Winning The Rancher's Heart. Pamela Britton

dropped back to her sides. “Maybe I can get my kids to catch him when he comes back.”

      “Maybe.”

      What the hell was wrong with him that he watched her hands on her breasts, that a part of his mind went on its own little safari wondering if they were as firm as they...

      “Meet back in my office when you’ve changed.”

      He turned away before she could spot the bright shade of red that ran up the side of his neck, at least judging by the heat that scorched his skin. And the way he clenched his hands. Or the way his whole body had tensed.

      Mother of two, remember. Widow. Still wears the wedding ring.

      Did he need a better reason to steer clear?

      * * *

      “WHAT A MESS.”

      Naomi stared at her reflection in the mirror and spotted a leaf in her hair. Could she have made a bigger fool of herself?

      “Are you sure he ran toward the road?” T.J. asked.

      He was excited beyond belief at the prospect of a hunting expedition. He’d even changed into a camouflage outfit.

      “I’m sure. But you’re to stay within sight of the house, you hear me?” He ran out of her bedroom. “And take Sam with you.”

      “Really, Mom?” her daughter drawled.

      “Really, Sam,” she called back. She didn’t know what had happened to her sweet daughter, but she’d disappeared into a cloud of puberty.

      She dashed into the bathroom as big as a hotel room to fix her hair, the sound of the front door closing behind her kids echoing through the house. She couldn’t believe the size of her new digs. It was nearly a hike from the front door to the back to her massive bedroom and the walk-in closet that housed her pathetic wardrobe.

      It took her a quick second to brush her hair. She stepped back to examine her long-sleeved white shirt—her standard uniform for life, that and jeans. It might be June in California, but the lack of humidity made it feel like winter in Georgia.

      Off you go for round two.

      Her own entrance to his home was at the very back of her apartment, beyond a door that might look like a linen closet but wasn’t. There was a hallway with a washer and dryer to her right, and beyond that another door that led to his house. The security buttons beeped as she punched numbers. A long beep sounded when she’d finished, followed by a snick as the door unlocked. She half expected him to be on the other side. Maybe pop out from around the hallway that led to his kitchen.

      And what a kitchen it was—like something that belonged to a reality cooking show, one where celebrity chefs and top models cooked. Large rectangular terra-cotta bricks made up the floor. The entrance at the end of her hallway was an arch, one made entirely of bricks. As were the walls. In the far wall sat a giant stainless steel hood with a double stove beneath.

      She reached out a hand and glided a finger across the island in the middle. The off-white marble was cold to the touch. Not even the fixture that hung above it—three lights made into one—could warm its surface. The whole house felt that way, she thought, entering the main foyer. It was stunning. A true work of art, but unlived in, which was strange because she knew Jax’s sister had lived in the apartment she’d taken over, and she must have cooked in the kitchen a time or two. She paused for a moment at the entrance to the living room, trying to put her finger on what it was.

      No plants. Not even a fake one.

      To her right sat a sweeping staircase, and just beyond that, a cobblestoned fireplace. But if she owned this gorgeous place she’d have stuffed a massive ficus in the corner. Maybe even some pointed palms at the corners of the couch in the sunken living room. Something that would catch the light from the double row of windows and set off the granite floor. Whatever. Not her place, and it never would be. What was her problem was the granite floor. She could see her reflection in it and she didn’t want to think about how much work it would be to maintain it. No wonder he needed a housekeeper.

      She turned toward the stairs, but she paused as she stared out the cathedral windows along the front. T.J. ran through the grove of trees across the road, clearly on the trail of something. Sam followed reluctantly behind, her brown hair long and down her back, head bowed.

      She had her phone.

      Dear Lord in heaven. She might have to have the thing surgically removed. For a moment she contemplated telling her to put the thing away and keep an eye on her brother, but the property was fully fenced. How much trouble could they get into searching for a dog? Besides, she needed to get to work.

      Work.

      She had a list of chores he wanted done daily. And now he wanted help planning an event. She placed her hand on the smooth burl railing. And he wanted her to act as a maid. And a hostess. Lord, it sounded like she’d be busy in the coming weeks. But busy was good. Busy kept her mind off thinking of Trev and how much she missed him still.

      “Knock, knock,” she said, rounding the corner of his office. There was a double row of windows downstairs and the same in his office, although she could see the A-line of the roof from where she stood because the second-floor windows were snug up against it. Jax sat behind a massive desk made out of a slab of burl that matched the stairwell railing.

      “Take a seat.” He waved toward the same chair she’d sat in yesterday.

      “Okay, I meant to ask you, but what is it made out of?”

      He motioned with his hand as if the answer should be clear. “It’s a tree root.”

      She felt her brows lift. “Of course. What else would it be?”

      He seemed puzzled by her lame attempt at humor. It made her wonder yet again what she’d gotten herself into.

      “Are your kids looking for the dog?”

      “Out there right now.” She took a seat, the wooden surface uneven and uncomfortable.

      He leaned back in his chair and he seemed such a contradiction. He lived on a ranch, yet he looked more like the CEO of a big corporation with his short-cropped hair, the ends dipped in gray. He wore a white button-down shirt, and from what she could tell, jeans and boots. No cowboy hat today. Probably no big buckle. No wide smile of greeting, either. His sister was so sweet and open, yet his face was as closed as the garage door on the other side of his home, his entire demeanor unapproachable. Even his office was a contradiction. It was meant for show. All wide-open space, expensive furniture and sparse furnishings, and yet he had a Lego cowboy sitting in between two massive computer screens, one of them with a COWBOY TOUGH sticker stuck to the back.

      She caught him staring at her. Something in his eyes made her smile fade.

      “So I thought it would be a good idea to give you a to-do list this morning.” He glanced at the screen on his right.

      She shifted in her seat. A to-do list? In addition to her housekeeping list? The man knew how to keep a woman busy.

      “Great.”

      He slid a sheet of paper in her direction. “You’ll see the first item on the list is to call animal control.”

      She almost shoved the thing back at him. “No.” And she even surprised herself with the sharpness of her tone.

      “Excuse me?”

      It was the third time that day she’d said no to him, but she didn’t care. “I told you we should catch him.”

      “He’s a stray.”

      “He’s lost and alone and scared. I see it in his eyes. I refuse to send him to a place where he’ll feel even more alone and afraid.”

      He shook his head. “You presume he’s lost. It’s more likely that he was dumped.”

      Her stomach lurched at the thought. Who would do such a thing? “I still don’t