Diana Palmer - Rough Diamonds - Wyoming Tough / Diamond in the Rough

“I’m happy to meet you,” he said. “Both of you.” But when he looked at Morie his eyebrows lifted. “Like working here, do you?” he asked her.

“Oh, yes, very much,” she replied.

He pursed his lips. “Can I speak with you for a minute?” he added. “I want to ask you something about that little sausage canapé. For my housekeeper,” he said.

“Sure,” she replied.

He walked to the back door, held it open and let her go out before him. She worried that it might make Mavie suspicious, but she had to make him understand. She explained what she was doing.

“What the devil are you up to?” he asked seriously. “Your dad would have a fit if he knew you were working for wages on a ranch!”

“You can’t tell him,” she replied firmly. “I’m going to show him that I can make it on my own. He doesn’t have to like it. But if you tell him where I am, he’ll come up here and make trouble. He’ll be telling the boss what I can and can’t be expected to do and it will ruin everything. You know how he is.”

“I guess I do.” He frowned. “How did you get a job way up here?”

“A friend of a friend told me they were hiring. And what are you doing here?” she exclaimed.

“I met Cane during a trial. He was a friend of the plaintiff, a land case I heard in superior court in Texas. We had lunch and became friends. Good heavens, I had no idea I’d come to his party and find my niece cooking for it!”

She laughed. “Well, somebody had to. Mavie had no clue about canapés and Mom makes the best I ever tasted. So does Aunt Edie and your housekeeper.”

“If your dad ever finds out about this…”

“He won’t. And if he ever does, I’ll defend you,” she promised confidently.

He shook his head. “You always were a handful, even when you were little.”

“And you always loved me anyway, Uncle Danny.”

“Yes, I did.” He hugged her warmly. “Okay, I guess you know what you’re doing. I won’t tell Kingston. But there will be a dustup when the truth comes out. You’ll have to protect me,” he added with a grin.

“You know I will. Thanks.”

“What are you doing out here instead of working, Miss Brannt?” Gelly’s shrill, angry voice came from the doorway. “You are not to have private conversations with my guests, you little gold digger!”

Danny moved into the light. The woman’s attitude toward his niece pricked his temper. He’d already formed an opinion of Gelly Bruner, and it wasn’t a good one. “I’m not your guest,” he pointed out coldly. “I came to see the Kirks.”

She flushed and looked uncertain.

“Why don’t you go back to the party and stop trying to micromanage your boyfriend’s staff?” he drawled. “Perhaps I should have a word with him… .”

“Sorry,” Gelly said stiffly and managed a cool smile. “Excuse me, please.”

She almost ran off.

Morie was stifling laughter. Her uncle could be as intimidating as her father ever was, even if he was usually the easygoing one of the brothers.

Mavie had stepped over to the doorway after Gelly had raced away. She’d obviously heard every word of the exchange with Gelly. Now her eyes were dancing. “Want to stay? I’ll cook for you anytime,” she added.

He laughed. “Sorry. I have my own business to take care of. The canapés were really delicious. And thanks for the recipe,” he told Morie. “I hope I’ll see you again one day.”

“Same here,” she replied, smiling. “Thanks.”

He shrugged. “My pleasure.” He gave her a last wave before he went back into the family room.

“Who is he?” Mavie asked her.

“A superior court judge from Texas who’s a friend of Cane’s, apparently,” Morie replied innocently. “He wanted me to tell him how to make those sausages so he could get his housekeeper to make them for a party he’s having soon. Imagine that! I got to talk to a real judge!”

“He wasn’t bad-looking, either,” Mavie said with a grin. “Did you say something to Gelly?” she added worriedly.

“No, I didn’t say anything. But you heard what the judge said,” she added. “She came out to tell me to stop mingling with her guests and get to work. He said she needed to mind her own business.”

“Ha!”

Morie’s smile widened. “He’s such a nice man. I wish we could keep him.”

“Me, too.” Mavie looked uneasy. “You’ll be in trouble, though.”

“I’m always in trouble. Let’s clean up and then I want to go to bed.”

“I’ll just put some of those canapés on the plate for you.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re a great little worker,” Mavie returned. “I like having you around.”

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in a long time,” Morie replied, touched.

Mavie just smiled.

MORIE SAT IN FRONT of her small television and watched an old black-and-white comedy while she ate her canapés. They’d turned out very well. What a surprise to have her uncle show up at the Kirks’ party. She wasn’t aware that he knew Cane. At least she’d been able to get him to keep her secret from her father. She shuddered to think what King would say to her boss.

She knew her mother hadn’t told King Brannt where his daughter was working, or what she was doing. Shelby had mentioned that she’d said Morie had a nice job at a department store but she hadn’t said where. What a joke. Morie couldn’t have sold heaters to people living in the Yukon.

It had been several days since Mallory had kissed the breath out of her. He’d been avoiding her ever since. Or she’d been avoiding him. It had been unexpected and shocking, but a delicious little interlude that played over and over in Morie’s mind. She’d loved it. But obviously the boss hadn’t. It seemed that he wanted to make sure she didn’t get any ideas about his interest. He’d made a point of being businesslike every time he spoke to her now. There was no more light teasing or pleasant conversation. It was strictly business.

She finished the last canapé and turned off the television. It was up at dawn for more calving and she was still achy and stiff from helping Darby pull two calves that simply weren’t anxious to be born. Their reward was the soft bawling sound the calves made when they were delivered and stood up, wobbling away to be licked clean by their mothers.

It was incredible to help deliver a calf. The process of birth was fascinating to anyone who worked around livestock. The cycle of life and death was a never-ending one on a ranch.

Morie loved working outdoors, away from the city, away from traffic and regimented life. Here, the time clock was the sun. They got up with it and went to bed with it. They learned how to identify birds by their songs. They learned the subtle weather signs that were lost in electronic prognostication. They were of the earth. It was the most wonderful job going, Morie thought, even if the pay wasn’t top scale and the work was mostly physical labor that came with mussed, stained clothing. She wouldn’t have traded it to model Paris gowns, and she’d once been offered that opportunity. It had amused and pleased her mother, who wasn’t surprised when Morie said she’d rather learn how to rope calves.

Her father would never teach her. Her brother, Cort, got the ranch training. Her primitive dad, who was living in the Stone Age, she often told him, wanted her to be a lady of leisure and do feminine things. She told him that she could work cattle every bit as well as her brother and she wanted to prove it. Her dad just laughed and walked off. Not on his ranch. Not ever.

So she found someone else’s ranch to prove it on. She’d gotten her college degree. Her dad should be happy that she’d accomplished at least one thing he’d insisted upon. Now she was going to please herself.