Would she be invited along, or would she be expected to stay on the ranch? Always? She sipped her coffee reflectively and finally found the courage ask him a question that had been nagging her since his offer.
“Mr. Cade, do you mind if I have a friend over now and then?”
His head lifted and he frowned at her. “Russ, or Russell. Don’t call me Mr. Cade. It makes me feel old.”
He swigged the last of his coffee and set the cup in his plate, carefully placing the flatware across the plate before he continued.
“You may call or have friends over anytime you wish...as long as they don’t interfere with your work.” He pushed his chair back and stood. “I’ve got to get going. The sun will be up soon.” He lifted his hat from a peg on the wall and shrugged into his coat.
“See you at lunch.” He said as he walked out the door.
Cynthia finished the dishes and wiped the counters. Last night she had noticed a few clothes in a hamper in the laundry room. As she passed through the living, room she paused and smiled. A fire burned brightly in the fireplace. Cade had been busy this morning.
Removing the laundry from her room, she walked down the hall and hesitated at Cade’s bedroom door. Somehow it seemed an invasion of his privacy, but it was part of the job. She turned the porcelain knob and pushed the door open. His room was also filled with antique furniture, although his appeared to be mahogany. The bed was made and she found his clothes in the hamper. The master bath was tidy, so she left the room and pulled the door shut, breathing a long sigh.
With the laundry washing and the sun peeping through curtainless panes, she set out to explore the house. First she opened the double doors in the kitchen and found the formal dining room. A long oak table graced the center of the room, its ten carved chairs at attention. A matching china cabinet held fine china, crystal and silverware. The silverware needed polishing and the furniture could use a good dusting. She closed the doors when she left the room, anticipation increasing her pulse. It was such an interesting house.
The long curving stairway invited and she ascended to the second floor. The landing paused at the Y of two long hallways. The floor creaked as she chose the one on the right. Three empty bedrooms were closed off to the heat, as well as a full bath that looked as though it hadn’t been used in years. Apparently the water had been shut off up here to keep it from freezing. Retracing her steps, she advanced down the second hallway. Another full bath and two more bedrooms - all empty. As she glanced into the last bedroom, she noticed it had a patio door. Closer investigation revealed a balcony that overlooked the driveway. This room also had a fireplace and a door adjoining the bathroom. She ran her fingers along the smooth marble mantle. What a beautiful room - and empty. Even as the idea occurred that she would rather have this room, she knew she couldn’t ask. He had made his choice - suggesting something else would be rude. Still, the rich hardwood floor reflected the weak morning sun in a cheerful manner that spawned reluctance to continue the tour. This would be a good place to come to relax, though - when the weather warmed. She rubbed her arms and left the room.
At the end of the hall, a steep set of stairs led to the attic. The stairs groaned as she climbed and the door squealed as she opened it. A small frosted window allowed light to enter the room that was obviously a storage space for heirlooms. A spinning wheel stood in one corner, partially covered by a dusty sheet, and beside it, a mahogany rocker with a cobbler seat. There was an old treadle sewing machine with carved drawers and even a grandfathers’ clock, stating the permanent time of three p.m. Imagine the stories that must lurk in the walls of this house. A large chest invited, and she knelt, touching the lid. Something private - or more interesting antiques? She lifted the lid. Inside were tiny sweaters and booties. Each set was carefully sealed in a clear zipper bag. They looked unused...his mothers’ hobby, or was there a sad story? She closed the lid and ran her fingers across the dull copper latch. It was dusty. This was one place Cade obviously didn’t spend much time. She stood and glanced around the room again. Such beautiful things should be displayed in the rooms downstairs. The grandfather clock would look beautiful in the foyer, and the rocker should be in the living room, near the piano. She sighed and left the room, carefully pulling the door shut.
As she descended the long stairway again, her palm caressed the smooth dark wood of the banisters. It was such a beautiful house - and so cold. She rubbed her arms again and headed for the living room, which was now comfortable. The fire was burning down, though, so she added more wood. She stared into the flames, wondering why none of the windows had curtains, and why so many things were left to gather dust in the attic. The floor was cold. Why no rugs? She curled up on the couch and fell asleep.
Waking with a start, she glanced at her watch. Fifteen minutes until twelve. She leaped from the couch and darted into the kitchen. Her first day and she had fallen asleep on the job. Working as fast as she could, she started a pot of coffee and sliced some ham. As she completed setting the table, the screen door squealed and Cade opened the door. He stomped his boots and shook white flakes from his hat and coat before entering the house
Cynthia poured them both a cup of coffee as he washed at the sink.
“How long has it been snowing?” She asked.
He dried his hands with the towel. “It just started. It looks like it might get bad. Do you have a list yet?”
She blushed. “No, I’m afraid I didn’t get around to it yet.”
He noted her rising color and shrugged. “No problem. I don’t think we need much of anything.” He dropped to a chair and built himself a sandwich. “Did you call your friend yet?”
“No. I didn’t...I thought...It’s long distance, you know.”
He shrugged again without looking up. “Keep in touch with people. It gets lonely out here.”
He should know. Which came first, the recluse or the loneliness? She set the coffeepot back on the stove.
“Are you lonely?”
“No.” He took a bite of his sandwich and washed it down with coffee.
She fashioned a sandwich. “Was your mother lonely?”
He glanced up at her, and his mouth twitched. “Yes.”
“What happened to her?”
He swallowed his food. “Eat your lunch.” His attention was back on his food.
Her face felt hot and cold by turns. His cool reproach smarted, but the previous terse answers about his mother should have warned her that it was a touchy subject.
At any rate, he was a recluse and he probably didn’t want a babbling female around. She took a bite of her sandwich and glanced up when he finally spoke, his tone brusque.
“She died of a broken heart. I thought everybody around here knew about the Cade’s.”
“I’m not from around here. I grew up thirty miles to the north.” She paused and her voice took on a sardonic tone. “Where Cade wasn’t a household word,” she concluded.
He glanced up sharply, his gaze searching her face.
She stood, picking up a plate. “I apologize for badgering you about your mother. I didn’t realize you were so sensitive about it.”
“I’m not sensitive.” The words were curt.
In spite of her irritation, she couldn’t help smiling. Actually there was nothing sensitive about Russell Cade. He was merely a private person - private and unsociable. She knew that when she accepted the job so any complaint at this point would be out of line.
She shrugged. “No, I suppose not.”
He watched her intently for a few moments longer and then turned his attention to his food. How he did it, she couldn’t say, but when he finished his meal, not even a crumb was left on the plate.
He strode to the door, clamped on his hat, shrugged into his coat and left the house without so much as a good-bye. She watched him head for the barn and wondered how he could stand being out in the cold all day. He was probably used to it. The snow was coming down in big heavy flakes now. She rubbed her arms again. Why
didn’t he do something about this cold house? But he had warned her about the cold - warned her about the snow. Would they be snowed in for a week now? No point mulling over a decision she had already made. The best way to beat the cold was to work up some heat. The first thing she needed to do was the dishes. Then make that list.
An hour later she found herself staring vacantly into the fire again. She shook her head free of pointless thoughts and began dusting. There was enough to do around here and she intended to earn her pay - without supervision. First she dusted the dining room and polished the silverware. Then she began cleaning the family room. Carrying a chair from the kitchen, she stretched to dust the top shelf of one of the bookcases beside the fireplace. A large green book caught her attention. The Lonely Hills, by Elizabeth Cade. She removed the book from the shelf and opened it to the dedication page. “To my only friend, Russell Cade.” His mother or his wife? She leafed through the book, looking for a clue.
The screen door squeaked and the kitchen floor complained as someone crossed it. Cade? She stared at the kitchen doorway, waiting breathlessly for the person to appear. When Cade finally stepped through the doorway holding a cup of coffee, her breath escaped in a long sigh.
“I wasn’t sure who came in.”
She lifted the book to replace it and he noticed the cover.
“Were you reading that?”
Her face felt hot again. “No...Well, yes. I glanced through it.” Was he angry?
He eyed her sardonically. “You’re welcome to read anything in the house. It isn’t necessary to cover up your interest.”
She shoved the book back into its place and gave the shelf a last swipe, curbing her tongue as she dismounted the chair. She lifted the chair and ignored his offer to carry it to the kitchen for her. He was outspoken and direct, but why did it sound so much like he had caught her in a lie?
He followed her to the kitchen. “Are you angry with me?”
She scooted the chair under the table and tossed the rag in the hamper. “Does it matter? I’m here to do a job.”
He was quiet long enough to rouse her interest, and she glanced up to determine the cause of his silence. He was lounging against the kitchen doorway, staring down into his coffee cup. Finally he glanced up and met her gaze.
“It matters.”
She turned and rested her hands on the back of one of the kitchen chairs.
“Look, Mr. Cade.”
“Russ,” he interrupted irritably.
She lifted her palms in resignation. “All right, Russ. All you have to do is lay down the ground rules. If you don’t want to talk about your mother, we won’t. But if I’m supposed to avoid the subject, don’t act like I’m in the middle of some deceitful act when I try.”
He was clearly surprised. “What makes you think the topic of my mother is...” He stopped mid-sentence and shrugged in resignation. He strode across the room and poured his coffee in the sink. “All right. It’s a subject I’d rather not discuss. Not because she did anything wrong, though. I hold myself responsible for her death.”
The statement was an open invitation but she was several conversations wiser now, and waited for him to volunteer the rest of the story. He obviously considered the subject closed and remained silent. So on to something else.
“The book I was holding. Did your mother write it?”
He nodded. “That and a couple dozen others. She had a short career as a writer.” He rinsed his cup and turned from the sink. As he strode across the room she chanced a last remark.
“I’ll try not to be so inquisitive.”
He stopped and turned, frowning down at her.
“There’s no harm in a healthy curiosity. It’s flapping jaws that get people into trouble.”
She stared at him. “Do you think my jaws flap too much?”
His expression became sour. “I can get into enough trouble without people squeezing imaginary insults out of my words.” He turned and headed for the family room door again. “I’m going to take a warm shower. Do you think you could scare us up a warm snack?” He didn’t wait for an answer.
She glanced at her watch. It was three pm. A warm snack? What kind of snack could she whip up in fifteen minutes? She mused through the kitchen cabinets, her attention settling on the can of cocoa. That would do, but what about something to eat with it. Maybe her favorite would work. It was worth a try. She turned on the broiler and buttered some bread.
When Cade came into the kitchen she placed a cup of hot chocolate and a saucer of cinnamon toast before him. He quirked a brow.
“An interesting combination. Smells delicious.”
She smiled. “I hope you like it. It always hits the spot for me on cold days.”
He tasted the toast and nodded approvingly. “One thing you should know.” He glanced up at her. “I don’t think you could find anything I wouldn’t like. I enjoy variety and I’m not afraid to try anything new, so just cook what you like.”
They finished the snack in silence. Afterward he took a book from the shelf and retired to his room. The living room floor could use a mopping and then it would be time to start supper. A glance out the window revealed that the snow had piled up to four or five inches. Was Cade weathering out the storm? The wood box was looking skimpy. Where did he keep the rest of the wood? She wandered through the house, peering out the window until she spotted a small shed. That was probably it. Donning a heavy coat and some rubber boots that she found in the entry closet, she battled the storm to the shed. Opening the door, she found her assumption correct. The shed was piled high with wood. She leaned over and picked up a block of wood.
A yellow ball of hissing fur flew past her. She dropped the wood and screamed before she realized it was only a young cat. She stumbled to the door. “Here kitty kitty.”
But the cat had no intention of coming near her. “Are you hungry?” She called to him as he hunkered down beside a rose bush with a few brown leaves clinging to it. He stared at her suspiciously.
She shrugged and went back for an armload of wood. Had the cat been locked in the shed, or had he found a way through the old walls? She piled one arm high and closed the door. If he couldn’t get in the shed, he’d probably find some other place to stay warm. She crunched through the snow back to the house and removed her coat and boots before entering the living room.
Cade leaped from the couch as she entered. “Here. I’ll get that.” He took the wood from her arms and dropped it into the wood box. “You don’t need to be carrying heavy things and getting out in this weather. I’ll do it.”
“It’s all right. I enjoyed the fresh air and I even found a potential friend. Did you know you have a cat in the wood shed?”
He made a face. “He comes in through a hole in the floor. I guess I’ll have to put something over it. The offspring of some stray, I guess.”
“Well, at least you won’t have mice in the woodshed.”
She watched as he added more wood to the fire and stirred the coals up with the poker. “Do you ever feed him?”
Another sour look. “You start that and he’ll hang around for sure.”
She dropped to the floor in front of the fireplace and crossed her legs. “I take it you don’t like cats.”
He squatted beside the fire. “I take it you do.”
She shrugged. “It’s your ranch. If you don’t want me to feed it, all you have to do is say so.”
He jabbed at the fire a few times. “I don’t care. If you think he’ll make good company, go ahead and feed him.” He stood and returned the poker to its holder. “Just don’t try to tame any of those black kitties with the white stripes down their backs.”
She stared up at him. He was obviously making a joke, but she would never have guessed it from the expression on his face. He looked so tall, standing over her that way. She shifted her attention to the fire and rubbed the beginnings of a crick from her neck. Working for Cade might not be as dull as she had first thought.
CHAPTER THREE<
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In the next month, her schedule became routine. Once the floors had been waxed and the furniture polished, the house sparkled - in an empty kind of way. The work was rewarding, though, as the house began to take on a homey atmosphere. If only there were some curtains on the windows and rugs on the floors.
The house wasn’t the only thing changing, though. Both occupants were gaining a healthy glow...and gaining was the operative word. Cade had put on enough weight to take the hollows out of his cheeks, making him look a good ten years younger. As for Cynthia, her cheeks weren’t the only things filling out. All her dresses now fit snugly across the bust, and even her skinny legs were beginning to have some attractive curves. Some of the money she had saved would have to go into new clothing - and soon.
Cade was slowly emerging from his shell, but the cat was still as wild as ever. Scraps from the table coaxed him out even during the daylight hours - but only when she stepped back into the house. She watched from the family room window as he wolfed the food - a habit that had prompted Cade to dub him Scruffy. It was another indication of that underlying humor. If only he would smile with something besides his eyes.
The weather grew intermittently warmer and on one of those sunny warm days, Cade invited her to pack a lunch and join him in a ride on the ranch. The idea was especially welcome, as she had become so organized that cleaning took no more than half the day.
Cade selected a bay mare for her and then reluctantly surrendered the duty of saddling. When Cynthia finished tightening the cinch and lowered the stirrup, she turned to find him watching her. His eyes expressed approval and the thin lips twitched in what she had grown to accept as a smile - fleeting as it was. She wrinkled her nose at him.
“I know. I’m slow.”
“The job is done - and done correctly.”
That was as close to praise as she was likely to get from him and she smiled her appreciation. Tucking a toe in the stirrup, she swung up into the saddle. Cade mounted a gray gelding and they headed out across the treeless hills.
Courtship of the Recluse Page 3