The Rancher Takes A Bride (The Burnett Brides Book 1)

had been doing all day.
    His Appaloosa trotted into the yard, and his dogs raced up barking, welcoming him home. Belle shook her head at the mutts, sending them scooting away from her hooves. Men working in the corral waved hello before turning back to the animals they were training.
    Bone-weary from the long ride, he pulled to a halt in front of the house. Swinging his leg over the saddle, he dropped down to the ground and then handed the reins to a wrangler waiting nearby. His men were good. He paid them well, and they showed their appreciation by doing a good job. Not that he neglected his ranch, but it wasn't necessary for him to stand over them every moment.
    Climbing the steps, he walked across the porch, wondering why no one had greeted him from the house. He opened the door, stepped into the darkened house, and took a moment to let his eyes adjust from the bright sunshine. Usually his mother or the cook met him at the door. But this time he was alone.
    Travis strolled into the parlor and found his mother sitting in her chair sewing on a shirt. She didn't glance up when he came into the room. A cold reception if ever he'd received one.
    "Did you have a nice trip into town, son?" Her voice was distant.
    "It was productive."
    His mother gazed up at him, her look tinged with anger. "And what do you mean by that?"
    "Relax, Mother, she's not going to jail."
    She smiled with relief. "I'm glad to see you came to your senses. I knew you were, a good son."
    "For now," he cautioned.
    "For now?"
    He glanced around. "Where is she? You didn't let her take off, did you?"
    "Of course not. She's resting upstairs. Now explain yourself," Eugenia said, her tone snappy.
    Part of Travis wanted to laugh. He'd never seen his mother act this way. But part of him was concerned. What was it about this young woman that seemed to have enslaved his mother?
    "It means don't worry, Mother. We'll just have to wait and see what happens. But you're going to get your ring back."
    "I'm sure I will, Travis," she said, laying her sewing aside. "It's almost time for dinner. Why don't you go wash up and then we'll eat."
    "That sounds good. I am hungry. Should I knock on Desirée's door?"
    "No, she's resting. I told her we'd eat not long after you came home."
    He tromped up the stairs and went into his bedroom. After changing his shirt and washing his face and hands, he walked out the door of his bedroom. He couldn't help but glance at the closed door across the hall. All the while he dressed, he'd listened for the sound of Desirée's footsteps going down the stairs. Nothing. No sounds came from inside her room.
    Hurrying, he went downstairs. He hadn't seen her since this morning, and then they'd not been on the best of terms. The urge to see her was strong.
    "Has Desirée come down yet?"
    "She's coming," his mother coolly replied.
    Something in her voice alerted him. The sound of the bedroom door shutting caused him to turn toward the staircase. He glanced up the stairs, and the sight made him gasp.
    Dear God, the woman was wearing his clothes, and somehow she'd altered them to fit her as though they'd been stitched to her very flesh.
    Every curve was outlined, every limb defined by clothes that had once held his body, his skin. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
    If Desirée didn't know how to sew, then only one person could have helped her. His mother. His shirt had been resized to fit her small frame, her breasts clearly outlined through the material. His pants had been cut down and reshaped to fit every delectable curve.
    She came down the stairs, one beautifully curved leg at a time, her emerald eyes never faltering from his. Her waist was narrow, her hips were curvaceous, and her legs stretched into next week.
    He tried to swallow and almost choked. She came to a halt in front of him and twirled around for his inspection.
    "What do you think, cowboy?"
    "I think I better lock you up before you harm some poor man. Mainly me."

Chapter Seven

    Travis glanced at the ceiling, cleared his throat, and said a small prayer for patience before letting his gaze drift back to Desirée's face. As long as he kept his eyesight above her neck, he could resist her shapely legs. Couldn't he?
    He lowered his eyes, his gaze wandering back to those long, statuesque legs. Oh, but the woman had a mean streak, to dress so provocatively when he was desperately trying to keep his hands to himself.
    She had followed his orders, but she'd done it in such a way that