At The Rancher's Bidding. Charlotte MaclayЧитать онлайн книгу.
“As you wish.” Leila tossed her head in much the same way the lead mare of a wild herd would, letting the world know that no stallion, however powerful and ambitious, could get her to do a thing she didn’t want to.
Cord decided that didn’t bode well for him or the Flying Ace Ranch.
ALLIE HAD PROCRASTINATED about as long as she could.
She’d hung her few garments in the minuscule closet, set out her soaps and lotions in the bathroom, which seemed even smaller. Fortunately, when she tested the bed, it appeared to have a firm mattress. She would sleep well. Assuming Cord did not send her packing when he discovered she’d never cooked a meal in her life.
Straightening her shoulders, she walked from her room to the kitchen, which was rather like entering a foreign land. There were so many cupboards, so many gleaming appliances, she didn’t know where to begin. Tentatively, she opened the cabinet beneath the sink and frowned at the plastic container half-full of garbage.
“Maria keeps most of the cleaning supplies on the service porch, if that’s what you’re looking for.”
Allie jumped at the sound of Brianna’s voice.
“No, I was just getting acquainted with where things are.”
“Before Maria left, she stocked the pantry and freezer with enough food to last us a month. I’m sure you’ll find everything you need.”
Assuming she could find the pantry. Leila smiled weakly. “Of course.”
“If you’ve got a minute, I need for you to fill out these papers for my payroll records.” She placed a form on the kitchen table along with a ballpoint pen. “You know how the government is about details.”
Happy to delay her cooking task, she sat at the table and bent over the form. “Leila Khautori,” she printed. For the address she wrote “Flying Ace.” She had no idea what the phone number might be, and she certainly had no references or prior employment experience. Finally she slid the form back to Brianna, who looked it over.
“Your social security number?” she asked.
“I do not know what that is.”
“You mean you don’t know your number, or you don’t have one?”
“I am sure I do not have one.”
Brianna’s smooth forehead puckered into a disapproving frown. “You’ve really got to have one or I can’t handle the taxes and withholding.” She thought a moment, visibly trying to think through the problem. “I guess the best thing is for you to apply for one at the Bridle post office, and we can wait till your number arrives to send in the paperwork.”
“That would be the same place I can get a green card?”
Wincing, Brianna shook her head and picked up the form Allie had just completed by forging Leila’s signature. “Why don’t I talk with Cord? I’m sure he has something in mind.”
Allie hoped so. “Tell me, Brianna, what kind of food does Cord like to eat?” Something simple, she prayed. Although given Allie’s culinary expertise, a bunch of grapes would be the only meal within her capabilities.
“He’s not real fussy. Like most bachelors, I suppose. Anything you’d like to fix I’m sure would be fine with him. He does like his coffee black and strong, though, particularly in the morning.”
Given the proper ingredients, that was one thing Allie felt she could handle. “And this pantry you speak of?”
Brianna’s gaze slid to a door next to the entrance to Allie’s bedroom. “That’s it. What you don’t find there will probably be in the fridge or in one of these cupboards. There’s also a freezer in the barn with a side of beef in it, but you probably won’t need that.”
Not likely. “You have been most helpful. Thank you.”
“Don’t plan anything fancy. We usually eat here in the kitchen when it’s just the two of us.”
“Eating with the servants. How democratic.”
Brianna gave her an odd look, nodded, then left the kitchen, shaking her head.
Allie exhaled the breath she’d been holding. Dinner was likely to be an interesting experience for all concerned.
In the pantry, Allie found shelves of canned goods—fruits, vegetables, soups and something called chili con carne—plus tins of flour and sugar. Surely somewhere within this bounty Allie could find something to warm for supper, if she could figure out how to operate the stove. To her relief, she also found a bin of fresh peaches and apricots, a few oranges and some apples.
A hurried visit to the double-door refrigerator produced several varieties of cheese. Crackers appeared as if by magic in one of the over-the-counter cupboards. The makings of a true feast.
Feeling more confident by the minute, she scurried around, locating silverware and plates, which she set on the table. No evening meal was complete without candles, which she found in a drawer. The simple white color and their stubby shape did not please her, but it was the best she could find.
Her search for wine failed to produce any, but perhaps Cord preferred coffee with his evening meal, as well as in the morning. The brand of coffee she found was unfamiliar to her, but remembering the local brew had seemed weak at the Desert Rose, she doubled the grounds. Fortunately, the women’s quarters at the palace had adopted the use of an electric coffeemaker, so she was familiar with that appliance.
Finally, drawing a deep breath, she was ready to announce dinner.
CORD HAD SHOWERED and his hair was still wet as he walked into the kitchen. He glanced at the table with its three place settings and the emergency candles sticking up from a grouping of coffee cups as though from a newfangled candelabra. Bowls of fruit and plates of cheese and crackers provided an interesting centerpiece. Sniffing the air, all he could detect was the rich aroma of coffee, and he wondered what the main course could be.
With a flourish, Leila gestured toward his place at the head of the table. She looked flushed, the hair at her temple dark with perspiration. “I hope you enjoy your meal.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” He pulled out his chair and sat down. “Besides the fruit and appetizers, what’s the main course?”
Brianna, looking fresh and well scrubbed, took her place at the opposite end of the table. She was wearing one of her inscrutable smiles, suggesting she knew something he didn’t.
“My master,” Leila said solemnly, seating herself between them. “Your sister assured me whatever I might prepare would please you. And in such hot weather, I know my appetite wanes. I’m sure yours does as well.”
He surveyed the table one more time. “This is it?”
“A meal fit for a sheikh, I assure you.”
Cord sputtered, not wanting to criticize too harshly. But he was a meat-and-potatoes man in all of the related variations. Fruit and cheese just didn’t cut it.
“You haven’t even peeled the oranges,” he muttered as his stomach growled. “How do you expect—”
“As you wish, master.” With a flick of her wrist, Allie picked up an orange and used her table knife to slice through the skin. She sectioned it, then separated the halves.
Juice squirted in a fountain as she divided the sections one by one. The air filled with the scent of citrus, conjuring images of a desert kingdom where thirst was quenched with fruit. She licked her thumb and forefinger, savoring the taste with deliberation, her tongue circling each finger in turn. All the while her dark, exotic eyes focused on Cord.
She pulled the next segment apart and Cord began to sweat.
There was something incredibly sexy about the juice running down her fingers, circling her wrist, and the way she tongued it off. Leisurely. As though she