Читать книгу Cassie's Cowboy Daddy - Kathie DeNosky - Страница 7

Cassie Wellington explored the upper level of the large two-story Victorian, her enthusiasm increasing with each new discovery. The Lazy Ace ranch house was perfect, and all she’d ever dreamed of for herself and the girls.

The bedrooms were spacious, with beautifully detailed cherry woodwork, wainscoting and built-in window seats. But the most attractive thing about it was the fact that half of it belonged to her.

Everything from the molding on the ceiling to the hardwood floor needed a good dusting, and there was enough clutter downstairs to warrant the use of a shovel, but that could be excused. Her business partner was at least eighty years old and obviously no longer capable of simple household tasks. She’d whip this place into shape, and in no time she’d make a comfortable home for all of them. Then once everything had undergone a thorough cleaning, she’d start redecorating.

Preoccupied with ideas for window dressings, color combinations and where she intended to place each piece of furniture, she wandered into the hall bathroom and stumbled over something in the middle of the floor. She glanced down at a pile of boots, jeans and briefs at her feet, then to the long bare leg dangling over the side of the old-fashioned, claw-footed bathtub. The small space was filled to overflowing with an impressively big, undeniably masculine body.

Her gaze followed the limb into the water.

Clear water.

She clapped her hand over her mouth to hold back her startled gasp and quickly averted her eyes to the safer territory of the man’s torso.

Safer?

She’d never seen so many well-defined muscles on one body in her entire life. Covered by a thin coating of dark hair, his ridged stomach looked as hard as a rock and his corded shoulders seemed to span the entire width of the bathtub.

Her gaze traveled to his face and a shiver ran the length of her spine and made goose bumps pop up on her arms. Even in sleep, the man was dangerously handsome.

Thick black hair fell across his forehead much like that of a naughty little boy’s, but the dark growth of beard shadowing his lean cheeks and the mustache framing his mouth were undoubtedly those of a man in his prime. The tiny lines fanning from the corners of his closed eyes attested to the fact that he spent the majority of his time working outside. Instead of detracting from his looks, they added a ruggedness to his overall appeal that Cassie found absolutely fascinating.

But when she looked more closely, her heart lurched, then started hammering at her vocal cords for an immediate response. Intense blue eyes gazed back at her from beneath thick black lashes.

“Go ahead and look your fill, sugar,” the man offered. His sexy grin made her heart skip a beat. “I’m agreeable, even though we haven’t been properly introduced.”

“Oh, I’m so…I mean, you’re…” Cassie clapped a hand over her mouth again to keep from making matters worse and started backing from the room.

“No need to leave, sugar.” He pulled his leg back into the tub and sat up. His bluer-than-sin eyes twinkled and he had the audacity to wink at her. “You’re just in time to help wash my back.”

She took another step backward, but her foot came down on top of a boot. To her horror, she lost her balance and sat down hard on top of the pile of clothes.

“Are you all right?” the man asked, concern replacing his teasing grin. He braced his hands on the sides of the bathtub as if he intended to stand.

Cassie scrambled to her feet. In her haste to put as much distance as possible between herself and the man getting out of the tub, she stumbled over the other boot. This time she managed to stay upright, but just barely.

“Please don’t get up. I’m fine. Really.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Now, what kind of a gentleman would I be if I didn’t stand when a lady enters the room? Just let me get out of here and…”

Logan saw it coming just as surely as a bubble rises to the surface of a boiling pot. But there wasn’t a thing he could do to stop the pretty young woman from looking him square in the eyes and screaming bloody murder, before she spun around and ran for the stairs.

He’d been aware of her presence the moment she’d stepped into the room and, like any good poker player, he’d tried to size up the situation before showing his hand. But he couldn’t think of one single reason this little filly would be wandering around his home. He laughed, realizing, in this particular situation, he’d been revealing a hell of a lot more than just his hand.

“Damn,” he muttered when he tried to get out of the tub.

The stiff muscles in his back protested his every move and his leg had gone numb from hanging over the side of the tub. Every time he attempted to stand, he slid back into a sitting position. Ignoring the pins-and-needles sensation in his leg, he finally managed to get the limb to support him and splashed out of the water with a muttered curse.

Knotting a towel around his hips, Logan took off in the direction the woman had fled. He chuckled as he limped down the stairs. He hadn’t meant to scare her, but he’d bet a steak dinner the little lady thought twice before she wandered into another house unannounced.

Of course, that wasn’t to say he found her presence offensive. On the contrary. A man would have to be out of his mind to object to a woman like this one keeping him company while he took a bath. Shoot, he wouldn’t even have minded having her join him.

Although she was shorter than the women he usually found attractive, she for damn sure had all the right curves in all the right places. And that strawberry-blond hair of hers made his hands itch to touch it, to pull off that puffy little pink thing holding it in a ponytail and see if it felt as soft and silky as it looked.

“What’s your name, sugar?” he asked, catching up to her in the kitchen.

When she spun around to face him, a rosy pink colored her cheeks and anger sparkled in her green eyes. “It doesn’t matter who I am. Who are you?”

Logan propped his hands on his hips, anchoring the towel in place. Smiling, he shook his head and took a step forward. “I asked first.”

She held one hand in front of her as if that would stop him. He almost laughed. She sure had her share of spunk. He liked that in a woman.

“Stay right there,” she ordered. “Don’t you dare come any closer.”

She tried to step away from him, but the cabinets stopped her retreat. Never taking her eyes from him, she put her hand behind her back and Logan heard her rummaging around in one of the drawers. Now, what in hell did she think she’d find in there?

“Don’t take another step,” she ordered, jerking her hand from behind her.

He frowned at her defensive stance and the pancake turner she brandished. He was in his own home and, even though she had to be the best-looking intruder he’d ever laid eyes on, she was still trespassing. And, he decided, staring at the flimsy utensil under his nose, a bit unstable.

“Look, lady, I don’t know what your problem is or where you came from, but around these parts, barging in when a man’s taking a bath could only be considered one of two things—an invasion of privacy or an open invitation.”

He reached out to take her weapon, but let out a yelp when she used it like a flyswatter to smack him right square on his bare chest.

Logan quickly took hold of her upper arms before she had a chance to take aim at something a lot more sensitive than his chest. His gaze locking with hers, he drew her to him.

The pancake turner clattered to the hardwood floor. They both ignored it.

“You weren’t supposed to do that,” she said, her voice shaky and her expressive green eyes as wide as half dollars. “You were supposed to jump back so I could escape.”

“But I didn’t,” Logan whispered close to her ear.

He heard her suck in a sharp breath a moment before she went perfectly still. Then with renewed vigor she started squirming like a worm on a hot sidewalk. “Turn me loose.”

“Not until you calm down, sugar,” Logan drawled. He stared down at her perfectly shaped lips. Lips just made for a man’s kiss.

Lord help him, but she felt good pressed against him. She was small, delicate and soft. Really soft. He inhaled deeply, and the sweet scent of her made his body feel as if his skin had suddenly grown way too tight. Where had he smelled that exotic scent before?

He didn’t have long to ponder the matter because suddenly everything seemed to be happening at once. Her fidgeting caused the knot to come loose. Gravity pulled at his towel. And his foreman, Hank Waverly, and a tall blonde woman chose that very moment to come crashing through the back door.

Logan barely managed to maintain his hold on the woman and grab the towel before anyone’s sensibilities were offended. “You’d better stand still. That was too close for comfort, sugar.”

“Stop calling me that,” she retorted. “And please let me go.”

“Why on earth did you scr—” The blonde with Hank stopped short and stood there staring as if she’d never seen a man in danger of losing his towel.

The woman Logan held struggled to free herself. “Throw this exhibitionist off the property, Hank.”

“Dammit, lady, if you don’t stand still, there’ll be an exhibition we’ll all remember for some time to come,” Logan growled.

“Oh, pul-lease,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I wouldn’t say your attributes are that memorable.”

She increased her attempts to free herself, sending pain shooting through his knotted muscles as he struggled to hold her and the towel. His curses could have blistered paint, but he didn’t care.

For a minute there, when he’d gazed into her sparkling eyes and felt her soft body pressed to his, he’d forgotten all about his sore back. And he’d come damned close to kissing her, he thought incredulously, trying his best to hold both the woman and the towel.

Taking advantage of his predicament, she jerked free and stepped well out of his reach. He caught the terry cloth just in time to keep it from exposing his nether regions.

“Does Logan Murdock know you use his bathtub when he’s away?” she demanded.

Hank threw back his head and laughed like a hyena. “Oh, this is good. Real good.”

Logan barely suppressed his own grin. He’d been wrong. She wasn’t “a bit unstable.” She was downright loco. Securing the towel before it revealed more than he cared to show, he raised a brow. “You and Murdock close, are you?”

“Close enough,” she replied.

“Do tell.” It took everything he had to keep a straight face at her confident expression. She really was a few steers shy of a full herd.

“From now on, you can bathe in the bunkhouse with the rest of the men.” She pointed toward the hall. “Now, get your clothes and get out of my house.”

“Your house!” All traces of amusement gone, Logan shot a suspicious glare at Hank when the man doubled over and slapped his knee. “Just where the hell did you come up with a harebrained idea like that?”

“My lawyer.”

Apprehension plucked at the hair on the back of his neck and he narrowed his eyes. “Just who are you, lady?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m Logan Murdock’s business partner, Cassie Wellington. I own half of the Lazy Ace.”

“You’re the Widow Wellington?” Logan shook his head. He wasn’t buying a word of it. “You can come up with a better story than that, sugar.”

Barely able to speak, Hank said cheerfully, “Welcome home, Logan.”

A keening wail suddenly sliced through the tense silence. A second cry soon joined in.

Goose bumps rose along Logan’s arms and a tight knot formed in the pit of his belly. “What the hell is that?” he demanded, afraid he already knew.

Cassie’s world came to a screeching halt. Logan? Hank had called the man Logan.

Studying him, she felt the color drain from her face. His black hair didn’t have so much as one strand of white, and the only wrinkles he had were the tiny ones at the corners of his deep blue eyes.

Instead of the frail, elderly gentleman she had envisioned, Logan Murdock was drop-dead handsome and only a few years older than herself. Her gaze traveled to his wide bare chest. His physique for darned sure wasn’t that of a man in his golden years, either.

No bags. No sags. Just warm, incredibly firm muscle.

Remembering the feel of being pressed against all that hard sinew made her cheeks burn and toes curl inside her tennis shoes. “Logan? Murdock?”

“In the flesh,” Hank said, dissolving into another fit of laughter.

Cassie’s best friend, Ginny Sadler, stepped from behind Hank to stare at the man claiming to be Logan Murdock. “Oh, dear heavens! I thought you said he was as old as your uncle Silas.”

“You can’t possibly be Mr. Murdock,” Cassie insisted, hoping this was some sort of joke. “He’s away from the ranch and I happen to know he’s elderly.”

“Well, you couldn’t possibly be the Widow Wellington,” he said. The man’s gaze traveled in a leisurely way from the top of her head to her well-worn shoes. “You don’t look old enough to be married, let alone widowed.” Frowning at the continued wails of her unhappy daughters, he asked, “Is that yours?”

“Yes.” Cassie turned to Ginny. “Would you mind checking on the twins for me?”

His disbelieving gaze zeroed in on her waist. “If you’ve had twins, I’m the king of Siam.”

“Aren’t you a little far from home, Your Highness?” When a dull red flush made its way from his neck to the roots of his hair, she smiled, satisfied that the “king” was as royally disconcerted by the whole situation as she was.

Hank laughed so hard he had to lean against the cabinets. “This is better than the time we greased down Gabe’s saddle with axle grease and watched him go shootin’ off the other side when he tried to mount up.”

Eyeing his foreman, Logan breathed a heavy sigh and began to chuckle. “I have to admit, you really outdid yourself this time, Hank. You really had me going there for a minute.”

Hank glanced at Cassie, her obvious displeasure erasing all traces of his amusement. Logan felt the knot in his gut tighten considerably.

“Uh…Logan, she is Cassie Wellington, your new business partner.”

Logan’s smile vanished, but he refused to give up hope. “You’ve had your fun, but the game’s over.” He pointed to the woman calling herself the Widow Wellington. “As soon as they’re ready, drive all of them down to Bear Creek. They can play jokes on someone else.”

She shook her head. “This is no joke. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“My partner’s name is Cassandra.” He knew as soon as he blurted out the irrational statement he was grasping at straws. But desperation was beginning to claw at him.

“Everyone calls me Cassie. My full name is Cassandra Hastings-Wellington.”

Logan felt his control of the situation take a nosedive, and that sinking feeling that always accompanied a lost cause began to settle in his gut. The Widow Wellington wasn’t at all what he’d expected when he first heard about Silas Hastings’s death and the naming of the man’s heir.

She was supposed to be a widow, for Pete’s sake. Logan had naturally envisioned a matronly, grandmother type with a big heart and a girth to match.

But the woman’s light pink T-shirt, tucked into snug-fitting jeans, emphasized a waist he could wrap his hands all the way around. And the enticing flare of her slim hips was light-years away from matronly. He had a hard time believing she’d had one baby, let alone a set of twins.

The stranglehold he had on the towel made his fingers cramp. He’d judge her to be somewhere in her mid-twenties and much too pretty for his peace of mind. Those green eyes of hers were the color of new spring grass—all fresh and sweet. And her creamy complexion just begged for his touch.

His palm started itching to do just that. He rubbed his hand against the plush towel in an effort to make the sensation go away.

There were two kinds of women—free spirits and nesters. A free spirit lived for the moment and demanded no more of a man than he was ready—or willing—to give. And that was just the type of woman Logan preferred.

But a nester was an entirely different breed. They wanted stability and long-range promises. They wanted a home that wasn’t to hell and gone from civilization and all the conveniences that went with it. Unfortunately, his new business partner had nester written from the top of her pretty little head all the way to her tattered tennis shoes.

Sweat beaded Logan’s forehead. The Widow Wellington represented a little over five feet of sexy temptation he’d rather not have around testing his willpower. Or reminding him of what he had to deny himself for the Lazy Ace.

He’d learned the hard way that the land was just too harsh for the fairer sex. Too remote. After making a fool of himself ten years ago, he’d successfully avoided Cassie Wellington’s kind and the commitments they put such stock in. And come hell or high water, that’s just the way he wanted it to remain—the way it had to remain.

“I don’t give a damn what you say, lady. You will be leaving as soon as possible.”

She propped her doubled fists on her shapely little hips. The action once again drew his attention to the narrowness of her waist, the fullness of her breasts. He almost groaned.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said stubbornly. “My daughters and I will stay as long as we darn well please. My uncle’s will plainly stated that I own half of this ranch and half of the ranch house. It’s as much mine as it is yours, buster.”

“Like hell!” His stiff back forgotten, Logan spun around and once again had to grab the towel as he headed for his office. But when he reached the hall, he stopped abruptly and turned to glare at Hank. “If you can tear yourself away, I’d like to see you in the study. You owe me some answers. And they’d better be damned good.”

Cassie stared at Logan’s retreating back a moment before she leveled her own irritated gaze on Hank. “When I called last week to inquire about moving here, you said Mr. Murdock had been alone for so many years that our presence would be good for him, that we were just what he needed to give him a new lease on life. That and the photo I have led me to believe he was an older gentleman. Why didn’t you tell me he was younger than Uncle Silas?”

Hank’s smile faded and he shifted from one foot to the other. “I’m…uh, real sorry if you feel I misled you, ma’am. I sure didn’t mean to. I just figured you knew he was a lot younger than your uncle.”

Cassie shook her head and walked over to the cabinet where she’d set her handbag when she’d first entered the house. Searching inside the leather tote, she pulled out a picture of two men standing under the Lazy Ace Cattle Company sign that hung over the entrance to the ranch. She handed it to Hank. “Read the caption on the back.”

“Logan Murdock and Silas Hastings. Joint owners. Fall 1954.” Hank nodded. “This explains the confusion. Logan was named after his grandpa. That’s him in the picture with your uncle. They were both in their early thirties when it was taken.”

Cassie tried to swallow the panic threatening to break through. Logan Murdock wasn’t the kind, elderly gentleman she’d envisioned. He’d turned out to be a ruggedly handsome, thirty-something hunk with an attitude.

Ginny returned from checking on the twins, her eyes wide. “What on earth are you going to do now, Cassie? You and the girls can’t possibly stay here.”

Dazed, Cassie looked around the room. The house was perfect for raising children and so much nicer than the cramped apartment they’d left behind in St. Louis. It was everything she’d ever dreamed of for the twins.

She straightened her shoulders. She’d fought one man for their very existence. She wasn’t afraid to fight another for their future.

“Come on, Ginny,” she said, walking to the door. “We need to unload the car.”

Her friend hurried to keep up with her. “You can’t mean—”

“Yes, I can,” Cassie said, determination filling her soul.

“He’s not going to like it,” Ginny warned.

“That’s his problem.” Cassie stepped out onto the porch and watched an eagle flying high above the valley. “I’m not letting some arrogant cowboy deprive my daughters of what’s rightfully theirs. We’re staying, and Logan Murdock will just have to learn to live with it.”