Charlotte Maclay - Courtship, Montana Style

Her admiration for Walker’s ability to handle rambunctious teenagers kicked up a notch. Raised as she had been in a family where decorum reigned as gospel, she could barely imagine the day-to-day physicality of living with three adolescent boys. Yet Walker hadn’t flinched. He was every inch a match for the three of them combined.

That thought gave her a little shiver of apprehension. Walker was so big, so strong, a woman would have no choice but to yield to his strength if he demanded it.

Yet, like the boys, she sensed an inner gentleness in Walker. A woman would have no reason to fear him, at least physically.

Protecting her heart would be a different matter.

SEVERAL HOURS LATER, arms folded across his chest, Walker leaned against the doorjamb of the sewing room watching Lizzie as she tucked the baby in for the night. A mighty pretty picture she created bending over the playpen but a puzzling one.

A woman with a wedding gown who wore no rings and acted like a debutante not a housekeeper.

The house was quiet now. The boys had gone back to the bunkhouse after lavishing attention on both Lizzie and the baby, hanging around the house until Fridge had his chance to give the ten o’clock bottle.

But the time had come for Walker to get down to business. He couldn’t put off asking his questions any longer.

“The boys sure have taken a liking to you and the baby, Slick,” he said.

Her head came up as though she’d forgotten he was there. “They’re sweet. All of them.”

“I usually describe them as ornery, rebellious and stubborn. Typical teenagers with pasts that haven’t been easy.”

She gave him a faint smile. “It’s obvious you’re doing a good job with them.”

About twenty times a day he questioned both his sanity and whether he was doing right by the youngsters. Still, he did the best he could. He couldn’t ask more than that of anyone.

Giving the baby a final caress, she stepped away from the playpen.

“Will she sleep through the night?” he asked.

“I hope so. But with so much excitement and being in a new place, it’s hard to say.”

He moved away from the door, and she followed him into the hallway where a low-wattage lightbulb cast muted shadows up and down the corridor, disguising the worn wallpaper and carpeting.

In contrast, Lizzie glowed with quiet vitality, her silver-blond hair shiny even in the dim light and her cheeks blooming with a trace of color. There hadn’t been a woman living in this house in more than thirty years. Suddenly that felt wrong, almost as though the house had been incomplete all these years and no one had noticed.

Aware his thoughts were leading him in an unwanted direction, he cleared his throat. “You and I need to talk.”

“It’s been a long day and it’s late. Would you mind if we waited until tomorrow? If Suzanne wakes up—”

“Tonight would be better. I don’t want the boys interrupting us.”

Her gazed flicked to his face for a moment, then she glanced back over her shoulder at the sleeping baby.

“Susie-Q will be fine,” he said. “If she wakes up you’ll be able to hear her downstairs.”

“I wish you had a baby monitor.”

“We’ve never had any need. Teenage boys can yell pretty loud.”

She hesitated again. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“We can talk in your bedroom, if you’d rather. Or mine.”

With a quick shake of her head, Elizabeth rejected both of those options. If she was going to be grilled by a sexy cowboy she didn’t want to be anywhere near a bed. She was already far too aware of Walker’s elemental maleness and the fact that they were alone in the house. She wasn’t about to tempt fate.

She turned on her heel. “Downstairs will be fine.” Her sandals slapped on the worn carpeting as she strode ahead of him. Now was the time to stay calm so she could keep her story straight. This was a perfect place to hide out. Except for the hum of tension she felt whenever Walker was near, the solitude of the ranch and the wide-open range were ideal for serious thinking.

And for learning how to be the woman she wanted to become.

Even the presence of the boys provided a sense of normalcy that would help her focus on what she wanted for her daughter’s future and her own. Help her find the strength she needed to stand up to her family.

Walker was the only fly in the ointment. He was simply too unsettling for a woman’s peace of mind.

She walked into the living room that was still strewn with baby equipment—Suzanne’s car seat, a receiving blanket, the diaper bag—all of which she’d have to take upstairs. She started to gather them up.

“Speed tells me there’s a wedding gown in the trunk of your car.”

Her head snapped up. Damn! She’d forgotten all about the dress.

“Is that a problem?” she asked, faking a bland expression.

“Not unless a groom shows up here toting a shotgun.”

“That’s not likely to happen on my account.”

“Why? Because there isn’t a groom? Or he doesn’t know where you are?”

Heat crept up her neck. Despite the current situation, she wasn’t used to lying. It made her ill to her stomach. The pork chop she’d eaten for dinner did a roll in her midsection and threatened to do worse if she didn’t come clean. Which she didn’t dare. “What makes you think it’s my gown?”

He eyed her skeptically. “Is it?”

“I was taking it to the cleaners’ for my sister,” she blurted out.

“Try again, Miss Thomas. People who are telling the truth don’t blush.”

The heat on her cheeks grew even more intense. “People who are being grilled by a great big lummox of a cowboy might do a lot of blushing.”

He lifted his dark brows, etching his forehead with a double row of creases.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you,” she said. Wherever had her manners flown? Ever since she’d been able to walk and talk, her parents had drilled politeness into her head. Doing what was expected of her. Behaving properly. In the past three days she’d forgotten every lesson they’d taught her. Or more to the point, at the ripe old age of twenty-five, she’d finally decided to rebel against everything she’d ever known. To take charge of her own life—for Suzanne’s sake as well as her own.

His lips quirked ever so slightly. “No insult taken. What I’m after is the truth.”

Which was exactly what she couldn’t tell him. Not yet. She didn’t trust him enough for that. “If you’d like, you could call the Merry Maids corporate office to check my references.”

“No one’s likely to be around the office at eleven o’clock on a Saturday night.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

Purposefully he walked over to the big native-rock fireplace, picked up the poker and jabbed at a charred log left over from the last fire. “I’d like to know what’s going on now so I don’t have to start making phone calls on Monday morning.”

At least he wasn’t threatening to call the police. So far.

Bending over, she scooped up Suzanne’s blanket and stuffed it in the diaper bag, frantically trying to come up with a story Walker would buy. It’s not like she had a whole lot of experience lying, a serious omission in her liberal-arts education, she now realized.

“Have you ever heard of the witness-protection program?” she ventured.

He stared at her with narrowed eyes but he didn’t immediately dismiss her latest ruse. “Are you saying you witnessed a crime and are hiding out from the criminals?”

Perhaps with enough practice, she’d get prevarication down to a credible art form. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the details.” And she really, truly didn’t want to risk her family finding her just yet.