His Country Cinderella. Karen Smith Rose

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      “I didn’t pick up the tip you left.” She swallowed hard. “I won’t take it. If you have extra things you’d like me to do next time, just leave a list.” She knew she sounded frantic and breathless, but she was. She wished he’d say something. Before she thought better of it, she clasped his forearm. “I really need this job.”

      His skin was tanned and hot and taut. And she could feel the brown hairs under her fingertips. Heavens, she was losing it!

      She released his arm and just as she thought he was never going to speak to her, he finally said, “It’s okay. Accidents happen. I should have checked the drive for your car when I got back from hiking, but you’ve always cleared out before I returned.”

      That’s the way he wanted it. She could tell.

      “This won’t happen again,” she promised.

      With most of the coffee in the dustpan now, he took the brush and pan from her hands and stood with it. He strode to the closet, opened it and poured the coffee into the trash can inside.

      Then he dusted off his hands and turned to face her. “We’ll forget all this happened. It’ll be our secret—under one condition.”

      Jeannette rose to her feet and had to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes. His one condition made her wary. Just what did he expect in return? As hunky as he was, she was not about to—

      A half smile tilted the man’s lips, as if he could read her mind. “Just don’t tell anyone you saw me here.”

      Relief flooded Jeannette. Yet maybe there was just a little disappointment mixed in. In that moment he’d mentioned a condition, she’d imagined his strong arms around her! But checking his expression again, she could see he was serious.

      “I won’t tell anyone,” she vowed.

      Tilting his head, he held out a hand to her to seal the deal. She took it and was immediately affected by her proximity to him, the fall-air, man-smell of him, the skin contact that had already shaken her before. His grip was firm, though the press of his fingers was gentle. Her breath caught. Her heart raced. For propriety’s sake, she pulled away.

      Altogether flustered now, she gestured to the floor. “Are you sure you don’t want me to wash it up?”

      “I’m sure.”

      Although for a few minutes she’d felt a connection to him, now he wanted her gone. She could do “gone” if it meant holding on to her job. Quickly she snatched her keys and purse from the counter.

      But the tall, well-built man’s voice stopped her. “What’s your name?”

      “Jeannette. Jeannette Williams.”

      “You forgot something, Jeannette.” He handed her the bill that had been tucked under the coffee canister.

      “I don’t deserve it.”

      “Sure, you do. A little spilled coffee doesn’t wipe out all your cleaning sessions and grocery buying that have made my life easier.”

      She thought of Jonah and the apartment they’d moved into a few months ago. She thought of the bills stacked on her table, and she took the money from this enigmatic man’s hand.

      Then she fled his house, wondering if he ever used the silver SUV in his garage…wondering how he could stay on that mountain alone.

      She considered her son again, and her job at Lip-Smackin’ Ribs. She’d do whatever she had to do for Jonah, no matter how hard it was.

      As she drove down the deserted, bumpy, unpaved road hoping she didn’t get a flat tire, she remembered her mountain man’s fleeting smile. Her heart beat faster all over again.

      After Jeannette Williams left, Zane Gunther felt as if he’d just stepped into a whirlwind. Not only had she unsettled him and maybe blown his cover, but he was aroused!

      Swiping off his Stetson, he plopped it on the hat rack on the wall in the well-equipped country kitchen and ran his hand down over his face. He knew he was a changed man after what had happened in April. He couldn’t write music anymore, let alone sing.

      He went into the living room and stared up at the loft—the loft where his guitar was propped against a desk. He didn’t even know why he’d brought it here.

      How could he write songs when a thirteen-year-old had died after one of his concerts? How could he write songs when the tabloids and even the legitimate press were painting him as a celebrity who didn’t care about ordinary people? When even his mother was being affected by the publicity? When everything around him seemed to be in shambles?

      There was a rap at his front door and he swiveled toward it, wondering if his cleaning lady had forgotten something. She’d been pretty. That silky blond hair, those cornflower-blue eyes and a figure right out of a man’s fantasies. Certainly she’d known who he was, hadn’t she? Would she keep her promise?

      He went to the living room and opened the door, not knowing whether to be disappointed or relieved when he stood aside to let his guest in. Up until today, Dillon Traub had been his only visitor.

      “Who was that leaving?” Dillon asked, going straight to the kitchen and setting containers of Chinese food on the table.

      “You passed her?”

      “Her?” Dillon asked with a raised brow.

      “She’s my cleaning lady. When I came back from my hike, she was still here.”

      “Uh-oh.”

      “Yeah, well, we sort of made a deal. She said she won’t tell anyone.”

      “And what are you giving her in return?” Dillon’s voice was wary.

      Dillon had moved to Thunder Canyon last year and was now happily married with an almost-three-year-old daughter. He and Zane went way back to grade school in Midland, Texas. They knew each other well, well enough that they didn’t sugarcoat the truth.

      “She was cleaning up a mess in my kitchen when I walked in, and she was afraid she’d lose her job. So I told her I wouldn’t say anything to the cleaning service about the mess and her being late if she kept my secret. I think she’s the type who might.”

      “How long did you talk to her?”

      “About ten minutes, and we really didn’t do much talking. Mostly just cleaned up coffee.”

      Dillon started opening the cardboard containers, but appeared even more suspicious than before. “So, what? You got a vibe off her or something? How old is she?”

      “I’m not great with age, but I’d say probably late twenties. And yes, I did get a vibe.”

      Dillon met Zane’s gaze and his lips quirked up. “Well!”

      “Well, what?” Zane growled.

      “Well, maybe you’re coming back to life. Maybe you’re seeing you can’t live on this mountaintop forever. You’ve been here four months, Zane. You see СКАЧАТЬ