by Meg Maxwell
He couldn’t stop thinking about her last night. One flight up, alone in a strange house, maybe tossing and turning with the news that her baby’s father had passed away, that she was pregnant and on her own. He’d thought about going upstairs and gently knocking on her door, asking if she needed anything, if the quilt was too heavy or if she wanted a pitcher of water, but he had a feeling that he should leave her be with her thoughts. She’d come to the ranch to find her baby’s father, and Jake had dropped a bombshell on her. Twice he’d almost gotten out of bed to check on her, and twice he’d made himself stay put. He hated the idea of her by herself in her room, but Jake was practically a stranger. And her boss.
After dinner last night, she’d driven to her aunt’s house to get her bags and he’d sat outside on the porch with Redford, the only of his three cats who liked coming in the house. When her car had pulled back in an hour later, a strange relief had come over him. He still wasn’t sure what that was about. He felt responsible for her, maybe. He’d rushed over to her car to take her bags, just one suitcase and a tote, and as she walked next to him, he’d been so aware of her. Emma Hurley was tall, at least five foot nine, but there was an ethereal quality to her, despite the determination he could see clearly in her eyes. He could tell she was a strong woman.
He’d shown her around the third floor, which seemed to be to her liking. While she’d been gone, he’d stocked her shower with soap and shampoo and conditioner and hung fresh towels on the racks. Then he’d given her the tour of the rest of the house, the enormous living room with its massive stone fireplace, his office adjacent, the dining room and kitchen, both of which she was familiar with. From the living room he pointed out the two doors visible on the second-floor landing, one at each end of the long hall. His bedroom was on the left and CJ’s on the right.
Then he’d shown her around the huge kitchen, where the pots and pans were, the cooking utensils, the silverware. She’d turned down his offer of a cup of herbal tea, which his weekly house cleaner had brought over, and said she’d just like to turn in since she’d be up early in the morning.
He’d wanted to say something about Tex, that he was sorry, again, but there was something in her expression, something private, that had him just saying, Well, good night, see you at five, and heading back to his office.
Now he got out of bed, took a quick, hot shower and dressed in his work clothes, jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and his brown boots and headed downstairs by four forty-five. Were those voices he heard coming from the kitchen or was Emma listening to the radio? The closer he got, he could swear he heard Hank’s voice. And his brother’s. And was that Golden who said he liked plain pancakes while Grizzle said pancakes without blueberries were just boring old flapjacks. The guys were never early for breakfast.
He entered the kitchen to find Golden stirring pancake batter, Grizzle washing the containers of blueberries and strawberries, and his brother cracking eggs and scrambling them in a big silver mixing bowl. Hank was frying bacon on the big griddle. And Emma, the new cook, was sitting down at the round café table by the window, sipping something from a red mug, his cat Redford at her feet.
What the heck was going on?
“Hey, Boss,” Hank said, using tongs to flip over each piece of bacon.
Emma stood up, her cheeks a bit pink, her long golden-brown ponytail swaying a bit. “I came in at four thirty to find them already cooking breakfast. They wouldn’t let me do a thing.”
“Least we can do,” Grizzle said, offering Emma a smile.
“Least,” Golden added, nodding at her, his blond bangs flopping on his forehead.
“Emma, pass me that platter, please,” CJ said without a hint of his usual flirtation in his voice.
Huh. Not only were his crew acting like actual gentlemen, including his brother, they weren’t saying stupid stuff or trying to impress her and instead insulting her with either flat-out stupidity or sexual innuendos. And after last night’s delicious dinner—even the baked potatoes tasted a thousand times better than usual—they knew they’d be in for a great breakfast this morning, but had given that up to cook themselves. Now they’d have the usual overcooked pancakes and rubbery eggs and hard-as-rocks home fries with too much pepper.
He smiled. He might not have worked very long with his crew, well, except for CJ, but he’d known the minute he’d met the say-the-wrong-thing Hank, the rough-around-the-edges Grizzle, and the can-barely-look-you-in-the eye Golden that they could be trusted, that they’d work hard, that under all the quirks were damned good men. He’d been right.
And he had a feeling he knew why the ragtag bunch was so comfortable around Emma and falling over themselves to be kind to her. Emma was not only pregnant and therefore off-limits—because none of the cowboys thought themselves remotely father material—but she’d been “done wrong” by Tex, by one of them.
“It’s good of you all to help,” Jake said to the guys. “I’ll put myself on toast duty.” He headed to the counter, where the bread boxes were full of bread and English muffins and bagels, and toasted up a couple of each, then grabbed butter and cream cheese from the refrigerator and brought it all out to the dining room. The table was already set. The silverware was in the wrong places and half the forks were upside down, which meant Golden or Grizzle had set the table. He smiled. He knew he had a great crew.
Once they were all seated, eating and drinking coffee and orange juice, Hank asked Emma if she had a name picked out for the baby.
She paused, a forkful of very well-done scrambled eggs in her hand. “Well, if she’s a girl, I’m thinking Violet after my mother. I’m not sure about a boy’s name yet.” She frowned, glancing down at her plate. “I always figured I’d name my firstborn son after my father, but—” She stopped and quickly ate her bite of eggs, then pushed the rest around on her plate with her fork.
“But your father’s in prison now?” Hank asked, slathering cream cheese on a bagel half.
Emma looked confused. “What? No. He’s not in prison. He’s...he’s just...”
“A real jerk?” Grizzle offered.
Emma bit her lip. “Well, he’s just...”
Jake glanced at her. He’s just not living up to being a namesake was what he suspected the issue was.
A phone pinged, saving Emma from answering. CJ pulled his cell out of his pocket and looked at it, then rolled his eyes and put it away.
“Who’s mad at you now?” Hank asked him with a grin. “Yesterday you were hot on Stella. Today, you’re done with her, is that right?”
“Don’t gossip about Stella,” CJ said, his blue eyes flashing. “It’s not right.”
“Whoa, what’s this?” Grizzle said, his face lighting up with a potential taunt. “CJ Morrow defending a young lady’s honor?”
“He must like this one,” Hank said.
“Stella who works at the bookstore?” Golden asked, eyeing CJ, who nodded. “She’s really nice.” He cleared his throat and looked around the table as if to see if anyone was paying attention to him. Jake had a feeling that Golden had grown up being ignored. “The other day I went to the bookstore to buy my dad a birthday present, but I couldn’t figure out what to get him. Stella asked me a bunch of questions about what he liked and suggested a biography of the first FBI director. My dad loved it.”
For Golden to pipe up, particularly to that extent, this Stella had to be nice.
Jake stared at his brother. CJ’s head was down as he pretended great interest in forking up his home fries. Interesting. Maybe his brother did like Stella—for more than the usual three days.
Talk turned to what needed doing that morning—from the usual daily chores to a fence that had to be mended up near the ridge, to moving the bulls out to a new pasture, to taking a trip into town for some supplies at the feed store. The crew had eaten their fill, but instead of getting up and heading out, leavin
g whoever was on cooking duty to clean up, as was the usual routine, they all started picking up their plates.
Emma stood up. “No, no! You all have done so much for me this morning and I appreciate it. I’m the cook here now and I didn’t even lift a finger this morning. So I will clean up, as I will every meal. I may be pregnant, but I’m capable of not only cooking, but lifting plates.” She smiled at them. “Go ahead. And thank you, guys. All of you. You sure know how to make a lady feel welcome.”
At that last sentence, Jake almost gasped. Grizzle actually took off his hat and held it to his chest. Hank’s chest puffed up. Golden had pink circles on his cheeks. And CJ threw an aw-shucks smile at Emma but a second later was glued to his phone as if waiting for a text that wasn’t coming.
Once the crew headed out, Jake had to force himself not to help clear the table. Emma was capable and he didn’t want to seem overly protective.
He finished his coffee. “I don’t know how you managed it, but you actually have the guys almost acting like gentlemen. They’re pretty rough around the edges—even CJ, who thinks he’s Mr. Smooth. They’re all looking for love, but they kind of repel women. Especially the ones they’re most interested in. There’s a dance tonight they’re all going to—maybe over dinner you could give them some tips on what they’re doing wrong.”
She stacked breakfast dishes along her arm. “I’ll try, but honestly, I’m O for three in the romance department myself. I mean, here I am, pregnant and single. Who am I to give advice to anyone about love?” She smiled, her pretty face lighting up for a moment, but then she paused and her expression changed as though she was thinking about something. She grabbed the butter dish with her free hand and headed toward the kitchen.
He followed with his mug, needing a refill on the strong coffee. “You got Grizzle to take off his hat indoors without even asking him to. That’s how good you are without even working at it.”
“He did, didn’t he?” She smiled again. “I’ll see what I can do.”
He wanted to stay and talk to her. Ask her about her father. Ask her more about where she was from in Oak Creek, if she grew up on a ranch. But as he watched her set the dishes on the counter, the sunrise glowing past her through the sliding glass door to the kitchen, he was socked with such a pang of attraction that he backed away. What the hell was this?
Yes, Emma was pretty. And kind. And...vulnerable. Last night, Jake had found himself tossing and turning with the notion that he was responsible for Emma’s baby. Tex had been riding one of the new mares and a backfiring truck spooked the horse and threw him.
He turned away, his chest tightening with his line of thought. Maybe he wasn’t attracted so much as that he felt responsible for her. Tex had been a nice guy, his employee, and Jake felt like he owed Emma something.
Which was fine. He’d take responsibility. He’d given her a job and a home, and he’d furnish a nursery for her baby and make sure the child had everything he or she needed, including a fund started for college.
Now that he’d settled that in his head, a million other thoughts bombarded him—from livestock he wanted to buy for the ranch to Frodo the old black horse on the mend in the barn, to...his twin brother, who was walking around out there, maybe looking for him. Jake needed to talk to CJ, let him know he was thinking about getting the search started in earnest. Jake would assure his brother that nothing would ever come between them, that he’d never feel any differently, that he’d always have time for his kid brother. No matter what. Which was all true.
So why was he putting it off? CJ wasn’t that same kid who’d sobbed in his arms five years ago about losing everything. He was a man. So why was Jake so reluctant to bring up the subject again?
It wasn’t like him to be unsure of how to proceed, to not know the best way to go with something. Dammit, this thing had him out of sorts. Aware that Emma seemed to be watching him while she loaded the dishwasher, he nodded at her, thanked her again for breakfast and headed out, stopping to watch the sun rise over the ridge. He focused on it, trying to clear his mind. But just when his mind settled he started thinking about the beautiful woman in his house. He was attracted to her in a way he hadn’t been to any woman in five years.
Well, he’d have to add himself to his lineup of clueless cowboys because no matter what he told the guys about the heart wanting what it wants, he wasn’t about to heed his own.
* * *
The dishwasher full and going, the dining room table clean and the kitchen spotless, Emma glanced in the refrigerator to see what the guys would have for lunch, which was “make your own.” There were at least five pounds of sliced meats, from roast beef to ham to turkey, plus condiments and lettuce and tomatoes. Someone sure liked potato salad—there were two one-pound take-out containers from Hurley’s Homestyle Kitchen. And was that a jar of pickled herring? On the counter, one of a few bread boxes was full of Kaiser rolls. Whoever did the grocery shopping knew what he was doing. The fruit bowls were picked almost clean through, so those would need replenishing. Emma would have to ask Jake if she should take on the shopping.
She headed up to her room on the third floor, her suite like a palace compared to her small apartment in Oak Creek, if not the big house she’d grown up in. She loved the old hardwood floors in her bedroom here at the Full Circle, the soft Persian carpet covering a good portion of it. Her bed was plush, just the way she liked it, and the views outside all the windows were of endless green and trees and livestock. She glanced in the corner between the two big windows. That’s where she’d put the crib when it was time.
She touched her hand to her belly, amazed for the millionth time that in just five months she’d have a baby. Emma had lost her mother her senior year of high school and wished Violet Hurley were here. What a grandmother she would be. Her dad’s disappointed face came to mind and she thought about calling him to let him know about her baby’s father and where she was living now. But he’d just insist she come home and not listen to a word about how she felt, what she wanted, so she kept her phone in her pocket.
After a quick shower, Emma dressed in jeans and a pale blue T-shirt for her shift at Hurley’s. She helped out on Tuesdays—always a busy day since the restaurant was closed Monday and folks missed their po’boys and ribs and chicken fried steak—and Saturdays, today, the busiest lunch day. She headed back downstairs, gave Redford a scratch on the head and went out the front door. She could see Hank and Golden carrying hay bales from the barn, and in one of the pastures, Grizzle and CJ were leading the bulls farther out. She wondered where Jake was, what he was doing.
A few weeks ago, her baby’s father had been out there on this land. She touched her hand to her stomach again and let the warm May breeze wrap around her. She suddenly wanted to see the ranch and take a look in the outbuildings.
The big red barn was huge, home to many stalls with horses and a bunch of goats and sheep. She saw Jake checking on a small herd of goats in their pen and watched him open the gate and let them into the fenced-in pasture. The morning sun lit up his dark hair and shone on his strong, handsome profile. She realized she was staring and forced her gaze to the large bulletin board on the wall by the double doors.
“Bucks’ Choice Dance?” Emma said, reading the flyer announcing a dance for the rancher association fund-raiser being held that night.
“The crew has really been looking forward to this one,” Jake said, adjusting his brown Stetson. “Every song, the men get to choose their partner and it’s considered ill manners to say no. Last month it was ladies’ choice.”
“CJ was brand-new in town and didn’t get to sit down once,” Hank said, scanning the clipboard in his hand. “Boy, was he tired the next morning.”
Emma smiled. She wondered if Jake had gone and danced the night way. “And it says here since it’s bucks’ choice, men pay the ten-dollar admission but ladies go in free.”
Grizzle led in a pretty brown-and-white mare to the grooming area and unbridled her. “But men drink free, whereas ladies have to pay.”
“Which they gladly will since they have to dance with whoever asks, unless the guy’s a creep or an ex,” Hank said, checking something off on his clipboard.
“Wait,” Emma said. “You’re saying women not only have to dance with whoever asks, but they have to pay for their drinks too?”
Hank nodded. “Ain’t that grand? It switches every month, so it works out.” He chuckled, then turned to Jake. “You’re going, right, Boss?”
“Me?” Jake asked, closing the goats’ pen. “No. I hung up my dancing shoes.”
“You’re single, aincha?” Grizzle said as he removed the mare’s saddle and pad.
“Yeah, but—” Jake began.
“Plus, you’re a member of the rancher’s association. You have to go,” Hank pointed out. “Or you can forget about becoming a board member. Trust me, I know.”
Grizzle frowned. “I hate tab keepers.”
“Way of the world,” Hank said. “Oh, and, Grizz. Do your dance partners a favor—shave before the event. The barber shop’s open till six tonight.”
“I ain’t cutting my hair and shaving this beard,” Grizzle muttered.
The foreman stared at him. “Are you forgetting how that little girl jumped when she saw you at the feed store? When you start to scare small children, it’s time for a shave and a haircut.”
Grizzle waved his hand dismissively and stared Hank down. “I’m sure you’ve got stuff to do. And considering you told a lady she smelled like cow dung, I don’t think I should be taking pointers from you.”
Hank’s cheeks flamed. “Well, she did smell kind of like cow dung. So did I. We’re ranchers, for Pete’s sake.”
