Mischievous Maid
Cindy Caldwell
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
Sneak Peek of Baker’s Bob by Kirsten Osbourne
Also by Cindy Caldwell
Copyright © 2017 by Cindy Caldwell
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Chapter 1
Mirabelle Walters Banks pulled up the bedspread and patted the pillow in the guest room she’d just cleaned. Her heart skittered as something small and brown bounced from behind the television on the dresser over toward the window. In all the months she’d been working at River’s End Ranch, she hadn’t gotten used to the critters she found in the rooms she cleaned—next to the forest, crickets, spiders and bugs were pretty commonplace, something she hadn’t experienced much in California. Except for the times her brother had terrorized her with them when she was little.
It was just a cricket. Her heart had barely slowed down when she jumped again and turned toward the radio clipped to her cart when it beeped, and the voice of her co-worker—and sort of friend—Dina crackled over it.
“Mira, you okay? I thought I heard you scream again.”
She held the radio to her chest as she willed her heart to calm down, the scare still fresh in her mind. After a moment, she held the button of the radio and said, “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry about that. It was a thing. You know?”
Dina’s voice carried back to her. “Ah, a thing. You mean a spider. Or a cricket.”
Mira heard her laugh before her voice cut off on the radio.
“Mm-hm. Something like that,” she said.
The radio crackled again. “Can you come back to the housekeeping office after you’re through with that room?”
She reached for the radio and said, “Sure. Almost done,” before she clipped it to the cart and turned back toward the room.
She checked around her feet and tread lightly as she surveyed the room, her heart slowing and the offending creatures shooed outside with her feather duster.
She stood back from the picture that hung over the bed, her hands on her hips. Beautiful oil paintings graced the wall over many of the beds at River’s End Ranch and this was one of her favorites. The artist had perfectly captured a winter scene, the mountains covered in white but shining purple in a display she’d tried herself to master several times—without much success. She squinted at the signature, admiring the work of the artist she’d never heard of—Antonio Morales.
His paintings were in many of the rooms, and were downright spectacular. Cleaning guest rooms in the bunk house wasn’t the most glamorous job she’d ever had, although she’d put herself through college as a waitress—both honest jobs for an honest wage. Her mother would die if she knew what she was doing, but she didn’t care. She could stand at the window and look out on the same beautiful scene that had been captured in oils and sometimes watercolors that hung over the beds. Often, she wondered if he’d lived at the ranch. How else could he have captured the very scenes she marveled at as she traveled around her new home?
She cocked her head, pushed the bottom right corner of the picture frame up a bit and stood back one more time before she nodded her head in satisfaction that it was now straight. She set the offending feather duster—the one that had moved it when she’d been dusting, taking special care of the painting—back in her cart and took a final glance around the room.
Satisfied that it was in tip-top shape for the next guests, she rolled her cart into the storage room and tucked it in a corner.
“Can you take your lunch now?” Dina asked as she reached for another stack of clean towels. “I was hoping to switch with you. I have a meeting at one with Wade and Natasha.”
Mira glanced at the clock. She wasn’t quite hungry yet, but it was a particularly cold morning and coffee sounded good—and she’d have a chance to peek at the mountains at a time she was usually working.
“Sure,” she said as she smiled and nodded at the only girl she’d really gotten to know since she’d been at the ranch. She wouldn’t exactly call her a close friend—she’d been pretty careful to keep to herself—but they were friends nonetheless. As much as Mira felt like she could allow, anyway.
“A meeting?” she asked with a sideways glance at Dina. “A lunch meeting?”
She shrugged on her coat and raised a brow, smiling as Dina flushed and turned away.
“Yes, a meeting. With Wade and Natasha.”
“Why the blush?” Mira asked. As interesting as that was, Mira had been hoping that her friend might have found a guy to be interested in. In the several months Mira had been at the ranch, it had seemed like love was everywhere, and she hoped that her friend might find it, too.
“I guess I’ve been a little worried that it might bother you that they want to see me. I’m not sure what your career plans are, but I was hoping maybe they might be thinking of a promotion.”
Mira buttoned her coat and turned to her friend. “If you’re worried that I’ll be bent out of shape if you get a promotion, let it go,” she said. “I’m very happy doing what I’m doing. It suits me.”
Dina shook her head slowly. “Thanks, Mira. I’m not sure I want to clean toilets forever, and if there’s a chance that I could be promoted now that Gwen’s gone—”
Mira stopped her friend in her tracks. “Don’t give it another thought. I’d be thrilled for you. But if they’re looking for someone to cover the night shift, I’d be grateful if you’d put my name forward.”
Dina frowned and leaned on her cart. “Really? You want to work nights?”
Mira pulled the ponytail holder from her hair and brushed her fingers through, replacing the ponytail more tightly as she thought of the painting in the room she’d just cleaned.
When she’d finished college in the spring, never in a million years had she thought she’d be a maid—in Idaho, no less—before the year was out. But when her car had somehow found itself—with her in it—at River’s End Ranch, all she could think about was the magnificent scenery, the way the light played on the lake at different times of the day, how the sunset had turned the mountains purple.
And her fingers had been itching to paint them. She’d worked most days since she’d arrived and by the time she left, the sun had been setting or so close to it that she hadn’t been able to sit for the time she needed to watch—and to try to transfer the grandeur to canvas. Working at night might just give her that opportunity, and it seemed as if the chance had maybe just fallen in her lap.
“Yes, really. I have some things I’d like to do in the day and I’ve been working so many hours, I haven’t had the chance.”
Dina frowned and shook her head again. “I had a friend who worked graveyard at a hospital and loved it. She was a runner, so the time off during th
e day was like gold to her. So I get it. I’ll mention it if it comes up,” she said. She patted Mira on the shoulder. “Thanks for covering for me.”
Mira smiled and nodded as she headed down the hall and pushed the door open, stepping out into the crisp, cold air and the vibrant sunshine that came with the change of seasons. Everything felt crisp—the sky so blue and the dusting of snow on them so white—and she inhaled deeply as she headed toward the Saloon—which actually wasn’t a saloon at all but a coffee and ice cream shop.
It had been her dream to paint and own an art gallery her entire life, and she’d intended to continue in school, certain that her mother would have forgotten their agreement by the time she’d graduated with her business degree.
She hopped up onto the wooden boardwalk of the Old West town, and glanced at the gigantic pine tree in the center. She was certain that there were holiday traditions at the ranch and stopped for a moment, looking up at the tall tree that begged for ornaments. Up and down the boardwalk, ranch guests and employees meandered, some in old western costumes and Mira looked forward to finding out what it was like here for the holidays—anywhere other than southern California would be grand. Her mind strayed to her mother, and the big house overlooking the ocean, and the plastic Christmas tree that only had one color on it, ever—it would be nice to see something different.
She strolled along the boardwalk, peeking into the shops as she passed. The faces behind the counters were familiar but she didn’t know many names—the fewer people who knew anything about her, the safer, she’d determined when she arrived. She had been lucky to get one of the on-site staff cabins and after months living in it, she’d certainly hoped she would have gotten used to the creatures that came in from the forest. Today’s screech said otherwise, but aside from that new aspect of her lifestyle, she adored River’s End Ranch.
As she passed the bakery, she slowed and peered in the window. The store was designed just like she imagined one would have been in the old days and the woman who she presumed ran the bakery—she was the person she spotted in there most—was talking and laughing with a customer. Her heart tugged at the thought of just being able to chat freely with people, but she knew it was too risky for her.
The man she was talking with was dressed like an old-time sheriff—cowboy hat, boots, long coat and vest, with a tin star glinting in the sunlight. Even while she kept a low profile, she’d noticed him before, but in a security guard’s uniform. She spent the majority of her time cleaning rooms in the bunkhouse and in her own cabin, so she’d only seen him a handful of times. But each time, she’d definitely noticed his dark, wavy hair that curled out from under his cowboy hat and the brown eyes that seemed to see things others couldn’t.
She shook off the urge to go inside, and continued on to the Saloon to get her coffee. The last thing she needed was to meet anybody, especially an officer of any kind—handsome or not—that might do her in.
Chapter 2
Tony Morales bent down and kissed his grandmother on the forehead after he’d shrugged on his sheepskin coat. He’d stuck his head out the door earlier, and the frost that bit his cheeks meant his grandmother would have a Thermos of hot chocolate waiting for him and he looked forward to drinking it after his first rounds.
He stopped by the mirror in the hallway by the front door of the small cabin on the ranch he’d grown up in and knotted the red handkerchief around his neck.
“You really do look like a sheriff in that get-up,” his grandmother said as she leaned against the kitchen counter and cocked her head.
He ignored the laughter in her eyes as he reached for the shiny tin star that said SHERIFF and pinned it to his coat. He groaned and shook his head—Wade’s request that since they’d opened the Old West town and had lots more kids on the ranch that he wear an old-time sheriff’s outfit as head of security had come as a surprise, and he’d stared at it for a couple of days before he’d actually put it on. At first, he’d thought his childhood friend was just pulling a prank on him, as he’d done since they were kids, but he hadn’t relented even though Tony had avoided the unveiling for over a week. As Head of Security for the ranch, he’d thought his dark uniform had been fine, but he understood why the Westons wanted his presence to stand out a little less. The ranch was growing quickly—fast enough that he’d be hiring more security staff soon—and if this was a change they wanted, he would just have to do it.
Today was the day—at least he’d had time to talk to the real sheriff—Shane Clapper—about it and was grateful that he’d just laughed and said of course he didn’t mind. He could use all the help he could get, he’d said, since he had his hands full with his wife, Kelsi, and the impending arrival of their first-born.
“Don’t forget to drop those off at the general store for Heidi today,” she said as she pointed out a brown paper bag, the opening folded down neatly and stapled shut. She looked away quickly, but not fast enough for him to miss the twinkling of her soft, brown eyes. She pulled an apron over her head and fumbled with the strings behind her waist, and his heart clenched as she winced, struggling with the ties.
“Here, let me tie that for you, Grandma,” he said as he came behind her, her soft gray hair that was held by a silver pin at the nape of her neck almost tickling his chin.
“Is this what I think it is?” he asked as he reached for his gloves and the paper bag she’d pointed to on the small, pine table that had his homework answers engraved in it from when he was small.
“Maybe,” she said as she raised her eyebrows and turned back toward the steaming pot of sauce on the stove.
Tony ran his fingers over the bag and felt the cardboard inside. “I really don’t think that the general store needs any more of these. Where do you get them, anyway?”
“I have my ways,” she replied as she dipped a wooden spoon into the pot and gave it a stir.
He squinted at his grandmother’s back as he reached for his gun belt and tightened it over his security uniform. “Hm.”
“Don’t you worry about it, Tony. We have an understanding. You paint, I get to do what I want with them.”
He sighed and closed the door to his studio—an entire bedroom in the small cottage they shared. It wasn’t like in the old days, when he’d painted in his bedroom by flashlight so as not to disturb his grandmother—she worked hard at the ranch and needed her sleep.
“Oh, and on the way home this afternoon, would you stop by Jaclyn’s? She’s got something for me and I can’t leave this sauce. Thanksgiving is in a few days and there’s lots to do.”
“Sure. You need it before then? I could stop by at lunch or on a break.”
She shook her head vigorously and a spray of her gray hair escaped its pin. She swatted at it with the back of her hand and said, “No. Please go right after work. She’s expecting you at five o’clock. And if you can’t make it home for supper, that’s fine. I’ll be busy making enchiladas for the Thanksgiving dinner. All week, in fact.”
He pushed in the chairs at the table and frowned as he glanced at the woman who’d raised him. He was almost always home for supper, and then went straight into his studio. He sometimes went to Trivia nights with Wade, but it wasn’t tonight, so he was certain he’d be home. He’d be missing supper with his grandmother for at least a week while he looked for a replacement for the night guard who’d up and quit yesterday. Fortunately, his new security guard had just finished training and could take over days while he covered nights.
He picked up her cane—the one that Wyatt Weston had carved for her many summers ago, her favorite—and rested it next to the stove so she could grab it if she needed to. Some days she needed it and others, she didn’t, but with the weather turning cold, her arthritis was flaring up and she needed it more often than not.
“I’ll see you at suppertime, Grandma,” he said as he closed the door.
“Don’t forget about Jaclyn,” she shouted through the closed door.
He chuckled, as there was no way on Earth
he could possibly forget about Jaclyn, who was more of a fixture on the ranch than even his grandmother.
The morning was crisp and clear, and Tony took in a deep breath of the mountain air. Thanksgiving was just around the corner, and while they didn’t have the deep snow they’d see by Christmas, enough cold flurries had left patches on the ground, and he stepped around a mud puddle on the way to his truck. He always began his day by driving the perimeter of the ranch, an agreement he’d made with Wade years ago, when he’d started fresh out of high school. He had his radio on, of course, and had checked in with the office, but he always wanted to know what had happened on the ranch property since he’d last seen it, and he took his time, enjoying the few hours of peace and quiet—and majestic scenery that he catalogued in his memory for later, when he was with his brushes, canvas and oils.
His last stop in his rounds, before he went to the security office, was the Old West town, and most importantly the bakery. His boots sounded on the rough wooden planks of the boardwalk—the Westons had done a great job, and the shop fronts looked as authentic as he imagined Tombstone to be—and the bells on the latch of the bakery jingled as he stepped inside.
“Well, well, well. Looks like the sheriff’s arrived in town,” Miranda, the owner, said as he tipped his hat in her direction.
“That’s right, ma’am,” he said in his best western drawl.
“You’re just in time,” she said as she dropped his daily cinnamon roll in a paper bag and set it on the glass counter. “How many chocolate chips do you think there should be?”
Tony reached into his pocket for some change as he picked up a chocolate chip cookie she’d just baked, holding it to the window. The sun didn’t illuminate the cookie and Miranda squinted at it.
Tony held his hands up and backed away from the counter—and the loaded question. Miranda and Bob, the chef at Kelsi’s Kafe, had been going around and around about this for quite a while and Tony had always opted out. As security for the ranch, he had to remain neutral—kind of like Switzerland, he always said—so that he could instill trust from all sides. At least that’s what he’d always talked about with Wade, and he wasn’t about to ruin it over some chocolate chips. He grabbed his cinnamon roll and laid his money on the counter.
Mischievous Maid (River's End Ranch Book 15) Page 1