The Rancher and the Runaway Bride. Сьюзен Мэллери

reservations. You don’t know me from a rock, so you’re going to have to take my word about my good qualities.” She bit her lower lip. “I guess that’s it.”

      She had a heart-shaped face and a cupid’s bow mouth. Stupid details to notice, he told himself. He would hire her or not hire her based on her abilities and his gut. His daddy had always taught him to listen to his gut, and so far, it had only let him down once. Of course, that other time had involved a woman, too, but he wasn’t going to think about that now.

      Logically he shouldn’t give her a try. There was no reason to trust anything she’d said. Especially the part about not making trouble.

      “There’s one thing you left out,” he said, lowering his feet to the floor. “You’ve got nowhere else to go.”

      He met her gaze squarely, watching pride wrestle with reality. If only she knew how hard he wished she would claim some other job opportunity or a friend willing to take her in. He didn’t want this to be the end of her line.

      She blinked twice, but didn’t speak. He swore silently. She didn’t have to speak; the quiver at the corner of her mouth said it all.

      “I’ve gotten by before,” she said, and rose to her feet. “I’ll manage. Thanks for the interview, Mr. Jones.” She picked up her duffel bag and an expensive-looking purse.

      Brady waited for the feeling from his gut. There wasn’t one. Only the voice in his head telling him to be damn careful because he’d been down this particular road before and it had a way of flattening a man.

      “How about a week’s trial?” he said. “If things work out, you can stay on.”

      She’d made it to the office door, where she paused, then turned back. “You’re saying if I don’t like the working conditions or job description, I’m free to move on to something more upwardly mobile?”

      He grinned. “Sure thing. A place with a corner office, maybe.”

      Another black curl worked its way free and dangled by her cheek. She shifted her purse to her shoulder and brushed the strand away impatiently. “I’d like that. The job, not the corner office.”

      “Great,” he said, even as his gut belatedly kicked in. The feeling warned him that the decision he’d just made was going to change his life forever. He could only hope this time it would be for the better.

      He rose to his feet and named a salary. “That’s weekly and includes room and board,” he added. “The stables are your responsibility. You’ll be up early. I want the horses fed by five so they’ll have at least an hour to digest their food before the cowboys get them some time around six. After you muck out the stalls, you’ll be responsible for exercising any horses not being used that day.”

      Rita nodded. “I’m familiar with the work involved. I know I don’t look very strong, but I’m tough and I’m good. You’ll have to wait and let me prove that.”

      Because he was ten different kinds of a fool, Brady actually wanted her to show him she was terrific. He wanted to be dazzled, and not just by her smile. Obviously he needed to get out more.

      “You have a week,” he said. “There are a couple of high school boys who work in the afternoon. They take care of the horses when the cowboys are done, so you won’t be responsible for that. Any extra time you have, you tell Tex and he’ll give you chores. You have Saturday and Sunday afternoons off.”

      “Sounds great. Is there something you want me to do now?”

      “You can start in the morning.” He studied her face, trying to discover her secrets. A pointless exercise. She would tell him or not, in her own time. Maybe it was better if he didn’t know. For both of them.

      He crossed the worn wooden floor and stopped next to her. Her left hand hung at her side. He picked it up and turned it over so he could see her palm.

      At the base of her middle finger sat a large circle of raw skin. Other blisters—some healed, some still filled with clear fluid—formed an angry pattern across her flesh. He rubbed a couple of thick patches, feeling the calluses formed by hard work.

      Rita Howard might know her way around a stable, but she hadn’t been doing the hard work until just recently. What was her story? Had she lied about everything?

      He was so deep in thought he barely noticed the burning. When he registered it, he nearly flung her hand away as if it had bit him. Maybe it had.

      Heat flared, starting in the center of his palm, going bone deep before boiling up his arm to his chest, then moving lower. Hot, mind-numbing, sexual heat—the kind that made a man behave like an ass, then not have the good sense to regret it in the morning.

      He bit back a curse. He didn’t need this woman on his property, and he sure as hell didn’t need to want her in his bed.

      His mind obligingly took that image and shifted it until he was lost in a mental tangle of bare arms and legs, burying his need inside her and his hands in her curly dark hair. According to his brain, a bed was not required.

      Moving slowly, so she wouldn’t know what he was thinking, he released her hand, then shifted and leaned against the wall. The action did two things. First, it put some distance between them so he could work on developing a little self-control. Second, it allowed him to casually adjust his position, folding his arms over his chest and crossing his ankles in an effort to draw her attention away from that part of him that had instantly and violently reacted to the unwelcome fantasy.

      “Judging from your hands, you haven’t been working with horses,” he said, pleased his voice sounded completely in control. “What have you been doing?”

      She shrugged, apparently unaware of the battle he fought for control. “A little of everything. I waitressed in Phoenix and found out I’m not much of a people person. I like them one at a time just fine, but the pressures of a lunch crowd are too much for me.” She clutched her duffel bag close to her midsection. “In Albuquerque I worked as a maid in a big hotel. Now I’m here.”

      “Are you moving east?”

      Her gaze darted away. “I don’t have any specific plans.”

      But she was on the run. Had he really been hoping she was just some kid on a summer adventure? Life wasn’t that simple. This particular woman was in trouble, and despite his wayward hormones, Brady was going to do his best to stay clear of her.

      There was, however, one thing he had to know. “Rita,” he said, his voice stern. He waited until she looked at him before continuing. “Are you on the run from the law?”

      Her blue eyes widened and shock parted her mouth. Even before she spoke, he read his answer. Whatever her troubles, she hadn’t done anything illegal.

      “Of course not,” she said. “I swear.”

      Conversations like this were not part of her life plan, Randi thought glumly, wishing there was a way to convince the man in front of her she wasn’t a recently paroled felon. She wanted this job. More important, she needed it. Despite her proud words that she would get by, the truth was she was down to her last five dollars and getting pretty desperate.

      “Okay,” Brady said. “I had to ask. I hope you understand.”

      “No problem.”

      “Come on. I’ll show you around.”

      He led the way from the office at the back of the barn and through the stables. Randi followed behind. The familiar smell of horses and hay relaxed her. At least she would enjoy working here. She’d hated both waitressing and being a maid, although she’d kept the jobs until she’d felt the need to move on. After all, when one was on the run, one didn’t get a whole lot of choices, employment-wise.

      “Report any problems with the horses to me immediately,” Brady was saying. “Even if it’s four in the morning and you don’t think I’m up. We’ve got a vet on call. I’d rather pay for an unnecessary