The Countess and the Cowboy Read online

  "Le Chat, you don't know how to climb a tree!" Letitia wailed, racing after the terrified feline.

  "Duffy, get back here!" Tyler ordered the barking dog who was hot on the cat's heels. Pretty soon, Le Chat was cowering on a branch well above the dog's head as he leapt upward, barking madly at his prey.

  "He's going to kill my cat!" Letitia appealed to Tyler, grasping his shirtsleeve. "Please, don't let it happen!"

  "Lady, don't give me any ideas." His grim expression ordered her to remain silent as he grabbed hold of the dog's collar and got him under control. It took all of his strength to drag the lunging dog back.

  Letitia looked up at the cat who now mewed piteously from his perch. She couldn't remember ever seeing him looking so upset. "Someone has to get him down. He doesn't know anything about tree climbing."

  "He got up there, he can figure out how to get down." He handed the excited dog over to Ben and strode toward the house with a ground-eating stride.

  Letitia looked from her cat who looked thoroughly miserable to Tyler who now looked murderous. "I want my cat down. Now."

  "Then get him down yourself." He walked back to the truck and picked up a couple of her suitcases, tossing them onto the porch.

  Letitia marched after him intent on giving him a piece of her mind. "You are the most inconsiderate, idiotic..." She ran up the steps, hot on his heels as she ticked off the insults.

  "Ma'am, that third step ..." Ben's warning was almost too late.

  Luckily Tyler turned as Letitia started up the steps and caught her just as one heel started to crash through the fragile wood. She looked up startled by his firm grip on her arm and aware of the many sensations racing through her body-the heat of his skin against hers, the faint not unpleasant scent of horse, sweat and man and the way his gray eyes bored through hers, the irises widening just a fraction. The man was not entirely immune to her! And he didn't like it, either. She carefully schooled her features so he wouldn't know she felt that electric jolt too. And that was just from his touch. What would happen if that firm line of a mouth covered hers? Tasted her skin? Nuzzled her neck? She swiftly brought herself back to sanity.

  "Thank you;' she murmured, forcing herself to continue looking into his eyes. The steel had turned a bit softer, not much, but many would consider it something.

  "No problem. It wouldn't do to have the new owner fall and break her neck her first day here," he said huskily, releasing her arm.

  She was stung. "Yes, I guess it wouldn't look good for the foreman's reputation. Not unless he was able to push her first."

  "Countess, don't give me any ideas." He pulled open the screen door with more force than necessary.

  "And don't call me count-" Letitia glared at his retreating back as he entered the house without bothering to hold the door open for her, "-ess," She raised her chin in a gesture her brother would have taken to mean Head for the hills. Letitia's on the warpath. She snatched the screen door handle and flung it open, marching inside with all the pomp and circumstance Tyler would expect. She skidded to a stop at the sight before her. Her eyes widened in shock.

  "What happened here?"

  Tyler grinned. It was nice to see her stunned after, the surprises he'd had in the past couple of hours. "A woman hasn't lived in this house for more than twenty years and maid service out here is almost nonexistent."

  Letitia entered what she supposed to be the living room although with the dirt and dust covering every surface of furniture and hardwood floors, it wasn't easy to tell. As far as she was concerned, she couldn't imagine a woman had ever lived here since the furniture was scarred from boot heels and what looked suspiciously like gouges from spurs on the coffee table. She walked over to the table and picked up a newspaper, holding it gingerly between her fingertips. She grimaced when she read the date.

  "Obviously no one has cleaned in here since June seventh, nineteen seventy-eight." She dropped the paper back onto the table.

  "Your old buddy, Giancarlo, was an absentee owner and Harvey, who owned the place before him, preferred the bunkhouse," Tyler explained. "Don't worry, I'm sure with some elbow grease you'll have this place spit-shined in no time." He walked back outside and carried in more of her luggage.

  Letitia winced when she heard Le Chat's continued frantic yowling outside. "You have to get him down," she insisted.

  "He's a cat. He knows how to get down."

  Her eyes blazed brilliant color. "Now, please." Tyler's jaw tightened. "Yes ma'am, anything you say ma'am." He swept his hat in front of him in a mocking bow before he sauntered outside with Letitia right behind him. He took his sweet time strolling toward the tree.

  "You'll be fine soon, sweetheart," she crooned to her cat, who now clung to one of the highest branches while looking wildly around for help.

  Tyler sighed as he handed his hat to Letitia and rolled up his sleeves. "This is ridiculous," he muttered, reaching up and grabbing hold of the lowest branch and swinging himself up. He glanced down and cursed at the sight of several of the men walking over to see what was going on.

  "Ma'am, it would be better if we just let the cat come down on his own," Ben ventured. "Cats are real strange critters. They don't like you telling them what to do. And when they're scared, they get pretty nasty."

  "Le Chat has a very loving nature," Letitia frostily informed him. "He wouldn't harm anyone."

  "Ow! Damn you, cat!" Tyler's language grew more colorful as he sucked his wounded hand. The men's laughter subsided under his dark glare. Finally, by carefully balancing himself, he pulled off his shirt and threw it over the angry cat, neatly wrapping him up in the heavy fabric before carefully jumping down to the ground.

  "Your cat." He handed her the wiggling bundle even though his expression told her he wouldn't have minded dropping it.

  Letitia unwrapped the shirt and examined the cat, who continued to vent his frustration by telling her everything that happened to him in his ear-splitting yowls.

  "Le Chat, we both have a lot to learn," she told the cat as she handed Tyler's shirt back to him. She tried hard not to stare at his impressive bare chest. "Thank you very much for getting him down."

  "You're welcome." He didn't sound the least bit gracious. He examined the shirt that now sported new tears in the heavy fabric. "Although I don't think your cat is very grateful."

  "I'll replace the shirt," she offered.

  His gaze sliced right through her. "You're broke, countess, remember?"

  Her face flamed. "I'm not destitute," she whispered. "And I would appreciate it if you wouldn't say that in front of people. It won't help matters any if they think their boss can't pay their salaries."

  Tyler leaned down until his face was close to hers. "Well, I wouldn't worry too much since they'll probably find out soon enough when you can't sign their paychecks, won't they?"

  Letitia opened her mouth to say something then snapped it shut. Still carrying her cat, she turned on her heel and stalked back to the house.

  "That's her?" One of the men gave a low appreciative whistle. "Man, I hear those Italian dames are hot stuff. She sure looks it, doesn't she'!"

  Tyler's killing glare caught the man. "Let's get something clear, here and now. Anyone who opens their dirty mouth about Mrs. DeMarco will find themselves outta here and they might not be walking at the time, either. She's our boss, and we will give her the respect she's due. Understood?"

  "Not if one of us wins the pool," one of the other men called out.

  "What did you put in?" Tyler asked, fearing this was getting out of control and hating Letitia for even starting this. That crazy Giancarlo was bad enough, but he didn't have the build Letitia did, nor smell as good. He wiped from his mind the traitorous memory of her body falling against his in the truck.

  "Thirty-two hours, ten minutes."

  "Then you're still in the running." He shrugged his shirt back on and headed for the house. He didn't see any sign of Letitia in the main rooms but could hear her heels clicking on the bare w
ood floors and the musical sound of her voice as she talked to her cat. He kept a wary eye out for the cat as he walked down the hallway leading to the bedrooms.

  "Some of this furniture is ruined from neglect. Hopefully, I can save some of the other pieces," he heard her murmur to Le Chat. He could visualize the killer cat nestled in her arms as she explored each bedroom. He grinned as he imagined her reaction when she reached the master bedroom at the end of the hall. She didn't disappoint him. "Oh my God!"

  "Yep, right on the money." He chuckled, quickening his pace down the hallway. "What's wrong?" He kept his voice and expression carefully innocent.

  Letitia's eyes were huge as she spun around. "That is disgusting!" She inclined her head toward the large four-poster bed, especially the wall over the head of the bed.

  Tyler stared at the painting that graced the room. "I'll be damned," he breathed then burst out laughing.

  "I'm glad you think it's funny." Letitia allowed Le Chat to jump down from her arms.

  Considering she'd been married to an Italian, he was surprised she was such a prude. No wonder she wore white! "I'm sorry if you're offended by Harvey's idea of art, but he obviously thought a great deal of it since he hung it over his bed."

  "Offended? I'm offended he had such atrocious taste." She gestured toward the dust-covered painting of a reclining nude woman draped in transparent veils. "That kind of artwork belongs more in a saloon than in a man's bedroom. Although, as you said, it must have had personal meaning to him. At least, I hope it did."

  "Personal enough since the lady was his wife."

  "His wife?" Letitia walked over for a closer look. "He allowed his wife to be painted nude?"

  "I guess so, although the only pictures I ever saw of Harvey's wife she was fully clothed and about eighty pounds heavier," Tyler replied, shifting his gaze to Letitia. "How do you do it?"

  The shift in conversation unbalanced her. "Do what?"

  "This entire house is covered with dust and you're still spotless in that white outfit." He looked at her from head to foot.

  She looked down. "Lucky, I guess. To be honest, I just don't attract dirt. When my brother moved into his horror of a mansion, the place was populated with the worst spider webs and creepy crawly things I'd ever seen but I was able to walk: through unscathed. The workmen refused to even enter some of the rooms because they thought they were haunted by Humphrey Williams, the original owner of the house. Humphrey had a horrible reputation of scaring people off."

  "It sounds like he didn't scare you off."

  She shrugged, the gesture as graceful as everything else she did. "He tried but didn't succeed."

  Tyler couldn't help but be fascinated by her story. "How did he try?"

  Letitia's rose-glossed lips curved in a smile. "Humphrey was a bit of a voyeur. Jack said it was my imagination, but I just know the old boy watched me undress every evening. I guess even dead men have to get their kicks." She took one more look at the painting and wrinkled her nose. "That's one of the first things to go. I think I'd rather look at a picture of dogs playing pool than this."

  His brows knitted together in a frown. "You're going to stay here?"

  She looked around. "Despite all the dirt, this room is in the best shape. Or will be as soon as I clean it up."

  He burst out laughing. "You, clean?"

  "I am a very versatile woman, Mr. Barnes," Letitia informed him. "I can do whatever I put my mind to."

  He chuckled. "Yeah, we'll see." He walked out of the room. "Although I admit I can't wait to see you looking grimy, countess," he tossed over his shoulder.

  "Don't hold your breath, Barnes." She began to sit down on the bed then caught herself just in time. "That man will be the death of me yet."

  "That woman is making me crazy," Tyler muttered, stalking out of the house and bellowing orders that the rest of Letitia's luggage be stored inside the house. It only took one look at their boss's dark features to prompt the men to obey him without question.

  LETITIA’S NEXT DISCOVERY was that the water faucets yielded a rusty-looking sludge that didn't resemble anything even close to water. Before she could decide whether to just give in and scream her lungs out or sit down for a good cry, rattling sounds from the rear of the house caught her curiosity. She followed the sounds to the rear of the house where she found an immaculate-looking kitchen and a tall woman standing in front of the sink peeling carrots, her faded housedress was covered by a white apron. She sang along with the radio in a voice that could offend anyone's ears.

  "Excuse me." Letitia ventured, still feeling shell shocked as she looked around a large ultra-clean kitchen and down at a floor that looked clean enough to eat off of, then gazed at gleaming counters. "Who are you?"

  The woman turned around. "You must be the new owner." She had a no-nonsense manner. "I'm Myrna, the cook and I'm just that. I don't clean, I don't do laundry." She looked over Letitia's silk outfit. "I don't do fancy mending, just cooking and keeping this sorry excuse for a kitchen in working order."

  Letitia nodded. Myrna might not look like her brother's housekeeper, Mrs. Boggs, but she had the New England woman's terse manner down pat.

  "Meals are served at five, twelve-thirty and six," Myrna continued. "Anyone's late, they wait till the next meal. I'm not running no hotel here, there's no room service, and if anyone wants to eat any other time, they have to cook it and they have to clean up. But I'd prefer they do neither."

  Letitia stifled her groan. She never thought of herself as a morning person. "I gather that five is five a.m. T"

  "Of course it is!" the woman barked. "You may own this place, but the kitchen is my territory." She glared at Letitia to back up her words. "Got it?"

  "Loud and clear," Letitia said in a tiny voice. "I, ah, was trying to run a bath, but the water..." She grimaced, holding up her hands to show defeat as she sneaked a look at the kitchen sink where clear water was running.

  Myrna nodded her understanding. "I had the men dig a new well for the kitchen two years ago. That old one wasn't worth spit. Just have Tyler get some men on it." She turned back to peeling carrots.

  Letitia's stomach rumbled but she wasn't about to ask if she could have a snack, even if she was willing to fix it for herself. Something told her the cook wouldn't appreciate anyone daring to invade her domain.

  "I need to clean the master bedroom," she went on. Myrna shook her head. "Girl, you'll ruin that fancy outfit of yours, but that's your problem. There's some cleaning supplies in that cupboard over there. Just put them back when you're finished." She turned her head and squinted at Letitia with faded blue eyes. "You really know how to clean?"

  "How difficult can it be? I've seen the maids do it countless times," she countered, sounding more confident than she felt. She opened the cabinet Myrna indicated and found rags, furniture polish, glass cleaner and everything else she would need to restore the house to its former shining luster. She hoped.

  Myrna shook her head again. "Lord help us from ignorant girls who probably don't know a dust mop from a dust rag."

  Stung by the older woman's flat declaration, Letitia gathered up the supplies she would need. Carefully balancing rags, spray bottles and jars in her arms, she left the kitchen.

  “If Mrs. Boggs could keep that enormous house clean, I should have no problem with one room," she murmured, making her way to the other end of the house with a disgruntled Le Chat trotting along at her heels.

  "SO WHADDYA SAYING HERE, Tyler? That the lady spent all her cash buying this place sight unseen? Now come on, no woman is that crazy and believe me, in my sixty-two years on this earth, I've met all kinds." The grizzled man cornered Tyler in the barn the moment he'd entered.

  “She's not crazy, J.T., just..." He racked his brain for the right description. Beautiful? Smells good? Looks like a million dollars? "Well, she kinda defies description."

  The elderly man looked skeptical and knowing at the same time. "Yeah, I heard what she looks like. Young Ben's already acting lik
e a puppy dog. And if you ain't careful, some of the hands are gonna be sniffin' around her like dogs sniffin' after a bitch in heat."

  Tyler winced at the too apt description. "She's not what we expected," he blurted out.

  J. T., ranch foreman until his sixtieth year when a fall from a horse broke his hip and hampered his activities, was the one to suggest Tyler take over his job. Now; he enjoyed spending days in the barn repairing tack, sitting on the porch and just being useful where needed. "Is she really some kind of Italian royalty?"

  Tyler shook his head. "She's as American as you and me." He paused. "Well actually, she's not," he amended. "She grew up in Europe, her brother's a renowned horror writer and she has a fancy cat that wears silk collars." He shook his head. "She's hard-headed, wears designer clothes unsuitable for ranch life and yet she seems to be determined to make a go of it out here."

  "Then she doesn't know that Giancarlo promised to let you buy into the ranch?" J.T. asked as they walked away from the barn. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

  "It doesn't look like it." Tyler snatched the pack out of his hands. "You know very well the doctor told you to layoff those coffin nails. He said they were killing you, remember?"

  J.T.'s profane reply told Tyler the older man's opinion of doctors. "They don't know spit," he growled, snatching the pack back. "'Sides, you're only complaining cause you gave 'em up last year but you're still yearnin' for one."·

  "Not a bit," he lied without a qualm.

  J. T. changed the subject. "Let's get back to what we were talkin' about and off my smoking habits." A thought occurred to him. "Did she meet Myrna?"

  Tyler shuddered. Few people intimidated him. The plainspoken cook was one of them. "If so, the countess will be off the property by nightfall and be more than willing to sell it to me."

  J. T. took his time lighting his cigarette. "How long you bet she'd stay here?"

  His mouth twitched. "She should have given up about an hour ago, but the lady is stubborn: I have a horrible feeling she isn't going to beg to be taken back to the airport so she can return to her big city and bright lights."