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Cord decided that didn’t bode well for him or the Flying Ace Ranch.
ALLIE HAD PROCRASTINATED about as long as she could.
She’d hung her few garments in the minuscule closet, set out her soaps and lotions in the bathroom, which seemed even smaller. Fortunately, when she tested the bed, it appeared to have a firm mattress. She would sleep well. Assuming Cord did not send her packing when he discovered she’d never cooked a meal in her life.
Straightening her shoulders, she walked from her room to the kitchen, which was rather like entering a foreign land. There were so many cupboards, so many gleaming appliances, she didn’t know where to begin. Tentatively, she opened the cabinet beneath the sink and frowned at the plastic container half-full of garbage.
“Maria keeps most of the cleaning supplies on the service porch, if that’s what you’re looking for.”
Allie jumped at the sound of Brianna’s voice.
“No, I was just getting acquainted with where things are.”
“Before Maria left, she stocked the pantry and freezer with enough food to last us a month. I’m sure you’ll find everything you need.”
Assuming she could find the pantry. Leila smiled weakly. “Of course.”
“If you’ve got a minute, I need for you to fill out these papers for my payroll records.” She placed a form on the kitchen table along with a ballpoint pen. “You know how the government is about details.”
Happy to delay her cooking task, she sat at the table and bent over the form. “Leila Khautori,” she printed. For the address she wrote “Flying Ace.” She had no idea what the phone number might be, and she certainly had no references or prior employment experience. Finally she slid the form back to Brianna, who looked it over.
“Your social security number?” she asked.
“I do not know what that is.”
“You mean you don’t know your number, or you don’t have one?”
“I am sure I do not have one.”
Brianna’s smooth forehead puckered into a disapproving frown. “You’ve really got to have one or I can’t handle the taxes and withholding.” She thought a moment, visibly trying to think through the problem. “I guess the best thing is for you to apply for one at the Bridle post office, and we can wait till your number arrives to send in the paperwork.”
“That would be the same place I can get a green card?”
Wincing, Brianna shook her head and picked up the form Allie had just completed by forging Leila’s signature. “Why don’t I talk with Cord? I’m sure he has something in mind.”
Allie hoped so. “Tell me, Brianna, what kind of food does Cord like to eat?” Something simple, she prayed. Although given Allie’s culinary expertise, a bunch of grapes would be the only meal within her capabilities.
“He’s not real fussy. Like most bachelors, I suppose. Anything you’d like to fix I’m sure would be fine with him. He does like his coffee black and strong, though, particularly in the morning.”
Given the proper ingredients, that was one thing Allie felt she could handle. “And this pantry you speak of?”
Brianna’s gaze slid to a door next to the entrance to Allie’s bedroom. “That’s it. What you don’t find there will probably be in the fridge or in one of these cupboards. There’s also a freezer in the barn with a side of beef in it, but you probably won’t need that.”
Not likely. “You have been most helpful. Thank you.”
“Don’t plan anything fancy. We usually eat here in the kitchen when it’s just the two of us.”
“Eating with the servants. How democratic.”
Brianna gave her an odd look, nodded, then left the kitchen, shaking her head.
Allie exhaled the breath she’d been holding. Dinner was likely to be an interesting experience for all concerned.
In the pantry, Allie found shelves of canned goods—fruits, vegetables, soups and something called chili con carne—plus tins of flour and sugar. Surely somewhere within this bounty Allie could find something to warm for supper, if she could figure out how to operate the stove. To her relief, she also found a bin of fresh peaches and apricots, a few oranges and some apples.
A hurried visit to the double-door refrigerator produced several varieties of cheese. Crackers appeared as if by magic in one of the over-the-counter cupboards. The makings of a true feast.
Feeling more confident by the minute, she scurried around, locating silverware and plates, which she set on the table. No evening meal was complete without candles, which she found in a drawer. The simple white color and their stubby shape did not please her, but it was the best she could find.
Her search for wine failed to produce any, but perhaps Cord preferred coffee with his evening meal, as well as in the morning. The brand of coffee she found was unfamiliar to her, but remembering the local brew had seemed weak at the Desert Rose, she doubled the grounds. Fortunately, the women’s quarters at the palace had adopted the use of an electric coffeemaker, so she was familiar with that appliance.
Finally, drawing a deep breath, she was ready to announce dinner.
CORD HAD SHOWERED and his hair was still wet as he walked into the kitchen. He glanced at the table with its three place settings and the emergency candles sticking up from a grouping of coffee cups as though from a newfangled candelabra. Bowls of fruit and plates of cheese and crackers provided an interesting centerpiece. Sniffing the air, all he could detect was the rich aroma of coffee, and he wondered what the main course could be.
With a flourish, Leila gestured toward his place at the head of the table. She looked flushed, the hair at her temple dark with perspiration. “I hope you enjoy your meal.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” He pulled out his chair and sat down. “Besides the fruit and appetizers, what’s the main course?”
Brianna, looking fresh and well scrubbed, took her place at the opposite end of the table. She was wearing one of her inscrutable smiles, suggesting she knew something he didn’t.
“My master,” Leila said solemnly, seating herself between them. “Your sister assured me whatever I might prepare would please you. And in such hot weather, I know my appetite wanes. I’m sure yours does as well.”
He surveyed the table one more time. “This is it?”
“A meal fit for a sheikh, I assure you.”
Cord sputtered, not wanting to criticize too harshly. But he was a meat-and-potatoes man in all of the related variations. Fruit and cheese just didn’t cut it.
“You haven’t even peeled the oranges,” he muttered as his stomach growled. “How do you expect—”
“As you wish, master.” With a flick of her wrist, Allie picked up an orange and used her table knife to slice through the skin. She sectioned it, then separated the halves.
Juice squirted in a fountain as she divided the sections one by one. The air filled with the scent of citrus, conjuring images of a desert kingdom where thirst was quenched with fruit. She licked her thumb and forefinger, savoring the taste with deliberation, her tongue circling each finger in turn. All the while her dark, exotic eyes focused on Cord.
She pulled the next segment apart and Cord began to sweat.
There was something incredibly sexy about the juice running down her fingers, circling her wrist, and the way she tongued it off. Leisurely. As though she was anxious to enjoy every last drop.
Any man with a modicum of good sense would know he shouldn’t be so fascinated. Know the press against the fly of his jeans was pure, unadulterated lust. Know he had to get the hell out of here.
He shoved back his chair from the table. “Seems to me there was some leftover roast beef in the refrigerator. I think I’ll make myself a sandwich, if nobody minds.”
Brianna ducked her head and turned away, but not, Cord suspected, because she was feeling shy. Her tittering laughter made him glad he hadn’t had a sister while he’d been fighting the changes in his body and lack of control during adolescence. Which seemed to be the syndrome he was experiencing now, despite being nearly thirty-five years old.
“Brianna tells me I must have a social security number,” Leila says, “and that I should apply at the postal authority in Bridle.”
He glanced over his shoulder to see her placing the sectioned fruit on his plate. “Yeah?”
“You will take me there tomorrow, and I will also purchase new clothes. What I have brought with me is totally inadequate for my new housekeeper responsibilities.”
Cord had trouble disagreeing with that. If he’d had his way, she’d be wearing her voluminous cloak. He could only hope in Bridle she’d buy an equally concealing outfit. A burlap sack sounded about right to him.
Even so, it grated that she was ordering him around. Just who did she think she was? A princess?
Chapter Three
After dinner—such as it was—Cord went into the ranch office with Brianna to check on the quarterly reports she’d finished. He sat down behind the big oak desk that used to be his father’s and tipped back in the swivel chair, making the springs creak. He picked up the forms.
“How’d we do this quarter?”
“After culling the herd, the cash flow looks good. I’d say there’s no reason you can’t reinvest some of the funds in new breeding stock.” In the past year, since she’d moved to the Flying Ace, Brianna had begun to show more confidence in her predictions.
“Good. Glad to hear that.” He flipped through the pages, grateful for her help. Paperwork had always been a drudgery for Cord. “I’ll probably take a trip into Austin early next week for the stock sale.”
“Would you like me to print out the catalog of offerings? It’s on the Internet.”
“Thanks. I’d appreciate that.” He handed her back the report and watched as she took her seat at her desk across the room from his. “So what do you think of our new housekeeper?”
“I think if she’s been doing the cooking back in Munir, the sheikh was less than generous to make you a gift of her.”
Cord muttered his agreement, feeling a smile tug at his lips.
“You’ll need to be patient with her,” Brianna warned. “She doesn’t appear to be a very experienced housekeeper.”
“Yeah, I know. But I doubt she’ll want to hang around long.”
Brianna shot him a quick smile, then turned to her computer. “I don’t know, big brother. She may surprise you. And you’ll have to give her points for dinner. She certainly had your attention.”
Cord wasn’t ready to admit anything of the sort, sure as hell not to his little sister.
“I also think if you want to pay her, we’ll have to pay her under the table.”
“How’s that?”
Brianna glanced over her shoulder. “No green card, Cord. My guess is her visa is temporary and doesn’t allow for employment.”
“We’ll work out something.” Frowning thoughtfully, he picked up a copy of the Cattlemen magazine from his desk and thumbed through the pages. But his heart wasn’t in the nutrient levels of various grasslands around the country. Instead he kept wondering what Leila was up to.
The catalog Brianna printed out before she went to her room didn’t hold his interest, either, and it should have. Picking the right bull at the right price with all the right attributes was what made his breeding program a success.
But at the moment he couldn’t seem to concentrate on the expected progeny differences of the bulls that would be on sale.
Yawning, he finally decided to call it quits for the night. He’d check the catalog tomorrow or the next day when he was more alert—and not so distracted by thoughts of his new housekeeper.
The lights were still on in the kitchen. When he went to switch them off, he noticed a movement outside in the halo of the barn light. Frowning, he wondered who or what would be out and about at this hour. Ranchers hit the sack early. He and his ranch hands were no exception.
He stepped outside and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. The air had cooled considerably from the daytime high in the nineties, but it still held the moisture so common during the summer months in Texas. The call of crickets filled the air along with the soft sound of horses and cattle settling down for the night. Not a breath of wind stirred.
There was a stream of something else in the still air, however, not just the animal smells he’d grown up with on the ranch. A tropical scent like jasmine. He followed it toward the barn.
The door moaned in protest as he opened it. Across the way, he saw the shadow of a slender woman slip into a vacant horse stall. He should have known she’d be back to check on the cat.
“Couldn’t leave it alone, could you?”
She screamed. Whatever she’d been carrying flew up in the air and conked him on the forehead. Cool liquid ran down his face, and he licked his lips. Milk.
“Easy, princess, it’s me. Cord.”
“I am not a princess. I am your housekeeper. And you nearly scared the life out of me. What in the name of Constantine are you doing following me?”
“Trying to figure out who’s sneaking around my barn.”
“Well!” she huffed. “You frightened Mittens, too. And now I don’t have any milk for her.”
“Mittens?”
“The kitten. Her little paws are pure white. It is a good name.”
It was, assuming you wanted to name the offspring of a feral cat that came and went as it pleased. “Its mother—”
“Has not returned.” In the shadows, Leila bent, picking up a handful of fur. “I am going to feed Mittens, unless you refuse to allow me the privilege.”
“Be my guest.” He could only hope the immigration rules in Munir allowed for the admission of cats from the States without months of quarantine when Leila returned home.
“Thank you. You are most kind.”
Imperiously, with the kitten cuddled against her chest, she swept past him, and he grinned. Suddenly he wondered if Brianna was right. Sheikh Rafe might have been well rid of his household servant, the runaway horse rescue only an excuse to ship her off to someone else for a few weeks.
Unexpected sympathy tugged at his conscience. Here was a young woman who’d been virtually torn from her homeland, landing in a situation totally foreign to her, and her biggest concern was for a six-week-old kitten abandoned by its mother. Perhaps there was more depth to Leila than he had imagined.
That arrogant tilt of her head that was so intriguing—and equally annoying—could well be her way to disguise her fears.
ALLIE SLIPPED BETWEEN the sheets in her bedroom, but she suspected sleep would elude her for some hours, and it would not be entirely the fault of the kitten, who was so fascinated by her toes, pouncing on them.
Through the open window she heard the night sounds of the ranch. A horse moving in its stall. Crickets chirping. And in the distance, the occasional lowing of a cow. Pleasant, restful sounds, if only she could relax.
She had thought no one had seen her enter the barn, and Cord had nearly frightened her to death. He was so tall, as much a giant as the guards who protected the palace in Munir, and so broad shouldered, he’d given her quite a start. But his voice, a rich baritone, had a far different effect on her than any palace guard. One she hadn’t previously experienced. Her heart had taken off like a drummer in the palace marching band. Her breath had grown as shallow as an aging woman about to faint in the heat of midday.
Allie sighed and tried to snare Mittens, who was determined to burrow under the sheet and find her way to Allie’s bare feet, where her tiny teeth could gnaw at will. A few laps of milk in the kitchen had turned the kitten into a frisky pest.
“Behave yourself, Mittens,” she admonished, not quite able to keep the smile from her voice.
Whatever was she going to do about Cord? She had so little experience with men that she had no idea how she should act around him. Particularly since she was supposed to be his servant. Humph! If the truth were known, she was his match at every level.
Except in the kitchen. Which was an entirely different matter.
She curled onto her side, and Mittens found a nest on top of the sheets behind her crooked knees. She heard little licking sounds as the kitten bathed herself, and finally, silence.
