chaptertwo
Amber
One month later…
A month into my job as housekeeper and cook for the Little C Ranch, I’m starting to wonder if I’m as stupid as Earl always said I was.
Okay, not really, because I know Earl was a jerk and a moron and that him calling me stupid was just his way of excusing the fact that he skimmed money out of the tip jar.
Still, what exactly am I doing here?
It’s been a month since Quinn “rescued” me from Earl’s. That first night, he drove me home to the little apartment I used to rent in Cactus Ridge. The place was a dump, but I could walk to the grocery store and to work and it was cheap, so it had that going for it.
On the drive, Quinn had assured me that he’d come back the next day to help me pack up my belongings and then get me settled at his ranch. Then he took one look at the apartment and refused to leave me there alone overnight. So I’d packed up my duffle bag of clothes, and my two milk crates of belongings, and we’d been in Saddle Creek by midnight.
I know it sounds crazy meeting a guy in a bar, accepting a job from him, and moving into his house five hours later.
But my granny always said, when you know, you know.
She believed that Tabasco makes everything better, the only flour for biscuits is White Lily, and that true love hits you hard and fast.
I’ve known for years Granny was dead to rights about Tabasco and White Lily flour, so when I met Quinn and instantly felt like I’d been hit on the head with an Acme love anvil, I figured she was right about that too.
So when he offered me a job and place to live, I grabbed it, because life is too short not to trust your gut.
That’s another thing Granny used to say.
But now I’m second-guessing everything.
I moved into Quinn’s house, assuming he felt that same Acme Anvil of love that I’d felt. I figured offering me a job was just an excuse to keep me close. I figured he’d eventually make a move on me. I mean, I’d seen the hungry way his eyes raked over my body that night in Earl’s. How he’d stared, wordlessly, until other men had touched me and then Quinn had been full of protective, bossy words.
Words that had woken up my body in a way I’d never experienced. How my skin had felt warm, my breath had sped up, and my breasts felt heavy. I’ve been aroused before, but this was that plus. Like I’d gone to the local fast food place and they asked me if I wanted to supersize my order. If it looks like Quinn Crawford, yes, please. Extra sauce on the side.
In the time I’ve worked here, I’ve made approximately a hundred meals. I’ve cleaned the entire house top to bottom. I’ve planted an herb garden. I’ve perfected my granny’s biscuit recipe. I’ve taught myself how to make homemade bread—which is what I’m currently doing. I’ve spent countless hours trying to befriend the barn cat who wants nothing to do with me. I’ve learned how to take care of chickens. I’ve started a compost pile.
And—I’m not making this up—not one, but two of Quinn’s brothers have fallen in love and gotten married. Or gotten married and then fallen in love. Okay technically Roe was already married when I got here, but still it was like a couple weeks before. Either way, it’s like a veritable Las Vegas wedding chapel around here.
You know what has not happened in the month I’ve lived here?
Quinn has not made a move on me.
Not a single move.
He hasn’t so much as inched in my direction.
Oh, sure. I still feel all the zings.
And I’d swear on my granny’s cast iron skillet that Quinn feels them too.
So why hasn’t he kissed me yet?
I give the dough I’m kneading a punch—since I can’t very well punch anything else—and mutter, “What is wrong with me?”
“Nothing’s wrong with you,” says a feminine voice from behind me.
I whirl around to see Birdie standing in the kitchen doorway.
She’s still dressed in her jammies and obviously just woke up.