One

      Tallulah Benson had been told at a young age that she’d been given an exciting name to go with a fairy-tale future. She just wished her life hadn’t stalled out at the floor-sweeping version of Cinderella. No crystal slippers for her. She spent her days in sneakers.

      She climbed the icy steps to the porch on the sprawling ranch home. To call it a log cabin would be an understatement since the two-story structure sported over eight thousand square feet—or so the job assignment had stated.

      Bottom line, Tallulah—Tally—was grateful to have steady work as a housekeeper to pay her bills. If this latest gig cleaning for one of the oil-wealthy Steele family members went well, her résumé would be padded for more jobs cleaning for the rich and famous, which carried a substantial bump in her hourly rate. She needed the work. Both of her parents had died before her eighteenth birthday. She had no cushy savings or family safety net to fall back on.

      By nineteen, she’d learned all too well how harsh life could be when no one had her back. Ten years hadn’t dimmed the pain of giving up her baby for adoption, even knowing she’d made the right decision for her newborn son. These days, she controlled her life.

      Tally stabbed the doorbell, the tones pealing through the walls of rancher Marshall Steele’s home.

      Marshall had used a twice-a-week cleaning service in the past. But a recent accident during a rodeo had left him with a broken arm during the Christmas season. So she’d been hired full-time for six weeks, at his doctor’s recommendation. The opportunity she’d been waiting for.

      She had a history with his family.

      She tapped the doorbell again, but no one came. She knocked on the thick oak door and—

      A blistering curse cut the air.

      Another expletive reverberated, followed by a substantial splash. She gripped the thick wooden rail, looking around. The frozen pond out front was clear and unbroken. Thank goodness. Winters in Alaska could be treacherous.

      More curses carried on the late-afternoon wind. Now that the shock had passed, she realized the shouts were most definitely coming from the back of the house.

      She secured her grasp on her heavy purse and picked her way faster down the steps and along the slick walk. Her feet crunched through packed snow, trees creating an icy arbor as she followed the voice to the back of the ranch-style mansion.

      A glass dome covered a pool area.

      She peered through the frost-speckled windows. Unable to believe what she saw, she blinked, and still the strange vision was clear as day.

      A towering man with jet-black hair waded chest-deep in the water with his arm overhead to keep his cast dry.

      It could only be her boss, Marshall Steele. Risking his cast—or worse yet, risking slipping into the depths—to save a dog.

      Marshall inched closer to a scruffy little mutt paddling in panicked circles. Tally’s heart squeezed in sympathy for the dog, her gaze drawn to the pup’s unlikely savior. Time to quit gawking and act.

      She prayed the side door of the solarium was unlocked. She tugged and—thank goodness—the sliding glass panes parted. “Hello? Can I help you?”

      A gust of wind blew through the open door, rippling the man’s discarded jacket by the pool, Stetson on top shuddering slightly.

      He didn’t answer, his focus on the dog. Maybe he hadn’t heard her?

      Rushing closer, she needed to help before he got the plaster wet. And the poor pup was gulping in water, growing more frantic by the second.

      Tally tugged off her boots and slid out of her coat before wading down the steps. “Hello? Let me get the puppy before you get your cast wet or slip—”

      He glanced over his shoulder.

      She almost lost her footing. His coal-dark eyes chased away the chill in an instant, sparking tingles of awareness. Such magnetism. Such mystery.

      Such raw sex appeal.

      It wasn’t fair for one man to be that handsome and rich. His thick black hair curled ever so slightly from the water. He had impossibly long eyelashes and dark eyes with an exotic air. The hard lines of his body broadcast muscles earned the old-fashioned way and not through a gym.

      This was her boss?

      Heaven help her. Life wasn’t fair sometimes. Given the secrets she held, the sensual draw posed a serious risk. But her need for peace with the past and a steady future insisted she hold firm to taking this job.

      She shrugged off the unwanted attraction and focused on plunging deeper into the pool, wading, then swimming past him in awkward splashes as the warmed waters pulled at her clothes.

      “Be careful,” he called, his deep voice muffled by the water in her ears. “Don’t get bitten.”

      She didn’t bother answering. She hadn’t thought about the scared canine biting an unfamiliar person. But the possibility didn’t deter her. The pup needed saving, and her boss needed to keep his cast dry. Yet another twist on her imagined fairy-tale life. She did the saving these days.

      Swooping an arm forward, she wriggled her fingers. And just missed the mutt. She heard more splashing behind her as her boss—Marshall—approached.

      The dog’s head dipped from sight. Panic flared inside her, followed by determination. She dived underwater and powered toward the sinking dog. She stretched her arms, making every inch count. She reached with both hands and sank her fingers into the fur, hauling the little fella tightly to her chest.

      Kicking hard, she powered to the surface and extended her arms upward. The soggy scrap squirmed in her grip, gasping for air. Her feet found the bottom, and she started toward the shallow end.

      Slamming straight into a steel wall of wet man.

      Of course he couldn’t have conveniently been some flabby octogenarian. Her boss was so hot, she half expected the water dripping from him to start steaming off his muscled body instead.

      “Um,” she stuttered, “excuse me.”

      “Nothing to excuse. You’ve saved the day.” His low voice was as sexy as those muscles.

      “Hardly.” She eased past him. She’d worked too hard to nab this job to let wayward attraction derail her.

      In sync, they sank back onto the pool steps, side by side, his thigh against hers.

      “Thanks for getting Nugget,” he said gruffly, taking the squirming dog from her with one hand. Not a puppy at all, but a full-grown small-breed dog. “Are you okay?”

      “I’m fine,” she said breathlessly, wondering why she didn’t move away. “How’s your cast?”

      “Fine, no worries.” His injured arm rested on the edge of the pool, the soaked mutt tucked under his other arm. “I appreciate your assistance out there. Nugget slipped into the pool as we were coming in from a walk. He got disoriented and couldn’t find the steps.”

      This scraggly little brown scrap was his? She would have expected this man to have some large breed, a hunting dog maybe.

      What other surprises did this Alaskan oil baron heir have in store?

      “Glad to have been of service,” she said.

      “And you are?” He lifted an eyebrow, his gaze flickering ever so quickly over her wet shirt. Not lingering so long to be offensive, but just enough to relay interest.

      And he didn’t know who she was.

      Awkward.

      She should have realized... “I’m your new housekeeper, Tallulah Benson.