Rancher's Wife

* * *

Late in the morning, Day parked his big pickup truck in front of the drugstore in Deming. He’d already been by the feed store, the grocery and the vet’s office on his round of errands. The faster he got back to the ranch, the happier he’d be. He wanted to ride out and check the fence in the northwest pasture before supper.

Supper. Last night, Dulcie’s guest had been seated across the table from him, and later he’d bumped into her in the hallway—literally. He might not be thrilled about the idea of having a guest on the ranch, especially while he was so worried about the custody suit Jada kept threatening, but he had to admit that Angel Vandervere was easy on the eyes. And when she’d come up against him fully in the dark house, he’d had a momentary fantasy of getting to know those lush curves intimately. She wasn’t really his type, but after seeing her, he wasn’t sure he could say what his type might be these days.

She was tall, taller than he normally liked his women, and she was a blonde. When he’d grabbed her yesterday, he’d been expecting blue eyes, but hers were brown...big and soft and intelligent-looking. Funny that he didn’t remember her at all. But he figured the timing had been wrong when she’d lived in Deming before. Dulcie had told him that Angel had moved there in the seventh grade. That would have been his first year of college, and he had to admit that on the rare occasions he’d been home, he’d been a lot more preoccupied with trying to get Corinne Cantler horizontal in his pick-up than he had been with checking on his younger sister and her giggly adolescent friends.

He shook his head, amused by the memory. Corinne was a waitress in a local restaurant now, and even though she’d been married to Buddy Alderson for nearly fifteen years, she still liked to flirt. In a better humor than he’d been since yesterday, when he’d seen a total stranger baiting his child with candy, he strode into the pharmacy and made his purchases. He had to wait for an antibiotic prescription that one of the hands needed for an infected cut on his finger. While he waited, he idly scanned the racks of magazines and newspapers near the front counter.

He always got a hoot out of the headlines in the tabloids. One rag proclaimed that a three-headed baby had been born to a couple in Pakistan. Another chronicled the life of a professional football player who was suspected of hiring an assassin to kill a fellow athlete. A third speculated on the whereabouts of some actress who had dropped out of the L.A. scene without a word. He glanced again at the grainy photo of the heavily made-up actress in a skintight black sequined gown that plunged far beyond decency, taken the night of the Academy Awards. Angelique Sumner had a truly incredible figure—

The salesclerk called to him that his prescription was ready, and he started to move away from the magazines. Then, drawn by some instinct that raised the hairs on the back of his neck in inevitable dread, he looked at the tabloid photo of the Sumner actress again.

Angelique...Angel. A sick feeling rose in the back of his throat as he realized that the world might not know where Angelique Sumner was, but he did. He’d left her sitting in his kitchen reading to his daughter. Through narrowed eyes, he compared the picture with his mental image of Angel. The woman he’d met hadn’t been bent on improving her looks, and if he hadn’t felt and seen her curves revealed beneath that clingy robe last night, he’d never have noticed her figure beneath the loose clothing she’d worn during the day. She’d had on no makeup that he’d noticed and her hair had been confined in a careless knot atop her head. Even so, he’d recognized a classic structure in the bones of her face and the fine, smooth skin. Yes, with makeup and that blond hair loose and curly, she would become the unforgettable beauty before him. Fury rose, a red mist that kept him standing in front of the magazines desperately trying to master his rage before he lashed out and destroyed anything within reach.

Dulcie. She knew how he felt about actresses! How could she have done this to him? If the press found out where their quarry was, his ranch would be splashed all over the country in one of these trashy papers, especially if his connection to Jada was recalled. The privacy he’d worked so hard to keep for Beth Ann would be gone in the time it took a mean bronc to throw a green rider. His teeth ground together and he grabbed the tabloid off the shelf, throwing it on the counter with the prescription. Suddenly he couldn’t get back to the Red Arrow fast enough.

Two

Day entered the kitchen quietly, resisting the urge to slam the door with all his strength. He couldn’t believe he’d had this...this actress in his house for two days without even knowing it. He slapped the paper down on the kitchen counter. “What the hell is the meaning of this?”

Dulcie, who was chopping lettuce at the sink, jumped visibly. “Don’t do that when I’m holding a sharp knife,” she complained. But as she turned and caught sight of his face, her expression changed from irritation to wariness. “The meaning of what?”

“This.” Day stabbed a rigid forefinger at the article and accompanying photograph. He knew his anger was written all over his face but he didn’t care. “You know how I feel about having my private life exposed to the public. You know how hard I’ve worked to be sure Beth Ann is shielded from—from this, and yet you deliberately invite a woman you know will bring nothing but notoriety to visit this ranch.”

“Oh, excuse me.” Angel—no, Angelique—hovered in the doorway. “I didn’t mean to interrupt a family matter.”

He felt his temperature boil a notch higher at her unfailing politeness. Didn’t the woman ever have an honest moment of irritation or pique? With an acid courtesy of his own, he said, “Come right in, Miss Sumner.”

She froze, and her face showed shock for an instant before she wiped it carefully blank as she took a hesitant step forward. In that instant, he was suddenly sure his suspicions were correct.

He didn’t attempt to hide the hateful sneer in his voice as he said, “I wouldn’t want you to miss this discussion, particularly since you’ve had a hand in deceiving me. How long did you think it would take me to figure out who you were?” He shoved his face close to hers, so furious that he was shaking. “How stupid do you think I am?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Jada wouldn’t have missed such an obvious opportunity for a stinging put-down. But Angelique Sumner ignored it.

“Dulcie didn’t intend to deceive you,” she said. Her words were quiet, but he could see her delicate jaw set in a surprisingly pugnacious line.

“Oh, no?” He tapped the paper furiously with an accusing finger. “What am I supposed to believe? That she just conveniently forgot to mention her houseguest was one of Hollywood’s darlings?”

Dulcie made a sound of angry protest, but again it was Angel—Angelique—who spoke. “Like me, I imagine she didn’t realize it needed any mention.”

“Why the hell not?” He was so mad he was yelling.

“I thought you knew who I was!” Angel yelled back.

He was so surprised that the quiet woman who’d been floating around the ranch for the past few days could raise her voice that he was momentarily speechless. She even looked shocked at herself.

Taking a deep breath, she said more quietly, “Dulcie and I have been friends since high school, long before I started acting professionally. I assumed you knew who I was before I came here.”

Dulcie stepped forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with her taller guest. “I honestly thought you knew, Day. It wasn’t meant to be a secret.”

He had the distinct impression the two women were uniting against him. When they put it that way, his anger seemed all out of proportion. Still, he wasn’t willing to back down so easily. He said, “If you weren’t trying to hide anything, then why doesn’t the press know where you are?” Again he pointed to the headline.

Angel sighed. “I deliberately didn’t tell anyone where I was going. I needed some space to think, to make some decisions I’ve been putting off. When Dulcie extended the invitation to come to the Red Arrow, I knew it was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. She’s not related to me. There are no obvious connections. I was careful about leaving town and I’ve been making an effort to be inconspicuous—”

“You don’t say,” Day drawled, giving an exaggerated glance at her dolled-up image in the photo and then looking back at her.

She paused and gave him an uncertain smile, clearly not sure whether he was baiting her or not. Then she said quietly, “I realize that you must have some strong reservations about my presence here. If you like, I’ll leave.”

“No!” Dulcie glared at Day. “She’s not hurting anyone. Angel couldn’t hurt anyone.” She crossed her arms defiantly. “If she leaves, I leave.”

Day grimaced. Given a choice, he would have accepted Angelique Sumner’s offer to remove herself from his ranch. But he needed Dulcie. Pilar, the ranch housekeeper of thirty years, had retired when she broke a hip two months ago. Since then, he’d had to hire and fire three housekeepers.

Finally, Dulcie had agreed to come and stay with Beth Ann until he could find yet another replacement. If Dulcie left, he couldn’t keep Beth Ann with him.

He’d had the idea of sending her to a baby-sitter’s house while he was out on the range some months ago, but when Jada found out, she’d used it to make him look like an unfit father. No, he had to keep Beth Ann here. Which meant he needed Dulcie. Which meant he was stuck with Angel whatever-she-was-going-to-be-called for the next two weeks.

“All right,” he said. “You win.” He wasn’t certain which one of the women he was addressing. “But no more secrets.”

“It wasn’t a secret.” Angel’s voice was firm and vehement. “But after seeing how worked up you are, I’d have to say you’re right. I wouldn’t have told you because I’d have figured you’d have a paranoid hang-up with my career.”

“And you’d be right.” His words were flat and unapologetic. Turning, he snatched his hat from the peg where he’d hung it and slammed out of the kitchen. As he passed through it on his way to the barn, the only refuge he had away from the house, he gave the door of the utility room a satisfying bang.

* * *

Sunlight streaming across her face woke her, making her squint and throw an arm across her eyes. Morning. Slowly Angel swam out of the depths of sleep, hating the exhausted feeling that always dogged her these days. Why had she thought it might be different, better, here? She was lucky to fall asleep before dawn. Same old story. She couldn’t sleep, and when she did, she couldn’t get awake again. Catch-22.

The clock said 9:25. She sat up, forcing herself out of lethargy. This was her third full day on the ranch and she’d hoped to help Dulcie with her chores. Sleeping in like a slothful vacationer was not what she’d had in mind. Besides, it would only confirm all the bad things Day Kincaid was convinced she embodied. Darn grumpy man anyway.

Her stomach growled loudly—past time for breakfast. Quickly she made her bed and dressed, leaving her face bare of makeup and confining her hair in a wide barrette at the back of her head. As she opened her door, her stomach growled again. Kitchen. Food. She was used to eating at the crack of dawn. She went down the steps and headed for the kitchen.

Dulcie was making cookies. As she entered the room, the delicious smell assaulted her empty stomach with an almost physical pain.

“Hi, sleepyhead.” Dulcie smiled from the counter where she was working. “I guess you want some breakfast.”

“Yes, but I don’t want you to wait on me,” Angel said as she lifted a still-warm cookie from the tray cooling atop the range. “I’ll help myself.”

As she turned to remove a brimming pitcher of orange juice from the refrigerator, Beth Ann peeped around the corner of the counter, where she must have been playing at Dulcie’s feet. Two fingers were tucked into her mouth and a worried frown wrinkled her small forehead. Striking silver eyes exactly like her father’s peeped from beneath a fringe of black bang as she assessed the newcomer.

Angel was struck by the cautious quality of the child’s surveillance. It was as if she was testing the atmosphere to see if it was safe to show herself. Angel had spent much of the day yesterday playing with the little girl, and she’d thought they had gotten past the shy stage. What could make a three-year-old so wary? She decided to pretend everything was normal. As far as she was concerned, it was.

“Hello there,” she said. “Is it all right if I eat a cookie for breakfast?”

The little girl giggled, her small face losing its anxious look. “No. Cookies are for d’ssert. Cereal is for breakfast.”

“Out of the mouths of babes,” Dulcie intoned. “Around here, the men expect some kind of dessert with every meal. I feel like all I do is bake.”

“Why don’t you let me help? I love to bake.” Angel sat down with a piece of toast and the cookie she’d pilfered. “And please tell me what else I can do. I’ve been lounging around here like a guest in a resort hotel for the past few days.”