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At this point it didn’t matter that she’d gotten her work done. She was gone and probably getting into all kinds of trouble. What was he going to tell Vern? He couldn’t exactly go inside and say he’d misplaced the man’s niece.
Mason tore his hat from his head and raked a shaky hand through his hair. One day. He’d been here one day and he’d lost her.
“What are you doing?”
He yelped, jumping away from where she had suddenly appeared at his side. Harley smirked, her eyes sweeping over him. “You look like you could use a drink. But I doubt they sell much in the form of hard liquor around here.”
In a flash, Mason’s hands grasped her upper arms and he gave her a little shake. “Where were you?” he demanded.
Her eyes widened. For a moment she remained frozen under his stare. Then she blinked and the spell was broken. She tore away from him. “I went next door to see if I could get some fresh apples, geez. What’s gotten into you?”
Mason shifted his attention to where the neighboring property was. In the distance, there were rows upon rows of trees. His eyes dipped down to her hands, where she held a grocery sack weighed down with pink and red apples. “You… went to find apples?” His eyes narrowed as he lifted them to meet hers.
Harley shifted, her green eyes flickering like the flames of a fire about to get out of control. “Yeah. Apples. There’s barely anything in that kitchen, and apparently, we’re tossing aside our modern ideals of feminism now that you expect me to cook for everyone.”
“This has nothing to do with feminism.”
She placed a hand on her hip, popping it out as she let her sharp eyes drill into him. “Oh yeah? Then why aren’t you cooking? Let me guess, your mother never bothered teaching her sons the importance of something like that.”
A fire matching the one in her eyes burst to life deep inside him. “Will you leave my mother out of this? I can cook.” Mason glowered at her, his voice calm but menacing. “I’m upset because you took off without leaving so much as a note. On top of that, I was gone for longer than expected. I didn’t know if you were messing with me or if you ran away… heck, something bad could have happened to you and I wouldn’t know where you were so I could help.” His voice had risen toward the end, his temper finally showing.
Throughout his whole life he could count on one hand how many times he’d lost his temper, and this was one of them. She’d triggered something inside him, and he didn’t know what to do about it.
There was a flicker of something behind those green eyes of hers. It was too short for him to evaluate, though. She was too good at hiding her feelings. Harley took a step toward him so suddenly he nearly stumbled backward.
“This is not a prison,” she said through gritted teeth. “I can accept that I’m here because of some bad choices I made, but that doesn’t mean you get to slide into the role of judge, jury, and executioner. May I remind you that I asked for you to accept this position because I thought it would be easier to work with you.”
He snorted. “I doubt that.”
She paused as if his retort had to sink in before she could continue. “Whatever you might think is going on, you’re wrong. If you weren’t so worried that I’d split, you might have noticed that I got a ton more done while you were gone. Maybe you should give me the benefit of the doubt before you go off treating me like a criminal.” Harley shoved the apples into his arms and stalked toward the house.
Mason turned in time to see the door slam shut.
Well, that didn’t go the way he’d wanted it to. He glanced down at the apples, feeling even more guilty than he probably should have. She was right about one thing, though. He shouldn’t have immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion. So far, she’d done what he’d asked of her. He didn’t have any reason not to believe she would follow the rules. Harley might have had a history of being manipulative, but he hadn’t actually seen it first-hand.
He heaved a sigh as he peered off toward the barn. They were ahead of where he’d wanted them to be. After he gave the horse a good brush-down, he’d have to make it up to her.
* * *
Mason placed the grocery bags on the kitchen table. The house was quiet—too quiet for his liking. It was a little later than he liked to eat lunch, but after brushing down the horse in the barn, he’d had to run home to deal with something Elijah needed. Then he’d run to the market to get some groceries for Harley to use the next time she felt inclined to cook.
Granted, he wasn’t sure if she’d ever pick up a spatula again after their little argument.
His ears strained for any indication that she was on the main level of the house. When he heard nothing, he started pulling the groceries from the bags and putting them away. He hadn’t been lying about his ability to cook. In fact, he was probably one of the better cooks in the house, but Charlie was the one who loved it more, so he didn’t get much practice.
It came with his joy of reading. If he hadn’t been born into this family of ranchers, he might have decided to go to culinary school.
Mason left out the ingredients for simple fried chicken. He’d opted to purchase the meat without bones so he could cut it into strips. The breading was a simple combination of egg coating and breadcrumbs with his preferred spices. In no time, the chicken was sizzling in the cast-iron skillet. After flipping over the chicken, he retrieved the book he’d been reading. Two paragraphs in, Harley’s voice tore away his concentration.
“What are you doing?”
For a second time that day, Mason nearly jumped out of his skin. He shot a disgruntled look in her direction, grateful she wasn’t immediately beside him like last time. “What does it look like?”
“It looks like you’re cooking.” Harley moved over to the kitchen table and peered inside the bag he’d left out. “It also appears as though you’ve gone shopping.” Her eyes darted to him, then back to the bag. For a moment it looked as though she was disappointed. Should he have offered to take her with him?
He shook off the thought. She’d been angry. The last thing either of them would have wanted at that time was to be stuck in the same vehicle for an errand. Mason turned back to the chicken and flipped the strips once more. “Yeah. You said there wasn’t much in the way of food. I thought I’d help out.” He half-expected her to tell him he should have asked for a list at the bare minimum. But she didn’t.
“Thank you.”
