3
After climbing the stairs to access it, Ethan led Zoë into the small apartment that would be hers. Designed as servant or nanny quarters, it was a small space, with a bedroom, sitting room, kitchen, and bathroom. While it was an ideal place for guests, he never used it as such. On the few occasions his parents visited, they stayed in one of the guest bedrooms in the house, and he never entertained anyone else. Small as it was, it was a perfect dwelling for a single person. He couldn’t ascertain her reaction to it, for there wasn’t much of one.
“It’s kinda small,” he said, “especially the kitchen, so you can use the kitchen in the house whenever you want, even outside of work hours. Feel free to make changes to the apartment while you’re here. After all, it is your place.”
She nodded as her eyes swept over the area again. “Can I see the main kitchen now?”
At least she was eager to see her workspace. He led her back down the staircase, then around the house to the front entrance. Inside, she glanced around the great room and then turned to him.
“This is your house, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“So, I’ll be working in your home, and you have no problem with me using the kitchen here, even when I’m not actually working.”
“Right. I’m not in the house much, and when I am, I’m not in the kitchen.”
“Huh.”
Her tone was noncommittal. Undecipherable. He was quite adept at reading others and her guarded reactions were peculiar. When they entered the kitchen, however, he easily read her expression. Her nose crinkled up in disdain as her eyes fell on the stove.
“It’s electric.” It sounded like an accusation. She peered into the pantry, grunted, and then crossed the floor to open the fridge. With a shake of her head, she closed it, and then turned back to him. “This is a poorly stocked kitchen, considering you feed so many people.”
“There’s a freezer full of beef and two fifty-pound bags of potatoes.” She merely stared at him until he shrugged. “I guess maybe you want to make the men rice or noodles sometimes?”
“Something like that.”
Her tone was flat, but she seemed outraged over the kitchen. Weird. There was plenty of food in it. Certainly she didn’t plan on making fancy meals for ranch hands. They, like Ethan, had been existing on a diet of mostly meat and potatoes for as long as he could recall. It worked. Still, some variety might be good. He pulled his wallet from his pocket, extracted two fifty-dollar bills from it, and passed them to her.
“Fine. Buy what you need. There’s a grocery store in town.”
She pocketed the money. “Yeah, I know, I passed it on my way here. I’ll pick some stuff up tomorrow.”
“Sounds good.”
“Actually, maybe I’ll do that today. I’ll get my stuff from the motel, stop for groceries, and then have time to set everything up for tomorrow. If that’s okay with you.”
“That’ll be fine.”
Seeming happier, she smiled at him and then left the kitchen. As he followed her, he found her actions strange, but liked how keen she was to start working. Maybe this would work out after all. Starting tomorrow all his men could devote their time to their assigned duties, the ranch would go back to how it should be, and, with any luck, everyone would be pleased. His shitty Sunday had sure turned around. Of course, he still had the issue of a stunningly gorgeous woman on a ranch with him and ten ranch hands. Oh well, if it caused problems, he’d deal with them when they arose.
Late that evening, Ethan looked up from his computer screen to the window beyond it, and the headlights that had nabbed his attention. It had to be Zoë returning with supplies. He shut off his screen, then the office lights, and went outside to greet her. She stood beside the truck, her back to him, pulling bags from the vehicle. He was almost at the truck when she spun suddenly to face him, her face a surprised, and possibly frightened, mask. Soothed by her recognition of him, she relaxed, and flashed him a small smile.
“I came out to help you bring stuff in,” he informed her, then frowned as he perused the truck’s interior, loaded with bags. “Do you really need all that just to cook?”
She emitted a soft laugh that poked him in the gut with its sexy sound. “Yes, I do. I told you the kitchen is poorly stocked. Well, it was. Now I’m sure I have everything I need.”
“Sure hope so,” he grumbled as he took bags from her. When she moved to get more, he shook his head. “I got this. Why don’t you head in, grab something to eat if you haven’t already, or make yourself a coffee or tea while I bring this in.”
“Thanks. I ate, but I’d love a coffee. Would you like one?”
“Yes, ma’am, I would. Thank you.”
“Wow, you’ve really got that cowboy thing down pat, huh? With the ‘ma’am’ and everything? Tell me, do you wear chaps, too?”
Weird question. “Yes.”
She arched an exquisite brow. “With or without jeans underneath?”
When he gaped at her question, she laughed and walked away. Her laugh hit him again, this time below the belt, and then seemed to hang enchantingly over him. Her confident strides and the enticing sway of her hips had him shaking his head. Collins, what the hell were you thinking, hiring a woman like that? Zoë was trouble. With a huge sigh, he slipped bag handles over his forearms, determined to make as few trips as possible.
A short time later, he stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, sipping coffee, as she put the groceries away. He’d ended up making the coffee as, when he’d come in with the bags, she’d been in the pantry, rearranging item and grumbling softly. When he’d offered to assist her in putting things away, she declined, stating if she did it, she’d know where everything was. As reasonable as that sounded, he believed her response had a lot more to do with her wanting complete control of the workspace. That didn’t bother him nearly so much as something else, and he voiced his concern as she stuffed some large leafy vegetable he didn’t recognize into the fridge.
“There’s no way you bought all that with a hundred bucks. How much do I owe you?”
“Don’t worry about it,” she replied airily as she rammed beets—of all goddamn things—into the potato and onion bin in the pantry. “I’m a thrifty shopper.” She returned to the island and began to fold the reusable grocery bags.
“That may be,” he returned, “but you still couldn’t have bought all this with the money I gave you. I won’t have you spending your own money on my men. So, how much do I owe you?”
She met his eyes. “It was my decision to do this. I’m the one who wanted the kitchen brought up to my standards and so I did it. I have to make a good impression.”
“Not one that puts you out money.”
A smile flirted with her lips. Not quite fully formed, it suggested ... Damn it, why couldn’t he read her?
“Look,” she began, maintaining that odd smile, “the chivalry thing is really charming, but it was my decision to do this, and I’m happy now that I have everything I need. I consider it an investment in my future. I’m here on a trial basis, remember? I don’t feel bad about spending the money, so you shouldn’t either. And I’d really appreciate it if you dropped the whole matter.”
Twice in one day she’d forced him to do something he didn’t want to do, and had shot down his arguments so effectively he couldn’t respond. Unable to stand a third occurrence, he drained his mug, and then placed it in the sink.
“I’m turning in. Just close the front door when you leave, it’ll lock. Goodnight, Zoë.” He was almost through the door when her voice sounded.
“Goodnight, Ethan. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He scowled as he forced his feet forward. They seemed intent on him staying in the kitchen, but no way would he remain a moment longer. Unsure who she thought she was, he talked himself down as he scaled the staircase to the upper floor. She was on a trial basis meaning he could end her employ anytime he pleased. While the idea of firing her was appealing, considering her commandeering of his kitchen, he decided it was only fair to afford her the opportunity he’d promised. He hated the way she spoke to him, the way she took over, how she’d spent her own money on things. The implication his kitchen was sub-standard in some way he couldn’t understand. He hated everything about her. Well, not the way she filled out her jeans, and certainly not the way her hair hugged her shoulders. He definitely didn’t hate the sound of her voice, or her full lips. Then there were those eyes of hers. Shut it down, Collins. You saw how beautiful she was before you hired her. You’ve made your proverbial bed, now you’ll have to lie in it, at least temporarily.
After showering, he slid into bed and stared at the ceiling. His body was humming and his brain racing. Zoë had to be the worst choice for an employee, ever. Her confidence exceeded her beauty, a definite turn-on, something her attitude wasn’t. Her attitude sucked. Swooping in like some crazed vulture and behaving like the kitchen was hers. It might be her workspace, but it was his house. He’d have to be around her at every meal, at the very least, not to mention dealing with her when it came to things like payday and grocery money. She was trouble, for his men, his ranch, and his libido. Trouble with a huge neon letter T. With a grunt, he turned onto his side. You’re an idiot, Collins. That he was, a first class one.