Rancher's Proposition. Anne Marie Winston
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They were scuffed and marked already, since she insisted on helping around the barn and pastures when she wasn’t working in the house, though he noticed she was careful to keep them clean and waterproofed.
As she stretched for a meat fork in a far drawer, the T-shirt drew taut against her slender body, profiling the gentle rise of plump, rounded breasts. She’d gained some weight in the time she’d been at the ranch and oh, mama, it had all gone to the right places. His pulse changed to a faster rhythm and his body began to react, and he hastily grabbed a basket for the rolls and took a seat at the table before she noticed he had a hard-on the size of Mount Rushmore. Damn, but he was tired of feeling like this. It was a good thing he was going to town tonight.
Maybe he’d just drive right on to Rapid after he met Marty. He’d met a widowed gal there a month ago when he’d gone to the airport to pick up Deck and Silver. She’d been waiting for her mother on the same flight and they’d struck up a conversation. She’d made it plain she’d have welcomed his call after that and he wondered if she’d go out with him on short notice.
But at the table a few minutes later, thoughts of the Rapid City widow vanished. An idea occurred to him as he watched Lyn slip into her seat across from his with the unassuming air of someone who didn’t expect to be noticed. “Go to town with me tonight.”
The notion clearly startled her. “Me? Oh, no thank y—”
“It wasn’t a request,” he informed her. “It was an order from the boss.”
Her green eyes widened. “But why? I don’t want to go to town. There’s nothing open on Friday night but the bars—”
“Which is where we’re going. I have to meet Marty there at eight. You need to start getting out of the house. This will be a good way to begin.”
She wore a sulky pout that thrust out her lower lip in an adorable expression that made him want to lean across the table and put his mouth on hers. “I don’t like bars,” she muttered, though he noticed she didn’t tell him no.
He supposed she had good reason for not liking bars. Her father had been a drunk, and his poor ranching probably had been a direct result of his fondness for the bottle. And judging from what he’d heard of her marital history from his sister’s snooping into police files and hospital records, he suspected the husband who’d hammered on her also had an alcohol problem.
“I’ll drink soda,” he told her. “You won’t have to worry about pouring me into the truck for the drive home.”
The pout eased from her face and he didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry. He was an idiot, asking her to go to town with him when she was what he wanted to get away from. But he’d realized she hadn’t been off the ranch a single time since she’d arrived except to venture down to Silver’s house or to buy groceries. And it was past time she stopped hiding herself away. Women out here needed companionship, other women, to talk to—he was convinced that had been half the reason his mother had packed up and left when he was a baby. She’d refused to make friends with the “locals,” as she’d called them, according to his father, and the loneliness had gotten to her.
Lyn met him in the kitchen half an hour later. She had exchanged the blue T-shirt for a pretty blouse with long, full sleeves and she’d taken her hair out of the thick braid she usually wore it in when she was working. Wild curls quirked around her face and cascaded over her shoulders and as she came into the room she shoved it behind one ear with an impatient gesture. “I’m ready.”
His stomach muscles clenched. It was an effort to pull himself together. “All right. Let’s go.” His fingers itched to plunge into those curls, to drag her against him and unbutton each and every one of the pretty little pearl buttons that marched down the front of the blouse. He wiped a drop of sweat from his temple. He had to get over this.
They walked into the city bar a quarter-hour later to find Marty already seated in one of the red vinyl booths with a woman. It took a few minutes to get to the table because people at each of the three booths before Marty’s and at the bar had to come over and welcome Lyn back. Finally, sensing she was a bit overwhelmed, Cal put a hand beneath her elbow. “Come on over here,” he said. “We have to check out Marty’s newest applicant.”
“Applicant?” Her eyebrows rose.
“For the job he advertised. He put an ad in the personals for a wife,” he explained, enjoying the look of incredulity that flashed across her mobile features.
“You’re teasing me.”
“Nope.” He solemnly placed his hand over his heart. “Swear to God it’s the truth.”
By that time they were at the table. Marty had been seated across from his date and when he saw them coming, he stood and waved.
“Hi, Lynnie,” he said. “Hey, Cal. I’d like you to meet Iris.”
Iris was a stunning brunette with enormous brown eyes and jugs the size of watermelons straining at the front of a bright yellow sweater. Though the sweater wasn’t exceptionally tight or low-cut, Cal had a hard time meeting her eyes.
“Hello,” Iris said, smiling at them.
Lyn slid into the booth and Cal tipped his hat to the woman before lowering himself onto the seat beside Lyn. Marty had a smug smile on his face. “Iris is a jewelry designer,” he told them. “She does pieces in Black Hills gold.”
“That’s interesting.” Lyn surprised him when she spoke up. “I’ve always loved that look. Did you design your earrings?”
“Yes.” Iris and Marty both had beers in front of them and she took a pull at her bottle before answering Lyn’s questions about her work. The conversation was steady as Iris, in turn, asked questions about ranching, and Cal could almost see Marty sizing up her ring finger. Among other things.
This one seemed cultured, intelligent, sexy…he couldn’t believe a woman like this resorted to answering personal ads. There had to be some catch.
After three hours, he knew what it was. Iris drank like a fish.
Lyn, to her credit, made a valiant effort to prevent a disaster. She carried on a conversation about jewelry design with the woman until the subject was wrung dry. When it became apparent that Iris could talk and drink at the speed of light, Lyn asked for a pizza and some chips for their table. Cal flashed her a grin, knowing she was hoping the food would soak up some of the alcohol.
The evening wore on. Marty’s smug smile had long since glazed over into stupefied horror as his dream woman deteriorated into a giddy, slurring nightmare. She shrieked with laughter at things that weren’t funny. She excused herself at least ten times to go to the bathroom and each time, she got into a cozy conversation with the cowboys parked at the bar.
By eleven, Marty was slumped in his seat, shaking his head in embarrassment. “What am I going to do now?” he moaned. “I can’t let her drive back to Rapid in that condition. And I’m sure as hell not taking her back to the ranch!”
Cal was doubled over with laughter and even Lyn was giggling helplessly as they watched Iris climb into the lap of a cowboy barely old enough to be in the bar in the first place.
Marty regarded them with a sour expression. “Oh, sure, go ahead and laugh. Just don’t ever come to me for help when you guys have trouble with romance.”
“It really isn’t funny,” Lyn said, her tone sobering. “That girl’s got problems.”
“And so do I,” said Marty.
Cal sighed, wiping his eyes on a napkin. He felt magnanimous, particularly since he couldn’t recall ever having a date that was such a disaster. “You two go ahead and leave.” He picked up Iris’s car keys from the table where they’d lain the whole evening. “Take her car over to the Dakota Inn and then go on home. I’ll tell her you had an emergency and had to leave, Marty, and I’ll take her over there and get her a room.”
The grateful look on