Somebody Like You (3 page)

“You gotta be kidding. Heisman Trophy winner? He took us to two Super Bowls.”

“Nope, sorry.”

“Roger could get out of any jam on the field. Served in ’Nam, too. A real stand-up guy. He had guts. He was loyal. Like my pal here.” He reached down and scratched the dog’s ears.

Dottie Willis pushed herself out of the porch swing and started down the walk toward them.

Cash removed his Stetson and held it at his side. “Mrs. Willis, this is Annie.”

Annie? Annie?
She grimaced. Nobody called her Annie—not even when she’d been in diapers. She’d been born Annelise.

“Glad to meet you, honey. Like I said in the ad, my place isn’t much, but it’s clean.”

“That’s all I’m looking for.” Annelise realized she was actually nervous and wiped her palms on her pant legs. She really wanted this place. Wanted her first home.

“Should suit you well then.”

“We sure do appreciate this, Dottie.”

“No problem at all, sweetheart.” She pinched his cheek, and Annelise watched the blush creep up Cash’s neck to his face. Priceless.

Mrs. Willis nodded toward the Harley. “That’s a mighty big bike.”

Annelise grinned. “I like it. Lots of power, and I’m in control.”

She caught Cash studying her and could have kicked herself. Far too much insight flashed in his eyes, almost as if he knew her secret.

Mrs. Willis, who’d moved ahead of them, was nearly at the top of the stairs.

He bumped her shoulder. “What are you running away from?”

She fought for cocky. “What makes you think I’m running away? The question might be what am I running to.”

He considered that. “Well, if that’s the case, I’m glad you came running in my direction.”

“And my name is Annelise,” she muttered.

Waiting for them on the landing, Mrs. Willis asked, “How are your mama and daddy doing, Cash?”

“They’re great, Mrs. Willis. They decided to fly in from Paris tomorrow so they can be home in plenty of time for the big barbecue on the Fourth. You’ll be there, won’t you?”

“Couldn’t beat me off with a stick.” She dug a key from the pocket of her pink-flowered housedress.

The dress suited her perfectly, Annelise thought. This woman, the stereotypical grandma, could have played the role for any movie, any ad. Around five-three, she carried a few extra pounds and had the softest looking blue-gray curls. Pink-framed glasses dangled from a chain around Dottie’s neck, and no-nonsense tie-up shoes along with bright pink ankle socks covered her feet.

She chatted a mile a minute as she showed them around the small one-bedroom rental. It looked even drearier in person than it had in the ad photos and was as homely as they came. But it had potential, and that was enough for Annelise.

“You still want it now that you’ve had a look around?” Dottie asked.

She nodded.

“Well, then, welcome to Maverick Junction and your new home.” Mrs. Willis gave her a quick hug, then headed downstairs to bake chocolate chip cookies for the church bazaar, leaving her alone with her new boss.

A new home. A new boss. Oh, boy. She was really doing this. Annelise felt almost dizzy.

Cash ripped a paper towel from a roll he found in the kitchen and sketched a rough map to his ranch. He scrawled his phone number on the bottom. “See you in the morning—if you’re still sure you want to give this a shot.”

“I do.”

Her stomach fluttering with nerves and excitement, Annelise walked him to the door, then stood at the window to watch as Cash and his ugly dog drove away.

Biting her bottom lip, she tabbed through her phone contacts. Time to call her cousin.

She answered on the first ring. “Annelise? Where in the world are you? Your mom and dad have been hounding me. They’re sure I’m hiding you out here in Chicago. What’s going on?”

Annelise sighed. “Long story, Sophie. One I really don’t want to get into right now. Can I ask a huge favor?”

“Anything.”

“Would you call my dad? Tell him not to worry. I’m safe, I left on my own, and I’ll be back soon. No need to send the cavalry. I talked to Mom, but by the time she tells him what we said, it’s going to be all screwed up. Ask Dad to pass the message on to Grandpa.” She hesitated. “I’m sorry they’ve been giving you a hard time.”

“I can deal with them.”

“I know you can. I really don’t want them worrying, any of them, though, or siccing the police or FBI on me, either.”

“You know, cuz, to them, you’re still their little girl. It doesn’t matter that you’re twenty-six.”

“I know.”

“So, really,” her cousin persisted. “Where are you?”

“I can’t tell you, Sophie. That way, when my parents’ goons torture you, you won’t be able to rat me out.”

Sophie laughed. “Or save myself with the information.”

“Wouldn’t matter.” Annelise chuckled. “You know they always kill the informant even if she talks.”

“There’s a cheerful thought,” Sophie said. “Be careful.”

“I will,” Annelise agreed. “Love you.” With that, she snapped her phone shut, removed its battery, and walked downstairs to drop both in the battered trash can on the curb ready for pickup. Then, resolute, she walked up the outside stairs to her new home. Drab and ugly.

Almost as ugly as Cash’s dog. No pure breed there. Staubach had long, mud-brown hair, one white ear, one brown, a long muzzle, and slightly crossed eyes. She loved him.

And she loved this town.

Shocked, she dropped onto the top step and leaned against the railing. A couple of houses down, she heard the excited laugh of a young child mixed with the exuberant yapping of a small dog.

Who’d have guessed she’d fall in love with either Cash’s clumsy mutt or this quirky town?

Not her.

The thing was, nobody recognized her. She was free to be herself, to be judged on who she was deep down inside. Money would have nothing to do with her relationships with the people of Maverick Junction. She was simply another person, not someone to make-nice to because of what she might be able to do for them. They’d either like her or they wouldn’t. But there’d be no phony pretenses.

Traveling cross-country incognito in her motorcycle helmet, sunglasses, and leathers, no one had given her a second look. She grinned. Well, maybe a few guys, but not because she was a billionaire tycoon’s granddaughter. Their looks had read ‘hot chick’ rather than ‘dollar signs.’

She’d sat at an outside table and drank a McDonald’s milk shake in Pennsylvania, rode a Ferris wheel at some little county fair in Tennessee, and the paparazzi hadn’t captured a single moment of it. By taking this trip, she’d stumbled on a chance to find herself without a telephoto lens recording her, and she meant to make the most of it.

She walked into her new eight-by-ten living room and flopped onto the butt-ugly couch to stare up at the dingy, used-to-be-white ceiling. Cripes. Ugly dog, ugly apartment, ugly couch. Was everything in Maverick Junction ugly?

Cash popped into her head. Cash, with those emerald green eyes fringed with the longest, blackest lashes, that sun-kissed brown hair, a body honed by hard work, and she had her answer.

No.

That simple.

Some things in this blip on the map were flat-out gorgeous.

And wouldn’t the macho Texas cowboy hate to have that adjective applied to him? She grinned.

Oh, yeah. But…if the proverbial shoe fit…

B
oth the shoe and the horse were giving Cash fits. Sweating like a sinner in church under the heavy, protective leather apron, horseshoe nails clamped between his teeth, he bent at the waist. The misty-gray stallion’s front leg braced between his own, he rested the gray’s hoof on his knee. The two-year-old had been sorely neglected by a rancher north of Dallas, and Cash had rescued the rascal.

This was Shadow’s first shoeing…and might very well be his last, damn it, at least here on Whispering Pines Ranch. He could go barefoot.

As bad-tempered as Shadow was, though, Cash doubted he’d ever seen a finer piece of horseflesh. He ran a calming hand over the horse’s gleaming flank, then snarled and jerked back as the gray swiveled his head, teeth bared, intent on taking a chunk out of him.

“You’re gonna be dog food, you do that again,” he mumbled around the nails.

“Trouble?”

His stomach did a free fall clear to his toes. That voice, sexy as all get-out, made promises, conjured up thoughts of all sorts of naughty nighttime pastimes. He spit the nails into his hand and forced himself to take a steadying breath before he turned to face his new ranch hand.

Then he took another as he drank her in. Her dark cloud of hair had been pulled back and braided, highlighting that incredible face, those winter-blue eyes, and those X-rated lips. She wore faded blue jeans and a siren-red T-shirt that hugged the most incredible—

Whoa. Shut it down. Whispering Pines is her workplace, and you’re her boss.

The thoughts ricocheting inside his brain had to be illegal—on so many levels. He needed to back off. Keep it professional.

She wore sneakers. Pristine white ones right out of the box. Not a speck of horse poo on them. Yet. A corner of his mouth tipped up. That was about to change in a hurry.

Didn’t matter. She’d have to lose them after today, anyway. They wouldn’t work here in the barn around the horses.

“You need boots.” He nodded toward her feet.

“Excuse me?”

“Boots. And not those fancy little black ones with the stiletto heels you rode into town in.” He raised his own foot and pointed. “Real boots. They’ll protect you a little better if a horse accidentally steps on you.” Then he shot a baleful glance at Shadow. “Or on purpose.”

Annelise laughed. “I’ll get a pair. Mrs. Willis gave me these this morning.” She raised a sneakered foot. “Had them on a closet shelf. My size and all, so I figured what the heck. Otherwise, I would have shown up in those black ones.”

Nodding toward the stallion, she said, “This one’s giving you fits, huh?”

He sighed. “Yes, ma’am. Shadow can be a bit cantankerous. Once he’s cut, that’ll change. Maybe.”

“Gelded?”

When he nodded, she winced. “If you say so.”

“Believe me, once a male’s—” He cleared his throat. “It’ll help.” Then he met her eyes, those beautiful, cool eyes. “Look, if you’re gonna have to run out and buy boots…I mean, if you need it, I can give you an advance on your pay.”

The expressions that crossed her face fascinated him. Pride, hurt, determination, anger, embarrassment, and, surprisingly, arrogance. She snuffed each out in rapid succession.

“No, but thanks. I can handle it.” Her voice was tight.

“Fine. That’s good.” He turned his back. “Hank,” he called, “the new ranch hand I hired is here.”

From inside the tack room, a smoke-raspy voice said, “Told you. I don’t need no help. I might be old, but I can still do my work. Can still take care of my barn and my horses. Don’t need, don’t want—”

Wispy gray hair stuck up in every direction on the head that peeked out around the doorway. The face was every bit as disordered. A bulbous red nose, watery blue eyes, and wrinkled, leathery skin.

“What’s this?”

“Hank, meet Annie, our new hand.”

“She’s a girl.”

“I noticed that.” Cash ran his tongue over his teeth to keep from laughing.

“I’m a woman, actually.”

“Same thing,” Hank growled. “Ain’t got no time to be hand-holdin’.”

Cash opened his mouth, closed it again when Annelise’s chin shot up.

“I don’t want, nor do I need, my hand held.”

“Sure you will. First time you need to lift a load that’s too heavy or come up against a mouse in the hay, you’re gonna come runnin’ to me, pullin’ me away from my work.”

“Hank, I promise you I can and will pull my weight. I will not expect you to rescue me. I will not scream at the sight of a mouse.” She held up a finger. “Give me one day. If I come running, screaming for help, or needing to be rescued, I’m history. If I do a satisfactory job and can stand on my own two feet”—she glanced at Cash—“my soon-to-be-cowboy-booted feet, I come back tomorrow. Fair enough?”

“I guess,” the wizened ranch hand groused. “But I ain’t gonna cut you any slack just ’cause you’re female.”

“I certainly hope not,” Annelise answered. “It would really…” She hesitated. “It would really piss me off if you did.”

Cash chewed a piece of straw. Well, what do you know? The lady was not only cover-model beautiful, but she had spunk. Be interesting to see how this played out. Taking off the leather apron, he hung it on a peg on the barn wall.

“Hank, Paco’s out in the paddock. Call him in here. Have him shoe this damn horse.” He threw the straw to the ground. “Then tell Annie what you want her to do.”

“Already told you what I want her to do. I want her to go home.”

“That’s not going to happen, Hank.” Annelise’s face was set.

“Hmmph.”

Cash left the two of them to their sparring match.

Eight long, grueling hours later, Annelise debated whether she should attempt the twenty-two steps to her apartment or simply lie down in the grass for the night. She’d mingled for hours with stuffed-shirts and prancing divas at receptions, smiled through hours of tedious conversation during business lunches, studied through the night at Harvard , but never, ever in her life had she been this bone-tired.

And she stank. Lifting her arm, she smelled her shirt. Horse, sweat, dung, and God only knew what else! Maybe she should build a fire and burn everything she had on, including the sneakers that needed to be replaced with boots. She couldn’t imagine ever wanting to put any of it back on. And her hair. She didn’t even want to think how it looked or smelled.

Unfortunately, a fire would take too much effort. She’d have to find wood, a match, something to strike the darn thing on. Her head dropped to her chest. She couldn’t face all that.

So, she’d opt for a shower. About an hour-long one. Maybe she could leave her clothes on and wash everything all at once. But before she could do any of that, she had to tackle the stairs.

Hank had been mad at Cash, so he’d worked her extra hard. It didn’t matter to him that it wasn’t her fault she was there. Well, yeah, okay, maybe it had been her choice that put her there, but if it hadn’t been her, it would have been someone else. The ad would have run in today’s paper, and Cash fully intended to hire somebody. That somebody just happened to be her.

But the old man had taken it very personally and wreaked his revenge against Cash on her. She’d actually mucked out stalls! Annelise Elizabeth blah blah Montjoy scooping up horse manure! Oh, if her mother could see her now.

Strangely enough, even while she’d been bent over in the smelly stall with a pitchfork, she’d realized it beat sitting around with a bunch of elitist snobs discussing whose horse would run in the Derby, what a day’s rain might mean for Wimbledon this year, or when Princess Kate would make her first serious faux pas. And it sure as heck beat a board meeting.

Annelise’s stomach rumbled, and she sighed. She supposed she’d have to do something about feeding herself, too. Right now, she could be in Boston sitting down to champagne and fresh lobster. She shook her head. She’d take a pass. A nice perk, but one that came with a high price tag.

She’d survive. She’d learned to make a mean PB&J while at Harvard. As long as there was that and take-out, she wouldn’t starve.

Only three steps into the climb, she stopped. Was there take-out in Maverick Junction? There had to be, didn’t there? After all, this was the twenty-first century!

Inside her apartment, she headed for the bath, dropping clothes as she went. The lure of the shower called her. In the bathroom doorway, she came to an abrupt halt and drooped against the jamb.

How could she have forgotten? No shower. The plumbing on the second floor of the old house had not been updated.

Well, what the heck? Forlorn, she sat on the side of the old claw-foot tub and turned on the taps. When it filled, she submerged herself and scrubbed vigorously with a cheap, generic bar of soap she’d found still in its wrapper in the medicine chest. After she’d removed the worst of the day’s grime, she pulled the plug and gave the tub a cleaning swish before refilling it, thankful there was still hot water.

Digging through her few belongings, she found the bottle of expensive French perfume she’d squirreled away. Adding a couple of drops to the water, she sank into the fragrant warmth. She rested her head against the slanted back, closed her eyes, and sighed as the day floated away.

A bath might take more time than a shower, but it certainly wasn’t half-bad, she decided.

When her chin hit the water, she startled out of her reverie. The bath had turned tepid. Climbing out, she enveloped herself in an old towel she’d dug out of the linen closet and headed toward the bedroom in search of something to put on.

A clean body, clean hair, and clean clothes gave Annelise a new outlook on life. She stood at the kitchen sink, admiring Mrs. Willis’s small garden. Sipping an ice-cold Coke, she studied, with no little amazement, the tidy rows of lettuce and tomatoes, the rows of brown-eyed Susans and gladioluses. Pink and red roses bloomed in profusion along a short rock wall.

And then there was this. She spun to face the inside of the apartment. Could there be a more jarring aesthetic juxtaposition? Outside, a harmonious blend of color and form. Picture-postcard pretty. Inside, a hodgepodge of drab neglect. It had gone beyond mundane to offensive, with no saving graces that she could see.

Except, it did provide shelter, had given her a place to stay in Maverick Junction while she literally worked her fingers to the bone. She turned her hands palm-up, rubbed a finger lightly over the tender blisters. Hank had offered gloves, gloves she’d been too stubborn to accept. Tomorrow she’d eat that hardheadedness right along with her pride.

She set down the empty Coke can and settled her hands on her hips. If she truly intended to live here, even if only short-term, she had to do something, and what better than to work with horses. Problem was, she wasn’t working with the right end of the horse.

Her laptop sat in the center of the wobbly table. She’d called Ron today on the barn phone. He hadn’t found anything yet. Hating the need for a lie, she’d told him to e-mail her when he had something, that she had spotty reception on her cell. She couldn’t bring herself to confess that was because she’d tossed her battery-less phone in the dump.

She had no doubt he’d find what she needed. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to spend a couple of hours tonight doing a little digging of her own.

Dottie, who continued to surprise her, actually had wireless. Said it made it easier to keep in touch with her grandkids in Pennsylvania. What a bonus. Annelise could have kissed her!

As her stomach complained loudly, she acknowledged she needed to do something about food first. Last night, Dottie had taken mercy on her and fed her dinner. On top of that, she’d put together a care package of soft drinks, Pop-Tarts for breakfast, and some crackers for a snack. The woman was a veritable saint.

But it was time for her to pick up the reins.

“Okay, okay.” She patted her belly and immediately thought about Cash asking her to rub his yesterday. Heat raced through her. No doubt his skin would be smooth, his body hard. Was he tan all over? Did he work without a shirt some days, exposing that long, lean body to the sun?

Her mother’s scandalized face popped into her head. Had Georgia ever experienced this kind of sexual heat? Had the oh-so-proper Edmund and Georgia ever been in a mad rush to tear off each other’s clothes, expose themselves body and soul to each other?

Not that she wanted to do that with Cash Hardeman. Heck, no! She hardly knew the man.

Food. Concentrate on food, something you can control.
Yes, someone else had always taken care of the mundane, day-to-day concerns for her, but she could do this. She was an intelligent adult and certainly competent enough to make a trip to the grocers.

First, she needed to pay a quick visit to her new landlady. Hustling down the outside stairs, she winced when, without thought, she raised one abused hand to lightly skim the rail.

Her landlady’s windows stood open, and Annelise could smell the right-out-of-the-oven cookies. Great. As hungry as she was, the scent of freshly baked cookies was the last thing she needed.

Before she could even raise a hand to knock, Dottie Willis called, “Come on in. My door’s never locked.”

A jolt of surprise ran through Annelise. Because of the constant threat of kidnappers and the like, she’d always been under lock and key. It seemed unfathomable that anyone would leave her house wide open. And all the time?

She poked her head inside. Pink. Everywhere. The kitchen walls, countertops, curtains. It was like being dropped inside a vat of cotton candy.

“Getting settled, sweetie?”

“Yes, ma’am. I had a couple of questions, though.”

“Imagine you do.” Dottie grinned. “Wouldn’t involve a long-legged cowboy, would they?”

She fought the nervous twitch in her stomach and smiled back. “No, actually they don’t.”

“Want a cookie and a glass of milk?”

Cookies and milk. The memory brought a smile. Frannie, their cook, offered her that for a treat after school. At least, on the days her mother hadn’t scheduled French lessons or horseback riding lessons or ballet lessons. Whatever the class du jour, her mom had seen she took it.