Done a Runner (Wanted Men of Bison Bluffs Book 1)

by Cynthia Knoble

  “It’s kinda small,” he said, “especially the kitchen, so you can use the kitchen in the house whenever you want, even outside of work hours. Feel free to make changes to the apartment while you’re here. After all, it is your place.”

  She nodded as her eyes swept over the area again. “Can I see the main kitchen now?”

  At least she was eager to see her workspace. He led her back down the staircase, then around the house to the front entrance. Inside, she glanced around the great room and then turned to him.

  “This is your house, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, I’ll be working in your home, and you have no problem with me using the kitchen here, even when I’m not actually working.”

  “Right. I’m not in the house much, and when I am, I’m not in the kitchen.”

  “Huh.”

  Her tone was noncommittal. Undecipherable. He was quite adept at reading others and her guarded reactions were peculiar. When they entered the kitchen, however, he easily read her expression. Her nose crinkled up in disdain as her eyes fell on the stove.

  “It’s electric.” It sounded like an accusation. She peered into the pantry, grunted, and then crossed the floor to open the fridge. With a shake of her head, she closed it, and then turned back to him. “This is a poorly stocked kitchen, considering you feed so many people.”

  “There’s a freezer full of beef and two fifty-pound bags of potatoes.” She merely stared at him until he shrugged. “I guess maybe you want to make the men rice or noodles sometimes?”

  “Something like that.”

  Her tone was flat, but she seemed outraged over the kitchen. Weird. There was plenty of food in it. Certainly she didn’t plan on making fancy meals for ranch hands. They, like Ethan, had been existing on a diet of mostly meat and potatoes for as long as he could recall. It worked. Still, some variety might be good. He pulled his wallet from his pocket, extracted two fifty-dollar bills from it, and passed them to her.

  “Fine. Buy what you need. There’s a grocery store in town.”

  She pocketed the money. “Yeah, I know, I passed it on my way here. I’ll pick some stuff up tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Actually, maybe I’ll do that today. I’ll get my stuff from the motel, stop for groceries, and then have time to set everything up for tomorrow. If that’s okay with you.”

  “That’ll be fine.”

  Seeming happier, she smiled at him and then left the kitchen. As he followed her, he found her actions strange, but liked how keen she was to start working. Maybe this would work out after all. Starting tomorrow all his men could devote their time to their assigned duties, the ranch would go back to how it should be, and, with any luck, everyone would be pleased. His shitty Sunday had sure turned around. Of course, he still had the issue of a stunningly gorgeous woman on a ranch with him and ten ranch hands. Oh well, if it caused problems, he’d deal with them when they arose.

  Late that evening, Ethan looked up from his computer screen to the window beyond it, and the headlights that had nabbed his attention. It had to be Zoë returning with supplies. He shut off his screen, then the office lights, and went outside to greet her. She stood beside the truck, her back to him, pulling bags from the vehicle. He was almost at the truck when she spun suddenly to face him, her face a surprised, and possibly frightened, mask. Soothed by her recognition of him, she relaxed, and flashed him a small smile.

  “I came out to help you bring stuff in,” he informed her, then frowned as he perused the truck’s interior, loaded with bags. “Do you really need all that just to cook?”

  She emitted a soft laugh that poked him in the gut with its sexy sound. “Yes, I do. I told you the kitchen is poorly stocked. Well, it was. Now I’m sure I have everything I need.”

  “Sure hope so,” he grumbled as he took bags from her. When she moved to get more, he shook his head. “I got this. Why don’t you head in, grab something to eat if you haven’t already, or make yourself a coffee or tea while I bring this in.”

  “Thanks. I ate, but I’d love a coffee. Would you like one?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I would. Thank you.”

  “Wow, you’ve really got that cowboy thing down pat, huh? With the ‘ma’am’ and everything? Tell me, do you wear chaps, too?”

  Weird question. “Yes.”

  She arched an exquisite brow. “With or without jeans underneath?”

  When he gaped at her question, she laughed and walked away. Her laugh hit him again, this time below the belt, and then seemed to hang enchantingly over him. Her confident strides and the enticing sway of her hips had him shaking his head. Collins, what the hell were you thinking, hiring a woman like that? Zoë was trouble. With a huge sigh, he slipped bag handles over his forearms, determined to make as few trips as possible.

  A short time later, he stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, sipping coffee, as she put the groceries away. He’d ended up making the coffee as, when he’d come in with the bags, she’d been in the pantry, rearranging item and grumbling softly. When he’d offered to assist her in putting things away, she declined, stating if she did it, she’d know where everything was. As reasonable as that sounded, he believed her response had a lot more to do with her wanting complete control of the workspace. That didn’t bother him nearly so much as something else, and he voiced his concern as she stuffed some large leafy vegetable he didn’t recognize into the fridge.

  “There’s no way you bought all that with a hundred bucks. How much do I owe you?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she replied airily as she rammed beets—of all goddamn things—into the potato and onion bin in the pantry. “I’m a thrifty shopper.” She returned to the island and began to fold the reusable grocery bags.

  “That may be,” he returned, “but you still couldn’t have bought all this with the money I gave you. I won’t have you spending your own money on my men. So, how much do I owe you?”

  She met his eyes. “It was my decision to do this. I’m the one who wanted the kitchen brought up to my standards and so I did it. I have to make a good impression.”

  “Not one that puts you out money.”

  A smile flirted with her lips. Not quite fully formed, it suggested ... Damn it, why couldn’t he read her?

  “Look,” she began, maintaining that odd smile, “the chivalry thing is really charming, but it was my decision to do this, and I’m happy now that I have everything I need. I consider it an investment in my future. I’m here on a trial basis, remember? I don’t feel bad about spending the money, so you shouldn’t either. And I’d really appreciate it if you dropped the whole matter.”

  Twice in one day she’d forced him to do something he didn’t want to do, and had shot down his arguments so effectively he couldn’t respond. Unable to stand a third occurrence, he drained his mug, and then placed it in the sink.

  “I’m turning in. Just close the front door when you leave, it’ll lock. Goodnight, Zoë.” He was almost through the door when her voice sounded.

  “Goodnight, Ethan. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He scowled as he forced his feet forward. They seemed intent on him staying in the kitchen, but no way would he remain a moment longer. Unsure who she thought she was, he talked himself down as he scaled the staircase to the upper floor. She was on a trial basis meaning he could end her employ anytime he pleased. While the idea of firing her was appealing, considering her commandeering of his kitchen, he decided it was only fair to afford her the opportunity he’d promised. He hated the way she spoke to him, the way she took over, how she’d spent her own money on things. The implication his kitchen was sub-standard in some way he couldn’t understand. He hated everything about her. Well, not the way she filled out her jeans, and certainly not the way her hair hugged her shoulders. He definitely didn’t hate the sound of her voice, or her full lips. Then there were those eyes of hers. Shut it down, Collins. You saw how beautiful she was before you h
ired her. You’ve made your proverbial bed, now you’ll have to lie in it, at least temporarily.

  After showering, he slid into bed and stared at the ceiling. His body was humming and his brain racing. Zoë had to be the worst choice for an employee, ever. Her confidence exceeded her beauty, a definite turn-on, something her attitude wasn’t. Her attitude sucked. Swooping in like some crazed vulture and behaving like the kitchen was hers. It might be her workspace, but it was his house. He’d have to be around her at every meal, at the very least, not to mention dealing with her when it came to things like payday and grocery money. She was trouble, for his men, his ranch, and his libido. Trouble with a huge neon letter T. With a grunt, he turned onto his side. You’re an idiot, Collins. That he was, a first class one.

  4

  Emitting a grumbled curse, Ethan slapped the alarm button on his clock radio when it sounded, the buzzer cutting through his sleep-deprived brain like hot needles. While unsure of when he’d finally managed to fall asleep, he hadn’t gotten nearly enough. The smells of coffee and frying bacon reached his nostrils. Right, Zoë was making breakfast. Wait, how the hell did she get in the house? He leapt up before realizing Skip must’ve let her in. His ranch foreman was an even earlier riser than he. He shook his head at just how out of sorts he was. She was the cause. What a way to start the day. After washing, and dressing, he trotted down the stairs.

  Skip was in the dining room and raised both brows when he spotted Ethan who nodded to him. “Yep, got a new cook as you saw. I’ll tell the men before breakfast. Just give me a minute.”

  Ethan entered the kitchen to the sight of Zoë zipping around it. Pans containing sausages sizzled on the stovetop, she placed a tray with bacon into the oven, and then turned to him, undoubtedly sensing his presence.

  “Good morning,” she chirped.

  Obviously, she’d slept fine last night. Her hair was piled in a huge bun on her head, an apron covered her front but seemed to accentuate her shapely ass, and she looked well-rested and fresh. And hot, don’t forget that. He frowned.

  “Morning.”

  Huffily, he crossed the floor to the counter and the coffee maker. Of course she slept fine, she didn’t have any worries here, did she? Nope, it was all on him, and he’d really done it this time. This was going to blow up in his face. Noticing a tray with mugs, unaware he owned a tray, he snatched one and reached for the coffee pot.

  “The carafe is full,” she said airily.

  Switching gears, he moved to the carafe, filled the mug, and sipped from it. His dour expression almost lifted. Hot damn that was good coffee! She loaded bread slices into the three toasters on the counter, and then pulled a carton of eggs from the fridge. Her movements were confident, as he’d come to expect, but he had the distinct impression she wasn’t moving as fast as she wanted to, having slowed considerably since bidding him good morning.

  “You certainly seem to have things under control,” he remarked and then took another sip of the best coffee he’d ever tasted.

  “Yep, this is my thing,” she returned. She put another pan on the stove and turned a dial. “Breakfast will be served at your requested time.”

  He left the kitchen to address the men he could hear talking in the dining room, and inform them a woman would be cooking their meals from now on. He also wanted to warn them to keep their distance from her and felt juvenile, telling grown men not to hit on a woman, but he was eager to nip any potential problems in the bud. His no-drama policy on the ranch was not up for debate.

  After breakfast, Ethan helped carry dirty dishware into the kitchen and then loaded the dishwasher while Zoë started handwashing pans. Leaving her to her own devices until lunch, he left the kitchen. He had to admit breakfast went well. He’d watched the men carefully when Zoë had emerged from the kitchen and, while they’d seemed shocked by her beauty, they’d all been nothing but pleasant during breakfast. After asking Zoë to join them, he’d introduced the men. He didn’t expect her to remember all their names right away, but he made sure to point out that Skip was his foreman, figuring Skip would be the only man, other than himself, she’d need to have contact with. As they ate and talked, he found he enjoyed the experience, despite his initial efforts not to. Zoë had asked many questions about the ranch and its operations, intelligent ones at that, appeared genuinely interested in the answers, and had commended them for running a humane and sustainable outfit. All in all, the meal had gone so well he was hopeful her employ might run smoothly after all. That was until he exited the house and spotted Skip on the porch, leaning against a support beam, a bemused expression on his face. It was obvious the older man had much to say on the topic.

  Ethan closed the door, pulled on his hat, and then stooped to pet his trusty Boxer. The dog had raced to him the instant he left the house, as he did each morning. He roughly rubbed Butthead’s chest, just the way the dog liked it, and then finished up with a hearty thump on his rump. He received a happy sounding sharp bark, and then Butthead regarded him, as he always did, his head held at an odd angle, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, lending an idiotic expression to the poor thing.

  As he made for the stairs, Butthead following at his heels, he dipped his head to his foreman. “Out with it, I’ve got work to do.”

  Skip fell into stride with him as they trotted down the porch steps. “What on earth possessed you to hire a woman?”

  “It seemed the appropriate course of action.” He really didn’t want to have this discussion.

  “Appropriate? A woman, on a ranch with eleven men?”

  He turned a hard look on his foreman. “Only her and a drunk applied, okay? Besides, she’s not staying, so I could do without the tongue-lashing. This is a temporary arrangement.”

  “That’s too bad,” Skip said. “You could do a lot worse than Zoë.”

  As Ethan’s wide eyes fell on him, Skip continued. “She’s a wonderful woman, smart, beautiful, and can cook like she was taught to by the devil. You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

  “Skip, really, you need to stop.”

  “Let me finish. Soon those looks of yours will fade and then what? Take it from someone who’s made that mistake. Bedding different women is fun, but there comes a time in your life when you need companionship.”

  Hardly believing his ears, Ethan stopped in his tracks. When Skip did too, he turned to face his foreman fully, and then crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Let me get this straight. You think I should marry Zoë, the woman who’s been here for less than twenty-four hours. Is that what I’m hearing? Because that’s nuts, even coming from your mouth. Really, my days of not taking you seriously are coming to a middle.”

  The pair normally exchanged the odd dig, doing the guy thing, ribbing one another, bonding as only men did, and Ethan thought his joking insult would silence Skip. His foreman however seemed intent on offering advice Ethan was in no mood to hear.

  “I’m just offering a friendly bit of advice. Planting a seed, if you will. I’m not telling you to rush things, just to keep an open mind where she’s concerned. Don’t be so quick to determine she’s not for you. Give it a chance, get to know her, and then, if you do find she’s the one for you, you’d better put a ring on her finger fast. Good women are hard to come by. Don’t let yours get away.”

  Skip flashed him a smile and then moved away. How the hell had Zoë ingratiated herself into Skip’s favour so fast? This was exactly what he’d feared, her mere presence turning the place topsy-turvy. While he firmly believed she was capable of knowingly causing trouble, apparently she didn’t have to put any effort into doing so. Skip was already affected, and Ethan wondered who was next.

  5

  Busying herself with last minute dinner preparations, Zoë was in her element. Cooking for twelve people was a breeze compared to the hectic restaurant environment that was the norm for her. Two beef roasts were in the oven, along with carrots and parsnips, a pot of potato soup and another with gravy simmered on the
stovetop, and she’d already prepared a salad to go along with the meal. The dinner was much humbler fare than what she wanted to prepare, but Ethan had asked for simple dishes for the men. Well, simpler was what she’d heard. Less complicated meals than she was used to cooking, but not necessarily simple. Tonight’s dinner was a lead-in to more complex, fancier ones. Closer to what she enjoyed cooking. She’d get there, to the place she wanted to be, serving dishes any restaurant would be proud to have on their menu, no matter what Ethan had requested. After placing plates in the second oven to warm them, she returned to the cutting board on the island to chiffonade the kale there.

  Ethan entered the kitchen, offered a grunt in response to her warm welcome, and then washed his hands. Taking in his appearance, his jeans and plaid, long-sleeved shirt, she marvelled at how, after a day spent herding cows, he appeared so clean. No doubt that was due to the spring weather, not nearly as wet as some, with little rain so far. That explained him not dragging mud into her kitchen, but she suspected as the weather warmed and gave way to summer, he’d be a dusty mess, tracking all manner of dirt in. Well, she wouldn’t be here then, so it made little sense to comment on it now, and she swallowed her desire to inform him he could have washed his hands elsewhere. While she considered the kitchen her space, it was in his house, and again she wouldn’t be around long enough to butt heads with him over ownership, hand-washing, or dirt.

  Drawing closer to her, his forehead scrunched as he peered at the cutting board. “Why is the spinach so curly?”