Cowboy on the Run Read online

  "Just that you have too much to do."

  Her jaw jutted. "We're fine. I'm doing the best I can."

  "I know. But it isn't going to be enough. And now you're going to be shorthanded."

  "A little," she allowed. She wasn't giving him much.

  "Reckon you could do with some help."

  She shook her head. "We'll manage. We always have."

  "A smart manager doesn't turn down the offer of help."

  Ellie looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "Who's offering?"

  "I am."

  Her brows lifted. "Going to send me one of your hands?"

  "Nope."

  She cocked her head. "Nope?" she echoed warily.

  "I reckoned I could stick around."

  Chapter 3

  « ^ »

  No. Oh, no.

  Ellie gave her head a little shake. She couldn't have heard right. She had just spent the entire afternoon assuring herself that today's visit was a fluke, that by dinnertime Rance Phillips would be out of her life again, and now he was suggesting that he stay around?

  Her stomach squeezed in apprehension. She ran her tongue over suddenly dry lips. "Why?" she asked, but it was more of a croak.

  He looked surprised.

  His gaze left hers and traveled in a slow, clear arc around the ranch. It took in the barn door he'd fixed, the fence he'd helped the boys mend, the porch steps that no longer wobbled beneath their feet. And then it moved on to peruse the torn window screen, the peeling paint, the depleted woodpile, the young, barely broke horses she'd bought last fall. And at last it went to the pasture where she had hoped to do the branding in a week or so.

  "Why?" Rance repeated her question almost conversationally, as if he knew she would argue with him if he spelled it out for her. Then he shrugged and nodded. "Well, maybe you don't need any help. After all, Daniel and Caleb are big and strong and can do anything they set their minds to. And of course, Josh can put in a full day. You've got a hired hand, I hear, too. Someone called … Grandma?"

  "My mother-in-law," Ellie agreed through her teeth.

  Rance gave her a sardonic smile. "Right. Top hand, is she?" The implication was clear: Rance thought having her mother-in-law as her hired hand was like having the singing nun as her line boss.

  "My mother-in-law is not in her dotage," Ellie said sharply. "She can do anything I can do, better. She rides cutting horses when she's not helping me. And when she is helping me, we do fine!"

  Rance held up his hands in surrender. "I'm sure you do," he said in a smooth, conciliatory manner that somehow seemed to Ellie to hide a knife edge underneath.

  "Did you get your law degree?" she demanded suspiciously.

  He looked momentarily taken aback. "Yeah, I did, actually."

  "I thought so." The Rance she had known had been bright and quick and clever. He'd also been a smooth talker. A natural lawyer, she'd always thought, and had said so more than once. Rance had always refused to even consider it, because that was what his father had wanted him to become. Apparently he'd changed his mind—or his father had changed it for him.

  "Yale?" she asked, remembering that his father had gone there.

  "Harvard." The wanna-make-something-of-it Phillips jaw jutted.

  She almost smiled. But she was afraid to.

  In her entire life, she'd never been more susceptible to any man than she'd been to Rance Phillips. After he'd gone off to Ireland and she'd gone home that summer, she'd assured herself her responsiveness to him had been the result of youth, foolishness and having her head turned by buckets of masculine charm and a devilishly handsome, rugged face. It wouldn't happen again, she'd told herself.

  She knew now she'd been wrong.

  The very sight of him this afternoon had, of course, set off warning bells in her brain. But it had set off some odd hormonal resonance deep within her, as well. It was foolish, it was pointless. It was downright dangerous, this attraction she felt for Rance Phillips. But it was there, nonetheless.

  And if he had happened upon her again merely by accident, which she was beginning to believe was the case, why was he offering to stick around? He obviously had a career these days. He wasn't some down-on-his-luck rodeo cowboy recovering from a broken arm and trying to put his life together, as well.

  "Harvard, hmm?" she ventured after a moment. "And you passed, presumably."

  He looked offended. "Of course I passed."

  "Then why does a Harvard-educated lawyer want to 'stick around' here?"

  He shifted from one foot to the other. He glanced in her direction, then away again. Ellie, watching this display of foot shuffling, cocked her head. "What's in it for you?" she asked him.

  He kicked at a tuft of grass. He rocked back and forth on the heels of Spike's boots. He sighed. "It'd help me out, too."

  What was that supposed to mean? She waited for an explanation.

  It wasn't quick in coming. Rance looked out across the valley, then down at the ground. He shifted his weight from one boot to the other, and then, when she thought he was never going to speak again, he did. But he said the most ridiculous thing.

  "I don't suppose you ever read Prominence Magazine?"

  Had he lost his mind? Why on earth would she, a penny-pinching widow of a small-time Montana rancher, ever even look at a magazine aimed at the idle rich? And if she ever had—which she hadn't—so what? What did Prominence Magazine have to do with her tiny, rundown Montana ranch?

  More to the point, what did it have to do with Rance Phillips?

  She might not have seen him in eleven years, but she knew how little value he'd put on fame and fortune. He'd always rejected it the same way he'd rejected his father's dynastic impulses. She couldn't imagine he coveted it now.

  "No I don't read Prominence Magazine," she said finally, when it didn't look as if he was going to explain until she answered.

  "Didn't think so," he muttered.

  Was that a line of color along his cheekbones? Ellie leaned slightly closer for a better look. "Do you?" she asked after a moment's silence, "Read Prominence Magazine?"

  "No, I damn well do not!"

  His vehemence had her taking a quick step back. "Well, you're the one who brought it up."

  He rubbed the back of his neck. "Damn fool thing," he said irritably, more to himself than to her, his gaze still fixed on the dirt. "They got no business pokin' their noses in and messin' up people's lives. The articles are stupid, anyway!"

  Ellie cocked her head, totally mystified now. And curious. Ver-r-ry curious. That was a hectic flush of color on his tanned cheeks. Rance Phillips was blushing!

  She rose right up on her toes, as if being taller would get him to answer her quicker. Except it didn't look like he was going to answer her at all!

  "What articles?"

  Rance heaved a sigh, then jammed his fists into the pockets of his jeans. He hunched his shoulders. "The ones they've been doin' about bachelors." He turned away from her and stared out toward the pasture.

  It was like pulling teeth. She practically had to yank the words out of him. "What about bachelors?"

  Rance turned, his lips pressed into a thin line. "The world's most eligible." The words came out in a barely intelligible mutter.

  Ellie's eyes widened. She looked at Rance, scowling furiously at her, and she couldn't help it—the relief was too great—a laugh exploded from her. "The world's most eligible— You?"

  "Me!" He spat the word. "Yeah, isn't it funny? In fact it's damn hysterical—unless you happen to be one of the chosen! Then your life's not your own anymore!" His scowl was fierce. He kicked at the dirt.

  Ellie didn't say anything. She was still trying to swallow the giggles that kept bubbling up, but she couldn't. He was right, she was getting hysterical, but more from relief than from hearing about his predicament—though she certainly wasn't going to tell him that!

  "It's a pain in the ass," he went on, apparently determined to make her understand. "People follow me around
everywhere I go. They pop up at the office. They bake me pies. They call me up, send me notes, write me letters."

  "People? You mean … women?" Ellie considered that. She considered the popping up, the pies, the calls, the notes, the letters. "They propose to you?"

  He pulled off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. "Not all of 'em," he corrected gruffly. "Enough," he added honestly after a moment.

  "Heavens," Ellie said faintly.

  "Hell more like." Rance grimaced, then rubbed a hand over his face and said with flat certainty, "And it's got to stop. That's why I reckoned I could stick around. You could get some help. I could get some … space."

  "And all the eager women will forget you?"

  "I hope." He slanted her a glance. "So, what do you say?"

  She wanted to say no. She definitely should say no. Having Rance around was not a good idea for a whole lot of reasons.

  Unfortunately there were other reasons that recommended it. All the reasons he'd given her. The place was getting beyond her, there was no doubt about it. No matter how hard she and Sandra, her mother-in-law, worked, they couldn't seem to keep up. And she needed to keep up.

  Cleve Hardesty had made it clear that he was ready to step in whenever she'd had enough—and the bank would get their money a lot quicker from him. They'd been tolerant and patient with her so far. After Spike had died, Jim Riker, the loan officer, had made a point of telling her that they didn't expect miracles, that if she needed to renegotiate or stretch things out, they'd understand.

  But that had been before Hardesty had come to town.

  And before either she or the bank had any idea how hard it would be for one woman to keep things going. She'd coped. The first year had been tough, but together they'd managed. This year when she'd hoped things would be better, they'd actually been worse. The weather had been harsher. They'd had to feed longer. She'd had less time to spend checking fences, and more breaks had occurred. The little things—the barn door, the steps, the window screens—hadn't mattered. She'd had to let them go.

  But there was no way she could let the calving go. She'd been strung out over that, checking and rechecking, worrying—occasionally helping a first-time mamma cow—for the past six weeks.

  And now spring branding was just around the corner. They had to round up the cattle, sort them and get the calves branded—and they had to do it soon.

  But they wouldn't be able to do it without Josh.

  And the reason she was doing it at all was for Josh.

  She loved the ranch, but she could live without it. The twins and Carrie could live without it.

  Josh could not.

  It was his legacy from Spike, the love they shared. Ellie could close her eyes now and see the two of them together—in the barn, on horseback, pitching hay, feeding cattle.

  There had been no one closer to Josh than Spike. No one closer to Spike than Josh. Since the time he'd been able to ride alone, Josh had been Spike's right-hand man.

  "The foreman," Spike had always called their sober, intense, responsible eldest child. And, "My partner," he'd called the boy, too, every day when he looped his arm over Josh's thin shoulders as they went out to do chores.

  More than any of their other children, Josh had worshiped Spike. As soon as he'd walked, Josh had followed Spike everywhere. "Me come, too, Daddy," had been his first sentence. When Josh was two, Spike had put him on his own horse. They'd been inseparable after that.

  "He's got ranchin' in his blood, I reckon," Spike had said.

  "It's in the other kids', too," Ellie always replied. But while all of them liked the ranch, none of them loved it the way Josh did.

  It was for Josh that Ellie was trying so desperately to hang on.

  Now, though, without his help, she couldn't—unless she said yes to Rance Phillips's question.

  It sounded so simple. It promised disaster; Ellie knew it. It was like giving the devil a toehold to save your shirt, then discovering that your shirt wasn't worth much once you'd ended up losing your soul.

  Would she lose her soul to Rance?

  Or worse?

  It was a risk.

  There were other risks, too. Bigger risks.

  But, she reminded herself, life was a risk. Getting out of bed in the morning was a risk. And how big a risk could it actually be?

  She might feel a certain hormonal awareness where Rance was concerned, but she was a big girl now. She knew better than to give her heart away again.

  And hadn't he just said he wasn't interested in entanglements? He might be one of the world's most eligible bachelors, but clearly he wanted to stay that way.

  So the risk wasn't that great after all. Nothing had changed.

  Not really.

  If she said yes, they would both have what they wanted. She would get the work completed that so desperately needed being done. And he would get his "space."

  And Josh—Josh's inheritance would be safe—at least for a while.

  Ellie figured Rance owed him that.

  If the daydreams he'd had while hanging out Ellie's underwear had, in small measure, fueled his offer to stick around, any chance that reality would include her welcoming him into her bed was highly overestimated.

  She made him sleep in the barn.

  "The barn?" He stared at her.

  "It's not that uncomfortable," she said. "All those nice straw bales. And I've got a couple of wool blankets in the house," she added.

  "I've got my own sleeping bag," Rance told her through his teeth.

  "Well, then—" she gave him a little shrug and a blithe smile "—I'm sure you'll be fine."

  Fine? He kicked at the straw now, hours later, and scowled in the direction of the house where Ellie and her brood had gone to bed. Then he spread out the blankets she'd pressed on him and lay his sleeping bag on top of them. "Home, sweet home," he muttered and slid in.

  Was he nuts? It wasn't the first time he'd wondered. And the answer was the same as last time: he didn't know.

  Maybe. He wasn't sure.

  It seemed somehow serendipitous to end up at Ellie's today—though he wouldn't have thought he'd have kind thoughts about a skunk.

  Still, this felt like the same sort of turning point that the end of his rodeo career had—and that had begun with a broken arm.

  Ellie had been there that time, too, listening, caring, loving. She'd given him faith in himself and in the future.

  She'd given him love—and courage to pursue his own life and follow his own dreams.

  And if she hadn't been there when he'd come back from Ireland, well, he supposed he couldn't really blame her. He'd been hurt, angry even. But he'd never actually promised her anything.

  He'd never ever said, "Wait for me."

  In fact every time she'd mentioned marriage—even in the abstract—he'd brushed her off. Marriage hadn't seemed like a dream then. It had seemed like the chain that would anchor him to the Phillips legacy before he had the chance to become a man himself.

  He hadn't wanted to get married then—or maybe ever—and he'd never pretended otherwise. He'd been honest with her.

  And so had she, he realized, when she hadn't come back. She'd told him by her actions what her priorities were: she'd married the guy whose boots he'd worn today.

  They'd been too big.

  Rance hadn't said so. Never would. He had no intention of trying to fill Spike O'Connor's boots—literally or otherwise.

  He was just here for a week or two. To help with the calving and the branding. To give her some space and get the breathing room he needed, as well.

  And to let his old man know that magazine articles and busloads of women were not the means to getting his way. There were no means by which Trey Phillips could get what he wanted—not unless, like his law degree, it was something Rance decided he wanted himself.

  He didn't know if he wanted a bride.

  He only knew he wanted to be here on Ellie's place for a while.

  For himself. For Ellie.r />
  She needed him.

  He couldn't ever remember being needed in his life.

  Rance Phillips was in her barn.

  Ellie said the words over and over to herself, as if repetition might make her finally believe them. But even those times she thought she actually did believe them, she wasn't sure she wanted to.

  She turned out the light in the kitchen and took one last, long look at the barn silhouetted in the moonlight. Through gaps in the old wooden siding she could see slivers of tight spilling through.

  Rance Phillips was in her barn. Rance Phillips was in her barn.

  It would take some getting used to.

  Not that it was going to last! Of course it wasn't. Who knew, after one night on the straw he might be gone before breakfast. But if he stayed—if he stayed—it could make a tremendous difference.

  Rance was strong and capable, and he gave every indication of meaning what he said about lending a hand. Earlier that evening during supper he'd quizzed both her and Josh about the lay of the land, the size of the herd, the whereabouts of the cattle. He'd wanted a notion of how many more calves had yet to be born and where their mothers were. He nodded, made a few notes, asked to see what records she had and had studied them wordlessly while she watched and felt like a child waiting for the teacher to read her homework.

  After supper, when the children were doing their own homework, he'd gone back outside, and she'd seen him in the pasture looking over the new horses. Daniel and Josh had wanted to go, too, but she'd said no. She didn't want them to get in the habit of following him around.

  She couldn't tell what he thought when he came back. She'd wanted to jump in and defend her purchases, tell him that she'd got the best she could get for what she could afford, but she didn't want to sound as close to the edge as she knew she might. So she'd kept her mouth shut, only saying "Thank you," when he chopped firewood before he came in.

  "No problem," he said easily, and then he smiled at her.

  Ellie didn't want him to smile!

  She wanted him to doctor cattle, deliver calves, break horses, cut firewood, mend fences and then go back to where he came from, leaving her life—and her heart—intact.

  She turned away from the barn now and went up the steps to check on the kids before she went to bed herself.