she was confronted by a table set for two in the middle of what had been her grandparents’ home until the present homestead was built.
The old cottage, now used as guest quarters, was presently unoccupied. She found the scarred dining table disguised by a white cloth borrowed from the main house. A utilitarian candle jutted from a glass holder. A few wildflowers drooped in a jar, making her soften inwardly at Ryan’s attempt at creating an atmosphere. He had succeeded, but not in the way she suspected he’d intended. “You could have told me you planned on eating here,” she said to hide her discomfiture.
“Again, you could have asked.”
True. It had never occurred to her that he’d be this creative. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he’d rattled her, she looped her bag over the back of a chair and sat down. “I hope you don’t expect me to do the cooking,” she said, her tone disabusing him of any such notion.
He went into the kitchen and she heard him moving around. “I have everything under control,” he said through the open door.
Too curious to sit still, she got up and went into the kitchen. The setting wasn’t the only thing he’d planned, because he pulled two thick steaks out of the refrigerator and carried them to the stove where a pan was heating. When he placed the meat in the pan, the steaks sizzled fiercely and sent up a heavenly spicy aroma. She sniffed appreciatively. The evening might not be going according to her plan—and Lord knew, she hated having her plans thwarted—but the reward might just be worth it.
“There’s a tomato salad and ice water in the refrigerator. Or wine if you prefer,” he said.
“Ice water’s fine.” She took them out and carried them to the table, then went back to enjoy the sight of the family black sheep working in a kitchen. “You never let on you could cook,” she said.
He turned the steaks expertly. “If you’d known, you’d have had me pulling my weight long before this.”
Thinking of the times she’d cooked for him on his visits, assuming he didn’t know one end of a grill plate from another, she twisted her mouth into a sneer. “What other surprises do you have up your sleeve?”
His eyes sparkled. “If I told you, they wouldn’t be surprises.”
“Stop being so damned mysterious and talk. You have a house in Broome. You know your way around a kitchen. Did you win the lottery or something?”
“Or something.”
He would tell her when he was good and ready and not before, she heard in his tone. Happy to watch his fluid movements, she perched on a stool. “Did you know Dad had mortgaged the land to Clive Horvath?” she asked after a while.
Without turning back, Ryan shook his head. “We only talk on birthdays and Christmas, so I’m the last to hear anything.”
“He didn’t tell any of us until it was almost too late. Maybe it still is. You never met Max Horvath, did you?”
Ryan slid the steaks out of the pan onto plates. “His father and mother split up and he moved with her to Perth before I was sent here.”
Sent here, she noted. As if he’d been under a prison sentence. Not came to Diamond Downs, or joined the family. Typical of Ryan not to forget that the choice had been forced upon him. “Of course, you had to learn to cook while you were living alone for all those months,” she said with sudden understanding. “Looks like you’ve added a few frills since then as well.”
He picked up a plate in each hand, and nodded to indicate she was to return to the table. “Took you long enough to work it out.”
She sat down at the table and he placed a plate in front of her. The aroma made her mouth water. “You’re a crafty one. But when you came to us, you were so angry and introverted. And you took off before I got the chance to ask how you’d been managing your life.”
He took his seat and offered her the salad bowl so she could help herself. “I probably would have told you to mind your own business.”
“In words of four letters,” she said, smiling to soften the reminder.
“Yeah, I knew a few of those. Still do.”
But he rarely used them these days.
She sliced into the steak and took a bite, closing her eyes in appreciation. “Who do I have to bribe to get the recipe for this marinade?”
“Just me. Do you want to know my price?”
She opened her eyes and almost recoiled at the sight of her own reflection in his dark gaze. His expression told her more surely than words that she wouldn’t like his price, so she didn’t ask. “There’s garlic and oregano,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
His mouth turned up at the corners as if he could read her inner turmoil and was amused by it. “What else?”
She took another bite and let it linger on her tongue. “Red wine?” He nodded. “And something spicy. Not chili. Damn it, why don’t you just tell me?”
He rested an arm on the table. “Because it’s fun to watch your eyes go off like firecrackers when you take my bait.”
“That’s exactly the sort of remark we could have avoided if we’d eaten in a public place.”
“Why do you think I chose this one?”
She stared at him. “So you could provoke me?”
“Not provoke, challenge you into admitting you want me as much as I want you.”
She almost choked on the mouthful of steak she was just swallowing. Suspecting how he felt and having it spelled out were very different experiences. “Now I know you’ve gone crazy.”
“It isn’t crazy for a man to be attracted to a woman, especially when she feels the same way.”
“I do not.”
“Do, too.”
The childish exchange reminded her of all the reasons this conversation was totally inappropriate. “You can’t be attracted to your foster sister.”
His knife and fork clattered onto his plate and he indulged in a couple of the words they’d just discussed. “You are not and never have been my sister.”
“You were fostered by my father.”
“Not by choice. I lived in your house for less than a year, and I left before the relationship was made official.”
She took a hasty gulp of water. “Surely Dad became your legal guardian as he did for the others?”
“He wanted to, but I didn’t give him the chance. So my statement stands.”
His feelings were hardly news to her, but she’d always assumed nothing could come of them as long as he was family. Or had she hidden behind the belief rather than acknowledge the power of her response to him? She’d spent most of her adult years keeping men at a distance, determined not to have a life like her mother’s.
Or
