High-Stakes Passion (2 page)

She needed to investigate further. And she could start by questioning his employees at breakfast.

“Howdy.” An older man with a large, crooked nose stood at the back door. He stuck out his right hand as he
removed his hat and carefully scraped his boots on the mud catcher next to the threshold. “Welcome to the Double M. I'm John Walsh, the foreman.” He cleared his throat. “Spoke with you last night, I believe?”

“Yes. Good morning.” Audrey glanced past him to the men gathered on the porch behind him. “Come in and have a seat. Breakfast is almost ready.”

John raised his brows and grinned. Then he hitched up the jeans on his lanky frame and stepped into the kitchen.

Audrey busily scrambled eggs and pulled the biscuits from the oven as the hands filed in. John cleared his throat and motioned to the mud catcher. The men stopped and dutifully scraped their boots before entering, and placed their hats on pegs by the door.

“Let me introduce you.” John gestured to the dozen men standing around the table. “Boys, this here's Ms. Audrey Tyson.” He pointed to the man beside him. “Ms. Tyson, this here's Jim. You watch yourself around him or he'll pour hot sauce in your pancake batter.”

“Mornin', ma'am.” Jim gave her a two-finger salute.

Next came Dalt. Whoa. Blond hair, chocolate-brown eyes and dimples. He took her hand in both of his and brought it to his lips. “Very nice to make your acquaintance, Miss Audrey.” He spoke with a seductive southern drawl.

“Down, boy!” John barked. “You can charm the lady on your own time.”

As the introductions continued, Audrey realized that “boys” wasn't quite an accurate description. Ruth was almost six feet tall, her short, dark curls cut stylishly. She wore makeup, but still looked tough enough to more than pull her weight.

Not a Lefty, Shorty or Slim among them, Audrey thought as the rest were introduced. Just a nice bunch of people who happened to be cow-“boys.”

But no Mark Malone this morning.

Audrey placed sausage, eggs, biscuits and gravy onto the long kitchen table as a beautiful Border collie trotted up to her, tail wagging and tongue hanging out.

“Curley!” John admonished the dog. “Get out of the kitchen, boy.”

Curley? Guess there was a clichéd cowboy name after all. The black-and-white cow dog leaned against her legs. Audrey hunkered down and whispered, “Don't worry, Curley. I'll save a bite of breakfast for ya.”

They all took their seats around the table, and Audrey dodged elbows and filled up coffee mugs. She decided to plunge right in. “So, what's it like working for the famous
Lone Cowboy?
”

An unnatural silence enveloped the kitchen.

Their mouths are full. Just give them a minute.

A minute dragged by. Two. No one looked up.

Okay… Maybe good reporters eased into their questions. “He had quite a career, huh? The Professional Bull Riding Association wants to put him in their Hall of Fame. World championship titles in bareback, saddle bronc and bull riding. And he didn't even start riding bulls until after he graduated high school.”

Jim looked at her. “You a rodeo fan?”

Audrey nodded. “My dad was world champion saddle bronc, 1973.”

“Really? What's his name?” Dalt asked.

Now she was getting somewhere. This wasn't so difficult. “Ever heard of Glenn Tyson?”

“No,” Dalt grinned. “Just wanted to know if Tyson was
your maiden name. Didn't see a wedding ring, but you never can tell. You attached, honey?”

Dalt was coming on to
her?
He must be desperate for female company out here in the boonies. Even on a good day, her looks had never inspired flirting. How to steer the subject back to Mark? “Actually, I'm saving myself for the
Lone Cowboy.
He's not married, is he?” Oh my Lord, had she really said that?

Jim spewed his coffee, and the other hands guffawed and snickered.

Ruth looked at her as if she'd just suggested marrying Hannibal Lecter, her mouth open and her eyebrows raised. “Audrey, honey. Don't waste your time,” she warned.

“What do you mean? Has he got a girlfriend?”

Ruth shook her head. “I've been working on the Double M a long time, and Mark's never had a relationship last longer than a few months. He dates 'em, but he don't trust 'em.”

“But you're a woman,” Audrey reasoned, thrilled she was finally getting some information.

“Yeah, but I'm not interested in his heart, girl. Just his cows.” Ruth smiled and stood. “Speaking of which, I think it's time we got to it.”

Audrey's smile faded.
I'm not after his heart, either.
Just his life story. She swiveled around and headed for the stove, grabbing the pack lunches she'd made earlier for the men, uh, hands.

Taking the sacks, they filed out the door, crammed them into their saddlebags, mounted and rode off. She waved to them from the back porch, rubbing her arms in the brisk morning air. What had possessed her to think she could do this?

Desperation, that's what.

For two years, she'd bided her time at the magazine, passively waiting to be given a chance. Well, no more! The new Audrey went after what she wanted. She raised her chin and straightened her shoulders, remembering her determination to change her life. She'd sat alone on her twenty-fifth birthday, taken assessment of her stagnant existence and vowed to make some changes.

Tonight at dinner, she'd be more discreet. If she just gave it a little time, the ranch hands might open up more. She had a gut feeling the reclusive rodeo champion was a very complicated man. But if she was to make her story work, she needed to figure out the reasons for his behavior. Maybe he had a history of substance abuse, or violent tempers or marathon orgies.

Though it would make a great story, she really hoped there was nothing like that in his past. Her shining hero was already tarnished around the edges. She'd hate for him to fall off his pedestal completely.

After finishing a seemingly endless stack of breakfast dishes, Audrey decided to take a quick break before tackling the dining room. She poured herself a glass of iced tea and stepped out to the covered back porch. Inhaling the fresh, pine-scented air, she listened to a mockingbird's calls and the wind rustling through the trees. She gazed longingly at a cushioned glider and tried not to think about
him.

Eyes closed, she sipped her tea.
East Texas is so peaceful.
No smog, no traffic. Maybe living away from the city wouldn't be so bad. And she was only thirty miles from Tyler if she got desperate for a mall or a movie theater.

Listen to yourself. You're only here for two weeks.

Her mind registered a sound coming from the kitchen. She opened the screen door to check it out, and stifled a
gasp. Mark stood in the middle of the kitchen, all six feet three inches of him, looking impatient and bewildered. Even so, he was impressive.

His hair was still wet from a shower, and his faded jeans and plaid flannel shirt were clean. He still hadn't shaved, but man, was he sexy. He radiated an overwhelming masculine energy that sent waves of excitement coursing through her. But his eyes—she hated to see them so bloodshot, so full of pain.

Somehow, she summoned a confident smile. “Good morning!”

The first thing Mark saw was the bright morning sun shining on her long, dark blond hair. The slanted light reflected off her crown, giving the illusion of a halo. Was this the same woman from last night? Her full lips curved up in a sensual smile. How long had it been since a woman had smiled at him like that? And there was respect and genuine interest in her beautiful green eyes.

Even after last night.

Mark felt gut-punched…and a stirring of interest south of his buckle. “I wanted to apologize.” He cleared his throat. “For last night. I thought you were someone else.”

Her smile vanished, and she bit one side of her bottom lip. “I'm sorry about kicking—”

“Forget it. I deserved it.”

She licked her full lips and crossed her arms, emphasizing her ample curves. Did she realize what that did to a man?

His new housekeeper was not a great beauty. She had a plain, square-shaped face. But her lips were full and sensuous, and her bright green eyes flashed with intensity. She was short, but voluptuous. The loose-fitting T-shirt couldn't conceal the outline of her full breasts.

He'd always preferred a woman that wasn't all skin and
bones. Here was a woman a man could roll beneath him and not worry he might crush her to death. That thought sparked a vision of his hands filled to overflowing, cupping and squeezing those large, perfectly shaped breasts as he rubbed his face between them.

Damn! He was as hard as the titanium pin in his leg. This was just a sign of how pathetically long it had been since he'd had a woman.

“What? Did I spill gravy on myself?” she snapped. Now her eyes sparkled with indignation.

“Huh? Oh, uh…”
Get yourself together, Malone. Take a deep breath and stop staring at her chest.
“Is there any breakfast left?”

“Oh! Yeah.” She frowned, avoiding his gaze, and pushed her hair behind her ears. “I made plenty. Let me get—”

“I can get it myself.”

She ignored him and went flying past, pulling plastic containers from the fridge and heating a plate of biscuits, sausage and gravy.

“There aren't any scrambled eggs left, but I can whip some up real quick. Maybe I should make a few more biscuits, too.” She began pulling out a skillet, eggs and butter, unloading more food than any one man could eat.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the aroma of homemade biscuits. They sure smelled good! He couldn't remember his last decent meal. He grabbed a chair and sat, studying his new housekeeper. She'd walloped him good last night. He almost smiled.

“Was your leg injured in the fall?”

Mark focused his gaze and realized she was standing before him, staring at his right leg with a worried frown. Damn, he'd been absentmindedly rubbing it! Great. He didn't want anyone's pity.

With a fierce scowl, he barked, “Don't you have a room to clean or something?”

She flinched, a wounded expression on her face. Slamming the skillet on the stove, she walked from the kitchen, chin held high.

“Aw, hell.” Now he'd done it. Mark hated it when women played the guilt-trip game. Even so, the expression on her face was going to haunt him. Keith had had the same hurt and accusing look the night Mark had left home. That was the last time he'd seen his kid brother.

With years of practice, Mark pushed the memory back to the farthest corner of his mind. And he wasn't going to think about Ms. Perky either. Damn it, he'd told her he'd get the food himself, and she wouldn't leave well enough alone. Just because she had a beautiful smile and hadn't stared at him in disgust, didn't mean she wasn't like every other woman.

She'd probably summoned that trembling bottom lip just to manipulate him, the way his mom used to. Watching his mother have one affair after another, he'd learned at an early age what women were like. Why should this one be any different?

He looked at the plate of cooling biscuits and gravy and suppressed the urge to slam it against a wall. He needed a beer.

A
udrey held the wet washcloth against her heated face and refused to let the tears fall. She must've been delusional to think, even for a brief moment, that she'd seen attraction in Mark's eyes. Why would he be attracted to her? He'd dated some of the most beautiful women in the world. Of course he'd thought she was someone else last night.

But that didn't mean she had to hide in her bathroom like a chastised child. Why was she so upset? Who cared if a hungover, rude cowboy despised her? She was a twenty-five-year-old professional. Not the fat, lonely object of scorn she'd been the first time they'd met. Well, not
as
fat. And she'd stood up to her boss, hadn't she?

When she'd presented him with the idea for this story, Mr. Burke had laughed, his tone condescending as usual. “My mild-mannered little copy editor? You're just not
ready for a story this big, Audrey. If you want to write something, how about taking over the advice column for a few months?”

Audrey had known months would turn into years, as with her current position. The only way she'd been able to convince him to give her a chance was to go for high stakes.

“Here's the deal, Mr. Burke. If I don't come back with the scoop on what happened to Mark Malone, I'll edit copy
and
do the advice column. But—” she'd flattened her palms on the desk between them, leaned in, and met his eyes with determination “—when I bring back this article, I want a staff writer position.”

Mr. Burke had finally raised his hands in surrender. “All right. All right. The magazine needs a good cover story for the July rodeo issue. If you can get an exclusive interview with the
Lone Cowboy,
the position's yours.”

Remembering that conversation gave her the courage to return to the kitchen. As she entered, John Walsh was just coming in the back door. Following him was a slim lady with thick white hair twisted in a stylish French roll. She wore pressed jeans and a western shirt. “You must be Audrey!” the woman exclaimed, flashing a big smile with slightly crooked teeth. “I'm Helen, John's wife.”

“Nice to meet you.” Audrey offered a friendly smile. “Do y'all want some iced tea?”

“Does a bull want a heifer?” John asked as he grabbed a chair and turned it around backward to sit.

“John!” Helen swatted playfully at his arm as John chuckled under his breath. Helen shook her head and gave Audrey a rueful grin. “After almost fifty years, I still can't tame him, and I sure can't shoot him.”

John took Helen's hand and raised it to his lips. They exchanged an affectionate look.

It seemed to Audrey they were still very much in love. After fifty years? She dreamed of a romance like that.

Helen turned to her as Audrey poured the tea.

“We know the house is awful, but…” Helen hesitated and gave John a look charged with unspoken questions. “Mark's recuperation has been slow and, well, you can see why he needs a good housekeeper.”

Slow? Now was her chance to get some straight answers. “Were his injuries severe?”

Helen frowned and dropped her gaze to the table. “Well, his right leg was crushed—”

“Crushed!” Was that why he'd been so defensive about his leg? This revelation made her more determined than ever to talk to Mark Malone. She knew this would be the story to launch her career.

“He was in the hospital for six weeks, and then physical therapy. It took another two months for him to walk again. The retirement has been…an adjustment for him.”

“Well, if you ladies are through gabbing.” John stood, turning his chair and pushing it in. “I've got to get back to work.”

“Work?” Helen exclaimed. “I thought you were going to show Audrey around.”

His eyes twinkled as he gave her a mischievous grin. “Can't spare the time. I asked Mark to do it.”

Audrey heard boot steps behind her and spun to see Mark standing in the doorway, holding a beer. He scowled at John, but stepped in and bent to give Helen a quick kiss on the cheek. “How's your arthritis?”

Helen waved away his concern and stood up. “I'm fine. Got to go.” She followed John out but turned on the porch. “Y'all have a good afternoon.” She smiled and waved.

Audrey swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to smile back.

Mark glared at her and paced to the fridge. He opened the door, leaned in and reappeared with a fresh bottle of beer. Popping the top, he gestured toward the door. “After you.”

 

“The Double M's over five thousand acres, and there's about twelve hundred head of brindled cattle,” Mark said as he passed the corral. He took a long swallow of beer before continuing. “The extra men are here for spring roundup. Usually it's just Jim, Ruth and John.”

“And you,” Audrey interjected as she quickstepped to keep up with his long-legged stride.

Mark frowned and stuck the fingers of his free hand into the pocket of his jeans. “Not anymore,” he muttered. He shook his head and headed for the barn, tipping the bottle to his lips again.

She trailed after him, determined to get some answers. “Why are you selling?”

His stride hitched only slightly before he took another drink and continued as if he hadn't heard her. When he reached the barn doors, he stopped and turned, his eyes sparking with annoyance. “John said you usually work for a disaster-recovery company in Dallas. What are you doing out here in hayseed country?”

Audrey was caught in his intense gaze. She opened her mouth but nothing came out. She'd stick to the truth as much as possible. “My uncle owns the company. I don't actually work there anymore.”
Not since college.
“But then I saw the ad for this housekeeping position and….” Her voice trailed off. She dropped her gaze. “And I've always been a big fan.”

Mark snorted and angled his head toward the barn. “We keep the hay and feed in here.” He pointed his beer bottle toward the other large wooden structure. “Horses and tack in the stable. That's about it.” He turned to leave.

But Audrey brushed past him and stepped into the barn. The combined smells of hay and leather reminded her of her dad. With a nostalgic smile, she wandered farther inside. She turned a corner and saw a large metal barrel with a rope tied around it, turned on its side and stuck on a metal post. There was a lever on the wall behind it, and beneath it was a thick pad extending about three feet in each direction.

“Wow. A mechanical bull!”

“It didn't have the pad at first,” Mark said quietly behind her. “But when the kids came out here, I added the pad for safety.”

Kids?
She swiveled to stare at him. “You have children?”

His brows drew together and his mouth pinched into a tight line. “No, I meant the foster kids.” Mark headed for the doors. “Coming?”

Audrey reluctantly followed. She'd read of Mark Malone's support for Big Brothers Big Sisters of America, and admired him for making a difference in the world. But she hadn't realized he'd brought the kids to his ranch. That bit of information had never been mentioned in an interview. At last! Something good for her story!

Mark escorted her to the back porch, gave her an insolent salute with his beer bottle and sauntered off toward the front of the house.

An eerie silence descended after he'd gone. Audrey shivered. She hated to deceive him, but she wasn't going to hurt anyone. Just write a little article about what had
happened to a famous rodeo champion, earn herself a promotion and, hopefully, get to know a real-life hero.

If she could just put aside this niggling sense of guilt, she'd make it through this just fine.

She rubbed her arms and wandered into the den. Drawn to the wall of picture windows, she gazed wistfully out, past the neglected pool and yard to the barn and corral in the distance. A lush forest of pines, oaks and sweet gums lined the horizon.

Audrey turned to scan the gloomy room. Her heart ached at the wasted potential of the room—and its owner. A pine-paneled wall opened to a dark hallway that led to the master bedroom, and on the other side, a large stone fireplace sat alone, like the house, cold and empty. The only furniture in the room was a tattered recliner and a big-screen TV.

Well, if she were going to carry out this charade, she should start cleaning this pigsty. The cowboys'—and girl's—mud-caked jeans were piled high in the laundry room. As she put on a load to wash, a thought hit her. A real housekeeper would clean Mark's room and change the sheets. She decided to tackle that room first thing tomorrow morning.

 

That night at dinner, Audrey self-consciously pulled the bottom of her T-shirt down after she set a giant bowl of mashed potatoes in the middle of the table.

Thank goodness for Ruth. All this testosterone in one room left her flustered and overwhelmed. Men definitely didn't eat the way her sisters did. The meal was a loud, boisterous affair.

She learned a lot more than she ever wanted to know about ranching. Discussion of branding, ear tagging, vac
cinations, calves, yearlings and castration all figured in the dinner conversation.

One of the youngest hands, Pete, had scrambled for the seat next to her. He leaned close and threw his arm across the back of her chair, caressing her shoulder. Knowing of his nomadic lifestyle, she tried to chalk it up to loneliness, and ignore him. But every time he touched her, she felt a strong urge to bathe.

“Ma'am, these chops are great!” Jim called from the other end of the table. “After working with cows all day, it's nice to not have to eat one.” He stuffed a bite into his mouth.

Audrey stopped chewing momentarily as certain images came to mind. She would definitely lose some weight if there wasn't a change of subject.

“They're the best pork chops I've ever tasted,” Dalt agreed with his guaranteed-to-melt-hearts smile.

She smiled back. “Thank you. There's a secret ingredient.”

“Mark loves pork chops,” John muttered from his seat across the table.

Mark was absent from the meal again, and she worried he wasn't eating. Why on earth did she care, anyway? But John had given her the opening she'd been waiting for.

“Mr. Malone seems to have changed a great deal since the accident,” she fished.

John frowned and gave his full attention to his plate.

Audrey wouldn't let it go this time. She needed information. “Was his right leg the only injury? What's he going to do after he sells the ranch?”

John glanced up sharply, scowling.

Maybe she should act worried for his health.
Act?
“It's
just that he doesn't seem to eat. I wondered if I should take some dinner in to him.”

As if they'd rehearsed it, several guys erupted into laughter at the same time.

Jim, still snickering, said, “Not unless your secret ingredient is whiskey!”

More laughter followed, but Audrey frowned with disapproval. “I don't see what's so funny about a man drinking himself into oblivion every night. You should be encouraging him to join AA or something.”

That sobered them up a little, so to speak. Jim finally answered. “Beggin' your pardon, Miss Audrey, but Mark's a grown man and ain't nobody gonna tell him what to do. Besides,” he continued with a grin, “I win too much money off him to wanna change things.”

Ruth must've caught Audrey's confused expression. “Some of us play poker at night,” she explained. “Guess with your room upstairs, you haven't heard anything.”

So that explained the mess in the dining room. Poker! She didn't know what else to say, so she mumbled something about being a sound sleeper and started clearing dishes off the table.

Looking slightly guilty, the men and Ruth thanked her for the meal and shuffled out.

As she loaded the dishwasher, a horrifying thought struck her. It would make a sensational story, but if she couldn't stand to see Mark become a laughingstock to his own hired hands, how could she bring herself to write an exposé and tell the whole world about his problems?

 

Arms loaded with a tray containing pork chops, potatoes, broccoli and a slice of apple pie, Audrey knocked on the master bedroom door.

No answer.

She knocked again, louder.

A deep, slurred voice grumbled, “Go away!”

She rapped again and shouted through the door, “I've brought you some dinner.”

Silence.

She took a deep breath for courage and shoved the door open with her shoulder.

The only light came from a metal gooseneck lamp on a small plastic table by the bed. The rest of the room was shrouded in shadow. The hand-carved pine bed and an old-fashioned armoire against one wall was the only other furniture. Empty beer bottles and dirty tumblers littered the table, and clothes were strewn on the floor. How could anyone live like this?

Mark was sitting on the side of the king-size bed, wearing only a pair of white briefs, his elbows on his knees and his forehead in his hands. His broad chest sported a light dusting of chestnut hair, and his arms and left thigh were thick with muscles. Even with the injured leg and a scruffy beard, Mark Malone was sinfully gorgeous.

Stop thinking like that! You're here for one purpose, to get the story of the Lone Cowboy!

Powerless to stop herself, she looked her fill. His right leg was shrunken, with long, jagged scars snaking around from the top of his thigh all the way to his ankle. As she stood there, she wondered where she would find the coverage to ask about his injury?

 

Mark glanced up and did a double take. What the hell? It was little Ms. Nosy. Couldn't she respect a man's privacy? He grabbed the sheet and threw it over his leg. Had she seen it?

“What do you want?”

She extended a huge tray of food. “Um, I brought you dinner. I thought you should eat something.”

“I'm not hungry.” His head ached and his leg throbbed and he didn't want her pity.