Page 11 of Rescued By the Mountain Man

I didn’t have the energy for this. “For the last time, she is my assistant, and Laura screwed up the booking. The inn is chock full of people this week, and half the damn fair is in town, and everywhere else is booked. It would have taken too long for me to drive us up and down these hills every day, so I just let the sleeping dogs lie where they were.”

“Uh huh, uh huh,” Frankie nodded, his tone telling me he didn’t believe a word he’d heard.

Getting to my feet, I asked, “Where is Za—Miss Harrington?”

“Either having breakfast with Connie and Marie, or she is knocked out cold in one of the guest rooms we got,” Frankie shrugged. “She’s a looker for sure, though.”

“Hey, hey, hey! Don’t start with that,” I shot him another look while I went to the washbasins at the side and began to scrub my arms off. “Is the doc on her way up to double-check that I didn’t screw up the birthing?”

“Last time I checked, Doc McDermont said she was an hour out,” Frankie replied, then nodded to me. “Go on and get cleaned up and get some sleep. I can take care of this.”

“I’d question your worth if you couldn’t,” I replied, inspecting my nails. “I’ll probably be up by midday.”

Exhausted past the meaning of exhausted, I trudged from the birthing barn up the small rise that led to the main house, but by doing so, passed one of the small pastures we kept solely for the horse foals and their nursing mamas. Halfway down, I spotted Connie, our resident mechanic and cowgirl, holding a mare still while Zara did her best to get on the saddle.

She failed, epically, almost tipping backward on her first try.

On the second try, she almost made it.

On the third, her foot slipped in the stirrup, and she tumbled right back to the ground, but she laughed anyway, her face lighting up like a fireworks display.

Oddly, I felt embarrassed.

How had I never gotten that emotion from her before?

Maybe because you once accused her of being a hooker and she hates your guts for it?

It could be.

But we had gotten past that, hadn’t we?

“You’re her boss,” I told myself while walking away. “You’ve got no obligation to make her smile.”

The old ranch house was a mix of nineteenth-century charm and twenty-first-century utility. Made from old sandstone brick, it had three stories with porches for days, an upstairs balcony that practically ran the length of the house, and a downstairs wrap-around porch that did the same. Windows were stacked on top of each other on the façade, six on each side, and while the wooden floors were worn and scarred, they still held sturdy.

The house itself was grand and beautiful, welcoming and warm, and merged with the land around it. I bypassed the back porch where the long trestle table stood, seating a full fifteen: me, the five ranch hands, Connie, the good vet, and whoever managed to pop in for a spell. An army of people could fit around that table.

On the other side, two worn armchairs sat around a smaller round table, which I mostly used for breakfast when I could remember.

I inhaled heaven as I stepped in through the back door near the kitchen.

Fresh bread baking in the oven, five casseroles, a shepherd's pie cooling on the rack, and chocolate chip cookie batter filled four large bowls.

Instantly, I got suspicious.

Marie Wilkins, my housekeeper, only made those when she wanted to bribe, butter me up, or blackmail me. Which was it this time?

A massive brick oven covered one wall, and the food prep table alone went from one end of the 25-ft wall to the other one, half of it now filled with platters of fresh salad and fruit, roast beef sandwiches, and corn succotash.

“Are the armed corps coming to town?” I asked her. “This is enough to feed half the town.”

“Half of this is going to be frozen; some is being donated to the church sale, and the rest—” she wiped her hands, “—is easy pickings for you boys with this birthing season on in full blast. You all can run in and run out.”

I kissed her cheek. “You’re a godsend, Marie.”

“Oh, I know…” She tilted her nose up. “I wondered how long it would take you to notice. Help yourself…after you jump into the shower.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied before taking the staircase to my rooms on the second floor.

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