A Cowboy Christmas

by Janette Kenny

  “Thank you,” she managed to get out in a voice that didn’t quaver.

  “Were they able to find Kincaid’s trail?” Hubert asked.

  Her pa shook his head, not meeting her eyes or the Englishman’s. “Nary a sign of it. Boss had the men pen up the rest of them thoroughbreds.”

  “That should deter this thief,” Hubert said.

  This time she caught a hint of mischief flickering in her pa’s blue eyes. Good heavens, surely he didn’t intend to steal another horse? Surely he realized he was playing a dangerous game by passing himself off as a chuck cook while he was rustling horses.

  “Reckon the weather will slow him—” Her pa broke off, scowling and sniffing the air. “What in tarnation’s on fire?”

  She drew in the smell of burnt sugar and scorched crust at the same time Hubert muttered a curse and hobbled toward the kitchen.

  “My pie!” she said as black smoke billowed into the hall.

  Chapter 4

  Reid smelled the smoke before he saw the black cloud stringing across the dusky snow sky. He drew in a deep breath. Not wood smoke. No, this smelled sweet, like burned sugar.

  What the hell?

  A thousand improbable things went through his mind as he trudged toward the house. He caught sight of Ellie standing in the open door, fanning a towel and looking ready to cry. Smoke escaped the back door in puffs.

  “What the hell happened?” Reid asked as he stomped to her, giving her a head-to-toe perusal that had her flushing red. “You start a grease fire?”

  “No, I didn’t do any such thing,” she said and coughed.

  He peered past her into the hall and noted the worst of the smoke had dissipated. All she was doing now was letting frigid air inside, but she seemed to be unaware.

  He moved her back into the house and yanked the door shut. His eyes immediately watered from the lingering smoke.

  “What was burning?” he asked.

  Her narrow shoulders slumped. “My pie, I fear.”

  That didn’t say much about her culinary talents. Just what had Mrs. Leach been thinking to recommend Ellie Jo Cade for the job of housekeeper and cook?

  “Where’s Hubert?” he asked, his patience shot to hell now.

  Ellie pointed a shaky finger into the kitchen. “He’s in there with my—with Mr. Moss.”

  He headed straight there, hoping he’d get answers out of one of them. “Well?” he asked the two older men standing before the stove.

  “It appears that the damper was closed, which prevented the smoke from escaping.” Hubert glanced down at the soot on his waistcoat and grimaced. “If I’m not needed, sir—”

  Reid excused the fussy butler with a nod and turned to Moss, well aware Miss Cade had ventured into the kitchen at last. “You got anything to add?”

  Moss stroked his cottony beard and snorted. “Your new cook smoked the place up but nothing’s burnt ’cept what was in the oven. Appears to have been a pie of sorts.”

  “It was a molasses pie,” she said. “My grandmother taught me how to make it.”

  “Did she teach you to open the damper on the cook stove before you fired it up?” Moss asked in a belligerent tone that nudged Reid to jump to Miss Cade’s defense.

  But before he could utter a word, she jutted her chin out and said, “Of course she did.”

  Moss slid her a steely-eyed look that brought fresh color to her face. “If what you claim is true, then why the hell was the damper closed?”

  “It was open,” she said, squaring off against the old chuck cook as if she’d done so many times before. “If the damper had been closed, the kitchen would have filled with smoke in a matter of minutes.”

  “Maybe you shut it right before I hauled supper in for you,” Moss said.

  Ellie reeled back, a look of abject hurt clouding her big eyes and slamming Reid back to the here and now. Somebody had closed that damper. Hubert would’ve needed a chair or ladder to reach it. But then so would Moss. And, hell, the ranch cook was just doing a good turn by bringing a pail of stew up for supper.

  That left Ellie Jo Cade. She was the stranger, and the most likely one to have caused this stir.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked Moss, her voice suddenly small and trembling.

  Moss’s bushy white eyebrows slammed together. “Reckon you’d best look in a mirror and ask that question.” He turned to Reid. “If you was smart, you’d haul this gal back to Maverick before she burns the house down.”

  “How dare you suggest such a thing,” Ellie said.

  Moss didn’t even acknowledge her with a look. “I can throw a meal on the table any time, boss. You holler if you need me.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind,” Reid said.

  That earned him a curt nod from the old ranch cook before he turned and tramped down the hall. Cold gusted in, then the door slammed shut and silence roared in the kitchen.

  Reid rubbed his forehead where a headache pounded. First Kincaid steals his stallion, and now Miss Cade sets fire to the kitchen. Or did she?

  He crossed his arms over his chest and faced Miss Ellie Jo Cade. “You got anything more to say?”

  “I didn’t close the damper.” She looked Reid square in the eyes and he saw the truth there as plain as day. “Please, give me another chance.”

  He fully intended to, because there was no way in hell he was hauling Mrs. Leach’s friend back to Maverick in this weather. Never mind the chances of him finding a decent cook in town on short notice.

  She looked disheveled, yet oddly alluring. But it was those eyes sparking with anger that made him pause.

  “Who do you think closed it then? Moss or Hubert?”

  The wiry butler sputtered to attention. “Not I, sir.”

  “I think Mr. Moss closed it when he left the pail of stew on the stove,” she said, and seemed close to stricken by the very idea of him committing the deed.

  “Why would he do that, Miss Cade?”

  Her chin came up. “It’s clear he doesn’t want me on the ranch.”

  He had a feeling she was right, but there was more to it than jealousy. When they were arguing, he’d noted a familiarity between them. He sensed their quarrel went way back.

  It was no secret that Mrs. Leach and Moss had been bed-partners at one time. Reid suspected that romance began while she was still in the business of pleasuring men for a living. But how did Miss Cade tie in with those two old-timers?

  “What’s to say you didn’t close the damper to make Moss look bad?” he asked.

  “I daresay that’s because it was open then.” Hubert wiped most of the soot off his waistcoat and grimaced.

  “How long have you known Gabby Moss?” he asked Ellie.

  “I don’t know that man at all.”

  She wouldn’t meet his eyes, and that told him she was lying. Yep, there was something between the old cook and Miss Cade. But what?

  “Yep, Moss made no secret that he wants you gone from here,” Reid said.

  She pinched her eyes shut for a heartbeat. “None at all.”

  “But you don’t know why,” he said.

  She shook her head, looking defeated, when he suspected she wasn’t one to give in without a fight. “Perhaps Mr. Moss is angry that I was chosen to replace Mrs. Leach.”

  He wasn’t convinced yet that she could boil water, but he saw no sense in arguing the point. What was done was done. If Moss was trying to railroad Miss Cade, then keeping him out of the kitchen would forestall any more episodes like this.

  “You might be right.” Reid nodded at the porcelain pail sitting on the range. “That stew hot yet?”

  Miss Cade turned to the stove and lifted the lid. “Nearly so. Would you like biscuits with supper?”

  “I surely would.”

  He fished his pocket watch from his vest pocket and ran his thumb over the stag and forest design before he thumbed open the lid. Time always stood still for a breath or two, for he clearly remembered the Christmas that Kirby Morris gav
e him this watch.

  It marked his right of passage as a man. The head honcho for this ranch.

  And he’d failed miserably.

  He snapped it shut and slid it back in his vest. “How long before it’s ready?”

  Her smile took his breath away. “I’ll have supper on the table in twenty minutes.”

  “Fine. I got ranch business to tend to.”

  That was a damned lie, for he had nothing better to do than stand here and watch her. But doing what he wanted would leave him hungering for something he couldn’t have.

  Ellie concentrated on following the recipe to the letter for two reasons. Her biscuits had to be edible. And keeping her mind on the job at hand kept her from dwelling on what her pa had done to her.

  Though his betrayal hurt her feelings, she wasn’t going to give up on him yet. He must have had good reason to do what he’d done. The way she figured it, she had two weeks to get her pa alone and talk to him at length.

  In the meantime, she’d do her best to prepare meals that met with Reid Barclay’s approval. She surely couldn’t or wouldn’t continue accepting her pa’s handouts, for it was clear he wasn’t happy to see her here.

  She filled the tureen with stew and carried it into the dining room. Reid sat at the head of the long table looking incredibly handsome and unbelievably lonely.

  “Would there be anything else you want?” she asked.

  An intense heat flared in his eyes before they tempered to a molten blue, but the message was clear and bold and should have offended her. Instead, her body flushed as if she’d been stroked with fire.

  “I’ll take coffee after my meal,” he said at last.

  It was her cue to leave the room, but she couldn’t seem to break the spell of his gaze until he looked away. Even then she trembled and had trouble catching her breath.

  “Then I’ll leave you to your supper,” she said, and left the dining room with as much aplomb as she could muster.

  Ellie fanned her hot face and tried to tell herself it was the heat bottled in the kitchen that had her flushed and squirming. But it was a lie. How could one man evoke such intense longing in her with one look?

  She didn’t know, but she had to put a stop to this attraction. She’d made that mistake before. She surely wouldn’t do it again, and with an affianced man at that.

  Why, if Reid Barclay was a gentleman, he wouldn’t make such an intimate overture to her. But he had, and that confirmed what she’d glimpsed in Mallory’s Roost.

  Reid Barclay wasn’t a gentleman.

  After putting on a pot of coffee for the cad who employed her, she slipped into the pantry. The pitiful remains of her pie sat cooling on the sill, looking more like charred wood than dessert.

  She bit her lower lip to still its telltale quivering. She wasn’t one to bawl at the least provocation, but, dammit all, it hurt something fierce knowing her pa wanted her to fail—wanted Reid Barclay to dismiss her. It broke her heart that her own father didn’t want to grasp this opportunity to spend Christmas with her.

  Did he fear she’d say something and expose him for who and what he was? Or was he more interested in rustling than in spending time with his only daughter?

  She shouldn’t be surprised if both worried him. Though he’d visited her at the holidays when she was little, she hadn’t seen him or heard from him in the past five years. She’d feared he was dead, and with his death went any chance he’d redeem himself.

  On her last birthday she’d shared her secret with Irwin, for she believed the man she was to marry should know about the past she’d kept hidden. She’d never dreamed her confession would show her Irwin’s true colors in all their garish glory.

  Oh, yes, she understood betrayal well.

  She dropped onto the short bench with her warm pie cradled in her lap. Clearly this bench was more of a stool, and the only comfortable way to sit on it was to extend her legs out and let her stockings show. Not that she cared one whit what image she presented in this little corner of her temporary world.

  With Irwin she was relieved to know what kind of man he really was before the vows were spoken. My, but she’d gotten an eyeful of a very vindictive sort.

  Despite what he’d done—and that man had done plenty to ruin her reputation in his effort to shore up his own—she’d found the gumption to rally on. Yet now she felt as if time was conspiring against her.

  Mr. Barclay expected her to cook a fine feast for his wedding. Her pa wanted her long gone. And all she wanted was the chance to spend what could be her last holiday with her ornery pa.

  Men! She broke off a piece of burned crust and stuck a finger into the warm filling, scooping up a bit to taste. She would not think of Reid Barclay beyond the role of her employer. In fact she didn’t want to think at all right now.

  She scooped a bit of filling in her mouth like a lad who’d just filched a pie off a windowsill. As soon as the pungent taste exploded in her mouth she moaned her pleasure.

  Past the telltale charring, it was a cross between mincemeat and raisin. Far better than she’d hoped to achieve. Why, if she’d been able to add a meringue to it—and if it hadn’t scorched—this pie would rival one of Grandma Kincaid’s molasses pies.

  “You all right?” Reid asked, startling a gasp from her.

  How could this man sneak up on her unawares? Not that it mattered. Now that she knew he was an arm’s length away her entire body began that unwanted tingling again.

  There was no dignified way she could get to her feet, so she remained seated. “Other than smoking out your kitchen and burning dessert, I’m just dandy.”

  She poked two fingers into the pie again and stuffed the sticky filling into her mouth. Hopefully her uncouth manners would prompt Reid Barclay to leave her in peace. Or in this case, leave her to wallow in her personal misery.

  “You’re doing that all wrong,” he said. “Let me show you how to make short work of that pie.”

  Reid plopped down beside her on the small bench, his bootheels scraping the floor as he extended his long, jean-clad legs the same direction as hers. She’d expected his black boots to have fancy stitching, but they were plain and the leather looked supple, thanks to the shine, evidence of frequent polishing.

  Like an exuberant kid, he poked his long fingers into the sticky filling and scooped a large finger-full to his mouth.

  Though she was typically quick to instruct others on proper etiquette, she couldn’t seem to get her mind and mouth to work together. Reid Barclay was to blame, for each time he stole another bite his broad shoulder brushed hers and sent energy jolting through her.

  Energy of the most titillating kind.

  Heavenly days, the fact he was her boss and affianced didn’t penetrate her mind. Neither did the fact that her pa had recently rustled Reid’s prize stallion and was holed up right under Reid’s nose, or that Reid would sooner see the old man hang.

  Right now as he sat beside her helping himself to another taste of her charred molasses pie, he looked for all the world like a cowpoke. A very tempting cowboy.

  Oh, this was dangerous sitting here in the pantry with this man. She started to get up just as he reached over to scoop up more filling, pressing the warm pan on her lap.

  “Perhaps you should hold the pie plate,” she said and made to pass it to him.

  She accidentally bumped his elbow just hard enough to jar loose the wad of filling poised on his fingers. The gooey mass slipped off and dropped onto his jeans.

  “Now look what you did,” he said.

  He didn’t have to tell her to look. She couldn’t drag her gaze away from the sticky brown mass resting close to his crotch. And were her eyes deceiving her or was that part of him shifting and lengthening?

  Nope, she wasn’t imagining things. Her heart pounded and the place between her legs began pulsing.

  She tore her gaze away from his obvious erection and stared at the pie safe, forcing to mind one of Headmistress Halsey’s dictums. A lady never glances
at a gentleman’s private parts.

  Yet here she was, staring at Reid Barclay’s crotch as if he were a randy cowpoke fresh off the range and she was a cow-town Cyprian leaning over a brothel balcony, ready to welcome him to her bed. Even knowing she had behaved brazenly, she was tempted to take another peek.

  And what did that say about her? It certainly wasn’t the image she’d honed all these years, nor was it the one expected of her at the Falsmonte Ladies Academy in California.

  She had been certain she could handle such a delicate situation because she knew the pitfalls that awaited an unsuspecting miss. If learning by example were a prerequisite, her experience with Irwin certainly made her the perfect teacher for the young ladies of quality—a position she was to start in less than a month. What would Headmistress Halsey think if she saw her now?

  That depended on how Ellie handled this situation. A lady with her experience should be able to extract herself from such a touchy predicament without undo embarrassment to herself or the gentleman. As for doing so gracefully—

  She gave up all hopes of that. Without a doubt, her cheeks must be as red as the handles on the sad irons stored on the shelf beside the ironing board.

  “I was doing fine as long as you were holding it,” he said, the warm pie pan pressing into her thighs and rubbing shockingly low on her belly as he filched another piece. “This is a mighty fine pie, Miss Cade.”

  With effort, she found her voice. “The crust has the consistency of charcoal.”

  His warm breath fanned her ear and she shivered. “No fault of yours.”

  She cleared her throat and swallowed hard, thinking he was so close she could almost taste the hint of molasses on his breath. “I am relieved you believe that.”

  “I didn’t at first,” he said.

  Ellie spared him a quick glance only to find his gaze was fixed on her mouth. She tried for a smile and damned the way her lips trembled.

  “What changed your mind?” she asked.

  “Seeing you sitting in here looking forlorn,” he said. “If you’d burned this pie on purpose, you wouldn’t do that.”