As Anita drove up the long lane to Tate Pardell’s house the next afternoon, she was impressed. The split-rail fencing seemed to go on forever. The brick-and-tan-siding ranch house sprawled across the land, and she fleetingly wondered how much acreage belonged with it. Anita had only caught a glimpse of a tall white barn behind the house, but she guessed there were other out-buildings, too.
Gathering up the grocery bags, she went to the front door and rang the bell. Instead of a chime, the Yellow Rose of Texas played and she smiled.
A few seconds later, Tate opened the door, dressed in jeans and a light blue, snap-button shirt with the sleeves rolled back over his forearms. His thick brown hair had an unruly wave. As a lock of it fell over his forehead, her fingers itched to brush it back, and she realized the chemistry was starting again. Why did she feel like this when she got within ten feet of him?
Without giving her a chance to take a breath, he gathered the bags into his arms, saying, “I’ll carry those.”
“Really, it’s—”
As he took the bags from her, one of his hands touched her waist, his other her breast. Their gazes locked and she felt the entire world stand still.
Then he was turning away, carrying the groceries inside.
Stepping into the foyer, she closed the door, still burning from the heat of his touch, still shaken by the chemistry between them. Unless it was all one-sided. She could pray it was all one-sided…all on her part.
Over his shoulder, he said, “I just got a call. The horses will be arriving any minute.”
She was in awe of her surroundings. This house must have cost a small fortune! To the right she saw the great room with a cathedral ceiling, fan and skylights. There was a dining room to its left, where a hand-carved oak table and chairs could easily seat eight. She could almost see into the kitchen, and she realized there were many more rooms. What surrounded her now was the center of the house. Why did one man need all this space? It was obvious from the look and feel of the rooms that he wasn’t here very much. This could have been a model home open to the public.
The kitchen was as impressive as the rest of the house, with its smooth range top, side-by-side refrigerator that had beautiful oak doors to match the cupboards, and ceramic-tiled floor in shades of blue, cream and rust. A smaller, round oak table sat under an antler chandelier.
“Your house is beautiful,” she commented as she went to the bags on the table.
When he set the sack of apples on the counter, a few of them tumbled out. “I built it myself,” he said proudly, then amended, “Well, one of my construction crews did.”
“And you live here alone?” She didn’t know any other way to tactfully ask if he might have a live-in significant other.
“Yes, I live here alone.”
Taking the chicken she’d bought, she quickly stowed it away in the refrigerator. Then she did the same with the eggs, avoiding his gaze and curbing her own curiosity.
He motioned to the remaining bags on the table. “This looks as if you’re going to feed an army.”
“I’m planning for you to have leftovers. You might not have to eat out all week. You’ll have to show me where everything is. I brought a pie plate and a pastry cloth in case you don’t have them, but I’ll need a large skillet and a vegetable steamer.”
With a quick motion, he opened two bottom cupboards. “I bought a full set of cookware and haven’t touched it, except for the small frying pan. In a way, you’re going to be christening the kitchen today and giving it its first full workout.”
Taking a pastry cloth from her bag, she spread it on the counter.
“What’s that?”
“That’s where I’ll roll the dough for the piecrust.”
“Are you sure you shouldn’t be opening a restaurant instead of going into Web design?”
She vigorously shook her head. “Cooking’s a hobby. It won’t take me where I want to go.”
“Where is that?”
He looked interested, and rarely did she have a chance to share her hopes. When she’d been married to Larry, everything had always been about his dreams. Pipe dreams. Dreams that never had any substance.
The words tumbled from her mouth. “I want a better life. Eventually I want to become a graphic designer.”
“I moved out here to this ranch to create a better life,” he mused. “I want to run some cattle and train a few horses.”
“You come from a ranching background?”
“I lived on a ranch until my parents divorced. They raised Herefords. When my father sold the spread and moved to Arizona, I missed it.”
“You didn’t go with him?”
“No. I stayed here with my mother until I went to college. After the University of Texas, I apprenticed, got my contractor’s license and started Pardell Construction.”
“Do you see your dad much?”
“No. I call him or he calls me about every six months.”
“Is your mom still here?”
“No. She’s living in Taos now. She went there to find herself.”
“Has she? Found herself?”
His smile was crooked. “As much as she’s going to.”
Suspecting that there was a lot more story behind Tate’s simple words, Anita found herself interested in knowing what that story was. There was a lot he wasn’t saying. Her own background had led her to make the choices that she had—wrong choices. Apparently, Tate’s background had led him to make the right ones.
“It sounds as if you’ve always known what you wanted.”
He treated her comment lightly. “Not exactly. I had rodeo aspirations when I was a teenager. I thought bull riding was going to be my ticket to fame and fortune. But then I got some sense. I still try it every now and then, though, to make sure I haven’t lost the knack.”
Anita shook her head. “Men never grow up.”
Taking a step closer to her…so close she caught the scent of sun and hard work…so close she saw the faint scar on his left cheek…so close she could count the springy brown hairs curling between the plackets of his open shirt collar…he warned her, “Don’t lump us all together.”
Swallowing hard, she would have taken a step back, but she couldn’t because the counter was behind her. “You could get hurt riding bulls.”
His blue eyes studied her and seemed to settle on her lips. “I could get hurt doing a lot less.”
There was an edge to his voice that made her wonder exactly why he still did ride bulls. “Why go looking for trouble?”
When he seemed to lean a little nearer, she found herself focusing on his lips and what they’d feel like on hers.
“Sometimes trouble comes knocking whether you want it or not,” Tate philosophized.
Was he talking about her? Taking on her and her kids in his house? Was he still against the idea? She knew Tate Pardell could be trouble to her with a capital T. He was too handsome, too appealing, too sexy, too…everything.
“You said men never grow up. Was that true of your husband?” he asked.
With Tate so close she couldn’t think straight. “Mr. Pardell—”
“It’s Tate,” he reminded her gruffly.
“Tate, I don’t think we should discuss my marriage.”
“Why not? If I give you this job we should know something about each other.”
“If you give me this job? Are you considering it?”
“I’m considering it.” The light in his eyes said he was considering other things, too. Just as she was.
Suddenly, two long blares of a horn sounded outside. She blinked.
Tate moved away.
“That would be the horses,” he said, straightening. “Are you going to be all right in here?”
Yes, she’d be perfectly fine once he left the kitchen. She’d be perfectly fine once she knew she could pay her bills for this month. She’d be perfectly fine once she figured out how to give her children a future.
“I’m sure I can find everything I need in here,” she responded nonchalantly, though she wasn’t feeling nonchalant at all.
With a nod, he walked to the hat caddy by the back door, took his Stetson from it and fixed it on his head. Then he left the kitchen and closed the door, the sound reverberating in Anita’s ears.
She knew better than to get involved with any man. The only thing that would bring would be disappointment. Her marriage had been one disappointment after another, one lonely night after another, one worry after another. Her children were her focus, and she just needed to put a good, solid roof over their heads. She just needed a reprieve from bills that wouldn’t quit. This job could be the solution to so many problems.
And Tate Pardell?
He was the solution to none. She vowed to remember that as she cooked him a meal he’d never forget.
As Anita worked, she remembered the days after Larry’s funeral and the itemized credit card bills she’d examined more closely than she had before. Devastatingly, those bills had proved her husband had had an affair, maybe more than one. She’d asked herself why she hadn’t seen his deception sooner. The answer had been easy—she hadn’t wanted to see. She’d wanted the fairy tale, although her life had been far from it. She’d wanted a man to believe in. Larry hadn’t been that man. She didn’t know if any man could be that man because she wasn’t sure she’d ever trust one again.
While Anita rolled out pie dough, she glanced out the kitchen window often and watched Tate help unload the horses. One was black with four white stockings. The other was pewter gray. As he backed them down the ramps, he seemed gentle with them. When he leaned toward their ears, she wondered if he was crooning to them in that way some trainers did—the trainers who didn’t believe in breaking horses but rather gentling them.
As Tate and the driver of the truck disappeared into the barn, she slid the pie dough shell onto the plate, rolled out the second, then sliced apples, mixed them with cinnamon, brown sugar, flour and butter and loaded up the pie dish. An hour later, the pie was golden-brown, sending its sweet, cinnamony scent throughout the kitchen. The driver of the horse trailer had left, but Tate was still inside the barn. Humming a favorite country-western tune by LeAnn Rimes, Anita peeled potatoes, called Inez to check on the kids, snapped beans to ready them for the steamer and began preparing the chicken.
Tate’s cupboards were stocked, and the supplies she’d bought were superfluous. But most of his supplies had never been opened. He must have gone to the grocery store because the refrigerator was stocked with eggs, bacon, cheese, orange juice and a few long-necked bottles of beer. There was also a slice of pizza that had definitely sat in there much too long.
Why did he want a house like this if he wasn’t going to spend time in it?
Anita took a stroll into the great room while she waited for the potatoes to boil. There were no drapes or even scatter rugs on the hardwood floor. The rough, plastered white walls were bare, and furniture dotted the periphery of the room. Not at all the way she’d arrange it. The stone mantel above the beautiful fireplace was bare and held no pictures or decorative items of any kind. Fabric on the furniture reminded her of sky and earth—blue and tan, with a tiny thread of claret running through the material. She wondered if the rest of the rooms in the house were so sparsely arranged. Although she was curious about the housekeeper’s quarters, she wasn’t going to go snooping.
When Tate came in from outside, his nostrils were still full of horses and leather and new-barn smells. Soon, however, the down-home, mouthwatering, tantalizing aromas of the meal Anita had made replaced all of the others. She was removing the golden-brown chicken pieces from the frying pan when he moved closer to her to take a look.
“It smells great!” he said, enthusiastic in spite of himself. All the while he’d gotten the new horses settled, he’d repeated over and over that even though he’d told her he was considering it, no matter how good Anita’s cooking was, he wasn’t going to hire her.
“I’ll have it all on the table in two minutes if you want to wash up.”
He saw she’d only set one place at the table. “Aren’t you going to join me?”
“Oh, no. I have to get home to the kids. Unless you want me to clean up.”
His kitchen looked almost as spotless as it had before she’d started cooking. Yet now there was a warmth to it that hadn’t been there before. All that remained were the skillet on the stove and the serving dishes on the table.
“I can manage to load the dishwasher myself,” he joked.
“I know you can. But if I were your housekeeper, you wouldn’t have to.”
She was pushing, and pushing hard. The care she’d taken with this meal showed that. The truth was, with all this delicious food sitting before him, he had no recourse but to think about coming home to it every night. “Do you cook like this all the time?”
“When I don’t have to stretch the budget with macaroni and cheese.”
“Homemade macaroni and cheese?”
“What other kind is there?” she asked, teasing.
With her face turned up to his, a smile prettying up her lips, her green eyes sparkling, Tate wanted to kiss her more than he wanted to sample the delicious-looking food. He had a feeling kissing Anita would be even more delicious.
Somehow, as they were talking, he’d leaned closer to her and she’d leaned closer to him. Now he straightened and backed away.
“The food’s going to get cold if I don’t get to it. If you want to get going, go ahead.”
His brisk tone made her blink. She was about to pick up the platter when he said, “I’ll get that,” took it from her and set it on the table.
“Besides cooking…” She stopped herself.
“Yes?”
“Well, it’s not my place, but I could make your house more attractive, too.”
“What’s wrong with the house?”
“You don’t have any curtains. Or rugs on the floor. Or pictures on the wall.”
“I need those?” he asked wryly.
“Not need, exactly. But if you plan to have any guests, you’ll want them to feel welcome. The way your great room’s arranged, it would be hard to have a conversation.”
“The armchairs are too far from the sofa. You’ve got that beautiful fireplace. You could have a grouping around it that would be much cozier.”
“You were a decorator in a past life?”
Her cheeks reddened. “No, and I’ve had no official training. But I do think I have a knack for it.”
When he’d wanted furniture for the house, he’d gone into a store, pointed to the pieces he’d liked and that was it. A decorator hadn’t seemed necessary. But now he was seeing his house through her eyes. It did have a coldness about it. It certainly didn’t have the hominess her living room had, in spite of expensive furniture.
Resting his hands on the back of a chair, he told her the truth. “Anita, I just can’t imagine having three kids running around here. That’s not my life.”
“What is your life?”
“I’m a loner. I have been since—since a long time back.”
“Do you like being alone?” she asked softly.
That was neither here nor there. “I’ve gotten used to it. And you know what they say about a man who’s set in his ways.”
“What do they say?”
“They say it’ll drive him nuts to change them.”
She looked so disappointed, he felt as if he’d been stabbed. She’d been counting on this job, he could see that.
But she didn’t pout or turn bitter and resentful. Rather, she motioned to the rooms behind the kitchen. “Are those the housekeeper’s quarters?”
He nodded.
“If it’s true you don’t spend much time here, you wouldn’t even have to see us much. I could cook dinner and take the kids in there in the evenings. They go to bed early anyway. You wouldn’t even hear us. I’d make sure the boys didn’t leave toys out here for you to trip over. I guess what I’m asking is, please just give it a try. A week, even. Then if it’s true that we are in your way and disturb your life, we’ll go back to our apartment.”
She was making it damn hard for him to refuse. His gaze went again to the food on the table. “Let me think about it. You go on home and I’ll give you a call with my decision.”
“You promise you’ll call and won’t just leave me hanging?”
He didn’t like the underlying message in that question. It told him men had left her hanging before. Thinking about that disturbed him. “I won’t leave you hanging. I’ll let you know by Monday at the latest. And whatever I decide won’t be temporary. When I make a decision, I stick by it.”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
The urge to take her in his arms and just hold her and tell her everything was going to be all right was so strong, he had to fight it with every ounce of self-restraint he possessed.
Giving him a smile, she picked up her purse lying on the counter. Cheerily, she advised him, “Make sure you cover everything tightly so it will keep for you. You should have meals for the next few days.”
“You don’t know my appetite.”
Her eyes widened a bit and her lips parted a little in surprise. They both knew he was talking about more than his liking for fried chicken and mashed potatoes.
Obviously flustered, she broke eye contact, went to the doorway and said, “I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”
She walked away from his kitchen, into the foyer and out the door. He heard her car start up and the rumble of it scattering gravel as it rolled down his lane. He knew what he should do.
Then he took another whiff of the fried chicken and sat down to eat. He’d think about Anita Sutton and her brood after he finished the apple pie.
When Tate came calling on Anita Sunday afternoon, her front door was open. Peering through the screen, he didn’t hear or see anyone inside. Listening more carefully, he thought he heard boys’ laughter out back. That laughter solidified his decision.
Last night, after he’d finished two pieces of apple pie, he’d gone into his great room and looked around. The hollowness of it, the coldness of it, had wrapped around him until he’d been damned uncomfortable. He could get into a rut being alone. He could close himself up, shut everyone out, just as he had after Jeremy died. Just as he had after his parents had gotten divorced. Just as he had after he’d found out Donna’s true colors. He might never trust a woman enough to get married—he’d kept the money clip Donna had given him as a reminder to be watchful of women’s motives—but that didn’t mean he wanted poker night with his buddies to be the main event in his life.
And he did need someone like Anita to plan the barbecue for his employees.
When he tried her screen door, he found it locked. Set on his course now that he’d made a decision, he jogged down the steps and around the apartment building to the backyard. There he saw Anita pitching a ball to one of her twins. He’d have to get straight who was who.
Anita glanced his way about the same time as one of the twins yelled, “Mr. Pardell! Can you pitch a few balls? Mom isn’t real good at this.”
As Tate laughed, Anita propped her hands on her hips. “Not good at this? Who taught you how to hit home runs?”
Corey piped up, “It’s luck when we hit home runs, Mom.”
Tate shook his head. “I’ll pitch a few,” he said with a grin.
“Mr. Pardell, you don’t have to….” Anita began.
“It’s Tate.” His gaze held hers and an electric current that was strong enough to shock him seemed to pass between them.
She didn’t repeat his name, though he’d liked to hear it on her lips. Instead, she handed him the ball. “I’m going to check on Marie.”
“She’s napping?” he asked.
“Yes. I’ll be right back. Don’t break any windows,” she warned with a smile at all three of them.
That smile. Tate kept seeing it in his dreams.
At first, Tate intended to pitch a couple balls and that would be that. He’d offer Anita the job and then go back home to enjoy the rest of the day. But the one or two pitches turned into three, four and five. Instead of just a pitch, he was soon showing Jared how to stand, where to position his bat, how to focus on the ball. Then he did the same for Corey. The twins were eager to listen to him and enthusiastic when it was their turn. Somehow he’d gotten the impression over the years that kids didn’t listen. Maybe because at one time he hadn’t listened? He’d rebelled because he’d missed his brother so badly he hadn’t known what to do.
Concentrating on Corey’s swing at the ball rather than his own thoughts, Tate heard the click of the door as Anita opened it. She was dressed in jeans today and a Dallas Cowboys T-shirt that had seen many washings. As she held her baby daughter in her arms, Marie laid her head on Anita’s shoulder, her thumb in her mouth, her eyes wide and green as she glanced at Tate, then shyly looked away.
As Anita descended the steps, she patted her little girl’s back.
Corey and Jared came running over to her. “He’s real good at baseball,” Jared informed her.
“Well, I’m glad. But I don’t want you to tire him out. I think you’d better go wash up for supper.”
“Oh, Mom,” they both complained.
“Mr. Pardell is a busy man, boys. Did you thank him for playing with you?”
In chorus, they said, “Thanks, Mr. Pardell.”
“You’re most welcome,” Tate returned with a grin.
“Go on now, and don’t forget to use soap.”
This time they didn’t argue, but ran up the steps and let the door slam behind them.
Anita shook her head and smiled. “One of these days it’s going to come off the hinges.” Then realizing what she’d said, she quickly amended, “It’s just worn and closes hard. I didn’t mean they’d hurt it on purpose.”
She was still lobbying for that job, and Tate had to admire her grit. Every time he looked at little Marie, his heart practically turned over. She was such a cute little thing. But he wouldn’t be seeing that much of her or the boys, he reminded himself.
Getting down to business, he slid his hands into his jeans pockets. “I came over to give you my decision. If you want the job of housekeeper, it’s yours. All we can do is see how this works out. If it doesn’t, I’ll find you something else that pays better than waitressing.”
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Pardell. It’ll work out just fine,” she assured him, beaming.
“Tate,” he reminded her.
This time she repeated his name. “Tate.”
The sound of it on her lips made his insides jump. She caused way too many physical reactions…way too many erotic thoughts and already a couple of sleepless nights.
“When do you want me to start? I’ll have to pack, but we don’t have that much. I’ll see if I can find a neighbor with a truck—”
“No need for that. Why don’t I give you until Wednesday afternoon, when I’ll send a couple of crew members and a truck to load everything. We’ll have you settled in in no time.”
Now she came a little closer to him. “I don’t know how to thank you. I know you have your doubts about us moving in, but I’ll make it work, and you won’t be sorry.”
“We’ll see about that,” he returned gruffly. Then, before he did something stupid like kiss her, before he even had more doubts about the decision he’d made, he repositioned his Stetson on his head. “I’ll give you a call and let you know what time for sure on Wednesday.”
With a wave of his hand, he left her backyard, trying to erase the picture of her holding her little girl from his mind.
On Tuesday afternoon, the twins were in school when Anita’s doorbell buzzed. She’d been packing books from the shelves into cartons. Marie was pulling herself up on the boxes, toddling from one piece of furniture to another and stopping to play with an activity box when she got bored with everything else.
Anita opened the door and found an older couple standing there. The woman, who was a bit plump, wore an expensive-looking blouse and slacks set in a pretty shade of burgundy. Her hair was expertly styled and layered, framing her face from one corner of her lips to the other. Something about her features looked familiar—the shape of her green eyes. The man looked a bit older, with straight, graying brown hair combed over a bald spot. Again, something about his face seemed so recognizable. The suit he wore was expensively cut.
“Can I help you?” Anita asked politely, wondering what they were doing in this neighborhood.
The man spoke for them both. “We’re Ruth and Warren Sutton, Larry Sutton’s parents.”
At the mention of Larry, Ruth’s eyes glistened with tears.
Anita’s heart skipped a few beats. “His parents? Larry told me his parents were dead!”
She was in absolute shock. Not only had Larry deceived her about affairs with other women but also he’d lied about something as basic as his parents. Why?
“Dead? No, we’re very much alive,” Warren Sutton said. “Here.” He pulled out his wallet and showed Anita his driver’s license. “May we come in?” he asked.
Flustered because she’d forgotten her manners, Anita’s cheeks grew hot. “I’m so sorry. Please, do come in. The place is a mess, though. I’m moving tomorrow.”
The Suttons exchanged a look, then stepped inside.
Marie was still playing with her activity box, chortling in glee when a new face popped up as she pressed a button or pulled a lever.
“Oh, how adorable!” Ruth exclaimed, going straight to the baby.
Protectively, Anita followed her.
“Hi there, honey,” the woman said to the little girl. “Can I hold you? I’m your grandma.”
When Ruth reached out to Marie, the little girl started to cry.
“She’s shy around strangers,” Anita said, picking up her daughter and holding her close. Motioning to the sofa, she suggested, “Please, have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?”
The Suttons were looking around with interest. “A glass of soda would be fine,” Ruth said.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Since we’re moving tomorrow, I haven’t gone for groceries. I don’t have soda. How about a glass of milk or orange juice?”
Again, the Suttons exchanged a look. “Orange juice will be fine.”
For some reason, Anita got a chill when she thought about leaving them alone in her living room. She wasn’t afraid they’d steal something, but…they made her decidedly uneasy.
Returning with the juice, Marie crawling after her, she sat in the armchair, her daughter on her lap. “You know that Larry’s…gone?” Anita asked.
“We found out about a week ago,” Warren told her. “Let me explain why you apparently didn’t know about us.” He rubbed his hands on his thighs and frowned, as if he didn’t like the telling of the story. “Unfortunately, our son was in trouble a lot in high school. He ran off several times, not returning for weeks. He cut school whenever he wanted to and hung out with a bad crowd. Six and a half years ago, he didn’t have a job or any prospects in sight. I wanted to kick him out of the house and show him some tough love, but my wife couldn’t bear to do that. One night, drunk, he was in an accident that caused permanent injury to the other driver. We paid a settlement and ordered Larry to leave and not return until he could prove that he could be responsible.”
A tear ran down Ruth’s cheek and Anita felt so sorry for her.
“Surely he contacted you after he left?” Anita commented.
“No, he didn’t,” Ruth broke in. “That’s what was so terrible. All these years, we waited for him to call us with an address where he could be reached. He never did. Then, about a month ago, something terrible happened. Some dear friends of ours had a daughter who was Larry’s age. They’d gone to school together. Paige got meningitis and died. Just like that! In two days, she was gone. Her parents were so devastated, and we were, too. It got us thinking. We wanted Larry to be a man. We wanted him to stand on his own two feet. But we never intended not to see him again. We never guessed he wouldn’t come home.”
“I had been stonewalling the idea of finding him,” Warren admitted. “I didn’t want more heartache for Ruth if he came back and hadn’t changed. My pride got in the way of my role as a father. But then Ruth convinced me that finding our son was more important than my pride and we hired a private investigator. That’s when we learned he’d been killed and that he had children—our grandchildren.”
After Larry’s death, after Anita had faced his infidelity, she’d tried to bury the betrayal. She’d tried to start over, determined to never put her future in a man’s hands again. Now the past had been resurrected and the betrayal had resurfaced, making her ache at the thought of her own stupidity and Larry’s lack of integrity.
“I’m so sorry you had to learn this way,” she murmured.
“Do you have family, dear?” Ruth asked.
“No, I don’t.”
After a glance at her husband, Ruth gave Anita an ingratiating smile. “Why don’t you tell us where you’re moving to?”
“I’m taking a position as a housekeeper. Room and board is included for me and the children.” She didn’t like giving them too much personal information, but she also didn’t want to be rude. After all, they did have ties to her children.
Just then, Anita heard the school bus rumbling down the street. Standing, she exclaimed, “I have to meet the boys outside. Today was their first whole day of school.”
“Corey and Jared?” Warren asked.
At her look of surprise, he explained, “Their names were in our private investigator’s report. Ruth thinks they are wonderful names. And we are very much looking forward to spending time with our grandsons.”
As Anita picked up Marie and went outside to greet her twins, something in Warren Sutton’s possessive tone sent another chill down her spine.