Taking a pastry cloth from her bag, she spread it on the counter.
“What’s that?”
“That’s where I’ll roll the dough for the piecrust.”
“Are you sure you shouldn’t be opening a restaurant instead of going into Web design?”
She vigorously shook her head. “Cooking’s a hobby. It won’t take me where I want to go.”
“Where is that?”
He looked interested, and rarely did she have a chance to share her hopes. When she’d been married to Larry, everything had always been about his dreams. Pipe dreams. Dreams that never had any substance.
The words tumbled from her mouth. “I want a better life. Eventually I want to become a graphic designer.”
“I moved out here to this ranch to create a better life,” he mused. “I want to run some cattle and train a few horses.”
“You come from a ranching background?”
“I lived on a ranch until my parents divorced. They raised Herefords. When my father sold the spread and moved to Arizona, I missed it.”
“You didn’t go with him?”
“No. I stayed here with my mother until I went to college. After the University of Texas, I apprenticed, got my contractor’s license and started Pardell Construction.”
“Do you see your dad much?”
“No. I call him or he calls me about every six months.”
“Is your mom still here?”
“No. She’s living in Taos now. She went there to find herself.”
“Has she? Found herself?”
His smile was crooked. “As much as she’s going to.”
Suspecting that there was a lot more story behind Tate’s simple words, Anita found herself interested in knowing what that story was. There was a lot he wasn’t saying. Her own background had led her to make the choices that she had—wrong choices. Apparently, Tate’s background had led him to make the right ones.
“It sounds as if you’ve always known what you wanted.”
He treated her comment lightly. “Not exactly. I had rodeo aspirations when I was a teenager. I thought bull riding was going to be my ticket to fame and fortune. But then I got some sense. I still try it every now and then, though, to make sure I haven’t lost the knack.”
Anita shook her head. “Men never grow up.”
Taking a step closer to her…so close she caught the scent of sun and hard work…so close she saw the faint scar on his left cheek…so close she could count the springy brown hairs curling between the plackets of his open shirt collar…he warned her, “Don’t lump us all together.”
Swallowing hard, she would have taken a step back, but she couldn’t because the counter was behind her. “You could get hurt riding bulls.”
His blue eyes studied her and seemed to settle on her lips. “I could get hurt doing a lot less.”
There was an edge to his voice that made her wonder exactly why he still did ride bulls. “Why go looking for trouble?”
When he seemed to lean a little nearer, she found herself focusing on his lips and what they’d feel like on hers.
“Sometimes trouble comes knocking whether you want it or not,” Tate philosophized.
Was he talking about her? Taking on her and her kids in his house? Was he still against the idea? She knew Tate Pardell could be trouble to her with a capital T. He was too handsome, too appealing, too sexy, too…everything.
“You said men never grow up. Was that true of your husband?” he asked.
With Tate so close she couldn’t think straight. “Mr. Pardell—”
“It’s Tate,” he reminded her gruffly.
“Tate, I don’t think we should discuss my marriage.”
“Why not? If I give you this job we should know something about each other.”
“If you give me this job? Are you considering it?”
“I’m considering it.” The light in his eyes said he was considering other things, too. Just as she was.
Suddenly, two long blares of a horn sounded outside. She blinked.
Tate moved away.
“That would be the horses,” he said, straightening. “Are you going to be all right in here?”
Yes, she’d be perfectly fine once he left the kitchen. She’d be perfectly fine once she knew she could pay her bills for this month. She’d be perfectly fine once she figured out how to give her children a future.
“I’m sure I can find everything I need in here,” she responded nonchalantly, though she wasn’t feeling nonchalant at all.
With a nod, he walked to the hat caddy by the back door, took his Stetson from it and fixed it on his head. Then he left the kitchen and closed the door, the sound reverberating in Anita’s ears.
She knew better than to get involved with any man. The only thing that would bring would be disappointment. Her marriage had been one disappointment after another, one lonely night after another, one worry after another. Her children were her focus, and she just needed to put a good, solid roof over their heads. She just needed a reprieve from bills that wouldn’t quit. This job could be the solution to so many problems.
And Tate Pardell?
He was the solution to none. She vowed to remember that as she cooked him a meal he’d never forget.
As Anita worked, she remembered the days after Larry’s funeral and the itemized credit card bills she’d examined more closely than she had before. Devastatingly, those bills had proved her husband had had an affair, maybe more than one. She’d asked herself why she hadn’t seen his deception sooner. The answer had been easy—she hadn’t wanted to see. She’d wanted the fairy tale, although her life had been far from it. She’d wanted a man to believe in. Larry hadn’t been that man. She didn’t know if any man could be that man because she wasn’t sure she’d ever trust one again.
While Anita rolled out pie dough, she glanced out the kitchen window often and watched Tate help unload the horses. One was black with four white stockings. The other was pewter gray. As he backed them down the ramps, he seemed gentle with them. When he leaned toward their ears, she wondered if he was crooning to them in that way some trainers did—the trainers who didn’t believe in breaking horses but rather gentling them.
As Tate and the driver of the truck disappeared into the barn, she slid the pie dough shell onto the plate, rolled out the second, then sliced apples, mixed them with cinnamon, brown sugar, flour and butter and loaded up the pie dish. An hour later, the pie was golden-brown, sending its sweet, cinnamony scent throughout the kitchen. The driver of the horse trailer had left, but Tate was still inside the barn. Humming a favorite country-western tune by LeAnn Rimes, Anita peeled potatoes, called Inez to check on the kids, snapped beans to ready them for the steamer and began preparing the chicken.
Tate’s cupboards were stocked, and the supplies she’d bought were superfluous. But most of his supplies had never been opened. He must have gone to the grocery store because the refrigerator was stocked with eggs, bacon, cheese, orange juice and a few long-necked bottles of beer. There was also a slice of pizza that had definitely sat in there much too long.
Why did he want a house like this if he wasn’t going to spend time in it?
Anita took a stroll into the great room while she waited for the potatoes to boil. There were no drapes or even scatter rugs on the hardwood floor. The rough, plastered white walls were bare, and furniture dotted the periphery of the room. Not at all the way she’d arrange it. The stone mantel above the beautiful fireplace was bare and held no pictures or decorative items of any kind. Fabric on the furniture reminded her of sky and earth—blue and tan, with a tiny thread of claret running through the material. She wondered if the rest of the rooms in the house were so sparsely arranged. Although she was curious about the housekeeper’s quarters, she wasn’t going to go snooping.
When Tate came in from outside, his nostrils were still full of horses and leather and new-barn smells. Soon, however, the down-home, mouthwatering, tantalizing aromas of the meal Ani
ta had made replaced all of the others. She was removing the golden-brown chicken pieces from the frying pan when he moved closer to her to take a look.
“It smells great!” he said, enthusiastic in spite of himself. All the while he’d gotten the new horses settled, he’d repeated over and over that even though he’d told her he was considering it, no matter how good Anita’s cooking was, he wasn’t going to hire her.
“I’ll have it all on the table in two minutes if you want to wash up.”
He saw she’d only set one place at the table. “Aren’t you going to join me?”
“Oh, no. I have to get home to the kids. Unless you want me to clean up.”
His kitchen looked almost as spotless as it had before she’d started cooking. Yet now there was a warmth to it that hadn’t been there before. All that remained were the skillet on the stove and the serving dishes on the table.
“I can manage to load the dishwasher myself,” he joked.
“I know you can. But if I were your housekeeper, you wouldn’t have to.”
She was pushing, and pushing hard. The care she’d taken with this meal showed that. The truth was, with all this delicious food sitting before him, he had no recourse but to think about coming home to it every night. “Do you cook like this all the time?”
“When I don’t have to stretch the budget with macaroni and cheese.”
“Homemade macaroni and cheese?”
“What other kind is there?” she asked, teasing.
With her face turned up to his, a smile prettying up her lips, her green eyes sparkling, Tate wanted to kiss her more than he wanted to sample the delicious-looking food. He had a feeling kissing Anita would be even more delicious.
Somehow, as they were talking, he’d leaned closer to her and she’d leaned closer to him. Now he straightened and backed away.
“The food’s going to get cold if I don’t get to it. If you want to get going, go ahead.”
His brisk tone made her blink. She was about to pick up the platter when he said, “I’ll get that,” took it from her and set it on the table.
“Besides cooking…” She stopped herself.
“Yes?”
“Well, it’s not my place, but I could make your house more attractive, too.”
“What’s wrong with the house?”
“You don’t have any curtains. Or rugs on the floor. Or pictures on the wall.”
“I need those?” he asked wryly.
“Not need, exactly. But if you plan to have any guests, you’ll want them to feel welcome. The way your great room’s arranged, it would be hard to have a conversation.”
“I don’t get it.”
“The armchairs are too far from the sofa. You’ve got that beautiful fireplace. You could have a grouping around it that would be much cozier.”
“You were a decorator in a past life?”
Her cheeks reddened. “No, and I’ve had no official training. But I do think I have a knack for it.”
When he’d wanted furniture for the house, he’d gone into a store, pointed to the pieces he’d liked and that was it. A decorator hadn’t seemed necessary. But now he was seeing his house through her eyes. It did have a coldness about it. It certainly didn’t have the hominess her living room had, in spite of expensive furniture.
Resting his hands on the back of a chair, he told her the truth. “Anita, I just can’t imagine having three kids running around here. That’s not my life.”
“What is your life?”
“I’m a loner. I have been since—since a long time back.”
“Do you like being alone?” she asked softly.
That was neither here nor there. “I’ve gotten used to it. And you know what they say about a man who’s set in his ways.”
“What do they say?”
“They say it’ll drive him nuts to change them.”
She looked so disappointed, he felt as if he’d been stabbed. She’d been counting on this job, he could see that.
But she didn’t pout or turn bitter and resentful. Rather, she motioned to the rooms behind the kitchen. “Are those the housekeeper’s quarters?”
He nodded.
“If it’s true you don’t spend much time here, you wouldn’t even have to see us much. I could cook dinner and take the kids in there in the evenings. They go to bed early anyway. You wouldn’t even hear us. I’d make sure the boys didn’t leave toys out here for you to trip over. I guess what I’m asking is, please just give it a try. A week, even. Then if it’s true that we are in your way and disturb your life, we’ll go back to our apartment.”
She was making it damn hard for him to refuse. His gaze went again to the food on the table. “Let me think about it. You go on home and I’ll give you a call with my decision.”
“You promise you’ll call and won’t just leave me hanging?”
He didn’t like the underlying message in that question. It told him men had left her hanging before. Thinking about that disturbed him. “I won’t leave you hanging. I’ll let you know by Monday at the latest. And whatever I decide won’t be temporary. When I make a decision, I stick by it.”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
The urge to take her in his arms and just hold her and tell her everything was going to be all right was so strong, he had to fight it with every ounce of self-restraint he possessed.
Giving him a smile, she picked up her purse lying on the counter. Cheerily, she advised him, “Make sure you cover everything tightly so it will keep for you. You should have meals for the next few days.”
“You don’t know my appetite.”
Her eyes widened a bit and her lips parted a little in surprise. They both knew he was talking about more than his liking for fried chicken and mashed potatoes.
Obviously flustered, she broke eye contact, went to the doorway and said, “I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”
She walked away from his kitchen, into the foyer and out the door. He heard her car start up and the rumble of it scattering gravel as it rolled down his lane. He knew what he should do.
Then he took another whiff of the fried chicken and sat down to eat. He’d think about Anita Sutton and her brood after he finished the apple pie.
When Tate came calling on Anita Sunday afternoon, her front door was open. Peering through the screen, he didn’t hear or see anyone inside. Listening more carefully, he thought he heard boys’ laughter out back. That laughter solidified his decision.
Last night, after he’d finished two pieces of apple pie, he’d gone into his great room and looked around. The hollowness of it, the coldness of it, had wrapped around him until he’d been damned uncomfortable. He could get into a rut being alone. He could close himself up, shut everyone out, just as he had after Jeremy died. Just as he had after his parents had gotten divorced. Just as he had after he’d found out Donna’s true colors. He might never trust a woman enough to get married—he’d kept the money clip Donna had given him as a reminder to be watchful of women’s motives—but that didn’t mean he wanted poker night with his buddies to be the main event in his life.
And he did need someone like Anita to plan the barbecue for his employees.
When he tried her screen door, he found it locked. Set on his course now that he’d made a decision, he jogged down the steps and around the apartment building to the backyard. There he saw Anita pitching a ball to one of her twins. He’d have to get straight who was who.
Anita glanced his way about the same time as one of the twins yelled, “Mr. Pardell! Can you pitch a few balls? Mom isn’t real good at this.”
As Tate laughed, Anita propped her hands on her hips. “Not good at this? Who taught you how to hit home runs?”
Corey piped up, “It’s luck when we hit home runs, Mom.”
Tate shook his head. “I’ll pitch a few,” he said with a grin.
“Mr. Pardell, you don’t have to….” Anita began.
“It’s Tate.” His gaze held hers and an electric cu
rrent that was strong enough to shock him seemed to pass between them.
She didn’t repeat his name, though he’d liked to hear it on her lips. Instead, she handed him the ball. “I’m going to check on Marie.”
“She’s napping?” he asked.
“Yes. I’ll be right back. Don’t break any windows,” she warned with a smile at all three of them.
That smile. Tate kept seeing it in his dreams.
At first, Tate intended to pitch a couple balls and that would be that. He’d offer Anita the job and then go back home to enjoy the rest of the day. But the one or two pitches turned into three, four and five. Instead of just a pitch, he was soon showing Jared how to stand, where to position his bat, how to focus on the ball. Then he did the same for Corey. The twins were eager to listen to him and enthusiastic when it was their turn. Somehow he’d gotten the impression over the years that kids didn’t listen. Maybe because at one time he hadn’t listened? He’d rebelled because he’d missed his brother so badly he hadn’t known what to do.
Concentrating on Corey’s swing at the ball rather than his own thoughts, Tate heard the click of the door as Anita opened it. She was dressed in jeans today and a Dallas Cowboys T-shirt that had seen many washings. As she held her baby daughter in her arms, Marie laid her head on Anita’s shoulder, her thumb in her mouth, her eyes wide and green as she glanced at Tate, then shyly looked away.
As Anita descended the steps, she patted her little girl’s back.
Corey and Jared came running over to her. “He’s real good at baseball,” Jared informed her.
“Well, I’m glad. But I don’t want you to tire him out. I think you’d better go wash up for supper.”
“Oh, Mom,” they both complained.
“Mr. Pardell is a busy man, boys. Did you thank him for playing with you?”
In chorus, they said, “Thanks, Mr. Pardell.”
“You’re most welcome,” Tate returned with a grin.
“Go on now, and don’t forget to use soap.”
This time they didn’t argue, but ran up the steps and let the door slam behind them.
Anita shook her head and smiled. “One of these days it’s going to come off the hinges.” Then realizing what she’d said, she quickly amended, “It’s just worn and closes hard. I didn’t mean they’d hurt it on purpose.”
To Protect and Cherish Page 3
