Taming the Lone Wolf (3 page)

“I don't see how my future plans are any of your business,” Tess retorted. “I'm sure I'll find something—”

“You can work for me.” Stony interrupted her.

Tess was speechless. “Doing what?” she managed to say at last.

He made a broad gesture around the bedroom. “I could use a housekeeper, and I know you can cook. I couldn't pay much, but I could give you free room and board. It would give you somewhere to stay and food in your mouths, at least until your wrist is healed.”

Tess took a second look around the room. This time she noticed the layer of dust on the wardrobe, the stack of dirty, rumpled shirts on the rocker, the horse magazines strewn across the floor, the empty beer can on the chest. It was clear the man could use a housekeeper. But if he had really wanted one, he could have hired one long ago.

Her gaze shifted back to Stony's face. “Why are you willing to do this for me?”

He frowned and rubbed his thumb along his lower lip. “I don't have any designs on you, if that's what you're thinking.”

She flushed. Because the thought had occurred to her. “I never—”

“Don't bother lying again. You've been itching to get out of here ever since you woke up.”

She heard the irritation in his voice. His thumb never stopped that lazy trail from one side of his
mouth to the other. She felt a surprising curl of desire in her belly and jerked her gaze away from his mouth back to his eyes. That was no better. They were dark and fierce and feral. They made her feel hunted. She lowered her lashes to hide from him but felt her body quiver in anticipation of the need to fight or to flee.

“The way I figure it, I owe you a job,” he continued, apparently unaware of her agitation. “I'm the one who got you fired—even if you should have quit a long time ago.”

“And worked where?” she demanded, incensed at the implied criticism. “There aren't too many waitress jobs in Pinedale.”

“Couldn't you do something else?”

Her anger died, consumed by frustration at her lack of education. She had a high school equivalency degree, but she had believed that was all she would ever need. She had never considered the necessity of any further formal education because she had been perfectly happy being a wife and mother. She had been very good at her chosen profession.

“I had a job I was happy with, until it was taken away from me.”

“Well, there you go. What was it?”

“Housewife.”

She saw the stricken look on Stony's face and realized she shouldn't take out her bitterness over Charlie's death against him. “I'm sorry. Ever since Charlie got himself killed, I—” She took a shuddering breath. She wasn't used to speaking aloud about Charlie, and the sudden lump in her throat surprised
her. She had believed she had come to terms with Charlie's untimely death. Apparently not.

“Was Charlie your husband?”

“Yes. Charles Lowell. He was a butcher at the local grocery store. Or so I thought. He was caught rustling cattle and was killed in the gunfight that followed.”

She looked up and discovered Stony staring at her grim-lipped. His face had paled, and his eyes narrowed to slits. “It's not a pretty story,” she admitted. “I was devastated, because I was caught off guard. I had no idea Charlie was involved in theft of any kind. I'm afraid I wasn't myself for a long time after that.”

“Didn't you have any family who could have taken care of you?” he asked.

“I'm an orphan. And Charlie's parents are dead. It was—and is—just me and Rose. The sheriff's office collected some money for us. Looking back, I suppose it was strange for them to do such a thing—but it got us through the first few months. When I was myself again, I looked around and realized I would have to get a job. Bud was the only one who would hire me without experience.

“I think he did it because he thought he could pressure me into sleeping with him. I'm sure he had no idea I would resist his advances so long or so completely.” Her lip curled up on one side. “I guess he finally ran out of patience.”

Stony grunted in sardonic agreement. “Will you take the job I offered you, or not?”

She twisted the sheet in the fingers of her good hand. She didn't have any choice. It was take his job
offer or starve. But she didn't like it. Stony made her nervous. He made her skin tingle. He made her feel things she didn't want to feel.

Nevertheless she said, “I'll take the job.” And then qualified her acceptance. “But only until my wrist heals, and I can decide what to do with my life.”

Or until the day came when it was no longer safe to remain with the lone wolf whose den she had invaded with her cub.

* * *

H
E HAD KILLED HER HUSBAND
.

Stony wished he had inquired about Tess's last name sooner. He had been shocked to hear her husband was Charles Lowell. He had been tracking that particular gang of rustlers for several months before he finally caught them in the act, and he had been forced into the gun battle that ensued. He had performed his job with the ruthless efficiency that had earned him his reputation, and Charles Lowell had died.

His identity as a range detective who hired out to large cattle spreads wasn't generally known, and Stony needed it to stay that way in order to infiltrate the roving bands of rustlers that plagued the vast Wyoming ranges. The police had cooperated and kept his name out of the local paper. For some reason, Tess Lowell had never asked the identity of the man who killed her husband, or she would have known who he was.

Stony knew he ought to confess immediately and give Tess the chance to spit in his face. But she didn't have anywhere else to go, and he was afraid she
wouldn't stay if she knew the truth. At least he could give her a place to live until she was well again. She and the kid needed him, and he owed them something because he was personally responsible for the loss of both husband and father, even if the man was a felon.

But he resented the intrusion on his solitude.

He was thirty-three and had lived alone in this five-room cabin, which he had built with his own hands, for the past ten years. He liked the quiet. He had spent many a long winter night before a flickering fire with nothing to disturb his peace but the wind rustling in the pines or the buildup of snow sliding off the steep blue tin roof in thunderous clumps.

When he needed a woman, he sought out one who only wanted the same brief physical satisfaction he desired. Lately he had decided even that sort of relationship wasn't worth the risk it entailed. His isolation had become complete and comfortable.

Until this redheaded woman and her redheaded child had invaded it.

His attention was drawn to the child, who woke suddenly and popped upright in bed like a jack-inthe-box.

“Mama!”

“Don't be frightened, Rose. I'm right here,” Tess said, holding out her good arm.

The little girl scuttled across the bed and flung herself across her mother's body as though she were being attacked by ravaging wolves. She peered up at Stony with green eyes a shade darker than her mother's and said very distinctly, “I want to go home.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Tess replied, brushing at the mass of bright red curls—shades lighter than her mother's deep auburn—that tumbled over her daughter's forehead. “I do, too. But we can't, not for a little while.”

The child sat up abruptly. “Why not?”

“Because your mother's arm is broken. She needs to rest and recuperate,” Stony said.

“What's reputerate?” the child said, her brows knitted in confusion.

“Get well,” Stony amended, amused at the child's mangled effort to repeat the grown-up word.

The little girl's eyes widened, and her gaze slid to the cast covering her mother's arm. She reached out tentatively to touch it. “Mama's hurt bad?”

“The cast is there to protect the broken bone so it can heal,” Tess explained.

Tears filled the child's green eyes and spilled over. Her lower lip stuck out, and her chin trembled. “Mama's hurt.”

Stony was amazed at the instant transformation. How did the kid do it? He watched her mother fall for the act.

“Oh, sweetheart, I'll be fine,” Tess said with a hitching sob as she gathered the child to her breast.

Stony snorted. He meant to convey disgust at the ridiculousness of sentimental tears over something that was done and over. He believed the little girl was simply manipulating her mother, for reasons he couldn't imagine and didn't care to figure out. Two sets of long-lashed, accusing green eyes settled on
him, and the sound in his throat changed to something more contemplative.

“Is anybody hungry?” he asked.

“I am,” Rose said.

Stony's lips twisted cynically when he saw how instantly the child's tears stopped. One clung to her lashes and skidded down her check when she gave him a wide-eyed blink.

“I'll make some breakfast,” he said.

“I'll do it.” Tess slipped her legs out from under the covers before she realized the T-shirt bared her all the way from her toes to her hips. She flushed and scooted back under the covers.

“Where are my clothes?” she asked.

“I had Mrs. Feeny put some things in a suitcase for you. It's there in the corner. You can get the rest of your stuff from her later.”

Stony was still having trouble catching his breath after the eye-stopping exhibit he had just witnessed. The woman wasn't tall, but she had incredible legs, long and silky and perfectly formed. He fought off the image of those legs wrapped around him. His genitals drew up tight in response to such mental titillation.

“I'll go make breakfast while you get dressed,” he said, backing his way out of the room. He felt perspiration dotting his forehead, even though the bedroom was far from hot. It disturbed him that his thoughts had taken such a decidedly lascivious turn. He had cast himself in the role of guardian. So long as Tess was under his roof, he had to resist any temp
tation to seduce her. He owed Charlie Lowell's widow that much consideration.

The whole wall of the house that encompassed the combined kitchen and living area contained French doors that opened onto a large elevated patio. The view included a forest of evergreen pines and fir interspersed with aspens that had lost their leaves earlier in the fall. The light and empty space immediately brought him comfort.

“Is this your house?”

Stony whirled from the refrigerator door and stared at the sprite who was standing barefoot not three feet away from him.

“You should be wearing slippers,” he said to the child, aware of how parental he must sound, when the last thing he ever wanted to be was a parent.

She looked down as she wiggled her toes on the polished hardwood floor. She glanced coyly at him from beneath lowered lashes. “Mama's getting me slippers for Christmas.”

Not without money, she wasn't, Stony thought grimly.

“Your feet must be cold,” he said, scooping the child up and carting her back toward the bedroom. She didn't weigh as much as a case of beer. “You can wear a pair of socks.”

“I'm not supposed to wear socks without shoes,” she said soberly.

He met her gaze and frowned.

Her chin trembled. “Mama says so.”

“I'm not going to bite you,” he snapped.

Rose burst into tears. “Mama!”

“What's going on?” Tess said, hurrying from the bedroom.

Stony was dismayed to see she had left his T-shirt on and merely added a pair of worn jeans. It wouldn't take much to have her naked. She was barefoot, too.

“I told the kid she shouldn't be running around barefoot on this cold floor.” He watched Tess's bare toes curl against the wooden floor. His gaze skipped back to her face, and he saw the blush was back in her cheeks.

“I don't have the money for slippers,” she murmured.

“Put on a pair of socks.”

“I think I'm capable of judging whether my feet are cold,” she retorted.

He shifted Rose to one arm and bent down to touch Tess's bare feet. “Your toes are like ice,” he said flatly. “Put on some socks.”

“I don't wear socks without—”

“Shoes,” he finished. “Then put on some socks and shoes.”

“Is that an order?” she asked.

He wanted to say yes, but the mulish tilt of her chin advised against it. “A suggestion.”

“Very well. I'll be right back.”

“Bring some socks and shoes for Rose,” he called after her. He looked down at the little girl who was peering at him wide-eyed.

“I don't like you,” she announced.

“I don't like you, either,” he said.

Rose didn't seem phased by the insult. “I'm hungry,” she said.

“So am I,” Stony muttered. “That's probably why I'm in such a foul mood.” It couldn't have anything to do with the two females who had invaded his lair.

“I can help cook,” Rose said.

“Can you now?” Stony set her on the counter beside the fridge so she would be off the floor while he rooted around for breakfast fixings. He set the eggs on the counter while he hunted out the bacon and English muffins.

A moment later he heard a tiny “Uh-oh,” followed by the sound of eggs cracking on the floor.

He whipped his head up and caught it on the refrigerator shelf. He grabbed at the painful spot and turned to find the eggs spilled from the carton and creating a gooey puddle on his floor.

The little girl's eyes were wide with fright. “I'm sorry.”

Stony fought down the urge to yell at her, remembering how quickly she could summon tears. Besides, accidents could happen to anyone. He was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. This time.

“Are you going to spank me?” the little girl asked, her chin aquiver.

“I didn't think parents spanked their kids anymore,” Stony said. “It's against the law, or something.”