Free Here to Stay by Catherine Anderson Page A

fib, but circumstances gave her no wiggle room. “I was visiting a friend and sort of lost my way back to town. Murphy’s Law and all that. Naturally that clunker I call a car chose tonight to conk out.”
    Cookie seemed to turn that explanation over in his mind. Then he nodded. “Well, don’t let the boss rattle ya. His growl is worse than his bite.”

Chapter Three
    Z ach awakened to a strange sound, a cross between thumping and knocking. He jerked, started to roll over, and barely avoided toppling off the sofa cushions. Living room , he recalled groggily. After rubbing his eyes, he struggled to see through the moon-washed shadows. He could discern dim outlines of the furniture. But what was making that noise? Someone knocking at the door, he realized. He swung to his feet, rapped his shin on the coffee table, cursed, and then stumbled over his boots, which he’d toed off and left by the sofa.
    “Son of a bitch!”
    Rubbing his shin, Zach didn’t bother to don the Tony Lamas or grab his shirt. Nobody could get onto the property unless they were relatives or employees who knew the gate code. Otherwise, the electric eyes inside the fence lines would trigger an alarm that sounded like a cross between an ocean foghorn and a police siren.
    Knuckling his sleep-blurred eyes, Zach staggered into the kitchen. His stomach snarled with hunger as he opened the front door and flipped on the porch light. His foreman, Cookie, stood at the other side of the screen, scratching beside his nose.
    “What’s up?” Zach asked.
    Cookie jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “This here lady has car trouble. I thought you might warm her up with a mug of coffee whilst I borrow a decent flashlight and have a look under her hood.”
    Zach squinted to see the female who stood behind his foreman. A mop of hair the color of a fresh-curried sorrel was the first thing he saw. Then, as he blinked to clear his vision, he noticed a blur of big, innocent-looking hazel eyes surrounded by delicate, pale features, including a pert nose that sported a spray of freckles. Red alert . Unless a female was twelve years of age or under, Zach didn’t buy into the innocent look.
    “Cookie, it’s after eight. And what the hell are you thinking to bring a stranger into the ranch compound after dark? You know the rules.”
    Cookie gave Zach a deadpan look. “That’s right. I know all the rules, and one my mama taught me when I was knee high to a jackrabbit is never to leave a lady out on the shoulder of a road after dark to freeze when the heater of her car don’t work. That’s where I found her, and her car’s deader than hell.”
    Zach stifled a curse. He slapped a palm against the screen, opening the door just enough that it slapped closed when he released pressure. “Okay, okay. Come in, then. I’ll put coffee on.” As Zach swung away, he realized, belatedly, that he was half-naked. “Excuse me for a minute while I get decent.”
    Zach muttered obscenities under his breath as he dragged on his boots and shirt. A stranded motorist? If not for bad luck, he’d have none at all, and didn’t it figure this would happen when he was so exhausted he could have snored standing up? He barked his shin on the damned coffee table again as he returned to the kitchen.
    Little Miss Innocent sat at his table, shivering in a quilted brown jacket—one of those useless things with three-quarter-length sleeves and rounded tails that fell well above the waist. What did his sister Sam call them? Boleros . Zach had another name for them that he felt was more applicable: stupid . When being fashionable meant you’d freeze to death on a winter night, you should select more practical outerwear.
    While Zach showed his back to his unwanted female guest to make a pot of coffee, Cookie rummaged through the two deep junk drawers to find a flashlight with a strong beam. Then the foreman excused himself to go have a look at the car. Zach punched the grind button on the machine and