Home Is Where Hank Is (Cowboys To The Rescue 1) (11 page)

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Authors: Martha Shields

Tags: #Contemporary, #Romance, #Fiction, #Forever Love, #Adult, #Bachelor, #Single Woman, #Sensual, #Hearts Desire, #Harlequin Treasury, #Series, #Cowboys, #Rescue, #Family Life, #Western, #Rancher, #Rodeo, #Teenage Sister, #Caretaker, #Household, #Manage, #Persuade, #Reconcile, #Relationships, #Marriage Minded, #General Romance, #Silhouette, #1990's

BOOK: Home Is Where Hank Is (Cowboys To The Rescue 1)
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Alex couldn’t keep herself from looking down the expanse of his arm to the shoulder he referred to. A blue and red western-style shirt covered it, making the broad expanse seem even broader. She was glad his eyes were on the road because she knew longing glowed through her tears. “Thanks, but I’m okay.”
“You sure?”
She sniffled. “Yes. I’m a big girl now.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
She frowned at him, wondering what he meant by that cryptic statement, but he ignored her as he concentrated on passing a slow car.
“I’m sorry your mother died,” he said as he settled back in the proper lane. “It was rougher on you than—”
“I don’t want your pity!”
“Hey, wait just a minute,” he said pointedly. “This morning you said you were sorry my mother died. Were you pitying me?”
She blinked. “That was sympathy, not pity.”
“Can’t I sympathize with you? Who better than someone who’s lost their mother, too?”
She had to think about that one. “Okay, I see your point.”
“Why so defensive?”
“Because people treat you differently after they know. That’s why I don’t like to talk about it. I just want to be like everybody else. Is that so hard to understand?”
“Most people want to be different from everybody else, to stand out from the crowd,” Hank said.
“Not like this,” she told him. “They want to be famous for something they’ve done or said or made. They don’t want to be an object of pity.”
Hank nodded. “You’re right. But I don’t feel pity for you. Life has dealt you some pretty rough blows, but you seem to have risen above them. I mean, you didn’t turn into an ax murderer. You aren’t living on welfare. You haven’t turned to drugs. I’d say you’re doing pretty damn good.”
“Oh, right,” she said sarcastically. “Ever since I left the orphanage I’ve drifted from town to town and job to job. I’m such a success.”
He shook his head vehemently. “You’re planning to go study under that fancy chef, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but that’s just because I happened to be working for his sister-in-law in Denver. He called asking if she knew someone who wanted to chop vegetables in exchange for training. I jumped at the chance.”
“Well, that’s what I mean. You grab your opportunities. And when one job doesn’t work out, you get up, dust yourself off and get another. That’s what counts. It’s like I tell the hands. It doesn’t matter if that bronc has thrown you a hundred times, you gotta get up, dust yourself off and get on another. Hell, success in most things is ninety percent persistence. That’s what you’ve got and, darlin’, that ain’t pitiful. Not in my book.”
Alex stared across the seat, dumbfounded by his intensity. His fervor touched her so deeply she couldn’t tell how far down the feeling went. But she knew that the dynamics of their relationship had just changed. Her opinion of this man had just risen several notches.
Which wasn’t good. Now it would be even harder to keep her distance.
She gave him a wry smile. “You sound like a Southern Baptist preacher at an all-day prayer meeting and dinner on the ground.”
He glanced over and returned her smile. “I do get wound up. The boys’ll tell you it’s my favorite soapbox. Fortunately, it’s my only one.”
As he watched the road, her eyes roamed over his profile. The strong jaw, the jagged line of his nose, the intensity of his sky blue eyes made him look like a predator. “I didn’t know you had a bit of preacher in you.”
His voice lowered to bedroom levels. “Darlin’, there’s a lot about me you don’t know.”
Chapter Six
A
spicy scent hit Hank’s nose as he entered the house after his Saturday morning chores. The smell stopped him abruptly, and the screen door banged against the seat of his jeans.
Alex left at five that morning, headed for Laramie with Claire and Mallory. So who was cooking? Had they changed their minds?
His nose led him into the kitchen where he was momentarily disappointed to find not Alex, but a slow cooker that sat on the counter next to the stove, plugged into the wall. A note sat in front of it.
Hank lifted the lid. Chili. He took a deep whiff, then replaced the lid and picked up the note.
This should do you and Jed for lunch and supper if you can stand to eat that much chili. If not, there’s leftover roast in the fridge for sandwiches.
Alex.
P.S. There are cookies in the moose.
Hank shook his head. Didn’t she have enough to worry about, chaperoning two teenagers on a long shopping expedition?
He pulled the moose-head-shaped cookie jar forward and lifted the antlers to reveal several dozen gingersnaps. The pungent aroma drifted up, mixing with the spicy smell of the chili. He grabbed three, replaced the top half of the moose’s head, then popped one in his mouth. As he closed his eyes to savor the cookie, images of Alex filled his head.
What the hell was he going to do about her? He’d tried to ignore his feelings, but just thinking about her put zing back in his blood, something he hadn’t even known was missing. The sensation reminded him of the feeling he got when he backed his horse into a chute. During the few seconds he sat, tense and still, with a piggin’ string in his mouth, just before he gave the nod to let the calf loose, he could actually feel the blood pounding through his veins. At that moment anything could go wrong, and everything could go right.
Anticipation was half the fun—with calf roping and with women. He went about his chores quicker these days, knowing Alex’s shy smile would be there to greet him when he walked in the door.
Hank popped the last cookie in his mouth and sighed as he pushed the swinging door open and dragged his heavy boots upstairs. He would rather take the moose to the back porch and settle in the swing, but he’d have to wait until he had the first load of clothes washed. He did laundry once a week—throwing his clothes into the bottom of his closet at the end of every day. But he’d rather ride a hundred miles of fence.
He entered his room without turning on a light, knelt, and reached into darkness. Expecting the usual knee-high pile of dirty clothes, he lurched forward until his hand hit hard floor. He felt around. Nothing but one pair of jeans, a shirt, underwear and socks. He dragged them into the dim light. They were the ones he’d discarded last night, after his shower.
He stood and finally turned on a light. All the shirts he’d worn during the past week were hanging in a neat row. They weren’t even wrinkled like they usually were when he hung them up, having ignored them until they’d gone cold in the dryer. He didn’t notice them that morning because he’d just reached in and grabbed the first shirt he’d laid his hands on, as usual.
Alex.
His eyes fell on the chest. He strode the two steps and pulled open the second drawer. His jeans lay neatly folded. He shoved it in and dragged open the next to find neatly stacked underwear.
Warmth filled parts of him he knew he should ignore. But he couldn’t. She’d touched his underwear. The thought was enough to make him slam the drawer closed and open the next. His socks were matched and folded in pairs.
He closed the drawer, then sank onto the bed.
What the hell did Alex think she was doing? Cookies were one thing. Washing a man’s underwear was damned intimate. It was something a wife would do.
Panic should be running rampant through him. But instead of feeling another rope tightening around him, tying him down, he felt like he could fly.
He propped his elbows on his knees and dropped his head onto his hands. That wasn’t possible. The feeling was an illusion. He’d always hated doing laundry. He just felt free because he didn’t have to do it today.
Hank stood with a frown. He wasn’t satisfied with that explanation, but he wasn’t about to delve any further into his feelings for Alex. The only thing he knew for sure was that he wanted to grab her and kiss her until they both had to come up for air. Thank God she wasn’t there.
Beyond that, he didn’t know what the hell he felt for her, but he had a feeling that in this case, ignorance was bliss.
 
When Hank came downstairs early the next morning, he heard Alex humming in the kitchen. She usually hummed when she worked alone, he’d discovered. He found the habit as endearing as the sound of the sweet, slightly off-key tune.
The smells of bacon and coffee were strong as he pushed open the door from the dining room to the kitchen.
“Morning,” he said.
She turned from the stove and smiled at him. “Good morning. You’re a bit early for breakfast. It won’t be ready for about twenty minutes.”
He stepped further into the room. “I thought I made it clear that you didn’t have to cook breakfast this morning, since you used your day off to go with Claire. I know you got in late.”
“Were you still awake?” she asked in surprise.
He nodded. “I didn’t get up, because I knew Claire would think I stayed awake to check up on her.”
Alex eyes sparkled. “Didn’t you?”
He shrugged. He wasn’t about to tell her that she figured in his worries as much as his sister. “Was the shopping trip successful?”
Her smile broadened. “Oh, yes, it was. She bought a beautiful blue dress that’s going to be just perfect. You’ll have to get her to model it for you.”
“I will.” He walked further into the kitchen until he stood beside her. “One more thing.”
She looked up at him with questions in her eyes.
“You washed my clothes.” He said it like an accusation, but that was on purpose.
Her chin lifted a fraction of an inch. “How do you know Claire didn’t?” -
He stepped closer, invading her space. “Did she?”
She struggled with that a moment, then shook her head. “I was vacuuming your room and they were in the way, there on the floor of your closet. I threw them in the washing machine so I could get to the dirt beneath.”
“What were you doing in my room in the first place? Cleaning upstairs is—”
“Claire’s job. So fire me,” she said smugly.
He wanted to laugh, and choke her, and pick her up by her slender waist and swing her around in the air. Most of all, he wanted to kiss her. Instead, he stared into her defiant eyes. “Don’t wash my clothes again, Alex.”
“Or what?”
His eyes dropped to her mouth. “Or they’ll be hell to pay...in more ways than one.”
Neither of them moved—even to breathe—for a space of time that stretched into eternity.
Alex was the first to break free of the spell. She stepped back and tore her eyes from his. “Yes, sir!”
As he turned on his heel and left the kitchen, he heard her add, “Mr. Hell.”
 
Alex switched off the vacuum cleaner suddenly and cocked her head toward the front window of the parlor. The rumble she’d heard above the roar of the vacuum wasn’t a figment of her imagination.
Since visitors never came to the front door, she hurried to the kitchen and peered out the window.
The rig sitting in front of the barn looked like it was on steroids. The truck was fire-engine red and looked big enough to seat four cowboys, which meant about six regular people. The bed was long and widened to accommodate four rear tires. The matching horse trailer attached was big enough to drive her car right in.
This had to be Travis.
A tall, lanky cowboy hopped out of the cab and called to someone down the drive. A minute later Hank rode into view.
Alex was relieved she didn’t have to greet the legendary member of the Eden clan by herself. Then she remembered the vacuum cleaner.
With a tiny “Eek,” she started to run into the parlor to hide the incriminating evidence, but she stopped at the door. To heck with how Hank felt about her cleaning. If she wanted to vacuum or mop or wash clothes, she was going to do it and that was that. He could just get over it.
She returned to the window. The Eden brothers were unloading a couple of horses from Travis’s rig. The men wouldn’t be in for at least half an hour.
Should she go outside and welcome the wandering Eden? She wasn’t exactly family, to go traipsing out there to greet him. This was when she felt the difference most keenly. Though every person at the Garden had made special efforts to make her feel at home, she wasn’t a permanent part of the Eden family—and never would be.
Then she remembered Derek saying Travis would be driving straight through from Kansas, because of the horses. He must be tired, and if he were like every other cowboy she’d met, he’d be hungry.
Always confident in the kitchen, Alex set about making Travis a hearty late lunch. On second thought, she threw enough on for Hank. Cowboys could always eat.
The back door announced their entrance with a loud squeak as she flipped a minute steak. Wiping her hands on her apron, she turned toward the door.
“Something sure smells good,” said a voice a few shades lower than Hank’s.
“Looks like Alex saw you coming,” Hank told his brother. “Hope you’re hungry.”
“As a bull in a blizzard,” came the reply.
Then they filled the doorway. Hank swept off his hat as his eyes locked on to hers. Their gaze held several seconds, then he slapped his brother on the back. “Alex, this is my brother Travis. Bull rider, calf roper, all around cowboy. Travis, this is Alex Miller, our new cook.”
Alex knew she could’ve picked Travis Eden out in a crowd. He was a younger version of Hank—tall as the Continental Divide with shoulders just as wide, eyes the color of the Wyoming sky, and long legs slightly bowed by constant horseback riding. There were only three differences that Alex could see—Travis seemed to be a bare inch taller, his hair was several shades lighter, and his jawline was so square, it might have been shaped with a blunt instrument.
Alex walked around the kitchen table and extended her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Travis.”
Surprise still on his face, Travis met her halfway. “Well, I’ll be hog-tied and branded. Someone sure made me look like the south end of a north-bound cow, and I know exactly which sister it was. Claire made me believe ‘Alex’ was an old cowpoke good for nothing but the chow wagon.” He took her hand but instead of shaking it, he brought it to his lips. “I am more than pleased to meet you, pretty lady. Hank, why didn’t you tell me the new cook was a rodeo queen?”
Alex felt warmth creep into her cheeks both at the compliment and the glint in his eyes. She pulled her hand from his. “I’m not any kind of queen. I’m just the cook, the
temporary
cook.”
“Temporary? Hank, you mean you’re gonna let this pretty lady go?” Travis sniffed deeply. “Smells like she’s the queen of grub.”
Alex wrinkled her nose. “What an ugly word for food.”
“Grub isn’t an ugly word to a cowboy, sweetheart,” Travis told her. “It’s what gets us through the day. And yours smells like the stuff cowboy dreams are made of.”
Alex waved him off. “This is just something I whipped up because I figured you’d be hungry. Just wait until the meal I fix tonight. I’ll have you drooling in your sleep.”
“Sweetheart, you don’t have to cook to have me drooling. My tongue’s hanging so far out now, you could wind it up and use it for a bedroll.”
Instinctively recognizing an irrepressible flirt—never to be taken seriously—Alex smiled at his outrageous statement. “You must be tired after your long drive, Travis. Why don’t you go freshen up? It’ll be another fifteen minutes before this is ready to eat.”
“Thank you, sweetheart. I believe I will.” He turned to his brother. “You sticking around?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Alex saw Hank nod, then watch Travis leave after a few more bantering comments. Then Hank’s eyes fell on her. As she sliced a loaf of freshly baked bread, Alex could feel them follow her every move.
Finally unable to bear the uncomfortable silence, she looked up and asked, “What?”
Hank’s eyes blazed across the kitchen. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. Then he jerked the brim of his hat down another inch, turned on his heel and left the room.
 
“Rudy Monroe offered me twenty-two thousand for that heeling mare I’ve been using,” Travis told Hank over coffee. They sat alone in the dining room, at opposite ends of the table. “He and I got a check team roping down in Ardmore. Said he’d never seen a horse so responsive.”
Hank’s brows lifted. “So why are you still hauling her around? That’s the most we’ve ever been offered for a horse.”

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