Rough Diamonds. Diana Palmer
and it wasn’t a good one. “I’m not your guest,” he pointed out coldly. “I came to see the Kirks.”
She flushed and looked uncertain.
“Why don’t you go back to the party and stop trying to micromanage your boyfriend’s staff?” he drawled. “Perhaps I should have a word with him… .”
“Sorry,” Gelly said stiffly and managed a cool smile. “Excuse me, please.”
She almost ran off.
Morie was stifling laughter. Her uncle could be as intimidating as her father ever was, even if he was usually the easygoing one of the brothers.
Mavie had stepped over to the doorway after Gelly had raced away. She’d obviously heard every word of the exchange with Gelly. Now her eyes were dancing. “Want to stay? I’ll cook for you anytime,” she added.
He laughed. “Sorry. I have my own business to take care of. The canapés were really delicious. And thanks for the recipe,” he told Morie. “I hope I’ll see you again one day.”
“Same here,” she replied, smiling. “Thanks.”
He shrugged. “My pleasure.” He gave her a last wave before he went back into the family room.
“Who is he?” Mavie asked her.
“A superior court judge from Texas who’s a friend of Cane’s, apparently,” Morie replied innocently. “He wanted me to tell him how to make those sausages so he could get his housekeeper to make them for a party he’s having soon. Imagine that! I got to talk to a real judge!”
“He wasn’t bad-looking, either,” Mavie said with a grin. “Did you say something to Gelly?” she added worriedly.
“No, I didn’t say anything. But you heard what the judge said,” she added. “She came out to tell me to stop mingling with her guests and get to work. He said she needed to mind her own business.”
“Ha!”
Morie’s smile widened. “He’s such a nice man. I wish we could keep him.”
“Me, too.” Mavie looked uneasy. “You’ll be in trouble, though.”
“I’m always in trouble. Let’s clean up and then I want to go to bed.”
“I’ll just put some of those canapés on the plate for you.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re a great little worker,” Mavie returned. “I like having you around.”
“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in a long time,” Morie replied, touched.
Mavie just smiled.
MORIE SAT IN FRONT of her small television and watched an old black-and-white comedy while she ate her canapés. They’d turned out very well. What a surprise to have her uncle show up at the Kirks’ party. She wasn’t aware that he knew Cane. At least she’d been able to get him to keep her secret from her father. She shuddered to think what King would say to her boss.
She knew her mother hadn’t told King Brannt where his daughter was working, or what she was doing. Shelby had mentioned that she’d said Morie had a nice job at a department store but she hadn’t said where. What a joke. Morie couldn’t have sold heaters to people living in the Yukon.
It had been several days since Mallory had kissed the breath out of her. He’d been avoiding her ever since. Or she’d been avoiding him. It had been unexpected and shocking, but a delicious little interlude that played over and over in Morie’s mind. She’d loved it. But obviously the boss hadn’t. It seemed that he wanted to make sure she didn’t get any ideas about his interest. He’d made a point of being businesslike every time he spoke to her now. There was no more light teasing or pleasant conversation. It was strictly business.
She finished the last canapé and turned off the television. It was up at dawn for more calving and she was still achy and stiff from helping Darby pull two calves that simply weren’t anxious to be born. Their reward was the soft bawling sound the calves made when they were delivered and stood up, wobbling away to be licked clean by their mothers.
It was incredible to help deliver a calf. The process of birth was fascinating to anyone who worked around livestock. The cycle of life and death was a never-ending one on a ranch.
Morie loved working outdoors, away from the city, away from traffic and regimented life. Here, the time clock was the sun. They got up with it and went to bed with it. They learned how to identify birds by their songs. They learned the subtle weather signs that were lost in electronic prognostication. They were of the earth. It was the most wonderful job going, Morie thought, even if the pay wasn’t top scale and the work was mostly physical labor that came with mussed, stained clothing. She wouldn’t have traded it to model Paris gowns, and she’d once been offered that opportunity. It had amused and pleased her mother, who wasn’t surprised when Morie said she’d rather learn how to rope calves.
Her father would never teach her. Her brother, Cort, got the ranch training. Her primitive dad, who was living in the Stone Age, she often told him, wanted her to be a lady of leisure and do feminine things. She told him that she could work cattle every bit as well as her brother and she wanted to prove it. Her dad just laughed and walked off. Not on his ranch. Not ever.
So she found someone else’s ranch to prove it on. She’d gotten her college degree. Her dad should be happy that she’d accomplished at least one thing he’d insisted upon. Now she was going to please herself.
She threw on a nightshirt and a pair of pajama bottoms and climbed into bed. She was asleep in seconds.
THE NEXT MORNING, the boss came down to the barn, where she was feeding out a calf whose mother had been attacked by a pack of wolves. The mother had died and state agencies had been called in to trap the wolves and relocate them.
Mallory looked down at her, with the calf on her knees, and something cold inside him started to melt. She had a tender heart. He loved the picture she made, nursing that calf. But he pulled himself up taut. That couldn’t be allowed. He wasn’t having any more embarrassing interludes with the hired help that could come back to bite him.
She looked up and saw him watching her. She averted her eyes. “Morning, boss,” she said.
“Morning.”
His tone wasn’t reassuring. She sighed. “I’m in trouble again, I guess.”
“Gelly said you put a visitor up to insulting her when she told you to get back to work in the kitchen,” he said flatly.
Morie just sighed.
“Well?” he persisted.
“The guy was a superior court judge who wanted my canapé recipe for his housekeeper, so I went outside with him to give it to him,” she replied wearily. “Miss Bruner interrupted us, and he was angry at the way she spoke to me. I didn’t put him up to anything.”
He frowned. “A judge?”
“Well, he said he was,” she replied, flushing. She wasn’t supposed to know the occupations of his guests.
“I see.”
No, you don’t, she fumed silently. You don’t see anything. Gelly leads you around by your temper, and you let her.
He hesitated. “The canapés were very good.”
“Thanks. Mavie and I worked hard.”
“Yes.” His dark eyes narrowed. “How is it,” he continued suspiciously, “that you know so much about how to organize a high-society party? And just where did you learn it?”
CHAPTER FIVE
MORIE STARED UP AT HIM with wide eyes while she searched frantically for an answer