The house smelled divine when he stepped inside, the mix of scents sharp, rich, and mouthwatering. Not wanting to mess up the clean floors, he wiped his boots on the entry rug. As he made his way through the great room, he was pleased to see that the burl tables had been polished. Envisioning the buildup of grime that had accumulated throughout the house, he felt as if a thousand pounds had been lifted from his shoulders.
Man, this was terrific. To have a woman waiting when he came in after a hard day, to have his home all spiffed up and shiny, to know he probably had clean socks and shorts for tomorrow. It was enough to make him think about getting married. Not that he believed a woman’s place was in the home, or that her sole purpose in life was to see to his needs. But it sure was nice for a change. Ordinarily he dragged in, so tired he could barely blink, and it was his responsibility to cook or heat something up.
Just outside the kitchen, he stopped to hook his Stetson over one of the dowels he had sunk into a log to create a coat rack. Then he followed his nose toward all those fantastic smells. Food—the hot, tasty, homemade variety.
“I’ve died and gone to heaven,” he said as he stepped through the archway. “Something sure smells good.”
Molly jumped at the sound of his voice and whirled from the stove, making him wish he’d thought to holler out a warning as he entered the house. Startled while stirring the contents of a pot, she’d slopped what looked like broth over the front of her blouse. She plucked at the cotton, trying to tug the searing wetness away from her skin.
“Damn.” Jake hurried across the kitchen to grab the dishcloth. Anchoring her with one hand on her shoulder, he dabbed at her blouse. “Are you scalded?”
“No, no. It just stung a little.”
She caught his wrist, her cheeks flooding with color as she met his gaze. Without fail, her eyes always reminded him of butterscotch, his favorite flavor on earth. He wanted to think that he was only hungry, but deep down, he knew that wasn’t the problem. There was something about this lady that appealed to him in a way he couldn’t define, let alone understand.
Tossing the rag back in the sink, he retreated a step. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Working outside all day, I get in the habit of talking loud, and I forget to turn down my volume when I come indoors.”
“No worries.” The smile that touched her lips didn’t reach her eyes. “I knew you’d be coming in to eat soon. I don’t know why I reacted that way. Being in a new place, I guess.”
Jake had a feeling it didn’t take much to startle her. Even the way she stood suggested brittle tension, her softly rounded shoulders rigid, her body taut. Whenever he looked at her, she had trouble keeping her hands still, her nervous fingers tugging at her blouse or toying with the buttons.
Normally, Jake might have wondered if she was afraid of men, but after their confrontation last night over the rotor, he found that difficult to believe. She’d stood toe to toe with him, ready to do battle. He’d known very few women with the courage to take on a full-grown man.
She was a puzzle, this lady, anxious and painfully unsure of herself in many ways, yet at the same time displaying strength and courage that a lot of people lacked. The contrasts fascinated him—and tugged at his heart.
She splayed a hand at the base of her throat, her finger-tips doing a fluttery little dance over her collar. Tendrils of curly hair had escaped her braid to frame her face with wisps of amber. To his delight, he saw that she’d tied a kitchen towel around her middle to serve as an apron, cinching in her smock-like top to show off her figure. And what a figure it was. The lady was stacked. She had delightfully generous breasts, a proportionately slender waist, and ample hips that made him contemplate the pleasures to be found with a woman who was soft all over.
If she were actually his wife, he’d sample her first and save supper for later. Much later.
Uncomfortable with that train of thought, he turned his gaze to the long plank table. It was a patio-style affair with cross-buck legs that he’d thrown together with scrap lumber and shined up with several coats of polyurethane. Nevertheless, she had set it all fancy with water glasses and wine goblets at every place. At the center of each plate, paper towels, folded into pretty, pleated fans, stood at attention. Jake stared, wondering how long she’d worked to make all those itty-bitty creases.
“I know.” She waved a hand. “It probably looks silly. I didn’t realize there were no napkins until I was already back from town.”
Jake had never seen paper towels look prettier. “When you work with horses and cows from dawn ‘til dark, a little bit of fancy at the end of the day is kind of nice.”
“Not very fancy, I’m afraid. Next time I’m in town, I’ll buy some napkins. Rings as well. A meal tastes so much better if it’s pleasing to the eye.”
Jake couldn’t afford linen napkins or rings. At present, he was still operating in the red. “Paper towels are fine. Are we having wine?” He wondered how much she’d spent on that.
“Just some inexpensive white zin.”
He cued in on “inexpensive” and gave her marks for being perceptive. “That’ll be a treat.” Afraid she might grace the table with wine he couldn’t afford every night, he quickly added, “Just don’t make it a habit.”
“Oh, no. I just—” Her fingertips flitted down the line of buttons on her blouse. His quick reaction with the dishrag had saved the cotton from staining, he noticed. “This is the first dinner I’ve fixed here, and I want it to be special.”
Just having her there made it special. Her smile was so sweet and hesitant, the appeal for approval difficult to resist. It seemed to him that the kitchen seemed cheerier with her in it—brighter, somehow. He panned the room, taking in the shine she’d put on everything. He could see his reflection on the front of the old side-by-side.
“Just getting a home-cooked meal will be special.” He glanced at the large pot on the stove. “What’s cooking?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“Well, I’m hungry enough to eat the south end of a northbound jackass.” He stepped over to the sink to wash up. “Don’t keep me in suspense too long.”
Molly spent the next few minutes dishing up the rice and stir-fry. While she worked, several more men filed in. When she turned to serve the meal, all but one place at the end of the long table had been taken. The men all sat straighter as she advanced on them with the huge bowl of rice in her hands.
“This is Molly,” Jake said by way of introduction. “Starting at my left”—he pointed a finger—“that’s Skeeter, Preach, Shorty, Benny, Danno, Tex, Bill, and Nate. You’ve already met Levi and my brother Hank.”
Molly scanned their faces, which ranged from young to very old. Except for Levi, who wore a red shirt, they were all dressed in chambray and denim. In the sea of variegated blue, their features blurred, and she promptly forgot their names. The only person who stood out, aside from Hank and Levi, was the redheaded youth named Danno, who had so many freckles she could barely make out his hazel eyes.
“I’m pleased to meet all of you.” She turned to fetch the serving bowl of vegetables and chicken. “I hope you enjoy. This is one of my favorite dishes.” When no one moved to dig in, she added, “I’ll pour milk for those who want it, and wine for those who’d like that. Meanwhile, feel free to dish up.”
“Where’s the bread?” Danno asked.
Molly glanced at the table. “I, um … didn’t plan to serve bread, Danno. We have rice.”
“Rice?” Danno squinted into the bowl. “It’s funny looking. What did you do, douse it with soy when you cooked it?”
“It’s brown rice.” Jake began dishing food onto his plate. “They say it’s healthier than white. Try some, Danno. It’s a great substitute for potatoes.”
“Even with potatoes, we always get bread,” Danno complained.
Molly could see the young man wouldn’t feel fed until she gave him bread, so she hurried into the pantry. “I haven’t any dinner rolls. Will this do?”
Danno’s eyes brightened as he grabbed the end of the loaf bag. “This’ll do fine.” He drew out four slices then scanned the table. “Where’s the butter?”
Molly stepped to the refrigerator and plucked out the butter spray, which was a flavorful substitute, calorie free, and contained no fat. “Here you go.”
Danno took the spray bottle, stared at it for a long moment, and then said, “What the flipping hell?”
Every head at the table swiveled to stare. Silence. Molly licked her lips. “It’s, um, butter spray. It’s very good. You can’t believe it’s not the real thing.”
Danno frowned. “What happened to the regular butter?”
“I didn’t buy any.”
Danno flashed a glance at Jake. “When did we start buying butter?”
Jake spooned out some vegetables and chicken onto his rice. “This is Molly’s first day, Danno. I didn’t have time to show her how to make butter.”
Molly threw a startled look at her boss. He expected her to make butter?
Jake glanced up. “We have an electric churn. It’s no big deal.”
Molly wasn’t particularly interested in learning how to make butter. She liked her unclogged arteries and wanted to keep them that way. There were also a few older men at her table who needed to watch their cholesterol. No one was having a heart attack on her watch, not if she could prevent it.
Brave thoughts. In reality, she knew she would make butter until it came out their ears. Anything to please them. She needed to keep this job.
As she made her way around the table to pour the wine, Danno sprayed his bread, scowling gloomily. When he finally took a bite, he snarled a lip and asked, “Do we have any jelly?”
“Oh, yes.” Though she couldn’t imagine anyone’s wanting jelly with zesty stir-fry, Molly hurried back to the fridge. She was starting to feel as if she were in a footrace. When she handed Danno the small jar of Simply Fruit, he studied the label before removing the lid and then scooped out nearly all the jar’s contents onto his bread. He folded one slice lengthwise over the oozing preserves and stuffed the whole works into his mouth. “Mmm.”
Molly decided then and there that she’d better buy less expensive jam from now on. If Danno was any indication, these men were into quantity, not quality.
By the time she took her place at the foot of the table, she had begun to suspect that her first meal at the Lazy J had fallen short of expectations. She unfolded her napkin, noting that Jake was the only other person who’d bothered to spread his over his lap. The other men had set their paper towels beside their plates. She waited expectantly for someone besides Danno to sample the food. Just as expectantly, her diners stared back at her.
It struck Molly then that they were waiting for her to take the first bite. “Oh, please, don’t wait on me,” she said, feeling more nervous by the second. “I’ll be up and down all during the meal.” Determining that no one at her end was going to pass her the rice, she came up from her chair to reach for the bowl herself. The contents were nearly gone. “Just enjoy your food.”
Waiting in an agony of suspense to see their expressions when they tasted the stir-fry, Molly forgot all about the rice bowl she held in her hands.
Jake finally took a bite, glanced pointedly at his men so they would follow suit, and said, “Mmm, this is delicious, Molly.” He flashed her a smile as he lifted his goblet. “The white zinfandel will set it off perfectly.”
Following his older brother’s example, Hank started shoveling food in his mouth. When he tried his wine, he graced her with a broad grin. “First time we’ve used the crystal. It was a housewarming gift. Our sister Bethany and her husband Ryan got Jake a whole set.”
“It’s lovely.” Molly had been pleasantly surprised to find the fine glassware in one of the cupboards, and she’d wondered about it at the time. Jake didn’t strike her as a man who spared much coin for anything that wasn’t essential.
As though he read her mind, Hank grinned and added, “It’s impractical as hell.” He winked and extended his pinky as he took another sip of wine from the fluted goblet. “Ryan’s a rich boy. I feel downright highfalutin.”
Molly searched Jake’s dark face. His expression as he applied himself to his meal was unreadable. Despite his seemingly sincere compliment on the food, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t entirely happy with what she had served. A knot of dread formed at the pit of her stomach. If she lost this job, Sunset was doomed and so was she. Just thinking of the possibilities made her stomach tighten with anxiety.
“This wine is good,” the sandy-haired man called Shorty said. He settled questioning blue eyes on Molly. “My partner is waiting on the porch. His name’s Bartholomew, Bart for every day. If you’ve got any left-overs tonight, he’d surely appreciate them.”
“Your partner is out on the porch?” About to dish herself some rice, Molly set the bowl aside and pushed up from her chair. “There’s no need for him to wait out there, Shorty. We’ll make room at the table. He can have my place.”
Jake’s head snapped up. “Bart’s a dog, Molly. I asked Shorty to keep him outside from now on. I didn’t think you’d appreciate him tracking up the clean floors.”
Shorty bent his head, but not before Molly glimpsed the resentment in his eyes. Clearly, Bart had been allowed to come inside until now.
Though she’d never been around dogs very much because her father had been allergic, Molly didn’t want to make any unnecessary changes in the usual ranch routine. She stepped over to open the back door. There on the steps lay the ugliest, shaggiest, dirtiest creature she’d ever clapped eyes on. His right flank was partially bald. One blue eye shone up at her with suspicious curiosity, the other clouded with white and angled off in the wrong direction.
“Hello, Bart.” The greeting was all the invitation the dog needed. He rose and moved over the threshold into the kitchen. As she watched the canine make his way toward Shorty, Molly saw that he was carrying a front foot. “Oh, no, he’s hurt!”
All the men turned to look as Shorty bent to examine the dog’s paw. “Another damned foxtail,” the old hired hand pronounced.
“Where in hell did he pick up a foxtail?” Levi asked. “Kindee early in the year for ‘em, ain’t it?”
Shorty patted the dog’s head and softly told him to lie down. As he turned to resume his meal, he said, “Leave it to Bart. If there’s a foxtail within a hundred miles, he’ll find the dad-blamed thing.”
Molly returned to her place, her attention fixed on the dog. Bart whined softly and began licking his paw, clearly in discomfort from the sticker lodged between his toes. Her already nervous stomach knotted with sympathy.
“Shouldn’t someone pull out the foxtail and disinfect the sore?” she asked.
Shorty nodded. “I’ll get right on it, soon as supper’s done.”
It seemed to Molly that the dog’s foot should come first, eating later, but she refrained from saying as much. It was important that she get along with everyone, and offering her opinion where it wasn’t wanted was no way to gain popularity. “Is Bart accustomed to having his dinner while everyone else is eating theirs?”
Shorty raised his gaze and nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Nothing special. Just whatever the rest of us are having.”
Molly glanced incredulously at the dog. “Surely he won’t like stir-fry.”
“Neither do we,” Danno inserted, “but we’re eatin’ it.”
“Danno,” Jake said warningly. He smiled at Molly. “Don’t pay this young whippersnapper any attention. The rest of us think your stir-fry is wonderful.”
Levi seconded that. “Yes, ma’am. Damned good grub.”
The dark-haired, craggy-faced man named Preach lowered his wine glass to say, “It’s got my vote.”
At the rate the rice and vegetables had already disappeared, Molly doubted there would be anything left for poor Bart, so rather than resume her seat, she went to put on more rice. She could scramble some eggs to mix in with it. That
would do as Bart’s dinner for tonight.
“What are you doing now, Molly?” Jake asked. “You haven’t even filled your plate yet.”
“First, I want to put on a little extra rice for Bart. We can’t have Shorty’s partner going hungry.”
Behind her, Molly heard a chair scrape the floor and the ensuing thump of boot heels. She glanced around to see Jake at her end of the table, scooping what remained of the rice onto her plate.
“I can do that.”
“Not if it’s all gone, you can’t.” He flicked her an amused glance. “It would seem that your stir-fry is a hit.”
Molly looked away, afraid her expression might reveal how pleased she was. Aside from Danno, everyone else seemed to like the food. That wasn’t a bad success ratio.
After putting the rice on to cook, she reclaimed her chair, fully intending to partake of the meal even though she had little appetite. She’d taken only one bite when Bart whined. She glanced down to see the dog chewing on his paw. Her heart caught with pity. It seemed cruel to just sit there, ignoring the animal’s distress.
Gazing the length of the table at her employer, Molly cautioned herself not to interfere in what was clearly the established order of things. Shorty would see to the dog in good time, and Bart would survive until then, she assured herself. It wasn’t her place to say anything.
She had nearly convinced herself when Bart whined again. That did it. She couldn’t just sit there, pretending not to notice.
“Please, excuse me for a moment,” she said politely, as she left the table to go to the downstairs bathroom.
Jake sighed as he watched Molly leave the room. At last count, she’d taken only one bite of food. Never in all his days had he seen anyone so tense. As if her life hung in the balance, she’d watched the men’s faces while they ate, and she’d grown downright pale when Danno criticized the meal. Jake ached to tell her that he had no intention of firing her. Cooking for so many was no easy task, and he fully expected her to make a few blunders while she was learning the ropes.
Sweet Nothings Page 11