Live-In Mom Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Excerpt

  Dear Reader

  Title Page

  Books by Laurie Paige

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Copyright

  “You do like to live dangerously”.

  Ty moved with lightning speed. Before Carly could do anything more than gasp, he had her in his arms. “Now what are you going to do?”

  “Shout for help?”

  He shook his head. “That isn’t your style.” He moved his hands in her hair, entangling the long strands in his fingers as he slid them upward along her back.

  She tried to hold his gaze to prove she wasn’t afraid, but her lashes kept dragging her eyelids downward. The will to fight him just wasn’t there.

  “You confuse me, too. I want you, but I know better than to get involved. You’re like a rose patch, with pretty flowers on the surface, but with long dangerous thorns hidden to ensnare the unwary.”

  “I’m not trying to ensnare anyone,” she denied.

  “Good, because it won’t work on me. I’ve been led down that path. Believe me, once was enough.”

  Dear Reader,

  Happy New Year! I hope this year brings you all your heart desires…and I hope you enjoy the many books coming your way this year from Silhouette Special Edition!

  January features an extraspecial THAT SPECIAL WOMAN!—Myma Temte’s A Lawman for Kelly. Deputy U.S. Marshal Steve Anderson is back (remember him in Myrna’s Room for Annie?), and he’s looking for love in Montana. Don’t miss this warm, wonderful story!

  Then travel to England this month with Mistaken Bride, by Brittany Young—a compelling Gothic story featuring two identical twins with very different personalities…. Or stay at home with Live-In Mom by Laurie Paige, a tender story about a little matchmaker determined to bring his stubborn dad to the altar with the right woman! And don’t miss Mr. Fix-It by Jo Ann Algermissen. A man who is good around the house is great to find anytime during the year!

  This month also brings you The Lone Ranger, the initial story in Sharon De Vita’s winsome new series, SILVER CREEK COUNTY. Falling in love is all in a day’s work in this charming Texas town. And watch for the first book by a wonderful writer who is new to Silhouette Special Edition—Neesa Hart. Her book, Almost to the Altar, is sure to win many new fans.

  I hope this New Year shapes up to be the best year ever! Enjoy this book, and all the books to come!

  Sincerely

  Tara Gavin

  Senior Editor

  Please address questions and book requests to:

  Silhouette Reader Service

  U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

  Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

  Live-In Mom

  Laurie Paige

  Books by Laurie Paige

  Silhouette Special Edition

  Lover’s Choice #170

  Man Without a Past #755

  *Home for a Wild Heart #828

  *A Place for Eagles #839

  *The Way of a Man #849

  *Wild Is the Wind #887

  *A River To Cross #910

  Molly Darling #1021

  Live-In Mom #1077

  Silhouette Romance

  South of the Sun #296

  A Tangle of Rainbows #333

  A Season for Butterflies #364

  Nothing Lost #382

  The Sea at Dawn #398

  A Season for Homecoming #727

  Home Fires Burning Bright #733

  Man from the North Country #772

  †Cara’s Beloved #917

  †Sally’s Beau #923

  †Victoria’s Conquest #933

  Caleb’s Son #994

  *A Rogue’s Heart #1013

  An Unexpected Delivery #1151

  Silhouette Desire

  Gypsy Enchantment #123

  Journey to Desire #195

  Misty Splendor #304

  Golden Promise #404

  Silhouette Books

  Montana Mavericks

  The Once and Future Wife Father Found

  Silhouette Yours Truly

  Christmas Kisses for a Dollar

  *Wild River

  †All- American Sweethearts

  LAURIE PAIGE

  was recently presented with the Affaire de Coeur Reader’s Choice Silver Pen Award for Favorite Contemporary Author. In addition, she was a 1994 Romance Writers of America (RITA) finalist for Best Traditional Romance for her book Sally’s Beau. She reports romance is blooming in her part of Northern California. With the birth of her second grandson, she finds herself madly in love with three wonderful males—”all hero material.” So far, her husband hasn’t complained about the other men in her life.

  Chapter One

  Carly Lightfoot sat straight up in bed. A rumble shook the walls of the frame ranch house. A major invasion apparently was taking place right outside the bedroom.

  She leapt from the warm covers, rushed to the window and cracked the curtain an inch.

  A jamboree of roaring trucks, bawling cattle, cursing cowboys and a barking dog milled around the stable yard, stirring up clouds of dust and a flock of bantam hens. The hens’ indignant squawks added a comedic note to the early-morning ruckus.

  Holding a shiver in by wrapping her arms across her chest, she stood on one foot, warming the left one on top of the right. She glanced at the sky. The sun wasn’t up.

  Elena, the cook for the ranch, had told her that cow boys started their days early. If this was an example of their usual work habits, she’d better get used to rising before dawn.

  She dropped the curtain and dived under the warm cov ers, then contemplated the hours ahead of her. She lifted her arms toward the ceiling and arched her back in a lazy stretch.

  Ah, the luxury of it, these hours of delicious idleness. No worries. No cares. No demands. Two whole days. All hers.

  She knew what to do with them. Flinging the sheet and comforter aside, she dashed across the cold floor.

  After a five-minute shower, she dressed and headed for the bunkhouse kitchen for breakfast before she set off to explore the fall foliage on the mountains that etched the border of the Macklin ranch, located in northern Califor nia near the Klamath River.

  Dust invaded her nostrils as soon as she stepped out side. She sneezed three times and blinked when her eyes watered in irritation. Putting a bandanna over her nose, she blindly struck out across the stable yard, intent on reaching the safety of the kitchen before the next truck pulled up and unloaded its bellowing, unruly passengers.

  Over the cacophony of cattle and chickens, she heard the cowboys raise their voices, shouting at each other, the cows and the deity that had brought them to this time and place.

  She grinned behind the cotton protecting her nose and lungs from the dust. The pounding of hooves caused her to look up.

  A cowboy on a huge black beast was heading straight for her. She stared at him, her mind blank with disbelief.

  Before she could utter a single cry, he was upon her, intent on trampling her to death. She raised her arms defen sively.

  The next few seconds were a flurry of confused motion. She was swept up in a bruising embrace and thrust face down over a saddle. She stared at faded denim, saddle stirrups, leather boots and the black, glistening hide of a horse.

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bsp; A horn, long, pointed and dangerous, swept by a bare inch beneath her nose. She jerked her head upward as a dozen cattle charged toward the open country, following the brindle cow with the awesome rack of horns.

  “Easy,” a calm, masculine voice said. He had the au dacity to sound amused by the whole thing. The large hand on her back pressed her firmly against his thighs and the saddle horn.

  He needn’t have bothered. She was too stunned to struggle.

  Realizing she’d been saved from being trampled by the renegade bunch of longhorns, she let out her breath in a relieved whoosh and tried to thank him at the same time.

  The cowboy patted her back in a soothing gesture.

  Beneath her breasts and abdomen, she felt the tensing of his thighs as he guided the horse with his legs while one hand held her and the other swung a coiled lariat at the running cattle.

  “Please,” she said, then realized he couldn’t possibly hear her plea to let her get up and off this pounding beast before all her ribs were cracked.

  The black gelding continued his work, cutting this way and that as he turned the small herd of mavericks toward the open gate of the pasture.

  The constant jarring against her rib cage made breath ing difficult. Blackness swirled into the dust eddies. For the first time in her life, she was going to faint. Helpless, she let her head sink until her chin bounced against her res cuer’s knee.

  “Hold on another minute,” he said to her, bending over her and still swinging his rope. Leaning past her, he popped the leader of the runaway band on the shoulder. The big brindle hooked with those foot-long horns, com ing dangerously close to the gelding’s belly—and Carly’s nose—before turning toward the gate. She bellowed her rage as she entered the enclosure, her ragtag followers on her heels.

  The gate swung closed.

  Carly’s ears rang from the racket as she breathed in gasps. Her muscles strained with effort while she tried to keep from falling off headfirst. The gelding slid to a stop, doing a neat ninety-degree turn to keep from going through the gate after the cattle.

  “By damn,” someone said in admiration, “that horse can turn on a dime and give back change.”

  “Ol’ Painter knows his stuff,” the cowboy who held her agreed.

  Carly pushed herself off his thigh. “Help,” she managed to gasp out before collapsing again.

  An arm slipped between her and the saddle, wrapped itself around her directly under her breasts and hauled her upright. She was plopped sidesaddle across his lap, her left breast against his chest, her right one trapped under a broad palm.

  Too shocked for words, she stared into the face of her knight in dusty denims.

  “Easy,” he said in soothing tones as if she were a ner vous filly. He made sure she had her balance, then dropped his hand to the saddle horn, providing a backrest with his arm.

  Ty Macklin looked into eyes as dark as the gelding’s. He watched the shock of nearly being trampled evaporate like spit on a hot rock. Instead of anger or a dozen other emotions he’d learned to expect from a female, a flash of hu mor appeared in her eyes and the corner of her mouth dimpled.

  Her hair was nearly as black as the horse he rode. It was shiny in the sun and shifted as she moved, each strand sliding past the others like a waterfall in slow motion. Fascinated, he stared as the breeze parted it on one side, then another as she turned her head to get it out of her eyes. The clean scent of shampoo and bath powder teased his nostrils.

  As if he’d been there with her, he knew she’d gotten out of the shower minutes ago. He inhaled deeply, experienc ing the flow of her scent into his lungs as a tactile plea sure.

  He wondered what an early-morning ride would be like with her. In bed. With him as her mount. And her as his.

  His blood pressure rose twenty notches. His body ea gerly anticipated his musing by becoming heavy and tur gid.

  A ripple of surprise passed over him. He wasn’t look ing for trouble, and he knew it came in all sizes and shapes from Mae West voluptuous to tomboy slender. This woman was small, tiny waisted.

  Size-ten trouble in a size-two dress.

  Except she was wearing a shirt and jeans as faded as his, sneakers that were more holey than righteous, as his grandma used to say, and no bra. That much he knew.

  His palms grew sweaty just thinking of that small but firm breast clasped under his hand. A perfect fit…

  Hell and damnation. He had to get rid of those thoughts.

  Carly took a shallow, shaky breath, inhaling the scent of him. Essence of Cowboy, she thought inanely. Dust, horses, cows, a spicy after-shave, all these, combined with the early-morning freshness of the mountain wind, envel oped her in the subtle caress of sensual pleasure. Her eyelids grew heavy as she gazed into his eyes and wondered what he was thinking.

  He lifted one hand to resettle his hat while he studied her with an intensity that caused goose bumps to chase down her arms. His chest lifted in a quick breath while his heart increased its beat against her breast. The unmistakable feel of male arousal made her aware of him on several levels at once.

  She felt something within herself coil tighter and tighter, then expand suddenly, a sensuous bloom of well-being that was as pleasant as it was surprising. If he’d ridden off with her at that moment, she’d have gone with him without question, done whatever he wanted for their mutual pleasure.

  They sat that way, staring at each other, his eyes nar rowing as if in suspicion, her own widening in confusion. She wasn’t the type to ride off into the sunset with any one.

  Behind them, someone called a “Yaiii, yaiii” to the cattle being unloaded. A horse snorted. The dog, a mixed breed of boxer and shepherd, barked in sharp yips.

  Her cowboy looked away, shifted in the saddle, then asked in a low drawl, “Where you off to?”

  “The kitchen.” She ducked her head, shaken by the feelings rioting through her.

  He clicked to the gelding. His thighs moved under hers as he guided the big horse to the edge of the porch at the bunkhouse. There, he set her on her feet, his hands exqui sitely gentle.

  She glanced up and saw him looking at her lips. When he licked his, she moistened hers, too.

  As if they were getting ready to kiss.

  She took her first deep breath in—was it only five min utes since she’d been swept across his saddle like a heroine in an old Western movie?—and winced.

  “Are you all right?”

  His voice was like a warm rain, vibrant with life and the promise of spring, belying the chill of mid-October and the early snow already on the tallest mountains peaks. She managed a wry grin. “Yes. Except for the broken ribs.”

  He grinned back at her.

  “Hey, boss, you gonna sit there making cow eyes at that gal all day? What’re we gonna do with these here beeves?”

  The cowboy tipped his hat, then swung the reins against his mount’s neck. The big horse took off with a giant bound, eager to get on with his work.

  Carly lingered on the porch. To her eyes, the cowboy was the living portrayal of a demigod from Greek myth, one of those half mortals sired by a powerful Titan of an cient times.

  The sun glinted from his eyes, which were the pure blue of the early-morning sky. His face glowed with health, its planes and hollows attractively defined by the play of light and shadow over him. Thick tawny hair spilled over his forehead, blown by the cool fall breeze.

  He and the horse flowed together, moving as one, lithe… graceful… powerful

  Boss. Was he the foreman of the ranch?

  Her heartbeat slowed to normal, and her breathing be came regular. Turning toward the kitchen door, she re lived the gentle strength of his arms around her, strength a woman could crawl into and be sheltered and cherished from life’s barbs…

  Sighing, she opened the screened door. She could use a bit of cherishing. She was here on the ranch to rediscover herself, to gain some breathing space and rethink her fu ture.

  Eighteen months ago, she’d broken up with h
er fiancé. The division of furniture and assets had taken one and a half years out of her life and a chunk out of her heart.

  Her former beloved had also tried to claim a third of the successful trio of tiny gift boutiques she’d started and nourished to life on her own. The resulting lawsuit had left her exhausted and empty. She was here to replenish her soul.

  She paused and looked back, drawn to her rescuer—her cowboy—in spite of warnings that rang inside. Was he a man who knew how to cherish? Maybe she’d find out. Smiling at her foolish musing, she went inside.

  “Good morning,” Elena called out. The cook plopped a platter of pancakes on the steam table.

  “Good morning.”

  “You’re just in time. Hurry and eat before the men fin ish with the cattle, else you might not get anything.”

  “I will. Thanks.” Carly hurried across the room.

  When her friend Isadora Chavez had insisted she come for a visit after the lawsuit was resolved—in her favor— she’d taken Isa up on the offer. At Isa’s home, reading the Sunday paper, Carly had found out about a job here at the ranch. It seemed like the hideaway she needed.

  She’d interviewed with a local sheriff, who was half owner, and swore Isa to secrecy about her whereabouts. Her ex-fiancé, who knew all her friends, kept calling. He seemed to think they could make up, get married and share the wealth.

  The jerk.

  She was glad she’d acted on the odd impulse, she mused as she surveyed the long room that served as the ranch kitchen, dining room and lounge. The ranch reminded her of her grandfather’s place on Hopi land in Arizona. She’d felt happy and secure there.