One Heart to Win by Johanna Lindsey
“What I think is you concern yourself too much with me. I’m not yours to protect, Hunter.”
“Do you want to be?”
He said it so softly she wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. But she finally remembered why she was keeping her eyes off him and got even more red-faced, mortified that she was still in a room with a half-naked man! She should have bolted out of there immediately. She should have waited until he’d put on some clothes to ask her questions. He must think by now that she didn’t mind his undress.
Belatedly she said, “I’ll only be a few minutes if you can wait.”
“Wait for what?”
“Wait outside for me to finish.”
“You’ve got some really silly notions, Red. It’s my room. I need my clothes.”
She turned to say, “Then I’ll come back later to—”
She didn’t get to finish, couldn’t. He was standing right in front of her now, so close she might have collided if instinct hadn’t made her back up instead. Too quickly. The bed was in the way and her balance deserted her. She fell back.
A slow grin turned his lips. “When you put it like that . . .”
Her hands shot up to keep him from leaning in close, which he started to do. Such a paltry defense and it didn’t stop him. He merely leaned slowly into her hands. When she realized it might appear to him that she was caressing his chest, she yanked her hands back as if burned. That’s when he got really close.
“I know kissing you is a bad idea. I’m probably going to regret it till the day I die, because I’ll never forget it. What about you?”
Words wouldn’t come out of her mouth. A gasp did when his lips actually touched hers. She turned her head to the side, she couldn’t let this happen! Across her cheek, his lips followed her. A tingling sensation spread along her neck, down her shoulders. Her heart started to pound.
“Hunter . . .”
“When you whisper my name, it ties me in knots. How do you do that, Jenny?”
His breath was hot on her cheek. He put a hand under her head to guide her mouth back to his. It was such a gentle kiss, yet what it did to her was anything but gentle—more like a maelstrom bursting inside her. She felt it in places that were nowhere near her mouth! She felt urges that were not in her nature! She wanted to put her arms around his neck and pull him in even closer. That’s when she knew she was in trouble.
“I’m going to smack you if you don’t let me up!”
Hunter rolled off her with a sigh. “I thought I left the cold water downstairs.”
She didn’t answer him. Keeping her eyes closed until she was off the bed, she did what she should have done sooner and bolted straight out of the room.
Chapter Thirty
SHE WAS FURIOUS WHEN she returned to the kitchen. She banged more than one door, including the oven door when she shoved the bread in for dinner. This might be Hunter’s house, he might be used to walking around in it like that after a bath, but, good grief, she wasn’t! The kitchen was run by a woman now, not Old Ed, who wouldn’t blink an eye over such a display. She was going to have to insist on some house rules. Leaving that bathing room in just a towel had better never happen again. Kissing her better never happen again. Oh, God, that’s what she was really angry about. She’d let him get to her. She hadn’t ended it instantly as she should have. And she knew he would have let her. It was all a game for him, the teasing, the risqué remarks, even the playful kissing.
She was suspicious, too, of his excuse for that scandalous display of bare skin. The man probably wanted to show off his muscles to her. Hadn’t he mentioned wondering where she was at? Because he’d expected her to be in the kitchen to ogle him! Did he think she’d fly into his arms, unable to resist his amazing physique, if she saw him half-naked?
No mud was on the kitchen floor to support his claim that he’d gotten muddy. She glanced in the bathroom. Very well, the pile of clothes he’d left on the floor looked muddy. No boots though. Was he actually thoughtful enough to take them off outside so he wouldn’t track mud on her floor? She peeked outside, then opened the back door wider. His muddy boots were there. So was the little piglet, who was currently rolling all over the boots and seemed to be in ecstasy. At least someone around here was happy.
Tiffany rolled her eyes and, without really thinking about it, picked up the pig, held it as far away from her as she could, and carried it inside to set it in the sink. It squealed when she pumped water over it, but quieted when she rubbed the mud off him.
“Like petting, do you? We are not making a habit of this,” she warned.
She dried it off with a kitchen towel, then set it back outside and pushed his rump in the direction of the pigpen. Once again the little animal had lightened her mood. All the anger was gone—for now. But it would probably return if she clapped eyes on Hunter again today.
It didn’t. And he was already in the room. She didn’t know how long he’d been standing by the other door watching her, but it was long enough for him to have seen her carrying the pig outside.
“Dinner visits us now?” he asked with a chuckle.
“Don’t even think it.”
His brow shot up. “Don’t tell me you’ve made friends with a pig?”
The notion was absurd, yet her chin rose defiantly. “Of course not, but what if I did?”
“You’re about as standoffish as it gets, Red, all Eastern prim and proper, so making a pet out of an animal that’s going to get big, really really big, more’n six hundred pounds big, it just . . .”
What it did was make him laugh so hard he couldn’t even finish. It was almost contagious, so she couldn’t quite manage to get annoyed over his assessment. The man truly enjoyed life and could find humor in the smallest things. But she’d looked at him too long. The image of his wide, bare chest came back into her mind somehow. She lowered her eyes, remembering it—and what had come after it. Her heart beat a little faster.
She hurried to the stove and picked up a large spoon to start stirring the soup vigorously, so vigorously the soup was sloshing out of the pot. Laughter gone, he was suddenly standing next to her, but just to pour himself a cup of coffee. Yet he didn’t walk away with it after he set the coffeepot back on the stove.
She kept her eyes off him, but could feel his on her. Was he always going to make her this nervous? Was it even nervousness he made her feel? Whatever it was, it was disturbing. Maybe talking would take her mind off the image of his naked chest.
“How did you get so muddy?”
“One of our older hands, Caleb, caught a wild mustang near his place. He wasn’t part of your broom-pushing crew, so you haven’t met him yet. We don’t have many married cowboys working here, but we built a few houses on the north end of the property for the ones that get hitched and still want to stay on with us. Caleb is one of them. He’s expecting his second kid anytime now. Anyway, he brought the mustang in today and I had a go at breaking it in. Could have picked a better day for it. Knew I’d get tossed off him a few times before he gave up the fight.”
“So why didn’t you wait?”
He grinned. “Because I’m still trying to break Sam Warren’s record.”
She went still at the mention of her brother and asked carefully, “What record would that be?”
“Sam challenged me to a horse-breaking contest a couple years ago in town. He brought in a string of six wild ones he’d caught. Even suggested the sheriff do the timing, since we wouldn’t trust anyone in either family to be impartial about it.”
“Timing of what?”
“How long it took us to break one of them. Best two out of three would win. We never got to the tie point. He beat me in half the time on the first two. I should’ve known I was being set up to lose since he claimed to have caught all six of them. I found out later he’s been breaking wild ones for years. Does it just for fun, so he’s damn good at it.”
She actually recalled Sam’s telling her about that unusual hobby of his. He tracked wild
But what Hunter had just described Sam as doing sounded so much like what Zachary was doing in depriving Franklin of his housekeeper. A prank. So both sides enjoyed pranks? That didn’t sound like a killing feud to her. It made her wonder if the feud might have petered out on its own if the approaching marriage hadn’t riled up her brothers. Had it just simmered down to distrust, name-calling, and pranks until this year? Was the very thing that had brought about the truce all those years ago going to be its downfall? But she was forgetting the water under contention, the damn water they didn’t want to share. And how angry the Callahans had been this morning when they rode off to confront her family. No, it wasn’t over, and it wasn’t harmless.
“If you do manage to beat his record, do you intend to challenge him again?”
“Depends how this year plays out. I could be challenging him in other ways instead.”
Tiffany blanched, seeing him put his hand on his gun as he said that. A shoot-out? With her brother!?
Chapter Thirty-One
“WORRIED ABOUT ME, RED? Don’t be. You saw for yourself I’m handy with my fists. Sam might be nearly as tall as me and fast, but it’ll only take one good punch to knock him out, as skinny as he is.”
Color flew back into Tiffany’s cheeks. Fists, not guns. She should have remembered she’d seen Hunter rest his hand on his gun before, so it was probably just habit for him to do that. Now she was embarrassed because he’d seen her look so horrified and he had assumed it was on his account. She could at least correct that impression.
“I wasn’t worried. I just don’t like violence of any sort.” Then she snapped, “If you aren’t going to marry Sam Warren’s sister, you should let his father know it.”
He gave her a long, sweeping look that ended with a slow grin. “Yeah, I probably should.”
Oh, God, he’d do it for the wrong reason, because he was attracted to her! That wasn’t going to end the feud, it would just end the truce!
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I have no business making suggestions like that. And logically, you should make peace with the Warrens before you do something that rash.”
He snorted. “That ain’t going to happen. But you were right, this isn’t your business, so why are we even discussing it?”
She stiffened. “I agree. We should be discussing your lack of decorum instead. Perhaps some pegs are needed in the bathroom so you men can hang your robes there?”
He chuckled. “I don’t own one.”
“Then buy one.”
“And we’re supposed to change our habits why?”
Was she being unreasonable in making such a simple request? Oh, God, she was because once again she was reacting like Tiffany, not Jennifer. Jennifer would never ask her employers to change their ways!
She was forced to compromise. “I will simply go outside when you men bathe and stay outside until you’re done.”
“Why is this a problem for you?”
“Are you joking? It’s beyond inappropriate, it’s scandalous for you to parade yourself naked in—”
“I wasn’t naked. You’re complaining about a bare chest? When a man doesn’t think twice about taking his shirt off on a hot day?”
“Where I come from—”
“Isn’t here. It was the kiss, wasn’t it? That’s what’s got you riled up. Got you thinking you’ve been unfaithful to your far-off beau? Or maybe you’ve figured out you made a bad choice there and should be thinking about new choices—here?”
She wasn’t going to dignify that with an answer, but she had a feeling it was all just teasing when he changed his tack and sniffed the air over the stove before he added, “Do I need to eat in town again?”
“It’s not done yet,” she lied in a grumbling tone.
Hunter turned to leave. Finally.
His crack about eating elsewhere hurt though. The soup had thickened and she’d had high hopes for it, until now. Why would he suggest it wasn’t edible? She’d been afraid to actually taste it yet, but she sniffed it now as he’d done. Then sighed. It had no aroma. That’s why he’d said that.
The recipe called for two spices, but since she knew absolutely nothing about spices, she’d thought she’d play it safe by not adding them. She decided now to try adding one, so she tossed in a handful. Steeling herself, she tasted the soup and bit into something that made her eyes water. It was too spicy now, spicy hot! She lost track of the time as she picked out all of the peppercorns she’d added.
Cole showed up at the door to point out the hour had gotten late. “Dinner’s not ready yet?”
The bread! She’d forgotten it was in the oven. Afraid to look, she squinted as she opened the oven door, then sighed in relief. The bread looked fine. The crust was a little darker than she would have liked, but otherwise it was fine. She took out the six loaves and put three in a basket to take to the dining room, along with a crock of butter.
The men were sitting there waiting, all five of them, Hunter and his brothers, Zachary, even Degan. She’d already set the table with soup bowls. She slowed her step though when she heard the topic they were discussing.
“And you believed Frank?” John was asking his father.
“I did. Told you, it ain’t their style.”
“So what’d he say when you told him we have Miss Fleming working for us?” Cole asked, his eyes on Tiffany. He was grinning. His brothers were, too. They were all enjoying this prank they were playing on her father . . . with her help.
But Zachary surprised them all with his answer. “Decided to wait. I could almost see him squirming when I asked how his new housekeeper is working out. Had a hell of a time not laughing when he mumbled that she hadn’t got here yet. I was about to tell him why when he said his daughter’s arrival is going to be delayed. He didn’t even try to hide how disappointed he is. Almost had me feeling sorry for him. Seems she sprained her ankle on the trip from New York City and will be staying in Chicago to recover.”
Tiffany couldn’t help looking down at her ankle and wiggling it. But Zachary wasn’t finished. “But that delay could give Frank time to bring in a new housekeeper before his daughter gets here, and he might try that if I tell him too soon that we got the first one here. So I need to time my confession closer to when his daughter is expected.”
Tiffany was surprised that she felt a little guilty about deceiving everyone until John snidely remarked, “The daughter seems a might delicate if a simple sprained ankle put the brakes on her getting here.”
That annoyed Tiffany. She got even more annoyed when Hunter said, “Any delay suits me just fine, but what do you expect from an Eastern lady? A pinprick would probably make her swoon.”
She stared at him incredulously. He didn’t notice because Zachary held his attention, telling him, “Be nice, Son. Frank says she’s looking forward to meeting you. Bringing a fancy wedding dress with her, too. I’m afraid to mention that to your ma. She’s gonna get all upset that you haven’t got yourself a fancy suit yet for the wedding.”
Tiffany nearly slammed the basket of bread down, she was so angry now. Her father was lying about her? Rose would never have told him that she was looking forward to meeting Hunter when it was anything but true. How dare he lie about her! She did have a wedding dress. She’d wanted nothing to do with it, but Rose had had it made for her anyway. She’d refused to bring it with her and had told Anna not to pack it. Too bad. If she’d brought it, the outlaws would have it now. She turned to go back to the kitchen to get the soup pot with the ladle in it so they could serve themselves. They’d be lucky if she didn’t pour it on them instead.
Someone yelled, “Hey,” at her before she left the room. She turned to see John holding up one of the loaves to show her it was solid black underneath. Hunter was chuckling as he pounded his k
She glared accusingly at Zachary. “I warned you I wasn’t a cook!”
“You’re a woman, all women can cook,” he said matter-of-factly. “You’re just nervous. It’s understandable. You’ll do better with the next meal.”
She sputtered. This was the next meal. Somehow she didn’t cry, but now misery was mixed in with her anger. She hurried back to the kitchen to get the soup. The pot was so heavy she almost dropped it before she got it to the dining table. Hunter was still grinning at her. Was he amused at her failure? That’s when she turned her anger on herself for even thinking she could master cooking. She had no skills, no work experience. All she’d been raised to do was to dress fashionably, converse properly with people of her own social class, and conduct herself as a lady. Feeling frustrated and defeated, she picked up one of the loaves of bread and hit it hard on the edge of the table. It took three more tries before the loaf finally cracked. Then she tore out chunks of the soft bread inside the rock-hard crust and tossed them into the soup pot.
“We get the idea,” Cole said. “Don’t drown it all. Leave some for us to dip in butter.”
“Don’t be discouraged,” Degan offered. “Keep reading that cookbook. You’ll figure it out.”
He might as well have added, “Because you’re a woman.” She had no doubt he was thinking it. But what sort of logic was that!? All she’d figured out was that getting angry and eschewing table manners had enabled her to salvage some of the bread!
As she turned to go back into the kitchen, Zachary asked, “This is just the first course, right? What else are you serving us tonight?”
First course? That’s when she cried.
Chapter Thirty-Two
TIFFANY’S SOUP TURNED OUT not to be so bad after all. It didn’t have much flavor, but it was definitely filling. And Hunter, Cole, and Degan had second helpings. So it wasn’t anger or disappointment that was keeping her awake tonight. She simply couldn’t get out of her mind that image of Hunter standing in his room wearing just a towel around his hips. She hit her pillow and shook her head, trying to rid her mind of him. But there he was, hair wet, chest damp, long legs and bare feet, and that broad, muscular chest.