Reckless Heart

by Barbara McMahon

  “Normally what?” he asked.

  “Normally, do the men cook?”

  “The ranch had a housekeeper that had been here for years. When her mother became ill and needed her, she left. Normal changed when she left. One of these days the agency will send someone appropriate who will stay as long as Rachel did and the problem will go away.”

  Molly smiled, hoping the fear of not getting the job didn’t show. “It looks to me as if you don’t have much choice. According to the agency, you’ve driven the others away. The Montgomery Agency couldn’t get anyone else, so you’re stuck with me.”

  He frowned, as if he disliked hearing the situation put into words. “Or I can go to another agency.”

  “With the same results is my guess. Five housekeepers in seven months isn’t a great track record it seems to me.” Where were the words coming from? She'd rarely stood up to her father, how could she stand up to this giant of a man?

  “And you’ll do better? The longest any of them stayed was four weeks.”

  Molly nodded. “I’ll stay longer than four weeks. And be the best housekeeper you’ve ever had.”

  She kept the smile plastered on her face, hoping he couldn’t see how her heart raced.

  Josh didn’t want her to stay. Here only ten minutes and she reminded him of his ex-fiancée, Jeannie. Not in looks. Jeannie had been tall and blonde. This woman stood shorter, barely up to his chin, with light brown hair that waved as soft as silk around her face.

  For a split second temptation swept through him to brush his fingers through the waves to see if they were as soft as they looked. Clenching his hands into fists, he resisted the urge. A pretty face had misled him before. He wouldn’t go that route again.

  She was too young, too much temptation to keep around.

  He wanted a woman of fifty or older with grown kids and a lifetime of keeping house. A woman like he remembered his mother, who'd relished ranch life, enjoyed cooking for the men and sharing in the conversation at dinner that centered on cattle, market price of beef, and rodeos. Not some flighty young thing that looked as if a puff of strong Texas wind would blow her away.

  Yet she had a point. His house was a disaster. He hunted for clean clothes every day—hated doing laundry.

  His men were grumbling with the catch-as-catch-can cooking. One had quit last month, refusing to take another turn cooking. Even Lance, his foreman, had grumbled and threatened to look for another job if he had to cook another meal.

  And not one of the over-fifty housekeepers that had come to work had stayed.

  He was going to say yes. And live to regret it—he knew it.

  Yet she clearly stated the situation—he desperately needed someone. For however long she stayed, he could use the help.

  In the meantime, he’d call the agency and tell them to continue looking.

  “We'll give it a try. My guess is you won't last a week,” he conceded.

  Molly nodded and looked away, trying to hide her delight. If she could do the job, she’d do just fine until she finished her book. Living on the premises would allow her to save almost all her salary.

  If the book sold, then she could decide whether to stay until it became published or move to an apartment to write another one.

  There was plenty of time to decide that in the future. She'd barely arrived.

  Ideas crowded her thoughts. A dozen more sprang to mind from seeing Josh Hart. With her own fertile imagination, and the quiet setting of the ranch in which to create, she should have the book she’d already started completed within a few weeks, a couple of months at the most. Then there'd be no stopping her.

  “Come on, I’ll show you around the place. You can unpack and get lunch ready before starting anything else. There are seventeen ranch hands plus you and me. Can you cook for a crowd that size?”

  “Sure.”

  How hard could it be? She’d just multiply what she wanted to eat by 20. She knew from the cook at home that men like lots of hearty meals. Nothing frou-frou or fancy would be the rule.

  “We eat at six, one and seven. Sometimes later if we’re branding or dipping.”

  She nodded, wondering what branding and dipping were. Then wondering why he’d had such a hard time getting anyone to stay. Three meals a day, even if one was at six in the morning, a quick flick of the dust cloth and the rest of the day would be hers. Of course, one or two days a week she'd have to vacuum and do laundry according to the list of duties she'd read. Aside from that, there should be plenty of time available to write.

  She smiled. She was here and she wasn’t budging.

  Josh’s long stride quickly covered the distance between her car and the stoop at the back door. His boots rang loud on the wood as he skipped the second step and hit the third. Molly hurried to keep up. She'd show him—

  Oops. Her slick boot sole slipped off the edge of the step. Flinging her arms out to try to avoid a fall, she encircled Josh’s thigh, slamming against him with her full weight. He lurched, unable to catch his balance because of her death grip, tumbling off the narrow porch with a loud thump. Molly followed him down, crashing against him as they both landed in the dirt.

  “Oh, no. I’m so sorry.” Scrambling, Molly knelt on the dirt, her hand on his thigh.

  “Oh, Mr. Hart, are you all right? I’m so sorry.”

  Ineffectively she patted his leg, wondering if she’d killed her new boss.

  When he raised up on one elbow and glared at her, she knew she hadn’t. Though maybe it might have been better for her if she had. Anger shone in his eyes. His body seemed to grow in stature.

  “There are several steps there,” he said through gritted teeth. “You are to take them one at a time.”

  “I know. I...my boot slipped.”

  He sat up and looked at her kneeling on the dirt. “Trouble walking?” he growled sarcastically.

  “It was an accident. Surely even the boss of the Rafter C has had an accident on occasion.”

  He rose, reached down to grasp her upper arm and hauled her to her feet. Waiting until she had her balance before releasing her, he muttered something under his breath.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” He took a deep breath. “Accidents do happen. Come on.”

  Holding open the door, he ushered her into the large country kitchen. It looked as if a wall had been knocked out between the kitchen and what had been the dining room. A long trestle table took up most of the room. Quickly she noted there were twenty chairs around it. She expected they'd all be filled at dinner, or all but a couple. The reality was starting to sink in. She hoped she could feed that many at one time.

  But before then there was a lot of work to do. The kitchen was a mess. Dishes soaked in cold water, a thin film of congealed grease floating on top. Dirt gritted beneath her feet as she walked into the room. The windows were bare of curtains, the table needed wiping.

  “Looks like I got here just in time,” she said, hiding her dismay.

  “I never said I didn’t need anyone. Just that you won’t do.”

  What was the man’s problem? His disapproval was odd—he didn’t know her from a hole in the wall. Why did he think she couldn't handle the job?

  Tilting her chin, Molly silently vowed she'd prove to be the best housekeeper he ever had.

  And when she sold her book and was ready to move on, he’d beg her to stay. He’d grovel at her feet for ever doubting her. And she’d turn up her nose and walk away without a backward glance.

  She’d show him!

  “Pantry and freezer are through there.” He pointed to a door on the side wall. “Might need to get some things. We’ve been too busy working outside to mess much with shopping and such.”

  “That’s what I’m here for. Why don’t you go on back outside and do what you were doing and I’ll get things settled in here.”

  Molly didn’t want him hanging around while she tried to bring some order out of this chaos. She knew she wasn’t superwoman, but anyone with a lick
of sense could at least clean up a bunch of dirty dishes.

  Then she’d see to lunch.

  “Molly Forrester.”

  She swung around. “What?”

  “Just verifying that’s your name.” He studied her with his silvery eyes seeming to see down into her soul.

  For a heartbeat, she felt a tug of attraction. Which she immediately clamped down on. She wanted no distractions in any form. She had come to escape a domineering father who thought he had the right to run her life for her. And a faux fiancé who had followed her father's lead.

  She wanted to establish herself in a career of her choosing. She wasn't going to get sidetracked from her goal. The last thing she wanted was to feel any attraction toward her new boss. Or any other cowboy on the ranch.

  Not that she could totally ignore Josh Hart, of course. He was the perfect example of what a man should look like in her mind. She’d have to be dead to deny that. Not that she'd let herself act upon any attraction at all. She knew all about men. How they wanted women to wait on them hand and foot. How they derided any attempts to grow and develop. How they ignored her needs and wanted to use her for their own ends.

  She'd escaped that life. She'd observe the cowboys on the ranch and use them in her book. She’d research what they liked and what they didn’t. And it'd be strictly research, no personal involvement. She'd keep herself aloof and dedicated to doing the best job she could.

  She wasn't staying for life. Once her book sold, she’d move on.

  “You all right?” Josh asked, shaking her arm a little.

  Blinking, Molly nodded. She'd been daydreaming again. She had to watch that, it caused more trouble than she wanted in the past. She dare not let it affect this job.

  “A bit daunted by the task ahead, but I can manage.”

  He was too observant to let her slip away in her mind like she did so often and let it go unnoticed.

  She didn’t need that escape anymore. She'd left her father’s house and life and had no intentions of ever returning.

  He glanced around. “Wouldn’t take Rachel long to clean this up.”

  “My guess is Rachel would never have let it get this bad,” she replied tartly. “Don’t you have work to do?”

  “Miss Forrester, in case you were wondering, I run this spread, not you.”

  “I’m just trying to ease you out the door so I can get to work. I don’t need supervision to wash dishes.”

  She turned to face him. Big mistake. He stood too close. For the first time in ages, Molly wondered what she looked like. Had her lipstick worn off? Had the breeze in the yard tangled her hair? Did her clothes fit all right?

  Swallowing hard, she wished she dare move. Either a step back for safety’s sake, or a step forward so she could feel his heat, breathe in the scent of him that she’d caught when they had tangled on the stoop.

  “There will be five of us in for lunch. The rest of the men won’t be back until supper. Can you manage?”

  “Yes.”

  She watched him shake his head in doubt and head back outside.

  Josh paused on the stoop and gazed at the men near the barn. He'd tell them they had a housekeeper, but not to grow too used to the idea. He couldn't imagine this hothouse flower managing a single day, much less for the foreseeable future.

  He'd give her the chance, though. As she'd said, he didn't have any options. His sister had told him he needed someone the last time she'd been here. Not that he needed telling. Trying to do things around the house when there was so much to do around the ranch was impossible. He wouldn't call on his older brother for help, either. Jase had given years of his life to building the ranch to the spread it was now.

  The least Josh could do is keep it going strong.

  He set his hat on his head and started for the barn, wondering how long Molly Forrester would last.

  Breathing a sigh of relief when Josh Hart left the kitchen, Molly turned to the mess awaiting her. It didn’t look as if she would be writing anything today. Once she cleaned up the kitchen, she'd need to fix lunch for the cowboys. And then plan a meal for dinner.

  Sometime during the afternoon, she'd unpack, and get her laptop set up. At least she could do that much today.

  She wanted to explore the house, see which room would likely be hers. But first, she had to get this kitchen in better shape than now.

  By the time the men streamed in for lunch, Molly managed to clean all the dishes, wipe down the counters, table and stove and sweep the floor.

  She'd rummaged around in the cupboards and pantry and begun a list of food items to purchase to feed the crew at Rafter C. The supplies available were limited. It was long past time someone went shopping.

  She’d done her best with lunch—but it was a pitiful array that met the eyes of the hungry cowboys.

  Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches mingled with grilled cheese on two large platters in the center of the table. There were small bowls of canned soup at each place: vegetable, beef barley and cream of mushroom. A huge pot of black coffee kept warm on the stove. At least there was plenty of that.

  Josh walked to the head of the table and stared at the platters. Slowly he raised his gaze to hers. His disbelief was blatant. “This is lunch?”

  She nodded, suddenly wary. There was little food to be had. She’d done her best. Seeing his frown of disapproval, she instantly knew it wasn’t enough.

  The other men sank down in the chairs, silent as they surveyed the stacks of sandwiches, the bowls of mismatched soup. As one, they all looked at Molly.

  She smiled brightly. “I’m Molly Forrester.”

  No one said a word.

  “The new housekeeper.”

  “Where did you work before, ma’am, at a nursery school?” one of the older men asked.

  “Get started. I’ll be back in a minute,” Josh said.

  Gripping Molly’s arm, he marched her from the room and down the hall to the room he used as his office. Slamming the door behind him, he spun her around until they faced each other.

  “Is lunch supposed to be a joke?” he asked. “Or is this your idea of being what I needed for a housekeeper? These are hardworking, hungry men. Not some ladies at a tea!”

  Molly felt like a failure. There had been limited supplies granted—however if she'd been a true housekeeper, she'd have known how to fix something else for hardworking men.

  Peanut butter and jelly suddenly seemed childish and not very filling. But once she had finished washing all the dirty dishes, there hadn't been much time to prepare a full-blown meal, not with food readily available.

  The heat of his anger washed through her. Blinking in surprise, she stood her ground, a matching anger beginning to build.

  “It’s no joke. It’s all I found to feed this crew. If you want to eat better you should buy more food!”

  “So do we expect a kid's happy meal for dinner?”

  She ignored his scathing tone and shook her head.

  “I have time to go into town and get some food for dinner.”

  “All the men will be in for dinner, that’s seventeen plus you and me. You told me you could manage to feed that many. Having second thoughts?”

  Josh had been mad clear through when he first saw the skimpy platter of sandwiches. Yet she looked so determined meeting his gaze with anger in her own eyes, he had a hard time holding on to his anger. He was not getting soft with some stranger, no matter how pretty!

  “These men engage in hard physical labor all day long. We need a lot of food to keep going. And we prefer something with a bit more substance than peanut butter.”

  “It was in the cupboard, I assumed it was to be used,” she snapped back. She knew she’d blown it. But there had not been a big selection. At least everyone had food to eat.

  “Probably for Rachel or one of the other housekeepers. I don’t remember being served peanut butter and jelly sandwiches since my mother died.”

  She stood tall and nodded, tilting her chin.

&nbs
p; “I stand corrected. In the future I’ll make sure there are ham and cheese and roast beef sandwiches.”

  She gritted her teeth lest the words tumbling around her mind spilled out. So she had a bit to learn. It would help if there were some food around to prepare. She’d stock up the kitchen with so much food there'd always be choices for the lots and lots of meals.

  “The grilled cheese sandwiches were a good idea. I hope there are one or two left when we get back in there,” he conceded.

  “If there'd been more cheese or bread, I would have fixed more. Your pantry is practically bare, your refrigerator has more green stuff growing in it than your yard, and the freezer holds sides of cows, not nice little packets that could be quickly thawed and used.”

  “If you can’t do the job—”

  She whirled around and stormed across the office in anger.

  Was that his out, fire her after one meal? She wasn’t going to give in easily over this. She needed this job. And he needed a housekeeper.

  She turned to face him before leaving the room, feeling braver with the distance between them.

  “I arrived here a couple of hours ago. I needed to shovel out the dirt you accumulated in that kitchen over the last who knows how long, then scrounge around for food to feed over half a dozen people. I’m a writer, not a magician. I can’t clean off enough plates to eat from and conjure up food all with a wave of my hand. I did fine for what raw materials I had to work with. Once I get some shopping done, everything will be fine!”

  “A writer?” Josh repeated, picking up on the word. “You’re a writer?”

  She closed her eyes briefly. Stupid! She hadn’t wanted anyone to know until she sold a book. Not after the mocking comments of her father and Marc.

  “I thought you were a housekeeper. You’re a writer?” Josh asked suspiciously.

  She opened her eyes and glared at him. “What I do in my off time is my business. Your house won’t suffer because I write.”