The Cowboy's Million-Dollar Secret. Emilie Rose

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      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Epilogue

      One

      One cowboy.

      One final request.

      Fifteen million dollars.

      Leanna Jensen smiled and congratulated herself on finding a way to tie all three into a neat package. “You won’t regret giving me the job, Ms. Lander.”

      “Call me Brooke. If you’ll follow me into the kitchen I’ll introduce you to my brother-in-law.” Leanna’s new boss led the way across the expansive common room, calling over her shoulder, “I forgot to mention when we spoke on the phone that Patrick will be managing the dude ranch while my husband and I are away.”

      Leanna’s steps faltered. She hadn’t expected to meet the star player of her adolescent daydreams so soon. Would he measure up to her high expectations or disappoint her like every other man? “Patrick is here? Now?”

      “In the flesh.” The deep voice drew her gaze to the cowboy already occupying the spacious dude ranch dine-in kitchen. Slumped over a glass of iced tea at the end of the long pine table, he slowly straightened. His twinkling dark eyes and charismatic grin stole her breath.

      Brooke motioned her forward. “Patrick, this is Leanna Jensen. She’ll be filling in for me as hostess for the next month. Leanna, Patrick.”

      Pressing a hand over her leaping heart, Leanna moved farther into the room. Her feet practically floated above the floor. She’d waited nine years to meet the son Carolyn Lander had described in her letters to her lover.

      At thirty-six, the man unfolding inch by muscular inch in front of her was ten times more potent than the lean and lanky sixteen-year-old he’d been in the last photo Arch had received.

      “I-it’s n-nice to meet you.” She never stuttered or stammered, but Patrick in the flesh was much more manly than she’d imagined. Taller. Broader.

      Sexier. She pushed that unwelcome thought aside.

      Her gaze raced over his features like a runaway roller coaster. Patrick’s dark, smoldering looks were the complete opposite of his biological father’s, but his classically honed features and sensuously full mouth were the same ones Arch Golden had parlayed into a fortune on the big screen. He’d left that fortune to Patrick, the son he’d never met, but had worried about up until his last breath.

      The ache in her heart over losing Arch momentarily overshadowed the thrill of finally meeting his son. Perhaps once she and Patrick became friends they could curl up by a campfire and exchange stories—his exciting tales of life on a ranch, rescuing animals and fighting wildfires and hers about the incredible man who’d fathered him. She especially wanted to make sure Patrick knew that his father—his real father—had loved him even though the two had never met.

      She hadn’t been as lucky.

      Squaring her shoulders, Leanna met the gaze of the man she’d driven over a thousand miles to meet, and eagerly reached for the hand he extended. She’d read so much about him in his mother’s letters that meeting him was almost like meeting an old friend, and yet an old friend wouldn’t make her fingers tremble.

      As if he knew the unsettling effect his good looks had on her, Patrick’s grin deepened, crinkling the laugh lines around his dark eyes and deepening the grooves bracketing his mouth. His warm, slightly rough grasp seemed to reach right down inside her and squeeze her already nervous stomach tighter.

      Dear heavens, he was handsome. Her mouth dried and her knees wobbled.

      “Hey, there. So we’re gonna play house?” He waggled his dark brows and gave her a slow wink.

      Her stomach bottomed out. A tiny drop of doubt threatened to rain on her parade. Was Patrick a charmer and a flirt? Surely the man she’d waited so long to meet wasn’t the very type she’d spent most of her life avoiding?

      “I’m going to be keeping house, not playing.” Nervousness made her voice come out sterner than she’d intended. She sounded like a schoolmarm. Embarrassed, she tugged her hand free. Witty, be witty. She’d learned social repartee at her mother’s knee. What was her problem?