Cowboys Don't Marry the Beauty Page 3

  Now what?

  If the scarf had been just any scarf, she might have let it go, but Aunt Betsy had given it to her for Christmas the year she’d graduated from college and got her first modeling contract. It was expensive Vicuna wool, far beyond Aunt Betsy’s normal price range. Probably worth more than every item in Aunt Betsy’s closet added together, brand new.

  Even if it weren’t expensive, though, it was special because it had come from Aunt Betsy with all the love of a real mother.

  Straightening her shoulders and tucking her hair behind an ear, she marched forward, trying to give off an air of confidence, like she knew exactly where she was going and what she was doing.

  As if.

  She’d almost made it to the door where the dog had disappeared when she heard uneven thumps, like someone was running with a limp, and what sounded like a deep growl, before the door slammed shut with a bang that echoed off the walls and seemed to shake the air around her.

  Morgan stopped short. Her heart drummed against her ribs.

  That was weird.

  She swallowed. After navigating the backrooms of some of the biggest fashion shows on earth, there wasn’t too much that could scare her.

  This wouldn’t either.

  She stepped forward, knocking on the door with a firm tap-tap-tap. Her scarf was in there. There was nothing wrong with trying to get it back.

  Two seconds later, a click sounded like someone inside was locking the door. She blinked at the closed door. Really? Whoever was in there had just locked her out?

  A faint whine reached her ears. The little dog, maybe. It stopped abruptly like someone had grabbed her nose.

  Morgan didn’t bother to try the knob. It was pretty obvious whoever was in there didn’t want to have to deal with her. Well, she would make sure that Mr. Hanson knew about this. She would also demand that her scarf be returned. Immediately.

  Checking her phone, she saw that she had thirty minutes until supper. Which should give her just enough time to find the dining room. If she hurried.

  ~~~

  Ford stood still behind the door. Shaking. Quiet. His heart racing like the fuel booster on a rocket bound for Jupiter. He held his phone, watching as Morgan gave the door one last glance.

  At his feet, Lolli whined. Morgan froze and tilted her head.

  He grabbed Lolli’s snout, cutting off the whine. To compensate, he picked her up, and she snuggled against him. But it was a mistake on his part.

  The scent of jasmine, with hints of rose and some other fresh, husky scent, shimmered in the air. She’d been holding Lolli. And now Lolli smelled like her. Expensive. But it also smelled like happiness. Joy, even. He filled his lungs with it without even thinking about it, dragging the air through his nose and suddenly longing for the warmth and energy of the woman to touch to go with it.

  His lungs shook as he exhaled and drew in another, deeper, breath. Addictive. It must be some kind of aphrodisiac. He blew out. He wouldn’t be taken in by someone who was here after his money. Why else would she be wearing a scent designed to turn a man’s brain to mush? Georgia wasn’t wise in the ways of the world. Not like he was. He could spot a fraud from a mile away or, in this case, from behind the closed door.

  The security camera footage on his phone showed her taking one last look at the door before marching away.

  Now he was wise to her. Or maybe it wasn’t her. Maybe it was someone else who had sent in a beautiful woman, the most beautiful woman they could find, and sprayed her with a scent that called to his deepest desires, desires he had buried so deeply he hadn’t thought anything could ever pull them out, and sent her here to infiltrate his home and find his secrets.

  After taking one last look at his phone to make sure she was really gone, he set Lolli down. She wove through his feet before stopping with her one front paw on his left foot. How she could tell that his other shoe held only a prosthesis, he didn’t know. But without fail, she only stood on his left foot.

  His hands still shook, and his heart hadn’t settled down. Probably due to the fact that he could still discern her scent.

  Other than the glow of his computer screen and his phone, the room was completely dark. Even if were day, the room would only be dimly lit with the curtains he had on the windows. But his eye was used to it. Even so, the furniture was sparse, and he didn’t worry about bumping into anything.

  Except, as he limped slowly toward the desk, not proud of himself for the way he’d just acted, his good foot stepped on something soft and squishy. He bent, using his phone screen as a light.

  Ah, yes. Her scarf that Lolli had run away with. He bent, picking it up. Her scent filled the air again, stronger. And, again, he felt that pull on his heart, or deeper, in his soul, and the longing that made him want to howl at the moon.

  Which was smoking ridiculous.

  He moved to toss the scarf aside. But he couldn’t. She’d wanted it back and bad enough to knock on a door that had been closed in her face and locked. Or maybe she was just worried about the dog. She’d been kind to the stray that was almost as ugly as he was.

  It had turned his heart over. He hadn’t liked the feeling. She was already too beautiful.

  The three fingers of his right hand clenched in the material, and without a thought, he brought it up and pressed his face into the soft, fragrant material, breathing in, mindless.

  Chapter 3

  One place setting sat on the massive, heavy-looking wood dining table when Morgan walked in.

  She’d found what looked like a sitting room, a library, and a formal living room with a massive grand piano flanked by a bass fiddle and a polished trombone. There was music on the piano, not that she could read it, and she wondered if Mr. Hanson played.

  There was also some type of room off the back of the house, but she decided to explore it after supper since she was already almost late.

  But her steps slowed to a slow crawl as she stared at the one setting. How had she gotten the idea that Mr. Hanson would eat with her?

  Not from Mrs. T. Had Georgia said anything?

  Morgan thought back, fairly certain Georgia said she’d be spending her days doing whatever Mr. Hanson needed, that she’d take her meals with him and keep his hours. When he was busy with a “project,” she would be free to do what she liked. There would be long stretches of free time and equally long stretches of intensive work.

  Maybe he was in the middle of a project.

  Her stomach let out a growl, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast with Aunt Betsy and Uncle Harry. It had been a sad affair, since she’d just gotten in from New York yesterday, six weeks to the day since she’d walked out of the New York Fashion show. Henrique hadn’t lied about her not working for anyone, and Caden, her boyfriend, hadn’t taken long to show his stripes, either. She’d managed to find a sub-lease for her apartment, and she’d come home.

  Georgia had called while she was between flights at O’Hare Airport, having found out from her aunt that Morgan was on her way home with no job. Small town gossip travels faster than starlight.

  She shoved aside her disappointment at the fact that she was apparently eating alone and walked slowly into the room, which was dimly lit, as all of the house was. She’d finally realized that the dim lighting was all the lighting there was. The light switches were already on. Used to bright lights and cameras and being able to see, it was frustrating to be in shadow all the time.

  Only three weeks. She didn’t have to survive longer than that.

  As she moved closer to the table, she realized there was a lump next to the single place setting. She hurried forward, hoping, then knowing, that it was her scarf.

  She breathed a sigh of happiness as she touched the soft wool before taking it and putting it back around her neck, using a more secure knot in case the dog showed up and wanted to be held again.

  Something fluttered to the floor. She bent down, squinting in the shadows under the table. A small piece of paper with a bare
ly legible scrawl lay on the plush rug. She picked it up, trying to decipher the words.

  The dog’s name is Lolli.

  There was no signature, and she studied the scrawled words, trying to reconcile the barely legible handwriting with the tall, handsome, and laughing college-aged boy she remembered from her childhood.

  As she did, a whiff of leather and spice with a subtle undertone of masculine strength reached her nose. The card?

  She lifted it to her nose, inhaling. Her heart bucked and kicked in her chest, and an odd sense of melancholy swirled and simmered through her chest. The hair on the back of her neck rose, and she looked around, almost sure there was another presence in the room with her.

  Nothing.

  She closed her eyes and inhaled again, deeper, as the same feelings, only stronger, took hold inside of her.

  The kitchen door opened. A shaft of light beamed across the room as Mrs. T entered with a tray of covered dishes.

  Morgan yanked the card from her nose and put her hand behind her back, like she’d been eating candy before dinner. She slipped into the chair with a plop, shoving the card under her butt. She’d never smelled that scent before, and she wanted to study it closer. Later. In the privacy of her room where she could close her eyes and smell to her heart’s content.

  “How was your afternoon, honey?” Mrs. T asked as she bustled over to the table, kindly acting like she hadn’t just seen Morgan with a notecard stuck to her nose and her eyes closed like she was smelling a bouquet of roses.

  “It was good. I met Lolli.”

  “Oh? She introduced herself, then?” Mrs. T asked with a twinkle in her eye.

  “I guess,” Morgan said with a weak laugh. “I’m not sure. There was a note on the table that said what her name was.” Maybe she should feel bad prying for information like that, but her curiosity propelled her to open her mouth when she normally would have let it go.

  “Sounds like something Ford would do.” Mrs. T lifted a small bowl off the tray.

  Leave a note or be considerate? Morgan wasn’t sure and couldn’t figure out how to ask. Instead, she said, “I saw the grand piano and the bass fiddle in the formal living room. Does Mr. Hanson play?”

  The last bowl rattled as Mrs. T fumbled it onto the table. She straightened it carefully, seeming to be very concerned about getting it just so.

  “No,” she said at last. “Georgia plays the piano. Mr. Ford used to play the bass fiddle, but...not so much anymore.”

  Her tone made Morgan glance at her lined and wrinkled face, trying to decipher what she wasn’t saying. But her crystal blue eyes were free from any undertones of subtility.

  “Ford specifically requested this.” She lifted the lid on her filet mignon. “And this.” Picking up another lid, she uncovered asparagus spears and scallops in a light sauce. Several more containers held a pear and baby greens salad with some type of red dressing, dinner rolls, a plate of different kinds of cheese, and steamed peas in a cream sauce.

  “This looks really amazing, but I’m never going to be able to eat it all.”

  “I didn’t figure you would, but Ford wanted to make sure you felt at home and didn’t go hungry.” Mrs. T looked her up and down. “You could stand to put a little weight on those skinny bones.”

  Morgan made her lips turn up, but she looked down at her plate. As a model, she was constantly dieting. She’d never done the binge and purge that some others had resorted to, but staying thin was necessary if she wanted to work. After she’d walked away, she thought she’d finally be able to eat like a normal person, but she’d found that the stress of not having any work was worse than the stress of working too much. Her appetite had disappeared along with her job. Too bad, since she could finally eat what she wanted.

  Mrs. T set a glass of ice water and a plate of lemon wedges beside her. “This is good water from our deep well. The best water in the state, although my opinion might be biased.”

  Morgan looked over all the food. “Thank you.” She shook her head at the abundance, unwilling to ask where the leftovers went. Her Norwegian roots wouldn’t allow her to think of it going to waste.

  Mrs. T picked up her tray. Morgan set her hand on her arm. “Aren’t you going to eat, too?”

  “Mr. T and I eat in the kitchen together.”

  “Oh.” Morgan’s gaze dropped back to the table. She hadn’t been extremely close with her roommate, but they’d taken turns cooking or providing supper, which was dinner to New Yorkers.

  Of course, she’d eaten alone before, but for some reason, loneliness balled up in her chest. Maybe it was just all this fabulous food and no one to share it with. Maybe it was the splendor that surrounded her, or the vastness of the house in general. Whatever it was, she shoved it away as Mrs. T waddled back into the kitchen. She couldn’t indulge in those feelings, or she’d be depressed or crazy before she knew it. One thing growing up in North Dakota had taught her was mental toughness. One needed it to survive the winter.

  Taking a last look at the food, she bowed her head and thanked the Good Lord for the bounty before her. She whispered a special prayer for Ford, who must have been the one who slammed the door in her face, then locked it, but had also been kind enough to set her scarf on the table and leave her a note about the dog’s name. Surely he was lonely in this big house, too.

  ~~~

  The next day went pretty much the same as the previous afternoon had. Ford Hanson was a no-show, and Morgan wandered the house, finally curling up in the cozy library and reading a book in front of the fireplace while a cold rain lashed the windows. The rain stopped and the sky cleared as the sun went down, again casting the whole house in a dim play of shadows and rheumy trickles of light.

  Supper was a similar lavish feast, and Morgan ate alone. Again. Tempted to call Georgia, she talked herself out of it a half-dozen times. After all, she was going to get paid whether she ever saw Ford Hanson or not.

  At least she hoped so.

  She didn’t know Ford, but she did know Georgia. Not well, but good enough to be sure she wasn’t going to get stiffed for her money. Even if she did, as long as she didn’t get a bill for the expensive food she was eating, it wasn’t a bad place to relax and take a vacation.

  It was almost eight when she finished her second book of the day and rose, stretching. Lolli, who had been missing all day, trotted in with her peculiar hop, trot, hop, trot gait.

  “Where have you been all day, girl?” Morgan asked as the little dog stopped with one paw on her foot, her head tilted and seeming to say, “Pick me up already, why don’t ya?”

  “No scarf today, honey,” Morgan said as she picked the little dog up and snuggled her against her chest.

  The scent from the card yesterday ambled past her nose, and she closed her eyes and buried her nose in the dog’s soft, white fur. The same stirring moved in her chest, and suddenly she remembered the door she’d seen at the back of the house the day before when it was almost suppertime. She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten about it up until that point, but something about the scent or the dog jogged her memory.

  “Come on. Let’s go check it out. It’s not in the forbidden part of the house.” She shoved her phone in her pocket—no scarf today, just jeans and a flowing navy shirt that made her eyes look deep blue. Not that there was anyone around to notice her eyes. She snorted.

  Moving silently through the big, open foyer, she walked past the doors that led to the formal living room and dining room, taking the left at the far end of the hall and again seeing the door about ten feet down the hall to the right. She assumed the hall led to the kitchen. She hadn’t checked that out either, but the door to the right had been the one that made her the most curious. She’d assumed that she’d been at the back of the house. Unless it was some kind of back exit, she’d been wrong.

  Lolli wiggled in her arms, snuggling deeper, her little potbelly sticking out over Morgan’s forearm, her nose tucked in her armpit. What a sweet dog. Morgan stroked her smooth fur
then reached out to open the door.

  The knob twisted easily in her hand, and the door slid open silently with only a little pressure. The entire ceiling and the upper half of three walls were solid glass. With the clear, dark North Dakota night, this would be a perfect room to lie down and look at the stars.

  The room was completely dark, except for the natural light from the night sky. She’d taken four steps in, trying to make out what the large black blob was in the center of the room, before the air rang out with, “GET OUT OF THERE!”

  The words seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, reverberating around, slamming from wall to wall, blaring in her head, so loud she could feel the vibrations.

  Lolli jumped along with Morgan. Morgan almost dropped her in her haste to back out.

  “CLOSE THE DOOR!”

  She grabbed the knob, slamming the door shut. Breathing hard, she leaned against the wall, her heart punching her lungs, and neither of those two organs working well, stumbling and starting and tripping over each other like they were trying to run away.

  Lolli twisted and stiffened, and Morgan set her down. She scrambled away in her lopsided gait, disappearing around the corner.

  Morgan hurried after her, taking the stairs two at a time and striding as fast as she could to her room.

  ~~~

  Ford put his head in his hands. What had he done? He deserved to be labeled a freak. That’s exactly what he was. A coward and a freak.

  What kind of person acts like he had the last two days? Slamming a door in his guest’s face before locking it and not answering her when she knocked. Then using his speaker system to scare the bejeebers out of her, and now she sat on her balcony, in the almost-freezing night air, her legs pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. Her shoulders weren’t shaking, and he was pretty sure she wasn’t crying, but still, he’d scared her. Upset her.

  She might leave.

  Then Georgia would leave.