Howling with laughter, not having heard those expressions before, she held her stomach. It felt good to laugh and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed as hard. Certain she couldn’t take any more of Ethan’s hilarious put-downs though, she shook her head.
“Stop. You’re killing me here.”
Wiping under her eyes as she stood straight again, she glanced at Butthead. He cocked his head, and his expression was so vacant it set her off into gales of laughter again. When she finally composed herself, Ethan stared at her. She thought he looked about to leave and, scrambling to come up with something to talk about, she remembered the odd eyes on the one dog.
“What’s wrong with that dog’s eyes? She can’t be blind if she’s driving cattle, right?”
“She’s not blind. Her eyes are strange, I agree. It’s called cracked glass eye and it’s a peculiarity of her breed. Both of these girls are Catahoula Leopard Dogs.”
“I’ve never heard of them,” she replied, thinking they looked like mixed breed dogs and not purebreds, and truly not seeing much similarity between the two. “Are they a really good herding breed?”
“Lots of breeds are. My dad insisted on using Catahoulas though. He wasn’t fond of heelers and while these dogs are a little mouthy, their prey drive is low. They won’t get aggressive with the cattle and that’s what my dad was after. He got a couple of them years ago, fell in love with the breed, and then wouldn’t even think of using another. Since I’ve taken over the ranch, I’ve only had to get one new dog, but I got a Catahoula. Tradition, I guess.”
“So, your parents are retired then?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t relate a more tragic end to their tenure on the ranch.
“Yep, seven years ago. I’d tell you they live in Calgary, but they’re hardly ever there. They travel a lot.”
“Enjoying their golden years, I take it.”
“That they are.”
He resumed staring at her. She had the distinct impression he was studying her, again. Maintaining her bright smile, she tried to look innocent for his benefit and, after a moment, he lifted his chin in the direction of the barn.
“The first calf of the season was born yesterday. Do you want to see him?”
“Yes, I’d love to.”
Ethan whistled and pointed to the fence and the two female dogs ran back to the area, practically flying over the fence. Their compliance with hand signals amazed her but she reasoned it made sense for the dogs to be trained that way as with a large herd of cattle they might not always hear a verbal command. They walked to the barn in silence, Butthead following them. Inside the barn, she blinked a few times to adjust to the dimmer lighting after the sunniness outside. She nodded to Jeff when they passed a stall he was mucking. At the sound of lowing, and a high-pitched moo, she drew closer to a stall. She could only see the calf’s legs as he was on the opposite side of the cow. Disappointed, she was about to turn away when the calf bounded around his mother, hopped on all fours, and then nuzzled under her to nurse. He was fuzzy and adorable. She turned to Ethan to see him grinning like a proud father.
“He is so darn cute! What’s his name?” she asked.
“Well, they don’t get named unless they’re staying here. Mind you, he’s a big boy, I might keep him for a breeding bull.”
He seemed hesitant to say anything else on the matter. She’d clearly heard what he wouldn’t give voice to, that, if he didn’t keep the calf as a breeding bull, then it would go to the abattoir when weaned. River Rock Homestead was a veal farm. Some people might object to that but she’d come to grips with where the food she served came from long ago.
“You could just name him Osso Buco until you decide,” she suggested, trying to lighten the mood again.
“That I could,” he agreed with a smile. “Fine. Osso it is.”
Delighted she’d named the sweet little calf, she placed her hands on the gate to watch Osso for a bit. Ethan joined her and, standing beside her, placed a hand close to hers on the railing. Her peripheral vision caught him looking at her, not Osso. Pleased with how friendly he was today, she felt her job seemed more secure and breathed an inward sigh of relief. Maybe Ethan wasn’t the hard-ass she’d thought him to be. Testing him, she shuffled sideways a bit, drawing closer to him but not touching him. She was so close she could feel the heat of his body and she discreetly breathed in his scent. He smelled like manly soap, sunshine, leather, and sweat, and the aroma was intoxicating. Best of all, he hadn’t moved away from her.
8
After Zoë left to return to the house, Ethan made his way out of the barn. He’d waited a few minutes, not really wanting anyone to see him leaving with her. Sure, he’d entered with her, and he’d truly enjoyed the time they spent together. Watching her light up as she saw the calf was almost as great as seeing her laughing in the yard. Her throaty laugh was infectious, even as he’d done no more than grin at the time, conscious of the men spotting him. At first, he’d merely been interested in why she was wandering around the property. Her smiles, laughs, questions, well, everything about her really, had changed his intention. He found himself wanting to entertain her, make her laugh again, and spend more time with her. What the hell had happened to his resolve to keep his distance from her?
Passing a stall, he nodded to Jeff. The young man looked uncomfortable as he nodded back, and then returned to work. Shit, had Jeff seen something? Ethan knew he’d stood too close to Zoë in the barn. He should have lingered farther back, but was unable to prevent himself from closing the distance between them. He wanted to feel the warmth of her, to smell her and by God! did she smell amazing. A whiff of bacon clung to her from frying it for breakfast—seriously, what man doesn’t love the smell of bacon?—but it was secondary to a slightly musky but still feminine scent that was probably perfume. Thankfully she didn’t bathe in it like some women. It was just strong enough to make his nostrils flare and draw closer to inhale it. Like a lady wears her perfume. Or how a black widow draws in her prey. He couldn’t deny he felt trapped by her charms, rendered powerless by her smile. It was inviting, dangerously so. And like the idiot he was, he’d leaned in more. That’s when he’d detected her scent, the smell of her skin, the delicate fragrance of her. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He’d known she’d smell that good and never should have gotten so damn close to her.
As he exited the barn, the look on Jeff’s face reared up again in his mind. He’d had more than an uncomfortable look upon his face. It had been questioning, as if he was wondering what was going on with Ethan and Zoë. Damn it, he was letting Zoë get to him. Sure, she was beautiful, but there was something off about her. Even if there wasn’t she was an employee. She was off-limits. Then why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? Enough. She had to go. Although, if he fired her, he’d never hear the end of it from the men. They’d spoken non-stop about how good the food was, not to mention the coffee. It had only been three days, but they talked as if she’d always been here. Maybe she’d quit. He’d been more lenient with her than with anyone else he’d ever had in his employ. She’d defied him at every turn, and he’d let her. Well, no more would he be a victim of her feminine charms, her incredible beauty, those lips, that hair, her throaty laugh—enough, it was time to put his foot down and make it clear that it was his way or the highway. Taking into consideration she had an obvious healthy ego, maybe a streak of arrogance, he figured she’d choose the highway. It would be for the best. He’d be done with her, and she’d be gone, before his dick overrode his brain. That was a disaster waiting to happen and he couldn’t let it.
As he neared the fence to rejoin the men in the paddock with the pregnant cows, his conscience informed him three days was hardly the trial basis he’d promised her. Maybe but she hadn’t made any effort to follow his wishes, insisting on cooking food he told her the men wouldn’t like, rearranging his kitchen, and taking it upon herself to start clearing out the gardens behind the house. Sure, they’d become overgrown and ratty-looking since his parent
s had left the property to him, but he hadn’t given her permission to do so, had he? And why had she done it? To plant an herb garden! Maybe the ranch looked like some high-end Bed-and-Breakfast to her, but it was a working ranch and nothing more. Was it too much to ask to have meat-and-potatoes dinners, without drama of any kind? You’re the one causing drama right now.
Whistling to draw his horse, Horton, closer to the fence, he conceded to his inner voice. Fine, he’d give her another day. If she insisted on some fancy dinner tonight, then he’d definitely have a talk with her tomorrow. He’d always prided himself on running a tight ship and it was high time to stop turning the helm over to the new employee, no matter how appealing she was.
9
Straining under the weight, Zoë bustled into the kitchen, hands holding several reusable grocery bags. As she plunked the bags on the floor beside the island, about to return to her truck for the second, and, with any luck, last load, she saw Ethan. His butt resting against the counter, one hand on it—she sure hoped he’d washed his hands—a coffee cup in the other, she knew he’d been waiting for her. His casual pose didn’t relate his intention, but his expression certainly did. He looked pissed.
“You should have texted or called me,” he informed her, his tone stern, “I would’ve helped you bring that in.”
“There’s no need. I can handle it.”
“I’m sure. Still, I could’ve helped or sent one of the hands to.”
“I appreciate that, but I’m more than capable of handling this on my own.”
He undoubtedly wanted to talk about something and, unable to get the rest of the groceries, she hefted one of the bags onto the counter. No sense wasting time. She’d brought all the perishable items in first and set about unpacking the bag. Frig, it wasn’t the bag with eggs. Well, no matter, that one was in the kitchen, she’d get to it shortly. At the snort Ethan released when she extracted celeriac from the bag and placed it on the counter, she looked to him.
“I’m not even going to ask what the hell that is, but it looks like something the cows leave behind them in the field.” When she didn’t respond, he gestured to the coffee pot. “Why don’t you grab a mug? I’d like to talk to you.”
“I’ll have a coffee in a bit, but if it’s all right with you, I’d like to just talk so I can get back to work. I have a lot to unpack, and some of it is perishable.”
“Fine, then I’ll make this quick. The meals you’ve made so far have been, well, good, but they’re too fancy.”
“What do you mean?” She hadn’t made anything too ambitious, nothing unrecognizable, or avant-garde and didn’t get his objection.
“What are you planning for dinner tonight?”
“Chicken Ballotine, Duchess Potatoes, and a deconstructed Caesar Salad.”
He scowled. “This is what I’m talking about. I don’t even know what those are, aside from the Caesar Salad. Sure, the men will eat that, they’ve all had it before, at least I think they have, but the rest is ... The men lead simple lives. They have simple tastes. A burger, some fries and a beer make them happy. Your meals are good, they are, but, well, making gourmet food for farm hands is kinda like using a sledgehammer to crack a nut. It’s too much.”
Resisting unleashing a scowl of her own, she wanted to crack some nuts and certainly wouldn’t need a sledgehammer to do so. She reasoned a pair of stilettoes would do a nice job on Ethan’s. Furious he was questioning her menu choices, again, she inhaled deeply before answering him.
“None of that is truly gourmet, simply a bit more advanced than burgers and fries.”
“And something you learned to make in a family restaurant, is it? I’ve been to my fair share and never seen things I didn’t know on the menu.”
Where the hell had that come from? Had he not believed her? Sure, she’d lied about that, but she was a darn good liar. Using all her restraint to not narrow her eyes, she responded as calmly as she could.
“I never said it was a family restaurant. I said it was a restaurant run by my ex’s family. They served fairly ambitious dishes, but that’s not what I’m doing here. Take the Chicken Ballotine, for example. Now, in an upscale restaurant, it would undoubtedly be done with chicken breasts, perhaps even a whole chicken for a nice table presentation, but I’m doing it with chicken legs tonight. More economical, and it’s not as fanciful as you think. I’ll simply debone the pieces, leaving the leg and thigh attached and—”
“Just stop,” he interrupted, actually holding his damn hand up to her, an action that almost had her seeing red. “I don’t need a cooking lesson. What I need is a cook who prepares proper meals for my men. Normal ones. This is a ranch, not a five-star restaurant.”
Now she did see red. Blessedly, it only lasted for a second. She needed to stay here. It was safe, the perfect place to wait for word and, no matter how insufferable Ethan was, she couldn’t tank this. She required it too much. Biting back what she wanted to unload on him, she found the words she needed to say.
“I understand your viewpoint, but perhaps you could try to see mine. I love to cook and creating dishes for others is a gift from me. Yeah, you pay me to do it, I get it, and yes, you’re the boss. It’s your ranch, your business, and your house. I do cook because I love it though. But love doesn’t pay the bills, so here we are.” She inhaled sharply, still calming down, and grateful he hadn’t spoken again. Apparently, he was giving her what she’d asked for, the chance to speak. That was admirable, despite his initial asshole behaviour, and she focused on that, and not the burning desire to tell him to shove the job where the sun doesn’t shine. “I understand the men have simple tastes. You probably do too. However, sometimes it’s a good thing to try something out of the ordinary, and push boundaries a bit. The men are regular Joes, I get that, but I’ll bet now and then they enjoy a night out at a fancy restaurant, with their wives, or girlfriends, to celebrate something, maybe just to do something different. Food has an amazing ability to be ordinary or spectacular. It nourishes but it can do so much more. The term ‘comfort food’ came about because that’s what those dishes do: they comfort people. Those dishes feed the soul as much as they do the body. What I’m trying to do here—”
With a shake of her head, she switched gears. He didn’t seem all that interested in what she was saying, and still wore that authoritative look, the one that told her he wasn’t about to lift the foot he’d put down. Fine. It was time to address him in a manner he’d, if not exactly appreciate, at least fully understand. “You know what? I was going to say I was trying to give them something special, something that perked up their day, maybe lifted their spirits. That’s probably wishful thinking though, and probably sounds like bullshit to you. You think I’m just being stubborn, serving dishes I’m used to, and not the simple ones you requested. So, let me try to explain my standpoint in a way that might resonate with you a little better.”
Her tone had sharpened and that certainly grabbed his attention. While he appeared more pissed, his eye contact had intensified. That was good, he was listening more actively. He didn’t possess the somewhat glazed look of someone who was just waiting for their turn to shoot back. Somewhere inside her brain, a voice pleaded to take it easy on him, reminding her of the importance of remaining on the ranch. Yeah, she understood the importance, of course she did. Her very life might depend on it. Unfortunately, her ego came into play now, insisting she could get her own way and remain in Ethan’s employ, and she believed she’d devised exactly how to do it.
“As much as you go on about how simple you and the men here are, this is a ranch that provides high-end beef. You’ve accomplished that by being unrelenting in your practices here, insisting on the best feed for your cattle, the best conditions for them, and the best staff to care for them. You give this ranch your best, and rightfully demand the best from your employees. That’s what I’m trying to do here, give you my best. I’m a damn good cook and I provide the best food I possibly can. Instead of berating me for doing so, you should b
e happy your men are getting the best. Fueling their bodies with better food will allow them to perform better, much like better feed provides better beef. Like I told you during my interview, this is your ranch and you run it as you see fit. You can fire me and hire someone who’ll plunk food on plates for them. Maybe they’ll care about what they serve, but maybe they won’t. Maybe it’ll just be a job to them. To me it’s more, it’s an expression of caring, and something I take great pride in, just like you do with this ranch.”
She stopped and held his fiery gaze. Her rant could have an adverse effect on him. It was a gamble, one she probably shouldn’t have taken, but she’d never been one to pull punches. An all-or-nothing kind of gal, she wanted it all, even if he could ensure she ended up with nothing. Something flicked in his eyes, but she couldn’t decipher it. He placed his mug in the sink and then met her eyes again.
“No soufflés, crêpes, quiches, or anything else too fanciful.”
“Got it,” she replied, hardly thinking those dishes were fanciful. Huh, quiche. Haven’t served that yet. It would be a great lunch one day, with a vegetable-laden salad accompanying it.
“And—well, can you at least try to keep the meals simpler? Everything tastes great, and I appreciate your desire to provide nutritious meals, but this is still a ranch, regardless of the type of beef I raise.”
“I will.”
If she’d been ten years-old, she would’ve crossed her fingers behind her back. She had no intention of bending to his will but there was no point rocking the boat any further today. He still looked pissed, comparable to how he looked at the end of the interview, actually, and she imagined he didn’t care for her standing up to him, then or now. However, as much as she was pretending to be someone she wasn’t, she couldn’t completely smother who she really was.
Without another word, he stomped out of the kitchen, no doubt winged a bit. That was a stupid gamble to take. She smiled. Sure it was, but it had panned out and she’d gotten her own way. If he’d kept the sociable mood he’d had yesterday, their discussion wouldn’t have devolved into what it had. She liked yesterday’s Ethan more but could deal with surly Ethan. She’d just proved it.
Done a Runner (Wanted Men of Bison Bluffs Book 1) Page 4
