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Authors: Martha Shields

Tags: #Contemporary, #Romance, #Fiction, #Forever Love, #Adult, #Bachelor, #Single Woman, #Sensual, #Hearts Desire, #Harlequin Treasury, #Series, #Cowboys, #Rescue, #Family Life, #Western, #Rancher, #Rodeo, #Teenage Sister, #Caretaker, #Household, #Manage, #Persuade, #Reconcile, #Relationships, #Marriage Minded, #General Romance, #Silhouette, #1990's

Home Is Where Hank Is (Cowboys To The Rescue 1) (3 page)

BOOK: Home Is Where Hank Is (Cowboys To The Rescue 1)
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“Any more surprises?”
“No.”
“Fine. You’re about half a mile from the house. Make yourself at home. Claire’ll be home from school soon. I’d go in with you, but I was on the trail of some strays when I saw the dust your car stirred up. Don’t want to lose them.”
“You go ahead. Don’t worry about us. We’ll be fine.”
He nodded, then pointed up the road. “You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks, see you later.”
Hank stepped away and winced as the car ground into gear. The worn tires kicked up a few rocks, making his mount shy back, but Hank held on to the reins easily, his attention staying on the bright yellow heap as it clambered over the hill.
The feeling that had punched him in the gut the first time he’d laid eyes on her—the feeling that he’d met his fate headon—came back even stronger than before. She’d been on his mind ever since he’d hired her. He’d told himself he should ride back into town and call the whole thing off, but he hadn’t. He needed a cook.
He tore his gaze from the settling dust, mounted and turned his horse around. The only reason he hired her was to cook. The only reason he suddenly looked forward to going home that night—after so many years of not giving a hoot in hell one way or the other—was so he could sink his teeth into a plate of decent food.
Maybe if he repeated those words often enough, he’d believe it.
 
Sunshine rolled to a stop in front of the last gate, which sat about fifty yards from the house, but Alex barely saw the barrier. Her eyes never left the compound tucked away in a small, wooded valley as she slowly climbed from the car and leaned against the wooden gate.
In the midst of several flat, dark buildings rose a two-story house with a steep-pitched roof. Surrounded by mountains, it sat against a backdrop of timbered peaks. By far one of the largest and oldest houses she’d seen around Dubois, it brought to mind the image of an old Victorian lady who sat sedately in her well-worn, threadbare finery.
The once-white clapboards needed a coat of paint. Dirt covered the wide porch that spanned the front. The flower beds hadn’t been tended in who knew how many years, and a shutter on an upstairs window hung askew.
This home needed someone.
Unbidden, a day at the orphanage floated across Alex’s mind, as clear as if it happened last week. A little girl whom she’d cared for like a mother for over a year had been adopted. Alex still remembered how bereft she felt as she stood at an upstairs window, watching the little girl being carried away in her new daddy’s arms. Tears had streamed down her face, and silent sobs had racked her body as they drove away. She knew she’d never see little Becky again.
Sister Mary Clara found her there and tried to give what comfort she could. “Somewhere in the world is a home for every single person,” the nun had said. “Just be patient, work hard and you’ll find your home. You’ll see.”
She hadn’t thought about that incident in eons. Why would she remember it now?
A loud, complaining yowl broke into her thoughts. Sugar was getting impatient. Opening the gate, Alex returned to the car. Her eyes fell on the house again.
Six years had passed since the orphanage had shut down and she’d been forced to leave the cooking job they’d given her after she turned eighteen. Suddenly Alex realized that during all those years spent drifting from town to town, job to job, she’d been looking for her home, a place that needed her. Not a place that hired her as one of several cooks or waitresses. Not a place that felt sorry for her because her car broke down and she didn’t have the money to fix it. A place that needed her. A place she could call home.
Stunned and a bit frightened, she shook her head vehemently. The Garden of Eden was
not
that place. She was here for one month, that’s all. She had plans, and they did not include a broken-down old house and a cowboy with hungry eyes.
If she’d learned anything the past few years it was that life didn’t hand you anything. You had to work, and work hard, for every scrap you got. She was tired of bouncing around hoping to land in the spot where she belonged. She was going to make her own home. After learning all she could from Monsieur Buchaude, she was going to open her own restaurant.
Alex loved to cook; had, ever since her mother had first sat her on the counter when she was six and let her stir the soup. Though it had become a necessity instead of playtime—first when her mother got sick, then helping out at the orphanage—she still loved to create good things that people enjoyed eating.
She hadn’t decided exactly where to open her restaurant, but it would be her home and her customers would be her family.
Alex wrestled the car into first gear. “Life on the road must be getting to me, Sugar. I’m beginning to hallucinate. This is just a ranch that’s seen better days. It’s not our home.”
As she rolled up to the house, however, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the grand old lady was opening her arms in welcome.
Chapter
Two
E
ven though the house beckoned, Alex was reluctant to enter with no one home. So she made a circuit of the ranch buildings.
Just after she returned to the car and pulled Sugar out, she heard the unmistakable sound of a vehicle coming down the drive. She ran to open the gate with the cat in her arms. A battered black truck came barreling down the drive and screeched to a halt at the open gate.
A young woman stuck her head out the window. Her straight, dark brown hair was pulled back into a thick braid, and her deep blue eyes were wide. “You can’t be the new cook! You’re not supposed to be here until tomorrow.”
Alex blinked at the shocked tone. “I came as soon as Zeke fixed my car. Am I too early?”
“I’ll say! I didn’t have a chance to clean up the dishes from breakfast before I left for school.” The girl pushed back a strand of hair that escaped her braid and looked Alex over. “Besides, you’re not any older than I am.”
“I’m eight years older than you, if you’re Claire.”
“Oh, I’m not disappointed. I’m thrilled! It’s just that I was expecting another one like Mrs. Johnson.”
“Is that bad?”
The young woman rolled her eyes. “Come on. I’ll ride you to the house.”
“That’s all right, I can wal—”
The truck took off, leaving Alex’s words in the dust. It slammed to a stop on the other side of the gate, so Alex swung the gate shut and climbed in.
“You are Claire, right?” Alex said as the truck sped down the drive.
The girl threw her a sheepish look. “Sorry. I was so surprised I forgot my manners. Yeah, I’m Claire Eden, and I sure am glad to see you, even if you’re only going to be here a month.”
“Because I can cook?”
Claire smiled easily. “Well, that’s a big part of it. I hate to cook worse than the boys hate to eat what I cook. But it’s more than that.”
“Oh? What?” Alex held on to Sugar with both hands as Claire barreled around the house. She closed her eyes, certain they would go straight through the other side of the garage. As they skidded to a stop, Alex stiffened her feet against the floorboard to keep from flying through the windshield. Slitting one eye, she peeked around nervously. The front bumper couldn’t be more than a few inches from the back wall.
Claire stared thoughtfully at the wheel as if nothing unusual had happened. “Hank’s hiring you means he finally realizes I’m grown up. All the others were part cook and part babysitter.”
“All the others?” Alex repeated. “How many were there?”
“Eight.” Claire gathered her books from the seat between them. “You’re the ninth cook we’ve had in eight years. That’s a beautiful cat. What happened to its ear?”
“I don’t know. It was already gone when I found him,” she replied absently.
Eight cooks!
What had she gotten herself into?
“Can I pet him?”
“Sure. Sugar’s a good cat.”
Claire rubbed Sugar’s head, then opened her door and set off for the house. “Come on, I’ll show you where to put your stuff.”
“Why eight cooks?” Alex asked as she followed Claire up the steps. This porch mirrored the one on the front of the house, except for a swing at one end.
Her hand on the screen door, Claire turned to look at Alex. A frown drew her brows together, and she shook her head. “I don’t want to scare you away.”
“Is the house haunted or something?”
Claire smiled wryly. “Let’s just say that when we sit down to supper tonight, the words
pig trough
will probably cross your mind.”
 
The kitchen window had a perfect view of the main barn, a detail Alex suspected one of the Eden wives had planned carefully. She knew exactly when the men rode in that evening. The three single hands rode more or less abreast, laughing and joking. Hank came in ten minutes later.
A shiver of anticipation skimmed over her skin.
Appalled by this reaction, she turned away from the window and grabbed a heavy stoneware pitcher. She filled the pitcher with cold water, then strained the steeped tea into it. As she poured it into six goblets, Claire pushed open the door from the dining room.
“Are you out of your mind?”
Alex’s eyes grew wide. They’d had a nice long talk that afternoon while Claire showed her around the house. Alex thought they were well on their way to becoming friends, so she asked with trepidation, “What?”
“Grandma’s china and a linen table cloth? For cowboys?”
“That’s bad?”
“It is for these cowboys. Come on, we have to change everything fast.”
Alex threw a look out the kitchen window. She didn’t see anyone heading toward the house yet, so she hurried into the dining room.
“I was just trying to dress things up a little.” She scraped all the silver together as Claire stacked the dishes. “I didn’t mean to hurt anything.”
“I know. I should’ve warned you earlier. These guys descend on a table like a plague of locusts.”
They had everything put away and earthenware plates around the table by the time the back door creaked open.
“Ouuu-weee! Don’t that smell good?”
“Sure does. I’ll bet my silver spurs our new cook rode in today.”
“Hell, Jed. That ain’t no bet. You could tell it ain’t Claire’s cookin’ cause there ain’t no smoke floating out the door.”
Alex threw Claire a sympathetic glance, but the girl just shrugged, picked up the large bowl of mashed potatoes and pushed her way into the dining room. Alex followed with a plate of biscuits. She set them on the table, then turned to greet the hands who stomped noisily down the hall.
She smelled them before she saw them. The acrid scent of sweat mixed with the earthy odors of manure and dirt drifted in ahead of three cowboys. Alex flexed the fingers that wanted to scratch her nose as they filled the doorway. Stair-stepped in height, they all wore jeans showing a thick coating of dust and hats that threw their faces into shadow. Long-sleeved Western-style shirts showed stains of sweat, and boots caked with dirt still had spurs attached.
The three stopped as one and stared at her as if they saw a ghost. Alex stared back, wondering if they were the Three Stooges or the Three Musketeers.
“This here’s the new cook, boys,” Claire told them. “Alexandra Miller.”
“Hey,” she said nervously. “Y’all call me Alex.”
“What’s the matter, boys?” Claire taunted. “Cat got your tongues?”
The shortest cowboy recovered first. With black eyes and sandy blond hair that stuck out at odd angles, he came forward and tipped his hat. “Howdy, ma’am. I’m Buck. I don’t know what sight’s purtier, you or that plate of steaks.”
The tallest came next. Skinny as the railings supporting the banister, with a large nose and a prominent Adam’s apple bobbing in his neck, he resembled the image Alex had always had of Ichabod Crane.
“I’m Jed. Pleased to meet ya.”
“I’m Derek,” the next one said. Though not the tallest, his black hair and mustache, coupled with green eyes, would make him stand out in any crowd. “The boss sure pulled one over on us this time. We thought you was a heifer like the last—oops, pardon me, ma’am. Don’t mean to speak ill of the departed.”
“The last cook
died?
” Alex asked in alarm.
Claire glared at Derek. “Of course not. She moved to Texas to be with her grandbabies.”
He grinned. “Well, she departed, didn’t she?”
The atmosphere suddenly changed, and Alex knew before she turned that Hank stood in the doorway. She had the same sensation she’d had at the café and in her car. Electricity surged from him. It flowed around her like an aura, making her skin tingle. She turned to find his eyes on her.
Had she thought Derek handsome? That cowboy faded into the yellowed wallpaper when Hank walked into the room.
“’out time you made it in, boss,” Derek complained. “We’re starving.”
Claire poked Derek as she walked to her chair. “You’re always starving.”
“That’s right, little filly. Starving for you.” Derek shot out an arm to capture her waist, but Claire eluded him.
“But not my cooking.”
He grinned and pulled out her chair. “That don’t matter. I can cook.”
“What, beans?”
He sat in the chair next to her. “Any way you like ’em.”
The other hands took the chairs across the table, but Hank paid them no mind. His attention stayed on a pair of golden-brown eyes that wouldn’t let go of his. He’d seen this woman a total of two times and already she seemed familiar. She’d bound her chestnut hair with a rubber band like the first time he’d seen her. His fingers ached to remove it, to see the light shimmering down the waves like it did that afternoon.
He forced his boots across the floor and found himself removing his hat. “I see you made it in okay.”
She nodded. “Claire came home soon after I arrived. I didn’t have to wait outside long.”
“Why didn’t you just come on in? The door’s never locked.”
A frown wrinkled her forehead. “I couldn’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“She’s got some manners,” Claire said, slapping Derek’s hand off the biscuits. “Unlike some people around here.”
Hank gave them a granite stare, then turned back to Alex. “Claire get you settled in, then?”
“Oh, yes, I’m all unpacked.”
Her soft drawling voice melted around him like the sun on a warm summer day. “We appreciate you cooking tonight, seeing as how you just got in.”
“That’s my job, isn’t it?”
He nodded, then the hands began to complain about delaying supper. “We’ll talk after we eat.”
He placed a hand at the small of her back and walked her around to the empty chair at the end of the table nearest the kitchen. Releasing her reluctantly, he pulled out the chair.
Alex quickly sat. She murmured a brief thank you, then pulled her napkin out as Hank moved to his seat at the other end.
The hands reached for the nearest platters of food but stopped when he cleared his throat. “Let’s say grace first, boys.”
They looked at him as if he’d declared he was half Brahma bull. He stared each of them into removing their hats and bowing their heads. Alex and Claire smiled at him, then lowered their heads. Hank bowed his own head and tried to remember prayers his father had uttered. Failing that, he settled for a shorter, customized version of the prayer he’d heard at countless rodeos.
When he finished, Alex raised her head, smiling at the unique prayer. She opened her mouth to comment on it, but instead her jaw fell slack.
The men attacked the food as if they hadn’t been fed in a week. Forks and serving spoons blended with hands and arms as they vied to see who could fill his plate the fastest. They looked like a pack of dogs descending on one bowl of food.
Making no attempt to join the fray, Alex caught Claire’s eye.
The girl leaned over. “I told you.”
“Is it always this bad?”
Claire nodded. “Better get. some food while the getting’s good. There won’t be a crumb left in five minutes.”
Alex grabbed a biscuit as the plate passed, then settled back in her chair to watch the men consume their food with voracious appetites. Nobody said a single word until every scrap had disappeared down their gullets. The only male that had a modicum of manners was Hank. Though he didn’t say anything, either, he didn’t act like a lion about to devour a Christian.
When all was gone, they looked at her expectantly.
She chuckled. “Yes, I made dessert.”
They yahooed as she went to get two warm cheese pies.
 
“Sure was tasty, Alex,” Jed said as he rose from the table. “You even cooked the steaks right.”
“Claire told me you like them just this side of charred.”
“Well, we’re mighty glad you’re here.”
Jed’s words caught Alex off guard. How long had it been since someone cared whether she was around or not? But instead of making her happy, the warm, fuzzy feeling frightened her. She didn’t belong with these people. This was just a temporary job. After she said goodbye four weeks from now, she’d probably never see them again.
She stood abruptly to gather the dinner plates. “Thanks, Jed.”
The other hands added their compliments as they followed Jed out.
“You coming, boss?” Buck asked as he paused in the doorway.
Hank leaned back in his chair. “I’ll be along directly. Get that new mare warmed up and the calves in the pen.”
Alex had learned that the three hands worked on this ranch because of the time Hank spent with them on their roping and riding skills as they trained stock for the rodeo. Every night after supper, they turned on the floodlights illuminating the large corral and worked on roping calves or riding wild horses.
BOOK: Home Is Where Hank Is (Cowboys To The Rescue 1)
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