Diana Palmer Christmas Collection: The Rancher / Christmas Cowboy / A Man of Means / True Blue / Carrera's Bride / Will of Steel / Winter Roses

“I know,” he replied, and there was suddenly a wicked glint in his eyes. “You can’t blame that on me,” he added. “God knows, I did my best to bring you into the age of enlightenment.”

While she was absorbing that dry remark, he tipped his hat, turned and walked out the door.

She darted onto the porch after him. “When?” she called after him. “You didn’t say when you wanted me to start.”

“I’ll phone you.” He didn’t look back. He got into his truck laboriously and drove away without even a wave of his hand.

At least she had the promise of a job, she told herself. She shouldn’t read hidden messages into what he said. But the past he’d shared with her, about his mother, left her chilled. How could a woman have five sons and leave them?

And what was the secret about the fifth brother, Simon, the one nobody had ever seen? She wondered if he’d done something unspeakable, or if he was in trouble with the law. There had to be a reason why the brothers never spoke of him much. Perhaps she’d find out one day.

Chapter Three (#ulink_e82cf448-da9a-5f0e-8f4d-ecdbe9c9ce8f)

It was the next day before she realized she hadn’t thanked Corrigan for the flowers he’d brought. She sent a note out to the ranch on Monday, and got one back that read, simply, “You’re welcome.” So much for olive branches, if one had been needed.

She found plenty to keep her busy in the days that followed. It seemed that all her father’s friends and the people she’d gone to school with wanted her to come home. Everyone seemed to know a potential client. It wasn’t long before she was up to her ears in work.

The biggest surprise came Thursday morning when she heard the sound of many heavy footsteps and looked up from her desk to find three huge, intimidating men standing on her porch just beyond the glass-fronted door. They’d come in that big double-cabbed pickup that Corrigan usually drove, and she wondered if these were his brothers.

She went to open the door and felt like a midget when they came tromping inside her house, their spurs jingling pleasantly on boots that looked as if they’d been kept in a swamp.

“We’re the Harts,” one of them said. “Corrigan’s brothers.”

As she’d guessed. She studied them curiously. Corrigan was tall, but these men were giants. Two were dark-haired like Corrigan, and one had blondstreaked brown hair. All were dark-eyed, unlike him. None of them would have made any lists of handsome bachelors. They were rugged-looking, lean and tanned, and they made her nervous. The Hart boys made most people nervous. The only other local family that had come close to their reputations for fiery tempers were the Tremayne boys, who were all married and just a little tamer now. The Harts were relative newcomers in Jacobsville, having only been around eight years or so. But they kept to themselves and seemed to have ties to San Antonio that were hard to break. What little socializing they did was all done there, in the city. They didn’t mix much in Jacobsville.

Not only were they too rugged for words, but they also had the most unusual first names Dorie could remember hearing. They introduced themselves abruptly, without even being asked first.

Reynard was the youngest. They called him Rey. He had deep-set black eyes and a thin mouth and, gossip said, the worst temper of the four.

The second youngest was Leopold. He was broader than the other three, although not fat, and the tallest. He never seemed to shave. He had blond-streaked brown hair and brown eyes and a mischievous streak that the others apparently lacked.

Callaghan was the eldest, two years older than Corrigan. He had black eyes like a cobra. He didn’t blink. He was taller than all his brothers, with the exception of Leopold, and he did most of the broncbreaking at the ranch. He looked Spanish, more than the others, and he had the bearing and arrogance of royalty, as if he belonged in another century. They said he had the old-fashioned attitudes of the past, as well.

He gave the broader of the three a push toward Dorie. He glared over his shoulder, but took off his hat and forced a smile as he stood in front of Dorie.

“You must be Dorothy Wayne,” Leopold said with a grin. “You work for us.”

“Y…yes, I guess I do,” she stammered. She felt surrounded. She moved back behind the desk and just stared at them, feeling nervous and inadequate.

“Will you two stop glaring?” Leopold shot at his taciturn brothers. “You’re scaring her!”

They seemed to make an effort to relax, although it didn’t quite work out.

“Never mind,” Leopold muttered. He clutched his hat in his hand. “We’d like you to come out to the ranch,” he said. “The household accounts are about to do us in. We can’t keep Corrigan still long enough to get him to bring them to you.”

“He came over Saturday,” she said.

“Yeah, we heard,” Leo mused. “Roses, wasn’t it?”

The other two almost smiled.

“Roses,” she agreed. Her gray eyes were wide and they darted from one giant to another.

“He forgot to bring you the books. The office is in a hel…heck of a mess,” Leo continued. “We can’t make heads nor tails of it. Corrigan scribbles, and we’ve volunteered him to do it mostly, but we can’t read his writing. He escaped to a herd sale in Montana, so we’re stuck.” He shrugged and managed to look helpless. “We can’t see if we’ve got enough money in the account to buy groceries.” He looked hungry. He sighed loudly. “We’d sure appreciate it if you could come out, maybe in the morning, about nine? If that’s not too early.”

“Oh, no,” she said. “I’m up and making breakfast by six.”

“Making breakfast? You can cook, then?” Leopold asked.

“Well, yes.” She hesitated, but he looked really interested. “I make biscuits and bacon and eggs.”

“Pig meat,” the one called Reynard muttered.

“Steak’s better,” Callaghan agreed.

“If she can make biscuits, the other stuff doesn’t matter,” Reynard retorted.

“Will you two shut up?” Leopold asked sharply. He turned back to Dorie and gave her a thorough appraisal, although not in the least sexual. “You don’t look like a bookkeeper.”

“Nice hair,” Reynard remarked.

“Bad scar on that cheek,” Callaghan remarked. “How did it happen?”

Heavens, he was blunt! She was almost startled enough to tell him. She blurted that it had been in an accident.

“Tough,” he said. “But if you can cook, scars don’t matter much.”

Her mouth was open, and Leopold stomped on his big brother’s foot, hard.

Callaghan popped him one on the arm with a fist the size of a ham. “Cut it out!”

“Don’t insult her, she won’t come!”

“I didn’t!”

Reynard moved forward, elbowing the other two out of the way. He had his own hat in his hand. He tried to smile. It looked as if he hadn’t had much practice at it.

“We’d like you to come tomorrow. Will you?”

She hesitated.

“Now see what you’ve done!” Leopold shot at Callaghan. “She’s scared of us!”

“We wouldn’t hurt you,” Reynard said gently. He gave up trying to smile; it was unnatural anyway. “We have old Mrs. Culbertson keeping house for us. She carries a broomstick around with her. You’ll be safe.”

She bit back a laugh. But her eyes began to twinkle.

“She carries the broomstick because of him,” Reynard added, indicating Leopold. “He likes to…”