If only she could read Cord’s heart

In her country, if a man discovered her masquerade, he would return her immediately to her brother for fear of political repercussions. The sheikh’s influence was powerful, and so was her intended groom’s.

Allie knew America was different and far from Munir. But Cord’s neighbors were conducting business with her brother Rafe; the Coleman family might urge Cord to send her home even if he didn’t wish to do so himself.

Men, it seemed to her, always stuck together.

Despite Cord’s suspicions, she dared not tell Cord the truth. Not yet. Not until she had no other choice.

Yet it was her own heart that troubled her the most. The yearning she had felt as Cord caressed her palms. Her desperate urge to place her lips on his.

To experience for the first time a man’s kiss…

Dear Reader,

Heartwarming, emotional, compelling…these are all words that describe Harlequin American Romance. Check out this month’s stellar selection of love stories, which are sure to please.

First, the BRIDES OF THE DESERT ROSE continuity series continues with At the Rancher’s Bidding by Charlotte Maclay. In the delightful story, a princess masquerades as her lady-in-waiting to save herself from an arranged marriage—and ends up falling for a rugged rancher.

Also available this month, bestselling author Judy Christenberry’s Randall Honor resumes her successful BRIDES FOR BROTHERS series about the Randall family of Wyoming. Although they’d shared a night of passion, Victoria Randall wasn’t in the market for a husband…and Dr. Jon Wilson had some serious romancing to do if he was going to get this Randall woman to love and honor him!

Next, when an heiress-in-disguise overhears a handsome executive bet his friend that he could win any woman—including her—she’s determined to teach him a lesson. Don’t miss Catching the Corporate Playboy by Michele Dunaway. And rounding out the month is Stranded at Cupid’s Hideaway, a wonderful reunion romance story from talented author Connie Lane, making her series romance debut.

Best,

Melissa Jeglinski

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin American Romance

At the Rancher’s Bidding

Charlotte Maclay

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Charlotte Maclay can’t resist a happy ending. That’s why she’s had such fun writing more than twenty titles for Harlequin American Romance, Duets and Love & Laughter, plus several Silhouette Romance books, as well. Particularly well-known for her volunteer efforts in her hometown of Torrance, California, Charlotte says her philosophy is that you should make a difference in your community. She and her husband have two married daughters and four grandchildren, whom they are occasionally allowed to baby-sit. She loves to hear from readers and can be reached at P.O. Box 505, Torrance, CA 90508.

Books by Charlotte Maclay

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

474—THE VILLAIN’S LADY

488—A GHOSTLY AFFAIR

503—ELUSIVE TREASURE

532—MICHAEL’S MAGIC

537—THE KIDNAPPED BRIDE

566—HOW TO MARRY A MILLIONAIRE

585—THE COWBOY & THE BELLY DANCER

620—THE BEWITCHING BACHELOR

643—WANTED: A DAD TO BRAG ABOUT

657—THE LITTLEST ANGEL

684—STEALING SAMANTHA

709—CATCHING A DADDY

728—A LITTLE BIT PREGNANT

743—THE HOG-TIED GROOM

766—DADDY’S LITTLE COWGIRL

788—DEPUTY DADDY

806—A DADDY FOR BECKY

821—THE RIGHT COWBOY’S BED*

825—IN A COWBOY’S EMBRACE*

886—BOLD AND BRAVE-HEARTED**

890—WITH VALOR AND DEVOTION**

894—BETWEEN HONOR AND DUTY**

915—WITH COURAGE AND COMMITMENT**

929—AT THE RANCHER’S BIDDING

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter One

She had one chance to experience freedom and a small taste of independence. She intended to seize that opportunity for as long as she could hold on to it.

The heat of summer pressing down on her, Princess Aliah Bahram hurried across the grounds of the Desert Rose Ranch, following her brother, Sheikh Ashraf. As she ran, the gold bracelets on her arm jingled and her necklaces moved against her throat.

The sheikh was making his daily visit to the Coleman stables to check on the mare pregnant with the foal he had agreed to purchase. Completely enamored by the award-winning Arabians raised here, he had haunted the ranch since their arrival in Bridle, Texas, which was located in the hill country northwest of Austin.

But tomorrow they would return to their own country of Munir, on the Persian Gulf. Aliah—or Allie, as people had begun to call her in America—could not bear the thought of going home. Not when faced with an arranged marriage to a man she could never love, Sardar Bin Douri. Even the thought sent a shudder of revulsion down her spine.

Her chance to avoid that fate had come yesterday when Leila, her lady-in-waiting, had lost control of her horse while they were riding together. Spooked by blowing dust, the animal had run away with her. A neighboring rancher, Cord Brannigan, had rescued her.

Saved Leila’s life!

Sometime during the night, Allie had realized she could take advantage of an ancient Munir custom to gain her liberation—at least temporarily. The possibility inspired her to action now.

“Rafe! Wait for me.”

Her brother, looking very distinguished in his white robe, white gutrah and black banded ogal, slowed near the outdoor riding ring and turned toward her. “What is it, Sister?”

Breathlessly, she came to a halt. “I was wondering if you had made the appropriate arrangements for Leila.”

He looked at her blankly. “Is there something wrong with her?”

“No, not at all. I simply assumed you would be honoring our ancient tradition.”

“Which tradition is that?”

“You do recall how the Colemans’ neighbor—” she hesitated, as though she couldn’t think of his name “—Brannigan, I believe he is called, rescued my lady-in-waiting.”

“I am sure she was grateful.”

“More than grateful, as we should be, too.”

Impatiently, he glanced over his shoulder toward the stables, then back to her. “Aliah, I don’t know what you are trying to say.”

In the name of Constantine, she was going to have to spell it out to her brother! Some days he was terribly dense. Perhaps all brothers were.

“Rafe, the man saved Leila’s life. In order to properly express our gratitude for saving a servant from sure death, we must present Leila to him as a gift. From this day forward, it is right and just that she belong to him.”

“You must be joking! That custom went out with—”

“Rafe, you will soon lead our country. There is already talk among our people that you have become too westernized.” That wasn’t true, or at least she had not heard such a rumor. Nor did she intend for Leila to remain in America with Mr. Brannigan. But Allie couldn’t allow her brother to learn her real plan—to stay here herself until either Rafe or the rancher discovered the masquerade she intended. “The gifting of a servant to one who has saved the servant’s life is a tradition our people recognize and respect.”

“I am not about to leave Leila here against her will.” He walked away from Allie.

Doggedly, she followed in his footsteps. “But Leila wants to stay. I have already spoken with her.” Another lie, but a necessary one at this point.

“Why? Have you been cruel to her?”

“Of course not.” Allie huffed in frustration, having to hurry to keep up with him. “My brother, if you do not support our ancient traditions, our people will respect you less and you will not be able to lead them. Surely there is some way you can follow our customs without offending your own sense of right and wrong.”

Without slowing his pace, he slanted her a look. “Why is it I think you have some scheme up your sleeve that would not receive my approval?”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

He chuckled, a deep baritone laugh much like their father’s, but she could also see he was considering her words.

“All right, as it happens, Cade Coleman mentioned that one of Mr. Brannigan’s house servants was away for a few weeks. If Leila is agreeable, I will loan her to Brannigan for that period of time.”

Excitement filled Allie’s chest. She’d been given her ticket to freedom. “Leila will be most pleased, I assure you. If you will make the arrangements, I will inform her of the good news.”

Without waiting for her brother to change his mind, she raced back toward the main house.

The sprawling hacienda-style house sat on a hill overlooking a lake that flowed into the Colorado River. At night, Allie, Rafe and their party stayed in a small motel in the nearby town of Bridle. During the day, the Colemans had been gracious enough to allow Allie and her servant to use one of the guest rooms upstairs for rest and relaxation.

Allie hurried there now.

“I have wonderful news,” she said, bursting into the room.

Leila looked up from her needlework. “I hope that does not mean our departure for Munir will be delayed past tomorrow.”

“You will leave on time, I promise.” Allie paced to the French doors to look outside, wondering how to phrase her plan to gain Leila’s cooperation. At the edge of the veranda a trellis laden with pink-and-white roses stood—her favorite flowers—but today they did little to calm her excitement. “Although I don’t know why you are so anxious to return.”

“I know I have behaved inappropriately, my mistress. But in the bazaar at home there is a young man….”

Leila’s admission had Allie whirling around to look at her servant. She was an attractive woman, slightly younger than her own twenty-two years. She had the same dark eyes that were so common in their country, and she and Allie were of the same height and figure. They both wore simple sheath dresses and sandals, although the fabric of Allie’s dress was finer, her sandals a better quality of leather.

“You have a boyfriend?” Allie asked, surprised by a tug of envy. She’d never been allowed in the bazaar unescorted, and certainly never had the opportunity to attract the attention of a young man.

“We have only spoken once.” Dipping her head, Leila studied her needlework. “But he does have eyes for me.”

“You are a fortunate woman, Leila.”

“I will think of myself as fortunate if I get to return to him soon.”

Allie knelt beside Leila, taking her needlework from her hands and setting it aside. “You want to go home, and you shall, but I wish to stay in America for a time.”

“I doubt your brother will permit—”

“I know. But I have a plan. Because the neighboring rancher saved your life yesterday, the shiekh is going to give you to him as a gift.”

Leila paled. “You can’t mean—”

“Hear me out. Please. You will go home as me, and I will remain here as you.”

“What?” Her servant looked at Allie as though she had lost her mind. “My mistress, someone will notice—”

“Nonsense. My brother pays me little attention. And this cowboy saw us only when we were properly covered, as women of Munir should be.” Females were expected to wear the cloak and veil in public, and it grated on Allie more than she cared to admit. Her irritation had grown even stronger the longer she remained in America. She envied the freedom women had here, and craved a small taste of that sense of independence.

“But what would happen if the sheikh discovers—”

“Are you not willing to risk whatever punishment my brother might mete out in order to see your friend from the bazaar again?”

Leila hesitated, then responded in a desperate whisper. “Yes.”

Raising her own fist in victory, Allie began to make plans how they would deceive both her brother and this cowboy, Cord Brannigan. He would be the easiest to fool, she was sure. He had seen neither Leila nor Allie clearly. If she kept her head turned away from her brother, Allie was confident he would not know she had switched places with her servant.

And then, for however long it took her brother to miss her—which might be a few days or even a few weeks—she would be free to explore the world as an ordinary woman. No longer a princess betrothed to a man she could not bear the thought of lying with as a wife.

Later, after her grand adventure, she would be able to deal better with the realities of her life, she told herself.

But for whatever time she was permitted, she would be free!

THE NEXT TIME he saw a runaway horse, he was going to turn his mount in the opposite direction and get out of Dodge in a hurry. From now on damsels in distress would have to manage on their own.

Cord Brannigan drove his pickup out the arching entrance of the Flying Ace Ranch and headed down the dirt road toward the Desert Rose. A plume of dust rose behind the truck, and the cattle grazing in the nearby pasture lazily raised their heads, probably hoping he’d drop off a bale of hay to make life easier for them. Not this time, ladies.

He’d tried to tell the visiting sheikh he didn’t expect any thanks for rescuing the young woman, and didn’t want or need an extra servant. For the past year, he’d lived alone in the ranch house with his half sister, Brianna. Even though his housekeeper was gone for a few weeks, helping with a new grandchild, Cord and Brianna could get along fine without help. And his hired hands pretty much took care of themselves.

But Sheikh Rafe didn’t know the meaning of “no, thanks.” It had become obvious that if Cord pressed the issue he was likely to cause an international incident. At the very least, he’d cause trouble between the sheikh and the Coleman family, who were trying to sell the guy a foal from one of their prize mares.

Cord didn’t want to cause a problem for his neighbors. The Colemans—particularly Alex, Cade and Mac—had been friends of his for years. The three brothers were sheikhs in their own right. But since they had been raised in Texas, Cord didn’t feel a need to kowtow to them. Causing them to lose a customer was a different matter.

So Cord was stuck with a servant he didn’t need. Unless he could talk the woman into going somewhere else.

Pulling up in front of the two-story Desert Rose ranch house, he parked the truck. The horse pastures were greener here than on his ranch, the grass richer for the pampered Arabians, the fences white-painted wood rather than barbed wire. He preferred the more rugged work of raising cattle, but the Colemans had certainly made an international name for themselves in the horse business.

He got out of the truck and nodded a greeting as Cade Coleman came out of the house. “How’s the new daddy bearing up?” Cord asked.

“Better than Rena,” he said with a smile that made his dark eyes light up. “She’s got to handle most of the nighttime duties with the twins. But neither one of us has gotten much sleep in the past three months.”

“I can imagine.” The front door opened, and Cord looked up to see the sheikh in his flowing white garb, followed by a woman fully cloaked and veiled, with only her dark, almond-shaped eyes visible. “Are you sure there isn’t some way I can refuse Sheikh Rafe’s gift?” he asked Cord under his breath.

Cade lifted his shoulders in an easy shrug of indifference. “It’s a custom, I guess. You’ll think of some way to handle it.”

Cord wasn’t so sure.

“Good afternoon.” Rafe extended his hand, griping Cord’s firmly. “Allow me to present Leila, my sister’s lady-in-waiting. She is honored to be chosen to serve for a short time the man who saved her life.”

“Look, Rafe, this really isn’t necessary. I only did what any man would do.” He hadn’t been particularly heroic. Had just been at the right place at the right time, or rather the wrong place, as it turned out.

The sheikh waved off his objection and instead beckoned the woman to step forward. She carried a small satchel with her. All her worldly possessions, Cord imagined.

Cord tipped the brim of his Stetson. “Miss.” Actually, he didn’t have a clue if she was a miss or a missus, there being no way to judge her age under all those yards of cotton fabric. With her head bowed, he couldn’t even see her eyes, although he remembered them as dark orbs circled with kohl, looking very frightened when he’d reined in her horse.

When he took the satchel from her, he did catch a glimpse of her hands. Long, delicate fingers and soft, unblemished skin the shade of cream right from a mother cow…Not exactly the hands of someone used to hard work, although there were no rings or any sign of extravagant wealth.

“If she does not please you,” Rafe said, “return her to me, and I shall make amends.”

Studying the shiekh’s solemn expression, Cord wondered if there was the hint of a threat there—that Leila would suffer if she didn’t live up to expectations. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.” Hell, this wasn’t like buying a broodmare with a guaranteed money-back deal that she’d produce for him.

“The sheikh and his sister are returning to Munir early tomorrow,” Cade said.

“I have business to attend to and Aliah—Allie, as my sister is called here—must prepare for her wedding to Sardar Bin Douri, a man of wealth and influence in my country. The event is much anticipated by our people. There will be great rejoicing when the two families are joined.”

“Well then, have yourself a good trip, Rafe. Come back and visit anytime,” Cord said.

“No doubt I shall. The Coleman stables at the Desert Rose offer many enticements.”

Cord chuckled. From what he’d heard, the sheikh’s stables were something to brag about, too.

He said his goodbyes and carried the bag to his truck, tossing it in the back. Silently, Leila walked a steady three paces behind him, which raised the hackles on his neck. This whole deal was crazy!

She waited for him to open the door. He took her elbow, helping her up, and felt the fragility of her bones through her dress. Munir didn’t raise their women very sturdy, he mused. Not like Texas women, who could ride a horse and rope cows all day, then party all night and make love until dawn.

And be unfaithful in the process, playing a man for a fool, as he had learned the hard way.

As they reached the road leaving the Desert Rose, and still Leila hadn’t spoken word one, Cord pulled the truck to the side and stopped.

“Look, Leila, you’re probably not any happier about this arrangement than I am.”

“I am not unhappy.” With fingers that trembled slightly, she lowered her veil. Beautiful was an understatement. Her kohl-ringed eyes stood out above dramatically sculpted cheekbones. Her unpainted lips were a natural rose and they glistened when she licked them before smiling at him. “I am most happy to be your servant as long as I shall please you.”

Cord swallowed hard as the rest of his body took particular note of the young woman’s features. Nope, this kind of gift wasn’t one a man could accept.

“Do you have any family or friends in the States? I could take you to the Austin airport. It’s not that far away. I’ll get you a ticket on any airline you want, to any place you’d like to go.” Including all the way back to Munir, if that’s what she wanted.

Her dark eyes flickered. “No, I have no family here. No friends. This is my first visit to your country.”

“Then you could get a job somewhere. Start a new life. Or just plain take a vacation till it’s time to go home.”

“No, I do not think that would be possible.” Allie clasped her hands together, knowing she did not have the skills—or the courage—to run that far from her responsibilities. She had no money. No green card that would allow her to work, assuming she was capable of being anything other than a princess. How would she survive on her own? “I wish to go to your ranch and work in your household.” A rich man would have many servants, and in a large household she could conceal both her identity and her lack of training as a servant.

He leaned his head back and sighed. Despite his apparent distress, his appearance was quite appealing, if more rugged than the few men she had known in her own country. The angle of his jaw was a little sharper and stronger, and a slight bump on his nose suggested it had once been broken. There was a tiny scar below his right eyebrow.

But his eyes fascinated Allie the most—not dark brown like those of her countrymen, but a lighter shade, filled with the greens and golds of this verdant countryside. She would like to make a study of them. Each time she looked into his eyes, they changed color with the sun or shade and became all the more intriguing.

“Okay, Leila, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll hire you as my housekeeper for now and pay you a decent wage. You can save your money until you can go out on your own. Or if you get fed up with ranch life, I’ll put you on a plane back home and explain to Rafe. If he gives you a hard time he’ll have to answer to me.”

Her eyes widened with pleasure. “How much will you pay me?”

He blinked at her question, then named a price that astounded her.

“I accept your offer, Mr. Brannigan.”

Shaking his head, he said, “Cord will do. We’re not exactly formal in these parts.”

“That is fine by me, as you Americans say. I have had enough formality to last me a lifetime.”

As he shifted the truck into gear, pulling back onto the road, Allie smiled to herself. To think she’d have a paying job and the freedom of an American woman. What amazing good fortune—for however long she was allowed to enjoy it.

BACK AT THE DESERT ROSE, Cade had watched Cord’s truck drive away, and followed the path of the dust cloud as it swept down the road behind it. Something was odd, he mused.

While he’d visited Balahar, his beloved wife’s homeland in the Middle East, he’d had a chance to observe the behavior of a good many servants. The kingdom employed hundreds of cooks and maids, valets and assorted other workers who were almost invisible, they were so subservient.

The woman who had left with Cord was…different.

Though she’d kept her face averted, her head hadn’t been bowed as deeply as most servants he’d seen. Her back had been a little too straight, her stride a little too confident. It had made him think that Leila wasn’t a servant at all but rather—

But no, that wasn’t possible.

No pampered princess of Munir or any other member of Middle Eastern royalty would run off to be a housekeeper at a cattle ranch. The thought of Princess Allie scrubbing floors was laughable.

He frowned a little, realizing his own wife, a princess of Balahar, had taken to domestic chores with far more enthusiasm than he’d had any right to expect. And she wore motherhood like a golden crown.

Behind him, Rafe cleared his throat. “I thought I would visit the paddocks to see how Khalahari is faring this afternoon. Would you care to join me?”

“Sure.” Tucking his fingertips in the pockets of his jeans, Cade walked beside Rafe. The sheikh was as fanatic about his Arabians as Cade was. Rafe couldn’t wait for Khalahari, the prize mare of the Desert Rose, to foal. If Cade would let him, Rafe would probably take the mare back to Munir with him.

Cade could understand that. He’d been obsessed with the ranch and his Arabians until he’d had a family of his own. Marriage had been the first step. But when Rena gave birth to the twins—Zach and Natalie—Cade discovered nothing in the world could compare to being a husband and father.

WHEN IT SEEMED as though they had been driving for a long while along a dirt track, Allie grew anxious. She had thought Cord a neighbor of the Colemans’ Desert Rose Ranch. So far she had seen nothing but grass wilted by the summer heat, elms and oaks spaced by nature to provide splashes of shade, and cows lazily chewing their cuds.

“How much farther to your cattle ranch?” she asked.

“We’ve been on Flying Ace land for about five minutes now, but the house is a ways yet.”

“Your ranch is that big?”

“Big enough. A couple of thousand acres.”

“But that is larger than the Desert Rose.”

“Yep. Cows need more land than horses. You gotta keep moving them around, changing pastures so they don’t overeat the grass.”

He must be a wealthy man, indeed, Allie thought. “This name, Flying Ace—where did it come from?”

He shot her a grin that creased his cheek and made him look far younger and even more attractive than only a moment ago.

“Rumor has it my grandfather won the ranch in a poker game.”

“An ace flew from the deck into his hand, yes?”

“More likely it flew out of his sleeve into his hand.”

She stared at him blankly, then choked on a laugh when she realized what he meant. “Your grandfather cheated?”

“Now, he never ’fessed up to such a thing. But word has it no cowboy for a hundred miles around ever sat down at a poker table with him again.”

She did laugh then, delighted with the prospect of living on Cord Brannigan’s ranch for some amount of time. At the palace her brother was so dour, so serious, she rarely saw him laugh. Only in the women’s quarters could she relax and be herself. Even then she had to use caution not to make an error in protocol. Or be too friendly with her ladies-in-waiting. Heaven forbid she should make a scene at the local bazaar or spend too much money on fripperies like scarves and shoes. Word would get back to her brother.

He was so confoundedly bossy! At least with her that was true.

She could only sympathize with a woman who found herself married to Rafe, subject to his arrogance and unbending ways.

Though the air was warm blowing in the open truck windows, she shivered with distaste at the thought of marriage and her betrothed. She vowed to view each moment of freedom at the Flying Ace as a taste of ambrosia. She would fill herself with memories to last a lifetime.

Only then would she be able to face the future she dreaded.

Chapter Two

Allie’s breath caught at her first glimpse of the Flying Ace ranch house. Although not as large as the one at the Desert Rose, the sprawling adobe structure seemed to fit into the landscape as if nature had put it there. A wrought-iron gate stood open to welcome visitors, and Cord drove the truck beneath an arched entry into an inner courtyard. It was almost like entering the palace grounds in Munir, but without the guards at the gate.

America was indeed a wonderful country. So free and open. A safe haven—albeit a temporary one for her.

“Your home is lovely,” she said as he parked beside a stone walkway leading to a covered entry and a wide wooden door.

“We make do.” His modest response made her smile.

Excitement fluttered through her midsection as he escorted her up the walkway, his hand pressing lightly at the small of her back. Had she expected a butler to greet them at the door, she would have been disappointed. Instead, Cord simply lifted the latch, shoved open the door and ushered her inside.

The temperature was ten degrees cooler in the dim interior of the high-ceiling great room than it was outside, the recessed windows in the wide adobe walls preventing direct sunlight from penetrating. Heavy oak furniture and comfortable leather couches were arranged around a large fireplace that no doubt heated the room efficiently in winter. Paintings of horses and Western landscapes decorated the walls.

He dropped her bag on one of the couches. “Brianna!” he shouted.

“In here,” a woman’s voice answered.

“Come meet our new, uh, housekeeper.”

Troubled, Allie frowned. She had not thought to ask of Cord’s marital status or if he had a concubine living with him. But perhaps Brianna was simply one of his servants.

A pretty woman with a long blond ponytail appeared from down the hallway. Fresh faced and no older than Allie, she wore jeans and a cotton blouse tucked in at the waist.

“Leila, I’d like you to meet my sister, Brianna Taylor. She handles the ranch’s bookkeeping and keeps the paperwork flowing for me.”

“Hi,” the young woman said, smiling. “I didn’t really think the sheikh would, you know—”

“Sheikh Ashraf does very much as he pleases,” Allie said, wishing she didn’t have to defend her brother.

“I, uh, made a deal with Leila to put her on the payroll as a housekeeper while she’s here,” Cord interjected.

Looking puzzled, Brianna nodded. “Fine. I’ll put together the paperwork.”

He cleared his throat. “I thought maybe you’d show Leila to Maria’s room, get her settled there, at least temporarily.”

“Maria?” Allie questioned.

“Our housekeeper,” Brianna explained. “She’s visiting her daughter in El Paso to help with a new baby.”

“Oh, but you do have other servants, yes?”

“Five or six hired hands, depending on the time of year,” Cord said. “They stay in the bunkhouse out back, but I sure wouldn’t want them to hear you calling ’em servants.”

“There is no one else?”

“Nope. With just me and Brianna, we don’t need a whole lot of help around the house.”

Panic twisted in Allie’s belly. How could such a big ranch have only one servant? She would not be able to hide. Too soon they would know the truth.

Picking up her satchel, Cord tried to pass it to his sister.

Brianna stepped back a pace, her gaze dancing between her brother and Allie, a curious smile playing across her face. “Look, I was right in the middle of doing the quarterly reports. Why don’t you show Leila to her room, give her a tour of the place?”

Allie leaped at the possibility. Surely a woman would more quickly discover her masquerade than a man. She would be better off with Cord as her guide. “Yes, a tour would be nice. Thank you.” She smiled her warmest smile.

Hesitating, Cord looked as if he was about to refuse, his eyes roving over Allie in a probing way that started her heart beating faster. Then he nodded curtly. “Okay. Your room is this way.”

Without giving his sister another glance, Allie followed Cord through a spacious dining room in the opposite direction from which Brianna had earlier appeared. The more distance she kept from the other woman, the better.

In the large kitchen, there was another table, though not as big as the one in the dining room. Stainless-steel appliances looked new and efficient. At least she supposed they were efficient. Allie had little idea how any of them operated. The kitchens were not a part of the palace she visited often, not since she’d sneaked in there as a child.

Immediately adjacent to the kitchen, Cord stopped at a doorway. “Okay, here’s your room.”

She stood at the threshold while he stepped inside. A handmade quilt covered the modest-size bed, doilies edged with crocheting protected the top of a walnut chest of drawers, and a small, colorful hooked rug lay beside the bed on the wooden floor. Quaint. And smaller than her dressing room at the palace.

“You’ve got your own bathroom and TV,” Cord said.

Swallowing her dismay at the simple quarters, she said, “I am sure I will be quite comfortable.” Gaining her freedom, however briefly, had its price.

“You can get settled in and—”

“I would very much like to see the rest of the ranch, if I may.” Feeling the cloak she wore was no longer necessary, she unfastened the plain, gray garment and tossed it on the bed, revealing the simple sheath dress she wore. The gold bracelets and necklaces she normally wore she had sent home with Leila. “I have never before visited a cattle ranch.”

Cord’s eyes widened. Damned if they didn’t nearly fall out of their sockets, he thought. He stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets, trying to look anywhere except at Leila. Without her billowing cloak, she was more slender than he had imagined, but every inch a woman. The swell of her small breasts pressed against her bodice; her bare arms were as graceful as a dancer’s, with tiny wrists a man could span with his finger and thumb. Long, straight hair the color of Texas pecans streamed down her back.

Desperately, he tried to think of some reason to send her back to her home in Munir right away. Or at the very least come up with an excuse why he couldn’t give her a tour of the ranch.

He failed on both counts.

“Sure. I’ll show you around a little. Then you’ll probably want to get dinner started.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, that’s kind of what housekeepers do. Cook dinner. Clean house. You know.”

“But I don’t know how to cook.”

His brows tugged together as he struggled with indecision. This was not what he had expected. In fact, nothing about Leila was quite what he had expected, including her soft accent with traces of British school English. “Tell me just what is it you did for your, uh, princess.” Lord, he hadn’t stammered this much since he’d invited Marijane Morgan to the eighth grade dance and then gotten her braces locked with his when he tried to kiss her.

Allie thought fast, trying to recall what it was that Leila did so competently for her, serving her in their women’s quarters.

“I prepared my mistress’s bath daily, oiled her body, helped her to dress in the finest silk gowns that money can buy. I brushed her hair.” Feeling slightly wicked and more adventuresome than she had thought possible, she stepped forward and ran her fingers through the thick waves of Cord’s saddle-brown hair. “I could do all of that for you, if you wish.”

“No. That’s okay.” His ruddy complexion flushed even darker and he edged away from her. “Let’s, uh, take that tour and we’ll deal with the rest of your, uh, responsibilities later.”

Shifting her hair in front of her shoulder, she smiled. She had no wish to argue with his decision. The longer she could put off the reality of being a housekeeper, the happier she would be. Cord, too, if he knew how few domestic skills she possessed.

CORD WAS PROUD of the Flying Ace. Since his father’s death five years ago he’d upgraded the facilities and added to the herd through careful breeding and management. It was his home, his life. He poured all of his energy into the ranch and it never disappointed him, even in bad times.

Which was more than he could say about the women in his life.

When Cord had been twelve, his mother had deserted the family. A year ago he’d discovered that she’d gone off because of his father’s infidelity—an infidelity that had resulted in Brianna’s birth. The unexpected news that he had a half sister had surprised him, but didn’t excuse the fact that his mother had abandoned Cord.

A few years ago, he had decided he was ready to settle down, start a family of his own. He had the rings in his pocket when he flew to Houston, where Sandra Maddox, the woman he’d been dating, was working. Problem was, she’d gone off to California the day before with a married man. Cord had been played for a besotted fool.

Nope, these days it didn’t pay to trust a woman.

Or perhaps he was the problem. He wasn’t lovable—either in the eyes of his mother or the woman he’d finally chosen to marry.

He slanted Leila a glance as they walked toward the weathered wood barn and adjoining stables. He couldn’t deny that she got his juices going, but she sure wasn’t suitable for ranch life. He’d give her a week, two at the most, and she’d be long gone, very likely back to her home country. He loved Texas as much as the next man, but it wasn’t an easy place to live, not on a ranch, anyway. The summer could be hotter than Hades, the winters cold enough to freeze the teats off a heifer. In between there was plenty of hard, demanding work, wide-open spaces and a sense of accomplishment he’d never be able to find with a desk job.

“Do they raise any cattle where you come from?” he asked.

Her hair shifted like a veil as she turned toward him, the sun catching the strands and making them gleam like polished agate. “Oh, no, we raise oil. A great deal of it. And we export large quantities of steel and cement. Munir is a very wealthy country.”

“Then you like it there?” he asked hopefully. Maybe she’d get homesick and want to go back sooner rather than later.

Her slender shoulders lifted in a shrug of denial. “Women do not have as much freedom there as they do in America.”

Reaching the corral, he placed a booted foot on the lower fence rung and leaned his elbow on the top. “Guess you don’t get to ride much at home then, and that’s why your mount got away from you.”

She lifted her head in a haughty manner and her eyes sparked. “That is not true. I am an excellent—” She stumbled momentarily, obviously remembering the incident. “The horse spooked. Dirt blew in his face. I do not know why he did not respond to my command.”

He smiled at her bravado. Two days ago she’d been terrified. Now she was—arrogant.

One of the cow ponies, a dun-colored mare with a darker brown mane, trotted over to the fence and stuck her head over the top. Without hesitation, Leila rubbed the mare’s nose and scratched behind her ears.

“Her name is Betsy. You like horses?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. Although this one is not as elegant as my broth—the pure-blooded Arabians in Sheikh Ashraf’s stables. Still, she is very pretty.”

“She can run rings around any Arabian you can name when it comes to rounding up cattle. Those Arabians are all show and no go, as far as I’m concerned.”

She sniffed. “If you say so.”

Her comment amused rather than irritated him. “If you stick around long enough, I’ll give you a shot at riding one of my cutting horses.”

Her interest perked up immediately. “You would do that?”

“Sure. We’ll pick you a gentle one. Wouldn’t want to risk another runaway.”

“I promise, if your horse has been properly trained, I will keep him under control this time.”

Despite her previous lapse, Cord pretty much believed Leila. Attitude had a lot to do with a rider’s ability to handle a horse. Leila was so self-assured that most of his remuda wouldn’t try any shenanigans while she had a hold of the reins. Which made him wonder what had gone wrong earlier in the week.

“Come on. There’s more to see.” He gestured toward the adjacent barn.

She gave the horse a final rub between the ears, crooning, “I will come again, pretty Betsy, and bring you a carrot next time. Would you like that?” The cow pony nodded her approval.

Cord walked Leila into the barn, standing back to watch her reaction. He could all but see her delicate little nostrils quiver at the earthy scents of hay and manure, leather, neat’s-foot oil and liniment.

She turned, a bemused expression on her face. “I was rarely allowed in the stables at the palace. This smells so…alive.”

“Yeah.” So was she. Caught in a column of sunlight beaming in through the hayloft window, she looked radiant. Glowing with vitality and filled with sensual promise. It was enough to make a man rethink his long stint of celibacy. Which, in this case, was not a good idea. An honorable man did not mess with a woman who was so obviously innocent. At least in this part of Texas, that wasn’t done.

A mewling sound came from the back of a nearby stall.

Leila peered in that direction. “Oh, look, a kitten.” She slipped into the stall, picking up a young brown-and-black ball of fluff with white paws that looked to be only a few weeks old. “She is so tiny. Where is her mother?”

Cord shrugged with indifference. “Hard to tell. We usually have a couple of barn cats around to take care of the rodents.”

“But she should not leave her baby all alone.” She rubbed her cheek across the kitten’s head. “This little one is lonely and frightened. Hungry, too, I think. Perhaps the mother is injured.”

Her concern for a feral cat raised to fend for itself amused Cord. “I’m sure her mom will come back. Why don’t you leave the kitten there, and we’ll check later.”

With obvious reluctance, Leila made a nest of hay in the corner of the stall, murmured reassuring words to the kitten, then tucked her into the nest as though she were putting a baby to bed for the night.

“I will come back later to be sure you are all right, little one. I promise.”

He gestured for her to leave the kitten. There were more outbuildings to be seen.

One of his hired hands, Joe Piedmont, picked that moment to come strolling into the barn, his long legs so bowed he could probably walk right over a five-hundred-gallon propane tank without touching the sides.

“Hey, boss,” he drawled.

Cord dragged his attention away from Leila. “Joe, this is Leila. She’s going to be our housekeeper for a while.”

The cowboy’s jaw dropped, then he scrambled to yank his battered hat from his head. “Howdy, miss. Glad to meetcha.”

She honored him with a dazzling smile. “It is my pleasure, Mr. Joe.”

The cowboy’s face flamed a bright red, and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his scrawny neck.

Cord grimaced. “There somethin’ you want from me, Joe?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Meeting Leila had obviously caused him to lose his train of thought. In a few more minutes, he’d probably forget his own name. “We was wondering when you wanted us to start weaning the calves.”

“Tomorrow would be as good a time as any, assuming the weather holds.”

“Gotcha, boss.” Struggling to get his hat on straight, he backed toward the wide-open barn door. “Sure was nice to meetcha, miss. The fellas will be real happy to have you around.”

“Thank you, Mr. Joe,” she said sweetly.

“Joe’ll do, miss.”

She nodded just as Joe backed into the side of the door, practically knocking himself out. He spun around and hurried outside, moving faster than Cord had seen him go since one of the breeding bulls got stung on the rump by a bee.

Cord stifled a laugh. Getting any work done around the ranch was going to be tough until his hands got used to Leila being there. Which might take quite awhile.

His assessment of the situation was confirmed when Red Galliger happened to amble by while Cord was showing the calving barn to Leila. Ty Thomas and Pablo Ramirez came around to get an eyeful as they passed by the bunkhouse. At the chicken coop, Lester Smith joined the crowd. By the end of the week, Cord figured he’d have cowpokes from every ranch within a fifty-mile radius hanging around.

He wasn’t quite sure why that bothered him so much.

Even the old rooster who guarded the henhouse let out an ear-piercing crow of welcome and flapped his wings to show off.

Leila’s eyes sparkled with all the attention. “So you raise chickens as well as cows?”

“All the eggs and drumsticks you could ask for,” Cord said. “Speaking of which, maybe we ought to let you get started on supper and let my men get back to work.” He gave his cowhands a pointed look, which eventually got them moving back to whatever chores Leila’s arrival had interrupted.

“As you wish.” Leila tossed her head in much the same way the lead mare of a wild herd would, letting the world know that no stallion, however powerful and ambitious, could get her to do a thing she didn’t want to.

Cord decided that didn’t bode well for him or the Flying Ace Ranch.

ALLIE HAD PROCRASTINATED about as long as she could.

She’d hung her few garments in the minuscule closet, set out her soaps and lotions in the bathroom, which seemed even smaller. Fortunately, when she tested the bed, it appeared to have a firm mattress. She would sleep well. Assuming Cord did not send her packing when he discovered she’d never cooked a meal in her life.

Straightening her shoulders, she walked from her room to the kitchen, which was rather like entering a foreign land. There were so many cupboards, so many gleaming appliances, she didn’t know where to begin. Tentatively, she opened the cabinet beneath the sink and frowned at the plastic container half-full of garbage.

“Maria keeps most of the cleaning supplies on the service porch, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

Allie jumped at the sound of Brianna’s voice.

“No, I was just getting acquainted with where things are.”

“Before Maria left, she stocked the pantry and freezer with enough food to last us a month. I’m sure you’ll find everything you need.”

Assuming she could find the pantry. Leila smiled weakly. “Of course.”

“If you’ve got a minute, I need for you to fill out these papers for my payroll records.” She placed a form on the kitchen table along with a ballpoint pen. “You know how the government is about details.”

Happy to delay her cooking task, she sat at the table and bent over the form. “Leila Khautori,” she printed. For the address she wrote “Flying Ace.” She had no idea what the phone number might be, and she certainly had no references or prior employment experience. Finally she slid the form back to Brianna, who looked it over.

“Your social security number?” she asked.

“I do not know what that is.”

“You mean you don’t know your number, or you don’t have one?”

“I am sure I do not have one.”

Brianna’s smooth forehead puckered into a disapproving frown. “You’ve really got to have one or I can’t handle the taxes and withholding.” She thought a moment, visibly trying to think through the problem. “I guess the best thing is for you to apply for one at the Bridle post office, and we can wait till your number arrives to send in the paperwork.”

“That would be the same place I can get a green card?”

Wincing, Brianna shook her head and picked up the form Allie had just completed by forging Leila’s signature. “Why don’t I talk with Cord? I’m sure he has something in mind.”

Allie hoped so. “Tell me, Brianna, what kind of food does Cord like to eat?” Something simple, she prayed. Although given Allie’s culinary expertise, a bunch of grapes would be the only meal within her capabilities.

“He’s not real fussy. Like most bachelors, I suppose. Anything you’d like to fix I’m sure would be fine with him. He does like his coffee black and strong, though, particularly in the morning.”

Given the proper ingredients, that was one thing Allie felt she could handle. “And this pantry you speak of?”

Brianna’s gaze slid to a door next to the entrance to Allie’s bedroom. “That’s it. What you don’t find there will probably be in the fridge or in one of these cupboards. There’s also a freezer in the barn with a side of beef in it, but you probably won’t need that.”

Not likely. “You have been most helpful. Thank you.”

“Don’t plan anything fancy. We usually eat here in the kitchen when it’s just the two of us.”

“Eating with the servants. How democratic.”

Brianna gave her an odd look, nodded, then left the kitchen, shaking her head.

Allie exhaled the breath she’d been holding. Dinner was likely to be an interesting experience for all concerned.

In the pantry, Allie found shelves of canned goods—fruits, vegetables, soups and something called chili con carne—plus tins of flour and sugar. Surely somewhere within this bounty Allie could find something to warm for supper, if she could figure out how to operate the stove. To her relief, she also found a bin of fresh peaches and apricots, a few oranges and some apples.

A hurried visit to the double-door refrigerator produced several varieties of cheese. Crackers appeared as if by magic in one of the over-the-counter cupboards. The makings of a true feast.

Feeling more confident by the minute, she scurried around, locating silverware and plates, which she set on the table. No evening meal was complete without candles, which she found in a drawer. The simple white color and their stubby shape did not please her, but it was the best she could find.

Her search for wine failed to produce any, but perhaps Cord preferred coffee with his evening meal, as well as in the morning. The brand of coffee she found was unfamiliar to her, but remembering the local brew had seemed weak at the Desert Rose, she doubled the grounds. Fortunately, the women’s quarters at the palace had adopted the use of an electric coffeemaker, so she was familiar with that appliance.

Finally, drawing a deep breath, she was ready to announce dinner.

CORD HAD SHOWERED and his hair was still wet as he walked into the kitchen. He glanced at the table with its three place settings and the emergency candles sticking up from a grouping of coffee cups as though from a newfangled candelabra. Bowls of fruit and plates of cheese and crackers provided an interesting centerpiece. Sniffing the air, all he could detect was the rich aroma of coffee, and he wondered what the main course could be.

With a flourish, Leila gestured toward his place at the head of the table. She looked flushed, the hair at her temple dark with perspiration. “I hope you enjoy your meal.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” He pulled out his chair and sat down. “Besides the fruit and appetizers, what’s the main course?”

Brianna, looking fresh and well scrubbed, took her place at the opposite end of the table. She was wearing one of her inscrutable smiles, suggesting she knew something he didn’t.

“My master,” Leila said solemnly, seating herself between them. “Your sister assured me whatever I might prepare would please you. And in such hot weather, I know my appetite wanes. I’m sure yours does as well.”

He surveyed the table one more time. “This is it?”

“A meal fit for a sheikh, I assure you.”

Cord sputtered, not wanting to criticize too harshly. But he was a meat-and-potatoes man in all of the related variations. Fruit and cheese just didn’t cut it.

“You haven’t even peeled the oranges,” he muttered as his stomach growled. “How do you expect—”

“As you wish, master.” With a flick of her wrist, Allie picked up an orange and used her table knife to slice through the skin. She sectioned it, then separated the halves.

Juice squirted in a fountain as she divided the sections one by one. The air filled with the scent of citrus, conjuring images of a desert kingdom where thirst was quenched with fruit. She licked her thumb and forefinger, savoring the taste with deliberation, her tongue circling each finger in turn. All the while her dark, exotic eyes focused on Cord.

She pulled the next segment apart and Cord began to sweat.

There was something incredibly sexy about the juice running down her fingers, circling her wrist, and the way she tongued it off. Leisurely. As though she was anxious to enjoy every last drop.

Any man with a modicum of good sense would know he shouldn’t be so fascinated. Know the press against the fly of his jeans was pure, unadulterated lust. Know he had to get the hell out of here.

He shoved back his chair from the table. “Seems to me there was some leftover roast beef in the refrigerator. I think I’ll make myself a sandwich, if nobody minds.”

Brianna ducked her head and turned away, but not, Cord suspected, because she was feeling shy. Her tittering laughter made him glad he hadn’t had a sister while he’d been fighting the changes in his body and lack of control during adolescence. Which seemed to be the syndrome he was experiencing now, despite being nearly thirty-five years old.

“Brianna tells me I must have a social security number,” Leila says, “and that I should apply at the postal authority in Bridle.”

He glanced over his shoulder to see her placing the sectioned fruit on his plate. “Yeah?”

“You will take me there tomorrow, and I will also purchase new clothes. What I have brought with me is totally inadequate for my new housekeeper responsibilities.”

Cord had trouble disagreeing with that. If he’d had his way, she’d be wearing her voluminous cloak. He could only hope in Bridle she’d buy an equally concealing outfit. A burlap sack sounded about right to him.

Even so, it grated that she was ordering him around. Just who did she think she was? A princess?

Chapter Three

After dinner—such as it was—Cord went into the ranch office with Brianna to check on the quarterly reports she’d finished. He sat down behind the big oak desk that used to be his father’s and tipped back in the swivel chair, making the springs creak. He picked up the forms.

“How’d we do this quarter?”

“After culling the herd, the cash flow looks good. I’d say there’s no reason you can’t reinvest some of the funds in new breeding stock.” In the past year, since she’d moved to the Flying Ace, Brianna had begun to show more confidence in her predictions.

“Good. Glad to hear that.” He flipped through the pages, grateful for her help. Paperwork had always been a drudgery for Cord. “I’ll probably take a trip into Austin early next week for the stock sale.”

“Would you like me to print out the catalog of offerings? It’s on the Internet.”

“Thanks. I’d appreciate that.” He handed her back the report and watched as she took her seat at her desk across the room from his. “So what do you think of our new housekeeper?”

“I think if she’s been doing the cooking back in Munir, the sheikh was less than generous to make you a gift of her.”

Cord muttered his agreement, feeling a smile tug at his lips.

“You’ll need to be patient with her,” Brianna warned. “She doesn’t appear to be a very experienced housekeeper.”

“Yeah, I know. But I doubt she’ll want to hang around long.”

Brianna shot him a quick smile, then turned to her computer. “I don’t know, big brother. She may surprise you. And you’ll have to give her points for dinner. She certainly had your attention.”

Cord wasn’t ready to admit anything of the sort, sure as hell not to his little sister.

“I also think if you want to pay her, we’ll have to pay her under the table.”

“How’s that?”

Brianna glanced over her shoulder. “No green card, Cord. My guess is her visa is temporary and doesn’t allow for employment.”

“We’ll work out something.” Frowning thoughtfully, he picked up a copy of the Cattlemen magazine from his desk and thumbed through the pages. But his heart wasn’t in the nutrient levels of various grasslands around the country. Instead he kept wondering what Leila was up to.

The catalog Brianna printed out before she went to her room didn’t hold his interest, either, and it should have. Picking the right bull at the right price with all the right attributes was what made his breeding program a success.

But at the moment he couldn’t seem to concentrate on the expected progeny differences of the bulls that would be on sale.

Yawning, he finally decided to call it quits for the night. He’d check the catalog tomorrow or the next day when he was more alert—and not so distracted by thoughts of his new housekeeper.

The lights were still on in the kitchen. When he went to switch them off, he noticed a movement outside in the halo of the barn light. Frowning, he wondered who or what would be out and about at this hour. Ranchers hit the sack early. He and his ranch hands were no exception.

He stepped outside and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. The air had cooled considerably from the daytime high in the nineties, but it still held the moisture so common during the summer months in Texas. The call of crickets filled the air along with the soft sound of horses and cattle settling down for the night. Not a breath of wind stirred.

There was a stream of something else in the still air, however, not just the animal smells he’d grown up with on the ranch. A tropical scent like jasmine. He followed it toward the barn.

The door moaned in protest as he opened it. Across the way, he saw the shadow of a slender woman slip into a vacant horse stall. He should have known she’d be back to check on the cat.

“Couldn’t leave it alone, could you?”

She screamed. Whatever she’d been carrying flew up in the air and conked him on the forehead. Cool liquid ran down his face, and he licked his lips. Milk.

“Easy, princess, it’s me. Cord.”

“I am not a princess. I am your housekeeper. And you nearly scared the life out of me. What in the name of Constantine are you doing following me?”

“Trying to figure out who’s sneaking around my barn.”

“Well!” she huffed. “You frightened Mittens, too. And now I don’t have any milk for her.”

“Mittens?”

“The kitten. Her little paws are pure white. It is a good name.”

It was, assuming you wanted to name the offspring of a feral cat that came and went as it pleased. “Its mother—”

“Has not returned.” In the shadows, Leila bent, picking up a handful of fur. “I am going to feed Mittens, unless you refuse to allow me the privilege.”

“Be my guest.” He could only hope the immigration rules in Munir allowed for the admission of cats from the States without months of quarantine when Leila returned home.

“Thank you. You are most kind.”

Imperiously, with the kitten cuddled against her chest, she swept past him, and he grinned. Suddenly he wondered if Brianna was right. Sheikh Rafe might have been well rid of his household servant, the runaway horse rescue only an excuse to ship her off to someone else for a few weeks.

Unexpected sympathy tugged at his conscience. Here was a young woman who’d been virtually torn from her homeland, landing in a situation totally foreign to her, and her biggest concern was for a six-week-old kitten abandoned by its mother. Perhaps there was more depth to Leila than he had imagined.

That arrogant tilt of her head that was so intriguing—and equally annoying—could well be her way to disguise her fears.

ALLIE SLIPPED BETWEEN the sheets in her bedroom, but she suspected sleep would elude her for some hours, and it would not be entirely the fault of the kitten, who was so fascinated by her toes, pouncing on them.

Through the open window she heard the night sounds of the ranch. A horse moving in its stall. Crickets chirping. And in the distance, the occasional lowing of a cow. Pleasant, restful sounds, if only she could relax.

She had thought no one had seen her enter the barn, and Cord had nearly frightened her to death. He was so tall, as much a giant as the guards who protected the palace in Munir, and so broad shouldered, he’d given her quite a start. But his voice, a rich baritone, had a far different effect on her than any palace guard. One she hadn’t previously experienced. Her heart had taken off like a drummer in the palace marching band. Her breath had grown as shallow as an aging woman about to faint in the heat of midday.

Allie sighed and tried to snare Mittens, who was determined to burrow under the sheet and find her way to Allie’s bare feet, where her tiny teeth could gnaw at will. A few laps of milk in the kitchen had turned the kitten into a frisky pest.

“Behave yourself, Mittens,” she admonished, not quite able to keep the smile from her voice.

Whatever was she going to do about Cord? She had so little experience with men that she had no idea how she should act around him. Particularly since she was supposed to be his servant. Humph! If the truth were known, she was his match at every level.

Except in the kitchen. Which was an entirely different matter.

She curled onto her side, and Mittens found a nest on top of the sheets behind her crooked knees. She heard little licking sounds as the kitten bathed herself, and finally, silence.

At last Allie’s eyelids grew heavy and she slept, only to be rudely awakened by an irritating rapping on her door. Mittens flew off the bed as though she had been launched.

“What!” Allie exclaimed.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead. It’s past time to be up and at ’em.”

Blurry-eyed, she peered out the window. “The sun is barely up.” She never rose at this hour. The servants did, of course, to prepare her morning meal, but she had no intention of—

“Come on, get yourself some breakfast and let’s get going if you want to do some shopping in Bridle,” Cord said.

Shopping. Now that was a task for which she had a great deal of experience.

She hopped out of bed, grabbed her wrapper and opened the door a crack. “Would you mind bringing me a cup of coffee to sip while I prepare myself for shopping?”

Looking mystified by her request, he leaned a hand on the doorjamb. “Maybe I better clear up something here. In this country, the housekeeper fixes coffee and brings a mug to the boss, not the other way around.”

“Oh. Well, if such a simple request is too difficult for you to perform, then I shall get my own coffee.” Pulling her wrapper modestly around her, she flounced past him. Surely he didn’t expect her to do any work before she had consumed her first cup of coffee.

Cord’s jaw went slack, while other parts of his anatomy got an early wake-up call. Sleepy eyed and wearing her hair in a thick braid that hung halfway down her back, Leila was resplendent in an ornate, royal-blue silk gown embroidered in gold and red swirls. Barefooted, so he could see her delicate ankles and arched insteps, she padded from her doorway across the width of the kitchen floor to the coffeepot and poured herself a cup.

Cord didn’t know quite what he wanted to do first—slip off Leila’s gown and take her back to her bed, where he could explore her slender body, starting with her sexy, shocking-red toenails, or read her the riot act for not behaving like any servant he’d ever met.

Before he could decide, the kitten pounced on his leg, burying her claws in his calf. “Hey, cut that out!”

Coffee mug in hand, Leila sailed by him, snatching the kitten from his leg. “Please do not speak so curtly to Mittens. You will hurt her feelings.” Stepping into her room, she closed the door behind her.

Cord opted not to bang his head against the thick adobe wall. It wouldn’t do any good. And he sure as hell was likely to hurt himself—or the wall.

But maybe he could bribe Sheikh Rafe with a couple hundred acres of Texas grassland to take Leila back.

The woman acted nothing like the meek servant who had gotten into his truck yesterday at the Desert Rose with the sheikh watching her. The moment they’d been out of sight of the Coleman’s place, her subservient mask had slipped.

It made him wonder what game she was playing—and if he was the one being taken for a ride.

THE TOWN OF BRIDLE was little larger than a village in Munir, although Allie conceded the surrounding farmland was more lush and interesting than the date trees and oil derricks of her desert country. While seeking to purchase stock from the Desert Rose, her brother had insisted they stay as close to the horse ranch as they could. The accommodations they found at the Bridle Motel had been barely adequate for their needs.

Allie wondered if the shopping facilities, which she had not had an opportunity to visit, would be any better. Given the small size of the town and the cracked sidewalks, she would have preferred to shop in Austin. Or better yet, in Dallas.

Still, Bridle was quaintly American and right out of the Old West as she’d seen it on television.

Driving with his elbow on the truck’s windowsill, Cord asked, “What do you want to do first? Get the forms at the post office or go shopping?”

She smiled at him. “Shopping is always a priority with me.”

“Somehow I thought that might be true.” He angled the pickup into a spot in front of a Western clothing store. “What kind of duds are you looking to buy?”

“Duds?”

“Clothes. Not ball gowns, I trust.”

“Oh, no, I wish to wear clothes like those your sister wears. American jeans. A cowboy hat. Boots. That is what women wear here.” Even out in public, she thought in amazement. Although some of her countrywomen wore such things in the privacy of their own homes, she had never had that luxury. She had her position to think of, an image to maintain even among the servants. But now she was free to choose clothes on her own. Temporarily.

“So you’re going whole-hog Western style, huh?”

“Have you heard the expression, when in Rome—”

“I have.”

“Then surely it applies in the same way when in Texas.”

“I believe it does, Leila.” His amused smile sent her heart fluttering. “I believe it does.”

Once inside the store, Cord hung back while Leila circled the merchandise like a pack of coyotes picking out a weak heifer to attack. She fingered jeans and shirts, tried on hats, examined leather boots, looking as though at any moment she was going to close in for the kill.

Sherianne Wilcox, a teenager from one of the nearby farms who worked part-time at the store, walked over to Cord.

“Can I help you find something, Mr. Brannigan?”

“Nope. I’m just waiting for the young lady to make up her mind.”

The teenager glanced toward Leila. “She’s real pretty.”

“That she is.” Leila had whipped her long hair into a knot that rested at her nape, a target a man would aim for with a kiss. And then he’d untie that knot, letting her hair stream through his fingers.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

He jolted at Sherianne’s question, yanking his attention back to the youngster. “Nope. Housekeeper.”

The girl’s eyes widened in surprise, her smile revealing a shiny set of braces. “Well, she’s sure lots purdier than Maria is.”

Despite the air-conditioning, heat raced up Cord’s neck. “I’ll just go see how she’s coming along.”

He jammed his hands in his pockets and strolled to the back of the store. By now, Leila had gathered an armload of clothes and had a totally impractical white Stetson perched on her head.

“You about done here?” he asked.

“I need to try these on to see if they fit. Then I will be ready to go with you.”

“Okay, but I’ve got to get back to the ranch sometime this year. Can you move it along a little faster?”

She did that funny toss of her head thing, suggesting she’d do as she pleased, then vanished into a dressing room.

Little wonder men didn’t like to go shopping with women. When he needed a pair of jeans, he came into the store, picked out a pair of 32-34s, paid for ’em and was done with it. Leila was making a damn career out of this shopping trip.

He checked his watch, then paced around the store. Obviously her view of shopping—and his view of work—were in direct conflict.

“What do you think, Cord?”

He turned and got what amounted to a visual punch in the solar plexus. Standing in front of the arched doorway to the dressing room, she took his breath away. Like a fashion model, she pirouetted in a full circle so he could get a good look. She’d picked out a tank top that bared her arms and dipped low toward her delicate breasts, then tucked in at her narrow waist. Her jeans were as snug as tights, molding to her attractive rear end like a man’s hand. The expensive leather boots made her legs look like they went on forever.

He cleared his throat. “Great. You look like a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader.”

“This cheerleader business is good?”

“Very good.” For her. Or the football team. Very bad for Cord, if he had any hope of keeping his hands to himself and his head on straight. “So, you’re ready to go, huh?”

“Oh, no. I have many more outfits to try on.”

He rolled his eyes. Thank goodness his men were more than capable of separating the calves from their mothers in order to wean them. At the rate Leila was going, they wouldn’t get back to the ranch until past dinnertime.

Allie made her selections, and with her arms full of clothes, stepped out of the dressing room. Cord ushered her to the cash register with ill-disguised impatience. He really needed to develop more regard for a woman’s need to dress appropriately, whatever her role in life. Even a servant wanted to look nice.

She placed the clothing and boots on the counter, topping the pile with her bright new Western hat.

“Will that be cash or credit card?” the young woman asked.

Allie stared at her blankly for a moment. Dear heaven! She’d left her Visa card at the ranch, but even if she’d brought it along she wouldn’t have been able to use it, not if she had to sign her real name—Aliah Bahram. And she certainly didn’t carry enough cash with her to pay for all of this. In Munir, she purchased whatever caught her eye. Either a servant paid for it or the merchant sent the bill to the palace—for Rafe to grumble over and eventually pay.

Sensing her dilemma, Cord stepped up to the cash register. “Charge it to the Flying Ace account. They’re sort of her work clothes.” He gestured vaguely to the mountain of clothes on the counter. If nothing else, it seemed as if the only way he’d get back to the Flying Ace in this century would be to pay for the goods himself.

Leila wasn’t a woman who could be easily denied anything she wanted. He didn’t have the time or inclination to argue with her.

A few minutes later, feeling like a pack mule, he carried a half-dozen sacks out to the truck, squeezing them behind the seat.

“Do you want to get the forms from the post office now?” he ask.

“I think I am too weary to deal with so many details right now. Perhaps another day.”

Right. He was happy to put off that ordeal, too. “How ’bout lunch before we head home?”

She brightened. “Yes, that would be nice. If I don’t have to prepare the meal,” she qualified.

“My treat.” His finances had already taken a big whack. A few more bucks at the local diner wouldn’t hurt him, and maybe the delighted smile she gave him was worth it.

Man, he was losing it. Big time.

By the time he’d consumed half of his burger and fries—and Leila had daintily eaten about a quarter of a Cobb salad—Cord asked, “How is it your accent sounds British?”

“It does?” Looking surprised, she stabbed a bite of ham with her fork and chewed thoughtfully. “I suppose it is because my tutor was from England.”

Taking another bite of burger, he studied her a minute. “You mean your sheikh boss hires tutors for his servants?”

Her head snapped up. “Oh, no, not that. I meant, my mistress’s tutor was from England. I was permitted to sit in on her lessons.”

“Ah, I see.” Something about the flare of color on her cheeks suggested she wasn’t telling the entire truth, though he couldn’t figure out why she’d lie. “Guess we Texans sound different to you.”

“Not unpleasantly so.” She smiled again, and he lost track of what he’d been puzzling over a minute ago.

Not that it mattered. According to Brianna, with only a tourist visa Leila would have to go home soon. That was fine by Cord. He wasn’t sure how much more strain the fly of his jeans could take.

ALLIE STEPPED BACK from her closet to admire her newly purchased wardrobe, which she’d hung with great delight. Studying the array of jeans and tank tops, cotton blouses and denim skirts, she gnawed on her lower lip. She’d spent extravagantly for clothing her betrothed husband would never approve of her wearing. Her throat tightened at that reality. She had so little time to enjoy her liberty before being forced back into the role demanded of a princess.

The kitten wove her way between Allie’s feet, meowing.

Allie scooped her up. “What is it, my precious Mittens? Are you hungry?” Fortunately, she had thought to have Cord stop at the grocery store in Bridle to buy cat food on their way home. He’d also wisely purchased a precooked roasted chicken for their evening meal.

She carried Mittens into the kitchen, found a dish and opened the box of cat food.

Coming through the open window, the racket of ranch operations seemed inordinately loud. Cows were bawling and carrying on as though they were in great distress.

Allie looked up from pouring the cat food when Cord walked into the room, hooking his Stetson on a peg near the doorway.

“Why are the cows so upset?” she asked.

“It’s weaning time. It takes a couple of days for the heifers’ milk to dry up, and they miss their calves. Same thing for the calves.”

“You have separated the mothers and their babies?” she gasped.

“Have to. Most of the heifers are pregnant again and they need their strength for their next calf.”

“But that is so cruel.” Allie remembered the night following her mother’s death. She had thought her own heart would break. While visiting some of the poorer villages in Munir, hoping to improve the conditions in which her people lived, Allie’s mother had contracted a dreadful disease. Day by day she had wasted away, the doctors unable to help. And then she had simply stopped breathing. Allie had wanted to die, too.

“Leila.” He shoved his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. “This is a working ranch, not a zoo or a pet farm. We raise animals that are turned into steaks and short ribs and rump roasts, and we do it as efficiently as we can. The calves are old enough to graze on their own and their mothers do better this way.”

He left her standing in the kitchen puzzling over his words. From the sound the cows were making, Allie did not believe Cord that all was as it should be. And when she stepped outside, she knew she was right. From the porch she could see the first pasture where calves were lined up on one side of the fence, cows on the other, desperately trying to get to each other.

Tears blurred her vision as memories of her mother swept over her, memories of loss. “Poor babies. I wish I could help you.”

BY EVENING, the racket had increased in volume. Neither Cord nor Brianna seemed disturbed by the noise. But it set Allie’s teeth on edge and gave her a dreadful headache.

In bed, she covered her ears with a pillow. Nothing blocked out the noise—or the image of herself as a five-year-old child, sobbing uncontrollably with no one to hold her, to tell her all would be well.

At her mother’s funeral, Allie’s father and brother had been clear-eyed and strong. They’d told her she must be, too. But she could not help herself. She’d failed, shaming her family, and was sent to the women’s quarters alone.

So alone…

Gasping for air, she sat up. Sweat edged down her neck and between her breasts. She could not endure the racket, the pain of those poor animals.

Tugging on jeans and her new boots, she hurried out into the darkness of night. No one had been there to console her when she had needed it. The least she could do was help these poor helpless animals.

No matter what Cord had said.

Chapter Four

Cord woke with a start.

The sun wasn’t up yet. Only predawn light slipped past the lace curtains on the windows. The air was cool, with a trace of rain that had fallen during the night.

After nearly thirty-five years of living on the Flying Ace, Cord knew every sound made on the ranch. The creak of the house as it settled. Movement in the kitchen that meant someone was up fixing coffee or a snack. The soft patter of rain on the flower beds outside or the silence that came with a rare snowfall. Even the dreaded roar of an approaching tornado.

As a kid he used to lie in his bed down the hallway, listening to his parents fight here in the master bedroom. He’d put his head under the pillow, pretending everything was okay. It wasn’t. He’d known that because the next morning his mother’s eyes were always red from crying.

Right now he didn’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but he knew something was wrong—knew it from the way the hair stood up at the back of his neck.

He got up and pulled on some clothes, not bothering to tuck in his shirt.

Down the hall, Brianna’s door was still shut. No sound came from the office or any other room on this side of the house.

The living room looked a little dusty and unused. The kitchen was as they had left it last night, the faint hint of leftover chicken in the air. Just off the kitchen, the door to the housekeeper’s room where Leila slept was closed tight. Still, something didn’t feel right.

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