Rancher In Her Bed
“Seriously? How old is she?” Frankie steadied herself as the truck bounced over a pothole near the turnoff for the main house.
“She’s eighteen and away at college. My dad was supposed to tell her the whole story once she reached adulthood, and Maya is more than a little upset he hasn’t done that yet.”
Xander clicked on his high beams as the truck reached the wooden archway bearing the Currin Ranch sign.
“I hate secrets.” The passion behind her words was obvious.
“That makes two of us.” He’d had his own issues with secrets and surprises, and he sure as hell didn’t plan to tread down that path again. He steered past the bunkhouse where a lot of the younger guys slept and headed toward the cabins. “But I’m guessing my dad has good reasons for keeping his. Maybe your parents are trying to protect you somehow.”
“Maybe.” She didn’t sound convinced. “Anyway, thanks for the ride home.”
She was tugging at her seat belt before he even had the truck parked. Because she wanted to escape his company? Or was she trying to ignore the same spark that kept drawing his gaze over her way?
“You don’t have to thank me. I know this wasn’t the ending you wanted for your evening.” He switched off the truck to walk her to her door.
“It’s fine,” she rushed to say, already opening the truck door. “I can see myself inside.”
He reached across the cab to put a hand on her forearm. “Frankie, wait.”
Touching her had been a mistake—he knew it as soon as soon as his fingers landed on her sleeve. They wanted to linger there, to glide up her arm and around her shoulder to draw her closer. But he could hardly yank his hand back like he’d gotten scalded without revealing just how damned much she affected him.
So he let his fingers rest lightly where they were.
“I was hard on you tonight. Let me at least walk you to your door so I can tell myself I made an attempt to be a gentleman.”
“You’re my boss, not a gentleman,” she argued, then frowned. “That came out wrong. What I mean is—”
“But as you pointed out earlier, we’re not on the clock tonight.” His fingers grazed her bare skin on the underside of her wrist, a surprisingly tender spot where he could feel her pulse thrum fast.
Her green eyes were wide in the glow of the dome light.
“Right.” Her voice was all rasp and no substance. She cleared her throat. “Okay.”
He slid his hand away and stepped out of the truck, walking around to her side.
He reached up to help her down, but she hopped out on her own. Wary of his touch? Or stubbornly proud?
Maybe a little of both. She was an intriguing woman.
“Thank you.” She chewed her lower lip and peered up at him in the moonlight. “What time will I see you tomorrow?”
His gaze zeroed in on her mouth, his own suddenly dry as dust.
“I’ll pick you up at seven.” He was already questioning the wisdom of this bargain he’d made with her.
If she was affecting him this much now, what would it be like tomorrow night when they had a whole evening together? Already, the memory of the feel of her made his hands itch to touch her again. He hadn’t thought this through well at all.
She nodded, her dark braid sliding down her shoulder. “And just so I’m clear, will we be off the clock tomorrow, too?”
Was she flirting with him? Or was he reading too much into it because he wanted her?
The tension of holding himself back was quickly knotting his shoulders, and they’d been together less than an hour.
“I’m going to let you make that call. You can tell me how much of the evening you want to be business and how much should be—” he couldn’t think of any way to say it that didn’t sound like a come-on “—pleasure.”
She must have heard it, too, because her lips parted in soft surprise.
“Good night, Frankie.” He was already imagining her in an evening gown and liking what he saw.
He played a dangerous game letting his thoughts wander there, but he’d be damned if he could stop himself.
And with a silent nod, she pivoted on her boot heel and disappeared inside her cabin.
Three
Frankie finished her work as fast as possible on the afternoon of the gala, knowing she’d need extra time to get ready. She’d worked on the irrigation system most of the day, and had the dirty boots, jeans and face to prove it.
No doubt her hair was a hot mess under her hat, too.
Anticipation fired her movements as she returned one of the ranch’s all-terrain vehicles to an overflow bay in the mansion’s garage. She left the keys in the ignition, noticing that Xander’s pickup was there, but his sports car wasn’t. She hadn’t seen him at all around the ranch during the day, but he’d told her he’d pick her up at the cabin at seven.
Which left her less than two hours to get ready.
At least she didn’t have to spend any time choosing a dress, since she had only one possibility in her closet. Her lone black cocktail dress seemed like a boring option for an event like the gala, but it would have to suffice. Striding across the big horseshoe driveway toward her cabin, she noticed a sleek white Mercedes coupe parked in front of the main entrance of the Currin home.
As she neared the vehicle, the tall oak door of the house opened and Annabel Currin, Xander’s half sister, stepped out onto the porch. She carried an armful of dresses—turquoise silk and emerald satin hems peeking from beneath the plastic bags with the name of a pricey local boutique.
“Those look like some gorgeous gowns,” she called to her. She didn’t know Xander’s sister well, but Annabel had always been nice to her.
Tall and willowy, Annabel had been doubly blessed in the beauty department thanks to her Kenyan mother, Elinah, and movie-star handsome father, Ryder Currin. Frankie had seen photos of the couple before Elinah’s passing, and Xander’s stepmother had been stunning. Annabel favored her mom, with high cheekbones and dark brown eyes.
“Don’t make me second-guess myself!” Annabel warned her with a laugh as she rushed down the steps toward her car. “I decided to keep the yellow one for the gala tonight, but it was a tough call because I love them all. I was just loading these up to donate tomorrow.”
Frankie knew that Annabel was a local fashion and style blogger and often received samples from designers.
“Do you mean to tell me these are the rejects?” Frankie slowed her step as she neared Annabel’s car. A fresh pang of worry about the dress code hit her. “Do you think a cocktail dress will be okay for tonight, or will I feel really underdressed if I don’t have a gown?”
“You need a gown?” Annabel’s eyes widened. “You’re going to the gala?”
Frankie nodded, her anxiety doubling. “A cocktail dress is the wrong choice, isn’t it?”
“You can wear one of these! No need to return it, even. I’ll bet you are exactly my size.” Annabel looked her over.
She felt self-conscious, knowing that she’d never worn an article of clothing as fine as the dresses in Annabel’s arms.
“That’s far too generous,” she demurred. “I couldn’t possibly—”
“Nonsense.” Annabel clamped a hand on her wrist and tugged her toward the steps. “Cowgirl makeovers are my specialty.”
Was she serious? Frankie had seen a few makeovers on the successful blog.
“Annabel, I’m a mess.” Trepidation growing, she followed her onto the porch and through the front door, into the Currin family’s home, which was more like a palatial Western retreat.
“That’s why you’ll make such a rewarding subject.” Annabel headed straight for the grand staircase. “It will be fun.”
“But you need to get ready, too.” Frankie paused. “I don’t want to be in your way.”
“You won’t be. I can get myself ready in ten minutes flat, if necessary.” She shot her a level look. “Trust me, I timed myself and made a video for my beauty blog about paring down a routine when you’re in a hurry.”
Frankie laughed. “That’s impressive. Okay, I’m game if you are. But I should take my boots off.”
A few minutes later, they were in Annabel’s huge suite. Frankie had stepped inside the Currin home before, but she’d never been past the foyer. Now she peered around Annabel’s massive room in dove gray and off-white, the muted color scheme relaxing and peaceful. She listened to Annabel hum softly to herself while she hung the spare dresses on a narrow wall full of antique hooks near an old-fashioned changing screen. Then she reached into a shelf just inside the walk-in closet and emerged with a pink silk drawstring bag.
“Come with me.” Annabel waved her toward an open door to the en suite bath. “There’s an extra robe on the back of the bathroom door.” She peeked behind the door to be certain. “And toiletries in here.” She set down the pink silk bag on the marble vanity top. “While you shower, I’ll think about what we can do with your hair. Sound good?”
Touched at the thought of Annabel opening her home to her, sharing an expensive gown with her and walking her through getting ready for such a special night, Frankie found herself at a loss for words. She feared if she tried saying thank you she would embarrass herself by bursting into grateful tears.
Nodding, she took refuge in the giant bathroom, surrounded by sleek white marble and pale gray tile accents. A bouquet of gardenias and white clematis spilled over a pewter vase, filling the air with fragrant notes. She washed up as fast as possible, making sure to remove all traces of Texas dust. When she was certain she was spotless, she toweled off with one of the fluffy bath sheets that Annabel had set out for her. Beside the towels, she saw the pink silk drawstring bag. Inside, she found pretty, barely-there underthings with tags still attached, along with a spare toothbrush and sample-sized toiletries. After brushing her teeth, she slid into the spare white robe.
When she opened the door to Annabel’s suite, the space had been transformed. The recessed lights were on a dimmer, so that the bed and living area were now darkened. The brightest area of the room was now the corner that had been behind the changing screen. The painted screen had been folded aside to reveal an old-fashioned dressing table. The whitewashed French country piece had yellow and blue stenciled flowers on the drawers, and a round mirror was illuminated by wall sconces on either side. A small leather stool sat in front of the vanity.
“Are you ready for your makeover?” Annabel waved her deeper into the suite and Frankie noticed her hostess had applied her own makeup in the interim. “I’ve got your seat ready for you.”
“I can’t believe you’re doing all this for me.” As she dropped down onto the leather stool, she tried to articulate the gratitude that had seized her before the shower. “You’re like a fairy godmother.”
“This is fun for me,” Annabel assured her. “I never really found my place on the ranch, but the style business suits me.”
She talked a little more about her work in fashion and beauty blogging, then chatted about her fiancé, Mason Harrison, an executive at Currin Oil. Frankie found herself relaxing while she let Annabel dry her hair and set it in hot rollers, something Frankie had seen but never used.
“So who are you going to the gala with tonight?” Annabel asked once she’d moved on to makeup.
She tipped Frankie’s face this way and that, studying it in the light before reaching for a palette of colors in shades of cream to dark brown.
“Xander, actually.” She explained about the rodeo and the deal they’d made. “So it’s not like a date or anything. Just his way of making sure I didn’t break my neck, I guess.”
Annabel stiffened, dropping the compact she’d been holding.
“Annabel?” Frankie leaned forward to pick up the pretty red case with all the powders. “Are you okay?”
Had she said something wrong?
“I’m fine.” The other woman seemed to force a smile. “Sorry about that, I just got distracted for a moment. You know, we should choose the gown before we do any more. So I can use the right colors for your face.”
Was it Frankie’s imagination, or had Annabel been in a hurry to change the subject? But since she didn’t want to make her hostess uncomfortable, she hopped out of the chair to try on dresses. While she was in the huge closet—really like a room of its own, with a chandelier and padded window seat—trying on the first one, she could hear Annabel talking in the other room. When she emerged in the turquoise silk, however, Annabel was alone, texting on her phone.
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