Duncan's Bride Read online

  Her voice had a small rasp to it that tugged at him. He shook her hand, noting the absence of jewelry except for the plain gold hoops in her ears. He didn’t like to see a woman’s hands weighted down with rings on every finger, especially when the hands were as slim as hers. He didn’t release her as he repeated, “Are you all right?”

  Madelyn blinked, a slow closing and opening of her eyelids that masked a deep shifting and settling inside. “Yes, thank you,” she replied, not bothering to make an excuse for her behavior. What could she say? That she’d been stunned by a sudden surge of lust for him? It was the truth, but one that couldn’t be voiced. She knew she should be charming to ease the awkwardness of this meeting, but somehow she couldn’t summon up the superficial chatter to gloss things over. She could do nothing but stand there.

  They faced each other like gunfighters on a dirt street, oblivious to the eddies of people stepping around their small, immobile island. He was watching her from beneath level brows, taking his time with his survey but keeping his thoughts hidden. Madelyn stood still, very aware of her femaleness as he looked her up and down with acutely masculine appraisal, though he revealed neither appreciation nor disapproval. His thoughts were very much his own, his face that of an intensely private man.

  Even shadowed by his hat brim as they were, she could tell that his eyes were a dark green-blue-hazel color, shot through with white striations that made them gleam. They were wrinkled at the outer corners from what must have been years of squinting into the sun, because he sure didn’t look as if he’d gotten those lines from laughing. His face was stern and unyielding, making her long to see how he’d look if he smiled, and wonder if he had ever been carefree. This man wasn’t a stranger to rough times or hard work.

  “Let’s go fetch your other luggage,” he said, breaking the silent confrontation. It was a long drive back to the ranch, and he was impatient to be on the way. Chores had to be done no matter how late he got back.

  His voice was a baritone, a bit gravelly. Madelyn registered the rough texture of it even as she nodded toward the carry-on bag. “That’s it.”

  “All of it?”

  “Yes.”

  If all her clothes were in that one small bag, she sure hadn’t made any big plans to impress him with her wardrobe, he thought wryly. Of course, she would impress him most without any wardrobe at all.

  He bent down to lift the carry-on, still keeping his hand on her arm. She was pure, walking provocation, totally unsuitable for ranch life, but every male hormone in him was clanging alert signals. She was only going to be here for a day; why shouldn’t he enjoy being with her? It would be sort of a last fling before settling down with someone better prepared for the job, and job it would be. Ranching was hard work, and Madelyn Patterson didn’t look as if she had ever been exposed to the concept.

  Right now, though, he didn’t mind, because she was so damn enticing and he was dead tired of the relentless months—years—of sixteen-hour days and backbreaking work. He would take her out to eat tonight, after his chores were done; maybe they’d go to Jasper’s for some dancing, and he’d hold her in his arms for a while, feel the softness of her skin, smell her perfume. Who knew, maybe when they went back to the ranch it wouldn’t be to separate beds. He’d have to be up front in telling her that she wasn’t right for the job, so there wouldn’t be any misunderstanding, but maybe it wouldn’t make any difference to her. Maybe.

  His hand naturally moved from her arm to her back as he led her out of the terminal. Deliberately he set about charming her, something he had once done with women as effortlessly as he had smiled. Those days were far in the past, but the touch remained. She chatted easily, thank God, asking questions about Montana, and he answered them just as easily, letting her relax and get comfortable with him, and all the while he studied her face and expressions.

  Strictly speaking, she was merely pretty, but her face was lit by a liveliness that made her stunningly attractive. Her nose had a slight bump in it and was just a tiny bit crooked. A light dusting of freckles covered the bridge of it and scattered across her cheekbones, which were exquisitely chiseled. World-class cheekbones, just like her legs. Her lips weren’t full, but her mouth was wide and mobile, as if she were forever on the verge of smiling. Her eyes were the grayest eyes he’d ever seen. They were calm, sleepy eyes that nevertheless revealed on closer inspection an alert and often amused intelligence, though he didn’t see what she found so amusing.

  If he’d met her before his rotten marriage and disastrous divorce, he would have gone after her like gangbusters, and gotten her, too, by God. Just the thought of those legs wrapped around his waist brought him to instant, uncomfortable arousal. No way, though, would he let his gonads lead him into another unsuitable marriage. He knew what he wanted in a wife, and Madelyn wasn’t it. She didn’t look as if she’d ever even seen a steer.

  None of that decreased his physical response to her one whit. He’d been attracted to a lot of women at first sight, but not like this, not like a slam in the gut. This wasn’t just attraction, a mild word to describe a mild interest; this was strong and wrenching, flooding his body with heat, making him grow hard even though he sure as hell didn’t want to here in the middle of the airport. His hands actually hurt from wanting to touch her, to smooth over her breast and hip in a braille investigation of those sleek curves.

  He felt a twinge of regret that she was so out of place, so totally unsuitable for his purposes. Walking beside her, he saw the sidelong glances that other men were giving her. Women like her just naturally attracted male speculation, and he wished he could afford to keep her, but she was too expensive for him. Reese was broke now, but at one time he had been accustomed to money; he knew how it looked and smelled and tasted, and how it fit. It fit Madelyn Patterson as perfectly as her silky skin did. She was slim and bright in her Paris-made suit, and the perfume sweetened by her warm flesh cost over two hundred dollars an ounce. He knew because it was one of his favorites. He couldn’t even afford to keep her in perfume, much less clothes.

  “What sort of work do you do?” he asked as they stepped into the bright sunshine. Those terse little letters she’d written hadn’t revealed much.

  She made a face, wrinkling her nose. “I work in an office without a window, doing nothing important, in my stepbrother’s company. It’s one of those jobs made for family.” She didn’t tell him that she’d turned in her notice, because he might assume she had done it thinking that she would be moving to Montana, and the one had nothing to do with the other. But her racing pulse told her that if he asked, she’d be packed and moved in with him so fast he’d think she owned her own moving company.

  “Have you ever been on a ranch?” He asked it even though he already knew the answer.

  “No.” Madelyn looked up at him, something she still had to do despite her three-inch heels. “But I do know how to ride.” She was actually a very good horsewoman, courtesy of her college roommate in Virginia, who had been horse mad.

  He dismissed any riding she might have done. Recreational riding was a far cry from riding a workhorse, and that was what his horses were, trained and as valuable in their own way as a racehorse. It was just one more area where she didn’t measure up.

  They reached his truck, and he watched to see if she turned up her nose at it, as dusty and battered as it was. She didn’t blink an eye, just stood to the side while he unlocked the door and placed her bag on the middle of the seat. Then he stepped back for her to get in.

  Madelyn tried to seat herself and found that she couldn’t. An astonished expression crossed her face; then she began to laugh as she realized her skirt was too tight. She couldn’t lift her legs enough to climb up on the seat. “What women won’t do for vanity,” she said in a voice full of humor at her own expense and began tugging up the hem of the skirt. “I wore this because I wanted to look nice, but it would have been smarter to have worn slacks.”

  Reese’s throat locked as he watched her pull up th
e skirt, exposing increasing amounts of her slim thighs. Heat exploded through him, making him feel as if his entire body were expanding. The thought flashed through his mind that he wouldn’t be able to stand it if she pulled that skirt up one more inch, and in the next split second his hands shot out, catching her around the waist and lifting her onto the seat. She gave a startled little cry at his abrupt movement and grabbed his forearms to brace herself.

  His mouth was dry, and sweat beaded on his forehead. “Don’t pull up your skirt around me again, unless you want me to do something about it,” he said in a guttural tone. His pulse was throbbing through him. She had the best legs he’d ever seen, long and strong, with sleek muscles. She’d be able to lock them around him and hang on, no matter how wild the ride.

  Madelyn couldn’t speak. Tension stretched between them, heavy and dark. Fierce, open lust burned in his narrowed eyes, and she couldn’t look away, caught in the silent intensity. She was still gripping his forearms, and she felt the heat of his arms, the steely muscles bunched iron-hard under her fingers. Her heart lurched at the sharp realization that he felt some of the turmoil she had been feeling.

  She began babbling an apology. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend—that is, I didn’t realize—” She stopped, because she couldn’t come right out and say that she hadn’t meant to arouse him. No matter how she reacted to him, he was still essentially a stranger.

  He looked down at her legs, with the skirt still halfway up them, and his hands involuntarily tightened on her waist before he forced himself to release her. “Yeah, I know. It’s all right,” he muttered. His voice was still hoarse. It wasn’t all right. Every muscle in his body was tight. He stepped back before he could give in to the impulse to move forward instead, putting himself between her legs and opening them wider. All he would have to do would be to slide his hands under the skirt to push it up the rest of the way— He crushed the thought, because if he’d let himself finish it, his control would have shattered.

  THEY HAD LEFT Billings far behind before he spoke again. “Are you hungry? If you are, there’s a café at the crossroads up ahead.”

  “No, thank you,” Madelyn replied a bit dreamily as she stared at the wide vista of countryside around her. She was used to enormous buildings, but suddenly they seemed puny in comparison with this endless expanse of earth and sky. It made her feel both insignificant and fresh, as if her life were just starting now. “How far is it to your ranch?”

  “About a hundred and twenty miles. It’ll take us almost three hours to get there.”

  She blinked, astonished at the distance. She hadn’t realized how much effort it was for him to come to Billings to meet her. “Do you go to Billings often?”

  He glanced at her, wondering if she was trying to find out how much he isolated himself on the ranch. “No,” he said briefly.

  “So this is a special trip?”

  “I did some business this morning, too.” He’d stopped by the bank to give his loan officer the newest figures on the ranch’s projected income for the coming year. Right now, it looked better than it had in a long time. He was still flat broke, but he could see daylight now. The banker had been pleased.

  Madelyn looked at him with concern darkening her gray eyes. “So you’ve been on the road since about dawn.”

  “About that.”

  “You must be tired.”

  “You get used to early hours on a ranch. I’m up before dawn every day.”

  She looked around again. “I don’t know why anyone would stay in bed and miss dawn out here. It must be wonderful.”

  Reese thought about it. He could remember how spectacular the dawns were, but it had been a long while since he’d had the time to notice one. “Like everything else, you get used to them. I know for a fact that there are dawns in New York, too.”

  She chuckled at his dry tone. “I seem to remember them, but my apartment faces to the west. I see sunsets, not dawns.”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to say that they would watch a lot of dawns together, but common sense stopped him. The only dawn they would have in common would be the next day. She wasn’t the woman he would choose for a wife.

  He reached into his shirt pocket and got out the pack of cigarettes that always resided there, shaking one free and drawing it the rest of the way out with his lips. As he dug in his jeans pocket for his lighter he heard her say incredulously, “You smoke?”

  Swift irritation rose in him. From the tone of her voice you would have thought she had caught him kicking puppies, or something else equally repulsive. He lit the cigarette and blew smoke into the cab. “Yeah,” he said. “Do you mind?” He made it plain from his tone of voice that, since it was his truck, he was damn well going to smoke in it.

  Madelyn faced forward again. “If you mean, does the smoke bother me, the answer is no. I just hate to see anyone smoking. It’s like playing Russian roulette with your life.”

  “Exactly. It’s my life.”

  She bit her lip at his curtness. Great going, she thought. That’s a good way to get to know someone, attack his personal habits.

  “I’m sorry,” she apologized with sincerity. “It’s none of my business, and I shouldn’t have said anything. It just startled me.”

  “Why? People smoke. Or don’t you associate with anyone who smokes?”

  She thought a minute, treating his sarcastic remark seriously. “Not really. Some of our clients smoke, but none of my personal friends do. I spent a lot of time with my grandmother, and she was very old-fashioned about the vices. I was taught never to swear, smoke or drink spirits. I’ve never smoked,” she said righteously.

  Despite his irritation, he found himself trying not to laugh. “Does that mean you swear and drink spirits?”

  “I’ve been known to be a bit aggressive in my language in moments of stress,” she allowed. Her eyes twinkled at him. “And Grandma Lily thought it was perfectly suitable for a lady to take an occasional glass of wine, medicinally, of course. During my college days, I also swilled beer.”

  “Swilled?”

  “There’s no other word to describe a college student’s drinking manners.”

  Remembering his own college days, he had to agree.

  “But I don’t enjoy spirits,” she continued. “So I’d say at least half of Grandma Lily’s teachings stuck. Not bad odds.”

  “Did she have any rules against gambling?”

  Madelyn looked at him, her mouth both wry and tender, gray eyes full of a strange acceptance. “Grandma Lily believed that life is a gamble, and everyone has to take their chances. Sometimes you bust, sometimes you break the house.” It was an outlook she had passed on to her granddaughter. Otherwise, Madelyn thought, why would she be sitting here in a pickup truck, in the process of falling in love with a stranger?

  IT HAD BEEN a long time since Reese had seen his home through the eyes of a stranger, but as he stopped the truck next to the house, he was suddenly, bitterly ashamed. The paint on the house was badly chipped and peeling, and the outbuildings were even worse. Long ago he’d given up trying to keep the yard neat and had finally destroyed the flower beds that had once delineated the house, because they had been overrun with weeds. In the past seven years nothing new had been added, and nothing broken had been replaced, except for the absolute necessities. Parts for the truck and tractor had come before house paint. Taking care of the herd had been more important than cutting the grass or weeding the flower beds. Sheer survival hadn’t left time for the niceties of life. He’d done what he’d had to do, but that didn’t mean he had to like the shape his home was in. He hated for Madelyn to see it like this, when it had once been, if not a showplace, a house no woman would have been ashamed of.

  Madelyn saw the peeling paint, but dismissed it; after all, it wasn’t anything that a little effort and several gallons of paint wouldn’t fix. What caught her attention was the shaded porch, complete with swing, that wrapped all the way around the two-story house. Grandma Lily had had a po
rch like that, and a swing where they had whiled away many a lazy summer day to the accompaniment of the slow creak of the chains as they gently swayed.

  “It reminds me of Grandma Lily’s house,” she said, her eyes dreamy again.

  He opened her door and put his hands on her waist, lifting her out of the truck before she could slide to the ground. Startled all over again, she quickly looked up at him.

  “I wasn’t taking any chances with that skirt,” he said, almost growling.

  Her pulse began thudding again.

  He reached inside the truck and hooked her carry-on bag with one hand, then took her arm with the other. They entered by the back door, which was unlocked. She was struck by the fact that he felt safe in not locking his door when he was going to be gone all day.

  The back door opened into a combination mudroom and laundry. A washer and dryer lined the wall to the left, and the right wall bristled with pegs from which hung an assortment of hats, coats, ponchos and bright yellow rain slickers. A variety of boots, most of them muddy, were lined up on a rubber mat. Straight ahead and across a small hall was a full bathroom, which she realized would be convenient when he came in muddy from head to foot. He could take a bath without tracking mud or dripping water all through the house to the bathroom upstairs.

  They turned left and were in the kitchen, a big, open, sunny room with a breakfast nook. Madelyn looked with interest at the enormous appliances, which didn’t fit her image of what the kitchen of a small-scale, bachelor rancher should look like. She had expected something smaller and much more old-fashioned than this efficient room with its institutional-sized appliances.

  “The house has ten rooms,” he said. “Six downstairs, and four bedrooms upstairs.”

  “It’s a big house for just one person,” she commented, following him upstairs.

  “That’s why I want to get married.” He made the comment as if explaining why he wanted a drink of water. “My parents built this house when I was a baby. I grew up here. I want to pass it on to my own children.”