by Sivad, Gem
All was prepared and waiting when the cowboys came through the kitchen. Although she was at the stove with her back turned when her employer walked in, she already recognized his step, his scent and the aura of power surrounding him.
His tread vibrated through the floor, sending tingles of alarm along her spine as he crossed the room and stopped next to her at the sink. The remembered taste of Mr. Burke made Eleanor swallow nervously. As she peeked sideways, he rolled his sleeves to his elbows before lathering, scrubbing and rinsing away grime.
Her gaze crawled from his calloused hands up bronzed forearms, clinging there like lead filings stuck to a magnet. Instead of experiencing panic, fear or disgust, her body flooded with heat.
Cyrus inspected the kitchen before he glanced at her and asked, “Supper on?”
Eleanor resisted the urge to smooth her hair and straighten her apron as he casually studied her appearance. “Yes, Mr. Burke,” she replied, as crisply professional as possible.
“Good, I’m hungry.” He pitched the drying towel in a crumpled heap on the counter and walked into the dining hall.
For such a brawny man, he moved with an almost sinuous grace. His denims hugged his long frame, outlining strong thighs and the firm bottom Eleanor admired all the way through the door.
As soon as it closed behind him, she grabbed the cloth he’d discarded, burying her face in the damp folds to cool her cheeks and tame her rioting thoughts. His arms look like sculpted metal. Eleanor fanned herself with the towel and listened. I need to compose myself.
It was very silent in the room. She had anticipated loud talk from the cowboys. William’s friends had been increasingly raucous as they ate and drank wine. Of course this was a different setting and coffee was the beverage not alcoholic spirits.
Were they enjoying the sautéed carrots, cauliflower drizzled with hollandaise sauce and roasted beef? She’d garnished each plate attractively with a sprig of mint from her own supplies brought along to decorate her Saturday and Wednesday pastry order.
I will speak to Mr. Burke about continuing my baking for Mable—but not yet. Another conversation with him so soon was impossible. Eleanor stood smoothing the wrinkled linen, wondering about the night duties. He expects me to renege. Well, I won’t. Five minutes in his bed and off to my own. It will be nothing more than a minor irritation.
Satisfied she had that plan under control, Eleanor focused on the dining hall. Although she strained to hear, nothing more than an occasional clink of cutlery against plates drifted to her. Filled with worry that the meat had been undercooked or the vegetables too done, she carried the coffeepot into the room, preparing to replenish their cups.
Mr. Burke was at the head of the table in a chair fit for his size—a king among minions. As one of the minions, she waited humbly for comments on her meal.
“Where’s the rest of the food?” When she stared dumbly at him, cold chills rippling through her, he spoke impatiently. “Bring the bowls in here and we’ll serve ourselves. From now on, don’t be divvying up portions like that. And take this out of here.” He handed her the artful centerpiece she’d made from paper and cloth. “Henley tried to eat it.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t allow for the appetites of your men. There is no rest of the food.”
“Well, damn. That’s it?”
“Boys.” Cyrus got the crew’s attention, which wasn’t hard since it had taken them no time to polish off the food, scrape the plates and scoop up the crumbs from the hot rolls. The sample had been worth repeating and now they waited expectantly for more.
“Meet the new housekeeper. It appears she fell a mite short in her first meal. Maybe she’ll do better tomorrow morning. Give her the respect she earns and keep your hands to yourselves.” He frowned apologetically at the men.
It was the best he could do in explanations. Hell, the drovers hadn’t yet forgotten his last cook’s shortcomings. Now this. Still, it had been tasty and she’d tried.
He pushed his chair back with a loud scrape, signaling the meal was at an end. She laid a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from rising. “I haven’t served the final course.”
“I thought the food was all gone.” Her small palm resting next to his chin distracted him. He wanted to turn his head and nip it.
“It’s just desserts,” she explained. “But…” She moved her hand before he could sample it, as though fearing he might take a bite before she could scurry back to the kitchen.
“Guess she’s got something else fixed for us. Hold up there, boys, while she brings out her next attempt.” Cyrus scooted closer to the table.
“No wonder your housekeepers don’t stay long, Mr. Burke. You are rude.” Her words were murmured for his ears alone.
“I didn’t hire you to teach me manners, Eleanor.” He didn’t bother to lower his voice when he answered her.
“Mr. Burke, since you are so needy, I’ll throw those in for free.” Her face flushed and her jaw squared. Mrs. Lacey didn’t even try to look chastised.
It had been awhile since anyone had sassed him—probably because he didn’t take to sassing well. On the other hand, the job applicant’s temper kept popping out like the unraveling of a too-tight corset and he suddenly had an interest in hearing more.
Someone at the table snickered. Cyrus sipped his coffee and waited to see what she’d do. It was suddenly important that Mrs. Lacey wasn’t a loose woman. He told himself he wasn’t looking for a woman who’d service the whole ranch crew—just him.
“I have dessert to serve.” Her eyes remained fixed on the table, not him or the men staring at her. Setting the pot of coffee by his arm, she retreated to the kitchen.
Cyrus topped his cup off and pushed the pot toward the next man in line. His belly growled. They ate twice a day and this had been slim pickings for sure. He looked at his empty plate and frowned, as did every man at the table.
“We’ll starve to death if you hire that one, boss.” Jake Connelly, Cyrus’ foreman expressed the opinion of them all.
“Not gonna happen. I need to eat too. Slim, I’ll tell Mable to send out more beans and we’ll make do with your meals until I get a fit housekeeper who can cook.” Cyrus thought of the sweet skin and soft curves he’d be giving up and then shrugged, indicating indifference he didn’t feel.
His strategy worked when fifteen groans, including Slim’s, filled the air.
“What the hell’s taking her so long?” He wanted her employment to appear in jeopardy, although every whiff of lilac he inhaled made her stay a lot more certain.
He stood, strode to the kitchen door and pushed it open, expecting to see a cake the size of a pigeon egg. The scent of cinnamon and apples hit him first and then drifted into the dining hall, interrupting the grumbling going on.
Her face was pink, her upper lip dotted with perspiration and her expression apologetic when she carried in the tray loaded with apple pies straight from the oven.
She set the tray down and cut the three pies in thick wedges of flaky crust and oozing filling. She left, returning with two chocolate cakes and a pile of something she named éclairs.
Excitement filled the air. Cyrus didn’t recognize the name but when he bit into the chocolate shell, cream pudding squirted into his mouth, melting on his tongue before he swallowed. When she set down the bowl of cookies—pecan, his favorite, oatmeal and sugar—he knew he was going to hire her and to hell with what the ranch hands wanted.
Silently she replenished the coffee in the pot and refilled each mug, watching the men anxiously as they devoured the exotic concoctions. Not many had sampled such riches and none, including Cyrus, had ever known anyone who could make them.
“I am terribly sorry to have under-calculated your needs. It’s a mistake I promise I won’t repeat if Mr. Burke gives me the opportunity to continue as his housekeeper.” She’d paused at the door, ignoring Cyrus as she apologized to his ranch hands.
The men licked the tines of their forks, drank fresh
coffee and forgave her from sugar-glazed eyes. Reluctantly they stood, filling their pockets with cookies before they left.
Cyrus grabbed a pecan sandy and followed her retreat into the kitchen. Not one to compliment half accomplishments, he reminded her of her lack. “You’ll have to adjust your proportions.”
Taking a bite of the cookie, he chewed it reflectively before judging it the best he’d ever had. Supper had been half measures, but still… He licked sugar from his lips, savored the pecan flavor and remembered the feel of her soft mouth under his.
She moved him aside, stepping around him, shedding his presence as soon as the last man’s departure gave her a reason to leave the kitchen. She paused in her trek to the dining hall to get in a smart remark. “In the future, I’ll cook enough to feed a pack of wolves. Then I’ll fix more for your crew.”
So Mrs. Prim ’n’ Proper wants to get snippy. Cyrus smiled grimly. “After you clear up the supper mess, I’ll be working on my books at the table. Go upstairs and use the bathing room. I like a clean woman in my bed.”
The order sounded pretty rough even to him, but if she was going to bolt he figured it might as well be now. He’d told Jake to be prepared to escort her back to town.
Cyrus already knew better than to expect silence. She stared at him, scanning his dirty denims and sweaty shirt.
“I trust you will acquaint yourself with that facility as well.” Having gotten the last word, she elevated her nose, telegraphing her pugnacious desire to hit him as she cleared the supper dishes, leaving a clean table for his work.
First the sound of pots banging then a closing door drifted from the kitchen. Did she leave? I’ll be damned if I go looking to see. Cyrus immersed himself in cattle business, trying to ignore his internal hum as his curiosity prodded him. Just how serious was Mrs. Lacey about this job?
“Mrs. Lacey, here’s to our deal.” Cyrus poured himself a short shot of whiskey and saluted the missing housekeeper, downing the fiery liquor in one gulp. He checked the clock. The house was silent but it didn’t have its usual empty feel. Lips curled in a sardonic grin, he stood and stretched.
The kitchen was warm when he carried his empty glass to the now spotless sink. A peek under an unexpectedly clean linen revealed rising dough. Half surprised, he murmured, “Guess she didn’t leave, and the boys will at least have bread for breakfast.”
He studied the room. The place looked good and smelled better. She’d hauled away the trash piled in the corner and Cyrus reminded himself to scout around and relocate it to his compost pile.
He put on his hat, went out back to the garden and grabbed two buckets for water. His foreman sauntered up to the pump and began filling the buckets for Cyrus.
“Hope she’s got more for breakfast than a cookie,” Jake muttered. “Any of ’em left?” Evidently the wave of sugar having faded, the ranch hands were ready to rethink their temporary support for Mrs. Lacey. “We’ll give her one more meal to prove herself and that’s it.”
Jake argued for and against Eleanor’s employment while Cyrus watered the melon patch and remained noncommittal. His stomach rumbled its own complaint as Jake mumbled, “Night, boss,” and returned to the bunkhouse.
He had favorites among his crew but didn’t coddle any of them. He wouldn’t keep anyone on the ranch he didn’t trust and he paid the best wages in the state, which made his men loyal to the bone. But dammit, they counted on decent food when they pulled a full day’s work. Mrs. Lacey was an indulgence he couldn’t afford—like one of those fancy cream things she’d served—more air than substance.
It was unusual for Cyrus to be ambivalent about anything. But the woman waiting upstairs made him pause. She was delicate, like an exotic flower, not made for tough housework or rough loving. He shrugged regretfully, making plans to return her to town the next day.
But still—she’d stood toe-to-toe with him, insisting she could handle him and everything he threw at her.
It was late and he suspected Mrs. Lacey was curled up asleep. In spite of his firm belief she was the wrong woman for the job, Cyrus took the steps two at a time, suddenly eager to see what kind of dessert Eleanor had to offer for night duty.
Her scent hung tantalizingly in the air when he entered the bathing room. It was more an essence, a feeling, instead of the heavy, cloying perfume his recent housekeepers had used to cover their smell.
Cyrus stripped fast, scrubbed dirt and sweat from his body and climbed out of the tub. He didn’t deliver the usual hand job to appease his hard-on. Instead, he breathed in the smell of Eleanor, thought about her naked and waiting in his bed and just in case things went the right way, rolled a condom over his rigid cock. In deference to her respectable status, he pulled on a clean pair of denims, leaving them unbuttoned to ease the pull on his groin, and padded on bare feet to his bedroom.
She’d obeyed orders. Mrs. Lacey—Eleanor—sat upright against pillows and headboard, her hands folded in her lap, waiting for him. She’d left the lamp turned low so he could see the shape of her under the sheet drawn across her lap. Her pale yellow nightgown, although a sedate affair, revealed the swell of unfettered breasts beneath the fabric.
The condom encasing his length tightened around him as his cock thickened. He felt like a stallion ramped and ready to cover a mare as he eliminated the distance between them.
“Ready to seal the deal, Eleanor?” Leering down at her, he leaned over the bed, his palms on either side of her hips.
She grabbed the sheet, securing it tighter around her. Cyrus admired the colors playing over her features. She blinked at him from violet eyes accented by strangely dark lashes and darker brows considering her otherwise blonde hair.
Cyrus licked his lips. She looked as smooth and creamy as one of her exotic treats. He focused on her ruby lips marked where her white teeth had gnawed on the bottom one. Closing the space between them until his nose bumped her flushed cheek, he tasted her mouth, running his tongue along the tightly closed seam before he toppled her sideways off the stack of pillows.
He’d intended to scare the bejesus out of her, proving his point that she wouldn’t suit. Instead he found himself sprawled on top of her, feeling every inch of that fine body cushioning his big frame as his chest pressed against firm, plump breasts.
“Mr. Burke.” Her words brushed against his lips and he leaned back an inch.
“What?”
“Is this quite necessary?”
That tied it. “Mrs. Lacey, did I not tell you this wouldn’t work?” He rolled off her before he lost complete control and forced the issue. Grimly he started for the door.
The ache in his groin wiped out the pleasure in her cookies. He had the door open and intended to put her in the wagon himself and say good riddance to Widow Lacey once and for all.
“Wait, I’m ready.”
He knew damn well it was a mistake but he walked stiffly back to stand beside the bed. Without a word, he dropped his denims and stepped out of them. His cock waved in the air, undaunted and ready to play.
“What is wrong with your male part?” She pointed at his erection trussed up like a sausage roll.
“Never seen one of these before?” Cyrus looked down—the rubber was stretched to a thin gold color encasing his cock like a glove.
“No. What is it?” Mrs. Prim ’n’ Proper pulled the sheet up to her chin as though afraid of catching something.
“They call them French letters.” He watched her head tilt sideways like a robin’s, questioning his words. “It’s a condom,” he said gruffly, not in the mood to explain the device.
“What are condoms?” Eleanor asked in a puzzled voice.
“Cock gloves, rubbers, dick wrappers,” he said grimly. She still looked mystified. “It covers me so I won’t leave a kid in your belly.” Pointing at her nightgown, he growled, “That’s gotta go.”
The quivering in her stomach spread to her limbs and Eleanor shivered from both the anger in his gaze and her icy terror. Somehow she had lost c
ontrol of the situation and the reality of Mr. Burke’s half-naked presence wiped out any thought of a quick interlude during which she would doze. “My sleepwear?”
“Yep,” he growled. “If we’re doing it, we’re doing it right. Now take it off.”
Eleanor stared at his stern expression and saw no reprieve. She pulled the sheet higher and fumbled with shaking hands at the ribbon closing her gown.
As she wiggled out of her nightwear, the sheet slipped, revealing her bare shoulder. A low rumbling sound emerged from the man standing by the bed. Mable’s earlier description of him as a wolf seemed only too accurate.
Eleanor lifted the sheet higher, as if its thin material would protect her from the stiff member jutting at a right angle from Mr. Burke’s body.
“As long as we’re losing things,” he said, reaching for her cover, “this goes too.” He grabbed the sheet, wrestling her for it until the sound of ripping material and her fully displayed naked body signaled her defeat. “Cost of one new sheet coming off your wages.”
Eleanor didn’t know what to cover or how to hide. His gaze slowly crawled up her frame, lingering on her breasts. Traitorous nipples hardened into pouting nubs and she clapped her hands over them.
His eyes narrowed into a hooded glance assessing her. Eleanor inched backward until she sat with knees folded under her and arms primly covering her chest. Remembering the voluptuous woman she’d seen at the local store, reputed to be one of his lady loves, she glared at him, daring him to insult her less spectacular curves.
His silence irritated Eleanor so much she decided to be equally rude. She let her gaze play over his naked expanse. Mr. Burke’s muscular thighs were connected to strong legs with rope-like tendons showing under the skin.
Eleanor let her gaze rove higher, studying the slim hips, flat hard stomach, broad chest and powerful shoulders. Her eyes traveled upward until she met his gaze and recognized the sardonic tilt of his eyebrow. His expression was relaxed, his mouth curving into an almost smile.