Reckless Heart (8 page)

She heard the rumble of masculine voices and stopped to listen.

“What the hell are you doing coming from Molly’s room?”

Josh’s voice.

Her heart dropped. Tossing everything on the table, she ran out into the hall.

“—keys so I can unload her car.”

“She ask you?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Lance’s eyes danced in amusement as he faced off against Josh.

Molly halted when she reached them. A person would have to be dead to miss the tension that filled the hallway. The two men were of a size. They looked ready to fight at the drop of a hat.

“Is there a problem?”

She didn’t want to be there, but if she was the cause, no matter how unknowing, she thought she should do something to ease the situation.

Josh shook his head and held out his hand to Lance. “I’ll get her stuff.”

Lance hesitated a moment, glanced at Molly and winked. “Fine.” He dropped the keys into Josh’s outstretched hand. “Guess I’ll be setting the table, after all.”

Josh looked at him sharply.

Lance shrugged, grinned, and headed back toward the kitchen. “I offered my services to Molly. She had a couple of suggestions.”

Josh reached out and snagged Molly’s arm as she turned to follow Lance. She looked up, surprised. Shimmering waves of excitement hit her and she wondered for a foolish moment if he planned to kiss her again.

“Lance is my foreman, not some kitchen help.”

“He offered.”

“What other services did he offer?”

Josh grit his teeth. He didn’t care. He couldn’t care. But he also couldn’t walk away from her until he knew.

What else had Lance offered?

Before Josh could say another word, Molly whirled around and rushed to the kitchen. She snatched up the hot pad and opened the oven door. The smell of burnt bread filled the kitchen just as the cowboys began to troop in.

One groaned.

Molly turned, her face stricken, holding the large cookie sheet of biscuits. Dumping the sheet on the counter, she flipped one biscuit over; its bottom was scorched. Turning, she glared at Josh as he followed her into the kitchen.

“This is all your fault, Josh Hart,” she said, scraping them off the pan.

“You should have set the timer,” he said, coming up behind her. Reaching around her, he scooped up one and examined the black bottom.

“Ha. I was doing fine until you caused me to forget cooking.”

She began to place biscuit dough on a second cookie sheet. “I was watching them. I had everything under control until you started berating Lance for being in my room.”

Instant silence filled the kitchen.

Molly closed her eyes and stifled a groan. Shaking her head, she resumed placing the cut biscuit dough on the cool pan. She’d watch this batch without distraction and make sure it didn’t burn. No matter what Josh got up to, she'd concentrate on cooking.

“Pete, start dishing up. Not that it’s the business of any of you, but I went to her room to get her car keys to unload the rest of her things,” Lance said, calmly reaching for the platter of ham.

“And then you had to jump to conclusions and make a fuss,” she whispered to Josh, trying to avoid the interested stare of the men seated around the table.

“What was I to think, seeing a man come from your room?” he whispered in return, his back to the men.

“Think whatever you want, just don’t jump to conclusions about me. You’ll probably be wrong.”

She turned and almost bumped into him. Placing her hand on his chest, she pushed. It was like trying to move a mountain.

“You’re in my way,” she said.

“I knew you’d be a problem.”

“I’m not the problem! If you hadn’t gotten so upset with Lance over nothing, none of this would have happened,” she snapped back.

“While you’re here, I’m responsible for you. Think of me as in loco parentis.”

“Give me a break! I have no need for a father, thank you very much. I’m old enough to live my own life the way I want. Move!”

Josh slowly stepped aside and watched as she stormed over to the stove and grabbed the coffee. He peeled the bottoms off the last biscuits and tossed them into the basket, setting it in the center of the table.

He sat at the head and heaped his plate with the ham and mashed potatoes and green beans Molly had prepared.

There was plenty of food for everyone. Feeling proud of the fact, Molly took the vacant chair next to Josh and began to serve herself. No complaints about going hungry this night. It would have been perfect if the biscuits hadn’t burned.

She glanced up at the odd expressions on the faces of the men. One by one they took a bite of potatoes, and then looked puzzled. Billy added salt and pepper to his, took another bite. His gaze slid across the table and met hers. Smiling gamely, he cut a hunk of ham.

“What did you do to the potatoes?” Josh’s angry voice interrupted her musing.

She looked at him.

“Nothing. They’re boxed. I planned on baked potatoes, but forgot to put them—”

He didn’t need to hear she’d forgotten to put them in the oven in time and had to resort to boxed ones.

“We eat mashed potatoes all the time. They never taste like this.”

She scooped up some and sampled. They were sweet! Suddenly she remembered, she'd been thinking how her heroine would never be caught in a kitchen in her story. Had she been daydreaming again and picked up sugar instead of salt to season the potatoes? Oh, good grief, couldn’t she get one single meal right?

“They do taste a bit odd. Maybe the drying process altered the taste or the milk started to go bad.”

There wasn’t enough money in Texas to get her to confess before all these men that she had been so stupid to put sugar instead of salt into the mashed potatoes.

Josh stared at her.

Nervously Molly took a sip of ice tea and prayed he wouldn't attack her in front of everyone.

“Shall I make a fresh batch?” she asked just as the buzzer rang for the oven.

Grateful for the respite, she jumped up and withdrew the golden biscuits. Sighing with relief that these turned out perfectly, she gave each man two.

“We’ll make it through with these, but maybe next time you should taste them before serving them,” Josh said.

“Good idea.”

She smiled brightly, more with relief than anything else, and sat back at her place.

“Odd potatoes or not, boss, this beats us cooking,” one of the men said.

Josh had to agree with him.

As housekeepers went, Molly was the worst cook he’d seen. But she kept trying, he had to give her that.

And she was the easiest on the eyes. In fact, she looked downright pretty.

He frowned and forced his gaze away. She was too pretty for the ranch. He remembered his mother. He'd always thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. He remembered more how loving she had always been, how there had been cookies and milk every day. How she’d baked pies and cakes for the men—because her husband loved sweets.

He never saw her spend time on her hair or her makeup. But she'd always looked glamorous to him.

And she'd been content on the ranch. He never remembered her wanting to go out in the evenings. But he did remember playing games in the evenings, picnics out near where the cattle were when they were too far from home for his dad to come in for lunch.

Her life had been complete on the ranch with her family.

The tragedy of the automobile accident that claimed both her and his father had altered things forever.

He'd thought to find a woman just like her. And believed he had with Jeannie.

She had been pretty as a picture. And his former fiancée had stayed at the ranch several times. Her yearnings to go into town, or Dallas or Galveston he'd put down to not being fully part of the ranch. Which he expected to change when they married.

He should have read the signs. She liked parties, nightclubs and dancing. And pretty clothes. Clothes totally unsuitable to ranch life.

He flicked a glance to Molly as she ate quietly. At least Molly made an effort to dress appropriately. She’d worn tennis shoes today instead of her new boots, but the jeans and cotton shirt were suitable, if a bit snug.

Not that clothes alone made a woman suitable for ranch work.

Not that ranch work was what Miss Molly Forrester wanted. She considered herself a
writer
.

He wondered when she thought she’d find the time to actually sit down and write. Especially if she kept the house up to the standards she set with the living room and kitchen.

“Nice dinner, ma’am, despite the potatoes,” Jack said, pushing back his chair.

“And the biscuits. The second batch came out good,” Billy said.

Molly smiled, hoping the heat in her cheeks didn’t show. She grew more and more determined to improve her cooking. Breakfast had been perfect. Lunch went well for the men who had been close to the house. Why had she let her mind wander when she cooked dinner?

“I still say it beats me having to cook,” Lance added, tilting back in his chair and sipping from the cup of hot coffee. He smiled at Molly, his eyes studying her.

“It was good,” Trevor said as he rose and headed out.

“Mighty fine, ma’am.”

“Good night.”

One by one the men left the house until only Josh and Lance remained at the table.

Josh looked at Lance. “Had enough?” he asked.

The foreman looked at him and raised his cup. “Still working on this one, boss. But you don't have to stay, Molly can keep me company.”

“She has work to do,” Josh replied.

“When I finish eating,” she said, taking the last bite of ham. She'd pushed her potatoes around but eaten very little. At least she wouldn't make that mistake twice.

“Plenty of food tonight,” Lance said. He glanced at Josh and then smiled at Molly. “You go shopping again?”

“Nope, I called the store and they delivered. They even brought the groceries right into the kitchen. Saved me oodles of time.”

“That's how you play housekeeper?” Josh asked.

“Don't knock it. I’m the best bet you have for housekeeper.” Molly rose and began stacking the empty plates.

“Doesn’t say much,” Josh said.

“You’re the one who drove the others off.”

“Is that what Mrs. Montgomery told you?” he asked, tilting back in his chair, his hands tucked into the front slash pockets of his jeans.

Molly paused a moment, her eyes feasting on him. Then she resolutely moved to the sink.

“Yes.”

“So we have you to blame, boss?” Lance said, setting down his cup, and rocking back in his chair.

“Let’s see, when Rachel first left, it took two weeks to replace her. Her name was Alice. She was allergic to hay. I guess since I insisted we keep hay on the ranch for the animals I could be accused of running her off.”

Lance nodded, smiling. “I remember her. She was the one sneezing all the time.”

Molly tried not to smile while she ran water into the sink.

“And number two?” she asked, intrigued by this unexpected playful side of her austere boss. Especially after a less than perfect meal. Her father would have been ranting and raving for hours at her ineptitude.

“Ah, number two came a week later. Ms. Patricia Dare. Only she dared nothing. She didn’t like the isolation, didn’t like being so far from town, didn’t like the language of the men, didn’t like the wind blowing constantly.”

“Didn't like our wearing boots inside, didn't like our putting our hats on the backs of our chairs. She mostly didn't like anything,” Lance added.

“I didn’t notice any bad language,” Molly said.

“Wait a few days. They’re on the best behavior around you. It’ll wear off when they’re hot and tired and grumpy.”

She slid her eyes toward him. “I’ve seen you grumpy and not heard anything so bad.” Giving up the thought of washing the dishes for a few minutes, she turned off the water and leaned her back against the sink looking at the two cowboys.

Josh grinned and her heart flopped over. Unable to move her gaze, she could only stare and feel more alive than ever in her life. What was it about Josh?

He had two eyes like everyone else. Well, maybe his were more sexy than a man had a right to have, especially when he narrowed them to gaze down at her.

He had a nose and a mouth like everyone else. But unlike anyone else, his mouth had kissed her silly. Her body grew warm with the memory.

“That’s because I’m on my best behavior, too. Sugar in the potatoes notwithstanding, having you is better than us fixing our own meals.”

“I wouldn’t have burned the biscuits if you and Lance hadn’t been having words,” she said primly. She had hoped he wouldn't mention the potatoes. She should have known better.

“We weren’t having words, I simply asked what the hell he was doing in my house coming from your room.” Josh’s grin faded and he looked annoyed. “Next time you need help, ask me.”