tremors gradually faded. He slumped in his chair with his eyes closed, and wondered if he could just stay there for the night, or maybe for the next week or two. He wasn’t sure how soon he’d be capable of moving.
Vaguely he realized that she’d tucked his happy penis back inside his briefs and zipped his fly. He lost track of her whereabouts after that, but she must have climbed out from under the table, because now she was leaning over him and kissing his cheek.
“Thanks for the menu-planning session,” she murmured in his ear. “I think it’s time for you to go back to the bunkhouse, unless you want to spend the night in my bed and say to heck with what people think when they find out.”
Taking a long, slow breath, he opened his eyes and looked up at her. “You are an amazing woman, Aurelia Imogene Smith.”
She smiled. “That’s the orgasm talking.”
“Nope.” Planting his palms flat on the table, he pushed himself to his feet. “That’s experience talking.” He drew her into his arms. “I’m not exactly a virgin, you know. I have some basis for comparison, and you are amazing. After knowing you for twenty-four hours, I’m prepared to be your sex slave.”
Tilting her head, she looked up at him. “Come back tomorrow night and I’ll take you up on that.”
“Wild horses wouldn’t keep me away.”
8
A URELIA MADE THE CHICKEN with regular mushrooms instead of black truffles, but once again, she couldn’t call the dish by its proper name because Matthew had talked her into stripping the meaning right out of it. The chicken was no longer in partial mourning. It looked pretty much like any roasted chicken would.
She’d figured out years ago that she wasn’t good at art, music or writing. But cooking satisfied her urge to bring something new and useful into the world, especially when the final result was beautiful or interesting. This chicken didn’t qualify on either account.
Still, the warmth of Matthew’s gaze whenever she caught him watching her during lunch was worth bastardizing as many recipes as necessary. Several of the hands and a couple of the teenagers came up after lunch to compliment her on the meal.
She wasn’t sure if they were doing it on their own or if Matthew had prompted them, but either way, she was happy about their comments. If they genuinely liked the food, then she was making progress. If they were only following Matthew’s directions, his support meant the world to her and she could be happy about that, too.
He found a moment during lunch to invite her back down to the corral this afternoon to watch him work with Lester and Houdini. He said some of the other boys would be included today, as well. She cleaned up the kitchen in record time so she could do that.
When she arrived, six teenagers lined the fence rail instead of seven. Emmett wasn’t around, nor was his daughter Emily, who often helped with the boys. But the tall, dark-haired cowboy named Tucker was there to supervise. Inside the corral, Matthew stood back while Lester held an English saddle out to Houdini and talked to him about it.
Aurelia joined Tucker at the railing. “How come they’re using an English saddle instead of a Western one?” Aurelia didn’t know a lot about horsemanship, but she recognized the difference in saddles.
“That’s Matthew’s idea. Houdini had a bad experience with a Western saddle.” Tucker tipped his hat back. “Sarah called his former owners this morning, and sure enough, when they had Houdini their son was about Lester’s size and he spent a lot of time with the horse.”
“So that’s why Houdini took so quickly to Lester.”
Tucker nodded. “That’s the theory. Houdini seems to trust him. I’m not saying he doesn’t trust Matthew, because I think he does, but his preference seems to be for Lester. Matthew’s smart enough to use that.”
“And Lester’s obviously having the time of his life.”
“Yeah.” Tucker grinned. “If he keeps this
Vaguely he realized that she’d tucked his happy penis back inside his briefs and zipped his fly. He lost track of her whereabouts after that, but she must have climbed out from under the table, because now she was leaning over him and kissing his cheek.
“Thanks for the menu-planning session,” she murmured in his ear. “I think it’s time for you to go back to the bunkhouse, unless you want to spend the night in my bed and say to heck with what people think when they find out.”
Taking a long, slow breath, he opened his eyes and looked up at her. “You are an amazing woman, Aurelia Imogene Smith.”
She smiled. “That’s the orgasm talking.”
“Nope.” Planting his palms flat on the table, he pushed himself to his feet. “That’s experience talking.” He drew her into his arms. “I’m not exactly a virgin, you know. I have some basis for comparison, and you are amazing. After knowing you for twenty-four hours, I’m prepared to be your sex slave.”
Tilting her head, she looked up at him. “Come back tomorrow night and I’ll take you up on that.”
“Wild horses wouldn’t keep me away.”
8
A URELIA MADE THE CHICKEN with regular mushrooms instead of black truffles, but once again, she couldn’t call the dish by its proper name because Matthew had talked her into stripping the meaning right out of it. The chicken was no longer in partial mourning. It looked pretty much like any roasted chicken would.
She’d figured out years ago that she wasn’t good at art, music or writing. But cooking satisfied her urge to bring something new and useful into the world, especially when the final result was beautiful or interesting. This chicken didn’t qualify on either account.
Still, the warmth of Matthew’s gaze whenever she caught him watching her during lunch was worth bastardizing as many recipes as necessary. Several of the hands and a couple of the teenagers came up after lunch to compliment her on the meal.
She wasn’t sure if they were doing it on their own or if Matthew had prompted them, but either way, she was happy about their comments. If they genuinely liked the food, then she was making progress. If they were only following Matthew’s directions, his support meant the world to her and she could be happy about that, too.
He found a moment during lunch to invite her back down to the corral this afternoon to watch him work with Lester and Houdini. He said some of the other boys would be included today, as well. She cleaned up the kitchen in record time so she could do that.
When she arrived, six teenagers lined the fence rail instead of seven. Emmett wasn’t around, nor was his daughter Emily, who often helped with the boys. But the tall, dark-haired cowboy named Tucker was there to supervise. Inside the corral, Matthew stood back while Lester held an English saddle out to Houdini and talked to him about it.
Aurelia joined Tucker at the railing. “How come they’re using an English saddle instead of a Western one?” Aurelia didn’t know a lot about horsemanship, but she recognized the difference in saddles.
“That’s Matthew’s idea. Houdini had a bad experience with a Western saddle.” Tucker tipped his hat back. “Sarah called his former owners this morning, and sure enough, when they had Houdini their son was about Lester’s size and he spent a lot of time with the horse.”
“So that’s why Houdini took so quickly to Lester.”
Tucker nodded. “That’s the theory. Houdini seems to trust him. I’m not saying he doesn’t trust Matthew, because I think he does, but his preference seems to be for Lester. Matthew’s smart enough to use that.”
“And Lester’s obviously having the time of his life.”
“Yeah.” Tucker grinned. “If he keeps this
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