by Mindy Neff
“I have a laptop that I brought with me, and some killer software.”
“Whoa, there, sunshine. Now you’re talking way over my head.”
She waved an airy hand, making him want to grab those busy, delicate fingers and hold on.
“Never mind. When you have the time, I’ll give you a crash course in the lingo and workings of the thing. But as I said, this is my area of expertise. If you like, I can file your income taxes for you.”
“I usually wait until the last possible minute. It’s only the middle of January now.” And by the time the IRS deadline rolled around, their three months would be up. If she even lasted that long. It was foolish to make plans beyond each day.
“We don’t have to mail them. But I can get a head start.” She chewed the end of her pencil, drummed her fingers some more. “I really am a top-notch accountant. I’d have to check the regulations on allowable deductions for cattle ranchers...” Her words trailed off and she shrugged. “But if you’d rather have your own CPA handle it, I’ll understand.”
She looked vulnerable all of a sudden, as though expecting rejection. Her chin tipped forward, giving the impression she was braced for whatever he threw at her, as though she’d had to fight for everything she got in life.
She had the smoothest, clearest skin he’d ever seen on a woman, the type of skin that invited a man to touch, to enjoy. No caked-on makeup like Sharon had been fond of wearing. Behind the lenses of her glasses, her lashes were dark and lush in contrast to her pale yellow hair.
He glanced away, unable to keep looking for fear that he would touch.
And if he touched, it would be all over. Because he wouldn’t stop there.
He stood. “If you want to tackle the taxes, have at it. Just don’t overdo.”
“I won’t. And I want to do this for you, Brice. You’ve done so much for Abbe and me, and I want to return the favor.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
She raised a brow. “Think about it. You’ve been my doctor, my employer, my baby-sitter, my personal shopper and my husband. And in return, I’ve ripped your sheets, burned your dinners, fallen asleep on you and taken over your bed, and—” She stopped, ducked her head. “Well, anyway, you get the picture. According to my calculations, my account’s really far in the red.”
He wished she hadn’t mentioned that part about the bed. Reminding him that he was her husband was jolting enough. Mentioning husband and bed in practically the same sentence was hell on his all-too-vivid imagination and his very active libido.
He backed up a step, really needing to get out of this room. “I’m not keeping score.” He turned, made it to the door, then paused. “Uh, Madison?”
“Yes?”
“The next time you come within nodding acquaintance with a needle and thread, do me a favor and resist, would you?”
He glanced back in time to see her sheepish smile blossom. She nodded, and his heart nearly drummed out of his chest.
Hell, if he was smart, he’d go out and throw himself into the ice-coated horse trough.
9
With the cookbook open on the counter and an apron tied around her waist, Maddie studiously ignored the mess in the kitchen. She’d been here almost a month and she still kept forgetting to adopt the clean-as-you-go method.
“I’m going to cook a decent meal if it kills me,” she said to Abbe, who happily kicked her stocking feet against the infant seat. “You doubt me, munchkin? Wait and see. We’re handicapped without a microwave, but never let it be said that your mother doesn’t have determination.”
She was supposed to dredge the steak in flour. What the heck was dredging? She grabbed her cell phone and consulted the Internet.
“Oh. Sprinkle or dust with flour before cooking.” She eyed the flour as though it were a snake. Every time she tried something that had to do with the contents of that particular canister, it ended in inedible disaster. Even now, the kitchen looked as though it had snowed indoors rather than outside.
But the directions said to dredge, so she dredged, erring on the side of caution with only a light sprinkle.
Through the open window came the sound of horses hooves beating against the ground. And the familiar sound of a truck shifting gears.
She grinned. “Put on your best baby smile, Abbe. Ken’s here.” The brown UPS truck came up the drive at his usual breakneck speed, regardless of the ground’s condition. He made so many trips out here, she was starting to feel as though they were old friends. And since the young man and his wife had a baby of their own, he always stopped to chat, to exclaim over Abbe’s growth.
Wiping her hands on her apron, she frowned when the truck stopped short of the front door. Brice had intercepted him by the barn. The two men exchanged greetings, then Ken unloaded a box into the barn, waited for Brice to sign the delivery receipt, then looked toward the house and gave a wave.
Maddie waved back, disappointed when he backed the truck through the open gate of one of the stock pens, then headed out toward the road. She was almost relieved that the order wasn’t for her or Abbe—Brice really had gone overboard. But she missed the chance to talk to the friendly young UPS guy.
As she watched his taillights wink in the overcast day, another truck turned down the lane—this one a sport utility driven by Letty Springer.
She recognized the vehicle. Since the wedding, neighbors of the community had been stopping by regularly, regardless of the weather.
And they never came empty-handed. That was hard for Maddie to accept graciously. There were only ten families living along a fifty-mile stretch of roadway, but they were wonderful, caring, giving people who had genuinely accepted Maddie and Abbe into the close-knit community.
Never before had she experienced this feeling of neighborliness. At her rented house in the city, she’d hardly spoken to her neighbors, and they were only a rock’s throw away. Still, she couldn’t imagine any of the busy acquaintances in Dallas making a special trip to visit or offer help or welcome, yet these people in Wyoming did so without expectations or judgment. Just acceptance.
She opened the kitchen door and took the casserole dish the woman was balancing along with several other items.
“Hi, Letty.”
“Oh, it’s cold out there. Snow clouds look like they’re going to whip up a blizzard.”
“Well, come in and warm up.”
“I can only stay a minute. I thought you could use some of this casserole. I made way too much for my family, and with the little one and all, I’m sure you don’t have a lot of time.” Letty set a jar with about an inch of white goop in the bottom of it on the table and cooed over the baby. “She’s growing like a weed.”
“The formula agrees with her.”
“Yes, it’ll fatten her up right quick.”
Maddie picked up the jar. “What’s this?”
“A starter for Amish friendship bread. And this one’s for biscuits.” She produced another jar from a paper sack, then laughed at the horrified expression on Madison’s face. “Don’t worry, hon. I wrote down explicit instructions.”
Maddie perused the instructions. There was a ten-day process involved with the bread goop. Day one, do nothing, day two through four stir with a wooden spoon. She glanced at the utensils resting on the stove. Okay. There was one of those in the cow-shaped ceramic holder. Then there was a day of adding ingredients—oh, Lord, flour was one of them—then stirring only for several days, then adding and cooking.
Another thing to baby-sit and possibly mess up. How in the world would she remember which day she’d stirred and which day she’d added? Much less which day to bake. She could barely remember if she combed her hair, much less which day it was.
Maddie didn’t have the heart to voice her concerns to Letty.
“What do I do at the part that says divide the batter and give two to friends? By the time I get around to visiting, I’ll have a pickup truckload of goop jars.”
Letty laughed. “You don’t h
ave to give it away. Just double up on the recipe and bake extra loaves. They freeze really well.”
Maddie bit her lip, feeling a smile form. “Letty, look around this kitchen, then talk to me again about doubling stuff. I’m a whiz with numbers—unless it has to do with a recipe.”
“You’ll be just fine. And if you get into trouble, just call. I’ll talk you through it.”
“Better program your number into my speed dial, then.”
“Oh, Madison DeWitt, I do like you!”
Maddie got a queer feeling in the pit of her stomach when Letty addressed her by her new surname. She felt like an imposter, felt bad that she was deceiving these wonderful people, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell her new friend the story.
The less people who knew, the safer it was for Abbe.
“You okay, hon?”
Maddie nodded and set aside her disturbing thoughts. “Fine. There’s one thing I’m bound and determined to master, and that’s biscuits. The last batch I attempted came out looking like miniature Frisbees.”
“Forgot the baking powder, did you?”
“How did you know?”
“I’ve done it myself.”
“Well, thank goodness. Not that I’m dancing a jig over your biscuits flopping, but knowing I’m not the only one to mess up makes me feel less like an idiot. Can you stay for a few minutes? I’ll pour the coffee if you’ll give me a crash course in the basics.”
“I’ll do better than that. I’ll make you an expert.”
“Letty Springer, you are my angel.”
“Mighty fine biscuits, Miz Maddie.”
“Why thank you, Dan.”
“Best chicken-fried steak I’ve had in a coon’s age,” Moe added.
Madison laughed. “Now let’s not go overboard.”
Brice grinned. She was looking proud as a peacock. And well she should. The supper was really good. And personally, he liked a few undercooked lumps in his mashed potatoes.
He’d been stunned when he’d come in to find his house sparkling, the smells of food cooking on the stove, the table set and Madison looking enticing in a pair of jeans with a soft pink sweater tucked in at the waist. Looking at her, no one would think she’d had a baby a month ago.
He had a hard time concentrating.
When Dan and Randy stood to take their plates to the sink, Madison hopped up.
“Don’t you dare touch those dishes. That’s my job.”
“We don’t mind,” Randy said.
“Shoo. Go play cards or whatever it is you do. I’ve got it covered. And take the rest of this cake with you.”
The ranch hands perked up.
Brice had to object. “Now hold on just a minute. I was hoping for another piece.” The utter happiness that came over her face simply arrested him. It was a moment before he could drag his gaze away.
“I’ll cut you a piece,” she said softly.
He told himself not to read anything into the breathiness of her voice, the look that passed between them.
She was his housekeeper, not really his wife. She was doing her job. That was all.
So why did it feel like the real thing? A family? Why did he suddenly want his ranch hands to get the hell out of here so he could take his wife to bed?
He raked a hand through his hair and stood, avoiding Moe’s knowing look as the older man ushered the guys out of the house.
Glasses clinked in the sink as Madison began rinsing the dishes. He moved up beside her, took the plate she’d just scrubbed and put it in the dishwasher.
“You don’t have to help.”
“I don’t mind.” Her eyes were strikingly blue tonight, and he wondered if her contact lenses were colored, or if the change was connected to her mood.
“Really, Brice, you’ve put in a full day. I can do it.”
She made an effort to put space between them. Perversely, he moved right along with her, their bodies brushing. It was torture, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. It gave him a punch to realize she was responding to him.
With her hands plunged into a sink full of water, her hair shifted forward. He reached over and tucked it behind her ear.
She jolted like a skittish filly. “Thank you.”
He noticed that her hands were trembling, noticed that his own were none too steady. “I should probably get in there and work on payroll,” he said.
She drained the water, sprinkled scouring powder in the sink and started to scrub. Her blue eyes held a hint of wariness as she glanced at him. “Um, I already did that.”
“You did?” Figuring out and writing checks was a tedious chore that he hated. It usually took him half the night, and come morning his butt was dragging due to lack of sleep.
“I hope you don’t mind. I went back a month and didn’t notice any variations in wage rates, so I pretty much just duplicated what you’ve been doing. It’s done except for your signature.”
“Did you write yourself a check?”
Her brows drew together as she rinsed the sink. “We agreed that I’m not going to be on the payroll.”
“We didn’t agree to any such thing.”
She shut off the water, turned to face him. “Brice, you’ve given us your name, a place to live and bought enough baby stuff for three infants instead of just one. You’re not paying me a salary.”
Before he could argue, Madison reached under the sink and retrieved the plastic bath tub with its sponge insert shaped like a duck.
She bent over to undress the baby, presenting him with her sexy derriere, and he nearly lost his train of thought.
“Last time I checked, I still made the rules around here.”
She brushed by him, cooing to the baby, and placed her in the tub, which rested on the kitchen counter. “Rule all you want outside, but I’m not budging on this issue.”
He felt foolish dogging her steps, but the tiny woman wouldn’t stay put. He handed her a washcloth. “There’s nothing stopping me from writing the check.”
“And there’s nothing stopping me from tearing it up. Aren’t you a sweetheart! You like this bath, don’t you?” she cooed.
It took him a moment to realize she was talking to the baby and not him. “Look, sunshine—”
“Watch her for a minute, will you? I forgot to grab a change of clothes.”
She didn’t give him much choice, just flitted out of the room, leaving him to mind the slippery kid. And feeling frustrated. He was used to getting his way.
But Madison Carlyle—DeWitt, he reminded himself—was turning out to be a worthy opponent, showing the backbone that allowed her to walk nearly two miles in freezing cold, in labor, to deliver a baby without the aid of modern pain medication, to set aside a comfortable life-style and bluff her way into a new one in order to protect her child. A backbone that allowed her to laugh at her mistakes in the kitchen and still keep trying until she got it right.
The backbone to ask a total stranger to marry her.
A damned impressive woman.
Abbe churned her little legs like a frog doing the back stroke, and Brice decided she was clean enough. With his thoughts not wholly on his task, he was likely to drown the kid, never mind that there was only two inches of water in the plastic tub and she was cradled in a formed sponge.
Grinning despite himself, he ran a large palm over her slicked-down hair—not that she had a whole lot of it—and made goofy faces at her. He’d have been embarrassed if anyone caught him in the act. She was a cute thing, with her wide, inquisitive blue eyes and her miniature lips puckered in a circle like an angel fish.
“I’d buy you the moon if you wanted, Abigail DeWitt,” he said softly, feeling his insides turn to mush when he said her name. She was his. For a while.
He wrapped her in a sunny yellow towel until only her round baby face was exposed, then cradled her in the crook of his arm. In that moment he knew he’d move mountains to shield this little girl from harm, deplete all of his vast resources if that’s what it took to
keep her safe and happy.
The hell of it was, he’d do it for her mother, too.
But in the end what would he get? Probably a ‘Thanks, but see ya.’
“If you keep frowning like that, you’re going to scare the baby.”
Startled, his head whipped up.
“Deep thoughts?”
“Just thinking about business,” he lied.
“No wonder. You put in long hours.” She took the baby from him, began the efficient steps of diapering and dressing Abbe.
“That’s what ranching’s all about. On call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.” There. Might as well spell it out, play up the down side of the life he loved, but that most women couldn’t endure.
“Mmm, then I imagine you’re glad I’m showing a little less ineptitude, so you don’t have the burden of the house as well as everything else you do.”
He took a prepared bottle out of the refrigerator and set it in a pan of hot water on the stove, barely aware that they were working together like a truly married couple.
“You’re doing a good job.” And by damn he was going to pay her for the efforts.
“So you’ve decided to keep me for a while?”
The minute she said the words, they both looked at each other.
For three months.
The time stipulation hung between them like a shout.
Madison turned away first, grabbed the bottle out of the pan, tested its warmth and offered it to the baby.
“Uh, I think I’ll finish this up in the nursery. She should fall asleep soon.”
He watched her leave the room, felt its emptiness without her presence. The leftover aroma of their evening meal lingered, mingled with the scent of violets and baby lotion.
The smell of Madison and Abbe.
The scents he was starting to smell in his dreams.
Hell on fire, he was on really shaky ground here.
Wearing a flannel robe belted over thermal pajamas, Maddie stumbled into the kitchen, intent on getting Abbe’s bottle before the baby woke up. Her daughter was impatient in the mornings.
