Page 15 of Too Hot To Handle

„I’ll do it, Jed,“ said Tory, reaching for the egg basket that the young cowboy was holding.

„You sure?“ he asked. „That one-eyed hen is as mean as a snake. She’s pecked Reever more than once.“

„And survived to lay another egg?“ Tory asked dryly. „You should cast that feathered phenomenon in bronze.“

Jed laughed and looked at Tory with lively blue eyes. During the three weeks that she had been on the ranch, the men had come to enjoy her quick tongue as much as her cooking. All except Reever, of course. Jed didn’t know what had happened in the kitchen that day when the hands had slunk out, leaving Tory to face the boss in the full flare of his devil temper. But Jed knew that since that day Tory hadn’t done anything in Reever’s presence except be cheerful, prompt with meals and a very hard worker.

„Sure I can’t talk you into a movie tonight?“ asked Jed wistfully. „That old kitchen will come apart if you clean it one more time.“

„I’m sure. But thanks, Jed,“ she said, winking at him. „It’s nice of you to ask a senior citizen.“

Jed winced and then laughed, shaking his head. „Hell, Tory, I’m only two years younger than you.“ He looked at her suddenly. „You got a guy back home?“

„No.“ Tory hesitated and then said simply, „I don’t want one here, either. I’ll go to a movie with a bunch of the hands, but not with just one. I’m a friend, not a date.“

Jed sighed. „Okay,“ he said finally, „if that’s the way you want it.“

„Thanks for understanding,“ she said, smiling in return.

„You watch out for that old hen,“ Jed repeated, walking off toward the corral. „She’s been a real terror lately.“

Tory walked out to the henhouse, swinging the basket from her arm, grateful that Jed had decided to look for romance elsewhere. With the Sundance hands, Tory had quickly established the easy, humorous camaraderie that had been the hallmark of her relationship with the various boys and men who had shared the swim club’s huge pools. The inevitable sexual innuendos of the cowhands were either ignored or topped with a deadpan innocence that had caused more than one man to choke into his napkin with disbelief and laughter. Invitations for dates were turned down quickly, firmly and with a pleasant smile. Tory didn’t want to be a challenge to the men. She wanted to be a sister.

Reever was the only exception to that rule. Tory wanted to be more to him, but she knew that it wasn’t going to happen. She tried to accept the bittersweetness of finding for the first time in her life a man she could have loved and then losing him before she ever had a chance, simply because she had been born in the wrong place and years too late to attract him. It wasn’t fair to lose that way, through circumstances that she had never controlled, but that kind of loss didn’t surprise her. Life simply wasn’t fair. She had learned that the hard way in the past, when judges were capricious or outright biased in choosing the best divers. Win some. Lose some. Some never had a chance. Maybe next time luck would break her way.

At least, that’s how she had always consoled herself in the past.

All around Tory sunshine poured down from a sky so blue that it almost hurt to look at it. There were a few fluffy clouds skidding about, chased by a wind that never touched the ground. The smell of new growth and damp earth swirled invisibly around Tory. She took a deep breath, savoring the sweetness of the air, feeling herself expand into the limitless land. She loved the early mornings when the world was fresh and the Sundance’s sweeping vistas brought a feeling of peace to her that she had never experienced before she had come to the ranch. Nerve endings and muscles that she hadn’t known were tight had slowly relaxed through the weeks, leaving her with a feeling of contentment that was like coming home.

Even Ethan Reever’s satanic temper and razor tongue hadn’t been able to spoil that.

After a lifetime of buying perfectly matched eggs in cold, sterile plastic cartons, Tory found the gathering of various sizes of eggs still warm from the nest to be satisfying in a way that she couldn’t describe. She couldn’t have enjoyed collecting the eggs more if they had been brightly colored and full of Easter chocolate.

„Morning, you ugly, one-eyed witch,“ said Tory cheerfully, pouring feed into the small troughs that ran along the exterior of the henhouse.

The hen in question gave Tory an evil look before going to work pecking at the feed through the fence. The other hens followed suit with only a small flurry of clucking and flapping. They were getting used to Tory as she slowly took over the lighter chores, freeing Jed for other work. When she was sure that the hens were busy, Tory climbed up the rickety old stepladder leaning against the coop’s outside wall. She opened the small door that would give her hands access to the raised nests and wedged her upper body into the henhouse while she patted through the warm straw in search of eggs. She couldn’t see much inside the dark coop, but she didn’t need to. Her fingers could find the eggs faster than her eyes.

As Tory pulled out eggs one by one and put them into the basket she had braced between her feet, she thought covetously of the small patch of land just in back of the house. Sometime in the past that patch had been a kitchen garden. She was sure of it. The suggestion of neat furrows was subtle yet distinct, and she had found the remains of a compost pile behind the chicken house. She had never had any time to garden as a child, yet the thought had always tempted her. Growing seeds into whole plants, eating the fruits or vegetables that unfurled so miraculously from such vulnerable beginnings, taking part herself in the advancing of the seasons across the earth – she wanted to do that. She wanted to touch the land and feel it warm and fertile beneath her hands.

Tory was so caught up in dreaming about a garden that she was slow to collect the eggs. The first warning she had that something was wrong was a sharp pain, as though someone had rammed a thick thorn into her finger. With a gasp she jerked her hand away, upsetting her precarious balance as she leaned into the coop. Her feet kicked over the basket of eggs as she tried to right herself without using her hands, which were shielding her face from the one-eyed hen.

Tory succeeded in protecting her eyes but only at the cost of getting her hands severely pecked. She tried to back out but couldn’t without uncovering her face. Frantically, blindly, she braced her weight on her elbows and tried to grab the mean hen. The wild battle stirred up the rest of the chickens. Some of them joined in the effort to repel the intruder. Others simply rushed around clucking and screeching as though a coyote had slipped into the coop and was eating them one by one.

Reever heard the noise, came out of the barn where he had been checking on a lame horse and saw Tory struggling half in and half out of the henhouse. With five running strides he was there. His big, leather-gloved hand shot over Tory’s shoulder, covering her face as he yanked her out of the one-eyed hen’s reach and slammed shut the high, narrow opening.

„You clumsy little city idiot,“ he said roughly, setting Tory on her feet amidst the broken eggs. „Look at that mess! I should take a whip to Jed for not warning you about that one-eyed hen!“

Tory tried not to flinch from the icy contempt in Reever’s eyes. „Jed warned me. I was just slow getting the eggs.“

She took a step backward, then another, retreating from Reever’s black presence. She had managed to get along with everyone at the ranch but its big, harsh-faced boss. No matter what she did, how well she did it or how careful she was to be cheerful and respectful of Reever at all times, he had ridden her mercilessly about her youth, her softness and her unfamiliarity with the ranch. She didn’t want to give him another verbal stick to beat her with. She had to reach the kitchen and get her hands cleaned up before he noticed them.

„It was my fault,“ Tory said quickly. „You’re right. I’m clumsy. I’m sorry. You can take the eggs out of my pay. I’d better get back to the kitchen,“ she continued as she turned, trying to use her body to shield her painful hands from Reever’s glance as she moved. „I don’t want the beans to burn.“

Tory knew the exact instant when Reever saw her fingers. His body went absolutely still, then his hands shot out and fastened around her wrists. The words he said made her wish that she could fall right through the ground. She tried not to show it. She had decided to treat Reever like the hardest coach she had ever had. No matter how sarcastic, how cutting, how cruel he was, she would be unfailingly agreeable, never argue and never, ever show how badly she was being cut up.

„Where the hell are the leather gloves I told you to get?“ finished Reever with a snarl.

Mentally Tory braced herself and said quietly, „I didn’t buy them.“