“Just because we leave the party doesn’t mean the night has to end.”

Rancher Xander Currin won’t commit to anyone after tragedy broke his heart. But when his feisty ranch hand Frankie Walsh puts herself at risk to secure her future, his protective instincts kick in. He offers her a ticket to the rich and connected at the Texas Cattleman’s Club gala. But soon combustible desires consume them both...and someone’s going to get burned.

JOANNE ROCK credits her decision to write romance after a book she picked up during a flight delay engrossed her so thoroughly that she didn’t mind at all when her flight was delayed two more times. Giving her readers the chance to escape into another world has motivated her to write over eighty books for a variety of Mills & Boon series.

Also by Joanne Rock

The McNeill Magnates miniseries

The Magnate’s Mail-Order Bride

The Magnate’s Marriage Merger

His Accidental Heir

Little Secrets: His Pregnant Secretary

Claiming His Secret Heir

For the Sake of His Heir

The Forbidden Brother

Wild Wyoming Nights

One Night Scandal

Texas Cattleman’s Club: Houston miniseries

Rancher in Her Bed

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Rancher in Her Bed

Joanne Rock

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09238-8

RANCHER IN HER BED

© 2019 Harlequin Books S.A.

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

About the Publisher

One

Frankie Walsh understood that her generation had killed romance.

Sure, some people said that dating apps were responsible. And it was true the swipe-left mentality definitely smothered every last hope of spontaneity and excitement. But whether the blame rested with millennials or apps or the parenting that had let a crop of kids grow up thinking they were the center of the universe, Frankie agreed with the consensus among her girlfriends that romance was a thing of the past.

Which begged the question, why was she lingering outside the main house at Currin Ranch, heart fluttering wildly while she hoped for a sighting of her boss, Xander Currin?

Because she was ten kinds of foolish, that’s why. She’d already accomplished her errand here—a two-second task of retrieving the keys to the barn where the haying equipment was stored. Xander had kindly left them outside the back entrance on a huge wooden patio table, right where the maintenance manager had told her they’d be. One of the other hands who’d helped with the haying equipment yesterday was out sick today, and he’d accidentally taken the other set.

Frankie had volunteered for the errand so fast the other ranch hands had all looked at her sideways. If she wasn’t careful, her ill-advised crush on Xander would become a running joke all over Currin Ranch. She valued this job too much to make her workplace uncomfortable that way, and she’d strived for too long to prove she could hold her own with the physical demands of the job.

With the fear of being laughed at spurring her boots, she jammed the keys into the back pocket of her jeans and turned away from the massive log mansion overlooking a creek bed. She kept to the stone path that wound past the pool house and through a low shrubbery hedge, returning to the edge of the lawn where she’d left the energetic young mare, Carmen, she’d ridden over. Her time spent with the animals was the best reward of the job and a necessary part of the requirements for veterinary school. If she could ever make enough money to pay for it.

Yet another reason why this job was so crucial for her. Her other gigs were of the volunteer variety—shadowing a local vet on his calls during her off days and helping out at a local animal shelter. Currin Ranch was the only job she had that came with a paycheck.

Stroking the mare’s flank, she was just about to mount up when she heard laughter and voices in the backyard. Male. And female.

A warning prickled along the back of her neck, urging her to go. Or maybe calling her to stay? Because she recognized the deep tone of the man, a warm and sexy chuckle pitched low in a way that made Frankie’s skin heat. The object of her silly crush.

But a fluffy feminine giggle smothered any wayward thoughts Frankie might have been entertaining about Xander. Frozen in place, she watched as the couple emerged from the shrubbery together. Xander escorted a strawberry blonde in a bright yellow sundress that accentuated considerable curves. The woman’s glossy waves bounced along with everything else as she tapped her way down the path in kitten heels. Reaching the driveway less than ten yards from where Frankie stood, the woman didn’t so much as glance her way as she lifted a hand to wave goodbye to Xander. She slid into an ice-blue convertible that looked like it cost more than veterinary school.

Had she been an overnight guest?

Jealousy flared. Feeling every inch the ranch hand she was, Frankie fought an urge to at least swipe a dusty streak off the front of her jeans. Instead, she hauled herself up on the mare’s back even as the horse startled sideways away from the convertible’s racing engine.

It was all Frankie could do not to glare at the woman for punching the accelerator while the vehicle was still in Park. Blondie squealed the tires on her way out.

Soothing the mare with a reassuring hold on the reins and a squeeze against her flanks, Frankie was about to turn tail and ride for the barn when she noticed Xander charging her way. Tall and muscular, he wore his jeans and fitted tee with the ease of any other ranch foreman, but as the heir to the Currin family fortune, there was something commanding about his presence. Right now, with his blue eyes fixed on the horse and his stubble-shadowed dark jaw flexing, he had an air of restrained danger. The allure of a man who could hold his own with a surly beast without breaking a sweat.

“Whoa. Easy, Carmen,” he called to the anxious palomino, his stance the same one the ranch trainer used when breaking a new mount, positioned just outside the reach of her dancing forefeet. “Easy.”

“She’s okay,” Frankie assured him, leaning back slightly in the saddle to cue the mare. “I’ve got her.”

Her heart sped faster, more from her boss’s sudden appearance at her side than the mild scare with Carmen. Frankie wouldn’t have taken her if she’d felt the least bit uneasy with the spirited youngster. Besides, keeping her seat on Carmen was a cakewalk compared to bronc riding, the rodeo event Frankie had recently taken up. She’d tried it on a dare from one of the other ranch hands and discovered she wasn’t too bad at it. And considering how badly she could use the extra money, she couldn’t deny the appeal of the cash prizes.

Xander peered up at her with narrowed eyes.

“I didn’t think the trainer had cleared this one for work.” Shifting closer, his gaze darted from the horse to her and back again. “Carmen hasn’t been with us long.”

Her boss reached to stroke the palomino’s muzzle, his dark hair a stark contrast to the horse’s golden coat and white mane. She was used to seeing him in his black Stetson around the ranch in his work as the foreman.

Much to his father’s frustration.

Everyone involved with Currin Ranch knew that Ryder Currin wanted his only son in the family’s oil business and not overseeing the ranching operation. But for the eleven months that Frankie had been on staff, Xander had been personally involved with everything from the herd to the haying, making sure the collective efforts ran smoothly. He was good at his job, but even she knew the foreman’s role wasn’t where the heir apparent belonged.

“I’m not using her for work today,” she explained, forcing herself to relax, if only for Carmen’s sake. She hadn’t meant to rile the boss. “I rode her over to pick up the barn key because she seemed restless. I thought she could use an outing.”

Why couldn’t Xander’s blue eyes be focused on her for positive reasons and not because he thought she’d screwed up? So many times, she’d hoped to snag his attention, and now, when she’d finally accomplished it, he seemed on edge. Irritated, even.

“Not cleared for work means no riding.” His jaw flexed as he moved closer, stroking down Carmen’s neck to her shoulder, quieting the animal. By now, his shoulder neared Frankie’s calf, his body in tantalizing proximity. “A good ranch horse doesn’t spook at engine noises. No sense putting her in a position to fail when she isn’t ready yet.”

Frankie bit down on the inside of her lip to keep from pointing out that an over-revved Italian luxury car wasn’t the kind of “engine noise” horses heard in the normal course of ranch work. Neither was screechy bubblegum pop dialed up to full blast on a convertible stereo as his guest peeled out of the driveway.

Then again, she didn’t think she could muster an impartial “yes sir” when he was dead wrong about Carmen. Carefully, she quit gnawing on the inside of her lip so she could speak.

“Then I guess I’d better get her back to the barn.” Frankie managed a tight smile. “I’ll let the trainer know Carmen needs to broaden her musical tolerance.”

Xander’s head snapped up to look at her, his dark brows angling down with his frown.

Had that slipped out?

Her fake smile froze in place.

In the silent moment that followed, she became aware of the soft buzz of electric hedge trimmers as a gardener worked nearby. The scent of cut grass hung in the Texas June air, growing more sweltering with each breath.

“What’s your name again?” he asked, a warning note in his voice.

Was he going to write her up? He couldn’t fire her for being a smart-ass, could he? She really needed this job and the hundred hours of animal care that would help her get an interview for vet school. She might have been on staff for almost a year, but she’d only just started working more directly with the horses.

For the first six months she’d done only the worst of the grunt work, no doubt why the boss hadn’t recalled her name.

“Frankie Walsh,” she said quickly, kicking herself for spouting off and tugging her hat just a little lower on her forehead. Wishing she could hide. “Thanks for the key.”

He gave her a nod but didn’t step back, a barrier of impressive muscle and denim. “The rules are in place for a reason. Not just to keep Carmen safe, but the ranch staff, as well.”

That caught her off guard.

“Meaning me?” She shook her head, her ponytail swiping across her back as she thought about all the times she’d landed on her butt in local rodeo competitions. Bronc riding wasn’t for the faint of heart. “No need to worry about my safety. I’m tougher than I look.”

Turning to go, she hoped Xander would forget about the embarrassing encounter.

Her ego was the only thing bruised, after all. His safety concerns were misplaced. Clearly, he favored a softer kind of woman than Frankie would ever be, which was just as well since she should be concentrating on earning enough money to live her dreams instead of mooning over her off-limits boss. There was an open rodeo at a local county fair next weekend, and she needed to be focused if she was going to enter the saddle bronc competition, a sport attracting more women in recent years. She could ride better than most of the other hands at Currin Ranch, and it wasn’t like the small rodeo would attract many female competitors.

She hoped.

She had an outside chance of walking away with the prize—enough money to buy herself a coveted ticket to the Texas Cattleman’s Club Flood Relief Gala. The swanky event would be a great place to see the other side of the ranching world and meet the wealthy ranch owners she hoped to one day serve with her veterinary practice.

Better to scuttle back to the barns and forget about Xander. Romance was dead anyhow, right?

Even so, she could almost feel the foreman’s gaze following her as she rode away. And she’d be lying if she said it didn’t give her a Texas-sized thrill.

* * *

A battle of the bands was in full progress when Xander parked his truck outside the fairgrounds for a Friday night rodeo. Because Currin Ranch was a major sponsor of the event, he’d been allowed to park right near the barbecue cook-off pavilion where he was meeting his father for their weekly dinner together.

Normally, dinner with Ryder Currin was a long, drawn-out affair since his father appreciated five-star dining, an attentive waitstaff and the best vintages a wine cellar had to offer. But since Xander would take barbecue from a Texas grill master over a four-course meal any day of the week, tonight’s supper promised to be a whole lot more fun.

Besides, a shorter dinner meant less time for his dad to quiz him about when he was going to return to the front office of the family’s oil business.

Dropping his Stetson on his head, he stepped out of the pickup and into the hubbub of a rodeo night. Boots crunching on dry gravel, he walked through the VIP gate as the growing crowd broke into enthusiastic applause for the country band sweating under the gazebo’s canopy of decorative lights. The sawdust-covered dance floor was almost full even though it was early. The rodeo wouldn’t start for another hour, and the carnival rides were in full swing despite the heat. The scent of slow-roasted brisket hung heavy in the air, grills smoking around the perimeter of the pavilion where chefs from all over the state prepped their best ribs and pulled pork.

“Xander,” a familiar deep voice called from inside the covered dining area. “Over here.”

Spotting his dad, he edged past a family maneuvering a stroller through the crowd, then joined Ryder at one of the few private tables in the reserved section up front.

His father never wore a suit but somehow, even in jeans and a button-down shirt, he still carried himself with considerable authority. With his boots and his dark brown Stetson, Ryder wore much the same outfit as the rest of the rodeo-goers, yet looked like a man in charge.

“Hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of ordering a little of everything.” Ryder leaned back in his chair as a curvy redhead in a fringed shirt and denim miniskirt delivered a tray full of barbecue steaming from at least ten different plates. Two beer bottles reigned over the center of the tray.

While the server set out a basket of biscuits, the beers and food, Xander steeled himself for the weekly interrogation about his life, his career plans and how soon he’d be ready to give up his “wild hair” of working the land. The dinners were Ryder’s thinly veiled way of delivering regular guilt trips about not fulfilling his family obligations.

Xander might still live in a private wing of his father’s home, but they rarely saw each other around the ranch. Ryder Currin kept his personal affairs closely guarded. Rumors had been flying around the Texas Cattleman’s Club recently that Ryder was seeing Angela Perry, the daughter of his bitter business rival, Sterling. But Xander wasn’t about to ask his dad about that.

“I happen to know she’s single,” Ryder observed as the server walked away from their table. He tipped his head in the departing woman’s direction. “In case you’re interested.”

Xander’s thoughts were so far from women it took him a moment to realize what his dad was talking about. Strangely, the only female who’d been circling his thoughts lately was a fierce brunette named Frankie, of all people.

The willowy ranch hand with the big green eyes and dust-smeared jeans wasn’t Xander’s type, but something about her prickly attitude and challenging stare had gotten under his skin.

“Definitely not interested,” he told his father honestly, taking his hat off and settling it on the empty chair beside him. “And I’m pretty sure I passed the stage where I needed your help closing the deal with a woman at least a decade ago.”

He plucked one of the longnecks from the center of the table and took a sip.

Ryder chuckled. “I suppose that’s fair. Are you still dating Kenzie then?” he pressed, lifting his own beer for a swig. “I thought I saw her car parked outside the house last week.”

A loudspeaker announcement called the contestants for the mutton-busting event into the arena, and a handful of families with kids hurried out of the dining pavilion. The band kept playing, their amps only muted periodically for the PA system. Behind them, the big Ferris wheel turned slowly, the neon lights flashing on the spokes even though it wasn’t dark out yet.

“No. She only dropped in that morning to ask me to judge the rodeo queen competition with her.” Xander had escorted her back to her car as fast as possible, knowing she’d only inquired about the rodeo queen pageant as an excuse to stop by. To see why he hadn’t called. “But I’m not ready for a relationship with her or anyone else. Not after—”

The stab of pain over losing his fiancée in a tragic horse fall had eased in the last two years, but he felt as certain as ever that he wouldn’t tread down that path to love and happily-ever-after again. That relationship had been complicated, with unhappy layers he hadn’t ever understood. And in the end, it had gutted him. So working the land had been the only thing that offered any healing, and Xander wasn’t willing to give that up anytime soon.

“I understand.” Leaning forward in his chair, Ryder turned serious. “Better than you think. When I lost Elinah—” His lips compressed into a flat line at the mention of his second wife, who’d died of cancer thirteen years ago. “I know it’s not easy to love again after losing someone.”

Xander had only been twelve at the time, and he hadn’t been living with his father then, spending most of his time with his mother, Penny, Ryder’s first wife. But even as a kid, Xander had seen how his father retreated into himself for years afterward. Elinah had been the love of his life.

Now he appreciated his father’s understanding.

“To be honest, I’ve got zero interest in the whole idea of love.” Drawing one of the plates of ribs closer, he took a big bite.

“No need to rule it out altogether,” his father cautioned, ignoring his vibrating phone next to him on the table. “Maybe you’ll meet someone at the Texas Cattleman’s Club Flood Relief Gala tomorrow night.” He gave Xander a level stare. “You are attending, I trust?”

Ryder had already insisted on it, since he was hosting the event himself. Xander had no desire to spend the evening at a black-tie shindig, but he planned to support his father in his ongoing war with Sterling Perry for control of the Houston branch of the Texas Cattleman’s Club.

While Sterling might be a wealthy businessman with a vast company that dealt in real estate, construction and property management, Xander didn’t trust the guy. Part of that was because Sterling hated and resented Xander’s father, of course. But Xander found it tough to respect a ranch owner who never spent any time on the land, and that was Sterling to a T. He might own the prosperous Perry Ranch, but that didn’t mean its success had anything to do with his ranching IQ.

“I’m going stag.” Xander had a spare ticket, but his awkward meeting with Kenzie had reinforced his decision to engage in only the most superficial kinds of affairs. She’d clearly been upset with him when she’d squealed her tires on her way out of the driveway.

If Frankie Walsh hadn’t been such an accomplished horsewoman, Kenzie’s childish act could have seriously endangered the ranch hand. Frankie had really handled herself well, especially on an excitable young mare.

“There will be plenty of single women there, anyway.” His father wiped his hands on a paper napkin as their server appeared to clear a few of the plates. He waited until she retreated to finish his thought. “Just keep an open mind where romance is concerned.”

Not going to happen, Dad. But as soon as he thought that, Frankie’s long legs and sexy smile smoked through his thoughts. He willed away her image and took another swig of his beer. The sound of cowbells and cheering erupted from the nearby arena, and he guessed the children’s rodeo event had started, a precursor to the adult competitions that would start soon.

“Most of the women I meet are more interested in the Currin name. Or the fortune. Or—” he’d been about to say my sexual prowess, but that hardly seemed like a topic to share “—who knows what. But regardless, I’ll be there tomorrow.”

Another announcement came over the loudspeaker for the barrel-racing contestants. Showtime must be soon. Xander gladly used it as an excuse to finish his meal.

“I’d better get into the arena.” He’d asked his father to meet him here for their weekly meal since several employees were competing in tonight’s events. “I want to wish the guys good luck before things get under way.”

And yes, a part of him wondered if he’d see Frankie. She might attend to support the other hands. Or hell, maybe she’d be competing in the barrel race or one of the other women’s events. He really didn’t know much about her, which was unlike him.

Truth was, he’d avoided her the few times their paths had come close to crossing around Currin Ranch. He’d felt the pull toward her before and had always tamped it down deep, unwilling to get drawn into that kind of affair with someone who worked for him. He only knew she had the least seniority around the ranch up until a few months ago, when they’d brought on a new kid, which meant Frankie often got stuck with some of the worst jobs.

“Sure.” Ryder lifted his beer. “If I don’t see you inside, I’ll definitely catch up with you at the gala, son.”

Nodding, Xander scooped up his hat and replaced it on his head before leaving the dining pavilion.

Outside the arena, he could see the flag bearer lining up on horseback with her attendants. A few rodeo clowns waited with them, part of the processional that would kick things off soon. Inside the open arena with its high metal roof and dirt floor, Xander could see a couple of kids in cowboy hats riding the sheep used for the mutton-busting competition. The crowd was cheering, cowbells rang and the event announcer narrated the action.

He’d been to plenty of rodeos, from the big Houston Livestock Show to the local Friday night events like this one, and he enjoyed the small-town, grassroots competitions far more. While he appreciated the national spotlight that the multibillion-dollar rodeo industry brought to ranching, he had more fun at the community affairs that celebrated the hardworking men and women who made their living off the land.

Ranching was tough, but there was something cathartic about putting in the hard manual labor day after day and seeing the results firsthand.

“Hey, boss!” someone shouted from behind the chutes.

Peering over that way, Xander spotted a throng of soon-to-be competitors congregating, black-and-white numbers pinned to their Western shirts. A bowlegged cowboy was flagging him down, waving the end of his lasso.

Xander recognized Reggie Malloy, a longtime member of the Currin Ranch team. He headed that way, sidestepping a few families retrieving their kids after the mutton-busting event.

“Good to see you, Reggie.” He clapped the senior-most herdsman on the shoulder. “Just came down to wish everyone well before the competitions start.”

They moved out of the way of the stock contractors bringing in the calves for the first round of roping events. Out in the arena, the procession to kick off the rodeo began. Purple spotlights circled the venue, casting streaks across Reggie’s face as they spoke.

“We’re all fired up down here,” Reggie told him with a wide grin, his cheeks red from the heat. He wore a championship buckle that broadcast his experience in roping. “My money’s on the new kid, Wyatt, to do the ranch proud tonight. I’ve been working with him off and on since Christmas, and he’s come a long way.”

“That’s good of you, Reg. The young guys all look up to you.” He lowered his voice as the crowd quieted for the national anthem.

Even the people backstage went still. Only the calves shuffled their feet while a local high school girl dressed in red, white and blue belted out the song. When she finished, the crowd cheered and the announcer started to rev things up.

Reggie tucked his rope under one arm and started to head back toward the other competitors in the first go-round. “Boss, you might want to stick around for the lady bronc riders later.”

“Lady bronc riders?” He’d been to plenty of rodeos before, and it wasn’t often that he’d seen women competing in rough stock events, especially at the smaller venues like this one.

“There are more and more of them,” Reggie assured him while the rodeo clowns performed a few tricks to warm up the crowd. “There are only a few signed up tonight, but our own Frankie Walsh is one of them. I’ve seen her ride and she’s not bad.”

Frankie?

A vision of the ranch hand on the back of a bucking bronc flashed through his mind. Followed by memories of Rena’s fall. He hadn’t been there the day his fiancée had been thrown, but that had never stopped his brain from imagining it thousands of times.

His gut balled up in a cold knot.

“Where is she?” Clammy sweat popped out along his brow. “Where’s Frankie?”

He needed to talk her out of it. No, he needed to lay down the law and tell her she couldn’t compete. What in the hell was she thinking to tempt fate like that? Bronc riding was a dangerous sport for anyone—man or woman.

“You okay?” Reggie’s blond brows knit. Frowning, the wrangler reached for a bottled water resting on an empty bleacher off to one side. “Have a drink. You don’t look so good.”

Swiping a hand along his forehead, he tried to shut off the images flashing through his mind.

“I’m fine. Just—” He was already scouring the arena for any sign of the saucy brunette with killer legs. “Where’s Frankie?”

Reggie pointed outside the arena. “Last I saw her, she was heading outside to give herself a pep talk. Looked to me like she was walking in the direction of the Ferris wheel.”

Xander’s boots were already in motion.

Two

Frankie paced quick circles around a broken passenger cart tucked behind the Ferris wheel, out of the way of the kids and couples in line for their turn on the carnival attraction.

Nerves always set in before an event like this. She’d only done half a dozen rodeos, but she recognized the mixture of butterflies and doubt that came before the exhilaration of her moment in the arena. This part—the waiting—was far more of a challenge than the eight seconds she needed to last on the back of a bucking horse.

Rock music blared from the ride’s sound system, competing with a local country band playing nearby, the pings and whistles of various skills competitions along the carnival main strip, and the shouts of carnies urging on the guests to play longer. Spend more. Every now and then, an announcement over the loudspeaker reminded the fair attendees who needed to report to the arena next for their event in the rodeo. Barrel racers, calf ropers and wranglers of all sorts took their turn.

Pacing faster as she let herself get keyed up, Frankie knew tonight would be tough. There were only a handful of lady competitors in the saddle bronc event. But she’d seen the list and recognized the names of two top-notch riders from an all-women’s tour that had made its way around Texas the year before. She’d seen those ladies live and guessed she didn’t have much of a shot against them tonight.

Then again...who knew?

The broncs could surprise anyone. And Frankie had never walked away from a challenge. Her mother had told her more than once it was her worst failing.

Not that she was going to think about her adoptive mom. Or dad. Or the home she’d run from the moment she’d turned eighteen. She’d save those worries for another night, when she wasn’t about to risk her neck.

“Frankie.”

A man’s voice cut clean through her tumultuous thoughts. Her head snapped up to see Xander Currin striding toward her.

Purposefully.

A thrill shot through her at the sight of him in his dark jeans and a fitted black button-down. His Stetson was the same one he usually wore, but his boots were an upgrade from the ones he wore for work. His blue eyes zeroed in on her face, stirring more butterflies.

“Yes?” Puzzled that he would seek her out, she listened hard to hear over her galloping heartbeat.

He didn’t look pleased. He couldn’t possibly still be mad about her taking Carmen out the other day, could he?

“I just saw Reggie.” Her boss stopped a few feet away from her, closer than he’d ever stood before. “He told me you’re entering the saddle bronc event.”

“That’s right.” Relief seeped through the awareness of him. He wasn’t here to give her a hard time about riding Carmen. “There’s a ladies’ competition tonight.”

“Do you have any idea how dangerous rough stock events can be?” His voice was all sharp edges and accusation, just like the last time they’d spoken.

Defensiveness flared. How was it she could irritate this man just by existing?

“I work with horses and cattle every day, the same as you do. I suppose I know a thing or two about them.” She folded her arms, refusing to let him intimidate her here, off the Currin Ranch.

She’d worked too hard in life to be steamrollered by people who thought they knew what was best for her.

“That doesn’t mean you’re ready to ride a surly, pissed-off beast trained to buck.” His jaw clenched. “Do you know how hard riders prepare for this event?”

A burst of applause broke out at a nearby midway game while she reeled from Xander’s sexist audacity.

“Did you give Reggie the same speech you’re giving me?” She felt a flash of impatience that bordered on anger. “Or Wyatt, the greenest of your employees entering a competition tonight?”

Xander’s lips flattened into a thin line. “No. But—”

“Then don’t you think you’re being a chauvinist to call me out for doing an event that I have spent time preparing for and that I’m actually good at?”

His expression shifted slightly, some of the tension around his eyes easing a fraction. He seemed to force in a deep breath before responding.

“You have a reputation as a very hard worker around the ranch, but if you’ve been training for this, it’s the first I’ve heard,” he acknowledged, dialing back the confrontational tone.

And taking a bit of the wind from her sails along with it.

“Well, I don’t have much spare time to train given my schedule.” Some days she ached so much from the physical grind of the labor she did, she could barely force her arms to shovel food in her mouth before showering and heading to bed. “I take as many hours as I can to make ends meet.”

She lifted her chin, daring him to find fault in that. There was no shame in hard work.

The country band playing nearby launched into a crowd-pleasing favorite, eliciting whistles and shouts from the dancers on the other side of the Ferris wheel. Neon lights blinked in varying shades as the spokes of the ride spun past them.

“I don’t want you in that arena tonight,” Xander informed her, his eyes utterly serious.

She reminded herself she worked for him. That she didn’t want to land on the wrong side of the powerful Currin family. But damn it, who did he think he was to call the shots for her tonight?

“That’s too bad,” she found herself saying anyhow, “because I’m not on the clock now, which means you can’t order me around.”

Xander glanced away from her and then back again. More gently, he asked, “Can you tell me why it’s so important to you to enter an event so fundamentally dangerous?”

Something in his voice compelled her. So she decided to be honest.

“I’m working hard all the time trying to earn enough money to put myself through veterinary school, and I don’t get many breaks.” She forced herself to unclasp her folded arms. To stand up straighter and own her thoughts and feelings. “And when I heard about the Texas Cattleman’s Club Flood Relief Gala, I thought that was the kind of break I’d love—something fun and different that would let me have a glimpse of the life I’m working toward. A chance to see the reward with my own eyes to keep me on the path. You know?”

Xander cocked his head like he didn’t quite understand.

“You want to go to the Flood Relief Gala,” he said slowly.

“I do. It’s healthy to give yourself some tangible rewards in the process of working toward a big goal,” she explained, sharing an insight gleaned from a college counselor who’d helped her figure out how to start on a path toward achieving her big dreams. “And the prize money tonight will give me enough to afford a ticket to the gala.”

The loudspeaker blared a call for the competitors in her event. Nerves fluttered in her stomach.

Because of the upcoming ride or the man?

“I’ve got to go.” She took a step forward, but he stepped in front of her.

“You can’t enter, Frankie. I mean it.”

How had she missed all the signs that her boss was this bullheaded? “You can’t fire me for being in the rodeo when you’ve got five other employees entering.”

Eyes on the arena, she didn’t want to lose her spot. She started forward again.

“Then I’ll make you a deal,” Xander offered, his voice deep. “If you don’t set foot in that arena tonight, I’ll take you to the gala as my guest.”

She stopped. Turned back to look at him. Gauged his expression.

“Since you can’t fire me, you’ll take me to the gala as your...guest?” She found that hard to believe. Xander Currin could have his pick of beautiful, accomplished women. “Why would you do that?”

Her heartbeat sped in a way that didn’t have a damned thing to do with nerves or the competition about to begin. Her racing pulse had everything to do with Xander’s blue eyes on her. And the potential of what he offered.

“You said you wanted a ticket. I’m offering you one.” He sidestepped her question neatly. “Be my date tomorrow night.”

“What’s in it for you?” She knew better than to think her boss wanted to date her.

“I’ve got two tickets.” He spoke clearly enough, but sure didn’t explain. “Would you like one or not?”

She couldn’t argue. Not when she knew her chance of nabbing that prize money was small with the level of competition here. Furthermore, how many times had she indulged fantasies about this man? An evening with him would be...exciting. To say the least.

“Very well.” She swallowed back the surge of feminine awareness. She couldn’t believe she was going to be her boss’s date at such a huge, important event. “I will go to the gala with you.”

“Good.” He didn’t look happy so much as relieved. “Now let’s get out of here. I’ll take you back to the ranch.”

Disappointment stung a bit, but she told herself to be happy for the unexpected opportunity she’d just won.

“You don’t want to see how the guys do tonight?” she asked, hating to leave and not support the rest of the ranch team. The guys at Currin Ranch were her only family now.

Living on-site at the ranch made the group close-knit.

“I’m not taking any chances you’ll change your mind.” Xander palmed her back, briefly, steering her toward the exit. “My truck is right through this gate.”

The one marked VIP. Of course.

His touch stirred her senses. She tried to hold on to her frustration with him, but it was tougher to do with the memory of that brief caress between her shoulder blades still warming her through her shirt.

“You don’t have to take me home. I can catch a ride with the guys.” She didn’t want them to worry about her. “Reggie will wonder what happened to me—”

“I’ll text him.” He withdrew a phone while they walked out of the fairgrounds into the parking area. He made a few taps on the screen and then shoved it back in his pocket. “There. Done.”

She wondered what it must be like to be a Currin and have the world ordered to your personal preference at all times. She’d fallen right in line, too, unable to argue with someone who could fulfill her wish for a ticket as easily as he had.

All her life she’d struggled. Hard work and grit were her keys to making things happen and getting ahead in life. She didn’t regret that, either.

Still, she wondered how the other half lived.

“I can’t believe you don’t already have a date for the gala.” An awful thought occurred to her. “You’re not canceling on the blonde just to keep me out of the rodeo, are you?”

Although, remembering the way the woman had peeled out of the driveway with no regard to poor Carmen, Frankie found it hard to empathize with her.

“Blonde?” He sounded genuinely perplexed as he gestured toward his big black pickup.

“The one who startled my horse,” she reminded him as he opened the passenger-side door for her. “Not that it’s any of my business.”

She waited to step inside the truck, more curious than she had a right to be about his answer. Surprised he didn’t know who she meant.

“Her name is Kenzie, and no, she was never my date for the gala.” He still held the door for her.

How very interesting. Did that mean he was currently unattached? Not that he ever seemed to date anyone for long. She’d seen a lot of women come and go in Xander’s life in the months that she’d had a crush on him.

“Don’t you think it will be awkward for you to take me? Since I’m—you know—a ranch hand?” A trace of misgiving crept through her.

“Not at all.” He offered her his hand to help her up, clearly impatient to be under way. “There’s enough drama brewing in the Texas Cattleman’s Club without anyone worrying about who I bring to the party.”

Ignoring his hand to pull herself up into the truck cab—mostly because she was extremely aware of the effect his touch had on her—Frankie mulled over his words. She hoped he was right. And yet another tiny piece of her wished that it wasn’t easy for him to brush aside their evening together so casually.

What would it be like to attend the party with him? she wondered. Would it be like a real date? Or would she simply be circulating through the party on her own once he got her through the door?

It was one thing to be brave about riding a bucking bronc. At least then, you knew what you were getting. Facing Xander’s peers at a fancy party had the potential to be more humiliating than landing on her butt in the dirt. What did she really know about him other than his reputation for never staying with any woman for long?

Stealing a sideways glance at him as he got behind the wheel of the truck, Frankie promised herself to keep a rein on her attraction to him tomorrow night. To simply enjoy the event she’d been wanting to attend so badly.

Because letting herself think for a moment that Xander Currin noticed her as anything more than a troublesome employee would only lead to heartache and disappointment. Now that she knew he was prone to chauvinism and arrogance, it ought to be easy to quit crushing on him.

Except the truck hadn’t even pulled out onto the main road before she was already imagining what it might feel like to be in his arms for a dance.

* * *

Crisis averted.

Xander tried to tell himself he’d done the right thing as he steered his pickup onto the highway back to Currin Ranch. He’d ensured Frankie wasn’t competing in a dangerous event, and now he was delivering her safely to her cabin on his family land.

But while the country love song crooning on the radio filled the truck cab, he couldn’t deny that in dodging one disaster, he may have set himself up for another. Because no matter that he’d told her it wasn’t a big deal to take her to the Texas Cattleman’s Club Flood Relief Gala tomorrow night, he knew plenty of people would talk. Not that he gave a rat’s ass about his own reputation, but he didn’t like the idea of anyone giving Frankie a hard time. Rumors spread fast in the tight-knit ranching community.

He wasn’t sure how to address that, so he tried to focus on the positive of what he’d accomplished. He kept his eyes on the road, knowing it was better to concentrate on that and the drive home than let himself think about the undeniably appealing cowgirl in the passenger seat.

“Do you mind if I change the station?” Her voice slid through his thoughts, her hand hovering over the radio dial.

His gaze flickered briefly from her fingers to her profile silhouetted by a streetlamp.

“Suit yourself.” Damn, but she was pretty. Even after he’d returned his attention to the view in front of the headlights, he could still see her dark braid resting on her shoulder and tied with a blue ribbon.

She wore a bright blue Stetson he’d never seen before, and a brown suede vest over her turquoise-and-yellow-plaid Western shirt. The feminine touches didn’t quite soften the proud tilt of her chin or the stubborn set to her jaw, but the contradictory side of her claimed his interest just the same. A ranch hand willing to risk her neck in the arena for the sake of a gala ticket.

“Thanks.” Spinning the radio dial, she found a more fast-paced, rock-inspired country song and turned up the volume.

To avoid conversation? Fine by him. He didn’t want to think too long about what he was getting into by accompanying her tomorrow night. And he sure as hell didn’t want to contemplate the attraction he felt for her. She worked for him and that made her off-limits. End of story.

But she broke the silence between them just a moment later, turning down the volume again as he pulled off the interstate onto the dark county route that would lead back home.

“You mentioned there was a lot of drama in the Texas Cattleman’s Club.” She shifted in her seat to turn slightly toward him, her elbow resting on the console between them.

Close to his.

“Did I?” He’d never had any use for gossip, so he hadn’t paid much attention to the rumors. But his father had been so involved with opening a branch of the TCC in Houston, it was impossible not to overhear things.

“You said no one would think twice about you bringing a ranch hand for a date tomorrow night because there was a lot of other drama brewing.” Her voice had a soft huskiness that made him think of morning-after pillow talk and shared confidences. “What’s that about? Anything I need to be aware of?”

He glanced her way again, her green eyes fixed on him with a warmth he couldn’t ignore.

Better to talk about the TCC than dwell on the spark of awareness growing between them. Besides, he had to admire her quick mind and her willingness to prepare for the social outing.

“I’m sure you’ve read about the badly decomposed body found at the construction site where the Houston branch is being renovated.” He straightened in his seat, putting some more distance between him and the intriguing woman beside him. “Having a murder victim linked to the TCC has everyone...anxious.”

His father hadn’t said much about it, but Xander guessed his dad must have some suspicions. Ryder Currin knew everyone involved in getting the Texas Cattleman’s Club Houston branch off the ground.

“I read all the articles about that,” Frankie mused, her finger tracing the leather stitching along the side of the console. “It seems like they’re not speculating much while they try to identify the body.”

“No one is speculating in an official capacity, but believe me, there’s plenty of talk. Some people think the victim could be Vincent Hamm, an assistant on the executive floor at Perry Holdings, who vanished into thin air right before the flood.”

“Has anyone tried to locate him?” She went still, a note of alarm in her voice.

“Apparently his family told police he’s always been a loner. He hated his job and often spoke of disappearing to a Caribbean island to be a surfer.” He hadn’t meant to worry her. “Maybe he finally did just that.”

She fell quiet again, peering out her window as he passed a slow-moving farm vehicle.

“I did something like that once,” she said after a long moment.

She surprised the hell out of him with the turn in conversation. He needed to stay on his toes around this woman.

“I can’t picture you leaving it all behind to take up surfing.” Although then again, she seemed to have a daring streak.

“Definitely not.” She laughed, the sound bringing a rush of pleasure that made him want to hear it again. “I meant that I took off from home a long time ago and never looked back.”

A chill went through him and he glanced over at her again. “I hope no one hurt you back home.”

“No. Nothing like that.” She brushed aside the worry quickly, and she sounded sincere. “My parents treated me well enough, but they weren’t my real parents, and I always felt like they’d hidden something from me about the day they found me.”

She went on to explain how her parents had found her as a toddler, abandoned on a highway outside Laredo. They’d raised her as their own but had always been cagey about the circumstances of her arrival into their lives and what steps they’d taken—if any—to find her real parents.

“They were kind to me, but something always felt off about it.” She lifted one shoulder in a shrug that looked more pained than casual. “Anyway, your mentioning Vincent Hamm’s possible decision to leave everything behind made me think of my hometown. I wonder what my friends and parents thought happened to me after I took off.”

“I don’t know, but I’m sorry you went through that.” He wondered what had made this driven, fierce woman decide to turn her back on the people who raised her. There was probably more to that story, and he was curious, but he refused to pry when he was only just starting to know her. “I wish you could meet my sister, Maya. My father adopted her when she was a baby, and as far as I know, he’s never told anyone how she came into his life.”

“Seriously? How old is she?” Frankie steadied herself as the truck bounced over a pothole near the turnoff for the main house.

“She’s eighteen and away at college. My dad was supposed to tell her the whole story once she reached adulthood, and Maya is more than a little upset he hasn’t done that yet.”

Xander clicked on his high beams as the truck reached the wooden archway bearing the Currin Ranch sign.

“I hate secrets.” The passion behind her words was obvious.

“That makes two of us.” He’d had his own issues with secrets and surprises, and he sure as hell didn’t plan to tread down that path again. He steered past the bunkhouse where a lot of the younger guys slept and headed toward the cabins. “But I’m guessing my dad has good reasons for keeping his. Maybe your parents are trying to protect you somehow.”

“Maybe.” She didn’t sound convinced. “Anyway, thanks for the ride home.”

She was tugging at her seat belt before he even had the truck parked. Because she wanted to escape his company? Or was she trying to ignore the same spark that kept drawing his gaze over her way?

“You don’t have to thank me. I know this wasn’t the ending you wanted for your evening.” He switched off the truck to walk her to her door.

“It’s fine,” she rushed to say, already opening the truck door. “I can see myself inside.”

He reached across the cab to put a hand on her forearm. “Frankie, wait.”

Touching her had been a mistake—he knew it as soon as soon as his fingers landed on her sleeve. They wanted to linger there, to glide up her arm and around her shoulder to draw her closer. But he could hardly yank his hand back like he’d gotten scalded without revealing just how damned much she affected him.

So he let his fingers rest lightly where they were.

“I was hard on you tonight. Let me at least walk you to your door so I can tell myself I made an attempt to be a gentleman.”

“You’re my boss, not a gentleman,” she argued, then frowned. “That came out wrong. What I mean is—”

“But as you pointed out earlier, we’re not on the clock tonight.” His fingers grazed her bare skin on the underside of her wrist, a surprisingly tender spot where he could feel her pulse thrum fast.

Her green eyes were wide in the glow of the dome light.

“Right.” Her voice was all rasp and no substance. She cleared her throat. “Okay.”

He slid his hand away and stepped out of the truck, walking around to her side.

He reached up to help her down, but she hopped out on her own. Wary of his touch? Or stubbornly proud?

Maybe a little of both. She was an intriguing woman.

“Thank you.” She chewed her lower lip and peered up at him in the moonlight. “What time will I see you tomorrow?”

His gaze zeroed in on her mouth, his own suddenly dry as dust.

“I’ll pick you up at seven.” He was already questioning the wisdom of this bargain he’d made with her.

If she was affecting him this much now, what would it be like tomorrow night when they had a whole evening together? Already, the memory of the feel of her made his hands itch to touch her again. He hadn’t thought this through well at all.

She nodded, her dark braid sliding down her shoulder. “And just so I’m clear, will we be off the clock tomorrow, too?”

Was she flirting with him? Or was he reading too much into it because he wanted her?

The tension of holding himself back was quickly knotting his shoulders, and they’d been together less than an hour.

“I’m going to let you make that call. You can tell me how much of the evening you want to be business and how much should be—” he couldn’t think of any way to say it that didn’t sound like a come-on “—pleasure.”

She must have heard it, too, because her lips parted in soft surprise.

“Good night, Frankie.” He was already imagining her in an evening gown and liking what he saw.

He played a dangerous game letting his thoughts wander there, but he’d be damned if he could stop himself.

And with a silent nod, she pivoted on her boot heel and disappeared inside her cabin.

Three

Frankie finished her work as fast as possible on the afternoon of the gala, knowing she’d need extra time to get ready. She’d worked on the irrigation system most of the day, and had the dirty boots, jeans and face to prove it.

No doubt her hair was a hot mess under her hat, too.

Anticipation fired her movements as she returned one of the ranch’s all-terrain vehicles to an overflow bay in the mansion’s garage. She left the keys in the ignition, noticing that Xander’s pickup was there, but his sports car wasn’t. She hadn’t seen him at all around the ranch during the day, but he’d told her he’d pick her up at the cabin at seven.

Which left her less than two hours to get ready.

At least she didn’t have to spend any time choosing a dress, since she had only one possibility in her closet. Her lone black cocktail dress seemed like a boring option for an event like the gala, but it would have to suffice. Striding across the big horseshoe driveway toward her cabin, she noticed a sleek white Mercedes coupe parked in front of the main entrance of the Currin home.

As she neared the vehicle, the tall oak door of the house opened and Annabel Currin, Xander’s half sister, stepped out onto the porch. She carried an armful of dresses—turquoise silk and emerald satin hems peeking from beneath the plastic bags with the name of a pricey local boutique.

“Those look like some gorgeous gowns,” she called to her. She didn’t know Xander’s sister well, but Annabel had always been nice to her.

Tall and willowy, Annabel had been doubly blessed in the beauty department thanks to her Kenyan mother, Elinah, and movie-star handsome father, Ryder Currin. Frankie had seen photos of the couple before Elinah’s passing, and Xander’s stepmother had been stunning. Annabel favored her mom, with high cheekbones and dark brown eyes.

“Don’t make me second-guess myself!” Annabel warned her with a laugh as she rushed down the steps toward her car. “I decided to keep the yellow one for the gala tonight, but it was a tough call because I love them all. I was just loading these up to donate tomorrow.”

Frankie knew that Annabel was a local fashion and style blogger and often received samples from designers.

“Do you mean to tell me these are the rejects?” Frankie slowed her step as she neared Annabel’s car. A fresh pang of worry about the dress code hit her. “Do you think a cocktail dress will be okay for tonight, or will I feel really underdressed if I don’t have a gown?”

“You need a gown?” Annabel’s eyes widened. “You’re going to the gala?”

Frankie nodded, her anxiety doubling. “A cocktail dress is the wrong choice, isn’t it?”

“You can wear one of these! No need to return it, even. I’ll bet you are exactly my size.” Annabel looked her over.

She felt self-conscious, knowing that she’d never worn an article of clothing as fine as the dresses in Annabel’s arms.

“That’s far too generous,” she demurred. “I couldn’t possibly—”

“Nonsense.” Annabel clamped a hand on her wrist and tugged her toward the steps. “Cowgirl makeovers are my specialty.”

Was she serious? Frankie had seen a few makeovers on the successful blog.

“Annabel, I’m a mess.” Trepidation growing, she followed her onto the porch and through the front door, into the Currin family’s home, which was more like a palatial Western retreat.

“That’s why you’ll make such a rewarding subject.” Annabel headed straight for the grand staircase. “It will be fun.”

“But you need to get ready, too.” Frankie paused. “I don’t want to be in your way.”

“You won’t be. I can get myself ready in ten minutes flat, if necessary.” She shot her a level look. “Trust me, I timed myself and made a video for my beauty blog about paring down a routine when you’re in a hurry.”

Frankie laughed. “That’s impressive. Okay, I’m game if you are. But I should take my boots off.”

A few minutes later, they were in Annabel’s huge suite. Frankie had stepped inside the Currin home before, but she’d never been past the foyer. Now she peered around Annabel’s massive room in dove gray and off-white, the muted color scheme relaxing and peaceful. She listened to Annabel hum softly to herself while she hung the spare dresses on a narrow wall full of antique hooks near an old-fashioned changing screen. Then she reached into a shelf just inside the walk-in closet and emerged with a pink silk drawstring bag.

“Come with me.” Annabel waved her toward an open door to the en suite bath. “There’s an extra robe on the back of the bathroom door.” She peeked behind the door to be certain. “And toiletries in here.” She set down the pink silk bag on the marble vanity top. “While you shower, I’ll think about what we can do with your hair. Sound good?”

Touched at the thought of Annabel opening her home to her, sharing an expensive gown with her and walking her through getting ready for such a special night, Frankie found herself at a loss for words. She feared if she tried saying thank you she would embarrass herself by bursting into grateful tears.

Nodding, she took refuge in the giant bathroom, surrounded by sleek white marble and pale gray tile accents. A bouquet of gardenias and white clematis spilled over a pewter vase, filling the air with fragrant notes. She washed up as fast as possible, making sure to remove all traces of Texas dust. When she was certain she was spotless, she toweled off with one of the fluffy bath sheets that Annabel had set out for her. Beside the towels, she saw the pink silk drawstring bag. Inside, she found pretty, barely-there underthings with tags still attached, along with a spare toothbrush and sample-sized toiletries. After brushing her teeth, she slid into the spare white robe.

When she opened the door to Annabel’s suite, the space had been transformed. The recessed lights were on a dimmer, so that the bed and living area were now darkened. The brightest area of the room was now the corner that had been behind the changing screen. The painted screen had been folded aside to reveal an old-fashioned dressing table. The whitewashed French country piece had yellow and blue stenciled flowers on the drawers, and a round mirror was illuminated by wall sconces on either side. A small leather stool sat in front of the vanity.

“Are you ready for your makeover?” Annabel waved her deeper into the suite and Frankie noticed her hostess had applied her own makeup in the interim. “I’ve got your seat ready for you.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing all this for me.” As she dropped down onto the leather stool, she tried to articulate the gratitude that had seized her before the shower. “You’re like a fairy godmother.”

“This is fun for me,” Annabel assured her. “I never really found my place on the ranch, but the style business suits me.”

She talked a little more about her work in fashion and beauty blogging, then chatted about her fiancé, Mason Harrison, an executive at Currin Oil. Frankie found herself relaxing while she let Annabel dry her hair and set it in hot rollers, something Frankie had seen but never used.

“So who are you going to the gala with tonight?” Annabel asked once she’d moved on to makeup.

She tipped Frankie’s face this way and that, studying it in the light before reaching for a palette of colors in shades of cream to dark brown.

“Xander, actually.” She explained about the rodeo and the deal they’d made. “So it’s not like a date or anything. Just his way of making sure I didn’t break my neck, I guess.”

Annabel stiffened, dropping the compact she’d been holding.

“Annabel?” Frankie leaned forward to pick up the pretty red case with all the powders. “Are you okay?”

Had she said something wrong?

“I’m fine.” The other woman seemed to force a smile. “Sorry about that, I just got distracted for a moment. You know, we should choose the gown before we do any more. So I can use the right colors for your face.”

Was it Frankie’s imagination, or had Annabel been in a hurry to change the subject? But since she didn’t want to make her hostess uncomfortable, she hopped out of the chair to try on dresses. While she was in the huge closet—really like a room of its own, with a chandelier and padded window seat—trying on the first one, she could hear Annabel talking in the other room. When she emerged in the turquoise silk, however, Annabel was alone, texting on her phone.

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