by Starla Kaye
As the nightgown brushed over her tender bottom, she snapped, “I’d go if I really wanted to!”
If she did, though, she’d better walk to town. Sitting on the buckboard or riding in the carriage would both be rather unpleasant for a day or two. She couldn’t even imagine the kind of suffering she would endure if she went by horseback. Again, thanks to that irritating lawman who thought he was going to marry her no matter what she said.
It took her longer than normal to get dressed and what really frustrated her was that she’d decided it would be best to wear a skirt and blouse today. The britches she favored had just been too abrasive against her abused backside. A situation for which she planned to stay mad at Morgan for a good long while.
Taking advantage of her last few minutes of feeling sorry for herself, she walked slowly toward the back of the house and the kitchen where she and her brothers ate most of their meals. She should not have allowed Morgan to pull her off that stage last night and drag her outside. Sure, if he hadn’t, Taos would have. The difference was that Morgan had been furious and wanted to wallop her there in the dance hall but she’d been able to talk him into waiting until they got back to the ranch. Taos would not have waited. He’d have burned her bottom right there in front of half the town. So she supposed she should be grateful to Morgan.
She snorted. Hardly! The stern marshal had used that dreaded strop on her, used it long and hard. No, she wasn’t all that grateful to him. She didn’t want to speak to him, see him, or even think about him for a spell. With any luck, he’d already ridden out for the day with some of the ranch hands. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t have two other irritating men to face right now. Keno would still be here because he didn’t usually go into town this early, but he was less irritating than her oldest brother. She knew that Taos had said something about going into town today to check on the building he’d just bought. He wouldn’t be gone yet, though. No, he would be waiting to make sure she came down to breakfast. He would still be in angry big brother mode.
Unfortunately luck wasn’t with her. Morgan hadn’t left. She was about to walk into the kitchen when she heard his deep voice saying in a lowered tone, “Rafe…” Then, as if he sensed someone else was nearby, his tone turned even lower and all she caught was “Chase worried” and “danger to Tyler.”
That immediately captured her attention. Chase was his brother. He’d told her that on the day of their picnic. And she remembered him telling her Chase was bringing Tyler here because he thought the boy was in danger. She didn’t like that notion. Was he in more danger now?
Although her brothers frowned on gossip and eavesdropping, she strode into the room and asked incredulously, “If you think your son is such danger, why aren’t you riding to meet up with your brother?”
Morgan jerked around from where he’d been standing by the table showing a piece of paper—a wire?—to Taos. Anger creased his brow. He shoved the paper into his trouser pocket. “You were listening in on private business.”
A glance at her brothers seated at the table showed her their mutual disapproval. Taos’s eyes practically shot fire. She’d had her bottom almost blistered for eavesdropping in the past. That didn’t concern her right now. She looked pointedly at Morgan. “It’s not my fault you were talking private business when I came into the room. Anyway, is your son in more danger or not?”
Something like fear flickered in his eyes for a second before he shoved it aside. Still, she noticed that his hands were tight fists at his side. “It’s my business, but no,” he finally said. “That’s all I’m saying on the subject.”
“If he were my son, I’d be riding hell for leather to protect him.” She walked closer, unable to accept his response. There was more going on here than any of them wanted to share with her.
His jaw clenched and unclenched. “I am protecting him! He’s with my brother.” He held her gaze another second. “That is all I’m saying.”
When she would have pressed for more of an explanation, Taos shook his head. “Leave it be, Whiskey,” his tone brooked no argument. He nodded toward her usual seat at the table. “Sit down and eat some breakfast.”
Every man in the room knew her bottom would be tender still and it would be miserable to sit down at the moment. None of them cared. Eventually she would have to do it, but for now she’d resist as long as possible.
She glanced out the window behind the table. “I need to go feed my animals.”
“I already did,” Morgan countered, sitting down at the side of the table. “I figured you were feeling a bit poorly this morning, considering. I didn’t think those beasts needed to suffer because of you.”
She caught the knowing looks on her brothers’ faces and heat crept up her face. “I’m just fine,” she grumbled sourly. “I simply took a little longer than usual to get around.”
“Do you need a lesson in manners? Thank Morgan for helping you out,” Taos stated with a look that definitely promised “or else.”
Morgan faced her and appeared to wait for her response. She wanted to dump what remained of a bowl of scrambled eggs in his lap, maybe over his head. While part of her knew that she’d deserved a licking, she wasn’t of the mind to forgive him for burning her butt with that strop. She’d spent a horrible night trying to sleep.
But she also didn’t want her brother giving her a spanking for anything else. She sucked in a breath, gritted her teeth and said, “Thank you for doing my chores.” She couldn’t resist adding, “Even though I didn’t need your help.”
His mouth twitched. Amused? It caught her off guard. Her heart did a little dance of excitement at seeing his slight smile, which irritated her. She was mad at him. He was keeping some kind of secret about his son from her. She hated secrets.
“Come sit down,” Morgan said and nodded to her chair.
“When I’m good and ready.” She didn’t move an inch, but somehow she felt as if he were touching her. His gaze remained locked with hers. His eyes seemed to smolder with a heat that had nothing to do with irritation. A dangerous heat. A promising heat. The same kind of heat she’d seen in his eyes last night.
“Uncomfortable with me this morning?” Morgan questioned, raising an eyebrow.
Now he was almost taunting her. “Irritated is more like it.”
“Whiskey,” Taos warned and she ground her teeth at having almost forgotten her brothers were still in the room.
“While this has been entertaining, I need to head into town.” Keno shoved back from the table, grinning. “You’ve met your match, Sis.”
“Yes, she has,” Morgan inserted, sounding smug.
She stomped her foot, realized what a foolish act that had been, and said, “Sorry. He just makes me so mad. You all make me mad. None of you listen to me. I don’t want to—”
“Don’t want to marry me. Yes, you’ve said that, but you are going to do it.” Morgan cut her off and nodded toward the seat across from him.
When she didn’t move, he looked pointedly at her lower body. “Or were you talking about not wanting to sit down because your ass is still sore?”
Her face flamed and she still didn’t move.
“Sit down. You need to eat,” he said firmly.
For an instant she considered holding onto her stubbornness and refusing. A glance at Taos told her that would be a very unwise decision. He’d had enough. Morgan, evidently had, too. He looked ready to stand up and haul her to the chair. With the expression on his face now, he just might haul her to his chair, bend her over his lap, and spank her…then plant her on the other chair.
She tipped up her chin and walked with as much dignity as she could muster to her chair. All eyes focused on her, she gingerly sat down. “Satisfied? I’m sitting.” Then a spark of temper seeped out and she added, “And, yes, it isn’t a bit comfortable.”
Morgan nodded approval and she wanted to kick his shin, but she controlled that need. Barely.
Taos still appeared upset with her and said, “Since you’
ll be sticking around the house today, you can cook supper tonight.”
She blinked in confusion. They had a cook for the family. He’d been with them for years. “Manuel—”
“Manuel needed the day off to go see his sister. Her baby was born yesterday and her husband needs help with their other children today,” Taos explained. “You’ll be cooking tonight.”
“But I don’t cook,” she reminded him. “Don’t you remember…”
She stopped when she saw in his expression that he didn’t care. Clearly, this was some sort of additional punishment that he was assigning for what she’d done yesterday and probably for her attitude this morning. While she hated it, this was more acceptable than having him decide to take the paddle to her still sore bottom, although only slightly more acceptable. “Fine.”
“I’m not sure…” Keno inserted, concern filling his handsome face.
Taos shot him a quelling look. “She can do this.” He focused on her again. “This’ll be your chance to show us what you learned from Aunt Mae.”
He looked at Morgan, who also appeared concerned. “Our aunt makes a pie crust so flaky it melts in your mouth. I’m sure Whiskey will make us an apple pie with those apples she picked the other day.”
“The apples were for Demon and my mule, not for making a pie!”
“You need to stop spoiling my horse,” Morgan grouched.
She rolled her eyes, and then ignored him. “Manuel doesn’t like me in his kitchen,” she said in her final attempt to stop this unpleasant situation.
“Manuel isn’t here,” Taos said flatly.
Resignation filled her. But then she decided this just might be a good way to get back at her brothers and Morgan for all their plotting and planning. Get back at Morgan for… Well, for what he’d done last night. Not wanting them to see her sudden amusement, she lowered her gaze so the men wouldn’t see the mischief dancing in her eyes. “Around five, I assume.”
“Around five.” Taos stood, obviously pleased with her answer. “I’m sure Aunt Mae gave you good instructions.”
He hesitated before moving away. “Oh, and Manuel said there’s a chunk of beef ready to be cooked. Beans, too. He probably has the fixings for that Mexican sauce as well.”
She nodded, certain their family’s cook did have the makings for his typical Mexican-style meal. That didn’t mean she knew how to cook any of it, but if that’s what her brother wanted. “I’ll give it a try.”
And, no, you’re wrong, brother dear. Aunt Mae didn’t teach me how to cook like her. She gave up on me.
She glanced at Morgan and nearly laughed at his worried expression. Maybe he was rethinking this whole getting married idea. A man expected his wife to be a good cook, which she definitely was not. A man expected a lot of things that she definitely wasn’t. Yes, this cooking tonight just might solve her problem.
Keno—the chicken—said, “I doubt I’ll be back for supper.”
Taos pinned him with a look. “This is special. You can damn well be here.”
“Apple pie,” Whiskey said, smiling innocently. “Roast beef Mexican style, in that spicy sauce you like. Beans, too. Maybe even bread.”
He gave her a doubtful look and nodded. “I’ll probably regret this, but I’ll be here.” Then he walked out of the kitchen.
Taos followed him out the back door, saying over his shoulder, “I’ll ride into town with Keno. And I’ll make sure he comes back with me later.”
That left her alone with Morgan. Her stomach tingled with nerves, but she told herself it was because she hadn’t eaten yet. It wasn’t because he looked so…so handsome. No! It was not! It wasn’t because she liked his earthy scent, the stubble on his face, the heat in his eyes. No! No! No!
She squirmed on her chair, which was a mistake. Tiny tingles reminded her of the stropping she’d received at his hand. It revived her anger with him. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
Slowly he shoved back from the table, his gaze steady on hers.
She stiffened; maybe she was pushing him too far.
“Your pretty little bottom is safe.” A hint of a smile creased his face. “For now.”
He walked closer to her. “Not pleasant to sit on a well-burned butt, is it?”
He made her nervous. “No.” She wanted to squirm again, wanted to jump to her feet. But she wouldn’t give him the pleasure of seeing that.
“Best you behaved yourself for a while then.”
To her disgust, her face heated. “Just leave. I’ve got things to do.” She glanced at the table of abandoned dishes and bit out, “Starting with washing dishes.”
He strode across the room and took his hat from the row of pegs by the door. Then he turned to face her once more. “We’re still getting married, Angelina. That stunt you pulled yesterday doesn’t change the situation.”
“You’re so damn stubborn,” she hissed.
“And you’re so damn much trouble sometimes. Best you remember that I’ll burn your butt anytime you misbehave.” With that he jammed the hat on his head and went out the back door.
She stood the second he was out the door and reached back to rub her skirt-covered bottom. She didn’t want him—or her brothers—burning her bottom anymore. Unfortunately that was a wish not likely to come true. Like her wish that Morgan would just sell back his share of the ranch and head back to Texas, forever.
* * *
Five hours of sweating in the hotter-than-Hades kitchen wiped the humor at the ridiculous situation away. Whiskey would never put herself through this torture again. Their family had a cook for a reason. None of them knew how to make an edible meal. Well, maybe Taos could survive on the trail, but that was different. No, she would never try this again. Her respect for Manuel and his cooking abilities had grown immensely with each disaster she’d faced, and there had been many.
She stood in front of the wood-burning cookstove and stared into the cast iron pot on top. A knife used to lift the chunk of beef into the pot refused to come out. She had cooked the meat all day as she’d seen Manuel do. So what was wrong? Why hadn’t it gotten tender? She’d heard him say once that you just added a little water to keep it moist. But she’d never asked how much “a little” actually was. She had decided it was a handful. From the look of the chunk now, she was pretty sure that hadn’t been enough for the fifteen pound slab. But she didn’t have time to fret any longer over this problem. Hopefully, the chili sauce she’d made for it would moisten it up.
Thinking about that, she turned to lift the lid off the kettle of bubbling sauce. A blast of steam hit her in the face. She slammed the lid back on the kettle, grumbling a curse that would have her brothers furious in a flash. Her eyes burned. Wow! When she’d taken a quick taste of the thick, red mixture hours ago, it had seemed kind of blah.
Her nose twitched at the powerful smell that lingered. She wondered if adding the two pints of chopped peppers Manuel had in the pantry and then a mountain of onions and garlic that she’d chopped had been such a good idea. But it was too late to worry about that now.
She cautiously lifted the lid again to stir the mixture with a wooden spoon. Tears misted her eyes. Had she used the wrong kind of peppers? She knew Manuel had Jalapeno peppers as well as bell peppers in the pantry. She didn’t really know the difference when they were chopped up and canned. Hmmm. She probably needed to get a little more instruction from Manuel sometime…should she ever decide to attempt cooking again. Which was doubtful.
She replaced the lid and used the corner of her apron to pull down the oven door and study the kettle of beans inside. Again, something just didn’t look right. She hadn’t been able to remember anything at all about how Manuel cooked beans for his Mexican dishes, other than he cooked them in the oven. From their sad state, she thought maybe she should have added more than a handful of water for cooking. Maybe her hands were just too small. Could she add more water now? Would they suck up the moisture…
Distracting her, boots pounded on the back porch.
Her brothers? Morgan, too? Weren’t they early? Or was she just that late with all of this?
With a quick glance toward the door, she took in the mess she’d made of Manuel’s kitchen. Flour seemed to have exploded in the room. It coated the table where she’d attempted to make biscuits. It covered the floor beneath as well and she’d made a trail with her footsteps between the table and the stove. It would take her the rest of the day to clean up her mess. Which soured her mood even more.
“Smells good, Sis,” Keno said with enthusiasm as he stepped into the room. An instant later, after taking in the disastrous room, he burst into laughter. “Manuel won’t ever let you in here again, with good reason.”
“Fine with me,” she countered and closed the oven door.
Taos walked in next and his eyes nearly popped out of his head. “My God, Whiskey! What have you done!” He leaned against a counter to shake his head in amazement.
She glowered at them both. “I never claimed to be neat when I cooked.” She picked a glob of dough off her apron and considered tossing it at them. “I never said I could cook either, which I’m pretty sure you’re soon going to discover. Again.”
Taos spotted a lopsided, mangled, half burnt pile in a pie pan next to him. “Pie, I assume.” His horrified expression lightened her spirit.
Keno walked past her, rolled his eyes at the ruined pie, and asked casually, “As cute as you look with flour dusting your cheeks…and most of your body… are you planning on cleaning up for dinner?”
“I don’t see any point in it.” Besides, she was too tired to drag her weary bones up the stairs to change clothes, or even to cross the room and clean up in the sink.
“Not looking very impressive, Sis.”
“I’m not trying to impress anyone.” The foolish woman in her did struggle with not going to wash up, with not going to make sure the flour was out of her hair.
Instead she raised the lid one last time on the sauce. As a steam cloud rose again and threatened to burn her eyes, she tossed the lid on the nearby counter and rattled off a string of curses at the same time boots stomped over the wooden floor.
