cook. He'd started out on the Lazy B when Kel's grandfather owned the ranch, cowboying until he announced that his bones were too brittle for sitting a ca3mse and that he'd take over the cooking, which until then had rotated among the men. His cooking was plain but filling, and the men had no complaints except when it came to baking. As one of the men had put it, if there was only a gun made to fire them.
Zeke's biscuits were hard enough to bring down a buffalo. Zeke had demonstrated the truth of this claim by throwing a panful at the cowboy in question. The resultant bruises had proved beyond a doubt that the biscuits were hard as rocks. Zeke thereafter refused to bake anything for a bunch of ingrates who ought to be thankful they'd foimd someone who'd hire thdr sorry asses, let alone feed 'em.
Megan had heard the story from Gun the first week she'd worked here. She'd asked what the cowboys did for bread, if Zeke refused to bake. Gun had told her that Zeke bought bread but he was ornery enough to buy the cheapest stuff he could find. Grace Cav-enaugh had occasionally taken pity on the hands and made up a batch of biscuits or baked a couple of extra pies. Zeke allowed these intrusions on his territory only because Grace Cavenaugh had informed him that he was a no-good excuse for a human being and that if he opened his mouth to her, she'd take a frying pan to his mangy head.
Megan had laughed at the image and asked why Kel didn't do something about Zeke. Kel shook his head and grimaced. Zeke scared the hell out of him. The old coot had known him since he was in diapers and he wasn't at all impressed that Kel was now the boss. If Megan was smart, she'd keep her distance from Zeke.
Megan considered herself a smart woman but the challenge had simply been too much to resist. She'd waited until she was sure she was going to be staying on the ranch for the summer and then she'd made up a huge batch of feather rolls, using her grandmother's recipe. She'd carried them down to the bunk-
no Michaels Father
house and presented them to Zeke, who was every bit as crusty and intimidating as she'd been told. She wanted his recipe for venison stew, she'd announced, and she was willing to trade a batch of rolls for it.
Zeke had glared at her through a haze of cigarette smoke and told her to take her rolls and remove her fanny from his kitchen. Megan stood her ground. How did he think the cowboys were going to like it when they found out that sheM had to throw out four dozen of the best rolls this side of the Rockies just because he was being cranky? Not to mention the apple pies now cooling up at the house.
Zeke's eyes narrowed to slits. It had probably been seventy years since anyone had dared to label him cranky. Cantankerous, maybe. Or a few other, less poUte words, but not cranky. Small children were cranky. He gave Megan a glare that had been known to make cowboys find urgent business elsewhere. Megan met the look without flinching and held out the big bowl. The smell of fresh bread wafted through the towel that covered it.
Zeke's mouth watered. He hadn't had fresh bread since the last time that old biddy of a housekeeper had brought some down. Gun had been talking up the new housekeeper's baking, saying she made the best pies he'd ever set a tooth to. If the men foimd out he'd turned her away—and he had a feeling she'd make sure they did find out—he was likely to have a riot on his hands. Besides, those rolls smeUed mighty good.
**I don't give out my recipes," he snapped.
MichaeVs Father HI
"Fine. Then maybe next time you make venison stew, you could make enough extra for the house. And when I have extra baking, I'll bring it down."
He nodded, accepting a fair trade. He made venison stew the next night and Megan kept the men supplied with fresh bread and baked pies or cakes a couple of times a week. Kel shook his head over her managing to get around Zeke, and the men became her instant friends.
Carey Mils and Dick
Zeke's biscuits were hard enough to bring down a buffalo. Zeke had demonstrated the truth of this claim by throwing a panful at the cowboy in question. The resultant bruises had proved beyond a doubt that the biscuits were hard as rocks. Zeke thereafter refused to bake anything for a bunch of ingrates who ought to be thankful they'd foimd someone who'd hire thdr sorry asses, let alone feed 'em.
Megan had heard the story from Gun the first week she'd worked here. She'd asked what the cowboys did for bread, if Zeke refused to bake. Gun had told her that Zeke bought bread but he was ornery enough to buy the cheapest stuff he could find. Grace Cav-enaugh had occasionally taken pity on the hands and made up a batch of biscuits or baked a couple of extra pies. Zeke allowed these intrusions on his territory only because Grace Cavenaugh had informed him that he was a no-good excuse for a human being and that if he opened his mouth to her, she'd take a frying pan to his mangy head.
Megan had laughed at the image and asked why Kel didn't do something about Zeke. Kel shook his head and grimaced. Zeke scared the hell out of him. The old coot had known him since he was in diapers and he wasn't at all impressed that Kel was now the boss. If Megan was smart, she'd keep her distance from Zeke.
Megan considered herself a smart woman but the challenge had simply been too much to resist. She'd waited until she was sure she was going to be staying on the ranch for the summer and then she'd made up a huge batch of feather rolls, using her grandmother's recipe. She'd carried them down to the bunk-
no Michaels Father
house and presented them to Zeke, who was every bit as crusty and intimidating as she'd been told. She wanted his recipe for venison stew, she'd announced, and she was willing to trade a batch of rolls for it.
Zeke had glared at her through a haze of cigarette smoke and told her to take her rolls and remove her fanny from his kitchen. Megan stood her ground. How did he think the cowboys were going to like it when they found out that sheM had to throw out four dozen of the best rolls this side of the Rockies just because he was being cranky? Not to mention the apple pies now cooling up at the house.
Zeke's eyes narrowed to slits. It had probably been seventy years since anyone had dared to label him cranky. Cantankerous, maybe. Or a few other, less poUte words, but not cranky. Small children were cranky. He gave Megan a glare that had been known to make cowboys find urgent business elsewhere. Megan met the look without flinching and held out the big bowl. The smell of fresh bread wafted through the towel that covered it.
Zeke's mouth watered. He hadn't had fresh bread since the last time that old biddy of a housekeeper had brought some down. Gun had been talking up the new housekeeper's baking, saying she made the best pies he'd ever set a tooth to. If the men foimd out he'd turned her away—and he had a feeling she'd make sure they did find out—he was likely to have a riot on his hands. Besides, those rolls smeUed mighty good.
**I don't give out my recipes," he snapped.
MichaeVs Father HI
"Fine. Then maybe next time you make venison stew, you could make enough extra for the house. And when I have extra baking, I'll bring it down."
He nodded, accepting a fair trade. He made venison stew the next night and Megan kept the men supplied with fresh bread and baked pies or cakes a couple of times a week. Kel shook his head over her managing to get around Zeke, and the men became her instant friends.
Carey Mils and Dick
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