Rosemary Carter - Cowboy To The Altar

‘Haven’t we been over that already?’

‘I want to be sure you understand.’

‘I do. Feel absolutely free to think of me as one of them.’

The suggestion was so absurd that he gave a shout of laughter. ‘Difficult—when we both know you’re not a man.’

‘Mr Delaney—’

“That’s one thing even you can’t argue about, Morgan Muir—you are not a man.’

Once more he studied her, only this time his eyes went from her face to her delectable body—skimming the line of her slender throat, lingering on the curve of soft breasts and descending to her waist and hips and thighs. When he looked up again he saw that her cheeks were flushed once more and her eyes stormy.

‘I don’t know how to convince you, Mr Delaney. True, I’m not a man, but nothing would please me more than if you treated me like one of the men. I wish you’d believe me. As far as you’re concerned, I’m just one more ranch-hand.’

‘Ranch-hands know they’ll be fired if they don’t perform satisfactorily. This contract...’ Jason handed it back to her contemptuously ‘...doesn’t protect you from that.’

Morgan gave him a cheeky grin. ‘Thanks for the warning. I won’t give you cause to fire me.’

Once more their eyes met. Then Jason glanced at his watch. ‘The men will be returning from the range soon. They’ll be hungry. Time to prepare your first meal, Morgan Muir.’

CHAPTER TWO

MORGAN had just finished making supper when the cowboys began to enter the cookhouse.

They came in singly and in little groups. They were tall, broad-shouldered men, with arms and chests that rippled with muscle. Men with faces that were deeply tanned, despite the stetsons they wore at all times, with far-seeing eyes—as if they were accustomed to looking across great distances. Attractive men, though not one of them was anywhere near as attractive as Jason Delaney. Morgan made the comparison without thinking.

She stood quite still for a moment as she remembered the quiver that had shot through her at her first sight of the ruggedly good-looking rancher. He was so handsome that he could have stepped straight out of a western movie—a gorgeous younger version of a tough Clint Eastwood—the good guy who could take on ten mean men single-handed and not be defeated.

She gave herself a small mental shake. So what if Jason Delaney was the most attractive man she had ever met? He was also impossibly autocratic and arrogant, and he had better not become her yardstick for all men. In fact, the less time she spent in the company of the man the better.

Almost to a man, the cowboys seemed amazed to find her standing at the long cookhouse table.

‘Hi, I’m Morgan Muir,’ she introduced herself. And when they continued to stare at her she elucidated, ‘The new ranch cook. Didn’t Brent tell you about me? Well, maybe not.’

They glanced at one another and then back at her, almost as if she were an alien being blown in by the hot Texas wind—as if they couldn’t quite believe that she was real. Morgan reminded herself that they probably had little daily contact with women. She’d have to give them time to get used to her.

‘I’m really looking forward to getting to know you all better.’ She smiled, the unconsciously lovely smile that had affected Jason so strongly.

‘Sure look forward to it, too, honey—sooner the better,’ responded one of the men. He stood a little apart from the others, a man with a cruel face and lascivious eyes. She’d been wrong about this particular cowboy, Morgan realized. She’d have to watch out for him.

A moment later another cowboy said, ‘Take it easy, Hank.’

‘Don’t need no warning from you, Charlie.’

‘Take no notice of him,’ Charlie advised Morgan. ‘Glad to meet you, Miss Muir. All the men are. Welcome to Six-Gate Corral.’ In contrast to Hank, Charlie had a gentle face and his smile was warm and welcoming.

At least she’d have one friend at the ranch, Morgan thought gratefully. ‘Thanks, Charlie. Please don’t call me Miss Muir, guys. I’m used to being called Morgan.’ Her eyes swept over the men, all except Hank. ‘I guess you’re all pretty hungry after a day out on the range. Supper’s ready.’

She had taken great care with the meal. The cookhouse cupboards and freezers were well stocked with frozen foods, as well as with perishables. Without Brent to -tell her what to prepare and reluctant to ask Jason, Morgan had planned the menu herself. Although she had never cooked for thirty men—a finger-foods party was more up her particular alley—she had always been resourceful.

Steak. The cowboys would like that, and there was loads of it in the freezers. Morgan had marinated the meat in a sauce made of lemon juice and spices, then broiled it and topped it with mushrooms. To accompany this were potatoes, halved and herbed and baked to perfection, a medley of carrots and peas and also a salad. And for dessert there was the frozen apple pie she had found in one of the freezers, warmed up to be served with ice cream. The cookhouse table was well scrubbed but bare. Morgan’s final touch consisted of two glasses—she had been unable to find a vase—filled with wild grasses and placed at either end of the long table for decoration.

When the cowboys had seated themselves she put the platters of food on the table. Then she stood back, waiting while they helped themselves and eagerly anticipating their reaction to the meal she had set before them.

The reaction was not long in coming, only it was not the appreciative one that a bewildered Morgan had expected. The men did not take long to clear the platters. The complaints started when they asked for more food and discovered that there wasn’t any. A rumble of discontent, begun by the obnoxious Hank and taken up by the others, became an uproar. Only Charlie refrained from taking part. He told Morgan that the food was delicious.

‘Delicious be damned!’ Hank roared. ‘Are we men or a bunch of silly chickens?’

‘Chickens!’ Morgan defended herself indignantly. ‘It’s obvious you don’t appreciate a good meal.’

‘Call that a meal, lady? More like an appetizer.’

‘Now, Hank,’ Charlie said, ‘Morgan tried.’

‘Not enough, Charlie,’ called one of the other cowboys. ‘Not enough.’

‘You’re used to Brent’s meals. I understand that.’ Morgan struggled to make herself heard above the din. ‘I’m truly sorry you didn’t like the meal. Tell me what you want and I’ll see you get it next time. All I ask is a bit of time.’

‘We’re hungry now, honey,’ Hank sneered.

‘Hungry now! Hungry now!’ chorused the cowboys. ‘Hungry now!’

Morgan pushed an unsteady hand through her hair. She was at the freezers, about to take out more steak, when a new voice—one ringing with authority—demanded, ‘What’s going on here?’

Morgan spun around as the noise in the cookhouse suddenly stilled. Tilting her head, she found herself looking into Jason Delaney’s rugged, hard-boned face. Stressed though she was, Morgan found herself once again noticing shoulders that were impossibly wide and hips sexily narrow—a body that was lean and muscled.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

‘Came to see how you were getting on,’ he said. ‘Just as well I did, by the looks of it.’

‘You should have seen what this dame tried to pass off as a meal, Boss,’ Hank complained. ‘Steak so small you could hardly see it.’ He held up an enormous hand to demonstrate. ‘Bits of potato with some kind of stuff stuck to them.’ He pointed to the food which one of the cowboys had pushed away in disgust. ‘Just take a look at this, Jason. We’re men, Boss, not a bunch of halfweaned toddlers.’

‘I liked it,’ Charlie said.