Allison Leigh - A Cowboy Under Her Tree

“ You are many things, Melanie McFarlane, but weak is not one of them .”

And then, because he was weak, he lowered his head and touched his lips to hers.

She didn’t pull away. And when common sense finally penetrated the fog clouding Russ’s brain and he listed his head, her eyes were no longer wet with tears.

Just a wary confusion that he recognised all too well. Because he felt the very same thing.

He lowered his hand and took a step back. Softly cleared his throat. “If we’re gonna go, we’d better – ”

“Give me t-ten minutes.”

Russ nodded and backed towards the door. He felt as if he’d just run a marathon.

How the hell was he supposed to last for another five and a half months of this?

ALLISON LEIGH

started early by writing a Halloween play that her school class performed. Since then, though her tastes have changed, her love for reading has not. And her writing appetite simply grows more voracious by the day.

She has been a finalist for the RITA® Award and Holt Medallion contests. But the true highlights of her day as a writer are when she receives word from a reader that she laughed, cried or lost a night’s sleep while reading one of her books.

Born in Southern California, Allison has lived in several cities in four different states. She has been, at one time or another, a cosmetologist, a computer programmer and a secretary. She has recently begun writing full-time after spending nearly a decade as an administrative assistant for a busy neighbourhood church. She currently makes her home in Arizona with her family. Allison loves to hear from her readers, who can write to her at PO Box 40772, Mesa, AZ 85274-0772, USA.

Dear Reader,

What is it about the MONTANA series that we love so much? As a reader and a writer, I’m thoroughly enamoured of these larger-than-life Western heroes and the strong, capable women who capture their hearts. It is just pure fun to wallow once again in the pages with them through their laughter and their tears, and triumph along with them when they find their happily-ever-after.

As for the hard-headed souls of this particular tale, Russ and Melanie have differences that at first seem insurmountable. But, of course, even with these two who are so used to pushing others away, love finds its way.

But isn’t that one of the best things about love?

It finds a way.

All my best,

Allison Leigh

ALLISON LEIGH

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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This book is dedicated to my cohorts

in crime: Christine Rimmer,

Stella Bagwell, Crystal Green, Pamela Toth,

and Victoria Pade, and our extraordinary

editor, Susan Litman, who keeps it all together.

It has been a pleasure and an honour

working with you.

Chapter One

“You want me to what? ”

Melanie McFarlane’s fingers tightened around the glass stem of her lemon-drop martini as she stared at the stupefied expression on Russ Chilton’s annoyingly rugged face. “I believe you heard me.” It took an enormous effort, but she kept her voice low. Mild. It helped that she had a lifetime of keeping herself well modulated and in control.

That’s what one did, after all, when one was a McFarlane. Heaven forbid that they actually indulge in some sort of human manner.

“I heard you,” Russ muttered. His long fingers were wrapped around the base of his beer bottle. No icy pilsner glass for him. He probably figured he was too salt-of-the-earth to bother with such niceties. “I just figured you’re off your bean or something.”

Or something, definitely. In her current vocabulary, or something was code for increasingly desperate .

She swallowed. Slowly turned the stem of her delicate martini glass and eyed the narrow twirl of lemon rind floating in the liquid. The waitress had already delivered their third round, and Melanie knew better than to finish off the drink when just two was already beyond her limit.

“It is important for me to make a success of this endeavor.” She didn’t believe it was any of his business just how important. Asking for his help in any way whatsoever was taking all of her strength as it was. Particularly when she knew he didn’t approve of her presence in Thunder Canyon in the first place.

She didn’t want anyone to know that it wasn’t “McFarlane” money that was invested here. It was only Melanie’s. And if she lost it all, she didn’t know what she would do. Because returning to work for one of the McFarlane hotels wasn’t an option for her.

Not anymore.

Russ snorted softly. “You mean you don’t wanna fail at turning a perfectly good working ranch into some damn fool tourist trap. As if there aren’t enough of those already cropping up around Thunder Canyon,” he added derisively.

“The Hopping H will be a guest ranch,” she corrected. “With your assistance, the actual—” her fingertips lifted “—ranch sort of activities will still continue.” She was banking everything on Thunder Canyon’s increasing popularity as a resort destination to help ensure her success. She knew plenty of people who would pay astronomical sums to get away from their high-pressure lives and at least play at getting back to what they thought of as “the simple life.”

She’d been one of them, after all.

Only simple was turning out to be not quite so simple.

His lips twisted in a motion that ought to have made them look less sensual. “Ranch sort of activities,” he mocked softly. “What’s the matter, Red? Talking about shoveling manure and castrating calves a little too earthy sounding for you?”

Sadly, she had plenty of earthy thoughts where he was concerned, and not a single one of them were prudent.

Particularly for a McFarlane.

She needed this man’s help, not his…his—

She managed to shut off the untoward thoughts as she softly cleared her throat and shifted in the hair-on-hide chair where they sat across from each other at a leather-topped table in the lounge at the Thunder Canyon Resort. The live band wasn’t playing its usual eclectic mix, though, choosing instead to go with Christmas standards that were more in keeping with the holiday party that had been going on around them for the past few hours.

Melanie had never been a huge fan of the holidays, but just then, she felt even less than her usual smattering of holiday spirit. “I’m perfectly willing to shovel manure and do whatever as well as manage my guests’ lodging and entertainment needs.” She’d even learn how to cook and change bedding if she had to. And given her luck lately in holding on to ranching staff—well, hands , they were called—she just might need to.

He made a strangled sort of sound, as if he were trying not to choke. Or laugh.

This was not going the way she’d hoped.

Nothing about coming to Thunder Canyon was going the way she’d hoped. Scratch that. Even before she’d come to Thunder Canyon, nothing had gone the way she’d thought it would.