Книга - Her Cowboy Boss

Her Cowboy Boss
Patricia Johns


A SIMMERING ROMANCEAvery Southerly has finally met her biological father…sort of. Instead of properly introducing herself, she took a job as cook at her dad’s ranch in Hope, Montana. There’s just one problem: Avery can’t cook! Luckily ranch manager Hank Granger agrees to help, and things quickly begin heating up in the kitchen.But romance is not on the menu—Hank could be fired for fraternizing with an employee, and Avery is only in town to get answers. Then she’s headed home to Kansas, where she truly belongs. Hank is determined to help Avery discover the truth about her past. Yet the more time they spend together all he can see is the future. He just needs to help Avery do the same!







A SIMMERING ROMANCE

Avery Southerly has finally met her biological father...sort of. Instead of properly introducing herself, she took a job as cook at her dad’s ranch in Hope, Montana. There’s just one problem: Avery can’t cook! Luckily ranch manager Hank Granger agrees to help, and things quickly begin heating up in the kitchen.

But romance is not on the menu—Hank could be fired for fraternizing with an employee, and Avery is only in town to get answers. Then she’s headed home to Kansas, where she truly belongs. Hank is determined to help Avery discover the truth about her past. Yet the more time they spend together, all he can see is the future. He just needs to help Avery do the same!


“Why are you really in Hope?” he asked.

She was silent, and for a moment he thought she might not answer. Then she said, “My mom left Hope pregnant and never came back. I never knew my dad, but I’d like to get to know him, if I get the chance.”

Her dad... Had she applied for the only job available to buy herself a little more time in town...or did she think Mr. Harmon was her father? He had questions, but she was turning away again.

“Good night, Hank,” she called softly over her shoulder. “See you at breakfast.”

He waited until she got inside before he headed back toward the road. He was jaded from a messy divorce and she was looking for a dad she’d never met. It was the reality check he needed. Attraction was one thing, but he liked to be realistic. He was her boss, and if he let those lines get blurred, he’d lose his job, smear his reputation and find himself back down at the bottom of the heap on another ranch.


Dear Reader (#u06abbb3a-0d0a-5a00-93c8-2a0ab46299ed),

My husband asked me to marry him after two weeks. We’ve been married twelve years now, and the other day, I was chattering about something and I said, “But you didn’t plan that proposal, right?” He gave me a funny look and said, “Of course I planned it.”

And while a two-week romance might sound like a spontaneous thing, he’d walked me to that fountain on that summer night because he wanted to ask me to marry him. And I only just figured that out!

As a romance novelist, I’m often asked if my books are “realistic.” And I have to say—yes! I write what I believe, and I believe in love that lasts and men who commit. In my humble opinion, forever is not too much to ask for.

If you’d like to connect with me, you can find me on Facebook or at my website, patriciajohnsromance.com (http://www.patriciajohnsromance.com).

Patricia Johns


Her Cowboy Boss

Patricia Johns






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


PATRICIA JOHNS writes from Alberta, Canada. She has her Hon. BA in English literature and currently writes for Harlequin’s Love Inspired, Western Romance and Heartwarming lines. You can find her at patriciajohnsromance.com (http://www.patriciajohnsromance.com).


To my husband—he’s the best choice I ever made!


Contents

Cover (#ua2b1c55a-8290-5f33-b924-8275d34840bd)

Back Cover Text (#ubfaf6ef1-3644-52e0-abb0-52150f575c9b)

Introduction (#u4b909ad4-aa92-5030-bfca-8b7d4bbd6cfd)

Dear Reader (#ue40b5185-d15e-55b9-8ca6-c438f4e9aa0f)

Title Page (#u9f8a2998-ed41-5025-8a89-4996b41bda57)

About the Author (#u58e9c67d-de73-5612-ae55-4310c88560d3)

Dedication (#ue0c9acfb-8289-54f0-af80-f0a5c4b54dea)

Chapter One (#u803fec22-d6e7-5139-8de9-10f1ae6ef767)

Chapter Two (#uec853aff-8bb0-5561-9502-64e528891574)

Chapter Three (#u9d3c6025-7164-5c7a-97be-026186399b28)

Chapter Four (#u4732799d-bd03-5cb8-a77e-2da9ad7bc14a)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#u06abbb3a-0d0a-5a00-93c8-2a0ab46299ed)

So this is my dad.

Avery Southerly shook Louis Harmon’s calloused hand, suppressing a wince at his too-tight grasp. He was in his midforties with a potbelly and a white cowboy hat that shaded his heat-reddened face. His dark eyes were kind, and he gave her a cordial nod. He’d only have been nineteen when she was born, but somehow, she’d always imagined her father looking older than this.

With a quick look around the property, she could tell that he ran a clean ranch. The front yard had been recently mowed, and the drive was clear of vehicles. The fence that separated yard from pasture was well maintained, and she could make out some horses grazing in the distance. Farther off she could hear the growl of a tractor’s engine on the grass-scented June breeze. She’d have found this place relaxing if she weren’t so wound up.

“Avery, you said?” He released her hand, and she waited for some sort of recognition to dawn. It didn’t.

“Avery Southerly.”

He raised his eyebrows—still no recognition. She’d come out to Montana to introduce herself to her father, and she’d known it would be difficult. Since her mother passed away, she had a new desire to meet the father she’d never known. However, she was nervous enough that she’d come with an excuse: an advertisement for a cook at the Harmon Ranch that she’d spotted on a bulletin board in the coffee shop. If she couldn’t suss up the courage to tell him everything right away, then she’d simply apply for the job and wait for the right moment...maybe even get to know her father a little bit before there was all the pressure of surprise paternity.

He nodded toward the flyer in her hand. “I assume you’re here for the cook position.”

She looked down. It was now or never...

“Yes.” She gave a decisive nod. “I’m applying for the job, sir.”

“Glad you are because the competition is very thin right about now.” He laughed.

Well, that took care of that. Louis nodded toward the house and started walking away, so she followed him.

“The team isn’t too fussy,” he said over his shoulder. “They like the basics—griddle cakes, bacon, eggs, baked beans, steak once a week and as much corn bread as you can bake.”

He led the way along a path toward the side door of the low ranch-style house. It was large and sprawling, with one wing dedicated to a three-door garage. He pulled open the screen door and gestured her through.

“You can make corn bread, can’t you?” he asked.

“Uh—yes. I can make corn bread.”

She’d made corn bread once, at least, from a recipe she found online. She wasn’t a great cook, to be honest... She wasn’t completely inept in a kitchen, but she knew her limitations, and this idea was starting to unravel in her mind already. She should just come out with it—tell him the truth—but Actually, I’m here to inform you that I’m your daughter just wouldn’t come out of her mouth.

The kitchen table was stacked with books and ledgers, along with a smattering of papers. A horse bridle hung on the back of a kitchen chair, and Louis took off his hat and tossed it on the seat. He ran his hand over his salt-and-pepper gray hair. He definitely looked like he could be somebody’s dad, but hers?

At the age of twenty-four, Avery wasn’t looking for a father figure, just some answers. She wanted to know about the man who sired her and the story of his connection to her mother—the story her mother refused to tell. Maybe she could gather up some medical history. But she didn’t have a lot of time for this visit. Back in Salina, Kansas, she was about to reopen her mother’s flower shop, which had been closed since her mother entered hospice. She had two weeks until the June 24 opening date, and she wanted to make the most of that time. That store was her home—the place where she’d spent her formative years. But first, she wanted to learn about her father, whom her mom had only confessed on her deathbed.

“Coffee?”

“No, thanks.”

“You aren’t from Hope, are you?” he asked. “I’d recognize you if you were.”

“No, I’m from Kansas,” she replied.

“But you’re not in Kansas anymore,” Louis quipped, then chortled to himself at his little joke. “Sorry, that was a dumb one. You probably hear that all the time, don’t you?”

Avery smiled. “Only when I leave the state.”

She’d imagined what her father would be like a thousand times since she was a little girl, trying to piece together what he might look like from her own reflection in the mirror. Did he have red hair like hers? Did he hate tomatoes, too? But never in all her imaginings had she come up with a man who looked like Louis.

“Well, I’ll level with you, Avery,” Louis said. “I need a cook to start tomorrow, and you are the one and only applicant. I’m not too picky. If you can cook, and if you have a clean criminal record, I’ll give you a try.”

“Thanks for the opportunity, sir,” she said with a smile. “If you can show me the ropes...”

She was afraid to tell him the truth because he might not be thrilled to find out he had an illegitimate daughter, and from what she knew, her father had never been told about her existence. But she was wary for herself, too. She’d wanted a father so badly for so long, but only recently had she considered the possibility that her biological father might not be worthy of her. Her mother had given her an identity—they were the Southerlys. But who was she now that her mother was gone? And did Louis Harmon fit into that?

“The ropes” might not be enough to let her pass muster, but maybe she could search a few recipes online and not look like a complete incompetent. YouTube tutorials could prove useful...until she was certain that she wanted to declare herself.

“I pay the going rate.” He scratched a number on a slip of paper and handed it over.

“That seems fair.” Actually, she had no idea what the going rate was for ranch cooks, but she felt the need to commit to the part now that she’d started. This was ridiculous! She didn’t need extra money, and she didn’t need a job. But Louis seemed so pleased to have a cook that she just couldn’t let him down. Yet. She’d have to eventually.

The side door opened and a cowboy stepped inside, taking his hat off as the screen door slammed behind him. He was a tall man with sandy blond hair and a slim build. His bare forearms were roped with muscle and darkened by a tan. His face was lined from the sun, and blue eyes moved over her in quick evaluation, pausing just a beat longer than necessary.

“Ah, Hank.” Louis nodded to the newcomer. “Perfect timing. We have a cook.”

“Great.” Hank glanced toward her again, this time with more curiosity. He looked to be in his midthirties, and there was something in his perfectly professional gaze that sped her heart up just a little. Maybe it was the laser focus he directed at her, appraising her on the spot. Avery gave him a nod.

“Hank Granger is my ranch manager,” Louis said. “You’ll be answering to him. He can show you the canteen and make sure you’re set up.”

Hank leaned over and shook her hand, his grasp firm but gentle.

“Welcome aboard,” he said, a slight smile quirking up one side of his mouth. “And you are—”

“Avery Southerly,” she replied, pulling her hand back. She glanced toward Louis to see if repeating her name had sparked anything in his memory, but the older man’s expression didn’t change.

“I’ll get you settled,” Hank said. “We need you to stay on-site for this position, the hours being what they are. I hope that isn’t a problem for you.” When she shrugged her compliance, he added, “There’s a room in the bunkhouse—a private one—for the cook, so you should be comfortable enough. But first we’ll need some ID so we can do a background check.”

“Of course.” Avery provided the necessary identification, and Louis disappeared into the next room where the rattle and moan of an old photocopier filtered through the open door. When Louis came back into the kitchen, he handed back her ID and had her sign the bottom of an employment form. This was getting official quickly.

“I might as well show you around,” Hank said. “Mr. Harmon can give us a call if there’s any problem. Is there anything else, boss?”

“No, that should cover it,” Louis replied. “It’s nice to meet you, Avery. Hank will take good care of you, but I’ll stop by later on this evening to see if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” she said, her insides roiling with misgiving. Was she really going to cook for this ranch for the next two weeks? But the other option was to announce who she was now and probably be shown the door for having misled them this far. Or she could take a few days to get to know Louis a little bit, and then say something. Hopefully, after a little time getting to know her, he’d understand why she did this.

Hank led the way, pushing open the screen door to let her pass ahead of him. She was struck by how tall he was as she stepped past him—she only came up to his shoulder—and how he smelled of musk, hay and sunshine. He stood motionless until she was past, then followed, releasing the door behind him.

A warm breeze pushed Avery’s hair away from her face, and the screen door closed with a bang. She had just officially met her father.

* * *

HANK GRANGER LED the way around the house to where his old blue Chevy pickup waited. He glanced over at the sad-eyed new hire. She was pretty—more than pretty, if he were honest. She had golden red hair that spilled down her shoulders and skin the color of new milk. Her eyes were flecked with green, and she had freckles across her nose and on the tops of her shoulders, not covered by her white tank top. And those jeans fit rather well...

Blast it, he wasn’t supposed to be checking her out, and he shouldn’t be noticing that scoop of her collarbone, either. Mr. Harmon relied on Hank for his professionalism, and dalliances with other employees were strictly forbidden on this ranch. This was more than a job for Hank. This was home, and he had no intention of messing up a good thing. Besides, she was young. Way under thirty—she was too inexperienced to be weighed down with a pessimistic SOB like him. That should be enough to keep his mind on the straight and narrow.

There had been something in the way she was looking at Louis back there—cautiously, expectantly. She’d wanted something from him, and not just the job. There was more to her arrival than a simple desire for employment. Maybe she was the gold-digging type, and she’d sniffed out a wealthy widower. Whatever it was, this Avery had ulterior motives—he was willing to bet on it.

“So where are you from?” Hank asked as they reached the truck. He pulled open the passenger-side door and gestured her inside.

“Salina, Kansas,” she replied, hopping up into the seat.

A pretty out-of-towner looking for ranch work. She was no cowgirl. She wore slim Nike runners, and her nails looked too good. He came around the driver’s side.

“So what brings you to Hope?” he asked as he slid into the driver’s seat and slammed the door.

She paused a breath longer than necessary, then said, “My mom grew up in Hope, and I wanted to see it.”

“Alone?” he prodded.

“She passed away in April.”

Ouch. Hank shot her an apologetic look. “Sorry about that.”

She smiled in reply, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Hank pulled away from the house. The wheels of his truck crunched over the gravel and onto the drive that led away from the barn and toward the bunkhouse and canteen for the workers. Warm afternoon sunlight bathed the land. Bees circled over wildflowers in the ditches, and Hank slapped a mosquito on his arm. It was the season for them. He drove past the nearest pasture, and the cows looked up, chewing in slow, grinding circles, their liquid eyes following the truck as it passed them.

“So what was your mom’s name?” he asked. He was curious—if her family was from Hope, maybe he could place her.

“Winona Southerly.”

It didn’t ring any bells, but if Avery had never seen Hope, then her mother must have left town a good—he glanced at Avery from the corner of his eye—twenty-five years ago, in a rough estimation. He wouldn’t have known her mother—he’d have been ten at the time.

“You have any other family around here?” he asked.

“No, my mom was living with an elderly aunt who passed away when I was a kid,” she said. “But I wanted to see Hope. Mom used to tell me some stories about rope swings and swimming in a canal, back in the seventies when kids could roam feral.”

He smiled at the mental picture. Yeah, those were the days. He’d been a kid in the eighties, and he’d still been pretty feral. The town of Hope was small enough that people trusted each other—maybe more than they should.

“So you wanted to see it,” he concluded.

“With her gone, I just—” She pulled her hair away from her face. “I guess it makes it feel like she’s not completely gone.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

He knew a fair bit about loss, about dealing with that empty hole in your chest. He’d gotten divorced five years back, and that had been a gut-wrenching loss. Vickie had started up with some guy online. Hank used to be a whole lot more trusting. He’s just a friend turned into He understands me and you don’t even try, which eventually turned into her packing her bags and leaving. Vickie had been wrong—he had tried. He’d tried really hard to understand what she needed, what she wanted. He hadn’t been some passive guy letting his woman walk off—he’d done everything he knew how. It just hadn’t been enough.

“Do your parents live around here?” Avery asked.

He pulled himself back to the present. “No, they’re in Florida.”

“Hmm.” She smiled. “That’s nice.”

His parents loved Skype—always calling at inopportune times, crowding in front of their tablet so they could both beam at him from their motor home. They were so proud of that thing—they still gave him virtual tours. You wouldn’t believe how spacious it is, Hank! Look at the depth of these cupboards... Can you see it? Hold on, I’ll put on a light... Can you see it now?

Hank was approaching the barracks now—a long, low building on the crest of a hill, overlooking the pasture and a winding creek that watered it.

“Okay,” he said pulling himself away from personal topics. “I guess I should tell you the job requirements. First of all, Mr. Harmon has a rule against employees becoming romantically involved. There is no wiggle room there. If you’re caught, you’ll be fired. No second chances.”

She nodded. “Okay. Fair enough.”

“I really can’t stress it enough.” He eyed her, waiting for some sort of response, but she just met his gaze with mild curiosity. That was the biggest rule out of the way. “You’ll be providing breakfast, lunch, dinner and snacks for thirty-five employees. Breakfast is at 6:00 a.m. sharp, lunches are packed and supper is at five. You can’t be late—our scheduling relies on prompt meals.”

She didn’t say anything, but when he glanced over, she was chewing the side of her cheek. Nerves? So the cooking—that’s where he got a reaction from her?

“You think you can handle that?” he asked.

“Sure.” She shot him a smile that was just an eyelash shy of being convincing.

“We’re looking at high-protein meals, and don’t skimp on the carbs. The guys can eat a lot—they burn it off out there, so they have to be able to fill up. Obviously, we need balanced meals, but you’ve got to be able to cook according to a budget...”

As he talked, he could feel tension emanating from her through the cab, and when he pulled to a stop in front of the barracks, he eyed her curiously.

“You want to see your room first, or the kitchen?” he asked.

“Uh...” She looked out the window. “The kitchen, I suppose.”

They got out of the truck and he led the way toward the canteen. Their last cook had given notice, but Louis hadn’t been able to fill the position in time to fill the gap. This was the first day without a regular cook on premises, and the stock of muffins and sandwiches had been worked through pretty fast. He pushed open the door, leading the way past the tables and toward the kitchen in the back.

When they emerged into the quiet, cool room, the look on Avery’s face was pure panic.

“Exactly how much experience do you have?” Hank asked skeptically.

She heaved a sigh and shook her head. “Zero.”

What? He stared at her, aghast. She had absolutely no experience, and she’d applied for this job? What had she been thinking? And why had Louis hired her so quickly? He supposed they didn’t have many options—they needed someone, and one of the ranch hands would be just as bad as an inexperienced stranger. At least the ranch hand would be able to do his job out in the field if they had this woman in the kitchen.

“Let me get this straight...” he said slowly.

“Should I leave?” she interrupted, turning to look him in the face for the first time. Her green eyes glittered, and she crossed her arms across her chest—protective or defiant, he wasn’t sure which.

“Can you at least cook?” he asked. That would be something. Cooking in large batches could be learned...couldn’t it? If she could at least make some batches of oatmeal, muffins, fry up some burgers...

Avery visibly winced.

“Are you saying you can’t cook at all?” he demanded.

“I’m capable of cooking,” she retorted. “I’m twenty-four and I’ve fed myself for some time now.” She sighed. “I’ve just never been...good at it.”

He closed his eyes and suppressed a moan.

“I’ll go.” She moved toward the door. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

It wasn’t how pretty she was, or those glittering green eyes. It certainly wasn’t the smattering of freckles that drew his gaze as she turned away...it was the knowledge that without her here, a valuable ranch hand would be taken away from his work and set to manning the kitchen until they could find someone else, and after three weeks of advertising, she was the only one to show up.

“Wait,” he said gruffly. “You’re already hired. Let’s give you a try.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “Because you don’t need to do this. If someone else is a better fit—”

“There isn’t anyone else,” he said. “If you’re willing to learn, I guess I’ll teach you what I know, and we’ll get these guys fed.”

She pulled out her cell phone. “YouTube tutorials might help.”

So that was where they were at. This was going to be a long day, he could tell, but a suspicion nagged at the back of his mind. He might need to keep her on for now, but he also meant to keep an eye on her. After Hank’s divorce, the Harmon family had been really good to him, and he felt like he owed Louis more than just to follow his job requirements. And Avery gave off the vibe, back in the house, of a woman with an ulterior motive.

Now he discovered that she’d applied for a position she had zero experience for, and she was offering to walk away far too quickly for someone who needed the job despite her inexperience. His hackles were up. He didn’t know the real reason Avery had shown up, but he’d figure it out. He didn’t like secrets; he was the kind of man who wanted things transparent, out in the open. Secrets always hurt someone, he’d found. Hank knew firsthand what kind man Louis Harmon was. As ranch manager, it was his job to know what was going on, and he took that job very seriously.

“Alright,” Hank said. “Let me show you where you’ll be staying, then I should probably start showing you what I can in the kitchen. We need to whip up dinner for the hands. That is, if you’re ready to start early—”

“Sure,” she said. “I’ll be happy to.”

That was a relief, because right now, he didn’t have much choice.


Chapter Two (#u06abbb3a-0d0a-5a00-93c8-2a0ab46299ed)

Hank led the way to Avery’s room, located at the far end of the bunkhouse. The building was empty, their footsteps echoing, and Avery could only assume that was because the other employees were working at this hour. The hallways smelled male—like socks and stale cigarettes.

Avery stood back as Hank unlocked a door at the end of the hallway and swung it open. He held out the key, and when she took it, her fingers brushed over his calloused fingertips. There wasn’t much room in the doorway, and as she moved past him, she could feel his body heat.

“This is where you’ll sleep,” he said. “You have your own bathroom through there.”

Avery glanced around. There was a bed topped with a patchwork quilt, an outdated dresser, a wobbly wardrobe and a small but private bathroom with a tub large enough to actually take a bath. Thanks to a cracked-open window, her room smelled fresh and clean. When she peeked outside, she had a magnificent view of pasture and the main barn. That was something. And if she counted the blessing that she wouldn’t have to share facilities like the ranch hands did, she couldn’t complain. Even settling in wouldn’t be difficult. Her suitcase was in the trunk of her car, so that would be easy enough. But as she stood in the center of the room, a giggle bubbled up inside her.

If her mother were still living, she’d find this hilarious, too. Well, maybe not the fact that Avery was in Hope, looking for details about her mother’s past... Winona wouldn’t have liked that at all. But the outrageousness of being hired as a ranch cook—that would have tickled her funny bone. Winona used to tell her, Men expect a pretty girl to be able to cook. And you’re pretty, sweetheart. So you’d better learn how to cook, or learn how to let ’em down easy. Avery hadn’t learned.

Winona Southerly was a strong woman with her own idea of how things should be. She raised Avery to go to church every week, rain or shine. Winona’s Wilderness, the flower shop her mother opened when Avery was in the second grade, had been closed Sunday mornings, opening at 2:00 p.m. No exceptions. She’d been strict that way. When Avery complained that she didn’t want to go to Sunday school, her mother would retort, So the store is closed for nothing then? I’m losing business as we speak. We’re going to church. You could use a few positive influences, my girl. And heaven help them if they were late. But she’d had a sense of humor, too. Every time she lost something—a pair of scissors, an umbrella—she declared it had been raptured and the Lord needed it more than I did, I suppose. Church people never knew exactly how seriously to take her on that—whether she needed a theological tune-up, or if they should just laugh along. She liked pushing the envelope, keeping people guessing. Those were the memories that made Avery’s heart ache with loneliness. Life wasn’t going to be the same without Mom.

“Will it do?” Hank asked behind her.

Avery turned and nodded. “It’ll be just fine.”

He nodded, then his direct blue gaze met hers and she felt heat rise in her cheeks. This ranch manager was just so...male. She kept noticing things like the stubble on his jawline, or the latent strength in those large hands of his. She couldn’t do anything about it, though. She was here for a reason, and this cowboy didn’t factor into that.

“So what is Mr. Harmon like?” she asked.

Hank shrugged. “A decent guy. He doesn’t cut corners. He pays on time.”

That wasn’t exactly what she was looking for, but then, she was only supposed to be an employee.

“Does he have a family?” she asked. “Here at the ranch, I mean.”

“He’s a widower, but he has two kids, Olivia and Owen. They’re twins. You’ll see them around.”

He had kids... That meant she had siblings. The thought was surprising and pleasing. She’d wanted a brother or sister growing up, but that hadn’t happened. So siblings—someone else in the world she shared genes with—she liked that. And twins ran in the family... That might be good to know for future reference.

“How old are they?” she asked.

“They’re in...” Hank paused. “I want to say tenth grade. Maybe eleventh? High school students, though.”

She had a brother and a sister...and a father. While the thought of having more family was pleasing, it was also more intimidating. Those kids might not find her existence quite as comforting as she found theirs, especially at their age. They’d be territorial, and understandably.

“What happened to their mom?” she asked.

“She passed away a couple of years ago,” he said. “Riding accident. Some workers hadn’t locked a gate. The wind pushed it open, the horse spooked and she fell. Quick as that.”

“That’s too bad.” She wondered what Louis’s wife had been like. Perhaps a little bit like her mother in some way? She’d come to the conclusion that Louis’s relationship with her mother hadn’t been long or meaningful, or Louis would have shown some sort of reaction at her last name, if nothing else. She’d been sure her last name would spark some memories about her mother, but nothing? Had Winona been that forgettable for him?

Hank led the way back out of the room. Avery locked the door behind them and followed him down the long hall and out into the sunlight. She paused, looking around. The main house was visible on the crest of a hill a couple of miles off, and the horses shone bronze as they grazed in the field next to it. From their vantage point, slightly higher than the rest of the ranch, she could make out a wider view of the patchwork effect of adjacent fields. Early afternoon sunlight splashed over the distant barn that was visible from her bedroom window, and a tractor towing a trailer filled with hay crept along a gravel road, clouds of dust billowing up behind it. The canteen, which hunched next to the bunkhouse, was a low wooden building with a hitching post out front.

Hank didn’t seem like he’d say much else, and she wondered if she’d overdone it. But her time here was limited, and if she were going to take this job in order to find out a little more about her father, then she’d have to ask questions.

“How long have you worked here?” she asked, changing tack.

“Twelve years,” he replied, then turned toward her just before they reached the door to the canteen. “Long enough to know the boss really well. He’s been good to me, and I’m not about to gossip about his personal business. I’ve told you all I’m going to tell you.”

Heat suffused Avery’s cheeks. “Didn’t mean to offend.”

“If you want to talk, let’s talk about you,” Hank said, pulling open the door and letting her go inside first. The canteen was cool and dark, and it took a moment for Avery’s eyes to adjust.

“This way.” Hank moved past her. She stood there for a moment, glad for the darkness that could hide the color she knew was in her face. She didn’t like being chastised. Maybe this cowboy thought of her as some youngster compared to him, but she was far from naive, and far from being meek. Avery moved forward and her shin connected with something solid she couldn’t make out in the dim light.

“Ouch!” She closed her eyes in a grimace, and then opened them to find she could see a little better now. It had been a bench in her way, and Hank now stood in front of her. He was a big man, but his presence was even larger than his physical size. He always seemed to be inspecting her when he looked at her like that, and she found it irritating.

“You okay?” His voice was rough but gentle, and in the dim light his closeness made her feel slightly flustered. He obviously didn’t trust her, but he wasn’t being a complete jerk, either.

“Fine,” she said. “I can see better now.”

“That’s good.” He walked away from her again, and she followed in his wake, moving around tables and chairs toward the swinging kitchen door ahead. He flicked the switch as they went inside, and the room buzzed with florescent light.

“So how long are you here for?” Hank asked. He opened a drawer and tossed her a white apron.

“It won’t be long-term. I just needed a job while passing through,” she said cautiously. Obviously, they’d need to plan for the future around here, and she felt a pang of guilt. “Look, truthfully, I need to be back in Salina by June twenty-fourth. So I’ll be here for a couple of weeks. You’ll definitely want to keep looking for a cook.”

“Ah.” He paused, eyed her for a moment. “Thanks for letting me know.”

She shrugged, but felt like a fraud—could he sense that?

“You have someone waiting for you back in Salina?” he asked.

She eyed the kitchen appliances—two stoves, a large industrial fridge, a massive mixer on one counter.

“Someone?” She smiled wryly. “No. But I’m reopening my mom’s flower shop when I get back. I was pretty much raised in that shop. I went there every day after school and did my homework at the front counter.”

That store was more of a home than their little apartment had been, and when her mother died, it was the only stability she had left.

“So you’re a florist,” he said, shooting her an odd look.

“My mom was a florist,” Avery corrected him. “I worked at the bank, but when mom passed away and her life insurance came through, I quit so I could concentrate on her business.”

In college, she’d changed her major so many times that when she finally did graduate, it was with a generic arts degree. She’d never quite known what she wanted do with herself, what she wanted to be, and she realized after her mother had passed away that she’d relied on Winona for her identity. She was her mother’s daughter—but now?

“Don’t like counting other people’s money?” he asked with a small smile.

“It was just a job.” She shrugged. “But my mom’s store is home in a lot of ways, and having it just empty out and shut down...” She sighed. “It was too heartbreaking.”

“So what are you doing here?” he pressed.

She eyed him for a moment. She wondered if he were a distrustful man in general, or if he was just concerned about the stability of his staff. Possibly a bit of both, but she found herself mildly intrigued by him, too. He was older than she was—old enough that she’d call him sir if she trampled his foot in the street—but she was also very aware of him, of his movement, of the way he looked at her. She ran her hand over a countertop.

“I’m trying to learn about my mom,” she said. “She didn’t say much about her childhood, and now that she’s gone, I want to figure out that side of her that she kept hidden.”

“Would she want you to?”

His question was unexpected, and she felt a twang of annoyance. What did he know about her relationship with her mother, or what Winona would have wanted?

“Probably not,” she admitted, tears misting her eyes. “But she’s gone, so...”

Dying had been the worst thing her mother had ever done, because Avery still needed her. She might be a grown woman, but she wasn’t finished being mothered yet. Her mom had never wanted her to meet her dad, or to even know his name, but since she’d gone and heartlessly died, Avery would have to make these choices on her own. Wherever Winona was—raptured with the scissors?—Avery hoped her mother could forgive her, because she had come to town in search of the very answers Winona had kept hidden all these years. And perhaps while she learned who her mother used to be, she could figure out who she was without her mother in her life.

Hank opened the fridge and pulled out three large, cellophane-wrapped packages of cubed steak and tossed them onto the stainless steel center table with a bang.

“The last cook suggested beef stew.”

Avery glanced around the kitchen, taking in the large pots, the hanging spatulas, the knives in neat rows held along magnetic strips on the wall. Beef stew. It sounded simple enough. Beef, carrots, potatoes, broth. Onions—couldn’t forget those. Yes, this was under control.

Hank’s cell phone rang, and he picked up the call. “Yeah?...Okay...No, that’s a priority...Okay, I’ll meet you there.” He hung up the phone.

“Is there a problem?” she asked.

“A water pipe leak affecting the water pressure for some sprinklers. I’ve got to look into it.” He paused. “So will you be okay here?”

“I can do this,” she said, her confidence returning.

“Yeah?” He looked a little wary, but she was armed with YouTube and a massive pot. What could possibly go wrong?

“You’re cooking for thirty-five,” he said, nodding toward the stove. “That pot should be full.”

“Dinner’s at five?” she asked.

“Five sharp.” He turned toward the door, and she pulled out her phone. She knew she’d find online videos and recipes and cooking tips galore. Stew was within the realm of possibility. Hank paused at the door and pulled out a little pad of paper, scratched a number on it and placed it on the center table. “Call me if you get into trouble.”

Nice to say, but she highly doubted that kitchen woes would trump anything else he had going in the rest of the ranch. She’d sort things out on her own.

* * *

THAT DAY THE work in the field took longer than Hank anticipated. The water pressure was down to a dribble out there, and the fix was more complicated than they’d originally thought. He and the men didn’t ride back to the canteen until ten past five, and they’d have to head back out after they ate for another go at it. Hank was both hungry and nervous. There were thirty-five hungry workers needing a decent meal, and he’d left a woman they didn’t know in charge of the kitchen, hoping for the best.

Hank bounced along the gravel road that meandered back up toward the barracks and the canteen. The radio was on low, a country song filling up the space between the roar of the engine and the rattle of equipment in the back. He’d been thinking about Avery the entire time he was searching for that blasted leak, telling himself repeatedly he was just worried about the food. But it was less noble than that. He’d never thought of himself as a guy with a type, but if he had one, she was it. Slender, cute, fair. Maybe it was just the fact that there weren’t a lot of other women around here.

Hank parked his truck in front of the building, hopped out and slammed the door with a satisfying bang. The canteen had two large, old-fashioned wagon wheels on either side of the double doors, which were already propped open. Some of the men had arrived ahead of him, their truck already parked in a spot in front. His stomach rumbled. Beef stew would hit the spot tonight. It had been a long day, but the job wasn’t yet done, and he needed a solid meal.

As Hank stepped inside, he was met with the murmur of voices, some laughter, the clink of cutlery—all normal. The smell, though... It wasn’t just the press of sweaty bodies, it was something else he couldn’t quite identify...

“Hey, Hank.” Bernie, one of the ranch hands sat in front of a bowl of stew, two dinner rolls next to it. “Have you seen the new cook?”

“Yeah, I showed her around,” Hank replied.

“Well, thank you for hiring that one,” he said with a grin. “She’s hot.”

There was a chorus of laughter and a few crude comments. Hank shot them a flat stare. Hot or not—and he wasn’t arguing how good-looking she was—she wasn’t here to be ogled. She was here to cook. There were workplace rules about sexual harassment and about fraternizing with the staff, rules he was following, too. When Louis’s wife, Carla, had died in that riding accident, it had been because a couple of workers were literally having a roll in the hay. Her death was preventable, and while those workers had been fired, Louis set up an ironclad rule about workplace dalliances.

“How’s the food?” Hank asked. He leaned closer to the bowl and discovered the source of the “off” smell. “Oh, man...”

“It’s—” Bernie shrugged. “It’s served by the pretty redhead. I’ll have seconds.”

The man across the table from them, Ivan, was chewing a piece of beef, his jaw moving in slow rotations. Hank paused and watched him chew for another ten seconds.

“You gonna swallow that?” Hank asked.

Ivan slowly shook his head. “It’s like leather,” he said past the meat in his mouth. “I can’t get it down.”

There didn’t seem to be any open complaining, interestingly enough. Had a man served that meal, there’d have been a riot. Avery stood across the room, bending down to offer more bread to one of the ranch hands, whose eyes were fixed on her cleavage. Her red hair tumbled down in front of her shoulders—no hairnet, apparently—and her smile was bright. This was a rough bunch of guys, and Avery probably had no idea what she was getting herself into here. He headed toward her, and when Avery saw him, she shot him a smile.

“Hi,” he said, clapping a hand onto the shoulder of the ranch hand who had been ogling Avery’s chest. The man dropped his gaze to his bowl immediately.

“Served on time,” she said, looking quite satisfied with herself. “And everyone seems to love it.”

“Mmm. Delicious,” the ranch hand said on cue, and Hank suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Yeah, they all seemed to be willing to compliment the meal, if only to get a little of the cook’s personal attention. And for that, Hank couldn’t blame them entirely. There wasn’t a whole lot of female contact out here, and they had to wait until they went into Hope on their days off for a beer at the Honky Tonk in order to get a woman to look at them straight. He’d have to have a word with Avery in private.

“You must be starving,” Avery said. “Let me get you a bowl.”

“Sure,” he said. “In the kitchen.”

She shot him a quizzical look, but complied and they headed through the swinging door into relative privacy. The kitchen was hot from cooking, and the pot was still on the stove. She stepped onto a stool next to the stove so she could reach inside and she scooped him up a big bowl of stew. He grabbed a bun and took a bite of the crusty roll, holding the proffered bowl of stew in the other hand for the time being.

“You, too,” he said, nodding to the pot. “I couldn’t possibly try this before you do.”

Avery bent back over the pot to fill her own bowl, and he watched her move. She was feminine—an odd thing to notice about a woman. Weren’t all women feminine? But there was something soft and lithe about her, something that should smell like flowers—even though he couldn’t smell anything but that stew right now.

“It wasn’t so bad,” Avery said, picking up a spoon from the counter. “I was a little worried at first—” She dipped the spoon into the bowl and blew on it a couple of times before she took a bite. Her expression changed as she pulled the spoon from her mouth, and she chewed slowly.

“Well?” he asked.

“It’s, um...” She swallowed. “I think something went wrong.”

“Yeah?” he asked. “What did you do to it?”

“I followed the directions!” She shot him an annoyed look. “To the T, might I add. Beef stew. I have no idea what went wrong. Except there wasn’t any red wine.”

“Yeah, we don’t tend to cook with red wine out here,” he said wryly.

“I may have replaced the red wine with red wine vinegar.”

He grimaced. Vinegar in beef stew? What had she been thinking? But she looked so let down. Avery ran her hand through her hair, tugging those loose waves away from her face. It was the disappointment in those green-flecked eyes. She’d actually thought she’d done well, and the other guys had let her believe it. He normally wouldn’t make much effort for a cook’s feelings...

“Pass me some salt,” he said with a sigh.

“You’re going to eat it?” she asked. “I’m sure I can rummage up something else for you.”

“It’s what’s for dinner,” he replied. “I’ll eat what my men are eating.”

And he wasn’t pleased about that. He was hungry—as were all the guys out there. They’d worked a long day, and they needed a decent meal at the end of that. He was grumpy, he was hungry and the glop in his bowl was possibly the worst stew he’d eaten in his life. And that included cattle drives where the one who drew the shortest straw had to cook.

“Breakfast will be better,” she said. “Eggs, bacon, corn bread...that’s hard to ruin.”

He’d thought the same thing about the stew.

“Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll meet you here at 4:00 a.m., and we’ll work on it together. We’ll have to make the pack lunches, too. At least that way, if the guys don’t like the grub, they can blame me, too.”

And at the very least, they’d get an edible lunch.

“But they seem to like it...” She looked toward the swinging door, her pale brows knitted. Had she really not figured out how gorgeous she was and what that did to the common male?

“Yeah...” He shot her a wry look. “They seem to.”

She wasn’t going to be sticking around Hope for long, but while she was here, maybe they could manage to get some decent grub.


Chapter Three (#u06abbb3a-0d0a-5a00-93c8-2a0ab46299ed)

The evening shadows stretched out long and deep, and Avery stood by a fence, her foot on a rail as she watched the sun sink steadily lower. The sky was turning a misty pink, crimson bleeding out along the horizon. The fields glowed gold in the sunset, cattle dotting the lush greenery. A couple of roads snaked across the land, empty and lonesome.

Should I even be here?

Today had been strange in every way. When she arrived in Hope, she hadn’t known what to expect. Her mother had always been secretive about who her father was, and when she confessed a name on her deathbed, that’s where she’d stopped. Louis Harmon. No more details. By Louis’s reaction to hearing her name, Avery was assuming that Winona had never told Louis about the daughter they’d made together. Why not? What could she have possibly gained by hiding Avery from him? Louis seemed kind. He was obviously respected by his employees. Hank sure seemed to think a lot of him.

It didn’t make sense, but at least Winona had given Avery his name before she died. That name linked her to a family she’d never known about—a family that very well might not want to know about her. It was strange to think about herself as orphaned at twenty-four, but that was how she felt. She’d counted on her mother for more than she realized—for her gut reaction to the guys Avery dated, for her optimistic view of the future, for her skill in running the flower shop. Mom knew how to make the perfect arrangement for that finicky bride. She knew how to comfort the bereaved family buying flowers for a funeral. She always managed to look right through whichever guy Avery was dating and figure him out before Avery even managed to. Sweetheart, he’s not as committed as you are. If he’s saying goodnight by nine, I’m willing to bet he’s got another date lined up for ten.

It had always been her and Mom against the world, and now it was suddenly just her. And while Avery was perfectly able to run her life, the hole her mother left behind was still raw.

A truck’s engine rumbled behind her, and she turned to see Louis pull up in front of the bunkhouse. The truck was new—glossy black with shining chrome. You could tell who the boss was around here. The older man hopped out of the truck and slammed the door. He spotted her by the fence and waved.

Avery headed toward him and shot him a smile.

“Evening,” he said.

“Hi,” she replied. “Nice night.”

“Sure is.” He shook her hand with that same crushing grip from earlier. “Are you settled in okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine, thanks.” She crossed her arms. “Served my first meal.”

“I heard.” Something flickered across his expression. He must have heard how bad it tasted, too. So was this it? Was he going to fire her? She almost wished he would, then she’d be forced to tell him why she’d really come and get it over with.

“I know it wasn’t the best stew,” she began.

“I’m not worried about it. Hank assures me that it’s under control. He’s your boss, so he’s the one you need to impress.”

Great. She hadn’t done a great job in impressing him so far.

“Alright. Well...thank you for being patient with me.”

“Hank also mentioned you’ve got about two weeks here. We appreciate the honesty on that. It’s still good to have you here to fill the vacancy while we keep looking for a permanent cook.”

“I’m glad it will work for both of us,” she said. And she was. She hadn’t wanted to mislead them. “I should have mentioned it to you earlier. It all got away from me.”

Louis was silent for a moment, and he looked out toward the fields and the sunset. His weathered face softened.

“I knew a Winona Southerly a long time ago. Any relation?” he asked.

“My mother,” she said, and her voice trembled slightly as the words came out.

“Really?” Louis’s eyebrows shot up and he looked at her in surprise. “You’re Winona Southerly’s daughter?”

“Yes.” Avery smiled. “I’ve been told I look like her—if I were blond.”

“Hmm.” He nodded. “Yes, I can see it—I should have noticed before. Where is your mother now?”

“She passed away,” Avery replied. “Breast cancer.”

“Oh...” Louis’s expression fell and he shook his head. “I’m sorry. She was quite the gal. I knew her...well, a long time ago. What did she end up doing with her life?”

“She had me young,” Avery said. “She worked odd jobs for a few years and inherited some money when my grandmother passed away. She used it to open a flower shop in Salina.”

“Hmm.” He nodded slowly. “Sounds like a good life.”

“Too short, though,” Avery said. “She was forty-three. I’m actually here trying to find out a little bit more about her...and her relationships.”

An awkward look crossed Louis’s face. He was silent for a moment, then said, “She was a good person—fun, sympathetic. She was a good friend.”

Friend. Right. Obviously, she’d been a little more than that.

“So you knew her well?” Avery pressed.

“We were kids,” he said with a shake of his head. “When I knew your mother she wanted to marry a senator, learn some bull riding—” he smiled sadly “—and open a flower shop.”

Avery hadn’t realized that a flower shop had been part of her mother’s dreams back then. She knew her mother had opened the business so that she could be her own boss and be there for Avery after school. But she hadn’t realized that shop had been a dream fulfilled. The bull riding didn’t seem to fit, though.

“Did she get married?” Louis asked.

“Once,” Avery replied. “It lasted three years, and after the divorce she focused on me.” That made it sound like she didn’t have any other options, somehow, so she added, “There were a couple of other gentlemen from church who used to come by the shop and chat with her, though. If she’d not gotten sick, she might have married again.”

“Church?” Louis took off his hat and slapped it against his thigh. “And you came to find out about your mother’s time in Hope, did you?”

He’d been talking to Hank, it seemed.

“Yes,” she said.

He chewed the side of his cheek and nodded several times.

“You knew her...” she prodded.

“Yeah, I did,” he agreed. “If you’re wanting to find out more about her, Winona went to the local high school. You might find some old photos there. And people knew her...lots of people knew her.”

“What church did she go to?” Avery asked. That might be another avenue to sleuth out, and perhaps thinking about Winona would spark some old memories for Louis.

Louis chuckled. “She wasn’t much into church when she lived here, I’m afraid.”

That was a surprise, because Winona had been a spiritual woman as far back as Avery could remember.

“I guess we all change over the years,” Louis said slowly. “We grow and learn, and let go of a few mistakes.”

His words sank down into the pit of her stomach. Was he referring to Winona, or to himself? Was that what Winona was to him—a mistake? Somehow, Avery hadn’t considered that option, but obviously Louis had married someone else and started a family of his own. Maybe that was the way he remembered Winona, after all. A wave of resentment crashed over her... Her mother deserved better than that, a whole lot better. Unless Louis was lying. Maybe he didn’t want his balance here upset.

“Did my mother ever contact you?” she asked a little more curtly than intended.

“No.” Louis frowned slightly, her intention seeming to miss him. “She didn’t have any reason, that I know of.”

“I just—” Avery shook her head. This wasn’t the right moment to announce it all. “I was curious about why she would walk away from this town and never mention it again until her last days.”

That was a roundabout way of getting at it. Why had her mother walked away from here, from Louis, and never looked back?

“She didn’t talk about Hope?” Louis asked.

“Nothing more than to say she’d grown up here,” Avery replied. “And that she never wanted to come back.”

“Oh.” Louis sucked in a breath, then blew out a sigh. “She must have had her reasons...I suppose.”

“You don’t know why?” Avery pressed.

Louis was silent for a moment, and then he fixed his dark gaze on Avery and said quietly, “You say she was a church lady in Kansas. Right?”

“Yes, she was very devout,” Avery replied.

“Well, she wasn’t like that here, you see,” he said quietly. “She was—” He pressed his lips together into a thin line. “She was a fun girl, and she knew how to let loose. She...knew how to have a good time, and broke a few hearts. You get my drift?”

Was he suggesting what she thought he was? Anger boiled up inside her. Her mother had only been gone for a couple of months, and to hear her spoken of like that...

“Are you saying she slept around?” Avery snapped. “Because I don’t believe that for a second! If you knew her like you claim—”

“Look, I’m only saying this because you’ll find out anyway if you start asking around,” Louis said, apology written all over his face. “But your mom looked for love in all the wrong places, and it sounds like she started looking in the right places when she got to Kansas. So you’ve got to give her credit for that.”

The tone was gentle, almost too gentle, but his words sank in. If her mother had slept around, it would certainly explain her reluctance to tell Avery about her life here...but it was still almost impossible to believe. Winona wasn’t that kind of woman! She wore necklines that covered her cleavage, and hemlines that skimmed her knees. She was careful not to be “overly friendly” with married men, lest someone think she was flirting. On the other hand, she did know an awful lot about how men worked...

“I see—” Avery tried to stem the rising tears. But a reputation was a very subjective thing, and perhaps Louis was more prudish than most. She’d known her mother had had a relationship at some point, because Avery was the result. Maybe Hope was just an old-fashioned little town whose population got easily scandalized. Maybe Louis was the kind of man who blamed the girl he got pregnant.

“But I liked her a lot,” Louis added. “Your mom was a good person.”

As if that made this better. He’d just called her loose. She’d been hoping to find a father who had at least loved her mother, even if they hadn’t worked out. Winona had deserved to be loved.

I liked her a lot. That wasn’t enough. There was a couple of beats of silence between them, and Louis put his hat back on his head.

“Were you one of the heartbroken guys?” Avery asked.

“Me?” He shook his head. “No, no... I knew where I stood. I was just some ranch boy. She had her eyes on the city.”

“So...you and my mother weren’t serious?” she pressed.

“Serious?” He shot her an odd look. “Sorry if I gave the wrong impression there. We were nothing more than good friends.”

That was the story he was sticking with? They’d obviously been significantly more than good friends for a least one night, but it didn’t look like he was going to admit to that—at least not today. Besides, her mind was whirling with this new bombshell he’d dropped on her, and she needed to process it alone.

“I’d better turn in.” She hooked a thumb back toward the bunkhouse. “I’ve got an early morning.”

“Look, I’m sorry to hear about your mom’s passing,” Louis said. “Real sorry.”

“Thank you.” She stood there awkwardly for a moment.

“Well, have a good night.” He turned back toward his truck. “And welcome aboard.”

Avery watched him go. If Louis wasn’t willing to admit to even a casual relationship with her mom, then he might not be too pleased to discover that he’d fathered a child with her. What was it that he said, that some people grew and learned and let go of their mistakes? Somehow Avery doubted that she’d be welcome news. She might very well be one his mistakes that he gratefully set free. It would be wise to find out what she could about her biological family before courting rejection.

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING, Hank awoke at 3:30 a.m. and rolled over with a moan. He’d promised to give Avery a hand with breakfast, and though he was exhausted, he found himself grudgingly looking forward to it.

He tossed back his covers and sat up, rubbing his hands over his eyes. This house had had five years to be brought back down to a man’s level, and all remnants of Vickie’s touch around the place had been erased. He slept in the center of his bed, spread eagle. His bathroom contained soap, shaving gel, deodorant, a toothbrush and shampoo—that was it. His bedroom was clean, but sparsely decorated, just the way he liked it. He had no reason to complicate his life with frills.

He flicked on the TV mounted on the wall opposite his bed as he ambled into the bathroom. He could hear the muffled voice of the news announcer talking about the weather. Mostly sunny, high of eighty, 20 percent chance of showers. The weather mattered on a ranch—rain mattered, heat mattered. There were eight hundred head of cattle that needed to be watered and cared for.

He washed his face and reached for his shaving gel. Sometimes he’d let his scruff go for a few days, but this morning a clean shave felt worth it. Fifteen minutes later, he was dressed and he left the house, slamming the door shut behind him. He headed down the gravel drive that led to the canteen. Rocks crunched under his boots, and cool morning air carried the scent of cows and grass. The Harmon Ranch was home in a way that he’d never anticipated when he first took this job. Back then he’d been a young husband looking for a better wage—period—but he and Louis had forged a close relationship over the years through their personal tragedies. He’d never expected the position to last longer than his marriage, but it had, and this familiar land, the cycle of the seasons, a warm, dark summer morning, felt safe.

The sun was beginning to warm the edge of the eastern horizon, but all was still dark and quiet. The canteen door was unlocked, which meant Avery was likely already in the kitchen. He locked the door behind him and saw light shining through the circular window of the swinging door.

“That you, Hank?” she called.

“Yeah, that’s me.” He walked into the kitchen.

She stood by the sink, tying an apron around her waist. She looked up as he came in.

“Morning,” she said, a smile on her lips. Her hair was a little tousled, and she wasn’t wearing any makeup—just that milky white skin and the red fringe of her lashes. “So what’s the plan?”

“We have to put out thirty-five pack lunches,” Hank said. “And get breakfast cooked. I can do the lunches.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a box of hairnets. “You should probably use one of these.”

That should make her a little less appealing to the guys.

“Of course.” She flushed as she pulled her hair back, then twisted it into a bun at the base of her neck. “Give me a hand?”

He stretched out a hairnet and stepped closer so he could put it on her. She smelled good—that feminine mix of scents that a man never could identify. When he put the hairnet over her shining hair, his fingers brushed her neck. It had been a long time since he’d been this close to a woman, and he steeled himself to her softness, then took a step back.

“You’ll probably want to start with corn bread,” he said, trying to keep on task. “The old cook used to make it in batches—at least that’s how he explained it to me before he left. The ovens hold eight pans at a time, and he did two batches...” He relayed what he’d been told, and showed her the recipe book. Avery gave him a quick nod.

She picked it up easily, which was a relief, because he wasn’t sure he knew what he was doing, either. They needed to feed thirty-five men before they left for the fields, and that was a bigger job than he’d imagined. But they’d have food out there in an hour’s time, and that was the goal. He worked on turkey sandwiches and cream cheese bagels, the results less than attractive but definitely edible.

“So tell me about you,” she said as she cracked eggs into the mixing bowl.

“Not much to tell,” he said.

“There’s always something to tell,” she replied. “Is your family from Hope?”

“Born and raised.”

“You said your parents are in Florida now, right? Do you miss them?”

“I’m thirty-five,” he said with a short laugh. “I’m a grown man.”

“I didn’t ask how old you were,” she retorted. “I asked if you missed them.”

Did he? Sometimes. But he could pick up a phone and call them whenever he wanted. They texted him pictures of geckos and potted cactus plants from their stone-covered yard. Not the life for him—he liked the fields, the cattle. When he retired, he wanted to own a little cabin somewhere with a fireplace and a dog.

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “But we keep in touch.”

“Shoot...” She dropped an eggshell on the table. “I’ve lost count and the yolks are broken. Okay, I’m quadrupling the batch—” She was silent for a moment, then continued, “No, I’m good... I think... We’ll see.”

What was it about her, standing there ruining a perfectly good meal—he could feel it happening, like lightning in the air—that she still managed to be so blasted likable?

“My mother always said a man expects a woman to be able to cook,” she said, shooting him an amused look. “I’m a walking disappointment.”

She fiddled with a few switches on the mixer until it turned on, the motor whirring softly as the large bowl turned.

“My ex-wife could cook like a pro,” he said with a shrug. “And she was still impossible to live with.”

He suppressed an oath. He hadn’t meant to mention Vickie. That was personal, and this woman was a virtual stranger.

“What happened?” she asked, planting her hands on her hips while she watched the mixer spin.

“We grew apart.”

That was the BS line most people used—the explanation that covered a hundred tiny betrayals before the ultimate one. Sometimes the ultimate betrayal wasn’t even that big—it was just the last one before both parties gave up. No one just up and got divorced; they crept toward it at a snail’s pace and pretended everything was fine until one day it wasn’t.

“I don’t believe that,” Avery said, her tone unchanged. “My mom got divorced when I was seventeen, so I’ve seen it up close and personal. No one grows apart—they’re pushed that way.”

“And what was their problem?” he asked, trying to divert that attention away from his life. She seemed to like to talk, so it was better to focus it on her, in his opinion.

“He wanted to be the man of the house and call the shots,” she said, reaching into the bowl with a spatula. “And he was terrible with money, but he wouldn’t let her handle the finances because he was the man. She couldn’t just watch him spend them into the poorhouse, and he couldn’t just watch her take care of the banking. It was a no-win situation.”

“Okay.” She seemed to have a pretty good grasp on her mother’s failed marriage.

“So what happened to yours?” she prompted.

She was turned away from him, focused on pouring flour into the mixing bowl. He didn’t really mean to start talking about himself, but when he opened his mouth, it came out before he could think better of it.

“Vickie was more social than I was. She was a flirt, and I didn’t like it. I loved horses and cattle, and she liked the Honky Tonk and dancing. There wasn’t much overlap in our interests.”

“That was it? Different interests?” She turned toward him, as if this really mattered to her.

“Well, that and Vickie thought that finally having a child together might solve our problems, and I’d disagreed. Babies bring more stress. They don’t fix problems. Turns out not having a baby didn’t fix it, either.”

“That’s a more honest answer.” She smiled weakly. “Sorry. It must have been painful.”

“Yeah, I got over it.”

“How long ago was it?” she asked.

“Five years.”

“I don’t think you’re over it,” she said, flicking off the mixer. Her tone was so matter-of-fact that he nearly laughed.

“You don’t know me,” he retorted, stopping in midslice with a bagel. “How do you know what I’m over?”

“Are you married?” she asked. “Girlfriend? Fiancée?”

“No.”

“You’re good-looking, fit, technically available...” Her gaze moved over him from head to toe, then color suffused her cheeks. “If you were over her, you’d be snapped up.”

She thought he was good-looking, did she? He liked that. And she had a bit of a point—he wasn’t really available. He was no idealistic young cowpoke who thought love could conquer all. He was dusted up, scraped over and a little more cynical about the longevity of relationships. He and Vickie hadn’t just split up, she’d left him for a guy she’d met online.

“How long were you married?” she asked.

“Twelve years. We got married right out of high school,” he said.

“Ouch.” She cast him a pitying look, and he scowled. He didn’t need sympathy.

“So what about you?” he asked. “You said you didn’t have anyone waiting for you.”

“I was dating a guy,” she said. “Can you reach those for me?”

Her change in topic was slightly jarring, and he looked over to see what she was referring to. There were some metal pans high on a shelf, and he put down the knife and sauntered over to where she stood. The soft scent of whatever perfume she was wearing tugged at him as he reached for the pans and handed them to her.

“Thanks,” she said. “So I was dating a guy, but it didn’t work out.”

They stood facing each other, her chin tipped up so she could look him in the face. She was young, so much prettier than he could easily deflect. He felt old and disillusioned next to her. He felt like he should shut up, not ruin what was left of her innocence. She’d get to his position soon enough, and it was almost cruel to hurry that process. Or maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe she’d marry some guy who would adore her and let her take care of the finances.

“So what went wrong?” he asked. “And you can’t use we grew apart.”

“He wasn’t the right one,” she said. She made it sound so simple and obvious, but he doubted that the guy who lost her felt that way. He had a feeling the poor schmuck was probably still licking his wounds, wondering what went wrong. She turned away from him and headed toward the side-by-side stoves. She turned a couple of dials, opened the ovens, stuck a hand in.

“I think that’s turned on,” she said.

“So how did you know he wasn’t right?” Hank asked. “What line did you give him?”

“He wanted me to sell the flower shop,” she said, her back to him. “And if he knew me at all, he would have known that store meant more to me than money.” Avery turned around to face him, meeting his eyes with her frank gaze.

“How recently was this?” he asked.

“Last month.”

Avery picked up the first pan of corn bread and slid it into the oven.

“The oven isn’t on,” he said.

“What? No, I just—” She put her hand into the oven again, then frowned.

He stepped up to the stove and turned the correct dial, then flicked the oven switch. Color tinged her cheeks.

“And that’s what you told him?” he asked, letting her mistake go. “That he didn’t know you well enough?” Why was he so curious about her breakup? For some reason, he needed to know what the poor guy had been through.

“I said it wasn’t him, it was me. And it wasn’t his fault. Not really. That store is my home.”

“I get it,” Hank said. It was like his connection to the land and the cattle. Vickie had never been able to understand that it wasn’t a choice. The open range just kept tugging him back. Home was something hardwired inside a person, something that called and called, no matter how hard a man tried to walk away. Home trumped logic. It could be ignored for a time, pushed aside for a while, but it couldn’t be denied forever—not even for the strongest principles. In his opinion, it wasn’t growing apart that ended a couple. It was starting out apart and never growing together.

Somewhere in Kansas there was another guy nursing a broken heart, and Hank felt a strange camaraderie with the man. They were like soldiers who’d served in the same war, or survivors who’d gone through the same tornado. There was some unspoken bond between men who’d been through the wringer.

Women were complicated, and Avery looked more so than the rest. What did that say about his morbid curiosity that he still wanted to figure Avery out?


Chapter Four (#u06abbb3a-0d0a-5a00-93c8-2a0ab46299ed)

Avery looked down into the blackened bottom of the oatmeal pot. Granted, she’d never made oatmeal in such a large quantity before, but she really hadn’t expected to mess it up. Even with milk and brown sugar, it tasted rather smoky.

The corn bread had turned out a little dense, but surprisingly tasty. The eight dozen boiled eggs had gone over well, as had the bacon—she couldn’t fry it up fast enough for the hungry men. By the time they were finished eating, she’d been exhausted.

Avery gathered some empty serving trays and backed up against the swinging door that led to the kitchen. The men were donning hats once more and heading out. Hank stood on the far side the room, his gaze fixed on her.

Had she done well? It was better than last night’s supper. She let the kitchen door swing shut behind her and carried the crumb-laden trays to the counter. She put them down with a clatter and heaved a sigh.

Hank poked his head into the kitchen just as she was turning back for her second trip.

“Not bad,” he said.

“Except for the oatmeal,” she replied with a grimace. “Sorry about that.”

“Yeah... We’ll work on that.”

At least she wasn’t fired—that was something. And it was an improvement over the stew. Hank had left her a schedule for what to cook when, and tonight’s menu was chili, biscuits and baked potatoes. Fingers crossed for that one.

“I can’t stay here today—duty calls. So you’re on your own,” Hank said, then he paused, shot her a questioning look.

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “I actually make a very good chili.”

Hers was from a can, but she did add in extra beef and some chunky vegetables...and she’d been complimented on it, too. And while she wouldn’t have forty cans of chili to start her off, she would have some online recipes. And most of the day to figure things out.

“If you need me...” He didn’t have to finish that. She had his cell number.

“I’ll be fine.”

She didn’t feel quite as confident as she sounded, but with the odd looks she got from Hank when she checked out YouTube tutorials, maybe being on her own would be easier.

“Okay,” he said, giving her a curt nod. “See you later.”

Hank disappeared behind the swinging door, and just for a moment, she wished she had an excuse to call him back. Hank was the closest thing she had to a friend here on her father’s ranch...and she liked his company. He didn’t smile quickly or easily, but when he did, she felt like she’d achieved something. He was serious and self-contained—an open challenge to her more outgoing personality. She was curious about his life, too—what forces had created the solemn cowboy? But Hank wasn’t here to hold her hand, no matter how nice it might be to have a rugged cowboy fixing that intense gaze on her all day long. She blushed at the thought. Hank was good-looking, but it was more than lanky height and clear blue eyes...he had the air of a man who was experienced in life, and while she knew she had no business meddling with him, it did make her take notice.

You’re too young for him to take you seriously. She could hear what her mother would say in that place in the back of her mind where Winona’s voice would always live. Don’t lose your heart to a man who isn’t losing his.

Had her mother made that mistake with Louis? Avery wished she knew.

Avery looked around the kitchen at the dirty pots, the plastic bins full of plates and bowls. The majority of this job would be the cleaning up, she could already tell. But she wasn’t actually here to be a cook. She’d have to find a way to cross paths with her father if she was going to make good use of this time. From what she could see of the ranch, Louis was a prosperous man. His employees ate well, and they all seemed happy enough to be working here, so she could assume they were paid decently, too.

Avery hadn’t had much growing up. Her mother worked hard, and they lived in a small apartment above the flower shop that was technically a one-bedroom place, but her mother had artfully transformed a walk-in closet to be a second bedroom for Avery. They hadn’t traveled much, except for one trip to Disneyland when Avery was about ten. Her mother had saved for years to make it happen, and when she received a small inheritance from an aunt, they’d packed their bags for the only vacation that Avery and her mother would ever take together.

And all that time, her father was running a ranch with cattle and barns, ranch hands and horses... Had her father known about her mother’s pregnancy but hadn’t wanted to be involved? It was possible. Maybe he was an accomplished liar, though he didn’t seem the type. But if he hadn’t known about Avery’s existence, that meant her mother had simply denied her daughter a relationship with her father and the financial stability that would have come with it.

She hadn’t decided what she felt about all this yet. Her mother never did anything without good reason, and that included the little things like buying candy along with the groceries or getting a new pair of shoes. Everything had to be rationalized. She could still remember her mother’s voice. “You haven’t outgrown your last pair of runners, but you will soon. So I’ll get you this new pair, but they have to be a size bigger so that they’ll last. Or we could wait... But the sale is on now, and I don’t want to miss out on that...”

If there had been a father who could have sent money for school clothes, or even provided them a vacation once every couple of years...that would have made a big difference. So why would her mother have kept Avery away from her dad?

She heard movement behind her and turned to see a teenage girl standing in the doorway. There were still a few men exiting the building, and she could hear their voices suddenly drop off as the outside door banged shut. The teenager was slim and tanned with dark hair and gray eyes that were disconcertingly light compared to her dark complexion.

“Hi,” Avery said.

“I’m Olivia Harmon,” the girl said, crossing the kitchen and holding out her hand. Avery’s heart sped up at the young woman’s name. Her sister. They looked nothing alike, but genetics could be like that. She wiped her palms on her apron and shook Olivia’s proffered hand.

“Nice to meet you. I’m the new cook.”

“I heard.” Olivia put her fingers into her back pockets and looked around. “I just came by to pick up a couple of pack lunches for Dad and me.”

“Going out together?” Avery asked, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah, we’re going riding.” Olivia headed to the large refrigerator and pulled it open. “Aren’t there any left?”

“I don’t think so. Hank made an even thirty-five this morning,” Avery said. “Do you want me to make you a couple of lunches?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Olivia said. “I can do it. I won’t keep you from whatever you were doing.”

The dishes—that was what Avery had been doing. She had the big sink filled with hot, soapy water, and she pulled on a pair of rubber gloves.

“That’s nice that your dad goes riding with you,” Avery said as she grabbed a scrub brush and got to work.

“Yeah, we’ve been riding together since I was little.” Olivia pulled sandwich fixings from the fridge. “He’s actually heading out to check on some leaking pipes that are being fixed, and I’m tagging along.”

“How old are you?” Avery asked.

“Sixteen. Why?”

“You look older than that,” Avery said quickly. “You could pass for nineteen easily.” What teenager didn’t want to look older than her years? That might cover up any weird-sounding curiosity on Avery’s part.

“How about twenty-one?” Olivia asked with a grin.

“Not quite.” Avery chuckled. She wasn’t about to encourage anything untoward.





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/patricia-johns/her-cowboy-boss/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.