From Drifter To Daddy

By Mollie Molay

Sara Bought Herself a Man

And now she meant to get her money's worth. Quinn Tucker was a two–bit con, and since she'd paid his fine, Sara Martin owned him, for the rest of his month–long sentence. Any wish she desired, he had to fulfill .

Quinn Wanted to Escape

Jail was beginning to look like a better alternative than Sara Martin. Quinn had hoped she wanted him to lend a hand in her bedroom. Instead, he became her ranch hand–and slept in the barn. And the only nuzzling he got was from the horses. Worse, her two little kids flashed him toothless grins and wanted him to play daddy!

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Sep 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781488723469

Book preview

Chapter One

She was a woman dressed as a man, but there was no hiding her small waist, long legs and small, firm breasts that strained against her thin cotton shirt. Her curves, packed into tight-fitting jeans, were interesting too, and a dead giveaway.

She was also the only interesting sight he’d seen in three days of staring out of the jail’s narrow window.

Two small children trailed her as she disappeared around the corner of Juniper, California’s, adobe brick jailhouse. He strained to see more of her, but he was too late. Frustrated, he cursed his stupidity at getting himself arrested.

Restless, Quinn paced the small room. After three days in the eight-foot-by-ten-foot cell, he was ready to climb the walls. His whole life had been on the go. He couldn’t stand to be confined. Having only Sheriff Cable for company hadn’t helped matters, either. The man was incapable of listening to reason, and was responsible for the numerous bruises that covered Quinn’s body. The fact that Quinn had gotten in a few good punches of his own when he’d been arrested was cold comfort, considering he’d landed in jail for thirty days.

Quinn froze at the gloating sound of Sheriff Cable’s voice as he came down the dark, narrow aisle to Quinn’s cell. The blonde he’d admired through the jail’s window was with him.

Well, Ms. Martin, there he is, just like I said. He’s not much, but he’s yours if you want him.

Straightening, Quinn tore his gaze away from the blonde and glared at the sheriff. What do you mean, I’m hers?

Now see here, Tucker. Back off. Judge Andrews has decided to change your sentence to a work-furlough program.

Work-furlough program! No one told me anything about a work-furlough program. What made the eminent judge change his mind?

You’re costing the taxpayers money, that’s why. No use having you here eating your head off and stirring up trouble.

Eating my head off, am I? I haven’t had a decent meal since I got unlucky enough to meet up with you!

That’s enough out of you. You’re damn lucky that Ms. Martin is thinking of paying your fine and letting you work for her, the sheriff blustered. Lord knows why anyone would want you, with your record. If she agrees, you’re hers for twenty-seven days. Good riddance, I say.

What fine? The judge said he wouldn’t let me go with a fine because I hit a law officer. He must be rewriting the law as he goes along.

That’s enough out of you. You got to go with Ms. Martin, and that’s that!

She can have me when hell freezes over!

Quinn’s gaze locked with the blonde’s, and he saw the doubt that clouded her coffee-colored eyes. He didn’t care. He wasn’t interested in going anywhere with her, anyway. Until he took a second look.

High cheekbones lent her face a delicate look, but from the condition of her worn clothing, he could tell she was used to hard work. Her skin was tanned from being in the sun.

He took in her long blond hair, tied back with a red ribbon. When she blew away the small tendrils that straggled across her forehead and licked her lips in a nervous gesture, his eyes widened. Until he noticed the two small children clinging to her legs.

Quinn sighed. The lady was married and he was behind bars. It was a hell of a combination and did nothing to soothe his impotent anger at being at Cable’s less-than-tender mercy. Tense with resentment, he crossed his arms and waited to find out what she was doing there gazing at him as if he were a parrot in a cage.

The kids hung on to her pant legs, staring at him as though they expected him to jump through the jail cell bars and attack at any moment. Their identical coffee-colored eyes, shared by the blonde, were clouded with fear. Hell, he wasn’t out to scare little children, although he probably looked fearsome with three days’ worth of stubble and his shabby clothes. He forced himself to relax and lounged back against the iron frame of the bunk beds. Arms folded across his chest, he waited to see what the odd trio was going to do next.

His name was Quinn Tucker. That was all Sara Ann Martin knew about him, except that he was in jail for disturbing the peace and was available for hire if she was willing to pay his fine. He was the man she was looking for.

Troubled, she gazed at him. He was more than six feet tall, with the lithe body of an athlete. Ebony curls framed a rugged face darkened by the shadows of a growing beard. There were bruises on his forehead and above one eye. He had a sensual mouth, marred only by a cut at one corner of his lips. His torn and buttonless white shirt was open to his waist. Blue-and-yellow bruises showed under the mat of black curls that covered his chest.

Sara blushed as she caught herself following the curls to where they ended in a vee at the waistband of his worn jeans. She forced herself to meet his gaze. His hazel eyes glinted with anger, and something else she couldn’t identify, even as they swept her from head to toe. He looked strong as a wild stallion, and just as angry.

She couldn’t stop herself from staring at him. With his beard and his bruises, there was an aura of danger that clung to him. Even if he was hers for the asking, maybe she ought to reconsider. Common sense warned her to take the children and leave, but she needed cheap labor and she needed it now. Ignoring the sixth sense that was sending warning signals clanging through her body, she gritted her teeth and nodded.

He’ll do, Sheriff Cable. I’ll take him.

The prisoner pushed away from the bed frame. The repressed anger on his face stopped the sheriff in his tracks as he was about to put the key in the cell door.

I’ll do for what? the prisoner asked, eyeing her. The children whimpered at the tone of his voice, but he was obviously too angry to care. He moved to the door. In a voice cold as steel, he snarled, "Lincoln freed the slaves. What does she think she’s going to do with me?"

Sara grabbed the children’s shoulders and stepped back.

Hold on there, Tucker, the red-faced sheriff admonished. Better ease off before Ms. Martin changes her mind. Judge Andrews has agreed to let you work off your sentence by giving her a helping hand on her ranch—on one of those newfangled work-furlough programs. After she pays your fine, that is. Cable shot Quinn a malevolent look. You ought to be grateful not to have to spend the next month in here with me. The threat in the official’s voice was clear.

Quinn’s cold gaze swung back to the blonde. The set look on her face spelled trouble. He was used to trouble all right, but somehow he couldn’t see spending the next twenty-seven days paroled in her custody. Damn it, he was used to calling the shots. From the look on her face, he could see she was determined to be the caller.

The idea of being up for sale and bought by a woman was degrading and an affront to the little dignity he had left. He clenched his fists in frustration. His angry gaze swung from the blonde to Sheriff Cable. It was a case of the devil, in the guise of the barrel-chested sheriff, or the deep blue sea.

Hell, it wasn’t being in jail that got to him. He’d been in jail before. It was being farmed out to a hostile woman that got under his skin and reminded him of his childhood and the years spent in foster homes, his presence barely tolerated.

One thing he did know, it would be a cold day in hell before he’d let himself be put to work like a mule. Once they were out of this hellhole, he’d find a way to get lost. He eyed the stern-faced woman. She didn’t look as if she had what it would take to stop him, not with those two kids dogging her footsteps.

Well, he decided after a brief hesitation, he could run real fast when the occasion called for it. Maybe this was the occasion, he thought as he picked up his denim jacket. Maybe he was about to get lucky, after all. Okay. I’ll go with her.

He heard a smothered sigh of relief. The blonde must have been desperate enough to hire the devil himself, if she wanted him. He waited for her to back away from the door before he followed the sheriff. He could hear her murmur soft words of reassurance as, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her take a child by each hand as she trailed after them.

Sara liked the way Quinn Tucker walked: long, sure strides. He held himself ramrod straight, never glancing back to see if she had joined the parade into the sheriff’s office. She was willing to bet there wasn’t an unsure bone in his body. Good, she thought. He didn’t look as if he would be scared off by what she had in store for him.

It took only a few moments for her to hand over the bail money and sign for Quinn’s release into her custody.

Buy a lot of cheap labor this way, do you?

She whirled on him. That’s enough! You have a debt to pay to society, and as far as I’m concerned, I’m society. At least, for twenty-seven days. Keep a civil tongue in your head. There are children here!

Conscious of his narrowed, angry gaze on her every movement, she found herself shaking by the time she gathered the children to her and led the way out of the jail door.

She saw Quinn blink and shade his eyes when he hit the brilliant noon sunshine. Three days in the darkness of the jail cell had undoubtedly made his eyes sensitive to light. A grimace of pain crossed his face as he ignored the impatient clearing of her throat and hesitated in the doorway while he became accustomed to the glare.

The dusty street, kept unpaved by the town council to make Juniper resemble a frontier town, shimmered in the sunshine. The wooden sidewalks were empty. Even the tourists who came to enjoy the historical town had the good sense to run for cover from the heat. But not her; she had important things to do.

Her parolee shrugged. Another rotten day, he muttered, in a string of rotten days.

But at least he followed her down the street.

Her old pickup truck was parked in front of the town’s general store. A stack of grocery boxes sat waiting to be loaded into the flatbed. She saw the man gaze around the empty streets.

Looking for something?

I was hoping to spot your husband so we can talk things over man to man.

Mr. Tucker. She waited until she had his reluctant attention. There is no husband. Please load the truck so we can get out of here. She drew a child to her side and pointed to the boxes. I’ve wasted enough time.

Her voice was tight, whether from anger or fear, Quinn didn’t know. But he was going to find out before the day was through.

At her gesture, he silently heaved the boxes into the truck and stood back. Where’s the man in your family? He was surprised to see her bite her lower lip.

Here, a small voice piped up. I’m the man of the family, right, Aunt Sara?

You are? Quinn inspected the boy. He was as slender as a young colt and just as spirited. Quinn glanced at the boy’s aunt. She nodded. Her face was flushed, but there was a tender look in her eyes that spoke volumes as she gazed at the boy. Curious, he studied the young child. How old are you?

Four and a half, almost five. I’m big, too. I can take care of everybody. I’m not afraid of anything. He clenched his small fist and flexed his muscle. See how strong I am!

Kind of young to be the man of the house, aren’t you?

Nah, just ain’t tall enough. But I will be, he said bravely, as if daring Quinn to make something out of that remark.

Quinn felt a poignant tug. He knew from experience a blustering bravado could hide a lonely heart. Bending, he cupped the kid’s arm with his hand. Yes, I can see how strong you are. What’s your name?

Jason McClintock, but most everyone calls me Jase. What’s yours?

Okay, Jase. You can call me Quinn.

His name is Mr. Tucker, Jase, Ms. Martin broke in. Remember what I told you about calling grown-ups by their first names.

It’s okay with me if he calls me Quinn, he said with a sidelong glance.

It’s not okay with me. Please get in the truck.

Quinn smothered his irritation at her brusque tone. He turned his attention to the second child, who still clung to the aunt’s leg. This your brother?

No. Jase grinned. That’s Katie. She’s my twin. She don’t talk much.

I can see that. Quinn ignored the annoyed look on Ms. Martin’s face and solemnly studied Jason McClintock’s sister. When she drew back, he held out his hand. Hello, Katie. You can call me Quinn. Si-lence. He sighed, I guess it’s Mr. Tucker to you, too. I’m nice to children and animals. You don’t have to be afraid of me.

She put her hands behind her back and inched closer to her aunt.

I was hoping we could be friends, he said to erase the look of fear in her face, but he was unprepared for her continued silence. Damn! He wasn’t used to being around kids, and now he was going to spend twenty-seven days with a frightened little girl and her too-old-for-his-age brother.

Okay, partners. He sighed. Let’s get going and you can show me the way to your...

Ranch, came the short rejoinder from the children’s aunt. Get in back.

That won’t be necessary. Just give me a minute to pick up my truck and I’ll follow you.

Follow me for how long? What do you take me for—an idiot? She looked him straight in the eye, as if daring him to make something of that remark. The truck’s impounded until you work off your fine—to make certain you don’t change your mind.

Damn! He had intended to follow the pickup for a mile or two, and then swing away at the first opportunity. Of course, he would have sent Ms. Martin her money when he had it, but it looked as if he’d have to bide his time. And my suitcase?

That, too. Get in back, she repeated, matching his angry expression. I’ve got to get back to the Lazy M. She hesitated. This is your last chance. I can call the sheriff and tell him you’ve changed your mind.

Quinn felt impotent anger sweep through him again. All he had been guilty of was stopping to rescue a fallen animal that had been hit by a car, and they were treating him as if he were a man on the FBI’s most wanted list. If it hadn’t been for that damned hardheaded sheriff pushing him around, he’d never have punched the guy out. The fool had every blow coming, and Quinn wasn’t sorry for any of it.

Sure, he’d spent some time drifting around the country and winding up in a county jail a time or two. Mostly for keeping the wrong type of company. Yeah, not to forget the time he once delivered a package for a friend that turned out to be some pretty strong stuff. He’d gotten a six-month sentence and three years probation for that caper. But that had been when he was younger and still filled with anger. He’d been clean for some time now. This trip to jail and the sentence to slavery was the last straw. Maybe somebody up there was telling him he had to put a lid on his temper.

He was tempted to call her bluff, but he knew he’d never get out of town if he got himself locked up again, not with his record. The way his luck was going, he’d probably get another thirty days under Sheriff Cable’s gentle care. Biting back his frustration, he heaved the remaining boxes of groceries into the truck and silently followed.

I’ll get in back with him, Aunt Sara! Jason struggled to reach the metal step at the back of the truck.

No! Sara took a step forward to stop him.

Quinn shot her a cold look and thrust a helping hand toward the boy. What’s the matter, afraid that he’s not safe with me? The answer showed in her eyes. I may be guilty of arguing with the sheriff, but that’s all. I never deliberately hurt anyone in my life and I’m not about to start now.

Jase’s aunt stepped back and her expression turned uncertain. Go ahead, Jase, but sit very quietly, and don’t hang over the side. She moved to the driver’s door of the truck. And don’t bend the man’s ear any more than you can help.

Determined to find a way to get the situation back under his control, Quinn waited until she got into the truck. He’d keep the kid busy talking while he watched the road and for a chance to escape later on.

Come on, Jase, he invited as soon as the truck started moving. "Tell me all