Courtship, Montana Style. Charlotte Maclay

have to be resourceful—and lucky.

      She’d also have to lie convincingly, another talent she lacked. For the sake of Suzanne’s future, she’d damn well learn! This was no time to let her well-developed conscience get the upper hand.

      This cowboy’s ranch was going to be a refuge for both her and her baby. Meanwhile, she’d pretend to be someone she wasn’t—a strong, determined woman who could handle a dust mop as well as the next woman. If her acting was good enough, maybe she’d actually become that confident person.

      A half hour later, with her wedding gown in the trunk of her BMW and Suzanne still dozing comfortably in her car seat, Elizabeth drove to her bank to make a substantial withdrawal. Later she’d call her mother to assure her that she was safe—and ask her to cancel the wedding. Speaking to her on the phone would be much easier than in person.

      Worst case, she could hang up and turn off her cell phone.

      STEPPING UP ONTO THE BACK porch of his ranch house, Walker Oakes slapped his Stetson against his thigh and stomped his boots. Dust billowed up like a miniature tornado.

      By June the rangeland in this part of northern Montana should have been boot deep with nutritious grass for his cattle to graze. Instead a cold, dry winter had led into an even dryer spring, stunting the grass, leaving barely enough for the prairie dogs to nibble on. The lightest breeze stirred up a dust devil. Riding herd on his cattle meant eating dirt from dawn to dusk.

      Muttering a curse under his breath, he went into the house and hooked his hat on a peg in the mudroom.

      The well-equipped kitchen was huge with a table big enough to seat a dozen people when stretched to its limit. This time of year it only had to handle five: himself, the three boys currently in his foster care and Speed Pendrix, his foreman, the slowest talking, slowest moving man north or south of the Missouri River. A man Walker Oakes would trust with his life, and had more than once.

      Walker needed to know the going price for beef cattle so he headed for his office to check online. Unless they got rain and got it damn soon, he was going to have to cull his herd, getting rid of cows that hadn’t produced a calf this spring. He might even have to sell off some of the yearlings at half the price he’d be able to get after a summer’s grazing fattened them up. Sometimes to save a ranch a man had to walk a tight-rope, making tough decisions.

      As he walked through the living room with its big rock fireplace and heavy, overstuffed furniture, he heard a car approaching the ranch house. He glanced outside as it stopped in front.

      Most of his Grass Valley neighbors came to visit via the back door. None that he could think of drove a fancy silver-blue BMW that looked near new. Like him, pickups were more their style.

      Curious, he opened the door, shoved open the screen and stepped outside into the warmth of late afternoon.

      The young woman who exited the BMW was a sweet little filly with flaxen hair she had pulled into some kind of a twist at the back of her head. So slender a good wind would blow her over, he wondered if, like his cows, she wasn’t getting enough feed lately. Still, she moved with the grace of a dancer and was a mighty pretty sight after riding herd all day on cows and all night on adolescent boys filled with a combination of rebellion and hormones they didn’t know how to tame. And the way she filled out a pair of city slicker blue jeans was something to write home about.

      He stepped off the porch at the same time Bandit, a black-and-white mostly Border collie rounded the corner and took up a position beside him, tail wagging watchfully.

      “Can I help you, miss?” Walker asked. No doubt he’d have to direct her where she had intended to be, which surely wasn’t at the Double O Ranch.

      Standing in full sunlight, the stranger shaded her eyes with her hand. “I’m looking for Walker Oakes.”

      That was a surprise. She wasn’t lost after all, though she didn’t look like she belonged anywhere more Western than a dude ranch. “You found him.”

      “Oh, good. I’m, uh, Lizzie Thomas. I’m here about the job.”

      Job? He hired extra hands during roundup and hay-harvest time, but none that looked like this woman.

      He walked toward the stranger so he wouldn’t have to yell—and so he could get a better look at her. Dutifully Bandit remained at his heel.

      As he drew closer, Walker decided his visitor was worth more than a second look. She had the face of a Greek goddess with high cheekbones, slightly pouty lips and a complexion no rancher’s wife could ever achieve, however many gallons of skin cream she applied.

      “Sorry. You must have the wrong place. I’m not hiring right now.” Not extra cowhands or a woman with pure, unadulterated sex appeal.

      “Unless you’ve already filled the position…” Turning, she opened the BMW’s back door. A moment later, she produced a baby’s car seat—

      Walker’s eyes widened.

      —with the baby included.

      “I’d like to apply to be your housekeeper.”

      “Housekeep—?” He choked, feeling as off balance as though someone had slipped him a rogue bronc when he wasn’t looking. “Is this some kind of a joke?”

      Bandit crept forward, sat down and cocked his head. His tail continued to slowly sweep the ground as he craned for a better look at the baby.

      Casting a quick smile in the dog’s direction, the woman hooked her arm through the car seat handle, holding it in front of her. With her free hand, she handed him a magazine. “According to this article, you need a housekeeper. I’m applying.”

      He shook his head. “You’ve got a baby,” he said stupidly. “You can’t possibly expect—”

      “I didn’t think in government service you were allowed to discriminate.”

      He frowned. This Lizzie person had the most intense blue eyes, which were currently zapping him with blue-lightning strikes. “I’m not a government employee,” he pointed out, and suddenly he’d lost all interest in Western hospitality. Which wasn’t like him at all. He was an easygoing guy. Friendly with everybody. Which meant maybe the boys had figured out how to play a practical joke on him, and he should just go along.

      “Perhaps not, but you do take money from the government to assist in the support of the foster children placed in your care.”

      A muscle twitched in his jaw. None of this sounded right, and it sure as hell wasn’t funny. Was she accusing him of stealing the money? “I spend every dime of that money on the kids.”

      “Of course. Nonetheless, accepting government funds means you cannot discriminate against working mothers. It’s the law.”

      What the hell! He’d never discriminated against anyone. Ever! He liked women. Even mothers. A lot! And now this sexy female was telling him—

      “Hey, boss, what’s goin’ on?” Speed Pendrix sauntered around the corner of the house, his loose-limbed walk somewhere between a stroll and a full stop.

      Moving at the same pace, Bandit got up to greet the foreman.

      “This woman says I’ve got to hire her to be my housekeeper,” Walker told Speed.

      “Well, now, ain’t that nice.” He ambled up to the car, a big, foolish grin on his face as he took in Lizzie and the baby, who was dressed in pink overalls and a matching denim cap. “Don’t ya know, we surely could use some housekeeping help and darned if she’s not the purdiest little thing I’ve seen in a month of Sundays.”

      “Why, thank you, Mr….”

      “Jest call me Speed, ma’am. Everybody does.” He tipped his wide-brimmed straw hat.

      Extending her hand, Lizzie granted the foreman a radiant smile that would have curled Walker’s toes if it had been meant for him. Which it wasn’t. All she’d done was shoot daggers