Maid in Montana. SUSAN MEIER
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Sophie’s eyes were dark, smoky, sexy. Her complexion smooth, perfect. Her lips plump, kissable. Jeb’s heart speeded up, scrambling his pulse.
He told himself to pull away and get the hell out. But he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Barely breathed. Not because she was so pretty, or even because she was suddenly so close. But because she had the same look of confusion on her face that he was sure was on his.
Her baby yelped, and Jeb jumped as if someone had exploded a firecracker. He grabbed his files and headed for the door without a word. What could he say? I nearly made the biggest mistake of my life and kissed you? An employee? A woman with a baby? He couldn’t believe he’d almost kissed her. How would he ever explain it to the woman who looked as confused by the attraction as he was?
Susan Meier spent most of her twenties thinking she was a job-hopper—until she began to write and realised everything that had come before was only research! One of eleven children, with twenty-four nieces and nephews and three kids of her own, Susan has had plenty of real-life experience watching romance blossom in unexpected ways. She lives in Western Pennsylvania with her wonderful husband, Mike, three children, and two over-fed, well-cuddled cats, Sophie and Fluffy. You can visit Susan’s website at www.susanmeier.com
MAID IN
MONTANA
BY
SUSAN MEIER
CHAPTER ONE
JEB WORTHINGTON watched the aging sport utility vehicle chug up the tree-lined road leading to his ranch. He pulled on his horse’s reins, stopping Jezebel, and reached for his small binoculars.
Yep. Just as he suspected. His new housekeeper, Sophie Penazzi, had arrived.
Adjusting the glasses, he watched her get out of the car, taking in her straight, shoulder-length brown hair that, if he remembered correctly, was a color almost identical to the dark brown of her eyes.
She stretched, working the kinks out of her back and shoulders from the long drive. The smooth, even tan of her skin brought visions of her in a bikini, rushing into the crashing waves of the Pacific, surfboard under her arm. It didn’t surprise him that he’d envision her that way. Not only did her résumé list her home as Malibu, but also there was a part of him that would pay very good money to see her perfect bottom in a bikini.
He dropped the glasses to his thigh. Those were exactly the kinds of things he could not— would not—think about his new housekeeper. He’d lost the last one because she’d made a pass at him and he’d fired her. But instead of admitting she’d been let go because she’d tried to use her position as a springboard to becoming mistress of the house, Maria had promptly gone into town and trashed his reputation, claiming she’d quit because he was a grouch, too difficult to work for. The only way he’d recoup his standing with the locals would be to be nice to this new housekeeper, proving Maria had lied.
But being nice came with trouble of its own. Or maybe better said: Being nice to a live-in employee came with rules of its own. A line had to be drawn. He didn’t want to be accused of sexual harassment or even flirting. And he wouldn’t. He’d find a middle ground.
He nudged Jezebel, urging her to increase her pace.
Sophie bent into the rear compartment of her SUV. After setting several suitcases on the ground behind her vehicle, she lifted out an odd looking thing covered in net, at least four feet long and flat as a pancake. From the brackets on the side, he suspected that whatever it was, it was folded up. God only knew what it became when she unfolded it.
Once again, he nudged Jezebel, this time increasing her walk to a trot.
Adjusting the glasses so he could watch her as he rode, he saw Sophie slam the rear hatch, open the back door and bend inside.
There was more?
She pulled out a small seat and what looked to be a cooler and Jeb took Jezebel to a full gallop. What the hell was this woman doing? Planning to take over a wing of his house? Sure, she had to live with him, but he remembered telling her that her quarters were a bedroom, sitting room and a bathroom. She didn’t get to spread out all over his home.
He galloped past the outbuildings and barn, slowing Jezebel when they neared the driveway and taking her down to a walk when they reached the pavement.
Obviously hearing the clip-clop of Jez’s approach, Sophie turned around. Shading her eyes with her hand, she looked up at him and called, “Hey! Good morning.”
Her bright brown eyes shone with joy, accenting her pert little nose, wide smile and nicely defined chin. He should have kept his eyes on her face, but the blue top clinging to her breasts and the jeans outlining her perfect bottom drew his gaze downward until he’d taken in every feminine inch of her.
Irritated with himself, he nearly cursed. Why had he hired someone so cute?
A glance at her mountain of gear only increased his ire. Obviously she was all wrong for this job. He reined Jez a few feet ahead of the car, and growled, “What are you—”
Too late. Sophie ducked into her back seat again and Jeb stopped talking. Not only was she providing him with a jaw-dropping view of her backside, but also there was little sense talking when his conversation partner couldn’t hear him.
He waited patiently, ready to ask her just how much junk she thought she could get into a small suite of rooms, but when she pulled out of the back seat, baby in her arms, the words he’d intended to say fell out of his head. He was—for the first time ever—speechless.
She smiled at him. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
He stared at her. Then the baby. The kid was small, but chubby. Healthy. With pink cheeks and a thatch of thick black hair that poked out in all directions.
The only thing that came out of his mouth was, “What are you doing?”
She frowned. “You said move in. Today. So I can start working tomorrow. Did I misread your instructions?”
“Apparently! Since I don’t remember telling you to bring a baby!”
“Oh!” She laughed. “This is my son. Brady.” She kissed the little boy’s cheek. “Say hello, Brady.”
The baby cooed and gooed and Jeb’s heart stuttered in his chest. Willing back the swell of emotions that threatened to overtake him, he simply said, “You can’t have a baby here.”
Sophie kissed the baby’s cheek again. “Why not? The agency said it wasn’t a problem.”
“The employment agency told you that you could bring him?”
“Yes, when they explained that this job was for a live-in housekeeper, I told them about Brady and they said it was no problem for me to bring him.”
“I gave them the exact opposite instruction! I said, no kids.” Somebody’s head was going to roll.
“What difference does it make?” she asked cheerfully before she ran her fingers through her baby’s unruly dark hair, trying to tame it. “I’m not working 24/7. Only eight or ten hours a day. And not all back-to-back hours. You said that on my interview. Since my work requires feeding you supper…which takes us past a five o’clock quitting time, especially cleaning up the dining room and kitchen after you eat, you said my days are pretty much my own. I can organize them any way I want. And that means I have plenty of time to care for Brady.”
“I can’t have a baby here!”
Her expression hardened. Her shiny brown eyes turned into laser beams of steely determination. The laughter was gone from her voice when she said, “Mr. Worthington, obviously there was a mess-up at the agency, but that