Her room was in the back of the house. It was small and blessedly clear of clutter. The only furnishings were a bed and a chest of drawers. Mariah walked over to a door on the back wall. Easing it open she found it led outside to a small fenced-in courtyard that held a small wooden bench. Pleased by that, she closed it again and surveyed her sparsely furnished room. “Would it be possible to have a sitting chair in here, and a lamp?”
“I’ll see what Alanza has in storage.”
“Thank you. Now, would you be so kind as to bring in my trunks?”
He left her, and Mariah stepped out into the little courtyard again. By all the cigar butts and cheroot tails littering the ground, she guessed the space was used by him and his men. The area needed cleaning, but once that was accomplished, the bench would provide a nice spot to catch her breath after a long day, or to work on her drawings. The magnificent view of the mountains and the low border of tall pines was breathtaking. She could hear the men over at the corral but she supposed at night there’s nothing but echoing silence. Definitely something she would have to get accustomed to.
She heard him return and so stepped back inside. “Thank you. I’d like to begin cleaning up the front parlor first thing in the morning. Will it be possible for you to have everything removed by then?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve a ranch to run and we’re busy at the moment. You take some time writing up a list of things you think you’ll be needing to do whatever it is you plan to do, and the hands and I will begin moving things in a few days.”
“I already know what I need, Mr. Yates.”
“Then take a few days to get your sea legs under you. I’m sure you’re tired from the long train ride.”
“Don’t you want the house cleared out and cleaned?”
“I do, but on my schedule.”
“Ah. And if our schedules don’t coincide?”
“We go with mine.”
“You’re determined to lock horns with me?”
“No, you’re determined to lock horns with me, so rest up for now, and when you’re ready we’ll visit my stepmother and have some supper.”
“Do you lock horns with her, too?”
“Often.”
Stalemate.
“Let me know when you’re ready, Mrs. Cooper.”
As he left her alone, Mariah wondered if there was a cure for male arrogance. Apparently, she’d traded one tyrant for another, but as she’d noted on the ride over, she had no plans to revert to her formerly spineless self. It was quite obvious that Logan Yates was accustomed to throwing his weight around and bowling people over with it. And yes, the train ride had taken a lot out of her, but this house needed immediate attention if for no other reason than to rid it of the smell, which was wafting all the way back to her little room. His assumptions to the contrary, she wasn’t afraid of work and she certainly wasn’t afraid of him. Filled with determination, she changed out of her traveling ensemble and into one of her older blouses and skirts. Once that was done, she tied on an apron, put on her imaginary Queen Calafia crown and went to wage war on his fouled excuse of a home.
Outside, Logan walked over to the corral. Laying down the law to the bossy widow felt good. She worked for him, not the other way around.
Eli Braden was the first to speak up. “Well?”
“Says she’s staying, and wants us to start clearing the parlor. Told her I was too busy at the moment. Maybe in a couple of days.”
“She as pretty up close as she looked from here?”
The level gaze that greeted the remark made Eli grin. “Guess the answer’s yes.”
Logan refused to acknowledge that she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. The golden eyes and full mouth had already branded themselves in his mind’s eye. “Real bossy.”
“She’ll need that to handle you.”
“She’s here to clean the place, not order me around.”
“You must didn’t make that clear enough.”
Logan appeared confused by his words, so Eli used his chin to direct his friend to what he was referencing. Logan turned around to see the Widow Cooper dragging a bed frame out the door. He also saw that she’d changed her clothing and was now wearing a sweeping black skirt and a high-necked, long-sleeved blouse that fit snugly over her curves. The wire bed frame was twice her size, and her difficulties in maneuvering it were apparent, but she was persistent and soon had it out on the grass. Wiping her hands on her skirt, she walked determinedly back inside.
“Oh, hell,” Logan muttered.
His men didn’t bother hiding their amusement.
Out the door she came again, this time, arms loaded with shirts and denims. She dumped them next to the bed frame and sailed back into the house.
“Once word gets around about her beauty, men will be lined up from here to the Bay to take her off your hands,” Eli quipped.
The last thing Logan wanted was his ranch overrun by a bunch of calf-eyed men, but any man loco enough to take her on would regret it, because she was obviously too bossy for her own good, and deaf to boot. Hadn’t he just explained that he wanted her to wait for him to decide when the house cleaning would begin?
While he and the hands looked on, she kept up her pace. For the next half hour, the pile of items on the grass grew to include boots, bedding, and other items belonging to him and his men. Finally, she stopped and directed those golden eyes their way. To his surprise, she marched over. Pointedly ignoring Logan, she said, “Gentlemen, my name’s Mariah Cooper and I’m the new housekeeper. I’d suggest you come and claim your belongings.”
Logan found this cat-eyed woman so unlike any other he’d encountered, he wasn’t sure what to do. “And if they don’t?” he asked coolly.
She finally looked his way. “Anything still in the pile come morning will be kindling for a bonfire.”
Eyes widened.
Logan noticed stripes of what appeared to be blood on her fingers. He thought about her dragging the metal bed frame. “Did you cut yourself?”
“No.”
Bossy and a liar. “Let me see your hands.”
“Mr. Yates, I suggest you let me worry about my hands. You should be more concerned with getting the lumber for the new bunkhouse you need to build.”
Tamping down his rising temper, he repeated softly and slowly, “Let me see your hands.”
Her tightly set face and raised chin challenged him as if she equaled him in both height and weight.
“Show me your hands before I take you over my knee and paddle your fancy little behind.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Oh, I’d dare,” he promised.
The ranch hands eagerly watched the exchange as if the boss and the little lady were acting out a play on the stage.
“Once again, you are no gentleman,” she tossed back.
“So you keep reminding me. Show me your hands.”
Gold eyes flaring, she presented her bloodstained palms.
He took hold of first one wrist and then the other. “Fool woman. Eli, go and get me something to clean up these cuts.”
While he hurried off, she pulled her hands free. “I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself.”
“Was it going to be before or after the bonfire?”
Her face said she hadn’t cared for that dig.
“You trying to get lockjaw?” he demanded quietly.
Mariah had no idea what lockjaw was, but decided it had to be something he’d made up, until he explained, “You get it from rust in your blood. One of the symptoms is your jaws lock up, which for you might be just the ticket, but many people die from it.”
She stared.
The man Eli returned with a small brown pharmacy bottle and some gauze. She reached out to take them only to have Yates take possession of the items first. “Hold out your palms.”
“I’m perfectly capable—”
“Yeah, I know. Hold out your hands.”
r /> Mariah huffed. Dealing with him was putting her dangerously close to a full blown case of apoplexy, but the challenge in his eyes made her remember his promise to paddle her so-called fancy little behind. That he’d actually carry out the outrageous threat wasn’t something she wanted to chance, nor did she want it to be witnessed by his employees, so she thrust out her palms.
He poured a bit of the bottle’s liquid content onto a piece of the gauze and to her surprise went about the task gently. But whatever was in the bottle stung more than the cuts themselves. “What is that?”
“Witch hazel.”
The irony of that was inescapable, but she held still and let him finish. Eli next handed him a small white tube. The paste inside was gently rubbed on the cuts. Mariah tried to ignore the way her senses fluttered in response to Yates’s soft-touched ministrations, and to the dark eyes probing her own.
“Where’d you get all these calluses?” he questioned quietly. The slow slide of his thumb over the toughened skin at the base of her fingers sent her senses into a silent swoon.
“Chopping wood and pumping water since the age of nine.”
“For who?”
“My mother. Are you done?” She needed him to release her so she could shake off her disturbing reaction. His touch and nearness were affecting her like no man before, and she didn’t know the reason for it or how to douse the odd sensations. He, however, seemed to be still mulling over her reply. She assumed her callused hands didn’t jibe with his view of whoever he thought her to be, but she let him think what he wanted because she doubted he’d believe the truth, even if she hit him over the head with it.
He unrolled a length of the gauze, wound it around her cut palms and tied the ends closed. “Now, stop hauling stuff outside until you heal.”
“No. You hired me to do a job, bandaged hands or not.”
“I don’t know how things are done in Philadelphia, but here, we don’t work our women until their hands bleed.”
“These little cuts aren’t going to make me bleed to death, Mr. Yates. Surely the women here are made of sterner stuff than that.”
Logan wondered if she’d ever met an argument she didn’t like. The sassy firecracker mouth probably drove her late husband to drink, and it made him wonder if she brought that fire to the marriage bed. He glanced Eli’s way and found his partner smiling as if he’d read Logan’s mind. “Go back in the house and wait for me. We’ll ride over and have dinner with my stepmother in a few minutes.”
“Do women usually ask ‘how high’ whenever you say ‘jump,’ Mr. Yates?”
He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. When he opened them, she was standing there blazing in all her golden, cat-eyed glory. Having had just about enough of her for the moment, he placed his hands on her waist and slowly lifted her up to eye level. “You ever use that mouth for something besides sassing?”
Then he kissed her, and apparently caught her so off guard, that for just the briefest of moments, she softened, and he tasted the sweetness of her lips. Then her mouth clamped shut like a sprung bear trap, and she went stiff as a board. Thinking he’d bested her, he set her down on her feet. He was feeling pretty superior until she dragged her bandaged hand across her lips like she’d just been kissed by a goat and kicked him hard in his bad knee. Pain spread up his leg and he howled, “Shit!” The explosion of agony had him cursing a blue streak while hopping around like a peg-legged sailor doing a jig.
Eli and the men laughed so hard they almost fell down. She, on the other hand, looking angry enough to spit, spun around and stormed back the way she’d come.
Logan was still cursing, and Eli and the hands were still laughing when she disappeared inside the house.
Mariah was furious. The urge to pace back and forth was thwarted by all the remaining clutter, so she stood there in the middle of the parlor and fumed. How dare he! She wanted to march back outside and kick him again. What an insufferable, arrogant, pigheaded excuse for a man! Any woman in her right mind would throw the job in his face like wet wash and tell him to find someone else, but again, she’d not give him the satisfaction. If he fired her fine, but for now, she was staying, and if she had to kick him from California to Hades and back again to make that plain, she would.
When she looked up, Eli was standing in the doorway. The grin on his face didn’t help her temper. “What?” she demanded.
“Came to help you clear out the parlor. If you got the guts to kick Logan, no telling what you’ll do to the rest of us, so thought we’d come give you a hand.”
Only then did she see the other men standing behind him. They looked equal parts amused and afraid.
“Thank you,” she whispered. She was so grateful, tears stung her eyes. Blinking them back she asked, “And Mr. Yates?”
“Rode off to see Old Man Crane to buy lumber for the new bunkhouse.”
And suddenly, sunshine filled Mariah’s world. She’d won the first round. She was certain there’d be more battles to come because she and Yates got along like two wet cats in a bag, but she savored her victory and put the ranch hands to work.
Chapter 6
A testy Logan gritted his teeth against the angry throb in his knee as he dismounted and made his way into the office of the lumber mill.
“Why you limping, Logan?” Old Man Crane asked.
“Knee’s bothering me.”
“The wife’s got some liniment up at the house. You want me to fetch you some?”
“No thanks. Just want to put in an order for some board feet so I can get my bunkhouse rebuilt.”
“Finally going to get it done, huh? How much you need?”
They spent a few minutes figuring out just how much. Once that was decided and the price agreed upon, they walked back outside and Logan limped over to his stallion with as much dignity as he could.
“You sure you don’t want that liniment?”
“Yeah, but thanks again.” As he remounted, he fought to keep the ache from showing on his face. “You sure you’ll have the lumber ready for me by day after tomorrow?”
“Yep. I’ll start running the saw tonight.”
“Thanks. I’ll send Eli over to haul it back.”
“Welcome. Take care of that knee. You get rheumetiz in it and it’ll be all she wrote.”
Logan nodded, wheeled Diablo around and rode slowly back toward home. Although he was determined not to think about her, his mind was filled with images of the firebrand known as Mariah Cooper. He still found it hard to believe she’d actually kicked him. As he’d noted earlier, most women tittered and batted their eyes when he came around. Not a one ever dragged their hand across their lips after his kiss, or registered their complaint in such a pointed and painfully memorable manner. Admittedly, he’d provoked her, but her provoking him with that sassy, kissable-looking mouth was what set the whole episode in motion to begin with. He had no logical explanation as to why he’d kissed her that way, other than having been driven around the bend by her sassiness. He’d never done anything that insane to a woman before. She was knee-high to a bumblebee and weighed less than his saddle, yet she’d challenged him as if she were one of Queen Calafia’s Amazon warriors. Damnedest experience of his life. And now, he was riding back from ordering lumber, something he hadn’t even thought about doing when he picked her up at the train station that morning. He didn’t want to delve into why he finally put in the order because he was too busy trying to determine when he’d lost control of the situation. One moment, he’d been in charge, and the next . . .
The pain in his knee flared up as if to remind him just how formidable an opponent she was. And her callused hands? That was a surprise as well. She was a housekeeper, so he hadn’t expected her to have the soft unblemished hands of a woman waited upon by servants, as Alanza had before she married his father, but the Cooper woman’s hands had been hardened by work—real work, and not just the run-of-the-mill scrubbing of floors or polishing silver. She claimed to have chopped wood and pumped water
since an early age. Had there been no men in her family during those years of her life? Had her husband Henry been an invalid, and thus unable to take on the responsibilities usually shouldered by a man? The questions tied to his new housekeeper were stacking up like cords of wood, and he had no answers. What he did know was that he’d underestimated her and he’d be damned if he let it happen again. If she wanted a test of wills, he’d give her one because he refused to be bested by a short whirlwind of a city woman who couldn’t even sit a horse.
An hour into clearing the parlor, Mariah was outside adding more items to the pile of belongings when a fancy black coach pulled up. Out stepped a beautiful ivory-skinned woman with shining black hair whose face and attire made Mariah stop and stare. She was wearing a divided black riding skirt, a white ruffle-front blouse with long blowsy sleeves, a short black vest with silver buttons, and fancy black boots also shot through with silver. The hat perched saucily on her sleek pulled-back hair had a flat crown. Mariah thought her look odd but very stylish, and wondered who she might be.
“Hello,” the woman called in an accented voice. “I’m Alanza Yates. Are you Mrs. Cooper?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Welcome to California. When did you arrive? Why hasn’t Logan brought you to the house so we could meet properly?”
Mariah wondered how to explain the volatile afternoon. This was his stepmother after all.
Eli Braden walked out with his arms filled with shovels and dropped them on the pile. “Afternoon, Senora.”
“Eli. Where’s Logan?”
He glanced at Mariah and started to chuckle. “Kind of a long story. I’ll let Mrs. Cooper tell it to you.”
Mariah wanted to call out, “Coward!” but kept silent.
Mrs. Yates assessed her silently, until Mariah finally confessed, “In all honesty, your stepson is very hard to get along with, Mrs. Yates.”
A small smile played across her lips. “I find that to be true at times, as well. So, what happened? Where is he? You haven’t killed him, have you?”