Reckless Heart

by Barbara McMahon

  “What do you write?”

  If she was a reporter set on a story, he’d kick her off the ranch so fast the new would rub off her boots.

  “Books,” she mumbled, her gaze dropping to his throat. She watched his pulse, fascinated to see its slow, steady beat against the hollow of his throat. She'd have to remember to use that in a scene.

  “What kind of books?”

  She didn’t need this. She didn’t need the laughter and derision she’d get. She was no stranger to it. Her own father laughed at her ideas. Marc had scoffed at her ambitions. But she firmed her resolve, refusing to allow her father, Marc or new boss to deter her.

  “Romance novels,” she said proudly.

  Chapter Three

  “What?” Josh took a step closer, his eyes blazing down at Molly. “You’ve come here to write love stories? Or is it research you are interested in? Stay away from my ranch hands! I don’t want you doing any kind of romance research here. The first thing I know, I’ll have a mutiny on my hands. You’re here as housekeeper until I can get someone else. I should send you packing now.”

  “My imagination is much better than any reality. I don’t plan to seduce any of your men. Does that make you feel better?”

  She turned away, aware of the heat in her cheeks. She knew she was beet red and didn’t need any more embarrassment. She also knew she shouldn't have mentioned romance books. Men all thought—

  “No writing on my time.”

  “You don’t need to worry, Mr. Hart. I have never...”

  She trailed off. She'd planned to say she'd never had a problem with her work, but that wasn’t strictly true. Her father constantly berated her for less than the perfection he sought. Her attempts to work in an office and the department store in the mall had met with far less than perfect results. Even the fast-food place had fired her. Scrupulously honest, Molly couldn't tell Josh Hart she never did less than outstanding work.

  He didn’t seem to notice her lapse.

  “Call me Josh,” he growled, heading for the door. “And see that you do your best.”

  He whipped it open and in seconds, Molly was alone. Slowly, she followed. The kitchen was empty. Crumbs on the plates indicated the men had eaten the sandwiches. She wondered if they had left anything for Josh.

  He must have grabbed something or she was sure she'd have heard about it.

  She wished they'd left her half a sandwich at least.

  Molly cleared the table and did the dishes as her mind endlessly played over the scene in the study. She was determined to do the best job in the world for Josh Hart. He'd find nothing less than perfection, she vowed.

  But her free time was her own and if she wanted to spend it writing romance novels, it was no one’s business but her own.

  After the scathing remarks Marc had made about her own abilities to attract and hold a man when he realized she was serious about ending their engagement, she didn’t think she would ever fall in love again. When he’d asked her to marry him, she'd thought him a perfect mate. But her kisses didn’t meet his standards; her own reluctance to go to bed before their marriage had confirmed his own belief that she had little sex appeal, and less attraction. It was clear when she discovered the reason for their engagement that he'd put himself out more than he expected.

  But even now, seven months later, the pain of his words pierced sharp and direct.

  So, facing reality, as her father constantly insisted, she knew better than to hope to find a man interested in her. Without his money, who did she think would want her?

  Thinking she could appease her romantic nature by writing a book, a love story that would satisfy her own desires for a happy ending and offer some reading pleasure to others, she had started on her first book.

  Imagination wasn't everything. She needed to draw from others. Her own experience was extremely limited and questionable now.

  She'd have to find a way to cleverly work in any questions she had into conversations with the cowboys on the Rafter C. Maybe they'd unknowingly clue her in to what men really wanted in a mate, what they liked about women, beyond the obvious, and what they disliked about relationships.

  She had plenty of material on what she as a woman disliked, from Marc. And her father. Enough to start, not enough to give her book the in-depth feeling she longed for.

  The kitchen at last set to rights. She wiped her hands on the damp dishtowel, tossed it on the counter and headed for the door. There wasn't enough food in the place for dinner. If she was to shop for the evening meal, she'd better get going. Time was short and the distance to the nearest town considerable.

  She headed to the barn, searching for Josh. How did she buy the food? Did he have a charge account at the local store, or did he have to give her cash for the purchases? She had a list, of sorts. Hopefully she remembered everything she'd need over the next few days. She didn’t have much experience in planning meals. It hadn’t been important before. Her father always had a cook. Once she had a few minutes, she'd see about planning hearty meals out for at least a week at a time—to know what to buy and in what quantity.

  The wind blew from the west, tossing her hair around her face, and bringing with it a mingled scent of horses, cattle, grass and fresh air. Molly took a deep breath, held it to savor the freshness. As she reached the barn, the fragrance of hay became strong. She liked the blended aromas, good and bad. They were a far cry from downtown Houston and automobile fumes.

  “Can I help you, little lady?” One of the older cowboys came out from the tack room. Molly recognized him immediately as the one who had asked if she’d worked in a preschool. Her smile was hesitant.

  “Actually, I’m looking for Mr. Hart. I need to go shopping for food and don’t know where he likes to shop or how to pay for the food.”

  “Josh’s out somewhere. The Rafter C has an account at the Shop ’N Shop on the edge of town. Talk to the manager before you shop and he’ll ring it up on Josh’s tab. All the housekeepers did that.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be back for dinner.”

  If she had only known they needed food before she arrived, she could have shopped on her way to the ranch, rather than heading back to town the same day.

  She backed her car around and faced the driveway just as Josh rode up. Pausing until he passed her, she watched as he sat on the big bay horse like he’d been born to the saddle, tall and easy, his long legs hugging the horse’s sides. She couldn’t help staring.

  Whether he wanted it or not, whether he ever found out or not, he was going to be the role model for the hero of her book. Maybe not his personality—she wanted a kinder, gentler man. But his face was perfect—rough-hewn, taut and tanned.

  She wished he didn’t wear a hat. She'd like to see the golden glow of his thick, wavy hair in the sunlight again. His shoulders gave the impression they could carry the weight of the world. Some woman would be lucky to have him share her burdens one day. His hands were strong and capable. Capable of being tender, she acknowledged as she remembered his thumb rubbing gently across her palm.

  And capable of bringing an awareness that didn’t end. Her heart rate sped up at the memory of his hand holding hers.

  Josh did not pass. He reined in and dismounted in one fluid motion right beside her. Molly rolled down the window.

  “Leaving?” His voice was silky with satisfaction.

  “Only to buy groceries. I’ll be back in time for dinner,” she replied sweetly, giving him a false smile while she seethed with frustration. She didn’t understand why he wanted her to leave so much. She'd have thought he'd be so grateful to have someone do the housework and cooking, he'd make some effort to appease that person.

  Her.

  She wanted him to ask her to stay. To do something to show that she was special to him, if only to relieve him of the tasks around the house.

  Special to him?

  She didn’t want to be special to anyone. She wanted to prove to herself and her father that she was capable of choosing he
r own life and living it the way she wanted. Maybe one day, in the far distant future, she'd find a man who would love her for herself, not for her sexiness, which she obviously lacked, not because she waited on him hand and foot. But just because of who she was.

  And it was certain that that man would be nothing like Josh Hart. Though, she sighed softly, in all honesty he probably wouldn't approach Josh in the looks department either. Josh had to be the best-looking man she’d ever seen.

  “What are you getting?” he asked.

  “Do you want to see the list?” She snatched it up from the seat beside her and thrust it through the open window. Josh made no move to take it. His eyes glimmered as he stared down through the window. Shaded by his hat, they appeared as cool as a frosty foggy morning. But Molly had seen them flare hot and silver when angry.

  “So you’re coming back?” he asked.

  “Yes! Honestly, do you think to drive me away with your less than welcoming attitude? You need me.”

  “And you’re just a woman who wants to be needed.”

  Was that part of the determination of staying in a job where her boss obviously didn’t want her? She wanted to be needed for the first time in her life?

  She pulled her hand back, tossed the list beside her and put the car in gear. “I have work to do. As boss you can laze around if you want, but if I’m to get back in time to make dinner, I need to get going.”

  His teeth were white and even when he smiled at her bold speech. Molly took a deep breath and forced her eyes forward. Time enough later to build up resistance, if they wanted dinner at seven, she had to hurry.

  Josh stood and watched as Molly maneuvered her car around the house and drove back down the driveway. A snippy thing. None of his other housekeepers sassed him like she did. He must be getting soft in the head since he allowed it.

  Next time he’d remind her of the respect due the boss of a spread the size of the Rafter C. Remind her she was only here temporarily and if she wanted to stay even until the next housekeeper arrived, she had better watch her mouth.

  It took Molly much longer to find the store than she anticipated. And buying everything on her list from a supermarket that was totally unfamiliar took even longer. Consequently, by the time she reached the Rafter C, it would be close to the dinner hour. Even then, she was pushing it.

  She stopped at a take-and-bake pizza parlor and bought half a dozen large pizzas. Surely cowboys loved pizza. And living so far from town, they probably didn’t get it often. As soon as she reached home, she'd pop them in the oven two at a time if she was lucky, while she unloaded her car. By the time she had the groceries put away, she hoped the pizzas would be ready to serve.

  She didn’t have time to prepare more. There were a lot of perishable groceries she'd have to put away at once after the car ride. Tomorrow she’d fix a full meal with a roast, baked potatoes, vegetables and biscuits.

  Arriving at the Rafter C, Molly felt almost as if she were coming home. She hadn’t even taken her suitcases from her car, yet the homestead welcomed her back as if she’d lived there for years.

  No sooner had she stopped near the back door than Josh strode out of the house. He opened the passenger door and began to pull out grocery bags. Molly carried the pizzas inside and turned on the oven. The double ovens would come in handy; she’d be able to cook at least two pizzas at once.

  “Took you long enough,” he said as he dumped two bags on the long counter.

  “I had trouble finding the right store. Then I had to wait while the manager finished talking with a sales rep to get the okay to charge the purchases. And then there was a lot to buy.”

  She headed back to unload other bags from her car, Josh at her side. Had he helped the other housekeepers? She didn’t ask. It was enough that he helped her.

  When the groceries had been unloaded, Josh reached in the trunk for her two suitcases. “I’ll take these to your room. It’s at the top of the stairs on the right. Did you see it when looking over the house this morning?” he asked.

  “Actually, I didn’t have a chance to look over the place, I was too busy cleaning the kitchen. Just dump them inside the door, I’ll find them after dinner.”

  If she were sleeping upstairs on the right, where did he sleep? Not in the bunkhouse, of that she was sure. She hadn't given the sleeping arrangements any thought. Not that it mattered. She was more than sure Josh Hart could contain any lust around her.

  She quickly put up the frozen packages and the milk. The rest could wait until after dinner. Hurrying to set the table, Molly wanted everything to be ready when the men trooped in. She refused to give Josh anything to complain about.

  She'd multiplied the ingredients for the salad by twenty but even as she was filling the largest bowl she could find with the lettuce, tomatoes, carrots and radishes, she wondered if it would be enough. Thankfully, she bought several different bottles of dressing—the cowboys could choose their own.

  Promptly at seven, Josh walked into the kitchen just as a stream of cowboys entered from the back door. Molly wondered if there were a whistle somewhere that blew to let them know when mealtime arrived. They each introduced themselves. Molly tried hard to remember what name went with which face. By the fifth or sixth man, however, she knew it was a lost cause.

  She drew the last of the pizzas from the ovens and set them on the big table. Finding a sharp knife, she handed it to one of the younger cowboys—was his name Billy?—and asked him to start cutting. Then she offered ice tea, coffee, and milk for beverages.

  The men were silent as they ate. In only moments, the pizzas were gone. They looked at her.

  Molly looked around. She hadn't gotten a single piece.

  The silence stretched out and her eyes flew to Josh. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers tucked into the front pockets of his jeans, his legs sprawled out before him as his eyes tracked her.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  “No. We’re just waiting for the rest,” Josh said slowly, the glimmer of a smile touching his lips, his gray eyes narrowed as he watched her. Curious to know what she would do. Give up and leave? Or had she more stamina than that?

  “The rest?” Molly’s heart dropped. A quick glance around the table assured her she had not misread the situation. There had not been enough food. Again.

  She swallowed. There was nothing else for dinner. She had thought several slices of pizza would be enough. She never ate more than two herself. God, what was she going to do? No one said a word; they all just stared at her. Panicked, she looked at Josh again. Her job depended on her doing the work to his satisfaction. On providing good service. Not on sending cowboys to bed hungry.

  A painful blush started in her chest and spread to her neck, her cheeks. The heat swamped her as the moments stretched out endlessly, silently. She swallowed again, praying for a miracle.

  It came when Josh shook his head and pushed back his chair. “Omelets. And biscuits. You can make biscuits, can’t you?”

  She nodded.

  Josh opened the industrial-size refrigerator and tallied the eggs. “Jason, go to the bunkhouse and see how many eggs you have there. We have two dozen here, bring back two dozen more if you have that many. Is there any meat?”

  “There’s some ham left over from the other night,” one of the men volunteered.

  “Bring that, too,” Josh ordered, already removing the eggs from the refrigerator.

  Four dozen eggs? Molly was astonished. Then reason quickly took over. Of course, there were almost two dozen people to feed and she already knew these men ate more than she did. Lots more. She should have figured that out on her own, especially after lunch.

  She moved to clear an area on the counter, and hunted for the flour. She'd make enough biscuits for each man to have a dozen. She would—

  “Carl, you and Pete put away the rest of groceries. Trevor, you find the onions and cut them up. Jack grate cheese. Lance—”

  “I’ll take care of the coffee and cond
iments, boss,” Lance interrupted, his eyes dancing in amusement. He cleared the trays from the pizzas and moved to the stove. “Dennis will hunt up some more vegetables and Steve can find the jam.”

  Reaching around Molly, the cowboy called Lance drew down the large bags of flour. “It won’t take long, ma’am, to know how much we like to eat. The pizza was a good idea, there just wasn’t enough. We could probably each eat a whole one,” he said gently.

  Josh glared at him and nodded toward the stove. Lance smiled, touched his forehead with two fingers in a mock salute and moved slowly away.

  Molly wished the floor would open up and swallow her completely. At least she had something to do and the men hadn’t complained about having to do their own cooking. Though she knew they must be mad as hornets. They'd worked hard all day and come to dinner expecting a hot meal. She’d fed them tidbits. Now they had to make their own suppers.

  She darted a quick glance at Josh. He hadn't said a word of reproach.

  In fact, he seemed to be surprisingly calm about the entire episode.

  Yet she knew it would be reason enough to fire her. More than enough after lunch. No sense in waiting for the replacement that wouldn’t come. He'd seen enough incompetence to fire her on the spot.

  Molly ignored the rough teasing and laughter the men shared. She concentrated on making the biscuits, watching each batch cook to make sure they turned out perfect. She wanted to make amends, but wasn’t sure how. She wanted to prove she could do this job, but wasn’t sure she’d get another chance.

  Josh seemed a hard man, not one given to forgiving repeated errors in judgment.

  When the omelets had been cooked and the first two batches of biscuits were on the table, the men sat back down. Josh came across the room and placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her from watching the stove to push her toward the chair next to his.

  “We have timers for that. Sit down and eat.”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine. I want to make sure the biscuits don't burn.” She didn’t deserve his kindness. She’d made a mess of dinner.