5
Busying herself with last minute dinner preparations, Zoë was in her element. Cooking for twelve people was a breeze compared to the hectic restaurant environment that was the norm for her. Two beef roasts were in the oven, along with carrots and parsnips, a pot of potato soup and another with gravy simmered on the stovetop, and she’d already prepared a salad to go along with the meal. The dinner was much humbler fare than what she wanted to prepare, but Ethan had asked for simple dishes for the men. Well, simpler was what she’d heard. Less complicated meals than she was used to cooking, but not necessarily simple. Tonight’s dinner was a lead-in to more complex, fancier ones. Closer to what she enjoyed cooking. She’d get there, to the place she wanted to be, serving dishes any restaurant would be proud to have on their menu, no matter what Ethan had requested. After placing plates in the second oven to warm them, she returned to the cutting board on the island to chiffonade the kale there.
Ethan entered the kitchen, offered a grunt in response to her warm welcome, and then washed his hands. Taking in his appearance, his jeans and plaid, long-sleeved shirt, she marvelled at how, after a day spent herding cows, he appeared so clean. No doubt that was due to the spring weather, not nearly as wet as some, with little rain so far. That explained him not dragging mud into her kitchen, but she suspected as the weather warmed and gave way to summer, he’d be a dusty mess, tracking all manner of dirt in. Well, she wouldn’t be here then, so it made little sense to comment on it now, and she swallowed her desire to inform him he could have washed his hands elsewhere. While she considered the kitchen her space, it was in his house, and again she wouldn’t be around long enough to butt heads with him over ownership, hand-washing, or dirt.
Drawing closer to her, his forehead scrunched as he peered at the cutting board. “Why is the spinach so curly?”
“It’s kale.”
“What’s kale?”
“A vegetable.”
“No shit, that much I gathered by looking at it. Are you going to cook it?”
“Yes,” she replied. Her tone was patient, even as she wasn’t pleased having her menu choices questioned. “I’m finishing the potato soup with it.”
“The men don’t eat things like that.”
“They, and you, work hard, and need to eat properly. All of you need to eat vegetables to stay healthy.”
“We do,” he replied with a huff, “vegetables we can recognize. Potatoes. Carrots. Corn.”
Despite his irritating tone, she delivered a tight smile. “I’ll tell you what. If the men hate it, I’ll never prepare it again, but I guarantee they’ll like it.”
“Sure hope so,” he mumbled as he left the kitchen.
She resumed running her knife through the kale, picking up speed now that Ethan wasn’t around. She purposely slowed whenever he was, not wanting him to question her skills, especially with the story she’d told him. Helping in a small family-run restaurant wouldn’t account for her culinary skills, and she didn’t want to raise his suspicion. He was obviously intelligent, and she swore he scrutinized her every move each time he laid eyes on her. She had to be careful around him. The ranch wasn’t exactly her idea of a great place to live, but it was the perfect place to hide.
After dinner, which all the men save Ethan raved over, he once again carried plates and platters into the kitchen and then loaded the dishwasher. He’d done so after breakfast and lunch today. She supposed it would become a routine, and appreciated his assistance. She didn’t need help, but his actions becoming a habit pointed to his willingness to keep her around. As he didn’t appear as grouchy as he was before dinner, she was eager to interact with him, and develop a rapport, something that could only solidify her hold on her job.
“So, the first dinner went well,” she ventured.
“Yep.”
Not the answer she was hoping for, she waited until he finished loading the dishwasher. He turned it on and then, seeming to feel her eyes on him, turned to her and scowled.
“What?”
“Well,” she began, devising a way to pull him into a conversation, “I was thinking about making something for dessert tomorrow.”
“And?”
His one word responses spoke of his disinterest. Irritated, her temper flared. He wasn’t going to make this easy for her. With a sly inward smile, she said something certain to draw a response from him. “What do you think the men would like more? A cake or a soufflé?”
Expecting him to balk at the very thought of a soufflé, she was shocked when he rolled his eyes and then headed for the door. Just before he left the kitchen, he called a surprising remark over his shoulder.
“You seem to know what they like. Why ask me?”
As she cleaned the kitchen, she tossed their last exchange around in her mind. He seemed angry that she’d made food the men liked, but that couldn’t be the case. It was her job to provide good meals for them. The obvious reason for his bad mood was his dislike of her. She probably shouldn’t have pushed him with the soufflé thing, but she was trying to get a feel for him, something he didn’t make easy. Normally she’d have had a boss pegged by now, and have devised a plan to deal with him. Ethan wasn’t easy to read and, while she wasn’t the chattiest person around, his reticence was troubling, a sign he was close to firing her. Her previous hopefulness regarding him building a routine with her fled in the face of his quietness. Her days at the ranch were numbered.
Back in her apartment, she showered, towel dried her hair and scrunched product into it, and then got comfortable in bed, a book in hand. It was a spy-thriller she’d bought at the train station in Winnipeg before boarding the train. She’d purchased two books at the time and had finished one of them on that long journey. This one was great and, while eager to lose herself in it, she couldn’t. The words seemed to scramble on the page as her mind kept drifting back to Ethan. She wasn’t sure what to do about him. He wasn’t impressed by her cooking, and didn’t find her attempts at conversation stimulating. If he’d shown any interest in her, she might have considered sleeping with him, merely to keep her job. Ha! Just to keep your job, huh? Not because he’s gorgeous? You can’t keep your eyes off him, but you’d just sleep with him for security. Sure. Ugh, her judgmental inner voice was at it again, but had called it perfectly.
Ethan was quite the man, about six-two she guessed, well-built, hair so dark it was almost black and with the most gorgeous blue eyes she’d ever seen. Cobalt, they looked capable of displaying intense emotion, but he seemed to only allow his disdain for her to show. Despite his rather callous treatment of her, she found her physical attraction to him growing. Everything about him was enticing, from how he walked and spoke, how dark stubble shadowed his lower face, jaw, and throat in the evenings, and how well his jeans hugged his rounded butt.
With an exasperated grunt, she placed the book on the nightstand and turned off the lamp. She’d never be able to read now. Going to sleep with wet hair would result in it being a disastrous mess the next day, but it was the only way to quell the thoughts of Ethan.