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He reached inside the truck and hooked her carry-on bag with one hand, then took her arm with the other. They entered by the back door, which was unlocked. She was struck by the fact that he felt safe in not locking his door when he was going to be gone all day.
The back door opened into a combination mudroom and laundry. A washer and dryer lined the wall to the left, and the right wall bristled with pegs from which hung an assortment of hats, coats, ponchos and bright yellow rain slickers. A variety of boots, most of them muddy, were lined up on a rubber mat. Straight ahead and across a small hall was a full bathroom, which she realized would be convenient when he came in muddy from head to foot. He could take a bath without tracking mud or dripping water all through the house to the bathroom upstairs.
They turned left and were in the kitchen, a big, open, sunny room with a breakfast nook. Madelyn looked with interest at the enormous appliances, which didn’t fit her image of what the kitchen of a small-scale, bachelor rancher should look like. She had expected something smaller and much more old-fashioned than this efficient room with its institutional-sized appliances.
“The house has ten rooms,” he said. “Six downstairs, and four bedrooms upstairs.”
“It’s a big house for just one person,” she commented, following him upstairs.
“That’s why I want to get married.” He made the comment as if explaining why he wanted a drink of water. “My parents built this house when I was a baby. I grew up here. I want to pass it on to my own children.”
She felt a little breathless, and not just from climbing the stairs. The thought of having his children weakened her.
He opened a door directly across from the top of the stairs and ushered her into a large, pleasant bedroom with white curtains at the windows and a white bedspread on the four-poster bed. She made a soft sound of pleasure. An old rocking chair sat before one of the windows, and what was surely a handmade rug covered the smooth, hardwood plank flooring. The flooring itself was worth a small fortune. For all the charm of the room, there was a sense of bareness to it, no soft touches to personalize it in any way. But he lived here alone, she reminded herself; the personal touches would be in the rooms he used, not in the empty bedrooms waiting for his children to fill them.
He stepped past her and put her bag on the bed. “I can’t take the whole day off,” he said. “The chores have to be done, so I’ll have to leave you to entertain yourself for a while. You can rest or do whatever you want. The bathroom is right down the hall if you want to freshen up. My bedroom has a private bath, so you don’t have to worry about running into me.”
In the space of a heartbeat she knew she didn’t want to be left alone to twirl her fingers for the rest of the day. “Can’t I go with you?”
“You’ll be bored, and it’s dirty work.”
She shrugged. “I’ve been dirty before.”
He looked at her for a long moment, his face unsmiling and expressionless. “All right,” he finally said, wondering if she’d feel the same when her designer shoes were caked with the makings of compost.
Her smile crinkled her eyes. “I’ll be changed in three minutes flat.”
He doubted it. “I’ll be in the barn. Come on out when you’re ready.”
As soon as he had closed the door behind him, Madelyn stripped out of her clothes, slithered into a pair of jeans and shoved her feet into her oldest pair of loafers, which she had brought along for this very purpose. After all, she couldn’t very well explore a ranch in high heels. She pulled a white cotton camisole on over her head and sauntered out the door just as he was starting downstairs after changing shirts himself. He gave her a startled look; then his eyes took on a heavy-lidded expression as his gaze swept her throat and shoulders, left bare by the sleeveless camisole. Madelyn almost faltered as that very male look settled on her breasts, and her body felt suddenly warm and weighed down. She had seen men cast quick furtive glances at her breasts before, but Reese was making no effort to hide his speculation. She felt her nipples tingle and harden, rasping against the cotton covering them.
“I didn’t think you’d make it,” he said.
“I don’t fuss about clothes.”
She didn’t have to, he thought. The body she put inside them was enough; anything else was superfluous. He was all but salivating just thinking of her breasts and those long, slender legs. The jeans covered them, but now he knew exactly how long and shapely they were, and, as she turned to close the bedroom door, how curved her buttocks were, like an inverted heart. He felt a lot hotter than the weather warranted.
She walked beside him out to the barn, her head swiveling from side to side as she took in all the aspects of the ranch. A three-door garage in the same style as the house stood behind it. She pointed to it. “How many other cars do you have?”
“None,” he said curtly.
Three other buildings stood empty, their windows blank. “What are those?”
“Bunkhouses.”
There was a well-built chicken coop, with fat white chickens pecking industriously around the yard. She said, “I see you grow your own eggs.”
From the corner of her eye she saw his lips twitch as if he’d almost smiled. “I grow my own milk, too.”
“Very efficient. I’m impressed. I haven’t had fresh milk since I was about six.”
“I didn’t think that accent was New York City. Where are you from originally?”
“Virginia. We moved to New York when my mother remarried, but I went back to Virginia for college.”
“Your parents were divorced?”
“No. My father died. Mom remarried three years later.”
