Reckless Heart (2 page)

Molly took a deep breath and dropped her hand, her eyes fixed on him.

Slowly a smile lit her face. Hero material was scarce. Yet right before her eyes stood the perfect specimen. Greedily her gaze traveled from his broad shoulders across his muscular chest to his slim waist, hips, muscular thighs. The jeans displayed his masculine attributes to perfection. The dusty boots completed the image.

She raised her eyes, anxious for a pen and paper to capture the sensations that jostled around inside, to capture for all time the decidedly feminine feelings that flooded her being, the unexpected delight she discovered in merely watching him.

When her gaze reached his face, his scowling expression jolted her back to awareness of where she was and why she was here.

“Lost?” he asked, setting the hat on his head, tilted down to shadow his eyes.

She shook her head and smiled again. The spiraling sense of anticipation that tantalized her shimmered unexpectedly. The urge to step closer, feel his heat, align herself with him, was totally foreign. Yet she found herself hard-pressed to resist.

“I’m Molly Forrester, your new housekeeper.”

His look became incredulous as he trailed his gaze down her slim figure, pausing briefly at the shiny new boots. He shook his head as his eyes drifted back to hers.

“Is this some kind of joke?” he asked.

“No.” Reaching into the car, she withdrew the employment packet and pulled Mrs. Montgomery’s letter from the stack. “Mrs. Montgomery said she'd be calling you. Didn't you talk with her yet?”

Josh Hart took the letter, scanned it briefly then looked at Molly.

Mrs. Montgomery had called yesterday to inform him she’d found him yet another housekeeper, a Molly Forrester. But she'd neglected to mention the woman was young and pretty and totally unsuitable for the job.

For heaven’s sake, he could smell roses from where he stood.

His gaze traveled over her again. She had to be years younger than he. And far too feminine. She curved in all the right places, not that he cared. He’d sworn off women himself, but he didn’t need the distraction she’d cause the men.

She didn’t look capable of staying the course. Probably some fluffy-headed woman who thought living on a ranch was all fun and games. Or planned to flirt with the men disrupting everything.

Or was she looking to hook a rancher, like Jeannie?

What had the agency been thinking? Just because he'd had five housekeepers since Rachel left was no excuse to send this one. None of the others had been worth a damn. Yet each one of them offered more than this little slip of a woman could.

“Sorry you had the drive out, you won’t do.” He folded the letter and handed it back to Molly.

Molly blinked in shock. “What do you mean, I won’t do? You haven’t interviewed me, haven’t had me cook anything. Besides, as I heard it, you don’t have much choice. I’m the best you’ve got right now.”

She wouldn't let this one opportunity amount to nothing. She slammed the car door and stepped closer to the man.

“Are you Josh Hart?” she asked, making sure she was talking to the boss, not some foreman or flunky who thought he'd throw his weight around.

“Right. Boss of the Rafter C. Around here what I say goes and I say you won’t do,” he replied.

Molly glanced around for support.

While the cowboys watched them, they'd resumed their work. No one was going to help from there.

Turning back to face him, she stepped closer, her fists on her hips, she wanted to scream, but settled for asking through clenched teeth,

“And where are all the other housekeepers who are so much better than I? As I see it, Mr. Hart, you don’t have anyone else.”

She knew this. He knew this.

“Maybe you should consider giving me a try before throwing me off your ranch.” She'd already packed her things and thanked Bethany for putting up with her. She had nowhere else to go and no other job prospects. She'd make this one work. She would make sure of it. The last thing in the world she wanted was to return home to her father in defeat.

He reached out and took one of her fists, prying open the fingers and smoothing his thumb across the soft skin of her palm. Molly was perplexed by his totally unexpected touch.

“Working on a ranch is hard work. Your hands are too soft to have done anything even close to what’s required here,” Josh said, his thumb moving back and forth.

Molly tried to pull away but his grip held firm. She glared at him. “I’m not here to do ranch work. I’m here to do housework. How hard do you think that is?”

“Harder than you’re used to,” he retorted.

She held his gaze with effort.

He hit close to home but she refused to acknowledge it. She suddenly found it difficult to think with her hand firmly held by his. She drew in a deep breath—tried to rein her clamoring senses under some control.

“Who does the work now?” she asked.

Josh shrugged, his thumb still rubbing across her palm. His eyes dropped to the movement, as if mesmerized by the soft feel of her skin.

He didn't know this woman's history, but he'd bet she never worked a day in her life.

Taking a deep breath, the gentle scent of roses that surrounded them filled his nostrils. “The men and I are making do until the next housekeeper arrives.”

“Then your troubles are over. I’ve arrived.”

He shook his head.

“Normally—” She cleared her throat. What was normal about a man holding her hand? Nothing. Her heart pounded. Her skin tingled at his touch. Tugging, she freed herself and involuntarily stepped back. The glare in his steely gray eyes unnerved her. Yet she needed this job more than anything. It was her last chance. She refused to meekly climb back into her car and head back to her father's home.

“Normally what?” he asked.

“Normally, do the men cook?”

“The ranch had a housekeeper that had been here for years. When her mother became ill and needed her, she left. Normal changed when she left. One of these days the agency will send someone appropriate who will stay as long as Rachel did and the problem will go away.”

Molly smiled, hoping the fear of not getting the job didn’t show. “It looks to me as if you don’t have much choice. According to the agency, you’ve driven the others away. The Montgomery Agency couldn’t get anyone else, so you’re stuck with me.”

He frowned, as if he disliked hearing the situation put into words. “Or I can go to another agency.”

“With the same results is my guess. Five housekeepers in seven months isn’t a great track record it seems to me.” Where were the words coming from? She'd rarely stood up to her father, how could she stand up to this giant of a man?

“And you’ll do better? The longest any of them stayed was four weeks.”

Molly nodded. “I’ll stay longer than four weeks. And be the best housekeeper you’ve ever had.”

She kept the smile plastered on her face, hoping he couldn’t see how her heart raced.

Josh didn’t want her to stay. Here only ten minutes and she reminded him of his ex-fiancée, Jeannie. Not in looks. Jeannie had been tall and blonde. This woman stood shorter, barely up to his chin, with light brown hair that waved as soft as silk around her face.

For a split second temptation swept through him to brush his fingers through the waves to see if they were as soft as they looked. Clenching his hands into fists, he resisted the urge. A pretty face had misled him before. He wouldn’t go that route again.

She was too young, too much temptation to keep around.

He wanted a woman of fifty or older with grown kids and a lifetime of keeping house. A woman like he remembered his mother, who'd relished ranch life, enjoyed cooking for the men and sharing in the conversation at dinner that centered on cattle, market price of beef, and rodeos. Not some flighty young thing that looked as if a puff of strong Texas wind would blow her away.

Yet she had a point. His house was a disaster. He hunted for clean clothes every day—hated doing laundry.

His men were grumbling with the catch-as-catch-can cooking. One had quit last month, refusing to take another turn cooking. Even Lance, his foreman, had grumbled and threatened to look for another job if he had to cook another meal.

And not one of the over-fifty housekeepers that had come to work had stayed.

He was going to say yes. And live to regret it—he knew it.

Yet she clearly stated the situation—he desperately needed someone. For however long she stayed, he could use the help.

In the meantime, he’d call the agency and tell them to continue looking.

“We'll give it a try. My guess is you won't last a week,” he conceded.

Molly nodded and looked away, trying to hide her delight. If she could do the job, she’d do just fine until she finished her book. Living on the premises would allow her to save almost all her salary.

If the book sold, then she could decide whether to stay until it became published or move to an apartment to write another one.

There was plenty of time to decide that in the future. She'd barely arrived.

Ideas crowded her thoughts. A dozen more sprang to mind from seeing Josh Hart. With her own fertile imagination, and the quiet setting of the ranch in which to create, she should have the book she’d already started completed within a few weeks, a couple of months at the most. Then there'd be no stopping her.

“Come on, I’ll show you around the place. You can unpack and get lunch ready before starting anything else. There are seventeen ranch hands plus you and me. Can you cook for a crowd that size?”

“Sure.”

How hard could it be? She’d just multiply what she wanted to eat by 20. She knew from the cook at home that men like lots of hearty meals. Nothing frou-frou or fancy would be the rule.

“We eat at six, one and seven. Sometimes later if we’re branding or dipping.”

She nodded, wondering what branding and dipping were. Then wondering why he’d had such a hard time getting anyone to stay. Three meals a day, even if one was at six in the morning, a quick flick of the dust cloth and the rest of the day would be hers. Of course, one or two days a week she'd have to vacuum and do laundry according to the list of duties she'd read. Aside from that, there should be plenty of time available to write.

She smiled. She was here and she wasn’t budging.

Josh’s long stride quickly covered the distance between her car and the stoop at the back door. His boots rang loud on the wood as he skipped the second step and hit the third. Molly hurried to keep up. She'd show him—

Oops. Her slick boot sole slipped off the edge of the step. Flinging her arms out to try to avoid a fall, she encircled Josh’s thigh, slamming against him with her full weight. He lurched, unable to catch his balance because of her death grip, tumbling off the narrow porch with a loud thump. Molly followed him down, crashing against him as they both landed in the dirt.

“Oh, no. I’m so sorry.” Scrambling, Molly knelt on the dirt, her hand on his thigh.

“Oh, Mr. Hart, are you all right? I’m so sorry.”

Ineffectively she patted his leg, wondering if she’d killed her new boss.

When he raised up on one elbow and glared at her, she knew she hadn’t. Though maybe it might have been better for her if she had. Anger shone in his eyes. His body seemed to grow in stature.

“There are several steps there,” he said through gritted teeth. “You are to take them one at a time.”

“I know. I...my boot slipped.”

He sat up and looked at her kneeling on the dirt. “Trouble walking?” he growled sarcastically.

“It was an accident. Surely even the boss of the Rafter C has had an accident on occasion.”

He rose, reached down to grasp her upper arm and hauled her to her feet. Waiting until she had her balance before releasing her, he muttered something under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He took a deep breath. “Accidents do happen. Come on.”

Holding open the door, he ushered her into the large country kitchen. It looked as if a wall had been knocked out between the kitchen and what had been the dining room. A long trestle table took up most of the room. Quickly she noted there were twenty chairs around it. She expected they'd all be filled at dinner, or all but a couple. The reality was starting to sink in. She hoped she could feed that many at one time.

But before then there was a lot of work to do. The kitchen was a mess. Dishes soaked in cold water, a thin film of congealed grease floating on top. Dirt gritted beneath her feet as she walked into the room. The windows were bare of curtains, the table needed wiping.

“Looks like I got here just in time,” she said, hiding her dismay.

“I never said I didn’t need anyone. Just that you won’t do.”

What was the man’s problem? His disapproval was odd—he didn’t know her from a hole in the wall. Why did he think she couldn't handle the job?

Tilting her chin, Molly silently vowed she'd prove to be the best housekeeper he ever had.

And when she sold her book and was ready to move on, he’d beg her to stay. He’d grovel at her feet for ever doubting her. And she’d turn up her nose and walk away without a backward glance.