Rancher's Wife. Anne Marie Winston
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to remove a brimming pitcher of orange juice from the refrigerator, Beth Ann peeped around the corner of the counter, where she must have been playing at Dulcie’s feet. Two fingers were tucked into her mouth and a worried frown wrinkled her small forehead. Striking silver eyes exactly like her father’s peeped from beneath a fringe of black bang as she assessed the newcomer.
Angel was struck by the cautious quality of the child’s surveillance. It was as if she was testing the atmosphere to see if it was safe to show herself. Angel had spent much of the day yesterday playing with the little girl, and she’d thought they had gotten past the shy stage. What could make a three-year-old so wary? She decided to pretend everything was normal. As far as she was concerned, it was.
“Hello there,” she said. “Is it all right if I eat a cookie for breakfast?”
The little girl giggled, her small face losing its anxious look. “No. Cookies are for d’ssert. Cereal is for breakfast.”
“Out of the mouths of babes,” Dulcie intoned. “Around here, the men expect some kind of dessert with every meal. I feel like all I do is bake.”
“Why don’t you let me help? I love to bake.” Angel sat down with a piece of toast and the cookie she’d pilfered. “And please tell me what else I can do. I’ve been lounging around here like a guest in a resort hotel for the past few days.”
“You’ve been entertaining Beth Ann, which can be a job in itself.” But Dulcie threw her an assessing look. “If that was just a polite offer, you’d better tell me now. I’m desperate enough to accept any help that comes my way.” She shook her head and smiled. “I never fully appreciated everything the housekeeper did until she wasn’t here to do it anymore.”
“Well, then, let me help.” Angel looked forward to immersing herself in old-fashioned chores. Maybe while she worked, she could take a good look inside herself and figure out exactly what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.
“I can help, too,” Beth Ann announced. She gave Angel a mischievous smile. “Af’er you read me more stories.”
“Oh ho! So you like my stories, do you?” Angel patted her knee and Beth Ann immediately scampered across the floor to climb into her lap, wriggling like an enthusiastic puppy. “So what stories shall we read today?”
Later, she finished mixing the filling for the crème de menthe brownies she’d made for dinner and set it in the refrigerator. As she swept the kitchen floor and ran a bucket of water to mop it, she thought again about her future. And her past. She’d once thought that money would solve all her problems. If only it could be that easy! Even before the anonymous stalker had begun his campaign of terror, she’d been thinking of leaving the world of scripts and cameras. Building the illusions that went into a film had been consuming enough to help her through the bad time after Emmie’s adoption, but somehow it wasn’t really her.
So who was she anyway? She sighed as she saw Day riding a big black horse toward the barn. He sat the horse with a fluid grace that spoke of years in the big Western-style saddles. Despite knowing what he thought of her, she found her gaze drawn to him again and again. Yes, he was handsome, but she was used to handsome men. She knew many of them were as shallow as their physical beauty.
Then why wasn’t she able to ignore him? Any time he was in the vicinity, her antennae quivered and twitched with a fascination she was afraid could prove fatal if she didn’t keep it under strict rein. For heaven’s sake, the man didn’t even like her! As she watched, he swept off his hat and beat it against his leg, sending a swirl of dry New Mexico dust off on the light breeze. His dark hair gleamed with fiery highlights under the merciless sun, and as one of the hands called out to him, she saw his white teeth flash in a grin.
He was vibrant and full of life, a complex man who wanted to rid his ranch of her presence as soon as possible. He saw her as a flat, one-dimensional creature. Actress. To him, there was no more to her than that. After hiding from herself and her feelings for so long, she was afraid his contempt might have some merit.
“Are you cooking, Miss Ban-ban-banderbeer? Can I stir?”
Shaken from her introspection, Angel looked down. Little Beth Ann stood beside her, poised to climb onto a nearby stool but obediently waiting for permission. Angel’s heart softened in immediate pleasure.
“Of course you can help me, honey,” Angel assured her, smiling as she lifted the child onto the stool, then hugged her close for a moment. Beth Ann was warm and pliable, wrapping her arms around Angel’s neck and returning the hug.
“I’m a good stirrer,” the tot told her solemnly.
Angel stifled a smile. “I bet you’re the best. Did you just wake up from your nap?”
“Uh-huh. Aunt Dulcie said if I didn’t get in your way, I could help you.” The little face sobered, that entirely too-adult anxiety creeping into her tone. “I promise I’ll be quiet.”
Angel studied the child. Who could have sought to stifle this precious baby’s enthusiasm and curiosity? Indignation rose within her and she said, “You don’t have to be quiet and you most certainly can stay. In fact, I’m not sure I can frost these brownies without your help. What do you say?”
Sunshine brightened the room as the child’s face lit up. “Okay!” she shouted.
Angel laughed. “Okay,” she repeated.
“What’s okay?” The voice belonged to Day.
She looked up, a trace of defiance rising within her. She would not let him squelch Beth Ann’s pleasure in the chore. “Shouting is okay. So is helping me with these brownies.”
“Oh.” He eyed her and his daughter for a minute. “Thank you for letting me shout.”
“Daaaddeee!” Beth Ann was giggling. “She meant me, not you.”
“Are you sure?” He frowned as if he couldn’t trust what he was hearing.
“Yes.” The little one climbed down from her stool and bounced across the room to wrap chubby arms around Day’s knees. Then she climbed nimbly into his arms, shrieking with laughter when her father bussed her neck with his mustache. “I like Miss Banderbeer,” Beth Ann announced. “Can she stay for a long, long time?”
Day hesitated. “She’s only here for a vacation, filly.”
“But why can’t she—”
“Let’s dance,” he interrupted. Holding Beth Ann against him, he began to move around the room as the child squealed with glee.
Angel continued to frost the brownies, but she was all too aware of him. A quiet happiness filled her heart. Suspicions she hadn’t been aware she harbored dissolved as she watched the way he responded to his daughter. Day clearly wasn’t the one who had made her afraid to behave like a normal child. She hated to think ill of someone who wasn’t able to defend herself, but it looked as if Day’s dislike of his ex-wife might have some solid foundation.
She watched his long legs as he lifted Beth Ann and twirled once around the room in a three-step. His jeans were well worn and faithfully followed the muscled strength of his thighs. The child clung to his wide shoulders—
Her thoughts halted in disarray as the object of her thoughts met her gaze over the top of his daughter’s head. Intent and thoughtful, his eyes held enough masculine interest to make her flush and return her own attention to her work.
When he moved his gaze from her, she could almost feel the change and she risked another quick glance at him. He was looking at his daughter again, smiling at the child. He set Beth Ann back on the stool beside Angel.
“Gotta go, filly,” he said, brushing her cheek with his whiskered jaw until she squealed with laughter. “See you at dinner.”
And he was gone. Just like that, the room drained of energy, vitality. In her mind’s eye, Angel saw him dancing with Beth Ann, his large frame surefooted with a confident masculine