Cowboy Accomplice Part 4

Shoving that thought away, she concentrated on the task at hand, cooking over the woodstove and a.s.suring Buck she could handle this while he moved his stuff out of the cabin and into the tent.

"You can can cook, right?" Buck had asked her earlier at the Longhorn Cafe. cook, right?" Buck had asked her earlier at the Longhorn Cafe.

She'd known all she had to do was answer the man's question correctly. "I'm a woman, aren't I?"

That seemed to appease him, just as she knew it would. A lot of men thought all women were born being able to cook and clean. Not in her family, that was for sure.

No, her talents lay somewhere else. That's why, given time, she had no doubt that she could persuade even a man as mulish as J. T. McCall that he'd be a fool to just sit on his a.s.sets.

But she didn't have much time. Only until tomorrow when Buck returned. Shoot, she'd closed impossible deals in a lot less time than that, she told herself. Whether she liked it or not, she was her mother's daughter.

In the meantime, she would cook supper following the instructions Buck had given her. She just hoped cooking proved easier than changing a flat tire.

WHEN J.T. WALKED into the line shack cabin for supper, the air reeked of smoke even though all the windows were open and a stiff breeze was blowing through the place.

He didn't have to ask how the new cook had done. As he settled into the chair at the head of the table, he spotted a large platter of incinerated steaks, black and shrunken and no longer resembling anything edible.

The cowhands who'd earlier seemed overjoyed to have a pretty female cook in camp were now eyeing the burnt steaks warily.

"You want to pa.s.s the steaks around?" Buck asked, sounding as if he had a sore throat.

J.T. noticed how Buck avoided his gaze as J.T. picked up the platter of cremated meat. Silence filled the cabin. He sensed the men around the table watching him as if waiting to see what his response would be. He knew if the cook had been a male, everyone in this room would be complaining, J.T. at the top of the list. Yet another reason a woman didn't belong in a cow camp.

J.T. looked from the platter to Reggie. She stood in the corner not far from the woodstove, hanging back in the shadows as if trying to make herself smaller. Loose hair hung in limp tendrils around her face, a large dark smudge of charcoal graced her cheek and her new duds looked as if she'd been in a mud wrestling match-and lost. So much for her signature color. All in all, she appeared exhausted. And close to tears.

But it was the expression on her face that was his undoing. She looked downright contrite. He watched her inspect a red, inflamed fingertip, then bring it to her mouth to suck on the burn, and he felt a rush of sympathy for her.

Earlier he'd threatened to throw her to the wolves, but he realized now that that's exactly what he'd done by allowing her to pretend to be the camp cook. He doubted she'd ever cooked in her life, let alone over a woodstove.

Cursing himself, he looked down at the ruined meat on the platter. "Steaks huh, great," he said between gritted teeth as he slid one of the charred chunks of once grade A beef onto his plate before pa.s.sing the platter to the man next to him, Cotton Heywood.

Cotton quickly helped himself to a steak. "Looks good! Boy am I hungry."

The spell broken, each man complimented Reggie as the meat made its way around the table, each man except for Will Jarvis. He stared at the steak remains, then let his gaze lift to J.T.'s for a long moment before finally stabbing one and dropping it to his plate.

J.T. watched him, still fighting the feeling that there was something familiar about the man.

When J.T. glanced up, he found Reggie's gaze on him. While she still looked duly chastened, he glimpsed grat.i.tude in her blue eyes. He wanted to tell her that he was only keeping peace in his camp, not saving her, but he doubted she'd believe it any more than he did.

He mentally shook his head. This woman had the ability to make a man want to wring her neck one minute and take her in his arms and comfort her the next. Women like her were d.a.m.ned dangerous.

"You are are going to join us, aren't you, Ms. Holland?" he asked, reminding himself that this was her doing. She'd gotten herself into this. And if she thought she was going to get out of eating what she'd cooked, she was sadly mistaken. He wouldn't force his men to eat anything the cook wouldn't also be required to eat. going to join us, aren't you, Ms. Holland?" he asked, reminding himself that this was her doing. She'd gotten herself into this. And if she thought she was going to get out of eating what she'd cooked, she was sadly mistaken. He wouldn't force his men to eat anything the cook wouldn't also be required to eat.

"I'm not very hungry," she said in a quiet, almost timid voice.

He'd just bet she wasn't considering what she'd done to this food. He studied her. Was she ready to give up? He could only hope. "I insist you have something to eat."

Luke Adams got up to pull out a chair for her. Even though the men had to know this woman was going to ruin their food as long as she was here, they all smiled over at her as she sat down. But how could they not feel sympathy for her? She looked as pathetic as a rain-drenched stray kitten. He wondered which of the men had taken the distributor cap for her. The woman was persuasive enough, she could have talked any one of them into it, J.T. realized-even Will Jarvis, the most cantankerous of the bunch it seemed.

Buck pa.s.sed a bowl full of something small, shriveled and crispy brown. J.T. frowned down at them, trying to figure out what food they'd originally been. The brown nuggets resembled large hard nuts.

"Do you want some b.u.t.ter on your baked potato?" Buck asked with more pleasantness than J.T. had ever heard in the big man's tone.

So that's what they'd once been? He would never have thought it possible to make a potato look like this. He wondered what she'd done to them. And decided he didn't want to know.

He was almost afraid to take the large bowl Buck offered him next, but was relieved to see that he recognized the food in it. Baked beans. He scooped a healthy serving onto his plate, glad at least something would be edible. How much damage could Reggie do to a can of pork and beans?

He started to take a bite, but stopped, disturbed to realize what else Reggie's presence had done. Cow camps revolved around male custom. The conversation at the table should have been about critters, who'd be riding the draws looking for strays tomorrow, who'd be wrangling the horses. Instead the men ate in silence.

Nor were they wolfing down their food, though who could blame them. Still some of them were actually using napkins and employing the utensils in the way they were designed.

J.T. shook his head. Reggie was destroying century-old rituals, making grown men behave against their nature, and he didn't like it.

He sawed off a piece of steak and took a bite. It tasted like charred cheap shoe leather. He chewed and chewed and finally forced the bite down with beans. Big mistake. Fire shot through his mouth and down his throat. Choking, he grabbed his water gla.s.s, his wild-eyed murderous gaze leaping to Buck.

Buck kept his head down as if intent on his food. Everyone else at the table also seemed unduly interested in their plates.

He downed his water, then glared across the table at Reggie, fire in his eyes as well as his mouth. The woman was going to kill them all. Any woman who could do this much damage to food wouldn't even blink when it came to disabling a truck.

Was all of this just a plot to get him to change his mind and do the commercial? My G.o.d, the woman would stoop to anything.

She appeared busy pus.h.i.+ng her food around her plate. Smart not to eat it. She glanced up as if she felt his gaze on her. She stared at him in concern. Was she worried that he might leap across the table and throttle her or that he might die right before her eyes? He knew his face must be bright red, his eyes were running water and he could not stop choking.

"Buck said you liked a lot of green pepper in your beans," she said into the strained silence. No doubt the men were quietly choking to death as well. "So I found a bag of chopped peppers and put them all in. I think they might have been the wrong peppers."

No kidding.

Buck let out an uncharacteristic little laugh. "There were two different bags of peppers in the cooler. I should have shown her which ones to use. I think she used the jalapenos."

"Yeah," J.T. said, narrowing his gaze at her. Was it an honest mistake? Or had she purposely done this? No one would be that that cruel, would she? cruel, would she?

Well, she'd underestimated him. There was nothing she could do to get him to change his mind. Not poison him. Not kill his taste buds. Not starve him. Nothing. He would get her out of here tomorrow and Buck would bring back a real cook. Now that J.T. knew what she was capable of, he wasn't letting her near the stove again. He would cook breakfast himself.

"I like my beans hot," Cotton piped up. "They're spicy but real good." He smiled at Reggie.

Luke and Slim jumped to Reggie's defense as well. J.T. watched them eat the beans, their eyes tearing with each bite, lies on their lips, their politeness costing them dearly.

He would have felt sorry for them except for one thing. Reggie was losing that chastened look. Their compa.s.sion and polite compliments seemed to be giving her renewed strength. When J.T. looked down the table at her, he saw that spark of determination, still fairly dim, but burning again in her eyes.

It was the last thing he wanted to see burning there.

"Here, Luke, have some more beans," J.T. said, pa.s.sing him the bowl. "There's enough for all of you to have seconds." He watched each man take his share as the bowl was pa.s.sed around the table. How could they not without hurting Reggie's tender feelings?

Everyone except Will Jarvis and Nevada Black helped themselves to more beans.

"I've never been a big fan of beans," Nevada said. Nor burnt steak and potatoes, it seemed. His plate looked untouched.

Same with Will, only he didn't bother to say anything as he pa.s.sed on the beans.

J.T. didn't blame the men. He was feeling a little guilty about making the others eat more of the horribly hot beans. It wasn't their fault that they'd gotten caught in the middle of this war between him and Reggie and they didn't even know what was really at stake. J.T. wasn't even sure he did. He just couldn't let them get too taken with this woman before he could get her out of here.

He felt her reproachful gaze on him as the beans reached her and she sc.r.a.ped the last of them onto her plate. Defiantly, she ate them, her gaze fixed on him. He watched her, knowing how much each forkful cost her, and yet, other than unshed tears swimming in her big blue eyes, she didn't let it show. She ate every bite.

The men did the same.

If Reggie had wanted to make him feel like a heel, she'd succeeded. Worse yet, her defiant act had only managed to do just what he'd feared. It had allied the men to her. Even Will and Nevada were watching her with a look of something like respect. d.a.m.n this woman was impossible! She already had Buck on her side, now she had them all eating out of her hand, so to speak.

Earlier he'd thought her beaten, close to crying, ready to cave in. He saw now that Reggie Holland didn't fall to defeat easily. He'd not only underestimated her tenacity, he found himself admiring it and at the same time fearing it. How far would the woman go to get what she wanted? And how many of his men would she use to do it?

The disabled truck nagged at him. He looked around the table, trying to imagine what any of the cowhands had to gain by taking the distributor cap. Cotton, Slim and Luke weren't paying attention to anyone but Reggie.

Will Jarvis seemed to be watching everyone at the table while picking at his food with distaste. Roy, head down, was eating quietly, but then Roy did everything quietly, it seemed. Nevada Black was eating what he could salvage of the meal, but he didn't look happy about it.

Of the men, Nevada Black looked like the one who had probably done some time. He seemed the most likely to have disabled the truck. But for what possible motive? J.T. wouldn't be surprised if Nevada Black was gone in the morning. He didn't look like a man who put up with much.

Neither did Will Jarvis. Both men were older and no doubt less tolerant. Unless they needed this job desperately, they would hit the road if the conditions didn't improve.

Luke, Slim and Cotton were a whole other story. Any of the three could have come to Reggie's rescue and disabled the truck.

J.T. let his gaze come back to Reggie. She had to have known he would send her packing as soon as he found her at the line shack. She'd gotten to stay here tonight only because of the missing distributor cap. And she was the one person who supposedly didn't ride a horse.

She looked up at him, resolve burning again in those eyes like a hot blue flame. He shouldn't be surprised by anything this woman did, but he found himself surprised over and over again. He'd never met anyone like her and hoped he never did again.

He cursed under his breath as he watched each of the men take his plate and utensils over to the large galvanized tub full of hot dishwater on the stove, something they would never have done for a male cook. Several tipped their hats to Reggie and actually thanked her for cooking, then hung around as if not wanting to leave.

She bestowed one of her drop-a-man-to-his-knees smiles on each of them. Even Will Jarvis who had hardly touched his meal returned her smile, though grudgingly.

J.T. couldn't blame them. Reggie looked like a waif. You wanted to take her in your arms and tell her everything was going to be all right. She seemed so tired that he had to wonder what was keeping her on her feet as she got ready to do the dishes. She meant to finish the job she'd started, even if it killed her. And for a moment, he thought about seeing if it would.

"Cotton, why don't you and Slim clean up the dishes tonight," J.T. suggested. "Luke, you can see to the horses." Everyone but Reggie knew it was an order. "I need to talk to Ms. Holland and I think she's done quite enough for one day."

If the men were surprised by his irregular order or resented it, they didn't show it. Doing dishes in a cow camp was strictly the cook's domain, but Reggie had already destroyed most of the established codes of the west, why not break a few more?

J.T. saw Cotton and Slim exchange knowing smirks as they set about their work. They thought something was going on between him and Reggie! He wanted to deny it. Well, at least tell them that what they thought was going on wasn't.

But he knew better than to open his mouth. Protesting would only dig the hole he was in deeper.

He was just thankful that Buck would be leaving early in the morning and Reggie would be history by afternoon. Even if her cooking didn't kill them all, he couldn't have her here. Pretty soon, she'd have the men fighting over her. Or worse.

Sending Buck into town would put the roundup behind a little, but it would be worth it. Things could get back to normal. Even if Buck didn't find a cook, J.T. would rather hear the men complain about Buck's cooking than put up with this.

Buck looked worried as J.T. ushered Reggie out the door of the line shack. What did the old coot think he was going to do to her? Take her out and shoot her? Let Buck think the worst since he was the one who'd gotten them into this mess.

No, J.T. thought, he couldn't blame it all on Buck. He should have made it clearer to her on the highway this afternoon that he was never going to change his mind. And he should never have mentioned to her that he needed a camp cook. Nor should he have let Reggie cook tonight.

Discouraging this woman wasn't easy but he had to try. He couldn't let her continue with this charade. She was wasting her time and his. He would make her see that. Somehow.

He'd convince her to return the distributor cap and send her back to town with Buck tonight in the truck. The sooner she was out of the camp the better. Especially since he had a bad feeling about this roundup.

The last time he'd had that feeling, five men had died.

Chapter Four.

Regina s.h.i.+vered as she stepped out into the night. The cute little western jacket she'd bought at the Antelope Flats general store did little to chase away the cold. She had never known such darkness as she moved through the trees away from the light of the cabin. She stumbled and would have fallen headlong if J.T. hadn't caught her arm and righted her.

"It's just so dark," she said and realized he was standing only inches from her.

"Your eyes will adjust," he said softly, his voice sending a different kind of chill through her.

She could feel his gaze on her face. She hugged herself and gulped the cold night air, feeling like an alien who'd landed in a strange, hostile environment. Nothing looked familiar: not the terrain, not the men, not the clothing and certainly not the food, especially after she'd finished cooking it.

She hadn't eaten red meat in years-until tonight. But she would have choked on it before she'd have let J.T. think she wasn't going to eat it because it was burned to a crisp.

Not even the atmosphere of this place agreed with her. Air she couldn't see made her suspicious. The high alt.i.tude left her dizzy. And the boots hurt her feet. She didn't even want to think about the accommodations.

J.T. had announced she could sleep in the cabin as if he was doing her a favor. Now that she'd had a good look at it, she would beg to differ.

On top of that, she ached all over. Her fingers were burned. And she feared she'd never get rid of the smell of smoke and grease on her skin, especially as she hadn't seen a place to bathe. Or relieve herself other than what appeared to be an outhouse a couple dozen yards off the hillside in the pines. Like she was going out there in the dark.

But she'd asked for this. True, it was the most drastic thing she'd ever done, but it would be worth it. Once she had McCall under contract.

"We need to talk," he said.

She could see his face more clearly as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. A sliver of moon hung in the dark velvet sky above the lofty pines. A splattering of bright glittering stars twinkled across the vast skyscape. She'd never seen anything like it before and she found everything about this place too intense. Especially J. T. McCall.

Regina couldn't remember a time she'd felt so inept. Or so lost. But she wouldn't quit. Nor would she admit defeat, although she could see he was hoping for just that.

"I'm sorry about dinner," she said quickly. "I'll do better in the morning."

He stared at her, clearly surprised. "You'd actually put yourself through that again?" So he had had thought she'd given up. thought she'd given up.

Not that there hadn't been a few moments when it had crossed her mind. Like when Buck had pointed to the woodstove and told her she was to cook on that fire-breathing, smoke-belching dragon in the corner.

Cook what? He'd outlined the meal and how the woodstove worked. It had sounded simple enough. Although, so had the microwave the first time she'd used it. Thanks to modern technology, she'd managed to turn grated cheddar cheese into orange plastic at the touch of a b.u.t.ton.

The woodstove was far from modern technology, but about the time the steaks caught fire, she realized she could do a lot more damage with a woodstove.

"I hired on as camp cook," she said firmly. "I'll finish the job."