Billionaire Rancher for Love Page 4

  Brock laughed at her expression and fed the mare another carrot. “I’m very sorry, Ms. Mellis, but it was just too funny. I hoped you’d ask me some scathing question about my work ethic.”

  “Luckily, I didn’t embarrass myself with some inappropriate question,” Mia replied blandly. “Are you always such a prankster, Mr. Maclancy?”

  “Just when a city slicker comes around asking questions,” Brock replied with a grin, his hand pausing on the horse’s nose. She bumped him, nosing for another carrot. He returned his gaze to her. “Sorry, Pacy, I’m all out of carrots.”

  Mia watched as the mare nudged him once more before walking away as if she understood there were no more treats to be had. She took a deep breath and found her calm. “Mr. Maclancy, I apologize for missing our appointment yesterday and not calling.”

  “Call me Brock. And I’ll admit, it was annoying missing a day of work waiting for you to show up.”

  Mia’s face burned. “I didn’t have a number. And besides, you helped me. You saw why I didn’t make it out last night.”

  “Yes, I did. And you owe me dinner, Ms. Mellis,” Brock reminded her.

  Mia tilted her head. Was the man flirting with her? He was not at all what she’d expected. He had refused all interviews, so she had expected the man to be reticent and hard to crack. Yet now he was flirting with her.

  “I guess I do,” Mia answered reluctantly. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you as Brock Maclancy. I’ve never seen a picture of you.”

  “I don’t pose for pictures for magazines or articles or anything like that,” Brock told her.

  “Why?” Mia asked, her curiosity burning.

  Brock smiled at her. “I’m filthy and need a shower something awful. How about we head to the house so I can shower? I’ll have Brenda make us dinner, and we can talk then.”

  “Brenda? Is that your housekeeper? The one who answers the door?”

  “She’s my aunt. She takes care of me,” Brock answered. “Was she rude to you when you rang the bell?”

  Mia chuckled. “A little. More protective of your time than anything.”

  Brock threw his head back and laughed. “How politically correct of you! Protective is certainly a good word.”

  “I liked her t-shirt. Led Zeppelin’s always been a favorite,” Mia told him.

  “Then the two of you will get along. She’s kind of an old hippy,” Brock told her. “Let’s head to the house.”

  “Does she live with you full-time?” Mia asked as they began the walk to the house.

  “She does. And refuses any help with the cooking or cleaning the house.”

  “Old school, like your foreman,” Mia observed with a smile. “I’ll have to make sure I charm her. Otherwise, she’ll tell you not to say a word to me.”

  “How do you know I’m going to say anything interesting to you at all?”

  Mia looked at him out of the corner of her eye as they mounted the steps to the house. “Well, I’m sure hoping you will. If not, I’ll work my charm on you as well.”

  “Witchery? How fascinating,” Brock said dryly.

  “Fascinated by witchcraft… ” she pantomimed writing the words as she spoke them out loud. “That’s interesting.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “The carving on this front door is incredible,” Mia commented as they climbed the steps. “Did you have it commissioned?”

  “Actually, my father built this house for my mother, and she had it made because she liked trees so much. You’ll notice they’re kind of scarce out here,” Brock told her.

  “Yes, I had noticed that. Naturally scarce or removed?”

  Brock looked at her, lines creasing his forehead. “Naturally. I don’t remove plant life unless it’s dangerous to the cattle.”

  “Ah, a closet hippy. I like that,” Mia teased. She gestured to the door again. “I hope you don’t mind that I took a picture. I am in love with the design.”

  “No, of course not,” he replied, smiling at her term “closet hippy.” If only she knew, he thought. The pair walked through the front door, and Brock called out, “Brenda?”

  Within seconds, they heard, “In the kitchen, honey!”

  Brock gestured for Mia to follow. Without meaning to, she let her eyes peruse his body. The man could fill out a pair of jeans. His broad shoulders were encased in a denim shirt stretched tight, and with every movement, she could see his muscles bunch and release. His hair was the auburn red women beg their hairstylists to recreate even though they know it won’t look the same. Everything about this man was good looking, even his hands, strong and capable.

  She jerked her eyes away from him and looked around her at the house, admonishing herself silently to keep her mind where it belonged, on her work.

  The inside was as elegant as the outside. She had expected rich furnishings, and she wasn’t disappointed. However, the house wasn’t a showplace for fancy, expensive items. This home offered comfort and warmth. In the living room, framed pictures of family members and friends were everywhere, including on the walls and on any available flat surface. The furniture, while expensive, yes, was oversized, leather, and made for lounging.

  As they passed another open doorway, Mia saw a dining room with a table big enough to seat at least twenty people. I bet their Christmas dinners are so much fun, she thought a little jealously. The chairs were cushioned with arms, and the table had been custom made to sit up a little higher than the average table so the arms would slide underneath. Comfortable and friendly, the table was welcoming, and she could imagine it laden with plates filled with all sorts of unhealthy and delicious foods.

  Artwork hung on the walls, all of which looked like originals of landscapes, western in theme and beautiful. More than once, Mia had to force herself to keep walking rather than stopping to gaze at the brush strokes of this or that painting. The one that captured her attention enough to cause her to stop was a portrait of a beautiful woman in traditional western garb from the 1800s. Mesmerized, she stared at the painting, looking into the woman’s eyes.

  Brock noticed her footsteps had ceased, and he looked back, then returned to join her in front of the portrait. “Like it?”

  “She’s lovely. Who is she?” Mia asked as she stared, awed, by both the beauty of the work as well as the woman’s breathtaking loveliness.

  “My great-grandmother,” Brock answered. “Analiesa Maclancy. Stories about her are legendary. Her father may have bought this land and started the empire, as some people refer to it, but she is the one people remembered.”

  “I can’t wait to hear some of the stories,” Mia told him. She wanted to touch the painting but resisted. Something about the woman called to her.

  Brock took her elbow and guided her down the hall to the kitchen. “Well, I’ll tell you what, one thing everyone talked about was the fact that she never married the man she lived with and insisted the children they bore carry her name. My grandfather was one of them.”

  “Wow,” Mia said, her awe of the woman increasing. “Not so rare for a woman not to take her husband’s name in today’s society, but to have the children bear her name is not so common. Completely unheard of back then. And unmarried with children? Wow. What a strong woman. What other stories do you have about her?” she asked as they walked into the kitchen.

  “About who?” Brenda asked, an eyebrow lifted.

  “Analiesa. She saw the portrait,” Brock answered.

  “Amazing woman,” Brenda commented. Brock smiled as he kissed his aunt’s cheek. “Oh, boy, you smell like death, son. Is that any way to meet a guest for the first time?”

  “Not my fault you sent her out to the stables,” Brock told her as he grabbed a grape and popped it in his mouth. “I assume you introduced yourself.” Brenda had the grace to look down. “Thought so.”

  Brenda looked back up at him. “Don’t try to remind me of my manners, young man. I taught you yours.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Brock answered with a wink at Mia. “Aunt
Brenda, this is Mia Mellis. Mia, my aunt, Brenda Maclancy.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Maclancy,” Mia said, holder her hand out to shake. Brenda reluctantly took hers and offered her a small smile that once again didn’t reach her eyes.

  Brock rolled his eyes at his aunt’s pretended politeness. “Mia, would you like a glass of sweet tea while I go upstairs and shower? I won’t be long.”

  “That would be nice.” Mia was looking around the kitchen, wishing she had something similar to cook in. Her tiny apartment had what passed for a kitchen in about a six-foot square area. This kitchen was huge, with granite counters, an island in the center that had a sink, double ovens, a stovetop set into the granite, and so much cabinet space she could fit all her belongings into the kitchen area. The walls were a cheery, pale red and were offset by black-and-white-checkered curtains and decorations. “This kitchen is magnificent.”

  Brenda sniffed as she looked around. “Yes, it is. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Mia answered with another smile for the woman. I’ll have to win her over, too, she thought. She just didn’t know how.

  Brock handed her a large glass of sweet tea. Mia sipped it and felt her jaw ache; the amount of sugar in the drink would kill a diabetic in one sip. He watched her and could tell it was too sweet for her, but her manners wouldn’t allow her to say anything. The information filed for later, he asked, “Would you like to wait on the back porch? I have a beautiful view, and I’ll give you our Wi-Fi password.”

  “Yes, please.” Once outside, Mia sighed. “Breathtaking,” she murmured, as the view of the expansive fields that stretched for miles entered her vision. A pond glimmered in the sunlight, and she could see the dock just waiting to be sat on by a fisherman with his pole dangling in the water. Cattle ranging from small calves to huge bulls meandered in the fields, intriguing with their slow gaits and low calls to each other. Trees dotted the land in copses, but mostly she looked at green grass and animals.

  As she watched, a rabbit ran through the yard, racing for a hole in the ground she could not see. She watched it, her mouth twisting in confusion: why had it left its original hiding place? At that moment, a large hound bolted from behind the same bush the rabbit had come from, nose to the ground in search of his prey.

  “Will that dog kill the rabbit?” she asked Brock.

  “He won’t catch it. That’s Congo. He looks like he knows what he’s doing, but he lost his sense of smell years ago. Run-in with a skunk,” Brock explained to her questioning glance.

  “Sad, but isn’t he a champ for trying,” Mia mused, a smile on her face as she returned her gaze to the land.

  Brock watched her as she gaped at the beauty of his land. Her thoughts were clear on her face, as they had been since he’d met her. He knew she found him attractive, just as he thought she was exotically beautiful. However, he could sense her hesitation and assumed she was more interested in getting a good story than finding a date. Watching her as she absorbed the sights in front of her tugged at him, as he could see she had a depth to her he wanted to explore. He would not be the only one interviewed that night.

  “I’m glad you enjoy the view. We can have dinner out here as well, if that’s okay with you,” Brock offered.

  Mia glanced at him. “That would be nice, thank you. While we’re talking later, do you mind if I have my iPad out for notes?”

  Nice move, he thought. Remind me why you’re here. This was going to be fun. Out loud, he said, “Of course. But I prefer not to be recorded.”

  Mia smiled. “That’s fine. I don’t like hearing my voice on recordings either.”

  “I’ll be back in twenty. If you’re ready, I’ll give you the Wi-Fi password,” Brock offered.

  She pulled her iPad out, and let it scan for his Wi-Fi network. Once she found it, she laughed and looked at him with an arched eyebrow. “Is your Wi-Fi really named ‘Brock and Roll Network’?”

  Brock chuckled. “I like to make people laugh.” He told her the password and watched as her slim fingers typed it in.

  “Thank you. I’ll just wait out here. It’s a gorgeous day.”

  “Yes ma’am, it is.” He turned and walked inside. He stopped at the kitchen and asked Brenda, “Would you mind taking some kind of snack out to her?”

  Brenda looked at him wryly. “What do you think I’m putting together here, slick?” She had a serving tray with various cheeses and crackers on it, and she was scooping some kind of dip into a small bowl surrounded by fruits on another tray. “I’ve been taking care of guests for years. Don’t need you to remind me how to.”

  Brock chuckled. “Yes, but you didn’t hide it too well that you don’t care for her.”

  Brenda sniffed. “She’s a reporter. Doesn’t mean I won’t be gracious.”

  “Gracious? Okay,” Brock snorted.

  Brenda stopped scooping dip out of the container and used the spoon to point at him. “You be careful of her, young man. David let me know she tried to question him, and I’ll bet my back teeth she’ll try to ask me questions when I take her the snacks.”

  “She’s not with the CIA, Brenda. I’m not under investigation. She’s just writing an article,” Brock assured her as he sneaked a couple of cheese cubes.

  “Reporters have been out here before, and not one of them sat on the back porch using your Wi-Fi, drinking sweet tea, and waiting for you to come down after a shower.”

  Brock agreed by nodding. “Yes, and none of them looked like her, either.” He wiggled his eyebrows at his aunt, who shook her head disapprovingly.

  “Brock Maclancy, don’t be taken in by a pretty face and a nice body. Snakes come in pretty packages, too,” Brenda warned.

  Brock threw his head back and laughed a full belly laugh. “Aunt Brenda, you are too much. She’s just a reporter who happens to be hot! But don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”

  “You better be. Don’t want to be reading some nasty article about you that shares intimate details,” Brenda huffed.

  “Yes ma’am,” Brock called over his shoulder as he headed for the stairs.

  ***

  Mia sat outside in an oversized rocker with a cushioned seat, her shoes on the floor, her feet tucked under her. She was grateful she’d chosen slacks over a skirt so she could sit more comfortably, although she promised herself she’d put her feet down and shoes on when Brock returned. She needed to look professional, to maintain professional distance from him. Flirting, no matter how much she wanted to, was not allowed.

  She had intended to do some quick research in the town’s archives while she waited for Brock to return. Knowing how much he owned in town would help her when the questions began. But rather than do her job, she was staring into the distance, fascinated by the exquisite landscape before her. She couldn’t look away, even when she heard the ding of an arriving email.

  The back door opened. Mia turned to greet Brock, but Brenda’s sour face met her gaze. She forced a smile on her face when she saw the trays the woman carried. “Thank you so much, Ms. Maclancy. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

  Brenda nodded. “We aim to please. The cheese is homemade.”

  “Homemade? As in you made it yourself?” Mia asked, astounded.

  “We have a handful of dairy cows. Only drink milk from them, and I make butter and cheese in my workroom downstairs,” Brenda shared proudly, though a little reluctantly. “Cottage cheese as well.”

  Mia had taken a bite of the cheese and moaned in pleasure. “My gosh, Ms. Maclancy, I don’t think I’ve ever had better cheese! And I’ve been to France!”

  Brenda smiled at the comparison. “Thank you. I’ll leave you to your business, then. Enjoy.”

  “You’re Brock’s aunt, is that right?” Mia asked before the woman could leave.

  Brenda turned slowly to face her again. “I am.”

  “His father’s sister?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you always lived here?”

  Brenda stared a
t her, sizing her up. “I’ve lived her my whole life.”

  “You never married? Or did you refuse to take your husband’s name like Analiesa?” The woman was silent for so long, Mia thought she wouldn’t answer.

  “I never married. I didn’t need a man for my happiness.” Brenda’s words were aimed at Mia, not just a comment on her personal feelings.

  The two women looked at each other. Mia asked, “You don’t like me much, but I’m not sure why.”

  “You’re a nosy reporter.” Brenda’s scathing tone made it clear what she thought of reporters. Her sentence was the nicest thing she could say.

  “I see,” Mia murmured. “I won’t write anything bad about him. I have no reason to.”

  “Until he gives you nothing juicy. Then you’ll start digging. You won’t find any skeletons in his closet, girl. He’s the most upstanding man you’ll ever know,” Brenda claimed, putting emphasis on the word you.

  Mia caught her meaning. What she really meant was Mia wasn’t good enough for Brock. Mia smirked. “Ms. Maclancy, I have zero romantic interest in your nephew. Nor am I interested in his money. Rest assured, when the interview is over, I’ll be gone.”

  “Good to hear,” Brenda sniffed and walked back into the house without another word.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Brock walked through the kitchen on his way back to the porch after his shower. Brenda wasn’t in there, and he was actually kind of glad. Her lectures could be tiring sometimes, even though he loved the woman more than anyone else in his life. He understood her fear of reporters; she had lived through an awful scandal in the seventies that had been embarrassing for her and the family. Poor Brenda, she hadn’t even been at fault, but that didn’t matter to the reporters.

  Her fiancé, a handsome devil with a snake’s wickedly sensuous tongue, had convinced her he loved her. He had used her for her money, spending exorbitant amounts without her knowledge. Two weeks before the wedding was to take place, the jerk had been caught in a tryst with an actress. She had leaked pictures of the two of them to the press in an absurdly hurtful publicity stunt that had killed her career and broken Brenda’s heart.