whatever music Kat was in the mood for that day, which could be anything. Kat might get some baking done while Carlin cleaned, depending on whether or not she had any special orders. Then they’d share a quick, early supper, and Kat would head home, while Carlin went upstairs to quiet and solitude, which went a long way toward healing her tattered nerves. The next day they’d start all over again, except for Sunday, which was two days away. The café was closed then.
Carlin wasn’t sure what she’d do with herself, with an entire day and nothing to do. Well, nothing except her laundry, and cleaning her room, but that wouldn’t take long. It seemed forever since she’d had the luxury of time.
Maybe she’d read, or watch a baseball game in the kitchen.
Then again, maybe she’d have too much time to think, get antsy about this too-good-to-be-true situation, and run.
Chapter Four
Z EKE DROVE INTO Battle Ridge, taking care of a Monday-morning run he could’ve assigned to any of his ranch hands. He had to hit the hardware store, the feed store, and pick up a couple of pies from Kat’s place. Spencer had already bought groceries for the week, so he was saved from that chore. He had a thousand things on his mind, and driving alone gave him time to think. Ranch business was at the top of his list—hell, ranch business was his only list—including his inability to find a suitable cook and housekeeper. Over the weekend he’d tried again; he’d talked to a couple of applicants by phone, hoping to find someone who would do for now. If he could just find a cook to get them through the winter …
But not one applicant had been acceptable. Yes, he’d significantly narrowed the field when he’d decided not to bring another woman into the mix, but you’d think with the economy the way it was he’d have a good crop of men to choose from, honest men whose background checks panned out, and it would sure as hell be nice to get an application from someone without a violent criminal background.
Damn it, it was beginning to look as if Spencer might be doing all the cooking at the ranch from now on,which didn’t make anyone happy, Spencer least of all. Zeke knew he was running the risk of losing the young hand if he didn’t get his domestic situation straightened out, but for now they were making it work. Zeke hated doing his own laundry, and despised housework—not because of the work itself, but because it was added on to his already long hours. But, hell, what choice did he have? Spencer couldn’t cook three meals a day, handle his usual ranch duties, collect bull sperm, and be a full-time housekeeper, too. It was bad enough that the hand who was collecting the sperm was also doing the cooking; seemed like someone asked, before every meal, “Spencer, did you wash your hands?”
Spencer was a good kid, and he didn’t let the teasing get to him—for now, anyway. The situation was stable. Zeke wasn’t looking for perfection—that had been Libby—but right now he wasn’t desperate, either. He’d eventually find an older guy who liked ranch living, could cook, and didn’t mind doing laundry and all the other household crap. He didn’t have to settle for just anyone.
Traffic was light in Battle Ridge, as usual these days. Not for the first time, Zeke wondered what he’d do if many more of the businesses in town went under. The necessities were still available, but if the hardware store or the feed store closed, he’d be in a world of hurt. It would mean more hours on the road, driving into Cheyenne for those supplies he chose not to order from an online store. Besides, he liked having a hometown. Maybe he wasn’t the most sociable man in the world, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be a hermit.
He spotted a parking space in front of the hardware store, and was headed for it when a woman jogged across the street just ahead of him. He slowed to let her cross, and automatically gave her a swift, assessing look:
Carlin wasn’t sure what she’d do with herself, with an entire day and nothing to do. Well, nothing except her laundry, and cleaning her room, but that wouldn’t take long. It seemed forever since she’d had the luxury of time.
Maybe she’d read, or watch a baseball game in the kitchen.
Then again, maybe she’d have too much time to think, get antsy about this too-good-to-be-true situation, and run.
Chapter Four
Z EKE DROVE INTO Battle Ridge, taking care of a Monday-morning run he could’ve assigned to any of his ranch hands. He had to hit the hardware store, the feed store, and pick up a couple of pies from Kat’s place. Spencer had already bought groceries for the week, so he was saved from that chore. He had a thousand things on his mind, and driving alone gave him time to think. Ranch business was at the top of his list—hell, ranch business was his only list—including his inability to find a suitable cook and housekeeper. Over the weekend he’d tried again; he’d talked to a couple of applicants by phone, hoping to find someone who would do for now. If he could just find a cook to get them through the winter …
But not one applicant had been acceptable. Yes, he’d significantly narrowed the field when he’d decided not to bring another woman into the mix, but you’d think with the economy the way it was he’d have a good crop of men to choose from, honest men whose background checks panned out, and it would sure as hell be nice to get an application from someone without a violent criminal background.
Damn it, it was beginning to look as if Spencer might be doing all the cooking at the ranch from now on,which didn’t make anyone happy, Spencer least of all. Zeke knew he was running the risk of losing the young hand if he didn’t get his domestic situation straightened out, but for now they were making it work. Zeke hated doing his own laundry, and despised housework—not because of the work itself, but because it was added on to his already long hours. But, hell, what choice did he have? Spencer couldn’t cook three meals a day, handle his usual ranch duties, collect bull sperm, and be a full-time housekeeper, too. It was bad enough that the hand who was collecting the sperm was also doing the cooking; seemed like someone asked, before every meal, “Spencer, did you wash your hands?”
Spencer was a good kid, and he didn’t let the teasing get to him—for now, anyway. The situation was stable. Zeke wasn’t looking for perfection—that had been Libby—but right now he wasn’t desperate, either. He’d eventually find an older guy who liked ranch living, could cook, and didn’t mind doing laundry and all the other household crap. He didn’t have to settle for just anyone.
Traffic was light in Battle Ridge, as usual these days. Not for the first time, Zeke wondered what he’d do if many more of the businesses in town went under. The necessities were still available, but if the hardware store or the feed store closed, he’d be in a world of hurt. It would mean more hours on the road, driving into Cheyenne for those supplies he chose not to order from an online store. Besides, he liked having a hometown. Maybe he wasn’t the most sociable man in the world, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be a hermit.
He spotted a parking space in front of the hardware store, and was headed for it when a woman jogged across the street just ahead of him. He slowed to let her cross, and automatically gave her a swift, assessing look:
Similar Books
