Pamela Britton - Winning The Rancher's Heart

“Leave it alone. It might have rabies.”

She stopped, turned to face him, the look on her face the same one she no doubt gave to her kids when they said something ridiculous, like maybe a candy bar would be good for breakfast. It raised his hackles. He’d been up for hours and he was pretty sure the scruff on his chin and the ends of his hair stood up on end, and he was tired, which might explain his cranky mood.

“I sincerely doubt it has rabies. Like I said, we need to catch it.” She turned back to the animal. “Poor thing. It’s been weeks since he’s had a good meal.”

“All the more reason to call animal control.”

He turned to go back to the house to do exactly that, but she half turned and caught him with a “No,” and it was hard to say who was more startled, because she stared down at their joined hands for a moment, then jerked her gaze up at the same time she released his fingers.

“I mean, please don’t do that. Not right now. Let’s see if we can catch him first.”

“I don’t think he wants to be caught.”

“Come here, Fido,” she crooned softly, once again ignoring him.

“Fido?” he heard himself say.

“Shush,” she told him.

Shush?

She hunched over a little, and God help him, his eyes dropped to her backside and the way her jeans clung to her curves and he forgot his disgruntlement and cursed inwardly instead.

“There you go,” she crooned softly as she moved toward the oak tree near the edge of his driveway. “Don’t be shy. Remember? We met yesterday.”

The dog didn’t move and Jax found himself eating his words because the mutt didn’t run away at all. He reached out with his nose, sniffing her.

“Do you have a rope?”

“Uh, I have no idea.” And if he did have one, who knew where it was. He’d paid someone to move him in. The past couple months had been a constant game of hide-and-seek.

“A belt then?” She glanced up at him, still standing next to the dog, gently stroking his head, her wedding ring catching his eye. “Or a tie?”

“I’ll go see what I can find.”

This wasn’t how he’d envisioned his morning going at all. He’d imagined her sitting across the desk from him. Had planned to give her a to-do list a mile long. That would have kept her out of his hair. Instead he found himself standing in front of her and contemplating the odds of her obeying an order from him to let animal control deal with the situation.

“You know what? You stay here. I’ll go inside. I have a leash we can use.” A smile stretched across her already wide mouth.

“Here. You take him,” she added.

But the moment she moved, the dog bolted. “Hey,” she cried, making a lunge for him. She landed on air, her breath rushing out of her with an oomph.

She immediately rolled onto her back, Jax torn between revulsion and dismay because she’d managed to cover the front of her pretty off-white sweater with streaks of dirt.

“That little jerk,” she said, using her hands to sit up. The dog ran away like he’d been struck by a bolt of lightning. “Now we’ll never catch him.”

“Told you we should have called animal control.”

“I can’t believe he did that.”

He moved forward, holding a hand out to help her up. She took it willingly, and the way she smiled at him, her eyes bright and twinkling, her whole face lit up, it socked him in the solar plexus. Man. She could sell rain to Noah with that grin.

“Perhaps you’ll listen to me next time.”

He hadn’t meant the words to come out sounding so stern, but he saw her smile falter.

“Perhaps I will.”

She flicked her chin up and Jax couldn’t decide what her best feature was, her stunning eyes or the power of her grin.

She pulled her hand out of his grip and brushed herself off. “Looks like I’m going to have to change.” Her hands dropped back to her sides. “Maybe I can get my kids to catch him when he comes back.”

“Maybe.”

What the hell was wrong with him that he watched her hands on her breasts, that a part of his mind went on its own little safari wondering if they were as firm as they...

“Meet back in my office when you’ve changed.”

He turned away before she could spot the bright shade of red that ran up the side of his neck, at least judging by the heat that scorched his skin. And the way he clenched his hands. Or the way his whole body had tensed.

Mother of two, remember. Widow. Still wears the wedding ring.

Did he need a better reason to steer clear?

* * *

“WHAT A MESS.”

Naomi stared at her reflection in the mirror and spotted a leaf in her hair. Could she have made a bigger fool of herself?

“Are you sure he ran toward the road?” T.J. asked.

He was excited beyond belief at the prospect of a hunting expedition. He’d even changed into a camouflage outfit.

“I’m sure. But you’re to stay within sight of the house, you hear me?” He ran out of her bedroom. “And take Sam with you.”

“Really, Mom?” her daughter drawled.

“Really, Sam,” she called back. She didn’t know what had happened to her sweet daughter, but she’d disappeared into a cloud of puberty.

She dashed into the bathroom as big as a hotel room to fix her hair, the sound of the front door closing behind her kids echoing through the house. She couldn’t believe the size of her new digs. It was nearly a hike from the front door to the back to her massive bedroom and the walk-in closet that housed her pathetic wardrobe.

It took her a quick second to brush her hair. She stepped back to examine her long-sleeved white shirt—her standard uniform for life, that and jeans. It might be June in California, but the lack of humidity made it feel like winter in Georgia.

Off you go for round two.

Her own entrance to his home was at the very back of her apartment, beyond a door that might look like a linen closet but wasn’t. There was a hallway with a washer and dryer to her right, and beyond that another door that led to his house. The security buttons beeped as she punched numbers. A long beep sounded when she’d finished, followed by a snick as the door unlocked. She half expected him to be on the other side. Maybe pop out from around the hallway that led to his kitchen.

And what a kitchen it was—like something that belonged to a reality cooking show, one where celebrity chefs and top models cooked. Large rectangular terra-cotta bricks made up the floor. The entrance at the end of her hallway was an arch, one made entirely of bricks. As were the walls. In the far wall sat a giant stainless steel hood with a double stove beneath.

She reached out a hand and glided a finger across the island in the middle. The off-white marble was cold to the touch. Not even the fixture that hung above it—three lights made into one—could warm its surface. The whole house felt that way, she thought, entering the main foyer. It was stunning. A true work of art, but unlived in, which was strange because she knew Jax’s sister had lived in the apartment she’d taken over, and she must have cooked in the kitchen a time or two. She paused for a moment at the entrance to the living room, trying to put her finger on what it was.

No plants. Not even a fake one.

To her right sat a sweeping staircase, and just beyond that, a cobblestoned fireplace. But if she owned this gorgeous place she’d have stuffed a massive ficus in the corner. Maybe even some pointed palms at the corners of the couch in the sunken living room. Something that would catch the light from the double row of windows and set off the granite floor. Whatever. Not her place, and it never would be. What was her problem was the granite floor. She could see her reflection in it and she didn’t want to think about how much work it would be to maintain it. No wonder he needed a housekeeper.