Counterfeit Cowgirl (Love and Laughter) Page 3

  Ty smiled slowly. “Then you can sleep in the barn.”

  “The—”

  “The hayloft’s pretty cozy really.”

  “I will not sleep in the barn.”

  They stood in the swirling snow, facing off like snarling badgers. “Then you better be a damn fine cook,” Ty said finally. “’Cuz it’s the only way I’m going to let you in the house.”

  “C-cook?” she said.

  “Yeah. You cook supper for me I’ll let you spend the night.”

  She shifted her eyes to the house.

  “You can cook, can’t you?”

  “Of course I can cook.”

  They stared at each other.

  Snow was melting on her nose. “All right. It’s a deal.”

  “Good,” he said, then turned away. “I’ll be in in an hour or so.”

  “But it’s getting dark.”

  “Funny thing,” he said, looking over his shoulder at her. “Them cows still want to eat.”

  THE KITCHEN WAS A MESS. Worse than a mess. It was disgusting. Dirty dishes were everywhere. There was a half-eaten piece of toast lying jelly-down on the counter. In the refrigerator, Hannah found four aluminum cans, the contents of which she did not care to be privy to. She pushed them aside with a wooden spoon before finally finding a carton of eggs. Drawing them out into the illumination of the single bulb, she gave them a judicial glare.

  They looked all right. But then maybe all eggs looked all right. She’d rarely seen an egg that wasn’t florentined and garnished. Still, it couldn’t be that hard to cook, and she was ravenous.

  Breaking six eggs into a prewashed bowl, she managed to get only a bit of shell mixed in with the whites. It was surprising how slippery they were, and more surprising still how they sizzled when they hit the skillet she’d set upon a burner. Covering the pan, she searched for side dishes. She liked croissants with her eggs, but a cursory search proved that such a thing would be far above the contents of Tyrel’s kitchen. When she inspected the cupboards, she found a can of frenchcut green beans.

  A can opener, however, was impossible to locate. Searching the crowded counter, she found a dull knife and a mallet and made do.

  Fifteen minutes later, Hannah was feeling quite proud of herself. Proud but filthy. No one with any kind of upbringing at all would eat without bathing first.

  Taking the lid from the skillet, Hannah stirred the eggs. They were a bit crispy on the bottom, but surely a barbarian wouldn’t expect much. After giving them a thoughtful stir, she glanced through the window toward the barn and considered her options.

  It looked as if she really was going to be spending the night in this godforsaken place, so she’d best shower now, before the natives returned.

  The bathroom looked only marginally better than the kitchen. Locking the door, she removed her clothes and placed them carefully on the top of the toilet for lack of anywhere better to keep them off the floor. Turning on the shower, she adjusted the temperature and stepped into the bathtub. The water pressure was irritatingly weak, leaving her cold and goose bumped. Finally she closed the drain and slipped down into the accumulating water. It covered her slowly, soothing her with its liquid warmth.

  What a day! What a nightmare! She needed a new plan. But what? Sinking her head beneath the surface, she considered every possibility only to discard them one by one. She’d been meticulously careful with her funds. Surely Daddy couldn’t have expected her to leave LA without a suitable wardrobe and a full supply of her specially formulated moisturizer. They didn’t ship cosmetics from Switzerland for free. And though she didn’t regret her purchases, she had very little money left. If she had access to a single one of her credit cards she’d be out of this backwater toilet before Tyrel Fox could conjure up another hard-won thought. But she didn’t have a credit card. Not even a checking account. Daddy had insisted that she leave all her identification behind for her own safety.

  Sloshing her hair through the water, Hannah felt the silken strands swish against her shoulders and back. She was tired, and the warmth was relaxing, but she had to think or be stuck…

  Did she smell something? Hannah went very still, letting her body float to the top of the water as she sniffed. What was that? She thought she’d caught the scent of something. For a moment it had reminded her of Spago’s stir-fried vegetable plate. But that was wishful thinking. Could it be…

  Smoke!

  She scrambled to her feet, splashing water over the side of the tub as she made a wild grab for her clothes. They slipped past her hands. A noise erupted from the kitchen. The toilet cover clattered shut.

  In the living room, she heard the calf bellow and furniture fall over.

  Dear God, she was burning the house down. Grabbing a towel, Hannah swept it around her body, fumbled with the lock, and rushed toward the kitchen.

  In the doorway, she skidded to a halt. Tyrel was there, stomping the last sparks from a dish towel and running water into her egg pan.

  “What the devil!” he roared, then lifted his face to find her standing in stunned silence.

  His mouth fell open. A small flame reared up in the dish towel again, but he stomped it out without looking down.

  Hannah blinked at him.

  “Well,” he said, his voice going soft, “if you wanted me so bad you could a just said so, honey. No need to burn down the house to get my attention.”

  3

  “MR. FOX,” Hannah said, quieting the rapid beat of her heart as she adopted her well-rehearsed expression of superiority. “I assure you, I’d rather be fricasseed by a short-order cook and served with cheap wine than spend a moment alone with you.”

  He snorted. “Well, you almost got your wish. ‘Cept for the wine part. I’m a Bud man myself. What the hell were you trying to do here?”

  She willed herself not to blush and straightened her back. “I was cooking dinner. What have you done to my eggs?”

  “Eggs?” He managed to turn away from her long enough to shut off the water flooding over the pan. “Is that what they were?”

  “I thought you had chores to do.”

  “I finished. And a good thing, too. That calf’s got champion bloodlines. I’d hate to lose him in a house fire.”

  She ignored the fact that he neglected mentioning how he’d feel if she were burned to cinders. “I was coming to put out the fire,” she said, as though his help was neither necessary nor appreciated.

  “Yeah,” he said, eyeing her. “You could have beat it out with the towel. Course, then you would’ve been buck naked. You are naked under that towel, aren’t you?”

  She was silent for a moment. “You, Mr. Fox, have the mind of an adolescent goat.”

  “And you, Miss Nelson, have really nice…” he began, then let his gaze skim her body, her long, elegant throat, the high rise of her breasts, the endless length of her suntanned legs. “Diction.”

  She preened a smile at him. “Diction has always been my forte.”

  “I bet.”

  “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get dressed.”

  “So soon?”

  She turned with prim elegance. She may be the only woman in the world who could look elegant in a worn, cotton towel. He had planned to replace those old towels with something more substantial. Now he was glad that he hadn’t.

  In a moment, she was out of sight.

  Ty let out a heavy breath and turned back toward the sink. He needed to take some time off. Needed to get away—see that gal of his he’d spouted off about. Only there was no gal. Shelly Madson had given up on him six months ago. All he had now was three hundred head of beef cattle and a couple dozen horses. They were good-looking stock, but they weren’t very good company on a cold winter’s night Still, one glance at a woman’s bare legs shouldn’t be sending him over the edge like this.

  He’d better get a grip on himself if he was going to last the night. After all, what was she? Just a woman—and a spoiled woman at that. Her type wasn’t for the likes o
f him, a man who would give up a fine education to return to a broken piece of land in the heart of North Dakota. No, she wasn’t his type at—

  “Ah-hum.”

  He heard her clear her throat and turned reluctantly toward the bathroom. She was peeking around the door, the aged towel still wrapped about her torso like damp cheesecloth. Her hair was wet and swung past her shoulder.

  It took him a moment to find his voice. “Yeah?” was the best he could come up with.

  “I have a small problem,” she said stiffly.

  In his bathroom there was a half-naked, drop-dead gorgeous woman who was strictly off-limits. He’d been celibate for half an eternity, and she had a problem?

  “I’d suggest you get dressed before you expound on it,” he said.

  Her lips pursed and her brows lowered. “Do you think I’d be talking to you in a towel if I could get dressed?”

  Now here was an interesting turn of events.

  “You can’t get dressed?” he asked, feeling his heart rate bump up a tad.

  “My clothes…” She paused for a moment, looking irritated and so damned alluring he wanted to weep. Why did the snooty ones always get him all stirred up? “They’re wet.”

  He thought about it for a moment. “Wet?”

  “Yes.”

  “How—”

  “That’s none of your affair.”

  He shook his head and approached her, putting a hand on the edge of the door. “Let me in.”

  “No,” she said, holding him out.

  Frustration made him push harder until she finally relinquished her hold and he was allowed a glimpse inside.

  “Miss Nelson?”

  “What?”

  “Why did you put your clothes in my toilet?”

  Their faces were very close. Hers was pink, but whether from embarrassment or anger was anybody’s guess.

  “Mr. Fox.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You are a moron.” She said the words sweetly.

  He grinned. “But I’m not the one who put my pants in the toilet.”

  “I didn’t…” Apparently she’d spoken more loudly than she’d planned, for she lowered her voice and tried again. “I didn’t put them in there. They fell.”

  “Ahhh.” He nodded. “And the…” He motioned toward his own chest, for her bra was floating at the top. It was pale pink with a tiny ribbon between the cups. He noticed, though he wished he hadn’t. “Did that fall, too?”

  “No,” she said, and forced a beatific smile. “I threw that in. I figured, as long as the rest was there…” She shrugged.

  Nice shoulders.

  “Really?” he asked.

  She glared at him. “I need some clothes!”

  “I bet I’d really tick you off if I asked why, huh?”

  “Go!” she growled, then cleared her throat and tried again. “Would you please be so kind as to go out to my car and get my suitcase?”

  He frowned and leaned up against the doorjamb. “Maybe if you ask nice. But, hey, I don’t know. I mean, you almost burned down my house.”

  There was a long moment of silence.

  “I’m sorry about the fire,” she said reluctantly.

  He shrugged. “You insulted my ranch.”

  “Listen!” she steamed, but he held up a hand and canted his head at her. She simmered down quickly, though the fire in her eyes didn’t dim a whit. “I’m sorry if I said something to offend your tender sensibilities.”

  He studied her face. It was golden tan, seamless, cameo perfect “I like the way you talk. Where did you say you was from?”

  She gritted her teeth at him. “Are you going to get my clothes or not?”

  “I’m thinking,” he said.

  But she was, apparently, past watching him think. Swinging the door open, she marched out of the bathroom, past the tottering calf, and toward the front door.

  Ty caught up to her just before her hand touched the knob. He slid easily between her and the door. “I was just kidding you.”

  “Mr. Fox?”

  “Yes, Miss Nelson?”

  “Have I called you a moron yet?”

  “Twice, I think.”

  “Good. Now if you’ll please get out of my way, I’ll retrieve my suitcases.”

  “I’ll get them for you.”

  “I don’t want you to get them for me.”

  “You can’t go out there like that.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He grinned. “I’d bet on it.”

  “How much?”

  “Ten bucks.”

  She smiled primly, like a fragile old lady who had just tasted the perfect tea. “A hundred.”

  He grinned and swung the door open with a flourish. Snow whistled past him. She blinked and stumbled back.

  “Have a go at it, honey,” he said.

  She took a deep breath, tucked her towel more firmly under itself, and marched out.

  Ty watched her go.

  Not for a moment did she increase or decrease her pace. Even when her bare feet sunk into the slush, she didn’t falter. She had the elegance of a princess and the tenacity of a pit bull. He watched her round the car and wrench the passenger door open. For a moment she bent to retrieve her purse, and though Ty knew he was a cad, he couldn’t help wishing she was on the near side of the car when she did so. Still, the view was pretty astounding from where he stood. He’d heard of women skiing in bikinis, but this beat all.

  In a moment she was behind the car. The trunk popped open. She dragged out a huge leather suitcase. But just as she did, the towel came loose. Ty held his breath. She dropped her luggage, tucked the towel more securely around her, and wrenched the case from the trunk.

  Ty would have helped her get the gargantuan thing up the steps if he could have moved. But the sight of her breasts, crunched between her arms as she struggled with the suitcase, held him immobilized. So she wrestled the thing across the porch and into the house alone.

  Though her hair had begun to freeze, the blaze from her azure eyes looked just about hot enough to melt damn near anything—including his insides.

  “Wow!” he said.

  “Give me my hundred.”

  “You don’t have any pockets.”

  The noise she made could only be described as a growl.

  Tyrel liked to think he wasn’t a total fool, so he turned on his heel and hurried to his bedroom, but by the time he’d dug out four twenties and two tens, she had disappeared into the bathroom with her suitcase.

  He couldn’t help knocking at the door. Perhaps it was the devil in him. His sister, Joann, had often said he was possessed by a nasty demon. “Mind if I come in?”

  “Try it and they won’t find your dead body until spring.”

  “This is spring,” he countered.

  The door burst open. Unfortunately she was an incredibly fast dresser. Perhaps she was a model, he thought. But before he could dwell on that, she had snatched the bills from his hand and was marching barefoot into the kitchen.

  She turned in the center of the room. “I’m hungry.”

  “We’ve got watered eggs and…” He trailed after her to lift the kettle from the burner. “Charred beans.”

  She was already rummaging through his cupboards, and in a moment pulled out a bag of potato chips.

  “Ahh, veggies,” he said, nodding toward the chips as he pulled a six-pack of beer from a shelf. “And protein.”

  “I don’t drink.”

  “I didn’t offer.”

  They finally sat in silent irritation, her eating stale potato chips and him drinking warm beer.

  By the time three cans were empty, Ty felt sick enough to quit, but not drunk enough to ignore her. She was dressed in a chunky yellow sweater and pants that hugged her legs with mouthwatering intimacy.

  He was a leg man. Always had been. Now Nate, he went for breasts. And old Pete…

  “Where do I sleep?”

  Her words stopped his reverie. She’d abandoned the chip
s and stood beside the table, two-thirds legs and one-half attitude, or something like that. Damn. He was more drunk than he’d thought. He should have put some food into his stomach before swilling beer.

  “Where do I sleep?” she repeated.

  “How about—”

  She stabbed a finger at him. “I wouldn’t say it if I were you.”

  “How do you know what I was going to say?”

  “I know your type.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes. Male.”

  He laughed. “Up the stairs, first bedroom on the left.”

  She turned away.

  “Miss Nelson,” he called.

  She turned slowly back.

  “Better lock your door in case I get drunk.”

  A moment later Ty heard the click of her lock.

  HANNAH HURRIED through the parking lot. It was dark, and she thought she’d heard a noise behind her. Perhaps she shouldn’t have ditched her bodyguard. Daddy had said her life was in danger. But he had always been prone to dramatics. Surely…

  The hand seemed to reach out from nowhere. She spun toward her assailant. Images flashed through her mind—a dark beard, straight teeth, a perfect nose. Something familiar about him! But already he had his arm around her body, twisting her away from him, pulling her back up hard against his chest. She shrieked—and awoke with a start.

  “You’re right. She is better looking than Howard.”

  Hannah gasped, pulling the coverlet to her chin. “What are you doing in my room?”

  “Nice accent, too. Where’s she from?”

  Ty shrugged. Beside him stood a man in his early twenties. His hair was brown, but other than that he could have been Ty’s twin.

  “Dad said Colorado.”

  “I’ve never heard an accent like that from Colorado.”

  “You owe me ten bucks.”

  “What are you doing in my room?” Hannah asked again.

  “The lock don’t work. Never has,” Ty said, holding out his hand to accept his brother’s lost wager.

  “Get out!”

  “All right. But Nate’s going to be heading out soon. Either he looks at your car right off or it’s gonna be too late.”

  “Get out!”

  “Okay.”