“Marry Me, Lyn.”

Lyn tugged her hand from his and hugged her arms around her body in a gesture of defensiveness. He cursed himself for being impulsive. “Cal, you don’t marry someone because you have good chemistry with them.”

He kept his voice low, soothing. “It’s not that.” He placed his hands on her upper arms. “Don’t give me an answer now. Let me explain what I’ve been thinking.”

“You don’t have to feel responsible for me, Cal. I can take care of myself now.”

“Lyn, I’d like very much for you to be my wife. I’d like to make a life for you, work this ranch and have children with you.” He grinned. “You may even be pregnant now.”

She blushed. “It’s—it’s a big step for me.”

He understood. Marriage hadn’t been a picnic for her the last time. “I’m not like your ex-husband, baby. I respect your opinions and I’d never mistreat you. I would…protect you.”

Dear Reader,

Thanks to all who have shared, in letters and at our Web site, eHarlequin.com, how much you love Silhouette Desire! One Web visitor told us, “When I was nineteen, this man broke my heart. So I picked up a Silhouette Desire and…lost myself in other people’s happiness, sorrow, desire…. Guys came and went and the books kept entertaining me.” It is so gratifying to know how our books have touched and even changed your lives—especially with Silhouette celebrating our 20th anniversary in 2000.

The incomparable Joan Hohl dreamed up October’s MAN OF THE MONTH. The Dakota Man is used to getting his way until he meets his match in a feisty jilted bride. And Anne Marie Winston offers you a Rancher’s Proposition, which is part of the highly sensual Desire promotion BODY & SOUL.

First Comes Love is another sexy love story by Elizabeth Bevarly. A virgin finds an unexpected champion when she is rumored to be pregnant. The latest installment of the sensational Desire miniseries FORTUNE’S CHILDREN: THE GROOMS is Fortune’s Secret Child by Shawna Delacorte. Maureen Child’s popular BACHELOR BATTALION continues with Marooned with a Marine. And Joan Elliott Pickart returns to Desire with Baby: MacAllister-Made, part of her wonderful miniseries THE BABY BET.

So take your own emotional journey through our six new powerful, passionate, provocative love stories from Silhouette Desire—and keep sending us those letters and e-mails, sharing your enthusiasm for our books!

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Rancher’s Proposition
Anne Marie Winston

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Richard and Kathy Jobgen, my “Kadoka Konnection,” with gratitude and thanks for their patience and graciousness in answering my endless idiotic city-girl questions. For the many miles we traveled together and all the people they shared with me. Here’s to friends, wherever they may be found.

ANNE MARIE WINSTON

has believed in happy endings all her life. Having the opportunity to share them with her readers gives her great joy. Anne Marie enjoys figure skating and working in the gardens of her south-central Pennsylvania home.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Prologue

He couldn’t believe his sister had done this to him.

Cal McCall gritted his teeth and fumed silently as he regarded the woman standing before him. She was on the tall side for a woman, but even the oversize shirt and too-large jeans she wore couldn’t disguise the stick-thin look of her. Her head was down, and a thick curly mane of dark red hair hid most of her face and half her upper body as she stood passive, unmoving, waiting for…for what?

Questions, he assumed. Instructions. He’d asked his sister to hire a housekeeper for him, so this was his own damned fault. Silver had the softest heart in South Dakota. She’d told him that Lyn Hamill needed a job and a place to stay when she was released from protective services; he, as far as his sister was concerned, was the perfect answer.

Again, his gaze ran over his new employee. Hell, she didn’t look well enough to be out of the hospital much less capable of taking care of the big old ranch house he’d recently purchased. He knew she’d been a victim of domestic abuse and he surely was sympathetic to her troubles, but he needed someone who could paint and wallpaper, someone who could scrub bathtubs and haul loads of laundry, keep a vegetable garden, herd cantankerous bulls and groom horses if need be. This woman looked like she’d need help even to groom herself.

“So,” he heard himself say. “I, ah, I understand you want to work for me.”

The head nodded, a slight movement that set the red curtain of her hair rippling, and copper sparks shot from it where the sun touched it. He had to restrain the urge to reach out and hook a finger through one of the curls that hung freely to well below her shoulders. One thing he’d say for her, she had pretty hair.

He sighed heavily. Silver had him between a rock and a hard place and she knew it. One of his dreams had been to buy back the ranch his daddy had owned. When the opportunity had arisen, he’d lunged at it, and Silver had pitched in to help him clean and redecorate the outdated old house. Unfortunately, she’d fallen for a neighboring rancher and gotten married before the job was done.

Still, he owed her for her help. And the only wedding gift she wanted from him was his promise to give this gal a chance.

“Well, I guess we can give it a shot,” he said. “I’m finishing some remodeling, so there’s going to be some mess and upheaval from time to time. And I’ll need your help with a few outside chores as well.” He paused, expecting a response, but she remained perfectly still. After the silence got awkward, he said, “Where are your things? I’ll go ahead and load them while you say your goodbyes.”

The woman nodded again. Without raising her head, she pointed to a large paper bag with two handles and a familiar department store logo. It leaned drunkenly against one of the porch posts of the women’s shelter where he’d come to pick up his new employee.

He looked at the bag, then at her. “This is it?” He’d never met a woman who could travel with less than six pair of shoes, ten pounds of cosmetics and major quantities of female junk. This single bag couldn’t possibly be the only thing she was bringing.

“Are you ready to leave, dear?” A big, plump woman wearing a pair of jeans that would fit a much smaller person clumped across the porch of the shelter for women in crisis situations. She wore an eye-popping electric pink blouse with a hefty belt of beaten silver cinched tightly around her, and when she folded his silent companion against her ample bosom, Lyn’s hair splayed across the pink shirt in a truly appalling color combination that made him wince involuntarily.

Still holding the young woman in her arms, the director looked over Lyn’s shoulder at Cal. “So you’re Mr. McCall. I’m Rilla. Your sister is a lovely person.” She uttered the words in a tone that clearly doubted he shared his sibling’s attributes.

He smiled, giving the director, or housemother or whatever the heck she was, his warmest, most sincere smile. It was a smile that had convinced dozens of wary investors to trust him with their hard-earned money, and it didn’t fail him this time, either. “I promise you Miss Hamill will be treated with the utmost respect in my home, ma’am. Is there anything special I can do to make her more comfortable?”

The matron laughed, a full, hearty belly laugh that matched the warm twinkle in her heavily mascaraed eyes. “Other than having a sex-change operation, I doubt there’s much you can do to make her more comfortable.”

“Sorry. That’s not in my plans.” Cal grinned as Rilla gave her charge a final squeeze and pushed her toward his waiting truck.

“You go ahead, honey. I want to have a little word with Mr. McCall.”

The young woman murmured something in a low voice that he didn’t catch, the first sound he’d heard her utter, and returned the woman’s hug with a stranglehold that would have been lethal if she’d been any bigger than a twig. Then the two women parted, and Lyn reached for the pathetic paper bag.

“I’ll get that.” Cal moved toward her. It couldn’t be too heavy but he’d bet his last dime she’d struggle to drag it to the truck. He reached out for the bag she was about to pick up, and the girl gave a panicked squeak. Cal stepped back involuntarily, and Lyn backed away from him so fast she fetched up hard against the lady still standing behind her.

“Honey, honey,” the woman soothed. “It’s all right. Mr. McCall’s a gentleman. He’s only going to carry the bag for you.” She patted Lyn’s shoulder and gave her a gentle push. “You go get in the truck now.”

There was a brief silence while Lyn took a deep, shaky breath that he could hear clear over where he waited, then walked off. Cal shook his head, pushing his hat back and hooking his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans, rocking back on his heels in thought. This was looking worse and worse. How was he going to deal with a housekeeper who was terrified of him? “I’m not so sure this is going to work out,” he said to Rilla.

“Well, I’m not sure it’s going to work, either,” the big woman informed him, hands on hips. “Your sister thinks you’re a saint. But frankly, I’m not so sure you’re up to the task of dealing with a little wounded critter like that.” She pointed to his truck where Lyn was sitting obediently.

That stung. It was one thing for him to say it wouldn’t work, but he’d be damned if he’d let somebody else judge him and find him lacking.

“I can deal with her,” he said, injecting confidence into his tone. “I just don’t want to scare her any more than she already is.”

Rilla sighed. “She’s got to get used to being around men again. Your sister gave me some references on you and everybody I talked to says you’re a good man.”

He was astounded, then outraged. “You called people for character references on me?”

The woman shrugged, but her eyes were filled with glee. “You bet. I have to be sure my clients are going to be safe when they leave here.” Then the laughter faded from her eyes and a profound sorrow replaced it. “Mr. McCall, you can’t imagine the things I’ve seen. The things some of the women who come through here have endured. For some of them, simply surviving is a victory. Little Lynnie there, she’s got good reason to fear men. I saw her right after your sister brought her to the hospital and I know the doctors weren’t real sure she’d ever be the same again. Physically or in her head.” She paused, then raised her eyebrows. “She says she doesn’t remember anything about what happened. She might never. The important thing is that she have a good, quiet place to recover.”

“Is there anything special I should do for her?” He didn’t have time for this, he told himself even as the words came out of his mouth. He had a ranch to get back on its feet, stock to buy, men to hire. He didn’t have time to baby-sit.

Rilla shook her head. “She doesn’t need medical treatment, just time to heal in her heart. You be gentle, give her lots of space, and time’ll do the rest. She’s got a support group that meets here if she needs it. I’ll call her once in a while and see how she’s doing. Your sister said she’d check on Lynnie occasionally.”

Cal nodded, trying to suppress the smile that threatened at the mention of his sister. He knew that to Silver “occasionally” probably meant two or three times a day. “She’s due back from her honeymoon in a few days and I imagine she’ll be over to make sure everything’s going okay.” He took a deep breath. “Well, Miss Rilla, you come visit anytime you like. We’ll feed you and there are plenty of empty bedrooms for a guest.”

“Thank you.” The woman put out her hand, and when he took it, she gave his hand a heftier shake than many of the ranchers he knew were capable of. “You take care of Lynnie and call if you have any questions.” She reached out and tucked a piece of paper in his shirt pocket. “There’s my number. Any time of the night or day. Emergencies don’t keep business hours.”

That sobered him. He knew all about emergencies. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “We’ll hope that little gal has had all the emergencies she’s going to for one lifetime.”

The hour-and-a-half drive home from Rapid City never had seemed so long. His new housekeeper sat silently in her seat, apparently unaware that common courtesy might direct her to make some small effort at conversation.

His thoughts were a jumbled mess and because he was preoccupied with sorting them into order, he didn’t bother to try to draw her out. When they reached the town of Wall, he asked her if she needed to stop for anything, but she shook her head. He hoped that meant she wasn’t going to need a bathroom for a while because Kadoka, their destination and the next outpost of civilization along this strip of I-90, was another hour away.

When they got off the interstate at Kadoka, he asked her again if she needed to stop, and again she shook her head, so he headed down Route 73 south of town, toward his outfit, and finally, finally, he reached the turnoff to his ranch. His ranch. The notion gave him a rush of pleasure every time it occurred to him that he owned the land. He avoided the worst of the ruts in the lane, promising himself that would be one of the next things he’d see to now that he was back for good.

As they came within sight of the house, he couldn’t help glancing over at his new employee, wanting to see her reaction to his home place.

Tears were streaming down her face.

He was so shocked he slammed on the brake, jolting them both forward against their seat belts. Lyn shrieked and he immediately cut the engine, saying, “Hey, there, it’s all right. It’s all right.”

She took a trembling breath as he ripped off his hat and raked a hand through his hair. When he could trust his voice to be calm again, he asked, “Have I done something to upset you?”

She shook her head, the red hair flying around her shoulders, but she still, as far as he could tell, hadn’t looked directly at him.

“Then why are you crying?” He couldn’t keep the trace of exasperation from his voice.

Lyn raised her head. Slowly, she turned to look at him and for the first time, he got to see what she looked like under all that hair. Her eyes were green. No, that was wrong. Her eyes were huge, emerald pools. Unfortunately, around those striking eyes were green and yellow bruises, and a deeper yellow lump stood out on her forehead. Her skin was fair, except for the faint shadows of bruises mottling her face and neck, and she had a faint sprinkling of freckles across her nose and over her cheeks. But it was her mouth that drew his notice.

A long, ugly wound marred the otherwise flawless lower half of a pair of lips that formed a pretty Cupid’s bow. The scar came from beneath her jaw on the left side and reached up to claw through her lip. Red marks indicated that stitches had recently been removed, and he suspected that plastic surgery had been done, because the repair looked neat and efficient and already seemed to be fading from what he was sure had been a doozy of a cut.

He was afraid she’d see him staring, so he quickly looked back at her eyes, willing himself to ignore the obvious evidence of damage to her face. Her eyelashes and eyebrows were a rich dark chestnut, the brows arching elegantly above those unforgettable eyes.

Eyes that were still sparkling with tears, he suddenly realized.

Again, he said, “Why are you crying?”

She opened her mouth. Worked it, but no sound came out. Again she tried, and this time a trickle of a husky whisper reached his ears. “I used to live here.”

One

Nine weeks later…

Lyn Hamill glanced at the sturdy waterproof watch on her left wrist. It wasn’t exciting, as jewelry went, but she treasured it because Cal McCall had given it to her the second week after she’d come to work at his ranch. Almost four o’clock. Good. She used the back of her arm to wipe sweat from her forehead and grabbed the tongs, deftly plucking the canning jars from the boiling water and replacing them with another batch while the first ones cooled. She would have enough time to finish the last half-bushel of tomatoes before her employer came in for dinner.

Carrying a load of completely cooled tomato jars to the basement, she took a moment to survey her handiwork with a feeling of satisfaction. Although she had arrived at the ranch in July, too late for any planting, she had managed to get a good start on stocking up for winter. Now, onions and garlic hung from the wooden rafters in net bags and bushel baskets of potatoes stood on the bare dirt floor. She was steadily filling the wooden shelves that stood against three walls. Already they held canning jars filled with bread-and-butter pickles, green beans, peas, plum butter, buffaloberry jelly and the tomatoes she was putting up today.

Cal gave her a household allowance from which she was to buy groceries and anything else she thought they needed. She was a frugal shopper and the allowance was generous, so she’d bought vegetables to replace the things she would have planted if she’d been here in the spring. Neighbors had given her the tomatoes and a number of other things. Or more accurately, they’d given Cal gifts to welcome him back to the community and she’d been the logical recipient, since he was out on the range most of the time.

She’d helped Cal’s sister dig the potatoes, and Silver had insisted she take some home. And just yesterday she’d harvested some squash that had come up by itself and managed to survive all summer unattended. It was September now and she’d been home—here—nearly nine weeks. It’s not your home anymore, she reminded herself sternly. She was merely an employee of the owner. And as such, she’d pick apples tomorrow and make pies with the little red ones. The others would make good applesauce and apple butter.

Upstairs, a door slammed. Her hand flew to her throat and her body jolted. Her breathing stuttered, and for a moment, she could hear her heartbeat roaring in her ears. Fear froze her feet to the floor.

He’d finally found her. If she’d still been holding the tomato jars, they’d be shattered on the sod floor. Wayne. God, what was she going to do? She was trapped down here. What if he—what? What if he what? Just as she had each time she tried to recall the events of the last months, she drew a blank. Oh, if only she could remember!

“Lyn? Where’s the peroxide?”

Cal. Relief swept through her and she consciously relaxed all the muscles that had tensed in subconscious dread—of what? She took a deep, calming breath. It was only Cal.

Turning, she hurried up the steps and into the kitchen.

Her employer stood before the sink and as she reached his side, she saw blood dripping from a cut along one finger. Quickly, she got the peroxide from the cupboard where she’d organized all the first aid supplies and held it out to him, noticing as she did so that her hands were shaking visibly, a remnant of her fear. Then she realized he wouldn’t be able to unscrew the cap easily so she did it for him, moving to his side and tilting the bottle over the injured finger.

Cal hissed in a breath between his teeth as the cleanser washed away the blood and bubbled dirt to the surface of the wound. She hated hurting him but there was no help for it. Gently, she slipped her hand beneath his and angled the finger up, pouring more peroxide over the torn flesh. And as she concentrated on the small task, the stomach-knotting sense of panic inside her faded, to be replaced with another feeling.

Cal’s steely arm was pressed against her shoulder and she shivered with pleasure at their proximity. He treated her casually, in a friendly offhand manner, and there were very few times when she’d been this close to him. There were even fewer times when she’d actually touched him.

Her fingers trembled beneath his and Cal made an abrupt motion, taking the bottle from her and stepping a pace away. “Thanks,” he said. “I can do it.”

She was so disappointed by his dismissal she could have cried. Turning away, she went to the stove and checked the timer, then took the next batch of canning jars from the water.

“Tomatoes.” Cal’s voice sounded hopeful. “Maybe you could make some spaghetti sauce with a few of those this winter.”

She nodded, unable to keep her face from lighting up. Mentally, she made another note in her “Special Things To Do For Cal” file. Forgetting anything that might make Cal McCall’s life more comfortable or enjoyable was unacceptable to her. He’d given her back so much that she could never repay him. This was her small way of letting him know she appreciated it.

She extended the same appreciation to Cal’s sister, Silver, and her husband, Deck. They’d helped her when she didn’t know anyone in the world could help her, and her small gifts of special foodstuffs, recipes and handmade clothing was her way of saying thank-you.

Although it wasn’t strictly true that she felt the same way about them as she did about Cal. No, the way she felt about Cal was unique. There might be things she couldn’t remember, would never remember, but she knew she’d never felt before the way she felt about the man who owned the ranch where she’d lived once. Certainly she’d never felt about her ex-husband as she did about Cal.

She sneaked a glance sideways at him, still standing at the sink. He hadn’t taken off his summer straw hat. He rarely did, until he was ready to take a shower in the evening after working all day, but it didn’t matter to her. His hat was such a part of him that he almost looked naked without it.

It was still terribly hot during the day, and he wore a lightweight long-sleeved shirt that clung to his broad shoulders. He’d been riding, she knew, because she could see the horse tethered just outside the yard, and a dark stain of sweat dampened the back center of the shirt from his neck down to where it vanished beneath his jeans.

His jeans. Oh, she loved the way those pants fit him. She could still remember the first time she’d noticed the way the fabric molded his tight, lean buttocks. She’d been at the ranch for three days, three days in which Cal had insisted she take her time getting to know the place and settling in. He wouldn’t even let her cook at first, until the morning of that third day when she’d gotten up earlier than he had.

She’d gone into the kitchen and made him a hearty breakfast of biscuits and gravy. She’d also made him a lunch to take along since he’d mentioned he’d be haying again all day. Cal had come into the kitchen just as she had finished, sniffing the air appreciatively.

She’d handed him a mug of coffee. He’d sampled it and said, “You’re hired!” Then he’d walked over to the door to get his boots, which she’d cleaned up the night before. As he bent, the denim pulled taut across the back of his strong thighs, drawing her eyes and drying her mouth in a manner that surprised and shocked her so much she’d turned away and shoveled his breakfast onto a plate.

She could almost giggle at the memory now.

She had to walk to the sink, where he was still standing, with a pitcher she filled from the sink, and as she did so, she took a moment to peer at the cut. It wasn’t such a bad one that it would need stitches, but a bandage and some antibiotic ointment certainly were in order. Quickly, she added the water to the pot that was boiling on the stove, filling the room with clouds of steam and the smell of hot tomato.

Then she went to the cupboard again as Cal dried the cut with a paper towel. Taking down the things she needed, she approached him, holding them out before her and looking at him in question.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “I guess I’d better put something on it. The wire snapped and I ducked, but it caught me there on the way by.”

She shuddered. He’d been repairing fence and she winced at the thought of what a piece of barbed wire could do when it suddenly was severed from the tension between the posts.

She set down the box of bandages and tore one open, then added some of the antibiotic cream to the center before taking his hand in hers again. He extended the finger and she carefully positioned the gauze, wrapping it securely with tape and neatly trimming the ends. Her hands were trembling at the feel of his hard, callused flesh against hers. At night, her dreams were filled with those hands and the magic she imagined they could work on her body.

But those were only dreams. Standing here, holding his hand in the kitchen, was real and being close to him was sweet torture. His broad chest loomed before her, making her feel small and feminine, though she’d never been short in her entire life. Beanpole, the boys at school had called her.

She looked at him and smiled. “There,” she said. “I think you’ll live.”

Cal gazed down at her from his superior height, warmth in his gray eyes. “That’s the first joke I’ve ever heard you make,” he said. This close, she could see the black rim around the irises, the tiny flecks of black that fractured the silver throughout, the dark fringe of his lashes and the strong slash of his black brows that nearly met in the center. He smiled, holding her gaze with his. “You’ve come a long way since the day I brought you here,” he said.

She cleared her throat, embarrassed by the praise implied in the comment. “I’m starting to feel…useful again.”

He nodded, and she knew he understood what she hadn’t expressed very well. “Oh, you’re definitely useful,” he said in a teasing tone. “I don’t know how this place got by until you came along.” Before she knew it, his hands slid firmly around her shoulders and he pulled her into a close embrace.

She knew an instant of blind, black fear that threatened to engulf her, but as quickly as it enveloped her it vanished. These were Cal’s arms and this was Cal’s body, and nothing could make her fear him. As the hard length of his big frame registered, she closed her eyes and inhaled his scent—not difficult since her nose was buried in his chest. He smelled of saddle leather and horse, of hay and healthy man sweat and some other, less definable scent that was uniquely his own.

Of all the things she’d expected him to do, this wasn’t at the top of the list…she didn’t really care as long as he held her like this.

But as fast as the moment had begun, it ended. Releasing her, Cal stepped back. “Sorry if I scared you,” he said. “I appreciate the help.”

She ducked her head and nodded without looking at him, embarrassed again. Had he sensed how badly she longed for him? She would be utterly humiliated if he ever found out how she felt. To cover her awkwardness, she rushed into speech. “You didn’t scare me. You caught me by surprise for a moment, that’s all.”

Cal’s eyebrows rose. He grinned then, and her heart skipped a beat at the devilish gleam in his dark gray eyes. “I was beginning to wonder if you spoke more than one sentence at a time.”

“I can talk,” she said defensively. “I just haven’t had much to say.” Her voice sounded loud to her own ears, and huskier than she remembered. The doctor had said there might be permanent damage to her vocal cords from the attempt to strangle her. She didn’t guess it mattered—she’d never been much of a singer and as long as she could communicate, it didn’t really matter how she sounded.

Cal stood perfectly still, staring at her with a strange expression on his face. When the silence stretched on, she finally said, “What?”

He shrugged and smiled at her, breaking the odd tension of the moment. “Your voice is really husky. Has it always been like that?”

“It’s different,” she said. “I don’t sound like me anymore.”

He nodded. “Give it a few more months. It hasn’t been used in a while. Maybe you just need to get used to talking on a regular basis again.”

She nodded.

Silence.

“Well, I’ve got to get back out there and finish that fence,” he said. “Wilson’s new bull’s been in the pasture over by the dam three times this week. If he tears the fence down again, I swear I’m going to butcher him and deliver the meat to Wilson.”

She smiled as he headed out the door. Containing your cattle and keeping your neighbor’s out was an unending chore on a ranch, and for all his fierce talk she had learned that Cal was a good neighbor.

He mounted Tor, his big bay gelding, and she watched from the window as he and the horse disappeared over the ridge that led to the dam pasture. When the top of his hat had completely vanished behind the ridge, she turned back to her tomatoes. Yes, she’d have to make a couple big batches of spaghetti sauce this winter. She knew Silver had recipes for things like lasagna and stuffed shells. Maybe she’d share them.

Lyn always was conscious of the fact that Cal was a cosmopolitan man. He’d eaten fancy foods in New York that she’d never even heard of and though he praised her cooking and told her he’d missed ranch life and plain, hearty ranch fare, she worried that she wouldn’t do a good job for him.

Man, did he ever hate haying.

Cal itched all over. The seeds from the alfalfa had gotten into every crevice, every orifice, every pore. For the last two hours of the day, he fantasized about jumping in the stock pond, imagining the cool water sluicing over him, cleansing his skin of the prickly, dry hay.

The thought reminded him of a time in New York when he’d still been pretending he enjoyed wearing a suit and tie, a time he’d taken his girl of the moment out to a deserted reservoir and the two of them had gone skinny-dipping. And that thought brought to mind another, entirely inappropriate fantasy, one too close to home.

In his daydreaming, Lyn was riding with him. When they reached the stock pond, they dismounted and disrobed. He watched, pulse pounding and body stirring, as she pulled off her boots and stepped out of her jeans, then slowly, teasingly, unbuttoned her shirt one button at a time until the garment hung loosely around her, an open strip down the center showing him that beneath the practical work clothes she’d worn no undergarments of any kind.

He walked toward her and pushed the shirt off her shoulders, then turned her toward the pond, and together they took the few steps to the edge of the cool water. They waded in and as the water reached his waist, then his chest, he drew her into his arms, feeling her slippery curves against him….

He groaned as he dismounted and put away the horse. He must be nuts, torturing himself like this. Lyn was his employee. In no way had she given him any reason to believe she’d welcome a bout of wild sex, in or out of the stock pond. She was a woman who’d been physically abused by someone, probably her ex-husband if the hospital records of her previous injuries were any guide. He’d bet she’d run screaming if she knew of the thoughts slipping into his head with increasing regularity. Hell, she’d gone stiff as a board when he’d given in to that stupid impulse in the kitchen yesterday and grabbed her. His only excuse was that she made him forget good sense when she was around. He snorted. Some excuse. He’d even noticed her hands shaking with fear when she’d been close to his side doctoring his cut and still he’d hugged her to him without a thought as to how it might affect her.

He stomped to the house, thoroughly annoyed with himself. Why in hell couldn’t he stop thinking about her?

It must be the proximity thing, he decided. She’d been living in his home for over two months now, sleeping in a bedroom just steps away, making his meals, washing his clothes, helping with anything he asked. She never complained, no matter what he asked of her.

Of course, until yesterday she hadn’t spoken to him except for the barest, briefest possible responses, so he didn’t really know for sure that she wasn’t the whiny type.

But deep inside, he did know.

According to his sister’s husband, who had lived here in Jackson County all his life, Lyn was raised around Belvidere, the next little town to the east. Cal had spent his childhood in the county, but he didn’t recall ever knowing who she was. Of course, she’d have been five or six years younger than he was, anyway. Her mother had died when she was small and her daddy had never married again. Lyn was a quiet little thing who had worked with her father and took care of his house. People remembered she was a good cook, something he’d already learned.

But other than that, nobody remembered much. Her daddy had leased ranch land from the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, and after Cal’s father had died the same year that Cal had started college back East, apparently Hamill had bought his property. Lyn would have been a young teenager, he figured, if her daddy had bought it then.

He should remember her, but he didn’t. Cal honestly couldn’t remember much about that time. After an accident at the end of his senior year of high school in which his friend Genie had died, he hadn’t been able to get out of town fast enough. And he’d been gone less than six months when his father had suffered a fatal heart attack and died and the ranch had been sold to Lyn’s father.

With an effort, he shook off the past. Though he’d always regret those lost last months with his father, he’d come to terms with Genie’s death, as had her family. Her brother Deck and he had repaired the hard feelings between them. He was home again, in more ways than one.

But his home needed work. A lot of work. Hamill hadn’t been much of a rancher, according to Deck. He’d only worked the outfit for three years before he died and the ranch was bought by a guy from up near Philip who hadn’t done much with it, either. He’d had it until he retired and moved up to Sturgis.

And that’s when Cal had bought the land that had once been his father’s. When he’d heard the asking price, he’d been shocked. When had dusty-dry sod in the Badlands gotten so expensive? He’d decided it was a good thing he’d worked on the New York Stock Exchange and made a small killing in the process. He’d need it to start up a ranch from scratch.

His thoughts circled back to Lyn…nobody remembered anything much after her daddy passed away and the ranch changed hands. They thought she’d married. The couple had drifted over to Rapid, someone thought. But nobody had seen her in a while, which was unusual enough in western South Dakota to raise eyebrows. Wonder where that Hamill girl went off to? The area was so sparsely populated that the locals joked that they knew everyone in the whole damned state.

He stopped in the mudroom that he’d added on recently and peeled off his boots. He carried both his shirt and his undershirt in his hand; he’d taken them off outside the door, shaken them out and used them to dust himself down. Tossing them into the washing machine, he moved into the adjacent bathroom to shower off the rest of the day’s grime. When he was finished, he grabbed one of the big bath sheets his sister Silver had bought when she redecorated his home, wrapping it around his waist. He’d seen Lyn outside firing up the barbecue grill when he’d come in, so he strode through the house in nothing but his towel. God, it felt good to get that scratchy seed off him.

Padding up the stairs, he walked down the hall to his bedroom. Every time he walked through the house, he felt more and more satisfied at the changes that had been made. And still were being made. He’d hired carpenters to repair some of the woodwork and sagging doors right after he’d bought the place. Then Silver had hired painters and wallpaperers and she’d gone through and spruced the place up with her own little touches, adding stenciling, rugs and window treatments. He’d been called out of town while she was still working on it and when he’d gotten home, she’d practically finished redecorating. Good thing, too, since she’d decided to marry Deck only weeks later. Now she was busy designing their own home while she got ready for the baby that would arrive near Valentine’s Day.

His bedroom door was ajar and he pushed it wide as he walked into the room.

Lyn whirled at his entrance, one hand going to her throat where she stood in front of his dresser putting away stacks of clothing. She didn’t make a sound, but her face went so completely white she scared him.

“Whoa, sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you were outside.”

“I— I wasn’t.”

He nearly smiled but she still looked too rattled. “I can see that.” He waited, but she didn’t move a muscle. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Um, how about you finding some other chore to do while I get dressed?”

“Oh!” The color flooded back into her cheeks and she flushed a deep scarlet in keeping with her vibrant hair. “I’m sorry. I’ll just— I’ll just get out now.” She scurried past him, head down, edging sideways so as not to touch him, and vanished down the hallway before he could say another word.

Cal shook his head ruefully as he closed the bedroom door. Dropping the towel, he stood naked, hands on his hips while the cool air circulated by the ceiling fan he’d had installed washed over him. Poor thing. He’d seen some of the evidence of what had been done to her, and he’d heard more. Her ex-husband must have been a pathetic excuse for a man. No real man would hit a female much less beat her the way Lyn had been beaten. He felt a flicker of bone-deep rage at the thought of the bruises that she’d still borne when he’d first brought her to the ranch. That beautiful skin should never have known a bruise.

Her skin was so fair and milky-white that it was practically translucent, and he’d found himself fascinated by the parade of tiny freckles that marched across her nose. Every time he was near her, he had to hold in check the urge to reach out and trace them with a fingertip. She had a light scattering of freckles over her arms, as well, and he wondered if there were any other parts of her that were freckled.

Then he grimly shook his head, looking down the length of his body, which had responded instantly to thoughts of Lyn. He was a first-class jerk, lusting after a skinny little female who’d been manhandled like she had been. This was getting ridiculous. He needed a woman. He’d been too busy in New York those last few months to bother dating much, and he’d been celibate since he’d moved home. No wonder he was fantasizing about his housekeeper.

Maybe it was time to start thinking about looking for a wife. Even before the last couple hectic months, when he’d been busy transferring all his hard-won clients to other brokers he trusted and hammering out the buying arrangements for the ranch, he hadn’t minded his single state. Most of the time he’d been too tired by the end of a wild day on Wall Street and when he had wanted feminine companionship, he’d availed himself of the multitudes of liberated single career women who didn’t want attachments any more than he had. But now…now things were different. Now he could devote time to a family if he started one. As he dressed and started down the stairs, the word stuck in his head, replaying over and over. Family…family…family… He was determined to have a family of his own some day, a real family, with both parents in the household and a bunch of kids running around—nothing like the rather lonely existence he’d known growing up. Though his father had loved him, he’d keenly felt the difference between what he’d always thought of as “real” families and his own.

His annual summer visits with his mother in Virginia only reinforced the loneliness. He was the outsider. His mother, her second husband and Silver, his half sister, were a happy, tight-knit trio. He’d always wondered if his own life would have been like that if his mother hadn’t abandoned his father and him.

Lyn had supper ready when he walked into the kitchen, and he sniffed the air with interest. “What do I smell?”

She turned from the stove, where she was transferring a pot of steaming broccoli to a serving dish. “Marinated pork chops. It’s not fancy.” Was it his imagination or did she sound faintly defensive?

“I don’t care how un-fancy it is,” he assured her. “It smells fantastic.”

And it was, as were the homemade muffins, the stewed apples and the devils’ food cake she set before him when the table had been cleared. It was just the two of them, since the men who worked for him had families of their own and went home at the end of the day. He’d gotten into the habit early on of telling her all about his day, mostly as a way of filling the silence at the table. Tonight was no different except that she asked questions a few times instead of nodding and raising an eyebrow to get him to continue.

She grimaced when he told her about the young rabbit that had gotten caught in the sickle. “I know it’s impossible to miss them, but it always made me cry,” she said.

Cal nodded. “Well, I did manage to avoid hitting a fawn today. You should have seen him run.”

Her eyes glowed, a striking emerald in the evening light coming through the big window by the nook where the kitchen table was set, and he was reminded of cats’ eyes in the dark. “They’re so sweet when they’re little,” she said. Then she chuckled. “Of course, I even think calves are sweet, so I guess my judgment is suspect.”

Cal smiled at that. “God, I missed this life. I didn’t even realize how much until I got back again. I can’t wait for calving season.”

Her eyebrows rose in that silent way of hers. “You have to get through winter first,” she reminded him.

“Don’t I know it,” he grumbled. “It’s going to be a long one.” He rose from the table then, picking up his plate to take it to the dishwasher.

“Oh, don’t. I’ll do that.” Lyn rushed over and whisked the plate from his hand, along with the water glass and fork he’d lifted.

“I don’t mind. You work hard enough during the day,” he said.

“But I mind,” she said. “You work hard, too, and this is what you’re paying me for.” She crossed to the dishwasher and rinsed the plate before setting it in the rack.

“I haven’t told you how much I appreciate you giving me this chance,” she said slowly.

“You don’t have to. I promised Silver I’d hire you but I also told her I couldn’t keep you on if you didn’t work out. I need someone I can depend on to be in charge of the house.” He gazed across the kitchen at her. “I can depend on you. The job is yours as long as you want it.”

She stared at him, and to his dismay her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He shrugged, uncomfortable with her gratitude. “No big deal.” And before she could really get the waterworks flowing, he beat a hasty retreat to the living room to catch the evening news. But as he sat, trying to focus on what was happening in the rest of the world, he was far too conscious of the woman moving around in the kitchen. When she finally turned out the kitchen light, his body relaxed in relief as she started for the stairs.

“Good night,” she said.

“Good night.” Now he wished he could get her to sit down and talk some more. He was fascinated by her husky, musical voice. That voice smacked of long afternoons making love in dim bedrooms and every time she spoke, his body reacted to the promise in those sexy tones. Just yesterday, when she’d been helping him bandage his finger, that voice had distracted him into an erotic dream. Then her whole face had lit up when he’d told her she seemed like she was getting better, and he hadn’t been able to resist hugging her. The feel of her warm, firm frame against his—

And this was ridiculous! Here he was again, in a hot sweat having totally inappropriate dreams about his housekeeper. He practically leaped out of the chair and grabbed the phone off the kitchen wall, rapidly punching the buttons.

Deck answered on the third ring. “What?” The single word was a snarl.

“Well, that’s a heck of a way to greet your brother-in-law.”

“You’re interrupting us. What do you want?” Deck sounded distinctly disgruntled and Cal realized exactly what he’d interrupted. He grimaced. Was everybody in the world getting next to a warm body except for him?

“A woman.”

“Then go find one.” The receiver clicked off decisively on the other end.

Cal sighed. Lifting the phone again, he punched in Deck’s brother Marty’s telephone number. He hit the speakerphone as he ambled across the kitchen and yanked open the refrigerator door, surveying its contents. As his best buddy’s voice came on the other end of the line, he selected a soda.

“Lucky Stryke.”

“Hey, neighbor. Is your kid in bed?”

“Yeah. Thank God.” Marty’s answer sounded heartfelt and Cal grinned. He’d been around Marty’s daughter, Cheyenne, a number of times since his move back out here, and she was…unforgettable. A stunning little beauty who looked like her dead mother and acted—unfortunately—a lot like her deceased aunt Genie, who’d been a hell-raiser from the day she was born until the day she died young in the accident that was reason he’d left South Dakota all those years ago.

“What are you up to?” Marty’s voice called him back from the past.

He popped the top on his soda and leaned against the counter. “Where the heck do you go when you want to meet women out here?”

A low rumble of laughter vibrated through the connection. “A bar.”

“That’s not the kind of woman I want to meet,” Cal said.

“Oh, hell.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re starting to sound like me. You got marriage on your mind?”

“No, I do not have marriage on my mind.” He conveniently ignored the fact that he’d been thinking that very thing only hours ago. “I just need to get laid. And I’d prefer to do it with somebody I like and enjoy spending time with.”

Something moving in the corner of his vision made him whip his head around. Though he saw nothing, he’d have sworn he saw a shadow in the kitchen doorway just for an instant. He moved toward the door, but realized he couldn’t leave the room without picking up the handset of the phone. Shrugging, he turned his attention to what Marty was saying.

“…know what you mean. I’m meeting a girl at the city bar tomorrow night. She, uh, answered my ad.”

Cal laughed aloud. He’d heard about Marty’s other disastrous encounters that were a result of advertising in the personals for a wife. To his way of thinking, the guy was insane. “I might have to check this out. What time?”

“Eight. I figure if she’s willing to meet me in a bar, she can’t be a teetotaler who thinks I’ll go to hell if I drink a beer.”

“That’s logical. Eight, huh? You might see me.”

“Sounds good. You can rescue me if this date turns out to be a bust.” His oldest friend’s voice sounded hopeful.

Cal stifled a comment about the odds of that being pretty good. “It’s a deal.”

Two

He raked the mown hay with two of his men the next day and came in grumpy and sweaty with broken blisters on the hand where he’d held the dump rope. He’d bought the machinery along with the ranch and it didn’t look like one damn thing had been added since his father’s time. He promised himself the next time he got a chance to look around, he’d buy a swather that would mow and rake at the same time. Then he’d have a ceremonial burning of the old hay rake.

The house smelled of something wonderful again—a roast in the oven—and by the time he’d showered and changed, he felt marginally more human. When he came back down, Lyn was flitting around the kitchen getting the roast, potatoes and carrots out of the pan, and he picked up a pot holder and pulled the rolls from the second oven. As he did, he watched her from the corner of his eye.

She wore a simple blue T-shirt the same color as her jeans with the boots he’d bought her at the end of her first week on the ranch. They were scuffed and marked already, since she insisted on helping around the barn and pastures when she wasn’t working in the house, though he noticed she was careful to keep them clean and waterproofed.

As she stretched for a meat fork in a far drawer, the T-shirt drew taut against her slender body, profiling the gentle rise of plump, rounded breasts. She’d gained some weight in the time she’d been at the ranch and oh, mama, it had all gone to the right places. His pulse changed to a faster rhythm and his body began to react, and he hastily grabbed a basket for the rolls and took a seat at the table before she noticed he had a hard-on the size of Mount Rushmore. Damn, but he was tired of feeling like this. It was a good thing he was going to town tonight.

Maybe he’d just drive right on to Rapid after he met Marty. He’d met a widowed gal there a month ago when he’d gone to the airport to pick up Deck and Silver. She’d been waiting for her mother on the same flight and they’d struck up a conversation. She’d made it plain she’d have welcomed his call after that and he wondered if she’d go out with him on short notice.

But at the table a few minutes later, thoughts of the Rapid City widow vanished. An idea occurred to him as he watched Lyn slip into her seat across from his with the unassuming air of someone who didn’t expect to be noticed. “Go to town with me tonight.”

The notion clearly startled her. “Me? Oh, no thank y—”

“It wasn’t a request,” he informed her. “It was an order from the boss.”

Her green eyes widened. “But why? I don’t want to go to town. There’s nothing open on Friday night but the bars—”

“Which is where we’re going. I have to meet Marty there at eight. You need to start getting out of the house. This will be a good way to begin.”

She wore a sulky pout that thrust out her lower lip in an adorable expression that made him want to lean across the table and put his mouth on hers. “I don’t like bars,” she muttered, though he noticed she didn’t tell him no.

He supposed she had good reason for not liking bars. Her father had been a drunk, and his poor ranching probably had been a direct result of his fondness for the bottle. And judging from what he’d heard of her marital history from his sister’s snooping into police files and hospital records, he suspected the husband who’d hammered on her also had an alcohol problem.

“I’ll drink soda,” he told her. “You won’t have to worry about pouring me into the truck for the drive home.”

The pout eased from her face and he didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry. He was an idiot, asking her to go to town with him when she was what he wanted to get away from. But he’d realized she hadn’t been off the ranch a single time since she’d arrived except to venture down to Silver’s house or to buy groceries. And it was past time she stopped hiding herself away. Women out here needed companionship, other women, to talk to—he was convinced that had been half the reason his mother had packed up and left when he was a baby. She’d refused to make friends with the “locals,” as she’d called them, according to his father, and the loneliness had gotten to her.

Lyn met him in the kitchen half an hour later. She had exchanged the blue T-shirt for a pretty blouse with long, full sleeves and she’d taken her hair out of the thick braid she usually wore it in when she was working. Wild curls quirked around her face and cascaded over her shoulders and as she came into the room she shoved it behind one ear with an impatient gesture. “I’m ready.”

His stomach muscles clenched. It was an effort to pull himself together. “All right. Let’s go.” His fingers itched to plunge into those curls, to drag her against him and unbutton each and every one of the pretty little pearl buttons that marched down the front of the blouse. He wiped a drop of sweat from his temple. He had to get over this.

They walked into the city bar a quarter-hour later to find Marty already seated in one of the red vinyl booths with a woman. It took a few minutes to get to the table because people at each of the three booths before Marty’s and at the bar had to come over and welcome Lyn back. Finally, sensing she was a bit overwhelmed, Cal put a hand beneath her elbow. “Come on over here,” he said. “We have to check out Marty’s newest applicant.”

“Applicant?” Her eyebrows rose.

“For the job he advertised. He put an ad in the personals for a wife,” he explained, enjoying the look of incredulity that flashed across her mobile features.

“You’re teasing me.”

“Nope.” He solemnly placed his hand over his heart. “Swear to God it’s the truth.”

By that time they were at the table. Marty had been seated across from his date and when he saw them coming, he stood and waved.

“Hi, Lynnie,” he said. “Hey, Cal. I’d like you to meet Iris.”

Iris was a stunning brunette with enormous brown eyes and jugs the size of watermelons straining at the front of a bright yellow sweater. Though the sweater wasn’t exceptionally tight or low-cut, Cal had a hard time meeting her eyes.

“Hello,” Iris said, smiling at them.

Lyn slid into the booth and Cal tipped his hat to the woman before lowering himself onto the seat beside Lyn. Marty had a smug smile on his face. “Iris is a jewelry designer,” he told them. “She does pieces in Black Hills gold.”

“That’s interesting.” Lyn surprised him when she spoke up. “I’ve always loved that look. Did you design your earrings?”

“Yes.” Iris and Marty both had beers in front of them and she took a pull at her bottle before answering Lyn’s questions about her work. The conversation was steady as Iris, in turn, asked questions about ranching, and Cal could almost see Marty sizing up her ring finger. Among other things.

This one seemed cultured, intelligent, sexy…he couldn’t believe a woman like this resorted to answering personal ads. There had to be some catch.

After three hours, he knew what it was. Iris drank like a fish.

Lyn, to her credit, made a valiant effort to prevent a disaster. She carried on a conversation about jewelry design with the woman until the subject was wrung dry. When it became apparent that Iris could talk and drink at the speed of light, Lyn asked for a pizza and some chips for their table. Cal flashed her a grin, knowing she was hoping the food would soak up some of the alcohol.

The evening wore on. Marty’s smug smile had long since glazed over into stupefied horror as his dream woman deteriorated into a giddy, slurring nightmare. She shrieked with laughter at things that weren’t funny. She excused herself at least ten times to go to the bathroom and each time, she got into a cozy conversation with the cowboys parked at the bar.

By eleven, Marty was slumped in his seat, shaking his head in embarrassment. “What am I going to do now?” he moaned. “I can’t let her drive back to Rapid in that condition. And I’m sure as hell not taking her back to the ranch!”

Cal was doubled over with laughter and even Lyn was giggling helplessly as they watched Iris climb into the lap of a cowboy barely old enough to be in the bar in the first place.

Marty regarded them with a sour expression. “Oh, sure, go ahead and laugh. Just don’t ever come to me for help when you guys have trouble with romance.”

“It really isn’t funny,” Lyn said, her tone sobering. “That girl’s got problems.”

“And so do I,” said Marty.

Cal sighed, wiping his eyes on a napkin. He felt magnanimous, particularly since he couldn’t recall ever having a date that was such a disaster. “You two go ahead and leave.” He picked up Iris’s car keys from the table where they’d lain the whole evening. “Take her car over to the Dakota Inn and then go on home. I’ll tell her you had an emergency and had to leave, Marty, and I’ll take her over there and get her a room.”

The grateful look on Marty’s face was nearly enough to set him off again. He didn’t dare look at Lyn as she said, “Sounds like a plan.” He slid out of the booth and let her out, then held her jacket for her and watched her walk out of the bar with Marty. As the pair exited through the glass door, he forced down the envy that tried to rear its head. He’d assumed he’d be the one taking Lyn home tonight.

It was a good ten minutes before he decided that Iris wasn’t going to notice Marty’s absence, so he strode over and broke up her little party. He was suddenly impatient to get out of the smoky bar.

“Sorry, you’re stuck with me,” he told the staggering woman. “Marty had to go home.” He took her over to the motel and paid for a night’s lodging, then showed her to her room and got the heck out of there. Marty and Lyn had driven her car over and parked it outside. Marty’s truck was nowhere in sight, and as Cal drove home alone, he told himself it was ridiculous to feel annoyed that Lyn had ridden home with Marty. He’d specifically told her to, hadn’t he?

He was a little more than halfway home when the thunderheads that had been threatening for hours unleashed their fury on the Badlands. Instead of the rain everyone had been praying for, hail pelted down from the clouds. Some of the chunks weren’t a bad size, but as the wind howled and the storm increased its ferocity, lumps the size of Ping-Pong balls slammed onto the truck and he had to pull off along the side of the road and wait it out. As soon as it abated, he returned to the road and drove home as fast as he dared. He was pretty sure Marty would have dropped Lyn off already and he wondered what she’d do, all alone in the night in a storm like this.

When he pulled the truck to a stop beneath the big pole light in the yard, he could see the dents in the hood from inside the truck. Lyn came out the door before the truck stopped and came down the walk to meet him, and he forced himself to act as unconcerned as she seemed to be. Then she said quietly, “I’m glad you’re back. I was worried.”

“You okay?”

She nodded.

He walked forward and examined the pits the hail had left on the finish of his pickup, fighting the relief that rushed through his system and feigning a casual attitude. “Oh, well. It looked too new anyway.”

Lyn smiled, although he noticed her small face was pale and strained. “Now that’s what I call a stretch to find the silver lining.” She pointed to the lavender gladiolus that had been in full bloom against the side of the porch, and he could see the strong stalks battered to the ground like fragile grasses. “Darn that hail. In the morning I’ll see if any of the glads can be saved as cut flowers. Might as well enjoy them if we can.”

He shook his head in admiration as he followed her up the walk and onto the porch. Why had he been worried about her? A lot of women would be upset to tears by the senseless destruction the hail had wrought. But Lyn had grown up here. She knew what to expect and how to handle it when tough things came along.

As he opened the door and motioned for her to precede him into the house, she cast a worried look outside.

“It’s so dry,” she said. “I was hoping this would be a good rain.”

“No such luck.” But he was as worried as she. “I’d better spend tomorrow plowing fireguards between the high grass and the east side of the house.” With things this hot and dry, fires could spring up from any number of things: stupid tourists flicking cigarettes out the window along the highway, a spark from a train or a piece of machinery or even a lightning strike. Some of the worst fires he’d ever fought growing up out here had been started by lightning.

The next day was as hot as the one before. The daytime temperatures hadn’t dropped below eight-five degrees for three weeks and the dry heat was getting to him.

Cal rode toward the house from the west pasture, bringing back four cows and calves he’d sorted out to sell. As he rode, he eyed the brittle grass and the dust that billowed from beneath the cattle’s hooves. The horizon rippled and blurred under the baking sun. He’d noticed the waterholes over west were lower than usual.

As he came around the southern end of the ridge, the house came into view. The thrill of being back hadn’t worn off yet, and he—

The sheriff’s car was bumping along the lane.

The sheriff’s car? Mild puzzlement replaced his pleasure. Now why would the sheriff be at his house?

The answer sprang into his head even as the question passed through and he hurried Tor, pushing the cattle past the house and into the big corral, and tied him within reach of the water trough with an apology for making him wait to get rid of the hot saddle.

He strode toward the house. The car was parked in the yard. Had they finally found Lyn’s ex-husband? He hoped so. And he sincerely hoped there’d come a day when he could have five minutes alone in a locked room with the bastard.

Five minutes was all it would take to pound him to a pulp and castrate him.

He took off his hat and slapped it against his leg to rid himself of some of the dust, absently noting the wear it was showing. Heck, he’d only had it for a few months. Time to buy a new one and keep this one for some of the nastiest work, like branding.

Opening the door, he stepped inside, enjoying the feel of the cooled air. Lyn wouldn’t let him turn the air-conditioning on often, but since mid-August, he’d noticed she hadn’t turned it off every time he left the house.

The lawman stood just inside the kitchen door with a second man in civilian clothes beside him. He turned when he heard the door open. “Hey, there, Cal.”

“Joe.” They’d gone to high school together, and he’d always liked the guy. “You got some good news for Lyn?”

A choking sound made him look across the kitchen. Lyn stood with her back to the sink. No, he corrected himself, Lyn was backed against the sink so tight she could have passed for one of the fixtures.

Her green eyes were wide and shocked-looking and her face was a pasty, ghastly white. He could practically smell fear in the cool kitchen air.

“What’s going on here?” His voice was less welcoming and he deliberately allowed a growl to work its way into the words. He didn’t know what the sheriff had said to frighten Lyn, but he already knew he didn’t like anybody coming into his house without warning and scaring her all to pieces.

Joe Parker cleared his throat, clearly choosing his words carefully. He gestured to the man with him. “This is Detective Biddle from the Pennington County Sheriff’s Department Office of Investigations.” Then he looked across the kitchen at Lyn. “Lyn Galloway is a suspect in the death of a man. I’ve come to take her to town to answer some questions.”

“You have the wrong woman,” Cal said flatly. “My housekeeper’s name is Lyn Hamill.”

“Her maiden name was Hamill. She was married to Wayne Galloway.” He turned to Lyn. “You didn’t tell him you had a husband?”

“I knew she had a husband. She’s been divorced for over a year.” Cal could feel fury bubbling its way to the surface, and he clamped down hard on it, knowing he had to stay focused. “She woke up in the hospital two months ago with no memory of anything in her recent past. She was beaten and there were finger marks around her neck. So you can tell her husband from me that if he’s the one who put them there, Cal McCall’s going to be looking for him.”

Joe held up a warning hand. “Don’t give me a reason to consider you a suspect, Cal.”

“A suspect in what?”

Joe lowered his hand slowly, rubbing the other over a jaw stubbled with golden beard, and Biddle spoke for the first time. His blue eyes were cool and assessing. “Wayne Galloway’s body was found in an apartment building in Rapid City last week. According to the landlord, this woman rented one of the apartments from him for the last year.” He turned to Lyn. “How long have you been living here?”

Lyn just stared at him.

“She’s been here for about two and a half months,” Cal said impatiently. “And before that, she was in a women’s shelter in Rapid after she was released from the hospital. I have the names of both places, along with her doctor and the director of the shelter.” He allowed himself the smallest smile of victory. “So she couldn’t have killed him. She hasn’t left the ranch without me or Silver since she got here, and then she hasn’t gone any farther than Kadoka.”

Biddle shook his head. “That isn’t going to matter,” he said coolly. “Whoever killed Galloway stuffed him into a closet in the basement of the building.” He paused. “The tenants have been complaining about an odor and somebody finally got annoyed enough to go hunting the source. Coroner says it looks like he’s been there awhile.”

“Jeez.” The stark recitation shook him, he wasn’t going to pretend it hadn’t, and he saw Lyn’s instinctive recoil from the ugly vision.

“So I have to talk to Mrs. Gal—”

“Don’t call me that.” It was little more than a hoarse whisper, but both men turned to stare at the fragile-looking woman. Lyn spoke slowly, quietly, to the detective. “I don’t think— I’m pretty sure, I mean, that I didn’t kill anyone, but I don’t know that for sure because I can’t remember—”

“Lyn.” It was a single syllable but it served to halt the words tumbling from her lips.

She stopped speaking and turned to look at Cal.

“Don’t say another word until I call a lawyer.” He turned to Joe. “Are you arresting her?”

Joe looked shocked by the suggestion. “Heck, no, Cal, of course not. But she’s got to answer—”

“Then I’m asking you to leave. Unless you want to arrest her.” He looked at Biddle. “If you want to make an appointment to talk to her, I’ll have my attorney call your office.”

The sheriff regarded him in baffled frustration. “You’re making this a bigger deal than it has to be, Cal.”

“I’m asking you to leave,” Cal repeated, ignoring the glowering detective. He held out a hand to Lyn. “I need your help in the barn.”

As if she were a flimsy iron filing and he the magnet, Lyn lurched across the room and took his outstretched hand in a grip so tight he could feel her fingernails digging into his flesh. He transferred her small palm to his other hand and put his arm around her, leaving the two men to find their own way out as he swept her out of the house and across the yard.

As they walked, he was conscious of the slender body beneath his arm, the way her rounded breasts heaved as she took deep gasps of air, the way the soft flesh of her hip brushed his with every step they took. He hated himself for his body’s preoccupation with hers, but he was powerless to do anything about it. He’d been fighting a losing battle with attraction—and arousal—for weeks.

He’d been unable to ignore her from the very beginning. Though she’d quietly insinuated herself into the daily routine, taking over the care of the house so quickly and so well that he was grateful every time he stepped through the door, he’d been fascinated by her heavy mane of red curls, her fair skin, the curves she acquired as her slender body regained some weight.

One day he’d walked into the kitchen while she was stretching on tiptoe for a vase to arrange some wildflowers she’d brought in. It was back on the shelf just far enough to be out of her reach.

“I’ll get it,” he’d said, and without thinking, he had walked across the kitchen and put a casual hand on her hip while he’d reached over her head for the vase. The moment he’d felt her slim, fragile body pressed against his, the mild arousal he’d been feeling from time to time had come back tenfold. He’d been so astonished at his body’s bold response that he’d thrust her away from him and gotten the heck out of the kitchen, too flustered to talk to her.

His mind had been astonished. He’d taken her in as a favor to his sister, and initially, he’d felt nothing but pity for the silent waif who scurried around him as if he might grab for her at any moment. After the first week, she’d relaxed and settled into her role as his housekeeper and he’d grown more and more aware of her feminine presence in his home. But he hadn’t expected to find himself fighting an inclination to tear off her jeans and lift her onto his hard, aching flesh and sate himself with her slender, elfin beauty.

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