Must Love Cowboys (23 page)

I intended to make the most of it.

After washing a few dishes, I took Ophelia for a short walk. When I returned, I sat down at my desk and opened my computer, determined to find the most awesome pork chop recipe in existence.

As I perused the possibilities, I caught myself smiling. Computers had always fascinated me, but cooking was a passion I'd never had the opportunity to fully explore. I loved cooking for this motley crew of cowboys. I loved watching them devour their food. I loved the creative outlet cooking provided. To top it all off, I actually
liked
these men. Each in his own way perhaps, but I could see living and working with them for many years to come.

In that moment, I realized I wasn't going back to Kentucky. I was staying right where I was—doing something I loved with people whose company I enjoyed.

And Wyatt McCabe was at the top of that list.

In the end, I opted for the healthier version of the most awesome pork chop recipe in existence, which was baked rather than fried. I was in the process of dipping the meat in seasoned flour, beaten eggs, and bread crumbs—in that order—when it struck me that Calvin might not know that someone had been asking about him at the hospital. I knew I hadn't mentioned it, but Angela hadn't said one way or the other.

Would knowing that someone was looking for him help to convince Calvin to contact Jeannine's lawyers? For that matter, would that same man eventually come knocking on the bunkhouse door? One thing for sure, if anyone did come knocking, I wouldn't trust him for a second.

But would Calvin trust him? He'd been alone in the bunkhouse earlier that morning. Anyone watching the place could have seen me leaving and taken the opportunity to visit. There were so many things going on that not everyone knew about. Case in point, Angela didn't know anything about the notice on Jeannine's guestbook.

I'd told Wyatt, but should I tell Angela? Without Calvin's permission, I had no right to tell anyone what I'd discovered. The trouble was, if the guy showed up at the house, no one would be suspicious of him, and somehow I felt that every one of us needed to be wary.

On the other hand, if our elusive visitor really was trying to kill Calvin—for his inheritance or any other reason—why would he risk showing himself at the hospital? To make another attempt on Calvin's life while he was unconscious? While that was a fairly standard dramatic plot twist, I seriously doubted it was as easy as television shows and movies would have everyone believe, mainly because practically every piece of medical equipment has an alarm or a lock on it. Still, it wouldn't be too hard to create a diversion of some sort…

A swift downward glance revealed that I'd dipped one chop in the bread crumbs without dipping it in the egg first.

Bloody hell… That's what I get for playing detective instead of master chef.

With that admonition in mind, I was able to complete the preparations without any additional mistakes. After the chops had spent about half an hour in the oven, their heavenly aroma convinced me I was a far better cook than I was a sleuth.

I scrubbed up several sweet potatoes and had just put them in the oven when a gust of chilly air blew in through the kitchen door as Angela came inside carrying a stack of magazines.

“Damn,” she exclaimed. “Something sure smells good. Got enough to feed three more?”

I somehow managed to turn my gasp into a cough, which went a long way toward restarting my stunned heart. Apparently mulling over murder mystery plots had me jumpier than usual. “Sure do. I'm trying out a new pork chop recipe. Hope the guys like it.”

“I've never seen anything yet they wouldn't eat, but they sure seem happy to have you doing the cooking.” She laid the magazines on the counter. “I brought these for Calvin. Thought he might want something to read.”

“Good idea. He asked me to get him some new books when I went to town this morning.” Recalling my earlier doubts, I considered her timing to be most opportune. “Have you told Calvin about his visitor?”

Angela's dark braids swung back and forth as she shook her head in reply. “To be honest, I'd almost forgotten about that. Guess I'd better tell him.” She jerked her head toward the mess hall. “I take it he's in there?”

I nodded. “Might be napping, though. He's been dozing off and on all day.”

“If he is, I won't wake him,” she said. “Poor guy. This has to be hard on him.”

And it might be even harder before it's all over.
“What happens if he can't go back to work?”

“I've been thinking about that,” she replied. “He's pretty close to retirement age, so it might not matter in the long run. We have pensions set up for all the guys, although no one's ever actually retired from here. They usually cash out the policy when they decide to move on.”

“That's what Joe said.” Since there seemed to be no way to segue into the question I really wanted to have answered, I wound up stating the obvious. “I'm glad Calvin has a pension.”

“Social Security too,” she said. “He's bound to have plenty in savings. He's never been the type to go out and blow his paycheck on whiskey and women.” She paused, giggling. “Come to think of it, none of the men are—except Bull. To hear him talk, he never has any money.”

Given Bull's suggestion that Nick spend his earnings on hookers rather than Internet porn, that didn't surprise me. “That's the stereotype though, isn't it? Seems like half the country songs I hear are about cowboys being hard-drinking, honky-tonkin' drifters.”

“I suppose so.” Her expression darkened slightly, making me wonder if, despite my best intentions, I'd said the wrong thing. “Most of the men who've worked for us haven't been like that. In fact, Dusty was one of the hands up until a couple of years ago. Dad wasn't too happy when Dusty and I got together. He's kinda old school.”

“I noticed that.” Particularly after the way he demanded to know what I was doing snuggled up with a naked cowboy on the night of Calvin's heart attack.

She acknowledged my dry tone with a grin. “Believe it or not, he's come a long way in recent years. We never used to eat in the mess hall with the men when I was a kid. Now it seems strange not to.”

“More like family than employees?”

“Yeah. I really hate it when one of them decides to quit.”

Now
we were getting somewhere. “Why do they leave?”

She shrugged. “Lots of reasons. As you know, it's pretty lonely out here. Some guys like that sort of life, but others can't stand it. Some wind up on the rodeo circuit. A few have come and gone because of women they got involved with.” She smiled fondly. “I picked one guy up on the highway after his girlfriend dumped him on the way to the Jackson Hole rodeo. He's married to the local veterinarian now.”

“Sounds like he and Dusty both married well.” Marrying me certainly wouldn't be a step up for Wyatt if my only income was what I earned as the bunkhouse cook. I might have to do some computer work on the side. As long as I had Internet access, I could easily work from the ranch in some capacity or other—among other things, I was pretty good at website design. But of course, Wyatt hadn't said anything about marriage. Not yet, anyway.

I felt slightly ill at the thought of leaving any of these guys, and parting with Wyatt would undoubtedly break my foolish heart. I drew in a slow, calming breath, knowing I would never have a better opportunity. “I can't understand why anyone wouldn't want a job here. It's like working at home with your family or your best friends.”

“Yeah. Seems sort of natural, doesn't it? Much better than getting in your car and driving off to work every morning. I remember my grandmother saying something like that once. She said ranching was hard work, but at least she and Granddad were together.” She paused, nibbling at her lower lip. “Which brings me to something I've been meaning to ask you. The guys have made a…request.”

“Oh?” As uncomfortable as she seemed, I was almost afraid to hear her out.

“They want you to stay on as their cook. Permanently.”

My openmouthed surprise gave way to a chuckle. “They? Or was Bull the only one?”

“As usual, he was the most vocal, but the others all seem to agree.”

“Even Calvin?”

She nodded. “To be honest, I think he'd be tickled to death to leave the cooking to someone else. We used to have a guy who did all the cooking, cleaning, and laundry. I forget why he quit—maybe the guys wrecked the bunkhouse or complained about the food once too often—but it's been done before. Calvin sort of got drafted into it in the beginning, and if he does decide to retire…” She ended her sentence with a shrug.

“I'm already here,” I finished for her.

“I know it's not the sort of work you've been trained to do,” she said quickly. “And it doesn't pay a whole lot, although it does include room and board. The guys are used to doing their own laundry and keeping the bunkhouse clean—Calvin and our previous foreman had them pretty well-trained—so you wouldn't have to do that. You could just be the cook.”

“I'll think about it.” I'd already given it plenty of thought, almost to the point of volunteering to take care of the chickens as well. However, I didn't want to seem too anxious.

“I'd really be grateful if you did,” she said. “Right now, we've got a good bunch of cowboys. All of them are honest and hardworking, and I want to keep them happy. I was afraid Joe would quit when he started dating my friend Jenny. He hasn't asked her to marry him yet, but it's only a matter of time before he goes off to help her run her ranch.”

“Wyatt would make a good foreman. The guys seem to listen to him, anyway.”

She frowned. “He doesn't have as much experience as Joe or Bull, but you're right. He's smart and very dependable. Sensible too.” A breath of frustration stirred her bangs. “He's another one I don't want to lose. Just wish Dusty and I could help out as much as we used to. Looking after Dad makes it hard. I don't like leaving him alone for long.”

“He could come down here and hang out with Calvin. That way I could keep an eye on them both.” I smiled, hoping to lighten the mood a bit. “Unless you think they'd get too rowdy for me.”

“I doubt it,” she said, returning my smile. “Sounds like you'd be running an adult day care along with being the cook.”

“There are worse jobs.” At least neither man was crazy or incontinent. They'd be a piece of cake after Grandpa.

“True. I'll see what Dad and Calvin have to say about it. Like I said, Dad still has some old-fashioned attitudes.” She picked up the magazines. “He might consider it beneath his dignity to hang out in the bunkhouse every day.”

“He didn't act like he minded yesterday, although he did seem pretty tired.”

“Hmm…” She paused, chewing on a thumbnail while the wheels turned in her head. “Maybe we could make up a place for him to nap here in the bunkhouse—God knows there are plenty of extra beds—and maybe get another recliner for the mess hall. I could tell Dad that Calvin could do with some company during the day to keep his spirits up. Might be good for both of them.”

I nodded my agreement and went on with the dinner preparations, thankful that Wyatt had put in his Caesar salad request before I went to the store, otherwise we would have had to make do with makeshift croutons and less-than-authentic dressing. I measured out the ingredients for the dressing and put them in the food processor with my mind focused on the actual task for once. What happened next was up to Calvin and Angela. I would help them in any way I could, but the decisions weren't mine to make.

Oh, who was I kidding? I wanted to
do
something. I wanted to tell the police what I suspected and insist that they put out an APB for that Duane dude. I wanted to call Jeannine's lawyers directly and find out what, if anything, she had bequeathed to Calvin. Whatever decisions Wyatt and I made regarding our relationship would happen in their own time, and while I was as anxious to embark on my happily ever after as any single woman, knowing there was something I could do about Calvin's situation was about to drive me up the wall.

The search for Calvin's next of kin had been tedious and time-consuming, but at least I'd been actively doing something. Now I was in a holding pattern, leaving it all up to someone else to decide, and I didn't like that feeling one tiny little bit. I'd enjoyed the search, the chase, the challenge—perhaps I should've been a detective rather than a computer geek.

I scraped the salad dressing into a jar and put it in the fridge, then set about washing the food processor, all the while wondering what was taking Angela so long. Their conversation might be none of my business, but that didn't stop me from wanting to barge in on it. Instead, I got out the loaf of French bread I'd bought that morning and began cutting half of it into cubes. I was toying with the idea of using the remainder for cheesy garlic bread when Angela returned.

“I told Calvin about the guy asking about him at the hospital. He said he doesn't know anyone named Duane.” She hesitated. “He also told me his sister's lawyers are looking for him.”

“I was hoping he'd tell you about that. He seemed so reluctant to contact them. Said he'd think about it.”

“Yeah, well, hearing about Duane must've helped him make up his mind. He said for you to go ahead and send them an email.”

“Thank God.” The sense of relief was overwhelming, like getting the all clear after a near miss by a tornado or a bomb threat. “Although it might be best if he called them unless he has his own email address. Otherwise, they might think I was poking my nose into something that was none of my business.”

“I'll let you two work that out,” she said. “I've got to get back to the house and finish up the payroll or none of you will get paid on Friday. I'll see what Dad has to say about the ‘day care' idea.” She giggled. “Of course, I won't put it that way. I'll make it sound like he'd be helping Calvin with his recovery and rehabilitation.”

“Sounds good.” I wiped my hands on the barbecue-style apron I'd purchased that morning, which, unlike some of the others I'd considered, was more serviceable than witty. It even had pockets and matching oven mitts. “So Calvin didn't have any idea who Duane might be?”

“No.” She cocked her head to one side, putting me in mind of an inquisitive robin. “But I'm guessing you do.”

“It's all conjecture, of course. I mean, he might simply be a friend of the family like he said. But he could also be Calvin's great-nephew or even a detective hired by Jeannine's lawyers.”