"West Fork doesn’t have any bright lights worth seeing."
"You should have hung around the OK Corral a little longer," Luke said sardonically.
Carla’s temper frayed. She hated being reminded of how many times she had made a fool of herself around Luke.
"Did it ever occur to you it might have been the MacKenzie men rather than the Rocking M’s isolation, that drove their wives into town?" Carla asked in a sugary voice.
"Don’t bet on it. None of the MacKenzie men ever got any complaints in bed. It was being alone in the daytime that got to the women."
Carla set her jaw so hard her teeth ached. The thought of Luke in bed literally took away her breath. Part of it was a virgin’s fear of the unknown – but most of her breathlessness came from a very female curiosity about what it would be like to be Luke’s lover, to feel his big body moving against hers, to hear his breath quicken at her touch and to taste again the warmth of his own breath.
"Which will it be?" he demanded. "The big house or the road?"
"The house."
No sooner were the words out of her mouth than Carla wondered if history were repeating itself and she was making a bad mistake because Luke’s presence always muddled what few wits she had.
Before Carla could take back her words, Luke brushed past her and began unloading the truck.
"You brought enough stuff for the summer," he said, surprised.
"Quelle shock," Carla muttered. "The bet was for the summer, wasn’t it?"
Luke gave her a sideways glance. "I said you could back out anytime. When I give my word, I keep it."
She took a deep breath and set fire to her last bridge to safety. "And I told you I wouldn’t back out as long as I’m treated like any other hand. My word means just as much to me as yours means to you."
He searched her eyes for a long moment before he nodded. "All right, schoolgirl. I’ll show you your room."
4
Luke set the last of Carla’s baggage just inside the door to the small upstairs suite that would be hers for the summer. Standing on tiptoe, staring over his back, Carla looked at the room and made a small sound of astonishment.
"What incredible furniture! Where did you get that headboard? And the dresser," she added, looking away from the queen-size bed. Without thinking, she crowded against Luke so that she could touch the satin surface of the wood. ‘The design is perfect, all curves, like running water or granite smoothed by rain. Where on earth did you find – "
"Leave your stuff for now," Luke said, all but pushing Carla out of the room and closing the door behind himself. The last thing he wanted to do was to talk about the furniture he had made three years ago in an effort to exorcise or appease the yearning within himself for the life and the girt he could not have. "I’ll show you the kitchen next, then I’ve got to check on one of the mares."
Carla started to point out that she had seen the kitchen before, then shut her mouth. She had demanded to be treated like any other employee, and that’s what Luke was doing. What she hadn’t realized was that he would treat her like a stranger as well, refusing to answer even such relatively impersonal questions as where he had found the beautiful bedroom set.
Without a word Carla followed Luke down the stairs. The muscular ease of his walk fascinated her. Her glance lingered on the width of his shoulders beneath his blue work shirt and the powerful lines of his back as it tapered to a worn, wide leather belt encircling a lean waist. His jeans were faded in patterns determined by sun and sweat rather than by commercial acid washes. His boots were scarred by stirrups, spurs and brush.
The stairs ended in a hall whose floor was covered by earth-colored, unglazed Mexican tiles. Mentally Carla noted that a lot of that earth color might come off with a mop and a bucket of soapy water. The kitchen floor was of the same unglazed tiles.
Make that several buckets of soapy water.
With an inaudible sigh Carla noted the abundant signs of months of indifferent house cleaning. Windows were streaked where they weren’t smeared. The counters, cupboards, drawers and appliances in the kitchen and adjoining laundry room had the dull shine of grease rather than the subtle shine of cleanliness.
Luke followed Carla’s glance to the far corner of the kitchen, where chunks of spring mud still clung to the baseboard even though spring had passed. Tomato sauce or gravy – or both – made an uneven pattern down the bank of drawers to the right of the sink. On the floor, distinct paths crisscrossed from the back door to the sink to the stove and into the big dining room.
"The last four cooks weren’t much on housekeeping," Luke muttered.
"Really? I thought it was just your wallpaper."
Luke glanced at the walls and grimaced. They were worse than the floor. He tried to remember die last time the walls had been scrubbed. He couldn’t.
"I'll have one of the men wash them down."
"Don’t bother, unless you plan to keep eating off them."
Unwillingly, Luke smiled. "It does look sort of like we’ve been serving dinner off the walls instead of the table, doesn’t it?"
"Mmm," was the most tactful thing Carla could think of to say. "Do you want a late or early dinner?"
"Six and six."
"What?"
"Breakfast at six and dinner at six. The men who need a cold lunch packed for them will tell you at dinner the night before. Otherwise just see that the bunkhouse kitchen stays stocked with snacks and sandwich stuff."
Luke ran a finger lightly over the huge, six-burner gas stove and came up with a greasy fingertip for his trouble. He muttered something and wiped his hand on his jeans.
"What?" asked Carla.
"I’ve been so busy working on the ranch that I didn’t realize the house had gone to hell."
"Nothing a little soap and water won’t cure," Carla said with determined cheerfulness.
Or dynamite, she added silently, looking around. When she looked up again, Luke was studying her.
"If any of the hands bother you, let me know," he said.
"I don’t mind them coming around and asking me to bake cookies for them," Carla answered, remembering other summers. "I could live without king snakes in the pantry, though."
Luke’s lips twitched as he remembered the incident when an ambitious king snake had followed mice into the pantry. The snake had set up housekeeping among the sacks of rice and flour. At least, that was what each and every hand had solemnly sworn when Luke had heard Carla’s scream and come running. He had caught the snake and taken it to the barn, where its predatory efforts would be more appreciated. Then he had begun questioning the hands very closely.
The shadow of a smile faded from Luke’s mouth.
"I wasn’t worried about that kind of snake. It’s the two-legged variety I had in mind. If one of my men makes you uncomfortable, let me know."
Carla looked perplexed. "I’ve never had any trouble with the hands before."
"The last time you spent a summer here, you looked more like a boy than a girl," Luke said bluntly. His gaze went from Carla’s gold-streaked chestnut hair to her slender feet and back up again, silently cataloguing each lush curve. "No such luck this time. My men aren’t blind. So if anyone crowds you, don’t try to take care of it yourself. Come running to me or Ten and come fast. Got that?"