Mary might not be able to stay here, after all.

A winter alone with Jonah could prove too dangerous.

“I’m not going to pounce on you,” he said quietly, a flicker of humor in the words. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want to, but I won’t.”

She stared at him, mouth agape.

He laughed, another temptation in itself, his voice smooth and luxuriously deep. “Drink up, cowgirl, then go to bed. You’ve had a long day. By morning, you’ll have all your fences in place again.”

“This is so strange,” she said, talking more to herself than to him.

His eyes roamed over her face as if memorizing its planes and shapes. “Not so strange. You’re a very lovely woman. And I still have warm blood flowing through my veins….”

Dear Reader,

Well, it’s September, which always sounds like a fresh start to me, no matter how old I get. And evidently we have six women this month who agree. In Home Again by Joan Elliott Pickart, a woman who can’t have children has decided to work with them in a professional capacity—but when she is assigned an orphaned little boy, she fears she’s in over her head. Then she meets his gorgeous guardian—and she’s sure of it!

In the next installment of MOST LIKELY TO…, The Measure of a Man by Marie Ferrarella, a single mother attempting to help her beloved former professor joins forces with a former campus golden boy, now the college…custodian. What could have happened? Allison Leigh’s The Tycoon’s Marriage Bid pits a pregnant secretary against her ex-boss who, unbeknownst to him, has a real connection to her baby’s father. In The Other Side of Paradise by Laurie Paige, next up in her SEVEN DEVILS miniseries, a mysterious woman seeking refuge as a ranch hand learns that she may have more ties to the community than she could have ever suspected. When a beautiful nurse is assigned to care for a devastatingly handsome, if cantankerous, cowboy, the results are…well, you get the picture—but you can have it spelled out for you in Stella Bagwell’s next MEN OF THE WEST book, Taming a Dark Horse. And in Undercover Nanny by Wendy Warren, a domestically challenged female detective decides it’s necessary to penetrate the lair of single father and heir to a grocery fortune by pretending to be…his nanny. Hmm. It could work….

So enjoy, and snuggle up. Fall weather is just around the corner….

Happy reading!

Gail Chasan

Senior Editor

The Other Side of Paradise
Laurie Paige

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LAURIE PAIGE

has been a NASA engineer, a past president of the Romance Writers of America, a mother and a grandmother. She was twice a Romance Writers of America RITA® Award finalist for Best Traditional Romance and has won awards from Romantic Times for Best Silhouette Special Edition and Best Silhouette in addition to appearing on the USA TODAY bestseller list. Recently resettled in Northern California, Laurie is looking forward to whatever experiences her next novel will send her on.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter One

Mary McHale checked the directions on the sheet of paper, then studied the road again. There was no indication of a one-lane bridge on the quickly sketched map at the bottom of the brochure, nor of a creek.

Before retracing her tracks to the main county road, she perused the evergreen forest rising up the steep slope of the mountain, listened to the sound of the quietly burbling creek under the wooden bridge, then wondered if the water was pure enough to drink.

Not that she would risk taking a sip, but the woodland scene looked so peaceful and inviting it was difficult to imagine danger lurking there, whether germs or other kinds.

A place to lose yourself. Or maybe, she mused, a place to lose the world and find yourself.

The deep quiet called to her, but she had obligations and, as some poet had once said, miles to go before she slept.

With a sigh, she wheeled the old SUV and horse trailer in a tight arc and started back the way she’d come. At the main county road, she headed north once more and continued her search for the Towbridge ranch.

Three miles farther on, another gravel lane forked to the left. She spotted the sign informing her that the place she sought was seven miles west and made the correct turn.

Relief wafted through her. The shadows were long, she was tired and Attila needed food, water and exercise.

Nearly twenty minutes and seven miles later, she pulled up before the main building, a timber structure built rather like a large hunting lodge. A sign over the front porch declared the place to be the Towbridge Ranch, Est. 1899.

The gravel driveway continued on and circled a wooded area dotted with three or four picnic tables. Around the western perimeter of the driveway, she spotted camp sites through the firs and pine trees. RVs filled most of the parking spaces.

Well, it was the first Monday of September. Labor Day. Families were enjoying their last weekend in the mountains before winter set in, she supposed.

After parking before an old-fashioned horse rail, obviously new, she picked up a postcard from the passenger seat. It showed the seven peaks that formed a semicircle along the eastern border of Hells Canyon and gave the area its name. Seven Devils Mountains.

The peaks were west of the camp-ranch-resort where she was to be employed as a wrangler-hiking guide-whatever. The sun was setting behind the mountains in a near replica of the scene on the postcard she’d impulsively bought in LostValley, Idaho, the small town where she’d gassed up and which was an hour’s drive down the winding, dusty mountain roads she’d just traveled.

Observing the pink, gold and magenta streaks of the sunset and the mysterious shadows of the forest, she experienced the oddest sensation—that of a weight settling on her spirit. A forlorn sadness accompanied the heaviness, as if something vast and terrible impinged on her soul…a tragedy…

The emotion puzzled and irritated her. Seven Devils. The name was almost a premonition, a black cloud lurking on the horizon. Maybe she’d been here in a past life.

Yeah, right, and maybe she’d been Cleopatra in another.

A soft neigh from Attila, reminding her of his needs, pulled her out of the introspective mood. She had things to do and people to see.

After backing the horse out of the trailer, she snapped a lead rope on his halter and tied it at the end of the railing so he could munch the fall grass while she went inside to report to her new bosses, Keith Towbridge and Jonah Lanigan.

The lodge was empty. She surveyed the quaint main room, which had a high ceiling, a huge fireplace and rustic furniture made from alder and white cedar.

To her left was an office with a counter separating it from the great room. An archway to the right disclosed a small store stocked with canned goods and camping gear. A staircase gave access to rooms on the second floor while a hallway led to the nether regions on the main level of the sturdy building.

According to the brochure she’d picked up in town, the place was advertised as an adventure destination in the real West, which apparently meant hunting, fishing and paramilitary games for those “wanting to break out of the ordinary routine of life.” That idea would appeal to the deskbound executive, she supposed.

“Anybody here?” she called.

The place was so silent she could hear grass grow if she listened hard enough. The hair on her nape stood up.

“Hello!” she yelled more forcibly.

“Hello, yourself,” a masculine voice finally replied. “I’m in the kitchen.”

She walked down the hall and into a galley-type kitchen. Directly across from it was a room with three tables, each with four chairs. Windows displayed the view in three directions—all magnificent.

A man, as long-legged and lean as a coyote, glanced at her while he continued a chore at the sink. His features were hawkish, the angles of his face stern but attractive in a hard-jawed, clean-shaven way.

Like her, he was dressed in boots, jeans and a white T-shirt. He also wore a blue work shirt, open down the front, over the tee. Unlike her, he wore no hat. She liked to keep her hair tucked out of sight under a worn gray Stetson.

“You the new wrangler?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Who sent you here?”

She wondered if this was a trick question. “Trek Lanigan from the Trading Post north of Lost Valley. Are you his cousin?”

The Trading Post was a store that sold Native American crafts some of it old and valuable. That was where she’d seen the Help Wanted sign and asked about the job. The owner of the store bore a distinct resemblance to this man, except he wore his hair long. This one kept his cut short.

Glancing at the dining room, she realized she’d expected more of a working ranch and less of a resort type place. She didn’t like being around people all the time.

Most of the time, she amended.

The man nodded, affirming he was the cousin who’d hired her by phone interview. He finished washing a potato and dropped it in a pot of what looked like simmering soup stock. The pot was huge, the aroma coming from it mouthwatering.

“Can you cook?” he wanted to know.

“Yes. But Mr. Lanigan didn’t mention it as a requirement.”

“He’s Trek. I’m Jonah. Keith Towbridge is my partner. His wife is Janis. They have a son, K.J., short for Keith, Junior. Their house is on the back of the ranch, but they’re over here fairly often. You’ll met them later this week.”

Mary took in the information and stored it for future reference. It sounded as if she had definitely been hired. For now. At least he hadn’t taken one look and told her to get lost. The owners could probably use all the help they could get out here in the wilds.

“I, uh, have to take care of my horse. He needs water and bedding down.”

Jonah Lanigan shot her another assessing glance. His hair was almost black, his eyes a smoky blue-gray that effectively hid his thoughts. He was four or five inches taller that her own five feet ten inches.

In her work boots, she was as tall or taller than most men. Her height usually gave her an advantage, but not with this man. She stirred uneasily.

“The stable is in back.” He frowned and she noted the irritation he suppressed. “There’s a bunkhouse attached. I suppose we can make room in the lodge, though.”

“The bunkhouse is fine,” she quickly told him. “Uh, if I have a private bedroom?”

He shook his head. “There’s an empty room at the top of the stairs. Put your stuff up there for now. I’ll need your help at breakfast. Six o’clock sharp.”

“Right.” She retreated.

So far, so good. She’d made it past the first hurdle. The rancher down in the valley had taken one look at her and said the wrangler job she’d come there to fill wasn’t open. His son had looked her over with obvious interest.

She probably had an Equal Opportunity case against the older man, but she hadn’t liked his manner—nor his son’s—or the poor condition of the ranch and stock, so she’d left without arguing.

Attila whickered as soon as she appeared. She soothed him with a few quiet words, untied the rope, then led the horse around the lodge to the backyard where she spotted the stable. There was a fenced area next to it.

After freeing the nine-year-old stallion in the paddock, she filled a trough with fresh water, then checked the stable.

The eight stalls were empty. She prepared one for her horse, placing hay in the manger and spreading fresh straw over the dirt floor. Finished, she went outside and observed the dun-colored Thoroughbred as he walked around the fence and checked out his new quarters.

His silver coat with the brownish tinge—really a dark ash-blond—seemed a lighter shade against the weathered gray of the stable. His limp wasn’t pronounced, but she was aware of his fatigue in the way he moved.

A racehorse that hadn’t done well at the track, he’d been placed in a stock auction three years ago, but few had wanted the spirited stallion. He was useless as a work horse and parents hadn’t thought him safe for their children.

However, his bloodlines were excellent, and Mary had seen promise in the powerful haunches that had lifted him over a seven-foot fence when he’d attempted an escape. Using her life savings of fourteen thousand dollars, she’d outbid the other person who’d been interested in buying him.

Attila was the one thing she loved in all the world. They had bonded the first time she’d petted him at the track where she’d worked as a handler, getting the excited horses in the slots so the races could begin.

Noticing a cabin connected to the stable via an enclosed breezeway, she knocked on the door, then entered when no one answered. The place had a main room with a woodstove and two smaller rooms behind that. Bedrooms, she discovered upon further exploration. The building hadn’t been used in a while, she decided, swiping a finger through the dust on a sturdy pine table in the first room.

The ranch apparently didn’t hire many workers. That was fine by her. Here, she would have privacy.

Pleased, she hurried back to the lodge to move the SUV and trailer down, then decided first she’d better ask her boss about staying in the cabin.

From the kitchen, she heard a string of curses as she mounted the steps to the back entrance. Smoke billowed from the screen door. Her boss came outside just as she approached wearing oven mittens and carrying a baking sheet of black lumps. With a couple of added curses, he tossed lumps, pan and all over the railing and onto the dried lawn.

“That could start a grass fire,” she mentioned in carefully casual tones.

He grabbed a hose from a reel mounted on the house and drenched the biscuits or whatever the lumps had been in their former incarnation, then turned off the water with a furious twist. “There, satisfied?” He stomped inside.

She followed, wary of his temper but curious about him and the operations of the resort. “Do you need some help?”

Giving her a look that should have sizzled her to charcoal, he nodded. “Can you make biscuits?”

After the briefest hesitation, she said she could. Spotting a bag of cornmeal, she added, “How about some cornbread? People like that with soup.”

“Whatever.”

He clearly wasn’t in the mood to discuss it. She washed her hands and set to work. In a few minutes, she slid a skillet of cornbread into the oven. When he left to answer the phone in the office, she quickly tasted the soup.

It was pretty good, but a bit salty. She added some pasta curls to absorb the salt and a dash of pepper to give it a little more balance. She also added garlic powder and a few dried onion flakes, plus a scant tablespoon of sugar.

After retrieving the baking pan from the lawn, she scrubbed it at the stainless steel sink, dried it, then put it with some pie pans she found in a cabinet beside the stove. Spotting a timer, she set it so she’d remember to check the cornbread, then explored the kitchen more fully. If she was also going to be the cook and chief bottle washer—and it looked as if that was her fate—she’d better know her way around.

“Do you serve dinner every night?” she asked when Jonah returned.

“Only when we have guests in the lodge. Right now we have six men here on a business retreat. They’ve been doing war games all week, but this is their last day. They’ll be leaving in the morning. Then we’re free until the hunters start coming in next month.”

“You don’t employ a cook?”

“She quit.”

Mary heard the undercurrent of anger in his voice, saw it in the tightening of his jaw. He looked like a man who could bite off iron and spit out horseshoes, as the starter at the race track used to say.

Her new boss continued. “It was too isolated, too lonely out here to spend a winter, she said.”

“Did she mean something to you?”

He looked rather startled at the question. “Not personally, if that’s what you’re thinking. I don’t get involved with the hired help.”

“Good idea,” she said and meant it. She relaxed a bit. She made it a rule not to get involved with anyone, so they were on the same wavelength. “I looked at the bunkhouse. No one seems to be using it.”

“That’s right. Keith and I have managed to run things without much help in the past, but business has picked up this summer. Companies like to use our place for retreats because it’s cheap.”

She wasn’t interested in the business prospects at the moment. “I can stay out there. That’ll keep the room here in the lodge free for paying guests.”

He shook his head. “It hasn’t been modernized. There’s no running water, and the only heat is from the stove.”

“I don’t mind—”

“I do. It’ll be easier all around if you stay in the lodge. Winter can come early here in the mountains. There’s no sense in wasting firewood out there.”

“You seemed to think it was okay for a male.”

“I thought he could cut his own firewood.”

“I can do that.”

He stuck his hands on his hips and gave her an impatient glare. “You won’t have time. I need help with the paying customers. We make them happy campers, they come back next year or tell their friends about the place. That means money.”

She understood the imperatives of finance all too well. “Fine. Uh, where do you and the Towbridges stay?”

“I have a room on the other side of the office. Keith and Janis have the original ranch house over at the other camp, about a mile down the road from here.”

Again she stored the info. The lodge and ranch were bigger than she’d first thought. The main structure was new or had been extensively remodeled. The bunkhouse and stable weren’t, but both had been repaired recently. The place had an air of…not exactly prosperity, but of hard work and plans for the future.

Up until three months ago, she’d had big plans, too—the Olympics with her and Attila in the cross-country steeplechase. As she’d thought, he was a powerful jumper and had a competitive spirit. He’d just needed careful training and someone he could trust to bring out his talents.

But early in June, leading in an important trial, he’d pulled up lame. A sprained tendon, the vet had said. Rest and several months of mending had been the recommended cure.

She’d needed a job and he’d needed a place to heal. So here they were. Actually this looked like the ideal situation. She would take care of the horses, which were out on the trail, she assumed, and help cook when necessary.

The timer dinged.

After removing the golden-brown cornbread from the oven, she flipped it out onto a platter, turned the oven off, wiped out the skillet and set it on the back of the stove, then glanced around to see what else was to be done.

Jonah was leaning against the doorway, observing her every move. Her insides tightened at the scrutiny, but she didn’t let her tension show. Instead she gazed back at him, her expression devoid of any emotion while she wondered what it was about him that made her nervous.

It wasn’t simply that he was attractive. He was that and more, but she’d met other handsome, self-confident men in her work. Perhaps it was the alert intelligence in his eyes. His earlier irritation over the cooking disaster was gone, replaced by curiosity. She liked anger better. It was focused emotion that didn’t lead to questions. Curiosity, coupled with a keen mind, often did. She had a gut feeling that he thought a female wrangler might be more trouble than she was worth.

“What’s next?” she asked with false cheer.

“You’ll have six horses and two pack mules to see to when the men get here. Keith called. They’re on their way.”

“I’ll put fresh straw in the stalls. I noticed the round bales in the lean-to beside the stable. Is that what I should use?”

He nodded.

She left by the back door, glad to escape his perusal. He’d nearly made her stutter with that penetrating stare. From now on, she’d be on guard. She hated showing any signs of weakness to an enemy.

Enemy? Jonah Lanigan was simply a man harried by a shortage of help. He was her boss, nothing more or less. He couldn’t hurt her. No one could, unless she left herself open and vulnerable.

Glancing over her shoulder, she stopped abruptly. The far peaks were sharp and black against the twilight sky. They jutted up beyond the surrounding hills like jagged teeth, their silhouettes wicked and threatening. She felt danger all around—

The door banged behind her.

Jonah came out on the porch. “The men are here. Go take care of the animals and their gear. You also need to stop by the office and fill out some forms.”

She nodded and went to meet the bearded and unkempt adventurers at the stable. “Hi. I’m Mary, the wrangler,” she told them, friendly but casual. “I’ll handle the stock. Go on inside. The soup is ready.”

“Thank God,” one of the weary travelers murmured. “I haven’t been so tired since I was nine and our scout troop got lost and marched ten extra miles before finding the place we were to camp.”

“Good thing you had some experience in the woods,” one of the other men said. “We would still be wandering around in the hills otherwise.”

The first man looked pleased. “We did pretty good at getting back by ourselves, didn’t we?”

Mary witnessed new energy enter the little group of warriors as they recalled their accomplishments over the long weekend. They’d planned strategy and held mock battles with paint balls. They had worked on their team skills as well as their navigational ones.

“And found our inner man, uh, men, or something like that,” a third added, causing the others to chuckle.

“The boss will be proud when we report back.” The first man gave Mary a wink and handed over the reins to his mount, a gentle cowpony now gray in the muzzle.

After releasing the horses and pack mules into the paddock, she led each one in turn into the stable. She cleaned their hooves and groomed their coats, then fed and watered them.

She left one mule in the paddock while she reluctantly moved Attila under the lean-to and made him a bed in there, with a pole propped between two bales of straw to keep him enclosed. Tomorrow she could look around and maybe figure out another arrangement.

After caring for the last mule, she drove her vehicles to the rear, retrieved her bags from the SUV, then trudged up the barely discernible path to the lodge. From the dining room came sounds of merriment and lots of teasing about their exploits among the six men. She quietly walked along the corridor to the stairs.

From the office, she could hear the deep voice of her boss. “Yeah, she arrived,” he said.

She stopped upon realizing he was discussing her. “She seems to know her way around. Did you know she has a horse? She does,” he said when the other person obviously replied in the negative. “One thing, she can cook. She did something to fix the soup and also made cornbread when I burnt the biscuits. So maybe she won’t be a total loss.”

Mary’s chest lifted in indignation at the implied criticism. She quelled the emotion and the urge to storm in and inform her boss that she was a damn good worker. People new to an area were often viewed with suspicion, and she couldn’t afford the luxury of hurt feelings.

“Well,” he continued as if explaining his remark, “she’s as skinny as a birch twig. The first winter wind might blow her away. I don’t know if she has the strength to do the job.” He chuckled sardonically. “Yeah, I know, beggars can’t be choosers. Thanks a lot, cuz.”

Before Mary could move, he hung up and walked into the hallway, now alight with the soft glow of two wall sconces.

Their eyes met.

“Sorry. I didn’t know you were out here,” he said.

She shrugged. “Lots of men don’t think women can do the job. We have to prove ourselves each time. It comes with the territory.” She spoke carefully, determined not to let him rattle her.

“You’ll have to help me with the hunting parties this fall. We’ll be setting up blinds, maybe wading through snow up to our boot tops.” There was a warning in his tone.

“I’m not afraid of hard work.”

Only of people, but she didn’t say that. She wasn’t really afraid of anyone, but she’d learned to be wary.

“Good, ’cause we have plenty of it around here.” He started toward the kitchen area.

She went up two steps.

“Your cornbread was a hit with the men,” he added.

Glancing over her shoulder, she nodded.

“And the soup. What did you do to it?”

“Added some spices.”

His smile was sudden and unexpected. “You’ll have to show me what and how much. My attempts at cooking are unreliable, as you observed earlier.”

Mary experienced a flutter in the pit of her stomach at the rueful humor evident in his eyes. “Sure,” she said and moved up another step.

His next words stopped her cold. “You have a very precise way of speaking,” he murmured, looking at her in a quizzical manner as if trying to figure out what made her tick.

She hesitated, not sure how much she wanted to disclose but feeling compelled to tell him some of the truth. “I had speech therapy when I was a kid.”

His eyebrows rose slightly. “Yeah? Why was that?”

Every muscle in her body went rigid at the question. She realized she’d set herself up for an inquisition, but it still took a second for her to regain her poise. She gave him a level stare. “When I started kindergarten, I had a stutter. In first grade, I was placed in Special Ed for therapy.”

She had to pause in saying the last word to prevent the stutter from returning. She’d learned to slow down, to breathe calmly while she heard the word in her mind, then to say it.

A ripple of emotion went through his eyes. For a second she thought he could see right down into the chasm where her soul dwelt, but he didn’t mouth any platitudes and meaningless compassionate phrases. He simply nodded as if her words explained everything and went on his way.

Mary exhaled sharply, then continued up the stairs and into the room he’d said she was to have. She closed and locked the door behind her, then stood there panting as if she’d barely escaped from a trap.

“I’m not afraid of him,” she said aloud, her face in the dresser mirror set and angry. “I’m not a child. I don’t ever have to be afraid again.”

But the memories flooded into her mind—of times when she’d been terrified, of loneliness so intense she’d felt a part of her innermost self had been ripped away, of helplessness because she was a child and her world was filled with strangers who decided her life without consulting her.

The man who was assumed to be her father had abandoned her at a bar in Wyoming. She’d remembered her nickname and that she was three years old, but she didn’t know what had happened to her mother or where their home was. She’d thought she had lots of family at one time, but maybe that was the fantasy of a lonely child.

Two things she remembered very well—the shock of having her head shaved when she was put into the orphanage and the year it had taken for her hair to grow long enough so that her image in a mirror no longer frightened her. For the first four months of that year, she’d quit speaking entirely. She’d felt as if her real self had been stolen. She hadn’t known who she was, where she belonged.

Sometimes, she mused, she felt as if she still didn’t. Perhaps that was why she didn’t like to stay in one place too long. She was looking for the little girl who’d been lost all those years ago…

With a confused sigh, she settled on one of the twin beds in the neat room. Since arriving in Lost Valley that afternoon, she’d felt unsettled and anxious.

She didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if she’d ever been there or had known anyone who’d ever lived in the area.

However, something about the name—Seven Devils—haunted her. While waiting for Jonah’s cousin at the Trading Post to sketch the map on the brochure advertising the ranch, she’d read the legend of the seven monsters who’d crossed the river and eaten the children until Coyote had turned them into the seven peaks grouped around the eastern side of the Snake River. For some reason the story had both intrigued and bothered her.

A shiver ran along her spine as apprehension seized her. She felt danger all around, but she didn’t know if it came from within herself or the seven devils of the legend.

Or from the tall, handsome man whose keen gaze saw more than she wanted to reveal.

Chapter Two

Jonah spotted the forms on the pass-through counter to the office at once the next morning. Since it was barely daylight, he wondered when his new helper had filled them out. He swiftly read the information.

Mary McHale was twenty-six years old. Her birthday was in March. Her mailing address was in care of general delivery at a post office in Wyoming. She’d apparently grown up on a ranch and had worked with horses at rodeos for six years, moving from place to place, then had worked two years in California at a racetrack. Most of the current year had been spent qualifying her horse in steeplechase trials.

Man, she was dreaming big if she was thinking of making the international circuit, or maybe even the Olympic Games.

He finished reading the info. On the next-of-kin line she’d written “None.”

His glance flicked back to the address line. The name of the place was familiar, but from what? Ah, yes. He’d received mailings from there asking for donations for a children’s ranch run by some church group a couple of times this past year. An orphan. That’s why she had no kin.

An unusual emotion shot through him. It took a minute to recognize it as pity. The loneliness implied by having no relatives pinged through him. He thought of all the real and honorary aunts, uncles and cousins he had on the Indian side of his family, of the noisy Irish clan on the paternal side.

It must be tough to be cut off from your relatives, to have no one at all.

He broke off the pitying thought. Other than her working skills and references, her life wasn’t his business.

He’d checked out their animals last night and found them well tended. Okay, so she was experienced as a wrangler. He’d also noticed her horse in a makeshift stall and saw that it had one leg wrapped in elastic bandage. The big stallion had limped when it came over to sniff him.

That explained why she wasn’t competing now.

Glancing out the window at her rig, he wondered if she’d pinned all her hopes on the dun-colored jumper.

He could identify with that. He and Keith had sunk all they had into making this old ranch that had belonged to Keith’s grandfather into a profitable business once more.

They were actually managing to do that, but only by running an RV camp in the summer and a hunting lodge in the fall and early winter. They also held business retreats and paramilitary games to teach strategy, team-work and thinking outside the box. He had a reputation as an expert in that department, one that he’d cultivated for business purposes.

With an MBA from Wharton, he’d worked for ten years as an ad executive in New York. During that time, he’d also written a bestselling book on business techniques. When he’d reached the point that he couldn’t stand making up another slogan or jingle for a thirty-second sound bite, he’d returned to his roots for a vacation and ended up buying into the ranch with Keith and staying, much to his mother’s delight.

He punched the new wrangler’s info into the computer and added her to the payroll. He sent an e-mail to their insurance agent to include her on the business account for health as well as workmen’s comp.

Keith would question the latter decision, but Jonah figured she couldn’t afford it on her own. If she could handle the stock and help at the lodge, they would have to give her a raise, too. That was only fair.

Hearing noise outside, he filed the employment forms and headed for the back. He lifted his head and sniffed the air as he strode along the corridor. A delicious aroma came from the kitchen.

There he found coffee already brewed in the big urn. Fresh muffins were piled in a towel-lined basket. After filling a cup, he grabbed a muffin and bit into the heavenly taste of nuts and blueberries.

Ignoring the chill of early morning in the mountains, he went out on the porch with the food. He saw the trail horses and pack mules were in the correct pasture. The big dun was with them.

He went inside for another muffin and returned to the porch. The hired help was walking up the path.

“Good morning,” he said.

Her head jerked up in surprise. Or maybe alarm. It was difficult to tell. As she had yesterday, she wore glasses that went from a light tint to dark gray according to the degree of light. Her hair was tucked under her hat.

This morning she wore a long-sleeved plaid shirt over a blue T-shirt with jeans and boots. Her hands were in her pockets and leather gloves dangled from her waistband.

“Hello,” she said, giving out the word cautiously, as if she didn’t trust him with more from her.

“These muffins are great,” he said. “You must have been up at first light.”

She shrugged, checked that her boots were clean and came up the steps to the porch. “I was awake.”

He wondered if she’d slept. Not that it was any of his business. “By the way, the mules like to bunk together, so you can put your stallion in the stable.”

Pausing on the top step, she considered the words as if for a hidden mine, then nodded. “Thanks.” She went inside.

In the kitchen, he finished off the second muffin, then observed while she poured milk and a mug of coffee before turning to him. “Okay if I have eggs for breakfast?”

“Help yourself.”

She removed two eggs, then glanced his way. “You want half an omelet?”

“Sounds good.”

Looking as serious as a surgeon, she retrieved two more eggs along with butter and cheese. Spotting the leftover ham he’d been using for sandwiches, she cut some of that and soon had the omelet in the skillet.

“You’re efficient in the kitchen,” he commented, refilling his coffee mug.

Her hesitation was long enough to be noticed. “I went through a work-study program my last year of school and was trained as a short-order cook.”

“The orphanage made sure you had a skill before you were sent out on your own, huh?”

She visibly started. “How did you—” She stopped abruptly.

“I recognized the name of the town on the form,” he said, keeping his tone neutral. “The church sent me a couple of brochures about the work at the children’s ranch. I have no idea how they got my name.”

“They buy lists,” she said curtly. “Names and addresses. The students type them into a computer file for mailings.”

She frowned as if chagrined that she’d disclosed this much, then cut the omelet into two parts and gave him the largest piece along with two slices of buttered toast. When she set her plate at the end of the counter, it was clear she intended to eat standing up.

“Let’s go into the dining room while we have it to ourselves,” he suggested. “Our guests won’t get up for a couple of hours.”

He led the way across the hall and took a seat by the window. She put her plate down and returned to the kitchen for her milk and coffee. Jonah removed a fork from a container such as those used for straws at soda fountains.

“That’s a good idea,” she said, coming back to the table. She selected a fork for herself.

“I thought it was more convenient to have the utensils, on the tables along with salt and pepper shakers, napkins and sugar bowls. People can serve themselves.” He took a bite of the omelet. “Mmm, this is good.”

“Thanks.”

They ate in silence. The former housekeeper and cook, a middle-aged widow, had talked way too much. This woman spoke very little. That fact intrigued him.

“You don’t talk much,” he said.

“I don’t have much to say.”

Her smile held the right amount of casual humor to appear friendly, but it was deceiving, he decided. Nothing about her invited a deeper relationship to develop.

The sun came up over the ridge that shaded the lodge long after the sky had brightened to blue. It fell across the table with sudden warmth and illuminated her face.

Before the glasses could darken completely, he stared into her startled gaze. His breath caught in his throat. She had the bluest eyes with the longest, blackest eyelashes he’d ever seen.

The blue irises turned the grayish hue of wood smoke as the light-sensitive lens darkened. She pushed the frame firmly against her nose as if to make sure her eyes were hidden.

“You have lovely eyes,” he said. He couldn’t look away.

Her mouth tightened, but she merely shrugged as if she couldn’t care less.

He hesitated, knowing she didn’t like questions, but his curiosity was piqued. “Why the shades? They don’t appear to be prescription. Why do you wear them?”

“They keep the glare out of my eyes.”

The answer was too quick, too practiced not to have been used before. “Uh-huh,” he said. “And hide your thoughts?”

A true smile played around her mouth, fascinating him with the delicate line of her lips. He couldn’t decide if their color was natural or not.

“I have no thoughts,” she declared.

Not any that she cared to share, he deduced. He returned the slight smile and polished off the last bites of his breakfast.

She said nothing more as she finished her own meal. After taking her dishes to the kitchen and putting them in the dishwasher, she filled her mug with coffee and, to his surprise, returned to the table.

At least she didn’t make a show of waiting on him and trying to please him as the boy-crazy college student employed earlier in the summer had done. She’d brought him no end of annoyance as he employed one evasive tactic after another until her finally let her go.

He didn’t think he would have that problem with Mary. She bristled with invisible No Trespassing signs. A hum in his veins indicated he was maybe a tad disappointed at this assessment of the newly hired help, but he knew where the boundaries between boss and wrangler were drawn.

Rising, he bussed his place and refreshed his coffee, then resumed his seat. “There’s a family near here,” he said thoughtfully. “The next ranch over, in fact. Blue eyes and black hair run in their clan.”

Through the dark lenses, he could see her gaze fasten on his face, but not a whit of emotion came through.

She blew across the hot coffee, then took a sip. Setting the mug on the table, she gave him a wary glance, then looked past him to the outside. “It’s a combination common to northern Italy. Also to some Irish, I think.”

“Are you Irish?”

Her mouth tightened slightly, then relaxed. “I don’t know anything about my ancestry.”

“Your name sounds Irish.”

“It was given to me.” She shrugged. “They were at the M’s in the alphabet.”

“The orphanage,” he murmured in understanding. “How old were you when you went there?”

“Around five, they decided.”

He noted her choice of words. “Were your parents killed in an auto wreck or something?”

She was silent for a long moment. “I don’t know what happened to my mother. My father abandoned me when I was three or four.”

He tried to make the pieces fit together, but there was something he didn’t understand. “Did you live with relatives for a year or two?”

Her smile was quick and genuine. “I lived with an old woman. She sort of adopted me, she and a boy who lived down the street. He’s the one who found me sitting on the curb, crying. He took me to his neighbor because she always took in stray dogs and cats. I guess he thought I qualified as a stray, too.”

“Then what happened?” he asked, intrigued by her story, which sounded like something from a movie rather than real life. He wondered at the parts she was leaving out…and even if her tale was true.

“They made sure I had food and clothing and went to the county health clinic for my shots. After a year or so, a neighbor turned me in because I wasn’t going to school. The police handed me over to the juvenile authorities. A church group took an interest in my case and got me in an orphanage they sponsored.”

“The place was also a working ranch?”

“Yes.”

“Were you born in Wyoming?”

The delicate arch of her black eyebrows lifted. “Well, that’s what it says on my birth certificate.”

He nodded and suppressed the other questions that rose to his tongue. This woman didn’t like being interrogated.

Well, neither did he, come to think of it. He considered, paused, then said, “I had a cousin who stuttered after his mother died. Was that what happened to you after your father left you?”

For a second her face seemed set in stone, then she gave a shrug that expertly blended insouciance with defiance. “No, that was after they shaved my head at the orphanage.”

A mixture of feelings ran through Jonah. Shock was foremost, and he’d have sworn nothing could shock him. “Why?” he demanded. “Why did they shave your head?”

“It was standard procedure for lice.”

A beat of silence ensued.

“You’re a survivor,” he said and heard the rare note of admiration in his voice.

She laughed. “Aren’t we all?”

When she rose, he did, too. “Our guests are up,” he told her, hearing footsteps overhead.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Help me set up a buffet. I don’t serve hot breakfasts unless the temperature is freezing.”

“Let them eat cake,” she murmured, her expression behind the glasses impish.

The humor surprised him. He liked that as well as the courage and stoic resolve to survive indicated by her past, not to mention the sight of her incredibly long legs as she preceded him into the kitchen, the slender but definite curve of her hips and the way she carried herself—head up and shoulders level.

The hum of sexual interest increased to a roar. Huh. Maybe he’d better warn her to lock her door at night. Seeing the smiles the hungry men gave her as they piled into the dining room, he thought that was a good idea.

As soon as the buffet was set with plates, glasses, coffee mugs, a thermal container of coffee, plus various cereal boxes and the muffins, Mary scooted out the back door and down to the stables.

She checked the horses and mules in the paddock, saw Attila was happy with the group, then mucked out the stalls. Next, she stored the pitchfork and set about cleaning and oiling the tack, a job that obviously hadn’t been done in ages. At the children’s ranch where she’d grown up, they’d had to take good care of the stock and their gear since getting more had depended on the donations they received.

After conscientiously doing the ranch chores first, she did the same to her gear and stored it in the SUV.

Finally she tackled the horse trailer, cleaning it and laying the rubber mat out to dry in the shade of a very old oak whose leaves were starting to turn yellow.

A sign of winter, she thought, pausing to recover her strength after wrestling with the trailer mat made to withstand hundreds of pounds of pressure from shod hooves.

The westward peaks drew her attention. She stared at them while the oddest feelings raced around inside her.

Seven Devils.

Even the name set up a hot swirl of panic or something equally strange in the center of her being. She pressed a hand to her chest to still the tumult, but it seethed and roiled like the boiling mud pots she’d seen at Yellowstone once on her way north to the next rodeo.

The mountains and her new boss. They both bothered her in ways she couldn’t describe.

Glad that the first job she’d been hurrying to fill hadn’t worked out, she wondered if this one would and if she could stay long enough for Attila to heal. She would need to start his training all over again and bring him up to speed.

Being here at the ranch where she received room and board, she could save nearly every penny of her salary, which was a dollar above minimum wage. Next summer she would head south and join the steeple circuit again. If Attila was well enough. If she could accumulate enough to pay for food, gas and fees. As usual, she’d sleep in the truck.

She handled her finances through an online bank. One thousand dollars stood between her and destitution at the present. Ah, well, she’d faced leaner times. After paying for the dun, she’d been down to counting pennies and collecting soda cans for recycling to stave off poverty, while she continued to work the race circuit in California for the rest of the season.

Shaking her head impatiently, she shoved the thoughts to the back of her mind and hurried to the lodge to see what she was supposed to do next. She hoped it was mending fences or something equally solitary.

“Can you change beds?” was the question that greeted her as soon as she walked in the door.

“Uh, as in change rooms?” she asked.

Jonah shook his head. “Change the sheets and make up the beds in the guest rooms. They’ll also need dusting and checking for any lost items. Empty the waste-baskets, too.”

“Sure.”

Upstairs, she stripped the six beds, gathered the used towels and started the washing machine she’d discovered in a laundry/storage room yesterday while searching for the bathroom. Next to the laundry was a room with a large, tiled shower. A powder room with a toilet and sink was on the other side of that. Each bedroom also had its own sink, which was convenient for the occupants.

Linens and towels were stored in a cabinet in the laundry room, which also held a vacuum cleaner and cleaning supplies. While the sheets were washing, she made up the beds with fresh ones, then cleaned and checked each room as instructed. By the time the second load of sheets was spinning out, she had the rooms finished.

She cleaned the shower and powder room, then vacuumed the hall runner. Finally she folded and stored the clean linens, then put fresh towels in all the rooms.

Noting the empty vases on the reading tables, she dashed outside and picked long stalks of dried grass beside the stable, plus a few graceful branches from a hemlock and a juniper. These she made into interesting arrangements in the vases in each guest room, then used the leftover pieces in her room.

“Very nice,” a deep voice said from the doorway.

Startled, she jerked around. Her boss stood there, his expression thoughtful. She tried not to sound defensive as she explained, “I placed some grass and evergreens in all the guest rooms.”

“Yeah, I saw them. Good idea.”

She relaxed, unable to figure out what it was about him that made her nervous. Other than his ability to move around the place without a sound. And to probe her mind with a glance and a few observant questions.

“What’s next?” she asked.

“Roundup. Keith and Janis are driving part of the herd this way. We’ll meet them and bring the cattle here. The seed cows stay for the winter. The rest go to the stock sales or are delivered to those we have contracts with.”

She detected a note of displeasure in his manner, but hadn’t a clue to what bothered him. “Uh, who takes care of the campers? And the store?”

He shrugged. “We use the honor system. It seems to work okay most of the time.”

“I can probably handle the herd—”

“You don’t know where it is.”

“I’m good at directions.”

He studied her long enough to start the qualms to churning. He didn’t have a lot of faith in her abilities. She met his gaze dead-on, determined to show him she could hold her own against any male wrangler.

“Do you always argue with the boss?” he demanded.

She’d asked for that one. “Not always.” She kept her tone neutral.

“Just most of the time,” he muttered, then he smiled. “The rooms look nice. It’s time for lunch. We’ll eat, then hit the trail.”

“I’ll need a mount.”

“You’ll need two for the country we’ll be traveling. The horses should be rested enough to leave around one o’clock.”

She nodded as a trill of excitement pinged around inside her like an echo in a box canyon. Actually she’d only herded animals a few times in her youth and at the rodeos where she’d usually helped with the bucking broncos.

No need to tell him that. Cattle were just critters. She could handle critters.

Jonah closed the safe and spun the cylinders. He’d bought the relic at his cousin’s shop last year. Wells Fargo was still visible in faded gold letters on the front. It suited the resort’s needs perfectly.

He liked things that fit in, that made sense in the grand scheme of life as he saw it. He was pretty sure the new wrangler didn’t fit any mold.

As a former orphan, she might not appreciate the intimacy of long winter days snowed in, just the two of them at the lodge when hunting season ended. You could get to know a person extremely well in those circumstances.

However, Keith and his family did come over if the weather got too bad to stay at their place. That added some diversity to the winter nights. After the new year began, the snowmobile and winter hiking crowd would show up.

She might not like that, either, he admitted. He’d already deduced that she preferred being around animals more than people. Interesting. In his experience, women loved any excuse to go to town and gossip with friends.

He wondered if she was running from something…or someone. Zack Dalton was the assistant sheriff. He could ask the lawman to check out her credentials.

A smile tweaked the seriousness of his thoughts. One thing—the lady could cook. On a lot of ranches that would be enough to keep her at all costs.

He headed outside and spotted her at the fence. She had two cowponies saddled and two on leads. The rain gear and food packets he’d prepared after lunch were already tied behind the saddles or on the spare mounts.

“You’re efficient,” he commented.

“One learns to be.”

“In the orphanage?”

“At the rodeo. You have to move things along for the shows. Broncos and bulls aren’t always cooperative.”

Her smile was brief, but intriguing as it hinted at memories of her past. He refrained from questions.

“Your horses are very well trained,” she finished.

“Most of them are retired cutting horses. Our neighbors, the Daltons raise and train some of the best. Keith and I buy the ones that are getting a bit long in the tooth.”

“An old-age home for horses,” she murmured. “I like that.” She patted her mount’s neck.

He noted she had her gloves on, but no chaps. “You’ll need chaps to get through some of the brush. There’re extra pairs in the tack room.”

She nodded and hurried to the stable. The tack room took up a space the size of a stall at one end. She returned in less than two minutes, the leather chaps outlining her body.

Watch it, he warned his libido as she swung up into the saddle, her lithe, slender body moving with sensuous ease. She was the hired hand and way, way off-limits to anything that might come to mind.

He glanced at the lofty mountain peaks surrounding the ranch. At present, there were only a couple of lingering ridges of last year’s snow on the highest peak. The first snow of the current season hadn’t fallen yet, but when it did, they could be snowed in for days at the lodge.

The question on his mind wasn’t whether she could take it, but whether he could.

Startled, he glanced around as he headed across the pasture to a trail bordering a steep hill. She was gazing back at the main house as if memorizing the place.

Her T-shirt fit snugly across her chest, revealing the outlines of her bra and her small, pert breasts.

His blood surged with heat. This, he admitted wryly, wasn’t the first time he’d been around a female wrangler, but it was the first time he’d reacted to one with intense male-to-female interest.

At thirty-four, he was sure of his control. After all, he’d been around beautiful women in abundance in New York, from top models in their fields to self-assured actresses and businesswomen to fresh-faced new talent just off the farm. He’d dealt with all of them as fairly and impartially as possible, looking only at their suitability for the job at hand. Or for a pleasant evening or weekend, no strings attached. He’d made sure his companions agreed with that philosophy. Marriage wasn’t part of the package.

Following the new wrangler’s gaze as she faced west and studied the famous mountains, he wondered if another snowbound winter on the ranch would change his mind. He smiled sardonically at the thought.

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