Page 15 of Some Cowgirls are Worth Protecting

She looked him up and down, then wrinkled her nose. “You’re going to have to shower before you get to sit down for supper. Are you sure you were only out there for five days?”

He rolled his eyes as he pulled off his work gloves. “Funny.”

Rachel held up a hand. “I mean it. You can’t come in here unless you agree to the rules. You’re going to leave your muddy boots outside, and you’re going to shower before supper.”

Hudson scowled. “Who are you to make the rules?”

“I’m the only one who gets to decide if you stay or go. I’m more than happy to wander around to the other ranches and see if any of the other men out there are interested in helping me out.”

His scowl deepened. “Fine. I’ll leave my boots out here.” He tugged one off, then the other. “And I’ll take a shower. But that’s it. I’m practically a volunteer. You can’t boss me around like that.”

She beamed at him. “Great. I’m glad we’re on the same page. There’s soap and shampoo in the bathroom right next to the room you’ll be staying in. It’s up the stairs and to the left. My room is down here, so there are no concerns about staying separate.”

He rolled his eyes. “What would I have done without your generosity?”

“My parents raised me to be a perfect hostess, thank you very much. Let me know if there’s anything else you need, and I’ll get the food warming.”

Spices like pepper and garlic wafted toward him as he stepped inside the house. It looked like it had been cleaned recently and new furniture had been brought in—because he knew that Terry Moore would have never owned nice stuff like what Rachel had in the living room.

The décor was simple and modern. If it weren’t for some of the dated wallpaper choices, this place might have made it into a magazine. Whoever Rachel’s boss hired to decorate the place had good taste.

Hudson found the stairs without issue. He took a hot shower—something he didn’t realize he needed so badly. And that was when he realized he’d left his clean clothes in the truck. He was stuck in the bathroom with nothing to wear.

Oh, shoot!

Hudson wrapped the towel around him and opened the door, only to find a pile of folded clothes at his feet. They weren’t his clothes. But when he lifted them up, he found they very well could have been.

A pair of sweatpants that he could cinch at his waist and a blue T-shirt. He glanced down the hall both ways, only slightly surprised he didn’t see Rachel hovering like a child who was trying to feed a skittish wild rabbit.

He shook his head and retreated inside the bathroom to get dressed. Rachel had been right. She really did know how to be a good hostess.

8

Rachel

Rachel still couldn’t understand why Hudson was being so stubborn. When she’d asked Henry about it, he was just as confused. Then she’d heard that he’d been gone since Monday. That was when she knew he wasn’t going to back down. The guy was more stubborn than she was—and that was saying something.

Legs curled up beneath her, she sat in an overstuffed chair in the living room while sipping her tea. He’d be down shortly. She’d already heard the bathroom door open, then shut again. It was a good thing he wasn’t downstairs because he would have noticed her gleeful smile.

He’d get paid. Probably better than he would have ever expected. At this moment she was prepared to pay him a decent salary that would cover him for a quarter of a year, just so he would stick around for the month.

Hudson was right about one thing. He was interested, and that made him an asset. If he was so willing to do what was necessary without being asked, he’d be the perfect choice.

His footsteps padded down the stairs, stopping when he noticed her sitting in the living room. Hudson didn’t look nearly as grumpy as he had when she’d insisted he shower. But he also didn’t appear to be pleased with the fact that she’d given him a set of clothes. He filled them out nicely. Hopefully, he wouldn’t ask where they came from because he wouldn’t like the fact that she’d found them in a box in the attic. They’d been there with a few other things, and she’d sent the clothes through the wash before getting ready to donate them.

Thankfully, she’d held off.

“Supper is on the table. If it’s not warm enough, you can use the microwave.”

He glanced toward the kitchen. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

She shook her head.

He frowned then, and his accusatory gaze rocketed into her. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those girls who doesn’t eat.”

“I beg your pardon?” She lowered her mug. How dare he make such a statement. “Did you not see me inhale a piece of pie that day you accosted me in the diner? I have no issues with food.”

“Then why aren’t you eating?”

---