it wasn’t so crowded. But he wanted one. A bride. And she wasn’t about to become that.
However, she could take advantage of the situation. Stepping forward, she put herself between Steve and Brett who were in a staredown. At this moment, they looked to be about the same in size and temperament. If push came to shove, either one had a good chance of winning. But this win would be hers.
“No, it’s not an auction,” she said, “but it is a contest, and I know how we can settle it fair and square.”
“How?” all three men in the room asked at the same time.
Keeping her smile well-hidden, she said, “Rex, you get some rest now. You other two follow me.”
Once in the kitchen, she cleared a section of the table and then gathered three tin cups of manageable size and the cork from the vanilla bottle she’d used to make the caramel sauce. “Sit down, gentlemen.”
Casting each other stern stares, they sat.
Positioning the cups on the table, she said, “Whoever guesses which cup this cork is beneath will be the winner, and that person will agree to pay me forty dollars for a month of cooking.”
“Thirty-five,” Steve said.
She was about to agree when Brett said, “Forty.”
Steve shook his head, and for a moment her breath stalled. She feared she’d gone too far, until he blew out a long sigh.
“Fine,” he said, “forty, but that includes laundry and housekeeping.”
“All right,” she said quickly before Brett could say more. “Forty dollars for cooking, laundry and housekeeping for one month. Now watch the cork.” With great show, she put it under one of the cups and then started shuffling them around each other. After switching her hands back and forth over the moving cups several times, she lined them in a row. The odds hit her then. They were much more in her favor when only one person was guessing. She should have thought of that earlier.
It was too late now. Besides, she was fairly confident neither of them would pick the right cup. “Brett, you can pick first,” she said.
“Ya, I vill.” He stared at the cups while rubbing a hand over his chin.
After an extended length of time, Steve said, “Pick one, will you?”
“I vill,” Brett said. “Let me think.”
After another length of time, the rancher huffed out a breath, “Oh, for—”
“That one,” Brett said.
Having started to worry, Mary let out a sigh and lifted the cup to reveal the empty space.
“Who wins if Steve doesn’t pick the right one?” Brett asked.
She really hadn’t thought this through. Usually she didn’t want the cork found. “I guess we’ll try it a second time,” Mary said.
“No, we won’t. It’s under this one.”
The rancher picked up the cup, revealing the cork. The glint in his dark eyes had Mary’s insides quaking, and she wondered if she’d just won or lost.
As Steve watched Brett drive away the thrill of winning seeped out of him like a bucket that had sat in the sun too long. Slowly, he turned to face the house. What the hell had he just done? Forty dollars? For cooking and cleaning? His stomach did an odd little flip-flop. It wasn’t the money. Feeding his men was worth that. It was her. In his house. She’d made a point of claiming that included room and board. He’d known that was a given, but what that meant hadn’t completely struck him until right now.
She’d be living in his house. With him. What was he thinking? He’d already concluded that would start a stir long before he found her in his house.
“It’s only for a month,” he told himself aloud. “Rex will be up and about by then.”
Or drunk as a skunk on her tonic, the other logical part of his mind pointed out.
That he’d put a stop to right now. A few other rules wouldn’t hurt, either.
Steve entered through the kitchen door, and was amazed to find the room clean. Cleaner than he’d seen it in a long time. She was efficient, he’d give her that.
Snoring from the little room off the kitchen told him Rex was sleeping. Steve made his way through the front and back parlors, his office and the front entrance way, where he stopped to stare up the staircase. It was a given she’d stake claim on one of the bedrooms, and the notion of her sleeping down the hall from him instilled an agony he’d never experienced. Except for when she’d landed on his lap back at the train station.
Flustered by the entire situation, he started up the steps. She was in the third bedroom, the one that faced east, and staring out the window. Her hair was pulled over one shoulder and she slowly dragged a brush from the crown of her head to the tips of the long strands she held in her opposite hand. If he hadn’t seen it, he wouldn’t believe how much gumption came out of that short and slender body.
Her shoulders squared at the same time she turned about.
“Do you always sneak up on people?”
Speechless for a moment, he took a second or two before he said, “No.”
“You did at the train station and again now.”
“I saw you climb into the train car and figured you were up to no good.” Her pinched lips had him asking, “Why did you tell me you were going to Denver? To meet your husband?”
Her shoulders heaved as she sighed. “What was I supposed to say?”
“The truth,” he suggested. “That you were sneaking off the train to avoid the men waiting for a chance to marry you.”
“Posh! I’m not marrying anyone.” She flayed her arms in the air. “Fine. If that’s what you want to hear. I was sneaking off the train to avoid those men. Can you blame me?”
He couldn’t. Nor could he blame himself for admitting she was probably the best-looking woman any train had ever brought to Kansas. Which made no difference to him. At least it shouldn’t. Flustered, he drew in a deep breath. Something caught inside his nose. “Do you have more of that tonic up here?”
A nervous gaze shot to the trunk at the foot of the bed before she asked, “Why? Does Rex need some?”
“No,” Steve answered, moving into the room. “He’s sleeping off what you already gave him.” Upon arriving at the foot of the bed, he reached down to flip open the trunk lid. “China, you said?”
She hurried forward, but he’d already lifted the lid. A large corked crock and several bottles—too many to count—were packed securely in straw. The smell was stronger, and although he hadn’t smelled it in years, he clearly recalled what the wine his grandfather used to make back in Georgia smelled like.
She
