wouldn’t meet his eyes, and that told him she was lying. Yep, there was something between the old cook and Miss Cade. But what?
“Yep, Moss made no secret that he wants you gone from here,” Reid said.
She pinched her eyes shut for a heartbeat. “None at all.”
“But you don’t know why,” he said.
She shook her head, looking defeated, when he suspected she wasn’t one to give in without a fight. “Perhaps Mr. Moss is angry that I was chosen to replace Mrs. Leach.”
He wasn’t convinced yet that she could boil water, but he saw no sense in arguing the point. What was done was done. If Moss was trying to railroad Miss Cade, then keeping him out of the kitchen would forestall any more episodes like this.
“You might be right.” Reid nodded at the porcelain pail sitting on the range. “That stew hot yet?”
Miss Cade turned to the stove and lifted the lid. “Nearly so. Would you like biscuits with supper?”
“I surely would.”
He fished his pocket watch from his vest pocket and ran his thumb over the stag and forest design before he thumbed open the lid. Time always stood still for a breath or two, for he clearly remembered the Christmas that Kirby Morris gave him this watch.
It marked his right of passage as a man. The head honcho for this ranch.
And he’d failed miserably.
He snapped it shut and slid it back in his vest. “How long before it’s ready?”
Her smile took his breath away. “I’ll have supper on the table in twenty minutes.”
“Fine. I got ranch business to tend to.”
That was a damned lie, for he had nothing better to do than stand here and watch her. But doing what he wanted would leave him hungering for something he couldn’t have.
Ellie concentrated on following the recipe to the letter for two reasons. Her biscuits had to be edible. And keeping her mind on the job at hand kept her from dwelling on what her pa had done to her.
Though his betrayal hurt her feelings, she wasn’t going to give up on him yet. He must have had good reason to do what he’d done. The way she figured it, she had two weeks to get her pa alone and talk to him at length.
In the meantime, she’d do her best to prepare meals that met with Reid Barclay’s approval. She surely couldn’t or wouldn’t continue accepting her pa’s handouts, for it was clear he wasn’t happy to see her here.
She filled the tureen with stew and carried it into the dining room. Reid sat at the head of the long table looking incredibly handsome and unbelievably lonely.
“Would there be anything else you want?” she asked.
An intense heat flared in his eyes before they tempered to a molten blue, but the message was clear and bold and should have offended her. Instead, her body flushed as if she’d been stroked with fire.
“I’ll take coffee after my meal,” he said at last.
It was her cue to leave the room, but she couldn’t seem to break the spell of his gaze until he looked away. Even then she trembled and had trouble catching her breath.
“Then I’ll leave you to your supper,” she said, and left the dining room with as much aplomb as she could muster.
Ellie fanned her hot face and tried to tell herself it was the heat bottled in the kitchen that had her flushed and squirming. But it was a lie. How could one man evoke such intense longing in her with one look?
She didn’t know, but she had to put a stop to this attraction. She’d made that mistake before. She surely wouldn’t do it again, and with an affianced man at that.
Why, if Reid Barclay was a gentleman, he wouldn’t make such an intimate overture to her. But he had, and that confirmed what she’d glimpsed in Mallory’s Roost.
Reid Barclay wasn’t a gentleman.
After putting on a pot of coffee for the cad who employed her, she slipped into the pantry. The pitiful remains of her pie sat cooling on the sill, looking more like charred wood than dessert.
She bit her lower lip to still its telltale quivering. She wasn’t one to bawl at the least provocation, but, dammit all, it hurt something fierce knowing her pa wanted her to fail—wanted Reid Barclay to dismiss her. It broke her heart that her own father didn’t want to grasp this opportunity to spend Christmas with her.
Did he fear she’d say something and expose him for who and what he was? Or was he more interested in rustling than in spending time with his only daughter?
She shouldn’t be surprised if both worried him. Though he’d visited her at the holidays when she was little, she hadn’t seen him or heard from him in the past five years. She’d feared he was dead, and with his death went any chance he’d redeem himself.
On her last birthday she’d shared her secret with Irwin, for she believed the man she was to marry should know about the past she’d kept hidden. She’d never dreamed her confession would show her Irwin’s true colors in all their garish glory.
Oh, yes, she understood betrayal well.
She dropped onto the short bench with her warm pie cradled in her lap. Clearly this bench was more of a stool, and the only comfortable way to sit on it was to extend her legs out and let her stockings show. Not that she cared one whit what image she presented in this little corner of her temporary world.
With Irwin she was relieved to know what kind of man he really was before the vows were spoken. My, but she’d gotten an eyeful of a very vindictive sort.
Despite what he’d done—and that man had done plenty to ruin her reputation in his effort to shore up his own—she’d found the gumption to rally on. Yet now she felt as if time was conspiring against her.
Mr. Barclay expected her to cook a fine feast for his wedding. Her pa wanted her long gone. And all she wanted was the chance to spend what could be her last holiday with her ornery pa.
Men! She broke off a piece of burned crust and stuck a finger into the warm filling, scooping up a bit to taste. She would not think of Reid Barclay beyond the role of her employer. In fact she didn’t want to think at all right now.
She scooped a bit of filling in her mouth like a lad who’d just filched a pie off a windowsill. As soon as the pungent taste exploded in her mouth she moaned her pleasure.
Past the telltale charring, it was a cross between mincemeat and raisin. Far better than she’d hoped to achieve. Why, if she’d been able to add a meringue to it—and if it hadn’t scorched—this pie would rival one of Grandma Kincaid’s molasses pies.
“You all right?” Reid asked, startling a gasp from her.
How could this man sneak up on her unawares? Not that it mattered. Now that she knew he was an arm’s length away her entire body began that unwanted tingling again.
There
