The sound of horses in the ranch yard alerted her to the fact that the men were returning from their afternoon's work. Felicity put a hand over her quivering stomach. Earlier that day, as soon as Mr. Logan had left her room, in fact, Candace had come in to see what Mr. Logan had brought her. Felicity had overheard the two of them exchanging words outside her door, and she discerned that Candace had been scolding Mr. Logan. Felicity was somewhat mollified that someone had taken him to task for entering her bedroom unchaperoned.
Candace had admired her new finery and gotten her up out of bed and dressed in short order, clucking over her like a mother hen. For a reason Felicity did not understand, Candace seemed even more pleased about Mr. Logan's gifts than Felicity was.
"Can you really cook?" Candace had asked at one point.
"A little," Felicity admitted, reluctant to brag.
Candace sniffed impatiently. "Well, can you or can't you?" she demanded.
"Yes, I can," Felicity said defensively.
Candace raised her eyebrows skeptically, forcing Felicity into an explanation. "Whenever we'd stop at a farm or a ranch, I'd help out in the kitchen. Ladies always want to show off, so they'd tell me their secrets and teach me how to make their favorite dishes."
Candace considered this information. "How are you with pies?" she inquired, the light of challenge glittering in her black eyes.
Felicity rose to the challenge. "My pie crust is so light, you'll have to hold it down with a weighted sheet," she replied with an impish grin.
Candace laughed at that. "Well now, how'd you like to prove that?"
Felicity stared at her in surprise. "You mean you want me to cook? Here?"
Candace looked down her long, straight nose at the girl. "You want to start earning your keep around here, don't you?"
Of course! Why hadn't she thought of it herself? "Yes, I do. I'd gladly make some pies for the men," she said, experiencing a curious relief that Candace had provided this opportunity for her.
Felicity had been wary of approaching the ranch cook with the purpose of invading his kitchen, but Candace had no such qualms. The two women shooed him away and got down to work immediately. They had the entire afternoon in which to work, and by the end of it, twelve pies sat cooling on the kitchen table.
Now the moment of truth had arrived, and Felicity went to the window to listen for the men's approach. Through the glass she could hear them talking.
"What's that smell?" somebody asked.
"It's probably you, Gus. I told you, you gotta take a bath every month."
"Hey, I smell it, too!" a third voice exclaimed. "It smells like…"
"Apple pie!" the first voice announced.
"Apple pie!" a chorus of voices echoed in wonder.
"Hurry up, there."
"Yeah, hurry up."
Felicity could imagine them jostling each other for a turn at the pump in an effort to be the first to the table, and she smiled slightly, almost forgetting her own fears. In a few minutes she heard booted feet clomping swiftly into the house and on into the kitchen, and then silence.
Taking a deep breath to calm the butterflies that were fighting to the death inside her stomach, she moved cautiously to the bedroom door. Why had she ever allowed Candace to talk her into joining the men at their evening meal? The black woman had managed to make her feel guilty and selfish and ungrateful for wanting to take her meals in her room. At last Felicity had agreed to eat at the table this evening. Funny, it no longer seemed like such a good idea. She supposed her father's training was too deeply ingrained. She simply did not like drawing attention to herself.
She listened for another moment to be certain that the men had all gone on into the dining room, and then she opened the door a crack. Yes, the parlor was empty. Feeling moderately relieved, she opened the door wider and stepped through. Still no one in sight. So far so good. She would slip unobtrusively into the dining room, take her place at the table, and with any luck at all, no one would even notice her. In all her life, scarcely anyone had ever noticed her, so this should be no different.
Following the sound of voices and the clinking of eating utensils, Felicity crept silently toward the dining room doorway.
"There she is!" someone said the instant she stepped into view.
Felicity jumped at the announcement and almost looked over her shoulder to see who might have come in behind her. In another second she knew that no one was behind her. She was the one they were all staring at. And they were coming toward her, too, she realized with alarm. Chairs scraped across the plank floor as seven men rose from the table and closed in on her.
Their faces blurred as she desperately searched the group for someone she knew. Where was Cody? Or Mr. Logan? What were they going to do to her? Should she run?
But they didn't do anything. They just stood there grouped about her, gaping. Then one of them cleared his throat importantly, making her jump, and Felicity looked up into a blessedly familiar face.
"How are you feeling, miss?" Cody Wells asked timidly.
Felicity stared at his reddening face in surprise. Why, he was as nervous as she! And so were the others, judging from the way they were hanging back and shuffling their feet and hardly daring to meet her gaze. Her momentary panic subsided a bit, and she looked up at Cody again.
"I'm fine, Cody," she said softly. "And I don't think I ever thanked you for finding me," she added politely. To her horror, the other men began to make taunting, moaning sounds, and she felt herself begin to blush.
"Ain't you gonna introduce us, Cody?" one of them inquired.
Cody rolled his eyes heavenward for a moment. "I reckon I have to," he allowed. "Miss…" he began, but then stopped and frowned. "What's your last name?"
Felicity blinked up at him. "Storm," she replied, beginning to feel less intimidated with every passing minute. Her fears seemed foolish in the face of such good-natured and courteous behavior.
"Miss Storm, these here are the men of the Rocking L." He called their names, but the names, like the faces, were just one big blur to Felicity, who was trying not to let on how uncomfortable she felt with seven pairs of eyes riveted on her. She couldn't help thinking how her father would have scolded her for putting herself forward in such a way. He had never liked for anyone to notice her at all and had always insisted that she keep her golden curls tightly braided and covered with a bonnet so no one would. The thought of her father reminded her of so many other unpleasant things that she could only nod silently in response to the introductions.
"What's going on here?" Josh Logan demanded as he came into the dining room. "Felicity?" he asked, frowning at the scene before him.
The men backed away guiltily, although none of them could have said at the moment what they had been doing to feel guilty for. They only knew that when Mr. Logan got that look in his eye, a smart man gave him a wide berth.
Josh's frown deepened. "What's going on here?" he demanded again.
Felicity looked to Cody, who she expected would offer an explanation, but Cody was busy examining the toes of his boots. Her glance darted back to Mr. Logan, who was watching her as if he thought she was responsible for whatever it was that had so displeased him. A little affronted, she managed to keep it from her voice. "Cody was introducing me to the other men," she explained.
"How nice," Josh said, but he obviously didn't think it was nice at all. He waited, but nobody said anything else. Finally he remarked, "I reckon the food will be getting cold."