Love of a Cowboy 1 Read online

  Thinking about that, she turned to lift the lid off the kettle of bubbling sauce. A blast of steam hit her in the face. She slammed the lid back on the kettle, grumbling a curse that would have her brothers furious in a flash. Her eyes burned. Wow! When she’d taken a quick taste of the thick, red mixture hours ago, it had seemed kind of blah.

  Her nose twitched at the powerful smell that lingered. She wondered if adding the two pints of chopped peppers Manuel had in the pantry and then a mountain of onions and garlic that she’d chopped had been such a good idea. But it was too late to worry about that now.

  She cautiously lifted the lid again to stir the mixture with a wooden spoon. Tears misted her eyes. Had she used the wrong kind of peppers? She knew Manuel had Jalapeno peppers as well as bell peppers in the pantry. She didn’t really know the difference when they were chopped up and canned. Hmmm. She probably needed to get a little more instruction from Manuel sometime…should she ever decide to attempt cooking again. Which was doubtful.

  She replaced the lid and used the corner of her apron to pull down the oven door and study the kettle of beans inside. Again, something just didn’t look right. She hadn’t been able to remember anything at all about how Manuel cooked beans for his Mexican dishes, other than he cooked them in the oven. From their sad state, she thought maybe she should have added more than a handful of water for cooking. Maybe her hands were just too small. Could she add more water now? Would they suck up the moisture…

  Distracting her, boots pounded on the back porch. Her brothers? Morgan, too? Weren’t they early? Or was she just that late with all of this?

  With a quick glance toward the door, she took in the mess she’d made of Manuel’s kitchen. Flour seemed to have exploded in the room. It coated the table where she’d attempted to make biscuits. It covered the floor beneath as well and she’d made a trail with her footsteps between the table and the stove. It would take her the rest of the day to clean up her mess. Which soured her mood even more.

  “Smells good, Sis,” Keno said with enthusiasm as he stepped into the room. An instant later, after taking in the disastrous room, he burst into laughter. “Manuel won’t ever let you in here again, with good reason.”

  “Fine with me,” she countered and closed the oven door.

  Taos walked in next and his eyes nearly popped out of his head. “My God, Whiskey! What have you done!” He leaned against a counter to shake his head in amazement.

  She glowered at them both. “I never claimed to be neat when I cooked.” She picked a glob of dough off her apron and considered tossing it at them. “I never said I could cook either, which I’m pretty sure you’re soon going to discover. Again.”

  Taos spotted a lopsided, mangled, half burnt pile in a pie pan next to him. “Pie, I assume.” His horrified expression lightened her spirit.

  Keno walked past her, rolled his eyes at the ruined pie, and asked casually, “As cute as you look with flour dusting your cheeks…and most of your body… are you planning on cleaning up for dinner?”

  “I don’t see any point in it.” Besides, she was too tired to drag her weary bones up the stairs to change clothes, or even to cross the room and clean up in the sink.

  “Not looking very impressive, Sis.”

  “I’m not trying to impress anyone.” The foolish woman in her did struggle with not going to wash up, with not going to make sure the flour was out of her hair.

  Instead she raised the lid one last time on the sauce. As a steam cloud rose again and threatened to burn her eyes, she tossed the lid on the nearby counter and rattled off a string of curses at the same time boots stomped over the wooden floor.

  A hand clamped onto her shoulder and spun her around. “Any more of that and you’ll get a mouth-soaping.”

  She met Morgan’s scowl with one of her own. “I nearly burnt my eyebrows off.”

  He continued to look disgusted, but reached up to run a thumb over her left eyebrow. His touch was exquisitely gentle and she fought off giving a ridiculous purr of contentment. “You’ll live,” he declared and stepped away.

  Keno held up a piece of soap, grinned at her. “I’ve got a soap bar right here.”

  She shifted away from Morgan, though she’d already sensed he didn’t mean it…this time. Then she saw him notice the slab of beef with the knife in the pot on the stove. His gaze moved to the kettle that had released the steam and his nose wrinkled at the strong smell of peppers and onions drifting up.

  He faced her, his expression one of frustration. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”

  “I made it clear earlier that I can’t cook. Did any of you listen? No.” She huffed, irritated when tears misted her eyes. She looked away and snapped, “I worked damn hard on this meal. I expect each of you to do your damn best to eat it.”

  When she looked up again, she noted how Morgan’s brow had risen at her repeated use of “damn,” but he must have seen the sheen of tears in her eyes. He nodded curtly, which made her even more frustrated.

  She jerked off her apron, discovered it was actually cleaner than her skirt and blouse. Blinking back the tears, she tossed the apron on the floor and stomped on it. “I’m done with this! Get the damn meal on the table yourselves. I’m going to change clothes.”

  When Taos would have stopped her and no doubt chastised her, Morgan shook his head. “Leave her be.”

  His support soothed her ragged nerves, a bit. She walked by them all on her way upstairs. She really had worked hard on the meal, although her efforts had been wasted. Still, it touched her that Morgan had stepped between her and Taos, kept her from getting either an ear-blistering for cursing or a bottom-swatting for attitude.

  *

  “Could I have some more water?” Morgan gasped as he forced down another bite of beef covered with chili sauce. He’d been skeptical about putting the sauce on the beef he’d managed to carve off the slab. He, like the others, had only done so because that was the only hope of softening the beef to something maybe chewable. It hadn’t helped all that much.

  Carrying the pitcher of water, Whiskey walked around the table with a slowness that would make a turtle proud. His eyes watered but he refused to beg her to hurry. Still, the look of mischief in her eyes pushed his patience to the limit. When she finally got to his side, he grabbed the pitcher and took a long swallow straight from it. He no sooner set it down on the table than Keno reached for it.

  “That was pretty rude,” she chastised, a smile dancing across her now clean face.

  Before he could comment, Taos nudged a pebble-like bean around his plate. “We could use these little devils for buckshot.” The bean rolled off his plate, off the table, and bounced across the floor.

  He glared at Taos. He hadn’t even attempted to eat one of the beans, but he was getting darn tired of her brothers making taunting remarks about her cooking, especially Taos. “She warned you that she couldn’t cook, but you wouldn’t listen to her.”

  Whiskey blinked in obvious surprise at his defense of her. It was clear that she had become more used to being chastised or ridiculed than complimented. He didn’t like that idea, even if he was guilty of it, too.

  He kept his tone kindly as he said, “Evidently your Aunt Mae didn’t do much in the way of teaching you any of her cooking secrets.”

  Keno struggled to swallow another tiny bite of beef. He managed to choke out, “That’s the obvious damn truth.”

  Morgan frowned at him and looked back at Whiskey. “I’m thinking you just haven’t had enough practice. I guess that should be expected, considering you were raised with having a cook.”

  She took a second clearly trying to decide if he’d been speaking nicely or not. Then her eyes narrowed and the spirit he’d become familiar was back. “Considering I own the ranch now and Manuel works for me, I don’t see why I’d need any more practice.”

  She nodded toward the platter with a large chunk of beef in the middle of the table. “Anyone care for another slice? You’ll have to carv
e it off yourself, though. I don’t believe I’m strong enough.”

  “Considering we own the ranch together, Manuel works for both of us,” he corrected.

  The way her lips pursed like she’d just sucked on a lemon almost made him chuckle. He resisted, though. “I’m thinking maybe he should just cook for the hands. I’m thinking my wife should learn to do the cooking for us.” Truthfully, he wasn’t thinking any of that. This meal had convinced him that Manuel was worth any amount of money.

  Her back went ramrod stiff and her jaw tightened. An instant later she scooped a spoon full of beans onto his plate. They clattered around as they rolled. “Not that I’m agreeing to marry you, but I won’t even consider it if you can’t eat the meal I slaved over today.”

  He ignored her continued resistance to what he considered a done deal. They were getting married in 18 days even if he had to let her brothers nudge her down the aisle at gun point.

  Shoving his plate away, he said, “I’m ready for dessert. Where’s that apple pie you promised to make?”

  His words—and hope—that she had at least managed to make a simple pie all right died in his throat as she scurried across the kitchen and came back with a pan of half-burnt, mangled something. His stomach roiled, again.

  “How big a piece do you want?” Then she looked at her brothers, who quickly shook their heads, looking to him a bit on the green side.

  He had a feeling she was testing him. She believed that he couldn’t be serious about marrying her now that he knew she was hopeless in the kitchen. Pride wouldn’t let her win this round, even if he’d no doubt regret this later. “I’ll take a small piece.”

  Along with her brothers, he stared in amazement as she set the pan down directly in front of him and inserted a knife. When she pulled it back out, blackened pie filling coated it. There was little resemblance to anything close to an apple pie. Still, he refused to back down, especially when he caught the hint of challenge and mischief in her eyes. The minx.

  As the glob landed on a fresh plate she’d also carried to the table, both Keno and Taos climbed to their feet. They looked definitely on the ill side. Taos beat his brother to the back door, saying as he left, “I need to check on that horse Whiskey has been doctoring. Enjoy your pie.”

  “I could save you some for later,” Whiskey called after him, grinning, an evil delight dancing in her eyes.

  Taos was gone, as was Keno. She chuckled, until she glanced back at Morgan.

  “Set yourself down, Angelina. You’re sharing this piece of pie with me.” She hadn’t sat down since she’d come back downstairs in a clean skirt and blouse. He hadn’t pushed her on that issue, until now.

  She paled and her eyes grew bigger. “I-I’m not really hungry. Cooking all day, nibbling…”

  “I seriously doubt that you nibbled on any of this.” He nodded toward the platter of beef, the pot of beans, and the biscuit stones. “Sit.”

  It took her a few stubborn seconds, but she eased down onto the chair next to him. He handed her a fork from where she should have been eating with them. When she refused to take it, he scooped up a piece of the pie and held it to her mouth. “I’ve got no problem feeding you, darlin’. Open up.”

  Her brow pinched in confusion and she simply shook her head. “I’m not your ‘darlin’.”

  The endearment had slipped out without him thinking about it. He had no intention of taking it back. “Would you prefer sweetheart?” he teased, already knowing her answer. Somehow it felt good picking at her like this. She certainly had no trouble antagonizing him.

  Again she shook her head and her long braid brushed back and forth over her shoulders. “I’d be okay if you didn’t even speak to me anymore.” She sighed, her annoyance obvious. “But I don’t imagine that will happen.”

  “You’re right about that.” He held the piece of pie to her mouth once more. “Open up.”

  Stubborn brat that she could be at times, she squeezed her mouth tightly closed.

  “I could give you a spanking for encouragement to act nice,” he offered. Fact was he didn’t think he could touch her in any manner right now. She’d cleaned up when she’d gone to her room, put on a pretty blue dress. For him? He doubted it, yet… And he’d begun to notice what sweetly plump pink lips she had, perfect for kissing.

  He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Darn it all, thinking along those lines was only making his problem worse.

  “I don’t want…” He shoved the spoon into her mouth and she nearly gagged. Her expression as she was forced to chew and swallow told him exactly how bad the pie was.

  Finally she glared murderously at him and snapped, “You’re going to have to spank me, because I am not eating another bite.”

  He set the fork on her plate and shoved it all away. “Believe me, darlin’, I’m sorely tempted to turn you over my knee. But I won’t. Not this time.”

  She huffed and stood up again. “Stop calling me ‘darlin’!”

  Ignoring her protest, he glanced around the kitchen with lots of pots and pans and dishes to clean up yet. The floor, too. “I’m thinking it’ll be punishment enough having to clean up this room before you go to bed.”

  He stood, eager to get outside, eager to no longer look at the ruined meal. Anxious to get away from the woman he was real tempted to pull against him, to kiss her sassy lips.

  “You aren’t going to help me…” She sounded disbelieving.

  “Nope.” He headed for the back door, snagged his hat from a row of pegs on the wall.

  “But…” She stood and gaped around her. “But this will take me hours.”

  “Reckon so.” He set his hat on his head, shrugging. “Oh, and tomorrow…Tomorrow I’ll be taking you into town to that dressmaker.”

  Her eyes grew big as silver dollars. “What?”

  “I’m taking you to see the dressmaker.”

  “No! Absolutely not!”

  “Angelina, I’ve been patient with your resistance, but I’m damn tired of this nonsense.” He stormed over to her, his heart pounding. He wanted a hell of a lot more, but he’d settle for a kiss.

  She resisted at first, and then slowly seemed to melt into him. He felt the strong beating of her heart with her plump breasts pressed against him. He inhaled her scent. He held her in place with hands at her small waist.

  After a cautious couple of seconds, she slid her hands around him. He almost shuddered at her innocent action, something that really made his situation worse. Embarrassed at knowing she must feel the rub of his hardened cock against her, he forced himself to let her go, to pull away.

  They were both breathing hard when he took another step back. A safer distance away. He managed to ignore his body’s desires and said gruffly, “Best get started or you’ll be up all night.”

  Chapter Seven

  Whiskey tossed and turned all night long going from one tortured dream to another. Trapped in the confines of her sheets she was equally trapped by her fate.

  “No! I refuse,” she snapped at her brothers as they stood in the back of the church, just behind her, holding shotguns.

  Taos nudged her back with his gun. “Get a move on.”

  She bristled and looked ahead at the building packed with nearly every person who lived in the area. The old biddies who seemed to live for a chance to gloat whenever she got in trouble, now sat smirking at her being forced into this marriage.

  Then she looked straight at the tall, grim-appearing man with a shiny U.S. Marshal’s badge that appeared to take up most of the top of one side of his dress coat. He silently waited for her to walk toward him and become his wife.

  “I won’t do it! I can’t do it!”

  Taos moved to one side of her, Keno to the other. They shared a determined look and then each took hold of one of her arms. Dragging her forward through the crowd of smiling people, Taos said, “You’re getting married today and that’s final.”

  No amount of protesting, no amount of trying to resist stopped her from ending
up standing less than a foot from Morgan Rydell. She was furious with her brothers. She was angry with her father for having sent a wire expressing his happiness at her finally getting married. She detested the man with so many hard edges to his personality, so many secrets, and who still wore a badge.

  Then he focused his dark blue eyes on her and she saw such warmth, such passion in them. He could be such a contradiction at times. Her silly heart pounded. Nothing mattered but being held within his embrace, being kissed by him.

  The sheets around her tightened even more as she attempted to roll over.

  Morgan held her hand in the crook of his arm as they walked out of the church. Wedding guests poured out of the building as well. People called out well-wishes, laughed, and talked amongst themselves. A handful of children tossed flower petals at them. She smiled in adoration up at her new husband.

  And then a shot rang out.

  Morgan flinched and, though she tried to hold him upright, he crumpled to the ground at her feet.

  Blood, so much blood, spilled from a wound in the center of his chest. His glassy eyes stared unseeingly up at her.

  She screamed. She fought the sheets and screamed again.

  She dropped down next to Morgan. This couldn’t be happening! Not again. She bent over him, cupped his face. Cold, so cold.

  “No!” she cried out, struggling even more now.

  Determined to blow life back into his body, she put her mouth to his. He didn’t respond, didn’t kiss her back. Didn’t breathe.

  She tried to shake him.

  Nothing.

  Hands gripped her shoulders to pull her back. All she could do was stare into Morgan’s lifeless eyes and feel the biting pain of losing the man she loved.

  “No! No! No!” she cried out in torment, battling what held her so tightly.

  Finally the dream released her. Heart pounding, tears streaming down her face, she flashed her eyes open. My room. Not real. Only a dream.

  She managed to tear away the sheets and sit up on the bed, shaking from the nightmare.

  The door to her room flew open, banged against the wall. Morgan and Taos competed for who would enter the bedroom first with Morgan winning. Both men were sleep tousled and wearing only pants obviously dragged on in a hurry. She barely remembered that he had started sleeping in the main house, down the hall from her, only a couple of days ago.