Millionaire Cowboy Seeks Wife. Terry Mclaughlin
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was an actor, plain and simple, not a hyphen director, a hyphen producer, or a hyphen screenwriter. He’d leave the hyphens to the people with the dual and triple ambitions. One ambition at a time was enough for Fitz Kelleran.
One ambition. To make one film. One perfect, classic version of a perfect, classic novel. To play the role of his lifetime, a part that would require all his talent and ability. He didn’t want to dilute that effort or diffuse his concentration, to ruin his vision at the very heart of its creation. “No,” he said.
“It isn’t the money.”
“No. Though a hell of a lot of it’s already tied up in this, with a nice, neat bow.”
“You know you could get more if you needed it.” Burke stared down at his hands. “Kruppman says he’s got a buyer who’ll take the Thousand Oaks place as is. And it would be one less distraction, a distraction you don’t need right now.”
Fitz sank back against the stiff cushion. The reminder of his financial adviser’s pressure to dump Gramps’s ranch had him feeling mulish again. “My grandfather’s ranch is not for sale.”
“It’s your ranch, now.”
Fitz shrugged, acknowledging the slip.
Burke shrugged, too, and stood. “Do you want me to set up a meet with Lila?”
“Let me think about it.”
“Don’t take too long to make up your mind. She wants to move on this.”
“If she’s really interested, she’ll still be interested when I’m ready to discuss the deal.”
“All right.” Burke slipped his sunglasses out of their case. “If that’s all for tonight, then, I’m heading back to town.”
“Thought I’d head in myself.” Fitz stood and stretched. “Maybe pick up a few groceries.”
“Are you cooking tonight?” Burke tried unsuccessfully to downplay his interest, but Fitz knew his cooking was one reason Burke tolerated his abuse.
“Yep. Want some?”
“Sure.” Burke started out the door ahead of him. “What are you making?”
“Montana grub.”
Burke halted at the bottom of the trailer steps and turned to face him. “Grub?”
“Buffalo steak. Venison stew.” Fitz locked the door behind them. “We’ll see what the locals have that’s fresh.”
Burke paled a bit beneath his California tan. “You’re kidding, right?”
“About my dinner?” Fitz shoved his hands into his pockets and led the way to Burke’s rental car. “Never.”
IT WAS JUST PAST NOON the following day when Ellie staggered up the house’s back steps behind Jody. She was dragging with fatigue, her caffeine overload nudging her closer to cranky than alert.
Her eyes narrowed to slits at a series of hoots and whistles from the direction of the outbuildings. “You go on in,” she told her daughter. “Think I’ll check out the cause of all that ruckus.”
Jody grinned. “Must be the day for it.”
“For what?”
“For checking things out.” Jody sneaked a peek through the screen door and then leaned toward Ellie. “Like the way Mr. Hammond was checking you out.”
“What? Who, Wayne?”
“Yep.” Jody fluttered her eyelashes. “Mr. Wayne ‘Anything I Can Do for You, Anytime’ Hammond.”
Ellie’s cheeks stung with what was working up to be a champion blush. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Mom.” Jody reached into her pocket and pulled out some change. “Here’s a dollar. Buy a clue.”
Ellie hid her hands behind her back. Wayne Hammond? No. It couldn’t be. The very idea was… mortifying, to say the least. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Well, one of us better figure out what I’m talking about,” said Jody, “or this conversation’s going nowhere fast.”
Ellie pulled the stern parental routine. “This conversation has nowhere to go.”
Jody tugged at the screen door. “All I’m saying is, it’s, like, totally obvious Wayne Hammond has the hots for you.”
“Jody?” Jenna called from deep inside the house. “Ellie? You coming in for lunch or not?”
“Coming!” Jody stepped inside and held the door. “Mom?”
Ellie shook her head and backed away. “I’ve got things to do.”
“Okay.” The door slammed shut, and Jody grinned through the screen. “We’ll talk about this later.”
“God.” Ellie turned and fled from the porch.
Wayne Hammond. Wayne Hammond. She groaned as she swung down the gravel road. Probably looking at her and thinking it would be a fine and sensible thing to tear down some nice long stretches of fence between his ranch and hers. Well, hell, he could look and think all he wanted. She was done with giving folks around here reason to think she was marrying for a place to call her own.
She slowed her pace, tripped up by needle-sharp guilt. She’d loved Tom Harrison, surely she had—she’d matched him leap for leap through a carefree, rollicking courtship. He’d been six years older, the wandering prodigal son returned to aid his ailing father, a dashing college graduate with big ideas he’d developed working on bigger ranches. She’d been fresh out of high school and reluctant to leave the only home she’d ever known. So unsure of her footing, so quick to tumble in over her head. And when the daydreams had faded, they’d settled down in comfort and contentment and had made their beautiful daughter.
Maybe neither of them had been built for a deeper passion.
Nothing wrong with that, she thought with a hitch of a shoulder. It was the safe and sensible way to go about living a life and sharing a love. Passion could suck a person into a world of pain.
Or so she imagined.
But oh, just once in her life—just for a moment or two, nothing too risky—just once she’d like to know what it felt like. Just once she’d like to be swept up in something dark and reckless and intensely, wickedly thrilling.
None of those adjectives could be applied in any stretch of her imagination to a relationship with Wayne Hammond, but that was probably a good thing. At least she’d keep her wits about her if he started sniffing around.
She set her chin and picked up her pace. She was doing okay these days taking care of herself and her own. Better than okay, once the extra money from this film started rolling in. She had plans—expanding the herd, replacing some of the equipment with new. Adding to Jody’s college fund, sending Jenna off on one of those cruises she was always talking about.
Maybe her dreams weren’t as audacious as Tom’s, but perhaps she had a better chance of making them come true. And she didn’t need a man to help her do it.
Another round of laughter sailed in on the languid afternoon breeze. Ellie pinpointed its source—the sand arena down along the creek. She hiked the short distance from the calving barn to the stables, and then skirted the low-slung building and headed for the open area beneath a row of cottonwoods.
One of the temporary hires trudged up the path, lugging an armful of bridles and saddle blankets. He nodded politely. “Hey, Ellie.”
“Hey, Nudge.” She tilted her head at the arena. “What’s all the excitement?”
“Fitz is giving ol’ Noodle a try.”
“Noodle?”
“Yeah.