Wyoming Tough (5 page)

She had a lightweight denim coat, and she wore that over her sweater, because it was cold outside. The weather was fluctuating madly. Typical Wyoming weather, she thought amusedly. The Texas climate was like that, too.

She heard a car drive up to the bunkhouse. She whipped her fanny pack into place and went out to meet Clark. He was sitting behind the wheel of the sports car, grinning.

She noted that he didn't get out to open her door. He leaned across and threw it open for her.

She climbed in. “Hi.”

“Hi, back. Ready for a nice movie?”

“You bet.”

He put the car in gear and roared out down the driveway.

“Don't do that,” she groaned. “We have heifers calving in the barn!”

“Oops, sorry, didn't think,” he said, but he didn't look concerned. “They'll get over it. Nice night. They said it might snow, but I don't believe the forecast. They're mostly wrong.”

She was thinking about the nervous heifers being kept up because it was their first breeding season, and wondering how much flak she was
going to get from her boss if anything happened because of Clark's thoughtlessness.

“Stop worrying,” he teased. “It's just cows, for heaven's sake.”

Just cows. She loved to stop and pet them when she was in the barn. She loved their big eyes and big noses, and the soft fur between their eyes. They were so gentle. And these little heifers, even if they were animals, must be so scared. She'd always had a terror of childbirth, for reasons she could never quite understand. It was one of many reasons that she was hesitant to marry at all.

“Do you know that Elizabeth the First never married and never had a child?” she remarked.

He made a face. “History. I hate that. Let's talk about who's leading the pack in
American Idol!
”

She gaped at him. She didn't watch television very much. “I watch the Weather Channel, the military channel and the science channels mostly,” she remarked. “I've never watched any of those audience-participation shows.”

“I can see that we're never going to meet in the middle on issues,” he remarked. “Doesn't matter. You're cute and I like you. We can go from there.”

Could they? She wondered.

 

T
HE MOVIE WAS FUN
. It was clever and funny and both of them came out of the theater smiling.

“Now let's have some nice Chinese food,” he said. “You hungry?”

“Starved. But we're going Dutch,” she added firmly. “I bought my own movie ticket…I'll pay for my food, too.”

His eyebrows arched. “I wouldn't expect you to owe me anything if I bought dinner.”

She smiled. “Just the same, I like everything on an equal footing.”

“You're a strange girl,” he commented thoughtfully.

“Strange?” She shrugged. “I suppose I am.”

“Let's eat.”

He led the way into the restaurant and they followed the waitress to a table in a corner.

“This is beautiful,” Morie remarked, loving the Asian decor, which featured nice copies of ancient statues and some wood carvings that were very expensive. Morie, who'd traveled Asia, appreciated the culture depicted. She'd loved the people she met in her travels.

“Junk,” he told her casually. “Nothing valuable in here.”

“I meant that it was pretty,” she clarified.

“Oh.” He glanced around. “I guess so. A little gaudy for my taste.”

She was about to respond when her eye caught movement at the door. There, at the counter, was
her boss, Mallory Kirk, with Gelly Bruner. He spoke to the waitress and let her seat them nearby.

He smiled coolly and nodded at Morie and Clark. She was thinking that it was an odd coincidence, having him show up here. Certainly he wouldn't have had any reason to be spying on her….

“Do you believe this?” Clark asked, shocked. “Does he do this every time you go out with a man? I've heard of possessive employers, but this takes the cake.”

“He takes his date all over the place,” she replied, trying to sound casual. “This is the only really good restaurant in town.”

“I suppose so.”

“He wouldn't have any reason to keep an eye on me,” she pointed out. “I'm just the hired help.”

He pursed his lips and studied her. “Sure.”

 

M
ALLORY WAS LOOKING AT HER
, too, his dark eyes on the long wealth of thick black hair that hung straight and shiny down her back almost to her waist.

“Why are you staring at her?” Gelly asked coldly. “She's just a common person. She works for you. And why are we here? You know I hate Chinese food!”

He didn't hear her. He was thinking that he'd never seen anything as beautiful as that long black
hair. It brought to mind a poem. She'd probably be familiar with it, too—Bess, the landlord's black-eyed daughter, plaiting a dark red love knot into her long, black hair. “The Highwayman” by Alfred Noyes. It was a tragic poem, the heroine sacrificing herself for the hero. “‘I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way…'”

“What?” Gelly asked blankly.

He hadn't realized that he'd spoken aloud. “Nothing. What would you like to order?” he added and forced himself to look at his date and not Morie.

 

M
ORIE WAS UNCOMFORTABLE
. Clark wanted to talk about contestants on the television show, and she had no point of reference at all.

“That guy, you know, he really can't sing, but he's got a following and he's getting most of the votes,” he muttered. “I like the girl. She's classy, she's got a great voice… Are you listening?”

She grimaced. “Sorry. I was thinking about the weather reports. They think we might have another snow, and we've got a lot of first-time mothers dropping calves.”

“Cows,” he groaned. “Morie, there's more to life than four-legged steaks.”

Her eyes widened. “Mr. Kirk doesn't have a cow-calf operation. It's strictly a seed-bull ranch.”

He blinked. “Seed bull.”

“Yes. They produce industry-leading bulls for market.” She leaned forward. “They don't eat them.”

He shook his head. “You are the oddest girl I ever met.”

She grinned. “Why, thank you!”

He picked up his wineglass and had a long sip. “Sure you don't want any wine?” he asked. “This is the only restaurant in town where you can buy single drinks legally.”

“I can't drink,” she said. “Bad stomach. I get very sick. Can't drink carbonated beverages, either. Just coffee or iced tea. Or, in this case—” she lifted the little cup with steaming green tea “—hot tea.” She sipped it and closed her eyes. “Wonderful!”

He made a face. “You didn't put sugar in it.”

“Oh, nobody puts sugar in it in Japan,” she blurted out and then bit her tongue. “At least, from what I've read,” she corrected quickly.

“I can't drink it straight. It tastes awful.” He put the wineglass down. “They have good desserts here, sticky rice with mango or coconut ice cream.”

“The ice cream,” she said, laughing. “I love it.”

“Me, too.” He motioned to the waitress. “At least we both like one thing,” he mused.

 

W
HEN THEY GOT READY
to leave, Mallory Kirk watched them through narrowed eyes. He got up
while Morie was paying the bill and motioned Clark to one side.

Clark gave him a nervous look. “Mr. Kirk,” he said pleasantly enough.

Mallory's dark eyes narrowed. “She's not young enough to be my daughter, but I'm responsible for her. If you do anything she doesn't like,” he added with the coldest smile Clark had ever seen, “I'll pay you a visit.”

“You can't threaten people,” Clark began, flushed.

“Oh, it's no threat, son,” Mallory said. His jaw tautened. “It's an ironclad, gold-edged promise.”

He turned and walked off, pausing at his table to leave a tip and help Gelly to her feet.

Clark escorted an oblivious Morie out to his car. He was flushed from the wine and angry that one of the Kirk brothers had threatened him.

“I should call the police,” he muttered as he started the car and roared off out of the parking lot.

“What for?” Morie asked, curious.

“Your boss made a threat,” he said stiffly.

“My boss? What are you talking about?”

He started to tell her and then thought better of it. She was pretty and he liked her; he didn't want her to think there was a reason for her boss to warn him off.

He shrugged. “He just said I'd better look after you,” he amended.

Her dark eyebrows arched. “Why in the world would he say something like that?” she asked, and tried not to look as flattered as she felt. No man interfered in a woman's life unless he liked her.

“Beats me.” He glanced at her. “He's not stuck on you, is he?”

She burst out laughing. “Oh, sure, he likes me because I've got millions in a trust fund and I know all the best people,” she said drily.

He laughed, too. He was out of his mind. She wasn't the sort of woman a cattle baron would want to marry. The Kirks had fabulous parties with all sorts of famous people attending them to sell those cattle she talked about. They had some incredibly well-known friends, apparently. But Morie dressed in old clothes, even for a date. She was clueless. He was overreacting. Maybe Mallory really did feel responsible for her. Maybe he knew her folks. He might be afraid of a lawsuit. It wasn't anything personal. Just good business.

“Well, I loved the movie,” she said. “Thanks.”

“Thank you. I don't get out as much as I'd like to,” he added. “But we could see a movie once in a while and have dinner out, if you like.”

She smiled. “I'll think about that.”

He'd planned to take her to an overlook that doubled as the local lover's lane. But after Mallory's blunt speech, he wasn't keen to push the man. So instead, he drove her back to the ranch.
He even turned off the engine and walked her to the door of the bunkhouse.

“You live in there with all those men?” he asked curiously.

“I have my own room,” she explained. “They're nice men.”

“If you say so.”

“Well, thanks again,” she said, hesitating.

He smiled. He liked that little nervous laugh, the way her lips turned up at the corners, the faint dimple beside her mouth.

He bent and drew his lips gently against hers.

She tolerated the kiss. But she didn't react to it. She felt nothing. Nothing at all.

He noticed that. They were too different to settle in together. But she was cute and he liked company on a night out.

“We'll do it again soon,” he said.

She smiled. “Sure.”

She turned around and went into the bunkhouse. Darby was sitting by the door, his eyebrows arching as she walked in and closed the door behind her.

“Have fun?” he asked in a hushed tone, so he didn't wake the cowboys down the hall.

“Yes. I guess.”

He tilted his head. “You guess?”

“Boss showed up at the restaurant,” she said, and looked puzzled. “I didn't know he liked Chinese food.”

Darby's eyes almost popped. “He hates it.”

She hesitated. “Well, he had Ms. Bruner with him. Maybe she likes it.”

“Maybe.”

“You sleep good, Darby.”

“You, too,” he said gently.

“The heifers doing okay?” she asked.

“Doing fine. We'll just hope and pray that that the weatherman's wrong on that snow forecast.”

“I'll agree with that. Good night.”

“'Nite.”

She went into her room and closed the door. Darby had seemed shocked that the boss went to the restaurant where Morie was eating. She was shocked, too, but also pleased and flattered and thrilled to death.

She slept, finally. And her dreams were sweet.

T
HE LAST THING
M
ORIE EXPECTED
the next day was to find a seething Gelly Bruner on her doorstep. Well, at the bunkhouse when she went in for lunch.

“I hate Chinese food,” Gelly said without a greeting.

“I'm sorry,” Morie said. “In that case, perhaps you should avoid Chinese restaurants.” She smiled.

“He went there because of you, didn't he?” she demanded. “To make sure your date knew he was watching out for you.”

Morie looked innocent. “Why would he do that? He's not my dad.”

Gelly frowned. “He's not your boyfriend, either, and you'd better not make eyes at him,” she added coldly. “You won't last long here if you do.”

“I work here,” Morie pointed out. “That's all.”

“You see how they live and you like it,” the blonde said, giving Morie's clothing an even
colder look. “You're poor and you'd like to have nice things and mingle with the right people.”

“I do mingle with the right people,” Morie said, offended.

“Cowboys” came the disparaging reply. “Smelly and stupid.”

“They're neither.”

“If you do anything to make Mallory notice you, I'll make sure it never happens again,” she added, lowering her voice. “You won't be the first person I've helped off this ranch. It isn't wise to make an enemy of me.”

“I work here,” Morie said, growing angry. She had her mother's looks, but her father's fiery temper. “And nobody threatens me.”

Gelly shifted. She wasn't used to people who fought back. “My people are well-to-do,” she said stiffly. “And you won't like how I get even.”

Morie raised an eyebrow. “Ditto.”

“Well, you just stay away from Mallory,” she said bluntly. “He's mine and I don't share!”

“Does he know?”

Gelly blinked. “Know what?”

“That he belongs to you? Perhaps I should ask him….”

“You shut up!” The blonde woman's fists balled at her sides and her face grew flushed with temper. “I'll get you!”

“Wind and water,” Morie said philosophically. “Words.”

Gelly drew back her hand and started to slap the younger woman, but Morie threw up her forearm instinctively and blocked the move.

“I have a brown belt in Tae Kwon Do,” she told Gelly in a soft voice. Her dark eyes glittered. “Try that again, and you'll wish you hadn't.”

Gelly let out a furious sound. “I'll tell Mallory!”

“Be my guest,” Morie offered. “I can teach him a few moves, too, in case you try that with him.”

Gelly stomped back off toward the house, muttering to herself.

Morie shook her head at the retreating figure.

“Unwise,” Darby said, joining her. He watched Gelly walk away. “She makes a bad enemy. We lost a hand because she accused him of stealing. Told you about that.”

“She'll think she's poked a hornet's nest if she tries it with me. Nobody warns me off people and gets away with it,” she said curtly. “I don't have any designs on the boss, for God's sake! I don't even know him. I just work here!”

Darby patted her on the shoulder paternally. “There, there, don't let it get you down. Two nights' sleep and you'll forget why you argued with her. Come on in and eat. We've got chili and Mexican corn bread that Mavie made for us. She's a wonderful cook.”

“Yes, she is,” Morie agreed. She grimaced. “Sorry. I don't usually lose my temper, but she set me off. What a piece of work!”

“I do agree. But she's the boss's headache, not ours, thank God.”

“I suppose so.”

She followed him inside.

 

B
UT THAT WASN'T THE END
of it. Mallory called Morie up to the big house, and he wasn't smiling as he motioned her into the living room and closed the door.

“Sit down, please.” He indicated a leather chair, not the cushy brocade-covered white sofa. Her jeans were stained with grass and mud from helping with calving. Probably he didn't want a brown-spotted couch, she thought wickedly.

She sat. “Yes, sir?”

He paced. “Gelly said that you threatened her.”

“Did she?” She sounded amazed. “How odd.”

He turned and stared down at her with piercing dark eyes. “I'd like to hear your side of the story before I decide what to do.”

She cocked her head and studied him. “I'll tell you, if you're sure you want to know, boss. But I won't sugarcoat it, even though I need this job.”

He seemed surprised. “Okay. That's a deal. Shoot.”

“She warned me off you,” she said simply.
“Then she threatened to have me fired. Finally, she tried to slap me and I blocked the move. She left and I went back to work.”

“In between, there's some stuff missing,” he pointed out. “Like what you said that made her try to slap you.”

“She said that I was after you because you were rich and I was poor,” she added. The words did sting, despite Morie's background. “She also said cowboys were smelly and stupid and that she could get me fired if she liked. I told her that I didn't like threats and that perhaps I should ask you if you were her personal property. That's when she tried to slap me.”

He just stared at her. He didn't speak. God knew what Gelly had actually told him about the incident.

“I've never known her to get physical with anyone,” he returned. “She was crying.”

“Oh, gee, I'm sorry,” Morie said with cutting sarcasm. “Start a fight and lose it and then go crying to some big, strong man to make it all right. That how it goes?”

His jaw tautened. “I'm the boss.”

“Yes, you are, sir,” she agreed. “So if you want to fire me, go right ahead. There are a few ranches where I haven't tried to get work yet. I'm willing to give them a try.”

He let out an angry sigh. “You might just admit
that you were wrong and apologize to her,” he said curtly.

“Apologize when I was defending myself from an attack?” she asked. “How does that work, exactly?”

“She said you started it.”

“And I say that she did.”

He looked even angrier. “She's a socialite. You're a hired hand on my ranch. That's what makes the difference.”

“I get it.” She nodded, trying to contain her temper. “It's the class thing, right? She's rich and I'm poor, so she's right.”

“You work for me, damn it!” he shot back. “And you're that close—” he held up his forefinger and thumb a fraction apart “—to not working for me!”

Her small hands balled up at her sides. “Nobody throws a punch at me and gets away with it. I don't care who she is! If she'd landed that blow, I'd have had her prosecuted and I'd call every damned newspaper and television station in Wyoming to make sure everybody knew what she did!”

His eyes were glittering. “She said you told her that you wanted me and you were going to get me, and she'd be out in the cold!”

She rolled her eyes. “Good grief, you're almost old enough to be my father,” she burst out. “What in the world was she thinking?”

He had been pacing while they talked, but
as she spoke her last sentence, he'd stopped and stared at her. Then he moved like greased lightning toward her.

His mouth came down on hers with a pressure and skill that shocked her speechless. While she was trying to decide on a course of action, he backed her up against the wall between two landscape paintings, lifted her and braced his body against hers. The kiss was, at first, a medium of his anger. And then, quite suddenly, it was something entirely different.

She felt one big, warm hand high on her hip, his long leg insinuating itself between both of hers. He shifted, so that she felt him intimately. He was aroused and apparently not shy about sharing the fact with her. His mouth eased and became persuasive, teasing her lips apart while his hand positioned her slender hips so that he could get even closer.

She shivered. No man had ever made such a sudden, sensual pass at her, and she'd never felt such a surge of utter and absolute pleasure at physical contact.

But when the contact grew even more intimate, and she felt her body urging her to help him with that zipper he was trying to undo, she came to her senses.

She dragged her mouth out from under his with reluctance. “No!” she whispered. “No, don't!”

She pushed at his chest weakly. If he insisted, she wasn't sure that she could stop him. She didn't want to stop him….

He was out of his mind with the pleasure. He hadn't felt it in years, certainly not with Gelly, who was something of a cold fish, despite her flirting. Morie had made a sharp remark about his age and it had hit him in a sore place. But this was insane. He was taking advantage of the hired help!

He dragged himself away from her and looked down. She was flushed and shaking. But it wasn't from fear. He knew women. She was as aroused as he was. She hadn't protested the kissing, but she wasn't willing to go further. She behaved as if she'd never had a man. He frowned. Could there be a virgin left in the world? Sometimes he doubted it.

“I'm not an old man,” he said angrily.

She was still trying to get her breath. “Oh, no, you're definitely not old,” she managed. She could taste him on her mouth, smell the woodsy cologne he wore on her clothing.

He averted his eyes. He didn't lose control of himself, ever. This was embarrassing. “Sorry,” he said stiffly.

She swallowed. “It's okay. But I should go back to work now.”

“Yes, you should.”

She moved away from the wall, hoping she wasn't more disheveled than she felt, and that Mavie wouldn't be around to see her when she left.

He didn't say a word. He watched her go, stiff and uncomfortable, and pondered Gelly's remark that Morie was a rounder who was looking for a rich sugar daddy. He knew that wasn't true. She might be poor. She might even have designs on him for his wealth—it wouldn't be the first time. But she was innocent. He'd have bet the ranch on it.

 

M
ORIE AVOIDED THE OTHER
cowboys when she went riding fence lines. She hoped she didn't look as disconcerted and unsettled as she felt. The boss had kissed her. No, she corrected, that hadn't been a kiss. That had been something a lot more overt and sensual. She'd been saucy and deliberately provocative. She'd taunted the sleeping bear, but she hadn't expected such a response.

Her mouth still tingled from the kiss. He might not be the handsomest man around, but he knew exactly what to do with a woman. She hadn't wanted him to stop. That would have been a disaster. He might have wanted her side of the story, but it was obvious that he believed part of Gelly's story. He wanted Morie to apologize to that blond shark, did he? Well, hell would freeze over first.
She was the injured party. Gelly should apologize, not her.

But Gelly was the woman in his life. She was wealthy and pretty and cultured. Morie had the same background, but she didn't dare admit it. She couldn't keep her job if the boss knew who her family was.

Which brought to mind another small problem. The boss was having a gala party on Saturday. Morie had been helping Mavie with recipes and tips on serving and place settings and even decorations. Mavie wanted her to help make the canapés. She'd even asked the boss, so Morie was in something of a spot.

As long as she could hide in the kitchen during the festivities, it would be all right. But her family traveled in the same social circles that the Kirk brothers did. It was possible, even probable, that there would be someone at that party who would recognize her. She couldn't let that happen. She'd gone to a lot of trouble to get this job, mainly because she wanted to prove to her parents and herself that she could make it in the world on her own, with no money and no influence. There was also the question of not being pursued for her wealth by some fortune-hunting male on the make.

She wasn't going to lose her job. She just had to stay out of sight in the kitchen. If she refused to help Mavie, that would lead to questions she
couldn't answer. She agreed. But she was going to wear a kerchief over her hair and an overall and keep hidden. She only hoped none of the guests were comfortable enough to come in and speak to the cook. That wasn't likely, though. Of course it wasn't.

 

T
HE BIG HOUSE WAS ABLAZE
with lights, inside and out. The weather was perfect. It was a beautiful spring night, the temperature was unusually comfortable and guests wandered around inside and out nibbling on canapés and drinking the best imported champagne.

Mavie was fascinated by the people she and her hired staff were feeding. “Did you see that movie star?” she exclaimed. “I just watched his last film, and now he's got a series on one of the pay-per-view channels. Isn't he gorgeous?”

Morie peered out and chuckled. She knew the man, who was sweet and unaffected by his great fame. “He's a doll,” she said.

“There's that soccer star who's paid millions a year,” Mavie continued. “And that's the president of one of those desert countries overseas!”

“Philippe Sabon,” Morie blurted out without thinking. Her father knew the man, whose wife was from Texas.

Mavie glanced at her suspiciously.

“I read about him in the newspapers,” Morie
covered quickly. “What a story! He's even more handsome in person!”

Mavie gave an emphatic nod. “Yes, he sure is.”

“We'd better get back to work,” Morie groaned. “Look at how fast those trays are going down!”

“Good thing we've got plenty of raw material in here.” Mavie chuckled.

They worked steadily for the next hour, making and baking succulent treats for the guests. The band was playing some lazy blues tunes, and a few couples were dancing in the big family room by the patio door.