Hired by the Cowboy
Donna Alward

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Subcare—keep the faith. It does happen!

And with special thanks to Michelle Styles and

Trish Wylie for their unwavering support and guidance.

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

EPILOGUE

COMING NEXT MONTH

CHAPTER ONE

“MISS? Wake up. Can you hear me?”

The deep voice came first, then Alex’s vision gradually started to clear.

“Oh, thank God. Are you all right?”

Alex’s eyes followed the sound of the voice as she looked up, dazed. Trying hard to focus, she found herself staring into the most beautiful set of brown eyes she’d ever seen. They were stunning, dark brown with golden flecks throughout, large and thickly lashed.

Men shouldn’t have eyes that pretty, she thought irrationally, realizing with a jolt that she was captured in the arms of the eyes’ owner.

“Oh, goodness!”

The eyes crinkled at the corners at her exclamation, and she felt his hands on her arm and behind her back, helping her to rise.

“Slowly, now. You fainted.”

Really? I hadn’t noticed. I was too busy being unconscious. She bit back the sarcastic retort when she saw the genuine concern in his eyes. He even made sure she was standing firmly on her feet before releasing her—and then stayed close, as if he didn’t quite trust her to remain steady.

He would have fainted too, in her condition and with this heat…and the lack of air-conditioning in the convenience store hadn’t helped much either.

“I’m so sorry,” she blustered, brushing off her pants and avoiding his eyes. It had only taken a moment, but she could even now see him completely in her mind. Not just the eyes, but thick, luscious black hair, just long enough to sink your fingers into and slightly ragged at the edges. Crisply etched lips and a large frame in a grey suit.

Someone who looked like him was so far removed from her world it was laughable, and she avoided his eyes from simple embarrassment. She stared instead at his shoes…shiny, brown leather ones, without a smudge of dirt or a blemish. A businessman’s shoes.

“No need to be sorry. Are you sure you’re all right?”

She bent to retrieve her bag and purse. The first time she’d bent to pick up her dropped crackers everything had spun and then turned black. This time she gripped the bench for support, just in case. To her dismay she realized that she’d spilled her apple juice, and it was running down a crack in the sidewalk. She folded the top over on the paper bag, picked up the juice bottle and looked around for a recycling receptacle.

“I’m fine,” she said, finally looking him in the face. Her heart skipped a beat at the worry she saw there. It had been a long time since anyone had been concerned over her. He was a complete stranger, yet his worry was clear in the wrinkle between his brows. Gratitude washed over her for his gallantry. “I haven’t even thanked you for catching me.”

“You turned white as a sheet.”

She chanced a quick look around. Any passers-by who had seen her little episode were gone, and now people went about their business, not paying any attention to them whatsoever. Another face in the crowd. That was all she was. Yet this man…Mr. GQ…had seen her distress and come to her assistance.

“I’m fine. Thanks for your help. I’m just going to sit a moment.” She coolly dismissed him; his duty was discharged.

Solicitously he stepped back to let her by, but once she’d sat, surprised her by seating himself as well. “Do you need a doctor?”

Alex laughed. Oh, she did. But a doctor couldn’t cure what was wrong with her. “No.”

The answer was definitive. By the way his shoulders straightened she knew he’d got the message loud and clear. Briefly she felt guilty for being blunt, so she offered a paltry, “But thanks again, Mr…?”

“Madsen. Connor Madsen.” He held out his hand, undeterred, inviting her to introduce herself.

She took his hand in hers. It was warm and solid and a little rough. Not a banker’s hands, as she’d thought. Working hands. Solid hands.

“Alex.”

“Just Alex?”

His eyes were boring into her, and she stared straight ahead at the office building across the street.

“Yes. Just Alex.”

It wouldn’t do to encourage him. In the early June heat her T-shirt clung to her, the hem on the sleeves heavy on her arms and the fabric pulling uncomfortably across her breasts. And what had possessed her to wear jeans today, of all things? Apparently such a heatwave this early in summer wasn’t that uncommon, but for her the temperature only compounded the light-headedness and nausea.

Necessity had forced her wardrobe choice, plain and simple. Her shorts weren’t comfortable any more, and at least in her jeans she could breathe. As silence fell, thick and awkward between them, the world threatened to tilt again. The feeling slowly passed as she took slow, deep breaths. “For the love of Mike…” she mumbled.

He laughed, a full-throated masculine sound that sent strange waves through her stomach. “So, just Alex? Intriguing name. Your parents want a boy or something?”

“Probably.” She couldn’t believe he was still here. After all, beyond the first fuzzy moment that she’d succumbed to his arms, she hadn’t encouraged him at all. His attempt at polite conversation had done nothing but awaken an all-too familiar sadness, the heavy weight of regret every time she thought of her parents. “My full name is Alexis MacKenzie Grayson.”

“That’s quite a name for a small thing like you.” His eyes were warm on her and he twisted, angling himself toward her and bending a knee.

“Alex for Graham Bell and MacKenzie for the prime minister, you know? You planning on using it for the paramedics later? In case I faint again?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “You look much better, thank goodness. But you spilled your juice. Can I get you something else cool to drink?” His eyes wandered to the convenience store behind them.

Her stomach rolled at the thought of a sugary sweet, slushy drink. Every teenager in a ten-block radius had been buying them today. The very idea of them had Alex’s tummy performing a slow, sickening lurch. She pressed her lips together.

“Or are you hungry? There’s a hot dog cart down the street.”

She stood, desperately trying to get some fresh air while exorcising the thought of greasy hot dogs from her mind. But she rose too quickly, her blood pressure dipped, and she saw grey and black shapes behind her eyes once again.

His arms were there to steady her, but she dropped her paper bag to the ground, the contents falling out as they hit the concrete.

His fingers were firm on her wrist as he helped her sit back down. “Put your head between your legs,” he demanded quietly, and for some reason she obeyed.

Alex avoided his eyes as she sat up moments later. “Sorry about that,” she mumbled, completely mortified at the awkward silence that fell between them like a ton weight. This had to be an all-time low. Blacking out not once, but twice, in front of her own personal Knight in Shining Armor. And wasn’t he annoying, this Mr. Perfect Chivalry, sitting there calm as you please?

She expected him to mumble his apologies and hurry away. Instead he knelt and began picking up what she’d dumped on the ground in her haste.

Oh, God. Her humiliation was complete as he paused, his hand on the plastic bottle of pre-natal vitamins. His eyes darted up, caught hers. In them she saw sudden understanding. Now, of course, it all made sense. At least it made sense to him. She was still trying to assimilate everything.

“Congratulations.”

Her smile was weak. He couldn’t know. Couldn’t know how her life had been turned completely upside down with a three-minute test only a few short weeks ago.

“Thank you.”

He watched her carefully as he sat again on the bench. “You don’t sound happy. Unplanned?”

She should end this conversation right here and now. He was, after all, a complete stranger.

“That’s none of your business.”

He had no cause to know her personal troubles. It was her problem. And she’d solve it. Somehow.

“I beg your pardon. I was only trying to help.”

She grabbed the vitamins and shoved them into her purse. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

The pause was so long her scalp tingled under his scrutiny.

“No, you didn’t. But I offer it anyway.”

And who else was going to step up and give her a hand? She was alone, nearly destitute, and pregnant. She had no one waiting for her at home. Home, she thought sardonically. Now, there was an idea. She hadn’t had a real home in a long time…too long. Five years, to be exact. Five years was a long time to be at loose ends.

At present she was sleeping on the floor of a friend of a friend. Her back protested every morning, but it was the best she could do for now. She’d find a way, though, she thought with a small smile. She always did, and had done since being left alone and without a penny to her name at eighteen.

Connor was a friendly face, and also the first person who actually seemed to care. Perhaps that was why she made the conscious choice to answer his question.

“Yes, this baby is unplanned. Very.”

“And the father?”

She looked out over the bustling street. “Not in the picture.”

He studied her for a few moments before replying, “So you’re alone?”

“Utterly and completely.” Despair trickled through in her voice and she shored herself up. No sense dwelling on what couldn’t be changed. Her voice was again strong and sure as she continued, “But I’ll manage. I always do.”

Connor leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Surely your family will help you?”

“I have no family,” she replied flatly, discouraging any further discussion of that topic. She had no one. Loneliness crept in, cold and heavy. Not one soul. Anyone she’d truly cared about in the world was gone. Sometimes she almost forgot, but now, faced with a pregnancy and no prospects, she’d never felt more isolated.

After a long silence, he spoke again. “Are you feeling better? Would you like some tea or something?” He smiled at her, friendly, and her heart gave a little foreign twist at this complete stranger’s obvious caring and generosity.

“You needn’t feel obligated. I’m fine now.”

“Humor me. You’re still a bit pale, and it would make me feel better.”

It was a lifeline to hold on to. It wasn’t like her life was a revolving door of social invitations. “Tea might be nice, I guess.”

She looped her purse over her shoulder. “So where are we off to, Connor Madsen?”

“There’s a little place around the next corner.”

She chuckled a little. “You use that line often?”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever used it before, as a matter of fact.” He adjusted his long stride to her much shorter one.

“I wouldn’t recommend using it again,” she remarked dryly.

“You’re coming with me, aren’t you?” Connor shrugged out of his suit coat and draped it over an arm. “To be truthful, I don’t spend much time in the city, picking up women. Or for any other reason, for that matter.”

He was wearing a white dress shirt that fit snugly over wide shoulders, then tapered, tucked into slim-waisted trousers. Alex hadn’t believed men that good-looking actually existed, and here she was going for tea with one. One who had already seen her faint. She shook her head with amazement.

“So, if you’re not from the city, where are you from?” Small talk. Small talk was safe and not too revealing. She could handle niceties.

“I run a ranch about two hours northwest of here.”

“Ah.” Well, she certainly wouldn’t have to worry about seeing him again after today. She’d be able to look back on it as a bizarre, fantastical dream. A Knight in Shining Chaps, it would seem.

She giggled, then clamped her mouth shut at his raised eyebrow. “Is this the place?” she asked, changing the subject.

“It is.” He held the door—more good manners, it seemed—seated her at a table and went to get drinks.

The coffee shop was trendy, and didn’t seem to suit either of them. She pictured him more as a local diner type, drinking black coffee from a thick white mug while some middle-aged waitress named Sheila read the specials of the day. Despite his formal appearance today, she got the impression that he wasn’t totally comfortable in a suit.

In moments he returned with two steaming mugs…one of peppermint tea and one with straight black coffee. The café didn’t suit her much either. She usually bought coffee from a vending machine, or drank it thick and black from behind the bar—not that she’d been drinking much lately. Still, she was touched and surprised that he’d thought to get her something herbal in deference to her pregnancy.

“Thanks for the peppermint. It was thoughtful of you.”

“I’ll admit I asked the girl behind the counter for something uncaffeinated. And the peppermint might be, um, soothing.”

He handed her something wrapped in waxed paper. “I got you a cookie, just in case your blood sugar was low.”

Alex wondered how he knew so much about the biology of pregnancy as she unwrapped the long, dry biscotti and tried a nibble. It seemed safe. A sip of the peppermint tea confirmed it. “Thanks. I think we’re good.”

His shoulders relaxed. “I’m glad. I’d hate to have a repeat of earlier.”

She laughed a bit. “You’ll have to find another method for your next damsel in distress.”

Connor sipped his coffee, sucking in his lips as the hot liquid burned. “You seemed to need it. Plus, my grandmother would flay me alive if I didn’t help a lady in need.”

“I thought chivalry was dead?”

“Not quite.” His smile was thin. “And this way I can procrastinate.”

“I beg your pardon?” She put down her mug and stared at him.

“I have a meeting this afternoon. I’d rather spend the afternoon shovelling—Well, you get the idea. I’m simply not looking forward to it.”

“Why?”

He avoided her prying eyes and stared out the window. “It’s a long story.” He turned back. “What about you? What are your plans for you and the baby?”

She took another long drink of tea to settle the anxiety brewing in her belly. “Our plans are pretty open. I’m working for now. Trying to figure out what to do next. It’s temporary.”

“You’re not from here. I can tell by your accent.”

“No. Ottawa.”

He smiled. “I thought I sensed a little Ontario,” he teased. “But there are so many easterners here now that for all I knew you could have lived here for years.”

“Three weeks, two days and twenty-two hours,” she replied. “I’m working at the Pig’s Whistle pub for now.” She needed to find something else, away from the second-hand smoke. But her tips were good, and she’d have a hard time finding a boss as accommodating as Pete had been.

He didn’t have to answer for her to know what he was thinking. It was a dead-end job, and hardly one she could support herself and a baby on. She knew right away she’d said too much.

His brow furrowed a little, and she somehow felt she’d failed a test. Which was ridiculous. He didn’t even know her, and they wouldn’t meet again, so his opinion shouldn’t matter at all. She was working on coming up with a solution. Just because she hadn’t come up with one yet, it didn’t mean she wouldn’t. Heck, she’d been finding her way out of scrapes for years. This one was going to take a little more ingenuity, that was all.

It was time to end this whole meet-and-greet thing. She pushed away her tea. “Listen, thanks for helping this afternoon, and for the tea. But I should get going.”

She stood to leave and he rose, reaching into his pocket.

“Here,” he offered, holding out a card. “If you need anything, call me.”

“Why would I do that?”

His face flattened and he stepped back at her sharp tone. “I’d like to be of help if I can. I’m at Windover Ranch, just north of Sundre.”

She had no idea where Sundre was, and had no plan to discover the wonders of Windover Ranch, so she figured there’d be no harm in responding to his solicitude by being polite. She tucked the small white card into her jeans pocket.

“Thanks for the offer. It was nice meeting you, Connor.”

She held out her hand, and he took it firmly.

Her eyes darted up to his and locked.

Another time, another place. She lost herself momentarily in their chocolaty depths. Perhaps in different circumstances she might have wanted to get to know him better. It was just her luck that she’d fainted in front of the first hot guy she’d seen in a good long time.

And it was the height of irony to meet someone like him when she was obviously unavailable. She was pretty sure that being pregnant with another man’s child was probably number one on a guy’s “not in this lifetime” list.

“Goodbye,” she whispered, pulling her hand away from his grasp.

Her steps were hurried as she exited the shop, but she couldn’t escape the gentle and understanding look he’d given her as she’d said goodbye.

CHAPTER TWO

“HAVE you seen today’s paper?” Connor stopped his agitated pacing and faced his grandmother.

Johanna Madsen looked coolly over the rims of her glasses, her shrewd eyes assessing. Not a single white hair was out of place, curled back from her temples stylishly and stopping at her collar.

“Yes, dear, of course I have.”

Connor started pacing the elegant sitting room again, feeling fenced in among the classic furniture and expensive knickknacks. His head was ready to implode. How could she sit there so implacably, a study in calm? This was big. It was huge. It was probably the end of Windover.

“We almost lost the farm after the last scare. This’ll put the final nail in the coffin, Grandmother.”

“My, you are upset,” Johanna replied with a tiny smile. “You never call me Grandmother unless you’re piqued at me.”

“Whatever.” Connor stopped pacing and faced the elderly woman squarely. “I want to know what you’re willing to do to help me save our heritage.”

She laughed, a raspy, rusty sound that made Connor’s lips twitch even as he waited for her answer.

“Our heritage? You’ve been thinking about this all day, I can tell.”

On the contrary. For a few hours that afternoon he’d forgotten about his current troubles, focusing on another’s issues. A slight girl with jet-black hair and astonishing blue eyes. With a baby on the way. Where was she now? He hoped she was still all right. When her face had paled and she’d wavered he’d simply acted, while no one around had batted an eyelash.

And even at her worst she’d still maintained a sense of humor. He admired that. It didn’t take a genius to figure out she was in a bad way. For the father to simply disappear like that…Connor frowned. He had no compassion for cowards. A real man stood up and did what needed to be done.

And so, apparently, did Alex. Because the only sense he’d got from her today was that of strength and stubbornness, not hopelessness and self-pity.

And why, considering the current pickle he found himself in, was he thinking about her when he should be focusing on convincing Gram to release his trust fund?

“Connor?”

“Yes, Gram,” he answered sharply, turning back to the woman who looked so much like his father. Right now her expressive eyes were troubled, and the mouth that always looked like it held a secret joke was a thin line.

“Look,” he relented, “you know as well as I do why I’m here. There’s already a ban imposed on beef exports. It’s the same scenario as before, only this time it’ll be harder to convince the world our beef is safe. Meanwhile I have a herd, a growing herd, that I can’t slaughter but that still has to be fed and cared for.”

“And you want the cash?”

“My birthday is less than a year away. Surely you can release it a little early?”

Her blue hawk-like eyes bored into his as she folded her hands in her lap. Hands that had once been rough and workworn but now held a small smattering of delightful rings. “No, my grandson, I can’t do that. Your parents’ will clearly states that those monies be held in trust for you until your thirtieth.”

Connor cursed fluently; Johanna merely raised an elegant eyebrow. He glared at her, and she stared him down.

Damn it. She was strong—too strong. She’d lived her life, worked the ranch herself, knew what tough meant. She’d chosen comfort, a condo with a mountain view for her retirement. But she’d lost none of that prairie woman’s steel.

“Gram. I can’t do it. Not without the resources.”

“You are your father’s son. You can.”

“He never had to deal with this.” He said it and knew without a doubt he was right. The last scare had nearly bankrupted them, and they’d kept going by the skin of their teeth. But now…there was nothing in reserve. The only way to keep Windover running was with cold, hard cash. And it was clear now she wasn’t going to give him any. His heart sank. He’d fail after all.

Like hell I will. His lips thinned with frustration and determination.

“Legally I can’t release the money, Connor. You know I would if I could.”

Her eyes softened just a little, and he saw the deepening wrinkles there.

“I don’t want to see Windover go under either,” she continued. “It means as much to me as it does to you. You know that.”

He did know it. She’d spent all her married life there, had delivered his father, seen grandchildren grow and thrive.

“I’m just trying to find a way, and everywhere I turn there seems to be a roadblock.” Exasperated, he ran his fingers through his hair.

“There is one other provision, remember?” she remarked blandly.

She couldn’t be serious.

“The one other way for me to claim that trust fund is to get married. Gram, I’m not even seeing anyone! What do you want me to do? Post an ad at the general store? Perhaps I could find a mail order bride on the Internet!”

She shrugged, undaunted by his sarcasm. “Mail order brides have worked in the past, as you well know.” She rose from her chair and stood, her five-foot-ten frame slim and imperious, but mischief sparkled in her eyes. “I suggest you get busy, my boy.”

“Busy? Doing what?”

She laughed again, throwing him a flirtatious wink. “Why, courting, of course!”

Courting. Hmmph. Connor snorted as he accelerated through the exit ramp onto Highway Two. The idea was as preposterous as the old-fashioned word. Courting. As if he had time to romance a woman, entice her to marry him and have the ceremony before the banks called in their loans. Besides, who did he know that was single?

He came from a community where everyone had known each other from diapers. Most of the town women he knew were married, or on their way to the altar. There was no one he could think of that he would consider marrying. And if it got out that he was looking for a stand-in wife he’d be laughed out of town. And what woman would settle for that anyway? What woman should have to?

Nope. He’d simply have to come up with a different solution.

There would be government money—aid for farmers affected. At least he wouldn’t have to cull—for now. But the aid cheque wouldn’t be enough to cover the growing mountain of expenses while on-the-hoof prices cratered.

He could sell the southwest parcel.

Just the thought of parting with that spectacular piece of land caused physical pain to slice through his gut. His father would never have split up the farm, and Connor knew he couldn’t either. Even in the lean years, during the Depression, when farmers had left their land behind to look for work, the Madsens had stayed and made it through. It was what they did.

He missed the sound of his dad’s voice, and his strength. Oh, what he wouldn’t give for that wisdom now, to sit at the kitchen table working through it. Together—Connor, Jim, and Dad—they would have come up with a plan. Only now it was up to him.

He turned up the radio to drown out the thunder that was exploding around him. It had been stuffy, sweltering today. The rain would cool things down, and hopefully there wouldn’t be any hail. He was going to need all the feed crops he could get. When you couldn’t sell beef, you still had to feed it.

Connor sighed, wrestling with his tie with one hand while steering the truck with the other. He’d put on the suit to meet with the bankers—and, yes, he admitted it, to impress his grandmother. It hadn’t worked, in either case.

Which brought him right back to courting.

Marriage was for a lifetime. Or at least he intended it to be. And as such it wasn’t something he glibly approached. It would be a huge mistake to find someone suitable and marry her in haste. He wanted to be in love with his bride. He wanted it to be someone he cherished and honored and wanted to build a family with. And he didn’t want to be pushed. He wanted it to be in his own good time, and when the time was right.

There had to be a way. A way he could bring the ranch back from the brink. His parents had been smart when they’d set up the trust the way they had. There was more than enough money in the trust account to keep things afloat while he restructured, figured out where to go next. If he were careful. But how to get his hands on it…?

“I suggest you get busy, my boy.”

His grandmother’s words rang in his ears as he headed north. What he needed was a practical solution. Something black and white and easy—something that made sense. What he needed to do was stop worrying and take action.

He envied the optimism that Alex had shown today…“I’ll manage. I always do.” Even in her dire straits she seemed capable, even though he knew she was pregnant and alone and without her own place to call home. She had an intrinsic faith that things would work out in the end.

The idea hit him fast and hard, and he almost steered the truck into the ditch as lightning forked in the sky ahead of him.

Alex. He needed a wife. She needed a place to call home for a while, and resources. They could help each other. He hadn’t been mistaken in the connection they’d made today as she’d held out her hand and he’d taken her smaller one in his. They could become friends, he was sure. He could do her a favor and she could help him save the family spread.

He remembered how they’d parted. He’d given her a business card.

“Why would I do that?” she’d asked, and he’d known she was too independent to rely on a stranger for help.

But perhaps if she knew he needed her help as much as she needed his…

He changed lanes, steered the truck over the grass median, and gunned it out on the highway in the opposite direction, heading back to town. His heart pounded with anticipation and apprehension.

How did you propose marriage to someone you’d met only hours before?

The phone rang as Alex came out of the bathroom, clad in flannel pajama bottoms and a T-shirt. She answered it, expecting it to be someone for one of her temporary roommates. Instead it was the pub—asking her to cover a shift. Peggy had up and quit with no notice.

She looked out the window at the rain streaming down the pane. The walk would be hell, even if it was only a few blocks. But it was extra money…and the tips were always better in the evenings.

With a sigh she agreed, and changed into a pair of jeans and her work T-shirt: snug white, with a picture of a whistling pig on the front. She gathered her hair into a careless ponytail, the black ends touching the top of her spine. For a moment she paused, watching as lightning forked across the sky. If she didn’t need the money…

But she did. So she grabbed her umbrella from behind the door and made the trek to the pub in the downpour.

It was dim and smoky inside, and for a minute she contemplated the effects of second-hand smoke on herself and her baby. But this was the only job she had, and she couldn’t afford to quit while she looked for something else. She had to eat. She had to think of how she was going to feed herself and care for an infant. Tying a black apron around her waist, she grabbed an empty tray and started cleaning up empties and taking orders.

It was only nine when he came in.

The door thumped open the same as it did a hundred times a night, but for some reason she turned towards it. When Connor stepped in, shaking the water from his coat and instantly scanning the room, her pulse jumped. It was too coincidental. He had come looking for her.

When his eyes met hers across the hazy room she knew she was right. He smiled, a lazy, melting smile, and she braced herself. Men who smiled like that were deadly. And the last thing she needed was a distraction as lethal as Connor Madsen.

He made his way through the crush of people to her side. “Hi,” he said loudly, over the pulse of country music and boisterous laughter. “Can we talk?”

“Hey, Alex! Table ten needs another round! We don’t pay you to stand around all night!”

Alex nodded at Pete, the bartender and owner. Pete came across as all gruff, but she knew he had a heart of gold and a protective streak a mile long. It was one of the reasons she’d stayed as long as she had. As long as Pete was watching, she wouldn’t have to worry.

Alex looked up at Connor with consternation twisting her face. “I can’t talk right now, I’m working.”

“It’s important.”

“So’s my job.” She turned away, heading to the bar to pick up the round of beers.

His hand was firm on her arm. “If you care about your baby’s future, you’ll listen.”

That got her attention.

She stared up at him with eyes narrowed, curious despite herself. “Fine, then. But not now. Another time, when I’m not carting beers around.”

“What time are you through?”

“One.”

“In the morning?”

She laughed then, at his dismayed expression. “Yes, I have four more hours of being on my feet.”

He followed her to the bar. Pete asked a question with his eyes, but she gave a slight shake of her head: No, he wasn’t bothering her.

“I’ll come back and walk you home. I really do need to talk to you.”

She sighed. “Fine. But for now you’re costing me my tips, in case you didn’t notice. I need to get back to work. I won’t make much money with you standing glowering over me.”

She shouldered past him, pasting a smile on her face as she apologized to the patrons at table ten for the delay. When she turned back, he was gone.

At one a.m. they ushered out the last customer and Alex locked the door. Pete eyed her over the bar as he started counting out the float for morning. “Go home,” he said, “and I’ll finish this. That’s the second double you’ve pulled this week. You look like hell.”

“Gee, thanks, Pete.” She didn’t know whether to be relieved or nervous. If she left now, Connor might be outside waiting. If she didn’t, he’d probably get tired of waiting around. On one hand she wanted to see him, see what was so important. On the other she knew it probably wasn’t best. She didn’t need any extra complications right now—her life was already full of too many.

She grabbed her umbrella from behind the bar and saluted him. “Tomorrow at four?”

“G’night, darlin’,” he answered. “I’ll lock up behind you.”

When she stepped out into the darkness Connor was waiting, standing next to a bench beneath a streetlight. His tie from earlier was gone, and he looked sexily rumpled in the dim light. She swallowed, thankful that she’d spent enough time alone to have some street smarts. And to follow her instincts. Right now her instincts were telling her she wasn’t in mortal danger. But the way her body was reacting to seeing him again told her loud and clear that she was in danger of another kind.

She should turn around and go back inside. She reached for the handle, only to hear the lock click into place.

She could handle this. She could.

“My mother used to warn me about strange men and dark streets late at night.”

He turned, and in his arms was a bouquet of lemon-colored roses. “Then I guess it’s a good thing we have a streetlight and we’ve already met. I can’t do anything about the hour, though.”

He held out the roses and she was too stupefied to do anything besides take them, the clear cellophane wrapping crackling in her hands. Where had he found roses after nine p.m.?

And, a better question, why? What was so important he needed to butter her up with flowers first?

Warning bells screamed through her head. Whatever he wanted was something big. She’d only received flowers once before in her life. It had been roses then, too, pink ones. And the gist of the card had been Thanks for the memories.

“Thank you,” she said clearly. “But I don’t quite understand what is so important you think you need to impress me with roses. Even if they are quite stunning,” she admitted, sniffing the yellow blossoms.

She laughed a little to herself, remembered reading somewhere that yellow roses signified unrequited love. She needed that like she needed a hole in her head.

“You’d better get to the point,” she suggested. “The novelty of these will probably wear off pretty fast.”

“I have a proposition for you.”

She began walking, and he fell into step beside her.

“What sort of proposition?”

“I want you to marry me.”

Her feet simply stopped working, and she halted, frozen to the sidewalk. He what? What sort of cruel joke was this? Poor, pregnant Alex. Surely he didn’t think she was that desperate! He could take his pity and—

Her head lifted until she looked down her nose at him. “I couldn’t have just heard you correctly.”

He grabbed her forearms, turning her to face him, his hand catching on the umbrella dangling from her wrist. “I want you to marry me.” He huffed out a laugh of surprise. “That wasn’t how I planned to say it, but there you go.”

He wanted her to marry him. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. What on earth? She realized he was completely in earnest. He was proposing to her in the middle of the street at one-twenty-two in the morning.

“I met you less than twelve hours ago. You’re insane. Goodnight, Connor.”

She turned to walk away, and made it a few steps.

“Wait.”

The desperation in his voice caught at her and she stopped. “Wait for what? You can’t be serious about this.”

“I am. And I’ll explain it if you’ll only listen.”

His suit was rather rumpled, and his hair looked as if he’d spent the better part of the evening running his hands through it. Against her better judgment she capitulated. He’d helped her this afternoon, and she felt obligated to him. “You have five minutes.”

“Let’s keep walking.”

Shoulder to shoulder they headed down the street. It was considerably cool after the violence of the earlier shower, and Alex shivered in the damp air. Gallantly he removed his suit coat and draped it over her shoulders. If nothing else, all his actions said he was a gentleman.

“I went to see my grandmother today. I have a trust fund, but I can’t access it until I’m thirty.”

“So old? I thought most of those were age of consent, or twenty-one or whatever?”

“My parents set it up that way. Anyway, I’m twenty-nine. But I need the cash now.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with me.” She kept walking, her eyes straight ahead. If she looked into his, all dark and earnest, she knew she’d be taken in. She’d been in danger of it earlier today.

She knew what it was to be fooled by a pair of beautiful peepers. And now she knew better than to do it again.

“This’ll make sense, if you actually let me explain,” he answered. “There is a provision. I can have the money if I’m married.”

“I see.” She didn’t, really, but it was getting slightly less muddled.

“I think Mom and Dad set it up that way so I’d be old enough not to squander it, but that if I got married it would help me and my bride.”

“Good logic.”

“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

She felt his eyes on her but refused to meet his gaze. “I don’t know you, Connor. But I agreed to listen, so I will.”

“Look,” he said, with a hand on her arm, stopping her. “If I don’t get some cash soon I’m going to lose our ranch. That ranch has been in our family for over a hundred years.”

“Why are you in such trouble?” The last thing she needed was a man who didn’t know how to manage his own affairs. Lord knew she’d screwed up enough on her own. But at least they’d been her mistakes to make and fix. What surprised her most was that she was already intrigued, instead of flatly telling him to take a hike. She couldn’t escape the gentle way he’d helped her this afternoon. How he’d bought her peppermint tea and actually seemed to care about what happened to her.

“There’s been an outbreak of cattle disease. It took everything I had to get us through the last crisis. But now…another case, up north. It’s going to cripple the whole industry. Yet I’ve got a herd to sustain. A lot of farms will go under because of this. I refuse to let Windover be one of them.”

She’d read the news, and knew the situation was as serious as he said. This wasn’t mismanagement. This was a situation completely out of his control.

“You need some way to support yourself and the baby. What I’m talking about here is a mutually beneficial arrangement. You marry me, I get my trust fund, and Windover survives the crisis. After the baby is born, and you’re back on your feet, you can do what you choose, and I’ll make sure there’s money in your bank account every month.”

“A paper marriage, then?”

He sighed and looked down into her eyes. Yep, she’d been right. A woman could lose herself in those chocolate eyes and find herself agreeing to all kinds of madness.

“Yes. It won’t be a traditional marriage. Look, it’s not like this is what I wanted for myself. Believe me, I’ve exhausted every possible angle trying to find a way to keep things going. I’m looking at this practically. I get what I need and you get some help. We are both in predicaments here and are in the position of being able to help each other. Nothing more.”

“Marriage isn’t supposed to be a business arrangement.”

That took him by surprise, she could tell. It probably did seem strange, coming from a woman who was practically homeless, single and pregnant. He might be shocked to discover how she truly felt about love and marriage. Not that she’d ever breathe a word of that to him. No way.

“I know. It’s supposed to be love and commitment forever. And I do want that someday.” His cheekbones softened as he looked away. “A wife who loves me as I love her, and children of our own. A partner to share the ups and downs with. Honor and strength, and knowing you’re stronger together than apart.”

A devastatingly sexy man with traditional values. Could he possibly know how rare that was?

“I’d be a means to an end,” she confirmed, the words coming out strangled. She shook off his hand and started walking again.

“That sounds cold,” he said gently. “We would be helping each other. I want that happy ending…and I’m assuming you do too. Someday in the future. We’d be doing what we need to do now to survive. I’m hoping we would become friends.”

Friends. Now, that sounded dangerous. Her footsteps made squishing noises in the film of water on the concrete. What he was suggesting was outrageous. Preposterous. Humili-ating.

“I think you’re crazy.” She stopped outside a pale yellow house. “Thanks for the walk home.”

“Alex, please. Don’t say no yet, OK? Just think about it. I know it’s not romantic. But leave all that behind and look at the facts, OK? You’d have some security for yourself and the baby, and a comfortable place to live for the rest of your pregnancy. Your needs will be looked after, I promise.”

She shrugged out of his coat and handed it back.

“Don’t you have a girlfriend you can propose to?”

“No.” The answer was flat and final. “Take until Monday to consider it. I’ll be back in town then. If you take the time to think about it, you’ll see that you’d be helping me immensely. The least I can do is repay the favor.”

It was too practical, too perfect, and too convenient. Perfect plans always ended up getting blown to smithereens and leaving her standing alone after the dust had settled. If her life had taught her anything, it had taught her that.

“Don’t get your hopes up.” Without looking back, she went inside and shut the door.

CHAPTER THREE

ALEX was zipping up her backpack when a car door slammed.

She couldn’t see the vehicle, but a quiver along her spine told her it was him before she even peered out through the peephole. Sure enough, he was skirting around the front of a huge pickup truck. She pressed a hand to her heart, trying to calm the thumping there. He was early. She had planned on him meeting up with her at the pub later. But it was barely ten, and he had obviously remembered where she was staying.

She opened the door before he had time to knock. Connor’s boots halted abruptly, and they stared at each other. She didn’t know what to say, and as the silence stretched out she grew more and more uncomfortable. She chewed on her bottom lip, while he stood so still she could barely make out the slight rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. It was like he was waiting to see what she’d say before he decided what to do. Offering her hand to him seemed silly, a kiss on the cheek presumptuous. She stuffed her hands into her pockets instead.

He was looking very different than he had on Friday. In a very good way. Long, muscled legs filled out faded jeans, and he wore a plain black T-shirt that accentuated the broadness of his torso. Her eyes darted upward; his hair, shaggy at the ends, was as tousled as ever. His forearms, brown from the sun, were lightly sprinkled with hair, tapering to strong wrists. They disappeared into his jeans pockets when he caught her staring at him.

“Good morning.” He smiled, but his eyes were focused on her lips, which she was still biting nervously.

“You’re very prompt.” The words came out more sharply than she’d intended, but the fact of the matter was she was more affected by his appearance than she cared to admit.

His jaw ticked ever so slightly in response to her tone. “I’ve got to be back by lunchtime.”

Wow, wasn’t this romantic? She rested her weight back on a hip. Gee, honey, don’t mean to rush you, but could you answer my proposal so I can get back to the cows? He didn’t say it, but that was how it made her feel. Suddenly she doubted her decision. Things were happening too fast. A week ago she’d just been trying to pay her share of the rent. Today she was actually contemplating moving out to a farm in the middle of nowhere in a bogus marriage to a man she didn’t even know. This was so surreal.

“I don’t mean to rush you.” He tried an encouraging smile instead.

“You think by turning on the charm I’m going to follow along meekly?” Her eyes shot fire at him. “You need to do more than flash your pearly whites to convince me.”

He stepped back, properly chastised. “I beg your pardon,” he responded stiffly.

She couldn’t help it. The whole situation was ludicrous. Her lips curved up slightly in response and she let her eyes twinkle at him. “I would think so.”

She knew the moment he got that she was teasing. His eyes warmed, glowing back at her, and a reluctant smile tugged at his lips.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m ready.” She pulled the backpack out from behind the door and stepped out on to the porch.

“You mean you’ll do it?” His jaw dropped.

She kept her smile in place. She was glad he hadn’t been sure of her; that made what came next a little easier.

“Well, not exactly.”

“I don’t understand. Either you’re coming or not.” He leaned his right arm against the porch pillar, pulling the shirt taut against his ribs.

Alex licked her lips, unsure of how to begin. “I’m not sure marriage is such a good idea. We hardly know each other.” She braved a look into his eyes. “For all I know you’re some wacko, looking for an easy target.”

His gaze was steady on hers. He didn’t laugh, didn’t smile, but took her comment seriously. “And do you really think that?”

“No,” she admitted. “But this is pretty unorthodox, you have to admit.”

“A business dealing, no more. I help you, you help me.”

He made it seem easy, when it wasn’t—not at all. This was her future and her baby’s that she was tampering with. Alex, who hadn’t relied on anyone in years, was suddenly considering becoming dependent on a relative stranger for her security and wellbeing. There was nothing simple about that. The one thing that kept her even considering it was the lack of choices she seemed to have lately.

She stepped back, putting a few extra inches of distance between them. “What I mean is, this is all happening so fast.”

“I know that. Which is why I had an idea this weekend. How about a trial period first? You come up to Windover, stay a while, before you make your decision. If you decide it won’t work, I’ll bring you back here.”

When the strain evaporated from her face like magic, he knew he’d done the right thing.

“I think that is a very sensible approach,” she responded. Her eyes cleared of worry and she treated him to another one of her genuine smiles.

“I certainly don’t want to chain you to the place if you’re going to be miserable for the next…how many months? I thought this might be a way to test the waters.”

“Four months,” she replied thinly. Chained to the place? The place wasn’t worrying her half as much as being chained to him. And it would likely be more than four months. Once the baby came she’d need some time to recover; to figure out what to do next.

Suddenly her eyes narrowed. “How long a trial period?” She knew he was operating on a timeline, and a short one, and she didn’t want to feel pressed to make this decision in the first forty-eight hours, or some silly thing.

“I don’t know. No longer than a week.”

Her breath came out in a rush, but her words came out cautiously. “OK. A week I can do.”

“In that case, let’s get going.”

She lifted her backpack as he spoke, surprised when his hands took the weight from her. Her shoulder tingled where his fingers touched.

She’d forgotten his penchant for chivalry, which was surprising, since he was constantly polite. It was hard to get used to that in a man. Simply not what she’d been used to.

“Thank you.”

“Where’s the rest?”

She looked at her toes. “That is the rest.”

“This is all you’ve got?” He halted by the door of the truck, his fingers on the handle. “No suitcase?”

“This is it,” she said firmly. She would not, could not, get into a discussion of why her life was packed into a solitary bag. Someday she’d settle, find something permanent. Then she’d make the home for herself that she longed for.

Wordlessly he opened the door, helped her in, and put the pack behind her seat. Nerves bubbled up in her stomach. What on earth was she doing? This was crazy. Insane. She knew next to nothing about him.

He got up into the cab beside her and started the engine as she fastened her seatbelt. At least she’d had the foresight to do a bit of checking on him of her own. Saturday she’d hit the library and the computers there, looking up information on the man and his ranch.

Surprisingly, there’d been several hits to her query, and she had read with fascination articles regarding Connor and, more interestingly, his family. His father had been prominent in the beef industry, and under his hand the farm had flourished. The Madsen ranch had been around for over a hundred years. Now she understood why Connor was determined to make it through this crisis.

One hit had turned up a recent “spotlight” on Connor—he had done an interview on innovative breeding. His picture had come up beside the print, and she’d stared at it. He sure didn’t look like some creep, despite the oddness of his proposal. He was twenty-nine, sexy as the day was long, and apparently smart and well respected. Her eyes darted to the imposing figure beside her, concentrating on the road.

She wished she’d found something more personal—a vital statistics sort of thing. Where was his family now? He’d only mentioned his grandmother. What were his interests, his quirks?

The only way she could find out that information was to talk to the man himself. She wasn’t at all sure she could marry him, even if it were only a legality. She’d be stuck with him for the next several months. There was her baby to consider. She had to do what was right by her child.

Her hand drifted to her tummy as a current country hit came on the radio and Connor exited on to the highway. It was too early for her to feel the baby’s movement, but already her shape was changing and her waist was thickening. It was her child in there. She hadn’t planned on having children for years yet, and certainly not alone. But she was attached to this life growing inside her, knew that no matter what she wanted to be a good mother. How could she do that if she couldn’t even afford a place for them to live?

Alex stared out the window at the city passing by in a blur. A trial run was her best option right now. At least it left her a way to get out.

The lane was long and straight, unpaved, leading to an ordinary two-story house in white siding with blue shutters.

Alex stared at it, not sure what to think. She looked out both windows…there weren’t even any neighbors. No, wait. There. On that distant knoll to the southeast there was a speck that might have been a house. The land surrounding them was green and brown, spattered sparsely with trees. Basically empty. Isolated.

Beyond the house were outbuildings of various sizes. Alex, city girl, had no idea what they were used for beyond the basic “looking after cattle” umbrella. Another pickup sat in front of a white barn. To the side were tractors. Not the small, hayride sort of tractor she had been used to growing up in southern Ontario. But gargantuan monsters painted green and yellow. The kind she’d need a stepladder to get into.

Connor pulled up in front of the house and shut off the engine. “Here we are,” he said into the breach of silence.

“It’s huge,” she answered, opening the door and hopping down. “The sky…it seems endless.”

“Until you look over there.” He grinned at her, came to stand beside her and pointed west. Her eyes followed his finger and she gasped.

She had focused so hard on the house that she’d completely missed the view. It spread before her now, long and gray, a jagged expanse of Rocky Mountains that took her breath away. They were a long way away, yet close enough that she saw the varied shades, dark in the dips and bowls, lighter at the peaks, tipped with snow even in early June.

“That’s stunning.” Stunning didn’t cover it. Something in the mountains simply called to her, touched her deeply. Made her feel alive and strong.

“They keep me from feeling lonely,” Connor murmured, and she realized how close he was to her ear. There was something in his tone that touched her. All this space…and he lived here alone. Something about him in that moment made her realize that he had a gap in his life, an emptiness he wanted to fill.

She wondered what had put it there, but was in no position to ask. And she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know the answer either. She sure didn’t want him to delve into her past, so she said nothing.

“Why don’t you show me the inside?” She changed the subject, pulling her eyes from the scenery and adopting a more practical air.

He grabbed her bag from the truck and led the way inside. She took off her sneakers, placing them beside his boots on the mat in the entry, and followed him past a living room and a stairway to a large, homey kitchen.

“You hungry? We should have some lunch.” He put her bag on an old wooden rocker and turned to face her. His jaw seemed taut with tension, and she realized that he was finding this as odd and uncomfortable as she was. Now, here, in his house, it became ever more clear that they were practically strangers.

“I could use a sandwich or something.”

He took meat and cheese out of the fridge, condiments, and grabbed a loaf of bread from a wooden breadbox on the countertop. “I don’t know what you like,” he offered apologetically. “So we can fix our own, I guess.” Silence fell, and to break it Connor began stacking meat and slices of cheese on his bread. He reached for a bottle of mustard, looked up, and saw an odd expression on Alex’s face.

“Are you OK?” His hand halted, poised above his sandwich.

“It’s the mustard. I’ll be fine.” She swallowed visibly.

He stared at her, his mouth gaping open with some sort of fresh horror, and a drop of bright yellow landed on his corned beef. He looked down, his expression horrified at the offending blot, wondering if it was enough to make her ill. God, he hoped not!

Connor heard her snort and looked up, confused. Her hand was over her mouth and she was trying futilely not to laugh. Before he knew it, he was laughing too.

“Oh, the look on your face,” she gasped. “Pregnancy does make cowards out of men!”

Putting the mustard bottle down on the cupboard, he chuckled while she caught her breath. “Do you feel as awkward as I do?” he asked.

“Incredibly.”

The laugh had done much to dissolve the polite tension that had risen between them. “I don’t want you to feel out of place here. I want you to feel at home.”

“I want that too.”

“You’ll find I’m easy to please, Alex.” He smiled easily as he said it, but her cheeks colored. When he realized she’d taken what he’d said a little too literally, his smile faltered as they stared into each other’s eyes. He became aware of the way her breasts rose and fell beneath her T-shirt. She was still breathless from laughing.

“I don’t need much,” she murmured. “A place to sleep and some good food. I want to try to help out in any way I can. I’m not used to being idle.”

“Farm work isn’t for you.”

Her mouth thinned. “I’m not going to break, Connor. Women have been having babies for thousands of years.”

“I realize that.” His eyes didn’t relent. “But you’re not doing heavy farm work. There’s a garden behind the house if you like the outdoors. I don’t want you to be bored, Alex, but I don’t expect you to be some indentured servant either. Honestly, if I didn’t have to cook at the end of the day it would be a gift from heaven.”

Choices. Time that was her own, to do as she wished—making dinner or tending the tiny plants of the garden in the fresh air and sunshine. The freedom to clean, do laundry, on her own time.

Perhaps that sounded mundane and tedious, but to Alex it seemed wonderful. Growing up, she’d always envied her school chums whose moms had baked cookies for class parties, or who had invited her over for home-cooked meals. Not to be unfair, her parents had been great, but their lifestyle hadn’t exactly been traditional. It would be almost perfect. If only…

If only it weren’t such a sham.

Still, if he were willing to go through with it, the least she could do was carry her own weight.

“I’ll be honest, I haven’t had much experience in the whole domestic arena…” she waved a hand “…but I’m a fast learner.” She went to the counter and began making her own sandwich of turkey and cheese. She took one look at the tomatoes and passed on to the nice, friendly lettuce, eschewed mayo and went for the pepper.

“All right, then. I’m going to take this with me.” He gestured with the thick sandwich in his hand. “I wish I could stay and help you get settled. But I’ve got a couple of calves that need tending, and if the hands didn’t have any luck this morning I’m going to have to call the vet. Will you be OK?”

He looked so apologetic that she couldn’t be mad. After all, the whole reason she was here was because this place meant everything to him. She couldn’t expect him to forget that and play host for the afternoon.

“I’ll be fine. I can explore on my own. Go.” She smiled and shooed him with a hand. “If you stayed in you’d just worry about it, wouldn’t you?”

He looked relieved that she’d let him off the hook. “Yes, I would. I’m glad you understand. I want you to know…” His feet shifted a little as he admitted, “I’m happy you decided to try this out. I’m going to make sure you don’t regret it, Alex.”

She got the sinking feeling that she was going to regret it, deeply. Because when he was kind, when he was considerate, she knew she couldn’t stay immune.

She followed him back to the door, watched as he shoved his feet in his boots, pulling up the heel with one hand.

“Your room is at the top of the stairs. Turn right and it’s the first door. There’s a white spread on the bed.”

“I’m a big girl. I’ll manage.”

“I’ll be back in around six.”

At this point she started to laugh. “Connor. Seriously. Go do what you have to do.”

He offered her a grateful parting smile, but then he was gone and the house was empty and quiet without him.

Alex went back to the kitchen and finished her sandwich, washing it down with a glass of milk. The morning sickness was starting to pass now and, still hungry, she snooped through the pantry and found a bag of oatmeal cookies. She grabbed two, then put her backpack over her shoulder and went to explore.

At the top of the stairs she turned right, but she was immediately faced with two doors. Did he mean the first one at the end or the first one right in front of her? She chose the latter and, turning the knob, stepped into what had to be Connor’s room.

The spread wasn’t white, it was brown with geometric shapes dashed across it in tan and sienna. He’d made it that morning, but there was a spot on the edge, just about in the middle, that looked like perhaps he’d sat there while getting dressed. The air held a slight odor of leather and men’s toiletries, mingled with the fresh scent of fabric softener. She put down her bag and went over to the chest of drawers. On the top was a bowl, containing some errant screws and pins and what looked like a screwdriver bit, probably removed from his pants before they went in the laundry. Beside the dish was a framed picture. In it she saw Connor, much younger, perhaps twenty or so, standing beside a boy with the same dark hair and mischievous eyes. They each had a hand on a shorter woman standing in front of them. The woman was slight, with black hair, and she was laughing. In her hands she held a gold trophy. Off to the right stood their father, tall and strong, his hand on the halter of a large black cow.

So he did have a family. A brother and two parents. And from the smiles they appeared happy. But where were they now?

She’d trespassed long enough. If Connor had wanted her to know about his family he would have told her. And he might tell her yet—once they knew each other better. But she wouldn’t pry. It was his business, his secret to reveal or to keep. She respected that—after all she had skeletons of her own. She backed away from the dresser and picked up her bag on the way out the door.

The next room was undoubtedly the one he’d meant. It was large, with a double dresser and mirror and a sturdy pine bed. The coverlet was white and lacy, lady’s bedding, and Alex wondered if it was a spare room or if it had belonged to his parents. She put her bag on a chair beside the nightstand. After the floors she’d slept on, the dingy rooms with nothing pretty to redeem them, this was too much. Too pretty, too feminine. Too perfect. She didn’t want to mar that pristine white duvet with whatever might be on the bottom of her bag. She took her clothes out and put them in the dresser. All she had only filled two drawers. A plastic bag held toiletries—soap, shampoo, toothbrush, deodorant. Those she took to the bathroom at the end of the hall and placed them on a wire rack that had one empty shelf. Other than that her bag only contained a journal and a pen and a picture. The picture she left in the bag, stowing the pack in the otherwise empty closet. The journal she tucked into the nightstand drawer, out of sight.

Going back downstairs, she decided then and there that if she were going to pull her weight at all she’d better get cracking. After all, it wasn’t fair if for the next six months her only contribution to this arrangement was signing on the dotted line and leaving Connor to do all the work. He was willing to support her, not only now but after the baby was born, if only she’d marry him first. It definitely made her feel guilty, knowing she got the easy part of the deal. The least she could do was make sure he had a good hot meal at the end of the day and a clean house to come home to. If he wouldn’t let her do any of the manual labor, she could at least look after things in the house.

Except she’d never done anything like it in her life. And now the fate of herself and her baby depended on her success.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE top of the fridge held nothing but extra bread and some frozen vegetables. He’s got to have meat around here somewhere, she thought, and searched high and low until she came across a huge Deepfreeze in the basement.

She took out a package that said “cross rib steak” and remembered going to her grandmother’s house when she had been a small child. Her grandmother had made this dish…Swiss steak…and it had been fork-tender, surrounded by onions and gravy, all layered on mashed potatoes. Surely there was a recipe book somewhere that would tell her how to make it?

She searched the kitchen for such a book, and came up with a small binder. The cover had a crudely drawn picture of an apple on it and the words Mom’s Recipes in black marker. Inside were pages of handwritten recipes, in no particular order. Maple Chicken was next to Dad’s Chocolate Cake. Bread and Butter Pickles next to Come and Get ‘Em Cookies. She sighed as the microwave dinged out a message that the meat was thawed. This was going to take forever.

She finally found a recipe that said “Smothered Meat” and thought it sounded about right. Retrieving a roasting pan from a low cupboard, she put in the meat and then added water, onions and bay leaves that she found above the stove in a motley assortment of spices. She turned on the oven and slid the roaster in…step one complete.

She could do this. She could. Just because she’d never learned to cook, it didn’t mean she couldn’t, she told herself. All you had to do was follow instructions. It couldn’t be that hard.

Potatoes didn’t take that long, so maybe she’d really live on the edge and attempt something for dessert. Jazzed up with motivation, she grabbed the red binder again and flipped through the pages, looking for one that sounded good. These were his mom’s recipes, probably the ones she made most often. She stopped at a page that looked like it had been handled often. Caramel Pudding. She read the recipe. Easy enough. Flour, egg, butter, milk, leavening, salt…brown sugar, boiling water. How hard could it be?

An hour later she slid the pan into the oven beside the meat and sighed. The instructions had sounded deceptively simple. However, they didn’t seem to translate into her hands. She looked at the countertops. They were strewn with flour and sticky batter and dirty dishes. The first order of business had to be cleaning up this disaster zone before she went any further.

She was halfway through the dishes when she remembered the meat needed tending, the sauce thickening.

The mess doubled. Again.

The next time she looked at the clock it said four-fifty-five. She was exhausted, and with a whole new appreciation of women who willingly did this every blessed day of their lives. She was certain now that she’d had the easy job—waitressing, instead of being in the kitchen!

It took her twenty minutes and two Bandaids to peel the potatoes, and she grumbled that she was really going to have to caution Connor on having his knives too sharp.

She found a glass casserole and emptied a bag of frozen corn into it, put it in the microwave and let her rip just as Connor was coming in the door.

“Hey,” he called from the front door. “How was your afternoon?”

I’d rather have been chased by the hounds of hell, she thought grumpily, but pasted on a smile and said, “Fine.”

He came into the kitchen and sniffed. “Do I smell caramel pudding?”

She smiled for real, the curve of her lips fading as she saw how weary and defeated he looked. “I found your mom’s old recipes.”

He came over to the stove, lifted the lid on the potatoes bubbling away. “It’s good to come in and not have to worry about supper. Thank you, Alex.”

Don’t thank me yet, she thought, none too sure of success. The pudding seemed oddly flat, and she hadn’t checked the steak yet. At least the potatoes seemed to be holding their own.

“Your afternoon didn’t go well?” she surmised quietly.

When he sank into a chair and ran his hand through his hair, she knew she’d guessed right.

“We lost one. The other’s touch and go.”

“I’m sorry,” she offered, her stomach suddenly churning with nervousness. He was expecting a great home-cooked meal after a rotten afternoon. He couldn’t know she’d never made anything that wasn’t out of a can or ready with one touch of a microwave button. She took the roaster out of the oven, and as the corn finished she drained the potatoes.

“Don’t be sorry. It happens. But you know, no matter how much you think you get used to it, you never do.”

She filled his plate with potatoes and a generous scoop of corn, then a large slice of steak from the roaster. The gravy was thinner than she’d expected, and seemed suspiciously lumpy, but she hoped for the best and ladled it over the top of his potatoes.

She fixed her own plate and sat down across from him. “I hope the other one makes it,” she offered as he picked up his fork. Only to pause with it still stuck between his lips.

“Is something wrong?”

Connor looked up at her hopeful eyes and made himself swallow. The corn was still cold in the middle. “No, no,” he reassured her, cutting into the steak. She looked so vulnerable, so eager to please, that he didn’t have the heart to tell her.

The meat was cooked and tender, but the gravy…something was off. It was too pale and runny. He bravely took a scoop of potatoes and gravy and found a ball of flour rolling on his tongue. He smiled up at her, but he could tell she knew by the crestfallen way her lips turned down and her cheeks fell.

“It’s horrible. Disgusting. You can’t eat this.”

“Sure I can. It’s definitely edible.”

Alex tried a bite with the gravy and made a face. “Eeeew. What did I do wrong?” She took a mouthful of corn and hurriedly spit it into her napkin. “And the corn is still frozen! Oh, I can’t do anything right!” she cried. “You put in a horrible afternoon and then come in to this!”

“You can do things right,” Connor said gently. He got up from his chair and took her plate. He put it in the microwave and heated it up more. “It’s not your fault that I had a tough day. And you worked hard to try to make me a nice dinner. That was a sweet thing to do, Alex.”

“Don’t patronize me. I don’t want to be sweet. I want to be helpful!” she burst out in frustration. “I’ve been on my own for five years and I’ve been outdone by a bag of frozen vegetables!”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.