Chapter Four

Ben considered himself a morning person, but when the alarm went off at four thirty he wanted to reconsider the whole thing. He hadn’t gotten to bed until the early hours, and even then thoughts of Sissy had held sleep at bay. Part of him wanted to shut off the alarm and forget about it, but the other part reminded him that the person partially responsible for his lack of rest was expecting him to show up. That got him moving. A quick shower helped chase away the cobwebs, and two mugs of coffee had him ready to face the day.

He took the third mug outside with him. The frozen air burned his lungs like dry ice. According to his weather app, the temperature would rise when the sun came up, treating the residents of Mystic Creek to another day of Indian summer. He would welcome that. He enjoyed doing physical work outdoors, but given his druthers, he preferred to break a sweat right away. It somehow energized him.

As he stood on the porch, looking out at his spread, he realized again how good it was to be back. Instead of flat, barren fields as far as he could see, his view looked out over his stable, an enclosed riding arena, a hay barn, and a crisscross of white fences. Along with the rich aroma of French roast coffee, he inhaled a mixture of scents: manure, hay, grain, cows, chickens, and horses. He enjoyed the potpourri of ranch life. It was a great start to what would be a long day.

Home. He sure didn’t miss being on the road to earn his living. This acreage, a half section, would provide him with enough income to live comfortably, and he could train or shoe horses for extra spending money. It was going to be a good life. All he needed was a wife he adored and kids to fill up the gigantic house that yawned empty behind him.

Careful not to spill the coffee, Ben crossed his property to feed all the animals, avoiding mud wallows and manure piles as he went. Unlike Sissy, he kept only twenty hens and one rooster, which supplied him with enough eggs to share with his two sisters and his brother Jonas when he rolled in from college. He sold any eggs he didn’t use.

After going through his morning routine, he’d go to the horse barn, toss hay, fill water troughs, dispense vitamins and bran, and then exercise the three horses he hadn’t had time for yesterday. He also needed to fix a section of fence. He probably wouldn’t get to Sissy’s place until around nine. He hoped she wouldn’t turn her flock loose before he could do a temporary repair on her old run. It was still icy this morning, and he didn’t relish the thought of another chicken chase.

*   *   *

Ben arrived at the Cauldron an hour later than he’d hoped. The bed of his pickup was piled high with posts and rolls of sturdy wire. He had no intention of telling Sissy that he had purchased the material. He suspected she was tight on money. Well, not tight, really, if she’d told him the truth, but short on discretionary dollars. He wasn’t what anyone would call wealthy, but he could afford to blow a few bucks, and when the run was completed and it was time to erect a new coop, he did have a heap of extra lumber and siding left over from when he’d built his own.

His first order of business was to stretch a length of wire atop the sagging chicken mesh that she’d used to create her run. That would keep her chickens confined while he erected a new and much larger enclosure around the old one. Until the situation was under control, Ben would have Finn herd the flock back into the tiny coop before he left each night.

*   *   *

While loading the two commercial dishwashers after the breakfast rush, Sissy heard hammering and clunking sounds coming from behind her café. For an instant, she wished she could go out and oversee what Ben was doing, but she didn’t have time. She scrubbed egg yolk off a plate. Her movements lacked their usual fluidity. She loaded these dishwashers three times a day, and she’d developed a rhythm, which had deserted her because she couldn’t think how to deal with the man in her backyard.

Her first inclination, upon rising, had been to tell him she’d changed her mind about hiring him. But then she’d hurried out to feed and water her imprisoned chickens and realized that, however more comfortable she might feel if she sent Ben packing, her chickens would suffer for it. She just couldn’t do that to them. Mr. Cowboy GQ would build them the home they deserved, and in the interim, she needed to deal with his presence.

For her, the question was, how? She had been so distracted during the morning rush that she’d missed half the funny story the VeArds had told her. Then she’d forgotten to give Christopher Doyle his usual tiny pitcher of cold water to dilute his coffee. José Jayden, who operated a Mexican restaurant next door, had asked three times for a refill, and she’d forgotten that, too. Then she’d overcooked Crystal Malloy’s poached eggs.

She’d just ignore Ben, Sissy decided as she polished the stainless steel counters. By the time she reached the grill to give it a good cleaning, she was frustrated with herself. If she intended to ignore the man, why did she keep thinking about him? He was starting a job that she would pay him to do, end of story. Right? He was outside. She was in here. If she played this right, she’d see him only when he came in for meals, and even then, she could stay busy in the kitchen while he ate. On an average day, she was in the cooking area more than she liked. After prep work, she could take breaks, but normally she didn’t. There were always other things to do.

“Morning!” a deep male voice called from the dining room.

Sissy jumped with such a start that she dropped the cleaning rag on the floor. She glanced at the pass-through window and saw Ben mounting one of the barstools as he might a horse. With a grin, he swept off his Stetson, a black one today, and set it on the stool beside him. On a handsome scale of one to ten, he rated at least a fifteen. She moved toward the archway that opened into the dining room.

Thrusting strong fingers through his golden brown hair to straighten it, he said, “I know I’m late. It took me longer than I expected to gather up all the stuff I needed at my place, and I had to repair a section of fence.”

“I expect eight full hours of work from you. You didn’t get here until ten. What kind of schedule is that?” She felt like a bitch the instant the words came out, but she didn’t have an erase button.

His smile disappeared. He placed his bent arms on the service counter. “I should have warned you. Mornings at my place are busy.” Those hazel eyes studied her intently for a moment. “I’ll work until six. You’ll get your eight hours out of me.” His gaze swept slowly downward, as if he were committing every curve and indentation of her body to memory. She regretted taking off her chef coat. “I have animals on my farm that expect breakfast. Forty cows, six horses, twenty chickens, and a weanling pig.”

“Won’t all those animals want dinner as well?”

“Oh, yeah. But my hired man takes care of that. I do the mornings because my horses need special handling to keep them on top of their game. Today I’ve got an extra horse being delivered, a dun mare that’s been acting up when she’s ridden.”

Sissy realized she was talking to him. Conversation would not come with his meals. She’d offered him food, not companionship. “What do you want for breakfast?”

Was he going to come in this late for breakfast every day? She’d be doing her lunch prep, and fixing him something special in the middle of all that would be a pain in the neck.

Ben ordered smoked ham, three eggs, a double serving of hash browns, two pieces of buttered sourdough toast, a stack of pancakes, and a carafe of strong coffee. Then he glanced up at her. “I won’t be this late again. I know I’m messing up your schedule.”

Sissy had to admit, as her clean kitchen grew untidy again in preparing his food, that she appreciated his awareness of her work schedule. Soon she slid two plates in front of him, along with a filled coffee carafe, silverware, and a small pitcher of warm syrup. “I think you’re all set. If you need anything else, just holler. I’ll be getting ready for lunch hour.”

Once back in the kitchen, Sissy congratulated herself on how well she had handled him. While he ate, she would work, allowing no time for chitchat. From the corner of her eye, she saw movement outside the pass-through window. Ben had circled the dining counter to grab salt and pepper shakers. She didn’t want to admire him for taking the initiative to find what he needed without interrupting her, but she did. Most of her customers never went behind the service counter. Sometimes Blackie would lie belly first on the surface to reach over for something, but he didn’t walk around to get stuff.

Today Ben wore a red Western-style shirt, sleeves rolled back over his thick forearms, collar hanging open. She allowed herself to watch the smooth athletic way he moved, then realized what she was doing and jerked her gaze away. You can look, but don’t touch, she told herself. And never let him catch you at it.

A few minutes later, Sissy was making a huge batch of biscuit dough when Ben startled her by entering her inner sanctum with his dishes. As he set them in the industrial-size sink, he said, “Delicious breakfast. You keep cooking like that, and you’ll need a bigger dining area.”

Warmth spread through her. She was proud of what she had accomplished with the café. Her aunt’s two best friends, Ma Thomas and Marilyn next door, swore up and down that Sissy had doubled the business. “If I can ever afford to remodel, I hope to create more seating somehow.”

To her surprise, he turned on the hot water and, using the green scrubber, washed his plates and utensils. “Good. You’re probably going to need it.”

As he bent sideways to open a dishwasher, Sissy said, “I can get that.” Having six-feet-plus of handsome cowboy in her kitchen was unsettling.

“Nah.” With a flash of white teeth, he grinned at her. “Your lunch hour is coming up fast. I don’t want to put a hitch in your get-along.”

He left and returned a moment later with his coffee cup and carafe, both of which he stowed in the dishwasher. After straightening from the task, he said, “I’ve got your old run reinforced so your chickens can be outside during the day while I’m working. Now I’m about to dig postholes.”

Sissy tried to think of a response, but he left before she got out a word. The scent of his shaving cologne and masculine essence lingered. She drew it in and closed her eyes.

During the lunch hour, Sissy heard the sounds of Ben working out back. The unmistakable whine of an electric saw. Hammering. And occasionally the indecipherable drone of a man uttering words, which she guessed were grumbled curses. Since he was building what would be her new run, she wanted to at least see his plan and have some input, however small it might be.

When the crowd began to thin out, she started her dinner prep, finished it in short order, removed her coat, and glanced out the front windows at the street to see if she needed to wear her jacket when she went out back. Some of her diners had commented on the crazy fluctuations in temperature, but nobody had specifically said whether it was actually warm today or only sunny.

Sissy decided to err on the side of caution and grabbed a lightweight jacket from the storeroom, insurance in case a cool breeze was blowing. She’d just go out for a few minutes to assess the project, see how Ben was coming along, and ask him to explain to her once more what he planned to do. If a customer came in, the front door of the café would set off a buzzer out back.

When Ben saw her step onto the rear porch, he waved and gave her a grin that would have made a lot of women melt. Sissy hesitated, assuring herself that she was unaffected. Finn, his whole body wagging, hopped up the steps. With the dog she found it more difficult to be standoffish. He greeted her with what could only be described as boundless joy. She couldn’t help but smile as she bent to pet him.

“Hello, Finnegan! Are you enjoying this beautiful weather?” Sissy could feel the breeze, warm as it wafted over her cheek, and in the few seconds she was bent over to fondle the pup, the heat of the sun burned through the back of her jacket. “It feels almost like summer again.”

Finn bounced around her feet like a Ping-Pong ball as she removed her outerwear and laid it on the porch. As she descended the steps, the dog plopped down on the garment as if to guard it. Ben appeared to be erecting a post. With the first two feet of it already in a hole, it still stood eight feet tall.

Walking toward him, Sissy noticed that he’d somehow wrapped a taller barrier of wire around the top of her old run and released her chickens from the coop. Battling a stab of guilt, she saw that even while outdoors, the chickens had scant room to move around. Little wonder that they’d tried to run away. She’d provided a horrible home for them. Watching them try to find a place to peck the dirt nearly brought tears to her eyes.

“Don’t,” Ben said, his voice pitched low.

She threw him a startled look.

“You did the best you knew how to do. The best that you could afford to do as well. If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that feeling bad about a mistake accomplishes jack shit. You have to correct the situation, and you’re doing that.”

Sissy felt uncomfortable with how easily he’d read her thoughts. Only for once, she couldn’t think of a smart-ass comeback to hide her feelings. “They’ve suffered because of my stupidity.”

“Yep.” He bent to pick up a tool. “Join the rest of us. We’ve all screwed up and caused suffering. I damned near killed a horse once by feeding it inferior hay to save money. The stuff was full of foxtails, and the horse developed abscesses in its mouth and throat from the arrow-shaped weed heads burrowing deep into soft tissue. When I noticed pus dripping, I knew something was wrong. Called a vet who had to sedate the horse on-site and do oral surgery. It was a mess.” He shot her a look, his eyes conveying sympathy. “That afternoon I asked my father to go with me to buy hay. He took me to see cheap hay first so he could show me what to watch out for, and then we went for quality hay. That night I stood around a bonfire while I burned the bad stuff. I learned a lesson. My horse pulled through it. Life has gone on, and I don’t sucker in on bad hay anymore.”

Sissy hauled in a breath, her chest so tight that expanding her lungs hurt. As she released the intake, some of her guilt exited with it. She studied the holes he’d dug, which marked the size and rectangular shape of what would become her new run.

Her resolve to be cool and indifferent to Ben had gotten lost in the wave of her emotions. “I can scarcely believe my eyes. I never expected a run this large.”

Holding the post erect with one hand, he directed his amber gaze toward her. Pine boughs, dancing in the breeze, cast feathery shadows over him one moment and allowed sunlight to play over his body the next. “Eighty chickens will need every inch of the space. They like to scratch in the dirt for bugs and worms. I need to build them some dusting bins as well so they can bathe regularly.”

Sissy drew to a stop about three feet away from him. As their gazes met, she could have sworn she felt invisible sparks of electricity snapping in the air between them. “Um.” She struggled to collect her thoughts. Bins. He’d said bins. “What do you put in the bins?”

“I use a very fine dirt and the birds love bathing in it. Chuck, over at Ramsey’s Feed and Tack, carries it in large bags—forty pounders, I think. It’s cheaper to buy it in bulk. Or, if you can find powdery earth here, that’ll work, too.”

Sissy looked at the hens. “They bathe in dirt?”

He laughed. “You’d think they’d wash in water like we do, but they don’t. Dirt works better to clean their plumage.” In his hand, he held what looked like a string covered with a chalky blue substance. He shifted the post and frowned in concentration until he seemed satisfied with its position. “Can you hand me one of those boards?”

Sissy glanced over and saw a stack of two-by-fours, precut at an angle on one end. She grabbed one and took it to him.

Anticipating that he needed another board, Sissy delivered it to him before he asked. “Thanks. I don’t expect you to help me, though. You’ve got your hands full with the café.”

He resumed work, putting another post in a hole. Sissy found herself admiring the view. Ben Sterling radiated so much hearty sex appeal that not even she could fail to notice. Though she’d sworn off men and never broken that vow, a guy like Ben made her wonder what she might be missing. How would those strong arms feel around her? She imagined herself melting against his hardness and letting him kiss her.

“Do you feed your chickens scraps from the kitchen?”

Sissy jerked back to the moment and felt heat crawl up her neck. “I thought human food was bad for them.”

“A few things are. Go online and get a list of safe foods for them. I keep a chicken bucket by my back door for leftovers. Mostly I feed them whatever I eat. You must have heaps to throw away in a café. Stop wasting all the scraps. They’ll love them.”

Sissy forced herself not to look at him from the neck down. Not that it helped much. From the collar on up, Ben’s attractiveness was still potent. She took rigid control of her thoughts and considered all the food she disposed of daily. Now she could start putting it to good use.

Hugging her waist, Sissy nodded. “Thanks for the tips. I’m taking mental notes.”

He muscled the second post erect. “What’s on the lunch menu today? I’m sorry about eating at irregular times. It has to be an inconvenience for you. Tonight I’ll be on time for dinner, though. If I quit at six or seven, I shouldn’t come in too long after your customers do.”

Stomach knotting, Sissy realized that she hadn’t offered him a snack. He’d specifically requested four meals a day. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. You didn’t get your second square!”

He laughed. “I would have gone in and asked for something, but I was still full from that fabulous breakfast. That doesn’t happen often. Kudos to you.” He left the post teetering to turn and look at her with his hands riding his hips. She couldn’t help thinking that he resembled a cowboy in a television commercial, rugged, strong, and topped off with a Stetson. “Do you make Reuben sandwiches?”

“They’re one of my specialties.” She couldn’t help the note of pride that slipped into her voice.

He touched the brim of his hat. “Lots of sauerkraut?”

“Oodles.”

“Well, if it isn’t too much trouble—”

“It isn’t,” she inserted. “I’ll have it done in a snap. Want fries on the side?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Sissy retraced her path to the back porch. As she ascended the steps, she smiled at Finnegan, who still lay on her jacket. Only then did she realize that his intent hadn’t been to guard it. He’d chewed on it, instead.

“Finn!” she exclaimed in a hushed cry, not wanting Ben to hear. “Bad dog! You weren’t supposed to eat it!” To her dismay, she saw that one entire arm of the garment had vanished, leaving only a ragged edge just below the shoulder seam. “Oh, dear, you silly boy. I hope you didn’t swallow all that.” She saw bits of cloth that had drifted on the breeze into the yard.

Blocking Ben’s view with her person, Sissy unseated Finn with a sharp tug on what remained of the coat. The dog, thinking she wanted to play, grabbed the remaining jacket sleeve, braced his legs, and pulled with ferocious enthusiasm.

“No!” she scolded in a stage whisper. “He’ll see, and you’ll be in trouble! Let go! I’m not playing!”

“What’s going on here?”

Sissy jumped at the sound of Ben’s voice right behind her. With a hard jerk, she got the garment away from the pup, bundled it in her arms, and turned to find her handyman at the bottom of the steps. “He, um—nothing. Nothing is going on.”

Ben’s gaze became riveted to the jacket. She glanced down and saw that the chewed armhole was poking out above her left wrist. “He didn’t,” Ben said. “Not your jacket. Please, tell me he didn’t do that.”

“He didn’t mean to,” Sissy rushed to assure him. “I mean, I guess he intended to, but, um, I’m a cook, remember, and the sleeve had—um—spaghetti sauce all over it. Yes, that was it, spaghetti sauce.” She had a huge pot of it simmering on the stove for dinner that night. “I’m sure he started licking it off and then just got carried away.”

Ben studied his dog for a long moment. Then he met Sissy’s gaze, his own alight with humor. “Spaghetti sauce, huh? You aren’t, by any chance, telling me a tall tale to keep him from getting in trouble, are you?”

Sissy detested lying, and as a result, she’d never been good at it. “Please don’t be mad at him.” A picture of her father flashed through her head in cinematic motion and color. “He’s still a pup. You said so yourself.” She searched for another excuse. “He’s probably still teething!” She stepped between Ben and the dog.

The amusement slipped from Ben’s eyes to be replaced by a crease between his brows. “Do you think I beat my dog?”

An immediate response evaded her. “I, um—no, but, um, maybe, sometimes, if he does something really bad. Only he didn’t. It’s a thrift-store jacket. I got it for under five bucks.”

Ben held out a hand for the garment. Body suddenly stiff, Sissy thrust it toward him. He grasped the cloth. Then he ascended the steps, grabbed Finn by the ruff, and gave him a firm shake. “No!” he said in a loud voice, pushing the garment against the pup’s nose. “No chew! That’s bad, bad, bad!” This was followed by another shake. “No chew!”

Hanging his head, Finn slumped on the porch the moment Ben released him. Then he whined and rolled over onto his back. Ben gave Sissy a sidelong look. “That’s a sign of surrender. He’s baring his belly to me. In dog-speak, that means a few things. First, that I’m the alpha in our pack of two. Second, he understands that he’s done a bad thing. Third, he’s sorry.” Ben bent to press the jacket to Finn’s nose again. “No, no, no. You understand me, pal?”

Straightening, Ben thrust the ruined garment back at Sissy.

“That’s it,” he said in an even voice. “It’s called puppy training, and by the time he’s a year old, I’ll have repeated the performance at least a thousand times. I never hit him. I don’t kick him. Most dogs are sensitive animals, and rough treatment ruins them.”

“I see.” She had offended Ben, but she couldn’t think how to undo it. “I’m sorry. It’s just—” Words failed her, and she broke off.

“It’s just what?” His voice carried an edge. “Don’t hide anything bad that he does from me. He’s still learning, and if he gets away with chewing your things, he’ll continue to do it.”

“I’m sorry.” It was all Sissy could think to say.

Seeming to tower over her, Ben sighed and relaxed his shoulders. Then he rubbed beside his nose. “Yeah, well, I’m sorry, too. If there’s anything that gets me riled, it’s animal abuse. People who mistreat animals need their asses kicked, and I’d like to be first in line to do the job. Having you think I might hurt my own dog doesn’t sit well. You understand?”

Sissy nodded. “I don’t think that of you. I’ve seen how relaxed and safe Finnegan feels, and I know that’s because you’ve only been kind to him. I—well, let me just say that I’ve seen dogs beaten half senseless for doing something far less serious, and I just reacted without thinking.”

“If you’ve seen shit like that happen, you were hanging out with good-for-nothing assholes.”

She couldn’t argue that point. Her father was, without question, a good-for-nothing asshole, and nothing had ever been safe around him, including his only child.

Ben lowered his gaze to Finnegan and then crouched down. Patting his knee, he said, “Okay, buddy. You’re forgiven, again.”

Finn catapulted to his feet and threw himself into Ben’s arms. Ben chuckled and administered an all-over body rub to his dog. Glancing up at Sissy with no trace of anger left in his eyes, he said, “It may be a backhanded compliment, but he only eats things that belong to people he loves. When he was little, he wasn’t particular and nobody’s stuff was safe. Now he ignores the possessions of other people and bestows upon me the singular honor of destroying only mine.” He grinned. “Must have been the hot dogs you gave him for dinner last night that won him over. Now you’re apparently on his favorite list, along with me. Aren’t you lucky?”

“Should I stop feeding him?”

“That depends.” He rose to his full height. “If you value your shoes, possibly. On the other hand, his breed is known for its loyalty. Now that the love bug has sunk its teeth into him, he’ll probably still adore you even if you starve him half to death.”

Sissy glanced down at Finn, who looked up at her with a glow of affection in his eyes. With a start, she noticed for the first time that they were mostly amber like his master’s, only one of them was half bluish white. “Is he blind in one eye?”

“No, he sees out of it fine. It’s a trait in blue merles, blue eyes. Some of them have one blue eye. Finn got only half of one.” A rumble came from his stomach. He pressed a broad hand over the spot. “Excuse me.”

Sissy took that as her cue to get his sandwich made. She turned toward the door, then hesitated. “Will you mind if I offer Finn some leftover hamburger patties for his late lunch?”

Ben threw back his head and barked with laughter. “No. But put all your good shoes on a high shelf. Last week he cropped off the tops of my best dress boots.”

“Oh, no.”

“Nearly four hundred bucks of oh, no, actually.” He glanced at the pup. “Feed him at your own risk. I guess that old saying is true and applies to dogs as well as guys. The way to our hearts is through our stomachs.”

Since Sissy was on her way indoors to make Ben a delicious Reuben sandwich, that adage seemed more of a bad omen than a helpful tip.