Porcupine Ranch

It wasn’t enough that she looked like a complete idiot in front of Clayton Sinclair, now she’d been exposed as a deceitful idiot.

“Yes, your employer said you were the best house-keeper he’s ever had.” Clayton’s tone was dry and unenthusiastic…a little angry, she thought. Not that she blamed him, considering the circumstances. “Actually I didn’t talk to Mr. Taylor directly.”

Hannah gasped, her head snapping upright at the mention of the surname Samuel had taken years ago when he’d awakened in a mental hospital in California, unable to remember his last name or how he got there. By the time he’d fully regained his memory, he’d already begun his business under that name and had kept it.

What had Samuel done?

Clayton frowned at her gasp, then continued. “Glen Ramsey, my banker, tells me that Mr. Taylor, who’s one of his major depositors, has given you a good reference and would really appreciate it if I’d hire you. This message comes from my banker who holds the note on this ranch—a man I really need to keep happy.”

Now she knew what Samuel had done. Pressured somebody at the bank to pressure Clayton. No wonder he’d been so unconcerned about her lack of skills! The game had been rigged from the beginning.

If she got out of there without having a stroke, she’d kill Samuel.

“I’m sorry he did that,” she mumbled, staring at the floor, again letting her hair fall forward around her face, embarrassed at her friend’s tactics.

She rose on shaky legs. Less shaky than when she’d come in, though. Now she had a purpose. Make it home to kill Samuel.

Clayton heaved a long sigh. “No, no. Sit back down. It’s all right. I don’t have applicants for this job lined up for ten miles down the road, and even if I did, I wouldn’t have time to interview them. I need a housekeeper, and I need one now.”

Hannah lifted her head. Surely he wasn’t saying what it sounded like he was saying.

He ran a hand through his hair, shifting the strands of light and shadow. She could almost feel the coarse texture, the warmth brought inside from days of working in the sunshine.

And sweating under a cowboy hat, she told herself in an unsuccessful effort to shut down her flight into fantasy. This was a real, working cowboy, not someone from a movie.

Somehow that thought made Clayton even more attractive.

“I don’t like being pressured, but, on the other hand, I really don’t care how I get a housekeeper as long as I get somebody who can do the job. Samuel Taylor assured my banker that you’re a very competent housekeeper and that you could handle the work with no problem.” A slight frown darted across his features, creasing his forehead between his eyebrows and making his jawline look even more square. “I just didn’t expect you to be so…” He spread his hands, moved them close together then far apart.

Hannah watched in tense fascination, wondering what he hadn’t expected her to be.

“My former housekeeper was fifty years old,” he said, “and, uh, sturdy. Mrs. Grogan could throw a hundred-pound sack of feed over her shoulder and carry it to the barn. Not that you’d be required to do that, of course.”

Hannah straightened her admittedly slim shoulders. Was he suggesting she couldn’t heft a hundred pound bag over her shoulder and carry it to the barn?

“You think I can’t?”

He looked at her dubiously, and her shoulders slumped.

Certainly she couldn’t. Why did it bother her that he had pointed out the obvious? She couldn’t cook or do laundry or polish floors, either, so why should she feel indignant and upset that he wasn’t going to hire her to do just that? Hadn’t she learned after all these years that it was pointless to try to succeed at activities for which she had no ability?

“We’ve been three weeks without a housekeeper,” he went on, ignoring her dumb question. “Mrs. Grogan left unexpectedly when her mother up in Oklahoma had a stroke. Last week she called to say she was going to have to stay there. My extra hands for the spring roundup came on two days ago, and the five of them have been complaining ever since about having to eat sandwiches after doing the work of ten men.”

He slapped one big hand on his denim-covered thigh, making her jump. “Okay, so you’re young and, uh, slim. I guess neither one of those problems is fatal. We’re in a financial crunch right now and I probably can’t start you at what you were making, but if the salary I mentioned in the ad is okay, you’ve got the job.”

Hannah fell back into the chair.

“The job?” she croaked. “I’ve got…?”

Chapter Two (#ulink_90c527c2-c142-532e-8980-b4bd7e6df32b)

Clayton studied his new housekeeper curiously. Her disjointed response to his job offer was the oddest he’d ever encountered. While he resented his banker’s pressure tactics, at the same time, he’d been relieved that his search was over. He was ready to hire the woman and be done with it.

His comment that he didn’t have time to interview a lot of applicants had been a gross understatement. This was the busiest time of the year as well as the most expensive, what with the extra hands. Every minute he spent interviewing cost him money—and money was something that was in short supply, especially with the continuing drought.

He hadn’t had any doubts about hiring Hannah Lindsay until he’d opened the door and seen her standing there, looking terrified and completely out of place.

She was a little taller than average, but so slim he was afraid the first strong west wind would blow her away. Big brown eyes peeked out from masses of shiny, dark brown, curly hair that almost hid the rest of her face. How was she going to keep that hair out of her eyes when she leaned over to scrub floors? Her clothes weren’t very housekeeperish, either—a blouse with long, puffy sleeves, a vest and a long flowing skirt. She looked like some kind of an artist, much too unworldly and fragile to handle the ranch.

She’d come into the stuffy old house trailing the scent of roses, and she had a look about her that made him think of a spiderweb with a drop of dew on it, quivering in the morning sunlight. He wanted to touch her, feel the translucent skin of her delicate face.

Clayton clenched his callused hands and mentally ordered them to keep away from that porcelain skin. He’d threaten the other guys within an inch of their lives if they got out of line with her, too. From the looks of her, he didn’t think she’d be able to deal with the rough characters he’d hired for spring roundup.

Nevertheless, this Mr. Taylor had given her a great reference, and, even if he had a choice after Glen Ramsey’s persuasive phone call, he was desperate.

“My banker said Mr. Taylor has already closed up his place and left for Europe, and you’ll be able to move in and start work immediately.” Those big eyes got bigger. Did she not understand what he meant? “Can you start work soon? Tomorrow? Today?”

“Tomorrow?”

He wasn’t sure if she was repeating something she didn’t comprehend or agreeing to start tomorrow. He elected to put the positive slant on it. “Then I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Morning?”

She really did have some major communication problems. Thankfully, cooking, washing and cleaning didn’t require a lot of communication. “As soon as you get up, you get dressed and then come on out here.”

He stood.

She stood.

“Would you like to see your room?”

She shook her head, the motion jerky but a definite negative.

“In the morning, then. I’m very pleased to have met you, Ms. Lindsay.” He offered his hand to shake and after a second’s hesitation, she took it.

Her hand was slim, smooth and soft in his. Again the word fragile came to mind. And tantalizing as that concept might be to Clayton’s male ego, it wasn’t a good one for a housekeeper on a ranch in Texas brush country. Out here, only the strongest survived.

Reluctantly Clayton turned her hand loose even as he fought an urge to pat it and smile and reassure her…and not hire her to take care of his house.

He moved to the door and opened it.

She came to life then and, with a wild-eyed look, darted out the door, across the yard, into her car and peeled away in a cloud of dust.

Clayton shook his head as he watched her go. Such a pretty girl. Too bad she was so odd. Maybe her mother didn’t take enough vitamins when she was pregnant.

He made a quick check to see if they had enough lunch meat and bread for dinner. Damn! They were running low on mayo. Thank goodness he could stop worrying about things like that come tomorrow.

So what if Hannah Lindsay was a little strange, a bit off center? She had great references.