Must Love Cowboys (5 page)

“I wanted to ask that question myself,” Angela said. “Although I probably would've phrased it differently.”

Under any other circumstances, my situation would've been funny. At the moment, however, it was awkward in the extreme. I started to draw away from Dean only to find he wasn't letting me go, despite the fact that he wasn't the only naked man in the room.

At least he hadn't been the only one a moment before. Bull's retreating footfalls sounded like, well, a stampeding bull. Dean probably would've joined him if he hadn't been using me as a shield.

“It was sort of…accidental,” I said.

“She's here to see Calvin,” Dean explained—which sounded even worse than being caught in Dean's arms.

I had to salvage this quickly or Jack Kincaid would probably run me off the ranch with a shotgun. “My grandfather left some things to Calvin in his will, so I stopped by here on my way back from scattering his ashes in the Tetons. I was asleep in the next room and heard Calvin tapping on the wall. Thought I'd better check on him.”

“Good thing you did,” Angela said. With a wag of her head, she added, “Poor Calvin. As if we haven't had enough trouble lately.” Her lips formed a grim line that twitched into a tiny smile as her gaze slid past me. “Hold on a sec, Dean.” Crossing the room, she snatched the covers from Calvin's bed. After tossing a sheet to Dean, she knelt beside Calvin and spread a blanket over him, then tucked a pillow beneath his head. She glanced up at Wyatt. “Has he said anything?”

“No.” Grimacing, he blew out a sharp exhale. “Just wish we had some oxygen to give him.”

“The ambulance should be here soon,” she said. “I told them what to expect.”

Dean finally backed away and wrapped the sheet around his waist, but not before I saw something else that couldn't be unseen. Despite being a head shorter than Bull, Dean certainly had him beat in the dick department. The muscles were nice too. Deciding it was safer to look at my dog, I turned toward her just as she sprang to attention.

“I hear sirens.” I didn't, of course. I'd seen Ophelia's “siren” stance enough times to know that she heard them perfectly.

Wyatt arched a skeptical brow. “Who are you? Radar O'Reilly?”

Obviously I wasn't the only one who'd ever stayed up watching late-night reruns of
M*A*S*H
. My snappy comeback died on my lips as I finally heard the same thing Ophelia had, and so did everyone else.

Angela heaved a sigh. “Thank God.”

Figuring the time had come for me to fade back into the woodwork, I was inching my way toward the door when the ambulance crew came bursting through it.

Dean must have had the same idea. Taking my hand, he pulled me out into the hallway as soon as the medics had cleared the threshold.

“Sorry about that,” he said with a sheepish grin. “Sleeping in the nude sometimes has its drawbacks.”

“Only sometimes?” I echoed. “Don't you get cold?”

He shrugged. “Not when I have you to keep me warm.”

As suggestive remarks went, this was one of the more blatant I'd ever received, and the accompanying smirk added even more fuel to the fire. “True, but I've only been here for a few hours. Considering where you live, it's a wonder you haven't frozen to death.”

His gaze swept me from head to toe. “No chance of that happening to you, is there?”

“Probably not.” Oddly enough, now that the excitement was winding down, even my thick flannel jammies weren't doing the job. I was actually shivering, although I couldn't decide whether those tremors were due to the ambient temperature or the fact that I was talking to a man dressed in a sheet.

Or maybe it was because I'd seen his penis.

Until a few minutes before, I'd never laid eyes on a naked man unless he was incapacitated by age and illness or was still in diapers. In one fell swoop, I'd seen two of them. Despite the fact that spending the night in a bunkhouse with a bunch of cowboys was a bit like hanging out in the men's locker room—you have to be prepared to see some skin—with a lady sleeping nearby, I would've expected them to at least keep their undies on.

Guess not.

I peered through the doorway. The ambulance crew had already put Calvin on a stretcher, hooked him up to a monitor, and placed a mask over his nose and mouth that I recognized as the type that delivered 100 percent oxygen. One guy was taking his blood pressure and the other was starting an IV.

All of that should have pleased Wyatt, but judging from his taut, anxious posture, he was still itching to do something—anything—to help the old man. After taking care of Grandpa for as long as I had, I understood the need. Unfortunately, while I was pretty well versed in emptying bedpans and urinals and changing soiled sheets, this sort of thing was way beyond my level of expertise. If I stuck around, I would only be in the way.

“Looks like you guys have everything under control. I think I'll go back to bed.”

My comments had been intended for Dean's ears alone. Nevertheless, Wyatt must have heard them. His piercing gaze met mine. “You saved his life. You know that, don't you?”

The blushes I'd been spared earlier that evening returned with a vengeance. Unable to look him in the eye any longer, I shifted my focus to the indeterminate space between us. “I think you and Nick deserve the credit for that.”

“Some,” he admitted. “But you could've ignored the sounds you heard.”

I shook my head. “Not after I realized he was tapping out SOS.”

“You know Morse code?”

A short laugh escaped me. “Everyone knows that much, don't they?”

His eyes narrowed. “Maybe.”

“We're just glad you did,” Angela said. “What did you say your name was?”

Only then did I realize I had never introduced myself; I had merely explained my reasons for being there. “Tina Hayes. Calvin and my grandfather served together in Vietnam. They…kept in touch.”

For the first time, Jack Kincaid looked at me with something bordering on approval. “I'm very sorry to hear of your grandfather's passing, ma'am.” He drew in an unsteady breath. “Calvin is a good man. I sure don't want to lose him. Thank you.”

Much more of that, and I would be in tears. I didn't even trust myself to speak. With a nod and a tight smile, I went back to my room.

* * *

I awoke the next morning wondering if Wyatt's firefighting skills might be the next ones he demonstrated because judging from the smoke and the beeping smoke alarm, the bunkhouse was on fire. Then again, nothing smelled quite like burned eggs.

When I dashed into the kitchen, my only consolation was that Dean wasn't naked.

Consolation? Hmm…
I wasn't too sure about that, but he was the one holding the fire extinguisher while Sonny, Joe, and Nick were fanning the smoke out through the open doorway. Ophelia took the opportunity to make a hasty exit.

“Sorry about that,” Dean said. “We were trying to fix breakfast for you.”

A quick head count revealed two missing cowboys. “Where are Bull and Wyatt?”

“They followed the ambulance to the hospital and aren't back yet,” Nick replied. He aimed a scornful glare at Dean. “Wish Bull had gone by himself. Wyatt actually knows how to cook.”

“I'm sure he does.” If Wyatt had been stationed in a firehouse, he'd undoubtedly done his share of kitchen duty. “It's nice of you to try, but once the smoke clears, I can fix my own breakfast.”

Sonny gazed at me with hopeful eyes. “Could you cook something for us too?”

“You mean you haven't eaten either?” I glanced at the clock, which read eight thirty. By that time, I'd have expected a bunch of cowboys to be up and gone for the day.

“Not yet,” Nick said. “We, uh, kinda slept in this morning.”

“I don't blame you. None of us got much sleep last night.” I paused, yawning as Ophelia trotted up the steps and into the kitchen. No doubt she also wanted breakfast. “And, yes, I can fix breakfast for all of us. Just let me get dressed, and I'll be right back.”

“Great!” Joe said. “We'll have this mess cleaned up in no time.”

I went back to my room and put out some food for Ophelia. I was about to change into my jeans when I realized I probably didn't need to.

Normally, the thought of four men seeing me before I'd washed my face and combed my hair would've embarrassed me half to death. But that was prior to last night's drama. Each of these guys already knew what I looked like in my pajamas, and I'd seen one of them naked. I reminded myself that I was wearing flannel jammies, not a slinky, see-through negligee. I put on my robe and slippers and returned to the kitchen.

“I'll get dressed later,” I said. “Any idea where I might find an apron?”

All four men burst out laughing.

“You've got to be kidding,” Dean said between chuckles.

“Yeah. Should've figured that.” I heaved a sigh. “Okay. What do you all normally have for breakfast when Calvin's here?”

“Bacon, eggs, toast, and coffee during the week,” Nick replied. “Pancakes on Saturdays, biscuits and sausage gravy on Sundays.”

That didn't sound too bad—until I realized I had no idea what day it was.

Still lagging a time zone or two behind.

“Umm…my brain is kinda foggy. What day is it?”

“Thursday,” Nick replied. “Although if you want to make pancakes, we're good with that.”

I'd made plenty of chocolate chip pancakes for Grandpa. Quite often, that was the only thing I could get him to eat, and I hadn't made any since he died. This situation was different, but it still didn't take me long to decide to go with the usual Thursday menu, especially since I only knew how to make enough pancakes for one man. Something told me I wouldn't find any pancake mix in the pantry.

“Let's stick with bacon and eggs. If you guys will make the coffee and toast, I'll handle the rest. Just tell me how much you want.”

The men each put in their order, which sounded like an awful lot to cook at one time until I remembered the restaurant-style griddle. I'd never used anything like it, but once I scraped off the burnt eggs and got it heated up again, I had to admit, it was freakin' awesome.

The eggs were about done when Dean sidled up behind me, smoothing his hands over my hips. Amazingly, I didn't even flinch—a testament to what “snuggling up” with a naked man had done for me the night before. “Coffee's ready and the toast is toasting.” He inhaled deeply. “And you smell good enough to eat.”

Fortunately, I caught myself before asking him if he really wanted to eat me.

Talk about your suggestive remarks…

“Humph. That's what happens when you fry bacon without an apron.”

He buried his face in my hair and inhaled again. “Doesn't smell like bacon to me. Smells like
you
.”

“You just like my brand of shampoo.”

“And you need to learn how to take a compliment. If I say you smell good, you smell good. Period.” He followed that up with a kiss on the side of my neck that made me drop the spatula.

“Will you stop pestering her?” Nick snapped. “We've already had one fire in the kitchen this morning.”

The steam from the griddle was reaching stifling proportions—at least I thought that was where the heat was coming from. I reached up and switched on the exhaust fan.

“Damn. Forgot about that fan,” Dean muttered. “Would've gotten rid of the smoke a lot quicker. Probably should've had it on all along.”

Nick practically growled his impatience. “Important safety tip. Now, will you please leave her alone? I'm starving!”

“Okay, okay,
okay
.” Dean threw up his hands and backed off.

I chuckled as I spotted the warning label on the hood controls. “Apparently, the griddle is never supposed to be operated without the fan. Wish I'd noticed that sooner.”

“Yeah, well, you live and learn,” Nick said, stepping forward with a plate. “Three eggs and six bacons, please.”

Chuckling, I retrieved the spatula and dished up his portion. “There you go, Nick. Chow down.”

The others lined up for their share, and I doled out the remainder.

Joe was last in line. “Didn't you fix any for yourself?”

“I'm having an omelet,” I replied, putting the last two strips of bacon on my own plate. “I want to see how well it works on this griddle.” I cracked two eggs into a bowl, added some milk and seasonings, stirred it up, and poured it on the griddle. “This thing is awesome,” I exclaimed as the eggs began to sizzle. “Wish I had one at home.”

“You, um, like to cook?” Joe ventured.

“I
love
to cook,” I replied. “I used to take cookies into work once or twice a month.” I paused as I recalled that the days I'd brought in goodies were about the only times my male coworkers ever acknowledged my existence. That old saying about the way to a man's heart being through his stomach was bogus, though. I was living proof of that. “I've always had this fantasy about cooking for a gang of hungry firemen or construction workers or something. That way I could cook as much as I wanted and nothing would go to waste.” Deeming it best to omit the wild, orgasmic fun-and-games aspect of that fantasy, I let out a sigh. “Feeding my sick grandfather wasn't any fun at all. He was hardly ever hungry and picked at anything I gave him. I probably threw away more food than he actually ate.”

Joe hesitated before darting a quick glance at me. He seemed almost as shy as I was, which struck me as an odd personality trait in a foreman. “Don't suppose feeding a bunch of hungry cowboys would fill the bill, would it?”

I blinked, realizing that here was my ultimate fantasy come to life. Granted, they weren't firemen, but six cowboys out riding the range all day would work up one heck of an appetite. I could make all the pies and cakes and casseroles and pot roasts and bread I wanted—aside from the fact that I'd seen two guys naked and one had actually kissed me on the lips. “Yeah. I guess it would.”