“Sorry.”
He did seem contrite, and the damage was done. There was no point scolding him any further.
“Ma sent over two cookbooks for you, and I know she’d be happy to teach you,” he went on.
“I’m sure she has enough of her own cooking to do—”
He shook his head. “Pa insisted on hiring someone to cook and clean for her a few years back. She told me tonight that she missed it.”
“Well, we’ll see …”
He got up, came around the table and pulled her to her feet. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he kissed her. A slow languid warmth seeped through her.
“I’m real sorry,” he murmured, his lips grazing the pulse point beneath her ear, sending shivers of delight through her. “I didn’t even think you wouldn’t want them to know you couldn’t cook. Will you forgive me?”
With his lips leaving a trail of heat down her neck and his hands caressing her back, she realized she’d forgive him anything if he’d just keep doing what he was doing. A soft moan escaped her lips. “I’m not sure,” she teased. “It might take me a while to make up my mind.”
He raised his head and looked down at her. “I’ve got all night.”
She lifted her lips, waiting for another kiss. “I’m glad to hear it.”
Chapter 6
Dawn hadn’t yet broken over the mountains when Rose woke the next morning. Charlie was lying on his side, his arm draped over her waist, his fingers splayed on her abdomen.
Already, she’d grown accustomed to the sound of his even breathing, the touch of his lips, the scent of leather and soap that was uniquely his.
She smiled into the darkness. She’d been so afraid to take this step, to become a mail-order bride. Yet it seemed as though she’d made the right choice.
Charlie was a good man. She already knew that. He was kind, thoughtful … and obviously had the patience of a saint. His kisses the night before had created such a longing in her for something … something she couldn’t explain or describe … but she was still too afraid to allow him to do more than kiss her.
He’d been frustrated. That had been evident. But he’d taken it in stride and when she’d called a halt to their intimacy, he’d gone outside. She was asleep by the time he came back in.
She liked him. A lot. Even when he was being so … male.
From what she’d seen, his family was wealthy, even wealthier than hers had been before … The memory of that day assaulted her - the humiliation, the disparaging looks from people she’d thought were her friends, the way they suddenly avoided her to the point of even crossing the street rather than speak to her.
Charlie had kept his family’s wealth a secret. She remembered the wording in the advertisement exactly and there was nothing to indicate he was anything but a small-time rancher.
And as long as she kept her own secret, she wouldn’t have to worry. There was no reason his family would ever have to find out about the scandal that sent her fleeing from home. And no reason to think less of her.
They could have a good life here, and even though right now she didn’t know how to cook, clean, do laundry or any of the other chores a ranch wife was expected to do, she could learn. She would learn to be a good wife to him, a good mother to his children.
She rested her hand on top of his, her small fingers on his work-roughened skin. For a moment, she wondered how it would feel to be with child. Her heart filled with joy at the prospect of becoming a mother. But that wasn’t going to happen unless she allowed Charlie to exercise his marital rights.
His kisses caused sensations unlike any she’d ever known to surge through her body, sensations of need, of pleasure, of wanting something she couldn’t define. Would making love be even better? Even more pleasurable? She couldn’t imagine it, but during the long night with Charlie lying beside her, she couldn’t help but wonder.
Faint light brightened the curtains at the window. Suddenly, the rooster crowed, and Charlie woke. His hair, tousled from sleep, curled on his forehead, his chin shadowed with dark hair. He smiled when he saw her watching him.
“Good morning,” he said gruffly, rising on one elbow to kiss her, then flipped the covers off and bounded out of bed.
How he had so much energy was beyond her. She’d be quite happy to snuggle back beneath the covers until at least noon.
“Time to get up,” he urged with a grin. “Day’s wasting.”
She grunted, but got up and got dressed, following him downstairs to the kitchen.
“I’ll light the stove for you,” he said, picking up wood from the bin beside the cookstove. He took a match and lit the wood. Soon, the surface of the stove was hot enough to start cooking. “See? There’s really nothing to it. All you have to do is put in more wood whenever it’s not hot enough.”
She nodded. That seemed easy enough. “Thank you.”
“I’ll go milk the cow and take care of the other morning chores,” he told her, sliding his arms into a sheepskin jacket before sitting down to put on his boots. “It should take about an hour.”
After he left, Rose surveyed the kitchen, trying to find something she knew how to cook for breakfast. He’d be expecting a meal when he got back. At least she could give him that.
Gillian had taught her how to cook several egg dishes, and she wanted to make something special for him. Since they hadn’t eaten all the bread the night before and she’d also found a jar of maple syrup on the shelf, she knew she had enough ingredients to make French toast.
She’d noticed a chicken coop the day before. She’d never actually collected eggs, but it seemed simple enough.
Slipping her cloak around her shoulders, she took the egg basket she’d found in the cold cellar and hurried outside. The cool air seeped through the fabric, making her shiver. When did spring come to this part of the country?
When she got to the chicken coop, she paused. The stench was overwhelming, and for a few moments, she was sure she’d lose whatever was left in her stomach from the night before.
Glancing around, she saw Charlie heading into the barn. She could ask him to get the eggs. He would do it. She knew that. But she was a grown woman, and this was her life now. She’d have to learn to do things for herself. And Charlie was busy enough. He didn’t need to be bothered with trivial chores like collecting eggs.
Surely she could handle a few chickens, although the closer she got, the more they squawked their disapproval at her invasion of their territory. Doing her best not to breathe any more often than was absolutely necessary, she reached into the nests and dug out several eggs. The chickens pecked at her hands, and twice she dropped the eggs because she jerked her hand back too quickly to avoid their sharp beaks.
Finally, she closed the door to the coop and hurried back inside. Her hands stung from the red welts covering them, and she’d have liked nothing more than to dip them in some icy water for a minute or two, but she didn’t have time.
She caught herself humming as she cracked the eggs into a bowl and whisked them, then sliced the bread and soaked it in the eggs. Then she cut a few slices from a slab of bacon she’d found, hoping he wouldn’t mind her using it. She hadn’t thought to ask.
She was happy. The realization shocked her that she was actually enjoying the process of making a meal for Charlie. She’d never imagined she would enjoy what her mother always called manual labor. Her mother had certainly never set foot in a kitchen, Rose was sure.
No, she was no cook, but she could manage eggs, and she could follow instructions. Hopefully the two cookbooks sitting on the worktable would teach her all she needed to know.
Although she’d never cooked bacon before, she was confident she could handle it. The bacon sizzled in the skillet as she moved the slices around so none of them would burn. Still, a few pieces were overly crisp by the time she managed to get them out and put them on a plate in the oven to keep warm.
After pouring the leftover grease into a pot she’d taken down off the shelf, s
he added a lump of butter to the skillet and carefully set the egg-soaked bread into it.
She hovered over it, hoping she could at least manage not to burn it. It wasn’t a meal he’d find in a fancy restaurant in Boston, but she was trying.
She hoped Charlie would see that. And that it would be enough.
* * *
Charlie opened the door to the unmistakable aroma of bacon meeting his nose. He sniffed appreciatively. Yes, Rose had told him she wanted to work on the ranch, but it seemed she’d come to her senses and realized he didn’t need another ranch hand. He needed a wife to cook the meals and take care of the house.
Rose was standing at the stove when he entered. She looked up and smiled. “I’m making breakfast,” she told him. “Hurry and wash up.”
He strolled over to the stove and looked into the skillet, wondering if this was one of the six ways she knew how to cook eggs. Whatever it was looked good, so he pumped water at the sink and scrubbed his hands, then slid into his chair at the table.
She slid the cooked bread onto a plate, she added a dollop of butter and slathered it with maple syrup, added several slices of bacon and then set the plate in front of him.
“What is this?” he asked, eyeing it gingerly. He recognized the bacon, although some was burnt while other slices weren’t cooked enough.
“French toast,” she replied.
He heard the pride in her voice. He cut a piece off and popped it into his mouth. Then he smiled, chewed and swallowed. “It’s good.”
She chuckled. “You sound surprised.”
“I thought you said you couldn’t cook.”
“I can’t really. It’s one of the few things I do know how to make.” She lifted the second slice from the skillet and put it on his plate. “I’m glad you like it. Until I learn more, we might be eating this a lot.”
“That’s fine by me.” He dug into his meal and soon, he was wiping up the syrup with the last chunk of bread. He knew she didn’t have much confidence in the kitchen, so he tried to eat as much of the bacon as he could swallow, but he couldn’t force a few pieces past his lips.
She eyed the uneaten strips of bacon still on his plate. “Looks like I need to work on cooking bacon a bit more. It seems the poor pig died in vain,” she said with a chuckle.
Her eyes sparkled with merriment, and he couldn’t help but return her smile.
“More French toast?” she asked, bringing the skillet to the table.
It was then he noticed the marks on her hands. “What happened to you?”
She quickly moved away and put the skillet back on the stove. “Oh, it’s nothing …”
He got up and crossed to where she was standing. Taking her hands in his, he studied them closely. “Those look like chicken pecks.”
Giving him a wry smile, she shrugged. “They objected to my presence.”
“If I’d known you were going out there, I’d have given you a pair of gloves. There’s a pair in the barn. They’d have likely been too big for you, but they’d have been better than nothing. We’ll take a look in the mercantile next time we’re in town and see if we can find some that fit you properly.”
“It’s really not necessary—”
“It is.” Even though her injuries were minor, it bothered him that she’d been hurt trying to do something for him. The only other woman who’d ever been willing to put herself at risk for him was his mother.
She smiled at him. “Then my hands thank you.”
Picking up the coffee pot, she poured coffee for them both, then sat facing him with her own breakfast. She ate in silence and was just finishing her meal when he said, “I’ll be close by this morning if you need me, but I’ll be gone all afternoon until supper.”
“Oh? Where are you going?”
“I’m going to ride the fence line.”
“I’ll come with you. You said you’d show me around. I want to see everything.”
“Who’ll make lunch if you come with me?” he asked.
As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized he’d made a huge mistake. Her lips pursed and her pointed look told him she wasn’t pleased with his question.
She set her knife and fork down and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “I thought we settled this yesterday. In your advertisement, you specifically asked for a woman who could work with you on the ranch. That to me does not mean you do the ranch work and your wife stays in the house chained to a cookstove and a broom. I want to work with you, with the cattle, with the horses, doing whatever needs to be done.”
She nibbled on her lip, then lifted her head and straightened in her chair. “If I misunderstood, please tell me now and I’ll be on the next stage back to Denver.”
Was she bluffing? She’d told him she had nothing left back east, and that her only other choice had been prostitution. Was she really ready to sell herself rather than cook and clean?
He could call her on it, but what if it wasn’t a bluff? What if she really did leave?
The bigger question was, why did he care? He was legally married, so even if she left him right now, he’d done what his father asked. And if nothing else, his father was a man of his word and wouldn’t disinherit him now.
But it was more than that. There was something about Rose that appealed to him as a man. She was beautiful, but it was something else that drew him in, something he couldn’t explain.
And that something was the only reason he hadn’t told her to leave when he’d found out she’d lied in her letter. Lied by omission, but still lied. And lying was the one thing Charlie couldn’t tolerate in anyone.
“No,” he answered on a sigh. “I did say that, but I expected a wife who could take care of the house, too. If you’re out working with me, who’s going to cook the meals, clean the house and do the laundry?”
That seemed to give her pause, but only for a few seconds. “We’ll do it together.”
“What?” Was he hearing right? She actually expected him to cook and to clean, to do … woman’s work?
“You advertised for a partner, not a housekeeper. Partners share the work—”
“I meant you could help me. I sure didn’t mean I was going to sweep floors and wash dishes.”
She shook her head. “I realize it’s not the way most marriages work, but then this isn’t a traditional marriage, is it?” She reached over and rested her hand on his and gazed into his eyes. “Can we at least try it?”
He swore inwardly. When she looked at him like that, he couldn’t bring himself to refuse. What was wrong with him? He’d never had a problem turning down a woman’s requests before.
He’d avoided marriage for one reason, and one reason only. He wouldn’t let a woman control him. He’d seen it happen too many times and he’d sworn no woman would ever have that kind of power over him. So what was it about this woman that had him agreeing to everything she wanted just so he’d see her smile?
“Fine,” he muttered, although it wasn’t fine at all. Since he’d been forced to find a wife, he’d figured at least he’d get a woman who would stay out of his way, a woman who could look after the house, cook his meals and wash his clothes. And warm his bed. Now, it looked like he’d gotten himself a woman who thought she could handle the same chores as a man and still be a wife – at least outside the bedroom. “I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “You spend two weeks learning how to cook and do all the other chores a wife is supposed to do—”
“And?”
“Do that, and I’ll give you three days to prove yourself working alongside me and the other men. After that time, if you aren’t pulling your weight, you’ll forget all this nonsense and be content to be a real wife?”
“I can handle it,” she insisted.
Well, he thought, he’d let her think that. And if he worked it right, by the time the three days were over, she’d be glad to stay home and do what women were supposed to do. “So, what do you say?”
She wasn’t pleased with the terms he was offer
ing, but she sensed it was as much as he was willing to consider, at least for now. She rose from the table and came around, holding out her hand. He took it in his, a tingle snaking up his arm and settling low in his belly.
She smiled down at him, her eyes sparkling. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
* * *
Rose was restless. She’d washed up the breakfast dishes and made the bed, but she wasn’t sure exactly what else Charlie expected her to do.
She looked out the window, and couldn’t resist the lure of the outdoors. She was anxious to see the rest of the ranch, but until Charlie had time to take her, she’d have to be content with her immediate surroundings.
Opening the door, she stepped outside, breathing in fresh, cool mountain air. The dew-covered pastures glistened in the morning sunshine. She paused, her hands holding the porch railings as joy and a sense of peace washed over her.
This was her home now, and already she’d fallen in love with it.
Voices from a fenced corral near the large building a fair distance from the house reached her. A horse trotted in a circle around a man in the center holding a rope. She recognized the bottle green shirt. Charlie’s shirt.
She’d seen horses being broken to saddle and rider many times while she was growing up, and she knew that’s what Charlie was doing. She couldn’t resist the temptation to wander over to the corral to watch.
Three men stood together outside the building she assumed was a stable. One, a tall, lanky cowboy glanced her way, then said something to the other two, who turned and watched her approach the opposite side of the corral.
Never comfortable being the center of attention, she focused on not tripping over her feet or falling in the mud puddles dotting the area surrounding the corral.
As if Charlie sensed her presence, he looked around and saw her leaning against the fence, her arms hooked over the top rail, and smiled at her. Her heart tripped in her chest.
An elderly man with a shock of white hair and rosy cheeks ambled toward her and stopped beside her. Lifting one leg, he braced it on the bottom rail and rested his elbows on the top. “Name’s Wally MacPherson,” he said. “I’m guessing you’re the new missus.”
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