Chapter Two
Even though the house beckoned, Alex was reluctant to enter with no one home. So she made a circuit of the ranch buildings.
Just after she returned to the car and pulled Sugar out, she heard the unmistakable sound of a vehicle coming down the drive. She ran to open the gate with the cat in her arms. A battered black truck came barreling down the drive and screeched to a halt at the open gate.
A young woman stuck her head out the window. Her straight, dark brown hair was pulled back into a thick braid, and her deep blue eyes were wide. “You can’t be the new cook! You’re not supposed to be here until tomorrow.”
Alex blinked at the shocked tone. “I came as soon as Zeke fixed my car. Am I too early?”
“I’ll say! I didn’t have a chance to clean up the dishes from breakfast before I left for school.” The girl pushed back a strand of hair that escaped her braid and looked Alex over. “Besides, you’re not any older than I am.”
“I’m eight years older than you, if you’re Claire.”
“Oh, I’m not disappointed. I’m thrilled! It’s just that I was expecting another one like Mrs. Johnson.”
“Is that bad?”
The young woman rolled her eyes. “Come on. I’ll ride you to the house.”
“That’s all right, I can wal—”
The truck took off, leaving Alex’s words in the dust. It slammed to a stop on the other side of the gate, so Alex swung the gate shut and climbed in.
“You are Claire, right?” Alex said as the truck sped down the drive.
The girl threw her a sheepish look. “Sorry. I was so surprised I forgot my manners. Yeah, I’m Claire Eden, and I sure am glad to see you, even if you’re only going to be here a month.”
“Because I can cook?”
Claire smiled easily. “Well, that’s a big part of it. I hate to cook worse than the boys hate to eat what I cook. But it’s more than that.”
“Oh? What?” Alex held on to Sugar with both hands as Claire barreled around the house. She closed her eyes, certain they would go straight through the other side of the garage. As they skidded to a stop, Alex stiffened her feet against the floorboard to keep from flying through the windshield. Slitting one eye, she peeked around nervously. The front bumper couldn’t be more than a few inches from the back wall.
Claire stared thoughtfully at the wheel as if nothing unusual had happened. “Hank’s hiring you means he finally realizes I’m grown up. All the others were part cook and part babysitter.”
“All the others?” Alex repeated. “How many were there?”
“Eight.” Claire gathered her books from the seat between them. “You’re the ninth cook we’ve had in eight years. That’s a beautiful cat. What happened to its ear?”
“I don’t know. It was already gone when I found him,” she replied absently. Eight cooks! What had she gotten herself into?
“Can I pet him?”
“Sure. Sugar’s a good cat.”
Claire rubbed Sugar’s head, then opened her door and set off for the house. “Come on, I’ll show you where to put your stuff.”
“Why eight cooks?” Alex asked as she followed Claire up the steps. This porch mirrored the one on the front of the house, except for a swing at one end.
Her hand on the screen door, Claire turned to look at Alex. A frown drew her brows together, and she shook her head. “I don’t want to scare you away.”
“Is the house haunted or something?”
Claire smiled wryly. “Let’s just say that when we sit down to supper tonight, the words pig trough will probably cross your mind.”
The kitchen window had a perfect view of the main barn, a detail Alex suspected one of the Eden wives had planned carefully. She knew exactly when the men rode in that evening. The three single hands rode more or less abreast, laughing and joking. Hank came in ten minutes later.
A shiver of anticipation skimmed over her skin.
Appalled by this reaction, she turned away from the window and grabbed a heavy stoneware pitcher. She filled the pitcher with cold water, then strained the steeped tea into it. As she poured it into six goblets, Claire pushed open the door from the dining room.
“Are you out of your mind?”
Alex’s eyes grew wide. They’d had a nice long talk that afternoon while Claire showed her around the house. Alex thought they were well on their way to becoming friends, so she asked with trepidation, “What?”
“Grandma’s china and a linen table cloth? For cowboys?”
“That’s bad?”
“It is for these cowboys. Come on, we have to change everything fast.”
Alex threw a look out the kitchen window. She didn’t see anyone heading toward the house yet, so she hurried into the dining room.
“I was just trying to dress things up a little.” She scraped all the silver together as Claire stacked the dishes. “I didn’t mean to hurt anything.”
“I know. I should’ve warned you earlier. These guys descend on a table like a plague of locusts.”
They had everything put away and earthenware plates around the table by the time the back door creaked open.
“Ouuu-weee! Don’t that smell good?”
“Sure does. I’ll bet my silver spurs our new cook rode in today.”
“Hell, Jed. That ain’t no bet. You could tell it ain’t Claire’s cookin’ cause there ain’t no smoke floating out the door.”
Alex threw Claire a sympathetic glance, but the girl just shrugged, picked up the large bowl of mashed potatoes and pushed her way into the dining room. Alex followed with a plate of biscuits. She set them on the table, then turned to greet the hands who stomped noisily down the hall.
She smelled them before she saw them. The acrid scent of sweat mixed with the earthy odors of manure and dirt drifted in ahead of three cowboys. Alex flexed the fingers that wanted to scratch her nose as they filled the doorway. Stair-stepped in height, they all wore jeans showing a thick coating of dust and hats that threw their faces into shadow. Long-sleeved Western-style shirts showed stains of sweat, and boots caked with dirt still had spurs attached.
The three stopped as one and stared at her as if they saw a ghost. Alex stared back, wondering if they were the Three Stooges or the Three Musketeers.
“This here’s the new cook, boys,” Claire told them. “Alexandra Miller.”
“Hey,” she said nervously. “Y’all call me Alex.”
“What’s the matter, boys?” Claire taunted. “Cat got your tongues?”
The shortest cowboy recovered first. With black eyes and sandy blond hair that stuck out at odd angles, he came forward and tipped his hat. “Howdy, ma’am. I’m Buck. I don’t know what sight’s purtier, you or that plate of steaks.”
The tallest came next. Skinny as the railings supporting the banister, with a large nose and a prominent Adam’s apple bobbing in his neck, he resembled the image Alex had always had of Ichabod Crane.
“I’m Jed. Pleased to meet ya.”
“I’m Derek,” the next one said. Though not the tallest, his black hair and mustache, coupled with green eyes, would make him stand out in any crowd. “The boss sure pulled one over on us this time. We thought you was a heifer like the last—oops, pardon me, ma’am. Don’t mean to speak ill of the departed.”
“The last cook died?” Alex asked in alarm.
Claire glared at Derek. “Of course not. She moved to Texas to be with her grandbabies.”
He grinned. “Well, she departed, didn’t she?”
The atmosphere suddenly changed, and Alex knew before she turned that Hank stood in the doorway. She had the same sensation she’d had at the café and in her car. Electricity surged from him. It flowed around her like an aura, making her skin tingle. She turned to find his eyes on her.
Had she thought Derek handsome? That cowboy faded into the yellowed wallpaper when Hank walked into the room.
“’out time you made it in, boss,” Derek complained. “We’re starving.”
Claire poked Derek as she walked to her chair. “You’re always starving.”
“That’s right, little filly. Starving for you.” Derek shot out an arm to capture her waist, but Claire eluded him.
“But not my cooking.”
He grinned and pulled out her chair. “That don’t matter. I can cook.”
“What, beans?”
He sat in the chair next to her. “Any way you like ’em.”
The other hands took the chairs across the table, but Hank paid them no mind. His attention stayed on a pair of golden-brown eyes that wouldn’t let go of his. He’d seen this woman a total of two times and already she seemed familiar. She’d bound her chestnut hair with a rubber band like the first time he’d seen her. His fingers ached to remove it, to see the light shimmering down the waves like it did that afternoon.
He forced his boots across the floor and found himself removing his hat. “I see you made it in okay.”
She nodded. “Claire came home soon after I arrived. I didn’t have to wait outside long.”
“Why didn’t you just come on in? The door’s never locked.”
A frown wrinkled her forehead. “I couldn’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“She’s got some manners,” Claire said, slapping Derek’s hand off the biscuits. “Unlike some people around here.”
Hank gave them a granite stare, then turned back to Alex. “Claire get you settled in, then?”
“Oh, yes, I’m all unpacked.”
Her soft drawling voice melted around him like the sun on a warm summer day. “We appreciate you cooking tonight, seeing as how you just got in.”
“That’s my job, isn’t it?”
He nodded, then the hands began to complain about delaying supper. “We’ll talk after we eat.”
He placed a hand at the small of her back and walked her around to the empty chair at the end of the table nearest the kitchen. Releasing her reluctantly, he pulled out the chair.
Alex quickly sat. She murmured a brief thank you, then pulled her napkin out as Hank moved to his seat at the other end.
The hands reached for the nearest platters of food but stopped when he cleared his throat. “Let’s say grace first, boys.”
They looked at him as if he’d declared he was half Brahma bull. He stared each of them into removing their hats and bowing their heads. Alex and Claire smiled at him, then lowered their heads. Hank bowed his own head and tried to remember prayers his father had uttered. Failing that, he settled for a shorter, customized version of the prayer he’d heard at countless rodeos.
When he finished, Alex raised her head, smiling at the unique prayer. She opened her mouth to comment on it, but instead her jaw fell slack.
The men attacked the food as if they hadn’t been fed in a week. Forks and serving spoons blended with hands and arms as they vied to see who could fill his plate the fastest. They looked like a pack of dogs descending on one bowl of food.
Making no attempt to join the fray, Alex caught Claire’s eye.
The girl leaned over. “I told you.”
“Is it always this bad?”
Claire nodded. “Better get. some food while the getting’s good. There won’t be a crumb left in five minutes.”
Alex grabbed a biscuit as the plate passed, then settled back in her chair to watch the men consume their food with voracious appetites. Nobody said a single word until every scrap had disappeared down their gullets. The only male that had a modicum of manners was Hank. Though he didn’t say anything, either, he didn’t act like a lion about to devour a Christian.
When all was gone, they looked at her expectantly.
She chuckled. “Yes, I made dessert.”
They yahooed as she went to get two warm cheese pies.
“Sure was tasty, Alex,” Jed said as he rose from the table. “You even cooked the steaks right.”
“Claire told me you like them just this side of charred.”
“Well, we’re mighty glad you’re here.”
Jed’s words caught Alex off guard. How long had it been since someone cared whether she was around or not? But instead of making her happy, the warm, fuzzy feeling frightened her. She didn’t belong with these people. This was just a temporary job. After she said goodbye four weeks from now, she’d probably never see them again.
She stood abruptly to gather the dinner plates. “Thanks, Jed.”
The other hands added their compliments as they followed Jed out.
“You coming, boss?” Buck asked as he paused in the doorway.
Hank leaned back in his chair. “I’ll be along directly. Get that new mare warmed up and the calves in the pen.”
Alex had learned that the three hands worked on this ranch because of the time Hank spent with them on their roping and riding skills as they trained stock for the rodeo. Every night after supper, they turned on the floodlights illuminating the large corral and worked on roping calves or riding wild horses.
Claire told her Hank had a reputation on the rodeo circuit for the roping horses he trained. Derek had come all the way from Texas to work with Hank and learn from him.
Alex could feel Hank’s gaze on her as she scraped the dinner dishes. She darted a glance at him. The heat in his eyes made her drop the stack of dishes she was moving from one place to the next too quickly. They clattered loudly in the quiet room.
The look on his face meant trouble. Big trouble. It made her feel like a kettle boiling on the stove—steamy hot, with insides that wouldn’t keep still. It made her wonder what those unsmiling lips would feel like against hers.
No! she told herself sharply. She was not looking for a man—not even one as handsome as Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt and Mel Gibson all rolled into one. No one—not even a blue-eyed, square-jawed cowboy—was going to stop her from getting to San Francisco. She’d wasted half her life waiting for someone wonderful to walk in and give her a home, a connection. First at the orphanage, then at all the places she’d worked. She was through waiting. She had a plan and the determination to see it through.
To distract herself and him, she asked, “Did you enjoy supper?”
“Didn’t you notice he had second helpings of everything?” Claire asked as she returned from carrying empty platters into the kitchen.
“I had three helpings of potatoes,” Hank added. “So, yes, you could say I enjoyed supper.”
Alex felt as if her bones were spreading across the floor as relief flooded through her. She didn’t know until just then how important it had been to please him. Her hands halted for an instant as the realization sunk in. But wanting to please an employer was natural, wasn’t it? She always wanted people to enjoy her cooking. Her livelihood depended on it.
She didn’t want to listen to the inner voice reminding her that pleasing someone’s palate had never left her weak in the knees, so she pushed it away and scraped harder.
“Might as well get our little chat over with now.” Hank’s deep voice resonated through the room.
“Okay, chat away,” she said as she picked up another plate.
“Not here,” he said firmly. “The tax papers are up in my office.”
Alex’s hands stopped in mid-scrape. The last thing she needed right now was to be alone with this man. Maybe later, when she wasn’t so on edge, when the air between them didn’t crackle with tension. “I need to clean up first.”
He rose to his full six feet. “Claire can finish.”
“But I should—”
“Go on, Alex,” Claire urged. “I can do this.”
Alex tore her eyes away to survey the table. Claire nearly had it cleared. Looked like there was no way to avoid this. Damn. She placed the plate she held on top of the stack, untied her apron and turned to Hank.
He swept his arm toward the door. “After you.”
Claire had given Alex a tour of the house when they had supper well under way, so she knew the second floor of the ranch house consisted of three large bedrooms, plu
s a bathroom and the ranch office that had been carved from the fourth bedroom. As Alex climbed the straight flight of stairs past pictures of Edens dead and living, she was vividly aware that the man ascending behind her was so close she could feel the warmth of his hard, lean body. There was an intimacy in climbing the stairs together. Alex didn’t want to think about the way their bodies moved in concert—right foot, left foot, right—but she couldn’t help it.
She paused when she came up into the hallway that bisected the second floor. The layout of rooms echoed the four-square pattern of the first floor. To her left, the door to the office, which was directly over her bedroom, stood open. Claire. referred to it as the sanctuary. Hank retreated there after training sessions every night, wrestling with the paperwork the ranch required.
Alex took a deep breath as Hank stepped up beside her. He placed his hand on the small of her back, and heat spread through her. Though he didn’t push, he exerted enough pressure to urge her on.
“It’s not a torture chamber.”
Alex gave him a weak smile, then turned away as heat stung her cheeks. Why did she feel so apprehensive? Hank was just another boss in a long line of bosses. This was not the first time she’d sat with one alone in his or her office. But she couldn’t push the feeling away.
Hank moved behind a desk cluttered with papers and magazines. A lamp stood at one end. As he reached to turn it on, dust fell from the shade. He didn’t seem to notice. Behind the desk, a small table held a computer. Two chairs sat on this side of the desk, but both were stacked with magazines so she made no move to sit down. Two walls were covered with bookshelves crammed with books on everything from gardens to quilts to turn-of-the-century animal husbandry. As she scanned the titles, one of them twitched.
“Sugar! So this is where you ran off to hide.” Strength surged back into Alex’s muscles, and she reached behind a row of books on quarter horses to pull the cat from the shelf. Sugar was familiar. Comforting him in a new place was familiar. She touched her nose to his before she faced Hank. “I’m sorry. I hope he didn’t disturb anything. It always takes a week or so for him to feel at home in a new place. But he won’t spray or claw anything.”
Home Is Where Hank Is (Cowboys To The Rescue 1) Page 3