A Cowboy Under Her Tree

“We’d better say good night to the Stevensons,” Steph murmured to Grant. “Looks like they’re getting ready to head out.”

“Right.” Grant covered the hand she tucked beneath his arm as if they’d been doing that all of their lives. “Catch you later.” His lips twitched. “Enjoy yourselves, now.”

“We plan to.” Russ watched the color rise in Melanie’s cheeks. “Supposed to snow sometime tonight, and the rooms here have outdoor hot tubs.”

“You know what they’re thinking,” Melanie said under her breath once Grant and Steph moved off to intercept the departing couple.

“Exactly what you’re wanting them to think,” he returned. He lifted the beer bottle. Found it empty. Eyed her empty cocktail. “Want another round?”

“I think I’ve had plenty.”

“Then we should hit the room. That is, if we’ve got a deal. A real deal.”

She seemed to steel herself a little as she rose to her feet. She swept a shaking hand down the side of her dress and turned toward the door. “Bring the napkin.”

“What for?” He caught her elbow in his hand, keeping her from sailing ahead of him as she looked prepared to do.

Her gaze swept down him from head to toe. The color in her cheeks bloomed even brighter. “Consider it a prenuptial agreement.”

Chapter Three

Melanie simply had to shut off her brain as they went through the process of obtaining the offered room key and getting to their room, which was actually one of the cabins looking out over Thunder Canyon, rather than a single room in the lodge itself.

It felt as if she and the hunk of granite towering over her were the focus of every pair of eyes they passed, first at the registration desk, then the coat check where Russ almost mockingly tucked her into her calf-length fur. Nor was her ego healthy enough to believe that she would be the subject of any particular gossip. After six months, she was still a newcomer in Thunder Canyon.

A curiosity.

An oddity.

Russ, however, was as much a part of the town as the foundation on which the charmingly Old West buildings were built. And it seemed very clear to her that he was definitely the focus of those curious looks.

They had to leave the main lodge to get to the cabin and the moment they stepped outside, Melanie felt the slap of cold, crisp air in her face.

It was both heady and sobering at the same time.

But she couldn’t back down.

Which is why she soon found herself standing in the center of the small two-room cabin, facing a man who didn’t like her, much less approve of her.

An electric hurricane-style lamp was already lit and it cast an intimate glow around the cabin. The interior looked rustic without being rustic and despite the haze clouding her sensibilities, her McFarlane brain still managed to take in the amenities of the cabin.

Pure luxury.

Similar to what she hoped to offer her guests.

She jerked a little when Russ dropped the cabin key on the long pine table surrounded by four chairs in the dining area. Seeming oblivious to her, he shrugged out of his shearling coat and tossed it onto the leather couch that was draped with a red-and-black-plaid woolen throw. There were also two comfortable-looking armchairs and an enormous ottoman that doubled as a coffee table. He brushed past her, entering the small, efficient kitchen area. “Take off your coat.”

Evidently, his helping her into it had been for the benefit of the people watching them. She set her purse on the table and slid off the mink that her father had given her for her twenty-fifth birthday and draped it carefully over one of the ladder-back chairs.

She tried to see through the open doorway that led to the bedroom, but it was too dark.

She heard him rummaging in a cupboard and was surprised when he returned to the table without another drink from what she expected would be a well-stocked bar.

Instead, he had a ballpoint pen in his hand. He yanked out a chair, sat down, and tossed the somewhat crumpled napkin on the table in front of him. He clicked the end of the pen and added his own scrawl beneath hers.

When he finished, his dark gaze was brooding as he slid the napkin across the smooth wooden surface toward her. “You gonna stand there all night, or sit yourself down?”

“Stand.” She picked up the napkin and read his additions, under which he’d confidently signed his name. Russ J. Chilton.

“It’s not short for Russell?”

He just watched her.

What did it matter what his name was? She tossed the ink-riddled napkin back to him. His first term had been that their marriage be performed legally. He’d already made that point perfectly clear. The second was the description of acreage he wanted when it came to getting his division of the Hopping H. But the last condition?

She gave him a look. “I need you to teach me what I need to know, not agree to do everything you tell me to do.”

“Where the Hopping H is concerned,” he pointed out the rest of his statement with a shrug. “Someone’s gotta be the boss.”

“And I suppose where you’re concerned that’ll never be a woman.” She managed not to roll her eyes.

“It won’t be a woman who doesn’t know the front end of a horse from the back.”

Then she did roll her eyes. “And women are accused of exaggeration. Believe me, Mr. Chilton, I know which end is which, and currently, you’re acting like the hind end.”

He shrugged again, obviously unfazed. “You can do all the bossing you want when it comes to your guest enterprise.” His lips twisted at that, telling her yet again what he thought of that particular endeavor. “But when it comes to ranch operations, I call the shots. Or there’s no deal. You can go find yourself some other sucker.”

“I’m not looking for any kind of sucker. Just someone who’ll give me a fair deal and exercise some discretion at the same time.”

“And you think that you’ll get that from me.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Won’t I?”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

She unfolded her arms and closed her hands over the back of the mink-draped chair. It seemed to help the way the room tended to spin around her head. She really shouldn’t have had that last martini. “We don’t have to like one another to acknowledge certain facts. And one is that you’re scupu…scrupulously fair. Everyone in town says so.”

He made a soft grunt. “Too damn fair. What’s your family got to do with all of this?” He shoved his hand through his hair, leaving it even more rumpled.

Probably what he looked like when he woke in the morning.

She swallowed, trying to banish the thought. “Hmm?”

“You said only your family had to believe we were married. Why?”

Her fingers sank farther into the fur. “They need to believe I’m competent in all areas of the guest ranch. Being married is a side note to them. Why would you trust getting your share out of a marriage—an uncostumated…consummated marriage—more than you’d trust a contract?”

His gaze seemed to drop to her lips. “Does it matter?”