The Rancher's Marriage Pact (5 page)

Probably best to sleep on it for now and decide in the morning—if he actually got any sleep at all.

Three

S
haking off the fog of sleep, Paris came into consciousness slowly in reaction to a ribbon of light landing on her face. She opened her eyes and squinted at first, until she spotted the man with an open chambray shirt sitting in the chair in the corner, putting on his boots. Her eyes went wide when she remembered her current location—a stranger's bed.

Then it all came back to her, one frame at a time, like a mortifying slide show. Dinner with Dallas Calloway. Two drinks. Getting drunk. Getting into his bed. And that kiss she'd instigated.

Paris resisted the urge to pull the covers over her head and hide away until he left. Or she could choose the mature path and apologize again for her stupid behavior.

After scooting up against the tufted leather headboard, Paris pushed her hair away from her face and cleared her throat to garner his attention. “What time is it?”

He glanced at her, rose to his feet and began buttoning his shirt, but not before she caught a good glimpse of his toned chest, ridged abdomen and the thin happy trail leading to his open fly. “It's after nine,” he said. “I thought for a minute there you might sleep until lunchtime.”

She thought for a minute there she might swallow her tongue due to his sheer male perfection. “You should have woken me sooner.”

“I tried.”

“Apparently not very hard.”

“I nearly shook your shoulder off, but you didn't budge.” He cracked a crooked smile. “How's your head?”

“Fuzzy.” But not so fuzzy that she couldn't recall what a fool she'd made of herself.

“Need an aspirin?” he asked as he tucked his shirt into the jeans' waistband.

She needed an escape route when she noticed her skirt and top hanging on the end of the bedpost. “No, I'm fine,” she said as she clutched the covers tighter. “I do need to get dressed and go home.”

He barked out a laugh. “That's usually my morning line.”

It suddenly occurred to her she might not remember everything about their evening, although she couldn't imagine forgetting
that
. “Uh, we didn't do anything...you know.”

He buckled his belt and approached the side of the bed. “Unfortunately ‘you know' wasn't involved. You did strip down to your underwear, but I didn't look.”

“I've definitely heard that before.” She determined an amendment would be best before he assumed she slept around. “From my ex-husband, and he was telling the truth. He rarely looked at me the last few years of our wedded non-bliss.”

“Your husband sounds like an idiot. No offense.”

“No offense taken. You've pegged him right, although my actions last evening would probably qualify as idiotic. I'm so sorry I subjected you to that.”

He grabbed an off-white straw cowboy hat hanging from a hook near the door. “Look, you had a little too much to drink. It happens.”

“Not to me,” she muttered. “I can't recall ever drinking so much that I took off my clothes and climbed into a stranger's bed.”

“Darlin', since all you did was climb into my bed, I think you can stop worrying about your actions.”

“But I kissed you. Or at least I think I did.”

His grin expanded. “Oh, yeah, you did. And you won't hear me complainin' about that at all.”

At least that was reassuring. “I want to be clear I have never done anything like this before.”

“Kissed someone?”

“Kissed someone I just met.”

“I kind of like knowing I was your first.”

“I like knowing you're not completely disgusted with me.”

“Nothing about you disgusts me, sweetheart.” He settled the hat on his head and smiled. “Stay in bed as long as you'd like, and I'll see you in a bit.”

“In bed?” Now why had she said something so leading and ludicrous?

He didn't seem at all affected by the faux pas. “Is that an invitation?”

She shook her aching head. “No. Just proof that I sometimes speak before I think.”

He winked. “That's too bad.”

Paris fought the temptation to tell him she'd reconsidered. “Where are you going now?”

“I have to check on some of the livestock.”

“Well, I guess I'll just say goodbye then. I'll probably be on my way home before you get back.”

“You can't leave yet. Jenny went to town this morning and bought you a dress and some underclothes and laundered them. She left them in the bathroom along with some toiletries. She's also keeping breakfast warm for you.”

Jenny could be nominated for Southern sainthood, in her opinion. But how embarrassing to have one of the Calloway stepmothers learn she'd spent the night in the stepson's bed. “Although I appreciate the gesture, that's not really necessary. I'll just put on the clothes I wore last night and get out of your hair.”

“I want you to stay a while longer so we can talk.”

“About what?”

“Business,” he said as he clasped the knob and opened the door. “So don't go anywhere.”

Paris fought the urge to salute over his demanding tone, but Dallas had already disappeared before she could deliver the gesture. Assured he had left the premises, she slipped out of bed and wandered into the bathroom. Spa bathroom.

The beige marble tub seemed as large as her whole apartment, and so was the stone shower. She had a good mind to take a soak, but she didn't want to prolong her stay in Dallas's domain or delay the breakfast Jenny had prepared.

She retrieved shampoo and shower gel from the basket on the double vanity, gathered a towel from the heated rack on the wall, then took a quick spray until she finally felt somewhat refreshed and energized.

She dressed in the aforementioned underwear, and donned the yellow sundress hanging on a hook on the back of the door. Evidently Jenny had thought of everything, right down to the matching sandals and hair dryer.

After completing the morning ritual, Paris strode back into the bedroom where she thankfully found her case that held her makeup bag. She didn't have her complete beauty arsenal, but she did have mascara and lip gloss, which would have to do.

After pulling her hair back into a low ponytail, Paris carefully folded her suit, shoved it into the bag and then headed toward the luscious scents wafting through the hallway. Once there, she found Jenny standing at the massive six-burner stainless stove, flipping pancakes, surrounded by a chef's dream kitchen. She had finally uncovered the one place that shouted ultramodern, not macho rustic.

“Good morning, Jenny,” she said as she sent her a somewhat self-conscious smile.

The friendly stepmom favored her with a bright grin. “Good morning to you, sugar. Did you sleep well?”

“Like a rock.” Like a drunken sailor. “The mint juleps saw to that.”

Jenny pushed the spatula under one cake and slid it onto a plate. “I am so sorry, sugar. I didn't know you were such a lightweight.”

Paris leaned against the cabinet adjacent to the huge fridge and rested an elbow on the gray quartz countertop. “I really don't drink too often. Just the occasional glass of wine.”

Jenny sent her a sideways glance. “Would you like a mimosa? Or perhaps a screwdriver. Nothing relieves a hangover better than that old hair of the hound dog.”

The thought twisted her stomach into a knot. “Heavens no. I mean, no thank you. I wouldn't mind some orange juice, without the champagne or vodka.”

Jenny retrieved a pitcher of juice from the refrigerator, poured Paris a glass and handed it to her. “You're not from the South, are you, sugar?”

“No. Why?”

“Because good Southern girls like their toddies now and again.”

Now and again could possibly be an understatement when it came to Jenny. “I'm not really from anywhere. My family traveled all over the country during my youth.”

That earned Paris a sympathetic look. “Everyone should have a place to call home, honey. Mine was the New Orleans area, until I moved here.”

Paris had fond memories of New Orleans, the place where she'd headed her first hotel design project. Little had she known that a few years later, she would suffer a major fall from grace. “Do you miss Louisiana?”

Jenny shrugged. “At times, but I can always go back whenever I choose.”

She gestured toward a small bistro table set near a bank of windows at the end of the expansive kitchen. “Have a seat, sugar. How many slices of bacon with your pancakes?”

Apparently Jenny had forgotten the meal she'd prepared the night before. “None, please. And only one pancake.”

The woman looked as if Paris had uttered the ultimate blasphemy. “Oh, that's right. You're a vegetarian.”

After setting her glass on the round table, Paris pulled back a cute red chair and sat. The color definitely indicated a woman's touch, and most likely an unwelcome concession on Dallas's part. “I do eat eggs and some seafood. I just avoid pork, poultry and beef.”

Jenny slid a plate piled high with the cakes onto the table in front of Paris. “You'd have a hard time living here, honey. Beef is a mainstay with almost every meal.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Sounds like a cholesterol catastrophe to me.”

After claiming the chair across from her, Jenny smiled. “You'd be surprised how good old hard work keeps that in check. I tell you, Dallas is in prime shape and in perfect health.”

From what she'd seen, Paris wouldn't debate the
prime shape
part. She grabbed the pitcher of warm syrup and poured only a small amount, ignoring the pats of butter to her right. “Is Dallas not joining us for breakfast?”

Jenny laid a hand on her throat. “Oh, sugar, he gets up with the chickens. He ate at five a.m.”

Paris couldn't imagine dragging out of bed at that hour, much less eating a full breakfast. “What exactly does he do at that time of the morning?”

“He tends to the ranch,” came from behind Paris. “He's a rancher and that's what they do.”

She didn't have to turn around to recognize the voice, but she did glance over her shoulder to see Maria Calloway pouring a cup of coffee from the carafe on the counter. “I guess that makes sense,” Paris said. “I'm surprised it requires working sunup to sundown.”

Maria took the chair next to Jenny and leveled her stare on Paris. “Have you ever lived on a large parcel of land?”

Paris swallowed the bite she'd just taken and rested her fork on the plate. “No, I've never lived on a farm or a ranch.”

“She's never really had a home, Maria,” Jenny said sympathetically. “Isn't that just so sad?”

Maria appeared unaffected by the revelation. “Then you're not accustomed to working with your hands?”

She didn't understand the reasons behind the obvious interrogation. After all, she'd be leaving in hopefully less than an hour. Then again, Dallas had mentioned a business talk, so she could be coming back to the ranch, if luck prevailed. “Any work I do with my hands involves sketching designs and using a computer keyboard.”

Maria took a long drink of coffee before speaking again. “It's a hard life on a ranch. Not for the weak of spirit or faint of heart.”

“It's not that bad, Maria,” Jenny said. “I've adjusted just fine, but then I did spend several years on a horse farm.”

Maria turned her frown on the other mother. “You spent those years throwing garden parties, so your opinion doesn't count. And since you've been here, I don't recall you even picking up a garden rake, much less muck a stall.”

“Don't listen to her, Paris,” Jenny said. “I planted the roses in the hedges.”

“Bully for you,” Maria muttered.

Feeling the need to play peacemaker, Paris decided to change the subject. “Where exactly is Dallas now?”

“In the barn, of course,” Maria said. “He told me to send you there as soon as you're done eating.”

Wearing a pair of sandals in a barn didn't seem wise, but anything beat dueling stepmoms. After consuming only half her food, Paris dabbed at her mouth, put the napkin aside, pushed away from the table and stood. “Ladies, it's been a pleasure meeting both of you, and thanks so much for your hospitality. Now if you'll direct me to the barn, I'll be on my way.”

Maria pointed behind her. “It's that way. Big building with a big door. Can't miss it.”

Jenny rose and took Paris's hand. “Sugar, I am so glad you showed up here. I know Dallas is, too.”

Paris only wished she could be sure of that. “Thanks, Jenny, and if we don't see each other again, I'll always remember our meeting fondly.”

“Oh, you'll be seeing her again,” Maria said from her perch at the table. “Me, too. A lot.”

She wanted to jump for joy. “Then he's decided to hire me?”

Jenny and Maria exchanged a strange look before Jenny regarded her again. “You could say that in a manner of speaking. Now run along, sugar. Dallas doesn't like to be kept waiting.”

If a chance existed that Dallas Calloway would soon be her boss, she would run all the way to the barn.

* * *

When he noticed Paris picking her way carefully down the rock path, Dallas propped the shovel against the rough-hewn wall and smiled. His amusement was short-lived when he realized what he was about to do, and what was at stake—his future as the head of the D Bar C Ranch and his project, Texas Extreme.

If he went through with his plan, some might consider him pretty mercenary. Or insane. Or both. But at the moment, he only cared about the opinion of the good-looking woman entering the barn.

“Maria said you wanted to see me,” Paris said as she balanced on one foot and shook the sawdust out of her sandal.

“Yeah,” he told her, although he was seeing a little more than he should, namely a nice glimpse of the curve of her breast when she leaned over and removed the other shoe.

After she straightened and tugged at the hem on the sundress, her attention turned to some focal point behind him. “What a beautiful horse.”