He laughed, a mocking sound. Good old Shirley had warned him she was sick and tired of finding him housekeepers only to have him run them off with his cranky-butted attitude. Her words. Cranky-butted. He could almost see her shaking her finger in his face.
He’d laughed when she’d said it. Now he wondered. Was he cranky-butted? Was he a bitter man with a bad attitude? Was that why Reba had walked out, leaving behind a new baby, a husband who’d adored her and an easy life?
He kicked a chair leg. Reba and her betrayal was not allowed in this house.
Dax snatched up the two empty glasses and a corn dog wrapper from the coffee table, toting them to the big, silver, step-levered trash can in the kitchen. Silly to feel nervous about interviewing a prospective housekeeper, but he needed to get this woman on board right away. Rushing home to meet Gavin’s school bus each evening took a bite out of his productivity.
He trailed back through the living room, wiping a shirtsleeve over the fireplace mantel then grimaced to discover his shirt was now covered in dust. He batted at it and sneezed when the dust flew upward, dancing in the overhead light.
The doorbell chimed.
As he strode across the carpet toward the foyer, he noticed two of Gavin’s miniature cars and a sock sticking out from under the couch—along with a dust bunny the size of a jack rabbit.
He gave up. He was a rancher. This was why he hired housekeepers.
With a final slap at his dusty shirtsleeve Dax yanked the front door open. His mouth also fell open as he looked down into a familiar face. A very young, slender and decidedly pretty face.
Blast it.
What the devil was the little mama doing on his porch? Please, please. Surely not to apply for the housekeeper position.
Hot on the heels of his plea was a thrill that rocked him to his boot tips. Double blast and a dozen other curses. A burned-out old cowboy like him getting palpitations over a teenager.
“Mr. Coleman?”
Given his wayward thought processes and after what they’d shared in her car, hearing her refer to him as Mr. Coleman was creepy. He should call the sheriff on himself.
“Dax,” he growled, wondering why he was in such a weird mood. His gaze went to the pink bundle in her arms and stayed there. “How’s the little one?”
“Wonderful. Perfect.”
“Good.”
They seemed destined to repeat the same sentences to each other. Blast it.
Finding his manners, though admittedly a bit rusty, he stepped aside and motioned toward the interior. “Want to come in?”
She came inside, moving past him with a grace and elegance that had him thinking of ballerinas and her pretty feet again. He caught a whiff of that flowery perfume he’d smelled in her car. As if his eyelids ruled his body, they dropped closed and he inhaled. Nice. Really nice.
“Dax?”
His eyelids flew open. Why had he invited her inside?
“Have a seat,” he said, feeling about as awkward as a three-legged horse.
He peered out the door, craning his neck to look down the long, long driveway. Nothing but her blue car. Where was the real housekeeper? Please let her pull up soon.
“Are you expecting someone?” the little mama asked, still standing in the middle of his foyer and close enough for him to see the flecks of gold in her eyes.
He backed up a step.
“A housekeeper applicant from the employment office is on her way out.”
The little mama turned bright pink. “Oh,” she said. “That would be me.”
She handed him a card bearing the logo of the county employment office and her name, Jenna Garwood. Dax’s heart stopped. Jenna Garwood was the name Shirley had given him. Oh no.
“You?”
Her pink drained away. “Is there a problem? I can cook. I’m an accomplished chef.”
Dax was already shaking his head. “I don’t think so.”
The last thing he wanted was this new mama who haunted his dreams to live here. She was probably a teenage runaway. He’d get arrested just for thinking about the way her eyebrows took wing at the ends and for noticing how full and pouty her lips were. She was trouble with a baby in arms.
“I need a mature woman to look after my boy.”
“I can do that.”
“This ranch is far from town. It gets lonely out here.”
“I’m accustomed to solitude.”
Getting desperate now, Dax pointed to the infant. “You have a new baby.”
“I promise to keep up with my domestic duties and care for her, as well. Mothers have maintained homes for millennia while rearing children.” Her doe-eyes had widened, almost pleading. “I can do it.”
Before he did something really stupid, Dax grumbled, “No.”
The little mama—Jenna Garwood—drew up to her full height, which wasn’t much, come to think of it. “May I inquire as to why?”