A Baby in the Bunkhouse. Cathy Thacker Gillen
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only going to be through the holidays.” After that, she’d told Eli she would try to find something in her field.
Rafferty rolled his eyes. “Now you are off in la-la land.”
“Look,” Jacey said, “I may not have trained professionally, if that’s what you’re worried about, but I am a great cook.”
Rafferty blew out a contemptuous breath. “Your skill at the stove has nothing to do with how I feel about this arrangement.”
“Then what does?” Jacey demanded, stepping closer still.
“This,” he told her gruffly, pulling her into his arms for a steamy, all-bets-off kiss.
It had been way too long since Jacey had been embraced this way. Unable to withdraw from the evocative pressure of his mouth moving over hers, she surrendered to the taste and feel of him. It felt so good to be surrounded by such strength and warmth, to lose herself in a kiss that was so sensual and searing it took her breath away.
She had been kissed before. But never like this, in a way that sent emotions swirling through her at breakneck speed. Never in a way that brought forth such a soul-deep yearning.
Rafferty had figured she’d slap him across the face before their lips ever touched. Instead, logic and feelings had fled. Feelings, need, had taken over. She had wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back passionately. So passionately, in fact, he didn’t ever want to let her go. Their lips had just begun to fuse, and already he wanted another kiss that was deeper and hotter and more intimate than the last. And damn her, he thought, as she curved her body into his, if she didn’t want it too…
Which was why it had to stop. Now. Before it went any further. He let her go. “Now do you see why it’s a bad idea for you to be here?” he asked.
“Maybe for you,” she retorted, blushing furiously. “Since you can’t control your lust or your tongue.”
She swore, realizing too late the way he was taking what she had just said.
“I meant your mouth,” she corrected over his chuckling.
His rogue amusement only deepened.
All the more frustrated, she swept her hands through her hair. “I meant your words. Manners. Deeds,” she finished flatly.
Rafferty agreed—he shouldn’t have kissed her, and she sure as heck shouldn’t have kissed him back. But they had and now the passion that had been simmering beneath the surface was out there. Hotter than a fire burning in the grate on Christmas Eve.
“I do have a way of upsetting women.”
“That’s an understatement and a half.”
“That being the case—” he sauntered lazily toward the door “—maybe you should leave.”
Chapter Four
“Man, it smells good in here,” Stretch said.
“Anything we can do to help?” Curly asked with his lothario smile.
Jacey gave the gravy on the stove another stir, then checked the oven to see that the traditional corn-bread stuffing was almost done. The five hired hands had been hanging around the bunkhouse all morning, taking turns holding Caitlin, and sampling the various Thanksgiving dishes as she prepared them. “You-all can set the table.”
“For seven?” Red asked.
Jacey did a quick calculation. Five cowboys, Eli and Rafferty and herself. That made…“Eight.”
“You including Rafferty?”
“Yes. Why?” Just because Rafferty had been avoiding her entirely for the last four weeks—she had not seen him once—did not mean he would not grace them with his presence for the ranch’s traditional turkey dinner.
“Um…” Hoss hemmed and hawed. “Rafferty doesn’t do holidays anymore.”
“What do you mean he doesn’t do holidays?” Jacey slid the yeast rolls in to bake, alongside the sweet-potato and green-bean casseroles.
Gabby spoke for the group reluctantly. “Well, not since…you know, the thing with Angelica.”
“What thing with Angelica?”
Stretch looked uncomfortable. “Fellas, I don’t think we should say any more.”
Gabby nodded. “It’s really none of our business.”
“I don’t want to get in trouble with the boss,” Curly said.
“Me, neither,” Red agreed.
“Sorry, Jacey,” Hoss said gently. He gave her a look that was equivalent to a pat on the shoulder. “We just didn’t want you to be disappointed when the boss didn’t show up.”
She had passed disappointment weeks ago, when he’d kissed her, and then made sure she didn’t so much as lay eyes on him again. Not easy to do, when they were both residing under the same roof, albeit in different wings. “Where is Rafferty?”
“Out working,” Curly said.
Red nodded. “He was going to burn the spires off the prickly pear on the south side of the mountain.”
“That had to be done today?”
The men shrugged, apparently seeing nothing wrong with it.
IT WAS NEARLY FOUR-THIRTY when the Lost Mountain Ranch pickup his father usually drove bumped along the gravel road that connected the pastures on the property. Wondering what was up, Rafferty put down his propane torch. He shoved the brim of his hat back, waiting. It wasn’t long before the driver came into view. Seeing who was behind the wheel, he released a string of swear words not fit for mixed company. And he was still muttering when Jacey parked in the middle of the lane, left the cab and marched toward him.
She was dressed ridiculously, in a black knee-length skirt that revealed just how much of her baby weight she had already lost, some sort of thin, cream-colored sweater with a lacy collar and a row of fancy buttons up the front, just begging to be undone, and sexy black suede heels definitely not meant for traipsing through the brush.
Noting she didn’t look scared or worried, just mad, which meant there was no real emergency, he leaned against a recently sheared prickly pear, crossed one boot-clad foot across the other, folded his arms in front of his chest and simply waited.
When she got close enough for them to converse normally, she demanded, “What is wrong with you?”
“I’m supposed to be working in the pasture. You’re the one who’s lost.” He hooked his thumb in the direction she’d come. “The kitchen is thataway.”
Her soft lips formed an irritated line. “You’re a laugh a minute, Rafferty Evans.”
He settled in against the cactus. “I think so.”
Sparks radiated from her green eyes. “You’re also unbearably rude.”
Here it came. The lecture he’d heard at least half a dozen times before. Although never from her. He picked up his propane torch, turned around and headed through waist-high brush. “Go away. I’ve got work to do.”
As he half suspected, she stormed after him, giving a little cry when her skirt caught on the spires of a cactus he hadn’t yet had time to trim back.
Concerned, he turned around to see her delicately extricating the fabric from the pointed end of the spire. Luckily, she didn’t appear to be hurt. “Need some help?”
Another glare. “What I need is for you to talk to me. Why did you skip Thanksgiving dinner this afternoon?”
He let his gaze drift over her lazily. “Shouldn’t you be doing dishes or nursing the baby?”
She