Chapter 15
P atrick watched as Loralee bent and pulled a pan of biscuits out of the stove, the smell of warm bread filling the air, making his mouth water. At least he thought it was the biscuits. The sight of her soft, round bottom was definitely cause for salivating, too.
"You didn't have to do this, you know." His voice came out more like a croak. Hell, he was acting like a fifteen-year-old boy.
She turned and smiled at him, causing a whole new set of reactions.
"I know. But you've helped me out so much.
First with Corabeth, then with the fire, and now offering me your home.
There aren't many decent men who'd do that for someone like me, Patrick.
Heavens, the least I can do is cook you and Pete a nice supper. "
"Well, I just don't want you to go to too much trouble."
"No trouble at all." She picked up a bowl and started to stir the potatoes, the action making her breasts push against the cotton of her dress.
He licked his lips and figured he'd best get the hell out of there before his body started to give away his train of thought. "Have I got enough time to feed the horses?"
"I reckon so." She wiped a strand of hair away from her face with a flour covered hand, leaving a streak of white across her cheek. He sucked in a breath, his traitorous mind envisioning what it would taste like to lick away the flour. "Let Pete know it's almost ready, will you?"
He nodded and headed for the door, not trusting his voice to perform properly.
"Patrick?"
He steeled himself and turned. Her eyes were as big as saucers and as soft as a deer's. Oh Lord, he had it bad.
"Thanks for everything."
"My pleasure." My pleasure . What in the world was he thinking? She was a working girl. If nothing else that meant she had experience out the wazoo. What could she possibly see in a greenhorn like him? Hell, he'd offered her his protection, not a tumble in the sheets.
He stomped out onto the porch and across the yard to the stable.
It was a far sight bigger than the one at Ginny's, but still not quite big enough for their needs.
He glanced over at the wood frame standing stark against blue sky.
Michael had said that if they were going to make a go of it, they had to invest in their dream. The barn was the first step.
Truth be told, he wasn't sure he wanted to continue without his brother. The ranch had always been Michael's. He'd just sort of come along for the ride. Without his brother's guiding force, there just might not be a dream anymore.
"I see you been talking to Loralee." Pete ambled up, his eyes on Patrick's pants.
Patrick felt himself go hot all over. "Sheesh, Pete, do you have to point it out to the whole world?"
Pete's eyes crinkled at the corners as his mouth curled into a grin. "Don't need me pointin' it out. You're doin' a fine job all by your lonesome." They walked into the stable to a chorus of whinnies and braying. "Hell, boy, even the horses can see the stick in yer drawers."
"Cut it out, Pete. Even you have to admit Loralee is a mighty pretty girl."
"Yes, she is. But she's also a?—"
"Don't say it."
Pete opened the bin that held the oats and began filling a bucket with grain. "Well, son, I don't mean no disrespect, it's just that I figure you got to call a spade a spade. And I thought you needed remindin'."
"Look, I'm not having feelings for Loralee if that's what you mean. I just find her attractive. That's all."
"You tryin' to convince me or yourself?" Pete poured some oats in Roscoe's trough. "Get some hay will you?"
Happy for an end to the present turn of conversation, Patrick forked some hay from an open bale and threw it into a burro's stall. The animal brayed with delight. He continued down the line of stalls, working in tandem with Pete and his bucket of oats.
"You tell anyone else about this morning?"
Patrick frowned, thinking Pete was referring to his preoccupation with Loralee again. He started to retort, but then saw the serious glint in the older man's eyes. "You mean about Amos?"
Pete nodded, squirting a spray of tobacco neatly between his teeth. "Amos, the fire, all of it."
"No. We just came straight here."
"You still thinkin' this has something to do with Duncan?"
Patrick stopped, leaning against the pitchfork. "Honest to God, I haven't got a clue. It seems like it has to be related, but I can't prove anything. Hell, we don't even know for certain it was Amos who set the fire."
Pete nodded, pouring the last of the oats into Jack's trough. "Well, until we get this all figured out, I think your girl is better off staying out here."
Patrick sighed. "Pete, I told you already, she is not my girl."
Pete grinned. "You could've fooled me."
Pete grabbed another biscuit, sopped it in gravy and then popped the whole thing in his mouth. Patrick swallowed a laugh and looked across the table, meeting Loralee's equally mirth-filled gaze. "Pete, you'd think you'd never had a biscuit."
Pete swallowed and reached for another one with a grin. "Them things you make ain't biscuits. They're more like river rocks."
"Now look, old man, if it weren't for me, you wouldn't have eaten at all."
"Well now, after tasting this, I can't help but wonder if I wouldn't have been better off." He smiled congenially and reached for the mashed potatoes.
Loralee beamed at them both, and for the first time in a long time, Patrick actually felt like the ranch was home. He slurped up a mouthful of stew, wondering just what she did to get the rabbit so tender. His always came out stringy and tough. Took practically a whole meal to chew one bite.
The door shook as someone pounded on it. The mood was shattered in an instant. Loralee jumped up, panic flashing across her face. Patrick reached for his rifle, satisfied to see that Pete was doing the same.
"Hey, what's a fella got to do to get some grub around here?" At the sound of Arless' voice, everybody relaxed. The door burst open and a red-faced Arless staggered into the room. "I could smell that stew all the way from the road. 'Bout time you took some cooking lessons, Patrick, me boy."
He came to a full stop on spying Loralee, ripping his tattered hat from his head. "Why, Miss Loralee, I should have knowed right off those heavenly smells weren't caused by anything Patrick concocted."
Pete indicated the empty chair. "Have a seat, Arless, there's plenty to go around."
He straddled the chair backward and then with a look from both Pete and Patrick stood up and turned the chair around, sitting on it properly. "Don't mind if I do." He heaped his plate with stew and potatoes, took three biscuits and dug in with a sigh. "Now this is eating."
"What brings you out this way, Arless? Besides free food," Patrick added dryly.
"Figured I'd best head for home. Lena don't tolerate my being gone for long."
Arless and Lena lived up the valley a piece, near Slumgullion Pass. He often spent the night at Clune in route one way or the other.
"To hear the sheriff tell it, she's already on the war path." Pete's gaze met Patrick's, a question there.
"Could be. Danged woman won't let me alone." Arless shot them a crooked-toothed smile and reached for another biscuit. "Me, I ain't in no hurry."
"Well, you know you're always welcome here," Patrick said.
"Coffee?" Loralee smiled down at him.
He nodded and she bent over him to pour the hot liquid in his cup, her nearness setting his insides on fire. He managed to refrain from pulling her into his lap, instead mumbling thanks to her breasts as they brushed past.
She moved away and he sat back, relieved that the sensual onslaught was over. He was just congratulating himself on handling it all with some amount of dignity when he realized Arless and Pete had stopped eating, their know-it-all eyes twinkling with laughter.
"Ready for a little dessert, boy." Pete winked and Arless started laughing.
Heat washed across Patrick's face. A quick glance at the stove assured him that Loralee had her back turned. He glared at his two dinner partners.
"Who wants pie?" Loralee carried the pie plate over to the table and watched as three pairs of hungry eyes devoured the pie before she even had a chance to cut it. She'd forgotten how much men could eat. It was amazing. Why, she'd made two dozen biscuits and there wasn't one left.
She had to admit it made a body feel good to have her cooking appreciated.
And truth be told, that wasn't the only thing making her body feel good.
Every time she got within three feet of Patrick Macpherson, her hands started to sweat and she felt tingly all over.
She sucked in a breath, swallowing her thoughts.
No good ever came of feelings like that. No good at all.
She focused on the pie, cutting it into hefty slabs and placing them on four tin plates.
"Patrick, why don't you and Loralee take your pie out on the porch. Me and Arless have some business to discuss."
Arless looked up from pouring a flask of whiskey into his coffee. "We do?"
Pete shot him a look. "We do."
He frowned, then grinned. "Oh right."
Pete made a shooing motion toward the door. "Out. Sunset won't last forever."
Loralee tightened her grip on the plate, her mind of two accords. Go… stay… go. Her feet seemed to have made their own decision, and she started for the door. Patrick jumped up, managing to knock his chair over, hot color staining his face.
Good, at least she wasn't alone in her confusion. They arrived at the door at the same time and got stuck trying to pass through. She sucked in a breath as his hard body pressed against hers. Lord, she was behaving like a schoolgirl, and that was hardly the case, to say the least.
Finally, they managed to get out of the room and settle on the porch. Loralee sat on the top step and Patrick sat across from her, his long legs straddling the railing.
"I think we were set up." Patrick's emerald eyes twinkled and she felt a sudden burst of warmth somewhere deep inside.