by Jennie Marts
Which was the whole reason he’d hired Kimberly Cox—even though he knew it was a bad idea and would probably come back to bite him in the ass. And that bite was about to happen.
“Listen, Kimmie.” He tried to keep his tone light as he untangled himself from her arms. “I think you might’ve misunderstood my intentions when I hired you to do the housekeeping.”
“Don’t call me that.” Her smile faltered, and she planted a hand on her hip as a shadow of doubt crossed her face. “We’re not in high school anymore.”
This was a fact he was well aware of.
If they had still been in high school, he and Kimberly would still be dating. And he would be oblivious to the fact that she was running around on him with Buster Cox, the guy she would eventually dump him for, then marry and raise three children with. Until Buster ran off last year with the rodeo queen from the Colorado State Fair, and Kimberly had come sniffing around Logan’s ranch. But he wasn’t about to tangle with this woman again.
He remembered her angry tantrums, still had the scar on his right pec to show for one, and by the way her face was turning red, he figured he was about to get a repeat performance.
Kimberly’s eyes narrowed, and her lips pinched together in a tight line. “I’ve been working all morning for you and spent the last several hours preparing this meal.”
“And it looks delicious.” He kept his voice even, placating her. “Really, I can’t wait to eat it.”
“Oh, so my meat loaf is good enough for you, but I’m not.”
“I didn’t say that. I’m just not interested in getting involved. With anyone. I was only hoping for a hot meal and some light vacuuming.”
Pink rose to her cheeks as her eyes narrowed. “So you were just using me for my cooking and cleaning skills?”
He was tempted to say he hadn’t actually seen any cooking or cleaning skills, but he kept his mouth shut. He might not be the smartest guy, but he wasn’t a total fool. “I’m not trying to use you, Kimberly. I hired you.” He offered her one of his most charming grins. “Why don’t we just forget all this and sit down and have some of that delicious meat loaf? I’m starving.”
An angry glint tightened her eyes as she picked up the meat loaf pan and held it over the sink. “This meat loaf?” She tipped the pan forward.
“Hold on there, Kimmie… I mean, Kimberly,” he said, holding out his hands and taking a step toward her. “Let’s not do anything crazy.” Shit. Wrong word. He’d known it the second it slipped from his mouth.
“Crazy?” Her eyes widened, and steam might have shot out her ears. “I’ll show you crazy, Logan Rivers.”
“Please don’t,” he said softly, but it was too late.
She turned the pan upside down, and the meat loaf splattered into the sink in a greasy mess. “Do you want to eat it now?” She grabbed the bowl of mashed potatoes from the counter and dumped them on top of the meat loaf. “How about some potatoes to go with it?”
“Come on, Kim. I’m sorry.” What the heck was he apologizing for? She was the one dumping his lunch into the sink.
“You’re sorry? For what? For not wanting the meat loaf? Or not wanting me?” Her voice rose to a fevered pitch as she knocked the broom that had been leaning against the counter to the floor. It hit the hardwood with a crack, but she didn’t seem to notice as her narrowed gaze roamed the rest of the kitchen. “How about a biscuit? Do you want one of those?” She plucked a biscuit from another bowl and chucked it toward him.
Not the biscuits.
It hit him square in the chest, leaving a circle of flour on his shirt. His stomach was growling, and he wished he would have caught it and stuffed it into his mouth. “I don’t think this is working out, Kim,” he said, backing up and raising his arms to deflect another hurled biscuit.
“Good, because I quit,” she screamed at him before marching into the living room. She pulled her purse and jacket from the pegs by the door, knocking loose his hockey stick, which fell to the floor with a clatter. Leaving the stick on the floor, she slammed the door behind her and stomped down the porch steps.
Logan stuffed a biscuit in his mouth, then grabbed a fork and tried to find a few palatable bites from the mess in the sink. What had he been thinking in hiring Kimberly Cox?
The household workings of River’s Gulch had been turned upside down when his sister, Quinn, got married last summer and moved out. Not that Logan wasn’t happy for her. He was. He’d been thrilled when Quinn’s Prince Charming had ridden back into her life in an expensive convertible and brandishing a hockey stick. Well, maybe not thrilled—he’d been pretty miffed at Rockford James since he’d dumped Quinn for his professional hockey career, but the guy had proven himself. Logan was glad his little sister was getting her happily-ever-after. And he and his dad, Hamilton, had been doing fine as bachelors—if “fine” meant they were surviving on frozen pizzas and beanie weenies.
When his dad’s brother had unexpected surgery and Ham got called to Montana to help out on his ranch, Logan had the bright idea to hire someone to help him by cooking a few meals and doing some light housekeeping. But the last two had been more interested in getting into his bed then getting the bed made. Well—last three now, counting Kimberly.
And three were enough for him. He didn’t need the help that badly. He could go back to frozen meals and bologna sandwiches.
* * *
Harper swiped the last fry through some ketchup and popped it into her mouth. That had been the best burger and fries she’d had in months, and she’d eaten every bite. So had Rachel and little Josh.
Bryn strode up and gave them a nod of approval. “Can I get you all anything else?”
Harper leaned forward. “Got any specials on jobs today? That’s what I really need.”
Bryn leaned her hip against the counter, narrowing her eyes as if in assessment. “What kind of job are you looking for?”
Harper shrugged, trying not to shrink into her faded jean jacket or straighten her unruly hair. She was sure leaning her head against the seat of the bus hadn’t done her already messy style any favors. “Something temporary. I’m only in town for a short time. But I’ll do just about anything.” Except work with money. She wanted to steer clear of any job that put her in charge of someone else’s funds. She’d already shown she couldn’t be trusted, and she had the embezzlement charges to prove it.
“Let me think about it.” Bryn looked up, and her eyes widened.
Harper turned to see a woman marching angrily into the café. She flung herself onto a stool at the counter and motioned for the waitress. “Bryn, I’m madder than a het-up hornet’s nest. I need a chocolate shake and an order of bacon-and-cheesy fries to go. And don’t skimp on the bacon.”
Bryn glanced to the cook behind the counter. He was in his midforties and wore a snug white cap over his shaved head. Given his hard, lean body and the anchor tattoo on one of his thickly muscled arms, Harper imagined him to be a surly sailor who had run his own galley.
A tiny grin threatened his otherwise gruff expression as he nodded to Bryn. “One ‘furious female’ special coming right up.”
Bryn pressed her lips together to keep from laughing as she scooped vanilla ice cream into a silver shake mixing cup. “He’s on it, Kimberly. What’s got you so worked up today?”
“Not what. Who.” Her voice rose as fury flashed in her eyes. “And Logan Rivers is who. What an arrogant jerk. All I was trying to do was cook him a nice meal and offer him a little womanly comfort, and that bastard fired me.”
“Fired you? Oh no. I’m so sorry.”
“Not as sorry as he’s gonna be. I dumped the amazing meal I’d cooked him into the sink. He’s going to regret turning me down.”
“Maybe he misunderstood your signals?”
“Hmph. Not hardly. I practically threw myself at the guy. I think my ‘signals’ were pretty clear.” S
he dropped her head to the counter. “I’m so embarrassed.”
Yikes. Harper tried to focus on her plate, but couldn’t help eavesdropping on the conversation. Heck, it wasn’t really eavesdropping. The woman was speaking loud enough for the whole café to hear.
“Order up,” the chef called as he set the Styrofoam container on the counter.
“Thanks.” The woman tossed down a ten-dollar bill, then took the container and to-go cup Bryn held out before flouncing from the café.
The waitress tucked the money into the register, then walked back over to check on Harper and Rachel. “If she thinks she’s embarrassed now, wait till she gets home and realizes the whole café heard her holler that she tried to seduce Logan Rivers, and he turned her down.”
Harper shook her head, all too familiar with how fast rumors could spread in a small town. “That guy sounds awful.”
“He’s not. He’s really a great guy. I’ve known him forever. We went to school together.”
“But he fired her. Just for making a pass at him.”
Bryn chuckled. “Yeah, and she’s the third one he’s had to sack. He’s a good man who’s just looking for some temporary help with cooking and cleaning, but he’s also hot as hell. These women keep showing up thinking they’re applying for a spot in his bed, when he really just wants someone who can bake him a great pan of mac and cheese.” She narrowed her eyes as she tapped her fingers against her chin. “Any chance you can cook?”
“Of course.” She might not win any ribbons at the county fair, but she could manage a few recipes. “And I don’t mind getting my hands dirty. I’m fine scrubbing floors and running a vacuum.”
“If you’re serious about looking for a job, it sounds like Logan could use someone—and right away. My shift ends in fifteen minutes. I can run you out to his place, if you’re interested. Just don’t make any passes at him or act like you’re interested in him. Like at all.”
“Yes, I’m very interested—in the job, not the guy. Don’t worry. I’ve got enough problems of my own, and one of them is an extreme cash shortage. So I don’t care how hot he is. I’m just looking for a job. The last thing I need, or want, is another man in my life.”
Chapter 2
Fifteen minutes later, Harper followed Bryn outside to a battered blue sedan. She hiked her backpack onto her shoulder and pulled the edges of her jacket closer together as she fought the lump swelling in her throat. She’d just said goodbye to Rachel and Josh, and the little boy had given her a hug and whispered in her ear, “Don’t worry. You can ask Santa to help you, and he’ll make sure you find your boy in time for Christmas.”
Harper wished she had the faith of the small child. Although at this point she’d take any help she could get, whether in the form of a Christmas miracle or a jolly fat guy in a red suit.
The waitress gingerly carried a metal lunch box and passed it to Harper before opening the passenger door. “Here, give me your backpack and you hold this, but be careful. There are fragile contents inside.” The front seat was filled with a sack of dog food and a tote bag stuffed with paperwork. Bryn tossed both in the back and brushed off the seat, then put Harper’s backpack on the floor.
Harper got into the car, holding the lunch box carefully as instructed, and noticed a few holes punched into the metal of the lid. “What kind of food are you eating that has to be handled so gently?” she asked as the waitress slid into the driver’s seat and started the car. She jumped as the box rattled slightly in her hands. “Holy crud. And why does your lunch appear to be moving?”
“It’s not my lunch.” An impish grin crept across Bryn’s face as she opened the clasp and carefully lifted the lid.
Harper peered inside and gasped at the adorable ball of fluff that was curled inside. “Is that a baby squirrel?”
Bryn’s laugh filled the small car. “It is. Isn’t she darling? My dog found her under a tree by our barn. I see coyotes around my farm all the time, and I’m pretty sure the mama squirrel was killed by one, so I’ve been taking care of this baby until she’s old enough to transition back into the wild. I still have to feed her every four hours, so I bring her to work with me but leave her in the back office. And don’t worry, I’m very careful about washing my hands before I help customers or spend time around the food.”
“Good to know.” The baby squirrel swished its small tail as it sniffed Harper’s thumb. She let out a tiny coo as she ran her finger gingerly down its back. Her chest tightened for the enchanting little orphan. “It’s so cute. And soft.”
“I know. And she’s a total snuggler. At home, she’ll hang out in the pocket of my hoodie. It’s ridiculously adorable.”
A smile snuck across Harper’s face as the squirrel nuzzled against her hand, and she wondered how she’d stumbled across this extraordinary woman who seemed to have a heart as big as the mountains of Colorado. Bryn rescued small animals and had not only fed three strangers but was also helping one of them find a job.
Maybe Harper’s luck really was about to change.
* * *
Logan stretched his neck as he strode into the office set up inside the front corner of their large barn. The sizable space held a desk with a phone and a computer, a small bathroom, a mini-fridge, a coffeepot, and an old comfy couch his sister had been about to throw away. Even though Ham had been gone for several weeks, the office still smelled like his dad—the mingled scents of boot polish, Old Spice, and a trace of the sweet tobacco from the cigars his dad occasionally smoked. The office wasn’t fancy, but that’s what made it a good place to work midday when Logan didn’t want to have to clean off his boots to go into the house.
A trio of kittens tumbled out of the gunnysack he’d tossed in the corner a few days before. The ranch always had a passel of barn cats roaming around, and it seemed like they had a new litter of kittens every four or five months. When his nephew, Max, had lived there, he was always chasing them around, coming up with names for all of them and trying to sneak them into the house as often as Ham was tossing them out.
The mama cat of this bunch was one of Max’s favorites and probably the tamest cat on the ranch, since he was always petting her and carrying her around. And Quinn had often let her into the house during the day when Ham was out. She was a sweet, fluffy gray cat with a notch missing from her right ear, thanks to a tangle with a coyote, so Max had thought it fitting to name her Nacho. That kid’s wit cracked him up.
Logan wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was a little partial to this bunch of kittens. That probably had something to do with the fact that Quinn and Max had moved out and Ham was gone. The little stinkers tended to keep Logan company, crawling over his feet and chewing on his boots whenever he worked in the office.
He snatched up his favorite, the black-and-white tabby, and rubbed his thumb behind her ears. They hadn’t named the calico or the orange one, but he and Max had decided to call this one Tinkerbell. She had the most distinctive emerald-green eyes, with tinges of gold around the irises. Max had said they reminded him of the colors of Tinkerbell’s dress and wings. Logan didn’t know about that, but he had agreed the kitten had the spunk of the feisty little fairy.
The kitten had picked him more than he’d picked her, running to him whenever he entered the barn or crawling up the side of his pant leg to curl in his lap when he was at his desk. He’d always considered himself more of dog person, but he had a soft spot for this silly kitten.
He tucked her into the crook of his arm. “How’s it going, Tink? You having any better day than I am?” He reached into the fridge for the carton of cream they usually kept there in case Quinn stopped by and wanted it for her coffee. But she wouldn’t miss a little bit.
The mama cat and the other kittens came running as he poured some cream into the old pie plate sitting on the floor. The cats ate mostly scraps, but he’d been giving them cat food lately since he’d been eating so sparsely and
didn’t create many scraps. He set Tink next to the dish, then returned the cream to the fridge.
He considered making a pot of coffee. He had about twenty minutes to get a few emails answered before he needed to run another bale of hay out to the pasture. Before he could decide, an irritated whinny drew his attention to the back of the barn where he’d stalled one of the mares. She’d cut her leg on a piece of barbed wire, and he was keeping an eye on her while it healed.
He stepped out of the office, cooing as he walked toward the horse. “Hey now, what’s going on there, Ginger? What’s bothering you, girl?”
He lifted his head as he caught the faint scent of smoke. Heart pounding, he sprinted the rest of the way to the stall. Throwing open the gate, he swore as he saw the source of her agitation.
A lit cigarette dangled from the hand of a man lying in the hay in the corner of the stall.
Logan recognized his ranch hand, but couldn’t tell if the guy was dead or passed out. If he wasn’t dead yet, he soon would be, because Logan was going to kill him.
The boozy scent of alcohol filled the air, and Logan was surprised the fumes combined with the flame hadn’t started the whole stall on fire. He kicked the butt from the man’s hand, then stomped the ash out with the toe of his boot.
The man pulled his hand back as he groggily tried to sit up. “Hey, man, why are you kicking my hand?”
“Be thankful I’m not kicking your ass. Get up, Ted.”
“All right.” The ranch hand pushed unsteadily to his feet. He dusted stray bits of hay from his jeans. “Cool your jets, man.”
Logan clenched his teeth as he pushed the other man out of the stall and slammed the gate closed behind him. He slowly let out his breath and loosened his jaw. This guy wasn’t worth losing his temper over. Or losing any more of the ranch’s money over. “I’m sick of your crap. You’re fired.”
“You can’t do that, man. I was just taking a nap.”
“I can do whatever I want. It’s my ranch. Besides the fact that I don’t pay you to nap, you were clearly passed out with a lit cigarette in your hand. You could’ve burned the whole barn down.”
