful horses in the meadow, but it was the cowboy at her side that gave her the greatest pause. With his squared chin held high and his broad shoulders pulled back, he gave off a definite air of confidence. She couldn’t help but admire the way he moved, as if he were one with the horse.

  “Tell me a little about yourself,” Cash said.

  “You don’t want to hear about me. You’d be bored senseless.”

  “Consider it part of you getting the job. After all, there’d normally be some sort of interview where I’d get to know at least the broad strokes of your life.”

  He had a point. If she had a stranger working and living with her, she’d want some background information too. But opening up about herself and her family didn’t come easily to her.

  Her mother had taught her to hide their family flaws and shortcomings from the light of day. And never, ever to let the man in your life know of them—not if you wanted to plan a future with him. Meghan had foolishly followed that advice with Harold and held so much of herself back. As a result they’d had a very superficial relationship.

  She never wanted that to happen again. If a man was to love her, he had to see her just as she was—blemishes and all.

  But that didn’t make revealing her imperfections any less scary. Thankfully she could take her first plunge into honesty with a man she had no intention of getting romantically entangled with.

  “Let’s see—you already know I’m a professional cook. I grew up in Lomas, New Mexico. I have two younger sisters. And my parents were married almost thirty years before my father died of cancer this past winter.”

  “Are you close to your family?”

  The easy answer teetered on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back. The point was to learn to open up about herself. “The family splintered apart after my father died. Since I’m the oldest, I know it falls to me to keep everyone together. But too much happened too fast and I...I failed.”

  Seconds passed before Cash said, “I don’t know about your particular situation, but in my experience I’ve learned some families are better off apart.”

  Sadness smothered her as the truth of his words descended over her. She didn’t want that to be true of her family. But, more than that, she wondered what he’d lived through to come to such a dismal conclusion.

  She wanted to ask. She wanted to offer him some hope. But she couldn’t let herself get drawn into his problems when she had so many of her own.

  Instead, she changed the subject. “How many horses do you have?”

  “Fifty-one. I aim to have close to a hundred when all is said and done.”

  “That’s a lot.”

  “Sure is. But with thousands of cowboys roaming through the West, and the right sort of advertising, I’m thinking soon I’ll have more business than I can handle.”

  “Do you have a business plan?” She was curious to know if a cowboy could also have a mind for business.

  “I do. Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious. So, do you advertise?” She almost blurted out that she’d never heard of the Tumbling Weed before yesterday, but she caught herself in time.

  “I have a website, and I’ve taken out ads in various publications, but the best form of advertising by far is word of mouth.”

  So he knew his stuff. She was impressed. She had a feeling that some day soon everyone in the Southwest would know of the Tumbling Weed.

  “But don’t you get lonely out here by yourself?”

  A muscle in his cheek twitched. “Not at all. There are ranch hands to talk to and there’s always Gram.”

  “But what about...?” Meghan bit down on her bottom lip, holding back her intrusive question.

  “You surely aren’t going to ask me about my social life, are you?”

  Heat blazed in her cheeks. “Sorry. None of my business. An occupational hazard.”

  His dark brows rose, disappearing beneath the brim of his Stetson. “Do you interview people on your show?”

  “Sometimes. It’s always fun to have local celebrities on as guests. I really shouldn’t have pried into your private life. I was just trying to get to know you.”

  “If it makes you feel better, I don’t have a girlfriend or anyone special. I’m not into serious relationships.”

  His answer put her at ease. However, the fact that his status mattered to her at all was worrisome. He was her temporary boss—nothing more. As a single expectant mother, she didn’t have any right to notice a man—even if he was a drop-dead sexy cowboy.

  * * *

  Tuesday’s late-morning sunshine rained down on Meghan, warming her skin and raising her spirits. She had come to anticipate her daily walks to Martha’s house. It provided her with a chance to stretch her legs and inhale the sweet fresh air. At this moment her problems didn’t seem insurmountable. She could...no, she would conquer them.

  Upon reaching Martha’s place, she knocked on the door. From the beginning, Martha had insisted she not stand on formalities and let herself in, so Meghan eased open the door and stepped inside, finding the house surprisingly quiet.

  “Hello? Martha? I’m here to help with lunch,” she said loudly, in case her dear friend hadn’t heard the knock. “I also have a question for you—”

  The words died on her lips when she stepped into the kitchen and found it vacant. A closer inspection revealed lunch hadn’t been started, which was quite unlike Martha, who always stayed a step ahead of everyone. Meghan’s stomached tightened into a hard lump.

  Please don’t let anything have happened to her.

  A search of the remainder of the house turned up nothing. Where in the world had she gone? Martha hadn’t mentioned anything at breakfast. This just didn’t make sense.

  On her way out the door Meghan noticed a folded piece of paper propped up on the kitchen table. Her name had been scrawled across the front. She grasped the page and started to read.

  Meg,

  Sorry to leave in such a rush. Amy Santiago just gave birth to triplets and is having complications. She has no family in town, so I’m going to stay with them until their relatives arrive in a few days. Cash will make sure you have everything you need.

  See you soon.

  Martha

  Meghan refolded the paper and slid it in her pocket. She couldn’t help but wonder if this would change things with Cash. Would he want her to stay on? Or would this be the perfect excuse for him to send her packing?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “WHAT DO YOU mean, Gram’s gone?”

  Cash’s spine straightened as every muscle in his body tensed. Why would Gram disappear without talking to him? Had it been an emergency? His chest tightened.

  “You didn’t know?” Meg asked, surprise written all over her delicate features.

  “Of course not.” He swung out of the saddle of a brown and white paint. In three long strides he reached the white rail fence where Meg waited. “Would I be asking you if I did?”

  “It’s just that I would have thought she’d tell you...would have asked you for a ride.”

  “Quit rambling and tell me where my grandmother went.”

  Meg yanked a piece of paper from her back pocket and held it out to him. He snatched it from her, eager to get to the bottom of this not-so-fun mystery.

  His gaze eagerly scanned the page. Relief settled over him as he blew out a sigh of r
elief.

  “Don’t worry me like that again.” He handed the paper back to Meg. “Gram is fiercely independent. And sometimes she gets herself into trouble.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, what sort of things does she do?”

  “You wouldn’t believe it.” He shoved up his Stetson and ran a hand over his forehead. “One time I actually found her on the roof.”

  “The roof?” Meg’s eyes rounded. “Why in the world was she up there?”

  “She said it was the only way she could get the upstairs windows cleaned. There was a smudge, and she couldn’t reach it from the inside. With her, I never know what’s going to happen next.”

  A smile lifted Meg’s lips, which stirred a warm sensation in him. He shoved aside the reaction, refusing to acknowledge that she held any sort of power over him.

  “What did you do about your grandmother while you were away on the rodeo circuit?”

  “I worried. A lot. I tried to call home every day, and I had Hal, my foreman, check in a couple of times a day.”

  “I can’t even imagine how tough that must have been for you.” She paused and her gaze lowered. “I suppose with your grandmother away you’ll want me to pack my things?”

  The thought hadn’t crossed his mind until she’d mentioned it. Her leaving would certainly make his life a lot easier. He’d no longer have to worry about the press tracking her down. And he could relax, no longer tormented by his urge to see if she tasted as sweet as she looked.

  He cleared his throat. “If you give me a chance to clean up, I can give you a lift wherever you want to go.”

  Her gaze didn’t meet his as she shook her head. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

  “You aren’t. I’m the one who offered. Where do you want to go? Home?”

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth. When she lifted her head, he saw uncertainty reflected in her green eyes. She didn’t have any clue what her next move would be. Sympathy welled up in him.

  No. This wasn’t his problem. She’d be fine.

  Or would she be?

  He couldn’t just kick her to the curb. If his grandmother had dismissed him as not her problem he’d have ended up as a street urchin at best... At worst— No, he didn’t want to go there. He’d slammed the door on his past a long time ago.

  Against his better judgment he heard himself say, “On second thought, if you aren’t in a hurry to go I could use your help.”

  Surprise quickly followed by suspicion filtered across her face. “I don’t need charity.”

  She still had her pride. Good for her.

  “What I have in mind is purely business. With you here acting as housekeeper and cook I’ve been able to get more work done than ever before. Besides, my grandmother won’t be gone long.”

  The stress lines eased on her face. “Are you sure?”

  Absolutely not. It was crazy to invite this sexy redhead to stay here...alone...with him. But what choice did he have?

  “I’m sure,” he lied.

  A hesitant smile spread across her face, plumping up her pale cheeks. “Since it’s just the two of us, maybe we could christen your new kitchen?”

  “Fine by me.”

  She climbed down from where she’d been perched on the fence. “Any special request for dinner?”

  “Meat and potatoes are my favorite, but the fridge and pantry are almost bare. So whatever you come up with will do. I’ll pick up a few things in town later today.”

  “I noticed there isn’t any wine. Sometimes I like to cook with it. Would you mind picking up some red and white?”

  Cash clenched his jaw. He knew it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know about his past, and that was for the best. If only she’d let the subject drop.

  “You do like wine, don’t you?” Her gaze probed him. “If you tell me your preference—”

  “I don’t drink,” he said sharply.

  She jumped. Regret consumed him for letting his bottled-up emotions escape. But he couldn’t explain himself. He couldn’t dredge up the memories he’d found so hard to push to the far recesses of his mind.

  “Uh...no problem. I can cook without it.”

  He lowered his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “You didn’t.”

  She was lying, and they both knew it, but he didn’t call her on it. He just wanted to pretend the incident hadn’t happened.

  Meg had turned to walk away when he called out, “If you’d make up a store list it’ll be easier for both of us.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll do it first thing.”

  “Good.”

  “I’ll have to remember to add a pie for dessert.” She turned fully around. “You do like pie, don’t you?”

  His previous tension rolled away. “I thought the Jiffy Cook would whip one up from scratch.”

  “Not this girl. I can cook almost anything, but when it comes to baking I’m a disaster. Trust me, you wouldn’t want to try one of my pies. Last time I tried the crust was burnt on the edges and raw in the center.”

  “Hard to believe someone as talented as you can’t throw together a pie.”

  Color infused her cheeks. “My younger sister, Ella, got all the baking genes. In fact she runs her own bakery.”

  “If she bakes half as good as you cook, her pies must be the best in the land.”

  Meg’s beaming smile caught his attention. His gaze latched onto her lips—her very kissable lips. His stomach dipped like it had when he was a kid riding a rollercoaster.

  Damn. What had he gotten himself into by agreeing to let her stay?

  * * *

  A slight tremor shook Meghan’s hands.

  Why in the world was she letting herself get so worked up about this meal? So maybe she’d experimented a bit? That wasn’t anything new. She’d been putting her twist on recipes since she was a kid.

  But this was her first attempt to cook for Cash without his grandmother taking charge of the meal. Tonight’s menu was spicier than anything they’d had since she’d arrived. She could barely sit still as she waited for his opinion.

  “What do you think?” she asked as the forkful of flat enchilada slipped past his lips.

  His eyes twinkled but he didn’t answer. She watched as he slowly chewed. When his Adam’s apple rose and fell as he swallowed she couldn’t stand the suspense.

  “Well—tell me. Did you like it?”

  He rested the fork on the side of his plate, steepled his fingers together and narrowed his eyes on her. Her nails dug into her palms as she awaited his verdict. Patience had never been one of her strong suits.

  Unable to stand it anymore, she blurted out, “Enough with the looks. Tell me the good, the bad or the ugly. I can take it.”

  She couldn’t. Not really. His opinion meant more to her than a judge’s at a national cooking competition. Her breath was suspended while she waited.

  “So you want my real opinion, right?” he asked, poker-faced. “The unvarnished truth?”

  She pulled back her shoulders and nodded.

  “The enchiladas were...surprising. I wasn’t expecting a fried egg inside. And the sauce was tangy, but not hot enough to drown out the Monterey Jack or the onion.” He broke into a smile. “Where did you find the recipe? I’ll have to try it sometime.”

  The pent-up air whooshed from her lungs. “Honest? I mean you aren’t saying this just to be nice?”

  “Me? Nice? Never.”

  She started to laugh. “Would you quit joking around?”

  “You still didn’t say where you got the recipe.”

  She sat up a little straighter. “That’s because I didn’t have a recipe. I made it up.”

  He grabbed her fork and
held it out to her. “Then I suggest you try your own dish.”

  He had a good point. She’d been so wrapped up in his reaction that she’d forgotten to have a bite. How could she let this man’s opinion matter so much to her? When had he become so important?

  By dwelling on this current of awareness sizzling between them she was only giving it more power over her. And the last thing she or her baby needed was another complication—even if this complication came with the most delightful lips that evoked spine-tingling sensations.

  She stared down at her untouched food.

  Concentrate on the food—not the cowboy.

  Even as a portion of the casserole rested on her plate it held its shape. Of course, she’d let it cool for about ten minutes before serving. Presentation was half the battle. No one wanted to slave away in the kitchen and have their masterpiece turn out to be a sloppy, oozing mess on the plate. And you never wanted one dish to flow into the other. That would be enough to ruin the whole meal.

  So aroma and presentation passed. Now for texture and taste. A dish that turned to mush was never appetizing, nor would it be fulfilling. There had to be solidity. Kind of like Cash, who was firm and solid on the outside, but inside, on those rare insightful moments, his soft center showed.

  Oh, boy, now she was comparing the man to her culinary creation. Yikes, was she in trouble?

  She lifted the fork to her lips. The dish was good, but it was those riveting eyes across the table that held her captive. If only she could create a dish that made a person think they’d floated up to the heavens with each mouthful—like Cash could make her feel whenever his gaze held hers—then she’d be the most famous cook in the world.

  “Something wrong with the food?” His brows creased together.

  “Um...no.” Heat crept into her cheeks. Thank goodness one of his talents wasn’t reading minds.

  “You should be writing your own recipes.”

  His statement triggered a memory. “You know, it’s funny that you mention it. There was this book editor once who wanted to know if I’d be interested in writing a cookbook.”