“This is it. You have a sundeck through the French doors. It’s not big but it’ll give you privacy. The other two bedrooms across the hall share a bathroom but you have a private one. Again, it’s not big—”
“Everything’s fine, really.”
He nodded, put the bags down at the end of the queen-sized bed and when he turned around, noticed the light circles under her eyes. His gut twisted. She looked ready to pass out on her feet.
Before he had a chance to think about her condition, she tossed her purse on the bed, put her hands on her slim hips and smiled. “Let’s get to that kitchen.”
Chapter Two
Emma surveyed the open, colorful kitchen after Caleb left. It had been decorated in a traditional country theme with rooster accessories, bright daffodil and cherry colored walls and vintage framed sepia prints depicting farm life. The style wasn’t something she’d have chosen but it fit with the old-fashioned theme of the rest of the house.
When she opened the oversized stainless steel fridge, she grimaced. Meat and more meat. He obviously hadn’t been shopping for foodstuff in a while. At least she had enough for the evening and for breakfast. She could go shopping tomorrow and hit up the local library in the process. More than groceries, she needed internet access and privacy.
Shaking her head, she pulled out two bags of yellow rice and a few cans of black beans. It was hard to believe Caleb hired her, especially since she’d behaved like a lunatic criminal. He’d almost told her to get lost. The look in his eyes had been unmistakable.
But he hadn’t. Maybe he really was desperate. What she was doing was stupid, she knew that but she needed to put her feet down and think about her next move. She couldn’t keep traveling north with no real plan and limited funds. Though she’d only been gone two days, she had no doubt Ricardo had already sent people after her.
Dangerous people. People who wouldn’t think twice about hurting anyone within a hundred mile radius if it meant silencing her forever.
She was scared but not as much as she should be. All she could seem to focus on was the very sexy man who’d hired her. The small, jagged, almost invisible scar along his left cheek gave Caleb a primitive, dark look. Like a warrior. A shiver ran down her spine when an image of his lips pressed against hers flashed in her mind. Her libido had been in hibernation for so many years it was embarrassing. Now was not the time for it to spring to life.
In her gut, she knew Caleb was a dangerous man but she also knew he wasn’t dangerous to her. When he’d insisted on carrying her bags, she’d simply known what kind of man he was. She was the hired help and he still treated her with respect.
For eight years, she’d been Ricardo’s supposed woman and not once had he ever done anything remotely like that. All she’d been was a piece of arm candy. “Look pretty and smile for the camera”, he’d told her more than once. And he’d usually been digging his brutal fingers into her arm when he said it.
Caleb was a far cry from Ricardo in looks. Ricardo had the pretty boy appearance down to an art. He was the typical rich playboy—dark hair, perfect olive skin, always well groomed, going so far as to get his eyebrows waxed bi-weekly. And that was usually followed by a manicure. Pathetic really. He was higher maintenance than any woman she knew.
There was nothing pretty about Caleb. No sir. He was all man, probably weighing in at around two hundred pounds of pure steel. His faded button-down flannel shirt had been rolled up at the sleeves to reveal tight, corded muscles, tanned skin and a couple of tattoos. Not exceptionally tall, maybe five feet eleven inches, but he still towered over her five feet two inches. Not so much with his height but his presence altogether. She couldn’t help but wonder if that dominating authority extended to the bedroom. Her nipples hardened at the thought.
As her treacherous mind fantasized about her new employer, she forced herself to focus on the task at hand. She pulled out a pot, filled it with water, a bit of olive oil and began her preparations. Cooking for sixteen was no different from cooking for two. Just add more ingredients. She wasn’t sure how anyone could be as terrible at cooking as Alice described but the white-haired woman didn’t give the impression of one who exaggerated often. Once the rice was simmering and the chicken baking, she rummaged through his pantry trying to find stuff for breakfast when her hand strayed across a large package of sponge cakes. Not exactly lady fingers but she’d make do if he had the rest of the basic ingredients for tiramisu. Her tiramisu was to die for and it just might convince him to keep her.
She turned the radio on low and let herself relax. Well, as much as she could under the circumstances. Growing up, the kitchen had been her haven but in recent years the only times she’d ever cooked for pleasure had been at her mother’s house during the holidays. Other than that, Ricardo’s chef had always been on hand, or she’d eaten out with friends.
Half an hour later, men trickled through the kitchen in groups of two and three.
Each one gave her a surprised look but took off their hats and mumbled a polite greeting. She grinned to herself. Maybe it wasn’t just Caleb, maybe grunting was how cowboys communicated.
The kitchen was attached to an informal dining room the men wandered into.
Luckily a wall separated her from their curious eyes. Today of all days she didn’t need extra scrutiny. Despite changing her platinum blonde hair back to her natural chestnut, her paranoia ran bone deep. If she wanted to keep this job, she needed to be invisible.
Even though she managed to grab all her jewelry during her escape, selling it was for emergencies only. The measly thousand dollars in her purse wouldn’t last long and she couldn’t afford to use her credit card.
She glanced at the rooster wall clock, then peeked around the corner. Fifteen in all, but Caleb was nowhere to be seen. One of the younger men noticed her and smiled, causing fourteen other pairs of eyes to turn in her direction. Emma stepped under the archway, tried to ignore the feeling of being on display and addressed the man closest to her. “I’m not sure how you gentleman normally do this but the food’s ready so should I just bring it in and place it on the table?” At once, four men stood and shook their heads. The one she addressed, a young man with sandy blond hair probably no older than eighteen or nineteen also stood and smiled sheepishly, his face lighting up like Rudolph’s nose. “No ma’am, we’ll carry everything in.”
Since she’d already placed a large bowl of Caesar salad on each end of the long, wooden rectangular table, they carried the two serving dishes of baked chicken and three bowls of rice and beans out for her. Still no sign of Caleb.
“Should someone maybe tell Caleb that dinner is ready?” Before anyone could answer, a deep voice from behind startled her. “No need.” Still standing under the large archway, she pivoted on her heels and sucked in a breath. Gone was the rough looking Marlborough man. Clean shaven and free of dirt, Caleb looked good enough to eat. A navy blue polo t-shirt stretched across his broad, muscular chest and his dark jeans showcased equally muscular legs. That primitive look in his piercing green eyes wasn’t gone and something told her it might never go away.
She half motioned with her hand to the dining room where the men had already started scooping large portions of everything onto their plates. “Everything’s on the table. You might want to get some before it’s gone.”
“Aren’t you going to join us?” He still hadn’t made a move to join the men.
She shook her head and ignored the foreign feminine flutter in her stomach. “No, I’m still working on dessert and I’m getting a couple of quiches ready for tomorrow.”
“Quiche?” The blank look on his rugged face made her smile. His dark brow furrowed together and for a moment, she glimpsed a softer side of Caleb. He reminded her of a confused child trying to figure out his trigonometry homework.
“Trust me, your men will like it and so will you.” She smothered a grin and hurried past him back into the bright kitchen, ignoring the jolt of awareness that surged through her when her hip brushed his. She really didn’t need to work on dessert. The tiramisu was in the refrigerator and putting the sausage and cheese quiche together was simple.
She’d be done before they finished eating but she didn’t want to risk having to answer any questions or being recognized. She hadn’t exactly worked out a cover story yet and was too tired to think on her feet.
And if she was really honest, she didn’t want to dine with Caleb. Just standing near him did funny things to her stomach. Enduring an entire meal was too much for her fuzzy brain.
Appreciative grunts and not much conversation greeted her ears, so she pulled out a cookbook and browsed through it. If they were satisfied with a meal that simple, they were in for a surprise. About thirty minutes later, a man in his late forties whom she guessed to be Native American, walked in carrying an empty plate. “What would you like me to do with this, ma’am?”
What was with everyone calling her “ma’am”? She was starting to get a complex.
She held out a hand and took the plate with a smile. “I’ll take care of this and you don’t have to call me ma’am. Emma is fine.”
Before he could protest, and she knew he was about to because he had the same look in his eyes Caleb had when he’d insisted on carrying her bags, she continued. “Did they send you in here?”
His face slightly reddened and he nodded. “We used to leave our plates for Rachel but none of the guys wanted to insult you.”
She smiled. They were all so polite. “Is everyone else about through?” He nodded. “Yes ma’am.”
She smothered a sigh. Maybe calling her ma’am was a southern thing. She’d grown up in Miami and while it was technically one of the southernmost parts of the United States, it wasn’t exactly the Deep South.
“Okay, well if you’ll help me gather up the rest of the plates, I’ll bring out the dessert. Do you think everyone will have room?” His weathered face split into a wide grin. “Oh yeah.”