The Rancher and His Unexpected Daughter

by Sherryl Woods

  Janet chuckled at the blatant attempt to try to push her buttons. “Forget it, Jenny. You can’t rile me up that way. There is absolutely no evidence that anything like that is going on at White Pines.”

  “Isn’t that why we’re here, though? Aren’t you supposed to be righting old wrongs, looking out for the descendents of the Comanches who rightfully belong on that land that Mr. Adams’s ancestors stole? Jeez, Mom, we’re in town for less than a month and you’re practically in bed with the enemy.”

  “I am not in bed with anybody,” Janet said. “Stop with that kind of talk and set the table.”

  “Okay, but I say you’re selling out.”

  “And I say you have a smart mouth. I’d better not hear any of that kind of talk while Mr. Adams is here.”

  Jenny nodded, her expression knowing. “I get it. You don’t want to tip him off too soon that his days on that land are numbered, right? You’ll finish your research, then bam, file the papers and boot him off. That’s good. I like it. Boy, will he be surprised when he finds out I belong at White Pines more than he does. Maybe I’ll even make him clean the barn.”

  Janet was beginning to regret ever having told Jenny how the land that Lone Wolf’s father had cherished had been taken over by white ranchers, while the Comanches were forced into smaller and smaller areas and eventually out of Texas altogether.

  “Sweetie, there is no evidence that White Pines itself belonged to Lone Wolf’s father,” she explained. “True, he roamed all over west Texas and the Comanches believed that the land of the Comancheria was theirs, but it’s not as if it was ever deeded to them and recorded as theirs.”

  “But that’s just a technicality, right?” Jenny argued. “You’re going to prove that possession was nine-tenths of the law stuff and that the government never had any right to force them out, right?”

  Janet had to admit it was a dream she had had, a fantasy inspired by listening to Lone Wolf spin his sad tales. She had vowed at his grave, when she was younger than Jenny was now, that she would try to rectify what had happened to their ancestors.

  When her marriage had failed, she’d been drawn to Texas at least in part to see if there was any way at all to fulfill that old promise. Now, while it seemed likely there was much she could do to assist the scattered Native Americans still living in Texas, reality suggested there was little chance she could return their old lands to them. While principle dictated the claims of the tribe were valid, individually their legal rights were murky at best.

  “Jenny, you know that’s what I want to do, but it’s complicated. I can’t just waltz into the courthouse and file a few briefs and expect a hundred years of wrongs to be righted. The system doesn’t work that way.”

  “The system stinks,” Jenny retorted, thumping the plates onto the table. “And just remember, Mom, Mr. Adams is part of that system.”

  Janet sighed. It wasn’t something she was likely to forget. If the twinkle in his eyes or the fire stirred by a casual touch distracted her, she had only to gaze around at his land to remember what had brought her to Texas.

  Every acre of raw beauty reminded her of Lone Wolf’s broken father, forced to live as a farmer in an unfamiliar state when tradition and instinct made him a hunter.

  In the abstract, it had been easy to hate the Texans who had made that happen. Now, faced with a man like Harlan Adams, who had shown her nothing but kindness, compassion and a hint of desire, it was awfully hard to think of him—or even his faceless ancestors—as the enemy.

  So, what did she consider him to be? she wondered as she checked the cake she had baking. Her mother, a full-blooded Comanche, had barely survived a disastrous marriage to a white man. Janet was only half Comanche and her own marriage to a white man had been only minimally better. She’d convinced herself that returning to Texas to learn more about her Comanche heritage was the secret to happiness.

  Was Jenny right? Was she selling out already by allowing Harlan Adams to assume such a significant role in their lives? It was not as if she’d had much choice, she consoled herself. Jenny had gotten their lives entwined from the moment she’d impulsively stolen that truck of his.

  As for the way she responded to Harlan’s warm glances, that was just hormones talking. Her good sense could overrule that anytime she chose—or so she prayed.

  She reached into the oven to remove the cake. The pot holder slipped. Her thumb landed squarely on the pan.

  “Damn,” she muttered as the round pan clattered to the floor. A crack the size of the Grand Canyon appeared down the middle of the cake. Jenny appeared just in time to stare in dismay at the mess.

  “Jeez, Mom, that cake was about the only thing this meal had going for it.”

  “Don’t remind me,” she muttered, sucking on her injured thumb. “I’ll fill it in with frosting, so it’ll look okay. We’ll cut pieces from the outside edges. Harlan will never know.”

  “I don’t know. I think after he gets a taste of that limp spaghetti and the wilted salad, he’ll be expecting it.”

  Janet scowled at her daughter. “You’re no help. A little encouragement would be welcomed about now.”

  “You need more than encouragement to bail you out,” Jenny declared derisively. “How about a quick trip to DiPasquali’s? I could be back before he gets here. He’ll never know you didn’t prepare every bite yourself.”

  Janet was sorely tempted to do just that. For some reason that probably didn’t bear too close a scrutiny, she really had wanted this meal to go well. She surveyed the mess in the kitchen, then glanced at the clock. He was due in five minutes.

  “There’s no time,” she said, resigned to serving a meal barely fit for human consumption.

  “You call. I’ll run,” Jenny repeated. “If he’s here when I get back, I’ll slip in through the kitchen. Just keep him out of here.”

  Janet reached for her purse and pulled out a twenty. “Go,” she said. A survey of the disaster she’d made of the kitchen had her adding, “And don’t worry about coming in through the kitchen. I wouldn’t let Harlan in here if it were burning down and he were the volunteer fireman.”

  When Jenny was gone and she’d placed the desperation call to Gina DiPasquali, she left the kitchen and closed the door behind her. If there’d been a lock, she would have turned the key.

  At least the dining room looked presentable. Jenny had even picked flowers for the center of the table and had put out the good china and silver. For all of her grumbling about Harlan Adams, it appeared she wanted to impress him, as well. Janet was more pleased about that than she cared to admit.

  She was just checking her makeup in the hall mirror when the doorbell rang. Precisely at six o’clock, she noted, checking her watch. She wondered if that was an indication of polite promptness or, perhaps, just a little eagerness. Her heart thumped unsteadily at the possibility that it might be the latter.

  When she opened the door, she could barely glimpse Harlan through the huge bouquet of flowers in his arms.

  “Did you buy out the florist’s entire stock?” she asked, taking them from him.

  He shrugged, looking faintly embarrassed. “It was late Saturday. She said it would all spoil by Monday anyway, so she gave me a deal,” he said, confirming what she’d meant as a facetious comment.

  “I see.”

  “I brought wine and candy, too. I wasn’t sure which you’d prefer.”

  “The flowers would have been plenty,” she assured him, wondering how the devil she was going to keep him out of the kitchen if she took them in there to put them in vases.

  He grinned. “A little over the top, huh?”

  “But sweet,” she assured him.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve gone calling on a lady.”

  She could tell. He looked about as at ease as a man making his first trip to a lingerie department. Not even his starched white shirt, expensive black trousers and snakeskin boots could combat the impression made by his anxious expression.

  “
You seem to forget that this isn’t exactly a date,” she said to reassure him. “You won dinner fair and square on a bet.”

  She waved him toward a chair. “Have a seat and I’ll get these in water. What can I bring you to drink when I come back? Wine? A beer? Iced tea?”

  “Iced tea sounds good. Why don’t we sit on the porch? It’s a nice night. Or is dinner just about ready?”

  “No, dinner will be a while,” she said in what had to be the understatement of the decade. However, sitting on the porch was out of the question. He was bound to spot Jenny returning from DiPasquali’s. She grasped desperately for an alternative.

  “Actually, I hate to do this to you, but my bathroom faucet has been leaking.” Even though the tactic grated, she used her most helpless expression on him. “I don’t know the first thing about changing a washer. Could you take a look at it?”

  He latched onto the request as if she’d thrown him a lifeline. “Just show me the way.”

  She led him down the narrow hallway to the old-fashioned bathroom, which, thankfully, Jenny had straightened up after her shower. “I bought washers and there are some tools there,” she said, pointing.

  “I’ll have this fixed in no time,” he promised, already loosening his collar and rolling up his sleeves. “By the way, it’s nice to walk into a house and smell dinner cooking. There’s nothing like the scent of chocolate to make a man’s mouth water.” He glanced at her and winked. “Unless it’s that sexy perfume you’re wearing.”

  “I’m not sure it’s perfume you’re smelling,” she said. “It’s probably all these flowers.”

  He shook his head. “They were in the car with me all the way into town. That’s not it. I’d say you’re wearing something light with just a hint of spice. It’s the kind of thing that could drive a man wild.”

  Janet could feel herself blushing. “Thanks. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get these into water.”

  In the kitchen she put the flowers down on the only clear surface, the top of the stove, and drew in a deep breath. She hadn’t realized what a sucker she was for charm. Maybe it was just the sweetly tentative way in which it was delivered.

  She didn’t doubt for an instant that Harlan Adams had always been a flirt, but she was also very aware that he was out of practice delivering compliments with all sorts of subtle innuendo behind them. Teasing a woman just to make her feel good was one thing. It was another to be experimenting with dating after so many years of marriage. It made what they were doing here tonight seem riskier and more significant for both of them.

  She sighed and forced her attention to the flowers. It took three large vases to handle all of them. She scattered the arrangements around the living room, poured Harlan’s iced tea, then traipsed back to the bathroom where she’d left him.

  “I brought your tea,” she said, keeping one ear attuned to any sounds from the kitchen that might indicate that Jenny had returned. “How’s it going?”

  “The washer’s replaced,” he said, his voice muffled. He had his head poked into the vanity under the sink. “Thought I’d check to make sure all the joints were sealed under here while I was at it.”

  He slid out and grinned at her. “No leaks under there.”

  She took one look at the streaks of grime on his face and shirt and winced. “Harlan, you’re a mess. I’m sorry. I should never have asked you to do this for me, especially when you were all dressed up.”

  “Stop fussing. A little dirt never hurt anybody. I’ll wash up.”

  “But your shirt…” she protested.

  “It’s not a problem,” he insisted. He shot her a wicked grin. “Unless, of course, you object to a man coming to the dinner table looking like this. I could strip down and let you wash the shirt here and now.”

  He seemed a little too eager for her to grab at that solution. “Never mind,” she assured him. “I’m the one responsible. I can hardly complain, can I?”

  Just then she heard the kitchen door slam. She plastered what she hoped was an innocent expression on her face. “Oh, good, that must be Jenny. She’s been out for a bit. Now that she’s back, I’ll get dinner on the table. Go on out to the porch after you’ve washed up, why don’t you? Relax for a minute. I’ll call you when everything’s on the table.”

  “I could help,” he offered.

  “No, indeed. You’ve done more than enough. Besides, you won the bet. I can’t have you helping.”

  She took off, trying to ignore the fact that there was something a little too knowing about his expression. He couldn’t possibly have guessed what she’d done, could he? No, of course not. As long he remained far away from that kitchen, there was no way he could figure out that she hadn’t prepared every dish herself.

  Jenny was pulling aluminum pans of food out of paper bags when Janet got back to the kitchen.

  “Gina said to warm the lasagna again for a few minutes before you serve it. I’ve already turned the oven on low. The salad’s in that package. She put the dressing on the side, so you could toss it in your bowl.” She reached into another bag and pulled out a loaf of Italian bread wrapped in foil. “Garlic bread. It goes in the oven, too.”

  Janet rolled her eyes at Jenny’s instructions. “I could have figured that much out for myself.”

  “Who would guess?” Jenny quipped. “So how’d you keep Mr. Adams out of here?”

  “I had him fixing the leak in the bathroom.”

  Jenny grinned. “Good for you. It’s about time he sees what it’s like to work for free.”

  “I don’t think he thought of it quite that way. He was doing me a favor.” She pointed to the bowl of frosting. “The cake should be cool enough by now. You ice it while I toss the salad.”

  Twenty minutes later they were seated in the dining room. Janet’s heart was in her throat as Harlan took his first bite of salad. Would he be able to tell she hadn’t prepared it? It was only lettuce, tomatoes and a few radishes. Surely he wouldn’t suspect that even that much had been beyond her skill.

  “Delicious,” he said. “Jenny, I think you sold your mother short when you said she couldn’t cook.”

  Janet shot a warning look at her daughter. Jenny shrugged.

  “It’s pretty hard to ruin a bunch of lettuce and some tomatoes,” she retorted, avoiding Janet’s gaze.

  The lasagna was an equally big hit. “Can’t think when I’ve had any better,” Harlan enthused. “It’s every bit as good as Gina DiPasquali’s.”

  Janet groaned and covered her face. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that the jig was up. “You know, don’t you?”

  “Know what?” Harlan replied, trying to sound innocent and failing miserably.

  “That Jenny picked up the salad, bread and lasagna from DiPasquali’s.”

  He winked at Jenny. “Did she now?”

  “How did you know?” Janet demanded.

  “Saw her running in the front door of the restaurant as I drove through town,” he finally admitted as Jenny chuckled.

  Janet glared at the pair of them. “And you let me wriggle on the hook like a big old fish. Did you enjoy watching me squirm trying to keep you away from the front of the house till she got back?”

  He nodded. “Sure did.” He reached across the table and patted her hand consolingly. “That’s okay, darlin’. I appreciate you going to all that trouble to impress me.”

  Janet moaned. “I did not do it to impress you,” she declared adamantly.

  “She did it to keep you from getting food poisoning,” Jenny chimed in. “You should see—”

  “That’s enough, Jenny,” Janet said sharply. She was determined to get through the rest of the evening with some dignity intact. If she wasn’t careful, Jenny would be offering Harlan a tour of the kitchen.

  “That chocolate cake sure does smell good,” he said. “I know Gina didn’t stop by and bake that.”

  “It’s got a great big crack right down the middle,” Jenny revealed. “I had to patch it together with icing.”

&n
bsp; Janet scowled at her. “Thank you for sharing that,” she grumbled.

  Harlan winked at her this time. “Don’t fret, darlin’. With chocolate cake, it’s taste, not looks, that count.”

  “I wouldn’t hold your breath on that score, either,” Jenny warned. “She probably left out something important.”

  If she could have, Janet would have sent Jenny to her room on the spot before she made any more embarrassing revelations. Unfortunately, she could see the injustice of such an act. She was just going to have to survive this debacle and hope that Harlan wasn’t one to gossip. Fortunately, she was in town to practice law, not to do catering.

  As it turned out, the cake was not only edible, but actually pretty good. At least Harlan ate two slices of it, his amused gaze fixed on her the whole time. He seemed especially fond of the inch-thick icing in the middle.

  The minute dinner was over he shooed Jenny off by declaring that he would help clean up. Jenny didn’t have to be asked twice. She was gone before Janet could protest.

  “You cannot walk into that kitchen,” she said adamantly, though short of stretching out her arms and trying to bar the doorway, she didn’t know what she could do to stop him.

  He ignored her, picked up an armload of dishes and headed across the dining room. “The sooner we get things squared away in there, the sooner you and I can sit on that front porch and enjoy the breeze.”

  To his credit, he didn’t even blink as he walked into the midst of the mess she’d created trying to make dinner. Maybe he’d served time on KP in the military at some point, she decided as she watched the ease with which he set things right.

  “Come here,” he commanded when he’d washed the last dish and wiped down the countertops.

  “I don’t think so,” she said, holding up the last plate she was drying as if to ward him off.

  He grinned, shrugged and came to her. Before she realized his intentions, he slid his arms around her waist and held her in a loose embrace. “Thank you,” he said softly, his breath fanning intimately across her cheek.

  “For what?” she asked shakily. Her breath snagged in her throat as she met his gaze.