At The Rancher's Bidding. Charlotte Maclay

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      Chapter Three

      After dinner—such as it was—Cord went into the ranch office with Brianna to check on the quarterly reports she’d finished. He sat down behind the big oak desk that used to be his father’s and tipped back in the swivel chair, making the springs creak. He picked up the forms.

      “How’d we do this quarter?”

      “After culling the herd, the cash flow looks good. I’d say there’s no reason you can’t reinvest some of the funds in new breeding stock.” In the past year, since she’d moved to the Flying Ace, Brianna had begun to show more confidence in her predictions.

      “Good. Glad to hear that.” He flipped through the pages, grateful for her help. Paperwork had always been a drudgery for Cord. “I’ll probably take a trip into Austin early next week for the stock sale.”

      “Would you like me to print out the catalog of offerings? It’s on the Internet.”

      “Thanks. I’d appreciate that.” He handed her back the report and watched as she took her seat at her desk across the room from his. “So what do you think of our new housekeeper?”

      “I think if she’s been doing the cooking back in Munir, the sheikh was less than generous to make you a gift of her.”

      Cord muttered his agreement, feeling a smile tug at his lips.

      “You’ll need to be patient with her,” Brianna warned. “She doesn’t appear to be a very experienced housekeeper.”

      “Yeah, I know. But I doubt she’ll want to hang around long.”

      Brianna shot him a quick smile, then turned to her computer. “I don’t know, big brother. She may surprise you. And you’ll have to give her points for dinner. She certainly had your attention.”

      Cord wasn’t ready to admit anything of the sort, sure as hell not to his little sister.

      “I also think if you want to pay her, we’ll have to pay her under the table.”

      “How’s that?”

      Brianna glanced over her shoulder. “No green card, Cord. My guess is her visa is temporary and doesn’t allow for employment.”

      “We’ll work out something.” Frowning thoughtfully, he picked up a copy of the Cattlemen magazine from his desk and thumbed through the pages. But his heart wasn’t in the nutrient levels of various grasslands around the country. Instead he kept wondering what Leila was up to.

      The catalog Brianna printed out before she went to her room didn’t hold his interest, either, and it should have. Picking the right bull at the right price with all the right attributes was what made his breeding program a success.

      But at the moment he couldn’t seem to concentrate on the expected progeny differences of the bulls that would be on sale.

      Yawning, he finally decided to call it quits for the night. He’d check the catalog tomorrow or the next day when he was more alert—and not so distracted by thoughts of his new housekeeper.

      The lights were still on in the kitchen. When he went to switch them off, he noticed a movement outside in the halo of the barn light. Frowning, he wondered who or what would be out and about at this hour. Ranchers hit the sack early. He and his ranch hands were no exception.

      He stepped outside and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. The air had cooled considerably from the daytime high in the nineties, but it still held the moisture so common during the summer months in Texas. The call of crickets filled the air along with the soft sound of horses and cattle settling down for the night. Not a breath of wind stirred.

      There was a stream of something else in the still air, however, not just the animal smells he’d grown up with on the ranch. A tropical scent like jasmine. He followed it toward the barn.

      The door moaned in protest as he opened it. Across the way, he saw the shadow of a slender woman slip into a vacant horse stall. He should have known she’d be back to check on the cat.

      “Couldn’t leave it alone, could you?”

      She screamed. Whatever she’d been carrying flew up in the air and conked him on the forehead. Cool liquid ran down his face, and he licked his lips. Milk.

      “Easy, princess, it’s me. Cord.”

      “I am not a princess. I am your housekeeper. And you nearly scared the life out of me. What in the name of Constantine are you doing following me?”

      “Trying to figure out who’s sneaking around my barn.”

      “Well!” she huffed. “You frightened Mittens, too. And now I don’t have any milk for her.”

      “Mittens?”

      “The kitten. Her little paws are pure white. It is a good name.”

      It was, assuming you wanted to name the offspring of a feral cat that came and went as it pleased. “Its mother—”

      “Has not returned.” In the shadows, Leila bent, picking up a handful of fur. “I am going to feed Mittens, unless you refuse to allow me the privilege.”

      “Be my guest.” He could only hope the immigration rules in Munir allowed for the admission of cats from the States without months of quarantine when Leila returned home.

      “Thank you. You are most kind.”

      Imperiously, with the kitten cuddled against her chest, she swept past him, and he grinned. Suddenly he wondered if Brianna was right. Sheikh Rafe might have been well rid of his household servant, the runaway horse rescue only an excuse to ship her off to someone else for a few weeks.

      Unexpected sympathy tugged at his conscience. Here was a young woman who’d been virtually torn from her homeland, landing in a situation totally foreign to her, and her biggest concern was for a six-week-old kitten abandoned by its mother. Perhaps there was more depth to Leila than he had imagined.

      That arrogant tilt of her head that was so intriguing—and equally annoying—could well be her way to disguise her fears.

      ALLIE SLIPPED BETWEEN the sheets in her bedroom, but she suspected sleep would elude her for some hours, and it would not be entirely the fault of the kitten, who was so fascinated by her toes, pouncing on them.

      Through the open window she heard the night sounds of the ranch. A horse moving in its stall. Crickets chirping. And in the distance, the occasional lowing of a cow. Pleasant, restful sounds, if only she could relax.

      She had thought no one had seen her enter the barn, and Cord had nearly frightened her to death. He was so tall, as much a giant as the guards who protected the palace in Munir, and so broad shouldered, he’d given her quite a start. But his voice, a rich baritone, had a far different effect on her than any palace guard. One she hadn’t previously experienced. Her СКАЧАТЬ