Her Cowboy Boss Read online

  A SIMMERING ROMANCE

  Avery Southerly has finally met her biological father...sort of. Instead of properly introducing herself, she took a job as cook at her dad’s ranch in Hope, Montana. There’s just one problem: Avery can’t cook! Luckily ranch manager Hank Granger agrees to help, and things quickly begin heating up in the kitchen.

  But romance is not on the menu—Hank could be fired for fraternizing with an employee, and Avery is only in town to get answers. Then she’s headed home to Kansas, where she truly belongs. Hank is determined to help Avery discover the truth about her past. Yet the more time they spend together, all he can see is the future. He just needs to help Avery do the same!

  “Why are you really in Hope?” he asked.

  She was silent, and for a moment he thought she might not answer. Then she said, “My mom left Hope pregnant and never came back. I never knew my dad, but I’d like to get to know him, if I get the chance.”

  Her dad... Had she applied for the only job available to buy herself a little more time in town...or did she think Mr. Harmon was her father? He had questions, but she was turning away again.

  “Good night, Hank,” she called softly over her shoulder. “See you at breakfast.”

  He waited until she got inside before he headed back toward the road. He was jaded from a messy divorce and she was looking for a dad she’d never met. It was the reality check he needed. Attraction was one thing, but he liked to be realistic. He was her boss, and if he let those lines get blurred, he’d lose his job, smear his reputation and find himself back down at the bottom of the heap on another ranch.

  Dear Reader,

  My husband asked me to marry him after two weeks. We’ve been married twelve years now, and the other day, I was chattering about something and I said, “But you didn’t plan that proposal, right?” He gave me a funny look and said, “Of course I planned it.”

  And while a two-week romance might sound like a spontaneous thing, he’d walked me to that fountain on that summer night because he wanted to ask me to marry him. And I only just figured that out!

  As a romance novelist, I’m often asked if my books are “realistic.” And I have to say—yes! I write what I believe, and I believe in love that lasts and men who commit. In my humble opinion, forever is not too much to ask for.

  If you’d like to connect with me, you can find me on Facebook or at my website, patriciajohnsromance.com.

  Patricia Johns

  HER COWBOY BOSS

  Patricia Johns

  Patricia Johns writes from Alberta, Canada. She has her Hon. BA in English literature and currently writes for Harlequin’s Love Inspired, Western Romance and Heartwarming lines. You can find her at patriciajohnsromance.com.

  Books by Patricia Johns

  Harlequin Western Romance

  Hope, Montana

  Safe in the Lawman’s Arms

  Her Stubborn Cowboy

  The Cowboy’s Christmas Bride

  The Cowboy’s Valentine Bride

  The Triplets’ Cowboy Daddy

  Harlequin Love Inspired

  Comfort Creek Lawmen

  Deputy Daddy

  His Unexpected Family

  The Rancher’s City Girl

  A Firefighter’s Promise

  The Lawman’s Surprise Family

  Harlequin Heartwarming

  A Baxter’s Redemption

  The Runaway Bride

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  To my husband—he’s the best choice I ever made!

  Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from The Rancher’s Miracle Baby by April Arrington

  Chapter One

  So this is my dad.

  Avery Southerly shook Louis Harmon’s calloused hand, suppressing a wince at his too-tight grasp. He was in his midforties with a potbelly and a white cowboy hat that shaded his heat-reddened face. His dark eyes were kind, and he gave her a cordial nod. He’d only have been nineteen when she was born, but somehow, she’d always imagined her father looking older than this.

  With a quick look around the property, she could tell that he ran a clean ranch. The front yard had been recently mowed, and the drive was clear of vehicles. The fence that separated yard from pasture was well maintained, and she could make out some horses grazing in the distance. Farther off she could hear the growl of a tractor’s engine on the grass-scented June breeze. She’d have found this place relaxing if she weren’t so wound up.

  “Avery, you said?” He released her hand, and she waited for some sort of recognition to dawn. It didn’t.

  “Avery Southerly.”

  He raised his eyebrows—still no recognition. She’d come out to Montana to introduce herself to her father, and she’d known it would be difficult. Since her mother passed away, she had a new desire to meet the father she’d never known. However, she was nervous enough that she’d come with an excuse: an advertisement for a cook at the Harmon Ranch that she’d spotted on a bulletin board in the coffee shop. If she couldn’t suss up the courage to tell him everything right away, then she’d simply apply for the job and wait for the right moment...maybe even get to know her father a little bit before there was all the pressure of surprise paternity.

  He nodded toward the flyer in her hand. “I assume you’re here for the cook position.”

  She looked down. It was now or never...

  “Yes.” She gave a decisive nod. “I’m applying for the job, sir.”

  “Glad you are because the competition is very thin right about now.” He laughed.

  Well, that took care of that. Louis nodded toward the house and started walking away, so she followed him.

  “The team isn’t too fussy,” he said over his shoulder. “They like the basics—griddle cakes, bacon, eggs, baked beans, steak once a week and as much corn bread as you can bake.”

  He led the way along a path toward the side door of the low ranch-style house. It was large and sprawling, with one wing dedicated to a three-door garage. He pulled open the screen door and gestured her through.

  “You can make corn bread, can’t you?” he asked.

  “Uh—yes. I can make corn bread.”

  She’d made corn bread once, at least, from a recipe she found online. She wasn’t a great cook, to be honest... She wasn’t completely inept in a kitchen, but she knew her limitations, and this idea was starting to unravel in her mind already. She should just come out with it—tell him the truth—but Actually, I’m here to inform you that I’m your daughter just wouldn’t come out of her mouth.

  The kitchen table was stacked with books and ledgers, along with a smattering of papers. A horse bridle hung on the back of a kitchen chair, and Louis took off his hat and tossed it on the seat. He ran his hand over his salt-and-pepper gray hair. He definitely looked like he could be somebody’s dad, but hers?

  At the age of twenty-four, Avery wasn’t looking for a father figure, just some answers. She wanted to know about the man who sired her and the story of his connection to her mother—the story her mother
refused to tell. Maybe she could gather up some medical history. But she didn’t have a lot of time for this visit. Back in Salina, Kansas, she was about to reopen her mother’s flower shop, which had been closed since her mother entered hospice. She had two weeks until the June 24 opening date, and she wanted to make the most of that time. That store was her home—the place where she’d spent her formative years. But first, she wanted to learn about her father, whom her mom had only confessed on her deathbed.

  “Coffee?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “You aren’t from Hope, are you?” he asked. “I’d recognize you if you were.”

  “No, I’m from Kansas,” she replied.

  “But you’re not in Kansas anymore,” Louis quipped, then chortled to himself at his little joke. “Sorry, that was a dumb one. You probably hear that all the time, don’t you?”

  Avery smiled. “Only when I leave the state.”

  She’d imagined what her father would be like a thousand times since she was a little girl, trying to piece together what he might look like from her own reflection in the mirror. Did he have red hair like hers? Did he hate tomatoes, too? But never in all her imaginings had she come up with a man who looked like Louis.

  “Well, I’ll level with you, Avery,” Louis said. “I need a cook to start tomorrow, and you are the one and only applicant. I’m not too picky. If you can cook, and if you have a clean criminal record, I’ll give you a try.”

  “Thanks for the opportunity, sir,” she said with a smile. “If you can show me the ropes...”

  She was afraid to tell him the truth because he might not be thrilled to find out he had an illegitimate daughter, and from what she knew, her father had never been told about her existence. But she was wary for herself, too. She’d wanted a father so badly for so long, but only recently had she considered the possibility that her biological father might not be worthy of her. Her mother had given her an identity—they were the Southerlys. But who was she now that her mother was gone? And did Louis Harmon fit into that?

  “The ropes” might not be enough to let her pass muster, but maybe she could search a few recipes online and not look like a complete incompetent. YouTube tutorials could prove useful...until she was certain that she wanted to declare herself.

  “I pay the going rate.” He scratched a number on a slip of paper and handed it over.

  “That seems fair.” Actually, she had no idea what the going rate was for ranch cooks, but she felt the need to commit to the part now that she’d started. This was ridiculous! She didn’t need extra money, and she didn’t need a job. But Louis seemed so pleased to have a cook that she just couldn’t let him down. Yet. She’d have to eventually.

  The side door opened and a cowboy stepped inside, taking his hat off as the screen door slammed behind him. He was a tall man with sandy blond hair and a slim build. His bare forearms were roped with muscle and darkened by a tan. His face was lined from the sun, and blue eyes moved over her in quick evaluation, pausing just a beat longer than necessary.

  “Ah, Hank.” Louis nodded to the newcomer. “Perfect timing. We have a cook.”

  “Great.” Hank glanced toward her again, this time with more curiosity. He looked to be in his midthirties, and there was something in his perfectly professional gaze that sped her heart up just a little. Maybe it was the laser focus he directed at her, appraising her on the spot. Avery gave him a nod.

  “Hank Granger is my ranch manager,” Louis said. “You’ll be answering to him. He can show you the canteen and make sure you’re set up.”

  Hank leaned over and shook her hand, his grasp firm but gentle.

  “Welcome aboard,” he said, a slight smile quirking up one side of his mouth. “And you are—”

  “Avery Southerly,” she replied, pulling her hand back. She glanced toward Louis to see if repeating her name had sparked anything in his memory, but the older man’s expression didn’t change.

  “I’ll get you settled,” Hank said. “We need you to stay on-site for this position, the hours being what they are. I hope that isn’t a problem for you.” When she shrugged her compliance, he added, “There’s a room in the bunkhouse—a private one—for the cook, so you should be comfortable enough. But first we’ll need some ID so we can do a background check.”

  “Of course.” Avery provided the necessary identification, and Louis disappeared into the next room where the rattle and moan of an old photocopier filtered through the open door. When Louis came back into the kitchen, he handed back her ID and had her sign the bottom of an employment form. This was getting official quickly.

  “I might as well show you around,” Hank said. “Mr. Harmon can give us a call if there’s any problem. Is there anything else, boss?”

  “No, that should cover it,” Louis replied. “It’s nice to meet you, Avery. Hank will take good care of you, but I’ll stop by later on this evening to see if you need anything.”

  “Thanks,” she said, her insides roiling with misgiving. Was she really going to cook for this ranch for the next two weeks? But the other option was to announce who she was now and probably be shown the door for having misled them this far. Or she could take a few days to get to know Louis a little bit, and then say something. Hopefully, after a little time getting to know her, he’d understand why she did this.

  Hank led the way, pushing open the screen door to let her pass ahead of him. She was struck by how tall he was as she stepped past him—she only came up to his shoulder—and how he smelled of musk, hay and sunshine. He stood motionless until she was past, then followed, releasing the door behind him.

  A warm breeze pushed Avery’s hair away from her face, and the screen door closed with a bang. She had just officially met her father.

  * * *

  HANK GRANGER LED the way around the house to where his old blue Chevy pickup waited. He glanced over at the sad-eyed new hire. She was pretty—more than pretty, if he were honest. She had golden red hair that spilled down her shoulders and skin the color of new milk. Her eyes were flecked with green, and she had freckles across her nose and on the tops of her shoulders, not covered by her white tank top. And those jeans fit rather well...

  Blast it, he wasn’t supposed to be checking her out, and he shouldn’t be noticing that scoop of her collarbone, either. Mr. Harmon relied on Hank for his professionalism, and dalliances with other employees were strictly forbidden on this ranch. This was more than a job for Hank. This was home, and he had no intention of messing up a good thing. Besides, she was young. Way under thirty—she was too inexperienced to be weighed down with a pessimistic SOB like him. That should be enough to keep his mind on the straight and narrow.

  There had been something in the way she was looking at Louis back there—cautiously, expectantly. She’d wanted something from him, and not just the job. There was more to her arrival than a simple desire for employment. Maybe she was the gold-digging type, and she’d sniffed out a wealthy widower. Whatever it was, this Avery had ulterior motives—he was willing to bet on it.

  “So where are you from?” Hank asked as they reached the truck. He pulled open the passenger-side door and gestured her inside.

  “Salina, Kansas,” she replied, hopping up into the seat.

  A pretty out-of-towner looking for ranch work. She was no cowgirl. She wore slim Nike runners, and her nails looked too good. He came around the driver’s side.

  “So what brings you to Hope?” he asked as he slid into the driver’s seat and slammed the door.

  She paused a breath longer than necessary, then said, “My mom grew up in Hope, and I wanted to see it.”

  “Alone?” he prodded.

  “She passed away in April.”

  Ouch. Hank shot her an apologetic look. “Sorry about that.”

  She smiled in reply, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Hank pulled awa
y from the house. The wheels of his truck crunched over the gravel and onto the drive that led away from the barn and toward the bunkhouse and canteen for the workers. Warm afternoon sunlight bathed the land. Bees circled over wildflowers in the ditches, and Hank slapped a mosquito on his arm. It was the season for them. He drove past the nearest pasture, and the cows looked up, chewing in slow, grinding circles, their liquid eyes following the truck as it passed them.

  “So what was your mom’s name?” he asked. He was curious—if her family was from Hope, maybe he could place her.

  “Winona Southerly.”

  It didn’t ring any bells, but if Avery had never seen Hope, then her mother must have left town a good—he glanced at Avery from the corner of his eye—twenty-five years ago, in a rough estimation. He wouldn’t have known her mother—he’d have been ten at the time.

  “You have any other family around here?” he asked.

  “No, my mom was living with an elderly aunt who passed away when I was a kid,” she said. “But I wanted to see Hope. Mom used to tell me some stories about rope swings and swimming in a canal, back in the seventies when kids could roam feral.”

  He smiled at the mental picture. Yeah, those were the days. He’d been a kid in the eighties, and he’d still been pretty feral. The town of Hope was small enough that people trusted each other—maybe more than they should.

  “So you wanted to see it,” he concluded.

  “With her gone, I just—” She pulled her hair away from her face. “I guess it makes it feel like she’s not completely gone.”

  “Yeah, I get it.”

  He knew a fair bit about loss, about dealing with that empty hole in your chest. He’d gotten divorced five years back, and that had been a gut-wrenching loss. Vickie had started up with some guy online. Hank used to be a whole lot more trusting. He’s just a friend turned into He understands me and you don’t even try, which eventually turned into her packing her bags and leaving. Vickie had been wrong—he had tried. He’d tried really hard to understand what she needed, what she wanted. He hadn’t been some passive guy letting his woman walk off—he’d done everything he knew how. It just hadn’t been enough.