by Sivad, Gem
“Wipe your feet,” he told the men, sending them to the front entrance as he headed for the back door. His lips twitched into a grin remembering the way Eleanor had faced him, mop in hand, protecting her territory earlier in the day.
After supper, the dining hall emptied and she cleared the table for him to work on his ranch ledger. He did more thinking about her than his notations, working with half his brain while he kept an ear cocked toward the kitchen. The meal had been fine, the men were enthralled with the cook, and if he wanted to get rid of her, he’d have a rebellion on his hands.
Every time he thought of her contentious stance on the bed the night before, arms crossed, hands fisted and ready for battle at the same time her nipples were waving at him, laughter rumbled in his chest.
“Eleanor, bring the coffee and come in here.” Sounds had died down in the kitchen and Cyrus gave up work, ready for another round with Eleanor.
She came through the door carrying a plate of cookies, balancing two mugs in the crook of her arm with the pot in the other hand.
“Sit down. We have business to discuss.” The cookies and coffee startled him. It had been some time since anyone had fixed a snack for him. His throat tightened, making his voice gruffer than he intended.
She paused by him, carefully setting the coffeepot down, followed by the plate of cookies. Then she placed a mug next to him, filled it and headed for the other end of the table.
“Stop,” he ordered her.
She turned, her eyebrows signaling a question.
“Sit.” He pointed at the chair next to him.
“If the next command is roll over, when do you want me to bark?” Eleanor’s eyes took on a militant gleam.
“Dammit, sit down.” She’s got her voice back. His lips twitched in an almost smile.
“Yes, Mr. Burke.” She returned to the chair next to him, pulling it out with mock humility.
“You’re just itchin’ to tell me off, aren’t you?”
“Your poor excuse for manners calls it forth.” She spoke firmly, her chin raising just enough to telegraph her superiority.
“You’ll need to move whatever clothes you have into my room. I don’t figure on chasing you down every time I want to fuck.” He ignored her etiquette lesson and got right to the point. Last night’s one ride and I’m done attitude wasn’t going to work. He scowled at her, daring her to object.
“You want me to sleep with you in your bedroom—in your bed?” She shook her head, looking astonished.
“No, I planned on fixing you up with a pallet by the fireplace, chaining you there and having my way with you from time to time.”
Cyrus studied her appalled expression, as if she believed he really might shackle her to the wall. Exasperated, he said, “Yes, I want you in my bed—all night.”
“No.” Her jaw was squared and there was no give in Mrs. Lacey’s expression.
“Yes.” Cyrus leaned closer, daring her to refuse again.
“Mr. Burke. Every servant is entitled to limited privacy. As a member of your staff, I am no different. I prefer to maintain my own living quarters.”
“You sleep with me.” He squinted at her, daring her to argue.
“I will report for night duty,” she agreed in flat tones, holding his gaze stubbornly. “But I will leave when my work is completed. This point in our agreement is nonnegotiable.”
“When I’m done, Eleanor, if you have the strength to crawl out of bed, have at it. But that means when I’m finished. Like I said, I don’t plan on chasing you down every time I want between your thighs.”
“You are crude but your message is understood. Of course, Mr. Burke.” Martyred resignation coated her capitulation. She folded her hands on the table as though waiting for his next point of discussion.
“All night. In my bed. Whatever I want.” The more she made it clear she wanted no part of sleeping with him, the more determined Cyrus was to make it so. And that graveled him since the other women coming and going could have slept in the barn for all he’d cared.
Her jaw was rigid and unspoken curses flashed from her eyes but she remained silent and from that, Cyrus knew Eleanor had something else on her mind.
He didn’t relax or make the god-awful mistake of thinking he’d won. In little more than a day, Mrs. Lacey had invaded his kitchen, enthralled his crew, claimed his house and mesmerized his cock.
He bided his time, enjoying the show. Her cheeks were rosy from the heat of the kitchen making her eyes seem an even darker violet color. Wisps of blonde hair escaping the neat bun at her nape teased him.
“We need to discuss my contract with Mable.” Eleanor tried to hold his gaze but he seemed more interested in her hair.
“I’m not interested. You have a deal with me. I own your time for six weeks. End of discussion.” He picked up a cookie and ate it. “Take the pins out of your hair.”
“I can do the baking here in the kitchen, in moments when I have spare time. It’s only Wednesdays and Saturdays. Mable says she delivers on Wednesday and can pick up the desserts. You’ll be going to town on Saturday and can carry them into her.” Eleanor continued explaining her plan and was rewarded with his indifference.
She noted Mr. Burke’s penchant for closing topics she wished to discuss and ignored his hairpin comment.
He reached behind her head and removed the tortoise shell comb holding her hair in place. Two pins later her sedate coif became heavy waves cascading down her back.
”If you have spare time, I’m paying you too much.” He squinted at the strand between his fingers as if measuring its worth. “I’m not hauling cupcakes for you.”
“All right.” Eleanor braced for battle. Mr. Burke wore stubborn with pride. “I’m sorry we couldn’t agree. It has been interesting working for you.” Her hair slid from his grasp when she stood.
He growled, “What the hell is that supposed to mean? You cuttin’ line one day into the contract?”
“My contract with Mable supersedes my deal with you.” Eleanor started toward the stairs, despairingly sure she’d left herself no wiggle room. If he called her bluff, he’d be depositing her at the Mercantile’s back door. Nevertheless, she made her voice firm when she said, “I’ll get my things.”
“Sit down and explain this agreement you have with Mable.” He spoke curtly.
“I already did.” Eleanor kept walking, reaching the base of the steps.
“Tell me again,” Mr. Burke said sternly. “If you intend to go into business, learn to negotiate. You gave up too soon.”
Eleanor disagreed. She felt rather euphoric and triumphant looking down at him as he found reasons for her to stay.
Cyrus had a sneaking suspicion he’d just been maneuvered. She wanted him to think her eager to leave and he wanted her to turn around and come back to her chair.
But she didn’t. She climbed halfway up the stairs and then sat on a step looking down at him with her hands clasped before her.
Good negotiating strategy, make your opponent look up at you… He stood, which put them just about on eye level and she squirmed a little, having a hard time meeting his gaze.
“It’s a matter of honor,” she told him. Her words were sedate, calm. “Of course I would also like to further my bakery enterprise. But foremost, it seems important to fulfill the pledge I made.”
“You promised to supply Mable with rolls and such twice a week, right?” Cyrus mulled it over, piecing together the strands of the conversation he’d ignored.
“No,” she corrected him. “Just desserts. The order has grown quite impressively since we began our venture and Mable reports she’s getting special requests if I have time to fill them.”
“Then why move here?” he asked gruffly.
“I’m afraid I haven’t been completely honest with you. I should have mentioned the reason I need a place to stay. After visiting very pleasantly with Uncle Henry and Aunt Millie for several months, circumstances in Hartford changed. Grandfather Alcott ordered me hom
e and Uncle Henry insisted I obey.”
“Anything else you forgot to mention?” Cyrus relaxed, getting comfortable in his stance as he watched Eleanor compose her answer. Curiouser and curiouser… She’s been in town for months and Henry didn’t mention her.
Nibbling her bottom lip, she assessed him and shifted uneasily on the hard step.
“You could come back down here and we’ll both sit down to finish the talk.”
She didn’t move, remaining fixed to the step and staring at him.
“Why’d your late husband set you aside?”
“Who knows, really? We were childless, he wanted an heir. He formed a liaison with another woman. He wanted control of the Alcott-Lacey Bank…” She flinched, her answer piddling away.
“Didn’t know the courts would let a man out of the noose on any of those grounds.” Cyrus studied the pout of her lower lip waiting for her response. It wasn’t long in coming. Her answer was clipped, her expression outraged.
“Four upright citizens, friends of William’s, swore under oath they’d each conducted illicit affairs with me. They hadn’t. I barely knew them. The divorce petition requested relief for reasons of adultery.”
“Guess there was a dustup and your family shipped you here?” Cyrus scratched his jaw, thinking about swine who’d intentionally drag a lady through mud.
“After I publicly confronted one of the prevaricators, the gossip became even worse.” Eleanor’s angry expression changed to sad.
“You get in a good lick?” He hoped she had. It didn’t sound like anyone else in the Alcott family had the stomach to do it.
“I wish, but—no. My aunt accompanied me to one of the miscreant’s business offices. Afterward, William’s friend swore that I’d begged him to recant his story. The conversation was just one more scandal the press seized and misrepresented.”
“So let me see if I understand. If you’re divorced, your deceased husband’s estate belongs to someone else. If he dropped dead before the final decree, you get what’s rightfully yours?”
“If it were only that simple. The Laceys are powerful members of Hartford society. Their family attorneys intentionally made William’s accusations public, influencing popular opinion. They will not stop just because he’s dead.” Her words were bitter when she added, “Hindsight is a remarkable thing. It seems clear now that William had this planned prior to our wedding.”
“Why in hell did you marry a snake like that in the first place? I took you for a better judge of character.” Cyrus figured you could tell a lot about a woman by the man she hooked up with. He frowned at her doubtfully.
“Five years ago, during the 1883 financial panic, the Alcott Bank was in trouble. William invested with the stipulation that it become the Alcott-Lacey Bank of Hartford. Agreements were finalized making me Mrs. Lacey and William Vice President of Grandfather’s bank. A stuffed doll could have been substituted in the ceremony.” Eleanor’s expression was grim.
“Your male relatives kill him?” Cyrus could see the way it had gone down. Eleanor had been security in a financial transaction. He tented his fingers, resting his chin on his thumbs.
“Of course nobody killed William. It’s civilized in Hartford.” She blinked, giving him a disgusted look.
“Sure sounds like it,” Cyrus snorted. It didn’t sound very civilized to him. “You certain he’s dead?”
“Yes. William couldn’t even die quietly. Last month, during a court hearing, he was taken with a fit of apoplexy.” Her tone was disgusted. “No doubt the Lacey family would have hidden his death if they could. But he succumbed in the courtroom. By the evening newspapers, the tabloids were already titillating the public with the question of whether William and I were divorced. Grandfather telegraphed Uncle Henry the initial news before sending the newspaper account in the mail.”
“And they want you home to settle up accounts and claim what’s yours?” Cyrus could see why Eleanor was a tad put out. He looked at her with renewed interest. The widow was scrambling for purchase amidst upheaval. Interesting.
“Even if the courts decide I’m truly his widow, it doesn’t matter. In Hartford I’ll be remembered by society as William’s barren, adulterous, cast-aside wife.” She brushed her hair back from her face and said defiantly, “I’m not returning.”
“Anyone seeing to the liars?” Cyrus decided he wouldn’t mind killing a couple of the bastards for her.
“I have no idea what progress has been made in exposing their treachery,” she admitted. “According to Uncle Henry, now that William is dead, so is the divorce. Grandfather’s attorney has petitioned the courts to drop the case. The current expectation is that I will return to Hartford and fight with the Laceys over inheritance issues.”
“So you’re hiding here until they catch up with you and make you go back?”
“No, I have a plan.” Her eyes sparkled and she inched her bottom down a step, leaning toward him with enthusiasm.
“I’m working here to earn start-up money for my shop.” And then, realizing that she’d revealed her need for the housekeeping job, she scowled and said tartly, “If my current employment ends precipitously, I’ll find other means. But my plans do not include Hartford.”
He walked to the bottom of the stairs, squatted on his heels and looked up at her. It was a posture he used to lure a recalcitrant mare to the halter. He figured it was worth trying on a skittish housekeeper.
“This business you’ve started,” he asked gruffly, “are you earning any money? Is it worth your time? Did you make a good deal or did Mable see how green you are and tie you up in a bargain where she makes all the profit and you do all the work?”
“We shook hands on our agreement.”
“Well, is it a good deal?”
“Mable is an honest woman.” She lowered herself another step.
“That’s not what I asked.” He stood, walked back to the table to pour a cup of coffee and sat down.
“Have you done your figures? Do you know how much each of these costs to make?” Sipping the lukewarm bitterness, he chased it with a bite of pecan sandy, waving the half-eaten cookie in the air before consuming it.
“Mable gave me the start-up ingredients and deducted their cost from the confections she sold. Then we split the profit.” She came down the steps, sat on the chair next to him.
“You payin’ wholesale or retail for the ingredients?”
“I don’t know. I assumed… I don’t know.” She considered his question slowly, her brow puckering into a frown.
“And how will you use this money you’re earning?” Cyrus reined her back in the direction he wanted to go.
“When you pay my wages at the end of six weeks, and I add in the money I make from my mercantile contract, I’ll be able to rent that little empty building I mentioned before.”
“What makes you think you’ll have enough money then? Shoot, Eleanor, you’ve never even asked how much I’m paying you.”
Cyrus didn’t tell her he owned the flimsy shack she was dreaming about. Hell, it would probably get flattened by a good wind before Eleanor raised enough money to rent it.
Lavender eyes darkened to purple as she sputtered, “Of course I’ll earn enough for all this work I’m doing.” She demanded, “Won’t I?”
Cyrus squirmed inside and his voice came out gruff when he finally answered.
“Business is business. If you’re planning on making your livelihood from a store, you’d better know how much you’re spending on your ingredients.” He suddenly didn’t want to douse the hope shining in her eyes, so slid past the building topic and centered on the one at hand.
“I’ll do the arithmetic.” She nodded eagerly.
“You might be better buying the fixins from Mable wholesale before you set your price next time.”
“Oh I don’t set the prices.” She frowned. “Should I?”
“I’m not saying Mable Smyth isn’t an honest woman. Hell, I’ve known her since I was a boy—she’s as straight
as an Indian lodge pole. But she’s not above lettin’ a fool be a fool.”
“But we’re both making money,” Eleanor protested.
“She’s making a sight more than you if she’s charging you retail for her ingredients. Besides, you’re doin’ all the work.” Cyrus pointed out the obvious.
“Even if I make nothing, the introduction of my pastries to the marketplace has given me an enormous start. I prefer to think that neither Mable nor I are fools.” Her jaw squared, she flushed pink and her expression became militant.
“Maybe not.” He conceded the point to her, pouring the last tepid drops of coffee into his cup. Actually he kind of liked the way she refused to let him undermine her loyalty to Mable.
“I’ll put on a fresh pot.” She took the cup from his hand, heading for the other room.
He followed her to the kitchen and leaned on the doorsill while she fiddled with the coffee and set it brewing. “You count in that cost?” He pointed his finger at the stove.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you don’t own a stove and without mine you can’t make squat. And did I hear you right? You’re counting on me being your distributor, carrying your wares to the store and your ingredients back?”
“How much will that cost me?”
“How much can you afford?”
“I don’t know.” Her tone was exasperated.
“Well, figure it out,” he told her. “If you want to run a business, you have to watch every cent coming and going.”
He crossed to the stove, lifting the half-perked coffee from the fire.
“It’s not done.” Eleanor reached to pull it back in place.
“Time for bed.”
“But I have things…” she began.
“Mable’s already cuttin’ into my Wednesdays and Saturdays.” Cyrus acknowledged his defeat, claiming the important victory. “She’s sure as hell not gettin’ my nights. Upstairs, move your clothes and come to bed.”