Plots and Pans (14 page)

For the compost heap or the hog slops bucket anyway
. Tucker bit his tongue and mentally gave himself a boot to the behind. He should’ve buttoned his lip after agreeing he was hungry.

Desta didn’t seem to take offense, though her niece wrinkled her nose in disbelief. “Whether the food’s ready or not, it’s a fact: men only move that fast when they’re heading for the table.”

“Or away from it.” Jessalyn’s smile escaped her for a second, unleashing the incandescent warmth that drove out any other thought.

Tucker caught himself staring. That he looked away as quickly as possible was small comfort.
At least I caught myself before Desta managed to—though that’s twice she might have noticed…
.

Luckily, the housekeeper focused on her niece’s sassy remark to the exclusion of anything else. She planted her hands on her hips. “What are you talking about, men running away from my table?”

He didn’t know whether to wince or chuckle at Jessalyn’s mistake. Miss Desta had more reason than most to get touchy over the topic of men racing from her cooking because the scenario wasn’t entirely outside the realm of possibility.

“Not
your
table,” Jessalyn assured her aunt, making Tucker wonder whether something counted as a lie if the person speaking it didn’t know any better. “On the ship over I saw some folks rushing out of the dining room with their hands clapped over their mouths. I could blame the swaying motion of the sea for their troubles, but in truth the food might’ve garnered the same reaction on dry land.”

“If that’s the worst part of your travels, I’ll be thankful.” Tucker wasted no time pouncing on the opening. “Waiting all night to hear the details of your journey just whetted my appetite.”

“Looks like Aunt Desta’s whipped up more than enough food to satisfy the strongest stomach pangs.” Her ingenious attempt to change the subject didn’t fool him for a second.

In spite of the looming threat of a charcoal breakfast, Tucker led the way with a light step. Tables made great places to corner someone, and their surprise visitor wouldn’t slip past his questions for much longer.

Then he caught sight of the meal. He blinked, wondering if he’d gotten hungry enough to imagine food where none existed. These heaps of flapjacks, golden and glistening with butter, made his mouth water. He breathed deep, amused and reassured to still catch the acrid tinge of the ruined batch left behind in the kitchen.

“This looks amazing, Aunt Desta!” Jessalyn reached for the platter nearest her, which Tucker happily saw was filled with sausage.

“Hold on now.” Desta’s look made everyone freeze. “Let’s thank the Lord for the food before us and a shaky start to the morning behind. Tucker, why don’t you go on ahead and do the honors?”

He spotted Jessalyn giving the platters a longing glance before she ducked her head and laid her hands one over the other. It made him smile, though he knew her tendency toward impatient and impulsive decisions threatened his peace of mind. But when chaos loomed, a man couldn’t do better than to bow his head and pray.

“Lord, we thank You that Miss Jessalyn arrived here safely yesterday. We ask for Your hand on Ed while he’s away and offer sincere thanks for the breakfast before us. Please bless the food and the day, and let us enjoy both to the fullest. Amen.”

By the time he lifted his head, Jessalyn had her platter and started spearing sausage to her plate. “Fullest was a good word.”

Not wanting to miss out, Tucker loaded his own dish with four flapjacks. He added two fried eggs before Desta passed him the sausage. Though butter glistened atop the flapjacks, he piled on a healthy-sized pat before reaching for the maple syrup.

“You warmed it!” Delighted, he poured out a generous measure. The thick, luscious stream melted and melded with the butter. By the time he reached for his cutlery, a lake of creamy sweetness spread over his entire plate, dipping against the eggs and sausage. He tried not to drool while he cut the flapjacks into smaller slices.

“Careful.” Miss Desta’s warning pulled his attention from the plate—but just barely. “You know it does a woman’s heart a lot of good to see a man tuck into her cooking with so much enthusiasm—especially after all that talk in the kitchen about running away. All the same, ain’t neither one of us gonna be happy if you drip syrup and butter onto my nice, clean tablecloth. You do a lot around here, so don’t make me add washing linen to the list.”

Women sure do fuss
. But Tucker wasn’t inclined to grump at anyone who offered an edible meal, much less a delectable one. So he glanced at the pristine tablecloth and agreed. “Yes, Miss Desta.”

Except that was easier said than done. Now that he got a gander at the snowy linen beneath his dish, it seemed maybe Miss Desta wasn’t just fussing. The syrup-and-butter combination sluiced around everything on his plate, pushing up against the raised edge and threatening to spill over. Not only would that be a sin in the eyes of the housekeeper, it’d be a shameful waste.

“If you’d cut your hotcakes before making free with the syrup, you’d be in better shape.” Jessalyn’s amusement came through loud and clear, but she didn’t stop there. No, she waved her fork over her own overflowing plate with a smaller stack of flapjacks.

Only difference was hers sat perfectly sliced. Even squares marched across her plate, tapering into rounded edges soaking up the sweetness with no risk to Miss Desta’s tablecloth. While he watched, unsure whether to be envious or irked, she speared a bite.

Then it didn’t matter. A bead of syrup clung to the fullness of her lower lip, making Tucker swallow at the same time she did.

Delicious
. Mouth somehow dry and watering at the same time, he reached for his coffee mug. A restoring gulp of the bitter brew would help clear his head, but he found the mug empty and the pot across the table. Right where it couldn’t help him—by Jessalyn.

Reduced to washing down his own foolishness with nothing but water, Tucker decided he didn’t care if he wound up washing every piece of linen on the entire ranch.
Flapjacks aren’t getting the best of me
.

“I understand my brother will be back in the next week or so with about six hundred head of cattle from Victoria. Did Ed take some of the men with him from here, or did he hire on the way?” Jessalyn began the conversation, but it wasn’t the talk Tucker planned on.

Better nip this in the bud
. He didn’t doubt that once she started asking questions about the ranch, she’d hit her stride and refuse to turn back. Tucker never let a filly get the bit between her teeth to run as she pleased, and he didn’t plan on making Jessalyn Culpepper the exception.
She’s flouted enough rules
.

J
ess felt no compunctions about taking advantage of Tucker’s distraction. If the man let breakfast catch his attention too thoroughly to launch an interrogation, so much the better. Besides, it was fun to join Aunt Desta in teasing him.

When it looked like he’d recovered enough to start asking questions, she launched a few of her own about Ed’s whereabouts. With a little luck—or through sheer determination, if that worked better—she could talk about the ranch and sidestep anything else.

“I understand my brother will be back in the next week or so with about six hundred head of cattle from Victoria. Did Ed take some of the men with him from here, or did he hire on the way?”

“Both,” he answered but kept talking before she could follow up. “But before we get to talking about Bar None business, back up the story a mite. I’m itching to know how you got here from England.”

Drat
. He rode around her maneuver in no time flat, and Jess suspected he knew exactly what game they played. The man looked far too self-satisfied for a man whose cheeks bulged with breakfast. Well, maybe he just appreciated the food. Jess knew she did.

“And I’m itching to do justice to this breakfast, so you’ll have to wait a bit longer if you want a detailed description of my entire trip.” She took another delicious bite and took her sweet time chewing. Filling her stomach and annoying Tucker were two enjoyable pastimes, and she delayed talking for as long as possible. Only when her stomach began to protest did she slow down enough for conversation to resume.

By then Tucker had put away an impressive amount of food. Most folks would be moving slow and looking dull-witted, having eaten themselves into a stupor, but he proved he wasn’t like most folks. Instead he raised his fork and pointed it at her, skewering her with his question. “Now that you’ve slowed down, tell me. How did you get here all the way from England without anyone expecting you?”

“The usual way. The academy coach took me to the docks.” She started out with the most respectable-sounding slant possible. Why mention that Miss Pennyworth instructed the coachman to take her to her grandparents, and she’d bribed the man into changing course?

“From there, I boarded a steamship for the journey overseas. The train brought me westward for most of the rest of the way, and I rode with a stage for the last part.” She summoned up a rueful, though not repentant, grin and admitted the one thing Tucker already knew.

“I rode inside for part of the first day, but couldn’t abide being cooped up and cramped for any longer than that. After the close confines of the steamship and train, I hungered for a space to call my own.”

“And you made it here.” Aunt Desta reached across the table to clasp her hand, but looked down and settled for a light, loving pat. “Home is the space you can always call yore own, and I have been thanking the Lord all morning, so glad to have you here again.”

“Not nearly as glad as I am to be here.” Her eyelids twitched, signaling yet another spate of tears. Jess blinked them back, but didn’t suppress the well of gratitude toward her aunt. Ignoring her scrapes, she folded her aunt’s hand in hers and held tight.

“And, maybe even more important, I’m glad you were waiting here. I never expected to find a female relation unless Ed married someone I could rub along with. Coming here and finding my brother gone left me at a loss. You made it feel like home again.”

“I can’t take credit for that. Ain’t a soul in the world hadn’t had to deal with feeling out of place and out of sorts at some point in life’s unfolding. But not here and now.” Her aunt pulled away to dab at the corners of her eyes with a napkin. “Finding you on the doorstep changes things for both of us. It’ll change things for that brother of yores, too.”

“I’m counting down the days until he gets back.” She wanted to smile, but her throat got tight and her lips followed suit. The Ed she remembered, the hero of an older brother who taught her how to rope and a hundred other things, might have grown into a man she wouldn’t recognize. A man who might not recognize—or even like—the woman she’d become.
We haven’t seen each other in so many years
.

Tucker cleared his throat, and Jess suddenly realized he’d been staying quiet while she and Desta became emotional.
The poor man
.

I wonder if our girlishness made him uncomfortable
. She almost grinned again at the thought of how he would’ve reacted if she and Aunt Desta stopped trying to be strong and burst into tears.
I bet then we’d get to see a man running from the table!

But now he jumped back into the conversation by agreeing with her. “I’m sure we’re
all
counting down the days until Ed gets back.” Somehow he sounded less like he waited for Ed with a friend’s anticipation, and more as if he couldn’t wait to get through something unpleasant. The thought made her stomach churn because she couldn’t ask if he dreaded Ed’s reaction to finding her home, or if he looked forward to handing her off like an unwanted chore.

He assumes too much
. Jess frowned.
Not just about me, but in general. One man can’t run a ranch alone. Maybe he works in tandem with Ed and things will be better later, but if not, Tucker Carmichael’s going to have to learn to ease up on the reins
.

“Yes, well, until that day arrives”—she heard the stiffness in her own voice and made an effort to stop clipping her syllables—“I don’t plan to hide in the house, but I don’t want my presence to cause upheaval with the men. They’re bound to ask questions eventually, so I think it’s best if we answer them outright.”

Tucker shook his head at this reasonable suggestion. Apparently he didn’t have any interest in being reasonable—or at least his presumption outweighed it. “I’ve got a few questions of my own I’d like to hear answered before we plan how to handle the men.”

Jess summoned one of the few useful things she’d learned from all those years of refined schooling—an air of regal disdain.
Spine straight, shoulders back, lips pursed
, she recited to herself.
Brow raised, eyes icy, and words sharp to convey contempt
.

She followed the established protocol and finished the performance off by waving a dismissive hand. “Such as?”

Tucker blinked, looked her up and down, and blinked again. Then he found his words, and with them his bad temper. “Don’t go putting on uppity airs around here.”

Uppity airs, indeed
. Another woman might feel a bit deflated after he poked a hole in her efforts. But Jessalyn couldn’t take offense that he’d called her out on the carpet. She could, however, be put out for other reasons. His sheer arrogance stiffened Jess’s resolve.
If the man can identify the tactic, at the very least he should accept the hint and stop trying to force the discussion!

She wouldn’t soften her stance one bit to suit Tucker Carmichael. If anyone changed their approach, it would be him. “I won’t get uppity with you if stop acting so briggity with me.”

“Briggity?” Something that could have passed for amusement flashed across his face before he marshaled his expression. “You’ve got the wrong end of the steer there. I’m no greenhorn who’s gotten too big for his britches and needs to be taken down a peg. Nor am I a braggart who puts on airs and struts around above his station.”

“That’s a matter of opinion—and based on what I’ve seen, my opinion is that you might not put on airs, but you give orders even when you lack the authority.” She paused, faltering over whether or not to speak the last part. The Miss Pennyworth part of her brain whispered that a woman never spoke of a man strutting, but the Culpepper part of her pointed out that he’d brought the matter up.