Chapter Three

“You’re late,” Phyllis told Caleb as he entered the kitchen.

It was an hour past the appointed meeting time. Laura hadn’t minded the wait. She’d eaten breakfast and watched the morning news, easing into the day. Caleb’s delinquency had bothered Phyllis, who commented more than once on how she valued schedules.

“Glad you ladies are more punctual than I am.” Caleb filled his coffee mug and joined the three cook competitors and his mother at the table.

Interesting response. He didn’t apologize or come up with a lie to cover his tardiness. Could she trust him, or would there be mini-tests like this all along the way?

“There’s some food left on the stove if you’re still hungry, Caleb.” Mary Grace glanced up from her crossword puzzle.

“No, thanks.” He took a sip of coffee. “Let’s get started?”

“Sure.” Angel drummed her fingernails on the table. “We’ve been waiting here awhile.”

Some longer than others, Laura added silently. Phyllis had been there when Laura arrived. Angel had just barely beaten Caleb to the table.

“Fine, then.” He nodded. “Let’s start with the schedule. I’ve got the next three days figured out.” He shifted on his chair and pulled out a sheet of paper from the back pocket of his jeans. He handed it to Phyllis. “After you look at it, I’ll post it on the wall over there.” Caleb pointed to the cork bulletin board next to the patio doors. “You’ll each do a meal a day and a share of the household chores. Weekends, we operate differently. That’s why I did only today, tomorrow, and Friday.”

“Who’s got lunch today?” Angel asked.

“Laura,” Caleb answered, drawing her attention back into the conversation. “Phyllis has dinner. Person with the next meal cleans up the previous. So, Phyllis, you’ll come in after lunch and take care of the dishes and clean up the kitchen. Laura, you get the honors now.”

“Is there a menu to follow?” Laura stopped wiping her mouth when she realized Caleb was scrutinizing her movements. She stared back at him, wondering what he was thinking. No complications, just let me cook, her mind shouted.

“No. In fact,” he said, stretching his arms in the air and then folding his hands behind his head. “That will be your first challenge. Until I post a new schedule, you’ll have to use whatever supplies we have on hand. I call the groceries into the store in town once a week, and they deliver.”

“Why doesn’t your mom just bring stuff up to the ranch?” Angel looked at Mary Grace.

“She’s not an employee of the Morning Glory.” Caleb leaned back on his chair and crossed his arms. “It’s more efficient to have the goods delivered.”

“Do you take inventory when it comes, or will we?” Laura asked.

She didn’t quite understand the look he gave her. It was an innocent question.

“I always have. Stella, the woman one of you will replace, didn’t read English, and—”

“How could she not read English?” Angel laughed.

Caleb’s sexy jaw muscles clenched.

“It was just easier, I’m sure,” Laura interjected. “When it came to paying the bills, you knew what was coming in.”

Her comment quieted the table, and she caught a grateful look from Mary Grace.

“Has Stella left the area?” Laura asked.

Caleb met her eyes. “Her husband worked as a ranch hand here for almost ten years. She’s cooked here for about as long, at least since her youngest started school.” Caleb studied his coffee mug. “Last month, Juan got sick. They’re at the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota just now, having tests run.”

Caleb put up a hard exterior, like Mary Grace suggested, but Laura could sense some cracks in his armor.

“What about your kid’s mom?” Angel stuffed a muffin into her mouth.

Mary Grace clucked her tongue. “That’s none of your business, dear.” She stood and began to clear the table.

“Morning.” Little Conner, still rubbing sleep from his eyes, came through the kitchen door and stopped next to Laura’s chair. “This is my seat.”

“Oh…” Laura chuckled.

“Conner—” Caleb and Mary Grace scolded simultaneously.

“Here you go.” Laura stood and held the chair for him. She picked up her empty plate. “You want some of Grandma’s yummy muffins?”

“Yeah.”

Laura put her dirty dishes into the sink. She piled several small muffins on a fresh plate and gave them to the little boy.

“Conner, next time you will ask politely for someone to move. And make sure you thank Miss Laura. You hear me?” Caleb instructed his son.

“Thank you, Miss Laura.”

“You’re welcome.” She felt weird standing in the middle of the kitchen, so she moved behind the granite counter.

“Well.” Angel shoved her empty plate to the middle of the table. “Since I have the day off, I guess I’ll go on up to my room and unpack.” She smirked in Laura’s direction before heading for the door.

“Angel, hold up.” Caleb waited until she turned around. “Today is your laundry day.”

 

* * *

 

“Ahh.” The muscles in Caleb’s back relaxed, one by one, as he sprawled across the oversized leather couch in his private living room. He pulled Connor next to him and clicked the television remote to the little boy’s favorite cartoon channel. This was the best time of each day, just before bed, when he could shut off the responsibility of the rest of the world and just be a dad.

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Day one of his current challenge had been interesting.

Phyllis was quiet and reserved. There were times she was around when he didn’t even notice her. But if that night’s dinner was any indication, she could cook. Angel, the little temptress, spoke off the top of her head, her immaturity obvious and annoying. When it came down to the final choice, he’d have to think about his future, paying guests. Her current attitude wouldn’t work here. She could change, though. Plenty of farmhands started out green and ended up becoming fine workers. Juan was an example.

Angel had a long way to go. She had done the laundry, her only assigned chore for the whole day. Instead of finishing it, folding the clothes, and putting them away, she had left them all sitting in wash baskets and in piles on the counter in the laundry room.

What would it be like if she had all three meals to prepare and housework chores too? Would the house be in chaos? He’d find out in a week, when the women were given a whole day to manage.

He had to shape Angel up quickly or the next month would be very long. He’d talk with her while she made breakfast. He hoped she’d be more punctual tomorrow. The men didn’t like to wait on food.

Conner laughed, and Caleb opened his eyes to see a yellow sponge creature named Bob jump off a pineapple on the TV screen. He kissed his son’s head and closed his eyes again, trying to relax.

“Dad? Mickey’s mom is making him a costume for Halloween. Think Grandma might make me one, too?”

“I’ll bet she would.” Caleb opened his eyes. “What do you want to dress up like?”

“SpongeBob!”

“I should have guessed.” Caleb laughed. How would Ma make a sponge? “We’ll ask her tomorrow, okay?”

Conner nodded and settled back into the cartoon until another commercial came on. “Dad?”

“Hmm?”

“Would you tell me about my mom again?”

The million-dollar questions. They came once in a while. Tonight, they were likely a result of the new women in the house.

“What do you want to know?” Caleb asked quietly.

“Where is she?”

Caleb sighed and held him tighter. “Well, like I told you, she likes to ride horses in the rodeo. So, I guess that’s what she’s doing now.” He hadn’t heard from her in years.

“She loved horses more than me?”

That one always hurt the most. And the lie he followed it up with was just as painful. “No, she just didn’t want to live here with me, Connor. She loved you lots.”

That seemed to satisfy the boy for the moment, as it always did. These were the hard questions, the ones he’d rehearsed answers to in the quiet hours of dawn when he wondered the same things. What was Christie doing now?

“I miss Stella and Juan,” Connor said on a yawn.

“I do, too,” Caleb agreed.

“Think one of them new ladies might like me enough to stay? Maybe be a new mom for me?” Connor snuggled up closer to Caleb’s side. “You don’t got a wife,” he continued. “None of them got husbands. Think you might love one?”

Aw, hell. Where did that come from? “They’re here to take care of the house, Con. Not to marry me.” No sense getting the boy’s hopes up.

“The yellow-haired lady is real pretty. I like Miss Laura best, though, ’cause she talks to me.”

Like father, like son. Laura was the woman giving Caleb fits too. Beautiful and refined, smart and articulate, he didn’t know how to act around her. He felt slightly intimidated by her.

She could cook too. He’d never been a great fan of fish, but the salmon sandwiches at noon—she called them panini or some such thing—had been delicious. His mother had been the last to order supplies and as she was forever complaining he didn’t eat enough fish and needed omega three, whatever that was, she’d stocked up on every sort of fish. If fish would always taste as good as the meal they’d had at noon, maybe he’d become a convert.

Was Laura dominating his thoughts because she was a puzzle? Why had she come here from Chicago? He was paying well for her services, but what did a city girl know about ranches? Phyllis and Angel lived in Nebraska, knew what life out here would be like. Could Laura adjust?

Maybe he needed to go for a jog with her. Find out why she was really here. He chuckled then, imagining himself trying to run.

“What’s funny, Dad?”

“Nothin’.” He laughed again.

He was crazy, feeling things for her he didn’t want to feel. Desire and lust he didn’t welcome and knew he had to avoid.

“Time for bed.” The credits were rolling already, and Caleb didn’t like the direction his thoughts were headed. He didn’t want to field any more questions, either. Caleb clicked off the TV and herded Conner to bed.

Caleb’s room was on one side of the sitting room; Connor’s was on the other side. The whole house had been remodeled during the past two years. With a little extra financing, he had decided to take the plunge and had switched the Morning Glory from his family ranch to a guest ranch to bring in extra income.

Caleb tucked Connor into bed, kissed him on the forehead, and gave him his teddy bear. “Night, Con.”

“I really like that Laura girl, Dad. Think she’ll be the winner?"

“We’ll see, Connor. We’ll see.” Caleb had been thinking of little else since the woman got here.

Caleb left Connor and walked across to his own bedroom. Was it just hormones? Friday, he’d find out. A band played at the bar in town, and he’d text one of the girls he sometimes hooked up with. Maybe, just maybe, he’d give in this time, and take a little of what Jenny was only too happy to offer.

Anything to get the beauty from Chicago off his mind.

 

* * *

 

“What the—?”

Laura looked up from the stove and smiled at Caleb. Oh, yum. That hunky cleft in his chin made her smile grow even wider. His short brown hair was slicked back, still wet from the shower. His standard-issue jeans molded to him better than Levi intended, hugging his butt like a glove. She snapped her head up, away from the huge buckle on his belt that rested above a part of his anatomy she needed to ignore. Embarrassed, she focused her eyes on the words Morning Glory, written in red letters on his denim work shirt.

“Morning, boss.” She flipped her gaze to the stove, breathing deeply, trying to rein in her attraction. He was just a guy. Beautiful, but just a guy.

“What are you doing?”

She looked back at him, catching an expression of reproach crinkling the corner of his eyes.

“Um…frying bacon?” She grinned. “There’ll be eggs and biscuits, too. If they turn out.” She turned away from him, her attention on the bacon, which was ready to be turned.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him walk to the duty roster posted at the door, and immediately, she understood his confusion. She met his gaze with raised, freshly plucked eyebrows, ready for the confrontation.

“You are not Angel.”

“Thankfully, no, I am not.” She leaned over and propped open the oven to check the biscuits.

“Where is she?” His voice grew gruff.

“Sleeping.” Without elaborating, she pulled the second sheet of buttermilk biscuits from the oven. “Would you care for one?” With hot-pad-encased hands, she held the baking sheet out to him.

“No.” He shook his head and then changed his mind and grabbed one. “Yes.” He opened the biscuit in half and glanced around the kitchen. “Do you have the—?”

“Over there, on the table.” She pointed with the tray.

“—honey.” He finished his thought and meandered to the condiments.

“Coffee is ready.” She watched from under her lashes as he slathered honey on his biscuit, and then she turned off the bacon. She already missed her cookware. Strange, how a person gets attached to silly things. She drained the grease into an empty can and put the bacon in the oven to keep it warm.

Caleb poured himself a cup of coffee and then leaned his hip against the center island to watch her work. It was mildly disconcerting, really. She knew how to run a kitchen, was confident in her cooking abilities—all of Chicago was confident in her ability to create amazing dishes. His maleness, on the other hand, was troublesome and more than a tad distracting.

“This is quite possibly the best biscuit I’ve ever eaten.” He plucked another from the cooling rack. “Now, Miss Marshall, kindly tell me why you’re in the kitchen, creating culinary delights, while Angel is upstairs sawing logs.”

He inhaled the second biscuit.

She whisked the eggs, added milk for fluff, and threw them in with the peppers and onions that were already simmering in the pan.

“She was throwing up.”

He reached for a third biscuit, and Laura slapped his hand away. “Stop that or we won’t have enough.” Then, when she realized what she just done, her eyes widened. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have done that.”

He smiled at her. Finally.

“No problem.” He devoured the third biscuit he’d pilfered anyway, and then wiped his fingers on her dishtowel. “Listen, Laura. Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate you filling in, but if one of you gets sick, I should be the first to know.”

“Point taken.” She’d been an employer, would have expected the same. But really, Angel had been in no shape to track down Caleb.

Breakfast was the meal she had the least experience preparing, especially a meal to accommodate so many. But, courtesy of Nonna Vita’s biscuit recipe, she had produced a winner.

She placed the finished eggs into two large bowls just as the door to the dining-hall area opened, bringing in a whoosh of cool air. Laura reached into the oven, took out the bacon, and laid it on a warming tray. She shoved the bowls of eggs into Caleb’s hands and shooed him out of her way.

She set the bacon and biscuits on the buffet-style table in the hall and returned to the kitchen for the gravy dish and condiment tray. Caleb followed her back to the kitchen once all the food was sent out.

“Should I check on Angel, ya think?” He shoved his hands into his pockets.

“You’re the boss.” She raised her eyebrows and turned her attention to the pans soaking in the sink.

“That’s Phyllis’s job.” He gestured lamely at her cleaning.

“I run my kitchen the best way I see fit, Caleb. That’s part of the creative freedom clause you threw in the contract. I clean up after myself.” Laura opened the dishwasher and blew out a deep breath. It hadn’t been run after dinner the night before, was crammed full, and smelled rank.

“Sorry.” He walked up next to her, his thigh brushing against hers. “My fault.”

“How’s that?” She turned slightly, intimidated by his height.

“Angel didn’t clean up after dinner,” he said. “I did.”

“Oh.” Laura nodded but didn’t move. How could she when he was looking at her like that. She swallowed the lump in her throat and wiped her sweaty hands on her jeans. “No problem,” she finally said. “I’ll just run it now.”

She pulled pans from the dishwasher and added them to the soapy water in the sink. When she turned, Caleb was still there with a heat in his eyes she recognized as lust but couldn’t quite believe. Caleb’s eyes darkened, and if she didn’t know better, she would have thought….

“Good morning!” A cheerful Phyllis bounded into the kitchen, breaking the tightly woven spell Caleb had created.

Laura turned to the sink and scrubbed the pans to cover her discomfort.

“Hello, Phyllis,” Caleb said. “I’ll go join the men for breakfast.”

Back to business, it seemed.

Laura glanced over her shoulder and watched him pull a notepad from one of the kitchen drawers and a pen from his chest pocket. He scribbled down a number and handed Laura the paper.

“Here’s the cell number. If I’m in one of the deeper valleys, you may not get me, but if you ladies need me, don’t hesitate to call.” He looked at Phyllis. “Ma will be up to fetch Con for school.”

“Have a nice day.” Phyllis waved.

After he left, shutting the door to the dining room behind him, Phyllis turned on Laura. “So what’d I interrupt?”