Cowboy Seeks Perfect Wife. Linda Lewis

to go with it.”

      “I don’t want a roommate! The lease—which you signed—entitles me to exclusive possession of this house for three more months.”

      “You don’t have to stay. I won’t sue you if you break the lease.”

      A muscle worked in his jaw. “I’m staying. You’re leaving.”

      “No, I’m not. Get used to it, McMasters. And don’t worry. Like I told you before, I don’t care what people will say.”

      “No, you wouldn’t, would you? Your type isn’t bothered by gossip,” he said, sneering.

      “My type? Golly, gee whiz. You must be one of those old fogies who think show business isn’t respectable. I’ve heard about your kind. Repressed, inhibited—”

      He reached for her.

      “Hey!” Sidonie slapped his hands away. “What do you think you’re doing?”

      “First I’m going to shut you up. Then I’m throwing you out.”

      “You can’t do that.” Sidonie backed into her room. “I need to stay here. I don’t have anyplace else to go.

      “The motel,” he said, advancing toward her.

      “I took a pain pill, remember?” She whimpered, shooting him her best pitiful look. “Once it kicks in, I won’t be able to drive.”

      “Not a problem. I’ll drive you there.”

      She glared at him. So much for appealing to his sensitive side. The man was a cold, unfeeling clod. And a sanctimonious snob, to boot. How could she ever have thought he was attractive? “I’m not going to a motel, especially not a tacky no-tell motel like the one on 283. This is my home, and I’m staying right here, lease or no lease.”

      “Don’t try to con me, Miss Saddler. You may own this place, but it’s not your home. You haven’t lived here since you were five years old.”

      “I beg your pardon. I’ll have you know I spent every summer here until Daddy—until I was sixteen. And I’ve been back to visit a few times since then, when I was between jobs.”

      He was not impressed. She could tell by the way he continued to look at her as if she were the poster girl for tacky behavior.

      Narrowing her eyes, she tried another angle. “Look, Mr. McMasters. I can’t go anyplace else. I don’t have any money. Medical bills, you know?” She pointed to her knee. “Plus, I used the last of my ready cash to buy a pickup.”

      “I’ll advance you next month’s rent.”

      Exasperated, Sidonie threw up her hands and turned her back to him. She wasn’t getting anywhere with the arrogant, stubborn son of—“Oh, look. Isn’t that cute?”

      With a triumphant grin, Sidonie pointed to the dog curled up in a ball in the middle of her white fourposter bed. “We can’t go to a motel. They don’t allow pets. Where are the sheets? As soon as I make up the bed and take a quick shower, I’ll—”

      “The dog can stay. You can pick her up tomorrow. What’s her name?”

      “I don’t know. We just met. Go away, McMasters. I’m tired, and I want to go to bed.” Sidonie sat on the edge of the bed and unfastened the brace. Then she kicked off her shoes and began rolling the leg warmer down her right leg.

      “You ought to give the dog a name if you plan on keeping her.” His gaze shifted from the dog to her. “What are you doing?”

      “Getting ready for bed.” She took off the other leg warmer, revealing a tiny scar on her left knee. Grabbing the hem of her sweater, she pulled it up far enough to expose her midriff.

      “You won’t take your clothes off in front of me.”

      “Oh, yes, I will.” Sidonie grinned. Modesty was one virtue a dancer lost early. She’d undressed onstage, offstage and backstage, in crowded, communal dressing rooms for years. She gave him a pitying look. “Give it up, McMasters. Me and the no-name dog are staying.”

      She pulled the sweater over her head. When she could see again, the door was closing. Slowly.

      “Good night, Mr. McMasters,” she cooed sweetly.

      The door opened a crack and she could see one eye flashing balefully. “All right! One night. You can stay here one night. But that’s it. Tomorrow you’re finding someplace else. Understand?”

      “You don’t have to shout,” she yelled.

      “I never shout,” he yelled back, slamming the door shut.

      

      Rafe stared at the bedroom door he’d run for, the minute Sidonie started her striptease. Except she hadn’t been teasing. She’d been playing to win, and she had succeeded. She was sleeping in his house. Only for one night, sure, but that was bound to be one night too many. If anyone found out, and odds were that someone would, the good people of Proffit County would have a new episode to add to the saga of Rafe McMasters. They’d talk and talk about him and the redheaded temptress who now sat triumphantly behind the closed bedroom door.

      They’d think he hadn’t changed at all.

      Tugging his tie from around his neck, Rafe paused at the door to his room. He’d been getting ready for bed himself when he’d heard someone drive up. He glanced at his watch. That was only half an hour ago. He’d been tired, ready for sleep, until she’d shown up and attacked him.

      Now he was wide-awake. With a disgusted groan he turned on his bare heel and walked through the house to the front room. Heading for the window, he pulled the curtains back and looked up the hill opposite the house. He could see the dark outline of his house silhouetted against the night sky.

      A fierce sense of pride filled him. He’d done it! It had taken fifteen long years, countless hours of hard work and a little luck, but he was finally back where he belonged. The land had been the first step. No one in his family had ever owned his own land. Beginning with his great-grandfather, the first McMasters to settle in Proffit County, the men in his family had worked for other men all their lives. Rafe had vowed to change that, and he was well on his way to succeeding.

      Over the years he’d bought the land, a few acres at a time. Now he owned a good part of the county— enough land to challenge Emmet Clancy for the title of biggest rancher in the area. But that was only the first step in executing his lifelong plan. Rafe glanced at his house on the hill again. In a few months he’d be living in the biggest and best house in the county. After that he needed only one thing to reach his goal. A wife.

      For years Rafe had planned on becoming a rancher, a respected member of the community, marrying a woman who knew what it meant to be a rancher’s wife. He’d almost realized his goal years ago, when Cathy Sue Clancy had agreed to marry him, but then—

      With a muttered oath Rafe stopped that line of thought. No guilt, no regrets. He’d find another woman, someone with the all the right qualities. Together they would raise a family and build a solid, respectable life together. His mouth curved in a sardonic smile. He could kiss that part of his plan goodbye, unless he could get Sidonie out of the house, and fast. No self-respecting woman—no lady—would keep company with a man living with a chorus girl.

      He knew all about Sidonie. People still talked about her and her mother, the Las Vegas showgirl Buck had married thirty years ago. Almost as much as they talked about him.

      Sidonie could call herself a dancer all she wanted to, but he knew darn well she only danced in the chorus. That made her a chorus girl. A tightening in his loins forced him to admit Sidonie was well endowed with all the talent needed for that job—long legs, sensuous curves and clear blue eyes filled with seductive promises. If he wasn’t looking to settle down, she’d be exactly the kind of woman he’d enjoy getting to know—in the Biblical sense. But he’d sown all his wild oats years ago. No more flings for him, no matter how tempting