Rachel Lee - A Cowboy For Christmas

She wondered if she was imagining his reluctance in the way he let go. At last she couldn’t escape the need to step back.

He smiled at her when she dared to open her eyes, then used a forefinger to tip her chin up. “Thank you,” he said, and bent a bit to brush another kiss on her lips.

Abby sighed, wanting to grab him and draw him close, but knowing instinctively that would be the wrong thing to do. For both of them. A night of romantic play wouldn’t resolve anything for either of them. In fact, it might only complicate matters. Man, she hated being sensible right then.

“Good night.” Then he was gone.

A few minutes later she heard quiet music issuing from the living room piano. Much more peaceful than earlier. Maybe even a bit happy?

But no, she hadn’t done anything to make him happy. No point in deluding herself. Too many clouds hung over his head.

* * *

Conard County: The Next Generation

A Cowboy for

Christmas

Rachel Lee

www.millsandboon.co.uk

RACHEL LEEwas hooked on writing by the age of twelve and practiced her craft as she moved from place to place all over the United States. This New York Times bestselling author now resides in Florida and has the joy of writing full-time.

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Contents

Cover

Introduction Slowly Rory released her. She wondered if she was imagining his reluctance in the way he let go. At last she couldn’t escape the need to step back. He smiled at her when she dared to open her eyes, then used a forefinger to tip her chin up. “Thank you,” he said, and bent a bit to brush another kiss on her lips. Abby sighed, wanting to grab him and draw him close, but knowing instinctively that would be the wrong thing to do. For both of them. A night of romantic play wouldn’t resolve anything for either of them. In fact, it might only complicate matters. Man, she hated being sensible right then. “Good night.” Then he was gone. A few minutes later she heard quiet music issuing from the living room piano. Much more peaceful than earlier. Maybe even a bit happy? But no, she hadn’t done anything to make him happy. No point in deluding herself. Too many clouds hung over his head. * * * Conard County: The Next Generation

Title Page A Cowboy for Christmas Rachel Lee www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author RACHEL LEE was hooked on writing by the age of twelve and practiced her craft as she moved from place to place all over the United States. This New York Times bestselling author now resides in Florida and has the joy of writing full-time.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

From the outside, the ranch house appeared ordinary. Large, from the days of big families, sided with freshly painted white clapboard, with a wide front porch. Inside, the house was anything but ordinary. It looked as if it might have come out of the pages of an interior design magazine.

With Christmas still ten weeks away, at least Abby didn’t have to deal with decorations. And by Christmas, she hoped to have better plans for her future than this.

Abby had spent more than a week cleaning the house, erasing the last detritus of the remodeling, removing dust from every nook and cranny, making sure polished wood gleamed and mirrors provided perfect reflections.

It had been a lot of work, and she was certain she’d used some muscles she hadn’t needed in a while, but at last the house was ready for its new resident.

She wasn’t.

She’d never met her employer. Being hired by someone who worked for Rory McLane had been unusual for her, but probably not for him. He was a big country music star, after all, and could probably afford people to do everything for him, maybe even dress him.

The thought made her giggle, easing a bit of her tension as she waited for her new boss to arrive. She certainly had little enough to giggle about these days.

She didn’t mind the hard work at all. In fact, she’d enjoyed it. Not many jobs provided such a sense of accomplishment that she could actually see. What she minded were the circumstances that brought her here.

And she was uneasy about Rory McLane. With all his fame and money, he was probably puffed up and demanding. Egotistical. She clenched her fists for a moment and reminded herself that it didn’t matter what he was like. She had to put up with it because the alternative was unthinkable. Her husband had run away with her former boss, leaving her jobless and then essentially homeless when he’d sold his family house. Whatever McLane was like, she had to endure it.

Behind the house was a barn that had been refurbished, too, turned into a recording studio that she had only glimpsed. A special crew had been sent in to set that up and clean it. She guessed it required an expertise no housekeeper with a dust rag and mop could provide.

All of it blew her away when she thought about it. She reached out now and touched expensive woods no one around here could afford. She had stepped into a barn that housed not only a top-of-the-line recording studio but a kitchenette and a sitting area. She wondered if McLane might spend most of his time out there.

She hoped so, because she didn’t expect to like him. She couldn’t imagine how having all that money, all that success and all that adulation could fail to go to a person’s head.

She saw dust down the driveway and realized he must be arriving. She’d heard he was flying in his own small plane, but she had no idea if he was coming alone. She half expected to see a stretch limo come up the drive, but instead there was nothing but a brand-new beige pickup truck.

One of the neighbors, maybe?

She drew closer to the front window and watched. Just one truck. And when it pulled to a halt in front of the porch, just one man climbed out.

Abby didn’t follow celebrities, but curiosity had led her to look up Rory McLane on one of the multiple computers scattered throughout the house, and there was no mistaking the man who climbed out of the driver’s seat.

Tall, lanky, wearing jeans, a blue shirt and well-worn cowboy boots. Dark hair a bit on the shaggy side. He turned and pulled out a cowboy hat that didn’t look like any of the ones in his photos. This one had seen some mileage. He clapped it on his head.

This was not what she expected from his publicity photos. Instead of looking like a star, he looked like any rancher coming home.

No entourage. No gorgeous beauties, no stream of people. Just him, looking like an ordinary resident of this county.

Then he walked easily around the truck, dropped the tailgate and pulled out a couple of heavy suitcases. She watched, her mouth growing drier as he brought them up to the porch. Then he went back to the truck and pulled out a guitar case.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, had prepared her for the impact of this man in real life. His face looked a little careworn, but he was built like a stud. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, strong chin, straight nose...and when he looked toward the window he did it with eyes as blue as the Wyoming sky.