“Now don’t you go troubling yourself about driving anywhere,” Speed said. “This here house has got more bedrooms than you can shake a stick at.”
“She could stay in the bunkhouse with us,” Bean Pole volunteered.
Instantly rejecting the idea, Walker told the boy, “Not on your life.”
Ignoring the exchange, Speed continued. “Seems to me the big ’un across from the boss’s would do you just fine. And this here wee little tike—” he stuck his finger out for the baby to grab “—she’d be fine in the old sewing room Mrs. Oakes used.”
Elizabeth shot Walker a look. “Mrs. Oakes?”
“My father’s wife. She’s been gone from the ranch a long time.”
“Oh.” A tiny surge of relief skipped through her awareness. The article hadn’t, after all, said anything about Walker being married. But it could have been an oversight. And a woman would have seen through her scheme immediately. She’d have recognized Elizabeth didn’t know thing one about being a housekeeper.
“I’m sure the sewing room will be perfect for Suzanne,” she said.
“I’ll jest go on upstairs, see to it the room ain’t too much of a mess.” The antithesis of his name, Speed strolled toward the stairway at a pace that would get him to the second floor along about next Tuesday.
“Wait. We haven’t got a crib or anything for the baby to sleep in,” Walker protested.
“That’s not a problem,” Elizabeth assured him. “I brought a portable playpen along. It’s still in the car.” One of several purchases she’d made in Reno with the cash she’d withdrawn from the bank. She’d then made a side trip to a junkyard where she’d switched license plates with a Jeep that had been totaled, a little trick she’d learned from reading mysteries. With luck, no one would even notice or be able to trace her.
“I’ll get the playpen,” Scotty volunteered.
“No, I will,” Fridge insisted. He dropped the suitcase he’d carried in only minutes ago.
“Hold the baby a sec, boss.” The boy thrust Suzanne into Walker’s hands. “Fridge doesn’t know squat how to put a playpen together. He’ll probably bust it.”
Both boys went running out the door to the car, Bean Pole traipsing along at a slower pace, leaving Walker standing there, the baby in his big hands, and looking as though Scotty had handed him a bomb that was about to go off.
“Well, hello there, Miss Susie-Q,” he said, eyeing the baby with apprehension.
“Here, I’ll take her,” Elizabeth said.
“Yeah, it might be better if you—”
Suzanne gurgled a happy sound and smiled up at Walker. And then, still smiling, she launched milky spit up all over the front of his blue denim shirt.
Elizabeth groaned and reached for her daughter. She’d really have to teach Suzanne more socially acceptable ways to impress a man.
Chapter Two
Looking down at his shirtfront, Walker winced. “I trust I shouldn’t take Susie-Q’s comments personally.”
“I’m really sorry, Mr. Oakes.” Lizzie offered him a cloth diaper in exchange for the baby. “I’m afraid she’s having some trouble digesting the formula.”
“You might want to consider changing brands.”
“I’m sure she’ll adjust soon.”
Not soon enough for the sake of his shirt, Walker thought as he wiped away the spit up. Despite the mess, he noticed the kid’s smile carried a wallop. Just before she hurled her lunch on him, he’d had the fleeting thought that having a baby around the house wouldn’t be all that bad. Having a good-looking housekeeper around wouldn’t be awful, either.
Susie-Q’s milky projectile had brought him back to reality. He hadn’t advertised for a housekeeper. Hiring one who had a baby to care for didn’t make any sense, even if it didn’t cost him a dime. Given that the would-be housekeeper was the sexiest woman he’d seen in a long while would only complicate matters further.
With the boys outside arguing about who would put up the playpen and Speed upstairs doing whatever he was doing, Walker found himself alone with Lizzie. Not a good situation when she was fussing with the baby, looking maternal and feminine. The sounds she made and the gentle way she rocked Susie-Q made him think of lullabies and loving mothers. Not that he’d had much experience with any maternal females except his heifers and their calves.
His own mother hadn’t thought enough of Walker to keep him around after she found a new husband.
“Miss Thomas—”
“Why don’t you call me Lizzie? It would be so much easier, don’t you think?”
No matter what name he called her, it wasn’t going to be easy to throw her out, not when his boys were already stuck on her.
“It seems to me—” he began.
“I’m sorry. Is there somewhere I could change Suzanne? She’s soaked through.”
Now that was a really good reason to be nervous about having a baby around the house. They did stuff he didn’t know anything about—and didn’t want to.
He shrugged helplessly. “Sure. Wherever you want.”
Holding the baby on her shoulder, she glanced around the room for a spot that suited her. By now she had a streak of milky stain on her cotton blouse, which had been neatly tucked in at her waist and had tugged free. Her hair was beginning to come loose from its twist. Still there was something glamorous about her, a dose of sophistication Walker wasn’t used to. A certain grace that couldn’t be learned mucking out stalls.
Walker would lay down a sizable bet in any Nevada gambling casino Lizzie Thomas could name that she was not a housekeeper by trade.
But who the hell was she?
With a flick of her free hand, she tugged a light blanket from the diaper bag the boys had left in the living room and spread it out on the rug. With the ease of a dancer, she settled next to it and lay the baby down.
“There you are, sweetie,” she crooned. “I know those old wet diapers are yucky so we’ll get you some nice dry ones. How would you like that, huh?”
Susie-Q pumped her chubby little legs, gurgled and blew out a bubble.
In spite of himself, Walker felt his lips tilt into a smile. “Speed’s right. She is cute.”
As Lizzie lifted her head to bestow one of her smiles on Walker, he felt a punch in the gut that erased everything else in the room except this woman and her baby. He had the eerie sensation she belonged there.
But that wasn’t possible.
Oliver Oakes had drilled into his head to keep away from fancy women and city slickers. They couldn’t make it on a Montana ranch. The winters were too tough; they found the isolation oppressive. They didn’t have what it took to be a rancher’s wife. Oliver knew. He’d married one. Within five years he’d lost her and the sons she’d borne him.
In all the years he’d lived with Oliver—since he’d arrived at the Double O as a rebellious fourteen-year-old foster kid—Walker had found the foster father who had eventually adopted him was dead right about most everything he said.
Blinking and shaking his head, Walker knew whatever he’d imagined as he looked down at Lizzie had been caused by months of celibacy and the same isolation that drove women away.
He really needed to get into town more often.
Squatting down on his haunches next to her, he said, “You want