sweet as perfume.
Funny how he used to take driving for granted before he went to prison. He pressed the clutch with his left foot and turned the key. The Ford roared to life, and Hank shifted into gear. An unexpected jolt jerked his head back, but as he crawled through the ranch yard to the driveway, his driving skills returned.
Just like making love.
And damned near as good.
By the time Olivia finished eating breakfast and showering, it was nine thirty. Connie probably had the men's lunch under way, but there would still be tasks Olivia could do.
As she stepped outside, she noticed the green truck tooling down the driveway at a speed only a gray-haired grandmother could appreciate. She wondered who was behind the wheel since most of the hired men tended to drive like NASCAR wannabes.
The yard was quiet, and Olivia enjoyed the birdsongs and light rustle of the wind. The sky was pure blue with none of the afternoon clouds creeping in over the mountain peaks yet. If not for her limp and the residual touch of apprehension, she could almost believe she was merely home for a vacation.
A horse snorted from one of the corrals, and she noticed the farrier was working alone today. Hank must have been assigned a task out on the ranch someplace, which meant she wouldn't be seeing him. She should be relieved, but instead felt... abandoned.
The dining hall door was open to let in the cooler air. Tantalizing smells of baking bread and bubbling tomato sauce filled Olivia's nose. When she entered the cafeteria-type room, she spotted Connie sitting by one of the four long tables.
"Hoa," Connie said with a gap-toothed smile on her broad face.
"Good morning. Sorry I'm late," Olivia said.
Connie waved her hand that was holding a paring knife. "You're just in time to help me peel these apples. I thought I'd give the men a treat tonight—apple crisp."
Olivia's mouth watered. She'd have to snitch some for her and her father when it came out of the oven.
She plucked a knife from a drawer and joined Connie beside two pails of green apples. They spoke little, only commenting on the weather and the judge's trip to Denver.
Olivia picked out the last apple from the pail, but before she could begin paring it, she heard a vehicle backing up to the door.
"Looks like the men will eat tonight after all," Connie said, winking at Olivia.
"Like you would ever let them go hungry," Olivia teased.
She followed Connie outside. The driver had his back to them as he opened the truck's tailgate. Olivia recognized the shoulders, slim hips, and fine-looking butt at the same moment she recognized the shirt and jeans. Looking around, she couldn't see one of the regular hired men with Elliott, which meant he'd gone alone. She wanted to ask him how he'd finagled a solo trip into town, but her mouth was too dry and her senses too busy cataloguing his presence.
"Did you get everything?" Connie asked him. "I think so, ma'am," Hank replied. "Bring it in."
"Yes, ma'am." Hank turned, and his eyes widened, clearly not expecting to see Olivia. "Shouldn't you be off that leg?"
She found her voice. "It's fine." She reached for a box in the truck bed.
"You shouldn't be doing that."
"I don't need a babysitter."
Hank's lips pressed into a firm line. "You obviously know what's best, Ms. Kincaid." He strode past her into the cookhouse.
Connie raised her eyebrows, but Olivia ignored the unspoken question.
After four trips carrying groceries inside, Olivia recognized her knee's limit. Although she wanted to feel useful, she didn't dare risk injuring her knee permanently.
She settled into a chair and stretched out her bad leg, then absently massaged the scarred flesh. From her position, she had a clear view of Hank carrying in the supplies.
A few minutes after she sat down, Hank strode in without his shirt. His biceps flexed as he piled two boxes on a table, and his rippled abdomen gleamed with a layer of sweat. This show was almost as good as the Chippendales
Funny how he used to take driving for granted before he went to prison. He pressed the clutch with his left foot and turned the key. The Ford roared to life, and Hank shifted into gear. An unexpected jolt jerked his head back, but as he crawled through the ranch yard to the driveway, his driving skills returned.
Just like making love.
And damned near as good.
By the time Olivia finished eating breakfast and showering, it was nine thirty. Connie probably had the men's lunch under way, but there would still be tasks Olivia could do.
As she stepped outside, she noticed the green truck tooling down the driveway at a speed only a gray-haired grandmother could appreciate. She wondered who was behind the wheel since most of the hired men tended to drive like NASCAR wannabes.
The yard was quiet, and Olivia enjoyed the birdsongs and light rustle of the wind. The sky was pure blue with none of the afternoon clouds creeping in over the mountain peaks yet. If not for her limp and the residual touch of apprehension, she could almost believe she was merely home for a vacation.
A horse snorted from one of the corrals, and she noticed the farrier was working alone today. Hank must have been assigned a task out on the ranch someplace, which meant she wouldn't be seeing him. She should be relieved, but instead felt... abandoned.
The dining hall door was open to let in the cooler air. Tantalizing smells of baking bread and bubbling tomato sauce filled Olivia's nose. When she entered the cafeteria-type room, she spotted Connie sitting by one of the four long tables.
"Hoa," Connie said with a gap-toothed smile on her broad face.
"Good morning. Sorry I'm late," Olivia said.
Connie waved her hand that was holding a paring knife. "You're just in time to help me peel these apples. I thought I'd give the men a treat tonight—apple crisp."
Olivia's mouth watered. She'd have to snitch some for her and her father when it came out of the oven.
She plucked a knife from a drawer and joined Connie beside two pails of green apples. They spoke little, only commenting on the weather and the judge's trip to Denver.
Olivia picked out the last apple from the pail, but before she could begin paring it, she heard a vehicle backing up to the door.
"Looks like the men will eat tonight after all," Connie said, winking at Olivia.
"Like you would ever let them go hungry," Olivia teased.
She followed Connie outside. The driver had his back to them as he opened the truck's tailgate. Olivia recognized the shoulders, slim hips, and fine-looking butt at the same moment she recognized the shirt and jeans. Looking around, she couldn't see one of the regular hired men with Elliott, which meant he'd gone alone. She wanted to ask him how he'd finagled a solo trip into town, but her mouth was too dry and her senses too busy cataloguing his presence.
"Did you get everything?" Connie asked him. "I think so, ma'am," Hank replied. "Bring it in."
"Yes, ma'am." Hank turned, and his eyes widened, clearly not expecting to see Olivia. "Shouldn't you be off that leg?"
She found her voice. "It's fine." She reached for a box in the truck bed.
"You shouldn't be doing that."
"I don't need a babysitter."
Hank's lips pressed into a firm line. "You obviously know what's best, Ms. Kincaid." He strode past her into the cookhouse.
Connie raised her eyebrows, but Olivia ignored the unspoken question.
After four trips carrying groceries inside, Olivia recognized her knee's limit. Although she wanted to feel useful, she didn't dare risk injuring her knee permanently.
She settled into a chair and stretched out her bad leg, then absently massaged the scarred flesh. From her position, she had a clear view of Hank carrying in the supplies.
A few minutes after she sat down, Hank strode in without his shirt. His biceps flexed as he piled two boxes on a table, and his rippled abdomen gleamed with a layer of sweat. This show was almost as good as the Chippendales
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