My Southern Bride (The Texas Two-Step Series, Book 4) (8 page)

She spun, but her shirt resisted, and after another twist of her body, she felt it give as Billy managed to tear a piece loose. "Don't eat my shirt!"

"Mehhhh," Billy complained, then chewed his bit of fabric.

"I really liked this shirt."

Billy didn't reply, but apparently he liked it, too, since he continued chewing.

She headed to the goat pen and, again, the gate was ajar.

Billy shot her that wicked grin once more.

"Is someone in this barn besides the two of us?" How else could the goat have escaped his pen again? "Hello?"

No answer.

The barn didn't have that feel of being occupied, but it wasn't a bad idea to check to make sure no one else was around. Maybe someone had come in to get out of the snow.

She spent the next few minutes looking in every obvious place where someone could hide, including the second-floor hayloft. No one.

She climbed down the rough wooden steps. "It's apparently just us two pranksters."

Billy followed her as she returned to the stalls.

"You're apparently a brainiac goat who can let himself out of his pen whenever he wants."

"Mehhhh."

"You may be smart, but you're not much of a conversationalist."

Chapter 10

By the time she'd finished Monty Joe's chores checklist, including scattering fresh straw in the stalls, Lori had worked up quite an appetite.

She and Billy headed back to the house together. Even with all the cold, she hadn't bothered to put her jacket back on. She was overheated and stiff from her exertions.

She opened the back door, stomped the worst of the snow and ice off her shoes, hung up her jacket and headed into the kitchen. She called out to Monty Joe, "We're back."

"We?" he asked.

"Billy came with me. He kept opening his pen and it didn't seem safe." She entered the den.

Monty Joe shot her a glance, then looked as if he was holding back laughter. "What happened to your shirt?"

Lori threw a hand up to her hair, and palmed bits of straw. "Oh, I must look awful."

"I like how you look."

Even though Monty Joe said the words, as any Texas gentleman should do, she didn't believe a word of it. "I'm going to cook us some breakfast and then I'll give you a status update on the barn."

"Sounds good. I'm starving."

"I'm more starving than you are."

"There's eggs in the refrigerator."

First things first. She needed coffee.

She found a percolator on the kitchen counter and a tin of coffee in the pantry, and went to work. Her nose twitched at the heavenly scent of brewing coffee.

She might not be much of a cook, but one thing she did know how to make was scrambled eggs. It didn't take long to put together a mixture of eggs, a dash of milk, some margarine and a big blob of grated cheese. She added some salt and pepper, then put the concoction in the microwave. And now that she knew how to operate it, it functioned perfectly.

She found bread in the pantry. She slid several slices onto a baking sheet, added dabs of margarine, and put the pan under the oven broiler to toast.

It didn't take long before everything was ready.

She dished up Monty Joe's plate, added dollops of margarine and jelly to a saucer, poured a cup of coffee and glass of orange juice, then put them all on a tray she found in the pantry.

The heavenly scent of the cheesy eggs sent a signal to her stomach while she scooped the rest of the scrambled eggs onto her own plate and topped it with a slice of toast.

Turning her attention back to Monty Joe's tray, she asked, "How do you like your coffee?"

"Black," he called back.

That made it easy. She picked up his tray from the counter and carried it into the family room. "Here you go."

"Smells great," he said, starting to rise from the sofa.

"Don't get up. Your ankle needs to stay raised." She placed the tray over his lap. "Dig in."

"Thanks. Did you get everything squared away at the barn?"

"Yes." She pulled his list from her pocket.

"Fed the horses?"

"Yes."

"Put them out to pasture?"

"Check."

"Mucked out the stalls?"

"Yes, and I laid fresh hay in them afterward." Her stomach growled, and she wanted to get back to the kitchen to eat her own breakfast. "I did everything on your list."

"I started a new one for you."

Oh, heavens. More work? She wanted to eat and take a shower, maybe even a nap. "A new list?"

Monty Joe didn't answer. He was distracted by something happening at his feet behind her.

Lori turned. There was Billy the Goat, nibbling on Monty Joe's sock on his good foot. She waved her hands. "Shoo, Billy."

His steely gaze met hers. "Did you feed him?"

Her thoughts went to her shirt. She sort of fed him. Guilt washed over her. Trying for a lighter tone, she asked, "Was it on your list?"

"No, but did it have to be? Surely common sense would dictate—"

"You're right. I should have thought of it. I'll do it right now."

She'd hoped he'd say it could wait until she ate. But he didn't.

Fair was fair. How could she eat knowing she'd skipped Billy? It sure explained why he'd eaten her shirt. "Let's get you some breakfast, Billy."

The animal followed her to the door.

As she left, she heard Monty Joe grumble, "True to form. Putting her own needs first."

Chapter 11

Once Monty Joe told Lori what Billy required, she had immediately gone out to the barn and fed him. Now she sat at the dining table, slowly eating her ice-cold breakfast, mired in self-recrimination. Of course she knew that goats need to be fed, that they couldn't survive on only shirttails and socks.

But that begged the question, what else had she forgotten? What else had she omitted doing? Especially when she was never that good at even taking care of her own needs?

And how on earth was she going to be able to take care of all the things that needed doing, all the animals that needed tending to, all the chores that must be completed, as well as an injured cowboy?

And apparently the injured cowboy didn't have much of a sense of humor when it came to his goat.

This is what came from her starting to like him. If he couldn't like her, at least she wanted his approval. Instead, she'd achieved the opposite.

There had been no need for him to lecture her about common sense. She had plenty. What she had been focused on, though, was his list. If it had been on his list, she would have done it. Not that he took any part of the blame.

She only wished she'd thought of it herself, list or no list.

Monty Joe apparently had more chores for her to do around the ranch, and she hoped it was a full and complete list this time.

She might not be able to keep ranch animals and a cantankerous cowboy alive on her own, but with his helpful and sometimes not so helpful suggestions, at least she'd have a good shot at succeeding.

With her stomach full, she could take a well-earned shower, then concentrate on her new roster of chores.

First she had to face the stupid cowboy and get his stupid list.

* * *

Monty Joe regretted the words he'd spat at Lori, but she didn't give him a chance to apologize when she came back from feeding Billy. She was right. Feeding the goat hadn't been on his list. He shouldn't expect her to know the ins and outs of running a working ranch when she'd never before been exposed to it.

When at last she peeked her head in from the kitchen entryway, her expression showed she expected him to jump down her throat again.

He hadn't been that awful. Hadn't raised his voice. But he'd sort of accused her of thinking only of herself and her own stomach. That hadn't been true then, and it wasn't true now.

"Lori, please come in and let me apologize."

As she approached, her weak smile showed her trepidation.

"I am sorry."

She nodded. "Thanks."

"You can't take care of all of us if you don't take care of yourself first."

"Not eating breakfast wouldn't have hurt me—"

He cut her off. "Yes, it would have. When I brought you to the ranch, you didn't sign up for any of this. The storm, the animals, me."

She gave him a wan smile but remained silent.

"I'm thankful you're here and willing. If you hadn't been here, I don't know what would be happening. How we'd survive. I'm grateful, is all."

"I'm sure you would manage."

"By crawling to the barn and back?"

The image brought a smile back to her face. Good.

"I think the problem is I'm not used to being cooped up like this. Maybe I should try going to the barn with you to let the horses back in."

"No way. If you fall and hurt your other leg, I won't be able to carry you back to the house."

He fought the crankiness that threatened to take over. It wasn't like him to be idle, and it didn't sit well. "I need something to do. I'm going stir crazy."

"What you need is a fresh ice pack and another aspirin. Once the swelling is down in your ankle, you might be able to move about more."

Monty Joe grinned. "I like it when you're nursing me."

"Don't try your wiles on me, cowboy. I've got your number." She gave him a saucy toss of her hair. "You think if you sweet talk me I'll be more likely to help you out to the barn."

"It was worth a shot."

Their eyes met while she studied him for a moment. Silence hung in the air, and he wondered what she hadn't said. Something was eating at her.

Well, to be honest, something was eating at him, too. A man could drown in the depths of her blue eyes, and those depths were a place he most definitely shouldn't want to go.

His mind shot back to everything they'd been through together in less than 24 hours. Most times he'd made her feel less than welcome. Other times he'd gone out of his way to be civil, like when he'd cooked her steak. She'd seen him in his element with the horses. But she'd also witnessed a man fallen, literally, and in need of her help.

And she'd seen him in his boxers.

When he'd fallen on the bedroom floor, he'd noted how her gaze had settled to his torso and her jaw had dropped. He hadn't planned it, but it had happened. But being a lady, she had helped him up.

In such a short time, they'd been through more than most couples who'd dated for months. More trying times and more moments of intimacy.

Considering how lonely he'd been, was it any wonder he found her company enticing? Was it any wonder he found the way her nose twitched when she was fighting anger to be endearing? Was it any wonder he'd spent the morning debating whether her lips would be as soft as a baby bunny or sweeter than a ripe nectarine?