Pinch of Naughty

by Sivad, Gem

  “Mable, do you have any idea how many cream puffs she’s going to have to sell to make a living? Hell, she’ll work dawn to after midnight and wear herself out. What are you thinking putting this idea in her head?” Cyrus might keep his opinion under wraps with Eleanor but he sure as hell didn’t hold back with the store owner.

  “She’s got nothing waiting for her but trouble at home. What other option does she have?” She looked at him shrewdly and waited.

  “Eleanor has other choices.” He slapped the reins and set the rig in motion.

  “That old building next door needs a lot of work. I’m not cuttin’ the cost of nails for you. Understand that,” Mable called after him.

  Cyrus drove away thinking about the shack Eleanor intended to call home. It wouldn’t be needed. He frowned. His plan to extend her stay to forever was meeting resistance.

  “She’s got her hat slapped on straight and she’s packing her recipes. Guess I’ll have to change her mind.” He was relishing the coming siege as he drove the wagon into the ranch yard midmorning.

  When he entered the house, he checked out her mood. Yep, Ellie was hiding and Mrs. Prim ’n’ Proper had replaced her in the kitchen.

  “I looked over that building you’re whining about. Lumber to fix that old shack won’t come cheap.” Cyrus decided to dangle some bait.

  It tickled Cyrus when her polite indifference immediately changed to militant attention. Miz Prim disappeared and Ellie prepared to wrestle as many concessions from him as she could.

  “I would like to negotiate a continuing lease on my building.” Her chin went up a notch.

  “It’s not your building and it needs new siding and a roof. You’d better think about that cost first.” He scratched his jaw and frowned.

  “Perhaps you can factor the cost of repairs into the rental you charge,” she suggested.

  “So you do know it belongs to me? And you played me a little, getting me to the fix-it-up stage?”

  “Perhaps I scoped out the lay of the land before beginning my negotiations.” She conceded, her lips curving into a satisfied smile.

  Cyrus had an uneasy feeling he’d used just those words recently.

  Chapter Eight

  Eleanor enjoyed serving Cyrus his own words. She went to the porch to begin carrying in the supplies and he followed. He handed her a broom and stacked his own arms full of dry goods. As soon as they were through the door, she set down the broom and grabbed the top sack of flour, her grunt of surprise escaping as the weight pulled her arms downward.

  “Mr. Burke,” she panted, gripping the flour sack inches above the floor. “Your load is too heavy. You take on too much.”

  She half carried, half dragged the bag into the pantry, emptying its contents into the metal flour bin. White powder floated in the air around them as Cyrus set two more bags by her feet with a thump.

  “Mable said to give you this.” He pulled a roll of bills from his pocket and handed them to her.

  Eleanor counted the bills, excitement tingling through her, barely paying attention to him.

  “Quit your money-grubbing for a moment and listen to me.”

  “No.” She looked up from her counting long enough to duck under his arm and scurry toward the exit.

  Cyrus followed her, determined to have his say. “We’ve got some things to discuss.”

  “No we don’t,” she said quickly. Eleanor stood in the middle of the kitchen clutching her money in her hand and facing him. She tried not to stare but when he leaned against the sink and crossed one ankle over the other, his denims drew tight, clearly outlining the ridge of his arousal. She ignored the hungry clench of her womb and pointed outside.

  “I have supply boxes to empty and supper to fix. You’re taking up needed space in my kitchen.” Then she remembered it wasn’t her kitchen and flushed. “I beg your pardon—your kitchen—but I can’t work with you in the way.”

  She had to be firm. Cyrus was heady—like fine wine. Rough cowboy on the outside he might be, but he knew how to please a woman and under his gruff exterior lurked the skills of a consummate lover. She wanted to succumb—take whatever he offered and savor it as it developed.

  It was hard to remain aloof but Eleanor reached in her pocket for strength, fingering the purple garter, a gaudy rose-topped reminder that she was one of many housekeepers who’d tended his needs and served him night dessert. That he was willing to marry her to get the addition of a clean house—well, that was an insult.

  “I found a present for you at Mable’s store.”

  Eleanor waited expectantly, preparing for some licentious memento he might offer—a silk scarf, sensuous robe, fancy garter?

  “Thought I’d get you something you can use in your pastry business.” Cyrus turned, rummaging in one of the boxes on the counter before handing her a wooden rolling pin.

  “Thank you.” Eleanor accepted the work tool, blinking in astonishment at the gift, her disappointment warring with relief that it hadn’t been the usual fare. Actually, it was a thoughtful present. Mable’s old hand-me-down had one grip gone and it made rolling thin piecrust a lot more work.

  “About the other,” he said. “The rubber…”

  “Use them as you would with all your other housekeepers. I would not want you to worry nor me to be compromised.” His segue from pastry tools to his condom lapse startled her so much she didn’t guard her speech.

  He started to say something then pulled his hat on instead and Eleanor found herself squeezed in a tight embrace, her body molded to his as he kissed her.

  “I don’t want to use them again,” he growled, nipping up her neck and rubbing his jaw against her cheek. “From now on, I want to feel your wet heat squeezing my cock up close and personal.”

  She was in complete mental disarray when he left. To compose herself, she counted her pastry money and made notations in the account ledger he’d provided. Is he trying to get me with child to secure his housekeeper? The thought was too silly to entertain for long.

  Eleanor set aside her pastry business to take care of her housekeeping duties, shelving the supplies, peeling the potatoes for supper and making three dishes of peach cobbler for dessert. As she rolled out the thin crust she smiled in appreciation at the thoughtful gift Cyrus had given her.

  Then she remembered the scarves upstairs in his chest and grimaced. Looking for something else to focus on, she put the cobblers in to bake and sat in the porch swing sketching the interior shelving she’d need in her shop.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when Aunt Millie and Uncle Henry, accompanied by Mable sitting in the back seat, arrived in their buggy. Fine conveyance though it was, the rough trip from town to the Burke land had coated it and its passengers in dust.

  “An Alcott selling her services as a domestic. Eleanor, what can you be thinking? As soon as I returned to town and saw your pastries in Mable’s store, I knew you hadn’t left, and everyone else will too.” Millie immediately began her harangue when the carriage stopped.

  With the assurance of a job backing her, Eleanor said tartly, “It became apparent I needed to find a means to support myself when Uncle Henry confiscated my funds—I have done so.”

  Uncle Henry said, “Eleanor, calm down. I admit we were a little precipitous in ordering you back to Hartford. My apologies, my dear, but Millie’s right. It won’t do at all, you working as a housekeeper for Burke.”

  Damnation. She cursed silently. She’d secured her grubstake with continuing employment from Mr. Burke—now was not the time for her relatives to descend and try to wrest control from her.

  “Excuse me,” she said. Grabbing the mallet, she beat the gong resoundingly, signaling trouble. With the sound still reverberating in the air, Eleanor announced, “I have cobbler baking,” and retreated to the kitchen to retrieve her dessert from the oven. When she returned, the three uninvited visitors were still in the buggy and Cyrus was riding into the ranch yard.

  * * * * *

  “You’ve got co
mpany on the way to the house.” Sage had found Cyrus in the back pasture stringing wire and delivered the bad news. “Looks like the bank president and his wife with Mable Smyth riding in the jump seat.”

  Unease simmered in his gut. Mable knew better than bringing unwanted visitors on his land. Something was wrong.

  “Can’t have trespassers harassing my cook. Take over here.” He’d left Sage in charge and headed for home. The length of Eleanor’s employment was something he’d been trying to discuss with her—as in she wasn’t leaving. The possibility of losing her today worried him all the way to the ranch. As he neared the barn lot, he heard the trouble gong booming. Sounds like she’s callin’ for backup.

  His thoughts were grim but he made his tone amiable when he approached the group frozen in discord. Eleanor stood on the porch facing the Alcotts and Cyrus stopped his horse on their other side so they had to divide their attentions.

  “Middle of a workday is a strange time to come for a visit, Henry. Is there a problem at the bank?” Cyrus folded his arms over his pommel, leaning forward sociably. Henry wasn’t fooled at the show of congeniality and flushed red.

  “Eleanor, you will ruin us all. If not your own reputation, please have a care for ours.” Henry’s wife ignored everyone but Eleanor.

  “Gossip’s an ugly critter, Millie. I’d be careful. It has a way of doubling back with a bite sometimes.” Cyrus pinned Millie with a warning stare before pulling out his pocket watch to study it.

  “As you know, Henry, finding good help isn’t easy. It would be a shame if I had to waste valuable time finding a new bank president.”

  “Let me explain,” Henry began his stumbling justification. “My wife and I just learned…we’ve come to fetch our niece…there’s been a misunderstanding. She can’t be your housekeeper.” His last sentence was delivered frantically.

  “It won’t do, not at all.” He shook his head, looking desperate.

  “Mrs. Lacey and I have a contract. You figure on buying it out?” Cyrus drawled.

  “Yes,” Millie snapped.

  “Mrs. Lacey, are you good with that?” Cyrus shifted his glance to Ellie, who looked ready to take off running.

  He’d seen Eleanor’s anger, humor and disdain, but until now, he’d never seen her fear. She stood blanched of color, hands fisted at her sides, facing all of them defiantly. It disappointed him some that she had no faith in him.

  “I am not good with that, Mr. Burke. I have a contract with you and our agreement states that you will deal only with me. I believe I have several more weeks of employment to complete.” Her head tilted proudly as she answered him.

  “So you do.” He nodded agreement.

  Eleanor got some color back in her face, apparently made confident by his oblique support. Cyrus hid his smile when Eleanor faced down Henry.

  “Uncle Henry, Mr. Burke and I have made an agreement concerning the building next to the Smyth Mercantile. When funds are needed for repairs and supplies, please transfer money from my allowance to my employer’s account.”

  Cyrus was proud of her. Emboldened by witnesses, Eleanor did well, maneuvering Henry into looking like a thief if he said no.

  “Guess that ends the conversation, Henry. Have a safe trip back to town.” Shrugging and displaying indifference he didn’t feel, Cyrus cut short any protest the banker might make.

  Henry’s wife wasn’t so obliging. She scrambled from the buggy and was already on the steps to the house before either man could stop her.

  “Where the hell do you think you’re going, Millie?” Cyrus asked gruffly.

  “I’m afraid I need to use your convenience, Cyrus.” She turned her head, smiling triumphantly at him from the porch.

  “Is that apple or peach cobbler Eleanor’s fixing?” Mable asked, sniffing the air.

  Cyrus didn’t miss Henry’s wistful glance at the front door.

  “Melts in your mouth,” Cyrus taunted him. “My housekeeper’s a hell of a cook.” He wet his lower lip as if tasting the memory and asked, “You ever had one of those things she calls éclairs, Henry?”

  “Eleanor has a fine hand with pastries. We agree on that. But we both know a woman of her station shouldn’t be living here and working as your housekeeper.” Alcott punctuated his statement with a stiff nod.

  “I’ll cut you some slack this time, Mable, because you put Mrs. Lacey up when this jackass booted her out. Next time though, you bring unannounced visitors to my ranch and you lose the padlock key.”

  “Cyrus, that’s a load of hoo-ha Henry’s feeding Eleanor. He’s got another ticket for Hartford in his vest and those are her trunks we brought along. He’s taking her to the train depot in Paris. Not back to town.” She pointed at the baggage tied to the back of the buggy and tattled.

  “That right, Henry?” Cyrus looked at the banker, who met his gaze defiantly.

  “Eleanor was sent to our home for safekeeping. Her presence is now required in Hartford. I haven’t been given the details, but the divorce is now a dead issue, buried with William Lacey in his grave. I understand my niece’s reluctance to return, but she can’t hide forever and I must oblige the head of the Alcott family when he issues his orders.”

  His expression—militant and set—reminded Cyrus of Eleanor when she’d refused to give up Mable’s business.

  “I guess you Alcotts are a big deal in Hartford?” Mable inserted herself in the standoff.

  Cyrus had done his homework and knew they were.

  “The Alcotts are a family of importance and responsibilities. Scandal undermines business. An attack on one member is an offense against all.” Henry elevated his chin proudly. “We are seeking redress for Eleanor’s insult.”

  “Those are mighty fine words, Henry. You forget that when I hired you we agreed that my business came first?” Cyrus drawled the words slowly, watching red creep up the other man’s neck and reach his chin.

  “I am a loyal and trustworthy employee and I work very hard managing your business affairs as well as the bank’s. I believe you have found my investment advice valuable and we have found consensus on most issues. But on this we must disagree. Eleanor has been ordered home.”

  “Whatever your family is paying you, double it and add it on to your current salary each month.” Cyrus figured money talked first with Henry.

  “It’s a most generous offer, one that I would be happy to earn, but I must decline if the offer includes my niece’s continued habitation with you on your ranch.” Henry looked so depressed Cyrus almost felt sorry for him.

  “I proposed,” Cyrus told him flatly. “She’s considering it. Don’t get in the way.”

  “You proposed marriage?” Henry asked in disbelief.

  “Yep.” Cyrus caught the flash of Mable’s grin as she nodded her approval. He switched his attention to the store owner and asked, “How’s her business doin’?”

  “She’ll have folks waiting on the day she opens up and that can’t be soon enough. The dessert customers are beginning to take up room in my store and crowd out my shoppers.”

  “I thought you said you were getting married,” Henry said suspiciously.

  “I said I offered.”

  “Then why set up the building for her?”

  “A person likes to have choices. I figure if I can’t come in first with Eleanor in a runoff between me and a goddamned cream puff filled with air, I don’t deserve to have her. Like I said, she’s considering me. Meanwhile, she’s my housekeeper as long as she wants the job.”

  “Henry, nobody knows she’s here. If anyone asks, tell ’em she’s been called back to Hartford to take care of her late husband’s estate,” Mable suggested.

  Cyrus noticed the way Mable packaged the lie inside the truth.

  “And my father—Eleanor’s grandfather—what do you propose I tell him?” Henry eyed both of them grimly.

  “Tell him to go to hell and back,” Cyrus snarled. “He didn’t take care of Ellie when he should have, and he’s not getting the chance
to mess her life up again.”

  Eleanor waited impatiently for Aunt Mildred to come downstairs. If she guessed correctly, her aunt lurked above, inspecting all the rooms while she had the opportunity. During the time Eleanor had been a guest in Millie’s home, she’d complained more than once that she’d never seen the inside of Mr. Burke’s house. It seemed certain she wouldn’t miss this chance.

  “I’m in the kitchen,” Eleanor called when steps coming downstairs alerted her of Millie’s return.

  “I’ve put the coffee on in case Mable and Uncle Henry come in for dessert.” Aunt Mildred came into the room, looking around with interest. Eleanor cut one of the peach cobblers, already thinking about what to replace it with at supper time.

  “You’re really doing all of this work, aren’t you?” Her aunt’s tone was amazed as she caught hold of Eleanor’s hand and turned it over, peeling back the work glove and displaying the new calluses on her palm.

  “Of course. I told you, I’m earning the money to set up my pastry shop.” Eleanor spoke matter-of-factly.

  “You know, Eleanor,” Millie said, a speculative gleam in her eyes. “Cyrus Burke is one of the richest men in the state. If you play your cards right, you could catch a fine husband.”

  “So now it’s all right if I stay?” The hint of sarcasm was lost on Millie.

  “Of course it’s all right. If anyone questions your stay here, should they come to know of it that is, I’ll attest to seeing your clothes in separate quarters. And I’ll tell Henry to forget this nonsense of your returning to Hartford. Child, he needs to understand we have bigger fish to fry right here.” She bustled around the kitchen chirping happily.

  Aunt Mildred was energized in a manner Eleanor hadn’t seen before. It was interesting that this branch of the family also flinched under Grandfather Alcott’s whip.

  “You have no idea what this could mean for Henry and me. Your family has treated our marriage with contempt. I am not considered worthy of an Alcott. Henry’s father, your grandfather, refuses to let us move to Hartford—not that I would choose to do so—but the insult is reprehensible. With you married to Cyrus Burke, Texas social and business doors will open, Henry’s banking career will advance and we will be out from under the family’s thumb.”