Hank picked up Carly’s luggage again. “This way, Miss Cortazzo.”
He led the way up the narrow steps to the cramped second floor of the house. There was no hallway at the top—just a landing with four doors leading into the three small bedrooms and the bath. Hank shouldered open the door to the smallest of the three bedrooms.
And he promptly whacked his head on the low-hanging dormer. He staggered in pain, and smothered a curse.
“Are you all right?” Carly asked, right behind him.
“Yeah, sure.”
Manfully pulling himself together, Hank tossed her luggage onto the single bed that was tucked under the eaves. He hoped she hadn’t guessed that he hit his head because he’d forgotten the layout of the house he’d grown up hating.
Carly strolled to the bed and glanced around the small bedroom that Becky had carefully aired out and decorated with a watering can full of wildflowers. “How... quaint.”
“Well, it’s home,” Hank said, for lack of anything more imaginative. His head was still spinning from the crack he’d taken on the dormer. Or maybe it was the heady perfume Carly wore that made him slightly dizzy. The scent was intoxicating. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“Thank you.”
“The window props open if you like fresh air at night.”
“What an novel idea.”
“No fresh air where you live?”
“In Los Angeles? We have smog, not air.”
“I see. Well, the bathroom’s the door opposite.”
“Thanks.” She turned away from the window and stood facing Hank just eighteen inches away in the small room. “I’d like to fix my makeup before dinner.”
For a moment Hank forgot about risking his life in a roundup. Carly had the pale, peaches-and-cream skin of a pampered English lady—unusual for a California native. That creamy skin stretched down an elegantly long throat and plunged to the softly rounded curves of her breasts. Hank thought about tracing the line of her throat with his thumb just to test the delicacy of her skin, but banished the idea in favor of an indirect compliment instead. “You won’t need makeup out here, Miss Cortazzo.”
She heard the double meaning laced in his murmur and slanted a wry smile up at him. “I need makeup no matter where I am, Mr. Fowler. It’s my link to civilization.”
He laughed. He liked her, and decided it was safer not to discuss civilization. “Supper’s ready when you are.”
“I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
Hank lingered another moment, inhaling her fragrance, enjoying the light in her eyes and wondering what made her so damn tempting. She was good-looking and clever—a combination he enjoyed very much.
He hoped to hell she wasn’t so clever that she’d see through his masquerade too quickly.
Remembering to keep up appearances, Hank tipped his hat and drawled, “Welcome to the Fowler ranch, ma’am. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
“I’m sure I will.”
Then he left the bedroom and thumped down the steps. Charlie growled at him. Hank growled back, then hurried to the kitchen. He cornered his sister there. Becky was just hanging up the phone as he arrived.
In a hushed whisper he demanded, “What the hell have you gotten me into, Becky?”
“I’m sorry!” Becky hissed back, trying to keep her voice down so they wouldn’t be heard from upstairs. “How was I supposed to know a buyer was coming this week?”
“When’s he coming?”
“Day after tomorrow. We only have one day to round up all the cattle.”
“Did you get in touch with Fred?”
“He already left for his vacation in Disney World!”
“Then who—” Hank saw the expression on his sister’s face and felt the cold claw of dread grab his heart. “I can barely sit on a horse, let alone get it to do anything but run away with me! You’ve got to find somebody else to help, Beck.”
Becky folded her arms over her chest and leaned back against a shelf full of preserved peaches. “It’s going to look awfully suspicious to the calendar lady if you don’t saddle up and work the ranch, cowboy.”
“Then we need to come up with a plan—a logical reason why I’m not trying to get myself killed in a stampede.”
“You’re not as bad at ranch work as you think you are,” Becky soothed. “Heavens, you were riding before you were three years old!”
“And getting thrown off every pony within five hundred miles. I hate horses, Becky, and they know I hate them. Now it’s a conspiracy thing with the whole species.”
“We can’t tell the calendar lady who you really are. She specifically wants a cowboy, and we don’t get the money unless you come through.”
“Maybe I could break my leg or something. That would keep me out of harm’s way.”
Becky shook her head and frowned. “Too wimpy.”
“Wimpy! A real cowhand would work with broken bones, is that it?”
“Probably. Think of something else.”
He groaned. “Like what?”
Becky snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it. I’ll send you to look for strays! All you have to do is leave the ranch and stay gone for the whole day.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere! You can ride over the nearest hill, take a paperback book out of your saddlebag and read while the rest of us break our backs!”
“What happens if the horse runs away with me again?” Hank grinned as Becky blew an exasperated sigh. “Okay, okay, I can manage to stay in the saddle for a few hundred yards, I guess.”
“Good. The alternative would be to distract the calendar lady.”
“Distract her?”
Dryly, Becky added, “Of course, that wouldn’t be too hard, by the looks of things.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The two of you can’t take your eyes off each other.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Hank prided himself on his ability to resist women when the situation merited.
Becky looked delighted at having annoyed him. “Your tongues are practically hanging out.”
“Not true!” Hank flushed, hating the idea that he’d been so obvious.
Becky breezed out of the pantry and started to work on supper. “And she thinks you’re the sexiest thing since colored underwear.”
Hank followed his sister into the kitchen and couldn’t help asking, “You think so?”
Becky took a container of premixed biscuits out of the refrigerator, cracked it open and proceeded to line the biscuits up on a cookie sheet. “Believe me, big brother, you could distract Miss Cortazzo with one hand tied behind your back.”
Hank considered the situation. Yep, there was something exciting happening between himself and Carly Cortazzo. He found her very attractive. And according to Becky, the feeling might be mutual.
Trouble was, as far as Carly was concerned, Hank was supposed to be a tough cowboy.
Hank, however, preferred to live within walking distance of a subway system, fine restaurants, a good newsstand and at least one