One Heart to Win (27 page)

Fighting back tears, Tiffany shook her head. “Sam—”

He looked angry as he stood up. “This isn’t over, Tiff. It’s not right you lying to Pa and impersonating a housekeeper for the Callahans.
You
think about that. But I won’t say anything—for now.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

T
IFFANY WAS TOO NERVOUS
to stay in bed after her brother slipped out of her room. She should have escorted him out of the house to make sure he made it safely. But she’d realized that too late, so she walked back and forth between her two corner windows instead even though she couldn’t see a darn thing out in the yard other than the guard walking by with his lantern.

The sudden light coming from the kitchen below made her blanch, it was so similar to what she’d seen the night of the fire. But no one would dare try that again with the house being guarded now. It could just be the guard, but she hadn’t thought he was patrolling inside the house, too. . . . Oh, God, had Sam been caught? She had to find out!

Tiffany threw on her petticoat and grabbed her traveling jacket—why hadn’t she thought of telling Mrs. Martin to make her a robe, too!? She looked ridiculous. She didn’t care. At least she wasn’t flying downstairs in her underwear again.

She burst into the kitchen just as Hunter was stepping out
the back door. He must have heard her because he turned and asked, “What are you doing down here?”

“I heard a noise.”

“Yeah, so did I. It was nothing, go back to bed.” He didn’t look as if he thought it was nothing. He looked tense, and he’d been going out to investigate—where he might run into her brother. . . .

She had to give Sam time to get away! Desperate to keep Hunter from going outside, she ran across the room and threw her arms around his neck. “Don’t leave me alone!”

He put his arms around her, not hesitating even a moment. But she was obviously confusing him and he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“You—that is, the light you brought into the kitchen. I could see it from my window. It made me think we were on fire again.”

He choked out a laugh. “We just might be.” At her gasp he said, “I didn’t mean that literally—never mind. Come here.”

He led her to a kitchen chair, sat down on it, and pulled her onto his lap. He kept one arm around her back while he began to rub her shoulder and arm soothingly with his other hand. He wasn’t exactly caressing her, but it seemed as if his touch could easily become a caress, and she was leaning against his chest—his very bare chest. He’d come downstairs in just his pants tonight. She was beginning to feel embarrassed for having thrown herself at him, no matter the reason. Or was she just too shy to admit she was glad to have had an excuse to do that?

“I’m surprised you were scared, considering how brave you were last night.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“That fire was already burning. I reacted without thinking. I just wanted to put it out before it got any bigger.” She took a deep breath, inhaling his distinctive scent of leather and pine trees. She loved the way he smelled.

“You’re braver than you think—but I kind of like you coming to me when you think you aren’t.”

She didn’t have to see his smile to know it was there when he said that. She felt a little bad for deceiving him tonight. Not that she hadn’t been frightened—for her brother. Sam should have made his escape by now. It was time to get up and go back to her room.

“I guess it will just take a little while to get over being jittery at every noise or unexpected light in the house,” she said with a smile, leaning away from him.

That was probably her biggest mistake because now she could see just how attractive he was, and she wasn’t hurrying to get off his lap. She gazed in fascination at his bare, muscular chest and arms, his strong, wide shoulders, the thick cords of his neck, and his handsome face. His blue eyes captured hers and wouldn’t let go. Was that the heat of desire in his eyes or a reflection of the lantern light? It was a breathless moment. She reminded herself that he didn’t know who she was and that he wouldn’t like her if he did. But he liked Jennifer. Why couldn’t she be the real Jennifer for just a little while tonight?

“Jenny,” he said softly.

It was as if he’d just answered her question, given her permission to do as she pleased. She didn’t stop him from drawing her closer to him again; no, she threaded her fingers through his long, dark hair and held on tight as his mouth claimed hers.

His kiss was gentle at first, then turned strong and probing
as his tongue pressed against her lips until they parted. Passion exploded for both of them. For long moments it engulfed them and neither of them seemed able to get enough of the other. Hunter ran his hands up and down her back as he deepened the kiss. Her hands clutched his shoulders as every nerve in her body sizzled with each thrust of his tongue. He was the one who finally tempered it, probably because he didn’t want to frighten her. He didn’t know she was beyond that point. But she was too inexperienced to do anything other than let him be her guide.

He pushed back her jacket and the straps of her chemise with it, then put his mouth on her bare shoulder, kissing her and leaving a mark before he moved his lips to her neck. She was trembling inside as Hunter continued to kiss her and softly stroke and caress her. He excited her in ways she’d never dreamed of. He was so big, so strong, more handsome than any other man she’d ever encountered—and he wanted her.

She felt him pulling the ties to her chemise, loosening it, and then his large hand was cupping one of her breasts. She gasped. His fingers moved to her nipple, gently circling it, igniting hot sensations that skittered through her body and made her gasp even more loudly. They both heard the footsteps at the same time. She inhaled sharply and started to get up, but he pulled her closer to him to cover her bare breasts as the guard passed by the kitchen windows.

Her heart was pounding. She was still panting as the footsteps faded and she leaned back again.

Hunter gave her a regretful smile. “Probably just as well. I was getting a little carried away.”

What an understatement—that’s what she wanted to say but she couldn’t get any words out. She simply clutched the
edges of her chemise closed and hurried out of the room and back upstairs. Now she was assailed with a double dose of guilt, for asking Sam to keep her secret and for giving Hunter the wrong impression. For God’s sake, she’d only met the man three days ago! And she had no intention of marrying him. How could she give in to forbidden urges? She’d even talked herself into allowing it! What was wrong with her? She was playing with fire.

This had to end, and sooner than fifty-seven days from now. She was going to write another letter to her mother tomorrow. This time she’d tell her everything, all the horrors she’d witnessed, the fear she’d suffered, and what she was having to endure, dishwashing and all, just to avoid Frank Warren and find a way to end the feud without marriage. She’d tried to spare her mother additional worry, but it was too much for her to bear alone anymore. If Rose heard it all, she would release Tiffany from her promise. Before she left, she’d set these people down at a table and get them to resolve what should never have become a feud in the first place. Then she’d go home without a single regret. . . .

Chapter Thirty-Five

T
IFFANY
’
S SECOND LETTER TO
her mother was long and had to be worded just right. She couldn’t finish it all in one sitting because she had to prepare her first breakfast for the entire household. She served eggs, fresh-baked bread that came out perfect this time, and beef that Andrew offered to grill in the backyard so they wouldn’t have to overheat the kitchen by lighting the fireplace. It turned out so well that not even Hunter’s risqué remark that the eggs weren’t the best thing he’d ever tasted in the kitchen, a reference to what she’d foolishly let happen last night, didn’t ruin her good mood.

It did embarrass her, though. A little. What had embarrassed her even more was her first sight of Hunter that morning and realizing how eager she’d been for it. She’d played with fire last night, and that flame would burn out of control if she couldn’t tamp down these inappropriate feelings he kept stirring in her.

But her day was full enough to keep those thoughts away. After breakfast she had to get dinner started early, since she was
going to make a roast. Just to make sure it didn’t turn into another disaster, she visited Mary again.

Tiffany was still trying to avoid telling Hunter’s mother that she couldn’t cook, but she’d figured out a way to get some help from her without directly asking for it.

“I’m going to make a roast tonight. There are many ways to do so, but I wondered if you had a favorite recipe of your own that I could try out?”

“I have many, but it’d be hard to explain them unless I was right there with you in the kitchen. I didn’t actually cook for my family, you know. Zachary’s father, Elijah, had his own cook, and she made the trip here with us. When she retired, I thought I might start cooking for the family. My mother did teach me how. But Zachary went and hired another cook, and, well—I’d actually rather be out on the range, anyway.”

“You—work with cattle?” Tiffany asked incredulously.

Mary smiled. “Herding isn’t hard work, dear. Lets me spend more time with Zach, and I love the outdoors. I don’t get involved with the spring branding, but roping stray calves to bring them back to their mothers is fun. You should have one of the boys show you how sometime.”

Tiffany decided this ludicrous idea didn’t merit a comment, and she’d gotten sidetracked. She needed recipes, not tips on roping cattle. That cookbook she’d bought just gave her bare basics or too many choices to vary a dish by adding this, or this, or that, but never saying just how much of those ingredients to add. Of course the book did sort of stress up front the value of experimenting, but she didn’t have time for experimenting. She wanted her dishes to come out right the first time around, not five ruined meals later.

“So you don’t actually have any suggestions for the roast tonight?”

“My mother preferred to prepare her roasts in a Dutch oven, with just a bay leaf, garlic . . . oh, and she always poured in some red wine, about half a cup.”

So
that’s
why there was wine in the pantry! But Mary suddenly frowned thoughtfully, adding, “Old Ed had his own Dutch oven, but he probably took it with him. The one my mother left me is in the attic. You might want to fetch it, unless you traveled with your own?”

Tiffany stared at her blankly. Travel with an oven? Would she even know what a Dutch oven was if she saw it? Andrew might. She could send him up to the attic for it. But while she had a sort-of-recipe for tonight, that wasn’t going to help her tomorrow.

So she shook her head in regard to having her own oven and said, “I’ll try adding the wine tonight. Do you have any other recipes you’d care to share?”

“As I said, my mother taught me and she was a damn fine cook, but it’s all up here.” Mary pointed at her head.

“Perhaps you could write a few down for me?”

Mary chuckled. “It’s hard to describe a pinch of this and a dash of that when it comes to spices. And it’s all in the measurements, you know. Put in too much and you ruin a dish, put in too little and you also ruin it. But I’ll be back on my feet before the wedding. I can show you then.”

The damn wedding. And that wasn’t going to help Tiffany now. Actually . . . “You might consider trying to sort out those dashes and pinches on paper,” she remarked with a smile. “Imagine what a wonderful gift it would make for your future daughters-in-law.”

She’d managed to surprise Mary. “I’ll be damned, gal, that is a right fine idea. I’ll see what I can figure out and then you can make copies for yourself, too.”

Tiffany stood up to leave, pleased she
was
going to get what she came for—hopefully soon. But then she remembered the letter to her mother that she’d started. If it got her the desired result, which was permission to go home, Mary here was probably the only one who could make her trip home guilt-free.