“You’re a smart one, aren’t you?” she asked. The chicken blinked slowly and gave a little fluff and a tail flutter in return. “You know I’ve got to wipe out four of your family, and you don’t want to be one of the chosen.”
The chicken cocked its head to the side almost as if it understood. Involuntarily, she smiled at it. It blinked slowly and gave a purring chirp. She was grinning before she realized what had happened. Oh hell. She’d bonded with the damned thing.
“It’s not going to work,” she told the softly clucking bird. “If you had the sense God gave a gnat, you’d be running for your life.”
“More than likely, she’s probably figured out she’s not in much danger.”
There was no mistaking the laughter in that low drawl. Jessie counted to five before turning around, bracing herself for the confrontation. Mac stood about ten feet away, leaning his broad shoulder against the tree, the muscles of his chest stretching the cotton of his black T-shirt. His hat shadowed his eyes, but his mouth—that wide, totally take-me-now mouth—was completely visible.
She might be a technical virgin, but she was a well-read one and she’d been doing nothing for the last twenty-four hours but fantasizing about what he could do with that mouth. To her. He was fast becoming an obsession. When that right corner of his mouth kicked up in amusement, she had to bite back a moan as her pussy clenched with sharp arousal. The sheer magnetism of the man didn’t seem to recognize time of day or appropriateness of victim. He just indiscriminately oozed sexual promise and to hell with the consequences. She didn’t know whether to jump him or hit him. He had no right to look so big and sexy this early in the morning. As a matter of fact, it should be outlawed for any man to look that good anytime. Unless he was about two seconds from taking her to bed. Which, her gaze dropped to his crotch, it didn’t look like he was ready to do. Just one more thing not going her way today.
She shot the chicken a dirty look. “Oh she’s in danger. There’s no way in hell I’m losing a job because of a chicken with a good line.”
“I could tell from your approach.”
“Do you have a problem with a humane approach?”
“Don’t you think it’s a little cruel getting her hopes up only to take her life later?” He tipped his hat back off his face, revealing the amusement in his eyes before motioning to where the chicken was pecking around her feet through the mesh. “Hell, she thinks she’s made a friend.”
She looked at the peacefully pecking chicken. Okay. The man was sexy but devious, pointing out how her actions could be misconstrued. She folded her arms across her chest. “Making me feel like an axe murderer isn’t going to get me to quit.”
“You’re the one striking up conversations with your victim.”
“She took me by surprise.”
“Uh-huh.”
Mac almost laughed out loud as Jessie whipped around, her thick braid flying over her shoulder as she faced him. She was fun to get going. The chicken squawked at the sudden movement and flapped its wings.
“I said I could do this and I will.” The vehemence in her voice had the chicken clucking again, its feathers as ruffled as Jessie’s were, except on Jessie the anger exhibited itself in the strength with which she crossed her arms under her chest and the tight line of her mouth. He liked her mouth relaxed so he could admire the full curves, but when it came to crossing her arms, heck, she could do that all day long. As long as she wore a low scooped “T” like the one she had on today. The gesture had her breasts almost popping up and out from the red cotton. And damned delectable breasts they were, too. Plump and white. A good handful, with the cutest freckle decorating the left one, halfway down. He’d really like to taste that freckle. Test the resilience of that flesh with his lips. His tongue. His teeth.
Her gaze followed his. With an exasperated snort, she slammed her hands on her hips. Her breasts relaxed out of view. Her smile was a wry twist of her lips, but it had a predictable effect on his anatomy. One she obviously didn’t miss as her gaze fled the vicinity of his groin with the speed of a jackrabbit.
If he hadn’t seen her checking him out, he would have thought she was all business. Her “I really can do this” was that convincing. Too bad for her he’d seen the interest in her eyes. And maybe he didn’t have to keep his cock holstered for the next two weeks. Not if she was willing to pass the time with a no-strings affair.
“Face it, honey. You’re too soft for this.”
She glared at him and then at the chicken. “Like heck I am.”
She was. Which is why he’d come up with the idea this morning of having chicken and rice for supper tonight. If McGillicutty had refused to kill a chicken and she’d been raised on a farm, there was no way a woman as soft as Jessie was going to do it. Traditionally, Will had always done the messy job, but Mac wasn’t volunteering that information today. A bet was a bet and his attraction to Jessie too strong to leave the situation as it stood.
He wanted her under control before he did something stupid. Hollisters had a family tradition for being stupid when it came to women. Always falling for the wrong ones. He looked Jessie over—from her neatly manicured nails, and expensive-looking clothes, to her highlighted hair. Oh yeah. She definitely fit in the category of wrong, at least for long-term consideration, but she might have short-term possibilities, He was real eager to check into those, just as soon as they got this little point behind them.
“You plan on willing her into the cook pot?” he asked as the chicken wandered back over to feed at her feet. She squared her shoulders and shot him a dirty look. “No.”
She was game, he had to give her that. She reached for the chicken but it skittered away, squawking reproachfully as it did. The expression on Jessie’s face was priceless. Surprise washed in with exasperation and distaste as the chicken eyed her warily.
“So much for friendship,” he heard her mutter as she crouched over, and sidled to the left, obviously planning on cornering the chicken. The short burst of laughter that slipped past his control had her lips setting in a straight line and determination driving all other emotion from her face.
With that intensity of focus, he bet she’d be a force to reckon with in bed. Demanding. One who wouldn’t be satisfied unless she found a lover confident enough to meet all of her needs, even those she didn’t admit to herself. His cock jerked and stretched at the thought of being the man to introduce her to those needs. To make her ache for the pleasure he could deliver. To hear her cries of surprise and then ultimately, satisfaction. Hell, she could probably burn him up and make him love every minute of the flames. Someone that intense didn’t do half measures.
He shifted his stance and adjusted his jeans, enjoying the flow of arousal as he eyed the shift of her buttocks beneath the soft denim. Damn. That ass alone could bring him to his knees.
Jessie glanced back at Mac from the corner of her eye. He still leaned against the tree. She still couldn’t see much of his face beyond his chin and mouth, but there was something different about him. A certain awareness in his stance that had her nipples peaking beneath her shirt, and had her exquisitely aware of the view Mac had of her rear as she chased the stupid chicken. She let her gaze drop to his groin. She sucked in a hard, hurting breath. Oh Lord! Her memory wasn’t playing tricks on her. He was huge. And hard. For her. She turned away and licked her suddenly dry lips. She looked at the chicken with renewed determination. The bird was going down. And when that was done and this bet behind them, she was getting that man into bed.
In a wild tackle, she dove for the chicken. The pen exploded into chaos. Feathers filled the air as the hens flew to separate corners, squawking harsh warnings as, by luck more than skill, she caught her quarry by its foot. The bird was surprisingly strong for its size, and she pecked like a demon, but after rolling around for what seemed an eternity in the smelly pen, Jessie made it back to vertical. She held the screeching hen upside down by its legs like she’d seen done in a movie. Adorned in more foul-smelling grime
than she cared to identify, she emerged from the pen. Tossing her braid over her shoulder, she allowed herself a small grin. Hollister was going to eat that “too soft” comment and she was going to enjoy feeding him every bite.
Mac leaned against the chicken coop watching her approach, one booted foot casually draped over the other, his hips thrust slightly forward. His hard-on mouthwateringly evident. His gaze was aimed too high to be focused on the chicken.
“Do you know how to kill a chicken?” he asked, one rich brown brow arched in inquiry.
“I suppose you’re going to fill me in?”
Her mouth. It was her mouth he focused on, she realized when she paused in front of him. Her breath hitched and that delicious weakness flooded her muscles. He was hard and focused on her mouth. The possibilities for that had her breasts tingling and her pussy gushing with delight. When the time came, would he let her take him in her mouth? She’d always wanted to try that. To hold a man helpless that way, his pleasure hers to grant. Oh yeah, that was way up on her fantasy to-do list.
“Do you need me to ‘fill you in’?” he asked, bringing her back to the task at hand.
With her arm stretched way out in front of her, Jessie surveyed her victim. She thought of how friendly the hen had been, and how she was contemplating her for dinner. She couldn’t begrudge the chicken the few pecks she’d landed from her awkward position. But as much as Jessie wanted to let the chicken go, she couldn’t. The gleam in Mac’s blue eyes just dared her to wimp out. If she did that, he’d never respect her, and she absolutely refused to have a lover who didn’t respect her.
Keeping as much distaste as she could from her expression, she admitted, “I haven’t the foggiest idea how one goes about killing a chicken, but I can tell you’re just dying to educate me, so go ahead.”
“The two most common methods are to wring the chicken’s neck or to chop off its head.”
She shuddered. From the coldness in her cheeks, she bet she’d just turned whiter than a ghost. From the roiling in the pit of her stomach, she was also willing to bet that white was going to be replaced by an interesting shade of green. “How does one go about wringing the neck?”
“Imagine whipping a noisemaker above your head.”
She closed her eyes as the image ran through her mind. In her hand, she felt every pulse of the hen’s rapidly beating heart. She willed her stomach to settle. She started to shift her hold to the bird’s neck when his next words froze her cold.
“Of course, if you don’t do it right, the poor thing takes forever to die, slowly strangling as it tries to breathe through a crushed throat.”
Jessie quickly returned her grasp to the bird’s feet. “I want to kill the thing, not torture it.”
“I’m glad you intend to be humane.” His expression was as bland as his tone, but this close there was no missing the humor darkening his gaze.
“Just cut the sarcasm,” she growled. “And point me in the direction of the chopping block.”
Mac pushed his hat back off his brow and nodded to the right. Jessie followed the direction of his gaze and saw a huge stump right up next to a weather-beaten shed. Still carrying her squawking cargo, her arm aching from the strain, she grimly marched off to do her grisly chore.
One of the cowboys saw her destination and called to a fellow. By the time she arrived at the stump, four or five men had lined up to watch the spectacle of the city girl beheading supper. She shot each and every one a dirty look.
“You’ll need this.” One of the hands offered as a hatchet thudded into the scarred surface of the stump. She considered using it on her boss instead, when she saw his lips twitch with laughter. He was so damned sure she was going to fail, the bastard! The hen’s survival instincts were top-notch, because as soon as she prepared to switch hands, she started flapping and pecking to beat the band. Jessie finally succeeded in switching the bird to her left hand so she could snatch up the hatchet in her right. For a moment, she just stood there, feeling the morning sun warming her right shoulder,her killing arm ,she thought morosely as she held the hatchet high and met Mac’s gaze dead on.
“I hope you realize I’m going to make you pay for this.”
He folded his arms across his chest, laughter making his shoulders shake. “It’s all part of the job, honey.”
“That’s Ms. Sterns to you, buster!”
“So you keep telling me.”
Jessie considered throwing the hatchet. A titter of laughter erupted from the men behind her. Never taking her eyes from Mac’s, Jessie warned. “The next person who laughs gets beans for supper.”
The laughter halted as if cut by a knife.
Mac nodded to the frantically twisting bird. “I thought you said you weren’t going to torture that bird?”
“I’m merely granting her a few more precious seconds of life while I wait for you to tell me how I get this whirlwind’s neck to stay in place.”
Mac removed his battered hat and ran his hand through his hair before readjusting his headgear. “Funny. I would have sworn that you were stalling.”
She bared her teeth in a smile that felt more like a snarl. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“In that case, I’d just toss that bird down and swing the hatchet. If you do it clean, the head should pop right off.”
Jessie closed her eyes against the nausea that welled with that image. Three deep breaths and she no longer felt that puking was imminent, but she was no closer to the “fling and pop” than she had been five minutes ago. While she stood there lecturing herself on the rightness of the food chain, she heard Mac sigh.
“I’ve got an appointment in town.”
She opened her eyes in time to see him push away from the tree. He motioned to the squawking bird with one hand while fishing in his pocket with the other. His keys jangled as he said, “I’ll be expecting chicken and rice when I get back.”
“You’ve got it.” Jessie kept her tone as conversational as his.
He stared at her a long moment, and then pulled his hat low over his brow and headed off to his pickup. She waited until he was behind the wheel and had the engine started before she released the breath she’d been holding. She still had the horrendous task before her, but at least she wouldn’t have Mac as a witness while she bawled and puked in the aftermath. With a flip of her wrist she flopped the tiring bird onto the stump. She raised the hatchet over her head. A movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. She suddenly recalled she still had other witnesses. Four of them to be exact, and they looked as settled as if they were about to view a John Wayne film festival.
Her breathing eased. A beatific, purely wicked feeling of elation took wing inside her as Mac’s truck roared out of the yard. She didn’t even wait for the dust to settle before she made her offer.
“There’s a chocolate torte with walnut butter cream filling for the first man to relieve me of this disgusting duty.”
Four pairs of hands reached for the hatchet and the bird. She gladly handed over the hatchet, but she righted the hen and tucked her protectively under her arm, shaking her head. “I think this girl’s suffered enough.”
One of the men, a skinny hand unimaginatively nicknamed Slim, took the hatchet. He touched the brim of his hat with his fingers in a brief courtesy. “Pardon me, ma’am, but we kind of got the impression that this chicken killing was some kind of personal thing between you and the boss.”
She flashed the shy man a wide grin. “Mac certainly thought it was.”
“So did you,” Slim pointed out while the other men nodded in support.
“Only for as long as I let my anger override my brain,” she admitted cheerfully. “But to soothe your worries, killing supper isn’t going to make you step over any male lines.”
“In other words, when you and the boss laid down these rules, the boss forgot to dot a couple ‘i’s.”
Jessie strolled back to the coop with her conspirators in tow. “You might say that.” She deposited Mac
J. Jr. back in her home. She turned to the blond man. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”
“It’s Chuck, ma’am. And this is Jeremy, Slim, and Tim. And if you’ll pardon me, ma’am—”
“J. C.”
Chuck nodded at the correction. “If you’ll pardon me saying so, Jessie, that doesn’t much seem like Mac.”
She dusted off her hands and wondered if it was a Texas affliction that no one could accept her initials as her name or if it was Mac’s influence. “He was rather distracted at the time.”
The four men exchanged glances. It wasn’t hard to see where their minds were wandering. She hastened to divert them. “Since I need four chickens and there are four of you, I’ll consider our deal met if each of you kills one.”
Those arrangements didn’t suit Chuck at all. “Have you ever plucked a chicken, Jessie?”
“I can thankfully admit to never having had the pleasure.”
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