unhappiness as acutely as her own.
Do you feel my pain, Luke? Is that why your eyes follow me, watching every step, every breath, every gesture?
Don't do that. Don't watch me. Don't look at my mouth and remember how it felt to kiss me so deeply that we tasted of each other long after the kiss ended. Stop torturing yourself. Stop torturing me.
Twenty-three more days. God, how can I do it? And how can I not?
Forcing herself not to think about it, Carla went to the kitchen and frowned over the recipe she wanted to make that night for the men. It was a French recipe for beef stew that had a long, elegant name. But she lacked one of the pungent herbs she needed. She reread the ingredient list again, went to the cupboard and sighed. The closest she could come was sage, which was already in the recipe.
"If only it were pine nuts," she muttered, flipping pages, looking for another recipe, "there would be no problem. I'd just go up the trail to MacKenzie Ridge and shake down some ripe piñon cones and spent the next three days getting the sap out of my hair."
Remembering, Carla laughed. But it had been worth it to see the look on the men's faces when they asked what the tasty crunchy things in the green beans were. She only wished Luke had been there to share the joke, but it had been during the time he had spent days camping out, scouring the ranch for something he never named.
Suddenly Carla remembered the juniper branch that Luke had brought to her yesterday, saying he thought she might like the smell of it in her room. The deep green of the needles had been studded with the small, powdery silver blue of the hard berries. Flipping quickly to the index of the cookbook, Carla looked up juniper, found a recipe in which it was used and discovered that a very few berries went a long way in flavoring any stew. She closed the book, ran upstairs to her room and returned with several pungent berries in her hand. Singing softly to herself, she began assembling the ingredients for boeuf à la campagne .
By dinnertime the smells emanating from the ranch house were enough to make a hungry man weak. As usual when Luke wasn't around at dinnertime, Ten was the first man in the door by a good forty minutes. He looked at the stove, noted that she was using the big pot again and crossed the kitchen quickly.
"I'll take care of that," he said.
"Thanks, but I can—"
"Want to get me fired?" Ten interrupted, taking the heavy pot from Carla's hands, pot holders and all.
"Of course not!"
"Then make real sure I do the heavy lifting when Luke isn't around or he'll have my butt for a saddle blanket. He was very particular about not having you wrestle with gallons of boiling stuff."
The realization that Luke had told Ten to help her made emotions shiver invisibly through Carla.
"Thank you," she said huskily. "I have to admit I've been thinking of rigging a block and tackle for the stove."
Ten smiled as he set the pot full of stew on the worn counter. "Smells like heaven."
She gave him a sideways look. "I'd have guessed you were more familiar with unheavenly smells."
He laughed and began filling two huge serving dishes with stew, using a ladle the size of a soup plate. Smiling, Carla turned back to her other dinner preparations, grateful for Ten's quiet help … and at the same time unable to keep from wishing that it were Luke's hands lifting the heavy pots, Luke's arms flexing with casual strength, Luke's broad shoulders making the kitchen seem small.
"Is Luke coming in for dinner?" Carla asked two seconds after telling herself she wouldn't.
"Nope."
"Is he … camping again?"
"Not this time. Some fool cow took a notion to tangle with barbed wire. Luke will walk her to the barn after he sews her up a bit." Ten looked up at the clock. "Be a few hours yet."
"Ladle some of that into the small pot, would you?" Carla asked. "I'll keep it warm for him."
"You're spoiling him
Do you feel my pain, Luke? Is that why your eyes follow me, watching every step, every breath, every gesture?
Don't do that. Don't watch me. Don't look at my mouth and remember how it felt to kiss me so deeply that we tasted of each other long after the kiss ended. Stop torturing yourself. Stop torturing me.
Twenty-three more days. God, how can I do it? And how can I not?
Forcing herself not to think about it, Carla went to the kitchen and frowned over the recipe she wanted to make that night for the men. It was a French recipe for beef stew that had a long, elegant name. But she lacked one of the pungent herbs she needed. She reread the ingredient list again, went to the cupboard and sighed. The closest she could come was sage, which was already in the recipe.
"If only it were pine nuts," she muttered, flipping pages, looking for another recipe, "there would be no problem. I'd just go up the trail to MacKenzie Ridge and shake down some ripe piñon cones and spent the next three days getting the sap out of my hair."
Remembering, Carla laughed. But it had been worth it to see the look on the men's faces when they asked what the tasty crunchy things in the green beans were. She only wished Luke had been there to share the joke, but it had been during the time he had spent days camping out, scouring the ranch for something he never named.
Suddenly Carla remembered the juniper branch that Luke had brought to her yesterday, saying he thought she might like the smell of it in her room. The deep green of the needles had been studded with the small, powdery silver blue of the hard berries. Flipping quickly to the index of the cookbook, Carla looked up juniper, found a recipe in which it was used and discovered that a very few berries went a long way in flavoring any stew. She closed the book, ran upstairs to her room and returned with several pungent berries in her hand. Singing softly to herself, she began assembling the ingredients for boeuf à la campagne .
By dinnertime the smells emanating from the ranch house were enough to make a hungry man weak. As usual when Luke wasn't around at dinnertime, Ten was the first man in the door by a good forty minutes. He looked at the stove, noted that she was using the big pot again and crossed the kitchen quickly.
"I'll take care of that," he said.
"Thanks, but I can—"
"Want to get me fired?" Ten interrupted, taking the heavy pot from Carla's hands, pot holders and all.
"Of course not!"
"Then make real sure I do the heavy lifting when Luke isn't around or he'll have my butt for a saddle blanket. He was very particular about not having you wrestle with gallons of boiling stuff."
The realization that Luke had told Ten to help her made emotions shiver invisibly through Carla.
"Thank you," she said huskily. "I have to admit I've been thinking of rigging a block and tackle for the stove."
Ten smiled as he set the pot full of stew on the worn counter. "Smells like heaven."
She gave him a sideways look. "I'd have guessed you were more familiar with unheavenly smells."
He laughed and began filling two huge serving dishes with stew, using a ladle the size of a soup plate. Smiling, Carla turned back to her other dinner preparations, grateful for Ten's quiet help … and at the same time unable to keep from wishing that it were Luke's hands lifting the heavy pots, Luke's arms flexing with casual strength, Luke's broad shoulders making the kitchen seem small.
"Is Luke coming in for dinner?" Carla asked two seconds after telling herself she wouldn't.
"Nope."
"Is he … camping again?"
"Not this time. Some fool cow took a notion to tangle with barbed wire. Luke will walk her to the barn after he sews her up a bit." Ten looked up at the clock. "Be a few hours yet."
"Ladle some of that into the small pot, would you?" Carla asked. "I'll keep it warm for him."
"You're spoiling him
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