Mischievous Maid (River's End Ranch Book 15)

by Cindy Caldwell

  The map was perfect, and she stopped next to the door and tightened her scarf and braced herself for the onslaught of the wind. She looked down and reached into her pocket, her fingers curling around the sketch of Gorgeous George she had in her other pocket, ready to show to Tony and take to Jaclyn.

  She bumped into a wire rack and reached out to steady it with an apologetic glance at the woman who worked there. As it stopped wobbling, she noticed it was a rack of postcards—reproductions, it looked like, of some of the paintings she’d seen in the bunkhouse. She pulled one out and squinted—yes, same signature. Antonio Morales.

  She fumbled in her pocket for some change—she just had to have it. If she couldn’t paint as well as this person, or have an original for her own, a postcard reproduction would have to do.

  She covered the distance between the Old West town and Tony’s house as fast as she could, her head down as the wind bit at her nose. She knocked, and Tony opened the door to a cloud of frozen breath as she panted from her near-run in the cold.

  “Oh, my gosh, get inside. It’s cold out there,” he said as he pulled her into a small, quaint parlor that was gratefully warm, flames from a wood stove in the corner casting warmth and light around the room.

  He grabbed her hands and sat her down in a wing-backed chair in front of the stove, and she closed her eyes as he rubbed her hands with his own, blowing on her tingling fingers—skin on skin.

  “Better?” he asked as he knelt before her. “I should have come to get you. I didn’t realize it was quite so cold today.”

  She opened her eyes and met his, smiling as his dimples deepened.

  “I’m fine,” she said as she squeezed his hands and looked around the room, standing as he offered to take her coat and scarf.

  “It’s a beautiful cabin,” she said as she stood with her back to the wood stove and her hands tingled even more.

  “Thank you,” a woman said from the kitchen.

  “Oh,” Tony said as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Grandma, this is Mira. Mira, this is my grandmother, Graciela.”

  Mira turned toward the kitchen and smiled at the lovely older woman standing in the doorway. The resemblance to her grandson was remarkable—dimples and all. She smiled broadly and wiped her hands on her apron, then extending her hand, taking Mira’s into her own for a warm handshake.

  “I’m so glad to meet you, Mira. Antonio said—”

  Tony cleared his throat and stepped forward.

  “—Nothing. Nothing at all,” she said as she laughed, her dimples deepening as she shook her head and reached for an apron. She handed it to Mira and looped her arm through hers as she pulled her into the kitchen. “Thank you so much for your help today. It’s a Weston tradition that they serve Thanksgiving to their guests, so you can imagine there’s a lot to do. We’re in charge of enchiladas. Have you ever had enchiladas? Let me show you how to make them...”

  Mira glanced at Tony over her shoulder as Graciela pulled her into the kitchen, and she smiled as he shrugged and raised his eyebrows.

  “Good luck,” he mouthed as he followed behind and laughed, reaching for an apron of his own.

  They chattered for hours, and Mira heard all about Tony—what he was like when he was a little boy, how much he loved to paint and how it had come to be that he was head of security.

  The time flew, and by the time they were done, they had so many pans of enchiladas covered in foil that she had no idea where they’d put them.

  She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and turned to Tony. “Are we finished? I’d love to see some of your art work.”

  He glanced at his watch and said, “I’ve got to get these enchiladas over to the kitchen refrigerator for Thanksgiving tomorrow. I can show you another time. I’m not really any good, anyway.”

  He frowned and looked at his grandmother, who leaned against the kitchen counter and folded her arms over her chest, one eyebrow cocked in his direction.

  “Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,” she said as he grabbed her hand and pulled her up.

  “Sure it is. And you’d better rest before your shift starts tonight. I’ll call Dani, get this stuff over to the main house in the truck. I’ll come by to see you tonight if I can,” he said as he helped her into her coat.

  As he put his black duster on, she waited by the side of the door and a photograph on the wall caught her eye. It was an older picture of a very young woman, with dimples and eyes like Tony and Graciela—his mother. The resemblance was impossible to miss. As he headed back into the kitchen to say good bye to his grandmother, she slipped out her phone and took a picture of it—there was something about the woman’s expression that called to her, deep in her heart.

  “I’m sorry you have to hurry, Mira. I appreciate all your help, and you are a dear,” Graciela said while she gave Mira a hug.

  “Well, actually, I don’t really have to—”

  “Sorry, Grandma. I have to get Mira home. I’ll be right back with Dani to get those enchiladas over.”

  Mira waved goodbye to Tony’s grandmother as he tugged her along to her cabin. She’d had a wonderful day and didn’t feel like she needed a nap at all. But who knew there would be an enchilada emergency?

  Chapter 14

  Mira still had a little time before she had to get to work. She’d been scheduled for today—Thanksgiving—but she didn’t really mind. She didn’t know very many people still at River’s End Ranch, and she knew Dina had been there much longer and wanted to go to the traditional dinner in the main house. It wasn’t a problem for her, and since she’d been rushed out of Tony’s and was a little earlier than she’d thought she’d be, maybe Dina would want to leave early, too.

  She made a quick cup of coffee so she could stay awake on her new shift—she still wasn’t quite getting the hang of it, and she found her eyelids dropping every once in a while. She took her last sip of coffee, glad she wasn’t a heavy machine operator and stifled a yawn.

  She hadn’t been working in the guest rooms much, lately, but she had noticed one at the very end of the hallway that didn’t have a painting over the headboard. She glanced at the landscape she’d finished while she was also painting George’s portrait, and she wrapped brown paper around it. Maybe Natasha wouldn’t mind if she hung it in the empty space. She knew it wasn’t as good as all the other ones, but it made her heart sing at just the possibility. Didn’t hurt to ask. Painting with Tony had given her new skills and confidence. She never would have asked before. Maybe he was rubbing off on her. She still hadn’t seen any of his finished work, but she’d painted with him enough times to know that he was good. Very good.

  “Hey, Dina,” she said as she walked into the housekeeping supply room where her friend was stocking towels in the carts. She set the painting down and leaned it against the wall.

  “Hi,” Dina said brightly. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

  “To you, too,” Mira said as she gave her friend a hug. “I came in a little early in case you wanted to scoot over to the Westons’ dinner.”

  Dina’s eyebrows rose and she broke out into a huge smile. “That’s so sweet of you,” she said as she glanced at the clock and pulled off her gloves. “I didn’t want to ask, but I’d really like to go. You sure you don’t want to go with Tony? I notice you’ve been spending quite a bit of time with him lately.”

  Mira flushed and turned away. She’d thought they’d kept a pretty low profile.

  “And the Murphys said you’re doing a portrait of their kids? You’ve been really busy,” she said. She pushed the carts against the wall and locked the brakes.

  “I’m going to try. I’m not very good at portraits, but I’m learning a few things from Tony.”

  Dina chuckled and reached for her purse in her locker. “I bet. He’s so good—and like I said before, pretty easy on the eyes. You’re a lucky woman.”

  Dina pulled on her coat and gloves. “What’s that?” she asked as she pointed to the painting Mira had brought in.


  “Oh, it’s a painting that I did. That Tony helped me with. I noticed there was a vacant wall in Room 114 and I wondered if maybe I could donate it—hang it there,” she said as her stomach fluttered. She really should have asked Natasha, but since Dina was being promoted—well, she’d have to do.

  Dina raised her eyebrows. “Well, I guess if Tony helped you with it, it should be all right. He’s the pro. Go ahead, and I’ll confirm with Natasha when I see her.”

  “Thanks,” Mira said and she waved as Dina disappeared down the hallway.

  She grabbed the painting and headed down to the front desk, wondering when she’d get a break to hang the painting. Even though all the guests were likely at the Thanksgiving dinner in the main house, she couldn’t leave the desk unattended. She sighed when she spotted Andrew, the ranch’s engineer tinkering with something under the desk. She cocked her head—it looked like the same thing Pastor Kevin had tinkered with a few nights ago, but Andrew really took ownership of all things mechanical at the ranch, and she figured he wanted to make sure it worked. As far as she knew, it had, but he was just that kind of guy.

  “Hi, Andrew,” she said as she leaned the picture against the wall and took off her coat. The desk chair was pushed away as he was bent under the desk, and she looked for somewhere to hang it. She shrugged it back on when she didn’t see anyplace and figured she’d deal with it after Andrew was done.

  “How’s it going, Mira?” he asked as he tried to turn and look at her from under the desk.

  “Good. How about you? You’re not going to Thanksgiving?”

  “Nah. I don’t know too many people around here, and I’ve got a long list of repairs. I figured it might be a good time with all the guests over there—you know, nice and quiet.”

  She did know exactly what he meant, and even though nights weren’t so busy, she’d enjoyed the time to sketch, or even just to plan a painting.

  “Hey, since you’re under there and it’s pretty quiet, do you mind if I run down and hang this painting in Room 114? I noticed there wasn’t a picture there and I’m donating this one.”

  “Ah, you’re a painter, too? There’s some nice stuff of Tony’s around.”

  Mira cocked her head as she remembered what Dina had said. How had Andrew seen Tony’s work, too?

  She frowned, but said, “Yeah, I paint, too. Think it’s a problem?”

  “Doesn’t matter to me,” he said as he dove back behind the desk. “There’s a hammer and nails right there in my bag if you need them. Holler if you need any help,” he said, already focused on his task at hand.

  She grabbed the hammer and dropped a couple of nails in her coat pocket and said, “Thanks, Andrew,” before she headed down the hallway. She reached for her master card key when she’d reached the room and let herself in.

  Flipping on the lights, she set the picture on the bed and looked around the room. She held the picture up, wishing she had some help to center it and make sure it was level, but didn’t want to bother Andrew. She moved it back and forth, and as she did, what Dina and Andrew had said nagged at her. She knew she was falling for Tony, and although she hadn’t had the opportunity to tell him how she’d landed at River’s End Ranch when he rushed her out unexpectedly, she was going to tell him as soon as she had the chance.

  So why had they seen his work and she hadn’t? In fact, it was when she asked to see it that he’d practically pulled her from the house. She decided that when she bared her soul to him, she’d also insist that she get to see some of his paintings. It was only fair.

  She settled on where she thought it should go, and set it back down on the bed. She reached into her coat pocket and fumbled for the nails she’d dropped in. She pulled out the things she’d forgotten to take out—Tony’s map to his grandmother’s house and the postcard she’d bought—and dropped them on the bed. She found the nails and hung the picture, standing back to admire it. It wasn’t like the pictures by Antonio Morales, that was for sure, but she was getting better with Tony’s help.

  She froze in place as she thought about Tony’s help. She slowly picked up the map he’d drawn and opened it, smoothing it with her hands on the bed. She’d thought the drawing looked familiar, and it had a cabin right at the bottom, nestled between trees and under mountains. Her heart thudded in her chest as she reached for the postcard she’d bought and she squeezed her eyes closed, not wanting to see what she knew she’d see.

  She took a deep breath and forced her eyes open, looking down at the beautiful landscape on the postcard. She didn’t even have to look at the signature to know—it was Tony.

  His grandmother had called him Antonio. How had she missed that? And he’d introduced himself as Tony Morales.

  Her knees almost buckled and she sat on down on the bed. She flipped the postcard over—yep, there it was. Antonio Morales.

  Anger flashed through her like lightning. How could he do this? He’d had plenty of opportunity to tell her. Why, she’d even drug him into a guest room and gushed about the artist. No wonder he’d blanched. But why? Why hadn’t he told her?

  He was probably just like her mother. Didn’t want to hurt her feelings since he knew what a horrible artist she was. That had to be it. Well, she knew what she’d do now. She’d run before, and she could do it again. She’d give notice to Natasha and be on her way out of River’s End Ranch as fast as she could. And she’d take all her paintings with her and start over. Again.

  She snatched up the postcard and map, ripped them into tiny pieces and shoved them in her pocket. Grabbing the hammer and shoving it in her pocket, she pulled the painting from the wall and almost broke it over her knee—but couldn’t. It fell to the floor just as the first sob escaped and her head fell into her hands.

  Chapter 15

  “So what’s your problem?” Dani asked Tony as they loaded the last tray of enchiladas into the back of the truck. They only had to heat up in the oven, and the Thanksgiving dinner that the Westons put on for all the guests would be in full swing shortly.

  “That obvious, huh?” he said as he closed the tailgate and opened the passenger door for his friend.

  When he’d turned over the engine, she said, “I honestly thought you’d be over the moon by now. You know, with that dopey ‘love’ look everybody else seems to be walking around with.”

  He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yeah. Mira’s cute, and seems like just your type. You’ve been spending a lot of time with her, haven’t you?”

  “I have,” he said as he wound through the Old West town on the way to the main house. “I like her a lot. She’s special. And she paints like you’ve never seen.”

  Dani slapped her thigh. “That’s high praise, coming from you. What does she think of your stuff?”

  Tony gripped the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. “That’s the problem. She doesn’t know.”

  Dani snapped her head over toward him, her ice blue Weston eyes flashing. “She doesn’t know?” she said incredulously. “How is that possible? Your art is everywhere. Postcards in the store. In most of the guest rooms. The biggest one of all is in the main house, over the fireplace. How could she miss that?”

  He parked behind the main house, by the service entrance to the restaurant, and turned toward his friend. “She knows me as Tony. Not sure if she’s even caught my last name. So far, she hasn’t put two and two together.”

  “Woo-wee,” she said. “And you like her? You kissed her yet?”

  He flushed and nudged her shoulder.

  “I’ll take that as a yes. And that you really like her. And if that’s the case, you’d better come clean as fast as you can, before it blows up in your face. You know that never goes well,” she said as she hopped out of the truck without waiting for him to open the door and flipped down the tailgate.

  “I can’t just blurt it out,” he said. He held his arms out for the trays of enchiladas she was holding and she piled more on. T
hey’d been doing this for so many years they didn’t have to even think about it.

  He turned and followed her up the stairs to the restaurant and she opened the door. “You don’t have to blurt it out. Maybe make a romantic evening of it. I don’t know.”

  “Here, Mira, let’s have a lovely dinner together. Gaze into my eyes and let me tell you I’ve been lying to you since we met. That should go over well.”

  She laughed as she opened the door for him and stood aside. “You realize who you’re asking for relationship advice, right?” she said as she stepped in after him. “Just go for the facts, I always say. You can never get in trouble with facts.”

  Tony sighed as he set the enchiladas down on the counter and waved at Sam, who had his crew running like busy little bees. The place downright hummed.

  He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest, tipping his hat up. He’d need to take some time to think about what to say. He’d let it go way too long, and now it would be more difficult than it should be. Than it would have been if he’d just said it in the beginning.

  But she’d told him about her mother, how she hadn’t supported her art, and that she really truly thought she wasn’t very good. It couldn’t be further from the truth, but in that split second, he’d chosen to encourage her, not compete with her. Maybe he’d been wrong, but his heart had been in the right place.

  She looked him right in the eye. “Do you love her?”

  He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. Just the thought of her leaving him, or even being mad, twisted his gut.

  He looked up and his eyes met his friend’s. She laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. “I knew it. You’ve got that dopey look just like all the rest of these loonies.”

  “Hey, you’d better watch yourself, too. Just when you’re not looking, some guy will drive up in a Dodge Ram or a horse or jump out of a helicopter and it’ll be your turn.”