Taming The Lone Wolf. Joan Johnston
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said I would.”
He didn’t sound too happy about the situation, Tess realized. But she wasn’t about to let him out of his promise.
“Thank you.” Her eyes sank closed again.
If she could rest for a couple of hours, she would be fine. Stony could pick up Rose and come back for her. She would rescue her daughter from the clutches of the interfering stranger...as soon as she could get her eyes open again.
“WHERE AM I?”
“You’re at my place, a cabin along the river about twenty miles from town. Don’t you remember the ride here in my Jeep?”
“I...sort of. It’s all kind of fuzzy.”
Tess’s gaze darted from the male face bathed in shadows beside the bed, to the natural pine log walls, to the wedding ring patterned quilt that covered her, and back to the face made even more attractive by a night’s growth of beard. The faint mauve light filling the window across the room suggested it was nearly dawn. The snow had stopped, but it weighted down the branches of the Douglas firs outside the cabin, creating a real-life picture postcard.
She reached for her head with her right hand before a sharp pain and the weight of the cast reminded her that her wrist was broken. She switched to the left and gingerly touched the lump on the back of her head.
“Does it still hurt?” Stony asked.
“My scalp’s a little tender, but my head doesn’t ache like it did.” She realized what was missing and sat up with a jerk that made her dizzy. “Where’s Rose?”
“Still asleep.”
“Where?” she insisted, reaching out to clutch Stony’s forearm. It was as hard as a rock. She realized what she was doing and let him go.
He gestured with his chin. “Right there beside you.”
Tess realized why she hadn’t seen the child. The bed was huge, and Rose was curled up in a pile of sheets and blankets on the other side. Tess took another look around at the heavy pine chest, the rocker with clothes thrown over the back, the man’s wardrobe, and realized she must be in Stony’s bedroom.
“I thought you said you had plenty of room,” she accused. “Rose and I are in your bed, aren’t we?”
“It was the only one in the house big enough for the both of you,” he admitted with a crooked smile. “Rose refused to sleep by herself.”
Tess turned back to her daughter and leaned over to brush a red curl from her daughter’s cheek. “Did she give you a lot of trouble?”
“No more than two or three green-broke broncs.”
“Oh, dear. I was a little afraid of that.”
“We got along fine, once she figured out I wasn’t going to give up or give in.”
Tess flushed. “She is rather strong-willed. I suppose I let her have her own way too often.”
“She’s spoiled rotten,” Stony said flatly. “And she has a temper.”
Tess opened her mouth to defend her mothering tactics, then realized Stony hadn’t been completely successful in controlling her daughter, either. After all, Rose had ended up sleeping in the same bed with her.
“Perhaps she is a little spoiled,” Tess conceded, brushing at the stubborn curl that had found its way back to Rose’s cheek. “But she’s had to cope with an awful lot over the past year.”
Stony shifted from the chair beside the bed to a spot on the mattress near her hips. Tess tensed at the intrusion on her space. However helpful he had been, Stony was still a stranger. And she was in his bed wearing no more than—Good Lord—one of his T-shirts!
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you about that. I mean, about how you and Rose have been getting by,” Stony said.
His voice had that rusty gate sound, as though he hadn’t used it much lately. It rumbled over her, sending a shiver up her spine. She wasn’t sure whether it was the threat he presented, or the temptation, that had her inching away from him.
“We’ve been just fine,” Tess said.
“Don’t bother lying.”
“I—”
“I spoke with your landlady.”
Tess sighed. “I’m only a month behind on the rent.”
“You had to give up your phone two months ago. And I didn’t see much in the cupboards to eat. How the hell you two have managed to make it this far, I’ll never know.”
Tess felt the anger rising and struggled to control it. Rose hadn’t learned her redheaded temper; she had inherited it from her mother.
“I’d like to know what your plans are now that you’ve been fired,” Stony said.
“I don’t see how my future plans are any of your business,” Tess retorted. “I’m sure I’ll find something—”
“You can work for me.” Stony interrupted her.
Tess was speechless. “Doing what?” she managed to say at last.
He made a broad gesture around the bedroom. “I could use a housekeeper, and I know you can cook. I couldn’t pay much, but I could give you free room and board. It would give you somewhere to stay and food in your mouths, at least until your wrist is healed.”
Tess took a second look around the room. This time she noticed the layer of dust on the wardrobe, the stack of dirty, rumpled shirts on the rocker, the horse magazines strewn across the floor, the empty beer can on the chest. It was clear the man could use a housekeeper. But if he had really wanted one, he could have hired one long ago.
Her gaze shifted back to Stony’s face. “Why are you willing to do this for me?”
He frowned and rubbed his thumb along his lower lip. “I don’t have any designs on you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
She flushed. Because the thought had occurred to her. “I never—”
“Don’t bother lying again. You’ve been itching to get out of here ever since you woke up.”
She heard the irritation in his voice. His thumb never stopped that lazy trail from one side of his mouth to the other. She felt a surprising curl of desire in her belly and jerked her gaze away from his mouth back to his eyes. That was no better. They were dark and fierce and feral. They made her feel hunted. She lowered her lashes to hide from him but felt her body quiver in anticipation of the need to fight or to flee.
“The way I figure it, I owe you a job,” he continued, apparently unaware of her agitation. “I’m the one who got you fired—even if you should have quit a long time ago.”
“And worked where?” she demanded, incensed at the implied criticism. “There aren’t too many waitress jobs in Pinedale.”
“Couldn’t you do something else?”
Her anger died, consumed by frustration at her lack of education. She had a high school equivalency degree, but she had believed that was all she would ever need. She had never considered the necessity of any further formal education because she had been perfectly happy being a wife and mother. She had been very good at her chosen profession.
“I had a job I was happy with, until it was taken away from me.”
“Well, there you go. What was it?”
“Housewife.”
She saw the stricken look on Stony’s face and realized she shouldn’t take out her bitterness over Charlie’s