She took a careful step back and raised her gaze to his face. She closed her eyes for a moment, searching for some semblance of dignity. “Mr. Hannigan, I’ve already told you that I did not write this letter, nor did I place any advertisements in any newspaper. Unbeknownst to me, my well-meaning niece placed the ad and wrote this letter. So these are your choices—you may stay and work the ranch as I’ve offered, or you may leave.”
He carefully plucked the letter from her hand, folded it, and slipped it back into its envelope, his gaze never once leaving hers. “I’ll stay.”
CHAPTER 2
She told him she was going to get someone named Antonio to get him settled in. He watched her walk away, her backside swaying gently beneath yards of pale blue silk. Oh, he liked her already. She had spirit. And gumption. Quite pleasant to look at, too, with her long light-brown hair, kissed by the moon with strands of silver, pulled away from her face to fall down her back in a riot of curls, and blue-gray eyes the color of storm-laden clouds. Her mouth—full and soft—seemed quite kissable. And the way color bloomed on her cheeks? Well, he liked that, too.
Why would a woman who looked like her need to advertise for a husband? It just didn’t seem plausible, but then she’d stated, quite clearly, that she hadn’t. It had been her niece working on her behalf.
And it didn’t matter. None of it.
Miss Everleigh Miller didn’t know it, but she—and this ranch hidden in a valley not far from the little town of Serenity—would be his salvation…for now. No one would dream of looking for him here.
He took his seat and finished the piece of cake, which was delicious but did little to fill the empty hole in his stomach. He’dbeen traveling for days, first by train, then by stagecoach, until finally hiring someone in Santa Fe to bring him here. That ride used up quite a bit of his available cash. The windfall he’d won at the gambling table from kingpin Erik King was safely stashed in a black valise with Father O’Malley, the only man Jake trusted.
Still, all the travel had been worth it. He was in a safe place, far from Erik King and San Francisco. He had told her he’d stay, yet he knew nothing about horses or cattle and had an idea this job meant getting up at the crack of dawn. The only time he usually saw the sun rise was when he’d stayed out all night because the cards had been in his favor.
A cat, a pretty little calico, jumped into his lap again and settled herself, her purrs rumbling from deep in her throat. He stroked her soft fur, eliciting louder purrs, which made him smile. He liked cats, and they seemed to like him. There had been one at the home for boys where he grew up, a big orange tabby that prowled into the dorm room on a nightly basis and chose a child to sleep with, which had usually been him. Strange thing, that cat didn’t belong to anyone at St. Anselm’s. Like them, she was a stray. How she got into the orphanage after Father O’Malley locked the doors, no one seemed to know. Or care.
He was a gambler by trade for the past five years, and he’d been luckier than most, winning enough to buy a beautiful home in San Francisco for cash and live the life he wanted—good food, good clothing, fine wine, beautiful women—a far cry from the boys’ home where he spent his youth. But even with all that, something was missing.
How quickly that life of leisure, that pursuit of pleasure, had disappeared, not by a loss, but strangely, by a win. He should never have played poker with Erik King. He’d known of the man’s reputation long before he’d dealt the cards, though he had never met him. It was said among his fellow gamblers thatKing hated to lose, that he was ruthless, easily offended, and persistent in his single-minded pursuit to get any perceived loss returned, by fair means or foul. More than one man had lost his life to King when they’d won against him.
The rumors about King were true, as he’d quickly learned, after a series of unfortunate, life-threatening events.
Something had to change. And that change had come in the form of a newspaper advertisement Father O’Malley conveniently left beside his coffee cup one morning. It was time, the good Father told him, most emphatically, to stop gambling and become respectable. He’d responded to the advertisement to appease the old man, mostly, which is how he ended up here, waiting for the delightful Miss Miller to return. Besides, what was one last gamble, perhaps the biggest one of his life?
“It’s not funny, Antonio.” He heard her say, then male laughter, and looked up to see her walking toward him. Once again, he couldn’t help noticing how beautiful she was—for someone who had been described in the advertisement as a mature, older woman. He pegged her at around the same age as he was, which was thirty-five, though it was often difficult to tell.
An older man accompanied her, one who carried himself proudly, like he was accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed. Tall and brawny, he walked with a slight limp…no, that wasn’t a limp. The man was quite bowlegged. From years spent in a saddle? Lines crinkled from his deep-brown eyes, as if he’d spent his entire life outside, squinting into the sun. Hair, not silver or gray, but pure white, surrounded his head and repeated in the impressive horseshoe mustache that covered his upper lip and extended down the sides of his mouth to flow, unimpeded, past his chin.
Jake removed the cat from his lap and rose to his feet.
There was no smile on the man’s lips now, but amusement remained in his eyes and on his face. Despite that, Jake got thedistinct impression that this man brooked no disobedience, no shenanigans, as Father O’Malley called them. He’d hate to see him sitting across the poker table, cards in hand, money in a pile. He’d be the type to smile as he laid down an ace-high flush.
Everleigh Miller stopped in front of him. “Mr. Hannigan, this is Antonio Lucero, my good friend and former ranch foreman. He’ll get you settled.”
Jake found his hand engulfed in the man’s, felt the calluses of hard work on his palm and the strength in his fingers.
“Hannigan,” the man said, his mustache moving as he spoke. Was that humor dancing in the older man’s eyes as he glanced at her? Did he find the situation amusing? If he had to guess, he’d say yes.
“I’ll leave you in Antonio’s capable hands.” When she walked away, Jake watched her until she entered the house and closed the door behind her.
Antonio cleared his throat, drawing his attention. “Let’s grab your gear.”
Confused, Jake stared at him. “My gear?”
“Your saddle. Your horse.”
“I don’t have a saddle but my bags are on the front porch.” He didn’t ride, had only been on a horse once in his life—when he was five—and it was not a good experience. His backside, after all these years, still remembered the pain of being thrown. “I don’t have a horse, either.”
“Fine. We’ll fix you up.” He cast a questioning glance his way, mustache twitching. “Do you ride, Hannigan?”
“No, sir.”
The man heaved a sigh, his shoulders slumping as he turned toward the house, as if trying to see the woman who had given him this problem. “Guess we’ll have to teach you, then. Teach you how to rope, too, ‘cause I don’t suppose you know how to do that either.”
“No, sir, I don’t.” Jake looked around him. Exactly what had he gotten himself into?
