Rancher's Wife. Anne Marie Winston

found Angel in the kitchen again after dinner, after he’d read to Beth Ann and tucked her in for the night.

      “You sure are spending a lot of your vacation working,” he said, setting a glass on the counter.

      She smiled at him, up to her elbows in soapy water. “I don’t mind,” she said. “It’s a welcome change.”

      That smile hit him right in the gut and he sucked in his breath. She was a beautiful woman. Too beautiful. He didn’t trust the way she seemed to be infiltrating his life. “Don’t get too used to it,” Day warned, his voice harsh with hostility.

      Her smile faded. So did the quiet happiness in her eyes. “We’re not all the same, you know,” she said.

      “Who’s ‘we’?” He was wary, knowing what she meant without needing the answer.

      “Actresses,” she clarified. “We come in all shapes and sizes and colors, and our personalities are just as diverse.”

      If she’d gone any further, he’d have been able to get angry. As it was, her small rebuke did what feminine whining could never have achieved: it made him feel guilty. He hadn’t been raised to treat people as he’d been treating her. Still...

      “You’re right,” he said, seeking a truce without giving in. “I shouldn’t judge all actresses by one lousy experience. But I find it hard to believe that you could be happy here, doing housework on a ranch when you’re used to so much more. I keep thinking you must have some ulterior motive for wanting to help out. I’d like to know up-front what it is.”

      Her hands stilled in the dishwater and he knew he’d been right. She did have some hidden agenda.

      “I need time—time to think,” she said with a tentative look at him from under her lashes.

      “Time to think?” he repeated.

      “Yes. I have some...decisions to make that will affect my future, and I can’t consider all the angles while I’m working. So yes, I guess I do have an ulterior motive.” She picked up a pan, then pointed it at him for emphasis. “But that doesn’t mean what I need has to be in conflict with what you need, does it?”

      Put like that, she sounded so reasonable he could do nothing other than agree. “I guess not,” he said. Then it struck him. They were having a conversation that consisted of something other than accu-sations and screaming demands. Given his suspicions, this whole talk could have degenerated into the very same kind of shouting match he and Jada often had.

      If she were like Jada. She’d reminded him that she might be different, and in this respect he had to agree that she was. Intrigued by that thought, he pulled a kitchen chair toward him, straddling it backward.

      “I’m curious. How did you get to Hollywood from Deming?”

      She shrugged, shooting him a single startled glance while her hands hesitated in the water again. “The usual way, I suppose. I joined the drama club in high school and realized I liked acting. Other people told me I was good at it.”

      “And...?”

      “And so eventually I decided to try to make a living at it.”

      It was an answer but he wasn’t satisfied. He studied her expressionless face, longing to shake her out of her habitual calm, wondering what piece of the puzzle that was Angel he was missing. Then he said, “You speak as if you didn’t light out of town the day you got your diploma.”

      A half smile lit up her features. “I did. But I only went as far as Albuquerque.”

      Her eyes had a faraway look, seeing into some time and place from which he was excluded. It shouldn’t have bothered him, but it did. “If you didn’t go to Hollywood right away, what did you do?”

      She came back then from wherever she’d gone. It was like watching someone in the distance gradually grow in size as they came nearer and nearer. Then she looked at him, and the pain in her wide brown eyes was a shock he wasn’t prepared for. “I got married,” she said.

      He couldn’t speak for a moment. If anyone came after him with a question, he couldn’t formulate an answer if his life depended on it. All he could think was, That wasn’t in the magazines.

      She’d gotten married. He didn’t like the feeling that simple sentence gave him, like an ugly, jealous fist that thumped into his stomach and stayed there like a lump of day-old oatmeal eaten in a hurry.

      Finally sanity returned. And with it, the awareness that he hadn’t responded to her bombshell in any way. He said the first thing that came to him. “Who to?”

      The corner of her mouth kicked up a little, though it wasn’t a mirthful response. “His name was Jimmy,” she said. “He was from up near Albuquerque and I met him at a rodeo my senior year of high school.”

      Ah, he had it now. “And when the marriage didn’t work out, you headed for Hollywood,” he said.

      “No.” She emptied the last of the dishwater and hung the dishcloth up to dry, clearly signaling an end to his grilling. “I headed for Hollywood after Jimmy died.”

      * * *

      Day wondered about Angel’s husband all day as he rode his land checking each of the thirty-five wells that kept his cattle from dying of thirst in the arid desert region. She’d met him at a rodeo.... Had she married a professional rider, one of the wandering men who followed the circuit or had he simply been a spectator?

      Had she loved him? Mourned his passing?

      Cynicism reared its head as he recalled the information printed in the article he’d read about her. One headline in particular kept reverberating in his head.

      A Legion of Lovers. The article had listed her numerous entanglements since she’d arrived on the West Coast, detailing liaisons with famous men from every field of entertainment. He knew better than to believe it all, but separating the facts from the fiction was beyond him.

      He made a last notation in the small notepad he carried in his breast pocket, replaced it and wheeled his horse away from the cottonwood well, so named because of the trees that marked its location. Why was he still thinking about Angel anyway? She was just a temporary guest in his home.

      And one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. She had no business doing housework. He’d been too angry the first time he’d seen her to take in her appeal, but since then...since then he’d found her difficult to ignore. Though she didn’t doll herself up like the woman who’d posed for her publicity shots, he found her classic features more striking each time he saw her. He’d already caught himself fantasizing about pulling her hair out of the simple elastic band in which she habitually wore it and running his fingers through the silky, straight golden strands. Yep, he’d caught himself more than once.

      Fool, he told himself. You’ve already paid the price for one beautiful, useless woman in your life. When are you going to learn?

      When he came in the door before dinner, she was in the kitchen again, kneading dough with quick, competent motions. Had she even been outside since she’d arrived? Before he could give himself time to think, he blurted, “Tomorrow, if you’d like, I’ll give you a tour of the ranch.” Then a thought struck him. “That is, if you ride.”

      “I ride, though it’s been a while.” She blew her bangs out of her eyes and turned the bread dough into a pan, covered it with a cotton cloth and reached for the next hunk of dough. Then she looked up from her work and smiled at him. “That would be lovely if it won’t keep you from your work.”

      He shrugged, beaten to his knees by that smile. “I can do some work as we go.”

      He left her before he did anything more foolish than he already had, heading for his room to shower and change before dinner. When he returned, the men were starting to arrive, and Dulcie was carrying plates of food into the dining room. He walked into the kitchen, intending to help her carry dishes