might not be good at reading a map or driving a car in a snowstorm, but she was an excellent cook. And she intended to prove that to the snotty, opinionated, woman-hating rancher.
“Something sure smells good,” Pete said upon entering the kitchen fifteen minutes later, taking in the apron that had once belonged to his mother wrapped around Maddy Potter’s waist and smiling inwardly. It wasn’t quite as charming as the football jersey, but it was pretty darn cute. She’d changed back into her suit, minus the heels, and plus the woolen socks he’d loaned her.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d eaten, so I decided to make us some breakfast,” she explained. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Don’t mind at all, as long as it’s edible.” Being a woman didn’t necessarily guarantee competency in the kitchen. Pete had learned that painful lesson shortly after he’d married. Bethany hadn’t been able to boil water without burning it. She’d learned eventually, but hadn’t enjoyed cooking, which resulted in her not being very good at it.
“I assure you that I cook much better than I drive, Mr. Taggart.”
He snorted. “Pete.”
“Only if you call me Maddy.”
Pouring himself a cup of coffee, he took a sip. “Guess I can do that.”
“Were you out feeding the animals?”
He shook his head. “Fed ’em at six. I was down in the basement trying to get the generator started. I’ve just about got it licked.”
“Then we’ll have electricity, right?” Most people, herself included, took modern conveniences for granted, until they went without. At the moment she would have given a great deal to be able to use her hair dryer.
Mr. Kenneth, her stylist back in New York, would have had a conniption if he’d seen Maddy’s hair fashioned in something as unchic as a ponytail. Once, when she had visited his salon with her hair pulled back, he’d rudely informed her that she looked like a horse’s behind. New York City stylists rarely minced words.
“As long as the gas holds out. Don’t know how much is in there, and I can’t afford to siphon any out of the truck. We may need it for an emergency.”
While she continued to cook, Pete set the table and poured the juice. “Haven’t done this for a while.”
“Me, neither,” she admitted. “I usually just grab a bagel and cream cheese on my way to work. I rarely have time to cook anymore. And it seems silly to cook for one person anyway.”
He tilted back on the chair’s hind legs. “So, you’re not married?”
She shook her head. “No. Are you?”
“Was.” And that was all he said, making her wonder what had happened to Mrs. Pete Taggart.
Setting the bowl of scrambled eggs and platter of sizzling hickory-smoked bacon on the table, Maddy seated herself across from him. The domesticity of the situation didn’t escape her. “I’m grateful for your hospitality, Pete. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t happened along.”
“Probably frozen to death would be my guess.” But he softened the words with a grin. “Always happy to help a lady in distress.” A pretty lady, he should have said, but knew he couldn’t, or wouldn’t.
“I’m happy to do my fair share around here. I don’t want to be a burden. I can help with the chores, cook and clean. And I’ve got some money to help pay for the groceries, if you don’t mind taking a check. I didn’t bring much cash with me.”
“Don’t need your money or your help with the animals, though I appreciate the offer. But if you want to cook, that’s fine with me. That’s one chore I hate doing.” Pete’s brother was fond of saying that his beef stew tasted worse than fresh horse droppings. And John ought to know since he was Sweetheart’s one and only vet.
“I—” Suddenly Maddy placed her hand over her mouth, and all color drained from her face.
“What’s wrong?” Pete’s eyes widened, then filled with concern at her pasty appearance. “Are you going to be sick or something?” He looked horrified at the prospect.
Not daring to answer, she nodded, then raced for the bathroom, where she promptly gave up what she’d just eaten. While she was still retching into the toilet, Pete came up behind her and handed her a damp wash cloth.
“You got the flu?”
Wiping her mouth, she faced him, feeling mortified and afraid. The concern on his face made her eyes fill with tears. “I wish it were that simple.”
“Food allergies, huh? I hear they’re pretty common. My mom used to be allergic to eggs.”
There was no sense in lying or trying to hide the truth. Not when they had to live in the same house together. She took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”
“Pregnant!” Paling visibly, fear entered his eyes, which he masked with anger. “You’re pregnant and you were out driving in a snowstorm! How smart is that?” He turned away from her then, stalked back into the kitchen and began cursing under his breath.
Not knowing what else to do, she followed. “I’m sorry to have blurted it out like that. This is my first bout of morning sickness. I’ve been fine up till now.”
His fingers gripped the countertop as he stared unseeing out the window at the falling snow. When he finally got his emotions back under control he turned to face her. “I thought you said you weren’t married.”
Her ashen cheeks filled with color. “I’m not. It’s not a prerequisite these days.”
“Does your boyfriend know?”
“David’s not my boyfriend. He’s my boss. And he knows. He told me to have an abortion and not to come back to work until I had ‘solved my little problem,’ I believe was how he put it.”
“You must a either been drunk-on-your-ass or crazy-in-love to have gone to bed with an ass like that.”
“I was neither. And you forgot stupid. Stupid seems to be the operative word.”
He glanced down at her abdomen, which was still flat as a board. He knew it wouldn’t remain like that for much longer. Soon she’d be softly rounded, her breasts would enlarge, her skin would turn rosy and radiant. He remembered, all too well. “You’re not very far along.”
“Eight weeks. Look, Pete, I’m sorry to have dumped this on you, on top of everything else. It’s my problem and I’ll deal with it.”
“And that’s why you were going to Leadville to see your sister? To tell her about ‘your problem’?”
She heaved a sigh. “Mary Beth’s the only family I’ve got. I haven’t seen my dad in years. I—I need to talk to her, get some perspective on what I should do.” She needed a hug and consolation, and knew she’d get both from Mary Beth. Along with a large dose of levelheadedness.
“Sounds like you’ve already decided not to have an abortion.”
“I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to the baby. He or she can’t help who their father is, or that their mother is an irresponsible lunatic.”
She looked so distraught that he wrapped a comforting arm about her shoulder and helped her back to the chair. Pete didn’t believe in kicking a body when it was already down, and Maggie looked about as low as a person could get at the moment. Besides, who was he to moralize? He’d certainly made his fair share of mistakes.
“Sit here. I’ll get you a glass of milk. That’ll probably go down a lot better than the orange juice. And you should eat some dry toast. I’ll fix it.”
“You can’t use the toaster.”
“I’m an Eagle Scout. I’ll improvise.” And he did, using