Maid in Montana Read online

  She’d been at the ranch three days and every one of those days he’d done something wrong. He knew that the curiosity he felt looking at Brady’s toys was an aberration that would leave as soon as the baby did. He also wasn’t worried about the conclusions Sophie might have drawn seeing him staring at her baby’s things. She’d been so surprised to find him in her suite that he doubted she’d had time to really think about what she’d seen.

  But the way his barriers had fallen at the swimming pool couldn’t be dismissed so easily. He was her boss, yet he couldn’t help asking why she didn’t wear a bikini. He couldn’t stop himself from looking at her legs. He couldn’t keep his voice level, disciplined, authoritative. So he’d planned to simply avoid her, but that hadn’t worked out, either. After their contact in her suite, he had to admit he was considering working in the barn and even staying out of the kitchen except to get coffee.

  He shook his head in disgust. He hated being out of control. Shouldn’t he be able to handle this better?

  Of course he should! So what if she was attractive? He was an enormously successful businessman, whose big, bad ranch foremen all but shivered in their boots when they had meetings with him. How could one five-foot-six California girl cause him to forget everything he knew about keeping employees in line?

  They were almost back at the barn when Jeb came out of his thoughts and asked Slim about the trouble they’d been having with hikers walking the ranch trails.

  “Did you hear anything I said?”

  “I heard everything you said.”

  “Then you’d know I already told you I met with the guy who seems to be organizing the hikes and told him it was no problem for him to bring people on the ranch as long as they stayed in the back of the property, away from the cattle and picked up after themselves.”

  As Slim said that, Sophie came around the corner of the barn. “Hey!”

  “Hey!” Slim called, waving to her. “How’s Brady?”

  Jeb glanced over at him. He knew the kid’s name?

  “He’s fine. We’re both great.” She turned and displayed a backpack-like baby carrier in which Brady sat, chewing on a thick plastic ring. “We’re going for a walk.”

  Slim nodded and smiled and Jeb took advantage of everybody’s preoccupation with chitchat to peek at the length of leg exposed beneath her jean shorts. Today her thick hair was caught up in a bouncy ponytail and she wore a fancy top with seashells or something dangling from the U-shaped neckline, but as always Jeb’s attention was caught by her legs. They were perfect.

  “Oh, don’t mind him. I don’t know where the hell his mind’s been all morning.” Slim poked him in the arm. “Are you in there, Jeb?”

  Jeb’s heart froze in his chest. He hoped to hell they simply thought he’d been woolgathering and no one had caught him staring at Sophie’s legs, but one look at Slim’s sly expression and he knew his foreman had caught every second of it.

  Shading her eyes from the sun with her right hand, Sophie smiled up at him as Jezebel began to do a two-step, once again picking up on his nervousness around his housekeeper and her baby.

  “I asked if you minded if Brady and I explore.”

  “No. I don’t mind if you take a walk.” He tugged on his horse’s reins, directing Jezebel toward the barn. “But you’re not familiar enough with the ranch to explore. Stay on the dirt roads.”

  Sophie nodded and walked off. Jeb watched Slim’s gaze follow her, before he yanked on the stallion’s reins and turned him in the direction to catch up with Jeb. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “Probably for the sins you’ve committed,” Jeb agreed.

  “You like her.”

  Jeb stopped his horse. “No. I just think she’s got great legs.”

  “And a pretty face and a sweet personality—”

  “And a baby.”

  Slim laughed. “You can fool most people with that gruff voice and apparent hatred of kids, but you forget I know things about you that most people don’t know.”

  Jeb headed for the barn again. “Whatever.”

  Slim laughed again. “Don’t whatever me. Especially when I think it’s a damned good sign that you like this girl.”

  “Right. And you think the fact that she has a baby makes her perfect for me.”

  Slim grinned. “And from the fact that you brought it up first, I’m guessing you’ve already thought of it, too.”

  He hadn’t. Not until that very second. But as Slim pointed out it was a “sign” of sorts that the thought had even popped into his head. But where Slim saw it as a good sign, Jeb only felt stupid. Desperate. He hated both.

  He looked Slim in the eye. “I keep you around because you’re good at your job. But even you don’t get to poke into my personal life. Let this alone or Sophie won’t be the only one going in three weeks.”

  With the dusting and window washing done and nothing else to do, Sophie cleaned the kitchen after lunch the next day.

  “What are we going to do once this kitchen is cleaned, Brady?” she asked the baby who sat in the high chair, chewing a teething ring, watching his mom with his big blue eyes. “The man doesn’t even have furniture in most of the rooms. Once I dusted the woodwork and windowsills and ran a dry mop over the hardwood floors, I was done.

  “Our top priority is keeping you out of his way, but even when we tried to go for a walk we ran into him.”

  Stacking her few lunch dishes in the dishwasher, she sighed. “I always thought being an efficient housekeeper was the one good thing that came from being left with maids, but in this case I’m sort of working myself out of a job. Julianna would love the irony of this.”

  She smiled remembering her parents’ first maid, who’d not only taught her to clean, but she’d also taught her to cook. Miss Julie—as she liked to be called—had explained that moms taught daughters to cook, not just to feed their families, but as a way to bond.

  Sophie had bonded with Julianna and Julianna had taught her everything she knew, not just about cooking but also about housekeeping.

  When Julianna had retired, Florence had also been happy to teach Sophie even more about housekeeping. She’d depended upon Sophie so much that Sophie had felt like she was the maid and Florence was the lady of the house. Luckily she only lasted three months before Sophie’s parents discovered what was going on and, horrified, had hired someone a tad more willing to do the work herself rather than “share” it with Sophie.

  Laughing, Sophie remembered how mortified her parents had been that Sophie had been housecleaning with the help.

  But they didn’t realize how that had worked in her favor. In spite of the fact that she didn’t have either of her parents’ genius IQ, she now had a marketable skill. She could cook and clean well enough to be anybody’s housekeeper. It might not please her highbrow parents, but it did pay the bills.

  Thinking of her parents made her incredibly sad. Not just for herself but also because they didn’t understand what they were missing. She loved Brady so much that she would have given up anything for him. Yet her parents didn’t have any more time for their grandchild than they’d had for their daughter.

  But she and Brady had each other. For the first time in her life she had someone who loved her and she wasn’t shortchanging him of the love a child deserved. She’d move heaven and earth to show him he was loved. Wanted. Which was exactly why she wouldn’t stay with grouchy Jeb Worthington any longer than she had to to earn the money she needed to get back on her feet. She wouldn’t neglect Brady the way her parents had neglected her. She might have to keep herself and Brady off Jeb’s radar, but she wasn’t hiding him for anybody.

  She finished cleaning the kitchen, talking baby talk with Brady and when everything was tidy, she scooped him out of the high chair and carried him through the nearly empty formal dining room and into a hall, which passed two other empty rooms.

  What was with this house? Why had Jeb left it so empty? Why would someone as rich as he was not buy furniture?
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br />   Looking around as she walked, she decided a busy guy like Jeb might not have had had time to choose sofas and chairs, end tables and lamps, and he most certainly wouldn’t know how to “decorate.” Not like Paul, the one and only male housekeeper her parents had hired. If Paul ever saw this house, Sophie didn’t know if he’d die from the trauma of the neglect he’d perceive or if he’d be in hog heaven. Paul would probably convince Jeb to let him furnish and decorate every empty room—

  She stopped. “Oh, my goodness, Brady! I think I just found the way to keep us out from under the boss’s feet!”

  The next morning when Jeb walked into the kitchen, Sophie was waiting for him. Wearing jean shorts and a tank top, with her dark hair piled on her head in a haphazard way that was somehow sexier than all get out, she stood in front of the kitchen sink, her eyes bright with enthusiasm.

  His first instinct was to ignore her. But a fire of indignation ignited in his belly. This was his home, yet he couldn’t eat or cook in his own kitchen. Couldn’t go for his nightly swim without checking over his shoulder to see if she was sneaking out to join him. And now he couldn’t get coffee?

  No. Hell no! He was not losing his morning coffee!

  He walked to the counter, reached into the cupboard for his travel mug and pulled it down. On his way to the coffeepot he’d noticed the high chair was empty. She was doing as he’d asked. Keeping the baby out of his sight.

  “Where were you all day yesterday?”

  She broke the silence with her question, but Jeb looked away, pretending great interest in putting cream in his coffee.

  “I searched everywhere but I totally missed you. You’re a hard man to find.”

  “Not really. I’ve got a company to run. This ranch is part of it.”

  “Unless I misinterpreted you, you also have a house that needs fixing before your guests arrive.”

  “It doesn’t need fixing…it needs to be cleaned.”

  “Well, see, that’s where you and I differ.” She motioned to the table, indicating they should sit but he didn’t budge from the counter. “Come on, this will only take a minute.”

  “Slim and I are flying to Wyoming today to look at the ranch of another potential client. We can’t be late.”

  “I’ll talk fast.”

  “Fine.”

  She pulled in a breath. He kept his eyes on her face, knowing damned well that her breasts had risen and fallen, but he wasn’t allowed to look. Wouldn’t look. Refused to look.

  “I’ve noticed that your house is barely furnished.”

  He brought his coffee to his mouth and peered at her over the rim of the mug. “Because I don’t want prospective clients to see my furniture. I want them to see the place empty enough to envision their furniture in the rooms.”

  “Good point. Except these ranches you manage are second homes for your clients. They won’t be moving their furniture to a ranch they bought as a second home. And when they come here to check out your ranch, they may be looking for inspiration.”

  Confused, he scrunched up his face and said, “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I think you mixed up real estate concepts. If you’re selling a house, it is true that you want everything to be neutral so buyers will see their own things when they walk through the rooms. But you’re not selling this house. You’re selling the idea that the second home of a ranch is cozy and comfy and private. You’re selling privacy.”

  “I think the secluded nature of most ranches accomplishes that.”

  “Yes, but not the comfort part.”

  He was losing the battle to keep his eyes on her face, mostly because she was pretty enough that gazing at her face also resurrected a few thousand male fantasies. Knowing he had to get the hell out of here, he glanced at his watch. “What’s your point?”

  “That most women would come into this house and not be comfortable. If you’re trying to create a mood, and I think you are, your house needs to be decorated.”

  “Oh, no. No decorator! No fancy sofas, sea of knickknacks and glass tables that can be broken.”

  She laughed. “Agreed. When I pick some new things for this house, I’ll be going on the same principles you’ve already established. Comfort. Peace. Privacy.”

  His eyes narrowed. “When you pick some new things?”

  “Yes.” She pulled in a breath. “Okay, look. You already know I need the money or I wouldn’t be here. I’m going to be really honest with you and admit that I could probably get this house clean by the end of the week. But if I clean everything this week and leave, by the time your clients get here in three weeks, it’ll be dusty again.”

  He frowned. “What you’re really saying is you’d like something to do in between dustings?”

  “Yes.”

  He didn’t cotton to boredom himself, but her idea of how to fill her time wasn’t practical. “Even if I agreed with you about the house needing a little more furniture, how are you going to shop? Town is forty miles from here and once you get there you won’t find a big selection of furniture or anything beyond household necessities.”

  “Ever heard of the Internet? I can buy anything you need and have it delivered to your front door.”

  He gaped at her. “I’m supposed to give you a credit card?”

  “Nope. All you have to do is set up an online account that has limited uses and limited access. You can give me a budget. You can check my purchases every day.” She paused and smiled. “Unfortunately it will mean I’ll have to use your computer.”

  That stopped him. If she stayed in one place for several hours a day, avoiding her would be abundantly easier. “You’ll be using my office?”

  She grimaced. “Sorry. I don’t have a laptop.”

  “But you’d be in the office all day?”

  “Not all day, but a good bit of the day.”

  “How many hours?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “But several?”

  She grimaced again and nodded.

  For several hours a day, every day, she’d be out of his hair? He could use his kitchen. Make a sandwich with cold cuts instead of grilling a burger for lunch. Have a salad.

  He picked up his mug. “Sounds like a good idea. You go cruising online today, looking for things you like and I’ll set up an account tomorrow.”

  “Just like that?”

  He nodded. “Just like that.”

  “You aren’t going to tell me what you like?”

  “You’re supposed to be decorating for a woman. I’m not a woman. I just want the place to be comfortable. And not foo-foo. And no pink.”

  “What’s my budget?”

  Halfway to the door he paused, faced her. “Let me think about that a bit. Try to come up with a ballpark figure on big ticket items so I have an idea of the least amount of money you’ll need, and then I’ll give you a number.”

  Closing the kitchen door behind himself, Jeb smiled. They’d done it—Well, she’d done it. She’d come up with a way to stay out of his hair for the three weeks he was forced to keep her. He didn’t care if it cost him half a million dollars. But there was no way he’d let her know that. All he wanted was for her to be busy and out of his way.

  Problem solved.

  After Brady awakened from his morning nap the next day, Sophie dressed him in clean clothes and headed out for her first day as a decorator. She was glad it had been easy to convince Jeb to let her furnish his home, but walking through the downstairs, seeing just how empty the house was, she worried that she’d bitten off more than she could chew.

  A semiempty house might provide the opportunity to keep herself and Brady out of his hair, but it gave her no clue as to Jeb’s taste in furniture, what he would like, or even what he disliked.

  Brady on her arm, she roamed from room to room, becoming more and more overwhelmed. The house wasn’t merely empty, with virtually no clue of how to fill it, but also it was huge.

  Her parents were well-off but this guy was rich. Han
dsome, sexy, grouchy and rich.

  What the heck made her think she could please him? A man who could afford this house on a piece of property this big could have anything he wanted; and people who could have anything they wanted could be as hard to please as they wanted. What if he’d put off furnishing the place not because he didn’t want furniture and not because he didn’t have time to do it himself, but because he was so picky nothing appealed to him?

  Volunteering to decorate was absolutely the stupidest idea she’d had in a long time.

  Finding a stairway off a hidden corridor, she made her way to the lowest level only to discover another entire floor of rooms. Seeing hardwood floors, a huge white sectional sofa, mahogany bar and a fireplace as she descended the stairway, she assumed the space had been designed to be a family room. Further back she found two suites that she speculated should be guest areas if only because each had its own bath, but on the other side of the family room was a media room—at least partially furnished with a big screen TV and a row of comfortable lounge chairs. Beside that was a gym.

  She stepped into the gym and smiled wryly at the weight benches, treadmills, stair climbers and every type of exercise equipment she could think of. Now that she knew Jeb didn’t do much ranch work, she wasn’t surprised to find a room like this. This was definitely how a man got a great body like the one her boss had.

  She ran her fingers along the bars on the sides of two treadmills, wondering why he had two of everything. Did he exercise with a buddy? Did Slim join him?

  Even as she thought the last, she opened a door off to the side, thinking it was a closet, and instead discovered a dressing room and beyond that a shower and tub with jets. He had absolutely everything a person would need, but none of the little touches that made a house or any one of the rooms personal—not even a splash of color in paint.

  She returned to the dressing room and, looking around, found the closet, filled with fat white towels, soaps and other necessities. Everything was so white it gave her no clue as to her boss’s taste. She was just about to close the door when a bit of color caught her eye on the bottom shelf. She stooped down and came face-to-face with a box. Sliding it forward so she could peek inside, she saw nothing but pink. Pink towels, a pink terry-cloth robe, pretty pink hairbrush, even pink weights.