Wyoming Tough - Diana Palmer [26]
CHAPTER FIVE
MORIE STARED UP AT HIM with wide eyes while she searched frantically for an answer that wouldn’t give her away.
“The, uh, the last place I worked,” she said. “The housekeeper knew all that stuff and the boss didn’t like to hire staff, so I had to learn how to do those things to help her out.”
“I see.”
“It’s just something I picked up, and, honestly, I’d rather feed calves than work in the kitchen,” she added. “Just in case you had in mind to ask me to work with Mavie instead of out here.”
“I didn’t have that in mind.”
She nodded. “Good.”
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “You don’t like Gelly.”
“It’s not my place to like or dislike one of your friends, boss,” she replied in a subdued tone. “I’m just the newest hire…that’s all I am.”
“Gelly feels threatened by you, God knows why,” he added unconsciously. She might have been pretty if she did something to her hair and wore makeup and nice clothing. But she was scruffy and not very attractive most of the time. It still shook him that he’d kissed her and enjoyed it so much. He tried not to revisit that episode.
“Not my problem,” she murmured, and hoped she didn’t sound insolent.
“She said that the judge seemed to know you.”
“Can’t imagine why,” she said, looking up innocently. “I sure don’t travel in those circles. He might have seen me in the kitchen where I used to work, though.”
“Where was that?” he asked. “The place you used to work?”
She stared at him blankly. She’d made up the name of the place, although she’d given the phone number of a friend’s housekeeper who’d promised to sound convincing if anybody checked her out.
“Well?” he persisted.
She was flushed and the soy calf formula was leaking out of the oversize bottle she was using to feed him. Just when it seemed as if she was going to blow her own cover, a sudden loud noise came from outside the barn. It was followed by a barrage of range language that was even worse than what Morie had heard come out of her father during roundup.
Mallory rushed out. Morie, curious, put the calf back in his stall, set the empty bottle on a nearby shelf and followed.
Cane was throwing things. A saddle was lying on the ground. In the distance, a horse was galloping away.
“Mud-brained, unshod son of a…!” he raged, until he spotted Morie and bit down hard on the last word.
“What in the world is the matter with you?” Mallory asked.
Cane glared at him. His thick, short black hair was in disorder all over his head. His dark brown eyes, large and cold, were glittery with bad temper. His sensuous mouth was pulled tight against his teeth.
“I was trying to put a saddle on Old Bill,” he muttered. “I thought I could manage him. I haven’t been on a horse since I came home. The damned outlaw knocked me down on the saddle and ran off.”
The empty sleeve, pinned at the elbow where his arm had been amputated, was poignant. Cane was ultrasensitive about his injury. He never spoke of the circumstances under which he’d lost part of his arm, or about his military service. He drank, a lot, and kept to himself. He was avoided by most of the men, especially when he was turning the air blue, like now.
Morie sighed and went to the barn. She brought out one of the other older saddle horses they kept for visitors. This one was quite gentle, like the one that had run away. She heard Mallory telling one of the men to go after it.
She picked up Cane’s saddle, ignoring his outraged, indignant look. She turned the horse and draped the saddle over his back, pulling up the cinch and fastening it deftly.
“Don’t fuss,” she told Cane when she handed him the bridle. “Everybody needs a little help now and then. It’s not demeaning to let someone do you a favor. Even the hired help.”
He glared down at her for a few seconds, during which she thought he was probably going to storm away or dress her down for her insolence.
But finally he just shook his head. “Okay. Thanks.”
“You’re