Playing the Part

by Darcy Daniel

  “I’m still not getting you,” Karin said. “She’s here to research the role of a farmer’s wife.”

  “That might be her plan. But I have another role in mind. And if she wants to stay, she’ll have to go along with it.”

  “This is sounding more intriguing by the minute. Come on, Cole. Tell me everything.”

  So he did.

  Chapter Five

  As Anthea picked up a steak with a set of tongs, she distinctly remembered not mentioning cooking when she’d begged Cole to let her stay. She’d said cleaning and laundry. Not that she’d ever had to do either, but was confident she could decipher those things. Cooking, on the other hand, was an entirely different matter.

  As she placed the steaks in the frying pan, hot oil spat. Releasing a yelp of surprise, she jumped back. That’s when she noticed Karin standing in the doorway, smirking.

  “He’s all stitched up,” Karin said. “Thanks for calling. He can be a typical stubborn macho man when it comes to injuries.”

  Anthea studied Karin’s face, but couldn’t read her. “You told him, didn’t you?”

  Karin moved closer and lowered her voice. “Believe me, I wanted to. But since Anne Sugar has promised to help him replant the field, I kept quiet. So don’t go blowing it by telling him who you really are, or he’ll kick you out. Which would be a shame since he really does need the help.”

  A wave of relief washed over her, the feeling so strong, she wanted to hug Karin. She kept the impulse in check, afraid that the affection wouldn’t go over so well.

  “Thank you,” she said instead.

  “I’m only agreeing to this for Cole’s sake. So make sure you pull your weight. And no teasing him.”

  Stung, Anthea crossed her arms over her chest. “You know, Karin. I’m not eight anymore. I’ve changed since then and I’m sure you have too. What’s really going on?”

  Karin gave her an apprehensive look, then sighed. “It’s…it’s not you… It’s this town.”

  “The town?”

  Karin nodded. “Every year we have this fundraiser for the local school and every year the committee asks me to invite you. They all know we were inseparable in school, but seem to conveniently forget that was twenty years ago. So they nag me to invite you, and I do. And every year I hear nothing.”

  “I’m sorry,” Anthea said. “I’ve been so busy and—”

  Karin shook her head. “It’s not your fault. You’ve made a life for yourself. Everyone does. But the people around here…when they look at me, all they see is someone who knew you. The only person they seem to appreciate is the celebrity who came from this town, not the nobody who stayed to help them.”

  “Well that’s just crazy. I could never do what you do.”

  Exasperated, Karin threw up her hands. “Try telling them that.”

  A spike of sympathy for Karin shot through Anthea. Had it really been that bad to stay here and live in the shadow of someone who’d left and never bothered to return? Especially when Karin was the one attending to their illnesses, bringing their babies into the world and healing their broken bones. It seemed so wrong.

  “I’m sorry, Karin. That’s not fair. But it’s not fair to blame me for the way other people think.”

  Karin looked her in the eye and gave her a slight smile. “I know, I know. It’s stupid, but… Never mind, it’s not your fault.” She shook her head, glanced away. “Just go easy on Cole, okay? He’s been through so much more than you know.”

  Karin gave her arm a light pat, then walked away. When the screen door slapped shut, Anthea sighed. Maybe her friendship with Karin could be salvaged after all. She hadn’t realized until returning to Mayfield just how much she missed having a friend. A true friend who wanted nothing from her in return but friendship. She had no one like that in Sydney or L.A. There, people only pretended to be her friend for their own gain, not because they actually liked her. But, if she was honest with herself, she wasn’t all that likeable. A deliberate act on her part to keep people at arm’s length.

  Anthea remembered the steaks and cautiously approached the stove. Smoke billowed from the pan, and she flipped the burning steaks. Trying not to think about her own self-imposed loneliness or the smoke filling the kitchen, she set about slicing a tomato to go with the lettuce. While she sliced, she wondered what had happened to cause Cole’s loss of sight. From what Karin had insinuated, it sounded like something horrifying. Maybe the grump wasn’t all that different from her. Maybe he had his own reasons for not letting anyone into his life.

  After she placed the sliced tomato and lettuce on two plates, she swished at the smoke coming from the frying pan and braved the spitting oil long enough to turn off the stove.

  Cole walked into the kitchen and stopped, his brow furrowed.

  “Dinner’s ready,” she told him, trying to keep her tone upbeat.

  “I’ll say.”

  He walked over to the stove and flicked a switch on the range hood. An exhaust fan whirred to life. When he moved out of her way and opened the window above the sink, she used the tongs to remove the steaks from the angry frying pan.

  While Cole stood at the window and breathed in fresh air, Anthea set down the dinner plates. At the sound of the plates hitting the table, Cole walked over and took a seat.

  As she settled herself to his right, Cole placed his hands on either side of his plate and searched for something.

  “Are we eating with our hands?” he asked.

  She’d been so worried about cooking, she completely forgot to set the table. She leaped up, grabbed a couple of knives and forks from a drawer and pressed a set into his waiting hand.

  Cole searched his plate with the utensils until he seemed satisfied that he knew where everything was. Relaxing a little, Anthea stabbed a fork into her steak, but when it came to cutting the meat, she found she had to use a great deal of effort to saw off a morsel. With trepidation, she stared at it, shrugged and popped it in her mouth.

  She chewed and watched Cole do the same. They chewed, and chewed…and chewed. No longer able to stomach the tough, tasteless meat, Anthea raced to the bin and spat it out.

  “That’s disgusting,” she said as she wiped her mouth and sat. She couldn’t miss the relief on Cole’s face, but he did have the decency to swallow his bite with a grimace.

  “I’m glad you said it first. What sort of woman doesn’t know how to cook a steak?”

  “What sort of man insults a guest’s cooking?”

  “For one thing, you’re no guest. I don’t want you here eating my food and sleeping under my roof. But since you insisted, then you’ll pay for the privilege by helping, just like you offered. Secondly, that’s not what I’d call cooking.”

  How could she respond to that when he was right? As she studied his face, she saw the tension ease from his expression. He sighed heavily, as if what he was about say was truly difficult.

  “Do you want to learn?” he asked.

  The offer brought a lump to her throat. The last person who gave her cooking lessons had been her mother. Because she’d been so young, they had only attempted cupcakes and cookies. Sometimes Mattie had been well enough to help, other times she’d been too weak, forcing her to stay in her wheelchair and give Anthea instructions about ingredients and measurements.

  Those precious moments had been some of the happiest times with her mother, and the very reason she never cooked again. That and the fact that there had been no need. Once their father moved them to L.A., home cooking had ceased. They either ate at restaurants or ordered in. On special occasions Brian had hired cooks to cater parties, and some of those cooks had encouraged her to help, but she’d flatly refused, not wanting to share such a special task with anyone but Mattie. Somehow, she’d gotten it in her head that sharing something like that with another woman would be ak
in to replacing her mother. And no one could ever be a substitute.

  When she’d moved into her own apartment, she simply didn’t have time to cook. In a city like L.A., which offered more than enough healthy take-out establishments to cater for her strict diet while she maintained her Alex-Stark physique, not cooking presented no problem. And it also let her avoid those memories of her mother.

  “Well?” he prompted, his tone softer.

  She swallowed with some difficulty, forcing her emotions behind the wall she’d worked so hard to build.

  “I…that might be a good idea.”

  Cole nodded and rose. “Come on, then.”

  She followed him to the stove. First he washed the frying pan with hot water, poured in a small amount of oil and set it on the hot plate. He found another two steaks in the fridge, unwrapped them at the sink, then moved to the stove and held his hand above the pan.

  Anthea watched, amazed at how he moved about the kitchen with such ease, never once fumbling or searching with his hands. He seemed to know exactly where everything belonged. She bit her lip, remembering how careless she’d been that morning, leaving the chair pushed away from the table.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Never mind. Meg’ll enjoy the burned steaks, so they won’t go to waste.”

  “Well, I’m sorry about that too, but I… I meant, I’m sorry about the chair, and your stubbed toes. I should have—”

  “Forget it,” he said as he grabbed the steaks and placed them in the frying pain. “Come on over here.”

  She stepped alongside him. The steaks sizzled in the pan for a moment, then Cole turned them over.

  “First you seal in the juices. After that, you only turn them once more. That’s it.”

  Anthea watched his profile, intrigued by this man who, even though he couldn’t see, seemed to have far more control over his world than she had over hers. “Who taught you?”

  “My grandmother. There a reason no one taught you?”

  She stared at the steaks, stalling while she tried to think of a reply. Instead, her throat closed again. What was wrong with her? The only time she ever became this emotional was when a part called for it. Which had been a while, since Alex Stark never showed any emotion. Maybe it was being in Mayfield, or maybe it was being in a room with another person who actually seemed interested in what she had to say without knowing her true identity. Either way, the unwelcome feelings were playing havoc with her usual aloofness.

  “I can’t see your answer,” Cole said.

  Swallowing, she managed to croak, “So, how do you know when they’re ready?”

  The expression on his face told her he knew she was avoiding the question, but to her relief, he didn’t press. He turned the steaks and held out his free hand, palm facing upward.

  “Here, feel this,” he said, and pointed to the soft flesh at the base of his thumb.

  As she tentatively touched her fingertip to the spot he indicated, Cole pressed his thumb to his index finger.

  “That’s rare. Feel how soft it is?”

  Intrigued, she pushed against the soft flesh and, as she did so, he touched his thumb to his middle finger. The soft flesh beneath her finger grew firmer.

  “Medium rare,” he said, and touched his thumb to his ring finger. His flesh grew firmer still. “Medium, and,” he moved his thumb to his pinkie, and his flesh wasn’t just firm, but hard, “well done.”

  “That’s like a rock.”

  “No, rocks are what we had when you cooked.”

  She backhanded his arm and laughed. For the first time since she arrived, he grinned.

  “Ha! A smile. Who’d have thought?”

  Something crossed over his face then, almost as if he hadn’t realized he’d been enjoying himself, and once she pointed it out, he didn’t know what to do. He quickly moved his hand away from her touch, and offered her the tongs.

  “Why don’t you tell me if they’re ready?”

  Anthea took the tongs and used them to gently push on the steaks the way she’d pushed on his hand. “Hmm, show me again.”

  She didn’t miss his reluctance as he slowly offered his hand to her. As she pressed on the soft pad of flesh, he touched each finger to his thumb.

  “Okay.” She tested the steaks with the tongs. “Medium rare. Just right.”

  After they took their last bites of the perfectly cooked steak, Cole leaned back in his chair, apparently satisfied. He swiveled slightly and seemed to look right at her.

  “Okay, Anne Sugar. Why don’t you tell me what you’ve acted in? Movies? TV?”

  Why was he asking questions all of a sudden? What did he care?

  Stick as close to the truth as you can, she reminded herself. “Nothing worth mentioning.”

  Cole crossed his arms over that wide chest of his. “So I’m just supposed to take your word for it that you’re really an actress doing research?”

  “Yep.”

  He scoffed and shook his head. “Guess I’ll find out soon enough.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She watched as the corner of his mouth twitched upward. He quickly ran a hand over his face, as if to squash the smile that wanted to escape. Sighing, he said, “Listen, I don’t want a woman staying here—”

  “But you said—”

  “The thing is, the locals are gossip hounds, and some of them are bound to drop in at some stage. It may not be the best idea if they see you. The last thing I need are questions about why I’m shacked up with some woman.”

  She hadn’t thought about people dropping in. She might have convinced Karin to keep quiet about her identity, but what would happen if some nosy local arrived, spotted her and spilled the beans to Cole? He’d kill her.

  But as she studied his face, she stopped thinking about herself and wondered why he cared what anyone thought. Why not let them think he’d found someone? And then it hit her the same way the romance books had, giving her an insight into his thoughts, thoughts he probably shared with no one. It wasn’t people discovering that he’d found someone that bothered him. It was having to deal with all those intrusive questions when that someone left.

  “Okay,” she said. “So I’ll just disappear if someone turns up.”

  “There’s no hiding if we’re in the field. Which we will be.”

  This didn’t sound good. In fact, it sounded as if he wanted her to leave.

  “So, what’re you saying?” She really wanted to stay. She hadn’t even started researching.

  “There is a way around it,” he said, then grabbed his glass of water and slowly drained the liquid.

  “Should I guess?”

  “For one, it’d be a huge help to me if you could take care of whoever drops by so I don’t have to come all the way in from the field every time someone makes a delivery.”

  “You’re not making any sense. Why would I be the one greeting them if you don’t want them to know I’m here?”

  He smiled. And that smile made her heart jolt. Why did he have to look so damn good when he did that?

  “You can if you’re the new farmhand I hired.”

  “I’m not following you.”

  “You’re supposed to be an actress, right? So this is where your training’ll come in.”

  That sounded highly suspicious. Anthea shook her head. She was letting her imagination get the better of her. What could Cole Daniel possibly be up to? He was just being careful. It wasn’t every day a stranger invited themselves to stay in his home.

  “Why would I need to rely on my training as an actress to be a farmhand? And that still doesn’t solve the problem of people seeing that you have a woman staying with you,” she said as she raised a glass of water to her lips.

  “It’s quite simple. To
have your help and keep your identity a secret, all I have to do is tell them I hired a male farmhand.”

  She choked on the water as it went down the wrong way.

  Cole bolted from his chair, his hand coming down on her back with gentle, yet firm pats. Her eyes watered as she tried to catch her breath. When the coughs finally subsided, his hand remained, resting just below her neck. It felt warm and comforting as she drew in deep breaths.

  “You okay?”

  She nodded, then rolled her eyes at her own stupidity. He couldn’t see her response.

  “I’m fine.”

  Yet he still didn’t move away. Instead, his hand moved slowly toward her shoulder. She tried to ignore it, tried not to tense.

  He squeezed gently. “What’s with the choking? Not up to the challenge?”

  What on earth had she gotten herself into? “Of course I am. But, I’m here to research what it’s like to be a farmer’s wife.”

  He shrugged. “Farmhand. Farmer’s wife. Same difference.”

  Really? Is that what he thought, or was he pulling her leg? She turned and looked into his eyes, but couldn’t read his expression. Apparently he had a great poker face.

  “It’s just… I don’t have the right clothes. All I have are—”

  “I’ve got everything you’ll need. In the meantime, don’t forget to do the dishes.” He dropped his hand from her shoulder and walked out.

  She opened her mouth to protest, then snapped it shut. Fair enough. She had offered to clean, so she supposed she should keep her end of the bargain without complaints. After all, wasn’t that the type of thing a farmer’s wife would do?

  * * *

  Anthea changed into her silky red nightie in the spare bedroom and slipped a matching robe over the top. One of the bonuses of living with a blind man was not having to worry about wearing anything inappropriate. When she chose the sleepwear set, she’d done so because it not only looked sexy, but brushed sensuously against her skin. So why shouldn’t she wear it? For all he knew, she could be wearing flannel pajamas.

  Comfortable and relaxed, she headed into the living room to find Cole settled in an armchair, listening to the television while he gave the dog a pat.