who was actually qualified had applied for the job. So what if she was a she?
Finished paying his current household and ranch bills, he picked up his coffee mug and glanced at his watch as he walked out of the assistant’s office, hoping he wouldn’t have to spend any time there again in the near future.
It was 1:36 p.m. The appointment with the applicant was at 2. Rinsing his mug, he proceeded to make a fresh pot of coffee. Then again, he mused, after her long drive, the woman might appreciate a cold drink. He checked the fridge; there was cola as well as bottled water. The beer was his. Now all he had to do was wait, which was not Marsh’s strong suit. He got busy scouring the sink and wiping down the long countertop.
His former assistant had up and quit on him three months ago, and he hadn’t been able to sleep since then—until last night. Just the thought of interviewing someone who was actually qualified and could lighten his load had allowed him to enjoy his first full night’s sleep in a long time. Hopefully she would take to the place. At that thought, he grimaced as he sent a quick look around. While tidy, the kitchen needed a thorough cleaning. The same went for the rest of the house. He had done his best to keep up with everything, but the majority of his time was consumed by the myriad details of his businesses. At the end of the day he was only one man.
Marsh had never dreamed finding help would be so hard. After his assistant left, he had received many responses to his ads, but only a few were qualified, and even fewer of those were willing to relocate to “the sticks,” as one respondent called it.
The sticks? Marsh had thought with amazement. Didn’t these city dwellers know how popular the hill country was with tourists? Apparently not. They hadn’t a clue what they were missing.
But now, hopefully, things would return to normal.
If he could just replace his assistant—and the housekeeper that the man had taken with him to Vegas, to marry—life would be good again.
Marsh thought about what his assistant and the housekeeper had said to him when they’d quit. They had said they were in love.
Love. Yeah. Right.
And if that hadn’t been bad enough, the teenage daughter of his nearest neighbor, who had been coming to the house once a week to help the housekeeper, had been ordered to quit. Her parents thought her being alone with him was a bad idea.
Marsh knew precisely what they meant by “bad idea.” So he had a reputation with women. So what? He was a healthy male, and the key word was women. He was not interested in teenagers. He’d have laughed at the thought if he hadn’t been so ticked off.
At the ripe old age of thirty-four, Marsh was bitter and he knew it. He hugged the truth to him like a heating pad, keeping the bitterness alive so he’d never forget.
He had been betrayed—twice. The first time was when he was six years old, by his mother, who had left his father to seek fun in the bright lights, taking a hefty chunk of his father’s money with her. Marsh had doubled down on the pain of betrayal at age twenty-four by marrying in a haze of lust only to be told by his young wife that she wasn’t about to waste her youth and beauty stuck in the hill country of Texas, popping out babies and ruining her figure. In hindsight, Marsh knew he should have discussed his desire for children before they were married. It would have saved him a lot of trouble and money—especially since he had known deep down inside that he wasn’t in love with her. In his estimation, love was an illusion dreamed up by poets and romance writers. But he still would have had children with her, because he truly felt as if he was meant to be a father. He wanted an heir, someone to lavish love on—the only love he truly believed in—who would take over when he was gone.
In some ways, he got lucky. Though his ex took an even larger chunk of his money than his mother had taken of his father’s, Marsh gladly wrote the check, happy to get the selfish woman who had clearly married him just for his wealth out of his life and his home.
Then, to top it all off, a couple years later his father had retired, retreating to the ranch where he completed his slow decline toward death, thus also deserting Marsh.
It had been a tough time.
The coffeemaker drew Marsh from his unpleasant reverie with one last gurgle as it finished brewing. Marsh filled his mug and took a careful test sip. The brew was scalding hot but good just the same, even though the carafe, too, needed a thorough washing.
Marsh sighed. As much as he cringed at the very thought of having another female in the house, he hoped this young woman took the job. Jennifer Dunning was her name, and on paper she seemed like a mature, intelligent adult. Her credentials were excellent, almost unbelievably so. Every reference she had listed had come up aces and the investigator’s report gave her a clean slate. She was from a wealthy family but apparently enjoyed working. He had even met her prominent parents on one or two occasions but he had never met her. One report he had received said she was not a part of the Dallas social scene, which seemed strange, given her family circumstances.
Basically, he had no idea what to expect.
He had requested an interview at his home. As she was located in Dallas, he was certain she would refuse to travel the considerable distance to his house merely for an interview and that would be the end of it. But she had agreed. Against his better judgment, Marsh set a date and time. Well, today was the day, and it was almost the time … if she showed up.
As a rule, Marsh usually worked in his office until late into the evening hours after dinner. For the past three months, he’d had no choice but to do the work of his assistant and housekeeper as well, which included keeping current on the cattle breeding information and managing the finances for the ranch and the payroll for the men. He barely had time to clean, although he did manage to keep his own bedroom spotless. And forget about cooking—his cooking skills were limited to slapping a sandwich together and heating a can of soup. He did brew a damn good cup of coffee, though.
He shot another look at his watch. Three minutes until two. Carrying his cup, he strolled along the wide slate-covered walkway to the front of the smooth white adobe house. Narrowing his eyes he stared at the black-topped road that turned off the highway to wind its way to the main house. After a long, dry summer, the driveway was coated by a layer of dust.
The beginnings of a frown nudged his eyebrows together as he looked again at his watch. Never late himself, he expected punctuality from others—especially someone applying for employment.
A low beep sounded from a small device attached to his belt. Security was alerting him that someone had driven onto the property. At that moment, he noticed a plume of dust rising from the back of a vehicle moving at a speed that would have made Richard Petty grin. No way was it Jennifer Dunning—he’d never met a woman who drove like that in all his life. It was Matt, or a special delivery, which was probably for the best anyway.
Marsh slashed another glance at his watch. It was exactly two when the old white Cadillac came to a screeching stop directly in front of the flagstone entranceway. The driver’s-side door was thrown open and a woman stepped out, slamming the door behind her.
Oh, hell.
She was absolutely gorgeous. A bit above average height, maybe five-eight or so, she had a long mass of honey-blond hair, dark brown eyes, a lovely face with well-defined features, a lush mouth and a curvaceous body. She was basically a man’s fantasy come to life.
Dammit, Marsh thought as every muscle in his body grew taut. Jennifer Dunning was the last thing he needed within a hundred miles, let alone
