Rosemary Carter - Cowboy To The Altar

After a long moment Jason smiled down at her. ‘I’m beginning to understand,’ he said.

It was a smile which made the anger leave Morgan. She looked at his dark eyes, his hard cheekbones and his sensuous lips—wondering inconsequentially how they would feel against hers—and knew that she had never met anyone as attractive as Jason. Her heart was beating so hard now that she made herself take a quick step away from him lest he heard it.

‘Then you will let me have my chance?’

‘I’ll be watching you every moment.’ Behind the smile lay a threat.

‘I’ll do my best,’ she said again.

‘Let’s both hope it will be good enough.’

The steak was sizzling on the grill and the chili simmering in a huge pot when the cowboys filtered back into the cookhouse. They sat down at the long table and proceeded to eat, amazing Morgan with the extent of their appetites and the size of the portions they piled on their plates. She had not known that men could eat so much.

‘They’re cowboys, not male models watching their figures.’ Laughter glinted in Jason’s eyes, as if he had guessed Morgan’s thoughts.

She was awed. ‘I had no idea.’

The glint intensified. ‘You should know, Morgan, that Brent usually eats in the cookhouse with the men.’

A little taken aback at the thought of sitting down at the long table and partaking of the gargantuan meal, Morgan hastily shook her head. ‘Tomorrow perhaps. I’m not hungry now.’

‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I was going to tell you to eat with me.’

Morgan’s head jerked. ‘With you, Mr Delaney?’

His eyes sparkled at her expression. ‘Since it seems we’re going to be stuck with each other for a while, don’t you think you should start calling me Jason?’

Jason... It was a nice name. Strong. For some reason Morgan looked forward to saying it when she was alone—when she could enjoy the sound of it on her tongue.

‘Well, Morgan?’ he asked.

‘You don’t eat with the cowboys?’ The invitation—if it could be called that—had caught her completely off guard, and she had to say something.

‘Brent usually cooks for me at the house.’

‘In that case, I will too.’

‘Brent cooked enough for a week before he left.’ On a slightly softer note Jason added, ‘You’ve been driving all day. You’re probably exhausted.’

Jason Delaney showing a little human sympathy and friendliness? Miracles would never cease!

‘Not too tired to do my job,’ Morgan said spiritedly. ‘And in case you’re trying to trick me, Jason, forget it—I’m not about to fail another test.’

The tall rancher grinned, a daredevil grin that did alarming things to Morgan’s senses. ‘Neither a trick nor a test. I have enough for two so you might as well share it.’

With difficulty Morgan resisted the temptation to accept. ‘I told you,’ she managed, ‘I’m not hungry.’

Jason laughed, the sound low and dangerous. ‘As you like.’ He made no further effort to persuade her.

When Morgan emerged from the cookhouse some time later there was no sign of Jason. Although it was still hot outside, the western sky was now tinged with pink and long shadows lay over the brushlands. On the hardbaked ground beyond the bunkhouse another ball-game was in progress. Morgan walked in the opposite direction: she had no desire for another unpleasant run-in with Hank.

She was frowning as she looked at the shadows all around her. For the first time since she had arrived at Six-Gate Corral she was wondering where she would spend the night. If her employer had been anyone but Jason Delaney, Morgan would have had no hesitation in asking him what to do, but Jason unnerved her to such an extent that she was reluctant to ask him the question.

Still, she had to sleep somewhere. The ranch-house was obviously off limits—she could not sleep in the same house as Jason—and if there was another suitable building she couldn’t see it. Her car—of course! The thought came to her as she remembered that her suitcase was still in the boot.

But after just a few minutes in the car Morgan knew that she couldn’t spend the night there. After standing in the sun for hours, the car was a hell-hole, hot as a furnace and airless—impossible to breathe in, let alone sleep.

Which left only one place. Morgan recoiled at the very thought of the bunkhouse. How on earth could she bear to sleep there? Sharing quarters with the ranchhands—putting up with the ribaldries of a man like Hank. No, the bunkhouse was definitely out of the question!

There was nothing for it, after all, but to swallow her pride and speak to Jason. Somewhere there had to be an unused building, and he would have to let her use it.

But when Morgan knocked on the door of the ranch-house there was no answer. She walked around to the back, and there was no answer there either. There were no barking dogs and no sign of Jason’s Jeep.

Boy, was she in trouble!

The words she had said to Jason earlier returned to haunt her now: ‘Nothing would please me more than if you treated me like one of the men... As far as you’re concerned, I’m just one more ranch-hand.’

They had been words spoken in the heat of the moment. And now took at the dilemma she was in!

The cowboys were still busy with their ball-game when Morgan, giving them a wide berth, carried her suitcase quickly into the bunkhouse.

Her heart sank as she took in the long room. It reminded her of a dormitory she had once occupied. Beds lined the walls, a cupboard and a bureau beside each one. At one end there was a television set and several chesterfields. The place was clean, even comfortable in its own way, but overwhelmingly masculine.

The thought of sleeping here was so appalling that it occurred to Morgan, for the first time, that Jason could be right. Perhaps, after all, she had no place at Six-Gate Corral. Perhaps she should leave first thing tomorrow.

And then she remembered her dream. I’m here. A month at a ranch. A chance to realize my dream. Seen in that light, it didn’t seem to matter quite so much that she might have to spend the night in the bunkhouse. Her resolve stiffened.

In a dim corner at the far end of the room and at a little distance from the other beds Morgan found one that looked as if it didn’t belong to anyone. She shoved her case quickly beneath it, before climbing—still fullyclothed—between the sheets.

As she lay there, feeling more nervous by the second, new problems came to mind. What on earth was she going to do about dressing, about using the bathroom? But for every problem there had to be a solution. Morgan forced herself to think calmly. She would steal out of the bunkhouse very early in the morning, she decided, long before the men opened their eyes. The cookhouse had a bathroom. And tomorrow she would find some other place to sleep.

It was growing dark outside when the cowboys began to arrive back at the bunkhouse. Morgan lay quite still, the thin grey blanket pulled up to her chin and her breathing as shallow as she could make it—hoping against hope that no one would see her. And, in fact, no one did. They didn’t even come near her bed.

Most of the men gathered around the television, where a baseball game was in progress. Baseball was evidently a favourite game at the ranch, and much debated. There were loud cheers when certain players did well and boos when they performed badly.

In her dark corner Morgan began to relax just a little. Tomorrow she would make other sleeping arrangements. For tonight, despite her doubts, this was going to be OK.

It was quite dark outside when a new voice was heard in the bunkhouse. Around the television the excited comments stilled.

‘Morgan’s missing,’ Jason was saying. ‘The new cook. Anyone see her?’