Eve took a short swallow of the coffee she’d made. It might not be the best in the West, she conceded, but it was better than the take-no-prisoners brew Pete favored. “The nursery area is already set up, for the most part. I’ll show it to you shortly. It used to be the largest bedroom and a smaller connecting room. Your bedroom will be directly across the hall from the nursery. Mine is next to yours. We’ll have to share a bath. I hope you don’t mind.”
After a quick shake of her head, Cloris said, “I made some inquiries about additional help. Anna Montez, a retired nurse who lives in the area, is willing to work on a part-time basis.”
“That’s terrific.” Eve nodded. “Things are moving right along. I’ve made arrangements with a couple of used-car dealers in town to provide cars to women who want to bring their babies here but don’t currently have transportation. Whether they’re going back to school or work, they’ll probably need them for that, as well, and the dealers will bill me by the month.”
Cloris pursed her bright-coral lips. “I hate to say this, but cars can be stolen, and you’d be liable.”
“I know. But if someone trusts us with her child, wouldn’t it be petty in comparison not to trust her with a hunk of metal?”
“You have a point. And a soft heart, I think.” She smiled. “But it’s clear that you also have a sharp mind and a lot of determination. This is a wonderful thing you’re doing here, Eve.”
“No, it’s just something I feel I should do, since I have the resources.” She had already shared her reasons during their earlier meeting. “What’s wonderful is being able to talk to someone who’s equally enthusiastic about it.”
A teasing twinkle entered Cloris’s blue eyes. “Don’t the cowboys around here appreciate your efforts?”
“Not exactly,” Eve replied dryly.
“I saw two of them standing near a fenced-in area behind the house as I pulled in. I have to admit one caught my eye.”
Ryder Quinn, Eve concluded without hesitation, having seen him and Pete over by the corral, watching cribs being unloaded and no doubt wishing her a thousand miles from where she was. Her business manager had probably caught the eye of scores of women, though he was avoiding her as much as possible. She was certain of that, and hadn’t made an issue of it because it suited her to keep some distance between them for the time being. The humming awareness that had leaped to life for a sizzling moment on the day they’d met remained fixed in her memory, despite her considerable efforts to forget it.
Unaware of Eve’s thoughts, Cloris went on. “He was very distinguished looking, with a splendid head of silver hair.”
Eve blinked as realization struck. Then she began to laugh. Then she began to roar. Ryder wasn’t the cowboy under discussion. It was Pete!
“How about letting me in on the joke,” Cloris suggested when Eve finally got herself under control.
She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I’m sorry, that was probably rude of me, but I couldn’t help it. I’d be willing to bet that Pete Rawlins, the silver-haired man and our ranch cook, would rather be boiled in oil than be the object of any woman’s attention.”
“He doesn’t like women?” Cloris ventured.
“That’s putting it mildly. Pete firmly believes a woman’s place is anywhere other than within a mile of him.”
“I see. Obviously, he’s one of those poor, unfortunate males who don’t have the good sense to appreciate a woman.”
“You got it.”
Cloris smiled in a way that boded ill for poor, unfortunate men. “Do you mind if a Southern belle has a little fun?”
Eve grinned. “Not at all—as long as I can watch.”
The back door opened, then closed with a familiar near slam. “There’s Mr. Charm now.” Raising her voice, Eve called, “Pete, would you come here for a minute?”
Boots stomped their way closer. Seconds later Pete poked his head through an arched doorway and viewed the two women with a crystal-clear scowl. “I’m here.”
“I’d like you to meet Cloris Munroe,” Eve said. “She’ll be heading up the day care staff. Cloris, this is Pete Rawlins.”
Cloris draped an arm over the back of her chair and flashed a million-kilowatt smile. “I sure am glad to meet you…sugar.” Her smooth-as-silk, rich-as-cream tone would have made Scarlett O’Hara proud. The playful wink that followed would have turned an entire generation of younger women who had never mastered that trick green with envy.
Pete’s jaw dropped and stayed down.
If possible, Cloris’s next smile was even more brilliant. “Eve’s been telling me you do the cooking around here. I’m sure you’re a marvelous chef.”
Dead silence reigned until Pete got his bearings and shut his mouth with an audible snap. “I’m a plain cook, not some fancy chef,” he muttered, jamming his hands into the side pockets of well-worn Wranglers.
“Now, there’s no need to be modest. I can hardly wait to taste the treat you have in store for us tonight.” Oh, so slowly Cloris ran her tongue over her lips. “I’m really looking forward to it…sugar.”
Pete’s throat worked as he swallowed hard. “Yeah, well, ah, I got to go.” He spun around on one heel and all but fled.
“I do believe Mr. Charm has met his match,” Eve remarked with satisfaction.
“Could be,” Cloris said, eyes sparkling. “What’s he cooking for dinner tonight?”
Eve’s expression turned rueful. “I can almost guarantee beef in some form. It’s occurred to me during the past week that the link between cowboys and cattle may be so strong they can’t bear to eat anything else.”
RYDER DEFTLY CUT another slice of T-bone and listened to a conversation that seemed to be ruining someone’s appetite. Raising his gaze, he aimed a look down the length of the table and found Eve’s expression to be perfectly innocent. Too perfect. She knew exactly what was going on, he thought, chewing his meat. She might even have put Cloris Munroe up to it.
“No, I didn’t say beef was bad for a person,” Cloris corrected softly, batting her eyelashes at the man sitting across from her. “And, in case I haven’t mentioned it, you do have a way with a steak, sugar. It’s just that red meat isn’t good for a body all the time. Now a lean piece of chicken—”
“I like my chicken fried,” Pete broke in, clenching a knife and fork in opposite hands as though they were weapons and he was a desperate man.
“Oh, fried is scrumptious, sugar. No one south of the Mason-Dixon line would disagree with that. Still, we all have to remember our cholesterol count, as depressing as it can be, and lean chicken, baked fish, or even boiled shrimp—”
“Shrimp! I’d rather eat a bale of hay than a plateful of those slimy things.”
Cloris pursed her lips. “Come to think of it, hay could be a good source of fiber. But a whole bale, sugar?”
A
