Beguiling the Boss(2)

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Marshall Grainger needed help. He needed an office assistant as well as  a cook who would also clean the sprawling Texas hill country home that  doubled as his workplace.

A cousin in the wealthy Grainger family of Wyoming, South Dakota and  Montana, Marsh was, in a word, loaded. He owned a huge cattle ranch in  Colorado, run by an excellent manager and former Marine buddy, Matt  Hayes. The ranch had been in Marsh's family for generations. Growing up,  he had spent most of his summers there and he knew the ranching  business inside and out.                       
       
           



       

But Marsh was not a cattleman at heart. He was a businessman,  considered a force to be reckoned with in more ways than one. He was six  foot four inches tall, slim and rangy with rugged features defined by  high cheekbones and a strong, square, rock-hard jaw. A thick mane of  gleaming hair the exact shade of rich dark chocolate matched the  slightly arched brows above slate-gray eyes.

While Marsh owned the building that housed his company, nestled among  many other tall buildings in Dallas, he rarely traveled into the city.  He avoided the scene in Dallas like the plague, preferring to work at  home in the large house set dead center on more than fifty acres.

At present, Marsh was desperately trying not to allow himself to be  hopeful. After weeks of using all avenues of advertisements available to  him, there was a chance he'd soon be able to hand the ranch books, the  household bills and several duties of his main business over to a new  assistant.

Someone who was actually qualified had applied for the job. So what if she was a she?

Finished paying his current household and ranch bills, he picked up his  coffee mug and glanced at his watch as he walked out of the assistant's  office, hoping he wouldn't have to spend any time there again in the  near future.

It was 1:36 p.m. The appointment with the applicant was at 2. Rinsing  his mug, he proceeded to make a fresh pot of coffee. Then again, he  mused, after her long drive, the woman might appreciate a cold drink. He  checked the fridge; there was cola as well as bottled water. The beer  was his. Now all he had to do was wait, which was not Marsh's strong  suit. He got busy scouring the sink and wiping down the long countertop.

His former assistant had up and quit on him three months ago, and he  hadn't been able to sleep since then-until last night. Just the thought  of interviewing someone who was actually qualified and could lighten his  load had allowed him to enjoy his first full night's sleep in a long  time. Hopefully she would take to the place. At that thought, he  grimaced as he sent a quick look around. While tidy, the kitchen needed a  thorough cleaning. The same went for the rest of the house. He had done  his best to keep up with everything, but the majority of his time was  consumed by the myriad details of his businesses. At the end of the day  he was only one man.

Marsh had never dreamed finding help would be so hard. After his  assistant left, he had received many responses to his ads, but only a  few were qualified, and even fewer of those were willing to relocate to  "the sticks," as one respondent called it.

The sticks? Marsh had thought with amazement. Didn't these city  dwellers know how popular the hill country was with tourists? Apparently  not. They hadn't a clue what they were missing.

But now, hopefully, things would return to normal.

If he could just replace his assistant-and the housekeeper that the man  had taken with him to Vegas, to marry-life would be good again.

Marsh thought about what his assistant and the housekeeper had said to him when they'd quit. They had said they were in love.

Love. Yeah. Right.

And if that hadn't been bad enough, the teenage daughter of his nearest  neighbor, who had been coming to the house once a week to help the  housekeeper, had been ordered to quit. Her parents thought her being  alone with him was a bad idea.

Marsh knew precisely what they meant by "bad idea." So he had a  reputation with women. So what? He was a healthy male, and the key word  was women. He was not interested in teenagers. He'd have laughed at the  thought if he hadn't been so ticked off.

At the ripe old age of thirty-four, Marsh was bitter and he knew it. He  hugged the truth to him like a heating pad, keeping the bitterness  alive so he'd never forget.

He had been betrayed-twice. The first time was when he was six years  old, by his mother, who had left his father to seek fun in the bright  lights, taking a hefty chunk of his father's money with her. Marsh had  doubled down on the pain of betrayal at age twenty-four by marrying in a  haze of lust only to be told by his young wife that she wasn't about to  waste her youth and beauty stuck in the hill country of Texas, popping  out babies and ruining her figure. In hindsight, Marsh knew he should  have discussed his desire for children before they were married. It  would have saved him a lot of trouble and money-especially since he had  known deep down inside that he wasn't in love with her. In his  estimation, love was an illusion dreamed up by poets and romance  writers. But he still would have had children with her, because he truly  felt as if he was meant to be a father. He wanted an heir, someone to  lavish love on-the only love he truly believed in-who would take over  when he was gone.                       
       
           



       

In some ways, he got lucky. Though his ex took an even larger chunk of  his money than his mother had taken of his father's, Marsh gladly wrote  the check, happy to get the selfish woman who had clearly married him  just for his wealth out of his life and his home.

Then, to top it all off, a couple years later his father had retired,  retreating to the ranch where he completed his slow decline toward  death, thus also deserting Marsh.

It had been a tough time.

The coffeemaker drew Marsh from his unpleasant reverie with one last  gurgle as it finished brewing. Marsh filled his mug and took a careful  test sip. The brew was scalding hot but good just the same, even though  the carafe, too, needed a thorough washing.

Marsh sighed. As much as he cringed at the very thought of having  another female in the house, he hoped this young woman took the job.  Jennifer Dunning was her name, and on paper she seemed like a mature,  intelligent adult. Her credentials were excellent, almost unbelievably  so. Every reference she had listed had come up aces and the  investigator's report gave her a clean slate. She was from a wealthy  family but apparently enjoyed working. He had even met her prominent  parents on one or two occasions but he had never met her. One report he  had received said she was not a part of the Dallas social scene, which  seemed strange, given her family circumstances.

Basically, he had no idea what to expect.

He had requested an interview at his home. As she was located in  Dallas, he was certain she would refuse to travel the considerable  distance to his house merely for an interview and that would be the end  of it. But she had agreed. Against his better judgment, Marsh set a date  and time. Well, today was the day, and it was almost the time...if she  showed up.

As a rule, Marsh usually worked in his office until late into the  evening hours after dinner. For the past three months, he'd had no  choice but to do the work of his assistant and housekeeper as well,  which included keeping current on the cattle breeding information and  managing the finances for the ranch and the payroll for the men. He  barely had time to clean, although he did manage to keep his own bedroom  spotless. And forget about cooking-his cooking skills were limited to  slapping a sandwich together and heating a can of soup. He did brew a  damn good cup of coffee, though.

He shot another look at his watch. Three minutes until two. Carrying  his cup, he strolled along the wide slate-covered walkway to the front  of the smooth white adobe house. Narrowing his eyes he stared at the  blacktopped road that turned off the highway to wind its way to the main  house. After a long, dry summer, the driveway was coated by a layer of  dust.

The beginnings of a frown nudged his eyebrows together as he looked  again at his watch. Never late himself, he expected punctuality from  others-especially someone applying for employment.

A low beep sounded from a small device attached to his belt. Security  was alerting him that someone had driven onto the property. At that  moment, he noticed a plume of dust rising from the back of a vehicle  moving at a speed that would have made Richard Petty grin. No way was it  Jennifer Dunning-he'd never met a woman who drove like that in all his  life. It was Matt, or a special delivery, which was probably for the  best anyway.

Marsh slashed another glance at his watch. It was exactly two when the  old white Cadillac came to a screeching stop directly in front of the  flagstone entranceway. The driver's-side door was thrown open and a  woman stepped out, slamming the door behind her.