Wish Upon a Cowboy

by Maureen Child

  Which brought up a whole new set of problems.

  Idly, his gaze slipped to the swell of her bosom and then down to her narrow waist and the curve of her hips. For a tiny thing, she had a form to make a dead man sit up and shout. "Amen." But it wasn't just what she did to his insides that had him worried. There was the other thing, too. A woman who proposed marriage to a stranger and expected brooms to sweep across the floor under their own steam couldn't be fully right in the head.

  No doubt about it, Hannah Lowell was trouble. He felt it deep in his bones. Every instinct he had was screaming at him to get her out of his house now. While he still could.

  And then he took a deep breath and inhaled the rich, full scent of coffee on the boil. Even the smell of it was reaching into his brain and giving life to a mind so numbed with fatigue it was a wonder he was standing upright.

  She finished sweeping, opened the back door, and swished the flour and dust mixture out into the yard. Then she shut the door, turned to look up at him, and smiled again. Really, the way her eyes lit up when she smiled was as devastating a weapon as a fully loaded Colt.

  "So?" she asked, meeting his gaze squarely, "do I get the job?"

  Mac took another sniff of coffee and rubbed the back of his neck. He had no other choice and he knew it. But at the very least, he could protect himself, and her, from the strangest of her delusions. "On one condition."

  A slight frown twisted her mouth a bit and he fought the urge to smooth over that lip with the pad of his thumb. Cocking her head to one side, she asked, "Which is…?"

  He leveled his gaze on hers, telling himself to ignore the swirling, rich deep green of her eyes and concentrate on the slightly off-kilter mind behind them. "No more talk of marriage."

  She sighed, then gave him a soft, knowing smile.

  "I mean it, Hannah." Weary to the bone, he nonetheless stood his ground. He wasn't a man to take advantage of a female light in the head. He wanted her to know right from the start that she wouldn't be changing his mind about marrying her. A job was one thing. If she could cook and make coffee, then it didn't really matter if her mind wasn't all it should be. "Lord knows I can use your help, if you're as good a cook as you say you are."

  "I am."

  "Be that as it may," he said quickly, before she could get going again, "I don't want to hear any more nonsense about you and me getting married."

  It was going to be hard enough as it was to be around her in close quarters without having to listen to her talk about marrying all the time. Because to Jonas—hell, he figured, to any man—thinking about marriage led directly to thoughts of the marriage bed. And there was no sense in torturing himself, was there?

  "Is it a deal?"

  Her fingers curled tight around the broom handle, she thought about it for a long moment before agreeing. "All right," she said. "I won't mention the word marriage. You have my word."

  Hmmm… a carefully worded agreement if he'd ever heard one. Mac had the distinct feeling he was being maneuvered. He just wasn't sure how.

  Still he was desperate and Hannah was his only way out of this. He already knew for a fact that no one in town was interested in working for him for the pitifully small wages he could afford to pay. In fact, he never had been able to figure out why Juana had taken the job. Except, of course, for the fact that the woman wasn't much hand at working anyway and probably no one else would have hired her.

  The solemn word of a crazy woman wasn't much, he guessed, but it was all he had.

  "All right. But there's something else you should know. The pay's not much," he felt obliged to tell her. "Only twenty a month, plus room and board, of course," he looked beyond her to the main room, from which two smaller rooms branched off. "Elias likes sleeping in the bunkhouse, so Juana's been using his bedroom. I guess you can move in there now."

  She turned her head as if she could see past the wall to her new bedroom beyond. With her swift movement, her fall of blond hair swung out in a wide arc around her head and shoulders. White, gold, wheat, and honey colors blended in her hair to make it shimmer with light. His breath caught at the sheer beauty of it.

  Then she looked back at him and smiled. "It sounds perfect."

  Perfect. He wouldn't say that. Looking from that smile, to her hair, to those sparkling green eyes of hers, to the swell of her bosom and the narrow expanse of her waist, a chill of misgiving slithered along his spine.

  It was one thing to share a house with a woman old enough to be your mother. It was quite another to know that the female on the other side of the wall from you was a woman who looked like Hannah. The only thing that might save him was knowing that she expected him to marry her. And by God, that wouldn't be happening. Damn it, a part of him already regretted this.

  "You won't regret this," she said, startling him by unknowingly echoing his thoughts.

  Whether he did or not, the deal was done and he'd just have to live with it. Just as he'd apparently have to live with the fact that his body was going to be constantly thrown into turmoil just by her presence.

  At that disquieting thought, Jonas countered with, "Maybe I won't, but you might."

  "What do you mean?"

  Mac glanced down to where the cat was laying across both of his feet. He nudged it off, then lifted his gaze to Hannah's worried expression. Here's where he would find out if she had the guts to stay or not.

  "In an hour or two, twelve men are going to be coming in here looking for breakfast. A few hours later, that same bunch will want noon dinner, and after that, supper."

  Her eyes widened as she glanced quickly around the messy kitchen. Then, as if listening to a stern inner voice, she inhaled sharply and gave him a brief, determined nod. "I can do that."

  Okay, he could give her a point for that. She hadn't quailed at the thought of feeding a dozen hungry ranch hands. But the real test was yet to come. He paused thoughtfully, then went on, "In a couple of weeks, there'll be about forty hungry people here day in and day out for a few more weeks, and they'll all be expecting to be fed."

  "Forty?" she said on a gasp and reached up to clasp at the base of her throat as though the word were choking her.

  "Roundup time," he said, refusing to be swayed by the horrified expression on her face. "The first week or two, we'll be working on my spread. Some of the ranchers' wives will be bringing food, too, but mainly it's up to us to feed ‘em."

  "Forty," she repeated, her voice a little hoarse.

  "For right now, it's just the twelve of us. Well, thirteen, counting you."

  "Thirteen," she muttered quietly.

  "If you can't do this," he said, giving them both one last chance to escape this situation—although if she backed out, he didn't know what the hell he would do about finding another cook—"say so now."

  She actually appeared to be thinking it over and Jonas wasn't sure what he'd prefer she decide. If she left, Lord knew, he'd sleep easier at night, though he surely wouldn't be eating well. If she stayed, his stomach might be satisfied, but another part of his body wouldn't be happy.

  What in the hell had happened to his legendary luck?

  A long moment passed and he counted several heartbeats before she looked him dead in the eye and said quietly. "I can do it." Hearing her own words seemed to put some steel in her spine because she straightened up and lifted her chin. "I'm not leaving until I've finished what I came here to do."

  Which brought them right back where they'd started, he figured. Tightly, he reminded her, "No more talk about—"

  "I promised I wouldn't say the word marriage," she said firmly. "Not until you have."

  He snorted a tired laugh. "Then you'll have a long wait, lady."

  "I'm patient, as well as stubborn."

  "So am I," he warned her.

  She smiled at him and it felt as though someone had slugged him in the stomach. All of his air left him in a rush. Fighting down the feeling, he said, "Keep a pot of coffee going on the stove all day, every day. The men
will come in and help themselves when they want some."

  She nodded and set the broom down to lean against the wall. At least, he told himself wryly, she hadn't expected it to put itself away. He could almost see the wheels turning in her befuddled brain as she tried to decide where to begin her new job.

  Dislodging the cat again, he walked across the room, poured a cup of coffee, and headed for the door. He had to take a couple of pretty fancy steps to avoid the blasted cat, but he managed. Before he went outside, though, he couldn't resist adding, "See you at breakfast."

  Then he stepped into the yard, closed the door, and tried to put Hannah out of his mind.

  * * *

  Hannah had never been sorrier that her witchcraft abilities were so dreadful. She'd only meant to give Juana a cold, or some other small malady that she would recover from fairly quickly. She winced, thinking about the poor woman wracked with pain.

  On the other hand, she thought as she did a slow turn, inspecting the disaster of a kitchen, perhaps Juana had gotten the better end of this deal. After all, that woman was lying in bed being waited on by a doting sister. While Hannah, on the other hand… She groaned quietly and shook her head.

  "It's a wonder, Hepzibah," she said on a sigh, "how men manage to run the world when they can't seem to pick up after themselves."

  Briefly, she thought about using her powers to help her with the day's daunting tasks. But in the next instant, she recalled Eudora's most frequently used admonition: Witchcraft is not to be used lightly. The older woman herself didn't rely on her abilities in her everyday work, and those abilities were far superior to Hannah's.

  Besides, she thought as she tossed a quick glare at the broom, it was obvious that being so close to a powerful warlock hadn't improved Hannah's witchcraft in the least.

  Then, because she really didn't have time enough to stand around and complain about the very situation she'd worked to put herself in, she got busy.

  Chapter Four

  Two hours later, she was seriously rethinking her plan.

  If breakfast was an example of what life with the Mackenzie would be like, she didn't know if she was strong enough to survive it without killing him.

  As soon as that thought presented itself, she wondered absently how one would go about doing away with a warlock. Her musings ended as she became caught up in the unbelievable scene unfolding in front of her.

  Hannah stood open-mouthed at one end of the long table. She watched as the ranch hands rushed into the kitchen like a swarm of locusts. No one wiped their boots. Her gaze dropped to the veritable parade of large black clumps of dirt and who knew what else tracking across her freshly swept floor. Outraged, she looked at the men again, but they paid as much attention to her as they would have a cigar-store Indian. None of them removed their hats or lowered their voices as they straddled the ladder-backed chairs surrounding the table heaped high with steaming-hot food. Her mouth opened and closed again before she could utter a host of words that would have horrified Eudora. Tight-lipped, she watched a dozen pairs of hands reaching for the breakfast she'd spent the last hour preparing. With disgust, she noted the grime encrusted on their palms and fingers.

  Hands at her hips, Hannah studied the features of the people who made up her new world. Whisker-shadowed faces blurred before her as her temper boiled like a thick, hot stew of fury. But no one noticed her toe tapping against the floor. No one heard her when she muttered curses she couldn't bring herself to shout, and she doubted anyone would have cared if they had.

  Two of the men were easily as old as Elias. Like that man, they were certainly old enough to know better. Most were somewhere in their thirties, she guessed, and at least one of them—needless to say, the most clean-shaven of the bunch—didn't look old enough to grow a beard.

  And not a one of them—including the Mackenzie gave her so much as a glance.

  Had no one west of Massachusetts heard of washing up before eating? Were simple table manners and common courtesy not to be expected on this side of the Rocky Mountains?

  Hannah tried to remind herself why she was there. What she'd come for. How badly she needed the Mackenzie's help. But none of that went toward soothing the anger rushing through her like a river about to overflow its banks.

  Indignation roared through her veins. Her plan to ease into the Mackenzie's life and make herself indispensable seemed ludicrous at the moment. Rather than appreciating her efforts on his and his men's behalf, it was as if she didn't even exist.

  She spared an angry glance at the man she'd come halfway across the country to find and marry. And though he looked handsome in a rough-hewn, dirty, sweat-stained way, his behavior was no better than the men who worked for him.

  Snatching at a slice of fresh bread, he yanked a jar of preserves from the hand of the man next to him and then grabbed up four strips of bacon in a none-too-clean fist.

  This was the man she'd come so far to find? This was the great and powerful Mackenzie?

  Oh, if Aunt Eudora could only see him now.

  Her toe beat an angry tattoo against the floor, sounding, at least to her, like an overwound clock ticking away accelerated minutes. Her heartbeat quickened to pulse in time and she felt a pounding ache begin to throb in the center of her forehead.

  Gritting her teeth, she watched as one man poured coffee and sloshed the hot liquid across the platter of ham. She inhaled sharply. Another man laughed, lifted the platter, and, keeping one dirty palm on the meat, tipped the liquid out onto the floor.

  "Great thundering heavens!" she muttered.

  No one noticed.

  Words failed her completely. There were no curses strong enough to describe her feelings. She'd wanted to fit in. Wanted to make herself such an integral part of the Mackenzie's life that he wouldn't be able to get along without her.

  Well, she would never belong in this world. And what was more, she didn't want to. Thoughts, ideas, plans chased each other across her mind. She couldn't go home, she knew that. She still needed the Mackenzie's help, so she would still have to marry him.

  But… she wouldn't spend the rest of her life viewing scenes like this. She stared at them as they shoveled food into their gaping mouths. Uttered grunts of appreciation made them sound, as well as look, like a pack of hogs.

  She'd worked hard on very short notice to see that they all had their morning meal. The scrambled eggs were fluffy, the flapjacks were lighter than air, the bread, though not fresh, had been warmed in the oven, and there was enough coffee to serve an army.

  Yet they were all so busy shoving it into their mouths, she was willing to bet they hadn't even tasted it.

  She could have served them mud pies and dirty water and as long as there was plenty of it, she told herself, they wouldn't have cared.

  Well, Hannah told herself firmly, no more.

  One of the men stood up and, completely oblivious to her presence, reached across her for the jar of molasses. The tight leash on her temper snapped. Gritting her teeth, Hannah snatched up a serving spoon and used it to give his arm a hard smack.

  "Hey!" the arm's owner shouted, and he gave her a look that said she was crazy for hitting him and if she wasn't a woman, he'd hit her right back.

  She stood her ground and met the man's glare with a steely one of her own, lifting her spoon higher, just for good measure.

  "What'd you do that for?" the cowboy demanded, cradling his arm as though she'd broken it.

  "If you want the molasses," she snapped, "ask someone to kindly pass it to you!"

  "Why in tarnation would I do that when I can reach it?" His bellow was clearly meant to intimidate her.

  He was disappointed.

  "Because it's polite!" she shouted, finally releasing the pent-up anger knotted in her chest.

  Silence fell over the room like a heavy blanket smothering flames. She felt the stares of a dozen pairs of eyes and she met them all each in turn.

  Riding the crest of her glorious fury, she went on. "I've never see
n such a display in all my life! You ought to charge people admission just to watch you eat!"

  Instead of the shamefaced expressions she'd hoped to see, they actually had the nerve to look mightily offended. Even a bit angry.

  Exasperation flushed her face with color.

  One of the older men finally spoke up. "Now, missy," he said firmly, "you got no call to be shoutin' at us like that, and hittin' on Hank when he can't rightly hit you back don't seem fair at all."

  Amazing, she thought.

  "'at's right," Hank said, still clutching his arm as to prove to his friends just how badly he'd been aged. "A man's got a right to eat I reckon, without cook poundin' on him."

  Hannah blinked at him.

  "Sure enough," someone else piped up. "Don't recall no cook bein' so durn snippy."

  She couldn't believe it. Rather than being ashamed of their behavior, they were trying to correct hers.

  Hannah shook the spoon at her audience. "A man wouldn't be smacked," she told them shortly. "But wild animals invading a kitchen are lucky if they don't get shot on sight."

  "Shot?" the young one sputtered nervously.

  "See here, missy," Elias said in a low growl of disapproval, "it's a mite early in the day for talk of shootin', don't you think?"

  A dark muttering of agreement rose up from the seated men. Her gaze slid over every one of them. Blue eyes, brown, black, they all looked at her in hostile astonishment. When at last she looked to Jonas, she wasn't even surprised to see a flash of anger in his icy blue eyes.

  "What's this about?" he asked, tossing his knife onto his plate with a clatter that rang out overloud in the suddenly still room.

  One or two of the men gave her superior smiles that let her know they thought Jonas was going to tell her a thing or two. And that they were going to enjoy watching her taken down a peg.

  But Hannah was in no mood. She'd traveled days to reach this… outpost. She'd changed her life, left her family. Risked everything, was willing to marry a man she'd never met, and this was her reward?

  Anger still churning in the pit of her stomach, Hannah had a few things to say herself. Letting her temper fly, she waved her serving spoon in the air like a knight of old would wield his sword. "It's about you," she said, sparing the rest of the men a quick glance before locking her gaze with the Mackenzie's. "All of you."