At The Rancher's Bidding. Charlotte Maclay

countrymen, but a lighter shade, filled with the greens and golds of this verdant countryside. She would like to make a study of them. Each time she looked into his eyes, they changed color with the sun or shade and became all the more intriguing.

      “Okay, Leila, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll hire you as my housekeeper for now and pay you a decent wage. You can save your money until you can go out on your own. Or if you get fed up with ranch life, I’ll put you on a plane back home and explain to Rafe. If he gives you a hard time he’ll have to answer to me.”

      Her eyes widened with pleasure. “How much will you pay me?”

      He blinked at her question, then named a price that astounded her.

      “I accept your offer, Mr. Brannigan.”

      Shaking his head, he said, “Cord will do. We’re not exactly formal in these parts.”

      “That is fine by me, as you Americans say. I have had enough formality to last me a lifetime.”

      As he shifted the truck into gear, pulling back onto the road, Allie smiled to herself. To think she’d have a paying job and the freedom of an American woman. What amazing good fortune—for however long she was allowed to enjoy it.

      BACK AT THE DESERT ROSE, Cade had watched Cord’s truck drive away, and followed the path of the dust cloud as it swept down the road behind it. Something was odd, he mused.

      While he’d visited Balahar, his beloved wife’s homeland in the Middle East, he’d had a chance to observe the behavior of a good many servants. The kingdom employed hundreds of cooks and maids, valets and assorted other workers who were almost invisible, they were so subservient.

      The woman who had left with Cord was…different.

      Though she’d kept her face averted, her head hadn’t been bowed as deeply as most servants he’d seen. Her back had been a little too straight, her stride a little too confident. It had made him think that Leila wasn’t a servant at all but rather—

      But no, that wasn’t possible.

      No pampered princess of Munir or any other member of Middle Eastern royalty would run off to be a housekeeper at a cattle ranch. The thought of Princess Allie scrubbing floors was laughable.

      He frowned a little, realizing his own wife, a princess of Balahar, had taken to domestic chores with far more enthusiasm than he’d had any right to expect. And she wore motherhood like a golden crown.

      Behind him, Rafe cleared his throat. “I thought I would visit the paddocks to see how Khalahari is faring this afternoon. Would you care to join me?”

      “Sure.” Tucking his fingertips in the pockets of his jeans, Cade walked beside Rafe. The sheikh was as fanatic about his Arabians as Cade was. Rafe couldn’t wait for Khalahari, the prize mare of the Desert Rose, to foal. If Cade would let him, Rafe would probably take the mare back to Munir with him.

      Cade could understand that. He’d been obsessed with the ranch and his Arabians until he’d had a family of his own. Marriage had been the first step. But when Rena gave birth to the twins—Zach and Natalie—Cade discovered nothing in the world could compare to being a husband and father.

      WHEN IT SEEMED as though they had been driving for a long while along a dirt track, Allie grew anxious. She had thought Cord a neighbor of the Colemans’ Desert Rose Ranch. So far she had seen nothing but grass wilted by the summer heat, elms and oaks spaced by nature to provide splashes of shade, and cows lazily chewing their cuds.

      “How much farther to your cattle ranch?” she asked.

      “We’ve been on Flying Ace land for about five minutes now, but the house is a ways yet.”

      “Your ranch is that big?”

      “Big enough. A couple of thousand acres.”

      “But that is larger than the Desert Rose.”

      “Yep. Cows need more land than horses. You gotta keep moving them around, changing pastures so they don’t overeat the grass.”

      He must be a wealthy man, indeed, Allie thought. “This name, Flying Ace—where did it come from?”

      He shot her a grin that creased his cheek and made him look far younger and even more attractive than only a moment ago.

      “Rumor has it my grandfather won the ranch in a poker game.”

      “An ace flew from the deck into his hand, yes?”

      “More likely it flew out of his sleeve into his hand.”

      She stared at him blankly, then choked on a laugh when she realized what he meant. “Your grandfather cheated?”

      “Now, he never ’fessed up to such a thing. But word has it no cowboy for a hundred miles around ever sat down at a poker table with him again.”

      She did laugh then, delighted with the prospect of living on Cord Brannigan’s ranch for some amount of time. At the palace her brother was so dour, so serious, she rarely saw him laugh. Only in the women’s quarters could she relax and be herself. Even then she had to use caution not to make an error in protocol. Or be too friendly with her ladies-in-waiting. Heaven forbid she should make a scene at the local bazaar or spend too much money on fripperies like scarves and shoes. Word would get back to her brother.

      He was so confoundedly bossy! At least with her that was true.

      She could only sympathize with a woman who found herself married to Rafe, subject to his arrogance and unbending ways.

      Though the air was warm blowing in the open truck windows, she shivered with distaste at the thought of marriage and her betrothed. She vowed to view each moment of freedom at the Flying Ace as a taste of ambrosia. She would fill herself with memories to last a lifetime.

      Only then would she be able to face the future she dreaded.

      Chapter Two

      Allie’s breath caught at her first glimpse of the Flying Ace ranch house. Although not as large as the one at the Desert Rose, the sprawling adobe structure seemed to fit into the landscape as if nature had put it there. A wrought-iron gate stood open to welcome visitors, and Cord drove the truck beneath an arched entry into an inner courtyard. It was almost like entering the palace grounds in Munir, but without the guards at the gate.

      America was indeed a wonderful country. So free and open. A safe haven—albeit a temporary one for her.

      “Your home is lovely,” she said as he parked beside a stone walkway leading to a covered entry and a wide wooden door.

      “We make do.” His modest response made her smile.

      Excitement fluttered through her midsection as he escorted her up the walkway, his hand pressing lightly at the small of her back. Had she expected a butler to greet them at the door, she would have been disappointed. Instead, Cord simply lifted the latch, shoved open the door and ushered her inside.

      The temperature was ten degrees cooler in the dim interior of the high-ceiling great room than it was outside, the recessed windows in the wide adobe walls preventing direct sunlight from penetrating. Heavy oak furniture and comfortable leather couches were arranged around a large fireplace that no doubt heated the room efficiently in winter. Paintings of horses and Western landscapes decorated the walls.

      He dropped her bag on one of the couches. “Brianna!” he shouted.

      “In here,” a woman’s voice answered.

      “Come meet our new, uh, housekeeper.”

      Troubled, Allie frowned. She had not thought to ask of Cord’s marital status or if he had a concubine living with him. But perhaps Brianna was simply one of his servants.

      A pretty woman with a long blond ponytail appeared from down the hallway. Fresh faced and no older than Allie, she wore jeans and a cotton blouse tucked