Hired Hand

By Caitlyn Willows

Socialite Melissa Brody is beyond livid when she discovers the trust fund she's been waiting for is tied to a Texas dude ranch. In order to inherit, she has to prove herself worthy. She has to work at the ranch for six months!

Colton Adams has helped his father manage the Double-Trouble Dude Ranch for years. Now comes the cowboy's biggest challenge—make sure the partner's granddaughter is ready to take the reins. It's apparent from the get-go Melissa is in sore need of something, and Colton is just the man to give it to her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Caitlyn Willows
• Release date: Feb 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386466758

Caitlyn Willows

Blessed (or cursed) with a vivid imagination, Caitlyn Willows eventually learned to turn that talent inward. Readers will find deep emotions and sizzling sensuality seamlessly woven into her action-filled stories. Believing life is to be lived and felt, not merely watched, Caitlyn delivers real-to-life characters in unforgettable tales of love, adventure, and always steamy passion. No one is more surprised than she at the direction life has taken her. She is also a mosaic artist and an avid crafter with a passion for cross-stitch. Caitlyn lives in the beautiful desert of Southern California with her husband (a genealogist). She is always on the lookout for the next interesting tidbit that will help fill her writing well.

Book preview

Hired Hand

By

Caitlyn Willows

Copyright © 2004, 2016 by Catherine Snodgrass

All Rights Reserved

Cover Art © Trace Edward Zaber

Table of Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

EPILOGUE

About The Author

CHAPTER 1

Melissa Brody drummed her long red nails against the cherry wood table beside her. What the hell was taking so damn long? She’d been waiting for the attorney for over an hour. And where the hell were her parents? They’d claimed they wanted to be here for this momentous occasion.

With a deep sigh born of frustration, Melissa slid one leg over the other. The receptionist, a busty matron with blue-gray hair, glanced up at her from under her penciled-in brows. Melissa was half tempted to flash the biddy. That would knock the prim and proper off her face.

She propped her chin on her palm and stared at the anemic watercolor paintings around the room. They were supposed to be desert landscapes. Obviously, the artist hadn’t bothered with his research. Desert colors were much more vibrant than that. In any event, they looked out of place in this New York office and certainly didn’t complement the rich, dark paneling.

How much more mind numbing could this get? No music. Boring magazines. She should have brought one of her friends with her. At least then she’d have someone to talk to.

Melissa heaved another sigh and switched legs again. She stared at a spot on the wall over the receptionist’s head. The last thing she needed was a friend here. Melissa wasn’t stupid. She knew what half of them wanted. Hell, maybe they all wanted it. It was a fact of life for her social group. She’d accepted that long ago. She didn’t much like money-grubbers, but what could a woman do when that’s all that came around? She couldn’t lock herself away in a monastery.

She’d looked forward to this day for a long time—her twenty-fifth birthday, the day the trust fund from her grandfather kicked in. Everyone in her crowd had a trust fund of some kind. Like vultures they hovered around waiting for that magic day. Melissa was no better, but she’d be damned if she’d squander her money on those scavengers. Anyone who would have come along today would have been a pipeline of information to the rest of the group. Before Melissa could have gotten home, everyone would have known her account balance.

Shoving her hand inside her Louis Vuitton handbag, Melissa fingered her cell phone. Maybe she should call her parents. Maybe the receptionist was waiting until they were all here before she was granted access to Edgar Cromwell.

Or maybe this was a test of her patience. No patience, no money. Melissa resumed her former position. Time was money, so it seemed.

She tapped her nails against the mirror-like wood surface, swinging her leg as she did so. The receptionist stared at her leg, seemingly mesmerized by the action. Didn’t the woman have any work to do? Obviously not since she couldn’t pull her gaze away from Melissa’s leg.

Maybe she’s a lesbian and I make her hot. Melissa dismissed that thought immediately. The woman looked like she should be someone’s grandmother. Chances were she knew exactly who Melissa was and was sizing her up, trying to figure out if all the rumors were true.

Melissa fought a smile. Contrary to popular belief, she didn’t sleep around. As much as she liked sex, she preferred a relationship went with it. That made for some very long dry spells. Like the one she was presently in. So she did herself every night while waiting for the handsome prince to sweep her off her feet. It was better than being used. But the rumor mill still cranked out the stories.

If she did half the things people said, she’d never have time to sleep. And Melissa loved her bedtime. It’d just about killed her getting up at seven this morning to make the nine o’clock appointment. Of course, she hadn’t gotten to bed until two. It was her birthday. She’d had a right to celebrate, even if it was a day early.

Come on. What am I supposed to do? Wait until my next birthday?

If my parents arrive, please tell them I went to the ladies’ room.

The receptionist watched her stand. Your father is already here and in with Mr. Cromwell.

Melissa shot a glance to the closed door. Daddy was here, but not Mom? That couldn’t be good. Mom was never late for anything. Now she could add true worry to her list. Had something happened to her younger brother and sister?

She slung her handbag strap over her shoulder and started for the ladies’ room. The door to Cromwell’s office opened before she could leave.

Melissa, sorry to have kept you waiting. The lawyer motioned her inside with a wave of his arm.

She stared at him, not knowing quite what to do. Her mom wasn’t here. Edgar Cromwell just stood there, smile frozen on his face. His dark suit didn’t have a wrinkle in it. His white hair enhanced his deep tan. The last time she’d seen him had been the previous summer when their families vacationed on Martha’s Vineyard. She couldn’t recall ever seeing him in a business environment. Now that she had, Melissa felt uneasy. She wrapped both hands around her handbag strap and hurried through the door.

The office was how she’d envisioned an attorney’s office—cases stuffed with law books behind a huge cherry wood desk, deep red leather sofa and chairs in front of it, soft lighting in the corners, and a floor-length mirror to check one’s appearance before meeting with clients. Melissa gave herself the once-over. Her cream-colored silk suit had wrinkled while she’d waited. All the makeup in the world couldn’t cover the puffy cheeks from lack of sleep courtesy of the surprise party thrust on her at midnight. She