“And they aren’t all women.”
“Hank!” Gabe snapped.
Hank looked at Marissa. “’Scuse me, ma’am. No disrespect meant.”
“None taken.” She smiled at Eddie, who couldn’t have been more than eighteen. “You’re in luck. Desserts are one of my specialties.” In fact, she had spent time in Switzerland being mentored by a renowned pastry chef. “I’ll see what I can do about your sweet tooth.”
“Gee, thanks, ma’am.” Eddie turned red and ducked his head.
“About time we cleared out of here,” Gabe announced.
Her feeling of contentment dissolved as quickly as her shyness had such a short while before. Did Gabe intend to get a goodbye kiss from her—in front of all of his men—before he left with them?
Or, worse, did he plan to stay here with her after they were gone?
Her palms grew damp, and she felt rooted to her seat.
The cowboys gave her polite thanks for the meal and began to trickle from the room.
“Don’t mind the boys.” Warren hovered near the open door. “Cowhands usually come a bit rough round the edges.”
“That’s okay, Warren. Thank you.”
She smiled at him, temporarily forgetting her worries about Gabe. He bobbed his head and shuffled through the doorway.
As Gabe pushed the door closed, cold air whooshed around her. Her worries whooshed back, too. She shivered.
“Cold?” he asked, moving around his end of the table.
“Just fine.” She jumped up from her seat and began collecting dishes to carry to the sink.
“Think so?”
“What do you mean?”
“That performance you put on in front of my men. Or didn’t put on, more like it.”
“I promised to act like your wife—”
“Loving wife.”
“Like your wife,” she repeated, glaring at him. “But I’ll tell you this, Gabe Miller. I am not going to swoon and fall into your arms every time you look at me.”
“Why not?” He frowned. “You sure used to, once upon a time.”
She plopped the dishes on the counter.
He must have seen the fire in her eyes. “Hey, simmer down. I’m only—”
“And one more thing.” She had gone way beyond the simmering stage. An overreaction, maybe, but the months apart from him had given her plenty of time to reach a full, rolling boil. “If you expect me to continue with this game we’re playing, you’ll keep from using our past against me.”
He yanked the door open again. “Fine load of double-talk, Marissa.” His mouth curled in disgust. “If not for our past, you wouldn’t be here.”
Hatless and coatless, he stalked out, slamming the door behind him. The window over the sink rattled. Marissa sank into the nearest chair.
Like it or not, Gabe was right. On both counts.
In the days when they had first met, every time he’d looked at her, she had just about come undone. Every time he’d moved close to her, she’d felt a rush of energy and excitement that overwhelmed her. Every time he’d touched her—
No, she couldn’t think of that.
The fact that he knew these things, that he would willingly remind her of them, hurt her almost as much as her own shame.
The fact that they were just as true now as they’d been three and a half months ago hurt her, too.
Sighing, she wrapped her arms around herself, cradling her stomach. She’d come back for all the right reasons—she had to keep telling herself that.
This fighting couldn’t be good for the baby. It had to stop. She had made the agreement with Gabe, and now she had to stand by it with as little tension as possible.
The only way to do that was to stay out of Gabe’s way as much as she could.
Chapter Four
Marissa rinsed cucumbers and set them on the butcher-block countertop in the bunkhouse kitchen. She made a mental note not to put any in Hank’s salad.
Before, when she’d stayed on the ranch, she’d had almost no contact with any of the cowboys. But now, after only two days back, they seemed to have accepted her. And she’d already come to know many of their food likes and dislikes.
Her queasy stomach and sensitivity to certain smells seemed to give her trouble only early in the mornings. A good thing, because she needed to cook, to do what she loved.
Her new duties helped ease the loneliness she had felt the first time she’d lived with Gabe. And she felt more at home in both kitchens than she did anywhere else on the ranch.
She heard heavy footsteps crunching gravel, approaching the bunkhouse.
Gabe.
She had told herself she would avoid him when she could, keep her distance when she couldn’t. He had made that easy for her.
In the two days since she had returned to Dillon, he had spent most of his time working, just as he had in the days following their marriage. The days she had felt so alone.
Other than meals, she had hardly had to see him at all. When they did meet, there was no more fighting between them, but the tension remained high.
Her breath caught in her throat when he stepped through the doorway.
He wasn’t the tallest man she’d ever met, but he made a mouthwatering picture. He’d rolled the sleeves of his Western shirt to his elbows, showing strong forearms dusted with dark hair. His lower body was encased in a pair of well-worn jeans, faded to white in all the important places.
Rugged. Solid. And much too sexy.
Clearing her throat, she grabbed a knife and a tomato and began chopping. “You’re in early,” she said, hoping he couldn’t hear the waver in her voice.
“You noticed.”
She risked a sideways glance.
The ends of his hair, still damp from his shower, lay dark against his tanned neck. A faint scent of his woodsy aftershave drifted over to her.
The memories connected to that scent slammed home. Their meeting at her hotel in Las Vegas. Their wagon ride beneath the southern stars. Their many times making love.
Her hands trembled and her knees felt weak, yet Gabe hadn’t made a move to touch her.
She berated herself for her fantasies. For the reactions she couldn’t seem to control whenever he was near.
Nervousness loosened her tongue. “You know, I’m glad we’ve come to this arrangement—the cooking, I mean. It’s my…favorite job.”
She’d almost said “passion” but caught herself, knowing she shouldn’t use that word—shouldn’t think that word—anywhere around this man.
Trying to make her movements casual, she lifted the cutting board and stepped away from him.
He edged nearer, closing in.
“Besides,” she blurted, “cooking for your cowboys gives me the satisfaction of having something to do. Who knew I’d wind up in charge of your meals? It’s certainly a switch from when I was here before.”
“When I was never around, so you said.”
“Well, that was true.”
“Daytimes, yeah. I had to be away. But the nights were different, weren’t they?”
She remained silent, stirring the contents of the Dutch oven and wishing he would find a reason to leave.
“Ranch cook’s a heck of a comedown for a big-city chef, huh?”
She smiled. “I’m surprised you remembered what I did for a living, other than working in a hotel.”
“I remember a lot of things. You were taking a cooking class when I met you in Vegas.”
“Yes.” When he’d swept her off her feet. Heavenly days, followed by long, lonely weeks on this ranch. But as he’d said, the nights…She couldn’t think about the nights.
“I’ve been cooking since I was tall enough to reach the front burners,” she blurted to keep the subject neutral. “It’s practically second nature to me now.”
“Your mom teach you?”
“No. I taught myself.” Her mother’s skills weren’t in the kitchen. “My parents are divorced. When I was sixteen, I went to New York
City to live with my father. He owned a restaurant or two.” Or two dozen. “By then, I already knew my way around a kitchen and loved to cook. Father agreed to send me for advanced classes.”
Over the years, she had earned outstanding grades, a job as head chef in his Chicago restaurant and, at last and just lately, his grudging acceptance. She didn’t want to think about the strain her news would put on their already troubled relationship.
Gabe strolled over to stand beside her, so close she couldn’t tell where the heat from the stove ended and the warmth of his body began.
“Mmm, stew.” The words were uttered in a sexy growl.
Looking away, she stirred the tomatoes, watching as they turned to pulp. The way her insides were feeling.
“Smells good. The boys’ll like it.”
“I—I hope so.”
She was salivating over Gabe and the only thing on his mind was her cooking. Not long ago, she would have been insulted. Now, she simply felt relieved. His lack of interest in her reminded her she was only playing a part. Happy homemaker. Perfect wife. She took a deep breath and tried to think of something to say that would fit her role.
“I wanted to make Beef Bourguignonne with chestnuts, but neither of your kitchens came stocked with mushrooms or red wine. Or chestnuts, for that matter.”
“The boys don’t need anything fancy. They’re happy enough having you in the kitchen.”
“They won’t be happy when I run out of things to feed them.”
He didn’t answer. He stared across the room, his brow ridged in a frown. Though he didn’t look her way, she was all too aware of his broad body filling the space between the oak table and the stove. Of his bare forearms, the V at the neck of his shirt, the tiny white creases at the outside corners of his eyes….
She needed breathing space. Badly.
With a shaking hand, she placed the lid on the Dutch oven and lowered the flame beneath it. “This has to simmer for a few hours. I…I need to go into town to do some shopping. I’ll be back in time.”
Still, he didn’t answer, didn’t budge.
“Gabe.”
Finally, he turned his head to look at her, his eyes seeming to focus from a long way off.
“What?”
“I’m going for groceries. The stew can sit for a while.” She sidled past the stove, trying not to brush against him. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
She rushed across the kitchen, fumbled with the doorknob and yanked open the door.
Safe.
Until she heard her name.
“Hold on a minute,” Gabe said. “I’ll run you into town.”
GABE PUSHED the overloaded cart through the doors of the market. At this rate, he’d need to sell off a calf or two long before the next roundup.
They stopped at his pickup in the parking lot. “You sure you got everything you need?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Must not be the selection you’re used to in the big city.”
“No, but I’ll manage.”
Beside him, she leaned over to lift a couple of milk jugs from the cart. Her swirl of hair swept across one shoulder. Her jeans pulled tight over the curve of her hips.
Underneath the brim of his Stetson, sweat broke out. He swallowed a groan and grabbed a few sacks.
She looked up, her hazel eyes glowing like polished silver in the sunshine. “I told you you didn’t have to bring me to town. And you certainly didn’t have to come shopping with me.”
“No problem.”
“Then why are you scowling at me?” She placed the milk jugs in the truck. “Ever since we left the ranch, you’ve looked like you swallowed a mouthful of lemon zest. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Grumbling under his breath, he finished loading the sacks into the pickup. Zest. He didn’t want to talk about zest.
He’d seen plenty enough of that lately with the downright fawning his cowhands had done over her since she’d taken on the cooking.
Good thing he didn’t have a jealous streak, or it would’ve flowed wider than the Rio Grande.
It riled him, though. Having Marissa do the cooking was supposed to give credence to the idea of their happy marriage. Warren and the hands didn’t seem to notice whether the bride and groom acted like newlyweds or not. They’d accepted her, befriended her and, come mealtime, sat licking their chops over whatever she piled on their plates.
What was that old saying, something about getting people to eat out of your hands? Did she have an ulterior motive for trying to win over his men? By finding a way to keep her on the ranch, had he played right into her scheme?
He’d have to change his tactics. Instead of avoiding her by working double hard, he’d stick by her side. Keep a close watch. Find out what she was up to.
“Good afternoon, Gabe.”
The familiar soft-spoken voice tore him from his thoughts. He turned and tipped his Stetson to the woman. She’d once towered over him; now he had to lean down to kiss her wrinkled cheek.
“Hey, Mrs. G. Good to see you.”
“You, too. It’s been a while, Gabe Miller.” Behind her wire-framed glasses, her eyes looked sideways.
He did the same, in time to catch Marissa give the older woman a small smile, then shoot a glance his way, as if she wanted him to make the next move. So he did.
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
She stiffened but, to his surprise, didn’t pull away.
It had been a long time since he’d held her. Much as he hated to think it, he missed having her beside him. She felt good there. Too good. Her soft curves brushed against him, turning his insides all warm. He had to fight to remember where they stood. To warn himself that he couldn’t trust her.
“Uh…Mrs. G, this is my wife, Marissa. Honey, Mrs. Gannett taught school here in Dillon. And had me standing in a corner of the play yard more times than I care to admit.”
Both women laughed.
“Nice to meet you.” As she leaned forward to shake hands, Marissa shifted away from him.
He resettled his grip, sliding his arm down a little, cuddling her to his side again. He had the right—they were married, weren’t they?
And with his suspicions about her motives stronger than ever, he would make damn sure she stayed close at hand.
Mrs. G smiled. “I’m retired now. But Dillon’s a very small town, so I see a great deal of my former students. Though I’d heard he married, Gabe’s done a good job of keeping his bride to himself.” She turned to him. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing you both at Doc’s?”
“Doc’s?” he asked.
“The annual Christmas potluck?”
“Oh, yeah.” First Warren, and now Mrs. G, had mentioned his taking Marissa to Doc’s. He considered. Everyone in town showed up for the party. He couldn’t ask for a better way of introducing her around and cementing their relationship in people’s minds before a baby came along.
“Sure. We’ll look for you on Saturday, all right. Wouldn’t miss it. Isn’t that right, honey?”
“That’s right.” She smiled.
“We won’t keep you, Mrs. G. You probably want to get your shopping done.”
“Well…”
“And we’ve got a load of frozen groceries to get home.”
She nodded. “See you Saturday, then. We’ll have a nice chat, Marissa. I look forward to getting to know you.”
With his free hand, he tipped his Stetson and smiled. Once Mrs. G had left, he steered Marissa toward the end of the truck.
As soon as they rounded the corner, she pulled away from his arm. Instantly, he missed the pressure of her curves against him. “Hey! No need to run off so quick.”
“We’re alone now,” she said through clenched teeth. “And there was never a need for the armlock you had me in…honey.”
He laughed. “Just being husbandly. Like we said, remember?” He reached up to stroke her jaw.
She backed against the side of the pickup and stared at him.
He f
rowned. “Don’t tell me you forgot our agreement.”
“Of course, I didn’t forget. I just gave a stellar performance, don’t you think?”
“Sure do.” He stepped forward, till his chest brushed the front of her jacket. It wasn’t close enough. “Just like we said,” he reminded her. “Pretend we’re happily married when we’re in public. With the power of Dillon’s grapevine, this little outing of ours ought to make it around town triple time.”
He glanced over at the market. Sure enough, Mrs. G stood just inside the picture window, along with a group of other shoppers. Most of them were townsfolk who’d spent the past three months trying to hide their pity. He turned back to the woman who’d made all his friends feel sorry for him.
“Seems that the curtain’s still up and the audience is waiting, Marissa. Let’s show ’em this marriage is for real.”
He looked into her upturned face.
Suddenly, it didn’t matter who was watching and who wasn’t, what they saw or what they thought. All that mattered stood right in front of him, her hazel eyes soft in the shadow of his Stetson. He wanted to hold her in his arms again, bury his hands in her hair.
Her lips parted, but before she could say a word, he dipped his head and swept her into a heart-stopping kiss.
Chapter Five
For the thousandth time in two days, Marissa brushed a finger across her lips, reliving the memory of how Gabe’s mouth had caressed hers. He had sent up more flames inside her than a match set to the bunkhouse’s gas stove. And she had welcomed the warming blaze.
She craved his kiss, wanted his attention, hoped it would be proved there was more to him than the indifferent man who worked so hard out on the ranch and then came home and ignored her.
Foolish hopes, of course.
In truth, his kiss—and her response—only underscored the fool she’d made of herself by marrying him. By mistaking sexual chemistry for love.
And if she didn’t stop dwelling on it, she would get burned again.
Desperate for a distraction, she glanced around the living room. It looked just the way it had the first time she’d seen it, months before, all browns and rusts and leathers. The furniture sat in the same places. Ranching and farming magazines overflowed the wooden box in one corner. Warm and cozy, and just a bit shabby. A man’s room. Gabe’s room. Never hers.
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