to stay. And somehow, she felt at home at the Full Circle, maybe because she’d fixed dinner and had eaten with the crew, who all seemed like nice people. And she liked this Jake Morrow, who’d told her with real sympathy in his voice that Joshua had passed away.
“Jake, I could use a job and a place to live. I could learn how to be a cowgirl, take over Joshua’s job.” Even when she was six or nine months pregnant she could certainly lead cattle out to pasture and groom the horses.
He stared at her. “You’re looking for a job?” A smile lit his face. God, he was handsome when he smiled. “What I really need is a cook for me and the guys. When you said you worked at Hurley’s, I thought I must be dreaming since I’ve been saying I need a cook for weeks and suddenly, you turn up and not only save dinner but serve the best meal I’ve had in a long time.”
“Well, thank you for that. I’ve been a cook for years. Most Saturday mornings at the diner in Oak Creek I was averaging seventy-five pancakes and cracking a hundred eggs an hour. I can definitely handle five hungry cowboys.”
Relief was evident on Jake’s face. “The job comes with room and board, plus a salary.” Her eyes widened at the pay he mentioned. Three times better than her hourly wages at the diner. “This house is plenty big. I live here with CJ—our rooms are on the second floor—and there’s a third floor that will be all yours. It has a sitting area, good-sized bedroom and a bathroom with a spa tub.”
Perfect. Her aunt would be relieved that she’d found a just-right-for-her job and home. The Victorian that housed Hurley’s Homestyle Kitchen was large, and only Essie and her two black lab puppies lived there but, unfortunately, Emma was allergic to dogs. Considering that Emma hadn’t sneezed once since arriving at the Full Circle, there likely wasn’t a dog around. That would be unusual for a ranch, so maybe dog allergies were something she and Jake Morrow had in common.
Jake took another sip of his beer. “The job involves serving breakfast—and these guys like their morning chow—at five sharp so we can starting chores at five thirty, fixings for a cold lunch that we can serve ourselves whenever we’re ready to take a break, and then a hot dinner at 5:30 p.m. Sound good?”
“Sounds great. I work for my aunt two days a week, just the lunch shift. This way I can keep that.” She didn’t want to give up the lunch shift at Hurley’s. The past few weeks she’d loved getting to know her great-aunt and cousins and their families. She loved the idea of raising her baby in a town where he or she would have a lot of family close by.
“Then we have ourselves a deal,” Jake said, the waning sun glinting through the window on his tanned forearms. “Start tomorrow morning?”
They shook on it, the feel of his warm, strong hand such a surprising comfort she didn’t want to let go. That was unexpected. She forced her gaze away from his kind, curious green eyes.
She wasn’t about to let herself fall for another man, no matter how seemingly kind and chivalrous when kind and chivalrous was a comfort. She was determined to make her own way, to not need anyone, to be self-sufficient and a good mother. She already knew she was a good cook. Right now, she’d spend her spare time reading her book on baby development and saving up money for onesies and bottles and diapers, not to mention a bassinet and all the other baby things her little one would need.
She could and would stand on her own two feet.
Jake was wide-awake at 4:35 a.m, ten minutes before his alarm was set to go off. Usually he’d have to peel his eyes open and force himself out of his very comfortable king-size bed with the amazing down-filled pillows CJ had bought him last Christmas. This morning, though, well before the crack of dawn, Jake wanted to check on his new cook and make sure she was all right.
He couldn’t stop thinking about her last night. One flight up, alone in a strange house, maybe tossing and turning with the news that her baby’s father had passed away, that she was pregnant and on her own. He’d thought about going upstairs and gently knocking on her door, asking if she needed anything, if the quilt was too heavy or if she wanted a pitcher of water, but he had a feeling that he should leave her be with her thoughts. She’d come to the ranch to find her baby’s father, and Jake had dropped a bombshell on her. Twice he’d almost gotten out of bed to check on her, and twice he’d made himself stay put. He hated the idea of her by herself in her room, but Jake was practically a stranger. And her boss.
After dinner last night, she’d driven to her aunt’s house to get her bags and he’d sat outside on the porch with Redford, the only of his three cats who liked coming in the house. When her car had pulled back in an hour later, a strange relief had come over him. He still wasn’t sure what that was about. He felt responsible for her, maybe. He’d rushed over to her car to take her bags, just one suitcase and a tote, and as she walked next to him, he’d been so aware of her. Emma Hurley was tall, at least five foot nine, but there was an ethereal quality to her, despite the determination he could see clearly in her eyes. He could tell she was a strong woman.
He’d shown her around the third floor, which seemed to be to her liking. While she’d been gone, he’d stocked her shower with soap and shampoo and conditioner and hung fresh towels on the racks. Then he’d given her the tour of the rest of the house, the enormous living room with its massive stone fireplace, his office adjacent, the dining room and kitchen, both of which she was familiar with. From the living room he pointed out the two doors visible on the second-floor landing, one at each end of the long hall. His bedroom was on the left and CJ’s on the right.
Then he’d shown her around the huge kitchen, where the pots and pans were, the cooking utensils, the silverware. She’d turned down his offer of a cup of herbal tea, which his weekly house cleaner had brought over, and said she’d just like to turn in since she’d be up early in the morning.
He’d wanted to say something about Tex, that he was sorry, again, but there was something in her expression, something private, that had him just saying, Well, good night, see you at five, and heading back to his office.
Now he got out of bed, took a quick, hot shower and dressed in his work clothes, jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and his brown boots and headed downstairs by four forty-five. Were those voices he heard coming from the kitchen or was Emma listening to the radio? The closer he got, he could swear he heard Hank’s voice. And his brother’s. And was that Golden who said he liked plain pancakes while Grizzle said pancakes without blueberries were just boring old flapjacks. The guys were never early for breakfast.
He entered the kitchen to find Golden stirring pancake batter, Grizzle washing the containers of blueberries and strawberries, and his brother cracking eggs and scrambling them in a big silver mixing bowl. Hank was frying bacon on the big griddle. And Emma, the new cook, was sitting down at the round café table by the window, sipping something from a red mug, his cat Redford at her feet.
What the heck was going on?
“Hey, Boss,” Hank said, using tongs to flip over each piece of bacon.
Emma stood up, her cheeks a bit pink, her long golden-brown ponytail swaying a bit. “I came in at four thirty to find them already cooking breakfast. They wouldn’t let me do a thing.”
“Least we can do,” Grizzle said, offering Emma a smile.
“Least,” Golden added, nodding at her, his blond bangs flopping on his forehead.
“Emma, pass me that platter, please,” CJ said without a hint of his usual flirtation in his voice.
Huh. Not only were his crew acting like actual gentlemen, including his brother, they weren’t saying stupid stuff or trying to impress her and instead insulting her with either flat-out stupidity or sexual innuendos. And after last night’s delicious dinner—even the baked potatoes tasted a thousand times better than usual—they knew they’d be in for a great breakfast this morning, but had given that up to cook themselves. Now they’d have the usual overcooked pancakes and rubbery eggs and hard-as-rocks