Michael's father (2 page)

"I've held my own against some pretty strong winds," Megan said, sounding more amused than annoyed. "And I don't see what age has to do with cleaning house."

Maybe she didn't, but he'd had in mind a more grandmotherly type of woman. With those long legs of hers, she'd probably manage to make mopping a floor look like a deeply erotic activity.

"I don't think it would work." When her brows lifted in question, he reached up to run his fingers through his dark hair, looking for an excuse more acceptable than the truth, which was that he wanted her more than he could ever remember wanting a womarr before. "You're hardly big enough to whip a cat," he said finally.

Megan looked surprised. "I thought you were looking for a housekeeper, Mr. Bryan, not an animal tamer."

Kel laughed despite himself but he also shook his head. "I just don't think it would work."

If 1 had any sense, I'd drop it, Megan thought. But she wanted this job. The moment she'd crossed the border from Utah into Wyoming, she'd felt as if she'd come home, as if the last few years of wandering had been leading here. She didn't know whether or not the feeling would last but she wanted to stay long enough to find out.

There were other jobs, of course. And money wasn't a problem, at least not for a few months. One thing about a Ufe on the road was that it didn't cost much to maintain. She could spend the entire suromer doing nothing and stiU have time to find work. But she didn't want to take the summer off. She wanted a job. This job.

**I guess you have enough applicants that you can afford to be choosy," she said, taking a shot in the dark.

There was a moment's pause and then Kel shook his head. "Actually, you're the only one," he admitted reluctantly.

"Then why not give me a chance?" She saw the refusal in his eyes and spoke before he could say anything. "For a week. A trial run.*'

"I don't know."

It wasn't exactly enthusiastic acceptance but it wasn't outright refusal, either, and Megan felt hope stir inside her. Every ounce of common sense told her to walk away, to get up, shake Kel Bryan's hand and leave. But it had been shaking hands with him the first time that had made her decide that she wanted this job. It had been like grabbing hold of a live wire and feeling sparks of electricity shoot all the way to her toes. She couldn't bring herself to just walk away from that.

"If it doesn't work out, you won't have to pay me," she said. She could hardly believe she was pressing like this. She'd never been this pushy in her life. "What have you got to lose?" she asked with a smile.

My self-control, Kel thought. My sanity.

He looked across the table at her. He was out of his mind to even consider it. She was trouble. All wrapped up in pale gold hair and blue-gray eyes with legs as long as sin, she was trouble in capital letters. If he hired her, he'd be spending his days semihard and aching. Either that or he'd end up taking her to bed— and break every rule in the employer-employee relations handbook, he thought ruefully.

"A week," he said, knowing he was crazy. "But I'll pay you one way or another."

"I won't arm wrestle you over it," she said, smiling.

It wasn't arm wiestling he had in mind, Kel thought. He had to be out of his mind to be agreeing to this. Of course, there was always the possibility that it was just something in the water that made her seem so attractive. Maybe when she arrived at the ranch, he'd find her no more than moderately pleasant on the eye.

And maybe pigs really did fly.

They agreed on a salary and her arrival. Since his regular housekeeper had left in a hurry to nurse her daughter through the last few months of a difficult pregnancy, Kel was glad Megan agreed to start work in a couple of days. In the two weeks since Grace Cavenaugh had left, the house had begun to show definite signs of neglect, not to mention that neither he nor Colleen was much good when it came to cooking a decent meal.

Their business concluded, Megan thanked him for the tea and slid out of the booth. Kel rose with her.

"Thank you for giving me a chance, Mr. Bryan."

**Kel. We tend to be on a first-name basis around here."

**Kel, then." She smiled up at him, a hint of shyness in her expression. "I'll see you at the Lazy B day after tomorrow."

He took the hand she thrust out, feeling the same jolt of awareness he'd felt the first time, the same urge to pull her closer. He heard her breath catch a little. The hustle and bustle of the restaurant disappeared, and for a moment it seemed as if there was just the two of them, alone on a plane of sensual awareness.

Kel's fingers shifted subtly around hers, the conventional handshake becoming almost a caress. Me-

gan's eyes widened, suddenly more gray than blue. Her lips parted as if she was having trouble catching her breath. Kel could almost taste the softness of her mouth.

A busboy dropped a tray of dishes with a crash loud enough to shatter eardrums in half the state.

Megan jumped as if shot.

Kel dropped her hand as if it were on fire.

Each took a half step away from the other.

"I have to go," she said, her voice as breathless as if she'd just completed a marathon.

He nodded. Had he actually been about to kiss her? Right here in front of God and half of Casper, Wyoming? "Fll see you day after tomorrow," he said.

**Yes." Her agreement held just a touch of hesitation, and the look she shot him was uncertain. He wondered if she was having second thoughts about coming to work for him. God knew, he had second, third and fourth thoughts about hiring her, even on a trial basis. But if she'd changed her mind, she didn't say so.

*'Goodbye." Her voice was a little breathless.

"Bye."

Kel watched her walk out of the restaurant, his eyes lingering on the provocative swing of her hips. She was five foot almost nothing of temptation. Pure trouble. And he'd just hired her to work on his ranch.

-As Megan disappeared through the restaurant's door, he sank back into the booth. He'd lost his mind. Just having her on the place was going to cut up his peace. A week of looking at those legs, of thinking

about that pale hair spread across his pillow and he'd be a babbling idiot.

He reached for his coffee. It wouldn't be smart to forget that that delicate look could go along with a will of iron. Roxanne had looked just as fragile. He hadn't realized until after he married her that she was about as fragile as a Brahma buU and even more dangerous.

His mouth hardened at the memory of his ex-wife. Roxanne had been dark and several inches taller than Megan Roarke but she'd had a similar air of delicate femininity, the kind that tended to bring out a man's protective instincts. Only Roxanne had proven well able to take care of herself.

Kel rose from the booth and dropped enough money on the table to cover the bill plus tip. He scooped his hat off the seat and made his way to the door, nodding absently to one or two acquaintances on the way. Standing on the sidewalk, he turned the gray Stetson in his hands. Narrowing his eyes against the late spring sunshine, he stared at the pay phone on the comer.

He'd been seeing Carla for a couple of years now. She'd come out of a bad marriage with a tidy settlement, payoff from her husband's wealthy Charleston family in return for her agreement not to tell the press that their precious son was an abusive s.o.b. She'd moved to Wyoming, settled her two children into school and gotten a part-time job, though she didn't have to work.

Their informal arrangement worked out well for both of them. He Uked her, and she felt the same way about him. But there were no ties, no strings, no emotional entanglements. His occasional visits pro-

vided them both with a needed sexual relief without asking more of either of them than they were willing to give. Carla wouldn't mind him calling at the last minute. If she was busy, she'd say so. But if she wasn't, they could spend the lest of the morning in bed before he made the two-hour trip to the ranch.

With a muttered curse for his own stupidity, Kel shoved his hat onto his head and turned away from the phone. Striding to where he'd parked his truck, he jerked open the door and slid into the cab. He had the itch, all right, but it wasn't one Carla could scratch. The only fingers he wanted on this particular itch belonged to his new housekeeper.

Cursing himself for seven kinds of a fool, Kel headed the truck north. He was a fool not to call Carla. He was a fool to let Megan Roarke under his skin. But most of all, he was a fool to have hired her.

She was a fool to have taken the job.

Megan closed her motel room door behind her and leaned against it. She'd been a fool to push for the job. If she'd had a brain in her head, she'd have turned tail and run after that first handshake.

She stared at her hand, half expecting to see scorch marks on the palm. She could still feel the heat generated by that simple touch. Curling her fingers into her palm, Megan pushed herself away from the door and walked into the room.

Her purse bounced onto the bed as she kicked off her pumps. She sighed with pleasure and flexed her toes against the carpet. High heels were a ridiculous fashion. They were impractical, uncomfortable and

clearly a remnant symbol of the days when a woman was viewed as little more than a decorative object. Which didn't explain the box in the trunk of her car that contained fifteen different pairs of them.

At five feet one and one half inches, she needed all the help she could get. Besides, cultural remnant or not, she liked the way she looked in heels. Smiling at the foolish mental argument, Megan opened the buttons on her suit jacket and shrugged out of it. Beneath it, she wore a shell-pink camisole trimmed in ivory lace.

Kel Bryan had looked at her as if he could see exactly what lay beneath her suit.

Remembering the look in those green eyes, Megan felt her cheeks warm. She'd had men look at her as if wondering what she'd look like without her clothes. No moderately attractive woman reached the age of twenty-five without getting such a look a few times. Depending on the circumstances, she'd been either annoyed or indifferent. But she'd never felt her pulse accelerate, never felt her skin heat. Never felt... aroused by a look.

Her flush deepened, and she avoided looking at her reflection in the mirror over the dresser.

The fact was, she'd never met a man who affected her the way Kel Bryan had. With a simple touch, he'd shaken her all the way to her toes, and she'd found herself all but browbeating him into giving her a job. If she'd had any sense, she wouldn't even have sat down after that first handshake. Any sensible woman would have turned and run for cover.

It wasn't too late. She didn't have to show up at the Lazy B m two days. She could pack her few belongings into her car and move on to another town-Cheyenne, maybe, or Etenver. She'd never been to Colorado.

Megan sank down on the bed and stated at the dull brown carpeting under her feet. She wasn't going to Cheyenne or Denver. Day after tomorrow, she was going to make the two-hour drive north to Kel Bryan's ranch. She was going to see if his eyes were really as impossibly green as they'd seemed, if that jolt of awareness had been her imagination and if it would happen again.

It wasn't the sensible thing to do, but she'd been sensible for most of her twenty-five years and she couldn't see that it had gotten her all that much. It might be interesting to see how life went when she wasn't sensible.

Chapter 2

If you've hired this woman to baby-sit me the way Grade did, you're wasting your money."

Kel looked over his shoulder at his sister, Colleen, who was setting the table for breakfast.

"I think nineteen is a little old for a baby-sitter."

**I think so, too. But Grade rarely let me out of her sight the last six months and you've been almost as bad since she left."

Kel wished he could have read some anger in her tone or expression but there was none. They could have been discussing the weather report for all the emotion Colleen revealed. A few months ago, he'd never have beUeved it possible that he'd actually find himself hoping for a display of temper from his usually volatile little sister.

"Grade's known you since you were a baby. It's only natural that she'd fuss over you a bit."

"That explains Grade. What about you?" Colleen asked, shooting him a dry look.

**rm your older brother. I'm supposed to take care of you." He picked up an ^g and started to tap it against the edge of the bowl in front of him.

**I can take care of myself, Kel. I may be crippled but Fm not helpless."

*'You're not crippled!" The egg hit the bowl with more force than he'd intended. Cursing under his breath, he reached in to scoop bits of eggshell out with his fingertip.

**A11 right, handicapped, then."

"You're not handicapped, either!" he snapped. The eggshell dropped into the eggs and with a muttered curse he picked up the bowl and dumped the contents into the sink before turning to face his sister.

She was carrying a pitcher of orange juice from the refrigerator to the table, and Kel had to restrain a wince when he saw her awkward gait. It had been almost six months since the accident, but he couldn't get used to seeing her Uke this. Not Colleen, who never walked if she could run and never ran if she could ride a horse instead.

"You're not handicapped," he said again, his tone quiet but determined. "The doctor says there's no reason you shouldn't be good as new after a httle more physical therapy."

^*Almost good as new," Colleen reminded him. "I've already had four months of physical therapy and I still walk like Quasimodo.''

"You'll have four more months of physical therapy and four more after that, if that's what it takes."

"I'm tired of it." She sounded like a petulant four-year-old, but at least there was some emotion in her voice.

"Tough." Kel got another ^g out of the refrigerator and cracked it into the bowl. "You're not giving up. Colleen. If I have to drag you kicking and screaming to therapy, I'll do it. But you're not giving up."

"It's m>'leg."

She slammed the orange juice onto the table and Kel could feel her glaring at him. He turned to look at her. Her eyes, the same deep green as his, were bright with annoyance. But he'd rather deal with a tantrum than face the indifference with which she'd greeted almost everything these past six months. "You're right. It's your leg," he said calmly. "But I'll be damned if I'll let you give up on this."