Charlotte Maclay - Courtship, Montana Style

As he walked through the living room with its big rock fireplace and heavy, overstuffed furniture, he heard a car approaching the ranch house. He glanced outside as it stopped in front.

Most of his Grass Valley neighbors came to visit via the back door. None that he could think of drove a fancy silver-blue BMW that looked near new. Like him, pickups were more their style.

Curious, he opened the door, shoved open the screen and stepped outside into the warmth of late afternoon.

The young woman who exited the BMW was a sweet little filly with flaxen hair she had pulled into some kind of a twist at the back of her head. So slender a good wind would blow her over, he wondered if, like his cows, she wasn’t getting enough feed lately. Still, she moved with the grace of a dancer and was a mighty pretty sight after riding herd all day on cows and all night on adolescent boys filled with a combination of rebellion and hormones they didn’t know how to tame. And the way she filled out a pair of city slicker blue jeans was something to write home about.

He stepped off the porch at the same time Bandit, a black-and-white mostly Border collie rounded the corner and took up a position beside him, tail wagging watchfully.

“Can I help you, miss?” Walker asked. No doubt he’d have to direct her where she had intended to be, which surely wasn’t at the Double O Ranch.

Standing in full sunlight, the stranger shaded her eyes with her hand. “I’m looking for Walker Oakes.”

That was a surprise. She wasn’t lost after all, though she didn’t look like she belonged anywhere more Western than a dude ranch. “You found him.”

“Oh, good. I’m, uh, Lizzie Thomas. I’m here about the job.”

Job? He hired extra hands during roundup and hay-harvest time, but none that looked like this woman.

He walked toward the stranger so he wouldn’t have to yell—and so he could get a better look at her. Dutifully Bandit remained at his heel.

As he drew closer, Walker decided his visitor was worth more than a second look. She had the face of a Greek goddess with high cheekbones, slightly pouty lips and a complexion no rancher’s wife could ever achieve, however many gallons of skin cream she applied.

“Sorry. You must have the wrong place. I’m not hiring right now.” Not extra cowhands or a woman with pure, unadulterated sex appeal.

“Unless you’ve already filled the position…” Turning, she opened the BMW’s back door. A moment later, she produced a baby’s car seat—

Walker’s eyes widened.

—with the baby included.

“I’d like to apply to be your housekeeper.”

“Housekeep—?” He choked, feeling as off balance as though someone had slipped him a rogue bronc when he wasn’t looking. “Is this some kind of a joke?”

Bandit crept forward, sat down and cocked his head. His tail continued to slowly sweep the ground as he craned for a better look at the baby.

Casting a quick smile in the dog’s direction, the woman hooked her arm through the car seat handle, holding it in front of her. With her free hand, she handed him a magazine. “According to this article, you need a housekeeper. I’m applying.”

He shook his head. “You’ve got a baby,” he said stupidly. “You can’t possibly expect—”

“I didn’t think in government service you were allowed to discriminate.”

He frowned. This Lizzie person had the most intense blue eyes, which were currently zapping him with blue-lightning strikes. “I’m not a government employee,” he pointed out, and suddenly he’d lost all interest in Western hospitality. Which wasn’t like him at all. He was an easygoing guy. Friendly with everybody. Which meant maybe the boys had figured out how to play a practical joke on him, and he should just go along.

“Perhaps not, but you do take money from the government to assist in the support of the foster children placed in your care.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. None of this sounded right, and it sure as hell wasn’t funny. Was she accusing him of stealing the money? “I spend every dime of that money on the kids.”

“Of course. Nonetheless, accepting government funds means you cannot discriminate against working mothers. It’s the law.”

What the hell! He’d never discriminated against anyone. Ever! He liked women. Even mothers. A lot! And now this sexy female was telling him—

“Hey, boss, what’s goin’ on?” Speed Pendrix sauntered around the corner of the house, his loose-limbed walk somewhere between a stroll and a full stop.

Moving at the same pace, Bandit got up to greet the foreman.

“This woman says I’ve got to hire her to be my housekeeper,” Walker told Speed.

“Well, now, ain’t that nice.” He ambled up to the car, a big, foolish grin on his face as he took in Lizzie and the baby, who was dressed in pink overalls and a matching denim cap. “Don’t ya know, we surely could use some housekeeping help and darned if she’s not the purdiest little thing I’ve seen in a month of Sundays.”

“Why, thank you, Mr….”

“Jest call me Speed, ma’am. Everybody does.” He tipped his wide-brimmed straw hat.

Extending her hand, Lizzie granted the foreman a radiant smile that would have curled Walker’s toes if it had been meant for him. Which it wasn’t. All she’d done was shoot daggers in his direction. And he’d shot them back, he admitted. But he’d had reason, damn it!

“It’s nice to meet you, Speed.”

“Cain’t say as I remember a time when we had a baby around here. It’ll be a nice change.”

“Now wait a minute,” Walker objected. “She can’t come waltzing in here and expect—”

His three-man crew of adolescents came bursting out of the house, the screen door banging against its stop. They leaped off the steps—Bean Pole stumbling as he landed—and surrounded the woman and her car. Bandit wove his way between the adolescents’ legs.

“Yo, man! Look at them wheels!”

“Hey, she’s got a baby. My mom had a baby.”

“Bet I could get you fifty, maybe sixty bucks for those cool hubcaps. You wanna sell, lady?”

“Hold it!” Walker bellowed. He’d lost control of the situation and he damn well was going to get it back.

The boys snapped to attention. Even the woman pulled her shoulders back, her expression startled and wide-eyed.

“Let’s take this whole thing a little slower,” Walker said. “This lady is—”

“Lizzie Thomas,” she repeated.

“From?” he prodded.

“Merry Maids, Inc.”

Which Walker had never heard of but, based on the out-of-state license plates on her car, he concluded it was in Nevada. “And you’re here because?”

“Because you stated very clearly in this magazine article that you need a housekeeper.”

She spoke in a reasonable tone, her voice slightly bluesy and very sexy, yet it wasn’t a reasonable statement at all. He didn’t need a housekeeper. Well, he did, but he couldn’t afford one and he sure as hell wasn’t equipped to house a woman and her baby at the ranch.

“Wow! That’s great!” Scotty, the youngest of the boys at age twelve, leaned forward to chuck the baby under her chin.

“Your hands are dirty, son,” Walker warned.

“No, they’re not. I washed ’em—”

“Enough! I’m not going to start an argument about dirty hands. We’re going to start from the beginning and do this right.” So Walker could get to the bottom of what was going on.

“These are my foster sons, Miss Thomas. Take off your hats, boys.” They all responded, even Speed. “Scotty here is the one enamored of the baby. His real name is Donald MacLeod and you can figure his red hair is one of the reasons we call him Scotty.”

“Hello, Scotty. It’s fine if you want to touch Suzanne. A little dirt won’t hurt her.”