He was relieved when she returned to the kitchen only seconds later. His feeling of relief was quickly replaced by apprehension when he saw that she carried a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, cotton balls, and tweezers. She clearly intended to remove the foxtail from Bart’s paw.
Jake glanced worriedly at Shorty, wondering how the old man would react. It was an unspoken law with many cattlemen that a man’s dog was to be touched, fed, and given commands only by its owner. Those individuals believed that a canine’s loyalty to its master was diminished by outside influence. Though Jake disagreed with that school of thought, he respected Shorty’s right to believe whatever he chose. The old hired hand loved Bart and treated him kindly. That was all Jake really cared about, that the dog never suffered for his master’s eccentricities.
Unaware that Shorty allowed no one else to mess with his dog, Molly knelt beside Bart and began cooing softly. The canine, as unaccustomed to women as he was to friendly overtures from strangers, responded with low, warning growls. Instead of seeming alarmed, Molly only cooed more sympathetically.
Warning signals jangled in Jake’s brain. He had a very bad feeling that his cook knew very little about dogs. Ordinarily that wouldn’t have posed a problem—but Bart was no ordinary canine. Cattle dogs were as different from their domestic cousins as night was from day.
“I don’t blame you a bit for feeling grumpy,” Molly murmured consolingly to the disgruntled blue heeler. “There’s nothing worse than having a hurt foot, is there? Well, don’t worry. I’ll have that nasty old foxtail out in two seconds, and you’ll feel better.”
Shorty stopped chewing, pocketed the food in his cheek, and bugged his eyes at Jake. Hank threw his brother an anxious look as well.
“Careful, Molly,” Jake warned. “Bart is surly, and he snaps sometimes.”
“Oh, surely not,” she replied. “He seems like such a sweetheart.”
The dog’s growls didn’t sound very sweet to Jake.
Shorty turned on his chair to fix Molly with a disapproving scowl. “Just what’re you up to, missy? He’s my dog. I’ll take care of him.”
Soothing Bart with gentle strokes of her slender hands, Molly glanced up and smiled, her big brown eyes shimmering in the overhead light. “I thought I’d get this foxtail out for you, Shorty. Go ahead and enjoy your meal while it’s hot. I’m not all that hungry, and I don’t mind the interruption.”
The elderly man’s shoulders stiffened. “Bart don’t take kindly to bein’ pestered by strangers. Don’t you hear him snarlin’?”
“Oh, those aren’t snarls.” Molly bent to cluck her tongue at the growling dog. “He’s just talking to me. Aren’t you, Bart? Yes. You’re telling me all about it, aren’t you? Poor baby. I know how it must hurt.” She ran a fingertip along the dog’s muzzle, apparently heedless of his sharp incisors. In a singsong, baby-talk voice, she said, “I’d be grumpy, too. Yes, I would. Your little paw is all swollen. I’ll bet that foxtail has been in there all day. Ouch.“
By no estimation was Bart’s paw little. The blue heeler was large for his breed, a variation from standard that had made Jake question his bloodlines more than once. More alarmingly, the dog’s bared teeth weren’t small. Molly could be badly hurt if Bart decided to bite her. “Molly, maybe you’d better let Shorty take care of that,” he tried.
“Really, I don’t mind,” she insisted. “It’ll only take me a few seconds.”
Shorty had completely reversed his direction on the chair to stare at their new cook. The old man was clearly amazed that Bart hadn’t already tried to take her arm off. “I’d listen to the boss and back off if I was you, missy. Bart’s been known to bite on occasion.”
Molly gave the dog a measuring look. Then her mouth curved into a beatific smile. Jake had known a lot of women who pretended to be sweet and caring, only to discover later that they were hell on wheels. With Molly, however, he didn’t believe it was an act. As hokey as it sounded, even in his mind, she fairly glowed with goodness. You simply couldn’t look at her and doubt that she had a kind heart.
“He won’t bite me,” she assured Shorty. “He’s just feeling out of sorts. And who wouldn’t?”
With that pronouncement, she proceeded to lift Bart’s paw onto her knee and go fishing with the tweezers. Shorty gaped. The dog growled more ferociously, but to no avail. Molly ignored the warnings. Jake pushed up from his chair and moved closer.
Instead of sinking his sharp teeth into Molly’s tender flesh, the dog only whined, cast a resigned look at his master, and licked Molly’s wrist. Jake relaxed and winked at Shorty, who looked as if he’d just swallowed a sock.
“I don’t gen’rally let strangers touch my dog,” the hired hand said.
“That’s very wise,” Molly observed, flashing the old man a quick but understanding smile. “You just never know who might do something despicable. I read in the paper just last month about some man who went around poisoning dogs at the city park. Isn’t that terrible? He put arsenic in bits of ground beef. I can’t imagine anyone’s doing such a heartless thing, but there you are. For Bart’s sake, you need to be cautious.”
Shorty looked helplessly at Jake. Then he sighed and slid off his chair to crouch at Molly’s elbow. After watching her gently probe for the foxtail, he grinned and said, “He’s taken a shine to you, no question.” After watching her work a minute longer, Shorty added, “I’ve always heard tell dogs can sense things about people that we can’t—like as if they can smell the goodness or evil in a person. My mother was a firm believer in that. Had herself an old coon dog that didn’t take up much with strangers. When that old hound liked a man, my ma trusted him with her life.” Shorty reached to scratch behind his dog’s ears. “I reckon old Bart is givin’ you a real high recommend, Miss Molly. A real high recommend, indeed.”
Molly’s cheeks went pink. She glanced wonderingly at Bart. “I like you, too, punkin. If you had a bath, you’d be a very handsome fellow.” She touched the bald patch on the dog’s flank. Then she resumed probing for the sticker. “What caused him to lose his hair there, Shorty? Was he injured somehow?”
Shorty sighed. “One time while I was inside paying the tab at a gas station, I left him in the back of my truck. When the attendant tried to put fuel in the tank, Bart took exception and raised a ruckus. By the time I got back out there, the dad-blamed fellow had doused him with gas. I didn’t know it happened until I saw him shiverin’ and bitin’ at himself later. By then, he was burnt pretty bad, and the hair never grew back.”
Molly’s eyes darkened with shadows. “Oh, how awful. Why-would anyone do something so mean?”
Shorty shook his head. “Like I said, Bart can be ornery sometimes. Maybe he snapped at the fellow.”
“That’s no excuse, and Bart isn’t ornery,” Molly protested. “He’s a doll.” She made kissing sounds near the dog’s nose. Moments before, Jake would have worried for her face, but the bedraggled canine clearly recognized a bona fide sweetheart when he met one. “There!” she finally cried triumphantly. “I got it, Bart.” She held up the tweezers for the canine’s inspection. “Now, doesn’t that feel better, sweetie?”
Bart bypassed the tweezers to lick Molly’s face, which made her sputter and laugh. “Oh, dear, you have bad breath. The next time I’m in town, I’ll get you a toothbrush and some dog toothpaste. We’ll take care of that little problem.”
Shorty’s eyebrows arched toward his balding pate. “Dog toothpaste? I’ve never heard of such.”
Molly set aside the tweezers and peeled Bart’s lip back to examine his teeth. “Just look at that tartar buildup. No question about it, he needs better oral hygiene, or he’ll get cavities soon.” The men at the table exchanged amazed glances as she went on to say, “The toothpaste comes in doggy flavors. I’ve seen it advertised on television. Bart will love it.”
Shorty looked none too certain about that. “Hmm. Well, I’ll be. I never knew there was folks who brushed their dogs’ teeth.”
“We bru
sh ours,” Molly pointed out.
“Seems like a lot of fuss for nothin’ when a good bone’ll do the job.”
“I’ll get him some bones, too.” Molly dabbed between Bart’s toes with the disinfectant. Then she glanced up at Jake. “I’ll pay for everything. No worries.”
For once, the farthest thing from Jake’s mind had been his concerns about money. He was far too fascinated, watching Molly interact with Shorty and the dog. On a good day, it was a toss-up who was the more difficult to get along with, the canine or the old man. Yet she had won them both over without half trying.
“I can brush his teeth for him every day if you’d rather not be bothered, Shorty,” she offered. “I know you’re busy, and I won’t mind taking the time to do it.”
Shorty thought about it for a moment and then nodded. “I reckon it can’t hurt. I’d hate like heck if his teeth went bad. False chompers for a dog would cost dearly.”
Molly gave a startled laugh. “I bet they would, at that.” A fond warmth crept into her eyes as she regarded the old man. “If such a thing existed, you’d get him some, though. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t. When it comes to this dog, you’re a softie. I can tell.”
“I reckon I would,” Shorty agreed. “He’s gotta be able to eat, don’t he?”
Jake resumed his seat to finish his meager meal, incredulous but pleased that Molly was already making friends with his men. There was something about the lady that made a man go a little soft in the head the instant he looked into her big brown eyes.
His grin broadened when he glanced at Bart. Whatever that indefinable quality was, it seemed to have the same effect on canines as it did on men.
Chapter Nine
When the meal was over, Jake rolled up his sleeves to help Molly clean the kitchen. The instant she realized his intent, she got all flustered, her cheeks turned a pretty pink, and she tried to take the rice bowl out of his hands.
“I can do this, Mr. Coulter. You worked hard all day, and cleaning the kitchen is my job.”
Just once and of her own accord, Jake wanted to hear her address him by his first name. Keeping a firm grip on the serving bowl, he said, “You worked hard today, too. The house looks wonderful. Did I mention that?”
Her eyes went all sparkly with pleasure. “I barely skimmed the surface. I’ll do some deep cleaning tomorrow.”
“Nevertheless, I know you put in a hard day, and I really don’t mind helping you clean up. That way, the work will be over more quickly for all of us.”
She finally relinquished the bowl. “It has been a long day. Everything being new, I’ve been slow. I’ll get a routine worked out soon, I’m sure.”
Jake could hope. She’d bounced up and down so much during supper that she’d eaten hardly anything. Not that there had been much food left to put on her plate. He and his men had taken only a small portion each, but there had been barely enough to go around, even then.
How could he tell her that she needed to cook in much larger quantities? She’d done her best, and she was obviously so worried about her performance that he was afraid any criticism, no matter how kindly intended, might do more harm than good. Given the fact that gentle deliveries weren’t his specialty, that presented one hell of a problem.
He had enjoyed the meal, such as it was. But he worked long and hard, and so did his men. They burned off calories almost as fast as the food went into their mouths. Stirfries were fine as an occasional main dish, but she needed to add more protein, fix several rich side dishes as well, and make sure there was a lot of bread and fresh butter on the table. Otherwise he and his men were going to be hungry all the time.
At least no one but the dog had been rude enough to lick his plate.
Mulling over the problem, Jake set himself to the task of rinsing dishes and putting them in the dishwater. While he worked, Molly flitted around him, clearing the table, washing the counter, polishing the stove, and putting things away. Jake had always been a stickler on kitchen tidiness, but he’d never cleaned up quite as thoroughly as Molly did.
She was so tense she seemed to have trouble staying focused. She kept forgetting where she had laid the dishcloth. She wandered around, opening cupboard doors to stare blankly into them while she muttered under her breath. Jake could only hope she started to relax around him soon, or they were both going to have a nervous breakdown.
When the kitchen was spotless enough to suit her, he glanced out the window, saw that night had fallen, and offered to see her home. He hoped he might find an opening during the walk to tell her she had to start fixing more food.
“Oh, you don’t need to walk me,” she protested. “I know the way.”
“It’s dark out there. With your poor night vision, you could take a wrong turn and get lost.”
She laughed. “My night vision isn’t that poor.”
Acutely aware that she felt uneasy with him, Jake might have let her go home unescorted if he hadn’t recalled her reference to bears last night. She was clearly out of her element in this rural setting, and he didn’t want her to grow frightened out there, alone in the dark. He led the way from the kitchen, stopping just beyond the archway to collect his hat. “I’ll rest easier if I see you to your doorstep.”
Hank, crouched before the wide rock fireplace, glanced up from rumpling newspaper. “Best let him walk you, Molly. I spotted cougar track along the creek last week. It’s a worry when they come in so close to the house.”
Molly paled. “Cougar track? Oh, dear.”
Jake wished that Hank had kept his mouth shut. The actual danger of a cougar attack anywhere on the ranch was fairly miniscule. “Don’t listen to him, Molly. Cougars seldom bother humans.”
“Bull. Wasn’t that long ago a cougar attacked a little boy standing in line at a municipal swimming pool.”
“That wasn’t in Oregon,” Jake reminded him.
“Like cougars know what state they’re in? What about the cat outside Lakeview that attacked the mail truck? That was in Oregon.”
“That happened quite some while back, and for all we know, it was nothing but a story. I never saw mention of it in the newspaper.”
Molly fixed Jake with a worried look. “If there’s a danger, please don’t keep it from me. I’d rather be a little nervous and take precautions.”
Jake didn’t want her jumping at shadows. “Cougars rarely attack people.”
“That poor lady jogger in northern California probably told herself the same thing,” Hank inserted. “All they found were pieces of her jogging outfit.”
“Oh, how awful!” Molly shivered and rubbed her arms. “What a terrible way to die.”
“Not so bad, actually. The cougar probably snapped her spine upon impact.” Hank nodded sagely. “That’s how they make a kill.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that. They tracked the cat down. She only weighed eighty pounds, just a young female with cubs. The cougar along our creek is a big old fellow. I could tell that by the prints.”
Jake glared at his brother over the top of Molly’s head. “Are you finished having your fun, Hank? You’ve frightened Molly. Now she’ll be nervous every time she steps outside.”
Hank angled a mischievous look at Molly. “Have I scared you, Molly?”
“No. Not really. I just—” She rubbed her arms again. “My goodness! Where I live, cougars aren’t a problem.”
Jake could believe that. He had a hunch she came from Portland, and the only cougars in the downtown areas were probably stuffed. “They aren’t a problem here, either.”
“Yes, they are, and growing to be more so each passing year,” Hank protested. “They’re way overpopulated and easily habituated to humans, so they get bold.”
Jake was going to kill his brother before any cougar got a chance. While Hank was still spouting alarming facts about cougars, he hurried Molly from the great room.
“Have a nice walk, you two,” Hank called, a twinkle in his eye.
The instant they stepped onto the front porch, Moll
y came to a dead stop and pressed closer to Jake. Darkness and the chill night air curled around them. He felt her shiver. When he glanced down, he saw that she was peering owlishly toward the steps. Her wariness of him had apparently been shoved from her mind by a greater fear, namely big-toothed predators.
“Can cougars really jump from heights of sixty feet?”
Even as she spoke, she tucked herself more snugly against his side. Jake slipped an arm around her. “Don’t listen to Hank. He’s twenty-nine, going on sixteen. Telling spooky stories to a pretty lady makes him feel macho.”
She laughed nervously. “You didn’t answer my question. Can they?”
Jake sighed. “Yes. According to the statistics I read, they can. I’ve never seen it myself. You have to remember that those statistics are the most impressive ever documented, the feats of supercougars, in other words. Around here, the cougars are all wimps.”
An owl hooted, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She nudged her shoulder into his ribs, getting as close as she could without joining him inside his Wranglers. He tightened his arm around her. She stiffened slightly but made no offer to pull away.
As they started down the steps into the deeper darkness, she craned her neck to see through the shadows. She felt so good, snuggled up against him, all feminine softness and intriguing curves. Every time he flexed his splayed fingers on her side, he felt her flank muscles quiver, creating images in his mind of how she might quiver if he touched her in other places.
When she moved just right, one of those places grazed the knuckle of his thumb. Never in his recollection had the weight and heat of a woman’s breast felt so tempting. He wanted so badly to cup that generous softness, to learn the shape of her, to capture her nipple and give it a tug, to hear her breath catch.
Holy hell. He was going to murder Hank when he got back.
He’d been too long out of a relationship. That was the problem. Since starting up the ranch, he’d had no time for a social life, and now his body was telling him about it. That was all it was, he felt sure. He liked tall, leggy females with figures his mother likened to Barbie dolls, not short, sweetly plump women who could kiss his navel without having to bend much at the knees.
Sweet Nothings Page 12
