Rawhide and Roses (5 page)

Food preparation and child development had been her specialty classes. Her mother thought it was so mundane but finally condescended that it was good preparation for her own family, someday. It mattered not at all that her job gave her such satisfaction.

Over the years, as she’d realized that she had a knack for talking to teens and that they actually listened, she’d earned her counselor’s certificate. And though sometimes draining, both mentally and physically, she’d found even more fulfillment in that position.

She’d start her eighth school year this fall.

Her mother kept nagging her about when she was going to find a husband and stay home and have babies. Why couldn’t her mother see that she could do both?

Assuming, of course, that there was a man out there she’d entertain the thought of having babies with.

The men she’d dated over the past few years filled her mother’s expectations explicitly. But they hadn’t met any of Kim’s needs. There had been no man to spark any kind of lasting fire inside her. And she’d just about giving up finding the one who possessed all the right qualifications.

It was just that all those things, the house on the east side and the perfect man and all—everything her mother epitomized as essential for a successful life—were exactly where she’d always expected she’d end up. But sometimes she wished for something more. Something out of the realm of her secure circle of existence.

Was there more out there? Was there life beyond her Buffy Bluegrass upbringing?

An hour later, as Kim stood looking out the bunkhouse door toward the corral, she watched the moon rise in the night sky, a golden orb set in ebony. The western horizon held a subtle pink glow left from the sun that had slipped beneath it a while earlier. Before long, even that was gone. One by one the stars above twinkled and popped until they burst through the night with sparkling speed. They did that until the sky was full, like tiny, shimmering sequins against a black satin dress.

There was no denying the west was a beautiful place. Kim sighed. Perhaps under different circumstances, if there was someone special to share it with....

Then she saw them on the far side of the corral, and a bittersweet silence fell over her as she watched Jillie step closer to Mack, and they embraced in a long and thorough kiss.

Chapter Four

It was five a.m. The sun wasn’t even up yet. But Kim was dressed in the tattered, too-large blue jeans and someone’s western cotton shirt, the sleeves of which hung seven inches past her fingertips and had to be rolled up to her forearms for comfort. The broken-in boots Mack had given her were at least a size too big, so she’d stuffed an extra pair of socks in the toes. Her hair strung down on either side of her face because she didn’t have a blow dryer, let alone a curling iron, so she’d just let it hang wet.

And she was staring at two greasy fried eggs which she would swear were staring back at her.

She hated eggs.

Not a happy camper.

With her hands still in her lap, Kim lifted her gaze to the rest of the party surrounding the large plank table. She and Jillie sat on one side of the table, Aaron Johnson and Tim Rumer on the other. Mack sat at the far end to her left, next to Jillie. And at her right elbow, was the high-and-mighty Thad Winchester. The other couple sat toward the end.

Silence ruled the party this morning, a little more subdued than the rowdiness Aaron and Tim had provoked at the supper table the night before. Of course, she’d not joined in the festivities, she was in no mood for merrymaking, and had excused herself after she’d sufficiently picked over her fajitas, rice, and beans.

It was also hard not to notice that the only other person half as subdued as Kim, was Thad. The real life of the party, she thought sarcastically. If he had to smile, his face might crack.

He was obviously not a happy camper, either.

She’d hoped for a nice croissant and jam or perhaps a bagel and cream cheese this morning. A pastry, maybe. Some juice. Even an egg casserole would have been nice. Blueberry muffins. But greasy fried eggs, a choice of equally greasy slices of bacon or slabs of ham, red-eye gravy, and toast slathered with butter were not her cup of tea—and she wasn’t going to eat it. How could the rest of them gobble up this wad of grease? Her nutrition teachers in college would cringe at the thought.

In fact, she would welcome a cup to tea. Not this shoe polish they called coffee.

She cleared her throat and looked at Thad. She knew she was about to embark on territory to which there may be no return. But she couldn’t help it. What was with her, lately? “Ahem. But have any of you ever heard of cholesterol?”

Forks halted in mid air. Chewing stopped. And all eyes were cast toward Kim. What’s the matter with you all, she thought. Haven’t you heard anyone speak before?

After a moment, Thad returned his fork to the side of his plate and continued chewing as he glared at her. “Something wrong with your breakfast?”

Kim huffed. “Breakfast? This is a heart attack on a plate,” she goaded. “I’m not putting this bucket of lard in my body. And if you all knew what was good for you, you wouldn’t either.”

Thad’s gaze narrowed. “I’ll give your regards to the chef,” he returned coldly, then turned back to his breakfast in indifference. “Now, eat up.”

“Chef?” she chimed. “Any self-respecting chef wouldn’t serve up a mess of fat like this. A short-order cook in a greasy spoon, maybe, but no chef.”

In mere seconds, Thad pushed his breakfast away from the edge of the table and stood. Kim took in the stone precision of his face—not even
Mt.
Rushmore
compared to the granite expression he aimed at her. Not a muscle in his face jumped. Not one single whisker above his lip moved. And his eyes, cold and hard, bit at her with the venom of a rattlesnake. She felt Jillie’s fingertips dig into her thigh in a futile attempt to keep her under control.

“Miss Martin. I’ll have you know that the last time I had my cholesterol checked it was well below normal and I’ve been eating this same breakfast for the last thirty-some-odd years of my life. And before you go bad-mouthing the vittles around here, you might want to think a bit about where your next meal is coming from, and that it’s going to be quite a while before you get another one. Around here we eat when it’s there, and when it’s not, we work. So if you would rather work than eat, high-tail your little fanny out to the barn and start packing up the mules. We’ve got a lot of work to do before we set out in an hour and I for one don’t have time to sit here and argue with a woman who doesn’t have the common sense to eat what’s put in front of her, the manners to keep her mouth shut, or the decency to realize you don’t bite the hand that feeds you. Got it?

“And another thing, my cook is the only woman in my forty years who has earned my respect and the only woman I’ve let stay on this ranch for any length of time. I dare say you would be wise not to poke fun at her cooking. Sarah’s not a servant, she’s damned near a member of my family, so keep your comments to yourself like a good, proper, young lady should, or you may find your own self slinging the hash for the next few days. Somehow, I don’t think you’d fare so well.”

Kim eyed him throughout the torrent. With each sentence, she watched his eyes narrow to tiny slits and felt hers doing the same. Where was this anger coming from? Was it just her, or was there something else? Underneath the table, her hands clenched and unclenched into fists, more to help her ease the tension building within than anything. She batted Jillie’s hand away. At that very moment, she hated Thad Winchester with a passion.

“Is that a threat or a promise?” she asked sweetly.

“That’s a promise, honey.”

Honey?

Kim glanced down at her plate of eggs. Slowly, she picked up her fork, stabbed the center of a sunny-side up yolk, and watched the yellow ooze out of it. She cut a thick chunk, then scooped it up on the tines, lifting it in the air near his face. The yolk ran down the fork and small blob splattered on the plate and jumped onto the cuff of Thad’s shirt. He didn’t flinch. Kim shoved it a little closer to his face. She never could pass up a challenge.

“This, is the most putrid piece of slop anyone has ever tried to serve to a person and pass off as food. You may have eaten it for the past thirty-some-odd years, Buster, but I guarantee you, you won’t make it another thirty.”

The granite facade cracked. He exploded up off the table in full force, throwing his arms into the air toward Mack. “That’s it!” He stared straight across the table to his friend. “Take her back now. It’s not going to work!”

“No!” Kim jumped up. All eyes stared back at her in silence. The only person more surprised at her actions than she, was Thad. She angled her body toward him, inching closer. For a second, she thought she sniffed a hint of after-shave. She ignored it. “I’m not going back, and you can’t make me. You offered up a challenge back there a minute ago, are you afraid I’m not up to it?”

“What are you talking about?” he shot back. “You want to be the cook?”

“Hell, yeah!”

“You’d never last,” he chuckled. :You can’t call in take-out in the Gulch.”

“Wouldn’t think of it. Try me, hot shot.”

“You’re on.” With that, he turned on his heel and headed for the door. “Show her the mess gear, Mack. Give her an extra mule. Give her Jethro. He’s used to packing the cook’s gear. Show her the pantry and make sure she’s got what she needs. I expect low fat, gourmet meals while we’re gone. I don’t want to have to worry about my cholesterol for the next thirty years.”
Kim stuck out her tongue at him as he exited the room.

He turned on his heel in the door frame, his gaze riveted on her. “And make sure it’s done by six. We’ve got a schedule to keep.”

****

Most of the food supplies were already sorted out and packed in boxes when Mack led Kim into the kitchen. A woman she suspected was Sarah, a robust woman of about sixty years, with graying hair twisted into a bun at her nape and an apron tied loosely at her waist, stood finishing the breakfast dishes. Her back was to her as Kim entered behind Mack; immediately Kim felt a tremor of guilt as she saw the woman. She really didn’t have a thing against her cooking, just this thing about anything connected with Thad Winchester.

Mack stepped up behind Sarah and laid a hand on her shoulder. Startled, she turned, then her face lit up. “Mack, I do declare, you scared the wits out of me.” Turning then, she spied Kim and smiled even broader. “Ah, the new cook! Where are my manners. Come in. Come in.” She dried her hands on her apron then waved them toward her frantically.

Taken aback at the southern hospitality that flowed out of this lady, Kim felt her stomach turn a flip-flop and sink. Sarah could have been the housemother at her sorority house back in
Lexington
at the
University
of
Kentucky
. She oozed genteel southern mannerisms and politeness, and seemed a bit misplaced here in the west. But she looked perfectly at home in the huge ranch kitchen. Kim felt ill. How could she have been so rude a few minutes earlier? She swallowed. “You heard,” she returned softly.” I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean...”

Shooing Mack out of the way, Sarah stepped closer to Kim. “I know you didn’t mean it. But you sure got Thaddeas riled.” She elbowed Mack in the ribs and giggled. “Haven’t seen him that riled in a ‘coon’s age, have you, Mack?”

Mack grinned and rubbed his cheek as he glanced from her to Kim. “Can’t say that I have, Sarah. Can’t say that I have.”

Then both of them burst into laughter.

Kim stood dumbfounded, her eyes wide and her lips parted. “Uh, so you’re not mad at me?”

Holding her ample sides, Sarah finally stopped laughing and shook her head at Kim “Child, no. A body who could muster that much emotion out of that man has got to be a godsend. Sometimes he’s too much of an old fuddy-duddy.”

Kim looked from Mack to Sarah. “I’m confused.”

Sarah reached over and patted her arm. “It’s just that Thaddeas takes everything so darned seriously. It’s got to be his way or no way. Sometimes I wish he’d find a woman who would take that bull by the horns and tame him a little. Bring him down a notch or two. He’s got some mighty high standards for himself and expects the same for everyone around him. Except for me, of course. “She winked. “I’ve tanned that boy’s hide more times than he cares to remember.”

She turned to Mack as if dismissing her. “Take these boxes out the back door. I’m packing up the meat now. His Highness is probably getting antsy to get on the trail.” She fluttered about the kitchen, as well as a woman of her size could. “Miss Kim and I’ll see if there’s anything else she’s gonna need...heck, I might even give her a few pointers. On the cooking, that is, not Thaddeas—she’s gonna have to figure that one out on her own—but I doubt she’s gonna need ‘em.” She eyed Kim again and smiled. “No, don’t think she needs any help a’tall.”

Kim watched Mack heft a box of food on each hip and exit the door without a backward glance. She looked to Sarah whose twinkling eyes stared back. Then chuckling to herself, Sarah turned away and started for the pantry.

“Nope, don’t think she’s gonna need any help,” she muttered under her breath in a sing-song fashion as her hips swayed in rhythm to her tune.

Somehow, Kim didn’t think she was talking about the cooking.