Gimme Some Sugar

by Stephanie Berget

  “Not if I get to her first.” Clinton Barnes moved forward and threw his arm over Millie’s shoulder.

  Millie’s wide smile faded as she caught sight of Cary. “Who’s this?” Her expression told Micah she’d noticed the strange looks of the woman and didn’t like them a bit. “New girlfriend?”

  God, no! All he needed was a rumor to spread through town about his moving a woman onto the ranch. “No, she’s my new cook, Cary Crockett. Cary, this is East Hope’s number one citizen, Millie McFarland.”

  The look Cary gave Millie said she didn’t care if the woman liked her looks or not. With a short nod, the younger woman acknowledged the introduction.

  “Must be from San-fran-cisco, from the looks of you. City girl!” Millie almost spat the last two words as she made her way from beneath Clinton’s arm. She took Micah by the arm. “Come on back here. I’ve got your stuff all ready.”

  A slight blush raced across Cary’s cheeks, and but her expression didn’t change. Before Millie could lead Micah away, Cary said, “I’m from back east.” She turned to Micah. “Do your ranch hands like dessert?”

  “They’ll eat just about anything that isn’t still alive.” Micah watched as she drew in a short breath then breathed out slowly.

  “Okay then.” She bit her lower lip. He thought she was going to say more, but she remained silent.

  “The boxes are in the back room. Help me, Micah?” Without another word, Millie was out the back door.

  “I’ll help her,” Clinton Barnes said and disappeared after Millie.

  Micah turned to Cary. “Look through the boxes and get whatever else you need. Charge it to the Circle W.”

  He turned and walked to the front of the store, his mood darkening. Throwing the pretty young thing in with the ranch hands was not going to work out. That was a deep-fried fact. She couldn’t even stand up to Millie. But maybe she would buy him enough time to find someone else. He crossed the street, heading toward the bank, his thoughts returning to the problem at hand.

  He’d known he shouldn’t have loaned Cookey two hundred dollars when he’d asked, but the man had been a good employee for over three years. It just hadn’t occurred to Micah that Cookey would run off with the mayor’s daughter. Hadn’t occurred to the mayor either.

  If he hadn’t lost his cook, Micah would have been relieved. Mayor Juggs and Julie had been plotting to get Micah to marry her since she’d turned seventeen.

  Micah sighed. Even if he wanted to, Cookey couldn’t come back now. Mayor Juggs would tan his hide and nail it to the front of the town hall. A ranch cook was twelve stories below the husband Mayor Juggs wanted for Julie.

  Unease swept through Micah’s veins like a janitor on meth. He figured he’d made a mistake hiring a complete stranger, and a woman at that, but for the life of him, he didn’t see an alternative. For the twenty thousandth time, he wished Marlene had wanted to be a ranch wife. His ex-wife had been gone for three years, only showing up a few times a year to visit with their daughter.

  He cleared his throat and shrugged his shoulders. No use crying over spilt milk as his grandmother used to say. A short visit with the banker and he’d be ready to head back out to the Circle W.

  “Micah, how’s things going?” Hank Loveland stood and moved from behind his desk. One Loveland or another had run the East Hope Bank since 1952. Hank had returned from Seattle ten years ago to take over the business.

  “Good, I’m good. You said the operating loan papers would be ready to sign today.” He reached out and shook Hank’s hand.

  “Have a seat.” Hank rummaged through the papers scattered on his desktop and picked one up. “They aren’t quite ready.”

  Micah’s heartbeat hit double time. He didn’t need more problems today. He pasted a smile on his face and waited as Hank looked over the sheet. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’d like to run your application by the bank’s board of directors.” Hank lowered himself into his oak chair, place the papers on the desk in front of him and leaned back. With the movement, a loud squeal filled the room. “A minor detail.”

  Here we go again. Everyone still thought of him as Big Jim West’s little grandson even though the old man had been gone almost a year. Micah stood then stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You never ran anything by the board when Pops was alive. Why now?”

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you.” Hank wiggled his manicured fingers and waited for a response.

  Micah glared at the banker then turned on his heel and walked to the door. He stopped with his hand on the knob and looked over his shoulder. “You either give me the loan or I’ll go to another bank.”

  “Now, now. Don’t get mad. I’ll—”

  Micah shut the door on Hank Loveland’s words with a soft click. He wanted to slam it, but that kind of behavior wasn’t in his character. Walking out on the blustering man brightened his day.

  He felt marginally better until he noticed the woman leaning into the bed of his pickup, settling grocery boxes into the back. Her bright white hair gleamed in the sunshine. The sight of her leather wrapped legs and ass, holy shit. He was enjoying the view when reality slapped him upside the head.

  What was he doing hiring her? He knew it was a bad move, but desperation made a man do strange things. There was nothing he could do about it now. He’d keep looking and as soon as he found a suitable replacement, he’d give her a generous last check and send her on down the road.

  His decision made, he moved to the side of the truck. Grabbing the last of the boxes, he leaned into the truck bed beside her.

  She turned to him and smiled. “Are we ready to go home?”

  Chapter Two

  Cheap, damn sunglasses! Even with her shades on, the blazing sunshine made her squint. Following as close as she could behind the ancient Ford pick-up, she was still afraid she’d lose Micah in the curves, hills and dust. “What did you get yourself into this time, Crockett?”

  Dirty tan clouds of powdery sand billowed from beneath Micah West’s truck’s tires and filtered through her open window. Her hair and jeans were coated a pale brown, her mouth tasted like she’d eaten dirt and her eyes…Her eyes were screaming.

  She’d love to roll up her window and turn on the air, but neither had worked for at least three hundred miles. For the umpteenth time in the last few hours, she second-guessed her decision to hire on with the cowboy, but she knew becoming a camp cook in the high desert was her best alternative. No one from her former life would think of looking for her here.

  Pansy had loaned her the dark green Ford Focus, but even Pansy didn’t know where she’d gone.

  When she had enough money to move back East and start over, she’d quit this end-of-the-road job. Out of her limited number of choices, this was the one most likely to keep her safe—to keep her alive.

  She’d asked a few questions before they started for the ranch, trying to get a feel for her new employer. She’d tried to make small talk, but all she got was one-word answers and sometimes only a grunt. Micah might be uncommunicative, but weighing his reticence against Mad Dog’s malevolence, she’d take silence every time.

  After a few miles on the wash-boarded road surrounded by the barren landscape, she was ready to turn back. She could head west and get lost in Portland or make her way to Canada. She’d always wanted to see Canada. Except she didn’t have a passport, and she had less than thirty dollars in her wallet. She hadn’t dared to go to the bank before she left for fear Mad Dog was watching her.

  And it wasn’t as if she had much left. After Ken had helped himself to most of her savings, running into Mad Dog again wasn’t worth the risk. Paranoid maybe, but the cigarette burn was still raw, and she couldn’t bear to think of what he’d do next time.

  She focused her gaze on the passing countryside and turned her thoughts away from her troubles. The landscape was beautiful in a stark kind of way, no cars or stores, no people. Or very few and the ones she’d met weren’t exactly the friendly types.

>   “Umpphhh!” Her butt repeatedly bounced against the worn seat again as Pansy’s little car climbed gracelessly over the ruts. She considered honking to get Micah’s attention, maybe suggest a break, but the horn didn’t work either. When she’d about given up, he slowed and turned left onto a one-lane path. Wagon track was a better description.

  Micah parked in the middle of the road and walked back. He squatted beside the car, his hands on his thighs. “Almost there.” He glanced at her for a split second then returned his gaze to the countryside.

  Black hair curled over the collar of his shirt. Over six feet tall, with muscular shoulders, a narrow waist and long, denim clad legs, he presented a picture of masculine grace. In the few seconds he’d looked at her before shifting his gaze she was mesmerized. His eyes were the color of the summer sky, deep and clear. He was rough and ranch, like the rawhide her grandfather used to braid.

  Ah, Gramps. He’d been her one source of stability in a childhood filled with change, and he’d been dead for more years than she wanted to count. The mere thought of him brought back the bitter taste of little squares of black licorice he’d carve up with his pocketknife and the sweet scent of his pipe tobacco.

  “Almost there, but the road gets rough.” He put one hand on the window and stood.

  “You said it wasn’t far when we left town. I’m not sure I believe you.” She smiled. He had to be joking. The road ahead was worse than the one they’d been on?

  “Your choice.” His words were sharp and short without a speck of fun.

  Seriously, did this man not have a humorous bone in his body? She reached out and touched his forearm. The muscles moved beneath her hand as he stiffened. Warmth flowed through her fingers straight to her heart. “I was kidding.”

  “The ranch house is over the next hill.” His gaze dropped. He looked at her hand on his arm then raised his electric blue gaze. “What are you doing in this area?”

  His abrupt change of subject caught her off guard. She’d spent much of the drive devising answers to that question, but she couldn’t think of a single one right now. She drew her hand away and scooted back into the car. “I’m, uh….” Great answer, Cary. She spit out the first thing that came to mind. “I’m going on a quest.”

  Go figure. That got a laugh. His face transformed from angry and cold to warm and beautiful in the second it took to him to smile.

  “A quest?” He kept his smile and attention on her, throwing off sparks of attraction. “What is a quest?”

  She could answer this question. Her ex-boyfriend, the thief, had talked about going on his quest to find ancient gold coins. He’d never made any effort to save the money needed or worked to find a site. He’d just talked. “You know, a mission, a pursuit of the heart.” It didn’t sound any more rational coming from her mouth than it had from Ken’s but it was better than sitting here mute.

  “Your pursuit of the heart is finding sagebrush in eastern Oregon?” He shook his head, the smile gone. “You need to get out more.”

  She turned back to the hillsides filled with sage and cheat grass. He was making fun of her, but at least he’d spoken. “My quest is to see the United States.”

  Her first quest was to not get killed, but he didn’t need to know that.

  ~~~

  The April afternoon was unseasonably warm, and Micah rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. Talking to Cary left him unsettled. He was both attracted to the blonde and uneasy in her presence. She wasn’t telling him the whole truth, but that was okay. She wouldn’t be here long enough to make any difference. A week or two of cooking and he’d have found someone else. Someone more qualified to do the work. Someone who was a man.

  He placed his palm on the top of her rattletrap of a car and leaned down to glance inside. “Follow me.” With only a mile to go, she shouldn’t have much trouble, but the little green car she was driving wouldn’t make the trip many more times.

  As they topped the last rise, the ranch came into view. A smile warred with his normally taciturn expression. The Circle W had been founded by his great-grandfather and had been in the family for over one hundred years.

  He pulled up to the back of the ranch house and turned off the key. No matter how many times he looked at the old house, he never lost the surge of pride that it was his. White clapboard siding and tall double hung windows, gave off a warm vibe. This was his home, and he loved it with all his heart.

  By the time he climbed out and rounded the back of the truck, Cary stood beside her car, looking at the house.

  “It’s…this is…oh wow…beautiful.” As she turned, he noticed her eyes had filled with tears, but she turned away and walked around the side of the house. “Is it okay if I look around?”

  “I got work to do. Help yourself.” He knew he was being abrupt, but the fact that she was here at all disturbed him.

  She whirled around and started back. “Sorry. I forgot about the groceries.” Climbing onto the tire, she reached into the back of the truck. Filling her arms with as many bags as she could carry, she smiled at him as she started up the walk.

  Micah hefted two large boxes of supplies and led the way into the house. “Come on.”

  Placing the bags on the counter, Cary twirled in a circle, taking in as much of the large room as she could. “This is amazing. I’ve always wanted an old house to remodel.” Her smile was wide and her eyes shining.

  The kitchen must look worn and dated to the city girl, and that was too damned bad. “Not good enough for you. I figured as much.” He dropped the boxes on the counter and strode out the back door. He should have figured a prissy city girl would find fault. Like Marlene, nothing out here would be good enough for her.

  As he reached into the truck bed for another box, he felt a soft touch on his shoulder. When he turned, her light brown eyes gazed at him. “I didn’t mean that. I love the house.”

  “My family has lived on this land since 1885. My great-great-grandfather built the house in 1910.” He pointed to the square clapboard building south of the barn. The original whitewashed siding had faded to a soft gray and patches of moss grew on the roof, but the red brick chimney stood straight and proud. “That’s the original home.”

  She stared at the smaller building then turned to him. “I can’t imagine having roots like this. My family never stayed anywhere long enough to build anything.”

  Micah couldn’t imagine not having the ranch, not belonging to the land. He almost reached out to Cary and pulled her to him, but that would never do. He stuffed his hands into his back pockets.

  “Can I look inside?” She raised a hand, pointing to the little house.

  With a short nod, Micah led the way across the barnyard. He placed the toe of his boot against the bottom of the door. As he twisted the doorknob, he lifted and pushed. With a squeal of wood against wood, the door gave.

  He stepped back to allow Cary access to the one room shack.

  She entered and walked to the middle of the room. “Over one hundred years old and I could live in here.” She lifted the multi-colored quilt, log cabin squares whirling across the fabric, from the back of the old wooden rocker and shook it out. “Who made this?”

  Micah leaned against the dry sink. “Grams.” He remembered her sitting at her old Singer, piecing the red, blue and green squares when he was no more than five. “She loved to sew.”

  Cary carefully refolded it then placed it back on the chair. “I can’t sew worth beans. Good thing I can cook.” Her head whipped around, and her expression was determined. “I can cook, you know.”

  “I didn’t say you couldn’t.” He just thought she couldn’t cook for the ranch hands. She wasn’t a cowgirl, and she wasn’t a man. “Come on back to the house. When we have the groceries put away, I’ll show you the bunkhouse and introduce you to some of the men.”

  They hadn’t made it halfway across the barnyard when a tiny, redheaded whirlwind raced out the barn door and leaped into his arms.

  “Hey, Willa Wild. Wher
e you been?” Little arms wrapped around his neck, and he felt a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

  “Me and Toby been feeding the baby calves, Pa.” The sight of his eight year old daughter made his world right again. He felt her body tense as her head turned. “Who’s she?”

  Micah raised his gaze to meet Cary’s eyes and thought he saw a flash of sadness there. When he stopped to study her, it was gone and a bright smile transformed her face. He set his daughter on her feet. “This is Cary. She’s going to cook for the hands…and us.”

  Cary held out her hand, her expression solemn. “Nice to meet you, Willa.”

  “My name’s Willa Wild.” Her big blue eyes shifted to her father then she moved her gaze back to Cary. Her grubby hand darted out and grabbed Cary’s manicured one.

  “Willa Wild? What a pretty name. I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before.”

  “That’s because I’m one of a kind. Right, Pa?”

  “Right.” He watched the platinum blonde shake hands with his daughter. He determined to keep Cary at arm’s length. His little girl didn’t need another disappointment in her young life.

  Willa Wild grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the barn. “Come on, Pa. Let’s show Cary the new calves.”

  At the far end of the barn, in a small pen, stood two black calves barely bigger than large dogs. Cary dropped to her knees and reached out to pet one. When the calf latched onto her finger and sucked, Cary fell back onto her butt. Her soft shriek caused the calf to jump and back away a step.

  Willa Wild laughed. “It’s okay. They think you have something for them to eat.” She stuck her small fingers through the fence, and the calf made loud slurping noises as it nuzzled her hand. “See.”

  Cary crawled closer and studied the girl and the calf. Willa Wild pulled her hand away and walked to the shelf beside the pen. She picked up a large white bottle with a red nipple. “We feed them morning and night.”

  Cary looked at him. “Where are their mothers?” She slowly lowered her hand into the pen, allowing the calf to suck. Her soft voice did strange things to Micah’s chest.