The Manning Sisters (4 page)

“A tire iron is about this size,” he said, holding his hands a couple of feet apart, mocking her.

Carrying the spray can, Taylor walked around to the flat tire and squatted down in front of it. “I like my steak medium rare and barbecued over a hot charcoal grill. My baked potato should have sour cream and chives and the broccoli should be fresh with a touch of hollandaise sauce drizzled over the top.” Having given him those instructions, she proceeded to fill her deflated tire with the spray can.

“What's that?” Russ asked, his hands set challengingly on his hips.

“You did say this Saturday, didn't you?” she taunted.

He scowled when she handed over the spray can for him to examine. “Fix-it Flat Tire?” he said, reading the label.

“That's exactly what it is,” Taylor informed him primly. “Whatever this marvelous invention is, it fills up the tire enough so I can drive it to a service station and have the attendant deal with it.”

“Now wait a minute,” Russ muttered. “That's cheating.”

“I never said I'd
change
the tire,” Taylor reminded him. “I told you I could deal with the situation myself. And I have.”

“But it's a man who'll be changing the tire.”

“Could be a woman. In Seattle some women work for service stations.”

“In Seattle, maybe, but not in Cougar Point.”

“Come on, Russ, admit it. I outsmarted you.”

He glared at her, and despite his irritation, or perhaps because of it, Taylor laughed. She got inside her car, started the engine and drove out of the parking lot. Then she circled back, returning to Russ who was standing beside his pickup.

“What do you want now?” he demanded.

“I just came to tell you I like blue cheese dressing on my salad.” With that she zipped out of the lot. She was still smiling when she happened to glance in her rearview mirror in time to see Russ slam his black Stetson onto the asphalt.

N
o doubt psychologists had a term for the attraction Taylor felt for this rancher, she decided early Saturday evening. Why else would a woman, who was determined to avoid a certain man, go out of her way to goad him into a wager she was sure to win? Taylor couldn't fathom it herself. Maybe it was some perverse method of inflicting self-punishment. Perhaps her disastrous relationship with Mark had lowered her to this level. Taylor didn't know anymore.

She'd prefer to place all the blame on Russ. If he hadn't made her so furious with his nonsense about a woman needing a man, she probably would've been able to stand aside and smile sweetly while he changed her tire. But he'd had to ruin everything.

During dinner at least, Mandy would be there to act as a buffer.

 

“What do you mean you're going over to Chris's?” Russ asked his sister.

“I told you about it Thursday, remember?”

Russ frowned. Hell, no, he didn't remember. He needed Mandy to help him with this stupid dinner wager he'd made with Taylor. The woman had tricked him. In his view, she should be cooking, not the other way around. He would've been happy to take her to dinner in town and be done with it, but he knew better than to even suggest that. She'd insisted he make dinner himself.

“What's so important at Chris's that you have to do it now?”

“We're practicing. Drill team tryouts are next week, and I've got to make it. I've just got to.”

She made it sound like a matter of life or death. “Couldn't the two of you practice some other time?”

“No,” Mandy said. “I want to see Taylor, but I can't. Not tonight.”

Grumbling under his breath, Russ opened the refrigerator and stared inside, wondering where the hell he should start. Make the salad first? Cook the broccoli? Earlier in the day he'd bought everything he was going to need, including a packet of hollandaise sauce mix.

“I'm sorry, Russ,” Mandy said. “I'd offer to help…”

His spirits lifted. “You will? Great. Just don't let Taylor know. If she found out, she'd have me strung from the highest tree for allowing another woman to slice lettuce for me.”

“I
can't
help you, Russ. That would be cheating.”

“All I want you to do is give me a few pointers.”

“It wouldn't be right.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Don't slice the lettuce, and I shouldn't even be telling you that.”

“What do you do with salad if you don't chop it?” Russ asked wearily. He followed Mandy into the living room where she collected her homemade pom-poms. “What am I supposed to do with the lettuce?”

“I can't answer that,” she said, looking apologetic.

“You can't tell me how to make a salad?” he roared. His temper was wearing precariously thin. “Why not?”

“It'd be unfair. You're supposed to prepare this meal entirely on your own. If I gave you any help, you'd be breaking your agreement with Taylor.” A car horn blared from the backyard, and Mandy grabbed her jacket. “That's Chris's mom now. I've got to go. See you later, and good luck with dinner.”

She was out the door before Russ could protest.

Russ wandered around the kitchen for the next five minutes, debating what to do first. Grilling the steaks wouldn't be a problem. Anyone with half a brain knew how to cook a decent T-bone. The baked potato wasn't a concern, either. It was everything else. He took the head of lettuce and a bunch of other vegetables from the refrigerator and set them on the counter. Without giving it much thought, he reached for an apron and tied it around his waist. God help him if any of the ranch hands walked in now.

 

Taylor was impressed with the effort Russ had made when she arrived at the Lazy P. He opened the door for her and jerked the apron from his waist.

“I hope you're happy,” he muttered, looking anything but.

“I am. Thanks for asking,” she said, but inwardly she was struggling not to laugh. This entire scene was almost too good to be true. Next to her own father, Russ was the biggest chauvinist she'd ever met. The sight of him working in a kitchen, wearing an apron, was priceless.

“Something smells delicious,” she said.

“I'll tell you it isn't the hollandaise sauce. That stuff tastes like sh—” He stopped himself just in time. “You can figure it out.”

“I can,” she said. Smiling, she strolled across the kitchen and set a bottle of wine on the counter. “A small token of my appreciation.”

She couldn't hear his reply as he furiously whipped the sauce simmering on the front burner. “Maybe it'll taste better once it's boiled,” Russ said, concentrating on the task at hand.

The table was set. Well, sort of. The silverware was piled in the center between the two place settings. The water glasses were filled.

“The broccoli's done.” Russ turned off the burner. “It looks all right from what I can tell.” He drained the water and sprinkled a dash of salt and pepper over the contents of the pan.

“I'll open the wine, if you like.”

“Sure,” Russ said absently. He opened the oven door, and Taylor felt the blast of heat clear from the other side of the room.

“What's in there?”

“The baked potatoes,” he said, slamming the door. “How long does it take to cook these things, anyway? They've been in there fifteen minutes and they're still hard as rocks.”

“Normally they bake in about an hour.”

“An hour?” he echoed. “Dammit, the sauce!” he cried. Grabbing a dish towel, he yanked the saucepan from the burner. He stirred frantically. “I hope it didn't burn.”

“I'm sure it'll be just fine. Where's Mandy?”

“Gone,” he grumbled. He stuck his finger in the sauce and licked it, then nodded, apparently surprised. “She's over at Chris's practicing for drill team. And before you ask, she didn't help me any.”

“Mandy's not here?” Taylor said. A sense of uneasiness gripped her hard. After what had happened the first time she was alone with Russ, she had reason to be apprehensive.

She was overreacting, she told herself. It wasn't as if she was going to fall spontaneously into Russ's arms simply because his sister wasn't there to act as chaperone. They were both mature adults, and furthermore, they'd agreed to forget the night they'd kissed. The whole thing was as much of an embarrassment to Russ as it was to her.
She
certainly wasn't going to bring it up.

“Don't think I had anything to do with Mandy being gone, either.”

“I didn't,” she said with a shrug of indifference, implying that it hadn't even crossed her mind—which was true, at least before Russ mentioned it.

He was scowling as if he expected her to argue with him.

“Can I do anything to help?” she asked in an effort to subdue her nervousness.

“No, thanks. This meal is completely under control,” he boasted. “I'm a man of my word, and when I said I was going to cook you the best steak you've ever eaten, I meant it.”

“I'm looking forward to it.” Wordlessly she opened a series of drawers until she located the corkscrew and proceeded to agilely remove the cork from the wine.

“I know it's traditional to serve red wine with beef, but I prefer white. This is an excellent chardonnay.”

“Whatever you brought is fine,” he mumbled as he swung open the refrigerator and took out a huge green salad.

It looked as if there was enough lettuce to feed the entire town, but Taylor refused to antagonize him by commenting on the fact.

“I want you to know I didn't slice the lettuce,” he said proudly as he set the wooden bowl in the center of the table, shoving aside the silverware.

“Oh, good,” Taylor responded, hoping she sounded appropriately impressed. The second cupboard she inspected contained crystal wineglasses. Standing on tiptoe, she brought down two. They were both thick with dust, so she washed and rinsed them before pouring the wine.

“I wanted to bring dessert, but there isn't a deli in Cougar Point,” she said conversationally as she handed Russ his wineglass.

He stepped away from the stove to accept the wine. Scowling, he asked, “You were going to buy dessert at a deli?”

“It's the best place I know to get New York cheesecake.”

Russ muttered something she didn't quite catch before returning to the stove. He turned down the burners and took a sip of his wine. “Since it's going to take the potatoes a little longer than I realized, we might as well sit down.”

“Okay,” Taylor agreed readily, following him into the living room. The furniture consisted of large, bulky pieces that looked as if they'd been lifted from the set of an old western series on television.
Bonanza,
maybe.

A row of silver-framed photographs lined the fireplace and, interested, Taylor walked over to examine them. A picture of Russ, probably from his high school graduation, caught her attention immediately. He'd been a handsome young man. Boyishly good-looking, but she could easily tell that his appeal was potent enough to cause many a young woman more than one sleepless night.

“That's my dad and Betty,” he said, pointing out the second large portrait. “It was taken shortly after they were married.” The resemblance between father and son was striking. They possessed the same brooding, dark eyes, and their full mouths were identical. She looked at Russ's high school picture again and found herself zeroing in on his youthful features. Even back then, there'd been a wildness about him that challenged a woman. No man had provoked, defied or taunted her the way Russ had, and she barely knew him. By all rights she should stay as far away from him as possible, yet here she was in his home, studying his picture and theorizing about his secrets.

She turned away from the fireplace and sat in an overstuffed chair. “You were telling me before that you've got a thousand cattle,” Taylor said, making conversation while her fingers moved nervously against the padded arm of the chair.

“I've sold half the herd. I'm wintering five hundred head, but by summer the numbers will be much higher.”

“I see.” She didn't really understand what he meant but didn't know enough to ask intelligent questions. Thankfully Russ seemed to grasp her dilemma and explained of his own accord.

“The men are rounding up the cattle now. We keep them in a feed ground.”

“A feed ground?”

“It's a fenced pasture with no irrigation ditches.”

“Why? I mean, don't they need water?”

“Of course, but the heavy snows start in December, sometimes earlier. When the ground's covered, the cattle can't see the ditches, and if a steer falls into one, he often can't get out, and I've lost a valuable animal.”

“If the snow's that high, how do you get the feed to them?”

“Sometimes by sleigh.”

Taylor smiled at the thought of riding through a snow-covered field. She could almost hear the bells jingling and Christmas music playing while she snuggled under a warm blanket, holding tight to Russ.

Shaking her head to dispel the romantic fantasy, Taylor swallowed, furious with the path her daydreams had taken. She drank some of her wine, hoping to set her thoughts in order before they became so confused that she lost all reason. “That sounds like fun.”

“It's demanding physical labor,” Russ told her gruffly.

His tone surprised her, and she raised her eyes to meet his.

He might be saying one thing, but Taylor would bet her first paycheck that he was battling the same fiery attraction she'd struggled with from the moment he'd first kissed her. He continued to stare at her in that restless, penetrating way that unnerved her.

He seemed impatient to escape from her, and unexpectedly vaulted to his feet. “I'd better check on dinner.”

Once he was out of the room, Taylor closed her eyes and sagged against the back of the cushion. This evening had seemed safe enough until she'd learned Mandy was gone. The air seemed to crackle with electricity despite even the blandest conversation.

Taylor heard Russ move back into the room, and assuming dinner was ready, she leapt to her feet. “Let me help,” she said.

Russ caught her by the shoulders.

“The potatoes aren't done.”

As she tilted her head, her hair fell over her shoulder and down her back. Mark had liked it styled and short, and in an act of defiance, she'd allowed it to grow longer than at any other time in her life.

“You have beautiful hair,” Russ murmured, apparently unable to take his eyes from it. He slid his hand from her shoulder to the dark curly mass, and ran his fingers through its length. The action, so slow and deliberate, was highly exciting. Against every dictate of her will, Taylor's heart quickened.

Soon his other hand joined the first and he continued to let his fingers glide through her hair, as if acquainting himself with its softness. Taylor seemed to be falling into a trance. His hands, buried deep in her hair, were more sensual than anything she'd ever experienced. Her eyes drifted shut, and when she felt herself being tugged toward him, she offered no resistance. His mouth met hers in a gentle brushing of lips. Their breaths merged as they each released a broken sigh.