At The Rancher's Bidding. Charlotte Maclay

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СКАЧАТЬ doilies edged with crocheting protected the top of a walnut chest of drawers, and a small, colorful hooked rug lay beside the bed on the wooden floor. Quaint. And smaller than her dressing room at the palace.

      “You’ve got your own bathroom and TV,” Cord said.

      Swallowing her dismay at the simple quarters, she said, “I am sure I will be quite comfortable.” Gaining her freedom, however briefly, had its price.

      “You can get settled in and—”

      “I would very much like to see the rest of the ranch, if I may.” Feeling the cloak she wore was no longer necessary, she unfastened the plain, gray garment and tossed it on the bed, revealing the simple sheath dress she wore. The gold bracelets and necklaces she normally wore she had sent home with Leila. “I have never before visited a cattle ranch.”

      Cord’s eyes widened. Damned if they didn’t nearly fall out of their sockets, he thought. He stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets, trying to look anywhere except at Leila. Without her billowing cloak, she was more slender than he had imagined, but every inch a woman. The swell of her small breasts pressed against her bodice; her bare arms were as graceful as a dancer’s, with tiny wrists a man could span with his finger and thumb. Long, straight hair the color of Texas pecans streamed down her back.

      Desperately, he tried to think of some reason to send her back to her home in Munir right away. Or at the very least come up with an excuse why he couldn’t give her a tour of the ranch.

      He failed on both counts.

      “Sure. I’ll show you around a little. Then you’ll probably want to get dinner started.”

      “Me?”

      “Yeah, that’s kind of what housekeepers do. Cook dinner. Clean house. You know.”

      “But I don’t know how to cook.”

      His brows tugged together as he struggled with indecision. This was not what he had expected. In fact, nothing about Leila was quite what he had expected, including her soft accent with traces of British school English. “Tell me just what is it you did for your, uh, princess.” Lord, he hadn’t stammered this much since he’d invited Marijane Morgan to the eighth grade dance and then gotten her braces locked with his when he tried to kiss her.

      Allie thought fast, trying to recall what it was that Leila did so competently for her, serving her in their women’s quarters.

      “I prepared my mistress’s bath daily, oiled her body, helped her to dress in the finest silk gowns that money can buy. I brushed her hair.” Feeling slightly wicked and more adventuresome than she had thought possible, she stepped forward and ran her fingers through the thick waves of Cord’s saddle-brown hair. “I could do all of that for you, if you wish.”

      “No. That’s okay.” His ruddy complexion flushed even darker and he edged away from her. “Let’s, uh, take that tour and we’ll deal with the rest of your, uh, responsibilities later.”

      Shifting her hair in front of her shoulder, she smiled. She had no wish to argue with his decision. The longer she could put off the reality of being a housekeeper, the happier she would be. Cord, too, if he knew how few domestic skills she possessed.

      CORD WAS PROUD of the Flying Ace. Since his father’s death five years ago he’d upgraded the facilities and added to the herd through careful breeding and management. It was his home, his life. He poured all of his energy into the ranch and it never disappointed him, even in bad times.

      Which was more than he could say about the women in his life.

      When Cord had been twelve, his mother had deserted the family. A year ago he’d discovered that she’d gone off because of his father’s infidelity—an infidelity that had resulted in Brianna’s birth. The unexpected news that he had a half sister had surprised him, but didn’t excuse the fact that his mother had abandoned Cord.

      A few years ago, he had decided he was ready to settle down, start a family of his own. He had the rings in his pocket when he flew to Houston, where Sandra Maddox, the woman he’d been dating, was working. Problem was, she’d gone off to California the day before with a married man. Cord had been played for a besotted fool.

      Nope, these days it didn’t pay to trust a woman.

      Or perhaps he was the problem. He wasn’t lovable—either in the eyes of his mother or the woman he’d finally chosen to marry.

      He slanted Leila a glance as they walked toward the weathered wood barn and adjoining stables. He couldn’t deny that she got his juices going, but she sure wasn’t suitable for ranch life. He’d give her a week, two at the most, and she’d be long gone, very likely back to her home country. He loved Texas as much as the next man, but it wasn’t an easy place to live, not on a ranch, anyway. The summer could be hotter than Hades, the winters cold enough to freeze the teats off a heifer. In between there was plenty of hard, demanding work, wide-open spaces and a sense of accomplishment he’d never be able to find with a desk job.

      “Do they raise any cattle where you come from?” he asked.

      Her hair shifted like a veil as she turned toward him, the sun catching the strands and making them gleam like polished agate. “Oh, no, we raise oil. A great deal of it. And we export large quantities of steel and cement. Munir is a very wealthy country.”

      “Then you like it there?” he asked hopefully. Maybe she’d get homesick and want to go back sooner rather than later.

      Her slender shoulders lifted in a shrug of denial. “Women do not have as much freedom there as they do in America.”

      Reaching the corral, he placed a booted foot on the lower fence rung and leaned his elbow on the top. “Guess you don’t get to ride much at home then, and that’s why your mount got away from you.”

      She lifted her head in a haughty manner and her eyes sparked. “That is not true. I am an excellent—” She stumbled momentarily, obviously remembering the incident. “The horse spooked. Dirt blew in his face. I do not know why he did not respond to my command.”

      He smiled at her bravado. Two days ago she’d been terrified. Now she was—arrogant.

      One of the cow ponies, a dun-colored mare with a darker brown mane, trotted over to the fence and stuck her head over the top. Without hesitation, Leila rubbed the mare’s nose and scratched behind her ears.

      “Her name is Betsy. You like horses?” he asked.

      “Oh, yes. Although this one is not as elegant as my broth—the pure-blooded Arabians in Sheikh Ashraf’s stables. Still, she is very pretty.”

      “She can run rings around any Arabian you can name when it comes to rounding up cattle. Those Arabians are all show and no go, as far as I’m concerned.”

      She sniffed. “If you say so.”

      Her comment amused rather than irritated him. “If you stick around long enough, I’ll give you a shot at riding one of my cutting horses.”

      Her interest perked up immediately. “You would do that?”

      “Sure. We’ll pick you a gentle one. Wouldn’t want to risk another runaway.”

      “I СКАЧАТЬ