his truck after seeing his latest visitor, Juliet Johnson, off on the bus. He cursed and slammed his fist against the steering wheel, then lit a cigarette and began smoking it with fast, furious puffs.
This had all been a damn waste of time and money. The schoolteacher, Dale Quillan, had taken a good hard look at the isolation of the ranch and politely told him she wasnât interested. Miss Johnson, on the other hand, had been willing to take on the job, but he couldnât bring himself to make the offer. That was the sourest woman heâd ever met, humorless and disapproving of almost everything she saw. Heâd imagined her as the family-oriented type, since she had sacrificed her life to care for her invalid mother, but now he figured she had been more of a cross than a blessing to the poor woman. She had informed him tartly that she would be willing to perform her duties by him once they were sanctified by marriage, but she hoped he didnât plan on a lot of foolish shenanigans because she didnât believe in such. Reese had told her just as sharply that he believed she could rest easy on that score.
Three applicants. One he wouldnât have, one wouldnât have him, and the other was all wrong for the job.
Madelyn. Long, beautiful legs. Silky blond hair and deep gray eyes. A soft mouth and a taste like honey. What would ranch life do to someone that elegant and unprepared?
But heâd spent two weeks turning his bed into ashambles every night because his frustrated body wouldnât let him sleep, and when he did manage to sleep he dreamed about her and woke up in even worse shape than when heâd dozed off. His loins ached, his temper was frayed, and he was smoking twice as much as normal. Damn her for being more than he wanted, or could afford.
She had clung to him and kissed him with such a fiery response that he hadnât been able to sleep at all that night, but sheâd walked away from him without a backward glance. If sheâd turned around just once, if sheâd shown the least reluctance to go, he might have weakened and asked her to stay, but she hadnât. Sheâd even wished him good luck in finding a wife. It didnât sound as if his rejection had wounded her too badly.
He could have kept her. It drove him half-wild to know that she would have stayed if heâd asked her, that they could have been married by now. She would be lying under him every night, and the bed might get torn up, but it wouldnât be out of frustration.
No. She was too much like April. If he ever let her get her claws into him, she would rip him to shreds even worse than April had done, because even in the beginning heâd never been as hot to have April as he was to have Madelyn. She was used to city life, and though sheâd appeared to like Montana and the ranch, the real test was living through a winter here. Sheâd never make it.
He ground out the cigarette and lit another, feeling the smoke burn his throat and lungs.
Fury and frustration boiled over. He got out of the truck and strode to a pay phone. A call to Information got her number. This was probably another waste of time; at this time of day sheâd be at work, but he wasdriven by an urgency he bitterly resented and was still unable to resist.
He punched in her number, and an operator came on the line to tell him how much money to deposit. He dug in his pocket for change, swearing under his breath when he saw he didnât have enough.
âSir, please deposit the correct amount.â
âJust a minute.â He got out his wallet and flipped through the papers until he found his telephone credit card and read off the account number to the operator. He hadnât used the card in seven years, so he hoped it was still good.
Evidently it was, because the operator said, âThank you,â and he heard the electronic beeps as the call went through.
It rang three times; then there was a click as
This had all been a damn waste of time and money. The schoolteacher, Dale Quillan, had taken a good hard look at the isolation of the ranch and politely told him she wasnât interested. Miss Johnson, on the other hand, had been willing to take on the job, but he couldnât bring himself to make the offer. That was the sourest woman heâd ever met, humorless and disapproving of almost everything she saw. Heâd imagined her as the family-oriented type, since she had sacrificed her life to care for her invalid mother, but now he figured she had been more of a cross than a blessing to the poor woman. She had informed him tartly that she would be willing to perform her duties by him once they were sanctified by marriage, but she hoped he didnât plan on a lot of foolish shenanigans because she didnât believe in such. Reese had told her just as sharply that he believed she could rest easy on that score.
Three applicants. One he wouldnât have, one wouldnât have him, and the other was all wrong for the job.
Madelyn. Long, beautiful legs. Silky blond hair and deep gray eyes. A soft mouth and a taste like honey. What would ranch life do to someone that elegant and unprepared?
But heâd spent two weeks turning his bed into ashambles every night because his frustrated body wouldnât let him sleep, and when he did manage to sleep he dreamed about her and woke up in even worse shape than when heâd dozed off. His loins ached, his temper was frayed, and he was smoking twice as much as normal. Damn her for being more than he wanted, or could afford.
She had clung to him and kissed him with such a fiery response that he hadnât been able to sleep at all that night, but sheâd walked away from him without a backward glance. If sheâd turned around just once, if sheâd shown the least reluctance to go, he might have weakened and asked her to stay, but she hadnât. Sheâd even wished him good luck in finding a wife. It didnât sound as if his rejection had wounded her too badly.
He could have kept her. It drove him half-wild to know that she would have stayed if heâd asked her, that they could have been married by now. She would be lying under him every night, and the bed might get torn up, but it wouldnât be out of frustration.
No. She was too much like April. If he ever let her get her claws into him, she would rip him to shreds even worse than April had done, because even in the beginning heâd never been as hot to have April as he was to have Madelyn. She was used to city life, and though sheâd appeared to like Montana and the ranch, the real test was living through a winter here. Sheâd never make it.
He ground out the cigarette and lit another, feeling the smoke burn his throat and lungs.
Fury and frustration boiled over. He got out of the truck and strode to a pay phone. A call to Information got her number. This was probably another waste of time; at this time of day sheâd be at work, but he wasdriven by an urgency he bitterly resented and was still unable to resist.
He punched in her number, and an operator came on the line to tell him how much money to deposit. He dug in his pocket for change, swearing under his breath when he saw he didnât have enough.
âSir, please deposit the correct amount.â
âJust a minute.â He got out his wallet and flipped through the papers until he found his telephone credit card and read off the account number to the operator. He hadnât used the card in seven years, so he hoped it was still good.
Evidently it was, because the operator said, âThank you,â and he heard the electronic beeps as the call went through.
It rang three times; then there was a click as
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