Читать книгу Cowboy To The Altar - Rosemary Carter - Страница 6

CHAPTER ONE

‘WHO on earth can that be?’

Jason Delaney pushed back the broad brim of his stetson hat, his dark eyes narrowing at the sight of the vehicle that was approaching the ranch-house. The road was used mainly by pick-up trucks—a small car, like the one now coming through the trees, was a rarity.

The dog, following close on the heels of the broad-shouldered man, gave a token growl. Aging though Scot might be, he was not so old that he had forgotten that the ranch was his territory. Jason looked down at the big dog, who had once had no equal when it had come to working with cattle, and for a moment his eyes were troubled.

But this was not the time to think about the dog for the car was just stopping in front of the house. The driver’s door opened, and a girl emerged.

A girl! Jason stiffened. It was a while since a female had been at the ranch.

The big dog growled and moved towards the girl.

‘Scot!’ Jason called a stern warning. ‘Back, Scot.’

To his surprise, the girl said, ‘Oh, that’s OK, I’m not frightened.’ And, bending towards the dog, she said, ‘Aren’t you lovely?’ She stroked Scot between the ears, and the dog quietened in seconds.

The girl straightened. As she came towards him something tightened inside Jason. She was so light, so graceful—her movements made him think of a dancer.

‘Hi, there,’ she said with an enchanting smile.

‘Hi,’ he returned, looking down—quite a long way down—into the prettiest face he had ever seen.

Her hair was the colour of ripe corn, her eyes as blue as the Texas sky on a cloudless day. Her waist was so tiny that a man could circle it easily with his hands, and then have some space to spare. Through a cream shirt, tucked neatly into beautifully cut matching pants, a pair of small breasts hinted at promise and perfection.

After a long moment Jason said, ‘Wasn’t expecting company. Guess you’re lost. Tell me where you’re headed, and I’ll give you directions.’

She had to tilt her head in order to look at him. ‘Lost? I don’t believe so. This is Six-Gate Corral, isn’t it? I saw the name on the gate as I turned in.’

‘Right—this is Six-Gate Corral.’

‘Good! Then I’ve come to the right place. And I’m not company, exactly. I’m Morgan Muir.’

The way she said it was as if she expected him to know who she was. But the name meant nothing to him. Jason looked at her, puzzled.

‘Morgan Muir,’ she repeated. ‘The new cook.’

‘You have to be kidding!’ The words exploded from his lips.

‘Why would I do that? Look, Mr...’ She stopped.

‘Delaney. Jason Delaney.’

‘Jason Delaney?’ She looked amazed. ‘Owner of Six-Gate Corral?’

Jason nodded curtly. ‘Owner, that’s right.’ His eyes were suddenly hard. ‘I’m a busy man, Miss Muir. I don’t have time for games.’

‘Neither do I.’ For the first time she looked angry. ‘Look, I’ve done absolutely nothing to deserve your hostility.’

‘OK, then, suppose you tell me why you’re really here.’

‘I did—I’m the new cook.’

‘The hell you are!’

Her eyes sparkled as her hands curled into fists. Five and a half feet of challenging woman. Quite a sight. ‘I will not let you intimidate me, Mr Delaney.’

‘Is that what I’m doing?’

‘You’re trying your best to. You have a cook by the name of Brent, don’t you?’ And when Jason nodded she went on, ‘Off on vacation for a month, and in need of a substitute?’

An alarm bell rang in Jason’s mind. ‘How would you know that?’ he asked aloofly.

She gave him a saucy look. ‘Brent’s ad appeared in a ranching magazine, and I happened to see it. I called him, we talked and he gave me the job.’

Jason frowned. ‘I see.’

‘Didn’t he tell you?’

‘No.’

‘I guess it slipped his mind.’

Jason looked down at her, an enticingly fragile figure. Her eyes returned his look—wide, blue, confident. ‘Anyway, Brent will be waiting for me. He’ll want to tell me all about my duties.’

‘Sure of that, are you?’ Jason asked derisively.

‘Of course.’ Her eyes were challenging now. ‘He must have told you something about me.’

‘Only that he’d arranged for someone to take his place while he’s on vacation.’

‘Well, then!’

‘Not a word about hiring a woman. Morgan...’ Jason frowned. ‘Now that I think of it, Brent did mention the name. But Morgan is a man’s name, not a woman’s.’

Morgan laughed, the sound making Jason think of music. ‘It’s one of those names that can belong to a man or a woman. Is Brent here, Mr Delaney? If he is, he’ll be able to clear up this misunderstanding in a minute.’

‘He’ll certainly have some explaining to do,’ Jason said grimly.

Turning away from Morgan, he shouted, ‘Brent!’

Minutes later a familiar figure came into view. Jason was in his early thirties; Brent was more than double that age—a weathered man with bow legs and skin like an old leather saddle which had been left out too long in the Texas heat. Like Jason, he wore boots and a stetson but his were more battered. In his hand was an ancient suitcase.

‘You called me, Jason?’ As his eyes fell on Morgan he stopped short. ‘Miss Muir...’ he said uneasily.

‘Hi, Brent,’ she said with a smile.

Jason stared from one face to the other in amazement. ‘You really do know each other?’

A blue-eyed smile touched her face. ‘Brent and I met in Austin—didn’t we, Brent?’

‘I don’t believe it!’ Jason exclaimed.

‘You may as well,’ the annoying girl said serenely.

Turning to Brent, she held out her hand to him. ‘Nice to see you again.’

Shyly the old cowboy glanced at the proffered hand. Jason suppressed a smile as he wondered whether Brent would take it. He did—quickly, jerkily—in the manner of one who had had limited contact with women and was, in fact, a little scared of them. As if Morgan Muir were a being from another world—which, in a sense, she was, Jason thought in wry amusement.

Brent dropped Morgan’s hand a second after touching it. Beneath the leathery tan his face was flushed. ‘Be on my way now, Boss.’

‘Not so fast, you old rogue,’ cautioned his employer.

‘Jason?’

‘Who is this woman?’

Brent shot Morgan a quick look, before turning back to Jason. ‘Miss Muir. Reckon she’s the new cook.’

‘New cook be damned! Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I did, Boss. Told you I’d arranged a replacement.’

‘You didn’t say she was a woman.’

The old cowboy shifted his feet on the sun-baked ground. ‘Maybe not,’ he admitted at length. And then added hopefully, ‘Did tell you her name, though. Positive I did.’

‘Morgan. A man’s name. Don’t look so innocent, you old scoundrel; it won’t wash with me. You know very well I thought the cook was a man.’

‘Maybe so...’

‘Well, then?’ Jason was becoming more exasperated by the second. ‘Why didn’t you hire a man?’

‘Couldn’t get one,’ Brent said simply.

‘I should tell you not to come back, you old reprobate,’ Jason growled.

Brent looked affronted. ‘Only one answer to the ad,’ he protested indignantly. ‘Not as if I didn’t try to find someone else.’

‘Nice to know I was hired because I was the only option,’ Morgan said wryly.

‘We don’t employ females at this ranch,’ Jason told her crisply. ‘I’m sorry there’s been a mistake, but now that you understand the position I’m sure you’ll want to leave.’

‘No.’

‘No?’

Looking down at Morgan, Jason saw an expression that he didn’t quite trust. He hoped quite fervently that she would not take it into her pretty little head to cry. Tears would be absolutely the last straw.

But Morgan did not cry. ‘No,’ she said again, this time with a firmness that Jason would not have suspected in the circumstances. ‘I will not leave.’

‘Did employ a female once, Boss,’ a treacherous Brent chose that moment to put in. ‘Woman called Emily. Remember?’

Emily Lawson, a large, amiable woman. She had been the ranch cook before Brent. Mother of three cowboys and grandmother of a huge brood of children, Emily had adored ranches and cooking with almost equal passion. Besides preparing meals for the cowboys, she had advised them on their personal problems and rallied them when their spirits were low.

Emily Lawson and little Miss Morgan Muir were complete opposites: whereas the former had been an asset to the ranch, the latter could only be a nuisance and a threat. Jason did not have to analyse why this should be so; he knew it instinctively.

‘Of course I remember Emily,’ he said impatiently. ‘She was different.’

‘Wasn’t a looker,’ Brent agreed with a sly sideways grin. ‘Plain as a tree-stump Emily was.’

Jason could have cheerfully throttled the man. Why bring Emily up now? Whose side was Brent on, anyway—Morgan Muir’s or his?

His lips tightened ominously. ‘Emily is not under discussion now. This won’t do, Brent, and well you know it.’

‘You’ll do duty in the cookhouse, Boss?’

Once more Jason’s anger exploded. ‘The hell I will! If it weren’t for the fact that you’ve been here since the day I was born I’d fire you on the spot.’

‘I’ll be on my way now, Boss.’

‘You’ll stay and cook until you find someone more—’

Morgan chose that moment to cut in. ‘It doesn’t matter whether Brent goes or stays. It doesn’t even matter whether I cook or don’t cook. It was agreed that I’d spend a month at Six-Gate Corral, and one way or another I intend doing just that.’

She spoke with a firmness that made Jason scowl. ‘I’ve tried to make it clear that I can’t have you here, Miss Muir.’

‘I’ll be staying all the same, Mr Delaney.’ The eyes that met his were steady and unafraid.

‘Not if I can help it, Miss Morgan.’

‘I signed a contract.’ Her gaze turned to Brent, who was looking both intrigued and uneasy at the same time. ‘Tell him, Brent,’ she urged. ‘Tell Mr Delaney what I signed.’

‘It’s true,’ the old cowboy muttered. ‘She did sign a paper.’

‘Why?’ Jason demanded.

‘Had to be sure she wouldn’t let me down.’

‘I would never do that,’ Morgan assured Brent, before slanting a disturbingly winning smile at Jason. ‘The contract protects Brent, and I get to work here for a month.’

Witch, Jason thought, scowling down at her from his six feet four. A very pretty little witch, to be sure. OK, more than pretty—beautiful, if the truth had to be told. But provocative as could be. Aware of her very considerable power over a man and not ashamed to use all the wiles at her disposal in order to get what she wanted.

And if a man’s heart were trampled in the process, well, wouldn’t that just be too bad? Little Miss Morgan Muir—presumably it was Miss—would have got what she wanted. That was all that counted with women, especially the pretty ones.

‘I’ll take a look at that contract,’ he said tightly.

‘Brent has his copy; mine is in the car,’ Morgan told him sweetly. ‘You can see it any time you like.’

‘As soon as possible,’ he informed her crisply over the sinking feeling in his chest. Even without seeing it, he knew already that the contract would be watertight.

Somehow he would have to find a way of getting rid of this girl. After Vera’s defection he had made himself a promise never to get involved with a woman again. He now knew that he had never loved Vera—that the most he had ever felt for his ex-wife had been affection, and even that hadn’t lasted long. He had been lonely when they’d met, and she had managed to convince him that they should be married. For the purpose she had employed several calculated tactics. Hindsight told him that he should have seen through her immediately, but the fact was that he hadn’t.

This girl, this blue-eyed tiny-waisted Morgan Muir, could hurt a man badly. Hurt him far more deeply than Vera ever had. Just a few minutes in her company had been enough to tell him that. Why, already he had an urge—an utterly insane urge—to run his hands through the soft fair hair that curled so enticingly around her small head, to taste lips that looked sweet as fresh honey. Morgan Muir was dangerous. Contract or no contract, he had to find a way of getting rid of her. Quickly.

‘I have every intention of staying,’ she said, as if she had read his thoughts.

‘We’ll see about that.’

‘My mind is made up, Mr Delaney.’ Blue eyes flashed him a challenge.

A pair of cracked cowboy boots shifted once more on the hot dry earth, reminding Morgan and Jason of Brent’s presence. For some reason, they had both forgotten him.

As they turned from each other and looked at the old cowboy he muttered, ‘Guess I’ll be seeing you a month from now, Boss.’

Without another word he shuffled away around the house.

Minutes later the sound of departing hooves had Morgan whirling around. A big horse was proceeding down the road she had just travelled—and on its back was Brent.

‘He’s gone!’ she exclaimed.

Dark eyebrows lifted. ‘Didn’t you expect him to go?’

‘Not so quickly.’

‘I suspect he was ready to leave before you came. That the horse was saddled and ready. That he was alarmed by your arrival and wished he’d left earlier.’

‘You’re intimating he didn’t want to see me.’

‘He knew he’d have to explain.’

‘You’ve made that quite clear, Mr Delaney. Still, I didn’t think he’d go without...’

‘Without?’ Jason prompted.

‘Without explaining my duties. Showing me around...’

‘If you’re a woman of experience you must know your duties already.’

She shot him a saucy look. ‘Obviously I’ll cope. But Brent did say he’d show me around.’

‘Just as obviously he’s not going to.’

‘I guess not...’

‘Shouldn’t matter, though, if you’ve worked before.’ Jason knew that he sounded arrogant.

He had the satisfaction of seeing her look a little uncertain—as if his words had intimidated her. He hoped they had.

‘Look,’ she said, ‘it’s scorching out here. Do you think we could go on talking indoors?’

For a moment Jason hesitated. He didn’t want Morgan Muir in his house, even for a short time; he didn’t need her invading his privacy. Still, she did look hot. He gave a curt shrug and wondered if she would see the gesture as unwelcoming.

‘Why not?’ he said, and led her into the house—into a cool room, all white walls and rather basic low-slung furniture. The graceful figure struck an intensely feminine note against the very masculine background.

Jason’s expression was hard. ‘About your work experience—why do I get the feeling you haven’t had any?’

Morgan had been looking around her. Now she looked back at him, her blue eyes steady. ‘I’ve worked,’ she said quietly, ‘but it’s true I don’t have the kind of experience you’re thinking of.’

‘Don’t tell me,’ he countered sarcastically, ‘you don’t know a thing about cooking.’

This time it was Morgan’s turn to hesitate. ‘I’ve cooked.’

‘On a ranch?’

‘No...’

‘Where, then? A hotel? A restaurant? For a crowd of hungry people?’

Again there was that hesitation, so slight that it might have escaped Jason’s notice if he hadn’t been watching for it. ‘For myself—in my own kitchen.’

His eyes swept the reed-slender body. Suddenly he grinned. ‘Bird’s food?’

She danced him an answering grin. ‘Bird’s food? Heavens, no, since I’m not a bird. But if you’re asking whether I’ve cooked for a horde of men then, no, I’ve never done that.’

Jason looked down into a face with which he could not find even one fault—every feature in it was lovely. ‘But you did say you’d worked. Where? What kind of work?’

Her chin lifted, as if in challenge. ‘Well, actually, I work in a big store, selling clothing. I also do some part-time modelling for the store.’

Jason was astounded. ‘Modelling?’

‘Photographic.’

‘Good grief!’

Her expression became even more challenging. ‘Department store fliers. Glossy fashion magazines that the store puts out for its customers. That kind of thing.’

People everywhere would see her—in different poses, maybe wearing flimsy things. Men—looking at her pictures, imagining her... An ominous expression appeared in Jason’s eyes as he wondered why that thought should bother him.

His lips tightened. ‘So you’re a model.’

‘Part-time.’ Morgan drew herself up. ‘Your tone, Mr Delaney, sounds as if you think there’s something wrong with modelling—there isn’t.’

‘You’re as entitled to your opinion as I am to mine.’ His words were clipped. ‘I do need to know one thing—why are you here?’

‘We’ve been over that. To cook.’

‘You know as well as I do that’s absurd. Models don’t spend their time slaving in hot cookhouses.’

‘It’s what I want,’ she insisted stubbornly. ‘I’m prepared to work as hard as I have to. Do whatever it takes. You’ll never hear me complain, Mr Delaney, and I’ll do a good job.’

‘What’s this all about, Morgan?’ He made himself use her first name.

Her eyes widened for a moment, as if he had surprised her. Then she said, ‘When I saw that ranching magazine Brent’s ad leaped at me.’

‘You’re making no sense.’

Her smile was enchanting. It would be so easy to be disarmed by it. Too easy.

‘I can see it wouldn’t make sense, at least not without an explanation. You see, Mr Delaney, for as long as I can remember I’ve had a dream. When I saw the ad for a replacement cook I felt as if it had been placed there especially for me to read. As if I’d been meant to see it. So much so that after I spoke to Brent on the phone I flew from San Francisco to Austin just for an interview.’

Jason stared at her in disbelief. ‘You flew from California to Texas on the off chance that you might land yourself a temporary job?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Sorry,’ he said flatly, ‘but I still don’t understand.’

Morgan laughed. The man who stood just a foot or so away from her, clenching his hands to stop them from pulling her into his arms, thought that the sound was as sweet as rippling water.

‘I don’t blame you for not understanding. The thing is that for most of my life I’ve wanted to spend three or four weeks on a ranch.’

‘That’s a long time.’

‘I wish it could be longer, but it’s as much time as I can spare from my job. My real life is in the city.’

Real life... ‘Of course,’ Jason said flatly. ‘Models don’t ply their trade on ranches.’ And then added, ‘What kind of dream?’

‘It’s a long story and you don’t want to. hear it right now. But ever since I can remember I’ve had this desire to see the way cowboys work and live.’

Jason’s expression was forbidding. ‘I’ll give you a tour.’

‘No thanks.’

‘I’ll take you out on the range, drive you around in a Jeep. An hour or two and you’ll see all you want.’

‘I want a lot more than that.’

Exasperating woman. ‘I suppose you think cowboys are exciting? I’ve a fair hand with a lariat—I’ll do a few twirls.’

‘Mr Delaney—’

‘Rope a couple of steers.’

‘You really don’t understand.’

Jason was beginning to feel as if he was being caught in a trap with no way of getting out. ‘What is it you want, Morgan Muir?’ he asked harshly. ‘Pointers on how to look your best in boots and a stetson? So that you can look the part when you model next year’s collection of western gear? The kind of things women like you might think are authentic?’

‘Why are you so bitter?’ she asked him.

His lips tightened. ‘Bitter?’

‘Oh, yes. You seem to have such a low opinion of women, Mr Delaney. Or is it just me you don’t like?’ When he didn’t answer she went on, ‘Thanks for offering to show me around, but it’s not what I want.’

‘What do you want?’

‘I keep telling you—a month on your ranch. I’ll pay for the experience with my cooking.’

The walls of the trap were tightening. Jason frowned as he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. ‘I believe you know that you’re trying my patience.’

Morgan’s tone was light. ‘Don’t you think you’re being a little unreasonable.’

Jason decided not to dignify the question with an answer.

He saw Morgan take a breath before she went on. ‘I don’t know why you’re so opposed to me, Mr Delaney. Granted, I haven’t had much experience as a cook, but I will learn and I’m not asking for favours. I saw an ad and I answered it. Brent could have asked me any questions he liked and I would have been honest with him. He didn’t have to hire me—but he did, and he had his own reasons. So now I’m here. All I want is to spend a few weeks on your ranch, and I’m not asking for a free ride.’

‘A model,’ Jason said scornfully, his tone lashing her with the force of his contempt. ‘Bet you don’t know much about hard work.’

‘If I were you, I wouldn’t bet my last dollar on that.’ Anger stirred in the lovely face, brightening blue eyes and staining soft cheeks with an appealing flush. ‘You’re obviously one of those people who think that modelling is all glamour. You’re dead wrong, you know. It’s hard work—gruelling.’

‘Is that so?’ Jason asked cynically.

‘It certainly is! Some days, after hours behind the counter and more hours in front of a camera, I’m so tired that I can’t wait to get home. On days like that it’s an effort just to gulp down a bit of food and make it to bed.’

‘Sounds as if you don’t enjoy your career.’

‘Oh, but I do, Mr Delaney. I enjoy it very much. I’m just telling you that I do know about hard work. In fact, there are times when I’m tempted to...’ She stopped.

‘To what?’ he prompted, interested despite himself.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Morgan said curtly. ‘The fact is that I’m looking forward to cooking for your cowboys.’

‘Morgan—’

‘It’s all part of the dream I was telling you about. Please...please don’t take it away from me.’

There was something about her tone. Her expression. The passion with which she said the last words. Suddenly Jason was swept with a great wish to put his arms around Morgan and make life easier for her. To protect her. He took a step towards her.

In that moment he remembered Vera. She had breached his defences, and he had lived to regret it.

His tone turned to ice. ‘You mentioned a contract.’

She seemed to be making an effort to control her emotion. ‘Yes...’

‘I need to see it.’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’ll get it from the car.’

A few minutes later Morgan was handing Jason a folded envelope. As he took it from her his hand brushed against hers. In a second the wish to protect her turned into a strong desire to kiss her.

Wordlessly he looked at her. To his surprise, he saw that her lips were quivering. Their eyes clashed, dark eyes holding blue ones for an interminable moment. Then Morgan was stepping away from him, and Jason told himself that he was glad of the distance she had created.

He looked down at the envelope in his hand. When he looked up again his expression was sombre. ‘All there, isn’t it?’ he said at last.

She was watching him intently. ‘Sounds as if you’re accusing me of something. What exactly do you mean, Mr Delaney?’

‘You put in every damn clause you could possibly think of.’

‘If there’s something you want to say why don’t you just say it?’

Jason gave a short, derisive laugh. ‘Oh, come, Morgan Muir, don’t look at me with those innocent blue eyes of yours. We both know who drew up this contract.’

Morgan seemed to be controlling her anger with some difficulty. ‘You talk as if I’ve committed a crime. I haven’t.’

‘I take it you typed this.’

‘Brent said he didn’t know how. One of us had to do it.’

‘If that was all there was to it. But you did more than type this, Miss Muir. These words...’ Jason tapped the pages impatiently ‘are not part of Brent’s vocabulary. I doubt he could draw up a contract if his life depended on it.’

‘I still don’t know what I’m being accused of.’

‘Getting what you want. In that, you’re like—’ Jason stopped abruptly.

‘Like?’ Morgan asked curiously.

Jason looked away from her. ‘Someone I know.’

‘A woman?’

‘Not that it’s your concern, but yes.’

An odd expression appeared in Morgan’s eyes, one that Jason had not seen until now. He wished he knew what it meant.

After a moment she said, ‘That’s what I thought...from the way you spoke...’ She paused. When she spoke again her tone was defensive. ‘There’s nothing wrong with the contract.’

‘Except that you’ve ensured your stay at Six-Gate Corral for a month.’

‘Sure I did. But the contract works two ways.’ Morgan’s voice was tight now. ‘It’s true that I made certain of my place at the ranch but, as I said earlier, we’re both protected. Brent knows I’ll be doing his work while he’s gone—that I’ll be taking care of things for him. That was important to him, knowing that the men would continue to eat well while he was away.’ Blue eyes seemed to be asking for understanding.

Jason’s gaze raked her face. ‘I hope you’re not expecting preferential treatment.’

Morgan tilted her chin up at him. ‘Of course not!’

‘Just so long as that’s understood.’

‘Absolutely.’

‘You’ll find the hours long.’

‘No longer than the ones I’m used to working.’

‘The heat will get to you.’

‘I like heat.’

‘Not the kind we get here,’ he said grimly. ‘You were wilting outdoors. You asked to go inside.’

‘You have to admit it’s a scorcher.’

‘It is,’ Jason admitted after a moment. ‘The heat will get to you, nonetheless.’

‘If it does it will be my problem, not yours.’

‘And the dust.’

‘I’ve been in other dusty places. Dust does wash off.’

She was spirited—he had to hand her that much. If what she said was true—the experience with Vera had taught him not to take a woman’s words at face value—then she was certainly determined and fearless.

‘You’ll have to be up long before dawn to prepare breakfast.’

‘When I’m modelling my day often starts at that time.’

He was running out of ways to put her off. ‘If there’s a round-up you could find yourself cooking out on the range, preparing food in a chuckwagon. You wouldn’t find that much fun, Morgan Muir.’

‘Oh, but I would! I’m longing to see a round-up! It’s one of the reasons I’m here.’

Her eagerness startled him. ‘You are?’

Morgan smiled at him, the kind of smile that had a way of shafting its way straight to a man’s heart. ‘Cooking in a chuckwagon—that’s all part of the dream, part of the adventure. So stop trying to frighten me, Mr Delaney. Can’t you see by now that I don’t frighten so easily?’

Jason did see; he saw many things. But he still had a challenge left in him. ‘Don’t assume that the fact you’re a woman—and a model—will carry any weight around here. The cowboys are concerned with cattle and horses; they don’t know the first thing about fashion.’

‘If they did I wouldn’t be here.’

‘I’m not interested in your career either.’

She shot him another one of those heart-melting smiles. ‘I never thought you were.’

His eyes sparkled back at her, and for a second his lips curved in a grin. ‘You’ll be treated just like the men.’

‘Haven’t we been over that already?’

‘I want to be sure you understand.’

‘I do. Feel absolutely free to think of me as one of them.’

The suggestion was so absurd that he gave a shout of laughter. ‘Difficult—when we both know you’re not a man.’

‘Mr Delaney—’

“That’s one thing even you can’t argue about, Morgan Muir—you are not a man.’

Once more he studied her, only this time his eyes went from her face to her delectable body—skimming the line of her slender throat, lingering on the curve of soft breasts and descending to her waist and hips and thighs. When he looked up again he saw that her cheeks were flushed once more and her eyes stormy.

‘I don’t know how to convince you, Mr Delaney. True, I’m not a man, but nothing would please me more than if you treated me like one of the men. I wish you’d believe me. As far as you’re concerned, I’m just one more ranch-hand.’

‘Ranch-hands know they’ll be fired if they don’t perform satisfactorily. This contract...’ Jason handed it back to her contemptuously ‘...doesn’t protect you from that.’

Morgan gave him a cheeky grin. ‘Thanks for the warning. I won’t give you cause to fire me.’

Once more their eyes met. Then Jason glanced at his watch. ‘The men will be returning from the range soon. They’ll be hungry. Time to prepare your first meal, Morgan Muir.’