The Way to a Cowboy's Heart - Teresa Southwick

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and stared out toward the ranch buildings. “If you say so.”

      “You don’t think it is?”

      “It’s not that. I’m just the wrong man for the job.”

      “Apparently he didn’t agree.”

      He laughed, but it was a bitter, chilling sound. “He was determined that those boys not be disappointed.”

      “You sound surprised at that.”

      “I am.” He turned and walked over to the swing, sitting down beside her. “Even more than his manipulation.”

      “Manipulation?”

      “He knew how much I love this ranch. He was counting on that to get his way.”

      “Why did he feel emotional blackmail was necessary? This project was obviously important to him. Why couldn’t he simply ask his only son to fulfill his dying request?”

      She shifted her position on the swing and her thigh brushed against his. Ignoring the flash of heat and sparks, she forced herself to concentrate on the man beside her.

      “He couldn’t forgive me for being less than perfect.”

      “I’m sure he loved you, Cade.” A man altruistic enough to give delinquent teens another chance would surely care about his own son.

      Cade’s mouth turned up in a bitter smile. “How could you understand? I bet your idea of doing something wrong is whispering in church, or not making your bed every day.”

      “You certainly have a strong opinion of me based on several hours acquaintance.” She frowned at him. “Do you really believe I’m that one-dimensional?”

      “Yeah.”

      “I’ll have you know I got into my share of trouble.”

      Genuine amusement glinted in his eyes and relaxed the tension in his body. “Oh yeah? Define trouble.”

      She thought hard. “All right. I’ve got one. There was the time I was necking in the driveway with Bill Perkins. My brother came out, tapped on the car window, and told me to get in the house.”

      He laughed. “I bet that put a crimp in your social life for a spell.”

      “I was grounded for a month. Can you top that?”

      “Lady, you don’t want to know.”

      “Try me. I’m not the Miss Goody Two-Shoes you apparently think I am.”

      All traces of laughter disappeared. The black look was back and with it the tension. “All right. You asked for it.”

      “Well, what did you do?”

      “Grand theft auto.”

      Chapter Two

      “You stole a car?” she asked in amazement.

      He took little satisfaction from shocking her, even though he’d set out to do exactly that. “My father’s car. Truck to be exact.”

      “What happened?”

      “He made sure I was punished to the full extent of the law.”

      “But it was your father’s. It was hardly more than borrowing the family wheels.”

      “I didn’t have my old man’s permission.” He shook his head. “If it’d been the old days, he would’ve led a necktie party.”

      “You’re exaggerating.”

      “You didn’t know Matt McKendrick.”

      “No, I didn’t.” She stared out into the night for a few moments, then looked at him. “So I can only call ‘em as I see ’em. You turned out all right.”

      That surprised him. “How do you know that?”

      “I’m a pretty good judge of character.” Her generous mouth turned up at the corners. “Except for one notable exception.”

      “Your husband.”

      “Ex-husband,” she corrected.

      So she was divorced. She hadn’t mentioned that before. He had no right to be pleased by the information. He didn’t want to be glad that the man was out of her life.

      But damn it he was—pleased and glad.

      The realization scared the hell out of him. He stood abruptly. “Time to turn in. Sunup rolls around fast.”

      “You have to be up that early?”

      He nodded. “On a ranch, we need to use all the daylight there is.”

      She stood up, too. Taking a step toward him, she was close enough that he could smell the sweet scent of her hair and the fragrance of her skin. Need slammed into him, an ache to touch her and see for himself if she was as womanly soft as she looked.

      The instant he’d laid eyes on her, he’d wanted to kiss her. For the second time in less than twenty-four hours his new cook gave him ideas, things no boss should think about an employee. Only now he was finding it even harder to resist the impulse. He was right to be afraid of her.

      “I’ll have breakfast ready for you,” she said.

      “No.” The word came out more sharply than he’d intended.

      A puzzled frown wrinkled her forehead, but she said, “I don’t mind.”

      The last thing he needed was to see her, first thing in the morning. She tripped warning signals in his head that even a cavalier cowboy like himself couldn’t miss.

      “Sleep in, P.J. You’re going to have your hands full when the boys get here tomorrow.”

      

      Several days later, while staring down hostile glares from those three disgruntled teenagers, P.J. understood the full impact of Cade’s words. Since the boys’ arrival, he had been too “busy” on the ranch to spend any time with them. The task of supervision had fallen to her. Fresh out of ideas for keeping them occupied, she had decided they could help with her chores.

      She found out quickly that housework wasn’t high on their top-ten list of exciting ranch activities.

      “Learning to cook is a good skill to have. Someday you’ll be on your own.”

      “When do we get to see this place? I didn’t bust my ass staying out of trouble so I could come here and bake cookies.” Steve Hicks, blond, blue-eyed and nearly six feet tall at seventeen, was the leader of the group. He sported a small gold hoop in his left ear.

      “Me, either.” Todd Berry, shorter than his buddy, with light brown eyes, agreed.

      The third member of the trio, Mark Robinson, nodded. He was less vocal than the other two. Almost as tall as Steve, he always wore a baseball hat.

      “I don’t know what to say, guys.” She held a bowl filled with cookie dough as she spooned it onto sheets for baking.

      Standing on a chair beside her, Emily reached into the dough and plucked out a chocolate chip. After popping it into her mouth, she said, “I bet Mister Cade would know what to say.”

      P.J. wasn’t so sure about that. But one thing she knew. He was trying to pass the buck, smack into her back pocket. She didn’t plan to let him get away with it. She didn’t mind helping out, but she’d bet her last dollar that housework hadn’t been his father’s vision for this program.

      “Baking cookies, for God’s sake,” one of them muttered. “We’ll never live this down.”

      She looked at the three boys. “You’ve got a point.”

      “we do?” Mark glanced at Steve who lounged against the kitchen counter.

      “Yeah, and if you’ll

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