The Cowboy's Housekeeper

by Lori Copeland

  Swinging back toward him, Jessica put on her sternest expression. “This won’t work at all. There’s barely enough room to hang my dresses.”

  A sardonic twitch tugged the corners of his lips. “What do you need dresses for? It thought you made fancy jeans for a living.”

  She ignored the jab. “What about Eric’s old room? Why can’t I sleep there?”

  He leaned against the doorsill. “It’s full of horse tack.”

  With an effort, she suppressed an eye-roll. “Then how about Randall’s? He doesn’t live here anymore.”

  “Not permanently, but his stuff is all over the place in there. Working on an oil rig, he travels light.”

  Her mind followed the path of the hallway behind him, filling in the rooms from memory. The room next to Eric’s used to belong to Jason, and their parents’ bedroom lay at the end of the hall.

  She gave him a suspicious look. “Where do you sleep?”

  “The master, of course.” A cocky grin spread across his tanned face. “Didn’t you just call me Master?”

  Her teeth ground in frustration. Should she ask to sleep in his old bedroom? Distasteful as the idea was…she glanced around the tiny cell.

  “Before you ask,” he said, “my old room is off limits. I’ve stored a lot of Mom and Dad’s stuff in there, and I don’t want you messing with it.”

  She bristled at the implication that she would ‘mess with’ his parents’ belongings.

  “Fine,” she snapped. “I’ll stay in this room on one condition.”

  His eyebrows drew together. “What’s that?”

  “That you install a lock on this door.”

  He jumped out of the way in time to avoid being smacked with the door when she slammed it shut.

  Eight

  A noise in another part of the house drew Jessica from a deep sleep. She lay there a moment, trying to pinpoint the sound. When she realized the noise was running water, the reality of her situation crashed in on her. Sleep had lulled her into a happy place where she was her own woman, in her own apartment, with her own job to go to. But no. She was in a strange house, sleeping in a tiny bed—which was surprisingly comfortable, at least—in a closet-sized room. The water running had to be the shower, and the muffled baritone that occasionally broke out in snatches of Keith Urban’s The Fighter was none other than her ex-husband.

  She pried her eyes open and squinted at the vile red numbers on the clock. Four-thirty? Who got up at this hour other than to pee?

  The answer arose from memories of growing up on Uncle Fred’s farm.

  “Farmers,” she muttered.

  Yesterday he’d caught her by surprise, showing up at her house before she was out of bed. But not today. Today it was her turn to surprise Jason.

  She threw her legs over the side of the bed and stumbled three steps to the chest of drawers in the closet. Using the light from her cell phone, she donned a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, ran a brush through her tangled tresses, and twisted them up into a messy knot on top of her head. Then she slipped from her room as quietly as possible.

  Last night she’d taken inventory, so she already knew her way around the kitchen. Moving quickly, she made coffee and then she cracked open a tube of biscuits. When they’d been put in the warm oven, she layered thick slices of bacon in a big iron skillet. By the time Jason emerged, freshly shaved and his thick hair still wet, she was whisking eggs with a touch of cream.

  He halted in the doorway, surprise etched on his face.

  “Good morning,” she chirped in a bright voice. “I hope you slept well.”

  “I—” His mouth slammed shut, and his gaze slid to the sizzling bacon and then to the coffee pot. “I did. And you?”

  “Wonderful. That bed is more comfortable than my old one at Fred and Rainey’s.” The eggs whipped to fluffy readiness, she poured them into a pan with a dash of melted butter. “Have a seat. I’ll get you some coffee.”

  Jessica swallowed a giggle at the suspicious glances he kept throwing her way. Did he think she couldn’t handle herself in a kitchen? Maybe that’s why he’d suggested this arrangement, so he could watch her fumble and laugh at her failures. Well, she’d prove him wrong. Anyone who’d been raised by Aunt Rainey knew their way around a farmhouse.

  And this one was in serious need of attention. Dusty, musty and downright dirty in some places.

  She set a mug of steaming coffee in front of him. “How long has Mrs. Perkins been gone?”

  “I told you. A week.” He lifted a wary look up at her. “Why?”

  A week? Either she wasn’t a very good housekeeper, or things have turned into a shambles very quickly.

  “Just wondered.”

  She returned to the stove, flipped the bacon, and stirred the eggs, humming as she worked. The Fighter, the same song he’d sung in the shower. A quick glance over her shoulder showed her he noticed, and she smiled at the spots of color rising on his tanned cheeks.

  A few minutes later she set a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him. “You get started on that. The biscuits are coming out now.”

  He picked up his fork, and she noticed his plaid cotton work shirt clung to his skin like Saran Wrap. She walked back to the oven, took out a pan of light, golden-brown biscuits, and placed them on the trivet resting on the table. From the large refrigerator, she removed the juice and butter. As she poured him a glass of juice her gaze returned to his shirt.

  “What’s the matter with your shirt?” she asked.

  He spread generous amounts of golden butter over his flaky, hot biscuit. With a downward glance at his attire, he shrugged his broad shoulders. “Can’t figure it out myself.” He bit into the steaming biscuit.

  “It looks like static electricity.” She set her plate in front of a chair on the other end of the table and reached for the honey jar. When she’d smeared an ample amount on the biscuit, she licked her fingers free of the sweet, sticky substance. “Do you do your own laundry?”

  “Try to.” He grimaced. “It’s not one of my favorite things.”

  She stood up, reached for the coffeepot, and refilled Jason’s thick brown mug with the hot liquid. “Do you use fabric softener when you wash?”

  He held his third biscuit in front of his mouth and answered curtly. “I don’t know what I use. It’s sitting in there on the washing machine in a big box.”

  Though he was obviously getting tired of the conversation, she persisted.

  “That’s just the washing powder,” she informed him. “Don’t you use anything but that when you wash?”

  He shot her an impatient look. “No, I just put a cup of that stuff from the blue box in the washing machine and turn it on. When it’s through, I put it in the dryer, turn it on ‘normal heat,’ and press the start button.” His voice dropped to a monotone mutter. “Just like Mrs. Perkins told me to.”

  Jessica shook her head and set down her coffee cup. “Doesn’t that bother you, clinging to your skin like that all day?”

  “It’s irritating,” he agreed in a clipped tone.

  “Well.” She sighed. “I’ll do your laundry while I’m here.” She picked up her juice glass and took a small sip from it. “To keep everything even, you can clean the drain in the hallway bath. Something really gross is clogging it.”

  “Great.” He shoved the last of the biscuit in his mouth, pushed away from the table, and stood up. He reached for his hat, which hung on the coat rack by the back door of the kitchen.

  Hand on the door handle, he paused. “Thanks for breakfast. I usually eat a health bar.”

  “You’re welcome.” She smiled. “Have a nice day.”

  When the door closed behind him, Jessica sat back in her chair and sipped her coffee. She’d caught him off guard this morning. Apparently, he’d expected a return of the snarky, reticent Jessica from last night. But who wanted to live in a constant verbal sparring match for six months? No, since she’d agreed to this arrangement, she might as well make the best of it. A glance around
the pleasant kitchen settled a comfortable feeling in her. How often as a teenager had she dreamed that this kitchen would one day be hers? That she would one day live in this house? This had been her dream house for a long time, and this the life she wanted. Living here, cooking for Jason, taking care of his house, raising his children—

  With a start, she jerked up right. Coffee slopped over the rim of her mug.

  Watch it, Jessica, she cautioned herself. This is a business arrangement only. Nothing personal. Remember that.

  But she would always have these memories. No one could take that from her

  Exactly one month to the day after Jessica’s arrival, the fact that this make-believe life was nothing more than a business arrangement slapped her full in the face.

  Balancing the roles of remote corporate executive and housekeeper wasn’t as difficult as she’d feared. In fact, she slipped into a new routine quickly. After cleaning up the breakfast dishes, she spent several hours at her laptop and on the phone, handling the day-to-day issues that arose at Fancy Duds. Then she turned her attention to her second job.

  The farmhouse had undergone an almost miraculous change. Bright throw pillows and paintings, ordered online, now enlivened the rooms with their vivid splashes of color. Lush green foliage adorned each room throughout the house. Even Jason’s prized plant now showed signs of rapidly improving health.

  Jessica had washed and ironed all the curtains that now hung freshly starched at the windows and had mopped and waxed the kitchen floor until you could see your face in the finish. She had shampooed the green, plush carpeting in the living room, bedrooms, and hall, bringing back the color to almost new.

  Cooking had always been a favorite hobby of Jessica’s, but for the first time she was able to throw herself into preparing meals that, while not gourmet, tested her skills and delighted her nearly as much as designing ladies’ clothing. She looked forward to the end of every day, when Jason entered the house, stopped, and lifted his head to inhale the mouth-watering smells of the dinner she’d prepared.

  He’d looked completely overwhelmed the first time she greeted him with a tall glass of iced tea and his favorite apple pie bubbling hot in the oven.

  His clothes now hung, cleaned and pressed, in his closet, buttons all replaced, and his socks were mended and lying neatly in his dresser drawers. He seemed particularly pleased with her mending ability.

  “How did you do that?” he’d asked, his fist thrust to the heel in a sock.

  She shrugged. “Aunt Rainey taught me.”

  “Wow.”

  His expression had been so full of admiration that she was almost embarrassed. “What? It’s not that hard.”

  “When Mrs. Perkins comes back, would you show her? I asked her to mend several pairs once, and for weeks I felt like he was walking on rocks. Now every time I get a hole I throw them away and buy new ones.”

  Little things like that left Jessica feeling almost giddy. This was a life she could settle into. Until…

  They had just finished supper, which Jason had eaten rapidly. He left the room the minute he was done. Sounds of the shower running reached down the hallway as she cleared away the dinner dishes. What his big hurry was tonight?

  Fifteen minutes later a red convertible pulled up in the drive and the driver honked the horn.

  Jessica peeked out through the kitchen curtain, and her heart sank. In the driver’s seat sat a pretty, brown-haired girl who smiled warmly at her. She managed to smile back, then dropped the curtain. The clean, fresh smell of Jason’s aftershave filled the room as he walked through the kitchen toward the back door.

  He opened the screen. “I may be late. Just leave the back door unlocked.”

  Jessica watched as he walked out to the red car, leaned down and kissed the driver, then went around to the passenger’s side to slide in. The car pulled swiftly out of the driveway in the direction of town.

  Sharp pangs of jealously coursed through her as she walked away from the window. Well, what had she expected? There had to be other women in Jason’s life. She had no claim on him, not anymore. But it still hurt. She wiped at the unexpected tears that rose in her eyes. Then resentment stabbed at her. How different things could have been, if only she’d had the gumption to stand up to Uncle Fred and Aunt Rainey concerning their marriage.

  Wiping ineffectually at the streaming tears, she finished putting the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and switched it on. Turning out the light in the kitchen, she wandered back through the silent house. When she clicked on a small lamp in the living room, her gaze fell on a shirt that Jason had carelessly draped there. She picked it up and hugged it to her cheek. The unique, special smell of Jason assaulted her nostrils, the faint aroma of his aftershave clinging to the soft fabric. Once again, tears wet her cheeks.

  What is this? She swiped at her face, impatient with herself. Their relationship was over long ago.

  Wasn’t it?

  Did my feelings for Jason ever really leave?

  The answer came in a flash, and she buried her face in the shirt. No. She loved him still. Her slender body shook with the force of her deep sobbing. She loved him more than life itself, but he would never be hers again. He had moved on, and she— Only once in a lifetime could anyone feel the kind of love she felt for Jason. How would she ever bear the pain of losing him again?

  It was very late when she finally heard the car pull into the drive. She set aside the book that had failed to keep her attention. With a deep sigh, she reached up and switched off her bedside lamp. Snuggling down under the cover, she heard Jason let himself in the back door, not any too quietly. Banging his way down the hall, she traced his way by his footsteps. When he paused before her door, her breath caught in her throat.

  “Jessica?” he whispered. “Are you sleeping?”

  “I’m awake.” She slid out of bed and pulled on a pair of shorts. “Did you need something?”

  “No, I just—”

  When she opened the door, his eyebrows arched in surprise.

  “You just what?” She twisted her hair in a long braid. “Wanted to wake me up to tell me about your date?”

  Now that he was back, Jessica suddenly felt very hostile toward him. How dare he go off on a date and have fun, while she sat at home trying to read a stupid book? Hair settled, she pushed past him and padded her way to the kitchen. Maybe a glass of milk would help her sleep.

  He followed, and leaned against the doorway. “What did you do this evening?”

  “Nothing as interesting as you, I’m sure.” She nearly winced at the petulance in her voice.

  “How do you know what I did?”

  “I guessed.” Jessica poured milk into a glass, and then held the carton toward him in an unspoken question. When he shook his head, she returned it to the refrigerator. “Who was your date?”

  His eyes narrowed, and then he answered in a teasing tone. “Monica Sawyers.”

  “She’s very pretty.” She gulped the milk. “Have you been dating her long?”

  Drat! Why did she ask that? She didn’t want to know anything about the woman.

  He confirmed her worst fear. “About a year.”

  “It must be serious.” How could her voice sound normal when her chest felt so tight?

  “It could be.” He avoided her gaze.

  She drained her milk. “Well, good night.”

  “You really ought to get to know Monica, Jessie. She’s a nice person.” He didn’t move, but continued to block the doorway.

  Her temper flared. If he launched into a list of Monica’s attributes, she’d scream.

  “Excellent idea,” Jessica said with mock enthusiasm. “Tell you what. Why don’t I bake her a cake in my spare time and take it to her?”

  One of his eyebrows twitched upward. “You wouldn’t by any chance be jealous of her, would you?”

  Now it was her turn to avoid his gaze. “Have a nice day, Jason.” She tried once again to pass him, but he remained planted.

 
; “You’re sure?”

  The last of her patience fled. Jessica shoved past him, her patience clearly at an end. “Don’t mess with me. Mr. Rawlings. You’ll soon learn that I’m not a morning person.”

  “You know what, ex-Mrs. Rawlings? I believe you are jealous.”

  That crooked smile twitched at his lips, and the sight drained her anger. Jealous? Of course she was jealous. She could spit bullets at the mere thought of Jason with another woman, but admitting that would give him a weapon against which she had no defense.

  She sighed, and stepped close to him. He straightened, suddenly wary.

  “I hope Monica and her new husband are very happy together.” A bald-faced lie, but she’d never admit it.

  She rose onto her tiptoes and planted a light, brotherly kiss on his cheek, then pushed past him. “Enjoy the lovely sunshine. I’m going back to bed.”

  When she closed the door to her bedroom, he had not moved.

  Jessica was sliding a pan of cinnamon rolls in the oven when Jason came into the kitchen the second morning. Without saying a word, he walked over to the coffeepot and poured himself a large steaming cupful before he slid into his chair at the table.

  Jessica had spent several sleepless hours wondering how to act this morning. She hadn’t seen him when he came in last night. She left his supper in the warming oven with the instructions to put the cat out and turn off the back-porch light. She was in her “room.” Avoidance, she’d decided, was the best course, whenever possible. Of course, they would be in close proximity, but if she steered cleared of him, other than business matters, the time would pass more quickly. Whatever had possessed her to kiss his cheek? The act had felt so natural, so good. So utterly foolish. She decided to pretend the slight peck on his cheek never happened. She had been totally out of place.

  “Good morning,” she said brightly.

  “’Is it?” Jason grumbled.

  “What’s the matter? Didn’t you sleep well last night?”

  His palm slapped the table so hard she jumped. “What’s with the kiss last night? I thought we agreed this was a business arrangement only.”