Wish Upon a Cowboy (5 page)

And that shouldn't take more than a couple of weeks.

A brief, half-heard scream began and ended again in a heartbeat's worth of time. Hannah sat straight up and looked around her wildly. What sort of beast had a cry that sounded so… human? And how close by was it? One minute passed, then another. When nothing leaped at her from the shadows, fangs bared, claws outstretched, she slowly began to relax again. At last, she decided that whatever animal had made that noise was far enough away to not be a worry.

Settling back against the trunk of an ancient pine, she again stared down at the ranch house below. The soft, welcoming glow of the lamplight seemed like a golden path laid out for her to follow. Spirals of smoke drifted up from one of the chimneys, carrying the scent of roasting meat and burning wood.

Hannah sniffed the air wistfully, then took a bite of the apple she'd purchased in town. If all went well, she would be in that house tomorrow and she could begin her campaign to win the Mackenzie's heart.

Chapter Three

When the knock on the front door came just as dawn was brushing the sky with soft shades of lavender and rose. Jonas wasn't even surprised.

After all hadn't she warned him she'd be back today?

He crossed the room in a few long steps and threw the door open in time to be met by Hannah's still-raised fist.

Quietly he jerked his head back out of range. She lowered her hand and laughed gently.

"Sorry," she said.

"Somehow," Jonas admitted on a sigh, "I knew it would be you."

She smiled at him, and damned if that smile wasn't even brighter than he'd remembered it to be. He'd been up all night and felt like he'd been dragged behind a running horse through the halls of hell, and she looked fresh as a spring rain.

Her cat mewed suggestively. He looked down in time to watch it sashay past him, pausing only long enough to rub the length of its body against his shins.

He'd forgotten about the blamed cat.

"Good morning," Hannah said and followed her feline inside. He watched her jaw drop as she let her gaze wander around the small, cluttered room. "Oh, my heavens," she whispered as she took a good long look.

He closed the door, turned around, and let himself see the place through her eyes. He understood her soft moan of distress. The dark, smoke-stained walls were split logs with white chinking running like wide stripes between them. A river-stone fireplace took up one whole wall and there were two battered chairs and a short horsehair sofa pulled up in front of it. Four narrow windows let in the growing sunlight through filthy panes of glass and everything from dirty clothes to saddle harnesses were strewn across the hardwood floor.

The cat plopped its behind down in a relatively open spot and immediately started licking its paws in an insult obvious even to Mac.

Rubbing one hand across the back of his neck, he scowled at the mess and wondered how it had gotten so out of hand. Hell, he hardly spent enough time in the room to dirty it, yet somehow it looked as though a tornado had set down square in its center. He bent down to pick up a discarded shirt, then realized it wouldn't make much difference and let it lay.

The cat he ignored.

"It's a… sturdy-looking place," Hannah said.

A tight smile touched his face briefly. Sturdy. Well, it was that, anyway. The roof was sound and he'd made sure the log walls were fit tight to withstand a Wyoming winter. But he knew she'd had to search her mind desperately to find something nice to say.

A curl of shame unwound inside him until he stiffened his spine against the feeling. What did he care that his house was a mess? Or that Hannah Lowell looked as though she wanted to hike her skirts to avoid her dress brushing against the dirty floor? Or that even her blasted animal seemed to be looking down its nose at him?

He hadn't invited them here, had he? And it wasn't as though he had a stream of visitors day in and day out. As busy as he was, he hardly got into town more than once a month, so he damn sure wasn't spending his time socializing with his neighbors… who were just as damned busy as he was anyway.

All he expected out of his house was a roof to keep the snow off and walls to cut the wind that rattled down off the Rockies to drive cold stakes through a man's bones. Later, when he'd built his cattle empire here in this valley, he'd build a fine house. One that people would ride miles to see and admire.

And, he told himself with another glance around the room, he'd damn well hire a woman who would take better care of the place than Juana did. But even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't the older woman's fault. He'd hired her to cook, not clean. And Lord knew, just the cooking for all the men on this place was enough to tire out a much younger woman than she.

While his thoughts were still flying through his mind, Hannah deliberately turned her back on the devastation of the room and faced him. "I came to see if you've changed your mind about offering me a job." Her gaze slid pointedly across the room again. "And it seems that you need more help than you're willing to admit to."

Mac stiffened slightly because he knew what she said was true and didn't want to acknowledge it, even to himself.

"Now, how did you know I'd change my mind?" he asked.

"You have, then?" Her smile brightened considerably, something he wouldn't have thought possible. "Isn't that wonderful?"

"Wonderful?" He reached up and shoved both hands through his hair, squeezing his scalp in a futile attempt to ease the headache pounding inside his skull. "I doubt Juana thinks so." A puny weight settled on his left boot. Jonas looked down and scowled at the cat, which looked to be making itself at home.

"Oh? Is she sick?"

He looked back up at her, his gaze narrowed thoughtfully. The concern in her eyes looked genuine, but she didn't sound surprised that Juana wouldn't be able to do her job. "No," he said, remembering that short-lived scream the night before.

He and Elias had raced outside to find Juana sitting in the dirt, her right foot pulled up into her lap. In the dark, she'd stepped into a gopher hole and twisted her ankle so badly it was swelling to twice its size as they stood there and watched.

After wrapping her injured ankle, Jonas had spent most of the rest of the night delivering Juana to her sister's house, some ten miles away. And there she would stay until she healed enough to come back to work. Which was fine for Juana, but left him up a creek without a boat.

Not only did he have roundup starting in a couple of weeks, but there were twelve hardworking men on his ranch, counting himself and Elias, who would damn well starve to death if forced to eat their own cooking.

Damn, Juana had picked a hell of a time to twist an ankle. And she'd done such a fine job of it, he doubted she'd be in shape in time for roundup.

Every year, the neighboring ranchers took turns hosting the event. Since their spreads were all relatively small yet, it made more sense to work together and complete the job in less time. And, though everyone brought food, it was expected that the host rancher would take care of most of the cooking for the crowd that always showed up.

God knew Juana wouldn't know a broom if it swatted her on the behind, and she'd never find work in a fancy restaurant, but at least her food was plentiful and edible.

He stared at Hannah and didn't know whether she was a gift or a curse. It seemed an odd coincidence that she should turn up in his life right when she was most needed, but then, who was he to say? Stranger things had happened, he guessed. And if she could cook, she was a welcome help at a desperate hour. As long as she was willing to forget all about any talk of marriage and whatnot, he figured they could get along well enough.

If she really could cook.

"Jonas?" Hannah asked, her tone letting him know it wasn't the first time she'd called his name.

"Huh?" He gave his head a shake, hoping to dislodge some of the cobwebs mustying up his brain. It not only didn't work, it quickened the throbbing ache behind his eyes. He had a feeling that nothing short of about ten hours' sleep would help him at this point.

"I asked if Juana was sick," she said slowly, carefully, as she would to a dim-witted child. "Is it a cold?"

Who said anything about a cold? Scowling, he said, "No. She's not sick. She turned her ankle last night."

"No." Surprise widened her eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," he snapped. "I watched it swell up like a toad myself."

"But that's not right."

Odd way to put it, he thought and pulled his foot out from beneath the cat, who merely moved over to take up its roost again. Mac sighed.

"It's not… serious, is it?" she asked, taking a step toward him, concern deepening the color of those green eyes of hers. Her gaze shifted to dart about the cluttered room as if expecting to find the injured woman lying beneath a mound of dirty jeans. "Can I see her?" she asked. "Maybe I can help… I have to help." Shaking her head worriedly, she muttered, "What could have gone wrong this time? I was so careful."

That last sentence almost slipped past him, since the words had come out in a whispered hush of sound. "Gone wrong with what?" he asked. "And you were careful about what?"

Her gaze snapped to his and if he wasn't completely mistaken, he thought he saw a flash of guilt in her eyes. But what the hell did she have to be guilty about? She hadn't dug the gopher hole. If anyone should be feeling badly about this, it should be him. But he'd been so busy getting ready for roundup and doing everything else around here, he'd let the ranch yard fall into disrepair, too.

"Nothing, nothing. It's just… I don't understand," she muttered as if to herself. "It wasn't supposed to be her ankle…"

Oh, he didn't have the time or the patience for this. He was just too blamed tired. "It wasn't supposed to be anything. It was a damned accident. She stepped in a gopher hole on her way to the hen house."

"Where is she?" Hannah asked, still looking around the room.

"She's not here," he said flatly, "so you can quit looking. I drove her to her sister's house last night," he scrubbed both hands across his face and sighed wearily. "I'm sure she's fine and probably sleeping like a baby." Dislodging the cat one more time, he turned for the kitchen, waving at Hannah to follow.

*  *  *

God, he needed sleep. And if not that, then at least coffee. Thick, hot, and black. Gallons of it. Grabbing the pot off the back of the stove, he carried it to the sink and set it down again while he worked the pump. A screech of sound split the air as the iron pump handle groaned into life.

A rush of water splashed into the blackened pot and when it was full he set it aside. Then, bending over, Mac stuck his head beneath the spout and pumped more of the icy well water over the back of his head. A moment later, he came up sputtering, but more awake than before. Frigid droplets of water rolled down beneath the collar of his shirt to snake along his chest and back. He shivered as he turned to face Hannah, just as her cat settled in on his feet again.

"Where's your friend?" she asked. "Elias, is it?"

"Yeah, that's him," he jerked a thumb toward the back door. "He's outside finishing the work on the branding pen."

"He's all right, then?"

‘"Course he is."

"Just making sure," she said. "I feel just dreadful about Juana," she added in a stunned whisper as she took in the state of the big kitchen.

He frowned at the cat and didn't even bother to look around. This room was in worse shape than the main room because this place saw more action. One or more of the men was continually going in and out of the kitchen for coffee or a quick sandwich. At night, he and Elias sat around the table making plans for the ranch as they ate dinner. And, he was forced to admit, Juana wasn't exactly the tidiest cook in the territory.

The chickens she had been working on the night before still lay across the table, plucked and ready to be sliced up for frying. If Hannah didn't cook them, he realized bleakly, the task would fall to him. God help 'em all.

"No reason for you to feel bad," he said, letting his gaze slide away from the chickens. "Juana's fine. In better shape than me, except for that sore ankle."

She inhaled deeply and released the breath on a sigh. "Thank goodness." Stepping farther into the room, she went on. "I didn't want anything to happen to her."

"Why should you? You don't even know her," he rubbed aching eyes, hoping for relief, and was disappointed.

"True," Hannah said as she walked toward him. Picking up the coffeepot, she carried it to the stove. Then, still talking, she bent down, fed kindling into the firebox, and poked at the hot ash until the slumbering flames caught. "Of course," she said, "I wanted this job, but naturally I wouldn't wish harm on Juana."

"Who said you did?" He leaned back against the pump sink and didn't even try to get rid of the little cat again. What would be the point? Mac watched Hannah as she made her way expertly around the big room. She might talk in circles, but at least she wasn't a stranger to a stove.

"No one," she agreed, giving him a brief smile. "And it was very kind of you."

Kind of him not to accuse a stranger of stuffing Juana's leg down a gopher hole and then twisting it?

She took off her green wool cape and draped it over a chair back before turning to the counter behind her. Opening one crock after another for a peek inside, she finally found the ground-up coffee beans.

"Still," she continued, "since Juana is injured, despite my best intentions, you do need a cook after all," she gave him another smile as she measured several scoops of coffee into the pot, then set it on the stove to boil.

Satisfied, she half turned, spotted the broom leaning against the wall and smiled to herself. Standing stock-still, she stretched out her left hand toward it.

Jonas watched, frowning, as she muttered something under her breath and shook her fingers at the broom. His frown deepened as she took a mincing step closer to the thing, clenched and unclenched her fist as if grasping at the air, and whispered fervently. "Come."