The Rancher's Seduction

Concern sent him to his feet as the front door opened.

Nugget lifted his head from his paws.

Tally took his breath away with her face pink from the cold. He lost track of how long he stared at her—and she at him—until his uncle cleared his throat and reached for the shopping bag of cleaning supplies she carried. Marshall then noticed the woman standing beside Tally. A lovely brunette, someone who might have caught his attention on another day. But right now, he only had eyes for a certain redheaded spitfire.

“My car died. I caught a ride with a friend.” She gestured to the brunette holding another bag of cleaning supplies. “This is Felicity Hunt. She’s a social worker who was up at the hospital for a case.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Hunt.” He crossed the room to take Tally’s parka. The heat of her body clung to the well-worn jacket. Her crocheted mittens hung half out of the pocket. “You could have called me. You would have rescued me from plans of a bachelor auction at the Christmas fund-raiser.”

“Bachelor auction?” Felicity echoed.

Conrad chuckled under his breath.

Tally tipped her head to the side, then said, “I handled getting home, but thank you for the offer.”

Marshall’s broken arm be damned, he needed to do something for her. “I’ll send a tow truck and have my mechanic look at it.”

Tally winced. “I don’t want to take advantage. You can deduct it from my paycheck.”

Marshall appreciated her independence, but the repair was a drop in the bucket to him. “We can discuss it later.”

Conrad stopped alongside him. “Ms. Hunt, could we offer you supper to thank you for your trouble?”

“I’m fine, thanks. My workday started early, so I should head home.”

Marshall nodded to the tall brunette. “That was kind of you to go out of your way.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “It’s not that far, but I should be going.” Felicity turned to Tally. “I’ll see you next week. Today was so busy we didn’t get to chat much, and it seems we have, um, lots to talk about.” Grinning, she jabbed her hands into her coat pockets.

Conrad grabbed his coat from the nearby elk antler coat rack, yanking on his overcoat. “I’ll see you to your car.”

Marshall looked at his uncle in surprise. Interesting.

Tally picked up both bags of cleaning supplies, bright red hair sliding forward over half of her delicate face. Backing toward the door, she took a deep breath. “I’ll get to work now.”

He usually enjoyed the solitude of his life. But he was restless and couldn’t work that off with a ride. Ah, hell, who was he fooling? He’d been waiting for her to get back all afternoon.

“You’ve been volunteering since lunch. I thought you could use a break. I pulled a meal from the freezer and placed it in the oven.”

She turned toward him, her eyebrows knit with...confusion? She assessed him a moment before speaking. “That’s thoughtful. But I’m supposed to be taking care of you.”

“I can take care of myself.” Frustration made him snap. Then he forced himself to relax, half grinning. “Although if you want to discuss giving me a bed bath, I’m open to the topic.”

She lifted one eyebrow, crossing her arms under her full breasts. “That’s most definitely not in my job description.”

He scrubbed his jaw with his hand, awareness searing his veins. “You’re right, and I was out of line.”

“You’re forgiven. And I’ll gladly take you up on the supper.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“I want you to know I’ll be washing an extra load of laundry to earn my keep.”

“You’re stubborn and prideful.”

“I’m doing my job. And from what I was hearing your uncle say earlier, there will be a significant amount of company coming in for the holiday event. That means you do need me to get the house ready.”

“Let’s deal with supper first.”

Having her here, living under his roof, was a major temptation when he was already on edge with wanting her. And even for a man who’d spent years of sobriety learning to resist enticement, he was feeling decidedly weak when it came to this woman.

Felicity Hunt had learned independence early on, first as the youngest child of a neglectful set of parents, then in the foster care system bounced from house to house. But she’d left all that pain behind when she’d accepted a job in Alaska fifteen years ago.

Still, even after all these years in the state called “The Last Frontier,” she found herself parking in all the wrong places for getting stuck in the snow. Like now.

Her Texas roots were tough to shake in so many ways.

Snow settled in the crooks of Marshall’s ranch mansion, coating the peaks of the roof in a thick blanket. In the glow of fading sunlight, the snow looked a bit like sand stretching on a beach. Temporarily, she felt transported to a lifetime ago. Far away from the rugged architectural aesthetics of exposed stone and wood. To Texas, a land of sunshine and buildings bearing Spanish influences.

A state where she never had to worry about her car getting stuck in an uneven patch of ice.

Smiling at Conrad Steele, she made a quick dash into her SUV, dodging the thick flakes of snow beginning to fall from the sky.

Turning the key over in the ignition, her vehicle roared to life. Buckled in, she laid her foot on the pedal. Prayed the car would overcome the ice.

No such luck. The car didn’t so much as move.

Her cheeks warmed with a flush. Conrad Steele, who had been leaning against a post, his Stetson tipped down over his face, covering his salt-and-pepper hair, began moving toward her. Slow, determined steps.

Honestly, getting stuck in snow in such a short amount of time felt like a weird special talent. Though, as she looked at Conrad Steele’s square jaw and those bright blue eyes, she wished this particular talent had manifested at literally any other moment. After her messy divorce, she was done with emotional entanglements. Her job was everything to her now.

He knocked on her window, an easy smile on his lips. “Do you need some help there?”

“I’ve been driving in snow for fifteen years. Thanks, though.”

He nodded, taking a step back. But just one, she noted. He folded his arms, a movement that seemed to accentuate his broad shoulders.

Felicity willed her car to move forward. What was it that they said about the power of thought? If you wanted something bad enough, it would happen. Apparently, her car hadn’t gotten the memo.

Rolling down her window, she locked eyes with Conrad. “Fine. Yes, I would appreciate a nudge.”

His blue eyes lit with a roguish smile. “If you’ll give me your number.”

She stifled the urge to laugh, which would just encourage him. “Aren’t you supposed to keep yourself available for some bachelor auction?”

“You’re not making this easy.”

“Somehow I think you’re a man who’s not interested in easy.” She’d meant it as a simple statement of fact, and yet innuendo hovered between them as tangible as their foggy breaths. Her background in psychology made her all too aware of the power of Freudian slips. “Now can we please nudge my vehicle free?”