Chapter Seven

 

He wondered if she was naked. He hated himself for even thinking it.

Tyler stood at one of the bunkhouse windows looking out. He stood there smoking a cigarette and wishing he wasn't doing either because they were both addictions he didn't need. Late one night when he couldn't sleep he'd wandered from his set of rooms and ended up downstairs. During his nocturnal search for sanity, he glanced out a window and discovered another way for Letitia to unknowingly destroy his peace of mind. All he had to do was stand at that particular window and he had a clear view of the master bedroom in the main house. Actually, it was the master-bedroom window he had a clear view of. A shade and lace curtains kept him from seeing the room's occupant. He tried to tell himself that for his mental health he was better off not seeing anything. So why was he standing up here looking over there? Again.

I'I thought you quit those."

"I thought I did too." Tyler didn't turn around.

"What are you doing up?"

J. T. ambled over beside him. "The older you get the less sleep you need. 'Sides, Ray is snorin' up a storm. How the others can sleep with all that noise, I don't know. He sounds like one of those damn steam engines. The night he starts whistling I'm gonna shoot him." He followed the direction of Tyler's gaze. "Son, you've got it bad. Why don't you just crawl to her window and let out a good howl? Maybe she'll take pity on you and let you come inside."

The mental picture had great possibilities. Tyler's chuckle was that of a man in pain. "J.T., you're a sick old man."

"More like a smart one. The boys are thinkin' they may as well forget drawing up a new pool. She's been here for a little over a week and hasn't said one word about leaving. She's even workin' on gettin' the house clean. I heard she's talkin' about paintin' it too. You don't do that unless you intend to stay."

Tyler Sighed as he took another drag on his cigarette. The acrid smoke burned his lungs and left a horrible taste in his mouth, hut he didn't care. He welcomed the discomfort because it kept his mind off the discomfort in his jeans. He wished he could blame her for all of it.

"You'd think she would have finally realized she doesn't belong here," he mumbled.

"And she wants to put in a flower garden."

Tyler was determined to remain silent on that point. It didn't last long. "Crazy woman thinking she can do all that on next to nothing," he muttered.

J.T. watched him closely. "She figures it won't be all that difficult."

"She sometimes acts like she doesn't have a brain in her head," he gritted walking across the room to the pool table. He stubbed out his cigarette with a vicious twist in the ashtray on the edge of the pool table. "She prances around here with that sassy tail of hers twitching in the air thinkin' we're all going to do her bidding like a bunch of damn cattle. And you know what, we do! This should have been mine, not hers! What she knows about ranching wouldn't even fill up a thimble."

"Now, Tyler, you know very well she isn't that way," the older man gently chided. "She's never tried to push her ideas on you. And she's left you to do your job."

"Thank God," he growled. "Still, it shouldn't be my job. It should be my future." He could feel the acid burning in his gut.

"For some reason it wasn't meant to be, Tyler," J.T. said gently. "You have to let it go."

His jaw tightened. "No, I don't. All she has to do is realize she doesn't belong here and be willing to sell me the ranch at a fair price. She's broke, you'd think she'd want the money for the life she's used to."

J. T. hid his grin. He wondered if Tyler realized how frustrated he was. While Tyler's indignation was natural, there was more to it than just anger over losing his shot at the ranch. J. T would bet he was also angry because the usurper was not only a woman, but a beautiful one who was tying Tyler up in knots. He wondered what would happen if he stirred up a little turmoil. "There's some who get hitched to get a piece of land.

Tyler's gaze sliced through him like a hot knife. "I suggest you lose that idea right away," he said with deadly calm.

"Yeah, well, it isn't somethin' you should ignore. Look on the bright side. She's a beauty. Sure wouldn't be all that difficult to climb into bed with her, would it?" J. T. smothered a fake yawn. "Guess I'll get back to bed before it's time to get up. Too bad you gave up your house."

As foreman, Tyler had the use of a small house but had given it up when one of the hands recently got married. He'd moved back into the bunkhouse until they had enough free time to build a new house.

Tyler eyed him suspiciously. Why was the man putting all these ideas in his head? "Why is it too bad?"

J.T.'s grin was pure lechery. "It would have been easier to sneak out of, that's why. Here, you've got too many guys to sneak past. 'Course, you could consider it a challenge if you sneak out and back in without anyone catching you."

His jaw tightened. "I have no reason to sneak past anyone."

The older man ignored his warning tone. "Still, you never know when you might have a reason, what with the way a man's blood can heat up and all. Well, good night." He slowly made his way up the stairs. He decided he'd left Tyler more than enough to chew on.

Tyler spun on his heel until he faced the infamous window again. He swore under his breath and then followed J. T. back upstairs. But there was no sleep for him for the rest of the night. As far as he was concerned, that was all right. Not sleeping meant he didn't dream about her. And the dreams he wove in his mind were becoming just as dangerous to his well-being as every sight of her in the strong light of day.

 

JUST AS TYLER WAS ABOUT to mount his horse, a dark blue truck pulled to a stop in front of the barn.

"Hey, Tyler, got some packages for your boss." A stocky silver-haired man called out as he stepped out of the truck cab.

Tyler walked over and glanced in the back of the truck where large boxes filled the truck's bed. "Which box is hers?"

He chuckled. "All of them. Farley asked if I'd bring them out."

Tyler called over several of the men and in no time, the truck was emptied.

"When you get mail, countess, you get mail," Tyler said wryly when Letitia walked outside to see what the commotion was. "Letitia DeMarco, Wyatt Bums. He owns the next ranch over."

Letitia smiled and offered her hand. Wyatt gulped and rapidly wiped his hand on his jeans before accepting hers.

"Pleased, ma'am," he muttered.

"Thank you for being so kind to drop the boxes off," she said. "My brother said he was sending out a few things. I had no idea he'd go this far." She inspected the boxes with the eagerness of a little girl. "Can we take them inside?"

"You're the boss."

Letitia turned to Wyatt. "Would you like to come in for some coffee, Mr. Burns? It's the least I can do as a thank-you for your dropping these off."

"No, thank you." He bobbed his head in a shy manner. "Got a lot of work to do. It's a pleasure to meet you." He almost tripped getting back into his truck.

Letitia turned her attention to the many boxes.

"I guess you'll want the ones marked TIV and VCR to go into the living room," Tyler commented, after directing the men. He turned around to pick up one box and grunted with effort. "Jeez, what the hell's in here?"

She glanced at the side. "It's marked books."

"It must be this year's encyclopedia," he muttered, calling one of the men over to help him.

She shrugged. "I have no idea what the others are.

When I talked to Jack a few days ago, he only said he'd sent out some things I requested along with some surprises, but I couldn't imagine it would be all this," she murmured, following him inside. She deliberately hung back a few paces so she could admire the shifting muscles in Tyler's back as he helped carry in the box holding a television set. There was something about the way that man walked that stirred things up inside her!

In the end, they piled all the boxes in the living room where Letitia could easily sort everything out. While she unpacked boxes and marveled over the contents, Tyler and one of the other men set up the television set and hooked up the video tape recorder with a minimum of fuss and cussing. Letitia laughed softly as she listened to the two men amiably argue how it should be done. When she found an envelope with her name scrawled across the front, she couldn't resist opening it right away.

"Pretty fancy equipment," he commented, playing with the TV remote control. “Thing is, TV reception is pretty lousy out here. You'll be lucky if you get anything more than a lot of static."

Letitia was engrossed in reading an enclosed letter from her brother. "He says a satellite dish will be delivered in another week or so," she said in dismay. "I didn't ask for all this."

"Then you have a pretty generous brother." Tyler set down the remote control. "Anything more you need lifted?"

She shook her head. "No, everything else is very light, but thank you."

 

He looked at her, wondering how she could always appear so fresh. And how a woman wearing navy walking shorts and a fuschia top that heightened her light tan could look so sexy. Along with another damn pair of those little ballet slippers! He glared at the cat who strolled by wearing a collar in the same fuschia color.

"Letitia," he said huskily without even being aware he'd said her name.

She looked up, silently questioning him. He could only study her eyes, her flushed cheeks and mouth bare of lipstick. She wore little makeup and didn't seem to mind that people saw her without her mascara and lipstick on. But then, he considered her beautiful even without all the paint.

He shook his head. "Nothing." He grabbed his hat off one of the pegs by the door and walked outside.

Letitia hurried to the window where she could watch him walk back to the barn. "What was he going to say?" she mused. "And if he said something I wanted to hear, what would I have said back?"

She returned to her task of emptying the boxes, but some of the joy in unwrapping them had faded. She opened a note from her sister-in-law.

 

I can only assume you don't have enough casual clothing so I thought I'd include a few things I'm sure you can use.

 

Love,

Holly

 

Letitia held up pairs of jeans, cotton shirts with matching bandanas, several pair of running shoes and even several western-styled full skirts and tops. "Holly, you are a dear," she murmured with soft laughter as she held up matching cat collars and a box filled with several bottles of sun block. "You do think of everything."

"What do you intend to do with all that?" Myrna stood in the living-room doorway.

"These are going to help me learn about the western way of life." Letitia pointed at the television set and then at a box filled with books and video tapes.

Myrna gave in to her curiosity and rummaged through the books and tapes. "You think these will help?" Her voice was muffled as she studied the back cover of one video tape.

"They'll at least give me an idea," Letitia explained.

The older woman kept her features carefully masked. "I'll have to make sure to get a front seat to this turn of events," she muttered, walking out of the room. "Hell, maybe I'll even sell tickets:'

"What's wrong?" Letitia called after her.

"You still want to learn to cook?"

Letitia's face lit up. She'd been begging Myrna for the past week to teach her culinary basics and the cook kept putting her off.

She jumped to her feet. "Of course I do!"

"Then be in the kitchen in a half hour dressed grubby. Cooking can get as dirty as working outside.”

"I can't imagine that," Letitia commented, gathering up a pile of clothing and carrying it into her room. "Cooking is just adding things to a pan and making sure it doesn't bum, that's all. No big deal."

 

"I THOUGHT COOKING was just putting things in a pan and making sure it didn't bum." Letitia wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. She had no idea she left a streak of flour behind. "Why am I doing this?"

Myrna looked over Letitia's shoulder. "Before you can advance to cooking, you need to learn the basics."

"Knead is most definitely the word." She grimaced at the dough collecting under her nails. "Is there a particular reason why you chose today to bake bread? And why you bestowed this honor on me?"

She smiled benevolently. "It's nice to have help with this chore. It's time-consuming and besides, kneading bread dough is an art that should be learned early."

"I guess I'm more entertaining than the radio."

Letitia paused as Myrna sprinkled a bit more flour over the dough.

"Use a lighter touch," she advised, moving off. She glanced at the wall clock. "What about meals?"

"I always keep plenty of stews and casseroles in the freezer that just need heating for days like this," she explained, gesturing toward two large pots simmering on the stove. She proceeded to show Letitia how to divide the dough and shape it into loaves for baking. The moment the pans were placed in the oven, Letitia collapsed in a chair and drank a glass of water without pausing for a breath.

"I don't know how you do this day after day," she gasped, once she refilled her glass and sipped it more slowly.

"If I'm lucky, I only need to bake bread once a week." Myrna checked the pots and stirred the contents.

"Going to the store and buying it is much easier." "But not as enjoyable nor as cheap."

Letitia lifted her arms and rotated her shoulders. She winced as sore muscles made themselves known. "You're used to this, I'm not."

Myrna's chuckle had Letitia grimacing. "You wanted to learn how to cook. You have to start with the basics."

"Cook, yes. Build up my arm muscles, no." She crooked one arm behind her head and slipped the other one behind her back, using the lower hand to pull the upper one down in hopes of easing her tight muscles.

"I'll show you how to cut up vegetables for a salad next."

"This sounds more like servitude than a cooking class."

"You have to start out somewhere."

"I think I'd rather muck out stalls."

"Good, you can start tomorrow." Tyler walked into the kitchen.

"Oh joy, I am so fortunate." She tilted her head back so she could see him and stuck her tongue out.

"Be careful with that cute pink tongue, countess." His breath was warm in her ear as his fingers pressed into her shoulders. “Or I might decide to show you what constructive things you can do with it”

The kitchen was hot enough with the ovens blasting away, but Letitia swore the room temperature soared another fifty degrees after Tyler's provocative remark sent zingers straight through her nervous system.

"You appear to have your mind on only one thing," she said softly, resisting the urge to fan her overheated face.

"It might have something to do with the source."

Letitia felt his hands leave her shoulders and the heat of his body disappear from her back when Tyler moved off to say something to Myrna. His words to the cook were nothing more than white noise in her ears as she stared at his back. A back covered in blue chambray that had a large patch of sweat in the middle. A back that was almost as good as the front. As if sensing her eyes on him, he turned his head and grinned. Then, as if divining her thoughts wasn't bad enough, he winked. It took a lot of effort on her part, but she made sure not to stick her tongue out again.

"Here, you can peel these." Myrna set vegetables on the counter by the sink.

Letitia flashed Tyler an audacious smile as she walked toward the sink with a hip-swinging walk she hoped raised his blood pressure good and high.

"Now what?" Myrna muttered as the telephone rang. She wiped her hands on her apron and reached for the receiver.

"Betty, how are you? Yes, I have that recipe right here. No, you use two cups sugar, not one and a half." She carried the phone over to the shelves holding her cookbooks and plucked one down, rapidly thumbing through the pages.

Letitia looked over and made sure Myrna's back was turned before silently gaining Tyler's attention. He grinned and leaned back against the counter with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He cocked an eyebrow, sending her a silent dare.

Go ahead, countess, give it your best shot.

Letitia used the smile that once charmed Omar Sharif at a garden party. She half turned and picked up a carrot from the bunch lying on the counter, slowly running her fingers down the orange vegetable. Tyler straightened up, his hands hanging at his sides. She lazily ran her tongue over her upper lip then across her lower one. His hot gaze was instantly glued to her mouth. Half turning away, she ran warm water over the carrot, brushing the excess droplets off with her fingertips. Tyler's features tightened with reaction. He lifted the glass he'd filled with water to his mouth and slowly drank the liquid. He didn't take his eyes off her once.

Letitia turned off the water and while making sure Tyler's gaze was fastened on that hand, she stealthily picked up the vegetable peeler with the other. After ensuring he was focused on what she was doing, she dug the peeler deep into the tip of the carrot and sliced upward with the skillful precision of a surgeon.

Tyler immediately choked, spewing water everywhere.

"What happened with you?" Myrna had hung up the phone and turned when Tyler began choking.

"Nothing," he wheezed, blindly setting the glass on the counter. It was pure luck he accomplished it. "I guess it went down the wrong way."

"You have to be careful with things like that," Letitia pointed out with ultra-feminine innocence as she picked up another carrot. "You could seriously hurt yourself."

He stared at her as if wondering whether to kill her fast or draw the torture out. And she stared right back, sending the tension level skyrocketing.

"Tyler?" Letitia was the first one to break the charged silence.

He continued just looking at her.

She held up one hand holding the peeled carrot, although it looked like a shiny red apple to him. The apple of temptation. "Would you like a carrot?"

He didn't bother answering as he turned and walked out the door.

"Now, don't that beat all?" Myrna frowned at the foreman's retreating figure. "Wonder what got into him? And turning down a carrot. He used to eat them the way some eat potato chips. For a while, the men called him Bugs Bunny."

Letitia shrugged as she braced her hip against the counter edge. She bit into the carrot, trying to ignore the stampeding horses in her chest. "Beats me. Men can act so strange at times, can't they?"