Anne Winston – Tall, Dark & Western (страница 2)

Bobby was not going to grow up stifled by his family the way his father had. Oh, she’d loved Rob. But they’d met while they were at college and they’d married suddenly before moving back to the town where he’d grown up…where his mother still lived. Would she have married Rob if she’d seen how tightly he still was tied to his mother’s apron strings? She’d never wanted to think too much about the answer to that. She’d loved Rob. Of course she’d have married him anyway.

Maybe.

Millicent was a high-maintenance mother-in-law. They’d never had an open disagreement, largely because Juliette had used every ounce of tact and restraint she’d owned when dealing with the older woman. When Rob had died, she’d gradually come to see that Millicent would rule her life if she let her.

So she hadn’t.

Moving more briskly now, she headed for her car, attaching Bobby’s seat to the base that made it a safety restraint in the middle of the back seat. As she slid into the driver’s seat, the ad that had started all the trouble caught her eye:

“Single white male, thirties. Prosperous rancher seeks hardworking woman for marriage, household management, child care. Offers security, fidelity and comfortable lifestyle.”

The message had stuck out among the others because it was so straightforward. This man didn’t advertise himself as Mr. Romantic, ready to shower a woman with love and affection. He didn’t specify a bra size for his applicants, or an age. He didn’t care whether they liked a moonlit stroll or red roses, ballroom dancing or candlelit dinners. And most important, he must have children if he needed child care. So he probably wouldn’t mind one more.

But she hadn’t mentioned Bobby in her letter. Some newly cautious instinct had told her to wait.

Marty Stryker tore open the envelope and read the single, hand-written note he’d found in his post office box in Kadoka, South Dakota:

November 29

Dear Sir,

I am writing in response to your advertisement for a wife. If the position is still available, I would like to be considered. I am twenty-four years old, have been married and am now a widow. I believe I could cook, clean and run your household. I am interested in children and would be happy to care for yours. If you would like to meet, I presently am living and working in Rapid City.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Juliette Duchenay

December 5

Dear Mrs. Duchenay,

Thank you for your letter. I have a four-year-old daughter and I need someone to help care for her. I also need help with my house since I am a rancher and am out working a lot. I would be happy to meet you in Rapid. A Saturday or Sunday afternoon would be best.

Sincerely,

Todd Martin Stryker, Jr.

December 12

Dear Mr. Stryker,

It was a pleasure to hear from you. I look forward to hearing more about your daughter and your ranch. Could we meet in the food court at Rushmore Mall on Saturday, Dec. 27 at 2:00 p.m.? I am blond and will be wearing a black dress.

Sincerely,

Juliette Duchenay

December 20

Dear Mrs. Duchenay,

Please call me Marty. Sat. the 27 at 2:00 p.m. is a good time for me. I look forward to meeting you then. I will be wearing a brown Stetson to help you identify me.

Sincerely,

Marty Stryker

One

The woman caught his attention the minute she walked into the café food court at the Rushmore Mall in Rapid City, South Dakota. Not because she was particularly well endowed, which was usually one of Marty Stryker’s preferences in feminine company, but because she was so beautiful.

Beautiful, he thought again. Not just pretty, definitely not cute, but breathtakingly gorgeous.

She was tiny, probably not more than five feet tall, and so dainty she looked as though a good wind would send her sailing. As she stood in the middle of the walkway near the food court, a weak ray of winter sunshine fell through one of the skylights, illuminating her pale blond beauty and for a moment, all he could think of was that she looked exactly like an angel.

She was fine-boned, with just about the biggest blue eyes he thought he’d ever seen, and her shining hair was smoothly caught in some kind of fancy twist at the back of her head. She had a straight little nose and a lipsticked pair of bowed lips that reminded him of a perfect china doll. The simple black dress she wore emphasized her fair coloring and a slender, almost childish figure beneath the fabric. She glanced at him once, a flash of intense blue, then looked away, and a hint of rose slid along her high, slanted cheekbones.

Marty was charmed. And turned on. He hadn’t had a woman in…how the heck long had it been, anyway? It was a real bad sign when a man couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had sex.

But he hardly had time, not to mention the lack of opportunity. Single women weren’t exactly thick on the ground around Kadoka, and the few who were interested in accommodating a man weren’t the kind he wanted to get anywhere near. After all, he was a father. He had standards.

But man, oh, man, wouldn’t it be great if she were the one— Whoa, horse. Marty caught the thought before he could complete it. He didn’t need a beautiful wife. In fact, he’d already met beautiful women, much more his type than this little angel, in his quest for a wife. None of them had worked out. He’d promised himself he wasn’t going to be so picky next time. There weren’t that many women answering his ad for a wife that he could keep on looking for the perfect candidate.

And he wanted a wife. Not just for the sex, but for the company. God, he missed sharing simple things like picking out birthday gifts for Cheyenne, drinking morning coffee and conversation.

Then the angel turned his way again. Her eyes locked on his and her eyebrows lifted in a tentative question. She started toward him and he remembered that his wife candidate had said she’d be wearing black.

His heart rate picked up a beat. He stood, whipping off the Stetson he’d worn to identify himself to the woman he was supposed to meet.

“Mr. Stryker?” She was standing in front of him now.

He nodded, not sure if his vocal cords would cooperate if he tried to speak.

“I’m Juliette Duchenay.” The angel held out her hand. Then she smiled.

Marty hoped his face didn’t show the shock to his system as he slowly reached out and enfolded her fragile fingers in his much larger, anything but fragile palm. The smile transformed her from classically lovely to drop-dead beautiful, bringing a mischievous sparkle to her eyes and displaying white, perfect teeth. Her smile had a pixieish quality to it, a genuine friendliness that he found he liked. A lot.

“It’s good to meet you.” It was the first thing he could manage to say, the first words his tongue would wrap themselves around as his palm swallowed hers. She had the tiniest hands he’d ever seen, and the skin was as warm and soft and feminine as he’d imagined.

There was an awkward silence.

Marty roused himself from his bemused stupor. He usually was smooth as silk with the ladies and proud of it. Mrs. Juliette Duchenay would think he was a tongue-tied prairie clod if he didn’t start talking.

“Would you like to sit down?” There. That was a start.

“Thank you.” The faintest touch of pink rose in her cheeks again. A discreet tug made him realize he still was holding her hand and he let her fingers slide away from his, an unsettling feeling of regret lingering. He’d liked holding her hand. The color in her cheeks deepened as he held a chair for her, and he wondered if the skin there felt as baby-soft and fine as it looked. She smiled at him as he seated her at one of the small white tables. “Thank you for wearing your hat. It made you easy to find.”

He nodded, not about to tell her that he’d done this nearly a dozen times with prior candidates, all of whom had been unsuitable. “You’re welcome.” He indicated the food counters ranged around the walls beyond the potted palms and white pillars. “Would you like something to eat or drink?”

“No, thank you.” She shook her head. She glanced at the elegant gold watch on her slim wrist. “I’m on my break, so I don’t have much time. Why don’t we just talk?”

He nodded. Took a deep breath. “Why did you answer my ad?” Why would a woman like you need to marry a stranger?

Delicately arched eyebrows drew together in a perplexed expression. “I…it was an impulse, if you want to know the truth.”

“And how are you feeling about the impulse now? I’m not interested in something short-term, Mrs. Duchenay. This would be a permanent arrangement.”

“Please call me Juliette. I’m still interested, Mr.— Marty.”

Her eyes were soft and luminous. He could look into those eyes for the rest of his life without any trouble, any trouble at all.

“Good.” He wanted to take her hand, to touch her again. God, her skin was soft. Was she that soft all over? He could hardly wait to find out.

“So,” he said. “You work in the mall.”

“Yes,” she said. “And you’re a rancher.”

Even if he hadn’t put his occupation in the ad, he knew it wasn’t a hard call. His skin was tanned from his work outdoors, especially since they’d had a mild fall until the recent big snow. No, as he surveyed his big mitts, he saw there was no way anyone could mistake his hands—scarred from encounters with cranky cattle, barbwire, buffaloberries, splintered wood and hammers that missed their mark—for a city boy’s.