Lissa- Sugar and Spice 1.6 - Final

by Lissa- Sugar

  “Planning on making yourself some breakfast?”

  “The men are hungry.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I know. I’m gonna have to get into town for supplies.”

  “Can you? I mean, the snow…”

  “Worried about me, Duchess? I’m touched.”

  Lissa swung toward him, eyes narrowing when she saw the smug grin on his face.

  Despicable was too kind a word for him.

  What made it worse was that he didn’t look despicable. Dressed in a dark blue sweater, faded jeans and those omnipresent well-worn boots, he looked—he looked—

  Dammit.

  He looked gorgeous, like the movie star he was, especially with that early-morning stubble on his jaw. She’d never thought stubble sexy, but it turned out that it was.

  Could a mongoose be sexy?

  No, she thought coldly, it could not.

  “You’re in my way,” she snapped.

  He didn’t move.

  “I said—”

  “Want some coffee?”

  “If I do, I’ll get it the next time I go into the dining room.”

  “There’s better coffee right here.”

  She looked at him, followed his gaze. A Chemex half filled with dark chocolate-brown coffee was on the counter near him.

  “It’s my one kitchen skill. The men think it’s sissified, but I have this strange thing about preferring coffee that doesn’t taste like old socks.”

  She almost laughed. That was what she’d thought last night after she’d tasted Gus’s coffee. It even smelled that way—her comment a few minutes ago about its smelling wonderful had been more a courtesy than reality.

  She considered turning down his offer, but what was that old saw about cutting off your nose to spite your face? Coffee was one of the basic food groups.

  There was a clean mug next to the glass pot.

  “Yours,” he said. “I figured you for a coffee-as-lifeblood woman.”

  What he’d said was so close to what she’d been thinking that she smiled. He smiled, too, and she turned her smile into a frown as she filled the mug.

  “You’re very sure of yourself, Gentry. Doesn’t it ever occur to you that you might be wrong?”

  “Rarely.”

  She turned and glanced at him. He was smiling again. It was a devastatingly wicked smile, but she’d be damned if she’d respond to it.

  “And when it does occur to me,” he said quietly, “I’ve even been known to admit it.”

  “Really.”

  Her tone was flat and cool, but he knew he had her attention.

  Do it, Gentry. Just say that you’re sorry. You don’t have to go into detail. You don’t have to grovel. You just have to say two words—I’m sorry— and then you can excuse yourself, go hide in your office, put last night in a deep, dark closet where it belongs.

  “I made an ass of myself last night.” It wasn’t what he’d intended to say, but it was accurate. “I know I must have looked like an idiot, but—”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Falling down the way I did. Like a clumsy—”

  She slapped the mug on the counter.

  “Is this an apology?”

  “Well, yeah. I mean—”

  “An apology about you looking foolish.”

  “Yes.” He hesitated. She didn’t seem pleased. But he’d apologized. What more did she want?

  “I fell, and I know—”

  “That’s why you’re apologizing? For falling?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Didn’t I just say that?”

  “And the rest of it?”

  “The rest of what?”

  Lissa stared at him. Was he serious?

  “Oh, I don’t know. The way you bit my head off for being foolish enough to offer to help you.”

  His jaw tightened. “I didn’t need help. I got up on my own just fine.”

  “And what you said to me. I suppose that was just fine, too.”

  “What I said—”

  “About the reason you—you fell. About why you were in my room in the first place.”

  He looked blank. Then she could almost see him finally figuring it out. To her great satisfaction, color striped his high cheekbones.

  “Oh. That.”

  “Yes,” she said, her tone as cold and sharp as one of the icicles hanging outside the house. “That.”

  Nick put down his coffee mug. He ran his hand through his hair. The pity-fuck thing. How could he have forgotten that? Well, he knew how. What he’d said was ugly, worse than ugly, and, he knew damn well, untrue. Somehow, he’d mercifully managed to shove the memory of those words into oblivion.

  What man would want to remember such stupidity?

  “Obviously, I didn’t mean—”

  Lissa folded her arms. “You said what you were thinking.”

  “No. I wasn’t thinking that.” He raked his fingers through his hair again. “And if I was, I meant it about me. Not about you.”

  “I see. So, what we almost did last night—and didn’t do,” she added, “thank you, God—was because you pitied me.”

  “What?”

  “I said—”

  “I heard what you said. And you’re wrong. I didn’t mean it that way. I meant that you—that you were only being, you know, kind—”

  Shit.

  He was digging himself deeper and deeper into a hole that was bound to collapse on him, and from the way she was looking at him, he’d never be able to dig himself out.

  She stalked toward him, that index finger she used with the dexterity of a fencing foil outstretched.

  “Get this straight, cowboy. Last night had nothing to do with pity. It had to do with stupidity. Mine. Why I ever thought I’d want to have sex with you is beyond me to—”

  Someone coughed.

  It was Ace, standing in the arched doorway with snow on his boots, a basket of eggs in his hands, and a look on his face that said he wished the ground would open and swallow him whole.

  “Sorry. So sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  Nick adjusted the crutch under his arm and moved toward the door at top speed. Lissa breathed deep, exhaled, forced what she hoped was a smile and took the basket from Ace’s hands.

  “Eggs,” she said brightly. “Wonderful! Uh, Mr. Bannister and I were just—we were just talking.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Ace started to turn away, hesitated and, instead, looked at Lissa. “His name is Gentry, ma’am. Nick Gentry. Latham Gentry’s kid. We all know that.”

  She nodded as she busied herself retrieving the bowl of butter from the fridge, then finding a big bowl, a fork and a spatula. She really didn’t want to discuss Nick or anything about him, but she knew that the foreman meant well.

  “I mean, it ain’t just that we recognized his face, it’s that a couple of us knew his old man. There’s been Gentrys on this land for a real long time.”

  She nodded again. If this was heading somewhere, she wanted it to reach its destination ASAP.

  “His old man was tough. Hard as a rock. After Nick’s mom passed, he clothed and fed the boy, but otherwise he pretty much ignored him.”

  She nodded again as she cracked the eggs into the bowl.

  “Well,” she said, to fill the silence, “ranching is a tough life.”

  “And then this here accident…”

  None of this was any of her business. None of it would change Nick Gentry into a nicer man. Still, she heard herself ask the inevitable question.

  “What kind of accident was it?”

  “Dunno. But it was a bad one.”

  Yes. It must have been. If she hadn’t thought that before, last night had convinced her of it.

  “He come back here after he was in the hospital.”

  “Well,” she said, opening the pantry door, taking out the flour and handing it to Ace, “he would, wouldn’t he? This is his home.”

  Ace put the flour on the worktable. Lissa handed him the sugar.

  “He hadn�
�t been back here for years.”

  “But he visited, right?”

  “Not unless you count his old man’s funeral.”

  “But—”

  “Ace!”

  Lissa and the foreman swung toward the door that led into the dining room. Nick glared at them both, his face cold.

  “Yessir.”

  “The snow’s stopped and the wind’s dying down. Might be a good time to start clearing a path to the barns, and to ride out and check on the horses.”

  It was a statement, but there was no mistaking it for anything but a command.

  Ace nodded. “Sure thing.”

  “Wait!” Lissa stepped forward. “The men haven’t had breakfast yet.”

  “Right. Because you’ve yet to make it. They’ll come in once they’ve seen to their chores. Get the men moving, Ace.”

  Ace tipped his Stetson to Lissa and hurried away. She glared at Nick.

  “You’re a real charmer, Gentry.”

  “This is a working ranch, Wilde. You want to stand around gossiping with the help, find one of those fancy places where people hang around doing nothing all day but getting massages.”

  Lissa blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. “I intend to, as soon as I get away from here. When’s the plane due?”

  “The weather’s cleared some, but not enough for getting off the ground or landing. Tomorrow, if Hank is lucky.”

  “You mean, if I’m lucky!” Lissa snapped, and turned her back on him in dismissal.

  * * *

  She got breakfast on the table, or an approximation of breakfast. Eggs. Pancakes topped with something she dreamed up from the remaining few apples.

  The men couldn’t stop praising the food.

  Lissa couldn’t stop smiling.

  There was nothing like cooking for people who appreciated what you served them, especially when their enjoyment wasn’t dependent on whether a bunch of fancy food critics or trendy magazines had first blessed you with glossy reviews.

  It was almost like cooking for family. For Jake, Caleb, Travis, Emily and Jaimie. She did that whenever they were all gathered at El Sueño for a holiday or some kind of special occasion.

  Or course, at El Sueño she had more to work with than, what, maybe three remaining tablespoons of lard, two cups of flour, a few eggs and, if her luck held, half a cup of sugar.

  Certainly not enough to turn into a meal…

  Wait. That frozen chunk of Tyrannosaurus Rex, that huge package of mystery meat was still in the freezer. She hauled it out. Not easy, considering the weight and dimensions of the thing, and wrestled it into the big sink to thaw.

  Whatever it was, it was supper for tonight or tomorrow. It all depended on how fast the hawing process took.

  She dried her hands on an ancient plaid cloth that had surely once been a dishtowel and looked around her. Oh, what she could do with this room! An oversized Viking range right there. A pair of Wolf wall ovens next to it. A big Bosch fridge. A Bosch dishwasher. A Miele freezer. She’d keep the worktable; all it needed was a good sanding. But the floor would have to go.

  No. It wouldn’t. That was oak underneath the years of neglect. She’d refinish it, put fresh paint on the walls, tear out these old Formica counters and replace them with granite or stone, finish up by using some bright terra-cotta tiles for a backsplash.

  But the kitchen wasn’t hers, it was Nick Gentry’s, and from what she’d seen so far, he didn’t have any interest in bringing this old house back to life.

  He wasn’t interested in anything but himself, and wasn’t it a good thing they hadn’t ended up in bed last night? Because if they had, she wouldn’t just be disappointed in herself this morning, she’d be furious.

  To think she’d let lust, down and dirty lust, carry her away like that…

  “Haven’t you learned anything about men Melissa?” she muttered.

  The grim truth seemed to be that she hadn’t.

  Lissa poured more coffee into her mug, shut off the lights and headed for the stairs.

  * * *

  You could spend only so much time straightening a room and a tiny bath.

  Make the bed. Wipe down the sink. Then what?

  Lissa sighed. Unpack, was what. She was going to be here until at least tomorrow. Might as well hang up a few things.

  If only she’d brought some heavier stuff with her. A more substantial jacket. Shoes that were real shoes as opposed to the ones in her suitcase, which ranged from a pair of heels to two pairs of sandals to her kitchen clogs and the sneakers that were on her feet now.

  Properly dressed, she could get out of here for a while. A glance out the window confirmed that paths had been shoveled between the house and the outbuildings; somebody was clearing what looked like a million-mile driveway that probably led to the main road.

  What if she added another sweater, then put on the little jacket she’d worn yesterday? Her sneakers would soak through in just a few minutes, but at least she’d breathe some fresh air.

  She might even get last night and the awful, horrible, humiliating image of herself standing naked in front of Mr. Despicable out of her head, because that was becoming a serious problem, knowing that he’d seen her naked, that he’d said what he’d said about why she was naked while she was naked—

  And if she kept going around and around like this, she was going to go nuts.

  Lissa yanked on a second sweater, pulled on her jacket—which wouldn’t zip, dammit, not over a T and a sweater and another sweater—

  “Fuck it,” she said, yanked open the bedroom door and went down the stairs.

  The house was quiet. The men had all gone to their chores. Gentry wasn’t in sight. Good. Fine. With luck, she wouldn’t have to look at his smug face again until lunchti—

  “Woof!”

  Brutus came galloping down the hall. She barely had time to brace herself before the big dog was on her, tail wagging madly as he covered her face with kisses.

  “Hey,” she said, laughing, “I’m happy to see you, too.”

  The dog woofed softly; Lissa squatted down, smiled as she ruffled his ears and buried her face in the deep silky fur around his neck.

  “Beautiful doggy,” she said. “I missed you.”

  “Looks as if he missed you, too.”

  She looked past the Newf. Gentry was coming down the hall toward her. He was dressed for the outdoors: well-worn sheepskin jacket, the omnipresent Stetson, jeans, boots, a pair of what looked like heavy gloves sticking out of one jacket pocket.

  She stood up. “He’s a sweetheart.”

  “Yes. He is.”

  “How old is he?”

  Nick shrugged. “Nine. Ten. I’m not sure, but for a dog his size, that’s old. I try not to think about it.”

  She looked at him. No smile on that handsome face, just a glimpse of honest emotion.

  “I know,” she said softly. “That’s the tough thing about large breeds.”

  “I’ve been lucky so far. He’s been with me for seven years.”

  Most people would say they’d owned the dog for seven years. She liked Nick’s wording better. Too bad she didn’t like Nick, but at least he had the right attitude about something.

  “Well,” she said briskly, “I’m going for a walk.”

  “A walk?”

  “A walk. You know. You move one foot forward. Then you move the other foot forward. One, two, one, two—”

  “Don’t be stupid. It’s twenty degrees outside.”

  So much for attitude.

  “Thanks for your concern,” she said coolly, “but I’ll be fine.”

  “Like that? Oh, yeah. You’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t know how to break it to you, Gentry, but I don’t have to ask your permission to take a walk.”

  Nick glared at her. “Didn’t you bring a coat? Boots? Did you bring any warm stuff with you, or did you think Montana was on the Mexican border?”

  “I thought it was in the United States,” she said coldly, �
��where spring is a recognized season.”

  His lips twitched. She had a sense of humor. He’d always like that in a woman. She had a fast mouth, too. A soft mouth. He remembered that vividly from last night—except remembering last night was not the way to go.

  “I’m going into town.”

  “Good for you.”

  “The highway’s passable.”

  Her smile would have cut glass.

  “Good for the highway.”

  “I’m going to lay in some supplies.” He paused. “I want you to come with me.”

  She looked as if he’d just asked her to accompany him to the moon. Well, hell, he couldn’t blame her. So far, he hadn’t handled things between them very well. Not even that apology this morning, because maybe it hadn’t come out exactly the way it should have.

  “What on earth for?”

  “You’ll be here another day. Maybe even two.”

  “Let’s hope not, and what does that have to do with anything?”

  “There’s no food in the house.”

  “I found a haunch of dinosaur in the freezer.”

  “A what?”

  “There was a big, wrapped something in the freezer. It’s defrosting. I’m assuming it’s some kind of meat. You must have forgotten it was there.”

  Nick sighed. She wasn’t going to make this easy and he couldn’t blame her. He’d gone outside, spent almost an hour stomping around on a bum leg and a crutch, tackling chores in one outbuilding and then another, all to work off some anger.

  Anger at himself, he’d finally realized, not at her.

  Clomping back and forth on snow probably hadn’t been the smartest thing he’d ever done, but it had helped.

  By the time he came inside and took a long, hot shower, he’d come to the easy-to-reach conclusion that he’d made an ass of himself.

  So here it was.

  Truth time.

  “The only thing I’m sure I forgot,” he said, “is that I owe you an apology.”

  Her expression hardened.

  “We went that route already, remember? You and that apology for falling down.”

  “Not that,” he said quickly.

  “Not what?”

  Jesus. She wasn’t going to make this easy. The woman took no prisoners. He had to admit, that was another thing he liked about her.

  “I’m sorry for being such a fool last night.”