“Do you have a proper chaperon?” the preacher asked.
Rosemary had known it was coming. As sure as the sun rose in the east, it was guaranteed that someone would bring up her status as the only woman on the ranch.
“I’m quite safe, sir,” she said primly. “I am treated like a lady, and Mr. Tanner has been more than kind to me.”
She turned to the buggy, Tipper hot on her heels, his hand eager to assist her to the seat. The eyes of half the population of Edgewood bore into her back. Some of them were probably wondering what she did at the ranch. The rest were no doubt speculating how long it would be before she married Gabe Tanner.
The story of his proposal was all over town, according to Pip. Once Bates Comstock told his wife, Bernice had made it her bounden duty to spread the word.
This morning folks had discovered that Rosemary was the cook, not a prospective bride, and she sighed as she recognized that tongues would surely wag in great style.
“Let’s go, Tipper,” she said, her spine erect, her hat perched squarely on her head, and her best gloves in place.
Reins in hand, he nodded, lifting a hand to wave at the congregation as he urged the mare into motion. “Those folks think well of you, Miss Rosemary,” he offered. “I’m sure enough surprised you haven’t been snatched up by one of the fellas in town before this.”
“Having a minister for your father discourages young men who might think about courting,” she said. “And I’m really beyond the age of marriage anyway. Most men want a younger woman.”
Tipper was silent for a moment, then slanted a sidelong glance at her. “I don’t see that you’re too old, ma’am. I suspect the boss doesn’t, either. I mean he asked you to marry him and all.”
“Well, he didn’t squawk when I offered to be his cook instead,” Rosemary answered.
Tipper looked back over his shoulder to where the church was fading into the distance. “You suppose that preacher will give you a hard time about living on the ranch, without a chaperon?”
“I think he has better things to worry about.”
Tipper looked doubtful.
It did Rosemary’s heart good to see the look on Mama Pearl’s face when the men entered the kitchen on Wednesday morning. Clean and bareheaded, they assembled around the table and waited quietly as the food was put before them.
Mama Pearl stepped back, anticipating the usual rush, only to watch, openmouthed, as Tanner bowed his head and spoke several words of grace.
“What’s this?” she whispered against Rosemary’s ear as she snatched up the coffee pot from the stove.
“Coffee?” Rosemary’s chuckle was low as she responded, widening her eyes innocently.
Mama Pearl’s snort spoke volumes as she approached the table, pouring coffee with a steady hand.
“Will you join us for breakfast?” Rosemary asked her, drawing two plates from the warming oven.
Her response was a penetrating stare. Not enough that these men were behaving like a bunch of boys at Sunday school, her expression seemed to say. Now we’re going to eat with them?
Rosemary nodded at Tipper, who obligingly made room on the long bench for one more, then joined him there, leaving the big chair at the end of the table for the other woman.
Tanner took advantage of the silence to begin issuing orders for the day, pointing his fork at one man, then another as he assigned duties.
“I told Miss Rosemary I’d carry in the bushels of tomatoes first, boss,” Tipper said glibly. “They’re pretty heavy, and she needs all the canning jars down from the pantry.”
“Mama Pearl will help me,” Rosemary interjected, noting Tanner’s frown. “We can manage.”
“I’ll give you a hand.” Tanner’s voice left no room to maneuver, and Tipper nodded, his disappointment visible.
“If you’re in the mood to be totin’ stuff, you can carry out the boiler, Tanner. The wash water’s almost hot. Thought I’d get an early start.” Mama Pearl made her announcement between bites, her eyes twinkling as she looked from Tanner to Rosemary and back.
“Tipper can do that,” Tanner allowed, nodding at Pearl, his gaze acknowledging her gibe.
Rosemary ate in silence, not initiating a conversation this morning. Wednesday was a busy day, with Mama Pearl in and out of the kitchen, and now it seemed Tanner would be helping her ready the tomatoes for canning. The thought of sharing the kitchen with him made the walls shrink.
Within a half hour Mama Pearl’s low melodic voice formed a background to the sounds within the house. She scrubbed with long motions, her sleeves rolled above her elbows, her strong arms muscular. She wrung out the heavy trousers with so little effort, Rosemary thought, almost envious of the strength the woman possessed.
“Where do you want these jars?” Tanner asked from behind her, his arms filled with a covered box.
“Here,” Rosemary answered, motioning at the sink. “I have to scrub all of them first, before I scald them in the big kettle.”
“You know what you’re doin’?” he asked dubiously. “I’ll warrant Mama Pearl would come an extra day to help with this if you want her to.”
Rosemary’s eyebrow rose, as if she had been insulted. “I’m quite capable, Tanner. I’ve run the parsonage for several years, and that included all the canning that was done.”
“We’re talkin’ about three bushels of tomatoes, honey,” he said with a grin. “And more of them by the day after tomorrow.”
“I’ll manage.” Rosemary lifted the teakettle of hot water from the stove and poured it into the dishpan. “I’m strong and I’m healthy, and I took this job in good faith.”
“Nobody’s askin’ you to kill yourself, Rosie. If you need help, just call out and you’ll have some.”
“If you want to be helpful, carry out that big bucket of hot water to the yard and see where Mama Pearl wants it, then fill it back up at the pump and put it on the stove.”
“I feel like the chore boy here,” Tanner muttered.
“You offered,” she reminded him.
He walked across the kitchen to where she sorted out jars from the box, placing the quart-size ones in the soapy water.
“And you’re pretty sassy,” he said in her ear.
She spun to face him. “I’m your cook, Tanner. We decided I’d make a better employee than a wife, remember?”
He shook his head. “No, I don’t, to tell the truth. I still haven’t figured out the whys and wherefores.”
“Changed your mind?” she asked breathlessly.
He was too close, his eyes were too knowing as they scanned her, as if he saw something in her that was better not revealed to his gaze. Her heart missed a beat and fluttered as it caught up to its usual rhythm. Pressing her lips together, she dared a glance at his face.
His jaw was taut, his nostrils flaring just a bit, as if he caught a scent in the air. And his eyes, those dark orbs that seemed to seek out her thoughts, were fastened on her face.
“No, I haven’t changed my mind, honey,” he whispered. “I want you to know what you’re gettin’ before I marry you.”
“That’s not part of our bargain,” she countered.
“I’m not sure what kind of a bargain we struck,” Tanner said softly. “But I know I like what you’ve done to my house. I like knowin’ you’re here every night when I go to bed and when I hear you movin’ around in your bedroom every morning.”
He bent closer to her as she opened her mouth to speak, and touched the soft flesh with his index finger.
“Tanner?” Her mouth trembled as his finger brushed across the small bow of her upper lip.
“Yeah.” His head dipped lower and his fingertip was replaced by the brush of his mouth, his lips softening as they made contact with hers.
She’d forgotten the potency of his kiss, the power of his touch. That one fingertip that touched her chin, and those two lips that made her think of dark and forbidden things.
Rosemary sagged where she stood. Her fingers clenche
d tightly into small fists and she closed her eyes. She should draw back, perhaps scold him roundly for taking advantage of her. Maybe even let him have the side of her tongue and offer an indignant protest. That’s what she should do, she thought, aware only of the man who held her immobile with just the pressure of his mouth against hers.
And then Tanner’s hands touched her waistline, his fingertips meeting in the center of her back. He drew her closer, until her breasts were pressed indecently against his broad chest, until her feet were stumbling to find purchase between his boots.
Rosemary whimpered, a soft sound that was caught by the parting of his lips, and heard his answering chuckle as if he interpreted the wordless protest, and considered it but naught.
His mouth eased from hers. If he’d meant to soothe her with tenderness, he’d missed the boat. And yet it was almost a comforting gesture, perhaps asking her pardon, she thought hopefully.
“I shouldn’t have come here,” she blurted out. “I didn’t bargain for this.”
His laugh was low, and she felt the vibration beneath her hands. “You came here to accept my marriage proposal, Rosie. Didn’t you think there’d be kissin’ involved?”
“I changed my mind almost as soon as I got here,” she said breathlessly.
“Did you? Why?”
“I knew I couldn’t do it. I really meant to, but then…”
“I doubt you got a better offer,” he said glibly.
She shook her head. “No, I didn’t. But…”
“But, what?” he prompted.
She shook her head. “Nothing. I’m happy to be your cook, Tanner. I just don’t want you kissing me. It’s not proper. I have a reputation to uphold.”
“Honey, your reputation is worth diddly unless I miss my guess. Tipper said the preacher called you on the issue.”
Her hands trembled as she eased from his hold, and he stepped back, awaiting her reply. She reached for another jar and placed it in the soapy water.
“I knew what I was getting into, Tanner. I’ll be just fine.”
He was dismissed. There was no other way to put it, and he shrugged, ambling toward the door, snatching his hat off a nail as he went.
Rosemary waited until the screen door slammed, then turned to look over her shoulder at the tall man who stepped down from the porch. He was more than she’d bargained for, more than she’d envisioned when she considered his proposal on the buggy ride to this place.
She watched as he heeded a call from Mama Pearl, approaching her as she bent over the scrub board. The older woman looked up at him and spoke a few words. Rosemary slipped to stand beside the door, her curiosity aroused. But to no avail.
Only the deep rumble of Tanner’s voice reached her, the terse sound of his reply muffled.
“I’m tellin’ you straight, Tanner.” Mama Pearl’s warning words vibrated in the still air, and Rosemary drew in a breath.
Whatever they were talking about, they were apparently on opposite sides of the issue.
And she’d be willing to bet a week’s wages that Rosemary Gibson was the topic under discussion.
Chapter Seven
“Ma’am?” Cotton spun from the horse he was tending. His eyes widened as he considered the woman who’d entered the fringes of his domain, standing in the sunshine just outside the wide barn door. “You lost, Miss Rosemary?”
She waved a hand, dismissing his question as foolish. “I know perfectly well where I am, Mr. Cotton.”
“Just Cotton, if you don’t mind,” he muttered as he slid his hands into the front pockets of his denim trousers. “You lookin’ for the boss?”
She stepped inside, still wrapped in the golden rays of sunshine that penetrated several feet inside the barn, her shadow preceding her. “No, I’m just looking,” she said, tilting her head back as she gazed upward.
“Nothin’ up there but a haymow,” Cotton told her.
She scanned the long aisle that ran the length of the barn, one side divided into stalls, some narrow and open-ended, several square, with sturdy doors attached. An inquisitive nose poked over the nearest gate, and a soft nicker met Rosemary’s ear.
“My, what a beauty,” she murmured, her gaze caught by the gentle eyes of the animal. Her hand lifted as if she would reach to touch the elegant head; then, as though she thought better of it, she tucked her fingers inside the pocket of her apron.
Rosemary was silent, intent on her surroundings, peering beyond the stalls to where an open doorway led to the corral, and then returned her survey to the opposite wall.
Tools hung in place, pitchforks and shovels, between a series of shelves laden with scattered implements she did not recognize. Open doorways led off into other rooms and she caught a glimpse of a saddle balanced on a sawhorse, one stirrup flung upward.
“I just wanted to see—” Rosemary looked around again and shrugged her shoulders. “I guess I was curious, really. I’ve been here over two weeks, and I needed to see something other than the inside of the house and the chicken coop. I’ve done my share of gathering eggs, but I’ve not spent much time in a barn before.”
“Where have you been all your life?”
“I was raised in a parsonage, Cotton. In town. We had chickens in the backyard, but our milk came from a neighbor.”
“Well, let me give you a grand tour,” he said, grinning widely. “Ain’t nobody around here knows more about barns than Cotton Weatherby.”
“Unless it’s Gabe Tanner.” A long shadow joined Rosemary’s in the doorway as Tanner stepped across the threshold.
From the shaded aisle, Cotton tossed his boss a look of chagrin. “Shoot, here I thought I was gonna get a chance to do the honors.”
“You’ve got enough to do without playing escort to Miss Rosemary,” Tanner told him, his eyes taking a possessive survey of the woman beside him. “I’ll show her around.”
“I don’t want to take anyone from their work,” she said quickly, the breath leaving her body, and her heart stuttering in her chest. It was downright frustrating, the way Gabe Tanner could affect her with no effort at all on his part. She opened her mouth, her breath catching in her throat, and one hand crept up to fist against her left breast.
“You all right, Rosie?” He leaned toward her, his brow lowering as he bent to peer directly into her face.
“Yes,” she managed to whisper. “Of course. I just swallowed wrong.”
He straightened, shooting her another look, one that doubted her words. “Well, we’ll take it slow. Maybe it’s all the hay up top that’s givin’ you trouble. We had one fella I hired on who couldn’t be in the barn for five minutes at a time. Said the haymow had a bad effect on him. Never did figure out how he planned to work on a ranch.”
Rosemary sniffed the air, relieved that her heart had ceased its rapid pumping, slowing to its usual pace. “No, I don’t think the hay will give me a problem. I like the smell.” She looked up at Tanner. “Did you keep him around? The man who couldn’t stand the hay?”
He laughed. “For about as long as it took him to pack his gear and head out. Last I heard he was workin’ for the sheriff.”
Rosemary smiled, moving to stand before the large stall where the inquisitive horse still bobbed its head. One hand lifted tentatively and her fingers touched the velvet nose.
With a snort, the creature tossed its head, mane flying wildly. Rosemary stepped back abruptly, only to find Tanner directly behind her, his body a solid wall.
She muffled a shriek, shivering from the contact. He was stock-still, and as she turned her head, her cheek brushed against dark fabric. The scent of Mama Pearl’s lye soap mixed with another aroma, that of sunshine and leather. She inhaled the mix, her nose nearly touching his shirt.
His fingers grasped her shoulders. “You all right?” Her senses fairly reeling, she stiffened, moving from the shelter of his big body, and then was left yearning for the warmth he exuded.
“I’m fine,” she replied. “Just startled, I think.” Her hand exte
nded again to the horse’s nose. A soft whinny greeted her touch, and Rosemary’s palm moved to the side of the creature’s face, where her fingers lingered, widespread against the dark, smooth surface.
“She’s so silky,” she whispered.
Behind her, Tanner bent his head, his mouth barely brushing her ear, emphasizing each word he spoke. “She’s a he.”
Amusement laced his whisper, and Rosemary found a foolish smile curving her lips. There was gentleness in Tanner today, at least in her direction. He’d been a bit abrupt with Cotton she remembered, but now his touch, his words, his whole demeanor were that of a man toward a woman he cares about.
Not that she had any illusions about Tanner’s feelings in her direction. He had scented her out more than once, like a creature of the wild seeking its prey, and that alone had made her wary. This, today, had served to warn her that his approach now might be a direct opposite to that of other days and times, but the end result would be what Tanner willed.
Rosemary leaned forward as the horse allowed her touch, and bent to peer within the box stall. “He’s awfully big, isn’t he?” She stood on tiptoe, feeling brave with Tanner at her back, her fingers untangling the heavy mane as she inhaled the smell of horse and hay.
“He must have clean bedding. It smells fresh.”
“You’d know if it wasn’t,” Tanner said with a chuckle, stepping to stand beside her. His long arm eased into place at her waist; she was aware of the heat of his palm as it rested there, fingers outspread and reaching, as if he sought the texture of her skin beneath the layers of clothing.
Skin that burned beneath that exquisite pressure, almost as though each fingertip sought a spot upon which to leave a brand, that would surely appear tomorrow as a reminder of her lingering here with him.
“Yes, Miss Gibson?” A chuckle rumbled in his chest and she felt its vibration against her shoulder, there where his powerful body touched her.
“I ask you not to mock me, sir. I beg you to take your hands from me.”
“So sweetly you put me in my place,” he murmured.
She darted a look at him, turning her head to catch a glimpse of his face as his laughter erupted. He stepped back, his hand leaving the curve of her waist, instead tucking itself into the taut crease of his pocket, as though he must contain it.
The Bachelor Tax Page 8