by Helen Conrad
“Then what exactly do you do?”
She started to answer, then thought better of it. “No references, remember?”
“Ah,” he said softly, still watching her. “A mystery woman.”
There it was again, something in his eyes. She felt a flush beginning to rise in her cheeks and she looked away, saying quickly, “So Jeremy is going to be okay? I’m so glad.”
“He’s fine. He can even go to school tomorrow if he feels like it.”
“That’s a relief.” She hesitated, then charged on. “You know, Beth was really worried. She felt just awful that she couldn’t call 911 for him. You’re—you’re not angry with her, are you?”
His eyes widened. “Why on earth would I be angry with her?”
“I don’t know. You just were a little short with her and I think she—“
He rose abruptly, taking his own plate to the sink. “I’m not angry with Beth,” he said evenly as he turned back. “Don’t go putting ideas like that into her head.”
Carly rose to face him. “Oh, but I didn’t—“
That was as far as she got. From outside, somewhere in the fields, there came a long, high, hideous sound that brought to mind every horror movie she’d ever seen and chilled her to the bone. She spun, eyes wide, and grabbed Joe’s arm. “What—what is that noise?”
He looked down at her quizzically. “Just some old coyote out there baying at the moon.”
He very carefully pried her fingers off and pulled away from her touch, but she hardly noticed. The sound came again, and her heart thumped madly, even though she knew now what it was.
“But... What’s he doing here?” she demanded.
Joe looked down at her blankly. “What do you mean?”
She shook her head, feeling indignant. “This isn’t the Wild West.”
If she had looked up she would have seen that the smile was back in his eyes.
“No. It’s the tame West. But no one’s told the coyotes about that yet.”
She shuddered, seeing all her dreams about solitary wanderings through the orange groves falling to ashes about her. In the city you had to watch out for muggers and crazy people, but if you were careful and knew what you were doing you were pretty confident of being all right. This was different, somehow, a primeval call to a wildness she didn’t think she understood at all.
“Do you carry a... a rifle or something when you go out there?” she wanted to know.
Joe looked at her as though she’d suddenly revealed a streak of insanity. “Coyotes do not attack fully grown people,” he told her patiently. “Dogs, cats, even small children you have to be careful with. But I think you’ll be safe.” His grin was back, but this time there was a definite touch of condescension evident as he looked down at her, still hovering close to him. “And don’t worry tonight. Tasty as you may be, no coyote could get into this house and climb up to the second floor to find you.”
“I know that.” But she still shuddered.
He shook his head and turned, starting for the hallway, turning off lights as he went, and she followed right behind him, then went on ahead, starting up the stairs.
“Thank you for the omelet,” he said. “It was very good.”
She had begun to go up the stairs and she turned, surprised, to look down at him. “You liked it?”
He smiled and nodded, amused by her obvious pleasure in his comment. “I liked it.”
It was silly to feel so proud of such a small thing, but Carly had never been praised for her cooking before, and this was a sort of milestone for her. “I’ll make you another one tomorrow,” she said gaily, not noticing that his smile faded quickly at her words.
She turned to go up, but misjudged, and her foot slipped on the threadbare carpeting. The next thing she knew she was airborne, falling, her heart in her throat.
And then she landed against Joe’s wide chest with a thump that knocked some of the air out of her lungs.
“Oh!”
He steadied her and she clung to him, fighting to get her breath back. His large hands spread across her back and she leaned close against him, her face pressed to his chest
Her breathing was back quickly, but she couldn’t move away. She stayed very still, very much aware of how large and masculine he was. She felt his heart beating against her cheek, and suddenly she was breathless in a different way. She looked up at him, confused, her eyes clouded, her mind in a fog, filled with a strange longing she didn’t understand.
He stared down into her eyes and she felt him stiffen, then heard him swear under his breath.
“Oh no, you don’t,” he said aloud, quite deliberately, shaking his head and putting her firmly but gently away from him. His eyes were dark and hard and there was no smile at all. “You’re going to have to get a handle on your emotions on your own, lady. I’m not going to help you there.”
Turning, he went on ahead, taking the stairs two at a time, leaving Carly behind to blink after him in a bewilderment that quickly developed into outrage.
He thought she... he was under the impression... he had mistaken... Why how dare he! Rage filled her and she ran up the stairs behind him, tempted to pound on the door he had already closed. Luckily, she stopped herself in time, contenting herself with making a face at his bedroom as she passed on to her own.
Of all the insensitive, arrogant, self-absorbed, conceited… . She swallowed her anger and tried to think of cutting comments to make to him in the morning. There had to be some way to prove to him how wrong he was about her—prove it to him and make him eat crow.
Opening the door to her own bedroom, she went in and looked at herself in the mirror. Bright spots of anger highlighted her cheeks. She looked like a clown.
She turned, and suddenly it hit her. There was something wrong. Her bags were there, but just looking at them she could sense they’d been tampered with.
She pulled one up and opened it. Someone had been going through her things. Nothing was folded the way she had done it. Her sweaters had been put back in an order she would never have used. Someone had searched her bags. Who in the world would do a thing like that? And why?
CHAPTER FOUR
WHY CAN’T YOU BE LIKE MILLIE?
“Waffles. That’s what I want. Waffles.”
Carly turned from Jeremy’s earnest little face and looked longingly at the carton of eggs and the frying pan. This was an ungodly hour to be learning new skills.
She’d shot up in her bed when the alarm had gone off like the whistle of an oncoming freight train at six in the morning. For just a moment, she’d been completely lost. Then it had all come back to her. She was in a stranger’s house, and responsible for the health and happiness of a stranger’s children. The thought set butterflies fluttering through her innards.
She’d slipped out of bed and gone to the window to look out over the lovely orchards, and had been just in time to see Joe ride off on a huge, beautiful black horse. Already up and at ‘em at six—it made her want to go back to bed. He circled the yard before heading out onto the ranch road, and for just a moment, he seemed to hesitate beneath her window. Was he looking up? She pulled back, just in case, and then couldn’t quite tell, but her nerves got jittery anyway. She had a few things to settle with that man.
She heard him begin to ride off and leaned out again to watch. What was it about a man on a horse? Cultural icons she supposed. Masculinity. Strength. The settling of the West. Whatever. It all boiled down to one thing—it was sexy as hell. She drew in a slow breath and tried to calm her racing pulse.
Meanwhile, there was breakfast to prepare down in the kitchen.
“How about some nice scrambled eggs?” she asked hopefully.
“Uh-uh.” Jeremy shook his head, completely decided, his hands forming small fists in front of him on the kitchen table. “I want waffles.”
“Not me.” Beth flounced into the room and plunked her books down. Her golden hair flowed about her shoulders and her eyes were bright. “I want pan
cakes. Can we have pancakes? We haven’t had pancakes for so long.”
“No, waffles!”
“I want pancakes.”
“Waffles!”
“Pancakes!”
Carly licked her lips as she contemplated informing them that she had no idea how to make either item. Something told her this was no time to go rummaging through cookbooks. Their choices seemed so passionate. Did they turn on the cook when she refused to obey?
“I don’t know about waffles or pancakes, guys,’’ she said. “I can’t find any mixes. How about some nice cereal in these pretty bowls... ?”
“I hate cereal.”
“It rots your teeth.”
“I want waffles.”
Beth gazed at her brother with scorn. “Pancakes are easier. I bet I could make them. I think you just need milk and flour.”
“Uh.. I have a feeling there’s more to it than that.” Carly looked around the kitchen, getting nervous. There must be something easy for these kids. Why on earth were there no bagels in this place?
“Morning, kids.”
Joe was at the door of the kitchen, a smile for his children, a patronizing nod for Carly. He’d come back from his morning patrol and gone upstairs, and now he looked fresh and clean, straight out of the shower. Carly regarded him with a measure of resentment, but there was no denying the man had a strong, steady sense of presence that sent a quiver through the room.
“What’s the problem?” he asked.
“No problem,” Carly said hastily, a quick smile on her lips. She practically chirped. “We’ve got everything under control.”
His eyebrow quirked. “Oh, really?”
Sarcasm so early in the morning? She lifted her chin. “Yes. I can handle it.” My, what lovely confidence her voice exuded. She only wished a little of that self-assurance was real.
“I want waffles, Daddy!”
Jeremy put his hand to his bandaged head, unconsciously going for the sympathy vote, but Beth had her own ace up her sleeve.
“And I want pancakes,” Beth insisted, turning to smile winningly at her father. “Daddy likes pancakes best. He told me so.”
Joe’s dark glance swept the kitchen and saw through every mask. “You’ll have eggs and toast,” he said shortly. “Pancakes and waffles are for weekends. Carly’s got no time for that sort of thing today.”
“Oh.”
They heaved a collective sigh, but it was evident the master had spoken and there was going to be no whining. Impressed in spite of herself, Carly bit her tongue to keep from thanking him.
“Okay. I’ll have scrambled eggs,” Beth offered grudgingly. “But please don’t leave any little wiggly things in it. Okay?”
Joe’s gaze was mocking but Carly couldn’t look away. She had to pretend, at least, that she wasn’t rattled. Especially after last night.
“Scrambled eggs, stiff and dry, coming right up,” she said cheerfully.
Skepticism laced Joe’s grin, but he shrugged. “Since you’ve got it all under control,” he drawled, “I’ll go on out and get that tractor out of the ditch.” He looked back just before he went out the kitchen door. “Call me if you need anything,” he told her.
“I wouldn’t call you if green Martians landed and began scrubbing down in the sink,” she thought to herself, but aloud she said, “Sure” as he turned and left the house, and then she went to work on breakfast. “Let’s see—warm the pan, get out some butter...”
“Can you help me braid my hair?” Beth was asking, jumping down from her seat.
“I didn’t do my homework,” Jeremy was muttering. “But it wasn’t my fault. You have to write a note to my teacher.”
She glanced at the two of them distractedly. “Uh... okay, just let me get this toaster...”
“Good grief!” Beth suddenly looked stricken. “I forgot my library book! Where’s my library book?” She ran from the room, calling back, “Carly, can you come help me find it?”
“No,” Carly mouthed, but she didn’t say it out loud. Instead, she put the toaster on the counter and began peeling slices of bread off the loaf.
“I didn’t find my Pirates cap,” Jeremy told her solemnly, still sitting very still with two fists in front of him. “I can’t go to school if I don’t find it.”
Carly blinked rapidly. She’d never had a lot of trouble working on two things at a time at her job, but this was different. This was unfamiliar territory, and she was beginning to feel harried.
“Okay,” she said quickly. “Just wait while I get this going...” She began mixing eggs like crazy. The toast popped, but the pieces were untouched by heat. She jiggled the handle, pushed in the plug again, and the filaments began to turn red.
“Carly!” Beth shrieked from the den. “Jeremy took my library book! I can’t find it!”
Carly turned and looked at the boy. “Did you take her library book?” she asked, beyond frazzled, approaching meltdown.
Jeremy shook his head slowly. “Did not.”
“Well... go find your cap.”
“I don’t know where it is.”
“That’s why you’re going to have to look for it.”
“How can I look when I don’t know where it is?”
That sounded logical. At the moment, she had no answer for him.
Meanwhile, Beth’s voice, coming from the den, was beginning to develop a note of hysteria. “I can’t go to school if I can’t find my library book! Write a note to my teacher!”
The eggs were browning too fast. Carly worked feverishly with a spatula before she remembered to turn down the heat. The toast was burning. She lunged for the toaster and popped them up, still smoking. Should she scrape them or start over again? Jeremy was playing with the silverware, banging a spoon against the table.
“Carly, come quick, help me look for my library book!” Beth called, tears in her voice. “I can’t find it! What am I going to do?”
“Breakfast is burned,” Jeremy informed Carly calmly. “I can’t eat burned.”
Carly’s breath was coming faster and faster and her memory buffer was about to hit overload when the kitchen door opened and Joe looked in. “Everything okay?” he asked.
Carly whirled, shielding breakfast with her body, and forced a smile. “Everything’s just fine,” she said in a voice that sounded much too high to be hers. “Don’t worry about a thing.”
He sniffed the air but this time he didn’t grin. “You don’t need any help?” he asked, searching her face.
“Oh no!” She managed a quick, strained laugh. “We’re fine.”
He shrugged, the corners of his wide mouth twitching. “If you say so,” he said, and went out again.
She took a deep breath and turned. Jeremy was staring at her with wide eyes, but he didn’t say a thing. She turned, put two fresh slices of bread into the toaster and began dishing up the eggs. Beth flew back into the room like a miniature hurricane.
“My hair! It still needs to be braided.”
“The bus leaves in ten minutes,” Jeremy intoned from his seat, looking up at the big rooster-shaped clock on the wall.
“Ten minutes!” Beth shrieked.
Carly steadied herself against the edge of the kitchen counter. “Sit down and eat,” she said, hoping she sounded as firm as Joe had when he had proclaimed the morning menu. “One thing at a time.”
Beth gaped at her, her pretty face anguished. “But there are too many things to go one at a time,” she cried.
She was right. Panic was bobbing around in Carly’s chest like a seal in a sea tank. There was just too much to do and too little time.
“Here, eat,” she said desperately, propelling the girl to her chair. “I’ll work on your hair while you get that food down.”
“No hairbrush at the table,” Jeremy chanted.
Carly faltered. Those words must have come straight from the mouth of his mother. But there was no time to be squeamish now. She grabbed a hunk of Beth’s hair and went to work.
“
About the library book,” she began.
“Oh. I found it,” Beth said casually. “It’s in my backpack.”
Carly nodded and tried to center herself. There was no reason to get angry at the child. Was there? So why was she gritting her teeth? “Okay. Okay. Now just Jeremy needs a note for his teacher, right?”
Jeremy was shaking his head. “I’m not going to school,” he told her flatly. “I can’t find my cap, so I’m going to stay home.”
Any moment now, she was going to start screaming, and once she started, there was no telling how long the screaming might go on. But Beth’s hair was braided. And it was time to go.
“It’s almost time for the school bus. Let’s go.”
They were going to make the bus. Carly felt a vast sense of relief welling up. She’d made it through one hectic morning. It really hadn’t been so bad. In fact, she’d done pretty well, if she did say so herself.
“Goodbye, kids,” she said cheerfully. “I’ll see you this afternoon.”
Beth slid off her seat and looked at the kitchen counter. “Where’s our lunches?” she asked.
“Lunches?” Reality swam in and out and for a moment, she thought there was a black hole at her feet. One more step and she was a goner. She drew in a shuddering breath. “Ohmigod. Okay, okay.” The black hole receded as she made her way to the counter and began pulling slices of bread out again. Peanut butter and jelly. That would have to do. Where were the lunch boxes? The plastic wrap for the sandwiches-apples from the bowl on the table—the milk for the little thermoses—and then, at last, she was done. She slammed the boxes shut with a feeling of triumph. She’d made two lunches in less than three minutes. It was a miracle.
Joe entered the back door just in time to witness her handing out the boxes to the children. “The bus already came and went,” he said calmly. “I’ll have to get out the car and take you myself.”
She wilted inside. All this effort, and she hadn’t really managed to get it together. But before she even had time to feel disappointment, he dropped another bombshell.
“Oh, by the way. I want to keep Jeremy home today. I think it would be a good idea if we kept an eye on him and that cut on his forehead.”
