One Heart to Win

by Johanna Lindsey

  “I agree with you, you’re in dire need of a scrubbing,” a deep voice said with a laugh.

  Her eyes flew open. She located her amused escort standing in front of another door he’d opened. Only vaguely did she see a porcelain tub beyond him because her eyes locked on his face and stayed there. Powder-blue eyes contrasted with his black hair and darkly tanned skin. A twinkle of laughter was still in those blue eyes, suggesting he was good-humored. With a strong nose and a wide brow, his was a masculine face and much more handsome than she was accustomed to. Tall, lean, and muscular, he wore a long-sleeved, black shirt and a blue bandanna tied around his neck, dark-blue pants, and muddy black boots.

  He nodded toward the room behind him. “The tub actually drains. The pipes lead out to the garden Old Ed tended behind the house. It keeps the ground moist if occasionally soapy.”

  He had to be joking about the soapy garden so she ignored that and asked, “Who is Old Ed?”

  “The cook we sorely miss. He couldn’t be talked into staying. Ornery cuss just said it was time to move on to see more of the world.”

  “Not too old to do that?”

  “Not old at all, midthirties maybe.”

  “Then why was he called Old Ed?”

  “His hair turned gray years ago after he had a run-in with a grizzly. He was out hunting for his supper, so was the bear. Ed was sure the bear was going to go home happy that night when it startled him into dropping his rifle.”

  Definitely not a subject for delicate ears, yet her curiosity kicked in. “But he got away?”

  “Ran like hell and even faster when he heard the bear shooting at him.”

  She stared hard at the man. “That’s absurd—isn’t it?”

  He laughed, she was sure at her, which had her back stiffening indignantly. For a cowboy, he was too friendly and too impertinent. But she supposed a man this attractive was in the habit of flirting with the ladies.

  “Course it is,” he answered. “Old Ed was just scared enough at the time to have that crazy notion. He went back the next day to find his rifle on the ground and one bloody pawprint by the barrel. The bear probably swiped at the shiny thing that had been left for him and shot himself in the foot. But Ed did wake up with gray hair that morning.”

  Which reminded her. “My hair isn’t red.”

  “Close enough,” he disagreed with a grin. “If you want some hot water added to that tub, light up the stove. If not, you’re all set. A pump was added for the tub a few years back at Ed’s insistence. He got annoyed with everyone filling buckets at his sink when he was trying to cook dinner. Real annoyed. Wouldn’t cook another meal until he got his way. That second pump went in pretty darn fast.”

  “I can’t wait that long. I fear I will be screaming any moment now if I don’t get this grime off me.”

  He shrugged and stepped away from the door so it no longer appeared that he was blocking her way from the little bathing room. “Suit yourself.”

  Suit herself? She realized she’d been doing just that. She’d been having a conversation with a perfect stranger when she knew very well how improper that was, at least before introductions! This was so unlike her. She blamed him, of course. She’d simply never encountered a man this handsome before.

  Annoyed now, more with herself for allowing him to fluster her like this, she started forward. “Who are you? Do you work here?”

  “Everyone here works. Speaking of which, aren’t you a bit young to be a housekeeper? I have a feeling you’re gonna wash up pretty—and young.”

  “Not at all. I’m much older than I look, likely as old as you are. How old are you?”

  He chuckled. “If I answer that, will you?”

  Why was she still talking to one of the hired hands? “Never mind.”

  He grinned back. “That’s what I thought. I’ll guard the door for you. On second thought, maybe you better lock it—so you’ll be safe from me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  TIFFANY WAS SITTING IN the tub of cold water shivering, but she was barely aware of it. She was still thinking about the fellow who’d teased her about locking the door. Was he still out there, waiting to see her “cleaned up,” as he’d put it? She was a bit bothered that the thought pleased her—no, it excited her.

  She wished he’d told her who he was . . . oh, good God, could he be Hunter Callahan? No, of course not, not with those light-blue eyes, when the two brothers she’d met both had brown eyes. Besides, Hunter had left the ranch. She’d seen him ride off herself.

  She tsked at herself and got out of the tub, then groaned when she realized she had nothing clean to wear. She was so used to having a maid anticipate her needs that she hadn’t thought that far ahead. But she was not going to put those dusty clothes back on. She wrapped herself in a towel and opened the door a crack to call for help and saw her trunk sitting there. Cole, bless him. He was thoughtful enough to have realized she’d need it.

  A while later she glanced in the oval mirror above the shaving stand to make sure she was finally presentable. Clean, yes, but hardly presentable, at least not to her standards. She hadn’t taken the time to carefully sort through the clothing in her trunk when someone might walk into the kitchen at any time, but she did get a yellow day dress in the armful she grabbed. She wasn’t sure she’d managed to secure all the buttons up the back, though, nor could she twist around enough to tell. And the best she could do with her damp hair was to tie it back. It was dawning on her how much she depended on a maid because she couldn’t even pin up her own hair!

  Sighing, she opened the door and saw Cole standing there about to knock. He just stared at her though without saying a word, so she said, “Well, I’ve finished making use of your pretty tub.”

  Cole managed to tear his eyes away from her fresh-scrubbed face and glanced at the tub. “Ma ordered that contraption from a fancy catalog she got from St. Louis. You should’ve heard the laughter when it arrived, but I gotta admit, it beats the hell out of getting splinters in your ass.”

  She made no comment about his improper language because she’d heard worse from her own mother. Rose had picked up a colorful vocabulary from her years in the West.

  “Thank you for bringing my trunk in here. I’ll choose a room now so it can be—”

  “Wasn’t me who brought it in. And my pa—”

  That was as far as he got before he was simply gazing at her again. It wasn’t an unusual reaction. She’d had men stare at her like this before, but not men she’d already met. She was tempted to tell him to close his mouth, but that would, of course, embarrass him, and she’d rather not. Although it was his fault that her appearance had been so distorted by dirt and dust.

  Tiffany tried not to grin when she prompted him to continue, “Your father?”

  “Wants to—” he started, but, apparently still amazed by how she looked, he said, “Never seen a gal as pretty as you.” Then he blushed profusely. “Sorry. Pa wants to meet you now. He sent me to fetch you.”

  “By all means. Lead the way.”

  Cole nodded, though his cheeks were still red.

  Tiffany didn’t try to keep up with his long-legged stride. But he didn’t get too far ahead of her and stopped at the front door, holding it open for her. He was taking her outside? She started to frown until he pointed toward the end of the porch where an older cowboy sat—well, probably not a cowboy, but a man dressed like one. This had to be the owner of the ranch, her fiancé’s father.

  “Just got home,” the older man said to Tiffany as she slowly approached him. “Was surprised to hear my boys were successful. Name’s Zachary Callahan. What’s yours?”

  She was suddenly so nervous she couldn’t recall the name she was going to use! This was her father’s worst enemy, and, she realized, her enemy, too. She might not love her father, but she loved the rest of her family. And this man could actually end the feud with them if he wanted to. He must be somewhat open to the idea, or he would never have agreed to end it through marriage, woul
d he? What was that housekeeper’s name?

  “Jennifer Fleming,” she finally blurted out.

  He didn’t seem to notice her nervousness. He pointed to the seat next to him. He didn’t stand up. He might have stood up for a lady, but obviously not for an employee. Tiffany ignored the chair since it was covered with dust and Zachary was smoking a cigar, the smoke blowing right across the second chair.

  He appeared to be in his midforties, though his hair was still coal black. Dark brown eyes with lots of lines fanning out at the sides of them. Laughter lines, Rose called them. They did usually hint at a good-natured temperament. And he was quite a handsome man, which wasn’t surprising. Rose had said he was. And Tiffany had seen the evidence in two of his sons.

  She shook off her unease, reminding herself she had a role to play. “Why did your last housekeeper leave, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Never had one, and we just lost our cook, so we’re plumb tickled you’re here. You’re not going to sit?”

  She was going to have to address his assumption that she would be his cook, too, but she didn’t quite have the nerve to do that yet, so she merely said, “No offense, sir, but I can’t abide the smell of smoke.”

  “None taken. My wife won’t let me smoke in the house. I abide by that rule even though she don’t come downstairs anymore.”

  Tiffany was incredulous. He had a wife? With the condition of the house, she’d naturally assumed his spouse must be deceased.

  “Why am I not speaking to Mrs. Callahan then? My job would fall into her domain.”

  “We don’t bother Mary with trifles. She took a bad fall some months back and is confined to bed until her bones mend. If you need anything or got questions, you see me or my oldest boy, Hunter.”

  Ask her fiancé for help with her job? She pictured the two of them scrubbing floors together, side by side, on their knees, and had to quickly tamp down a hysterical laugh. And it would take too long for just two people to tackle a house this size. It would take an army to put this place to rights.

  She didn’t mince words on that account. “The condition of your house is atrocious. I was told you have maids, but I see no evidence of that.”

  Zachary started to frown. She’d undoubtedly offended him. She stiffened, waiting for him to put her in her place and afraid she might lose her temper over it and quit, before she’d even begun.

  But he suddenly laughed instead. “Mighty assertive for a servant, ain’t you?” That amused him? He added, “Don’t know what that atrocious means, but I reckon it ain’t good. I’ve got eyes, gal. I know the place is messy, but we’ve been a might shorthanded the last few days. When Old Ed left us without warning, he took his kitchen helper with him. Pearl cleans downstairs, but her sister took sick, so she asked for a week off to help with her sister’s younguns. And Luella, who sees to the upstairs, said she’d quit if she had to do Pearl’s job, too. Couldn’t have that when we’re in the middle of this damn quitting spree. But now you’re here to get us cleaned up.” He ended that with a grin.

  Tiffany was even more aghast. It was bad enough he was down to only one servant, albeit temporarily, but even the four he’d had weren’t enough for a house this size, and certainly not enough to require a housekeeper to supervise them.

  “Are you aware, sir, what a housekeeper actually does?”

  “Never had one, never even heard of one till we heard Frank was bringing you in from Chicago and I got the idea to deprive him of your talents, whatever they are.”

  He chuckled when he said that. Apparently he saw it as a one up on the Warrens. Had both sides resorted to pranks like this during the truce? Anything to discomfit the other side was permissible? But she wouldn’t remark on that. After all, it was better than bloodshed.

  “As the name implies, I keep a house in order,” Tiffany explained. “However, I don’t actually clean a house. I am what might be considered a luxury for the lady of the house, allowing her to devote her time to her children or other pursuits. I make sure her house runs smoothly, that it’s spotless, that all the servants are doing what they are supposed to be doing. A housekeeper is rarely needed unless there is a large staff of servants, since it would be my duty to oversee them. I would also look after your valuables personally, things like your good china, silverware, whatever you wouldn’t trust to the hands of an ordinary maid.”

  Zachary mulled that over for a moment. “Well, we ain’t got no good china. Mary had some fancy cutlery, but she considered it too fancy to actually use, so it rusts up in the attic. Ain’t gonna have a passel of servants for you to rule, but since you’ll have to do the cooking, I reckon you’ll be kept busy enough.”

  “I don’t cook,” she said firmly.

  “Yeah, I heard. It ain’t in that description you just gave. But since I’m paying you double, and you don’t intend to lift a broom, you’re gonna be our new cook, too.”

  “You misunder—”

  “ ’Sides, Frank Warren ain’t got a passel of servants either. He would’ve been asking you to pitch in on some other tasks as well, without paying you double for it like I am. So why ain’t you sounding more grateful, huh?”

  Tiffany’s cheeks turned red. Was she about to be fired? But how was she supposed to do something she didn’t know how to do? This wasn’t going to work out. She’d been insane to think it would. A housekeeper’s job wasn’t so difficult that she couldn’t have done it for a couple of months. A cook’s job was much more hands-on and required knowledge she didn’t possess. She didn’t even need more than one hand to count the number of times she’d stepped into a kitchen before today. Her mother employed more than one chef and a half dozen helpers to assist them. The food they prepared was exquisite, always interesting, but she’d never been curious enough about how it was prepared to venture into their domain, which was the hottest, messiest room in the house.

  She could learn to cook, she supposed, but not without instruction or—a cookbook! She wondered if the general store in town even sold books, much less a specific kind, or for that matter if the owner could even read. Besides, even if she could miraculously find a cookbook in a town as small as Nashart, that wouldn’t help her tonight if these people expected her to feed them. And it was already late in the afternoon. Dinner should probably already have been started!

  “Why ain’t you married, pretty gal like you?”

  The question cut into her thoughts and brought her eyes back to Zachary. She almost smiled when she answered, “I’m engaged to be.” Only she would find that amusing since it was true for Jennifer and herself, Tiffany.

  But to go by his sour expression he didn’t like that answer and was quick to say why. “You ain’t gonna up and leave us when you get hitched, are you?”

  “I—I agreed to a two-month trial period here. If I like the area and the job, then my fiancé has agreed we can start our marriage here, instead of in California, which is his preference.”

  “He actually let you come here alone?”

  She told him what Jennifer would probably have said. “It was a matter of necessity. We’re both saving toward a nest egg, so we can buy our own house once we’re married.”

  He chuckled. “So I’m actually helping you to get hitched all the sooner? Well, don’t you worry, you’ll earn every penny and then some. We’re even expecting a visitor from the East sometime this summer, and Mary’s been worrying about having fancy food on hand and some new curtains sewn for the parlor, but you’ll have time to get all that figured out.”

  Tiffany groaned inwardly, afraid the visitor he was talking about was her. He actually wanted to impress Hunter’s fiancée? Or was it just his wife who did?

  She decided to find out, asking carefully, “Do you often get visitors from so far away?”

  “Ain’t a damn thing ordinary ’bout this visit,” he said in a grouchy tone.

  She knew she was overstepping her bounds, that a housekeeper wouldn’t be so bold, but she couldn’t keep herself from asking, “W
ho is it?”

  “That’s a sore subject, gal. Gives me indigestion just thinking ’bout it,” he said with a grimace. But when he saw her staring at him with such wide eyes, he amended, if evasively, “It’s just someone involved in an old business arrangement. You just worry ’bout getting the house in order.”

  He was talking about her. She was sure of it. And he obviously found the marriage arrangement as distasteful as she did. Was he regretting that he’d agreed to it so long ago? Why didn’t he just call it off then? Was it a matter of honor? Or maybe these Callahans had been hoping she wouldn’t survive to adulthood to marry their heir. She wished she could ask, but without Zachary’s actually mentioning her name or the betrothal, she couldn’t. But the lack of staff in his household was still a major problem and she could most definitely mention that.

  “What I saw while walking through your house was much more than the accumulation of dust and dirt due to one servant’s absence for a few days. Your downstairs maid obviously hasn’t been doing her job.”

  Zachary’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t even think of firing her, gal. Maids don’t grow on trees out here.”

  “Firing and hiring would of course be at your discretion. I would merely make suggestions.”

  “And expect me to agree to them?”

  He didn’t look pleased. But at least he didn’t look angry either. Flustered was more like it. He was a rancher unfamiliar with the hierarchy of servants. And considering how few household servants he actually employed, that wasn’t surprising.

  “We can address this issue after I’ve met your downstairs maid and find out if she’s lazy or simply ill trained. But since it sounds as if she won’t be returning soon enough for the job that needs immediate attention, I’m requesting the use of some of your hired hands to help get this house into a manageable condition.”

  Zachary burst into laugher. “They won’t clean a house! They’re cattlemen, not maids. Actually, they might if you asked ’em.” He laughed again at that notion.