She was younger than the other two women who had responded; they were both in their thirties. The schoolteacher was his age, and not bad to look at. The other woman was thirty-six, two years his senior, and had never worked at a paying job; she had remained at home to care for her invalid mother, who had recently died. She was plain, but not homely. Both of them would have far more realistic expectations of the vast, empty spaces and hard life on a ranch than this Madelyn S. Patterson.
On the other hand, she might be some small-town girl who had moved to the big city and found she didn’t like it. She must have read his ad in a hometown newspaper that had been mailed to her, because he sure as hell hadn’t wasted his money placing it in the New York Times. And he hadn’t had so many responses that he could afford to ignore one. He would make the same arrangements with her that he’d made with the others, if she were still interested when he wrote to her.
He tapped the folded letter against his thigh as he left the post office and walked to his pickup truck. This was taking up more time than he could truly afford. He wanted to have everything settled by July, and it was already the middle of May. Six weeks. He wanted to find a wife within the next six weeks.
MADELYN ALMOST DROPPED her mail when she saw the Montana address on the plain white envelope. Only nine days had passed since she had answered the ad, so he must have replied almost by return mail. In those nine days she had convinced herself that he wouldn’t answer at all.
She sat down at her small dining table and ripped open the envelope. There was only one sheet inside.
Miss Patterson,
My name is Reese Duncan. I’m thirty-four years old, divorced, no children. I own a ranch in central Montana.
If you’re still interested, I can see you two weeks from Saturday. Let me know by return mail. I’ll send you a bus ticket to Billings.
There was no closing salutation, only his signature, G. R. Duncan. What did the G stand for? His handwriting was heavy, angular and perfectly legible, and there were no misspellings.
Now she knew his name, age and that he was divorced. He hadn’t been real before; he had been only an anonymous someone who had placed an ad for a wife. Now he was a person.
And a busy one, too, if he could only spare the time to see her on a Saturday over two weeks away! Madelyn couldn’t help smiling at the thought. He certainly didn’t give the impression of being so desperate for a wife that he had been forced to advertise. Once again she had the distinct impression that he was simply too busy to look for one. He was divorced, the letter said, so perhaps he had lost his first wife precisely because he was so busy.
She tapped the letter with her fingernails, studying the handwriting. She was intrigued, and becoming more so. She wanted to meet this man.
MADELYN S. Patterson had answered promptly, which the other two hadn’t; he had yet to hear from them. Reese opened her letter.
Mr. Duncan, I will arrive in Billings on the designated date. However, I can’t allow you to pay for my travel expenses, as we are strangers and nothing may come of our meeting.
My flight arrives at 10:39 a.m. I trust that is convenient. Enclosed is a copy of my flight schedule. Please contact me if your plans change.
His eyebrows rose. Well, well. So she preferred to fly instead of taking the bus. A cynical smile twisted his mouth. Actually, so did he. He had even owned his own plane, but that had been B.A.: before April. His ex-wife had seen to it that it had been years since he’d been able to afford even an airline ticket, let alone his own plane.
Part of him appreciated the fact that Ms. Patterson was sparing him the expense, but his hard, proud core resented the fact that he wasn’t able to afford to send her an airline ticket himself. Hell, come to that, even the bus ticket would have put him in a bind this week. Probably when she found out how broke he was, she’d leave so fast her feet would roll back the pavement. There was no way this woman would work out, but he might as well go through the motions to make certain. It wasn’t as if applicants were beating down his door.
MADELYN INVITED ROBERT to dinner the Thursday before her Saturday flight to Montana, knowing that he would have a date on Friday night, and she wanted to talk to him alone.
He arrived promptly at eight and walked to her small liquor cabinet, where he poured himself a hefty Scotch and water. He lifted the glass to her, and as always his eyes smiled without his mouth joining in. Madelyn lifted her wineglass in return. “To an enigma,” she said.
He arched his elegant dark brows. “Yourself?”
“Not me, I’m an open book.”
“Written in an unknown language.”
“And if your covers were ever opened, what language would be there?”
He shrugged, his eyes still smiling, but he couldn’t refute the charge that he held himself off from people. Madelyn was closer to him than anyone; his father had married her mother when she was ten and he sixteen, which should have been too great an age difference for any real closeness, but Robert had unaccountably taken the time to make her feel welcome in her new home, to talk to her and listen in return. Together they had weathered first the death of his father, then, five years later, that of her mother; most stepsiblings probably would have drifted apart after that, but they hadn’t, because they truly liked each other as friends as well as brother and sister.
Robert was a true enigma: elegant, handsome, almost frighteningly intelligent, but with a huge private core that no one was ever allowed to touch. Madelyn was unique in that she even knew that core existed. No one else had ever seen that much of him. In the years since he had inherited the Cannon Companies, he had reshaped the various enterprises and made them even larger and richer than before. An enormous amount of power rested in his lean hands, but not even the Cannon empire seemed to reach that private center of him. The inner man was a citadel, inviolate.
It was as if he kept himself leashed, his fires banked. Women flocked around him, of course, but he was particular in his bed partners and preferred monogamy to musical beds. When he chose a particular woman friend, they were usually together for at least a year, and he was entirely faithful to her for as long as the affair lasted. One of his ex-amours had gotten drunk and cried on Madelyn’s shoulder at a party shortly after Robert had ended their affair, sobbing that she would never be able to love another man because how could anyone compare to Robert? The woman’s drunken confession had, so far, been pathetically accurate; she had drifted into a couple of affairs, but both of them had been short-lived, and since then she had stopped dating entirely.
Now he was watching Madelyn with his amused eyes, and after a minute she answered her own question. “Your language would be an obscure one, dead, of course, and translated into a cipher of your own invention. To paraphrase Winston Churchill, you’re an enigma inside a puzzle wrapped in a riddle, or some such complicated drivel.”
He almost smiled; his lips twitched, and he dipped his head to acknowledge the accuracy of her assessment. He tasted the Scotch, savoring the smoky bite of it. “What’s for dinner?”
“Conversation.”
“A true case of eating our words.”
“And spaghetti.”
He gave the Scotch a pained look and set the glass down; he didn’t think it would go well with pasta. Madelyn gave him an angelic look that deepened the amused expression in his eyes. “So what are we conversing about?”
“The fact that I’ll be looking for a new job, at the very least,” she said as she went into the kitchen. He followed her, and without hesitation began helping her carry the food to the table.
“So it’s time, is it?” he asked shrewdly. “What made you decide?”
She shrugged. “Several things. Basically, as you said, it’s time.”
“You said, ‘at the very least.’ And at the most?”
Trust Robert to see the implication of every little word. She smiled as she poured wine into their glasses. “I’m flying to Montana this Saturday.”
His eyes flickered
just a little, signaling his intense interest. “What’s in Montana?”
“Not what. Who.”
“Who, then?”
“A man named Reese Duncan. There’s a possibility of matrimony.”
There were times when a look from Robert’s pale green eyes could slice like a razor, and now was one of those times. “That sounds like a weather report,” he said in an even tone. “Care to give me a percentage? Forty percent chance of matrimony? Fifty?”
“I don’t know. I won’t know until I meet the man.”
He had been forking the pasta onto his plate, but now he carefully laid the utensils down and took a deep breath. Madelyn watched him with interest. It was one of the very few times when she could say she had seen Robert actually surprised.
He said, very carefully, “Do you mean you haven’t met him yet?”
“No. We’ve corresponded, but we’ve never actually met. And we might not like each other in person. There’s only a very small chance of matrimony, actually. In weather terms, no accumulation expected.”
“But it’s possible.”
“Yes. I wanted you to know.”
“How did you get to know him?”
“I don’t know him. I know a little about him, but not much.”
“So how did you start corresponding?”
“He advertised for a wife.”
He looked stunned, really stunned. Madelyn took pity on him and ladled the thick, spicy sauce over his pasta before it grew cold, since it looked as if he had totally forgotten about it.
“You answered a personal ad?” he finally asked in a strained voice.
She nodded and turned her attention to her own plate. “Yes.”
“Good God, do you know how risky that is?” he roared, half rising from his chair.
“Yes, I know.” She reached over to pat his hand. “Please sit down and eat. You wouldn’t panic if I’d told you I’d met someone at a singles bar in Manhattan, and that’s a lot riskier than meeting a rancher from Montana.”
“From a health viewpoint, yes, but there are other things to consider. What if this man is abusive? What if he has a criminal record, or is a con man? Just how much do you know about him?”
“He’s your age, thirty-four. He owns a ranch in central Montana, and he’s divorced, no children. I’ve been writing to a box number in Billings.”
From the sharp look in Robert’s eyes, Madelyn knew that he had made a mental note of everything she’d told him and wouldn’t forget a single detail. She also knew that he would have Reese Duncan thoroughly investigated; she thought of protesting, but decided that it wouldn’t make any difference. By the time Robert had his report, she would already have met Mr. Duncan and formed her own opinion. She could even see why Robert felt alarmed and protective, though she didn’t agree that there was any need for it. Mr. Duncan’s blunt correspondence had reassured her that this was a man who dealt in the unvarnished truth and didn’t give a damn how it looked or sounded. It was relaxing not to have to gauge the sincerity of a come-on line.
“Can I talk you out of going?” Robert asked. “Or at least into delaying your meeting?”
“No.” She smiled, her gray eyes aglow with anticipation. “I’m so curious I can hardly stand it.”
He sighed. Madelyn was as curious as a cat, in her own lazy way. She didn’t scurry around poking her nose into every new detail that came her way, but she would eventually get around to investigating any subject or situation that intrigued her. He could see where an ad for a wife would have been irresistible to her; once she had read it, it would have been a foregone conclusion that she had to meet the man for herself. If there was no way he could talk her out of going, he could make certain she wouldn’t be in danger. Before she got on that plane, he would know if this Reese Duncan had any sort of criminal record, even so much as a parking ticket. If there was any indication that Madelyn wouldn’t be perfectly safe, he would keep her off the flight if he had to sit on her.
As if she’d read his mind, she leaned forward. She had that angelic expression again, the one that made him wary. When Madelyn was angelic, she was either blisteringly angry or up to mischief, and he could never tell which until it was too late. “If you interfere in my social life, I’ll assume that I have the same freedom with yours,” she said sweetly. “In my opinion, you need a little help with your women.”
She meant it. She never bluffed, never threatened unless she was prepared to carry through on her threats. Without a word, Robert tugged his white handkerchief out of his pocket and waved it in surrender.
CHAPTER TWO
THE FLIGHT WAS a bit early landing in Billings. Madelyn carefully scrutinized the small group of people waiting to greet those leaving the plane, but she didn’t see any lone males who appeared to be looking for her. She took a deep breath, glad of the small reprieve. She was unexpectedly nervous.
She used the time to duck into the ladies’ room; when she came out, she heard her name being called in a tinny voice. “Madelyn Patterson, please meet your party at the Information desk. Madelyn Patterson, please meet your party at the Information desk.”
Her heart was beating a little fast, but not unpleasantly so. She liked the feeling of excitement. The moment was finally at hand. Anticipation and curiosity were killing her.
She walked with an easy stride that was more of a stroll than anything else, despite her excitement. Her eyes were bright with pleasure. The Billings airport, with its big fountain, was more attractive than the general run of airports, and she let the surroundings begin to soothe her. She was only a little nervous now, and even that small bit wasn’t revealed.
That must be him, leaning against the Information desk. He was wearing a hat, so she couldn’t see his face all that well, but he was trim and fit. A smile quirked her mouth. This was a truly impossible situation. A real wild-goose chase. They would meet, be polite, spend a polite day together; then tomorrow she would shake his hand and tell him she had enjoyed the visit, and that would be the end of it. It would all be very civil and low-keyed, just the way she liked—
He straightened from his relaxed position against the desk and turned toward her. Madelyn felt his eyes focus on her and grow intent.
She knew the meaning of the word poleaxed, but this was the first time she had ever experienced the feeling. Her lazy walk faltered, then stopped altogether. She stood frozen in the middle of the airport, unable to take another step. This had never happened to her before, this total loss of composure, but she was helpless. She felt stunned, as if she’d been kicked in the chest. Her heart was racing now, pounding out a painful rhythm. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps; her carry-on bag slipped out of her fingers and landed on the floor with a soft thud. She felt like a fool, but didn’t really care. She couldn’t stop staring at him.
It was just old-fashioned lust, that was all. It couldn’t be anything else, not at first sight. She felt panic at the very idea that it could be anything else. Just lust.
He wasn’t the most handsome man she’d ever seen, because New York was full of gorgeous men, but it didn’t matter. In all the ways that did matter, all the primitive, instinctual ways, call it chemistry or electricity or biology or whatever, he was devastating. The man oozed sex. Every move he made was imbued with the sort of sensuality and masculinity that made her think of sweaty skin and twisted sheets. Dear God, why on earth should this man ever have had to advertise for a wife?
He was at least six-three, and muscled with the iron, layered strength of a man who does hard physical labor every day of his life. He was very tanned, and his hair, what she could see of it under his hat, was dark brown, almost black. His jaw was strongly shaped, his chin square, his mouth clear-cut and bracketed by twin grooves. He hadn’t dressed up to meet her, but was wearing a plain white shirt with the cuffs unbuttoned and rolled back, ancient jeans and scuffed boots. She found herself frantically concentrating on the details of his appearance while she tried to deal with the havoc he was wreaki
ng on her senses, all without saying a word.
None of her excited imaginings had prepared her for this. What was a woman supposed to do when she finally met the man who turned her banked coals into a roaring inferno? Madelyn’s first thought was to run for her life, but she couldn’t move.
Reese’s first thought was that he’d like to take her to bed, but there was no way he’d take her to wife.
She was everything he’d been afraid she would be: a chic, sophisticated city woman, who knew absolutely nothing about a ranch. It was obvious from the top of her silky blond head down to the tips of her expensive shoes.
She was wearing white, not the most practical color for travel, but she was immaculate, without even a wrinkle to mar her appearance. Her skirt was pencil-slim and stopped just above her knees, revealing knockout legs. Reese felt his guts tighten, just looking at her legs. He wrenched his gaze upward with an effort that almost hurt and was struck by her eyes.
Beneath the loose, matching jacket she was wearing a skimpy top in a rich blue color that should have made her eyes look blue, but didn’t. Her eyes made him feel as if he were drowning. They were gray, very gray, without a tinge of blue. Soft-looking eyes, even now when they were large with…dismay? He wasn’t certain of the expression, but belatedly he realized that she was very pale and still, and that she’d dropped her bag.
He stepped forward, seizing on the excuse to touch her. He curved his hand around her upper arm, which felt cool and slim under his warm palm. “Are you all right? Miss Patterson?”
Madelyn almost shuddered at his touch, her response to it was so strong. How could such a small thing produce such an upheaval? His closeness brought with it the animal heat of his body, the scent of him, and she wanted to simply turn into his arms and bury her face against his neck. Panic welled up in her. She had to get out of here, away from him. She hadn’t bargained on this. But instead of running, she called on all her reserves of control and even managed to smile as she held out her hand. “Mr. Duncan.”