Cowboy Dreaming

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Cowboy Dreaming

Shawna

Delacorte

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

SHAWNA DELACORTE

has sought out new places and experiences after spending most of her life in Southern California. She passed the winter house-sitting in Kansas while her mother and stepfather traveled. Then it was on to the Pacific Northwest and her new home. Even though she now writes full-time, she continues to pursue her interests in photography while traveling to new places and revisiting favorite locations.

Special thanks to my mother and stepfather for

providing me with a calm oasis in the

midst of a hectic year.

One (#ulink_f75a0530-556c-5514-a3a2-01d0ca2c0ef0)

Melanie Winslow placed her foot on the top step leading to the porch. It creaked as she put her weight on it. After all these years it still creaks. Maybe it was the eerie stillness of the night that made the noise seem so much louder than she remembered. Trepidation welled inside her, almost overwhelming the task she had set for herself. She fought the urge to turn and run.

It had been almost ten years since she last stepped foot on the porch of the house where she had lived for the first eighteen years of her life—almost ten years since the day of her mother’s funeral. She paused on the front porch and glanced back over her shoulder. The full moon shone brightly in the black sky, casting its silvery glow across the landscape. The crisp night air belied the fact that it was springtime. Melanie shivered inside her jacket, her Southern California clothes not suited to the colder clime.

The pristine whiteness of the fence lined both sides of the long driveway and the plaintive howl of a coyote broke the silence. From the main road the ranch looked more like one of the finest Kentucky Thoroughbred breeding farms than a working cattle ranch in the foothills of eastern Colorado.

She had driven nonstop from Los Angeles and was dead tired. Stifling a yawn, she stood on her toes and reached to the ledge above the front door. She was not sure exactly how she felt when her fingers closed around the key. She had half hoped that it would not be there, that she could turn around and leave, while convincing herself that she had made the effort. She suppressed another yawn. It had been more than thirty hours since she’d had any sleep, not counting a half-hour nap at a roadside rest somewhere in New Mexico when she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer.

Mel inserted the key into the lock and turned it. The dead bolt clicked as it slid back. She placed her hand on the doorknob, then paused and gave another quick look back over her shoulder. Was it too late to turn around, get in her car and start driving back to Los Angeles? She took a calming breath, opened the front door and stepped into the living room.

A dark, shadowy figure lunged at Melanie, knocked the wind from her and shoved her to the floor. She shook her head, momentarily stunned by the force of the blow, then attempted to scramble to her feet. The large body on top of her pinned her to the carpeting. She instinctively struck out at her assailant, digging her fingernails into his bare chest. His strong arms prevented her from putting up much of a fight in her defense. The menacing voice rasped in her ear.

“Stay put unless you want your head bashed in.”

Melanie gasped for air, then gasped in terror as a rough hand grazed the side of her neck, brushed across her jacket, then settled over her breast. She knew her voice trembled with fear. It was all she could do to force out the words. “Please…don’t…”

“What the hell—” Shock did not even come close to describing Cody Chandler’s reaction to his accidental discovery. He jerked back his hand and jumped to his feet. Moving through the darkness, he flipped on the light switch by the front door.

The intruder lay sprawled on the floor. An oversize jacket covered a body that definitely belonged to a woman—there was no doubt about that fact. Her hazel eyes were wide with fear; her lips slightly parted; her short, dark hair in wild disarray; her legs encased in worn jeans. He felt some of the tension drain away as the adrenaline surge began to wear off.

Melanie gazed up at the large man who loomed over her like some fearful image dredged up from the bottom of her deepest fears. He was dressed in a pair of old jeans and nothing else. With the exception of the hard glint in his blue eyes, he looked as though he had just been roused from sleep. Her pounding heart and racing pulse slowed a bit as her fear subsided.

His tousled blond hair was matted on one side where he had been sleeping on it. She could see the pillow creases on the side of his face. His jeans had been pulled on but only half zipped, and the top snap was open. His hard chest was bare, as were his feet. A bit of calm settled over her as she took in more of his physical attributes.

The scratches she had inflicted on his chest stood out as ugly red marks on skin that showed the beginnings of a golden tan even though it was only April. Wisps of sandycolored chest hair converged into a narrow line that angled down his stomach and finally disappeared inside his jeans. His shoulders were broad and his arms well muscled. Other than the scar across his right shoulder and the barely discernible bump on his nose where it appeared to have been broken at one time, he was an incredibly handsome specimen of perfect manhood. She guessed his age to be late thirties.

He made no attempt to help her up from the floor.

“Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?”

He barked out his demands, making it clear exactly who was in charge.

The fear had passed and the anger set in. Mel scrambled to her feet, adjusting her disheveled clothing as she regained her balance. Now that she was upright, she realized just how tall he was, even compared with her five-feet-seveninch height. He topped six feet by at least one inch, maybe even two.

She glared at him defiantly while running her fingers through her hair in an attempt to untangle it. “How dare you attack me like that! You’re lucky I’m not calling the police right now.”

“You calling the police!” He unconsciously rubbed his fingers across the scratches she had inflicted, then folded his arms across his chest. “I’m perfectly within my rights to protect my home against intruders…and other undesirables.”

She inwardly bristled at his accusation. She was not sure which irritated her more, his referring to her as an undesirable intruder or his other claim. “Your home! No way is this your home. This house—in fact, this entire ranch and everything on it—belongs to Buck Winslow. I ought to know because I’m his daughter.”

Cody blinked a couple of times and shook his head in an attempt to clear the sleep. Had he heard correctly? This woman standing in front of him was Buck Winslow’s longabsent daughter? He never would have recognized her from the old high-school graduation picture Buck kept by his bed. Cody finally found his voice and blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. “You’re Melanie Winslow? Where the hell have you been? And why have you bothered to show up after nearly ten years?”

Now it was Mel’s turn to be surprised. Just who was this man who seemed to know more about her than a stranger should? “Well, that takes care of who I am. Now, just who are you?”

“I’m Cody Chandler, Buck’s ranch foreman.”

“Oh, yeah?” Oh, great—brilliant retort, Mel, she said to herself. “No way, cowboy. The ranch foreman is Tom Collier, has been for years.”

“Not anymore. Arthritis. The doc suggested he might be more comfortable in a warmer, drier climate, so he went to Tucson a little over eight years ago.” He fixed her with a cold look. “But, then, you wouldn’t know that, would you?”

There was something about the sarcasm in his voice and his aggressive manner that set Melanie’s teeth on edge. He seemed just a little too possessive, just a little too much in charge. And where was her father? He had never been a particularly sound sleeper. Surely all the commotion must have been loud enough to wake him. She glanced down the darkened hallway that led to the bedrooms, then turned her attention back to Cody. “Since when does the hired help sleep in the main house and refer to the property as theirs? And just where the hell is my father?”

Cody stretched himself to his fullest height. His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched in a hard line. “You’ve got quite a mouth on you, kid.” He continued to stare at her, refusing to give her any quarter. She certainly did have quite a mouth on her—it was full, lush and very sensual. Just the type of mouth that needed to be kissed—long, hard…and often.

“I’m hardly a kid and I certainly don’t appreciate your arrogant attitude. Besides, that doesn’t answer my question.” She adopted a condescending air as she continued to question him. “But if a two-part question is too difficult for you, we can skip the first part and go right to the second.” Then, without warning, the hard edge again surrounded her words. “Where is my father? What have you done with him?”

“You weren’t concerned a year ago, so why should you be concerned now?” Again he gave her no leeway. He refused to back off or give her any room to maneuver.

The conversation had taken a totally unexpected turn in direction. Something was wrong…terribly wrong. The anger drained from Melanie, to be replaced by an unsettling jitter that started in the pit of her stomach and quickly spread throughout her body. Was she too late? Had her decision to resolve the estrangement with her father and attempt to bridge the huge chasm between them come too late? Her voice no longer held the antagonism that had been there just moments earlier. It now told of the new fears that had immediately invaded her consciousness. “A year ago? What happened a year ago?” She swallowed a couple of times in an attempt to put down her rising fear. “What do you mean?”

He instantly caught her change in attitude. Was it possible that she did not know? Had she returned for some reason other than to hover around a dying man in order to be on hand when it came time to cash in on her inheritance? “Buck’s been sick for some time now.” He weighed his next words carefully as he studied her reaction to what he said. He saw the shock cover her face and a hint of sadness come into her eyes. He was not sure whether to try to cushion the blow of what she apparently did not know, or give her what he believed she deserved by not sparing her feelings.

Mel stumbled backward and plopped into a chair. Her father had been suffering from a lengthy illness? “I…I didn’t know.” She tried to collect her thoughts. This was not at all what she had expected to find. She had mentally prepared herself for the inevitable string of ongoing arguments with her father, but not for this. She looked up at Cody. “How can this be? He’s always been as strong as an ox, never sick a day in his life.” She saw it in Cody’s eyes. He was not able to hide the deep concern that he felt. “How…what…” Her words trailed off. She was afraid to ask the ultimate question, so she said nothing.

Cody was torn between her genuine surprise and unexpected concern and his resentment of her for the anguish she had put her father—his close friend—through for the past ten years. He steeled himself against the warm spot deep inside that seemed to want to reach out toward her need. “I sent you a letter last June. Since nobody knew how to get in touch with you, I mailed it to the publication that had just printed one of your articles, with a notation for them to forward it to you.” Even though he was determined not to make things easy for her, he still inwardly flinched at the bitterness he heard in his words and tone of voice.

Her response was almost a whisper. There was a slight quaver to her voice. “I never received it.” She held his steady look for a long moment before she broke eye contact with him. She could see his disapproval, and for some reason it bothered her. That this arrogant, antagonistic, unpleasant stranger seemed to disapprove of her actually bothered her. As she glanced away her gaze fell across his taut, well-toned upper torso with the ugly red gouges.

She recaptured his eye contact and he continued to stare at her. His posture and body language still challenged her and her right to have entered the house. She looked away again, and this time her gaze traveled around the living room. It was mostly as she had remembered it with one notable exception. A new recliner occupied a place of honor in the corner, replacing what had been her father’s favorite chair.

The old chair had been worn out for as long as Mel could remember. Her mother had bought him a new chair for Christmas one year, but he refused to use it and she had eventually donated it to charity. Apparently the ratty old chair had finally given out and her father had replaced it. Why had he not done it while her mother was still alive? Why had he not shown even the slightest bit of appreciation for her mother’s efforts or concern for her mother’s feelings? The old hurt flooded into her consciousness. She had thought she was distanced enough from the old memories to be able to handle them. She blinked away the tears.

Cody saw the tears fill her eyes and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. He relaxed his stance. “Is something wrong? I didn’t hurt you when I knocked you down, did I?”

“No…no, you didn’t hurt me. I’m exhausted, that’s all. I’ve driven all the way from Los Angeles without any sleep.” She stifled a yawn, as if to reinforce her claim.

She looked in his direction again and gestured toward his bare chest. “In fact, it seems I did the damage to you. I’m sorry.”