Rancher's Proposition

“Marry Me, Lyn.”

Lyn tugged her hand from his and hugged her arms around her body in a gesture of defensiveness. He cursed himself for being impulsive. “Cal, you don’t marry someone because you have good chemistry with them.”

He kept his voice low, soothing. “It’s not that.” He placed his hands on her upper arms. “Don’t give me an answer now. Let me explain what I’ve been thinking.”

“You don’t have to feel responsible for me, Cal. I can take care of myself now.”

“Lyn, I’d like very much for you to be my wife. I’d like to make a life for you, work this ranch and have children with you.” He grinned. “You may even be pregnant now.”

She blushed. “It’s—it’s a big step for me.”

He understood. Marriage hadn’t been a picnic for her the last time. “I’m not like your ex-husband, baby. I respect your opinions and I’d never mistreat you. I would…protect you.”

Dear Reader,

Thanks to all who have shared, in letters and at our Web site, eHarlequin.com, how much you love Silhouette Desire! One Web visitor told us, “When I was nineteen, this man broke my heart. So I picked up a Silhouette Desire and…lost myself in other people’s happiness, sorrow, desire…. Guys came and went and the books kept entertaining me.” It is so gratifying to know how our books have touched and even changed your lives—especially with Silhouette celebrating our 20th anniversary in 2000.

The incomparable Joan Hohl dreamed up October’s MAN OF THE MONTH. The Dakota Man is used to getting his way until he meets his match in a feisty jilted bride. And Anne Marie Winston offers you a Rancher’s Proposition, which is part of the highly sensual Desire promotion BODY & SOUL.

First Comes Love is another sexy love story by Elizabeth Bevarly. A virgin finds an unexpected champion when she is rumored to be pregnant. The latest installment of the sensational Desire miniseries FORTUNE’S CHILDREN: THE GROOMS is Fortune’s Secret Child by Shawna Delacorte. Maureen Child’s popular BACHELOR BATTALION continues with Marooned with a Marine. And Joan Elliott Pickart returns to Desire with Baby: MacAllister-Made, part of her wonderful miniseries THE BABY BET.

So take your own emotional journey through our six new powerful, passionate, provocative love stories from Silhouette Desire—and keep sending us those letters and e-mails, sharing your enthusiasm for our books!

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Rancher’s Proposition
Anne Marie Winston

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Richard and Kathy Jobgen, my “Kadoka Konnection,” with gratitude and thanks for their patience and graciousness in answering my endless idiotic city-girl questions. For the many miles we traveled together and all the people they shared with me. Here’s to friends, wherever they may be found.

ANNE MARIE WINSTON

has believed in happy endings all her life. Having the opportunity to share them with her readers gives her great joy. Anne Marie enjoys figure skating and working in the gardens of her south-central Pennsylvania home.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Prologue

He couldn’t believe his sister had done this to him.

Cal McCall gritted his teeth and fumed silently as he regarded the woman standing before him. She was on the tall side for a woman, but even the oversize shirt and too-large jeans she wore couldn’t disguise the stick-thin look of her. Her head was down, and a thick curly mane of dark red hair hid most of her face and half her upper body as she stood passive, unmoving, waiting for…for what?

Questions, he assumed. Instructions. He’d asked his sister to hire a housekeeper for him, so this was his own damned fault. Silver had the softest heart in South Dakota. She’d told him that Lyn Hamill needed a job and a place to stay when she was released from protective services; he, as far as his sister was concerned, was the perfect answer.

Again, his gaze ran over his new employee. Hell, she didn’t look well enough to be out of the hospital much less capable of taking care of the big old ranch house he’d recently purchased. He knew she’d been a victim of domestic abuse and he surely was sympathetic to her troubles, but he needed someone who could paint and wallpaper, someone who could scrub bathtubs and haul loads of laundry, keep a vegetable garden, herd cantankerous bulls and groom horses if need be. This woman looked like she’d need help even to groom herself.

“So,” he heard himself say. “I, ah, I understand you want to work for me.”

The head nodded, a slight movement that set the red curtain of her hair rippling, and copper sparks shot from it where the sun touched it. He had to restrain the urge to reach out and hook a finger through one of the curls that hung freely to well below her shoulders. One thing he’d say for her, she had pretty hair.

He sighed heavily. Silver had him between a rock and a hard place and she knew it. One of his dreams had been to buy back the ranch his daddy had owned. When the opportunity had arisen, he’d lunged at it, and Silver had pitched in to help him clean and redecorate the outdated old house. Unfortunately, she’d fallen for a neighboring rancher and gotten married before the job was done.

Still, he owed her for her help. And the only wedding gift she wanted from him was his promise to give this gal a chance.

“Well, I guess we can give it a shot,” he said. “I’m finishing some remodeling, so there’s going to be some mess and upheaval from time to time. And I’ll need your help with a few outside chores as well.” He paused, expecting a response, but she remained perfectly still. After the silence got awkward, he said, “Where are your things? I’ll go ahead and load them while you say your goodbyes.”

The woman nodded again. Without raising her head, she pointed to a large paper bag with two handles and a familiar department store logo. It leaned drunkenly against one of the porch posts of the women’s shelter where he’d come to pick up his new employee.

He looked at the bag, then at her. “This is it?” He’d never met a woman who could travel with less than six pair of shoes, ten pounds of cosmetics and major quantities of female junk. This single bag couldn’t possibly be the only thing she was bringing.

“Are you ready to leave, dear?” A big, plump woman wearing a pair of jeans that would fit a much smaller person clumped across the porch of the shelter for women in crisis situations. She wore an eye-popping electric pink blouse with a hefty belt of beaten silver cinched tightly around her, and when she folded his silent companion against her ample bosom, Lyn’s hair splayed across the pink shirt in a truly appalling color combination that made him wince involuntarily.

Still holding the young woman in her arms, the director looked over Lyn’s shoulder at Cal. “So you’re Mr. McCall. I’m Rilla. Your sister is a lovely person.” She uttered the words in a tone that clearly doubted he shared his sibling’s attributes.

He smiled, giving the director, or housemother or whatever the heck she was, his warmest, most sincere smile. It was a smile that had convinced dozens of wary investors to trust him with their hard-earned money, and it didn’t fail him this time, either. “I promise you Miss Hamill will be treated with the utmost respect in my home, ma’am. Is there anything special I can do to make her more comfortable?”

The matron laughed, a full, hearty belly laugh that matched the warm twinkle in her heavily mascaraed eyes. “Other than having a sex-change operation, I doubt there’s much you can do to make her more comfortable.”

“Sorry. That’s not in my plans.” Cal grinned as Rilla gave her charge a final squeeze and pushed her toward his waiting truck.

“You go ahead, honey. I want to have a little word with Mr. McCall.”

The young woman murmured something in a low voice that he didn’t catch, the first sound he’d heard her utter, and returned the woman’s hug with a stranglehold that would have been lethal if she’d been any bigger than a twig. Then the two women parted, and Lyn reached for the pathetic paper bag.

“I’ll get that.” Cal moved toward her. It couldn’t be too heavy but he’d bet his last dime she’d struggle to drag it to the truck. He reached out for the bag she was about to pick up, and the girl gave a panicked squeak. Cal stepped back involuntarily, and Lyn backed away from him so fast she fetched up hard against the lady still standing behind her.

“Honey, honey,” the woman soothed. “It’s all right. Mr. McCall’s a gentleman. He’s only going to carry the bag for you.” She patted Lyn’s shoulder and gave her a gentle push. “You go get in the truck now.”

There was a brief silence while Lyn took a deep, shaky breath that he could hear clear over where he waited, then walked off. Cal shook his head, pushing his hat back and hooking his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans, rocking back on his heels in thought. This was looking worse and worse. How was he going to deal with a housekeeper who was terrified of him? “I’m not so sure this is going to work out,” he said to Rilla.

“Well, I’m not sure it’s going to work, either,” the big woman informed him, hands on hips. “Your sister thinks you’re a saint. But frankly, I’m not so sure you’re up to the task of dealing with a little wounded critter like that.” She pointed to his truck where Lyn was sitting obediently.

That stung. It was one thing for him to say it wouldn’t work, but he’d be damned if he’d let somebody else judge him and find him lacking.

“I can deal with her,” he said, injecting confidence into his tone. “I just don’t want to scare her any more than she already is.”

Rilla sighed. “She’s got to get used to being around men again. Your sister gave me some references on you and everybody I talked to says you’re a good man.”

He was astounded, then outraged. “You called people for character references on me?”

The woman shrugged, but her eyes were filled with glee. “You bet. I have to be sure my clients are going to be safe when they leave here.” Then the laughter faded from her eyes and a profound sorrow replaced it. “Mr. McCall, you can’t imagine the things I’ve seen. The things some of the women who come through here have endured. For some of them, simply surviving is a victory. Little Lynnie there, she’s got good reason to fear men. I saw her right after your sister brought her to the hospital and I know the doctors weren’t real sure she’d ever be the same again. Physically or in her head.” She paused, then raised her eyebrows. “She says she doesn’t remember anything about what happened. She might never. The important thing is that she have a good, quiet place to recover.”

“Is there anything special I should do for her?” He didn’t have time for this, he told himself even as the words came out of his mouth. He had a ranch to get back on its feet, stock to buy, men to hire. He didn’t have time to baby-sit.

Rilla shook her head. “She doesn’t need medical treatment, just time to heal in her heart. You be gentle, give her lots of space, and time’ll do the rest. She’s got a support group that meets here if she needs it. I’ll call her once in a while and see how she’s doing. Your sister said she’d check on Lynnie occasionally.”

Cal nodded, trying to suppress the smile that threatened at the mention of his sister. He knew that to Silver “occasionally” probably meant two or three times a day. “She’s due back from her honeymoon in a few days and I imagine she’ll be over to make sure everything’s going okay.” He took a deep breath. “Well, Miss Rilla, you come visit anytime you like. We’ll feed you and there are plenty of empty bedrooms for a guest.”

“Thank you.” The woman put out her hand, and when he took it, she gave his hand a heftier shake than many of the ranchers he knew were capable of. “You take care of Lynnie and call if you have any questions.” She reached out and tucked a piece of paper in his shirt pocket. “There’s my number. Any time of the night or day. Emergencies don’t keep business hours.”

That sobered him. He knew all about emergencies. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “We’ll hope that little gal has had all the emergencies she’s going to for one lifetime.”

The hour-and-a-half drive home from Rapid City never had seemed so long. His new housekeeper sat silently in her seat, apparently unaware that common courtesy might direct her to make some small effort at conversation.

His thoughts were a jumbled mess and because he was preoccupied with sorting them into order, he didn’t bother to try to draw her out. When they reached the town of Wall, he asked her if she needed to stop for anything, but she shook her head. He hoped that meant she wasn’t going to need a bathroom for a while because Kadoka, their destination and the next outpost of civilization along this strip of I-90, was another hour away.

When they got off the interstate at Kadoka, he asked her again if she needed to stop, and again she shook her head, so he headed down Route 73 south of town, toward his outfit, and finally, finally, he reached the turnoff to his ranch. His ranch. The notion gave him a rush of pleasure every time it occurred to him that he owned the land. He avoided the worst of the ruts in the lane, promising himself that would be one of the next things he’d see to now that he was back for good.

As they came within sight of the house, he couldn’t help glancing over at his new employee, wanting to see her reaction to his home place.

Tears were streaming down her face.

He was so shocked he slammed on the brake, jolting them both forward against their seat belts. Lyn shrieked and he immediately cut the engine, saying, “Hey, there, it’s all right. It’s all right.”

She took a trembling breath as he ripped off his hat and raked a hand through his hair. When he could trust his voice to be calm again, he asked, “Have I done something to upset you?”

She shook her head, the red hair flying around her shoulders, but she still, as far as he could tell, hadn’t looked directly at him.

“Then why are you crying?” He couldn’t keep the trace of exasperation from his voice.

Lyn raised her head. Slowly, she turned to look at him and for the first time, he got to see what she looked like under all that hair. Her eyes were green. No, that was wrong. Her eyes were huge, emerald pools. Unfortunately, around those striking eyes were green and yellow bruises, and a deeper yellow lump stood out on her forehead. Her skin was fair, except for the faint shadows of bruises mottling her face and neck, and she had a faint sprinkling of freckles across her nose and over her cheeks. But it was her mouth that drew his notice.

A long, ugly wound marred the otherwise flawless lower half of a pair of lips that formed a pretty Cupid’s bow. The scar came from beneath her jaw on the left side and reached up to claw through her lip. Red marks indicated that stitches had recently been removed, and he suspected that plastic surgery had been done, because the repair looked neat and efficient and already seemed to be fading from what he was sure had been a doozy of a cut.

He was afraid she’d see him staring, so he quickly looked back at her eyes, willing himself to ignore the obvious evidence of damage to her face. Her eyelashes and eyebrows were a rich dark chestnut, the brows arching elegantly above those unforgettable eyes.

Eyes that were still sparkling with tears, he suddenly realized.

Again, he said, “Why are you crying?”

She opened her mouth. Worked it, but no sound came out. Again she tried, and this time a trickle of a husky whisper reached his ears. “I used to live here.”

One

Nine weeks later…

Lyn Hamill glanced at the sturdy waterproof watch on her left wrist. It wasn’t exciting, as jewelry went, but she treasured it because Cal McCall had given it to her the second week after she’d come to work at his ranch. Almost four o’clock. Good. She used the back of her arm to wipe sweat from her forehead and grabbed the tongs, deftly plucking the canning jars from the boiling water and replacing them with another batch while the first ones cooled. She would have enough time to finish the last half-bushel of tomatoes before her employer came in for dinner.

Carrying a load of completely cooled tomato jars to the basement, she took a moment to survey her handiwork with a feeling of satisfaction. Although she had arrived at the ranch in July, too late for any planting, she had managed to get a good start on stocking up for winter. Now, onions and garlic hung from the wooden rafters in net bags and bushel baskets of potatoes stood on the bare dirt floor. She was steadily filling the wooden shelves that stood against three walls. Already they held canning jars filled with bread-and-butter pickles, green beans, peas, plum butter, buffaloberry jelly and the tomatoes she was putting up today.

Cal gave her a household allowance from which she was to buy groceries and anything else she thought they needed. She was a frugal shopper and the allowance was generous, so she’d bought vegetables to replace the things she would have planted if she’d been here in the spring. Neighbors had given her the tomatoes and a number of other things. Or more accurately, they’d given Cal gifts to welcome him back to the community and she’d been the logical recipient, since he was out on the range most of the time.

She’d helped Cal’s sister dig the potatoes, and Silver had insisted she take some home. And just yesterday she’d harvested some squash that had come up by itself and managed to survive all summer unattended. It was September now and she’d been home—here—nearly nine weeks. It’s not your home anymore, she reminded herself sternly. She was merely an employee of the owner. And as such, she’d pick apples tomorrow and make pies with the little red ones. The others would make good applesauce and apple butter.

Upstairs, a door slammed. Her hand flew to her throat and her body jolted. Her breathing stuttered, and for a moment, she could hear her heartbeat roaring in her ears. Fear froze her feet to the floor.

He’d finally found her. If she’d still been holding the tomato jars, they’d be shattered on the sod floor. Wayne. God, what was she going to do? She was trapped down here. What if he—what? What if he what? Just as she had each time she tried to recall the events of the last months, she drew a blank. Oh, if only she could remember!

“Lyn? Where’s the peroxide?”

Cal. Relief swept through her and she consciously relaxed all the muscles that had tensed in subconscious dread—of what? She took a deep, calming breath. It was only Cal.

Turning, she hurried up the steps and into the kitchen.

Her employer stood before the sink and as she reached his side, she saw blood dripping from a cut along one finger. Quickly, she got the peroxide from the cupboard where she’d organized all the first aid supplies and held it out to him, noticing as she did so that her hands were shaking visibly, a remnant of her fear. Then she realized he wouldn’t be able to unscrew the cap easily so she did it for him, moving to his side and tilting the bottle over the injured finger.

Cal hissed in a breath between his teeth as the cleanser washed away the blood and bubbled dirt to the surface of the wound. She hated hurting him but there was no help for it. Gently, she slipped her hand beneath his and angled the finger up, pouring more peroxide over the torn flesh. And as she concentrated on the small task, the stomach-knotting sense of panic inside her faded, to be replaced with another feeling.

Cal’s steely arm was pressed against her shoulder and she shivered with pleasure at their proximity. He treated her casually, in a friendly offhand manner, and there were very few times when she’d been this close to him. There were even fewer times when she’d actually touched him.

Her fingers trembled beneath his and Cal made an abrupt motion, taking the bottle from her and stepping a pace away. “Thanks,” he said. “I can do it.”

She was so disappointed by his dismissal she could have cried. Turning away, she went to the stove and checked the timer, then took the next batch of canning jars from the water.

“Tomatoes.” Cal’s voice sounded hopeful. “Maybe you could make some spaghetti sauce with a few of those this winter.”

She nodded, unable to keep her face from lighting up. Mentally, she made another note in her “Special Things To Do For Cal” file. Forgetting anything that might make Cal McCall’s life more comfortable or enjoyable was unacceptable to her. He’d given her back so much that she could never repay him. This was her small way of letting him know she appreciated it.

She extended the same appreciation to Cal’s sister, Silver, and her husband, Deck. They’d helped her when she didn’t know anyone in the world could help her, and her small gifts of special foodstuffs, recipes and handmade clothing was her way of saying thank-you.

Although it wasn’t strictly true that she felt the same way about them as she did about Cal. No, the way she felt about Cal was unique. There might be things she couldn’t remember, would never remember, but she knew she’d never felt before the way she felt about the man who owned the ranch where she’d lived once. Certainly she’d never felt about her ex-husband as she did about Cal.

She sneaked a glance sideways at him, still standing at the sink. He hadn’t taken off his summer straw hat. He rarely did, until he was ready to take a shower in the evening after working all day, but it didn’t matter to her. His hat was such a part of him that he almost looked naked without it.

It was still terribly hot during the day, and he wore a lightweight long-sleeved shirt that clung to his broad shoulders. He’d been riding, she knew, because she could see the horse tethered just outside the yard, and a dark stain of sweat dampened the back center of the shirt from his neck down to where it vanished beneath his jeans.

His jeans. Oh, she loved the way those pants fit him. She could still remember the first time she’d noticed the way the fabric molded his tight, lean buttocks. She’d been at the ranch for three days, three days in which Cal had insisted she take her time getting to know the place and settling in. He wouldn’t even let her cook at first, until the morning of that third day when she’d gotten up earlier than he had.

She’d gone into the kitchen and made him a hearty breakfast of biscuits and gravy. She’d also made him a lunch to take along since he’d mentioned he’d be haying again all day. Cal had come into the kitchen just as she had finished, sniffing the air appreciatively.

She’d handed him a mug of coffee. He’d sampled it and said, “You’re hired!” Then he’d walked over to the door to get his boots, which she’d cleaned up the night before. As he bent, the denim pulled taut across the back of his strong thighs, drawing her eyes and drying her mouth in a manner that surprised and shocked her so much she’d turned away and shoveled his breakfast onto a plate.

She could almost giggle at the memory now.

She had to walk to the sink, where he was still standing, with a pitcher she filled from the sink, and as she did so, she took a moment to peer at the cut. It wasn’t such a bad one that it would need stitches, but a bandage and some antibiotic ointment certainly were in order. Quickly, she added the water to the pot that was boiling on the stove, filling the room with clouds of steam and the smell of hot tomato.

Then she went to the cupboard again as Cal dried the cut with a paper towel. Taking down the things she needed, she approached him, holding them out before her and looking at him in question.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “I guess I’d better put something on it. The wire snapped and I ducked, but it caught me there on the way by.”

She shuddered. He’d been repairing fence and she winced at the thought of what a piece of barbed wire could do when it suddenly was severed from the tension between the posts.

She set down the box of bandages and tore one open, then added some of the antibiotic cream to the center before taking his hand in hers again. He extended the finger and she carefully positioned the gauze, wrapping it securely with tape and neatly trimming the ends. Her hands were trembling at the feel of his hard, callused flesh against hers. At night, her dreams were filled with those hands and the magic she imagined they could work on her body.

But those were only dreams. Standing here, holding his hand in the kitchen, was real and being close to him was sweet torture. His broad chest loomed before her, making her feel small and feminine, though she’d never been short in her entire life. Beanpole, the boys at school had called her.

She looked at him and smiled. “There,” she said. “I think you’ll live.”

Cal gazed down at her from his superior height, warmth in his gray eyes. “That’s the first joke I’ve ever heard you make,” he said. This close, she could see the black rim around the irises, the tiny flecks of black that fractured the silver throughout, the dark fringe of his lashes and the strong slash of his black brows that nearly met in the center. He smiled, holding her gaze with his. “You’ve come a long way since the day I brought you here,” he said.

She cleared her throat, embarrassed by the praise implied in the comment. “I’m starting to feel…useful again.”

He nodded, and she knew he understood what she hadn’t expressed very well. “Oh, you’re definitely useful,” he said in a teasing tone. “I don’t know how this place got by until you came along.” Before she knew it, his hands slid firmly around her shoulders and he pulled her into a close embrace.

She knew an instant of blind, black fear that threatened to engulf her, but as quickly as it enveloped her it vanished. These were Cal’s arms and this was Cal’s body, and nothing could make her fear him. As the hard length of his big frame registered, she closed her eyes and inhaled his scent—not difficult since her nose was buried in his chest. He smelled of saddle leather and horse, of hay and healthy man sweat and some other, less definable scent that was uniquely his own.

Of all the things she’d expected him to do, this wasn’t at the top of the list…she didn’t really care as long as he held her like this.

But as fast as the moment had begun, it ended. Releasing her, Cal stepped back. “Sorry if I scared you,” he said. “I appreciate the help.”

She ducked her head and nodded without looking at him, embarrassed again. Had he sensed how badly she longed for him? She would be utterly humiliated if he ever found out how she felt. To cover her awkwardness, she rushed into speech. “You didn’t scare me. You caught me by surprise for a moment, that’s all.”

Cal’s eyebrows rose. He grinned then, and her heart skipped a beat at the devilish gleam in his dark gray eyes. “I was beginning to wonder if you spoke more than one sentence at a time.”

“I can talk,” she said defensively. “I just haven’t had much to say.” Her voice sounded loud to her own ears, and huskier than she remembered. The doctor had said there might be permanent damage to her vocal cords from the attempt to strangle her. She didn’t guess it mattered—she’d never been much of a singer and as long as she could communicate, it didn’t really matter how she sounded.

Cal stood perfectly still, staring at her with a strange expression on his face. When the silence stretched on, she finally said, “What?”

He shrugged and smiled at her, breaking the odd tension of the moment. “Your voice is really husky. Has it always been like that?”

“It’s different,” she said. “I don’t sound like me anymore.”

He nodded. “Give it a few more months. It hasn’t been used in a while. Maybe you just need to get used to talking on a regular basis again.”

She nodded.

Silence.

“Well, I’ve got to get back out there and finish that fence,” he said. “Wilson’s new bull’s been in the pasture over by the dam three times this week. If he tears the fence down again, I swear I’m going to butcher him and deliver the meat to Wilson.”

She smiled as he headed out the door. Containing your cattle and keeping your neighbor’s out was an unending chore on a ranch, and for all his fierce talk she had learned that Cal was a good neighbor.

He mounted Tor, his big bay gelding, and she watched from the window as he and the horse disappeared over the ridge that led to the dam pasture. When the top of his hat had completely vanished behind the ridge, she turned back to her tomatoes. Yes, she’d have to make a couple big batches of spaghetti sauce this winter. She knew Silver had recipes for things like lasagna and stuffed shells. Maybe she’d share them.

Lyn always was conscious of the fact that Cal was a cosmopolitan man. He’d eaten fancy foods in New York that she’d never even heard of and though he praised her cooking and told her he’d missed ranch life and plain, hearty ranch fare, she worried that she wouldn’t do a good job for him.

Man, did he ever hate haying.

Cal itched all over. The seeds from the alfalfa had gotten into every crevice, every orifice, every pore. For the last two hours of the day, he fantasized about jumping in the stock pond, imagining the cool water sluicing over him, cleansing his skin of the prickly, dry hay.