Kitabı oku: «His Perfect Bride: Hired by the Cowboy / Wedding Bells at Wandering Creek / Coming Home to the Cattleman», sayfa 3
The spread wasn’t white, it was brown with geometric shapes dashed across it in tan and sienna. He’d made it that morning, but there was a spot on the edge, just about in the middle, that looked like perhaps he’d sat there while getting dressed. The air held a slight odor of leather and men’s toiletries, mingled with the fresh scent of fabric softener. She put down her bag and went over to the chest of drawers. On the top was a bowl, containing some errant screws and pins and what looked like a screwdriver bit, probably removed from his pants before they went in the laundry. Beside the dish was a framed picture. In it she saw Connor, much younger, perhaps twenty or so, standing beside a boy with the same dark hair and mischievous eyes. They each had a hand on a shorter woman standing in front of them. The woman was slight, with black hair, and she was laughing. In her hands she held a gold trophy. Off to the right stood their father, tall and strong, his hand on the halter of a large black cow.
So he did have a family. A brother and two parents. And from the smiles they appeared happy. But where were they now?
She’d trespassed long enough. If Connor had wanted her to know about his family he would have told her. And he might tell her yet—once they knew each other better. But she wouldn’t pry. It was his business, his secret to reveal or to keep. She respected that—after all she had skeletons of her own. She backed away from the dresser and picked up her bag on the way out the door.
The next room was undoubtedly the one he’d meant. It was large, with a double dresser and mirror and a sturdy pine bed. The coverlet was white and lacy, lady’s bedding, and Alex wondered if it was a spare room or if it had belonged to his parents. She put her bag on a chair beside the nightstand. After the floors she’d slept on, the dingy rooms with nothing pretty to redeem them, this was too much. Too pretty, too feminine. Too perfect. She didn’t want to mar that pristine white duvet with whatever might be on the bottom of her bag. She took her clothes out and put them in the dresser. All she had only filled two drawers. A plastic bag held toiletries—soap, shampoo, toothbrush, deodorant. Those she took to the bathroom at the end of the hall and placed them on a wire rack that had one empty shelf. Other than that her bag only contained a journal and a pen and a picture. The picture she left in the bag, stowing the pack in the otherwise empty closet. The journal she tucked into the nightstand drawer, out of sight.
Going back downstairs, she decided then and there that if she were going to pull her weight at all she’d better get cracking. After all, it wasn’t fair if for the next six months her only contribution to this arrangement was signing on the dotted line and leaving Connor to do all the work. He was willing to support her, not only now but after the baby was born, if only she’d marry him first. It definitely made her feel guilty, knowing she got the easy part of the deal. The least she could do was make sure he had a good hot meal at the end of the day and a clean house to come home to. If he wouldn’t let her do any of the manual labor, she could at least look after things in the house.
Except she’d never done anything like it in her life. And now the fate of herself and her baby depended on her success.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE top of the fridge held nothing but extra bread and some frozen vegetables. He’s got to have meat around here somewhere, she thought, and searched high and low until she came across a huge Deepfreeze in the basement.
She took out a package that said “cross rib steak” and remembered going to her grandmother’s house when she had been a small child. Her grandmother had made this dish…Swiss steak…and it had been fork-tender, surrounded by onions and gravy, all layered on mashed potatoes. Surely there was a recipe book somewhere that would tell her how to make it?
She searched the kitchen for such a book, and came up with a small binder. The cover had a crudely drawn picture of an apple on it and the words Mom’s Recipes in black marker. Inside were pages of handwritten recipes, in no particular order. Maple Chicken was next to Dad’s Chocolate Cake. Bread and Butter Pickles next to Come and Get ‘Em Cookies. She sighed as the microwave dinged out a message that the meat was thawed. This was going to take forever.
She finally found a recipe that said “Smothered Meat” and thought it sounded about right. Retrieving a roasting pan from a low cupboard, she put in the meat and then added water, onions and bay leaves that she found above the stove in a motley assortment of spices. She turned on the oven and slid the roaster in…step one complete.
She could do this. She could. Just because she’d never learned to cook, it didn’t mean she couldn’t, she told herself. All you had to do was follow instructions. It couldn’t be that hard.
Potatoes didn’t take that long, so maybe she’d really live on the edge and attempt something for dessert. Jazzed up with motivation, she grabbed the red binder again and flipped through the pages, looking for one that sounded good. These were his mom’s recipes, probably the ones she made most often. She stopped at a page that looked like it had been handled often. Caramel Pudding. She read the recipe. Easy enough. Flour, egg, butter, milk, leavening, salt…brown sugar, boiling water. How hard could it be?
An hour later she slid the pan into the oven beside the meat and sighed. The instructions had sounded deceptively simple. However, they didn’t seem to translate into her hands. She looked at the countertops. They were strewn with flour and sticky batter and dirty dishes. The first order of business had to be cleaning up this disaster zone before she went any further.
She was halfway through the dishes when she remembered the meat needed tending, the sauce thickening.
The mess doubled. Again.
The next time she looked at the clock it said four-fifty-five. She was exhausted, and with a whole new appreciation of women who willingly did this every blessed day of their lives. She was certain now that she’d had the easy job—waitressing, instead of being in the kitchen!
It took her twenty minutes and two Bandaids to peel the potatoes, and she grumbled that she was really going to have to caution Connor on having his knives too sharp.
She found a glass casserole and emptied a bag of frozen corn into it, put it in the microwave and let her rip just as Connor was coming in the door.
“Hey,” he called from the front door. “How was your afternoon?”
I’d rather have been chased by the hounds of hell, she thought grumpily, but pasted on a smile and said, “Fine.”
He came into the kitchen and sniffed. “Do I smell caramel pudding?”
She smiled for real, the curve of her lips fading as she saw how weary and defeated he looked. “I found your mom’s old recipes.”
He came over to the stove, lifted the lid on the potatoes bubbling away. “It’s good to come in and not have to worry about supper. Thank you, Alex.”
Don’t thank me yet, she thought, none too sure of success. The pudding seemed oddly flat, and she hadn’t checked the steak yet. At least the potatoes seemed to be holding their own.
“Your afternoon didn’t go well?” she surmised quietly.
When he sank into a chair and ran his hand through his hair, she knew she’d guessed right.
“We lost one. The other’s touch and go.”
“I’m sorry,” she offered, her stomach suddenly churning with nervousness. He was expecting a great home-cooked meal after a rotten afternoon. He couldn’t know she’d never made anything that wasn’t out of a can or ready with one touch of a microwave button. She took the roaster out of the oven, and as the corn finished she drained the potatoes.
“Don’t be sorry. It happens. But you know, no matter how much you think you get used to it, you never do.”
She filled his plate with potatoes and a generous scoop of corn, then a large slice of steak from the roaster. The gravy was thinner than she’d expected, and seemed suspiciously lumpy, but she hoped for the best and ladled it over the top of his potatoes.
She fixed her own plate and sat down across from him. “I hope the other one makes it,” she offered as he picked up his fork. Only to pause with it still stuck between his lips.
“Is something wrong?”
Connor looked up at her hopeful eyes and made himself swallow. The corn was still cold in the middle. “No, no,” he reassured her, cutting into the steak. She looked so vulnerable, so eager to please, that he didn’t have the heart to tell her.
The meat was cooked and tender, but the gravy…something was off. It was too pale and runny. He bravely took a scoop of potatoes and gravy and found a ball of flour rolling on his tongue. He smiled up at her, but he could tell she knew by the crestfallen way her lips turned down and her cheeks fell.
“It’s horrible. Disgusting. You can’t eat this.”
“Sure I can. It’s definitely edible.”
Alex tried a bite with the gravy and made a face. “Eeeew. What did I do wrong?” She took a mouthful of corn and hurriedly spit it into her napkin. “And the corn is still frozen! Oh, I can’t do anything right!” she cried. “You put in a horrible afternoon and then come in to this!”
“You can do things right,” Connor said gently. He got up from his chair and took her plate. He put it in the microwave and heated it up more. “It’s not your fault that I had a tough day. And you worked hard to try to make me a nice dinner. That was a sweet thing to do, Alex.”
“Don’t patronize me. I don’t want to be sweet. I want to be helpful!” she burst out in frustration. “I’ve been on my own for five years and I’ve been outdone by a bag of frozen vegetables!”
He gave her back her plate, then heated his own. “The corn just needed more time.”
“But I followed the directions on the bag!” She stared morosely at the offending kernels, now piping hot. Cooking was the only thing he’d asked of her, and the meal was a disaster. It wasn’t a good way to start a trial period for marriage.
Connor couldn’t help but laugh. “It takes a bit longer when you cook a whole bag at a time.” The casserole was filled with enough of the vegetable for at least three more meals.
“And the gravy is revolting. But I followed the directions to the letter!”
“Where’s the gravy browning?”
“Browning?”
He had to turn his face away to hide a smile. That was why it was pale. She hadn’t used any browning. If he knew Mom’s recipe, it probably said to thicken the juices with flour and water. And the lumps…If she didn’t know how to make gravy, she wouldn’t know how to make it without clumps of flour in it either.
“Connor?”
“I’ll show you how to make gravy. It takes practice.”
Alex pushed her plate away. Other than the corn, the tasteless, flour-pitted gravy had ruined everything. How on earth could she carry her own weight when he had to teach her how to cook? Never had she felt so defeated.
She scooped the odd-looking pudding into two bowls. “Do you put ice cream on it?”
“I’m out, but milk’s just as good. Sit down. I’ll get it.”
He poured a little milk on the pudding and served it. He took a bite, sucked in his cheeks, and pushed the bowl away.
“I’m sorry, Alex.”
Tears sprang into her eyes. She had never felt such a complete failure. Well, if this wasn’t a whole new discovery. Alex, who always seemed to manage, to find a way, was completely hopeless in the kitchen. The one thing she could contribute in this whole arrangement and she was a culinary idiot.
“What did you use to make it rise?”
“Arsenic.” At his horrified expression, she shook her head. “Baking powder, like the recipe said,” she insisted.
He went to the cupboard and took out a small orange box. “You mean this?”
“Yes.”
He started laughing. “This is baking soda, not powder.”
“There’s a difference?”
“Oh, yes. If you taste your dessert it’ll be sharp, and a bit bitter.”
She did, made a face, and struggled to swallow the solitary bite.
“I’m a complete failure. And of no use to you, obviously. I’m sorry, Connor, for wasting your time and mine.” She pushed out her chair, haughty as a queen, and made for the stairs.
“Hey,” he interrupted, lunging after her and grabbing her arm. “One disastrous meal does not a deal-breaker make.”
“Why not? You sure can’t eat my cooking for the next six months. You’ll starve, if I don’t kill you with food poisoning first.”
“Have you ever cooked before?”
“No.”
“Then why on earth did you think you’d suddenly be perfect at it?”
“I didn’t think it would be so hard,” she murmured, leaning against the banister of the stairs. Tears threatened again. “Oh, these stupid hormones!” she said, frustration finally bubbling over. “I hate crying! I never cry!”
Thankfully he ignored the tears and remained pragmatic about the whole issue. “I know how to cook because my mom taught both my brother and me. I’m no great chef by any means, but I can show you the basics.”
Alex took several breaths in and out, calming herself. She was the only one throwing a fit here. Connor was being particularly good-humored about the whole thing. Because of it, she decided to give him a little insight into her past.
“My mom never cooked much. We were sort of the take-out and convenience food house on the block,” Alex admitted, not sure why he was being nice about it. “But I can do stuff out of cans and frozen entrees really well.”
Connor laughed, and Alex smiled up at him. His eyes were warm, framed by those shaggy dark locks. He wasn’t mad. Not even a little. Even though she’d wasted that food and made a horrible mess of everything. Connor Madsen had a generous spirit, she realized, despite the unorthodox relationship they seemed to have started. He was certainly nicer than she deserved.
“You need this money badly, don’t you?” she asked him.
He nodded slowly, his eyes swallowing her up in their dark, honest depths. Their bodies stood close together, and for a moment she wondered how it would feel to put her arms around his waist and simply rest against his strength.
“Bad enough to put up with terrible cooking and hormonal mood swings?”
A ghost of a smile tipped the corners of his lips. “Yes.”
She wondered how long he’d lived here alone, and why. Why hadn’t he married yet? He certainly wasn’t lacking in the looks department. In fact, she was constantly having to remind herself to be practical—which was hard, considering she was already fighting attraction. She mentally added things up: his stellar manners, his consideration, his understanding and lack of a quick temper. He was the kind of man she thought she could trust, and more than anything that counted for a lot. Even knowing him a short few days, she sensed his integrity and strength. He would keep to any bargain they made.
“I’ll probably regret this.”
His hand lifted to cup her chin gently. “I sincerely hope not.” Her eyes strayed to his lips, serious now, but shaped so that she couldn’t help but think of kissing him.
“It’s not forever, Alex. But you need to decide if you can trust me. You need to take that leap of faith.”
“After a few days? No one in their right mind would make such a decision,” she breathed, feeling the tug between them again.
“My great-great-grandparents met on a Wednesday and got married the next day. But you need to decide for yourself.”
He started to pull away. She stopped him with her fingers gripping into his arm. “Wait.”
He waited patiently, steadily.
“Trusting comes hard. Surely you can understand that? I can’t afford to screw this up, Connor. I need to know what I’m doing is right for my child.”
He put his hands on her shoulders, dipping his head to place a soft kiss on her forehead. “You wouldn’t have told me that if you didn’t already trust me,” he whispered against her skin. “And you know it. It’s OK to be frightened.”
He was right, and it scared the daylights out of her.
“Marry me, Alex.” The calm force of his voice almost made it a command.
She closed her eyes and jumped.
“All right. For better or worse, the trial period’s over. I’ll marry you, Connor Madsen.”
CHAPTER FIVE
THE radio was playing softly in the kitchen when he entered, and the table was set for two, but Alex was nowhere to be found. On the counter was a crockpot. He lifted the lid and the appetizing smell of chili wafted out. His stomach rumbled in appreciation. She had told the truth when she’d said she was a fast learner. It didn’t look like they’d have a repeat of last night.
“Alex?”
“Out here.”
He followed the voice to the deck that faced west. She was standing at the railing, facing the dim outline of the mountains, squinting against the sun.
He stared at Alex. The deepening sunlight framed her figure, outlining her curves, and he was shocked to feel desire streaking through him like a current. Where in the world had that come from? Of course she was attractive—he wasn’t blind—but he hadn’t factored that into the plan. He frowned slightly. It had been a long time since a woman had had that effect on him. He’d been focused on Windover, and working things out, and hadn’t taken the time to pursue a relationship. And he honestly hadn’t considered how much having an extra person around would change things. He’d looked forward to being alone with Alex all day, perhaps too much. He had thought of how her eyes snapped and flashed as she angered, how hard she was on herself for the smallest error. How independent she was. But they’d made a bargain. And he had to keep personal distance.
“Are you all right?” Her voice was sweet and a bit shaky.
“I’m fine.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, keeping back. “Dinner smells great.”
She turned back to the view. “I found the recipe on the kidney bean can. I told you I could make things out of a can.”
He smiled. “Mmm, progress.”
“You haven’t tasted it yet,” she remarked wryly, and he took a place beside her at the rail, making sure their elbows didn’t touch. He could still smell her, though, light, citrusy, and his nerves clawed at his stomach.
“Can we eat later? Let’s take a walk. You haven’t even seen anything of the ranch yet, and you’re going to be here for at least the next several months.”
They hadn’t really had a chance to talk much about themselves, only about the deal they were making. They could be friends, and maybe, just maybe, he’d forget about how pretty she was in the late-day sun.
“Is it OK to leave the chili on?” Her eyes looked up at him, worried.
“That’s why it’s called a slow cooker,” he teased. “Your meal will still be here when we get back.”
They walked out past the lane and to the edge of a field, side by side but careful not to touch. A grove of trees and a fence separated the field from another meadow. Cows bawled in the warm sun as they grazed, their jet-black hides shining in the early-evening light, and Connor took a deep, restorative breath.
“It’s part of you.” Her voice interrupted their silence.
He exhaled slowly, surprised she understood so intrinsically. “Yes. It always has been.”
“I can tell. It’s in the way you look at the land. I’ve never had anything like that. I envy you.”
Connor recognized the low note of sadness in her words and responded. “What was your childhood like, Alex?”
She stared straight ahead while he gazed at her profile. She was beautiful in such a simple, natural way, and she tried to be strong. But there was something in the wistful turn of her lips that made him sense the pain beneath the surface, and he longed to make it better. It had always been his thing, trying to fix whatever went wrong. But he knew better than most that there were some things you just couldn’t fix—and he’d thought he’d left that protective streak behind.
The smell of fresh-cut hay filled the air around them, familiar and comforting, as she began.
“My parents were historians. We had a house in Ottawa. But we were gone so much…it was more like a base of operations. We traveled a lot.”
She glanced up at him, her smile contrite as magpies chattered in the poplars.
“You said you were alone. Where are they now?”
She stopped, bit down on her lip, and squared her shoulders. “Dead. When I was eighteen they were going on a work trip to Churchill. They were taking a bush plane in…it’s so remote…but the plane never made it.”
So she was utterly alone. Alone like him.
“I’m so sorry, Alex.”
She started walking again. “My parents were smart people, but they thought they were indestructible. They had little insurance. By the time I was done paying estate taxes, my lawyer, and their outstanding bills, there was hardly anything left. The bank took the house and I got an apartment, worked as a waitress.”
She let out a long breath; that was all she was comfortable revealing at this point. They really didn’t know each other well enough for her to reveal the nitty-gritty details. The loneliness. The longing for a normal childhood.
“That’s my life in a nutshell. What about you, Connor? Did you ever want to do anything besides farm?”
He had. As a teenager he’d wanted nothing more than to be a farm vet, and he’d planned out his future like a roadmap. He’d work from Windover, and he and Jim would run the ranch together after Dad retired. And his family had supported that dream. He had taken his science degree and been about to enter vet school when he’d given it up to take sole control of the ranch operations.
“I was going to be a vet.”
Their feet made whispering sounds through the tall grass. “So what happened?”
“I was home from university that summer. Dad had a load of cattle headed for the States, and Mom and Jim decided to go along.”
His voice flattened, sucking out the emotion, making it sound like a news report rather than a life-altering personal event.
“They were a little south of Lethbridge when the wind must have caught the trailer. Someone said it looked like a weird downdraft, but we never knew for sure. Anyway, they went off the road. All three of them were killed.”
His throat bobbed, suddenly tight and painful, and he was unable to go on. But he remembered that day as vividly as if it were yesterday.
He’d driven down himself. Half the cattle were injured, two were dead, and three had to be put down. He still saw the stains of red on the highway, smelled the death there. The cattle could be replaced, but in a single, devastating moment he’d lost his whole family. By the time he’d arrived they’d already been taken to the morgue. In a split second he was Windover. Everything was suddenly empty, like a colorless void. It wasn’t right, working without Jim’s jokes by his side, or his dad’s warm wisdom, or his mother’s nurturing support. They were just…gone. He’d never understood why he’d been the one left behind. Always wondered if he could have somehow prevented it if only he’d gone along. Instead, he’d taken the day and had gone to Sylvan Lake with friends.
His feet had stopped moving, and he was ashamed to discover tears in his eyes. Alex said nothing, just twined her fingers with his and squeezed. He cleared the ball in his throat roughly.
She understood. Their upbringings were diametrically opposite, yet a single moment in each of their lives had devastated them completely. He sighed. She’d been hurt as badly as he had. And he wouldn’t risk being the one to do it to her again. All he’d need would be more guilt.
They turned back, the house visible, rising alone against the sky in the distance.
“I didn’t realize we’d come so far,” Alex remarked, and for a few minutes they pondered the significance of that statement.
Connor changed the subject, away from them and to the much safer topic of the background of the ranch. “This place…I’ve never considered leaving. Even my great-great grandfather stuck it out through a horrible winter. That’s how Windover got its name, you know.”
She left her fingers within his, a link between them on the path. “How?”
“He put up a rough cabin that first year. There was just the two of them, and the story goes that they were almost ready to pack it in when a Chinook blew in, melted most of the snow, and brought instant spring in the middle of March. He called it the wind over the mountains, and when they bought their first livestock it became Windover Farm and later Windover Ranch.”
He had roots that went so deep. How could he ever understand someone who’d been rootless most of her life? She was glad now she hadn’t revealed more than she had. They’d led completely different lives.
“Do you think we can go through with this?” she asked, angling a sideways glance at his profile.
“The wedding, you mean?” Connor nodded. “I think we are both realists. Despite the obvious differences in our situations, our personalities seem to match. Considering the predicament we find ourselves in, it seems like a workable solution. Practical. I know you have your doubts—anyone would—but if you’ll let me show you that you can trust me…”
“Show me?”
The air cooled around them as the sun dipped further behind the mountains. “If at any time in the next few weeks you want out, I’ll take you back to Calgary myself. Take this time, Alex, to find out who I am. To be sure I’ll keep my word.”
“But what happens in the end?” She swallowed. After two days she was already envying him his home, the one she’d always longed for and he’d always had. On one hand she told herself not to get attached to the kind of life she could have here at Windover, because it wasn’t permanent. The other part of her told her to enjoy it, absorb all that she could and save it as a beautiful memory.
“I don’t have all the answers. But, knowing what we know, surely we can part as friends in the end?”
“Do you think it’ll be that easy? Going back to being alone?”
“Do you?”
The house grew closer with each slow step.
The thought of living alone now seemed dull and pointless, even after such a short time. It was a joy to know that someone was coming home at the end of the day. It gave the time she spent a point, a meaning. She’d have her baby when it was over, but who would Connor have?
“Who knows? We’ve both been alone for a long time. Maybe we’ll drive each other crazy and you’ll be glad to be rid of me.” She tried a cocky smile, but faltered at the look in his eyes as they stopped at the edge of the dirt road.
He turned to face her, his warm gaze delving into hers, drawing her in and making her thoughts drift away on the evening breeze. His hand lifted to her cheek. “I think there’s a very good chance you’re going to drive me crazy,” he murmured, his thumb stroking her cheek tenderly.
She stepped back in alarm, her face burning from the intimate touch and the clear meaning of his words. She left his hand hanging in thin air. A truck approached and spun past them, stirring up loose gravel and clouds of dust.
When the air cleared they said nothing, but crossed the road and made their way up the lane.
She woke at dawn and checked her watch. It was barely five. Squinting, she glared at the window that was letting in all the lemony fresh sunshine. Last night she’d been so distracted she’d forgotten to pull the blinds. Her cheek still remembered the weight of his hand, caressing the soft skin there. Her drive him crazy? Not if he drove her nuts first. He was giving her the opportunity to back out. And she should. She was far too taken with him already. He was too strong, yet kind and understanding.
And he looked far too good in a pair of faded jeans. Add in that messy, slightly ragged hair, and any woman would be a goner. She should run, very quickly, in the opposite direction.
But the truth of the matter was this was by far the best way for her to provide for her child. She couldn’t go back to where she’d been staying, as the tenant had decided to move in with her boyfriend when Alex left. She’d quit her job at a moment’s notice. And now was no time to start from scratch.
She stared at the window. The flimsy white curtains didn’t do much to keep out daylight, even when the sun was rising on the other side of the house. Tonight she’d make sure the blind was down. She sure didn’t want to wake at five every day.
Footsteps passed outside her door, quiet, stocking-footed. A floorboard creaked beneath the weight. Connor was up already? She pushed the covers back and stepped out onto the hardwood floor. She’d missed his rising yesterday. She might as well get up now that she was awake, start learning what he liked for breakfast—and how he cooked it. If she weren’t going to be allowed to help outside, she meant to do her best inside.
She went downstairs dressed still in her pajamas—cotton shorts and a tank top. When she reached the kitchen, Connor already had a skillet on the burner and was half buried in the refrigerator, pulling out ingredients. He was dressed in what she now realized must be his customary uniform—faded jeans and a plain T-shirt. Her mouth grew dry as he dug deeper, the seat of his jeans filling out. She was in serious trouble here.
The touch of his hand on her face last night had prompted strange dreams. In them he’d stroked her cheek and kissed her. And it hadn’t been a brotherly kiss either. In her slumbers he’d taken her mouth wholly, completely. His lips had been soft, deliberate, and devastating. His hands had glided over her skin. Tender. Possessive.
He straightened, turned with eggs in his hands, and jumped.
She wanted to disappear through the floor. Belatedly she realized her fingers were touching her lips…and that her nipples were puckered up almost painfully. All from the sight of his bottom in some worn denim.
Ücretsiz ön izlemeyi tamamladınız.
