Loe raamatut: «Cowboy Seeks Perfect Wife»

Chapter One

Sidonie Saddler slammed her foot on the brakes, and her brand-new red pickup truck shuddered to a stop. The small dog on the seat next to her slid onto the floor and looked accusingly at Sidonie.

“Sorry, pup. I wasn’t expecting a gate. Are you okay?”

The solemn-faced dog hopped back onto the seat, turned around three times and curled up into a ball. Sidonie gave the animal a quick pat and opened the truck door. She eyed the shiny aluminum gate illuminated by the headlights. “There shouldn’t be a gate,” she muttered, wincing as she straightened her left leg to get out of the truck.

The road only led to one place, her father’s ranch— her ranch for the twelve years since his death. Sidonie unfastened the gate and swung it open, then returned to the pickup and drove through. She hadn’t lived in the country for years, but she remembered to stop and close the gate behind her.

“We’re almost home,” she told her passenger. Excitement began to build inside her, muting the painful throb from her left knee. Against doctor’s orders, she’d taken the brace off for the drive from Dallas to Cache, Texas, and she’d been paying the price since Alvarado. Ignoring the pain, Sidonie wondered at her strong feeling of homecoming. She’d always thought of herself as a gypsy wanderer, a rolling stone, not á homebody.

Lately, though, even before the accident, she’d begun having these strange longings for home and hearth. At first she’d shrugged them off and gone on to the next rehearsal, the next opening with her usual enthusiasm for the new and different. New people and different places had always been the lure that kept her moving on, never settling down.

But a new kind of excitement gripped her now, and the feeling had grown with every mile. She was going home. Embarrassing to admit, but the sound of the pickup’s wheels on the paved road sounded suspiciously like Dorothy’s voice in The Wizard of Oz. She could swear the tires were humming, “There’s no place like home, no place like home.”

But Cache, Texas, hadn’t been her home for years. Not since she was five. She hadn’t visited the place more than two or three times since Buck died. She hadn’t gotten emotional on those trips, so why this time?

After a few moments she figured it out. Sanctuary. She was heading for sanctuary. The ranch was going to be her refuge while she healed and regained her strength. This feeling of homecoming wouldn’t last. As soon as her body was well and strong again the old restlessness would return and she’d be on her way again.

But when she caught her first glimpse of the frame house with its wraparound porches, Sidonie had to swallow a lump the size of a grapefruit. Blinking tears away, she patted the little dog on the head. “Home, sweet home,” she murmured, a little embarrassed by her weepy sentimentality.

She sat for a few moments drinking in the moonlit scene. The hackberry tree she’d first climbed when she was eight stood on the side of the house, one of its branches still drooping temptingly close to Sidonie’s bedroom window. Crepe myrtle trees her mother had planted flanked the short walk to the front porch, and pecan trees towered over the back of the house. “Everything is just the same.” Sidonie sighed, relieved. She hadn’t known until that moment how much she longed for something familiar, something unchanging.

“Enough being maudlin,” she said briskly, blinking the mist from her eyes. It wasn’t like her to get emotional over a place, even the place where she’d been born.

Sidonie opened the truck door and got out, waiting until the dog had jumped to the ground before starting up the walk. Wagging its tail, the little dog followed her to the front porch.

The porch light was on, thank goodness. When she’d called Judge Longstreet to have the water and electricity turned on, she’d only talked to his answering machine. The welcoming light proved he’d gotten the message. It had occurred to her, on the long drive from Dallas, that it might take more than a few hours to get the job done. The thought of arriving at a cold, dark house in the middle of the night had almost made her stop at the next motel and wait until morning to finish the drive. That would have been the sensible thing to do.

Sidonie reached down and scratched the scruffy little dog behind her ears. “But if I’d done the sensible thing, I wouldn’t have met you.”

Remembering how the dog had been cowering under a picnic bench at the rest area where she’d stopped to stretch her legs, she had to blink away more tears. Poor little thing, so lost and alone. She’d lured the abandoned and starving dog to her with cold French fries left over from a stop at a Dairy Queen.

“Come on, dog, let’s get in out of the cold.”

The porch light went off the instant Sidonie put her key in the lock. The small hairs on the back of her neck rose as the door swung open before she turned the key. Someone was in the house! Sidonie’s brain barely registered the dark, masculine shape in the shadowed doorway before she reacted instinctively.

She kneed the man in the groin.

Unfortunately she used her injured knee to do it. The man fell to the floor and folded into a fetal position. Sidonie fell on top of him, clutching her knee. He did not break her fall—the man was as hard as the hardwood floor.

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” moaned Sidonie.

“Ow! Ow! Ow!” groaned the man.

The dog seemed to think it was a game. She was dancing around, yapping at the two entangled humans.

The man shoved Sidonie aside and rolled onto his knees. After a few deep breaths, he got up. Bent over, he staggered to the wall switch and turned on the hall light.

“Why did you do that?” he snarled. “Who the hell are you?”

“Who the hell wants to know?” Sidonie snarled back as she struggled to a sitting position. That was as far as she could get by herself.

She eyed the man leaning against the wall, gasping for breath. He didn’t look like a burglar. More like a banker—if bankers ever had a sleepy, rumpled sort of look. He was wearing a white shirt, unbuttoned and untucked in, and dark blue trousers. A conservatively striped red-and-navy silk tie hung loosely around his neck.

The clincher was his feet. They were bare. No shoes, no socks. He couldn’t be a burglar. Everyone knew burglars wore black, from their ski masks to their rubber-soled shoes.

“Why did you knee me?” he asked again, through tightly clenched teeth.

“I didn’t expect anyone to be in my house. Why are you here?”

“I live here.”

“No, you don’t.” She held out her hand. “Help me up.”

“Yes, ma’am, at your service, ma’am,” he said, hobbling closer. His overly polite response did not sound completely sincere to Sidonie, but she took his hand, anyway.

The man yanked her upright before she was ready to stand. Her knee promptly buckled, and Sidonie fell into the man’s arms. Holding on for dear life, she couldn’t help but notice that he wasn’t a flabby kind of banker. Solid as a rock. Sidonie looked into the man’s dark brown eyes. An involuntary shiver ran down her spine. This man might not be a burglar, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous.

“What did you say your name was?”

“McMasters. Rafe McMasters,” he muttered, trying to unwind Sidonie’s arms from around his neck.

“Don’t let me go! I’ll fall.”

He let her go, and she promptly fell at his feet. Or would have if he hadn’t grabbed her around the waist at the last minute.

“What’s wrong with you, Miss…?”

“Sidonie…Saddler,” she gasped, gritting her teeth against the pain. “Nothing’s wrong with me. I have a little problem with my knee, but it’s only temporary.”

“I have a problem with your knee, too,” he said. “I sure as hell hope it’s only temporary. Wait a minute. Did you say Saddler? You’re Buck Saddler’s daughter?”

“Sidonie immediately felt safer, and not because McMasters still had his arms around her waist. If the man had known her father, he couldn’t be too dangerous.

Before she could do more than nod, McMasters swung her into his arms and carried her into the parlor. Setting her down on the couch, he asked, “What are you doing here?”

Sidonie stuck her nose in the air, partly to convey a haughty attitude and partly to cover her confusion. Dozens of men—most of them dance partners—had swung her into their arms. But none of them had affected her as this man had done. With only a touch, and an impersonal one at that, he had her heart pounding and her palms sweating. She eyed him suspiciously. He still looked like a banker. It couldn’t be him making her feel all hot and bothered. The strange weakness she’d felt in his arms must be a side effect of her medication. Except she hadn’t had a pill all day.

“Well? Are you going to answer me?”

Her chin came up another notch. “Here happens to be my home.”

“Not now it isn’t. And not for another three months. I lease this place.”

“Oh, no, you don’t. The land maybe, but not the house. I never lease the house. Judge Longstreet wouldn’t do that without telling—” Sidonie. stopped.

She hadn’t actually read the last lease the judge had sent her, but the cover letter had mentioned something about new terms. “Uh-oh. We may have a problem.” She reached down and rubbed her knee. “Would you mind getting my knee brace out of the pickup?”

He started for the door.

“My suitcase, too, please and thank you.”

He paused and looked over his shoulder, frowning. “You won’t be needing that. You’re not staying.” He turned away and walked out the door.

“My pain medicine is in the suitcase,” she called after him.

While she waited for his return, Sidonie shrugged out of her black leather trench coat. She was wearing a pale pink angora sweater with cherry red skorts and pink leg warmers. Sidonie loved pink and red, and she didn’t care a fig what the world thought about redheads who wore clashing colors.

And she didn’t care what McMasters said about a lease. She was staying in her house. If anyone was leaving, he was. She’d evict him. Judge Longstreet would tell her how to go about it. Satisfied that it was only a matter of time before she had her house to herself, Sidonie stood up. She was bent at the waist, touching her toes, when McMasters returned, carrying her brace in one hand and her battered suitcase in the other.

She straightened up and reached for the ceiling, stretching first her left, then her right side. When McMasters caught sight of her, he stopped in his tracks and gaped. Sidonie sighed. She often had that effect on men. She attributed it to her spectacular body and her flame red hair. Males, she had learned, were often impressed by such superficialities.

While he stood staring at her with his mouth open, she looked him over, but more discreetly. She, having a dancer’s appreciation for a beautiful body, could admire his tall, rangy frame without ogling. His face wasn’t bad, either—if a square jaw, bold cheekbones and a sensuous mouth appealed.

She took her suitcase from him, being careful to avoid touching him. She was almost sure it hadn’t been his touch that had caused her pulse to race, but she wasn’t taking any chances. Not while she was tired and coping with her bewildering feelings of homecoming.

McMasters closed his mouth, narrowed his eyes and gave her another look she recognized. Pure, unadulterated desire. Tiny chills skittered down her spine, and she could hear her pulse pounding in her ears. If he was exhibiting the signs of instant lust, maybe what she was feeling was the same thing. Several seconds ticked by as they looked at each other.

With an effort, Sidonie tore her gaze from his hypnotic stare and set the suitcase down and opened it. She couldn’t want a man she’d just met. She didn’t have time for lust, if that truly was what she was feeling. Rummaging through the case, she located her bottie of pain pills. She held it up with a triumphant grin. “Thanks, I needed this.”

“Do you want a glass of water?” he asked, frowning at her.

Maybe she’d misread him, too. At second glance, he looked more aggravated than attracted. “That would be nice.”

He left the room and returned in a few minutes with the water. As he handed it to her, he glanced at the open suitcase at her feet.

“Is this all you brought with you?”

“Yes.” That was all she owned, besides her temporary investment in the pickup. Sidonie prided herself on being able to carry all her worldly possessions in one suitcase.

“Good. You’re not planning on a long stay.”

“Just long enough for my knee to heal. A few weeks, a couple of months at most.”

“You won’t have any trouble finding a room to rent somewhere. For the rest of tonight, you can go to the motel over on Highway 283.” He came closer and handed her the molded plastic brace. “Close the gate on your way out.”

“I closed the gate on my way in. Why is there a gate? The road doesn’t go anywhere but here.”

“Now it goes to my place, too, and I put up the gate so the road wouldn’t become public property. I like my privacy. So feel free to leave, the sooner the better.”

Sidonie fitted the brace on her leg and fastened the Velcro straps. “I’m staying in my house. In my room,” she said firmly. “That’s not negotiable.”

He crossed his arms, calling Sidonie’s attention to his broad chest. “Everything’s negotiable, Miss Saddler,” he drawled. “But I can tell you right now, you’re not staying here.”

“Why not?”

McMasters clenched his square jaw. “I have a lease.”

“So you say,” Sidonie rejoined coolly. “May I see it?” She could tell that request knocked him off balance. Sidonie smiled seductively, intending to keep him that way.

He shook his head. “Not tonight. The lease is at the bank, in my safety-deposit box.”

“Tomorrow, then. But until you can prove you belong here, I’m staying.” She reached for her suitcase and started for her bedroom at the rear of the house. “You can stay, too, of course. I wouldn’t dream of making you go to a motel at this time of night.”

Making a choking sound, he moved in front of her, blocking her exit from the parlor. “I was here first,” he said, snapping his dark brows together in a menacing scowl.

It didn’t scare her. She was not in the mood to be intimidated by a…banker. “Not really. I was born here.” She squeezed by him.

He sucked in his breath as she brushed against him. Sidonie turned her head away, to hide her smug smile. There was more than one way to handle a man, especially the pompous kind, but this way worked so well.

He let her pass, then followed her so closely Sidonie could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck. She walked faster, not caring that speed accentuated her ungainliness.

“What kind of female are you, anyway? You ought to be afraid of staying the night alone with me.”

Sidonie laughed. She wasn’t falling for his dangerous man act. “I’m not scared.”

“Maybe you should be,” he growled. “I’ve been known to take advantage of sweet young things.”

“I’m not so sweet,” she countered.

“Not that young, either.”

She stopped in her tracks. “There’s no need to be insulting.” Twenty-eight wasn’t old, even for a dancer. She still had a few good years left, provided her knee cooperated.

“I don’t suppose you’re worried about your reputation, either.” He put his hands on her shoulders.

Sidonie jumped. She could handle him fine, as long as he didn’t touch her. She tried to shrug out from under his hands, but he only tightened his grip. “What does that mean?”

“A lady would worry about what people will say when they find out she spent the night with me.”

Sidonie tossed her head, sending her red hair flying. “Would she, really? Is spending the night with a banker considered unladylike in this part of the world?”

“I’m not a banker,” he said, taking his hands away. He sounded startled.

At the door to her old bedroom, Sidonie turned to face him. “No? A preacher, then?”

“Hell, no.”

She waited. Apparently he wasn’t going to elaborate. “I’m a dancer. And you might as well know—I don’t care what people, say about me.”

“I didn’t think so. But I do care what people say about me. You can’t stay here.”

Sidonie arched an eyebrow. “Why?”

He rolled his eyes back. “I have a lease.”

“And now you have a roommate to go with it.”

“I don’t want a roommate! The lease—which you signed—entitles me to exclusive possession of this house for three more months.”

“You don’t have to stay. I won’t sue you if you break the lease.”

A muscle worked in his jaw. “I’m staying. You’re leaving.”

“No, I’m not. Get used to it, McMasters. And don’t worry. Like I told you before, I don’t care what people will say.”

“No, you wouldn’t, would you? Your type isn’t bothered by gossip,” he said, sneering.

“My type? Golly, gee whiz. You must be one of those old fogies who think show business isn’t respectable. I’ve heard about your kind. Repressed, inhibited—”

He reached for her.

“Hey!” Sidonie slapped his hands away. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“First I’m going to shut you up. Then I’m throwing you out.”

“You can’t do that.” Sidonie backed into her room. “I need to stay here. I don’t have anyplace else to go.

“The motel,” he said, advancing toward her.

“I took a pain pill, remember?” She whimpered, shooting him her best pitiful look. “Once it kicks in, I won’t be able to drive.”

“Not a problem. I’ll drive you there.”

She glared at him. So much for appealing to his sensitive side. The man was a cold, unfeeling clod. And a sanctimonious snob, to boot. How could she ever have thought he was attractive? “I’m not going to a motel, especially not a tacky no-tell motel like the one on 283. This is my home, and I’m staying right here, lease or no lease.”

“Don’t try to con me, Miss Saddler. You may own this place, but it’s not your home. You haven’t lived here since you were five years old.”

“I beg your pardon. I’ll have you know I spent every summer here until Daddy—until I was sixteen. And I’ve been back to visit a few times since then, when I was between jobs.”

He was not impressed. She could tell by the way he continued to look at her as if she were the poster girl for tacky behavior.

Narrowing her eyes, she tried another angle. “Look, Mr. McMasters. I can’t go anyplace else. I don’t have any money. Medical bills, you know?” She pointed to her knee. “Plus, I used the last of my ready cash to buy a pickup.”

“I’ll advance you next month’s rent.”

Exasperated, Sidonie threw up her hands and turned her back to him. She wasn’t getting anywhere with the arrogant, stubborn son of—“Oh, look. Isn’t that cute?”

With a triumphant grin, Sidonie pointed to the dog curled up in a ball in the middle of her white fourposter bed. “We can’t go to a motel. They don’t allow pets. Where are the sheets? As soon as I make up the bed and take a quick shower, I’ll—”

“The dog can stay. You can pick her up tomorrow. What’s her name?”

“I don’t know. We just met. Go away, McMasters. I’m tired, and I want to go to bed.” Sidonie sat on the edge of the bed and unfastened the brace. Then she kicked off her shoes and began rolling the leg warmer down her right leg.

“You ought to give the dog a name if you plan on keeping her.” His gaze shifted from the dog to her. “What are you doing?”

“Getting ready for bed.” She took off the other leg warmer, revealing a tiny scar on her left knee. Grabbing the hem of her sweater, she pulled it up far enough to expose her midriff.

“You won’t take your clothes off in front of me.”

“Oh, yes, I will.” Sidonie grinned. Modesty was one virtue a dancer lost early. She’d undressed onstage, offstage and backstage, in crowded, communal dressing rooms for years. She gave him a pitying look. “Give it up, McMasters. Me and the no-name dog are staying.”

She pulled the sweater over her head. When she could see again, the door was closing. Slowly.

“Good night, Mr. McMasters,” she cooed sweetly.

The door opened a crack and she could see one eye flashing balefully. “All right! One night. You can stay here one night. But that’s it. Tomorrow you’re finding someplace else. Understand?”

“You don’t have to shout,” she yelled.

“I never shout,” he yelled back, slamming the door shut.

Rafe stared at the bedroom door he’d run for, the minute Sidonie started her striptease. Except she hadn’t been teasing. She’d been playing to win, and she had succeeded. She was sleeping in his house. Only for one night, sure, but that was bound to be one night too many. If anyone found out, and odds were that someone would, the good people of Proffit County would have a new episode to add to the saga of Rafe McMasters. They’d talk and talk about him and the redheaded temptress who now sat triumphantly behind the closed bedroom door.

They’d think he hadn’t changed at all.

Tugging his tie from around his neck, Rafe paused at the door to his room. He’d been getting ready for bed himself when he’d heard someone drive up. He glanced at his watch. That was only half an hour ago. He’d been tired, ready for sleep, until she’d shown up and attacked him.

Now he was wide-awake. With a disgusted groan he turned on his bare heel and walked through the house to the front room. Heading for the window, he pulled the curtains back and looked up the hill opposite the house. He could see the dark outline of his house silhouetted against the night sky.

A fierce sense of pride filled him. He’d done it! It had taken fifteen long years, countless hours of hard work and a little luck, but he was finally back where he belonged. The land had been the first step. No one in his family had ever owned his own land. Beginning with his great-grandfather, the first McMasters to settle in Proffit County, the men in his family had worked for other men all their lives. Rafe had vowed to change that, and he was well on his way to succeeding.

Over the years he’d bought the land, a few acres at a time. Now he owned a good part of the county— enough land to challenge Emmet Clancy for the title of biggest rancher in the area. But that was only the first step in executing his lifelong plan. Rafe glanced at his house on the hill again. In a few months he’d be living in the biggest and best house in the county. After that he needed only one thing to reach his goal. A wife.

For years Rafe had planned on becoming a rancher, a respected member of the community, marrying a woman who knew what it meant to be a rancher’s wife. He’d almost realized his goal years ago, when Cathy Sue Clancy had agreed to marry him, but then—

With a muttered oath Rafe stopped that line of thought. No guilt, no regrets. He’d find another woman, someone with the all the right qualities. Together they would raise a family and build a solid, respectable life together. His mouth curved in a sardonic smile. He could kiss that part of his plan goodbye, unless he could get Sidonie out of the house, and fast. No self-respecting woman—no lady—would keep company with a man living with a chorus girl.

He knew all about Sidonie. People still talked about her and her mother, the Las Vegas showgirl Buck had married thirty years ago. Almost as much as they talked about him.

Sidonie could call herself a dancer all she wanted to, but he knew darn well she only danced in the chorus. That made her a chorus girl. A tightening in his loins forced him to admit Sidonie was well endowed with all the talent needed for that job—long legs, sensuous curves and clear blue eyes filled with seductive promises. If he wasn’t looking to settle down, she’d be exactly the kind of woman he’d enjoy getting to know—in the Biblical sense. But he’d sown all his wild oats years ago. No more flings for him, no matter how tempting his unwelcome guest.

Even if his feet weren’t firmly set on the road to respectability, a man would think twice before getting involved with someone like Sidonie. Look what a dancing girl had done to Buck Saddler. Broken his heart, that’s what. After only a few years of being a rancher’s wife, Belle had left him for the bright lights of Broadway, taking Sidonie with her. After that, they hadn’t stayed put in any one place for long.

Buck had shown him postcards and playbills from every major and not so major American city, and more than a few European ones. Belle and Sidonie had traveled all over the world. Rafe suppressed the sudden twinge of envy caused by visions of London and Paris. Looking up the hill at his house, he concentrated hard on why he’d come back to Proffit County. He’d seen some of the world himself—mostly corporate boardrooms and luxury hotels, now that he thought about it. But there would be time to travel again, once he had his plan fully realized.

First he had to get rid of Sidonie.

His reputation would have sent any other female running for cover, but Sidonie obviously didn’t know anything about him. The one time his notoriety might have been of some use, he had to come up against a woman who’d never heard the stories about his wild and woolly youth She hadn’t run. She’d kneed him.

He should have grabbed her by the scruff of her shapely neck and thrown her out the door. He would have, too, if her surprise attack hadn’t taken him out of the match.

By the time he’d recovered, his brain had registered several important facts about her. One, Sidonie Saddler was the daughter of the best friend he’d ever had in Proffit County. Two, she was injured.

And three, she could give a ninety-year-old eunuch erotic dreams.