The Bride Wore Spurs (The Inconvenient Bride Series, Book 1) by Sharon Ihle Page B

tomorrow—if you plan on coming back, that is."
    She raised a determined chin. "I am."
    "In that case, I'll put in my order now. I'd like some biscuits, and I mean good fluffy biscuits that don't take a saw to cut into. They're something I've never had much luck with. How about you?"
    " Me? " And though she had no clue as to how to go about creating the fluffy biscuits he craved, she said, "Why, goodness sakes. I've the luck of the Irish in my corner. Of course, I can make them—as long as I do not have to milk Hazel first."
    "I'll take care of the milk and eggs tomorrow." Then, before he fired up the stove and got to work, Hawke added another notation under the Disadvantages column in his ledger:
    Too weak and frail to be a ranch wife.
    * * *
    The following morning when Lacey stepped into Hawke's kitchen to begin dazzling him with her culinary talents, she came prepared. After spending half the evening with Kate working on ways to convince a "reluctant groom" that she could cook, Lacey watched as Kate made up a nice batch of fluffy biscuits. When they were done and cooled, the women wrapped them in paper, then tucked them in a basket along with a few "personal items" such as toweling, an apron, and a couple of cleaning rags. With the biscuits hidden and disguised this way, all Lacey need do this morning was warm them up a bit in the oven, smear a little flour and milk around in a bowl to make it look as if she'd mixed them up herself, and then serve breakfast.
    Proud of the plan and the ease with which she'd carried it out so far, she sliced a couple of slabs off the big ham Hawke had set out, warmed the meat in the oven along with the biscuits, then set the pan containing the entire meal on top of the stove near the burner. Recalling Kate's final instruction—to put a nice cloth over the baked goods to keep them warm and moist like fresh biscuits would be—she covered the pan, then dusted her hands and apron with flour. Pleased with that extra bit of authenticity, she started for the barn to tell Hawke that it was time to come in.
    As she reached the wide doorway, Lacey called out to him. "Your breakfast is ready—Hawke."
    The familiarity implied by addressing him so felt odd, yet good at the same time. Humming to herself in anticipation of his reaction when he tasted "her" biscuits, Lacey listened for Hawke's deep baritone. All she heard was something that sounded like chickens scrambling around in the straw—that and perhaps, muffled voices. Recalling the "eyes" she'd felt on her yesterday and the twinge of fear the memory brought with it, she stayed at the fringes of the door and repeated his name a little louder. "Hawke? Are you in there?"
    "In Taffy's stall!"
    Relieved to finally hear his voice, Lacey hurried inside the building. After her eyes adjusted to the dimmer lighting, she marched straight down the aisle to the correct stall and peered over the door. Both of Hawke's hands were pressed against the horse's swollen belly, and his brow was creased with worry.
    "Our meal is cooked," she said quietly. "Are you ready to eat?"
    He straightened up and ran his hand along the mare's spine. "Something isn't quite right with Taffy this morning."
    Lacey stood on tiptoe and draped her arms over the stall door. The mare's coat looked damp and kind of rippled all over. Chuckling softly, she said, "I see her hairs go all frizzy like mine. Is it because of the dampness in the air?"
    "No, I think she's getting ready to drop her foal."
    Lacey cried out with delight. "Those curly hairs are cause for rejoicing, then, are they no?"
    Again placing his hands against the mare's belly, Hawke slowly shook his head. "Not with her they aren't. She's the sneaky kind who always foals in the dead of night—at least, that's what she's done the last three times. I think she wants me around for this one, and I can only guess that it's because she's in trouble."
    "Trouble? In what way?"
    He shrugged. "Could be a lot of things. I can't even be