In A Cowboy's Embrace

“What’s Aunt Ella mean?”

Heat flooded Tasha’s cheeks. “Don’t ask, sweetheart. Just don’t ask.” The possibility that Cliff harbored the same sensual thoughts that had plagued Tasha since last night was unsettling. Despite what others might think of her, or how they judged her from her appearance alone, she didn’t engage in recreational sex. And developing a deeper relationship with Cliff would be beyond foolish. She was a New Yorker. He was a Montana cowboy. Speaking of which…

“How is it I got the distinct impression from what you told me that Cliff needed a nanny for his little boy, not so much a housekeeper? You wouldn’t be trying a little matchmaking in your spare time, would you, sister dear?”

“Moi? Why, whatever do you mean?”

Tasha glared at her sister. She’d been ambushed, darn it all, and she wasn’t going to stand for—

“Morning, missus.” A bowlegged cowboy had climbed the fence and dropped down beside Ella. He lifted his hat, uncovering a nearly bald head except for a curly fringe of carrot-red hair. Immediately Tasha recognized him from Ella’s wedding day—Rusty the ranch foreman.

“Hello, Rusty. Good to see you again,” Tasha said, extending her hand.

Giving her a big grin, and wiping his hand on his dusty trousers, he shook hands with her. “Welcome back to Montana, ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

Ella said, “Rusty’s been wonderful to me and Bryant. I don’t think the ranch could get along without him. I know I couldn’t.”

“You’d do jest fine.” He peered at the baby cradled in the sling across Ella’s chest. “He’s growing like a weed, ain’t he? He’ll be riding broncs with his daddy in no time, I reckon.”

Tasha shuddered at the thought, though she noted Ella didn’t seem disturbed by the possibility of her baby being tossed around on the back of a wild mustang.

“You planning to stay long, ma’am?” Rusty asked Tasha.

“Not really. In fact, I may cut my trip short.” The urge to escape Cliff’s superheated masculinity was a powerful one.

“You can’t,” Ella insisted. “How will Cliff run his campaign for sheriff if he doesn’t have someone to look after Stevie?”

“And fix his meals,” Tasha said pointedly.

“Now that boy is a real big eater, that he is,” Rusty said.

“Stevie?” Tasha questioned, momentarily confused.

“Nope, Cliff’s the one I mean. His brother, too, for that matter. Them two could put away a whole side of beef without any trouble at all when they was teenagers. Quite a sight to behold, it was. Kept their mama hopping in the kitchen, I can tell you that. I remember the time…”

He went on to describe when the adolescent twins had tried to outdo each other at Thanksgiving dinner and had been sick for days afterward. Somewhere in the middle of that story, Shane, the young man whose voice had cracked, joined in the conversation. Another couple of hired hands—Billy Bob and Dingle—sauntered over, happy to make Tasha’s acquaintance. A shorter man with a barrel chest wandered in to join the crowd.

Pretty soon Tasha noticed the cows weren’t putting up the ruckus they had been earlier. In fact, not much was happening as far as branding was concerned. The cows stood quietly chewing their cuds while the calves nursed or frolicked with their friends.

That was when both Cliff and his brother Bryant came riding into the midst of the crowd that had gathered around Tasha, cutting the men off as if they were calves being separated from their mothers.

“Gentlemen, you get paid for branding calves, not for chatting up the two prettiest women in the county.” Bryant leaned out of his saddle far enough to kiss his wife on the lips.

“What? Not the whole state?” she complained, laughing.

“Haven’t seen all the girls in the state yet, and I didn’t want to exaggerate.”

“Well, don’t you go lookin’, either, cowboy, or you’ll hear from me.”

Tasha was stunned by the exchange between husband and wife. Despite her big glasses, simple haircut and minimal makeup, Ella looked truly beautiful…and she’d shown more spark than Tasha could remember seeing in her intellectual sister. Marriage—and the love of a good man—had obviously changed her.

With a sinking heart, Tasha realized she’d very likely never have the chance to experience that kind of happy makeover. She might remain beautiful, though that would be an increasingly difficult battle as she grew older. But she’d never have that glow, the pure radiance Ella had achieved by simply being in love.

Tasha tried to suppress the envy that welled up in her but found she couldn’t. Instead, she turned away, her arm hooked over her daughter’s shoulder, and headed back toward Ella’s truck. She needed to start making calls to agents she knew in New York. She needed to get on with her life.

A few weeks was all she had promised Cliff. Even that might be too long if she wanted to protect her heart.

WHEN TASHA had driven through Reilly’s Gulch yesterday, she’d been concentrating more on finding the turnoff to the Double S than to the details of the town. Now, en route to find a grocery store to restock Cliff’s pitiful supply of fresh fruit and vegetables—and with the children pouting in the back seat because they had to leave the roundup before the last calf was branded—she cruised slowly down the main street checking out the buildings.

The local elementary school and the adjacent county building had matching flag poles out front, the flags fluttering gently in the afternoon breeze. The Cattlemen’s Association occupied a building next to what looked like abandoned railroad tracks.

The small business district didn’t look very promising, except for Sal’s Hotel, Bar and Grill at the end of the block where several pickups were parked out front. A gas station with repair bays sat opposite a feed store, a mechanic in blue overalls dozing in the sun.

Just as she spotted the grocery store, a red Mazda Miata convertible bumbled out of an alley in front of her and wheeled into the perfect angled parking space right at the door—the one she’d been planning to pull into.

She swore under her breath. The guy must be a transplanted Manhattan cab driver! At least it wasn’t the last spot in the city.

“Mommy, you’re not supposed to say bad words,” Melissa reminded her.

She glanced at her daughter in the rearview mirror. “You’re right, sweetheart. I’ll have to put another quarter in our piggy bank when we get back home.”

“We’re saving up to see The Nutcracker at Lincoln Center,” Melissa explained to Stevie.

“You wanna eat nuts?”

“No, silly. The Nutcracker’s a ballet.”

Tasha picked a parking spot two slots down from the Mazda and pulled in between a pickup and a Jeep.

“What’s a ballet?” Stevie asked as he followed Melissa out of the car.

Melissa did a pirouette on the sidewalk and pranced around on her tiptoes, showing off. Though, given she was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, the dance lacked a true classical flavor without the proper costuming. “Haven’t you ever seen a ballet?”

He jammed his hands in his pockets, hanging his head as if he’d missed something important in life. “Uh-uh.”

“Mommy, can we take Stevie to a ballet sometime?”

“I don’t think Reilly’s Gulch has those, honey.” A cultural hot spot, it wasn’t.

“Well, if it did, could we take him?” Melissa persisted.

“I suppose.” Cupping her daughter’s shoulder, she ushered her toward the grocery store and reached out for Stevie’s hand, too. “Come on, kids. We’ve got to get Stevie’s daddy something to eat for dinner.” And then she was going to have to iron, of all things. Hadn’t this place heard of dry cleaners? Or wash and wear?

An older gentleman wearing a sporty plaid beret and a frayed suit jacket met her at the grocery store entrance. He tipped his cap to her, revealing thinning white hair, and nodded toward her car.

“Mighty fine lookin’ Beamer,” he said.