Wanted: Christmas Mummy. Judy Christenberry
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concurred with his suggestion, and any other conversation for the rest of the ride dealt with work. The drive seemed interminable to Doug, every jolt shooting pain through his entire body. Jim had given him pain pills, but he refused to take any until he made sure he had that woman out of his home.
He’d need his wits about him to get rid of her. Especially if she’d spent the past few hours charming his boys as she had done last night.
He’d checked himself out of the hospital long before he should’ve, according to Jim, who protested his decision, but Doug wasn’t going to let a little red tape interfere with protecting his children. When they reached the ranch house, Moss pulled the Jeep as close to the steps as possible behind the woman’s car. She was still here.
The two ranch hands both came to his door, opened it and began to ease him forward on the seat. He gritted his teeth at the pain.
“Easy, boss, we got you,” Moss muttered.
They carried him up the steps, his broken leg stuck straight out in front of him. Curly managed to get the front door open and they backed into the warmth of the hall. Silence greeted them.
“Where is everyone?” Curly asked, but Doug had just about reached the end of his patience. His leg was aching big-time.
“Just take me up to bed. Then we’ll sort everything out.”
They made their way up the stairs and Moss shoved open the door to his room. The two cowboys stopped in their tracks, and Doug, clinging to their broad shoulders, looked up to see what the holdup was.
What he saw was a rather shapely female posterior. Leslie Hibbets snapped to attention and whirled around. Before she could sputter anything, the boys came racing around the bed.
“Daddy!” Leslie stepped in their path before they could crash into the cowboys holding their father.
“You can see your dad in a minute. I think we’d better finish his bed first so he can lie down. You’ve been such super helpers, your dad will be so proud.”
Instead of the frightened faces he expected, his sons beamed at him and then scurried back to the other side of the bed. They never obeyed him like that! Stunned, he watched the lady also turn away. That was when he realized she’d been bent over his bed, making it up.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, all the frustration he felt evident in his voice.
She turned around again and stared at him. All warmth was gone from her blue eyes. “I used your bed last night. So I washed the sheets this morning and now we’re putting them back on.” There was a challenge in there, as if daring him to complain.
“Wow! You must’ve been up early,” Moss said before Doug could speak. His voice fairly dripped with admiration, but Doug suspected it had nothing to do with her early rise. She looked just as sexy this morning in her tight jeans as she had last night.
Her smile didn’t lessen her sexiness.
“Not too early. The boys said they always get up at six.” As if just now remembering the two cowboys were still holding him, she hurried back to her bedmaking.
“You lucky devil,” Moss muttered in Doug’s ear. Doug glared at him.
“Each of you get a pillow,” Leslie ordered his children, and they hurried to follow her orders.
What had she done—hypnotized them?
“Now you can put Mr. Graybow in bed,” she suggested to Moss and Curly, stepping back out of the way.
As eager as his body was to make the acquaintance of something soft and stationary, Doug wasn’t a happy camper. For some reason, he grew less so as the fresh smell of clean sheets hit him. He hadn’t bothered with such niceties since Agnes left. He hadn’t had time, he defended himself, as he closed his eyes and relaxed for just a moment.
“Does he have any medicine he’s supposed to take?” that lilting voice asked, and his eyes popped open.
“Yeah, some pain pills,” Moss answered before he could stop him.
“I don’t need them.”
All three adults gave him a derisive look.
“Do you hurt, Daddy?” Gareth asked, leaning toward him.
He’d never lied to his children. Well, almost never. Only for their own good. “A little, son.”
“Then you should take your medicine or you won’t get better. ‘Member? You told us.”
Leslie walked into his bathroom and he heard the water run.
“I’m going to be fine,” he told his son, trying to inject a heartiness into his voice to convince him. The headache pounding at his temples made it difficult, though.
“Here’s some water, sweetie. Maybe if you help your dad, he’ll take his medicine. I’m sure he’s not afraid since he’s so big and strong.”
Even though there wasn’t a hint of laughter in her voice, the snickers from his men told him he was right on target when he thought she was making fun of him.
“Here’s the medicine, Justin. You hand it to him and then Gareth can give him the water,” Moss said helpfully.
Doug had no choice but to follow orders.
“Have you two already had breakfast? We were going to have pancakes and you’re welcome to join us,” Leslie offered the cowboys, that warm smile on her lips.
His gut clinched as he watched his men explain that they’d been dragged away from the hospital before eating. Without even a glance in his direction, Leslie led the drooling men from his room.
“Do you want some pancakes, Daddy? We’ll bring you some,” Justin said, patting his father’s cheek.
At least someone hadn’t forgotten him. Not that he wanted Leslie Hibbets to think about him. Of course not. But Moss and Curly could at least remember he was alive.
“No, son, but thanks for offering. I believe I’ll just sleep. You two will be all right, won’t you? You won’t get into trouble?”
“’Course not, Daddy,” Gareth said. “Leslie’s here.”
His mind was growing cloudy and his lips didn’t seem to work too well, but there was something he needed to say. Something about Leslie. Laughter floated up the stairs as he slid into unconsciousness. Yes. There was definitely something about Leslie.
LESLIE POURED MOSS a second cup of coffee and returned to her chair. They’d enjoyed a big breakfast. In between bites, the two men had filled Leslie in on the doctor’s diagnosis.
“So Mr. Graybow is going to have to remain in bed for four or five days? Who will take care of him?” she asked.
“I guess we’ll have to take turns, though we were already short a hand before the boss got hurt. That will make us twice as short.”
Moss glared at his friend, Leslie noticed, when Curly started to speak.
“Maybe you can hire someone to take care of him.” She thought again about the man upstairs refusing to hire her because he was short of money. The hospital bills wouldn’t help.
“Well, it’s kind of difficult…” Moss began and then trailed off, looking as if he wasn’t sure how much he should reveal.
“Look, I’d volunteer,” she began, but before Moss’s grin could spread too wide, she added, “but it wouldn’t work.”
“What do you mean?” Curly asked. “It’d be perfect.”
“No, it wouldn’t. Mr. Graybow doesn’t want me here.”
“He hasn’t tasted your pancakes,” Moss said, his smile still in place.
She chuckled but shook her head no. “Thanks for the compliment,