Eva Brooks opened the oven door and peered inside. A blast of heat struck her in the face and she pulled back quick. The biscuits looked as flat as pancakes, yet they’d been in there for thirty minutes already. Maybe they needed more time. Maybe the oven wasn’t hot enough. But weren’t Martha Rose’s biscuits usually golden brown by now? These biscuits still looked anemic white, like pieces of chalk.
Eva closed the oven door, feeling dismayed. “They’re not done yet.”
Martha Rose, the head cook at Stillwater Ranch, showed a doubtful frown. “Let me see them.”
Eva stepped aside. Martha Rose jerked open the door, released an impatient huff, then snatched up an oven mitt and pulled out the pan of biscuits. She set them on the counter with a clatter.
“Darlin’, you can bake these biscuits until the Second Coming, and they’re never gonna get any fluffier than that. You obviously forgot to put in the baking powder.”
Eva’s face heated up like a flamethrower. She clenched her eyes closed. A feeling of mortification rushed over her. There was no doubt about it. She was no cook. Never had been, never would be. And it was time she faced up to it.
“Oh, no, Eva! You’re supposed to be caramelizing those onions, not incinerating them.”
Eva whirled around and gaped in horror at the stove top. Martha Rose pointed a plump finger to where the gas flame flickered beneath the bottom of a blackened skillet. The pungent odor of burning onions filled the air. Eva’s nose twitched. She shook her head and groaned. The beautiful onions she’d carefully chopped up had shriveled into little black spikes that popped around in the hot pan.
She clasped the handle of the skillet to remove it from the heat...and promptly let go. “Ow!”
She shook her hand. Tears of pain and embarrassment burned her eyes. Before she could decide what to do, she found her wrist clasped in a strong grip and was propelled toward the sink. A masculine hand reached out and cranked on the faucet all the way. A gush of cold water rinsed her burned fingers. She felt immediate relief and looked up. Tyler Grainger stood close beside her, holding her hand beneath the spray of water. His hazel-green eyes locked with hers. She stared, dumbfounded, and wondered vaguely what he was doing here. Tyler was a doctor. A pediatrician. He must have been making a house call. But she didn’t move. Not with his tall frame pressed against her side. As she gazed into his eyes, a giddy sensation swirled around in her head. She felt locked there. Suspended in time.
“Feel better?” His deep voice filled her ears.
All she could do was nod.
He flashed a crooked smile. A smile she recognized as well as her own. After all, she’d known this man her entire life. And with no siblings of her own, she’d idolized him. Oh, yes. With good reason. He’d been one of the star athletes in high school, the valedictorian, school president and winner of every science fair. Not to mention his tanned good looks. She’d always admired him. Depended on him, even. Having him witness her failure in the kitchen made her humiliation all the more complete.
“Put some ice on the burns and I’m sure you’ll be fine.” His voice sounded low, like rumbling thunder.
Though she was still bent over the sink, Eva’s gaze swept him. A thatch of blond hair fell over his high forehead. His eyes sparkled as he released her wrist and stepped back to dry his hands on a clean dish towel. His gray Western shirt stretched taut across his muscular arms and torso. He wore faded blue jeans that hugged his long legs like a second skin. With his scuffed cowboy boots he was dressed like an ordinary ranch hand. Except he wasn’t, not with a medical degree.
But even though he was one of the most eligible bachelors in Little Horn, Texas, he apparently wasn’t interested in the young ladies of the community. He’d returned to the area almost a year earlier, running a small medical office out at his family ranch nearby. But he never dated. Never escorted any woman down Main Street. In a town this size everyone knew everyone else’s business. And rumor had it that Tyler would be leaving for Austin right after the Thanksgiving holiday.
In four short weeks.
“What are you doing here?” she blurted.
“Paying a house call. Miss Mamie’s worried about the baby. I heard the commotion here in the kitchen and thought I might be able to help,” he said.
The baby. Three-month-old Cody, who had been left on their doorstep recently with nothing more than a cryptic note that read “Your baby, your turn.”
Obviously one of Eva’s two cousins had dallied where they shouldn’t have and Cody had been the result. But with Ben and Grady both out of reach for now, no one had any idea who the mother was. Thankfully the soft blanket left with the baby had his name embroidered on it, or they wouldn’t even have known what to call the poor little tyke.
“Thanks for your help,” Eva murmured.
“My pleasure.” Heading for the door to the living room, Tyler reached out and snatched a grape out of a bowl sitting on the counter. He popped the fruit into his mouth and grinned. With a pleasant nod, he exited the room.
Watching him go, Eva felt a melting warmth flood her veins. Tingles of excitement coursed up her arm from where he’d held her hand. She shook her head, trying to focus on the present. What on earth was the matter with her? At the age of twenty-five she wasn’t a young girl anymore, and she certainly didn’t find the man that attractive.
Okay, maybe she did. But that didn’t make a difference. He was a friend, nothing more. Besides, after her fiancé had dumped her at the altar six months earlier, she’d promised never to trust another man.
“Humph. I’m glad someone in this house has a lick of sense,” Martha Rose said as she switched off the stove burner.
The matronly woman thrust open the window by the sink and waved her arms at the cloud of smoke, letting the fresh air clear the stinky room. With an oven mitt, she clasped the skillet and set it out on the back porch to cool. Then she jerked open the freezer, poured some ice into a clean dishcloth and thrust it at Eva.
“Here. Put this on your hand.” With several quick twists of her wrist, Martha Rose shut off the water faucet.
Eva dried her fingers, feeling awful. She’d tried so hard to learn how to cook, but it was a catastrophe every time.
“I’m sorry, Martha Rose,” she said.
Martha Rose planted her hands on her thick waist and studied Eva for several moments with a critical eye. “Look, darlin’, you know I love you. But you’re just no good in the kitchen.”
Oh, no. Eva knew what was coming
