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The door opened again and I hoped it was Ruth coming back out, but instead it was Buck, the other hand they’d hired a few days ago, stuffing a sandwich in his mouth with one hand and a beer in the other.
“Jesus, Buck,” Jeremiah said. “No drinking on the job.”
“I’m takin’ a lunch break,” Buck said. “So I’m not really on the job.”
Reece laughed. “He’s got a point.”
Jeremiah glared at his brother. “Don’t encourage him. You know Xavier never let us drink until after work.” Jeremiah walked over to Buck and pulled the beer out of his hand, then kept on going to the kitchen. “I’ll get you a cold coke instead.”
Buck shrugged. “Whatever you say, Boss.” He took another huge bite of his sandwich and looked between Reece and me. “What’d I miss?”
Reece shook his head. “Nothing.”
Jeremiah popped his head back out. “Don’t wander far, Buck. We’re gonna have to bring in all the cows from the far pastures to keep them closer to the main house.”
“Isn’t that the pasture we just rotated them out of?” Reece asked. “There’s not enough feed there for them.”
“Which is why we’ll have to go buy some hay bales and haul them out there later today. While Buck’s having lunch, you and Charlotte go check the heifers. Last thing we can afford is to take our eyes off the ladies.”
Reece looked surprised, but nodded. “Sure thing.”
His eyes came to me and then they dropped down to the ground. Almost like he was self-conscious or something.
My stomach did a weird swoopy thing, and then my breath hitched.
Alarm bells rang in my head at my body’s reaction to him.
But I just smiled and nodded at Jeremiah and started walking out to the field behind the barn. Anything to get out of sight when the sheriff showed up.
Poor Ruth. I knew all too well what it was like to have a horrible man try to sabotage what little happiness and future you were trying to carve out for yourself. I hoped they caught the bastard red-handed.
Chapter Eleven
I stared down at the crème anglaise in horror. It had split, and I didn’t have time to remake it.
Shit!
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.
I felt panicky sweat break out everywhere as I looked around. The fresh berries were in their pristine white bowls and a peek in the oven showed the filet mignon was cooked to perfection.
“It’ll be okay,” I whispered to myself. “It’ll be okay.” I grabbed the split crème and rushed to the sink, furiously trying to clean it and hide the evidence of my failure. It’d be fine. Fine. Fine fine fine. I’d been so perfect lately. I hadn’t given him any cause to—
But I was too late. Too late, I heard the sound of keys jingling in the front door.
I poured out the soapy water from the glass mixing dish, threw the dirty mixer beaters in the bowl, then in a rush, grabbed the oven mitts.
Swearing internally and hearing my own heartbeat rushing in my ears, I yanked the filet mignon out of the oven and shoved the still-dirty glass bowl in the stove instead to hide it.
I pushed the door shut and turned off the oven just in time, because the next second, Jeff came around the corner into the kitchen.
I grinned my brightest grin at him and greeted, “Hi honey, how was work?”
His eagle eyes took a survey of the kitchen and I was sweating bullets. Had I missed any evidence of the crème anglaise disaster? Would he discover my deception? Dear God, please. Not tonight, not tonight.
I prayed that the bright smile on my face didn’t waver.
Jeff narrowed his eyes at me. “That asshole Barry is trying to weasel in on my case, can you believe that?” He yanked at his tie to loosen it and came further into the kitchen, recounting the many ills of his day. The ways he was slighted, not appreciated enough, and how he could run the firm so much better than the senior partners.
