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

“Now, Corrigan…!”

She screeched and he laughed and they fell down again in a tangle, close together, and the laughter gave way to soft conversation. Eventually they even slept.

When they got back to the ranch, the three brothers were gone and there was a hastily scrawled note on the door.

“We’re sleeping in the bunkhouse until we can build you a house of your own. Congratulations. Champagne is in the fridge.” It was signed with love, all three brothers—and the name of the fourth was penciled in.

“On second thought,” she said, with her arm around her husband, “maybe those boys aren’t so bad after all!”

He tried to stop her from opening the door, but it was too late. The bucket of water left her wavy hair straight and her navy blue coat dripping. She looked at Corrigan with eyes the size of plates, her arms outstretched, her mouth open.

Corrigan looked around her. On the floor of the hall were two towels and two new bathrobes, and an assortment of unmentionable items.

He knew that if he laughed, he’d be sleeping in the barn for the next month. But he couldn’t help it. And after a glance at the floor—neither could she.

A Man of Means (#ulink_32b758f7-055a-5b4b-83c2-74e27c638e8e)

Chapter One (#ulink_f734c4d7-8a8c-531a-9820-6deef6e443ea)

Meredith Johns glanced around her worriedly at the out-of-control Halloween partygoers in their colorful costumes. Meredith was wearing an outfit left over from college days. She made a good salary at her job, but there was no money for little luxuries like Halloween costumes. She had to budget just to be able to pay the utility bill in the house she shared with her father.

The past few months had been traumatic, and the wear was telling on her. She needed to get out of the house, Jill, one of her colleagues, had said firmly—especially after her most agonizing experience at home. Meredith was reluctant. Her father was only just back at their house after three days. But Jill was insistent. So she’d put on the only costume she had, a bad choice in many ways, and walked the three blocks to her friend’s downtown apartment. She grimaced at her surroundings. What an idiot she’d been to come to this wild party.

But it really had been a tumultuous week for Meredith and she’d wanted to get her mind off her troubles. Her father’s violent behavior at the house they shared was unnerving. They were both still grieving, but her father had taken the tragedy much harder. He felt responsible. That was why a scholarly, conservative college professor had suddenly retired from his job and turned into an alcoholic. Meredith had tried everything she could think of to get him into treatment, but he refused to go on his own accord and the treatment facilities which would have taken him wouldn’t unless he went voluntarily. Only a violent episode that had landed him in jail had temporarily spared her of this saddening experience. But he was out three days later and he had a new bottle of whiskey. She still had to go home after the party. He’d warned her not to be late. Not that she ever was.

Her grey eyes were sad as she sipped her soft drink. She had no head for alcohol, and she was as out of place here as a cup of tea. Not only that, her costume was drawing unwanted attention from the men. So was her long blond hair. It had been a bad costume choice, but it was the only thing she had to wear on the spur of the moment. Going to a Halloween party in her street clothes would have made her stand out, too.

She moved away from a slightly tipsy colleague who wanted to show her around Jill’s bedroom and unobtrusively put her glass on a table. She found Jill, pleaded a headache, thanked her for a “good” time and headed out the front door as fast as she could. Once on the sidewalk, she drew in a long, sweet breath of fresh air.

What a bunch of wild people! She coughed delicately, remembering the unmistakable smell of that smoke that had been thick enough to obstruct clear vision inside. She’d thought it would be fun to go to a party. She might even meet a man who would be willing to take her out and cope with her father. And cows might fly, she told herself. She hadn’t been out on a date in months. She’d invited one prospective date to her home for supper. But after a good look at her father, who was mean when he drank, the prospective suitor took off. Her heart wasn’t in it, anyway. Recently she’d given up trying to attract anyone. She had her hands full already. Her grief was still fresh, too.

An odd noise attracted her attention as she started back toward her own house. She felt self-conscious in her getup, and remembering the lewd remarks she’d drawn from a man who was normally very polite and gentlemanly, she was sorry she hadn’t had a coat to wear. Her clothes were mostly old, because by the time she made the mortgage payment and took care of the bills, there wasn’t much left over. Her father couldn’t work and wouldn’t get help, and she loved him too much to desert him. It was becoming a costly proposition.

She wrapped her arms around herself and hoped she was covering up enough skin to discourage stalkers. But her skirt was very short and tight, and she was wearing fishnet hose, very high heels, a low-cut blouse and a flaming pink feather boa. Her blond hair was loose around her shoulders and she was wearing enough makeup to do justice to a ballet recital. She winced, hoping she hadn’t been noticed. She’d gone to the party as a burlesque dancer. Sadly she looked more like a professional hooker in her garb.