6
After slapping the alarm button roughly, Ethan flared his nostrils. Cinnamon buns? Sitting up, he could smell the coffee and bacon he had yesterday morning, but baked goods were added to this morning’s scent, and he was certain about the cinnamon.
Rushing through his washing and dressing routine, he trotted down the stairs to find Skip and a ranch hand, Randall, standing in the dining room, eating cinnamon buns, and actually moaning aloud. Hearing a male voice in the kitchen, he frowned. What the hell was going on? The men were early, normally only he and Skip would be in the house, with the others arriving right before breakfast was served. As wondrous as the cinnamon buns smelled, they certainly hadn’t drawn the men from the bunkhouse early, but he suspected the chance to spend time with Zoë had. After shooting Skip a disapproving glare, he entered the kitchen.
The sight that met his eyes had his anger rearing. Two more hands were in the kitchen, Jeff, and Murray. Zoë was before the stove, flipping bacon strips with tongs, Jeff leaned against the island watching as he ate a cinnamon bun, and Murray was beside Zoë. Extremely close to her, in fact. As she placed the tray back in the oven and stood straight, Murray, his eyes focused on her breasts, addressed her.
“You cook bacon in the oven?”
“Yeah. The strips come out flatter that way. Well, they would on medium heat in a pan too, but this way it frees up the stovetop to cook eggs.”
“That’s smart,” Murray responded, a definite flirty edge to his voice. “You’re smart and pretty.”
Before Ethan could tell Murray to get the hell out of the kitchen, Zoë huffed dramatically and, turning to Murray, plunked her hands on her hips.
“Please. Do I come out to the barn, stand there and say, ‘Gee, Murray, you’re so handsome when you shovel cow shit’?”
As the trio still hadn’t noticed his presence, Ethan suppressed a laugh at Murray’s reaction. The man looked as if he’d been slapped. He pulled his lanky frame straight as an expression that looked an awful lot like humiliation crept across his face.
“No,” he snapped, “and I don’t shovel shit. That’s Jeff’s job.”
“Whatever,” Zoë countered, clearly irritated by Murray. “My point is I’m trying to work here, and it would be easier to do without being hit on. Now, both of you, out of my kitchen.”
Like a chastised dog with his tail between his legs, Murray’s shoulders slumped as he moved away from Zoë, Jeff behind him. Spotting Ethan, he dipped his head, and his eyes squirreled to the side. Ethan sure hoped he realized he’d been caught. It wasn’t the first time Murray’s behaviour was displeasing, and Ethan had already warned him about his unprofessionalism.
“Morning,” Murray mumbled as he passed Ethan and left the kitchen.
As always, Jeff followed along wordlessly. Skip always referred to the two as ‘Mutt and Jeff’ and it was easy to see why. Murray towered over the diminutive Jeff who usually agreed with Murray’s ideas. With the pair gone, Ethan turned his attention to Zoë who stared at him, her expression perhaps a mixture of surprise and apprehension. He supposed she was either pissed at Murray or worried Ethan would reprimand her, especially after his insistence of no workplace drama.
“Morning,” he said, casual as could be, as he crossed the floor to get a coffee.
“Good morning,” she returned though not with the cheery tone she’d employed yesterday, and then turned her back to him to resume cooking.
He allowed a smile to take hold of his lips. He’d been worried about her on the ranch, but she could obviously handle herself. Now, she seemed nervous, as if she thought he was thinking about replacing her when, in actuality, he wasn’t as adamant about doing so any longer. The coffee alone might prompt him to keep her around. He still had doubts about her, and chief amongst them was why she hid her culinary skills. No way did she learn that just helping out in a restaurant. She’d lied about her past work experience and he couldn’t help but wonder what else she’d been deceitful about. While she purposely slowed down around him, she couldn’t hide her ability. Coupled with her ease in dealing with Murray, he drew a conclusion about her. She’d worked in a commercial kitchen environment, a large one, and had undoubtedly held a position of power, hence her comfort working with men exclusively. His guess was she’d been a sous-chef, perhaps even a chef. It explained her skills and her confidence. She reminded him of women he’d served with, both in her self-assuredness, and her proud carriage. Why she’d take a job as a cook when she could demand a chef’s salary was a mystery, and he wanted to solve it. He had no idea where he’d find the time to, but he vowed to uncover what she was up to.