The Rancher's Housekeeper. Rebecca Winters

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      He doctored both and brought them to the table where she’d sat down at the end. “I laced yours anyway. You look like you could use a pick-me-up.”

      “You’re right. Thank you, Mr….”

      “Colt Brannigan.” He drank some of his coffee.

      She cradled the cup. With her eyes closed, she took several sips, almost as if she were making a memory. This puzzled him. He stood looking down at her until she’d finished it. In his opinion she needed a good square meal three times a day for the foreseeable future.

      “How about telling me who you are.”

      Her eyelids fluttered open, still heavy from fatigue. “Geena Williams.” This time he thought he remembered that name from somewhere, too. Eventually it would come to him.

      “Well, Geena—perhaps if I made you a ham sandwich, more information might be forthcoming about where you’ve come from and why you showed up on our property.”

      “Please forgive me. I’m still trying to wake up.” He’d never heard anyone sound more apologetic. She got to her feet. “I was just freed from the women’s prison in Pierre, South Dakota, today and came all the way to your ranch. I’d hoped to interview for the live-in housekeeper position for a temporary period of time, but it took longer for me to get here than I’d supposed.”

      With those words, Colt felt as if he’d just been kicked in the gut by a wild mustang. In an instant everything about her made sense, starting with the call from the prison warden this morning. He must have believed she was trustworthy, yet the new bike propped beneath the tree didn’t match her used clothing. Had she stolen it?

      She’s an ex-felon. With the realization came an inexplicable sense of disappointment.

      “Is the position still open?” The hope in that question, as if his answer meant life and death to her, almost got to him.

      He had to harden himself against it. “I’m afraid not.”

      All people had baggage, but anyone who spent time in prison carried a different kind. Colt was looking for a housekeeper who was like Mary White Bird. A wise woman who’d raised a family of her own, a woman who’d helped his mom run the affairs of the ranch house since he was a boy without being obtrusive. She’d had an instinct for handling the staff and guests, not to mention the hothead personalities within the immediate and extended Brannigan clan.

      As for Geena Williams, she was too young. She’d done time. He had no idea what crime she’d committed, but he knew she could use counseling to rejoin the world outside prison walls. Who knew the battles going on inside her? Hiring her was out of the question.

      Her eyes glazed, yet not one tear spilled from those dark lashes. “You’ve been very kind to me, but I realize I’ve made a big mistake in coming here without arranging for an appointment first.”

      He frowned. “As it happens, Warden James called here this morning hoping to make one for you. I asked my brother to tell him it had already been filled. It appears the two of you had a miscommunication. For your sake, I’m sorry the warden didn’t say anything to you.”

      A look of confusion marred her features. “Warden James is a woman, but I didn’t know she’d called you. After I was taken to her office yesterday morning, she informed me I’d be freed this morning. I guess she was trying to help me find work so I would have some place to stay.

      “As soon as I could go to the prisoners’ lounge last evening, I scanned the classified section of the Rapid City Journal looking for work and saw your ad. I noticed it had been listed a while ago and feared it might have already been filled, but I decided to take a chance anyway and came straight here.”

      Colt was astounded by everything she’d told him. His brother had said the warden had seen the ad in the Black Hills Sentinel. Even if this woman were telling the truth, it didn’t matter. There was no job on the ranch available to her or any other inmate, but he was consumed by curiosity. Shifting his weight he asked, “Don’t you have a spouse or a boyfriend who could help you?”

      “I’ve never been married. One fellow I was dating before my imprisonment never came near or tried to reach me.”

      Colt surmised their relationship couldn’t have been that solid in the first place. “You don’t have relatives who could help you?”

      A shadow darkened her features. “None.”

       None?

      He raked his hair in bewilderment, unable to imagine it before he realized she could be lying about it. Maybe she was ashamed to go home. Colt hadn’t been in her shoes, so it wasn’t fair to judge.

      “How did you know where to come?” The ad indicated only that the ranch was near Sundance, Wyoming. Twelve miles, in fact. He’d only listed a box number.

      “I realize I was supposed to respond with an email, but I didn’t have access to a computer. By the time the bus dropped me off this afternoon in Sundance where I’d decided to start looking for work, I figured that if someone knew where you lived, I’d just come straight here.

      “So after I bought my bike at the shop, I rode over to the Cattlemen’s Stock and Feed Store. Everyone working there said they knew Colt Brannigan, the head of the Floral Valley Ranch. The owner sang your praises for taking over after your father died and making it even more successful. Then this older rancher who was just leaving was kind enough to tell me where to find the turnoff for your ranch.”

      Colt was dumbfounded by her explanation and her resourcefulness, especially the fact that she’d bought a bike. He could always call there to verify she’d actually made the purchase. “You rode all the way here on the highway at night?”

      “Yes, but it wasn’t dark then. I need transportation to get around. Since I don’t have a driver’s license yet, I can’t buy a junker car.”

      “Isn’t a new bike expensive?”

      “Yes, but the bike at the shop in Sundance was on sale for $530.00. They threw in the used helmet for ten dollars. I would have bought all new clothes, but after that I only had $160 left of the money I withdrew from my prison savings account. I spent some of it on food, the space blanket and my shoes.”

      He blinked. “You earned the money in prison, I presume.”

      “Yes. They pay twenty-five cents an hour. That resulted in forty dollars a month for the thirteen months I was incarcerated.”

      Thirteen months in hell. What crime had she committed?

      Colt ran his thumb along his lower lip. “So you came out of there with $520.00?”

      “Seven hundred actually. I worked some extra shifts and they also give you fifty dollars when you leave.”

      He would never again begrudge his taxpayer dollars going to an ex-felon who’d paid her debt to society and had been freed from prison. “So how much money do you have on you now to live on?”

      “Ninety-two dollars. That’s why I need a job so desperately. I’m a good cook. In prison I did every job from helping in the kitchen and cleaning to laundry and warehouse work, to hospital and dispensary duty and СКАЧАТЬ