And yes, he was grouchy as hell after taking a tumble at the end of a rodeo ten days ago, breaking his dominant arm in two places. The cast and sling left him barely able to dress himself. He was stuck wearing shirts a size too large so he could wedge his cast through. Thanks to one ill-timed kick from a horse, he couldn’t even manage to save a ten-pound mutt from a paddle in a pool.
A mutt currently drifting off to sleep, unimpressed with anything Marshall had to say.
He worked the button fly on his jeans, trying to keep his mind off images of his new housekeeper in her suite changing into dry clothes, too. Images of her sleeping under his roof at night.
Having her work days here helping prepare for the upcoming fund-raiser to be held at his home would have been somewhat simpler to manage than having her be his damn babysitter. But it wasn’t fair to penalize her for his family’s overreach.
Which left him with a dilemma.
He believed her when she said she’d sublet her place to save money. And she was correct that his stepmother—and therefore his father, too—would be upset if Marshall rejected help recovering. But Tally was a significant distraction.
He kept a rigid control over his world now, a far cry from his partying years full-time on the rodeo circuit. He’d played hard—drunk hard. Too hard. He’d been sober now for four years. Not a minute of it easy, but then taking it one day at a time was part of the program.
He should have known better than to step back into the rodeo ring, even for a onetime special show. For an instant, he’d been distracted by demons from the past, and now he had a broken arm to show for it.
As well as the knowledge it could have been much worse if that hoof had caught him in the gut or head.
He needed to get his focus back and his life reined in again. Holidays were difficult enough with the stress they brought, but with his recent accident... He was in a vulnerable place. He needed to steer clear of any temptations that could derail his sobriety.
He picked up the phone and dialed his father. “Dad, you and I need to have a talk.”
Jack Steele chuckled on the other end. “About what?”
“I’m not sure what agenda you and Jeannie have going on, but it’s not going to work.” The two were inseparable. Marshall found it tough to believe his father wouldn’t know about the new employee. He snagged his socks from the top of his dresser and sat on his king-size bed.
“You’ll have to give me more information. I’m in the dark.”
Marshall thumbed the phone on speaker with a frustrated sigh so he could tug on his socks one-handed. “Just because so many of your kids are settling down doesn’t mean I’m interested in joining the ranks of the duly domesticated.”
“So you keep telling us,” his father answered. “And what does this have to do with Jeannie?”
“I agreed for her to hire a part-time housekeeper. Not a live-in Victoria’s Secret supermodel.”
His dad laughed again, louder this time. “Son, I don’t see why the two are mutually exclusive. Seems that would be politically incorrect and downright wrong to factor looks into the hiring equation.”
Something was up. He just didn’t know what. “Did Jeannie interview the prospects?”
The line went silent.
“My point exactly.”
“So the housekeeper’s that attractive?”
Understatement. Her red hair, perfect curves and personality full of grit had sparked a fire in him. “Well, it didn’t help that she was starring in a wet T-shirt contest when we met.”
His father spluttered on the other end of the phone. “Run that by me again?”
“I was in the pool fishing out Nugget—”
“Whoa. Hold on. You were swimming with your cast on?”
“The dog fell in, so to call my rescue efforts ‘swimming’ is a stretch. Besides, I kept my arm above the water.” He tugged on gym shoes. Even putting on his boots was an ordeal.
“That was damn reckless,” his father said softly. “What if you’d reinjured yourself, worse this time?”
“Then I would have gotten patched up again. I couldn’t let Nugget drown. You would have done the same.”
A low grunt carried through the phone line. “True enough. How did the pup end up in the pool?”
“We were coming in from a walk,” he said, casting an eye at the scraggly pup who had come into his life when a member of his AA group had moved to Europe, “and Nugget ran through the sunroom door full tilt straight into the water.”
“Then the new hire showed up?”
“Exactly. Tallulah Benson’s got spunk, I’ll give her that.” He couldn’t shake the memory of seeing her plunge into the water, determination firing in her hazel eyes. And for heaven’s sake, how was it he remembered her eye color? “She jumped in, pushed right past me and scooped up Nugget.”
“Ah, thus the wet T-shirt reference.”
“Uh-huh.” The revived image of her soaking wet with all those curves on display threatened to steal his focus clean out from under him. “I was worried about her getting bitten since the mutt was so freaked out by this point. But she handled things with complete calm and competence.”
“She’ll need it to deal with you.”
“Are you insinuating I’m difficult?”
“Not insinuating. I’m stating facts. You’re stubborn, which can be good when you have a task to accomplish and bad when it holds you back from asking for help.” He paused. “I’m concerned about you.”
There was something in his father’s voice that gave Marshall pause. No one knew about his alcoholism. But had his dad somehow figured it out? Was the cleaning lady some kind of family spy to keep track of his sobriety?
The thought felt paranoid, but there was something reserved about Tally’s sparkling hazel eyes, a hint of secrets...
Although who was he to judge? He had secrets of his own to keep from her.
“Dad, let’s just say the position of the live-in cleaning lady is contingent upon my say-so and leave it at that.”
No matter how intense the draw of his housekeeper, he was going to table the attraction for as long as she was working for him.
Being drawn to her boss was not wise. At all.
But the laws of attraction defied logic.
She needed to get dressed quickly and start to work before her logic slipped further away.
Tally tugged on a soft long-sleeved cotton shirt—her work uniform along with khaki slacks. She just had to hold firm for six weeks. Surely she could keep her hormones reined in for that long.
She reached for her fur-lined ankle boots, her toes still chilly from her dip in the pool. Even the heated water had left her sprinting for her suite, teeth chattering.
Or maybe it was the man who’d sent her running, needing distance from her tempting boss. It was better to focus firmly on her job.
She’d cleaned a few upscale houses, but nothing like this. Her bedroom was more of a suite, larger than her apartment. No wonder room and board was such a big deal with this kind of accommodations.
Sure,