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Synopsis
A holiday tale that gets the (snow)ball rolling on a trilogy made up of the “western romances readers have enjoyed for decades” from the bestselling author (Romantic Times).
Reid Barclay doesn’t have time for Christmas, not with trouble brewing at the Crown Seven Ranch. He’s got prize thoroughbreds to protect and a long-ago wrong that he wants to make right. But the beautiful cook who’s taken over the ranch kitchen is a welcome distraction, even if Ellie Jo Cade burns everything from gingerbread to roast beef. Her sweet face and womanly figure are pure temptation . . .
Cornhusk angels . . . bright berry garlands . . . spun-sugar snow—everything about Christmas holds fond memories for Ellie Jo. She’s doing her best to make peace with an ornery wood-burning stove and make the old ranch house truly festive. All she wants is to believe in Reid . . . and the only-at-Christmas magic that makes hearts glow . . .
Praise for the Lost Sons Trilogy
“A Cowboy Christmas is exciting and surrounded with tons of mystery and treachery. This story will definitely keep your mind running wild with possibilities.” —Fresh Fiction
“A hero you’re gonna love.” —Jodi Thomas, New York Times–bestselling author“A classic western . . . Kenny delivers.” —RT Book Reviews
Release date: October 6, 2009
Publisher: Zebra Books
Print pages: 352
* BingeBooks earns revenue from qualifying purchases as an Amazon Associate as well as from other retail partners.
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A Cowboy Christmas
Janette Kenny
Maverick, Wyoming 1894
Blinding light rode into the room on an icy gust of wind and rudely reminded Reid Barclay that he couldn’t get rip-roaring drunk today. He shot a scowl at the newcomer who didn’t seem to have the sense to know they were letting out what little heat the potbelly stove could belch out.
Damn, was he going snow blind? He blinked a couple of times just to make sure she wasn’t a mirage. Nope, nothing wrong with his eyesight.
A lady stood silhouetted in the doorway, as if debating whether to come in or skedaddle. The answer was as clear as the big blue sky that stretched to the horizon.
A lady had no business stepping foot in this hole.
He ignored the inclination to stand up straight in her presence, preferring to hunker over his whiskey while she stood in the open doorway like an ice princess, gilded in white light and prim bearing—the exact opposite of what this place represented.
Any second Reid figured she’d realize she was in a bawdy establishment that made its money satisfying men’s baser needs. Or in his case, trying to.
“Is this Mallory’s Roost?” That sultry note in her voice was at odds with her prim appearance, putting lurid thoughts in his head that he had no call thinking about a lady.
“Yep,” he said, in no mood to offer anything more.
She gave a shudder, but instead of hightailing it like any lady with a lick of sense would do, she stepped inside and shoved the door closed. Besides the wind that howled a protest at being shut out, the only sound in the Roost was the crackle of the stove and Reid’s uneven breathing.
This lady oozed quality in a hovel that wouldn’t know sophistication if it bit saloon keep Ian Mallory on his Irish ass. The tips of dainty black boots peeked from under her heavy tweed skirt. Fine-looking black gloves covered small hands that rested demurely at her sides. Her wrap hugged her narrow shoulders and didn’t appear near warm enough for these environs.
He had just enough liquor under his belt to want to heat this lady up under a nice thick blanket. Dangerous thoughts for a man in his position.
He let his gaze drift up to her face, and her inquisitive eyes and lush lips hushed his heart a measure. He couldn’t recall when that had happened to him last. To have a woman intrigue him so now—Hell, it was time for him to vamoose.
He’d heard the train chug in five minutes ago, and knowing he had a passenger waiting had chased off thoughts of getting drunk. Not that drink would solve his problems. But sometimes a man just needed to drown himself and his troubles in a bottle.
That would have to wait. It was time for him to collect Mrs. Leach’s friend and head back to the ranch.
He would’ve too if that slight desperation he sensed in this woman hadn’t stayed him. He couldn’t pull himself away just yet, not until he found out why a young woman of quality would enter a grubby saloon.
He finished off his rotgut, then almost choked on it as the sweet scent of lilacs drifted over him, tempting him to forget the promise he’d made. He didn’t have to look up to know the lady stood at his elbow, but he did anyway.
Dammit to hell but the uncertainty he glimpsed in those big brown eyes of hers had him wanting to reach out to her and tell her whatever was wrong would be all right. He knew better now than to make such promises.
He shot the lady a look that should’ve sent her running, but she hiked that pert little chin up as if telling him she wasn’t one to bluff. If that chin hadn’t trembled the slightest bit—Aw, hell, didn’t she know it was dangerous for a woman to come close to a lone man swilling whiskey—a man who was wallowing in old regret and new longing?
“Was there a gentleman in here earlier?” she asked.
“Not that I recall.”
She frowned and bit her lower lip. “Perhaps he left before you arrived—”
“I been here since yesterday, ma’am,” Reid said and scratched his knuckles over the stubble he’d not bothered scraping off this morning. “Plenty of cowpokes and the like have come and gone, but nary a gentleman has passed through those doors.”
“I see,” she said, her mouth pinched in clear disapproval of his admission, and his appearance, if he guessed right. “Is the owner of this establishment here?”
Reid nodded in Mallory’s direction, his curiosity hiking up another notch. “That’s him propping up the far end of the bar.”
“Thank you.”
Yep, no doubt about it. She was the embodiment of the vision that had tormented Reid’s dreams for as long as he could recall. True elegance with a throaty voice that hinted of naughty. So what the hell was she doing here?
She set off at a good clip toward the end of the bar where Ian Mallory snored like a sawmill. Her boot heels clicked a jig, and her bustle swayed to the lusty beat pulsing in Reid’s veins. Damn, but he’d sure like to see if her inviting backside was mostly padding or firm, natural rounding.
“Excuse me,” she said to Mallory as she stopped a respectable distance from him.
Mallory answered her with a snore.
The lady tapped a foot impatiently on the floor and Reid bit back a smile, wondering what she’d do now. From what he’d seen so far, she wasn’t the type to tuck tail and run.
She cleared her throat. “Sir, if I may have a moment of your time.” She leaned close to Mallory, her voice louder and more commanding this time.
Like a schoolmarm. Or a general.
It took grit for a woman to walk into this place. A damn sight more gumption to stay. Just the type of woman who appealed to Reid.
Seeing his dream woman in the flesh brought all the old longing rushing back. A good dose of regret, too, though he rarely acknowledged it anymore. But what shocked the hell out of him was the beginning twitch of an honest-to-God arousal.
The past two years lust had been a stranger to Reid. God knew he’d tried to get back in the amorous saddle again as recent as last night, but nothing any woman did worked. Now, just being in the same room with this lady had nudged his cock awake.
About damn time. Now if only he were free—
She turned to Reid then, and indecision flitted over her inquisitive features. “Is he always like this?”
“He has his lucid moments, but they’re rare.”
Her mouth cinched up tighter than a banker’s purse strings, but the gloved finger she slid between her neck and high ruffled collar was more telling than her tongue slipping out to dampen her full lower lip. That long-missed heaviness paid a teasing visit across Reid’s groin again.
Yep, that part of him wasn’t dead after all.
Reid gripped the empty shot glass in his hands, debating about filling it again. Drinking beat wishing to hell that he was holding soft womanly flesh, but he couldn’t leave the old gal waiting at the depot much longer either.
She shook the sot. “Mr. Mallory. Please wake up.”
“Uh, wha—” The old drunk roused from his stupor and stared at the lady, blinking like an owl.
Reid could well imagine what went through the shanty Irishman’s head. Had he died and gone to heaven after all?
“And just how can I help you, miss?” Mallory asked as he straightened to his full five-foot-six height.
“I’m looking for Mr. Reid Barclay,” she said. “The conductor at the depot said I could find him here.”
Reid froze, his hand inches from grabbing the bottle of whiskey. Had he heard her right?
“Now what would a fine lady such as yourself be wanting with the likes of Reid Barclay?” Mallory asked, voicing the same question that swirled in Reid’s head.
She slid Reid a dubious glance, before turning back to Mallory. “That’s personal.”
The whiskey Reid had swilled crashed like angry waves in his gut. He stared at her long and hard, but nothing about her stirred his memory. Why the hell was she looking for him?
“If that don’t beat all.” Mallory thumped a hand on the bar and let out a wheezing laugh.
“Well? Can you tell me where I can find Mr. Barclay?” she asked.
Mallory bobbed his shaggy head and pointed a gnarled finger at Reid. “That’s your fine gentleman right there.”
Reid pressed both palms on the sticky bar, more discomfited than offended by the Irish sot’s mocking tone.
“Oh.” She pressed a gloved hand to her throat and stared at Reid in clear disbelief.
Reid’s mind churned with reasons, beyond the obvious one, why this lady had sought him out. Damn it all, but that one plausible cause wasn’t reassuring in light of his physical reaction to her.
“Cat got your tongue?” Reid asked.
Again, that telling flush stole over her creamy cheeks. “Please forgive me. I was expecting someone more—I mean, someone far older and, and, and—” She waved a hand as if trying to catch words that had escaped her.
“Respectable looking?” he asked.
Her cheeks turned a fiery red this time. “Please don’t take offense, but you don’t look like the gentleman I’d imagined.”
“None taken, ma’am.”
She crossed to Reid, those sharp bootheels tapping out a lively ditty that had his blood pumping for a fare-thee-well. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Barclay.”
Reid inclined his chin a mite, his neck crawling with suspicion. “Barclay or Reid will do.”
“Highly improper, but if that’s what you wish.” Her cheeks darkened a smidgen, and for the first time she looked as uneasy as he felt.
“Why are you looking for me?”
“I’m Eleanor Jo Cade,” she said.
She couldn’t be the woman he’d been expecting from Denver—the one his housekeeper had recommended for the job in her absence. “Mrs. Leach’s friend?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Why? What?” Reid scrubbed a hand over his face, annoyed as hell that she had him stammering for words. He sucked in a deep breath and wished he hadn’t as he drew in her sweet lilac scent.
“Why didn’t you wait for me at the depot?” he asked, acting annoyed she’d come looking for him in this weather when he was really perturbed that she was a young, pretty and damned desirable woman.
Of course, the fact she was here in the saloon told him she was the type who took matters into her own hands. And dammit all for thinking that because his body jolted again at the thought of her taking him in hand. Shit!
“It seemed silly to wait when I could just as easily find you and we could be on our way.”
There was more to it than that. The spark of panic in her eyes hinted she had another reason that she wasn’t ready to divulge.
That alone was enough reason for him to send her on her way here and now and save himself a passel of grief. God knew he’d surely suffer misery in Miss Cade’s company, for his thoughts were anything but gentlemanly around her. But he’d have a hellish time finding a suitable woman to replace Mrs. Leach at this late date and in this ungodly weather.
He blew out a disgusted breath at being caught between a rock and a hard place. “Then by all means let us collect your baggage and be on our way.”
Her sigh was a fitting reaction, but the wide eyes glittering with relief, coupled with those soft lips trembling into a smile, went too far. Yep, this little woman roused feelings in him best left dead.
Reid shrugged into his jacket and motioned to the door. “Stay here while I fetch the sleigh from the livery.”
“I don’t mind walking with you. It’ll save time.” She click-clicked across the wood floor like a spirited filly and out the door into the bitter cold.
Reid tossed five bucks on the bar and started after her. He would have preferred to lose ten minutes and regain his equilibrium, but it was obvious Miss Cade would rather tramp through the snow than spend another second in the Roost.
“You’ve got your hands full with that one,” Mallory said.
“She doesn’t appear to be the troublesome sort to me.”
“Unlike yourself, Mr. Reid Barclay. For all that cultured talk you spout on a whim, I know you’ve got the heart and soul of an Irish rebel.”
“What if I do?” Reid paused at the door and stared at the man who’d watched him go from rebellious boy to respectable rancher.
“Her type won’t give you a roll in the hay and then go her way with a smile on her face. Remember that.”
Reid inclined his head. “I’ll bear that in mind.”
“Will you? You always were a cocky bastard. But then you have the blood of nobles flowing in your veins.”
Mallory, the wily old goat, knew the truth Reid held close to the vest. He was an English nobleman’s by-blow, disowned by his father long before Reid’s mother died giving him life.
“I’m still a bastard, Mallory.” If Kirby Morris hadn’t cut a deal when he had, he’d be a dead one by now.
“Aye, you did ’em wrong, boyo. They ain’t coming back.”
His mouth stretched into a grim line. He’d given his brothers just cause to hate him, and damned if he knew how to right the terrible wrong he’d caused so long ago.
Guilt was a bitch to live with.
“Perhaps I’ll have the luck of the Irish after all.”
“More likely you’ll have the devil’s time of it,” Mallory said as he splashed whiskey into a shot glass, “when your past charges into your life with guns blazing.”
A possibility Reid hoped to avoid. He stepped out and let the wind blow the rest of Mallory’s dire predictions back inside.
No matter how much he groused about his fate, he’d made the right choice. Never mind it’d been the only one at the time. If his skin felt a mite tight for him at times, so be it.
He was ready to live up to his end of the bargain now. Or had been until he’d hired a fetching house cook that had him thinking of dishes best served warm in bed.
Reid squinted against a punishing sun, searching for Miss Cade. He spotted her easily down the street, thanks to a royal blue cloak snapping in the wind like a bullfighter’s cape. He hadn’t known her hair was the color of whiskey until now.
The back of it was caught up in an intricate weave of sorts and that touch of red glowed in the sun.
Reid headed toward Miss Cade, his blood running thick and hot with need. He had a fondness for fair-haired women.
She tugged the full hood up and ended his ruminations of taking the pins from her hair and running his hands through it. By damn, but the lady was a sparkling gem amid a blanket of white. She’d be living in his house, a constant temptation for him to take what he wanted and damn the consequences.
He paused to let a buckboard churn by, the bed laden with goods and squealing children huddled down in a bed of straw. He knew the whole family worked their behinds off on their ranch due north of his, yet he’d never seen a happier brood.
Simple pleasures.
He’d never known what it was like to have the love of family until he’d lost it. Now there was no getting it back.
Reid caught a glimpse of Adam Tavish plowing through the muck in the street. He, too, seemed arrested by the sight of Miss Cade.
Though the U.S. Marshal swore he was on the trail of the Kincaid gang, Mallory told him that Tavish had been asking an awful lot of questions about Reid. It wasn’t the first time a lawman had inquired about his past.
The fact remained that Reid had left word everywhere, all but begging his brothers to come back to Wyoming. He’d also baited a trap for the man accused of killing Lisa True, letting it be known that Slim was at the Crown Seven as well. But so far the only one sniffing around was the lawman.
As for Ezra Kincaid? He’d likely be watching.
If the old outlaw was out there, he was holed up planning his move. That worried Reid the most.
Truth be, he was relieved Tavish was dead set on stopping the old rustler who surely must be drooling over Reid’s thoroughbreds. But that didn’t mean he wanted to be on close speaking terms with Tavish.
Considering his past, Reid was careful to keep his distance from the local sheriff and the marshal. But with Tavish reaching Miss Cade first and guiding her into the livery, he couldn’t very well do that today.
Ice crunched underfoot as he made his way to the livery. He wrenched open the door, finding Miss Cade and Tavish squared off inside.
He knew the feeling.
Reid gave the livery boy a nod to ready his sleigh.
“I see you’ve met the marshal.” Reid stopped beside Miss Cade, sparing Tavish a dismissing glance but feeling the man’s curious gaze skewer him all the same. Was that annoyance he saw in her eyes?
“Yes, he was just assuring me that this is a quiet, lawful community,” she said.
Tavish favored Miss Cade with his good-ol’-boy smile that didn’t fool Reid one bit. “You never did tell me what brought you to Maverick, Miss Cade.”
She flinched this time, a slight tremor Reid attributed to a case of nerves. Until he got a closer look.
The lady was clearly angry and her ire was directed at the U.S. Marshal. Damn, what had Tavish said to her earlier?
“I’m taking over Mrs. Leach’s role of cook at the Crown Seven Ranch while she’s away,” she said.
Tavish thumbed back his hat, revealing a pair of observant green eyes that no doubt had saved the lawman’s ass on more than one occasion. “Pardon me for saying, ma’am. But most cooks I’ve met tended to sample their fare a bit more than necessary.”
It was the truth, but Reid took umbrage with the way Tavish looked at the lady, like she was a tasty morsel and he was starving. Never mind Reid had done the same earlier. She was his employee, and judging by her tightlipped expression, she didn’t wish to tarry in Tavish’s company.
“So, where have you worked before, Miss Cade?” Tavish asked, his conversational tone at odds with his shrewd perusal.
A dull flush blossomed on the lady’s cheeks, and the rigid set to her shoulders seemed an odd reaction, in Reid’s estimation. “The Denver Academy for Young Ladies.”
“Do tell?” Tavish’s eyes took on a calculating glint.
“I fear I’d bore you with stories of teaching young ladies to acquire discriminating tastes,” she said over the tinkling of harness bells. “Besides I am sure Mr. Barclay is anxious to be on his way.”
“Another time then. Afternoon, ma’am.” Tavish slid two fingers over his hat brim but stayed rooted to the spot. “Barclay.”
Reid dipped his chin in farewell, then guided Miss Cade to the red sleigh. “You leave your baggage at the depot?”
“Yes. I have a small trunk and a carpetbag.”
A rarity for sure. He’d warrant Cheryl would drag all manner of trunks and valises with her from England.
“After we retrieve your things, we’ll stop at the mercantile. I suggest you select anything you need for yourself or the ranch now.”
“I have everything I require with me.”
“Fair warning, Miss Cade. We won’t be coming into town for a week or more.”
“I’m sure everything I’ll need is at the ranch.”
Reid expected she’d say that. So why did he have the sudden feeling he’d be going hungry this night—and in more ways than one?
Ellie settled into the sleigh beside Reid Barclay, more than happy to put distance between herself and the nosy marshal. Heavenly days, the last person she’d expected to get trapped in a conversation with was the man who’d sworn to hunt down her pa and bring him in—dead or alive.
If her mind hadn’t been focused on the mysterious glint in Reid Barclay’s eyes and the jolt of sensual awareness his mere touch evoked in her, she would’ve paid attention to her surroundings. As it was, she’d rushed to the end of the boardwalk for a breath of bracing air and nearly bowled the marshal over.
Goodness, was Marshal Tavish always lurking in the shadows?
He certainly had been in Denver when her fiancé learned she was an outlaw’s daughter and ended their engagement. He knew her secret. But had he guessed her true reason for coming to the Crown Seven?
Ellie bit her lower lip as worry nipped along her nerves. She couldn’t botch this up, not when her pa’s life was at stake.
Her pa. She’d grown from being a little girl who adored her daddy to a young woman ashamed of what he was. But because she’d loved him with a daughter’s devotion, him staying away from her had hurt that much more.
He’d done it to protect her reputation.
But the truth came out anyway.
It stripped her of her dream of a family and cost her the coveted position in Denver she’d worked hard to achieve.
It forced her to seek a position across the country where nobody knew her. And it brought her here where she’d stepped into the role of another lie.
She could honestly say she didn’t regret it overmuch. It seemed unbelievable that she’d see her pa again after so many years of just hearing of his exploits. She’d be able to talk to him. She’d be able to spend a holiday with him.
As Reid Barclay guided the sleigh toward the depot, she inhaled the crisp, cold air and embraced this rare opportunity that had been offered her. Or she tried to, at least.
Mrs. Leach had assured her that Mr. Barclay was an equitable boss. But she hadn’t mentioned that he was a virile gentleman as well.
His nearness in the saloon had unsettled her to the point of distraction. But the occasional brush of his shoulder against hers sent warmth coursing through her body.
She was beset by a powerful urge to inch closer to him. That was highly improper conduct!
Why, she’d never been smitten with a man.
She’d been as intimate with her former fiancé as a woman could be with a man, yet he hadn’t roused such raw yearnings in her with just a look or casual touch.
This illicit reaction to a stranger had her cheeks burning with embarrassment and her mind cluttered with confusion. In fact she wasn’t able to draw a decent breath until he stopped at the depot and left her while he fetched her baggage.
Too soon he returned to torment her with his virility.
Heavenly days, she knew the perils of succumbing to one’s torrid desires. She’d not fall victim to that again.
As Reid settled her bags in the sleigh, she focused on what brought her to the Crown Seven. Despite what was printed on the wanted posters, her pa was a horse thief—not a cold-blooded killer. She had to stop him from making a deadly mistake and she didn’t have the luxury of time to make him see reason.
Even if she succeeded, this could very well be their last chance to be together as a family. She had to do this right.
She certainly knew how a household should be run, how to entertain frugally or lavishly. She knew what constituted proper meals.
The only problem was she didn’t know how to cook.
Mrs. Leach had assured her there was nothing to it. She wasn’t convinced of that then, and she wasn’t so sure now.
As she tried and failed to recall the first thing about preparing something as simple as stew, she gave in to a shiver. What if she couldn’t cook one edible meal?
“You chilled, Miss Cade?” Reid asked as he slid back into the sleigh beside her and his broad muscular shoulder settled against hers.
Heat blazed at his touch, sending flickers of warmth to dance within her. “Nothing more than a passing tremor. I’m sure the heavy blanket will stave off the cold.”
“I hope you’re right.” He flicked the lines and the sleigh smoothly glided forward. “One more stop to make and we’ll be on our way.”
“Good. It’s been a tiring journey and I long to—” Ellie bit her tongue, close to admitting she wanted to do nothing but rest. “I long to get settled and busy myself in the kitchen.”
“Reckon you do. Your quarters aren’t large, but you’ll find them above adequate.”
“I’m sure I’ll be comfortable.”
And even if she weren’t, she wouldn’t be at his ranch that long to suffer from a bit of discomfort.
As she’d told Mrs. Leach, headmistress Halsey expected her at the Falsmonte Academy in San Francisco the first of the new year. Ellie must not be late or she’d lose the once-in-a-lifetime chance to teach at the prestigious school for discerning young ladies. She’d lose the only job that’d come her way since the scandal.
“Mrs. Leach ordered holiday gee-gaws and reminded me several times that I was to pick them up while I was in town,” he said as he stopped the sleigh before the mercantile. “I trust you know how to dress the house up with them.”
“I’ve been told I have an artistic eye for such,” she said, relieved to be in her element again. “Do you usually decorate the entire house?”
“Nope,” he said. “Never celebrated the occasion before.”
“Surely you’re exaggerating.”
He shook his head. “I was reared in an orphanage, Miss Cade. There was scarce enough funds for food and clothing.”
How sad! Christmas had always been her favorite holiday, for it was the one time throughout her life that her pa made an effort to visit her, if only briefly.
He’d always bring her some small gift and regale her with wild stories of the West. He’d tell her he’d missed her and loved her and that he’d stay in touch.
But he never had.
She hadn’t seen him for three whole years. She’d feared he’d died. Then Mrs. Leach’s letter arrived out of the blue and gave her hope.
“Last chance for shopping, Miss Cade,” Reid said as he extended a gloved hand to assist her.
She rested her hand in his and secretly thrilled at the power encased in those supple leather gloves. This man might be a wealthy gentleman but he certainly was no dandy.
“If I may be so bold to ask, what has spurred you to celebrate the season now?” she asked as he escorted her to the door of the mercantile.
His handsome features took on a hard, distant expression. “We’ll be hosting a wedding at the ranch,” he said without a lick of excitement in his voice. “Seems fitting that the house look festive.”
A wedding. Another detail Mrs. Leach had neglected to mention.
“Who’s getting married?” she asked.
“Me. My fiancée will arrive in a week.”
That was the last thing she expected to hear. But it was just the shake of reality she needed to put a stop to these inappropri. . .
Blinding light rode into the room on an icy gust of wind and rudely reminded Reid Barclay that he couldn’t get rip-roaring drunk today. He shot a scowl at the newcomer who didn’t seem to have the sense to know they were letting out what little heat the potbelly stove could belch out.
Damn, was he going snow blind? He blinked a couple of times just to make sure she wasn’t a mirage. Nope, nothing wrong with his eyesight.
A lady stood silhouetted in the doorway, as if debating whether to come in or skedaddle. The answer was as clear as the big blue sky that stretched to the horizon.
A lady had no business stepping foot in this hole.
He ignored the inclination to stand up straight in her presence, preferring to hunker over his whiskey while she stood in the open doorway like an ice princess, gilded in white light and prim bearing—the exact opposite of what this place represented.
Any second Reid figured she’d realize she was in a bawdy establishment that made its money satisfying men’s baser needs. Or in his case, trying to.
“Is this Mallory’s Roost?” That sultry note in her voice was at odds with her prim appearance, putting lurid thoughts in his head that he had no call thinking about a lady.
“Yep,” he said, in no mood to offer anything more.
She gave a shudder, but instead of hightailing it like any lady with a lick of sense would do, she stepped inside and shoved the door closed. Besides the wind that howled a protest at being shut out, the only sound in the Roost was the crackle of the stove and Reid’s uneven breathing.
This lady oozed quality in a hovel that wouldn’t know sophistication if it bit saloon keep Ian Mallory on his Irish ass. The tips of dainty black boots peeked from under her heavy tweed skirt. Fine-looking black gloves covered small hands that rested demurely at her sides. Her wrap hugged her narrow shoulders and didn’t appear near warm enough for these environs.
He had just enough liquor under his belt to want to heat this lady up under a nice thick blanket. Dangerous thoughts for a man in his position.
He let his gaze drift up to her face, and her inquisitive eyes and lush lips hushed his heart a measure. He couldn’t recall when that had happened to him last. To have a woman intrigue him so now—Hell, it was time for him to vamoose.
He’d heard the train chug in five minutes ago, and knowing he had a passenger waiting had chased off thoughts of getting drunk. Not that drink would solve his problems. But sometimes a man just needed to drown himself and his troubles in a bottle.
That would have to wait. It was time for him to collect Mrs. Leach’s friend and head back to the ranch.
He would’ve too if that slight desperation he sensed in this woman hadn’t stayed him. He couldn’t pull himself away just yet, not until he found out why a young woman of quality would enter a grubby saloon.
He finished off his rotgut, then almost choked on it as the sweet scent of lilacs drifted over him, tempting him to forget the promise he’d made. He didn’t have to look up to know the lady stood at his elbow, but he did anyway.
Dammit to hell but the uncertainty he glimpsed in those big brown eyes of hers had him wanting to reach out to her and tell her whatever was wrong would be all right. He knew better now than to make such promises.
He shot the lady a look that should’ve sent her running, but she hiked that pert little chin up as if telling him she wasn’t one to bluff. If that chin hadn’t trembled the slightest bit—Aw, hell, didn’t she know it was dangerous for a woman to come close to a lone man swilling whiskey—a man who was wallowing in old regret and new longing?
“Was there a gentleman in here earlier?” she asked.
“Not that I recall.”
She frowned and bit her lower lip. “Perhaps he left before you arrived—”
“I been here since yesterday, ma’am,” Reid said and scratched his knuckles over the stubble he’d not bothered scraping off this morning. “Plenty of cowpokes and the like have come and gone, but nary a gentleman has passed through those doors.”
“I see,” she said, her mouth pinched in clear disapproval of his admission, and his appearance, if he guessed right. “Is the owner of this establishment here?”
Reid nodded in Mallory’s direction, his curiosity hiking up another notch. “That’s him propping up the far end of the bar.”
“Thank you.”
Yep, no doubt about it. She was the embodiment of the vision that had tormented Reid’s dreams for as long as he could recall. True elegance with a throaty voice that hinted of naughty. So what the hell was she doing here?
She set off at a good clip toward the end of the bar where Ian Mallory snored like a sawmill. Her boot heels clicked a jig, and her bustle swayed to the lusty beat pulsing in Reid’s veins. Damn, but he’d sure like to see if her inviting backside was mostly padding or firm, natural rounding.
“Excuse me,” she said to Mallory as she stopped a respectable distance from him.
Mallory answered her with a snore.
The lady tapped a foot impatiently on the floor and Reid bit back a smile, wondering what she’d do now. From what he’d seen so far, she wasn’t the type to tuck tail and run.
She cleared her throat. “Sir, if I may have a moment of your time.” She leaned close to Mallory, her voice louder and more commanding this time.
Like a schoolmarm. Or a general.
It took grit for a woman to walk into this place. A damn sight more gumption to stay. Just the type of woman who appealed to Reid.
Seeing his dream woman in the flesh brought all the old longing rushing back. A good dose of regret, too, though he rarely acknowledged it anymore. But what shocked the hell out of him was the beginning twitch of an honest-to-God arousal.
The past two years lust had been a stranger to Reid. God knew he’d tried to get back in the amorous saddle again as recent as last night, but nothing any woman did worked. Now, just being in the same room with this lady had nudged his cock awake.
About damn time. Now if only he were free—
She turned to Reid then, and indecision flitted over her inquisitive features. “Is he always like this?”
“He has his lucid moments, but they’re rare.”
Her mouth cinched up tighter than a banker’s purse strings, but the gloved finger she slid between her neck and high ruffled collar was more telling than her tongue slipping out to dampen her full lower lip. That long-missed heaviness paid a teasing visit across Reid’s groin again.
Yep, that part of him wasn’t dead after all.
Reid gripped the empty shot glass in his hands, debating about filling it again. Drinking beat wishing to hell that he was holding soft womanly flesh, but he couldn’t leave the old gal waiting at the depot much longer either.
She shook the sot. “Mr. Mallory. Please wake up.”
“Uh, wha—” The old drunk roused from his stupor and stared at the lady, blinking like an owl.
Reid could well imagine what went through the shanty Irishman’s head. Had he died and gone to heaven after all?
“And just how can I help you, miss?” Mallory asked as he straightened to his full five-foot-six height.
“I’m looking for Mr. Reid Barclay,” she said. “The conductor at the depot said I could find him here.”
Reid froze, his hand inches from grabbing the bottle of whiskey. Had he heard her right?
“Now what would a fine lady such as yourself be wanting with the likes of Reid Barclay?” Mallory asked, voicing the same question that swirled in Reid’s head.
She slid Reid a dubious glance, before turning back to Mallory. “That’s personal.”
The whiskey Reid had swilled crashed like angry waves in his gut. He stared at her long and hard, but nothing about her stirred his memory. Why the hell was she looking for him?
“If that don’t beat all.” Mallory thumped a hand on the bar and let out a wheezing laugh.
“Well? Can you tell me where I can find Mr. Barclay?” she asked.
Mallory bobbed his shaggy head and pointed a gnarled finger at Reid. “That’s your fine gentleman right there.”
Reid pressed both palms on the sticky bar, more discomfited than offended by the Irish sot’s mocking tone.
“Oh.” She pressed a gloved hand to her throat and stared at Reid in clear disbelief.
Reid’s mind churned with reasons, beyond the obvious one, why this lady had sought him out. Damn it all, but that one plausible cause wasn’t reassuring in light of his physical reaction to her.
“Cat got your tongue?” Reid asked.
Again, that telling flush stole over her creamy cheeks. “Please forgive me. I was expecting someone more—I mean, someone far older and, and, and—” She waved a hand as if trying to catch words that had escaped her.
“Respectable looking?” he asked.
Her cheeks turned a fiery red this time. “Please don’t take offense, but you don’t look like the gentleman I’d imagined.”
“None taken, ma’am.”
She crossed to Reid, those sharp bootheels tapping out a lively ditty that had his blood pumping for a fare-thee-well. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Barclay.”
Reid inclined his chin a mite, his neck crawling with suspicion. “Barclay or Reid will do.”
“Highly improper, but if that’s what you wish.” Her cheeks darkened a smidgen, and for the first time she looked as uneasy as he felt.
“Why are you looking for me?”
“I’m Eleanor Jo Cade,” she said.
She couldn’t be the woman he’d been expecting from Denver—the one his housekeeper had recommended for the job in her absence. “Mrs. Leach’s friend?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Why? What?” Reid scrubbed a hand over his face, annoyed as hell that she had him stammering for words. He sucked in a deep breath and wished he hadn’t as he drew in her sweet lilac scent.
“Why didn’t you wait for me at the depot?” he asked, acting annoyed she’d come looking for him in this weather when he was really perturbed that she was a young, pretty and damned desirable woman.
Of course, the fact she was here in the saloon told him she was the type who took matters into her own hands. And dammit all for thinking that because his body jolted again at the thought of her taking him in hand. Shit!
“It seemed silly to wait when I could just as easily find you and we could be on our way.”
There was more to it than that. The spark of panic in her eyes hinted she had another reason that she wasn’t ready to divulge.
That alone was enough reason for him to send her on her way here and now and save himself a passel of grief. God knew he’d surely suffer misery in Miss Cade’s company, for his thoughts were anything but gentlemanly around her. But he’d have a hellish time finding a suitable woman to replace Mrs. Leach at this late date and in this ungodly weather.
He blew out a disgusted breath at being caught between a rock and a hard place. “Then by all means let us collect your baggage and be on our way.”
Her sigh was a fitting reaction, but the wide eyes glittering with relief, coupled with those soft lips trembling into a smile, went too far. Yep, this little woman roused feelings in him best left dead.
Reid shrugged into his jacket and motioned to the door. “Stay here while I fetch the sleigh from the livery.”
“I don’t mind walking with you. It’ll save time.” She click-clicked across the wood floor like a spirited filly and out the door into the bitter cold.
Reid tossed five bucks on the bar and started after her. He would have preferred to lose ten minutes and regain his equilibrium, but it was obvious Miss Cade would rather tramp through the snow than spend another second in the Roost.
“You’ve got your hands full with that one,” Mallory said.
“She doesn’t appear to be the troublesome sort to me.”
“Unlike yourself, Mr. Reid Barclay. For all that cultured talk you spout on a whim, I know you’ve got the heart and soul of an Irish rebel.”
“What if I do?” Reid paused at the door and stared at the man who’d watched him go from rebellious boy to respectable rancher.
“Her type won’t give you a roll in the hay and then go her way with a smile on her face. Remember that.”
Reid inclined his head. “I’ll bear that in mind.”
“Will you? You always were a cocky bastard. But then you have the blood of nobles flowing in your veins.”
Mallory, the wily old goat, knew the truth Reid held close to the vest. He was an English nobleman’s by-blow, disowned by his father long before Reid’s mother died giving him life.
“I’m still a bastard, Mallory.” If Kirby Morris hadn’t cut a deal when he had, he’d be a dead one by now.
“Aye, you did ’em wrong, boyo. They ain’t coming back.”
His mouth stretched into a grim line. He’d given his brothers just cause to hate him, and damned if he knew how to right the terrible wrong he’d caused so long ago.
Guilt was a bitch to live with.
“Perhaps I’ll have the luck of the Irish after all.”
“More likely you’ll have the devil’s time of it,” Mallory said as he splashed whiskey into a shot glass, “when your past charges into your life with guns blazing.”
A possibility Reid hoped to avoid. He stepped out and let the wind blow the rest of Mallory’s dire predictions back inside.
No matter how much he groused about his fate, he’d made the right choice. Never mind it’d been the only one at the time. If his skin felt a mite tight for him at times, so be it.
He was ready to live up to his end of the bargain now. Or had been until he’d hired a fetching house cook that had him thinking of dishes best served warm in bed.
Reid squinted against a punishing sun, searching for Miss Cade. He spotted her easily down the street, thanks to a royal blue cloak snapping in the wind like a bullfighter’s cape. He hadn’t known her hair was the color of whiskey until now.
The back of it was caught up in an intricate weave of sorts and that touch of red glowed in the sun.
Reid headed toward Miss Cade, his blood running thick and hot with need. He had a fondness for fair-haired women.
She tugged the full hood up and ended his ruminations of taking the pins from her hair and running his hands through it. By damn, but the lady was a sparkling gem amid a blanket of white. She’d be living in his house, a constant temptation for him to take what he wanted and damn the consequences.
He paused to let a buckboard churn by, the bed laden with goods and squealing children huddled down in a bed of straw. He knew the whole family worked their behinds off on their ranch due north of his, yet he’d never seen a happier brood.
Simple pleasures.
He’d never known what it was like to have the love of family until he’d lost it. Now there was no getting it back.
Reid caught a glimpse of Adam Tavish plowing through the muck in the street. He, too, seemed arrested by the sight of Miss Cade.
Though the U.S. Marshal swore he was on the trail of the Kincaid gang, Mallory told him that Tavish had been asking an awful lot of questions about Reid. It wasn’t the first time a lawman had inquired about his past.
The fact remained that Reid had left word everywhere, all but begging his brothers to come back to Wyoming. He’d also baited a trap for the man accused of killing Lisa True, letting it be known that Slim was at the Crown Seven as well. But so far the only one sniffing around was the lawman.
As for Ezra Kincaid? He’d likely be watching.
If the old outlaw was out there, he was holed up planning his move. That worried Reid the most.
Truth be, he was relieved Tavish was dead set on stopping the old rustler who surely must be drooling over Reid’s thoroughbreds. But that didn’t mean he wanted to be on close speaking terms with Tavish.
Considering his past, Reid was careful to keep his distance from the local sheriff and the marshal. But with Tavish reaching Miss Cade first and guiding her into the livery, he couldn’t very well do that today.
Ice crunched underfoot as he made his way to the livery. He wrenched open the door, finding Miss Cade and Tavish squared off inside.
He knew the feeling.
Reid gave the livery boy a nod to ready his sleigh.
“I see you’ve met the marshal.” Reid stopped beside Miss Cade, sparing Tavish a dismissing glance but feeling the man’s curious gaze skewer him all the same. Was that annoyance he saw in her eyes?
“Yes, he was just assuring me that this is a quiet, lawful community,” she said.
Tavish favored Miss Cade with his good-ol’-boy smile that didn’t fool Reid one bit. “You never did tell me what brought you to Maverick, Miss Cade.”
She flinched this time, a slight tremor Reid attributed to a case of nerves. Until he got a closer look.
The lady was clearly angry and her ire was directed at the U.S. Marshal. Damn, what had Tavish said to her earlier?
“I’m taking over Mrs. Leach’s role of cook at the Crown Seven Ranch while she’s away,” she said.
Tavish thumbed back his hat, revealing a pair of observant green eyes that no doubt had saved the lawman’s ass on more than one occasion. “Pardon me for saying, ma’am. But most cooks I’ve met tended to sample their fare a bit more than necessary.”
It was the truth, but Reid took umbrage with the way Tavish looked at the lady, like she was a tasty morsel and he was starving. Never mind Reid had done the same earlier. She was his employee, and judging by her tightlipped expression, she didn’t wish to tarry in Tavish’s company.
“So, where have you worked before, Miss Cade?” Tavish asked, his conversational tone at odds with his shrewd perusal.
A dull flush blossomed on the lady’s cheeks, and the rigid set to her shoulders seemed an odd reaction, in Reid’s estimation. “The Denver Academy for Young Ladies.”
“Do tell?” Tavish’s eyes took on a calculating glint.
“I fear I’d bore you with stories of teaching young ladies to acquire discriminating tastes,” she said over the tinkling of harness bells. “Besides I am sure Mr. Barclay is anxious to be on his way.”
“Another time then. Afternoon, ma’am.” Tavish slid two fingers over his hat brim but stayed rooted to the spot. “Barclay.”
Reid dipped his chin in farewell, then guided Miss Cade to the red sleigh. “You leave your baggage at the depot?”
“Yes. I have a small trunk and a carpetbag.”
A rarity for sure. He’d warrant Cheryl would drag all manner of trunks and valises with her from England.
“After we retrieve your things, we’ll stop at the mercantile. I suggest you select anything you need for yourself or the ranch now.”
“I have everything I require with me.”
“Fair warning, Miss Cade. We won’t be coming into town for a week or more.”
“I’m sure everything I’ll need is at the ranch.”
Reid expected she’d say that. So why did he have the sudden feeling he’d be going hungry this night—and in more ways than one?
Ellie settled into the sleigh beside Reid Barclay, more than happy to put distance between herself and the nosy marshal. Heavenly days, the last person she’d expected to get trapped in a conversation with was the man who’d sworn to hunt down her pa and bring him in—dead or alive.
If her mind hadn’t been focused on the mysterious glint in Reid Barclay’s eyes and the jolt of sensual awareness his mere touch evoked in her, she would’ve paid attention to her surroundings. As it was, she’d rushed to the end of the boardwalk for a breath of bracing air and nearly bowled the marshal over.
Goodness, was Marshal Tavish always lurking in the shadows?
He certainly had been in Denver when her fiancé learned she was an outlaw’s daughter and ended their engagement. He knew her secret. But had he guessed her true reason for coming to the Crown Seven?
Ellie bit her lower lip as worry nipped along her nerves. She couldn’t botch this up, not when her pa’s life was at stake.
Her pa. She’d grown from being a little girl who adored her daddy to a young woman ashamed of what he was. But because she’d loved him with a daughter’s devotion, him staying away from her had hurt that much more.
He’d done it to protect her reputation.
But the truth came out anyway.
It stripped her of her dream of a family and cost her the coveted position in Denver she’d worked hard to achieve.
It forced her to seek a position across the country where nobody knew her. And it brought her here where she’d stepped into the role of another lie.
She could honestly say she didn’t regret it overmuch. It seemed unbelievable that she’d see her pa again after so many years of just hearing of his exploits. She’d be able to talk to him. She’d be able to spend a holiday with him.
As Reid Barclay guided the sleigh toward the depot, she inhaled the crisp, cold air and embraced this rare opportunity that had been offered her. Or she tried to, at least.
Mrs. Leach had assured her that Mr. Barclay was an equitable boss. But she hadn’t mentioned that he was a virile gentleman as well.
His nearness in the saloon had unsettled her to the point of distraction. But the occasional brush of his shoulder against hers sent warmth coursing through her body.
She was beset by a powerful urge to inch closer to him. That was highly improper conduct!
Why, she’d never been smitten with a man.
She’d been as intimate with her former fiancé as a woman could be with a man, yet he hadn’t roused such raw yearnings in her with just a look or casual touch.
This illicit reaction to a stranger had her cheeks burning with embarrassment and her mind cluttered with confusion. In fact she wasn’t able to draw a decent breath until he stopped at the depot and left her while he fetched her baggage.
Too soon he returned to torment her with his virility.
Heavenly days, she knew the perils of succumbing to one’s torrid desires. She’d not fall victim to that again.
As Reid settled her bags in the sleigh, she focused on what brought her to the Crown Seven. Despite what was printed on the wanted posters, her pa was a horse thief—not a cold-blooded killer. She had to stop him from making a deadly mistake and she didn’t have the luxury of time to make him see reason.
Even if she succeeded, this could very well be their last chance to be together as a family. She had to do this right.
She certainly knew how a household should be run, how to entertain frugally or lavishly. She knew what constituted proper meals.
The only problem was she didn’t know how to cook.
Mrs. Leach had assured her there was nothing to it. She wasn’t convinced of that then, and she wasn’t so sure now.
As she tried and failed to recall the first thing about preparing something as simple as stew, she gave in to a shiver. What if she couldn’t cook one edible meal?
“You chilled, Miss Cade?” Reid asked as he slid back into the sleigh beside her and his broad muscular shoulder settled against hers.
Heat blazed at his touch, sending flickers of warmth to dance within her. “Nothing more than a passing tremor. I’m sure the heavy blanket will stave off the cold.”
“I hope you’re right.” He flicked the lines and the sleigh smoothly glided forward. “One more stop to make and we’ll be on our way.”
“Good. It’s been a tiring journey and I long to—” Ellie bit her tongue, close to admitting she wanted to do nothing but rest. “I long to get settled and busy myself in the kitchen.”
“Reckon you do. Your quarters aren’t large, but you’ll find them above adequate.”
“I’m sure I’ll be comfortable.”
And even if she weren’t, she wouldn’t be at his ranch that long to suffer from a bit of discomfort.
As she’d told Mrs. Leach, headmistress Halsey expected her at the Falsmonte Academy in San Francisco the first of the new year. Ellie must not be late or she’d lose the once-in-a-lifetime chance to teach at the prestigious school for discerning young ladies. She’d lose the only job that’d come her way since the scandal.
“Mrs. Leach ordered holiday gee-gaws and reminded me several times that I was to pick them up while I was in town,” he said as he stopped the sleigh before the mercantile. “I trust you know how to dress the house up with them.”
“I’ve been told I have an artistic eye for such,” she said, relieved to be in her element again. “Do you usually decorate the entire house?”
“Nope,” he said. “Never celebrated the occasion before.”
“Surely you’re exaggerating.”
He shook his head. “I was reared in an orphanage, Miss Cade. There was scarce enough funds for food and clothing.”
How sad! Christmas had always been her favorite holiday, for it was the one time throughout her life that her pa made an effort to visit her, if only briefly.
He’d always bring her some small gift and regale her with wild stories of the West. He’d tell her he’d missed her and loved her and that he’d stay in touch.
But he never had.
She hadn’t seen him for three whole years. She’d feared he’d died. Then Mrs. Leach’s letter arrived out of the blue and gave her hope.
“Last chance for shopping, Miss Cade,” Reid said as he extended a gloved hand to assist her.
She rested her hand in his and secretly thrilled at the power encased in those supple leather gloves. This man might be a wealthy gentleman but he certainly was no dandy.
“If I may be so bold to ask, what has spurred you to celebrate the season now?” she asked as he escorted her to the door of the mercantile.
His handsome features took on a hard, distant expression. “We’ll be hosting a wedding at the ranch,” he said without a lick of excitement in his voice. “Seems fitting that the house look festive.”
A wedding. Another detail Mrs. Leach had neglected to mention.
“Who’s getting married?” she asked.
“Me. My fiancée will arrive in a week.”
That was the last thing she expected to hear. But it was just the shake of reality she needed to put a stop to these inappropri. . .
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