A Cowboy Under Her Tree. Allison Leigh

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СКАЧАТЬ down.” He reached over and jerked her chair a few inches out from the table.

      “Such gallantry.” She slid back onto the high chair, slowly settling her purse in her lap. Outside the windows that overlooked the mountainside, the bright twinkly white lights seemed to dance more than usual. She blinked and focused instead on Russ’s face.

      It was not twinkly at all, and far more steady.

      “Do I take it that you are interested in my offer, then?”

      “Like you said. I’m interested in the Hopping H.”

      “Then we have an agreement.” Act as if success were a foregone conclusion. Her parents had fed that to her along with her baby formula.

      He lifted his hand. “Not so fast, sugar pie.”

      She wanted to shout with impatience. For six months now, ever since she’d stepped foot in Thunder Canyon, this particular man had been a thorn in her side. It was no wonder she’d needed an extra dose of Dutch courage to even approach him with her business proposition. “Is there something you’d like me to clarify?”

      His lips twisted. “Oh, you’ve been pretty clear already.”

      “Then you can see that this arrangement is mutually beneficial. In return for your assistance, you’ll receive a very generous interest in the Hopping H.”

      “Which only benefits me if you don’t run the place into the ground.”

      “Which is why I need your assistance,” she returned evenly. For pity’s sake. How long would it take for the man to give his yea or nay? “You can ensure that never comes to pass by teaching me what I do need to know.”

      “What about your hired hands? Be an easier matter, I’d think, if you just learned about ranching business from the people you’re already paying.”

      She studied his face, wondering if he were being sarcastic or not. Thunder Canyon was still, in many ways, a small community. And given her experience in the months she’d lived there, gossip was as much an avocation as skiing or hunting for gold. “My last two hands quit.”

      A faint flicker in his eyes warned her that maybe he truly hadn’t known that fact. “Harlan and Danny?”

      “Yes.”

      His lips tightened. “When?”

      “Five days ago.”

      “And you’ve been staying on trying to manage everything on your own since then.”

      “Yes.”

      He made a noise under his breath that sounded like a rather creative oath. He gave her a square look that had her breath catching oddly in her throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

      She was grateful for the purse in her lap. It gave her fingertips something to dig into. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry for,” she assured smoothly. “It’s not as if you were responsible it.” The brothers who’d been her last remaining hands had simply quit with no notice whatsoever. They’d collected their final pay and had moved out of the bunkhouse by the end of the day. Where they’d gone, she had no clue.

      Nor much care. They’d barely been better than no help at all.

      “No wonder you’re anxious for an answer,” Russ was saying. “Look, Miz McFarlane—”

      “Melanie. You have a mouthful of nicknames for me. Surely you can manage that. Russ,” she added pointedly.

      He ignored her. “I don’t know what kind of people you’re used to, ma’am, but around here, neighbors tend to watch out for neighbors.”

      “Is that what you were doing three months ago when I moved onto the Hopping H and you assured me I was doomed to failure?”

      “Pardon me for pointing out the obvious,” he countered, “but you’re sitting on land now with no hands on the payroll and judging by your offer to me—a desperate offer, I’ll bet—not much of an idea how to manage on your own without them. Is that how you folks define success?”

      Success was what being a McFarlane was all about.

      She dropped the lemon rind from her unfinished drink on the small square napkin beneath the glass and tossed back the rest of the cocktail. “I’m looking for replacements for Harlan and Danny,” she said. “But even when they are replaced—” the assurance was more bravado than anything since her efforts at hiring more hands had thus far been futile “—I want to know more about the ranch workings. I need to know.” She leaned toward him, lowering her voice. “The Hopping H is my future, Mr. Chilton. As a working guest ranch. I am not going to let it fail. Either you can help me in that endeavor, and benefit quite nicely in the process, I might add, or I’ll find someone else.” She didn’t know who, though. Hiring someone was out of the question, given the state of her finances. “Yes or no?”

      “I get half an interest in the H.”

      “Yes.” She’d thought about offering less, but desperate times called for desperate measures. And if—no, once—the guest ranch was on its feet and operating in the black, she’d be able to buy the man right back out again.

      McFarlanes didn’t “do” partnerships any more than they ever asked for help.

      “And all I have to do is teach you enough about running a ranch so that you can keep your place from sinking under.”

      Her gaze darted around them. But nobody was paying them any heed, particularly since the lavish midnight buffet was being set out. “Yes. That, and—”

      His brows drew together in a mighty frown. “And do it all while pretending to be your husband,” he finished.

      Chapter Two

      Russ watched the faint tide of red climb in Melanie McFarlane’s lily-white cheeks at his flat summation.

      “Yes,” she replied in her slightly crisp voice. “That’s the deal.”

      He picked up her empty martini glass and gave it an exaggerated sniff. “My old buddy Grant must be telling his barkeeps to pour heavy these days.”

      “I am not inebriated,” she enunciated with the exaggeration of one who pretty much was. “Nor am I…off my bean, as you so eloquently phrased it.”

      “Nobody ’round here will believe we’re hitched.”

      “Why not?”

      He very nearly laughed out loud at that. “People know me, for one thing.” And he’d made it more than plain that he had no intention of following the path to matrimony that every one of his buddies had been taking lately.

      “Which means what? That you’re not interested in women?”

      “Not redheaded women with Boston in their vowels, that’s for damn sure.” Been there. Done that. Nobody who knew him would believe he’d repeat the experience.

      “I’ve СКАЧАТЬ