Pinch of Naughty (3 page)

Cyrus’ eyes lingered on her lips, enjoying the brush of air she’d shared while trying to best him. For all her starch, she wasn’t much more than a girl.
A grass widow, huh? Guess she’s right. If her once-husband’s dead, one way or another, she’s a widow and a woman of experience.
Interest tickled inside him. “How old are you, Mrs. Lacey?”

Her gaze shifted to his nose. That didn’t surprise him. He was proud of its prominence. He looked down its length and intercepted her glance, releasing her chin to grasp her shoulders.

He watched her gaze trail lower, stopping on the tuft of hair showing where his shirt opened at the neck. She seemed mesmerized.

“Your age, Mrs. Lacey?” He wondered how long it would take her to answer. Twin splashes of red marked her cheekbones as the simple question seemed to stymie her.

“Mrs. Lacey, tell me your age right now.” Damned if a female couldn’t turn a straightforward question into a goddamned tussle for control. And the sparring only incited his lust. His cock was at full sail and one taste of her had made him want more.

Wonder if her lower curls are as soft as the hair on her head.
He thought of the silk scarves stored in his closet and imagined Mrs. Lacey tied to his bed, spread-eagled and squirming as he trailed feathers across her peach-colored skin.

He studied the stray tendrils on her neck before his gaze traveled up to the hat she was righting. When she finished it was just as prim and tight as it had been when she’d arrived. The lips he’d plundered moments before were set in a grim line and a hint of tears sparkled in her eyes. Sadly he discarded ideas about feathers and fun. All he needed now was for her to start bawling and he’d haul her back to town himself.

Eleanor couldn’t think with Mr. Burke glowering down at her. The truth was, she was fuddled from his kiss. She stammered her answer, bending backward to avoid the nose hovering above hers. “What difference does it make?”

When he remained aggressively close, she said hurriedly, “I am twenty-nine.”

He stepped away and Eleanor forced her eyes up from the tanned skin on his neck to meet his wintry glance.
After all that forceful intimidation, my age didn’t even matter.
She could see it in his eyes.
It was just a petty show of authority.

“You satisfied with the pay?” Mr. Burke’s voice dripped sarcasm.

Eleanor nodded her head mutely. She didn’t know how much he paid but any wage was more than the nothing currently in her reticule.

“Mrs. Lacey, if I let you play at housekeeper for two weeks, slinging hash, scrubbing floors and tending my needs, I don’t want any whining about the requirements.”

“Thank you, Mr. Burke, I appreciate the opportunity,” she said sedately. Aware of the sly gleam in his eye, she tensed, waiting for another sneak attack. He’d already proven himself to be unpredictable and erratic.

“You can audition today. Finish those dishes for a start.”

“Uh…of course,” she stuttered. “I-I’ll do that right now. From the appearance of your kitchen, I’ve arrived none too soon.” Eleanor almost slithered to the floor in a puddle of relief.

She hesitated and then asked, “I have everything I need with me in my satchel. Shall I select a bedroom to use?”

“Suit yourself,” he drawled, stepping close again and peering into her eyes. “You have a first name, or am I supposed to keep calling you Mrs. Lacey when we fuck?”

She was shocked scarlet by his crude words.
He’s attempting to scare me away again.
Refusing to be baited, she replied primly, “My name is Eleanor. I’ll call you Mr. Burke, as any good domestic would.” She folded her hands, pretending servile humility, refusing to allow him the pleasure of flustering her more.

He made a noise Eleanor could describe only as a growl and headed for the back door. Before he exited, he picked up his hat and said grimly, “Guess you can figure out what needs done.”

Relieved that they had finalized the difficult interview, she offered him her hand. He ignored it, giving her orders all the way out the door.

“Have supper ready at sundown. This place is a mess, so get busy on that too. There’s a pile of clothes…”

Eleanor blinked as the door shut, leaving her with what she’d bargained for. She looked around the disastrous filth she’d agreed to clean, hoping the local gossips had been right about the generous salary he paid his housekeepers.
He thinks he’ll chase me away before I collect my wages.
I’ll show the swine!

Eleanor swept the dirt before her, attacking the task at hand with fortitude.
Pushy? I wish I could beat him over the head with this broom.
She vented her frustrations on the room, removing one layer of grime at a time until the kitchen was clean enough to cook in. Only the lower rooms in the house had been abused. Her quick peek on her trip upstairs had found bedrooms that were dusty but neat and orderly.

It had taken only moments to hang her one change of clothes in a closet, don her work gloves and return to the kitchen. She carried in the supplies, set the canned beans and peaches in the pantry and looked for more inviting food to prepare.

Outside, a garden provided fresh vegetables. The icehouse was filled with smoked meat and rounds of beef. Inside, the pantry held flour, sugar and spices, and she found a basket of semi-fresh eggs hidden under some dirty linens on the counter.

After the meal was organized, Eleanor remembered the laundry he’d mentioned. There were not enough hours in the day to complete all his assigned tasks but when the ranch hands rode into the barn lot at dusk, she felt she had given him his money’s worth.

He’d said fifteen hands which meant sixteen employees to feed, counting Mr. Burke. Eleanor calculated the size of portions to be served after considering the brisk intake of William’s friends. She’d supervised the preparations of the robust amounts of food they’d consumed.

All was prepared and waiting when the cowboys came through the kitchen. Although she was at the stove with her back turned when her employer walked in, she already recognized his step, his scent and the aura of power surrounding him.

His tread vibrated through the floor, sending tingles of alarm along her spine as he crossed the room and stopped next to her at the sink. The remembered taste of Mr. Burke made Eleanor swallow nervously. As she peeked sideways, he rolled his sleeves to his elbows before lathering, scrubbing and rinsing away grime.

Her gaze crawled from his calloused hands up bronzed forearms, clinging there like lead filings stuck to a magnet. Instead of experiencing panic, fear or disgust, her body flooded with heat.

Cyrus inspected the kitchen before he glanced at her and asked, “Supper on?”

Eleanor resisted the urge to smooth her hair and straighten her apron as he casually studied her appearance. “Yes, Mr. Burke,” she replied, as crisply professional as possible.

“Good, I’m hungry.” He pitched the drying towel in a crumpled heap on the counter and walked into the dining hall.

For such a brawny man, he moved with an almost sinuous grace. His denims hugged his long frame, outlining strong thighs and the firm bottom Eleanor admired all the way through the door.

As soon as it closed behind him, she grabbed the cloth he’d discarded, burying her face in the damp folds to cool her cheeks and tame her rioting thoughts.
His arms look like sculpted metal.
Eleanor fanned herself with the towel and listened.
I need to compose myself.

It was very silent in the room. She had anticipated loud talk from the cowboys. William’s friends had been increasingly raucous as they ate and drank wine. Of course this was a different setting and coffee was the beverage not alcoholic spirits.

Were they enjoying the sautéed carrots, cauliflower drizzled with hollandaise sauce and roasted beef?  She’d garnished each plate attractively with a sprig of mint from her own supplies brought along to decorate her Saturday and Wednesday pastry order.

I will speak to Mr. Burke about continuing my baking for Mabl
e—
but not yet.
Another conversation with him so soon was impossible. Eleanor stood smoothing the wrinkled linen, wondering about the night duties
. He expects me to renege. Well, I won’t. Five minutes in his bed and off to my own. It will be nothing more than a minor irritation.

Satisfied she had that plan under control, Eleanor focused on the dining hall. Although she strained to hear, nothing more than an occasional clink of cutlery against plates drifted to her. Filled with worry that the meat had been undercooked or the vegetables too done, she carried the coffeepot into the room, preparing to replenish their cups.

Mr. Burke was at the head of the table in a chair fit for his size—
a king among minions
.
As one of the minions, she waited humbly for comments on her meal.

“Where’s the rest of the food?” When she stared dumbly at him, cold chills rippling through her, he spoke impatiently. “Bring the bowls in here and we’ll serve ourselves. From now on, don’t be divvying up portions like that. And take this out of here.” He handed her the artful centerpiece she’d made from paper and cloth. “Henley tried to eat it.”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t allow for the appetites of your men. There is no
rest of the food
.”

“Well, damn. That’s it?”

“Boys.” Cyrus got the crew’s attention, which wasn’t hard since it had taken them no time to polish off the food, scrape the plates and scoop up the crumbs from the hot rolls. The sample had been worth repeating and now they waited expectantly for more.

“Meet the new housekeeper. It appears she fell a mite short in her first meal. Maybe she’ll do better tomorrow morning. Give her the respect she earns and keep your hands to yourselves.” He frowned apologetically at the men.

It was the best he could do in explanations. Hell, the drovers hadn’t yet forgotten his last cook’s shortcomings. Now this. Still, it had been tasty and she’d tried.

He pushed his chair back with a loud scrape, signaling the meal was at an end. She laid a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from rising. “I haven’t served the final course.”

“I thought the food was all gone.” Her small palm resting next to his chin distracted him. He wanted to turn his head and nip it.

“It’s just desserts,” she explained. “But…” She moved her hand before he could sample it, as though fearing he might take a bite before she could scurry back to the kitchen.

“Guess she’s got something else fixed for us. Hold up there, boys, while she brings out her next attempt.” Cyrus scooted closer to the table.

“No wonder your housekeepers don’t stay long, Mr. Burke. You are rude.” Her words were murmured for his ears alone.

“I didn’t hire you to teach me manners, Eleanor.” He didn’t bother to lower his voice when he answered her.

“Mr. Burke, since you are so needy, I’ll throw those in for free.” Her face flushed and her jaw squared. Mrs. Lacey didn’t even try to look chastised.

It had been awhile since anyone had sassed him—probably because he didn’t take to sassing well. On the other hand, the job applicant’s temper kept popping out like the unraveling of a too-tight corset and he suddenly had an interest in hearing more.

Someone at the table snickered. Cyrus sipped his coffee and waited to see what she’d do. It was suddenly important that Mrs. Lacey wasn’t a loose woman. He told himself he wasn’t looking for a woman who’d service the whole ranch crew—just him.

“I have dessert to serve.” Her eyes remained fixed on the table, not him or the men staring at her. Setting the pot of coffee by his arm, she retreated to the kitchen.

Cyrus topped his cup off and pushed the pot toward the next man in line. His belly growled. They ate twice a day and this had been slim pickings for sure. He looked at his empty plate and frowned, as did every man at the table.

“We’ll starve to death if you hire that one, boss.” Jake Connelly, Cyrus’ foreman expressed the opinion of them all.

“Not gonna happen. I need to eat too. Slim, I’ll tell Mable to send out more beans and we’ll make do with your meals until I get a fit housekeeper who can cook.” Cyrus thought of the sweet skin and soft curves he’d be giving up and then shrugged, indicating indifference he didn’t feel.

His strategy worked when fifteen groans, including Slim’s, filled the air.

“What the hell’s taking her so long?” He wanted her employment to appear in jeopardy, although every whiff of lilac he inhaled made her stay a lot more certain.

He stood, strode to the kitchen door and pushed it open, expecting to see a cake the size of a pigeon egg. The scent of cinnamon and apples hit him first and then drifted into the dining hall, interrupting the grumbling going on.

Her face was pink, her upper lip dotted with perspiration and her expression apologetic when she carried in the tray loaded with apple pies straight from the oven.

She set the tray down and cut the three pies in thick wedges of flaky crust and oozing filling. She left, returning with two chocolate cakes and a pile of something she named éclairs.

Excitement filled the air. Cyrus didn’t recognize the name but when he bit into the chocolate shell, cream pudding squirted into his mouth, melting on his tongue before he swallowed. When she set down the bowl of cookies—pecan, his favorite, oatmeal and sugar—he knew he was going to hire her and to hell with what the ranch hands wanted.

Silently she replenished the coffee in the pot and refilled each mug, watching the men anxiously as they devoured the exotic concoctions. Not many had sampled such riches and none, including Cyrus, had ever known anyone who could make them.

“I am terribly sorry to have under-calculated your needs. It’s a mistake I promise I won’t repeat if Mr. Burke gives me the opportunity to continue as his housekeeper.” She’d paused at the door, ignoring Cyrus as she apologized to his ranch hands.

The men licked the tines of their forks, drank fresh coffee and forgave her from sugar-glazed eyes. Reluctantly they stood, filling their pockets with cookies before they left.

Cyrus grabbed a pecan sandy and followed her retreat into the kitchen. Not one to compliment half accomplishments, he reminded her of her lack. “You’ll have to adjust your proportions.”

Taking a bite of the cookie, he chewed it reflectively before judging it the best he’d ever had. Supper had been half measures, but still… He licked sugar from his lips, savored the pecan flavor and remembered the feel of her soft mouth under his.

She moved him aside, stepping around him, shedding his presence as soon as the last man’s departure gave her a reason to leave the kitchen. She paused in her trek to the dining hall to get in a smart remark. “In the future, I’ll cook enough to feed a pack of wolves. Then I’ll fix more for your crew.”