That Man Matthews

Placing the kettle back on the stove, she drew a deep breath, thinking of the motherless and alienated child waiting back in Texas. Joan emptied her lungs, then returned to the doorway.

Matthews looked up from the papers he’d stacked on the table, giving her a questioning glance. “Well?”

“I’ll do it.” Annoyingly, he looked as if he hadn’t expected any other answer. It made her tone sharper than she intended when she continued, “But for no longer than two weeks.”

“All right. I think I should warn you that life on a ranch can require some getting used to. We’re out in the boondocks, but we’re completely self-contained. The land is unforgiving of mistakes, so it’s my world down there. I’m blunt and demanding, and I run Luna D’Oro on my terms. My people call me el jefe grande—the big boss. If that offends any of your female sensibilities, you’d better tell me now.”

She allowed a skeptical expression to flit across her features, refusing to be cowed by the note of challenge in his voice. “Actually, you’ve managed to offend me so frequently in the short time I’ve known you, a few more transgressions will hardly make a difference.”

He laughed out loud at that. “Why, Miss Paxton, you can be pretty blunt yourself.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Not at all. Just means it ought to be interesting. Let’s call this a done deal, shall we?” He extended his hand and she took it, meeting his gaze squarely as he smiled broadly at her.

He wrote out a check that seemed generous, but not foolishly so. Then he rose from the table. By the time they reached the front door, Cody Matthews had promised to send a messenger around with an airline ticket before the week was out. The idea of leaving Alexandria on such short notice was disconcerting, but better to make the break from her past a clean quick one, she thought.

“Someone will pick you up at the San Antonio airport,” he told her. “Although my foreman will probably pitch a fit at having to pick up another ‘expert’ to handle Sarah.”

Her brows rose. This was something she hadn’t considered—that others had come before her and failed. “You’ve brought others to your home?”

“Not like you. Nannies. Two in one week.”

“What happened?”

“Sarah gave the first one a series of interesting bedmates. I believe the one that sent her packing was a king snake.” He cocked his head, and the movement allowed the lamplight to limn his mouth as it curled with amusement. “Harmless. But enough to scare a skittish woman, I suppose.”

She sensed he wanted a reaction, and she refused to give it to him. “And the second?”

“My attorney advises me not to discuss the details of the case.”

She frowned, unable to hide her surprise. “Mr. Matthews—”

“I’m kidding,” he said with a laugh. “You need to lighten up, Miss Paxton. Are you always so serious?”

The teasing glint disappeared from his blue eyes, and for a moment she was stunned by the curious intimacy of his gaze. It reminded her of those moments at the table when her hand had been on his arm. She felt the power of physical awareness arc between them, a temptation to reckless things. It was gone in an instant.

Unsettled, she found her voice, wishing him a safe trip back to Texas.

“Pack for hot weather,” he instructed.

She nodded blindly, but just as she was closing the door behind him, he snagged the edge of it with his hand. “One more thing,” he added, and an unholy grin laced his features with subtle mischief. “This belt buckle is special. It was a gift from my daughter, so I wouldn’t advise telling her what you really think of it.”

He was gone before she could ask what he meant by that. Scowling, she leaned against the door. While she didn’t like that silly buckle, she’d never said a word to him about it, had she? She’d only—

The blood drained from Joan’s cheeks. The list. All his flaws itemized on paper. What had she done with it? She hurried to the dining-room table where the papers Cody Matthews had retrieved from the floor now lay neatly stacked.

Two envelopes down, right beneath the electric bill, lay the list she’d compiled—What Makes Cody Matthews So Obnoxious. The words practically leaped off the page. “Poor taste in clothes—especially belt buckles!”

Scathing.

Satisfyingly petty.

And listed right below it, where he could not have failed to read it, “Beautiful bedroom eyes.”

CHAPTER FOUR

HE SHOULD HAVE SENT one of the ranch hands to pick her up.

In twenty-four hours he had to be in Dallas, negotiating his way past a school of legal sharks determined to chew up his plans for the property he’d bought in San Antonio. He should be gearing himself up for the mental gymnastics of that confrontation. Not bumping along the dusty, knotted ribbon of road that led to Luna D’Oro with Miss Joan Paxton seated primly beside him on the sun-cracked seat of the ranch pickup.

The truck smelled like feed-store molasses and needed new shocks. It was rattling the fillings right out of his teeth, for Pete’s sake. He should have thought to bring the Rover. But it had been an impulse decision to pluck the keys from Tomas’s hand at the last minute to run this errand himself.

He slid a glance across the seat as the pickup lurched into and then out of a pothole. The woman looked tired and uncomfortable, trying to hang on to that ramrod posture of hers, in spite of every rut and curve that threatened to toss her around the cab like a pea in a hollow gourd.

She’d hardly said two words since they’d left San Antonio. There was a pinched look around her lips, and he wondered if some grievance against him was fermenting in her. She was probably angry because he’d taken one look at her expensive luggage, snorted in disgust and then tossed the bags into the truck bed with little more respect than he’d give sacks of grain.

He hadn’t been able to help himself. In spite of his suggestion that she dress in casual, comfortable clothing, she’d come off the plane looking like a Madison Avenue executive: tailored suit, designer attaché case and an air of indomitability. She looked primed for a nine-o’clock appointment with a company president, not a twelve-year-old child. Cody knew that the moment Sarah saw her she’d become as balky as a barn-sour nag.

He felt some of his old rebellion and resentment rise. How could this haughty blue blood succeed where he could not? What had he seen in Joan Paxton that day in her apartment to make him think she’d have some special talent for figuring out what the hell was wrong with Sarah? The woman had admitted she wasn’t in the business of working miracles, so why had he pushed her to take the job?

’Cause you’re flat-out desperate, that’s why. And if he wanted to deny that, he had only to remember last night—the latest go-round with Sarah over the poor showing she’d made for the school year.

She was already barely hanging on by her teeth in two subjects. Last week Miss Beasley had sent home a note about Sarah’s final exam.

Maybe he ought to float the latest problem past Joan Paxton and get her opinion. No sense stalling. Hells bells, wasn’t that the reason he’d brought her here? He chewed the inside of his cheek a moment, thinking that the woman had one heck of a challenge ahead of her.

“Sarah’s in the doghouse with me right now.” He broke the silence. “I’d like to think that means she’ll be on her best behavior, but there’s no telling how she’ll react to you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her head swing in his direction. “Given what you’ve told me, I’m not expecting to be welcomed with open arms,” she said mildly. “What did you tell Sarah was the reason for my coming here?”

“I told her that I knew she was having a hard time in school lately. At home, too. And that I didn’t seem to be helping the situation much. I said you were an educational expert for children her age, and that you might be able to give us some advice.”

“How did she respond to that?”

“Suspicious looks. A surly attitude. We ended up in an argument.”

“Over what?”

“Her school progress reports this year have been going steadily downhill. Math. Science. Now history. Just before Sarah’s last test, her teacher, Miss Beasley, sent home a note saying that because she didn’t finish some big semester project, if she got anything less than a B on her exam she’d ‘jeopardize her chances for promotion.’ Which, if I remember correctly, is diplomatic teacher talk for being held back a year.”

“So how did Sarah do?”

“She thinks she passed the test. We won’t know for sure until we pick up her grades at the end of this week. But she’s all in a huff. She got a real attitude when Beasley claimed she hadn’t turned in the written portion of her project.”

“What kind of attitude?”

“She called Miss Beasley a liar.”