At The Rancher's Bidding. Charlotte Maclay

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СКАЧАТЬ turned, a bemused expression on her face. “I was rarely allowed in the stables at the palace. This smells so…alive.”

      “Yeah.” So was she. Caught in a column of sunlight beaming in through the hayloft window, she looked radiant. Glowing with vitality and filled with sensual promise. It was enough to make a man rethink his long stint of celibacy. Which, in this case, was not a good idea. An honorable man did not mess with a woman who was so obviously innocent. At least in this part of Texas, that wasn’t done.

      A mewling sound came from the back of a nearby stall.

      Leila peered in that direction. “Oh, look, a kitten.” She slipped into the stall, picking up a young brown-and-black ball of fluff with white paws that looked to be only a few weeks old. “She is so tiny. Where is her mother?”

      Cord shrugged with indifference. “Hard to tell. We usually have a couple of barn cats around to take care of the rodents.”

      “But she should not leave her baby all alone.” She rubbed her cheek across the kitten’s head. “This little one is lonely and frightened. Hungry, too, I think. Perhaps the mother is injured.”

      Her concern for a feral cat raised to fend for itself amused Cord. “I’m sure her mom will come back. Why don’t you leave the kitten there, and we’ll check later.”

      With obvious reluctance, Leila made a nest of hay in the corner of the stall, murmured reassuring words to the kitten, then tucked her into the nest as though she were putting a baby to bed for the night.

      “I will come back later to be sure you are all right, little one. I promise.”

      He gestured for her to leave the kitten. There were more outbuildings to be seen.

      One of his hired hands, Joe Piedmont, picked that moment to come strolling into the barn, his long legs so bowed he could probably walk right over a five-hundred-gallon propane tank without touching the sides.

      “Hey, boss,” he drawled.

      Cord dragged his attention away from Leila. “Joe, this is Leila. She’s going to be our housekeeper for a while.”

      The cowboy’s jaw dropped, then he scrambled to yank his battered hat from his head. “Howdy, miss. Glad to meetcha.”

      She honored him with a dazzling smile. “It is my pleasure, Mr. Joe.”

      The cowboy’s face flamed a bright red, and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his scrawny neck.

      Cord grimaced. “There somethin’ you want from me, Joe?”

      “Huh? Oh, yeah.” Meeting Leila had obviously caused him to lose his train of thought. In a few more minutes, he’d probably forget his own name. “We was wondering when you wanted us to start weaning the calves.”

      “Tomorrow would be as good a time as any, assuming the weather holds.”

      “Gotcha, boss.” Struggling to get his hat on straight, he backed toward the wide-open barn door. “Sure was nice to meetcha, miss. The fellas will be real happy to have you around.”

      “Thank you, Mr. Joe,” she said sweetly.

      “Joe’ll do, miss.”

      She nodded just as Joe backed into the side of the door, practically knocking himself out. He spun around and hurried outside, moving faster than Cord had seen him go since one of the breeding bulls got stung on the rump by a bee.

      Cord stifled a laugh. Getting any work done around the ranch was going to be tough until his hands got used to Leila being there. Which might take quite awhile.

      His assessment of the situation was confirmed when Red Galliger happened to amble by while Cord was showing the calving barn to Leila. Ty Thomas and Pablo Ramirez came around to get an eyeful as they passed by the bunkhouse. At the chicken coop, Lester Smith joined the crowd. By the end of the week, Cord figured he’d have cowpokes from every ranch within a fifty-mile radius hanging around.

      He wasn’t quite sure why that bothered him so much.

      Even the old rooster who guarded the henhouse let out an ear-piercing crow of welcome and flapped his wings to show off.

      Leila’s eyes sparkled with all the attention. “So you raise chickens as well as cows?”

      “All the eggs and drumsticks you could ask for,” Cord said. “Speaking of which, maybe we ought to let you get started on supper and let my men get back to work.” He gave his cowhands a pointed look, which eventually got them moving back to whatever chores Leila’s arrival had interrupted.

      “As you wish.” Leila tossed her head in much the same way the lead mare of a wild herd would, letting the world know that no stallion, however powerful and ambitious, could get her to do a thing she didn’t want to.

      Cord decided that didn’t bode well for him or the Flying Ace Ranch.

      ALLIE HAD PROCRASTINATED about as long as she could.

      She’d hung her few garments in the minuscule closet, set out her soaps and lotions in the bathroom, which seemed even smaller. Fortunately, when she tested the bed, it appeared to have a firm mattress. She would sleep well. Assuming Cord did not send her packing when he discovered she’d never cooked a meal in her life.

      Straightening her shoulders, she walked from her room to the kitchen, which was rather like entering a foreign land. There were so many cupboards, so many gleaming appliances, she didn’t know where to begin. Tentatively, she opened the cabinet beneath the sink and frowned at the plastic container half-full of garbage.

      “Maria keeps most of the cleaning supplies on the service porch, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

      Allie jumped at the sound of Brianna’s voice.

      “No, I was just getting acquainted with where things are.”

      “Before Maria left, she stocked the pantry and freezer with enough food to last us a month. I’m sure you’ll find everything you need.”

      Assuming she could find the pantry. Leila smiled weakly. “Of course.”

      “If you’ve got a minute, I need for you to fill out these papers for my payroll records.” She placed a form on the kitchen table along with a ballpoint pen. “You know how the government is about details.”

      Happy to delay her cooking task, she sat at the table and bent over the form. “Leila Khautori,” she printed. For the address she wrote “Flying Ace.” She had no idea what the phone number might be, and she certainly had no references or prior employment experience. Finally she slid the form back to Brianna, who looked it over.

      “Your social security number?” she asked.

      “I do not know what that is.”

      “You mean you don’t know your number, or you don’t have one?”

      “I am sure I do not have one.”

      Brianna’s smooth forehead puckered into a disapproving frown. “You’ve СКАЧАТЬ