had it, could give most cowboys in the area a run for their money when it came to ranch work.
“Hello?” Her voice was deep, husky, questioning. And totally feminine. Hearing it, everything inside Rafe—his pulse, his breath, his thoughts—stopped for a second in surprise.
“Is something wrong?” Worry edged the words as she stared at him, waiting.
He pulled himself together, freed a thumb and tipped his hat. “Good evening, ma’am. I’m Deputy Sheriff Rafferty. I brought Mr. Bobby Maxwell home.”
She raked a hand through her short hair. “Let me guess—you caught him tipping Fred Byron’s cows again.” Now her voice held a smile, inviting him to smile, too.
This was business, though, so he didn’t. “No, ma’am. I broke up a fight at the Lone Wolf Bar up in Paradise Corners and found him in the middle.”
She stiffened. “Is he hurt?”
“He’s beat up a little. But mostly he’s too drunk to run around loose.”
“Dammit, Bobby!”
“Don’ yell at me, Tee.”
The Maxwell boy stumbled up the three steps onto the porch, swayed and wrapped an arm around a stacked stone column to keep from falling over. His clothes were soaking wet, plastered to his skin. “Don’ yell, okay? No harm done.”
“This time.” Brushing past Rafe, Thea Maxwell crossed the porch to pry her brother from his prop. The drape of her blue pajamas hinted at some very nice curves underneath. Rafe liked women with curves. And voices like hers.
At the moment, though, this woman wasn’t thinking about impressing him one way or another. She was fussing over her brother. “You’d better get into some dry clothes before you get sick. How’d you get so wet?” She pulled his arm over her shoulder, turning him toward the front door.
As they passed Rafe, Bobby gave him a wink and a good-natured grin. “Can’t ’member.”
“Do you remember promising you’d stay out of trouble?” Still holding him up with an arm around his waist, she propelled Bobby down the length of the palatial great room. Rafe could hear her scolding as they disappeared through an arched doorway. “When are you going to grow up?”
Bobby laughed, but his mumbled reply was lost in the distance. Duty discharged, Rafe turned away from the warmth of the house to start the long drive back to town.
“What the devil is going on here?”
He pivoted back to face the growling question. Now a man confronted him from the doorway, tall and broad-shouldered, still dressed in the working clothes of a hands-on rancher. This would be Boss Maxwell himself. Robert Maxwell Senior.
Another respectful tip of the hat. “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Maxwell. I brought your son back from town—he was too drunk to drive. He can pick up his truck in the parking lot where he left it.”
Maxwell’s temper vibrated in the air. “Who asked you to butt in?”
Rafe refused to be baited. He didn’t want to tell Maxwell that his son had started a bar fight—why cause the boy any more grief? Especially with an old man as hard as Maxwell was reputed to be. “I thought Bobby could use some help getting home, that’s all. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“You’ll leave when I say so, and not before.” Maxwell stepped into the porch light. His lined face testified to years in the harsh Montana weather, his red hair showed streaks of white at the temples. “My boy doesn’t need a baby-sitter, especially not some wet-behind-the-ears deputy still breaking in his boots.” The rancher didn’t have to raise his voice to make a point—his sharp tone did all the work.
“I may be new to Paradise Corners, but I’ve been wearing these same boots for six years now.” The grin he tried got no response, so Rafe abandoned the effort. “I was just doing my job, sir.” This last “sir” came out through gritted teeth.
“Your job is to stay out of decent people’s business. The folks of this county will let you know when they want your help. As for the Maxwells…” The older man sliced the air with the side of his hand. “We don’t need your help. Just stay clear. I’ve got connections all over this state. I can get you run out of town so fast—”
Thea arrived in time to hear the threat. “Calm down, Dad.”
Both men jerked their heads to stare in her direction. They’d been so involved in their argument, they obviously hadn’t noticed her return to the doorway. Arms crossed, she surveyed them in turn, reminded of mature bulls staking a claim on the same herd of cows. Both big, both strong, both stubborn.
She put her hand on her dad’s arm. “Deputy Rafferty did us a favor. There’s no telling what would have happened if Bobby had tried to drive home. Why don’t you just say thanks and get to bed? It’s 1:00 a.m., and you wanted an early start in the morning.”
Robert Maxwell didn’t give in, but she hadn’t expected him to. With a sound somewhere between a snarl and a grunt, he turned on his boot heel and stomped back into his wing of the house.
Shaking her head, Thea looked at the deputy. “We haven’t treated you very well, considering how helpful you’ve been. I’m Althea Maxwell—Thea to most people.” She held out her hand to shake his. “Would you like some coffee before you head back?”
His warm palm closed against hers, comforting, safe. “That would be great. I’m Rafe, by the way. Well…” He shrugged. “Actually it’s Owen, but I got tired of the teasing by about the second grade.” He grinned and took off his hat.
Thea blinked twice. Hard. With Bobby in such a state, she hadn’t had time or opportunity to notice the deputy’s looks, but she sure was noticing now. Deep brown eyes under thick lashes, a proud nose that might have been broken a time or two, dark brown hair that kept its wave even with a regulation short haircut. And then there were his shoulders…
A cold draft through the open door brought Thea to her senses. “Oh…good. The kitchen’s this way.” Only as she led him through the dining room did she remember she was in her pajamas. Flannel pajamas, true, in a conservative dark blue. She might as well be wearing jeans and a shirt.
But standing across the kitchen from the gorgeous deputy as she made a pot of hot, sweet coffee, she couldn’t help feeling…exposed. She should have put on a robe, at least.
“Thanks for leaving out the part about the fight,” she said, filling a mug for each of them. “Especially since Bobby probably started the whole thing.” She glanced at the deputy, who nodded. “He’s not in any shape to deal with Dad’s temper tonight.”
“I’d imagine that requires a clear head.”
She waved him to the kitchen table. “Nerves of steel help. As well as not having done anything wrong to begin with.” She sighed. “With Bobby, we hardly ever get all three at the same time.”
Considerately, Rafe Rafferty left that comment alone. “These are good,” he said after a minute, gesturing with one of the oatmeal cookies she’d set out. Thea looked up from her coffee and saw that, like a little boy, he had a crumb at the corner of his mouth. Such a nicely shaped mouth…
“Did
