“Mooo.”
“I THINK she’s doing good, Dad.”
“Well,” her father corrected. “And how can you say that? She can barely hold a pitchfork. She blanches at every smell. Thanks to Shannon’s nip she’s probably afraid of horses. Good thing it wasn’t Devil who had her in his sights, or she wouldn’t be able to sit for a week. She hasn’t even met the chickens or the pigs. You know how Gretchen is with strangers.”
“I’ll give her my gloves before I send her for eggs,” Rosa May noted. “Still, you have to admit that for a city girl she’s doing okay. In a few weeks she’ll be like an old farm hand. And you do need the help, Dad. Once I go back to school you’re going to have to hire someone. If she stays—”
“She’s not staying, Rosa May.” Ross pulled off his gloves and checked the cows. They still had a few minutes to go. “She’s only staying here until it is safe for her to go home. That is the end of the discussion.”
The scream bounced off the walls of the barn, sending the cows into a tizzy of mooing. Both Ross and Rosa May dashed back to the milking area. There they found an outraged Claudia splattered with bits of what suspiciously looked like cow manure. The mound on the ground beside her feet gave credence to their initial thought.
The cow had the good grace to appear guilty.
It happened all the time and certainly wasn’t something to get so upset about, but obviously Claudia wasn’t aware of that.
“That blasted cow…” She was so offended, so disgusted, she couldn’t get the words to form in her mouth. “She—she—” Tears began to pool in her eyes. Before she could stop herself, she was sobbing.
Ross hopped the fence in a smooth motion. Admittedly, it was a lot for a city girl to handle, being pooped on by a cow. “Don’t cry,” he murmured, as he brushed away her tears.
But the sobbing continued, until he didn’t know what to do, so he pulled her into his embrace. “Hush, it’s okay.”
Ross turned to his daughter. “Rosa May, take the cow out, okay?”
“Right, Dad.” Rosa May did as asked, careful to keep the cow from bumping into Claudia.
“No it’s nooot,” she sobbed. “I was only trying to milk her.”
“I know and you were doing a good job,” Ross encouraged. Based on the pool of milk that had spilt onto the hay after she knocked over the bucket, he had to say she was doing a fine job.
“I’ve been shot at,” she wailed.
Ross had a feeling these tears went deeper than cow dung. In truth, he’d forgotten how much of a strain this petite woman was under. She was, after all, still being hunted by the mob. But she’d been so tough, so resilient, that it had been easy to push her into something she clearly wasn’t ready for.
Strong, Ross admitted silently. She was stronger than she appeared. Not physically, of course, but sometimes mental strength was more important.
“You’ve been very brave,” he murmured circling his arms tighter. She was so small he could shelter two of her in his embrace and still fit a horse between them.
“There was a dead body…in the bathtub. And his thing was shriveled.…And Toinette wanted to wrap him in a towel…”
Her words made no sense to him, but he let her continue flushing the tension out of her system. “Shshsh. It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not! I’ve been shot at and pooped on!”
Hard to combat that. All he could do was offer his promise. “No one’s going to shoot at you here. You’re safe.” The pooping he wasn’t too sure about. It was a farm, after all.
“I feel safe,” Claudia hiccupped. “The house makes me feel safe.” The house and his arms. They were wonderful arms. Suddenly she realized where she was, and what happened to her. “You shouldn’t hold me.”
“Why?” It felt damn good to hold a woman in his arms again, especially this woman with her pert breasts and her tiny waist. Even splattered with cow dung she made his pulse race. Although once he was done holding her, he would deny ever enjoying it.
“Because I smell,” she squeaked, which launched her into another spasm of sobs.
Ross was grateful she couldn’t see his insuppressible grin. He didn’t want her to think he was laughing at her. Containing his humor, he whispered, “No, you don’t. Why don’t you go inside and get lunch ready? That way it will be waiting for me and Rosa May. You’ll find everything you need for sandwiches. You can take a shower and get cleaned up. Would you like that?”
“Yes,” she murmured against his chest. A chest that was perfect for sobbing on, she thought vaguely. Backing away from this embrace because it was starting to feel a little too good, Claudia made her way to the gate. She turned with soulful eyes and told Ross, “I’m sorry. I tried.”
She did try. “I know you did. We’ll be by in a little while.”
THE WATER WAS HOT, the shower stall was steamy and Claudia reveled in it for about twenty minutes. It took almost every ounce of the scented soap that she had packed to rid herself of the lingering smell of cows. After about fifteen scrubs, she was reasonably convinced that she was finally clean.
When she was done, she realized that it was close to noon. She had to assume that Ross and Rosie would be hungry, which meant she had no time for her hair. Blowing it dry, only to rid it of the water, Claudia pulled the sable mass into a ponytail high on her head. Since her only pair of jeans were currently in the washing machine, and since jeans seemed to be the order of the day, she would have to improvise.
Wrapped in a towel, she left the bathroom and found Ross’s room. After rooting through his closet she found the smallest pair of jeans he owned. Must have been from his high school days. She pulled them on and then found a belt she was able to cinch tight enough so they were secure around her waist. She trod, barefoot, down to her own room to find another T-shirt. This one was an off-the-shoulder fire-engine red crop top. Checking her appearance in the mirror, she wasn’t thrilled, but it would do for lunch. She was clean, and she smelled like lilacs. At this point that was all that mattered.
Ross had been correct when he told her she would find everything she needed. There was a head of lettuce, fresh tomatoes, turkey, cheese and Wonder bread. Ross and Rosa May were walking through the mudroom as she was putting the finishing touches on the sandwiches.
“Wow,” Rosa May burst. “These look good!”
“My pop ran a deli in Park Slope. I do great sandwiches,” Claudia beamed. She’d finally contributed, and it felt good. She was nobody’s freeloader.
“So maybe I could help around the house. I can clean, and I’ll have lunch and dinner ready every day for you and Rosie.” If she had it her way, the house would smell like roses. Breakfast would be served at a reasonable hour. The meals would be scrumptious, and she would never have to milk a smelly ungrateful cow again.
Susan hated to cook, Ross reflected. She hated being cooped up in the house all day. So they’d always split the chores inside the house. Once again, the differences were glaringly obvious. But were they necessarily bad? The question stayed with him.
As for the answer to her question, it was simple. The help inside the house would prove to be more beneficial than anything she could do for them outside the house which was practically nothing.
“You’ve got a deal.”
“Yeah!” Rosa May shouted. “The only thing Dad knows how to cook is fried chicken, mashed potatoes and broccoli. We have it practically every night.”
And she’d gotten sick of it after two, Claudia thought. “Maybe we can shake a few things up around here.”
Later, after a satisfying lunch and some freshly squeezed lemonade, Claudia said goodbye to Ross and Rosa May with a broad smile on her face. No more mucking, no more milking. For the respite, she would prepare them a feast.
First, Claudia rooted through all the cupboards. There wasn’t much other than some canned vegetables, packages of frozen chicken, a pile of potatoes and three jars of brown gravy.
“Wait. Hold the phone. Stop the bus. And sign
al the cabbie. Pasta!” There was a box of it behind the vegetables. After a little more rooting, and a few more discoveries, Claudia was set.
Later that evening Ross eyed his plate suspiciously. “What’s this?”
“Not a traditional Italian feast, that’s for sure. You’re going to have to take me into town for some groceries before that feat can be accomplished. This was all I had to work with.”
Rosa May dipped her fork into the swirling pasta and cream sauce. It smelled good. It looked okay.
She was willing to give it a try.
Ross was still skeptical. “Where’s the chicken?”
Rolling her eyes, Claudia held back a sharp retort. He had been kind enough to spare her from any more milking. The least she could do was be civil. “Eat!”
With a knife and fork in hand, Ross set about cutting up the spaghetti. That is until Claudia screeched.
“What?” he asked. She was looking at him like he had just kicked her cat.
“You don’t cut pasta with a knife and fork,” Claudia explained as if he were a simple child.
“That’s how I eat my spaghetti.”
“First,” Claudia started.
Uh-oh, Ross thought. She was starting with “first.” Not a good sign.
“This is not spaghetti. This is vermicelli.”
“Vermin?” Rosa May wondered and put down her fork. “I don’t want to eat vermin.”
“Patience, Ma. Patience, Pop. I’m going to need a healthy dose of it right now,” she requested from the ceiling.
Ross and Rosa May stared at her, after checking to see that her ma and pop weren’t actually on the ceiling.
“Not vermin, sweetie, vermicelli. It’s thin noodles. You didn’t have any linguini, which is more traditional with an Alfredo sauce. Not that this is a true Alfredo sauce. You didn’t have fresh Parmesan so I had to use the stuff out of the container. Second…”
He knew there was going to be a second.
“You never, ever, never, ever cut your pasta with a knife and fork.” Claudia demonstrated as she continued her lesson. “You plunge your fork into the noodles, then twirl until the noodles form a tight spiral around the fork. Only then can you lift the fork to your mouth. Plunge, twirl and lift. Plunge, twirl and lift.”
“Plunge,” Rosa May began as she stuck her fork into the middle of her plate. “Twirl and lift,” she recited as she watched the noodles do exactly what Claudia said they would do. When she plopped the forkful into her mouth it was a bit much, but it all fit.
“Hey, this is good, Claudia!”
She smiled indulgently at the child, then turned her head to watch Ross follow her instructions. “Plunge, twirl and lift.”
He had the plunging part down, but twirling was harder than it looked. Every time he lifted he ended up with half of his plate of spag—vermicelli on his fork. He eyed the mass disdainfully.
“Would you like me to stand behind you and help?” Claudia offered.
He knew she was being facetious, but he couldn’t stop the image of her pert breasts pressed against his back as they had been pressed against his chest earlier today. If a mirror had been in front of his face, he would have seen his nostrils flare like that of his stallion’s when Shannon was close.
It wasn’t the fact that she smelled like lilacs. He wasn’t the type to respond to a flowery smelling woman. It wasn’t even her body. Truth be told, she was a little too much on the skinny side for his tastes. It was her. It had to be. The essence of her flipped certain switches in his body. That essence, or whatever the hell he wanted to call it, had flipped his switch from the moment he saw her. And the light inside had been burning slowly and steadily ever since. He didn’t understand it.
She didn’t act like his wife, or laugh like his wife, or even cook like his wife. And he’d loved his wife. So his feelings for this stranger had to be the opposite. Didn’t they?
Don’t be such a fool, Ross chastised himself. This wasn’t about feelings. This was about lust. Wasn’t it?
Ross filled his mouth with the noodles covered in the tasty cream sauce. It was different than his usual fare, but he grudgingly had to accept that it was delicious. She couldn’t groom. She couldn’t muck. She couldn’t milk.
Okay, so she could cook.
“Well?” Claudia prompted, waiting for his response. She wasn’t modest. The food was excellent, and he had to know it. Since everything else she’d done today had been an abject failure, a little praise would go a long way toward restoring her ego.
“It’s all right.”
The jerk. His lips quirked and his eyes held a twinkle of mischief. He was teasing her, and Claudia couldn’t stop the bubble of mirth that rippled through her. He was forgiven.
After the meal was over, after Rosa May’s final oohs and ahhs, Claudia willingly took responsibility for the cleanup. Just one more step in her attempt to save herself from the stables.
“You haven’t given up on the farm completely, have you Claudia?” Rosa May queried.
Given up. She didn’t think she’d ever taken it on.
“Because you still have to meet the chickens, and the pigs, and Prowler the cat, and—”
Ross interrupted, sparing Claudia further trauma. By the expression on her face, one would have thought that Rosa May was listing various poisons to swallow.
“I think Claudia has had enough for one day. You can introduce her to the pigs tomorrow. For now you can watch some television until bed, munchkin.”
“Dad,” Rosa May chastised. “Not in front of company.” Then she headed for the living room.
Smiling, Claudia turned back to the dishes. She filled the sink with hot water and suds, and plunged her hands into the froth.
“Ouch!”
Ross stood and moved behind her. “What’s the matter?” He could see the expression of pain in her eyes. He didn’t like it.
Reaching down, he pulled her hands out of the water.
“It’s nothing. Just some blisters,” she muttered. His strong hands were wrapped around her wet soapy ones and brushed against the sensitive skin, causing a strange melting sensation to occur in her knees.
Unaware of the havoc he was causing in his patient’s legs, Ross lifted the hands for closer inspection. Large ugly white blisters marred her otherwise soft fingers. He didn’t like them, either.
Befuddled by his attention, although she didn’t know why, Claudia tried to tug her hands away from his grip. He was standing too close, that was it. So close she could smell his scent, the same one that had enraptured her that morning. So close she could feel the puff of his breath rustling her hair, sending tingles down her neck. The whole experience was making her unreasonably edgy.
He was just a man, she told herself. Yeah right! her subconscious whispered back.
“You should have stopped when your hands started hurting. I didn’t mean to work you to the bone like this.”
Claudia finally succeeded in gaining freedom for her hands. Only it didn’t help because he was still too close for comfort. She met his eyes, those green sultry eyes, and part of her wanted to give in to the craving to melt at his feet. The other part of her refused to sacrifice her pride. So she had a slight crush on him. One that she knew would not be reciprocated. That didn’t mean she had to quiver at his slightest touch.
Her voice as steady as she could make it, Claudia tried to laugh off the blisters. “It was my fault. I should have known to wear gloves. Hey, it’s no big deal. I used to get blisters like these after cutting hair for eight hours straight.”
Ross sincerely doubted it, but he accepted her answer. He couldn’t help but be grudgingly proud of her toughness. He didn’t know why, but subconsciously he was rooting for her even though he knew ultimately she would fail on this farm.
“How—how about some coffee?” she asked on a slight stutter. He was still too close, and if he didn’t back off soon she’d find herself in his arms again, only this time she wouldn’t waste the opportunity crying like
a sissy.
“Sure,” he answered. She was telling him to back off. It was in her body language. She was pressed against the kitchen counter as if it were her only escape, and belatedly, Ross realized that it had been. He’d all but pinned her against the sink.
Distance, he told himself. He needed to keep it.
Alone together in the kitchen with the sun shining its last ray of light, Ross realized he was suddenly desperate to make conversation. Something, anything that would relieve the tension that had filled the room the moment he touched her hands.
“Rosa May told me you gave up ‘updos.’ Not that I have any idea what that is, but I know it relates to hair. Does that mean you don’t cut hair any more?”
A safe topic, Claudia decided and gave points to Ross for shifting the mood. Nine point three. A subtle move and completely unsexual in nature.
As she prepared the coffee, the plain, dull ordinary coffee, and brought it to the kitchen table where he sat, she explained, “Nope. Not anymore. Now my focus is nails, but not just your ordinary manicures, I’m talking custom-designed nails.”
“The trunk,” Ross remembered. “You said it was filled with supplies. There is no way that nail polish can possibly be that heavy.”
Claudia laughed at his outraged expression. She wouldn’t tell him that the trunk held over two hundred different types and colors of polish and that the polish alone could be quite heavy. “Actually, it also carries my workbench, my stool, all my brushes and tools and a nail dryer.”
“Isn’t that a lot of stuff just to paint some nails?” Ross queried.
“Like I said, I don’t just polish them,” Claudia reminded him haughtily. “I create designs. See.”
She held up her hands for inspection, and Ross stared at her fingertips. The nails were chipped now, but on some of them he could make out tiny perfectly drawn flowers. The detail was amazing. Like little works of art drawn onto something as small as a fingernail.
“Roses,” she explained staring down at her pitiful hands. “I painted a rose on each nail, in a progression of blooming. Now they’re nothing more than chips of red enamel. That’s one of the downfalls. My creations don’t last very long.”
The Doc's Double Delivery & Down-Home Diva Page 21