Charlotte Maclay - At The Rancher's Bidding

Cord wasn’t ready to admit anything of the sort, sure as hell not to his little sister.

“I also think if you want to pay her, we’ll have to pay her under the table.”

“How’s that?”

Brianna glanced over her shoulder. “No green card, Cord. My guess is her visa is temporary and doesn’t allow for employment.”

“We’ll work out something.” Frowning thoughtfully, he picked up a copy of the Cattlemen magazine from his desk and thumbed through the pages. But his heart wasn’t in the nutrient levels of various grasslands around the country. Instead he kept wondering what Leila was up to.

The catalog Brianna printed out before she went to her room didn’t hold his interest, either, and it should have. Picking the right bull at the right price with all the right attributes was what made his breeding program a success.

But at the moment he couldn’t seem to concentrate on the expected progeny differences of the bulls that would be on sale.

Yawning, he finally decided to call it quits for the night. He’d check the catalog tomorrow or the next day when he was more alert—and not so distracted by thoughts of his new housekeeper.

The lights were still on in the kitchen. When he went to switch them off, he noticed a movement outside in the halo of the barn light. Frowning, he wondered who or what would be out and about at this hour. Ranchers hit the sack early. He and his ranch hands were no exception.

He stepped outside and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. The air had cooled considerably from the daytime high in the nineties, but it still held the moisture so common during the summer months in Texas. The call of crickets filled the air along with the soft sound of horses and cattle settling down for the night. Not a breath of wind stirred.

There was a stream of something else in the still air, however, not just the animal smells he’d grown up with on the ranch. A tropical scent like jasmine. He followed it toward the barn.

The door moaned in protest as he opened it. Across the way, he saw the shadow of a slender woman slip into a vacant horse stall. He should have known she’d be back to check on the cat.

“Couldn’t leave it alone, could you?”

She screamed. Whatever she’d been carrying flew up in the air and conked him on the forehead. Cool liquid ran down his face, and he licked his lips. Milk.

“Easy, princess, it’s me. Cord.”

“I am not a princess. I am your housekeeper. And you nearly scared the life out of me. What in the name of Constantine are you doing following me?”

“Trying to figure out who’s sneaking around my barn.”

“Well!” she huffed. “You frightened Mittens, too. And now I don’t have any milk for her.”

“Mittens?”

“The kitten. Her little paws are pure white. It is a good name.”

It was, assuming you wanted to name the offspring of a feral cat that came and went as it pleased. “Its mother—”

“Has not returned.” In the shadows, Leila bent, picking up a handful of fur. “I am going to feed Mittens, unless you refuse to allow me the privilege.”

“Be my guest.” He could only hope the immigration rules in Munir allowed for the admission of cats from the States without months of quarantine when Leila returned home.

“Thank you. You are most kind.”

Imperiously, with the kitten cuddled against her chest, she swept past him, and he grinned. Suddenly he wondered if Brianna was right. Sheikh Rafe might have been well rid of his household servant, the runaway horse rescue only an excuse to ship her off to someone else for a few weeks.

Unexpected sympathy tugged at his conscience. Here was a young woman who’d been virtually torn from her homeland, landing in a situation totally foreign to her, and her biggest concern was for a six-week-old kitten abandoned by its mother. Perhaps there was more depth to Leila than he had imagined.

That arrogant tilt of her head that was so intriguing—and equally annoying—could well be her way to disguise her fears.

ALLIE SLIPPED BETWEEN the sheets in her bedroom, but she suspected sleep would elude her for some hours, and it would not be entirely the fault of the kitten, who was so fascinated by her toes, pouncing on them.

Through the open window she heard the night sounds of the ranch. A horse moving in its stall. Crickets chirping. And in the distance, the occasional lowing of a cow. Pleasant, restful sounds, if only she could relax.

She had thought no one had seen her enter the barn, and Cord had nearly frightened her to death. He was so tall, as much a giant as the guards who protected the palace in Munir, and so broad shouldered, he’d given her quite a start. But his voice, a rich baritone, had a far different effect on her than any palace guard. One she hadn’t previously experienced. Her heart had taken off like a drummer in the palace marching band. Her breath had grown as shallow as an aging woman about to faint in the heat of midday.

Allie sighed and tried to snare Mittens, who was determined to burrow under the sheet and find her way to Allie’s bare feet, where her tiny teeth could gnaw at will. A few laps of milk in the kitchen had turned the kitten into a frisky pest.

“Behave yourself, Mittens,” she admonished, not quite able to keep the smile from her voice.

Whatever was she going to do about Cord? She had so little experience with men that she had no idea how she should act around him. Particularly since she was supposed to be his servant. Humph! If the truth were known, she was his match at every level.

Except in the kitchen. Which was an entirely different matter.

She curled onto her side, and Mittens found a nest on top of the sheets behind her crooked knees. She heard little licking sounds as the kitten bathed herself, and finally, silence.

At last Allie’s eyelids grew heavy and she slept, only to be rudely awakened by an irritating rapping on her door. Mittens flew off the bed as though she had been launched.

“What!” Allie exclaimed.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead. It’s past time to be up and at ’em.”

Blurry-eyed, she peered out the window. “The sun is barely up.” She never rose at this hour. The servants did, of course, to prepare her morning meal, but she had no intention of—

“Come on, get yourself some breakfast and let’s get going if you want to do some shopping in Bridle,” Cord said.

Shopping. Now that was a task for which she had a great deal of experience.

She hopped out of bed, grabbed her wrapper and opened the door a crack. “Would you mind bringing me a cup of coffee to sip while I prepare myself for shopping?”

Looking mystified by her request, he leaned a hand on the doorjamb. “Maybe I better clear up something here. In this country, the housekeeper fixes coffee and brings a mug to the boss, not the other way around.”

“Oh. Well, if such a simple request is too difficult for you to perform, then I shall get my own coffee.” Pulling her wrapper modestly around her, she flounced past him. Surely he didn’t expect her to do any work before she had consumed her first cup of coffee.

Cord’s jaw went slack, while other parts of his anatomy got an early wake-up call. Sleepy eyed and wearing her hair in a thick braid that hung halfway down her back, Leila was resplendent in an ornate, royal-blue silk gown embroidered in gold and red swirls. Barefooted, so he could see her delicate ankles and arched insteps, she padded from her doorway across the width of the kitchen floor to the coffeepot and poured herself a cup.

Cord didn’t know quite what he wanted to do first—slip off Leila’s gown and take her back to her bed, where he could explore her slender body, starting with her sexy, shocking-red toenails, or read her the riot act for not behaving like any servant he’d ever met.