Lies And Lullabies: Courting the Cowboy Boss. Yvonne LindsayЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Three

      Mellie watched him go with mixed feelings. On the one hand, it was much easier to familiarize herself with a new house if the owner was not underfoot. Still, she wouldn’t have minded if her new boss had lingered. She was curious about Case Baxter. Even though he was an arrogant, know-it-all male.

      He was an intriguing combination of down-to-earth cowboy and high-powered businessman. It was no secret he was worth millions.

      From what she’d heard around town, in addition to running his massive and wildly successful cattle operation, Case liked investing, particularly in small businesses. He believed in supporting the local economy. After the tornado—when the banks were stretched thin giving out loans—Case had floated some cash around the community, as well.

      People in Royal liked and respected Case Baxter. Which explained his recent election as president of the Texas Cattleman’s Club. The newspaper had run a bio along with the article announcing the results. Mellie knew that Case was thirty-six, which made him seven years her senior.

      The age gap wasn’t significant, except for the fact that she still felt as though she was starting out, while Case was a man in his prime...in every way that counted.

      Shrugging off her absorption with the sexy cowboy, she made herself focus on the job at hand. Case’s home was a stunning example of what could happen when the past was carefully preserved even amidst modern improvements. Unfortunately, the beauty of the old house was obscured by clutter.

      Judging by the kitchen, Case apparently grabbed only breakfast and lunch at home. Presumably, he ate dinner out most nights. She found orange juice and milk in the fridge and a couple of boxes of cereal in the cabinet. Lunch items were similarly sparse. Aside from pizzas and a couple of steaks in the freezer, his larder was woefully bare.

      There was no reason in the world for her to feel sorry for Case Baxter. The man had everything he wanted or needed. He could hire a full-time chef if he liked. But the thought of him rattling around this big old house on his own gave her a twinge.

      Not many men had the gift of making a home cozy and warm. Case was a Texas bachelor. Macho. Authoritative. Accustomed to giving orders and running his ranch. He wasn’t the kind to bake cookies or pick flowers.

      That mental image made her chuckle. Time to get to work.

      She started with the dining room, since it seemed the most straightforward. Case had instructed her to pitch all the junk mail into the recycle bin and to keep only the things that looked personal or otherwise important. Though the stacks of envelopes, catalogs and circulars were high, anybody with half a brain could sort through this kind of stuff in no time.

      When she was done, there were maybe a dozen pieces of real mail remaining. She carried them down the hall and put them on Case’s desk, a beautiful antique rolltop. His office was curiously impersonal. No knickknacks. No photographs, not even of his parents.

      That was the thing about cleaning someone’s house. It was an oddly intimate activity. She understood suddenly why a man like Case had been hesitant about hiring help. If the state of his home was any indication, he was a guarded man, one who didn’t easily reveal his secrets.

      By the time she made it to his bedroom, she had spent most of the day in only three rooms. That was no surprise, really. Decluttering was a slow process, especially when it involved someone else’s belongings. But she had been successful. The living room and dining room were now spotless, as was Case’s study.

      It was past time for her to leave, so his bedroom would have to wait. But she did take a moment to gather discarded clothing and carry the items to the laundry room. Tomorrow that would be her first priority.

      She paused in the doorway, lingering a moment, unable to help herself. The man’s bed was hedonistic. An enormous carved four-poster that looked Spanish in origin dominated the room. No expense had been spared in the bed linens. The ecru sheets and thick, fluffy coffee-brown comforter were both masculine and luxurious.

      The covers were tangled, as if their owner had passed a restless night. In the jumble of clothing she’d picked up off the floor and from a chair and in the bathroom, there were no pajamas. Maybe Case Baxter slept in the nude.

      With her face hot and her stomach jumpy, Mellie went back and made the bed quickly before retreating, content to leave this battlefield for another day. Never before had she taken such an intense interest in a client’s sleeping arrangements. Her imagination ran rampant, imagining Case’s big, tanned body sprawled against those whisper-soft sheets.

      She swallowed hard, feeling the unmistakable rush of sexual arousal. This was bad. Very bad. Not only was she too busy for any kind of relationship, sexual or otherwise...but Case was one of Royal’s most eligible bachelors. He wasn’t likely to be interested in the hired help.

      Mellie’s family went way back in Royal, maybe as far back as Case’s did. Despite that, when she eventually married and started a family, she wanted an ordinary man, one who would have time to be a daddy...a man who was interested in home and hearth.

      As far as she could tell, Case had tried marriage and found it lacking. He’d be unlikely to dip his toes into that water again anytime soon, if ever. And since she wasn’t the kind of woman who was comfortable having casual sex, there was no point in seeing Case Baxter as anything other than a paycheck and a valuable advertisement for Keep N Clean.

      Feeling unaccountably morose, she told herself she was just tired after a long day’s work. She gathered her things, let herself out and carefully locked the front door.

      After the short drive back to town and a forty-five-minute stop at her office to check mail and phone messages that hadn’t been routed to her personal cell, she headed for home. She had a date tonight with a favorite TV show, some leftover spaghetti and her comfy sofa.

      But the plan changed when she found her father camped out on her doorstep. It looked as if he had been sitting there for a while, because he had an empty beer bottle at either hip. His eyes were bloodshot. Though he stood when she walked up the path to the small duplex she called home, he was unsteady on his feet.

      “You changed your locks,” he said, a look of bafflement on his florid face. Harold Winslow was short and round with salt-and-pepper hair and skin weathered by the Texas sun. Once upon a time he had been a successful businessman. But when his beloved wife died, his alcoholic tendencies had taken over.

      Hugging him briefly, she sighed. “I’m a grown woman, Daddy. I like my privacy. You don’t seem to understand that.” She had tried her best not to fall into a codependent relationship with her only living parent. But that was easier said than done.