Wish Upon a Cowboy (7 page)

Hands at her hips, Hannah studied the features of the people who made up her new world. Whisker-shadowed faces blurred before her as her temper boiled like a thick, hot stew of fury. But no one noticed her toe tapping against the floor. No one heard her when she muttered curses she couldn't bring herself to shout, and she doubted anyone would have cared if they had.

Two of the men were easily as old as Elias. Like that man, they were certainly old enough to know better. Most were somewhere in their thirties, she guessed, and at least one of them—needless to say, the most clean-shaven of the bunch—didn't look old enough to grow a beard.

And not a one of them—including the Mackenzie  gave her so much as a glance.

Had no one west of Massachusetts heard of washing up before eating? Were simple table manners and common courtesy not to be expected on this side of the Rocky Mountains?

Hannah tried to remind herself why she was there. What she'd come for. How badly she needed the Mackenzie's help. But none of that went toward soothing the anger rushing through her like a river about to overflow its banks.

Indignation roared through her veins. Her plan to ease into the Mackenzie's life and make herself indispensable seemed ludicrous at the moment. Rather than appreciating her efforts on his and his men's behalf, it was as if she didn't even exist.

She spared an angry glance at the man she'd come halfway across the country to find and marry. And though he looked handsome in a rough-hewn, dirty, sweat-stained way, his behavior was no better than the men who worked for him.

Snatching at a slice of fresh bread, he yanked a jar of preserves from the hand of the man next to him and then grabbed up four strips of bacon in a none-too-clean fist.

This was the man she'd come so far to find? This was the great and powerful Mackenzie?

Oh, if Aunt Eudora could only see him now.

Her toe beat an angry tattoo against the floor, sounding, at least to her, like an overwound clock ticking away accelerated minutes. Her heartbeat quickened to pulse in time and she felt a pounding ache begin to throb in the center of her forehead.

Gritting her teeth, she watched as one man poured coffee and sloshed the hot liquid across the platter of ham. She inhaled sharply. Another man laughed, lifted the platter, and, keeping one dirty palm on the meat, tipped the liquid out onto the floor.

"Great thundering heavens!" she muttered.

No one noticed.

Words failed her completely. There were no curses strong enough to describe her feelings. She'd wanted to fit in. Wanted to make herself such an integral part of the Mackenzie's life that he wouldn't be able to get along without her.

Well, she would never belong in this world. And what was more, she didn't want to. Thoughts, ideas, plans chased each other across her mind. She couldn't go home, she knew that. She still needed the Mackenzie's help, so she would still have to marry him.

But… she wouldn't spend the rest of her life viewing scenes like this. She stared at them as they shoveled food into their gaping mouths. Uttered grunts of appreciation made them sound, as well as look, like a pack of hogs.

She'd worked hard on very short notice to see that they all had their morning meal. The scrambled eggs were fluffy, the flapjacks were lighter than air, the bread, though not fresh, had been warmed in the oven, and there was enough coffee to serve an army.

Yet they were all so busy shoving it into their mouths, she was willing to bet they hadn't even tasted it.

She could have served them mud pies and dirty water and as long as there was plenty of it, she told herself, they wouldn't have cared.

Well, Hannah told herself firmly, no more.

One of the men stood up and, completely oblivious to her presence, reached across her for the jar of molasses. The tight leash on her temper snapped. Gritting her teeth, Hannah snatched up a serving spoon and used it to give his arm a hard smack.

"Hey!" the arm's owner shouted, and he gave her a look that said she was crazy for hitting him and if she wasn't a woman, he'd hit her right back.

She stood her ground and met the man's glare with a steely one of her own, lifting her spoon higher, just for good measure.

"What'd you do that for?" the cowboy demanded, cradling his arm as though she'd broken it.

"If you want the molasses," she snapped, "ask someone to kindly pass it to you!"

"Why in tarnation would I do that when I can reach it?" His bellow was clearly meant to intimidate her.

He was disappointed.

"Because it's polite!" she shouted, finally releasing the pent-up anger knotted in her chest.

Silence fell over the room like a heavy blanket smothering flames. She felt the stares of a dozen pairs of eyes and she met them all each in turn.

Riding the crest of her glorious fury, she went on. "I've never seen such a display in all my life! You ought to charge people admission just to watch you eat!"

Instead of the shamefaced expressions she'd hoped to see, they actually had the nerve to look mightily offended. Even a bit angry.

Exasperation flushed her face with color.

One of the older men finally spoke up. "Now, missy," he said firmly, "you got no call to be shoutin' at us like that, and hittin' on Hank when he can't rightly hit you back don't seem fair at all."

Amazing, she thought.

"'at's right," Hank said, still clutching his arm as to prove to his friends just how badly he'd been aged. "A man's got a right to eat I reckon, without cook poundin' on him."

Hannah blinked at him.

"Sure enough," someone else piped up. "Don't recall no cook bein' so durn snippy."

She couldn't believe it. Rather than being ashamed of their behavior, they were trying to correct hers.

Hannah shook the spoon at her audience. "A man wouldn't be smacked," she told them shortly. "But wild animals invading a kitchen are lucky if they don't get shot on sight."

"Shot?" the young one sputtered nervously.

"See here, missy," Elias said in a low growl of disapproval, "it's a mite early in the day for talk of shootin', don't you think?"

A dark muttering of agreement rose up from the seated men. Her gaze slid over every one of them. Blue eyes, brown, black, they all looked at her in hostile astonishment. When at last she looked to Jonas, she wasn't even surprised to see a flash of anger in his icy blue eyes.

"What's this about?" he asked, tossing his knife onto his plate with a clatter that rang out overloud in the suddenly still room.

One or two of the men gave her superior smiles that let her know they thought Jonas was going to tell her a thing or two. And that they were going to enjoy watching her taken down a peg.

But Hannah was in no mood. She'd traveled days to reach this… outpost. She'd changed her life, left her family. Risked everything, was willing to marry a man she'd never met, and this was her reward?

Anger still churning in the pit of her stomach, Hannah had a few things to say herself. Letting her temper fly, she waved her serving spoon in the air like a knight of old would wield his sword. "It's about you," she said, sparing the rest of the men a quick glance before locking her gaze with the Mackenzie's. "All of you."

"Well, heckfire, what'd we do?" someone at the end of the table muttered before Jonas could speak.

"I've already told you what you did, but by heaven, I'll tell again," she said hotly, her gaze raking each of them in turn. She shook her spoon at them like a wagging finger. "The lot of you ran in here without so much as a ‘good morning.' None of you bothered to wipe your boots or use the wash water and soap I left on the porch."

The youngest cowboy ducked his head and hunched his shoulders slightly. Apparently he was young enough to at least recall someone, someone, teaching him manners. A couple of the other men muttered comments she couldn't quite catch, but Hannah was in fine fettle now, so she simply raised her voice to drown them out. "Then you fell on the food like a pack of starving dogs fighting over the last bone in the house."

Someone grumbled under his breath, but she didn't care. She wasn't finished. Not by a long shot. Glaring at Hank, still cradling his arm close to his chest, she demanded, "Were you all brought up in caves? Did no one ever teach you simple table manners?"

"All right. Hannah," Jonas said, pushing back and away from the table. His chair legs screeched against the wood floor and she whipped her head around to stare at him. "I think you've said enough."

"I don't," she countered. "I have never seen anything like it," she continued, raking the men with an angry stare again. "Grown men, acting like… like…"

She shook her head, unable to come up with a likely description. She hadn't noticed Jonas moving around the table. When he took her elbow firmly in his grasp, she jumped, startled. The spoon dropped from her hand to clatter onto the table. Lifting her gaze to his, she was met by an icy blue wall that simmered with banked fires of anger that burned as hot as her own.

"Let's step outside," he said quietly, "to talk."

There was nothing gentle in his grip on her, but at the same time, she knew he was leashing his strength. Though his grasp was firm, he wasn't hurting her. Instead, she felt an odd sensation of heat threading up the length of her arm.

She looked up at him, wondering if he'd felt it, too.

For a moment she thought she saw a flicker of surprise flash across his eyes, but it was gone too quickly to be sure.

"You show her the way of it, boss," someone said, and a shutter dropped over the Mackenzie's eyes.

"Come on. Hannah," he muttered, already steering her toward the door.

Warmth still trickling through her body, Hannah fought against the pleasant feeling and gathered up the remaining threads of her righteous indignation.

This time when she looked him in the eye, she matched him angry stare for angry stare. If they were to have a lasting marriage, he'd better learn right away that she wouldn't be manipulated by the strength of his powers. Either his witchcraft abilities or the affect he seemed to have on her pulse rate.

"Fine," she agreed. "There are a few more things I'd like to say."

Someone actually chuckled.

The Mackenzie shot the table a hard look that silenced any further outbursts.

"You fellas go on with your breakfast, then get back to work," he said over his shoulder as he propelled Hannah toward the door.

Her feet flew across the floor hardly touching the wooden planks. Once outside, he continued walking quickly and her short legs were no match for his long strides.

"Watch out for gopher holes," he muttered as he practically dragged her across the yard.

Dutifully, her gaze raked the ground, but it was moving so quickly, she had a feeling she'd step in a hole before she could see and avoid it.

He stopped beneath an old cottonwood tree. Dappled shade dusted the hard ground, with splotches of sunlight. The breeze rattled the leaves overhead, sounding like harsh whispers. Out of earshot of the house, he released her and took a step back as though he needed distance between them.

"This isn't going to work out after all," he said flatly.

"What isn't?" She rubbed her elbow, but couldn't wipe away the still-lingering traces of warmth.

"You. Being here," he shook his head and went on through clenched teeth, "Never should have tried it. I'll have Elias take you into town. Put you on the stage that'll take you to the train station."

Whatever she'd been expecting, it hadn't been this. Straightening up to her full less-than-imposing height, she said, "I'm not leaving."

"If I fire you, you're leaving," he said, and somewhere in the distance, the familiar roar of building thunder sounded out.

Another storm? Hannah tore her gaze from his, glanced up, and watched as dark clouds skittered across the sky, obliterating the sun. Shadows fell all around them and the temperature dropped suddenly, bringing a chill to her veins.

She ignored it and faced him.

Hands at his hips, feet braced wide apart, he looked like a man ready for a fight. Well, then, she would give him one. She wasn't leaving. Not until she knew he would help her by defeating Blake Wolcott.

"You can't fire me after one meal."

"I can do whatever I damn well please," he reminded her. "This is my place."

From the corner of her eye, she caught the silvery flash of lightning pulse against the clouds, and a few moments later, the crash of thunder rolled down the mountainside.

"And who will you get to cook for you and the rest of them?" she asked.

She couldn't imagine any woman willingly cooking for that bunch of ill-mannered goats. By heaven, if she didn't have to be there, she'd have already left. Yet here she was. It didn't matter what he answered, she assured herself, because she had no intention of leaving.

"Someone who won't yell and make a big to-do first thing in the morning would be my first choice."

She frowned at him. All of this because she'd lost her temper? For pity's sake. Did he prefer the kind of woman who never raised her voice? If so, this getting-to-know-each-other period was going to be more difficult than she'd imagined.

"Make sure your new cook is blind, then," she said with a lift of her eyebrows. "Because anyone who has to watch a performance like that every morning is going to make a big to-do."

He gave her a tight, unamused smile as another flash of lightning sparkled overhead. A clap of thunder followed. Louder and closer this time, it boomed into the tense silence.

Taking the storm as a sign, Hannah used it shamelessly. "Besides," she pointed out with another glance at the sky, "you can't expect me to leave in the middle of a storm."

He shot a look at the heavens, and if God was watching, even He probably wanted to hide from the Mackenzie's expression. Grumbling darkly, Jonas tugged his hat brim down low on his forehead, then narrowed his gaze on her. Waving one hand at the house, he said, "Why don't you just admit it? You don't belong here. You've only been here a couple of hours and already you've caused more uproar than we've seen in years."