Micah cleared his throat and tried to clear his head. “The little heifer is a twin, and the cow didn’t have enough milk. The other one—”
“Black Bart. Me and Toby named him today.”
Micah’s heart stuttered as Willa turned her tiny face to him. She looked so much like her mother. Thank heavens she got her personality from Gram. The only thing his ex-wife had done right was to leave Willa Wild here on the ranch. “Black Bart it is. What did you name the other one?”
Willa Wild jumped up and pointed across the fence. “She’s Little Bit, cause she is.” She looked at Cary. “Want to see my pig?”
Chapter Three
Prior to arriving in East Hope, if anyone had suggested Cary would be at home on a ranch, she’d have laughed until she cried. Her idea of a good time had always been a nice dinner out and a movie or concert. She hadn’t had a one on one relationship with dirt since she was six. Her mother hadn’t allowed it.
Cary looked at the slime on her hand then shrugged and wiped it on her jeans.
If this little pixie wasn’t fazed by calf slobber, she wouldn’t be either. She smiled at the little girl and took her hand. The closest she’d ever been to a pig was bacon. Now was as good a time as ever to see where her favorite breakfast food came from.
They wove their way behind the barn, through bent, rusted metal panels and rolls of barbed wire. In the corner, beneath an old cottonwood tree was a ramshackle pen made from pallets tied together with thin orange rope.
Willa Wild climbed over the wooden fence and stuck her fingers in her mouth. A high-pitched whistle rocketed through the air.
Forceful snorting made Cary take one step back and then another when a huge beast raised itself out of a pile of straw in the corner of the pen. “What is that smell?”
“Come here, Tinkerbelle.” The miniscule child climbed on the pig’s back and rode her around the pen. She laid full length on Tinkerbelle and wrapped her arms as far as they’d go around the hog’s middle. “She doesn’t smell so good, but she’s as smart as a dog.”
Cary stepped forward again, breathing through her mouth and looked at the sparse, wiry hair that covered the Pepto-Bismol-pink pig. “I’ve never been this close to a pig. I’m not sure I want to be this close again. Why is it that you want a pig instead of a dog?”
Willa Wild’s face crinkled into a grin. “We bought Tinkerbelle last year for my 4H project.” The grin slid into a frown. “You tell her, Pa.”
Micah rubbed his hand over his face. “Willa Wild raised Tinkerbelle from a piglet and took her to the fair. She won a blue ribbon. At the end of the fair, the 4H project animals are sold.”
“They were going to kill her.” Willa Wild’s voice rose to an even higher pitch, but when the pig grew restless, she lowered it to a whisper. “But Pa didn’t let them.”
“I should say not.” Cary turned to Micah, her hands on her hips. “You mean all these children have to sell their pets to be killed?” What had she gotten herself into? Civilized people didn’t treat kids or animals this way.
“They aren’t pets, they’re livestock.” He looked down his nose at her before turning toward the house. “Come on Willa Wild. We’ve got work to do.”
Cary watched as the tall dark rancher took the hand of the little redheaded sprite and walked away. She was so far out of her element she couldn’t even see the fence. If she had any choice, she’d leave right this minute and not look back. But she didn’t have a choice. Not if she wanted to keep away from the burning end of Mad Dog’s punishment.
As she walked back to the house, the scent of roses and hay floated along on a light breeze. It was a refreshing change from Eau de Pig. She stopped and tipped her head up, marveling at the deep blue dome above. Where she’d come from, smog from the over-concentration of motor vehicles colored the sky an off shade of gray even on clear spring days.
She hurried to the house and climbed the steps, wishing she’d been raised like Micah, with a family and the sure knowledge he belonged. But no matter how hard she wished it, facts didn’t change. She was alone, and she’d come to terms with that.
The grocery bags were right where she’d left them, and she busied herself finding where the groceries went.
It was four o’clock by the time she’d familiarized herself with the layout. Micah hadn’t said she’d be responsible for dinner tonight, so when she found her bags in a small room upstairs, she began putting things away.
“Hullo.” The voice carried all the way up to her bedroom.
Cary hurried down to find the man who’d been with Micah in town standing in the middle of the kitchen. Well-worn Wranglers, a faded red plaid shirt and scuffed boots gave Cary her first clues that this was either a neighbor or a ranch hand.
“Hi,” Cary said. “Micah isn’t here. Can I help you?” Hopefully he wouldn’t ask her to help, because she barely knew the way to the barn. Maybe he was just lost, and she could point him the way to town.
“Course he isn’t. It’s feedin’ time.” He walked over, opened the door of the oven and peered inside before letting the door slam shut. “Nobody started dinner yet. The crew is gonna be mighty hungry. Can you cook?”
Dinner? Micah had left her here without any idea of what she was expected to do. He’d said seven hands. Did he mean himself and Willa Wild, too? “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”
He stepped forward and held out his hand. “Barnes, Clinton Barnes.” His fingers were tobacco stained and rough. It seemed people out here were big on shaking hands. Even Willa Wild had offered hers.
“I’m Cary Crockett, and I can cook.”
“Better hurry. The men are driving in right now.” He pointed to the window and sure enough, here came a group of cowboys.
Cary racked her brain. What could she make in a few minutes? Only one thing came to mind. She hurried to the refrigerator and pulled out two-dozen eggs. The heavy cast iron skillet heated on the gas stove. She found a large package of sausage and crumbled it into the pan. At least this wasn’t part of Willa Wild’s pet pig. Besides, she didn’t have time to question animal morality right now.
She whipped up a dozen eggs at a time, added chopped tomatoes, onions and cheese and started the first of many omelets.
As the men filed into the kitchen, a loud catcall sounded through the room. “Hey, honey. What’s a cute little thing like you doing here?”
On the streets of home, she’d have had a caustic comeback to the condescending comment, but she bit her tongue and forced a smile that she hoped said she was glad to be here. She needed this job. “Cooking dinner.”
“Well, you’re a little late. We’re here.” The sweat soaked band of the gray cowboy hat the young man wore looked like it was older than he was, but his smile seemed genuine.
“Sorry. It’s my first day on the job.” She looked from face to face, but the only friendly one was the young man with the hat. “I’ll have something in just a minute.” She placed the first omelet on a plate, added a sprig of parsley she’d grabbed at the grocery store, and put the plate in front of the closest cowboy. Whirling back to the stove, she poured another measure of eggs into the pan.
“Where’s mine?” A rough voice broke her concentration.
“Eggs? Eggs are for breakfast.” Another man spoke.
She looked over her shoulder at the seven men. “Just a minute.” It was a struggle to keep the panic out of her voice.
“We don’t have a minute. We’re hungry.” One of the men thumped his fists against the top of the table. Another rose and came to stand behind her. “Is this all you’re making for dinner? Cause I could eat all of that myself.”
Cary’s mind clouded and her hands shook. She needed this job, and if the hands didn’t like what she cooked, Micah would let her go. She hadn’t even been here long enough to earn gas money. “This is just the appetizer. Sit back down and have a beer while I cook.”
She opened the refrigerator and handed a cold bottle to all but one of the men. Mr
. Barnes shook his head. “Don’t drink.” He stood and walked out the back door.
“Don’t mind him. He’s always grouchy.” The youngest had placed his hat on the floor and held up his hand. “I got dibs on the next plate of food.”
~~~
Could this week get any worse? First Cookey quits then the banker gets all uppity, and now he had a really bad feeling about Cary, the replacement cook. Hiring a young woman to work with these men was just wrong, but he hadn’t had a choice.
Enough of the bad vibes. No use calling trouble by name. He might as well go in and check on dinner. She probably had everything under control. How hard could it be to cook a simple dinner for the men? Women knew how to cook. His grandpa always said it was in their genes.
The sound of angry voices overlaid with laughter and a lone woman’s voice reached him before he opened the back door. Shit, shit, shit!
He turned the knob and pushed the door just as a plate of something hit the wall beside his head. The scene was chaotic. Smoke billowed out of a pan on the stove. Two of the men were on their feet with Cary in the middle. She had a hand on the chests of two men, trying to push them apart.
He slammed the door to get everyone’s attention. “What the hell is going on?”
The noisy room was suddenly filled with silence, but the tension was as thick as a good steak. Cary’s eyes were wide and her lips quivered. “Nothing. Just a little misunderstanding.” She took the larger cowboy’s hand and led him to the table. “Byron, please sit down.” After a scorching look at the other man, he did as she asked.
Micah watched as she moved to Tim, the newest employee and did the same only on the other side of the table.
She turned to Micah. “This is all my fault. I’m late with dinner and the men are hungry. Don’t be mad at them.” Then she moved to the smoking pan on the stove, dumped whatever burned thing was inside into the sink and placed it back on the burner. “I’ll have something in just a minute.”
Her voice sounded calm, but Micah saw her swipe at her eyes with her left hand. He swept his gaze around the room then pulled out his wallet and handed a hundred dollar bill to Barnes as he walked back into the kitchen. “Take the men into town and buy them dinner.”
Cary whirled around, her dark eyes huge in her elfin face. “No. I can cook.”
Micah waved to the men and waited until they’d all left the room before turning back to Cary.
“I can do this. Don’t fire me.” She twisted her hands as she walked toward him.
“Got any coffee?”
“What? Yes.” She grabbed a cup from the counter, filled it and placed it on the table in front of him. Then she stepped back and waited.
“You want one?” When she shook her head, he pointed to the chair at the end of the oak table. “Sit down. Please.”
Her shoulders slumped, and he could almost hear the defeat coming off her. He was going to regret this. Hell, he already regretted it. “I’m not going to fire you.”
She raised her head, disbelief in her eyes.
“This is my fault. I didn’t make it clear that you needed to cook tonight.” He took a sip of the coffee then stared into the cup as if the liquid could tell him why it was so good. “This is great.”
Cary’s sigh was so big it almost lifted her from the chair. “Fresh ground Tanzanian Peaberry. I brought it from home.”
He looked at the dark liquid again. How could something with a name like that be good? He took another sip.
“You’re not firing me?” Cary’s expectant expression tugged at his heart. She leaned against the back of the chair then ran a hand through the longer hair over her eyes.
“No. Not tonight.” Her gaze jerked up to his and her lips opened into a soft pink O. “I still don’t think this will work, but tonight wasn’t your fault.” The sound of his daughter’s voice stopped that thought.
“Pa, can I go to town with Barnsey?” She ran to him and jumped into his lap. Placing her hands on his cheeks like she did when she wanted something, she gave him a kiss. “Can I? Please?”
Clinton Barnes stood in the doorway his fingers stuffed into the front pockets of his Wranglers. “Okay by me,” he said when Micah looked at him. “I’ll bring her back as soon as we’re done eating.”
Micah shifted his gaze from his daughter to the foreman then back. “Okay, but you mind your manners. I’ll know if you eat like a monkey.”
Willa Wild wrapped her skinny arms around his neck and gave him one of her wonderful hugs. “Thanks, Pa.” She was off his lap in an instant, running for the door, her knobby knees and skinny legs wobbling like a new colt’s. She grabbed Clinton’s hand and tugged. “Come on, Barnsey. They’ll eat all the French Fries before we get there.”
“You eat something besides French Fries.” Micah knew as he said the words neither of them would listen.
“We wouldn’t think of it, would we Willa Wild?” The old man laughed as he followed the little girl outside.
Micah turned back to Cary. “Well, I guess it’s just you and me. What’s for dinner?”
Cary stared at him for a short minute then turned to the stove. “Eggs.”
He fought the smile that tugged at his lips. “I’m allergic to eggs.”
Her shoulders lifted up almost to her ears. She pulled in a deep breath, and he watched her ribcage move with the effort. When she turned, her face was grim, but she moved to the refrigerator and opened the door.
“I can make tuna sandwiches, toasted, or tomato soup.” She turned slowly and looked at him. One tear spilled from her eye and she wiped it away quickly. “Or both.”
Micah rose and crossed the room, pushing the refrigerator door shut. He put his hands on her shoulders and moved her to the table. The desire to pull her into his arms and comfort her was strong, but he’d given in to that urge before and look where that had gotten him. “Sit down. I’ll cook.” He pulled a Kleenex from the box and handed it to her. “And I was kidding about the eggs. Sorry, I’m not very funny.”
Cary walked to the window and stared out while she blew her nose. “It’s okay. The way my week has gone, it seemed like an allergy to eggs would be par for the course.”
The end cupboard was filled with liquor bottles and Micah pulled out a bottle of whiskey. With two glasses and a bottle of 7-Up, he mixed each of them a drink. He took a sip, nodded and set one glass in front of Cary. “This will make things better.”
He whipped up eggs and poured them into the pan. As they cooked, he chopped a jalapeno pepper, olives and an onion, adding them to the eggs. Adding a pile of grated cheese, he flipped the omelet then grabbed a glass jar from the refrigerator.
“My grandmother made the salsa. It’s the last jar we have left.” He slid the giant omelet onto a plate and cut half off for Cary. “Try this.”
As Micah hunkered down over the dinner, Cary picked at hers. She looked up and watched him.
He felt her gaze settle on him and raised his eyes to hers. “What?”
“How long has your grandmother been gone?” She turned her attention back to the eggs. “Never mind. Not my business.”
“I don’t mind. Grams and Pops raised me from the time I was five. She was the most important person in my life until Willa Wild came along. Grams died ten years ago, Pops last year.” Just the thought of his kind, loving grandma made him feel better and his expression relaxed. Unlike Pops, she’d always loved him just as he was.
“You’re lucky to have someone in your life like that.” Cary cut off a big bite of omelet and chewed. “This is good. Really good.” She dipped the spoon into the salsa and added more to her dinner.
“Be careful with that stuff. The heat sneaks up on you.” Just as the words came out of his mouth, her eyes widened and a pink flush worked up her neck to her cheeks.
She flapped her hand in front of her mouth as if that would temper the heat. “Help! Water!” She grabbed her glass and chugged the rest of the whiskey then ran to the sink and put her head beneath the fa
ucet and drank. When she’d had enough, she stood, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “‘Sneaks up on you is an understatement.”
If she’d been one of his friends, he’d be on the floor laughing. But he managed to contain his mirth and handed her a towel. “You’ll get used to it.”
“I don’t know if I want to get used to it. Maybe I’ll stick to this.” Cary scraped the excess salsa off her omelet and added a spoonful of sour cream.
Micah opened the pantry door and pulled out a package of cookies. “We can have Oreos for dessert if you’ll promise not to tell Willa Wild.”
Her city-girl smile set his heart to dancing, but he pulled it up short. The attraction he felt for Cary was dangerous. She was passing through, and there was no way he was getting involved. Time to end the friendly chat and get back to business. He put the package in front of her. “I’ve got things to do. Put the cookies in the top of the pantry when you’re done.”
Chapter Four
Waking at five a.m. wasn’t a hardship for Cary. She’d worked the morning shift at Chez Romeo for two years, arriving at work in time to bake delectable breakfast goodies for an increasing crowd. It was a little harder this morning. She’d spent the majority of the night thinking of the quick change in attitude Micah had pulled last night.
Baking had always been her escape, and she needed to escape thoughts of her new boss. She searched through cupboard doors until she found a large bowl. The least she could do was to make cranberry croissants for breakfast.
What had happened last night? All the while Micah worked on dinner and during the meal, he’d been friendly, interested in what she had to say. Cary thought they were getting to know each other. Then he pulled out a package of cookies, looked at her like she’d grown an extra head and hurried out in a huff.
Strange didn’t begin to describe Micah West. Strange and bone-melting hot.
She sifted flour into the bowl, adding sugar, baking powder and orange zest. As she cut in the butter, she thought of how he’d acted. Micah had walked into the pantry, a welcome-to-my-world smile on his face and walked out looking like Mars, the Roman god of anger. No matter how many times she ran through their interaction, it didn’t make any sense.
Gimme Some Sugar Page 3
