The Rancher's One-Week Wife

The freedom to dance with a handsome man and not to worry that her husband would accuse her of flirting. As if she would run off with any man who looked her way. How long had it taken her to realize his remarks were born of his own insecurities, not her behavior?

She was free to look now, though, at this man with coal-black hair that spiked with the sea breeze and a hint of sweat. His square jaw was peppered with a five-o’clock shadow, his shoulders broad in his tuxedo, broad enough to carry the weight of the world.

Shivering with warm tingles that had nothing to do with any bonfire or humid night, she could feel the attraction radiating off him the same way it heated in her. She’d sensed the draw before but his grief was so well known she hadn’t wanted to wade into those complicated waters. But with her return to home looming...

Maureen wasn’t interested in a relationship, but maybe if she was leaving she could indulge in—

Suddenly his attention was yanked from her. He reached into his tuxedo pocket and pulled out his cell phone and read the text.

Tension pulsed through his jaw, the once-relaxed, half-cocked smile replaced instantly with a serious expression. “It’s the nanny. My daughter’s running a fever. I have to go.”

And without another word, he was gone and she knew she was gone from his thoughts. That little girl was the world to him. Everyone knew that, as well as how deeply he grieved for his dead wife.

All of which merely made him more attractive.

More dangerous to her peace of mind.

* * *

As the morning sun started to spray rays through the night, Xander rubbed the grit from the corners of his eyes, stifling a yawn from the lack of sleep after staying up all night to keep watch over Rose. He’d taken her straight to the emergency room and learned she had an ear infection. Even with the doctor’s reassurance, antibiotics and fever-reducing meds, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Still wearing his tuxedo, he sat in a rocker by her bed. Light brown curls that were slightly sticky with sweat framed her face, her cherubic mouth in a little cupid’s bow as she puffed baby breaths. Each rise and fall of her chest reassured him she was okay, a fundamentally healthy sixteen-month-old child who had a basic, treatable ear infection.

A vaporizer pumped moisture into the nursery, which was decorated in white, green and pink, with flowers Terri had called cabbage roses, in honor of their daughter’s name. A matching daybed had been included in the room for those nights they just enjoyed watching her breathe. Or for the nanny—Elenora—to rest when needed. A glider was set up in the corner and his mind flooded with memories of Terri nursing their baby in the chair, her face so full of maternal love and hope, all of which had been poured into putting this room together. A week before Rose was born, he and Terri had sat on the daybed, his arms wrapped around her swollen belly, as they’d dreamed of what their child would look like. What she would grow up to accomplish. So many dreams.

Now his brother catnapped in that same space, as he so often did these days, quirky as hell and a never-ending source of support. An image of his brother dancing with Maureen Burke flash through Xander’s mind. His brother hadn’t had much of a social life lately, either, and even knowing Xander would help Easton if the roles were reversed didn’t make it fair to steal so much of his brother’s time.

Xander pushed up from the rocker and shook his brother lightly by the shoulder. “Hey, Easton,” he said softly. “Wake up, dude. You should head on back to your room.”

His brother’s eyes blinked open slowly. “Rose?”

“Much better. Her fever’s down. I’ll still take her to her regular pediatrician for a follow-up, but I think she’s going to be fine. She’s past needing both of us to keep watch.”

“I was sleeping fine, ya know.” His lanky brother swung his legs off the bed.

“Folded up like pretzel. Your neck would have been in knots. But thank you. Really. You don’t have to stick around. I know you have to work.”

“So do you,” Easton said pointedly, raking his fingers through his hair.

“She’s my kid.”

“And you’re my brother.” His eyes fixed on Xander’s. Steady and loyal. They’d always been different but close since their parents traveled the world with little thought of any permanent home or the consistency their kids needed to build friendships. They relied on each other. Even more so after their father died and their mother continued her world traveling ways, always looking for the next adventure in the next country rather than connecting with her children.