Lonesome Ryder: Lonesome Ryder / Restaurant Romeo. Carol Finch

Ms. Right? Nothing, that’s what. Otherwise those two clowns would be wedlocked by now.

      Wade knew that when it came to women Vance and Quint had stumbled and fallen a couple of times themselves. They chose to handle their humiliation in different ways. Quint preferred to shield his emotions by flirting outrageously with everything in skirts and he was swift enough of foot to dodge wedding nooses that flew his way. Vance relied on teasing humor to sidestep emotional land mines. As for Wade, he chose avoidance and barbed-wire barriers to protect his heart.

      Whatever worked, he supposed. But the fact remained that the Ryder cousins—even the absentee Gage—were considered highly prized bachelors in Hoot’s Roost. Come to think of it, his maternal cousins were in great demand as well. The whole passel of male cousins were decent looking—if that mattered—and they were successful—and that did matter to females who power-shopped for low-maintenance husbands who could provide for their wives in the wealthy manner to which they aspired.

      Well, gold diggers need not apply at the Ryder ranches, Wade mused. As for Laura Seymour, he wanted her to vamoose—pronto. Now that he knew he had the ability to make her mad he’d push and prod until she lost her temper and spit out the four-letter Q word. Then he’d have her exactly where he wanted her…besides naked in his bed….

      Wade jerked upright, shocked by that whimsical thought. He didn’t want to visualize how Laura would look naked because that would lead to more trouble than he had already. Wade squelched the testosterone-induced fantasy that leaped to mind and concentrated on the movie. He wasn’t going to give his new housekeeper another thought—except to conjure up ways to get rid of her, while he listened to her rummage around in his kitchen, as if she owned the place.

      SWIFTLY AND EFFICIENTLY, Laura bustled around the kitchen, preparing the evening meal that she felt certain Wade couldn’t fault. She’d covered the basic food groups to provide a well-rounded, nutritious supper. Immensely pleased with herself, she sauntered into the living room, toying with the devilish urge to dump the food on Wade’s head rather than politely placing the tray on his lap. To her disappointment he stared distastefully at his plate.

      “What the hell is this?” he asked incredulously.

      “Well, duh, it’s supper. What does it look like?” Laura mentally patted herself on the back for her sassy rejoinder. Already, she’d learned to counter Wade’s intimidation with lightning-quick sarcasm. After a few weeks of dealing with him she was positively certain she could hold her own with any man. She might have been a little timid and unsure of herself in the past, since her brothers tried to map out her life and speak in her behalf, but she was learning fast.

      Wade glanced up from the tray and said, “Do you have the slightest idea where you are, Seymour?”

      Puzzled, she replied, “On an Oklahoma ranch?”

      “Well, if you figured that out all by yourself, did you also notice this is cattle country?”

      She had no idea where he was going with this line of questioning. “Yes, I do believe I saw a herd of cattle grazing the pastures.”

      “Good, it’s a relief to know you’re not blind, just dense.”

      She could feel her temper simmering, but she valiantly suppressed her mounting irritation. “And your point, provided there is one, would be?”

      He made a stabbing gesture toward the stuffed poultry and dressing, smothered in gravy, on his plate. “I raise cattle, therefore I support the beef industry, not poultry. You don’t feed a cattleman a damn chicken. Jeez, Seymour, are they giving away teaching certificates to the highest bidder these days?”

      “Jeez, Ryder, if you don’t eat chicken, then what are all those frozen breasts doing in your freezing unit?”

      A wave of heat flooded through her when his gaze focused deliberately on her bosom. He delighted in rattling her—that conversation they’d shared in the kitchen about the depersonalization of sex indicated as much. She should be highly offended by his telling glance. Indeed if another man stared so blatantly, unblinkingly, at her chest she would have been outraged and insulted.

      For some unexplainable reason the red-hot, seductive glimmer in Wade’s green eyes sent her senses reeling and heightened her awareness of him. Which she didn’t need, thank you so much. She was aware of him—to the extreme. His deep, smoky voice sent hot chills down her spine. His muscular physique kept drawing her unwilling attention and feminine speculation. He was distractingly handsome with that thatch of raven hair, those hypnotic eyes, those deeply tanned and chiseled features, those broad shoulders and horseman’s thighs. He looked solid and unyielding and he exuded some mystical aura that fascinated her on an elemental level.

      She tried to tell herself that she was intrigued because she wasn’t accustomed to hanging out with cowboys. Teachers, yes. Businessmen, you bet. But not rugged, macho hunks like Wade Ryder.

      “Hello? Anyone home?” Wade taunted.

      Color splashed across her cheeks in such a rush that Laura feared the sudden pressure would blow off the top of her head. He’d caught her ogling him. Worse, she was probably drooling. Enough of this nonsense! She wasn’t going to let herself become the least bit interested in this woman-hating cowboy and his hang-ups. He was a waste of time and effort.

      “Earth to Seymour,” he prompted again.

      “What?” she mumbled.

      “I said…” he drawled very deliberately, “I like plump, juicy breasts occasionally, but not on a regular basis. Beef is my mainstay, so don’t forget it when you’re puttering around the kitchen, throwing together some slop to feed me.”

      Puttering? Throwing together slop? She’d slaved over this meal, damn it. She glared at him, then noticed he was trying to get a reaction from her. He was waiting for her to pop her cork so he could toss out another insult that would infuriate her to the point of quitting. Well, it wasn’t happening, she vowed fiercely. She would not be provoked!

      Before she could respond he thrust both empty glasses at her. “Make yourself useful and fill ’em up, will ya?”

      She snatched up the glasses, careful to avoid contact with his long, lean fingers. “With poison? Gladly. I’ll be back in a flash with a deadly dose.”

      Wade watched her stalk off, her hips swishing like an angry cat’s tail, and he sighed gratefully. Thank you, God! He needed a quick time-out. Staring at her well-proportioned chest and watching her blush got his male body all riled up. That he didn’t need—not in his condition. When she’d given him that thorough once-over he’d been positively certain that not all his body parts were nonfunctional. If not for the supper tray on his lap, Laura would’ve noticed his aroused condition and likely razzed him unmercifully about it.

      Damn it, he didn’t like the way Laura made him feel, the way he reacted to her, the way his thoughts detoured down lusty avenues when she got within five feet of him.

      On the spur of the moment he decided that he wasn’t going to repay his cousins by killing them swiftly and mercifully for dumping Laura on his doorstep. No, he’d roast them over an open fire…or drag them behind a galloping horse around the perimeters of the ranch…or stake them over a den of fire ants, that sort of thing.

      Wade pretended a fascinated interest in the television when he heard Laura stamping back into the room. When she slammed down the glasses of whiskey on his tray, he said, “Took you long enough.”

      “I had to scrounge around the cabinets to locate the hemlock and arsenic,” she muttered spitefully. “Here, pick your poison. Anything else, Your Grumpiness?”

      He flicked his wrist, dismissing her. “That’ll do it.”

      “It’d better.” She performed a quick about-face toward the kitchen. “Otherwise I’ll have to restock the poisons because we’re fresh out. Just my luck that I got stuck with a man who’s just too darn mean to roll over and die after a couple of lethal doses.”