Plots and Pans (13 page)

“What’s wrong?” Irritation stiffened the line of his shoulders as he swung back.

“Plenty. We’ll start with your misplaced love of propriety.”

He snorted. “Misplaced? I think not. Propriety serves an important purpose in helping protect women who abide by the rules.”

Jess took a moment to consider his response, appreciating that his core concern was for others but rejecting his logic. She looked down to make sure her skirts still covered her knees before answering. “So your first and foremost concern is for my safety?”

“Safety in general.” He shrugged. “But since I’ve never met another woman who rode astride, this situation is unique to you.”

“Fair enough. Then while we ride back, I have a question for you to think over.” She tugged the reins, edging Morning Glory around him. “Exactly how much danger would I be in, riding on my own ranch, even if someone did happen to catch a glimpse of my knee?”

With that, she rescinded her earlier decision, urging Morning Glory to run back to the house. Let him lag behind—the sooner he stopped expecting her to follow his lead, the sooner they could stop butting heads and start working together. Besides, he probably needed a little extra time to figure out an answer to her question!

As she neared the hub of the ranch, Jess took care to carve a wide path, veering away from the outbuildings to come in behind the big house. In spite of the fact she’d only known the stables for a single night, Morning Glory required some forceful steering to keep her on track. Whether instinct or just a keen sense of smell guided her toward breakfast didn’t much matter, but she strained toward the stables when Jess slid from the saddle.

For a moment she wondered whether Tucker raced his mount back to the stables, signaling her mare to follow. But to her great surprise, he pulled up right beside her—mere seconds after she stopped. Not only did he cut a fine figure, but he showed significant skill in handling horses. In spite of herself, Jess was impressed.

At least until the troublesome man opened his mouth again.

“How much danger would you be in?” He repeated the challenge she’d thrown as he dismounted. “If the wrong man spotted you, you could be hurt in ways I won’t even discuss. And since you didn’t tell anyone where you were going, you could have been kidnapped or killed before we got out there to start looking for you.”

“Compare the chances of that to the odds of breaking a leg in a sidesaddle,” she challenged. “Not that there was one available, but in terms of safety, that ridiculous contraption presents a much larger threat than any hypothetical villain lurking around here.”

“You act as though sidesaddles are dangerous,” he snorted.

“They are. Not only does a woman have to crook her knee and offset her hips in a precarious perch, but she’s trapped by her own twisted skirts.” Jess had no trouble expounding on this old complaint. “If her mount shies, jumps, or even stumbles in a snake hole, a woman in a sidesaddle is at great risk. It’s senseless to put a woman in danger for the sake of her own protection. Propriety isn’t sensible or safe in this instance.”

“Even if you’re right about the saddle—and I won’t agree or disagree since I’ve never sat in one and never intend to”—he started sounding downright reasonable, but didn’t stop there—“it’s not just that a lone female looks like easy pickings, it’s that you present a picture that would encourage an unscrupulous man to entertain lustful thoughts. You need to guard against that, no matter where you are, how you’re dressed, or what you’re doing.”

“If my skirts happened to shift at the precise moment some villain rode by, he’d have to catch me to wreak any havoc. Assuming he managed that—which is a mighty big assumption—he’d have to deal with my pistol at point-blank range before dragging me from the saddle.”

“It’s not the danger of a single moment.” Tucker crossed his arms over his chest, an immovable mountain of mulish man. “Attract unwanted attention, and it’s not just for one morning; you’ve changed the way men look at you forever.”

The way he looked at her now, his gaze full of intensity and a heat that might not be entirely due to anger, held her transfixed.

“And if you only listen to one thing I say, make sure it’s this.” He paused, making sure he’d snared her attention. Tucker leaned in and lowered his voice, his final words taking on a deeper husk: “Once a man decides you’re fair game, he won’t take kindly to hearing that he’s wrong.”

D
esta heard hooves pounding the ground and burned yet another flapjack. Jess hadn’t been in her bed this morning, nor anywhere else in the house. That had been enough to weigh on Desta’s mind, but now that weight dropped down to press the breath from her lungs. No one raced up to the house like that except for an emergency.

Somethin’s gone wrong
. And like as not her niece had gotten caught up in it. She hurried to the window, shoving the curtains aside and pressing her face right up against the glass for the best view. When she caught sight of Jess, her breath hitched then eased. Mischief, not panic, lit her niece’s face as Tucker came thundering up behind her. Now that Desta knew no emergency awaited, she quietly retreated from the window—no one liked to feel spied on.

Besides
, she reasoned with a mischievous smile of her own,
I don’t need to watch them when I can hear every blessed word they say
.

For the first time in her life, she didn’t regret burning something. She’d been so distracted, worrying over where Jess had wandered off to and whether it would cause problems with Tucker, that she’d burned more than a few flapjacks. She’d opened the window long before the pair of them came riding up. So she left it up.

Once she caught the gist of their argument, Desta almost snuck a peek to make sure she’d heard aright. Instead she hurried to the washroom. A glance told her all she needed to know—Jess’s traveling clothes lay where they’d fallen the night before. She’d heard right.

Jess went out riding in regular skirts, and Tucker caught her. Desta rushed back to the kitchen, ears open to catch the rest of the conversation. Even though she couldn’t help but side with Tucker, it did her heart good to hear Jess standing up for herself.
And doing a mighty good job of arguing her way around the problem, too
.

Which just went to show how much Jess took after her father. She gave a wistful smile, remembering how her brother managed to do the same thing. Every time someone backed him into a corner and he couldn’t outright win an argument, Simon stopped trying. He shifted the focus of the conversation to something more advantageous.

Now that she knew her niece inherited those debating abilities, it felt like getting back a small part of Simon. Grief grabbed at her, trying to tarnish the joy of getting to know Jessalyn.

Lord, You know I only got to know Simon after he fetched me here. That’s a mighty short time for someone to leave behind such a big hole. I see Yore hand in bringing Jess to help fill the lonely places, but easing the ache ain’t the same as removing it. Help me pour Yore love on my niece. Don’t let her be so quick to butt heads that she misses a chance to make her heart whole
.

She felt more at peace by the time she finished praying, but that calm didn’t carry outside. From the sound of things, Tucker refused to be swayed. He set her straight with clear, carrying statements of fact—and then, all of a sudden, his voice lowered. Even with her ear pressed against the wall, Desta couldn’t make out what they were saying anymore. She listened for a moment longer, sensing the conversation turned, but not knowing which way it went.

Either they’d lapsed into frosty silence or reached an accord.

But for the life of her, Desta couldn’t figure out which. If they’d come to an agreement, she figured they would’ve moved on into the kitchen. If things devolved to a staring contest, it would take a force greater than their combined tempers to shake them loose.

Galvanized by the thought, Desta squared her shoulders and flung open the door. “I don’t know where you two have been or what you’ve been up to, but I figured the pair of you could scrape up enough manners to get in here before the day’s half done.”

Jess and Tucker both startled at the interruption, and Desta noted that she’d been partly right. They’d left off arguing to stand there in silence, staring at each other.
Staring—but not angry
.

Desta filed that away and worked mighty hard to hide her satisfaction. There’d be a time for smiling at some point, but she foresaw plenty of fighting before those two joined forces. She bit back a sigh, impatient at the knowledge Tucker and Jess would be locking horns again.
Prob’ly won’t even make it through breakfast
.

Tucker tried to look away after delivering his final warning, but found himself caught fast by the sudden vulnerability in her expression. Her eyes searched his face as though in question. Tucker wasn’t sure he wanted to know what question—most likely she wouldn’t care for his answer, and they’d be right back to arguing.

Desta shoving open the kitchen door and hollering at them brought him to his senses. He hoped the housekeeper never knew how big a debt of gratitude he owed her for such excellent timing. Even better, she didn’t try to join them and nose into their business. Tucker didn’t relish the idea of reliving half a morning’s worth of arguments. Particularly since he suspected that breakfast would bring fresh contentions.

It hadn’t escaped his attention that Jessalyn hadn’t answered his questions about how she arranged the long journey from England to Texas. Nor had he failed to notice the way Desta helped her niece avoid the issue. When two women actively tried not to talk about something, it didn’t take a bloodhound to scent trouble on the air.

“We’d better go.” Jessalyn brushed past him to the back-porch step. “I owe Aunt Desta an apology and Morning Glory a treat.”

Tucker noticed she didn’t mention owing him an apology, but decided she wouldn’t appreciate any teasing. Besides, he’d spoken harshly and raised his voice a time or two today, so she’d be within her rights to claim that he owed her an apology in return.

He made a point of always paying his debts, but “sorrys” cost more than he cared to spend if he could work his way around it.

He stuck his head through the door but stayed outside. A strong smell of burned … something … hit him hard. An uneasy feeling that owed little to his hunger settled in his stomach. Tucker craned his neck, trying to figure out whether or not he’d be expected to consume charcoal for breakfast or if Desta scraped together something else to serve. He couldn’t see past the women to be sure.

He cleared his throat, ignoring the sting of smoke as the women looked up. They hadn’t gotten into the swing of their conversation yet, so Tucker forged ahead with his plan.

“While you and Miss Desta get your hands cleaned up and tended to, I’m going to take Happy Jack and Morning Glory back to the stables. They deserve full feed bags as much as we do, and it’ll help avoid awkward questions until we can arrange when and how you want to meet the ranch hands. Won’t take more than a minute.” He pulled back from the doorway without waiting for agreement, but heard a feminine call of “thank you!” float across the porch behind him.

She’s making an effort to be agreeable
. The thought made him move a little faster—not because he appreciated the courtesy, but because he found her sudden sweetness suspicious. All of a sudden, leaving her alone with her aunt to plot out the morning’s conversation seemed like a downright foolish decision.

Tucker picked up the pace until he moved more at a trot than the horses did, determined to be back in that burned-smelling kitchen before the women could concoct anything too damaging. He all but threw the reins to Hank, holding up a hand and shaking his head to forestall the inevitable questions about the mysterious missing rider.

It was a testament to the training of his workers—and the seriousness of his expression—that no one tried to stop him. Everyone could see he wouldn’t be handing out work orders the way he did most mornings—and everyone had brains enough to get busy anyway. With no one to stand in his way, his step only faltered once.

Should I stop for the seltzer?
A grumble from his gut urged him to make time for a dash-and-grab. Tucker blazed through the mess hall, sweeping a handful of the tablets into his pockets and hitting the doors again before they so much as had a chance to swing shut behind him.

He hot-footed it back, whipping the hat from his head and all but leaping over the porch and into the kitchen. His boots hit the mat with a thud audible enough to turn the women’s heads toward the door.

Jessalyn’s glance took his measure, the corners of her mouth tilted as though keeping back a smile. “Hungry, Mr. Carmichael?”

“Must be.” Miss Desta’s grin flashed white and welcoming as she twisted the lid back down on a jar of unguent, finished tending her niece’s barbed-wire cuts and scrapes. “He rushed back awful fast.”

“I am hungry. How could I not be when something smells so … ready.”