Wyoming Tough

Chapter THREE




THERE WAS SOME BIG SHINDIG planned for the following Friday, Morie heard. The housekeeper, Mavie Taylor, was vocal about the food the brothers wanted prepared for it.

“I can’t make canapés,” she groaned, pushing back a graying strand of hair that had escaped its bun. She propped her hands on her thin hips and glowered. “How am I supposed to come up with things like that when all they ever want is steak and potatoes?”

“Listen, canapés are easy,” Morie said gently. “You can take a cocktail sausage and wrap it in bacon, secure it with a toothpick and bake it.” She gave the temperature setting and cooking time. “Then you can make little cucumber sandwiches cut into triangles, tea cakes, cheese straws…”

“Wait a minute.” She was writing frantically on a pad. “What else?”

Morie glowed. It was the first time the acid-tongued housekeeper had ever said anything halfway pleasant to her. She named several other small, easily prepared snacks that would be recognizable to any social animal as a canapé.

“How do you know all this?” the woman asked finally, and suspiciously.

“Last ranch I worked at, I had to help in the kitchen,” Morie said, and it was no lie. She often helped Shelby when company was coming.

“This is nice,” she replied. She tried to smile. It didn’t quite work. Those facial muscles didn’t get much exercise. “Thanks,” she added stiffly.

Morie grinned. “You’re welcome.”

Her small eyes narrowed. “Okay, what about table linen and stuff?”

“Do you have a selection of those?”

“I hope so.” The harassed woman sighed. “I only came to work here a couple of weeks before you did. I’ve never had to cook for a party and I don’t have a clue about place settings. I’m no high-society chef! I mean, look at me!” she exclaimed, indicating her sweatpants and T-shirt that read Give Chickens the Vote!

Morie tried not to giggle. She’d never credited the Kirks’ venomous housekeeper with a sense of humor. Perhaps she’d misjudged the woman.

“I cooked for a bunkhouse crew before this,” Mavie muttered. “The brothers knew it…I told them so. Now here they come wanting me to cook for visiting politicians from Washington and figure out how to put priceless china and delicate crystal and silver utensils in some sort of recognizable pattern on an antique linen tablecloth!”

“It’s all right,” Morie said. “I’ll help.”

She blinked. “You will? They won’t like it.” She nodded toward the distant living room.

“They won’t know,” she promised.

The housekeeper shifted nervously. “Okay. Thanks. That Bruner woman’s always in here complaining about how I cook,” she added sourly.

“That’s all right, she’s always complaining about how I dress.”

The other woman’s eyes actually twinkled. Nothing made friends like a common enemy. “She thinks I’m not capable of catering a party. She wants to hire one of her society friends and let Mallory pay her a fortune to do it.”

“We’ll show her,” Morie said.

There was a chuckle. “Okay. I’m game. What’s next?”



MORIE SPENT A VERY ENJOYABLE hour of her free time laying out a menu for Mavie and diagramming the placement of the silver and crystal on the tablecloth. She advised buying and using a transparent plastic cover over the antique tablecloth to preserve it from spills of red wine, which, the housekeeper groaned, the brothers preferred.

“They’ll never let me do that.” She sighed.

“Well, I suppose not,” Morie replied, trying to imagine her mother, that superhostess, putting plastic on her own priceless imported linen. “And I suppose we can find a dry cleaner who can get out stains if they’re fresh.”

“I don’t guess I can wear sweats to serve at table,” Mavie groaned.

“You could hire a caterer” came the suggestion.

“Nearest caterer I know of is in Jackson, ninety miles away,” the housekeeper said. “Think they’ll spring to fly him and his staff down here?”

Morie chuckled. No, not in the current economic environment. “Guess not.”

“Then we’ll have to manage.” She frowned. “I do have one passable dress. I guess it will still fit. And I can get a couple of the cowboys’ wives to come and help. But I don’t know how to serve anything.”

“I do,” Morie said gently. “I’ll coach you and the wives who help.”

Mavie cocked her head. Her blue eyes narrowed. “You’re not quite what you seem, are you?”

Morie tried to look innocent. “I just cooked for a big ranch,” she replied.

The housekeeper pursed her lips. “Okay. If you say so.”

Morie grinned. “I do. So, let’s talk about entrées!”



MALLORY CAME IN WHILE Morie was sipping a cup of coffee with Mavie after their preparations.

Morie looked up, disturbed, when Mallory stared at her pointedly.

“It’s my afternoon off,” she blurted.

His thick eyebrows lifted. “Did I say anything?”

“You were thinking it,” she shot back.

“Hard worker and reads minds.” Mallory nodded. “Nice combination.”

“She gave me some tips on canapés for that high-society party you’re making me cook for,” Mavie grumbled, glaring at him. “Never cooked for any darn politicians. I don’t like politicians.” She frowned. “I wonder what hemlock looks like…?”

“You stop that,” Mallory said at once. “We’re feeding them so we can push some agendas their way. We need a sympathetic ear in Washington for the cattlemen’s lobby.”

“They should keep buffalo in the park where they belong instead of letting them wander onto private land and infect cattle with brucellosis,” Morie muttered. “And people who don’t live here shouldn’t make policy for people who do. They’re trying to force out all the independent ranchers and farmers, it seems to me.”

Mallory pulled up a chair and sat down. “Exactly,” he said. “Mavie, can I have coffee, please?”

“Sure thing, boss.” She jumped up to make more.

“Another thing is this biofuel,” Mallory said. “Sure, it’s good tech. It will make the environment better. We’re already using wind and sun for power, even methane from animal waste. But we’re growing so much corn for fuel that we’re risking precious food stores. We’ve gone to natural, native grasses to feed our cattle because corn prices are killing our budget.”

“Grass fed is better,” Morie replied. “Especially for consumers who want lean cuts of beef.”

He glowered at her. “We don’t run beef cattle.”

“You run herd bulls,” she pointed out. “Same end result. You want a bull who breeds leaner beef calves.”

Mallory shifted uncomfortably. “We don’t raise veal.”

“Neither do—” She stopped abruptly. She was about to say “we,” because her father wouldn’t raise it, either. “Neither do a lot of ranchers. You must have a good model for your breeding program.”

“We do. I studied animal husbandry in school,” he said. “I learned how to tweak the genetics of cattle to breed for certain traits.”

“Like lower birth weight in calves and leaner conformation.”

“Yes. And enlarged…” He stopped in midsentence and seemed uncomfortable. “Well, for larger, uh, seed storage in herd bulls.”

She had to bite her tongue to keep from bursting out laughing. It was a common reference among cattlemen, but he was uncomfortable using the term with her. He was very old-world. She didn’t laugh. He was protecting her, in a sense. She shouldn’t like it. But she did.

He was studying her with open curiosity. “You know a lot about the cattle business.”

“I pick up a lot, working ranches,” she said. “I always listened when the boss talked about improving his herd.”

“Was he a good boss?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. Her dad had a very low turnover in his employees. He was fair to them, made sure they had insurance and every other benefit he could give them.

“Why did you leave, then?” he asked.

She shifted. Had to walk a careful line on this one, she thought. “I had a little trouble with an admirer,” she said finally. It was true. The man hadn’t been a ranch hand, but she insinuated that he was.

Mallory’s eyes narrowed. “That won’t ever happen here. You have problems with any of the cowboys, you just tell me. I’ll handle it.”

She beamed. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Thanks, Mavie,” he added when the housekeeper put a cup of black coffee with just a little cream at his hand. “You make the best coffee in Wyoming.”

“You’re only saying that because you want an apple pie for supper.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Hell, am I that obvious?”

“Absolutely,” she declared.

He shrugged. “I love apple pie.”

“I noticed. I suppose I can peel apples and listen while you two talk cattle,” she said, and got up to retrieve fresh apples from the counter along with a big bowl and a paring knife.

“Uh, about men,” Morie said, looking for an opening.

He scowled. “You are having problems here!”

“No!” She swallowed. “No, I’m not. There’s this nice man in town who wants to go out with me. His father runs the local tractor store—”

“No!”

She gaped at him.

“Clark Edmondson has a bad reputation locally,” he continued curtly. “He took out one of Jack Corrie’s daughters and deserted her at a country bar when she wouldn’t make out with him in his car. He was pretty drunk at the time.”

“We’re not going to a bar,” she stammered uncharacteristically, “just to a movie in town.”

He cocked his head. “What movie?”

“That cartoon one, about the chameleon. The lizard Western.”

“Actually, that one’s pretty good. I would have thought he’d prefer the werewolf movie, though.”

She shifted in her chair. “That’s the first one he suggested. I don’t like gore. The reviewers said it had some in it, and it got bad reviews.”

“You believe reviewers know what they’re talking about?” he queried with a twinkle in his eyes. “They don’t buy books or movie tickets, you know. They’re just average people with average opinions. One opinion doesn’t make or break a sale in the entertainment business.”

“I never thought of it like that.”

“I don’t read reviews. I look at what a book is about, or a movie, and make up my own mind whether to read it or see it in a theater. In fact, the werewolf movie had exquisite cinematography and some of the best CGI I’ve seen in a long time. I liked it, especially that gorgeous blonde girl in that red, red cape in the white, snowy background,” he recalled. “Film reviewers. What do they know?” he scoffed.

“Opinionated, is what he is,” Mavie said from beside them, where she sat peeling apples. “And it was Bill Duvall who told you about the Corrie girl. He’s sweet on her and she doesn’t like Clark, so you take that into account when you hear the story.” She looked down at her hands working on an apple. “Nothing wrong with Clark, except he’s flighty. You don’t understand flighty, because all three of you are rock-solid sort of people, full of opinions and attitude.”

Mallory let out a short laugh as he sipped coffee. “I don’t have an attitude.”

“Oh, yes, you do,” the housekeeper shot back.

He shrugged. “Maybe I do.” He glanced at Morie and his eyes narrowed. “You take your cell phone with you, and if Clark gets out of hand, you call. Got that?”

“Oh…okay.” It was like being back at home. He sounded just like her dad did when she’d dated a boy he didn’t know in high school. “He wanted to take me to the movies on Saturday, but I’m supposed to be watching calving….”

“I’ll get one of the part-timers to come in and cover for you. This time,” he added curtly. “Don’t expect concessions. We can’t afford them.”

She flushed. “Yes, sir. Thanks.”

“She’s over twenty-one, boss,” Mavie said drily.

“She works for me,” he replied. “I’m responsible for every hire I’ve got. Some more than others.” He looked pointedly at Morie, and he didn’t look away.

It was like being caught by a live wire when she met that searching stare. Her heart kicked into high gear. Her breath caught in her throat. She felt the intensity of the look right down to her toes. She’d never felt such a surge of pleasure in her whole life.

Mallory appeared to forcibly drag his eyes away. He sipped coffee. “Well, you can go, but you be careful. I still think he’s a risk. But it’s your life.”

“Yes, it is,” she replied. Her throat felt tight, and she was flushed. She got to her feet. “Thanks for the coffee,” she told the housekeeper. “It’s time for me to get to work.”

“Don’t fall in the dipping pool,” Mallory said with a straight face, but his dark eyes twinkled in a way that was new and exciting.

“Yes, sir, boss,” she replied. She smiled and turned to move quickly out of the room before she embarrassed herself by staring at him. She wondered how she was going to conceal the sudden new delight she got from looking at her boss.



SHE HAD A NICE PAIR OF SLACKS and a pink-and-lime embroidered sweater. She wore those for her date, and let her long hair down. She brushed it until it shone. It was thick and black and beautiful, like her mother’s. When she looked in the mirror, she saw many traces of her mother in her own face. She wasn’t beautiful, but she wasn’t plain, either. She had the same elfin features that had taken Shelby Kane Brannt to such fame in her modeling days. And Morie’s grandmother, Maria Kane, had been a motion-picture star, quite famous for her acting ability. Morie hadn’t inherited that trait. Her one taste of theater in college had convinced her that she was never meant for the stage.

She had a lightweight denim coat, and she wore that over her sweater, because it was cold outside. The weather was fluctuating madly. Typical Wyoming weather, she thought amusedly. The Texas climate was like that, too.

She heard a car drive up to the bunkhouse. She whipped her fanny pack into place and went out to meet Clark. He was sitting behind the wheel of the sports car, grinning.

She noted that he didn’t get out to open her door. He leaned across and threw it open for her.

She climbed in. “Hi.”

“Hi, back. Ready for a nice movie?”

“You bet.”

He put the car in gear and roared out down the driveway.

“Don’t do that,” she groaned. “We have heifers calving in the barn!”

“Oops, sorry, didn’t think,” he said, but he didn’t look concerned. “They’ll get over it. Nice night. They said it might snow, but I don’t believe the forecast. They’re mostly wrong.”

She was thinking about the nervous heifers being kept up because it was their first breeding season, and wondering how much flak she was going to get from her boss if anything happened because of Clark’s thoughtlessness.

“Stop worrying,” he teased. “It’s just cows, for heaven’s sake.”

Just cows. She loved to stop and pet them when she was in the barn. She loved their big eyes and big noses, and the soft fur between their eyes. They were so gentle. And these little heifers, even if they were animals, must be so scared. She’d always had a terror of childbirth, for reasons she could never quite understand. It was one of many reasons that she was hesitant to marry at all.

“Do you know that Elizabeth the First never married and never had a child?” she remarked.

He made a face. “History. I hate that. Let’s talk about who’s leading the pack in American Idol!”

She gaped at him. She didn’t watch television very much. “I watch the Weather Channel, the military channel and the science channels mostly,” she remarked. “I’ve never watched any of those audience-participation shows.”

“I can see that we’re never going to meet in the middle on issues,” he remarked. “Doesn’t matter. You’re cute and I like you. We can go from there.”

Could they? She wondered.



THE MOVIE WAS FUN. It was clever and funny and both of them came out of the theater smiling.

“Now let’s have some nice Chinese food,” he said. “You hungry?”

“Starved. But we’re going Dutch,” she added firmly. “I bought my own movie ticket…I’ll pay for my food, too.”

His eyebrows arched. “I wouldn’t expect you to owe me anything if I bought dinner.”

She smiled. “Just the same, I like everything on an equal footing.”

“You’re a strange girl,” he commented thoughtfully.

“Strange?” She shrugged. “I suppose I am.”

“Let’s eat.”

He led the way into the restaurant and they followed the waitress to a table in a corner.

“This is beautiful,” Morie remarked, loving the Asian decor, which featured nice copies of ancient statues and some wood carvings that were very expensive. Morie, who’d traveled Asia, appreciated the culture depicted. She’d loved the people she met in her travels.

“Junk,” he told her casually. “Nothing valuable in here.”

“I meant that it was pretty,” she clarified.

“Oh.” He glanced around. “I guess so. A little gaudy for my taste.”

She was about to respond when her eye caught movement at the door. There, at the counter, was her boss, Mallory Kirk, with Gelly Bruner. He spoke to the waitress and let her seat them nearby.

He smiled coolly and nodded at Morie and Clark. She was thinking that it was an odd coincidence, having him show up here. Certainly he wouldn’t have had any reason to be spying on her….

“Do you believe this?” Clark asked, shocked. “Does he do this every time you go out with a man? I’ve heard of possessive employers, but this takes the cake.”

“He takes his date all over the place,” she replied, trying to sound casual. “This is the only really good restaurant in town.”

“I suppose so.”

“He wouldn’t have any reason to keep an eye on me,” she pointed out. “I’m just the hired help.”

He pursed his lips and studied her. “Sure.”



MALLORY WAS LOOKING AT HER, too, his dark eyes on the long wealth of thick black hair that hung straight and shiny down her back almost to her waist.

“Why are you staring at her?” Gelly asked coldly. “She’s just a common person. She works for you. And why are we here? You know I hate Chinese food!”

He didn’t hear her. He was thinking that he’d never seen anything as beautiful as that long black hair. It brought to mind a poem. She’d probably be familiar with it, too—Bess, the landlord’s black-eyed daughter, plaiting a dark red love knot into her long, black hair. “The Highwayman” by Alfred Noyes. It was a tragic poem, the heroine sacrificing herself for the hero. “‘I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way…’”

“What?” Gelly asked blankly.

He hadn’t realized that he’d spoken aloud. “Nothing. What would you like to order?” he added and forced himself to look at his date and not Morie.



MORIE WAS UNCOMFORTABLE. Clark wanted to talk about contestants on the television show, and she had no point of reference at all.

“That guy, you know, he really can’t sing, but he’s got a following and he’s getting most of the votes,” he muttered. “I like the girl. She’s classy, she’s got a great voice… Are you listening?”

She grimaced. “Sorry. I was thinking about the weather reports. They think we might have another snow, and we’ve got a lot of first-time mothers dropping calves.”

“Cows,” he groaned. “Morie, there’s more to life than four-legged steaks.”

Her eyes widened. “Mr. Kirk doesn’t have a cow-calf operation. It’s strictly a seed-bull ranch.”

He blinked. “Seed bull.”

“Yes. They produce industry-leading bulls for market.” She leaned forward. “They don’t eat them.”

He shook his head. “You are the oddest girl I ever met.”

She grinned. “Why, thank you!”

He picked up his wineglass and had a long sip. “Sure you don’t want any wine?” he asked. “This is the only restaurant in town where you can buy single drinks legally.”

“I can’t drink,” she said. “Bad stomach. I get very sick. Can’t drink carbonated beverages, either. Just coffee or iced tea. Or, in this case—” she lifted the little cup with steaming green tea “—hot tea.” She sipped it and closed her eyes. “Wonderful!”

He made a face. “You didn’t put sugar in it.”

“Oh, nobody puts sugar in it in Japan,” she blurted out and then bit her tongue. “At least, from what I’ve read,” she corrected quickly.

“I can’t drink it straight. It tastes awful.” He put the wineglass down. “They have good desserts here, sticky rice with mango or coconut ice cream.”

“The ice cream,” she said, laughing. “I love it.”

“Me, too.” He motioned to the waitress. “At least we both like one thing,” he mused.



WHEN THEY GOT READY to leave, Mallory Kirk watched them through narrowed eyes. He got up while Morie was paying the bill and motioned Clark to one side.

Clark gave him a nervous look. “Mr. Kirk,” he said pleasantly enough.

Mallory’s dark eyes narrowed. “She’s not young enough to be my daughter, but I’m responsible for her. If you do anything she doesn’t like,” he added with the coldest smile Clark had ever seen, “I’ll pay you a visit.”

“You can’t threaten people,” Clark began, flushed.

“Oh, it’s no threat, son,” Mallory said. His jaw tautened. “It’s an ironclad, gold-edged promise.”

He turned and walked off, pausing at his table to leave a tip and help Gelly to her feet.

Clark escorted an oblivious Morie out to his car. He was flushed from the wine and angry that one of the Kirk brothers had threatened him.

“I should call the police,” he muttered as he started the car and roared off out of the parking lot.

“What for?” Morie asked, curious.

“Your boss made a threat,” he said stiffly.

“My boss? What are you talking about?”

He started to tell her and then thought better of it. She was pretty and he liked her; he didn’t want her to think there was a reason for her boss to warn him off.

He shrugged. “He just said I’d better look after you,” he amended.

Her dark eyebrows arched. “Why in the world would he say something like that?” she asked, and tried not to look as flattered as she felt. No man interfered in a woman’s life unless he liked her.

“Beats me.” He glanced at her. “He’s not stuck on you, is he?”

She burst out laughing. “Oh, sure, he likes me because I’ve got millions in a trust fund and I know all the best people,” she said drily.

He laughed, too. He was out of his mind. She wasn’t the sort of woman a cattle baron would want to marry. The Kirks had fabulous parties with all sorts of famous people attending them to sell those cattle she talked about. They had some incredibly well-known friends, apparently. But Morie dressed in old clothes, even for a date. She was clueless. He was overreacting. Maybe Mallory really did feel responsible for her. Maybe he knew her folks. He might be afraid of a lawsuit. It wasn’t anything personal. Just good business.

“Well, I loved the movie,” she said. “Thanks.”

“Thank you. I don’t get out as much as I’d like to,” he added. “But we could see a movie once in a while and have dinner out, if you like.”

She smiled. “I’ll think about that.”

He’d planned to take her to an overlook that doubled as the local lover’s lane. But after Mallory’s blunt speech, he wasn’t keen to push the man. So instead, he drove her back to the ranch. He even turned off the engine and walked her to the door of the bunkhouse.

“You live in there with all those men?” he asked curiously.

“I have my own room,” she explained. “They’re nice men.”

“If you say so.”

“Well, thanks again,” she said, hesitating.

He smiled. He liked that little nervous laugh, the way her lips turned up at the corners, the faint dimple beside her mouth.

He bent and drew his lips gently against hers.

She tolerated the kiss. But she didn’t react to it. She felt nothing. Nothing at all.

He noticed that. They were too different to settle in together. But she was cute and he liked company on a night out.

“We’ll do it again soon,” he said.

She smiled. “Sure.”

She turned around and went into the bunkhouse. Darby was sitting by the door, his eyebrows arching as she walked in and closed the door behind her.

“Have fun?” he asked in a hushed tone, so he didn’t wake the cowboys down the hall.

“Yes. I guess.”

He tilted his head. “You guess?”

“Boss showed up at the restaurant,” she said, and looked puzzled. “I didn’t know he liked Chinese food.”

Darby’s eyes almost popped. “He hates it.”

She hesitated. “Well, he had Ms. Bruner with him. Maybe she likes it.”

“Maybe.”

“You sleep good, Darby.”

“You, too,” he said gently.

“The heifers doing okay?” she asked.

“Doing fine. We’ll just hope and pray that that the weatherman’s wrong on that snow forecast.”

“I’ll agree with that. Good night.”

“’Nite.”

She went into her room and closed the door. Darby had seemed shocked that the boss went to the restaurant where Morie was eating. She was shocked, too, but also pleased and flattered and thrilled to death.

She slept, finally. And her dreams were sweet.