She was grateful for the purse in her lap. It gave her fingertips something to dig into. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry for,” she assured smoothly. “It’s not as if you were responsible it.” The brothers who’d been her last remaining hands had simply quit with no notice whatsoever. They’d collected their final pay and had moved out of the bunkhouse by the end of the day. Where they’d gone, she had no clue.
Nor much care. They’d barely been better than no help at all.
“No wonder you’re anxious for an answer,” Russ was saying. “Look, Miz McFarlane—”
“Melanie. You have a mouthful of nicknames for me. Surely you can manage that. Russ,” she added pointedly.
He ignored her. “I don’t know what kind of people you’re used to, ma’am, but around here, neighbors tend to watch out for neighbors.”
“Is that what you were doing three months ago when I moved onto the Hopping H and you assured me I was doomed to failure?”
“Pardon me for pointing out the obvious,” he countered, “but you’re sitting on land now with no hands on the payroll and judging by your offer to me—a desperate offer, I’ll bet—not much of an idea how to manage on your own without them. Is that how you folks define success?”
Success was what being a McFarlane was all about.
She dropped the lemon rind from her unfinished drink on the small square napkin beneath the glass and tossed back the rest of the cocktail. “I’m looking for replacements for Harlan and Danny,” she said. “But even when they are replaced—” the assurance was more bravado than anything since her efforts at hiring more hands had thus far been futile “—I want to know more about the ranch workings. I need to know.” She leaned toward him, lowering her voice. “The Hopping H is my future, Mr. Chilton. As a working guest ranch. I am not going to let it fail. Either you can help me in that endeavor, and benefit quite nicely in the process, I might add, or I’ll find someone else.” She didn’t know who, though. Hiring someone was out of the question, given the state of her finances. “Yes or no?”
“I get half an interest in the H.”
“Yes.” She’d thought about offering less, but desperate times called for desperate measures. And if—no, once—the guest ranch was on its feet and operating in the black, she’d be able to buy the man right back out again.
McFarlanes didn’t “do” partnerships any more than they ever asked for help.
“And all I have to do is teach you enough about running a ranch so that you can keep your place from sinking under.”
Her gaze darted around them. But nobody was paying them any heed, particularly since the lavish midnight buffet was being set out. “Yes. That, and—”
His brows drew together in a mighty frown. “And do it all while pretending to be your husband,” he finished.
Chapter Two
Russ watched the faint tide of red climb in Melanie McFarlane’s lily-white cheeks at his flat summation.
“Yes,” she replied in her slightly crisp voice. “That’s the deal.”
He picked up her empty martini glass and gave it an exaggerated sniff. “My old buddy Grant must be telling his barkeeps to pour heavy these days.”
“I am not inebriated,” she enunciated with the exaggeration of one who pretty much was. “Nor am I…off my bean, as you so eloquently phrased it.”
“Nobody ’round here will believe we’re hitched.”
“Why not?”
He very nearly laughed out loud at that. “People know me, for one thing.” And he’d made it more than plain that he had no intention of following the path to matrimony that every one of his buddies had been taking lately.
“Which means what? That you’re not interested in women?”
“Not redheaded women with Boston in their vowels, that’s for damn sure.” Been there. Done that. Nobody who knew him would believe he’d repeat the experience.
“I’ve never lived in Boston,” she assured snootily. “My family is from Philadelphia.”
The moneyed part of it, he added silently, where he knew the headquarters of her family’s hotel empire was located.
“And besides, the only people we need to convince of anything are my family,” she continued.
“Why?”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, seduction is key.”
“What’s the key?”
“Discretion,” she repeated so smoothly it left him wondering if he was the one who’d misheard, or she was the one who’d misspoke.
Either way, he damn sure needed to keep his mind off seduction where this woman was concerned. “What are you hoping to prove here, Melanie McFarlane?”
Her long lashes swept down, hiding her gaze. “I don’t know what you mean. This is a business venture. Of course, I expect to succeed at it.”
“Business ventures that involve you playacting as someone’s wife. What’s the deal? You’d rather have them think you’re married to someone like me, than let them think you couldn’t manage on your own?”
Her lashes flew up and he saw a tinge of guilt in her expression. Enough to wonder if he hadn’t hit on some truth. But all she did was turn up her nose a little in that way of hers. “I would be grateful if you could keep your voice down.”
He wasn’t exactly yelling. Hell. He didn’t want any of his friends overhearing their conversation, either. At the rate that weddings and engagements were occurring around Thunder Canyon, God only knew what sort of rumors might be set into motion. “And you figure six months is all it’ll take for you to learn the ins and outs of running the H.” It was laughable, really. Either she thought he had superhuman abilities—which he doubted, given the uppity looks she usually gave him—or she had no clue what a huge bite she was trying to swallow.
“I should certainly understand the basics by then. At least enough to know whether my ranch hands are doing their jobs or not.”
If Russ saw Harlan or Danny Quinn any time soon, he’d have a few words to say to the dolts. It wasn’t as if hands didn’t come and go. They did. But leaving a woman—no matter who she was—high and dry like they had was pretty damn low. “And if it’s not enough time?”
She didn’t look away. “Then naturally I would expect to renegotiate our agreement.”
“You’d give me more than fifty percent?”
Her lips curved, revealing the perfect, gleaming white edge of her teeth. “I’m a businesswoman, Russ. What do you think? Not in this lifetime. But there could be some additional financial remuneration.”
“You’d pay me cold hard cash to play your hus—”
She leaned forward, closing her hand over his forearm. “I believe we understand one another.”
He understood that those long, slender fingers of hers might as well have been branding irons given the effect they had on his flesh. “Then understand this.” He shifted and caught her hand in his as she went to draw away, and spotted the flicker in her deep brown eyes that she couldn’t quite hide. “I may be just a rancher, ma’am. But I know how to smell cow patties when I see ’em.”
She tugged at her hand and he loosened his grip enough for her to slowly work herself free. “You think this is some sort of game for me?”
“I don’t know what this is for you,” he admitted. “But there’s