women cried at happy occasions baffled Matt. At least they weren’t weeping in his arms.
Rosa smiled at him. “Hello, Señor Matt.”
“How’s the finest cook in the county?”
Rosy-cheeked and beaming, the housekeeper giggled. “You try for cookie. They cool in kitchen.” She tucked an arm around Hannah. “Come. I help you unpack.”
“I want to see Papa first.”
“Hannah, I’d like a minute with Martin. Why don’t you take a second to...” He glanced at Rosa for help.
“Si, wash face, hands.” The housekeeper led the way inside.
“I’ll only be a few minutes,” Hannah said, pleasant enough, but her pointed stare warned him not overstay his welcome.
With a nod, Matt rounded the corner and strode down the hall to Martin’s room. He rapped on his door then poked his head in. As he suspected, Martin was stretched out on the bed fully dressed, but from his bleary eyes, he’d been dozing.
A smile lit his face as he struggled to rise. “She’s home.”
“Yes, freshening up.” Matt helped Martin stand. Once he was steady on his feet, they walked the short distance to the office. Martin dropped into his chair behind his desk, his back to the window.
Matt sat in a chair across from him. “You sure you’re up to dinner guests tonight?”
“I’m fine.”
Those words belied Martin’s appearance. Yet Matt understood the need to save face, to ignore what was plain to see.
“My illness is going to flip Hannah’s world upside down. She can’t keep the ranch,” Martin said, his tone weary. “I’ve got to make her understand that her future is in Charleston.”
Martin spoke the truth. Yet that truth hurt Martin and would hurt his daughter.
“I let that girl run wild.” A smile lifted the grim line of Martin’s lips. “Can’t wait to see the change in her.”
Tomboy turned debutante would please Martin. “If you have everything you need, I’ll be on my way.”
“Thanks for picking Hannah up at the depot.” Martin’s gaze dropped to his hands. “Appreciate it if you and your folks kept silent about my troubles. I aim to give my daughter a happy homecoming.”
“Of course. You can count on us to—”
The sound of shoes clicking on the floorboards cut off Matt’s words, then halted outside the open door.
“Papa!” With a smile riding her face, Hannah rushed to where Martin sat, the late afternoon sunlight putting him in silhouette. As she reached him, her smile vanished. Wide-eyed, she gaped at Martin. Shock was on her face at seeing her once robust father a shell of his former self, a frail man, his face etched with lines, his skin an unhealthy gray.
“Hannah, dear, I’ve been waiting all afternoon for my daughter’s kiss.”
She leaned down, kissed his cheek then stepped back, plopping hands on hips. “You’re too thin. Are you ill? Are you eating properly?”
“Been ill. Feeling much better now that you’re home. You need to change for dinner. The Walkers will be joining us.”
Stormy blue eyes flashed Matt’s way then turned back to Martin. “Of course. I’ll wear one of my new dresses and relay all the news from Charleston.”
“That’s my girl.”
“I’ll see you later, Papa. Rest, okay?”
She pressed a kiss to Martin’s forehead then strode to the door, grabbing Matt’s arm and hauling him with her.
“See you tonight,” Matt said over his shoulder.
As the door clicked shut, Hannah whirled on him. “What’s going on with my father?” she said in a harsh, hoarse whisper.
“He told you. He’s been ill.”
“That doesn’t tell me anything! Ill with what?”
With a shrug and sealed lips, he met her gaze. He wouldn’t betray Martin’s confidence.
Her eyes narrowed, latching on to him like a terrier to a bone. “Who’s running this ranch?”
“I am.”
“The Lazy P belongs to us. You have your own ranch.”
“I’m only helping out.”
“That was nice of you, but he has me now.”
Matt fought to keep a straight face. “You?”
“You think I’m nothing more than a debutante.” She poked him in the chest, her dainty forefinger carrying a surprising wallop. “I’m what I’ve always been, Matt Walker. A rancher.”
“That’s absurd. The sooner you realize you have no business running the ranch, the better.”
“The sooner you realize what I do is none of your business, the better,” she said, then stormed off.
A young, inexperienced female boss was about as welcome to cowpokes as a rattler in the bunkhouse. How long before Hannah learned that truth the hard way?
Chapter Two
A nuisance stood on the Parrish threshold. Or so Hannah tried to tell herself. Taller than her by several inches, Matt’s dark mesmerizing eyes locked with hers.
“Evening,” he said as he stepped inside.
He looked far too appealing, even chivalrous as he swept off his black beaver Stetson, giving access to his features. Pressed flat on the sides from the pressure of the headband, his hair curled around his nape. His full lips and long lashes would make most women envious.
The deep tan of Matt’s face and arms were in sharp contrast to the white cotton shirt beneath his leather vest. Open at the neck and rolled up at the sleeves, the snowy fabric revealed dark curly hair on his forearms.
Before she could gather her wits and take his hat, he’d hung his Stetson on the hall tree, obviously very much at home. He’d admitted running the ranch. Give the man his head and he’d encroach on every facet of their lives.
She pasted on a smile, as if she didn’t have a care in the world, and glided across the foyer with a ramrod carriage even the persnickety headmistress in Charleston would approve of.
Inside the dining room, candlelight flickered, shimmering in the high gloss of the tabletop. The silver serving pieces, possessions her mother had brought west, looked out of place in the rustic room’s whitewashed walls and dark beamed ceiling.
At the table, Matt’s parents sat talking to her father.
