His Hired Bride. Susan Fox
her to do for him. Beauty and sparkling wit were irrelevant, though Hoyt sometimes seemed at least charmed by her.
Eadie suspected he’d enjoyed their little exchanges today, and in retrospect it was more than a little flattering that he’d made her a part of everything after he’d got hurt. She ignored the idea that he currently had no adoring beauty to call on, and because it had been nearing closing time at the doctor’s office, most of his beauties wouldn’t have had time to come to the ranch to demonstrate their sympathy anyway.
And Hoyt had asked her to come over tonight. There was no getting around the fact that she’d grown even more excited about the out-of-the-blue opportunity the past three hours. Despite her effort to keep her head, Eadie just couldn’t seem to keep from losing it yet again over Hoyt. Hope probably did spring eternal because she was surely the most hopeful—and hopeless—ninny on the planet.
Even picturing a disappointing scenario didn’t seem to put much of a damper on the lighthearted way she felt. She had no business expecting anything but more crabbiness from Hoyt tonight, and she was certain to face a complete and utter letdown over how ho-hum it would all turn out to be.
But for now, she felt happy. She checked the clock about a half dozen times before she figured it was late enough to start for Donovan Ranch. She went out and got in her little green pickup and once she’d made it up the ranch road to the highway, she had a hard time keeping the little truck enough under the speed limit to avoid getting a ticket on the ten-minute trip down the pavement.
When she finally pulled up to the front of the massive, single-story adobe-style Donovan Ranch house, she noted that Miss Ed’s ancient little car was indeed gone. Though it was just before sunset, a few lights were on here and there in the house.
She went to the front door and pushed on the doorbell, then waited for Hoyt to answer it. When he didn’t, she pushed the button again, then waited even longer for a response. Finally she realized he might have taken the painkiller and fallen asleep somewhere in the house. He couldn’t have gone to bed and left the lights on, so she debated whether or not to just go on in.
Though she’d worked for Hoyt for years now, Eadie never simply walked into the house unannounced, though she’d had permission to do so. She regularly arrived just after noon, so she always went around to the kitchen and tapped on the big glass patio doors to get Miss Ed’s attention before she came in.
Could Hoyt be in trouble? She certainly didn’t want to startle him if he just hadn’t heard the doorbell, but she was squeamish about just walking in. Leery but concerned, Eadie tried the knob and the door opened easily, so she walked in and called out a light “Hello.”
When she got no response, she closed the door, then crossed the stone floor of the foyer to the long, carpeted hall that spanned the length of the big house.
“Hello, Hoyt. I’m here now,” she called out, then hesitantly started down the hall toward Hoyt’s office, peeking in doors on her way past only to find that the big den was empty. She went in and turned off the lights, then came back out and started through the house.
The kitchen and dining room were immaculate, but empty, as was the living room. She glanced out to the big patio in back, but there was no sign of Hoyt. Then she saw his black Stetson hanging on a wall peg in the dim kitchen, and was certain he had to be in the house. Eadie started toward the bedroom wing.
The only light in this part of the house was coming from Hoyt’s bedroom, so she stopped just short of the doorway to rap her knuckles on the door frame without looking in. If he’d just stepped out of the shower in the altogether, she didn’t want to compromise his privacy. There was no response, but she heard what sounded like a soft snore.
Eadie cautiously peeked in and saw Hoyt sprawled on his back on the big bed. He had on a fresh shirt that he hadn’t tucked in and a different pair of jeans than he’d had on that day, but he was fully dressed. His boots were on again, so perhaps he’d laid down earlier because he was drowsy then had fallen asleep. Surely Miss Ed didn’t know about this, because she might have given him heck for putting his boots up on the beautiful bedspread.
Eadie couldn’t let him sleep the night in his clothes, so she started across the carpet to the big bed to touch his shoulder.
Her soft, “Hoyt, can you wake up?” was a whisper. She gave his shoulder a gentle nudge. “Hoyt? It’s Eadie. You need to wake up and get ready for bed.”
That seemed to rouse him and he began to stir. But the unguarded movement must have hurt because he drawled out a swearword. Eadie decided she had to be a little more firm and spoke in a more normal tone.
“Hoyt? You need to wake up. Be careful of your stitches, but wake up.” She gave his shoulder another nudge. “Hoyt?”
His low moan was more a resistant growl than an indication of pain, so she reached for his fingers and, careful not to brush his injured side, which was facing her, she chafed his hand between her palms.
And…oh, Lordy! The feel of his big, callused hand between hers was a guilty pleasure she didn’t dare indulge too long.
“Come on, Hoyt,” she coaxed, almost as much to get him to wake up so she could let go of his hand as to spare him an uncomfortable night. “You can’t sleep in your clothes. Wake up so you can take them off and get under the covers.”
The low growl that answered her was a shock.
“You take ’em off.”
Eadie stared down at Hoyt’s sleep slack face, stunned. She’d stopped chafing his hand between hers and that next second she realized her mouth was hanging open. Had she heard right?
CHAPTER THREE
HOYT had mumbled something to her, but the words had sounded distinctly like You take ’em off.
Replaying it in her head didn’t change a syllable, and—hooboy!—that was the last order she’d ever dreamed Hoyt Donovan would give her. She must have heard it wrong.
“H-Hoyt? You need to wake up and get your clothes off for bed.”
This time, the growl was more distinct. “I said, you take ’em off if you want ’em off so bad.”
Eadie felt a tickle of amusement over that even as her face went warm. “I will not take your clothes off, boss. Just get up and get it over with. It shouldn’t take more than a minute, then you can go back to sleep. Come on.”
She pulled on his hand a little to prompt him to rise, but his dark eyes sprang open and zeroed in on her.
“You should have got here before I fell asleep. Now it’s gonna hurt like hell to get up again.”
Eadie smiled sympathetically. “I’m sorry. Here,” she said as she leaned close to slide her other hand beneath his wide shoulders, “I’ll help you sit up.”
Eadie knew it was a mistake the moment she felt the heat from his body penetrate her clothes. The hard muscle definition of his shoulders instantly imprinted themselves on her arm and palm and fingers. To pay back a little extra misery for her good intentions, the spicy cologne she associated solely with Hoyt filled her nostrils and was mildly intoxicating at this distance.
Hoyt’s fingers tightened on her hand. “You’ll help me sit up, huh? You and what forklift?”
His minty breath gusted warmly into her face and Eadie struggled not to show her reaction. “Are you calling me puny again? I’m also wiry.”
That got a smile out of him, but Eadie had underestimated the appeal of it happening just inches from her face while she was bent over him.
“You’re wearing perfume.”
The raspy pronouncement embarrassed her and made her regret her earlier efforts. The last thing she could afford money-wise and pride-wise was for Hoyt to think she was after him. And she rarely wore perfume.
“That’s