to get better.
“Have you started physical therapy again?” Granny asked.
Wrong question, Jared could have told her. But he didn’t.
Matt tensed, then glanced at her, his expression blank. “No. Not yet.”
Footsteps sounded, and the redhead—Tori—joined them at the table, taking a seat next to the boy.
“How’d you sleep last night?” Tori asked Granny.
“Only woke up once to use the bathroom,” Granny said. “You were right about that medication.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear it.”
It was bad enough that three strangers had infiltrated Granny’s life and home, but it was even worse to have them buttinginto her personal habits.
“Hey, cool,” Joey said, as he pulled his fork out of the gooey middle of his hotcake. “They’re cream-filled.”
“Uh-oh. Sorry about that.” The blond cook snatched away the boy’s plate. “That’s not cream filling, it’s batter. I guess that one needs to be cooked a little more.”
This was crazy. Jared wondered if Sabrina, the bookkeeper, knew how to run an adding machine or if Tori, the maid, knew which end of the broom was up.
He had to talk Granny into selling the ranch and moving in with him, where he could take care of her. Too bad she was every bit as stubborn as she was good-hearted.
A knock sounded at the door. Before waiting to be invited in, the ranch foreman entered the mudroom. “Sorry to interrupt breakfast, but Earl Clancy just split his head wide-open. He’s refusing to go into town and see a doctor, but it looks pretty bad to me.”
“He needs to go anyway,” Sabrina said. “If he’s worried about the cost, worker’s compensation will take care of it.”
Tori scooted her chair away from the table. “I’ll go take a look at the wound. Maybe I can talk Earl into getting it checked.”
“Thanks, ma’am.” Lester turned toward the door and placed his hat back on his head. “I’d sure appreciate that.”
The redhead reached into a cupboard near the refrigerator and pulled out a white metal box with a red cross on the front. Jared wondered if she had first-aid training, suspecting that she might have. Still, that didn’t make her Florence Nightingale.
“You know,” he said, getting to his feet, “I think I’ll go check on the injured man myself. If he needs a doctor, I’ll drive him into town.”
And even if he didn’t, Jared wanted to get the foreman off by himself. Lester Bailey had been working for the Rocking C for almost as long as Jared could remember, and if anyone had a handle on Granny’s mental state, it was him.
“I’ll keep the hotcakes warm for you,” the cook said.
“Thanks, Connie. But don’t bother.” Jared would much rather pick up something to eat in town. As he reached the back door of the mudroom and grabbed his hat, footsteps sounded behind him.
“Wait a minute.”
He turned to see Sabrina heading after him, a plastic container in her arms. “Why don’t you take a couple of cookies with you? Think of them as a hearty bowl of oatmeal-on-the-run, only better.”
Jared, who’d always had a sweet tooth, reached inside and pulled out one of the plumpest cookies he’d ever seen. “Who made these?”
“Connie did.”
The cook?
“She’s a whiz at making sweets and desserts. So I don’t think one will be enough.” She handed him a couple more.
He took the cookies she offered, then watched as she reached into the jar and pulled out one for herself. After taking a bite, she closed her eyes, relishing each chew.
Jared had never known that eating could be so damn sexy. His mind wandered to the vision Sabrina had made last night, wearing that flowing white nightgown and with that veil of hair sluicing over her shoulders and down her back.
Now, as she murmured a “Mmm” in delight, it set off a wave of hunger inside of him. And he wasn’t talking about food.
But under the circumstances, the cookies would be a healthier choice.
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