Montana Rose Page 11

  “You’ll pay me that much?” she asked, obviously in awe.

  “You’ll earn every penny of it. In fact, after a few weeks, you’ll probably think I’m not paying enough.”

  “Does that include room and board?”

  “Yes.” For the first time Jesse allowed his lips to curl into a short smile. “Money talks, huh, Miss Bush?”

  “It does,” she snapped. “How long do you plan to hire me as your housekeeper?”

  “As long as you’ll stay, providing, that is, you can keep that fiery temper in check and your impudent mouth closed.”

  “Can you?”

  “Huh?”

  “I said, ‘Can you?’ Can you keep your temper in check and your know-it-all attitude under control?”

  “I don’t have a temper, and my attitude isn’t up for discussion.” He threw the words back at her. “But you could make a preacher cuss.”

  Rose chose to ignore his protest. “I won’t promise beyond a year, maybe less. It all depends on how much money I can . . .”

  “I know,” he said patronizingly, “how much you can save to buy another homestead. I couldn’t help overhearing, and I know you lost your last one. No reason you can’t save every penny I pay you. Unless”—an impish twinkle entered those hazel eyes—“you buy more of those ridiculous hats.”

  “And that is something else that is none of your business, Mr. Rivers.” Rose took a deep breath. “Where will I live?”

  “In the house with Tory and me. There’s four bedrooms, two unoccupied. You can have your pick. Sorry, I don’t have someplace else that would be adequate.”

  “Fine.” Rose moved toward the wagon seat.

  “Rose,” Wisteria put a hand on her sister’s arm. “Rose, what are you thinking? You can’t move in with a single man and a young boy. What will people think?”

  “Wisteria, love, you know by now I don’t give a tinker’s damn what people think.”

  Chapter 22

  They were turning onto the lane leading to the Rocking R before Rose broke the silence.

  “Mr. Rivers.”

  “Miss Bush?”

  “I would like to get settled in before we discuss what you consider my duties are, and what I agree they are.”

  Jesse grinned. “You forgetting already that I’m the boss? Your ‘duties’ are what I ask you to do, nothing less.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so. I’m your housekeeper, not your slave.”

  “Yep, you’re my housekeeper all right. Although at this minute I’m wondering why I thought I needed one.”

  Rose bristled. “Then my advice is to stop wondering and turn this wagon around.”

  Jesse pulled the reins to a stop in front of the large ranch house. “Nope.”

  “Nope?”

  He turned to Rose. “Like I said, I need a housekeeper. Tory needs someone to provide him with decent meals. And,” he added as if an afterthought, “I hope you’ll continue to tutor him. I regret that’s part of what got you into this mess, but I don’t regret your taking the time and putting your teaching position at risk to help him.”

  “So that’s it.”

  Jesse frowned. “What’s it?”

  “That’s the reason why you all of a sudden decided you needed a housekeeper. You’re offering me this trumped up job because you feel guilty. I’ll have you know I don’t need your charity.” Rose jumped down from the wagon seat, fluffed out her skirt, and setting her hat firmly on her head, proceeded to march back up the lane.

  “Just a minute,” Jesse barked as he vaulted from the wagon and grabbed her arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Since you seem inclined to not turn the wagon back to town, I’m walking there. I’ll send someone for my trunk.” She tried to jerk away from his vise-like grip. “Let go of my arm, Mr. Rivers. This is the second time you’ve grabbed me. I won’t put up with being manhandled.”

  Jesse dropped her arm as if it were a red-hot poker. “Sorry,” he said, shamefaced. “I-I wouldn’t hurt you, uh, manhandle you, or anyone, for that matter.” He shook his head and muttered, “Damn my temper.”

  Perplexed, Rose furrowed her brow at his fervent apology.

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t hurt me, Mr. Rivers. I know you wouldn’t.” She felt compelled to reassure the contrite man. Why was he overreacting? “Perhaps I spoke too quickly. Sometimes”—she smiled—“I, too, have a temper. That’s something we have in common. That, and the fact we seem to rub each other the wrong way. What about us calling a truce, going inside and discussing this ‘job’ calmly over, say, a cup of coffee? I don’t know about you, but so far, today has been a reason to crawl back in bed and pull the covers over your head.”

  “That about sums it up.” He looked worriedly at her arm. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Absolutely. Now if you’ll direct me to your kitchen, I’ll perform my first duty as a housekeeper and make a pot of coffee. Have you had your noon meal yet?” Rose asked, fingering the chain holding her precious timepiece. She popped open the small cover. “Goodness, it’s two o’clock. Of course you have,” she said, answering her own question.

  Jesse breathed a sigh of relief at Rose’s change of heart and shook his head. “Afraid not. Tory and I had a breakfast of sorts. He cooked,” Jesse added. “We, uh, we usually skip the noon meal and make it until dinner. Two meals a day of our cooking is about all we can handle.” He gave a shamefaced grin, deepening the dimple in his cheek.

  Rose gulped. The man was too good looking for his own good, or hers either, as a matter of fact. Well, she wasn’t here to be lured in by Jesse Rivers’ handsome face. No. She had a job to do and money to save.

  “That will stop as of today. Please carry my trunk to my room. Whichever one you choose is fine with me. And I’ll look over your kitchen. I’m assuming you have foodstuff necessary to make a meal? Where’s Tory? Let him know we will be having an early supper. Tomorrow we’ll have breakfast, and our main meal will be at noon, unless you’re unable to come to the house . . . and the reason had better be good,” she said under her breath. “Supper will be light. We’ll work out the times later. I’ll see you back in the kitchen for coffee. We can discuss my duties while I prepare an early supper. I can assure you, Mr. Rivers, it will be substantial. Tory will not be missing any more meals, nor will he be doing any more of the cooking.”

  Jesse blinked twice, momentarily at a loss for words, or how to respond to Rose’s about-face and rapidly fired words, other than to open the door to the kitchen and wave her inside. The woman should have been a general in the army. She had a gift for giving orders and fully expecting them to be obeyed. And, surprisingly, there was no question he’d do just that. Oddly enough, there wasn’t an ounce of resentment or reluctance in him. He gave a sigh of relief as he went outside to the wagon. Rose Bush had arrived, and darned if it didn’t feel right.

  Rose plunked the thick, white mug in front of Jesse and gave him a reproachful look. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Jesse Rivers. Your shelves are stocked better than the mercantile. I haven’t had time to look at your smokehouse or cellar, but I’d wager a guess they’re not meager.”

  “I don’t deny that there’s plenty here to cook, Miss Bush, but you have to know how to prepare it. Just the same, Tory and I haven’t starved,” he said defensively, taking a sip of the perfectly brewed coffee. “Still, if you need something I don’t have, make a list and I’ll pick it up when I go to town, or better yet, you can take the wagon to town yourself. You do know how to drive a wagon, don’t you?”

  Rose took the seat across from Jesse and eyed him through the steam rising from her mug. “I think you need to know something about me, Mr. Rivers.”

  Jesse opened his mouth to object only to be quelled by the look on Rose’s face.

 
“I’m not a schoolmarm no matter that you call me Teacher Bush. I never pretended to be a teacher and did not hesitate to make it clear that the position was to be an end to a means.” She absently brushed back a golden strand of hair that had managed to escape from the knot at the nape of her neck. It curled winsomely around her face, coaxing out the blue in her eyes.

  “I am a rancher. Pure and simple. I can handle any job thrown at me and do it as well as most men. I’m not bragging, simply stating a fact. I worked hard on my homestead and would have made it if the fever hadn’t wiped out my herd. I pride myself on my baking, but I’m also equally proud of my being able to ride, rope a steer, fix fence, calf, brand, and the myriad of other chores associated with ranching.”

  So intent on her speech, Rose missed the twinkle that had appeared in Jesse’s eyes.

  “And”—she took a deep breath—“I can milk a cow, feed chickens, plant a garden, and put up the bounty. I—”

  “A cow? You had a milk cow on a ranch?”

  “Of course I did. I had pigs and chickens, too. Ranching isn’t exclusive to beef and horses, Mr. Rivers. I provided for myself any way I could. But what you don’t know is how much I loved it. All of it, even the long hours and the back-breaking work.”

  “Seems like I’m always apologizing to you, Miss Bush. I’ve underestimated you.” He smiled. “You look delicate, but to think that would be a grave misunderstanding. I’m sure I’m not the first person to make that mistake. You look like you belong in a rich man’s house with servants to do your bidding.”

  “I’d hate it,” she said forcefully. Then she smiled back at him as she took another sip of coffee. “I’ll take that as a compliment, though. But please don’t assume I can’t do anything pertaining to ranching. I know Wisteria thinks I’m crazy, but I plan on having my own place again. This time I’ll be more prepared.”

  “I don’t mean to disagree with you, but ranching is filled with surprises. You can’t be prepared for everything.” Jesse got to his feet, surprised at how easy it had been to forget his waiting chores and visit with this captivating woman over a cup of coffee. He’d have to be careful or it would become a habit.

  “I’ll see you later at supper.” He put his hat on his head, grabbed his coat and headed out the door. “I’m running behind so I guess that talk’ll wait.”

  “Give me a couple hours, Mr. Rivers,” Rose called after him.

  “Ring the bell on the porch. That’s how Emma called us in.”

  Chapter 23

  Jesse looked across the table at Tory and winked, pushing back his chair. “I don’t believe I could eat another bite. That was the best meal I’ve had in too long to remember.”

  “Yeah,” Tory chimed in, “me, too. I wasn’t sure I’d like it when I saw the steak wasn’t burned. I’ve gotten real used to that black crunch with every bite.”

  Jesse reached over and playfully cuffed the boy’s head. “I’m sure Miss Bush would set aside your steak from now on and cook it just the way you like it.”

  “Sit back down, Mr. Rivers. Unless”—Rose paused, a teasing look on her face—“you don’t like, or have room for, dried apple cobbler.”

  Jesse made a show of falling back into his chair and groaning. “I knew it. I’ve died and gone to heaven. Cobbler, you said?”

  “Mmm, hmm, dried apple. Now if we had our own milk cow, I’d be able to put cream on the top. Thick, rich cream. And I’d make sweet butter, cold, refreshing buttermilk, and hard cheese, although I have to admit I never did get the cheese-making down pat.”

  “Cream?” Tory asked. “When I go over to the Watson’s for eggs, Billy always brags about having berries and cream or cream on his oatmeal instead of milk.” He looked over at Jesse. “I hate havin’ to buy anything from him. He’s a loud-mouthed bully.”

  “Tory,” Rose admonished. “You’re displaying a poor attitude. Don’t you know bullies have one reason for being the way they are?”

  “What’s that?” he asked suspiciously.

  “They’re jealous.”

  “Jealous,” he scoffed. “Of me?”

  “Of course, of you. Why not you?”

  Jesse’s eyes darted between the two of them. If Rose Bush could build up Tory’s poor self-esteem, he’d buy her that darn cow, and throw in a few chickens besides.

  “You’re smart, talented, you have your own horse, and you’re part owner in a ranch that is probably larger than Billy’s. Am I right?”

  “Well,” he said reluctantly, “you’ve got the horse and ranch part right.” His chest expanded and his eyes held an unmistakable light. “My horse is a pinto, and I am partners in a bigger spread.”

  “And . . .?” Rose prodded.

  “And, that’s all, I guess.”

  “You guess?” She gave Tory her firm teacher’s look. “You guess? You know darned good and well you’re smart, Tory Rivers. And talented,” she added. “You have a gift. You’re not only on your way to being a botanist, something Billy Watson knows nothing about, but you’re an artist. In a few years your talent will be recognized by one of the universities. They’ll pay for your education, mark my words.”

  “You really think so, Miss Bush?” Tory’s voice squeaked. “A university?”

  Rose nodded emphatically.

  Jesse couldn’t take his eyes off her. This bossy, determined woman was peeling back the layers of self-doubt and unworthiness beaten into his brother. And she was doing it effortlessly, with honesty and conviction.

  Rose picked up the cobbler and started to dish large spoonfuls into waiting bowls. “Now, the next time you go to the Watson’s for eggs, you hold your head up high. Nothing Billy says will get under your skin. Understand me?” She pinned Tory with a fierce look. “Because if you don’t, you’ll answer to me.”

  Tory smiled and said the words Rose swore she’d never have to hear again.

  “Yes, Miss Bush.”

  “Hmmpf,” she muttered, placing the bowls in front of the two who were eyeing them with delight and anticipation. “As soon as you’re finished, you need to get right on the chores Jesse has set out for you. Because”—She paused.—“after he and I finish discussing my”—she cleared her throat and gave Jesse a hard look—“duties, we’ll start on your lessons.”

  “My lessons,” Tory protested. “It’s Christmas break. Why do I have to have lessons when no one else does? All the other kids are free.”

  “Yes, and all the other kids aren’t preparing to enter a university. There will be lessons every night, Tory Rivers.” Rose’s hands were resting on her shapely hips.

  Jesse had to look away. More of her hair had escaped the tight bun while she’d been cooking supper. Her face was flushed to a rosy glow, and darned if it didn’t seem as if she’d been a part of this big kitchen forever. It was a quelling thought to realize Rose Bush looked as though she belonged in this empty, memory-filled house. And along with that realization was the fact that laughter and happiness had crept in alongside this woman who wasn’t afraid to fight for what she wanted and believed in. If she thought Tory was university material, then he was. It was as simple as that. Jesse wasn’t aware that a piece of ice had broken away from his heart.

  “Yes, Ma’am,” Tory mumbled, his spoon halfway to his mouth.

  “I thought so.” Rose dished up a smaller bowl of cobbler for herself and took her chair across from Jesse.

  “How is it, Mr. Rivers?”

  “If it was any better, I’d be whimpering, Miss Bush. I thought your chocolate cake heavenly, but I do believe this cobbler is right up there with it.”

  “Did Tory get his piece of that chocolate cake or did you eat it all yourself?”

  “Nope, darndest thing, I put that cake right there on that counter and when I came down the next morning, it was gone. Just a few crumbs left.
Now I know for a fact Tory didn’t eat it. He’d made it plain he didn’t want any.”

  Tory hunched over his bowl as he focused entirely on the last bit of cobbler.

  Rose caught Jesse’s eye and winked. His stomach clenched and he knew he’d better get out of that kitchen before he did or said something foolish.

  “Come on, Tory,” he growled, reverting back to his safe abrupt manner. “If you scrape that bowl any harder the flowers will come off into your spoon. We’ve got chores to do.”

  With a surprised look on his face, Tory jumped from his chair and followed Jesse out through the mudroom door.

  “Supper was good, Miss Bush. Thank you.” With those terse words, Jesse firmly shut the door behind him and the beautiful woman gracing his table.

  “Jesse Rivers, you are a rude, irascible man,” Rose muttered to the empty room. “Well, I don’t have to like you to work for you. And I don’t like you,” she lied to herself. “Not one little bit.”

  She poured hot water out of the teakettle into the dishpan and began washing the dishes. Her anger fueled her, and in short time the task was completed. Then, curiosity getting the best of her, she resolutely set off to explore the rest of the house.

  It was beautifully constructed, and Rose knew that this summer, if she was still around, there would be many peaceful hours spent relaxing on that big wrap-around porch. She hadn’t noticed any chairs there, but maybe they were stored for the winter in one of the out buildings. A porch like that called for rockers and tables just waiting for a pitcher of lemonade. She could picture sitting there after a full day, resting and enjoying the evening breeze. Beside the lemonade, there would be a plateful of cookies. She’d have to find out Jesse’s favorite kind.