Christmas at Home (Spikes & Spurs #5) - Carolyn Brown Page 0,6
the ranch as long as you want when the sale is sealed, signed, and finished. And back to rule number one, darlin’, if you want your face to freeze like that, then just hold on to that nasty look,” Creed said.
Her face softened, but she wasn’t ready to smile and welcome the damn cowboy. Not yet, probably not ever.
“She wasn’t supposed to leave until today.”
Maybe the blizzard was a blessing. He’d see right quick that life in the canyon was too hard and he’d be ready to get the hell out of the place as soon as he could. Sage didn’t mind doing chores. She hated milking a cow, but she could do that too if the cowboy would ride on out of the canyon as soon as the roads were cleared. Hell, she’d call a helicopter and pay the bill out of her own money if he wanted to get out of the canyon before the snowplow arrived.
“What’s for breakfast?” he asked.
“Whatever you can scrounge up. I didn’t take you to raise,” she said shortly.
He smiled down at her. “Miz Ada said you’d be a handful and you’d come in here mad as a wet hen after a tornado. She was dead on, but darlin’, I am buyin’ this place. You are welcome to live on it. We can be friends, barely acquaintances, or enemies. Your choice and you don’t even have to make it today. But it’s going to be a long three weeks until she comes back and in this storm we’ve got no one but each other, so it can be pleasant or pretty damn miserable. Remember as you drink your coffee that this house ain’t very big and we are stuck in it together.”
The arrogance of the man!
He went on. “She left because of the storm and because her sister needs her, not because she was a bit afraid of you. That woman gave me the impression that she could face down the devil and own half of hell before the fight was over. You wouldn’t pose much problem.”
“You got her right, but you got me all wrong. I’m every bit as mean as she is. She raised me,” Sage said.
Creed wiped the snow from his cheeks as it melted from his lashes. “I like my eggs scrambled.”
“I like mine easy over.”
Creed raised an eyebrow. “Who’s cookin’?”
“Not me,” she told him. She wasn’t about to start cooking for him or feeding that dog he’d brought in either.
The ugly mutt looked from one of them to the other. Finally, he ambled toward the fireplace, where he curled up in a ball, covered his nose with his paw, and shut his eyes.
Creed brushed past Sage and poured two cups of coffee. He set hers on the table beside the bucket of milk and leaned against the kitchen side of the bar separating the two rooms.
“You going to strain that and put it in the refrigerator or am I?”
“I’ll do it. You probably wouldn’t do it right anyway.”
It wasn’t his ranch or his cows or his milk. She’d wear Grand down with the sheer volume of her arguments even if she had to whine and pout. Like she had said, he probably wouldn’t do the job right anyway.
She went to the huge walk-in pantry, then picked up a gallon jar and a piece of clean cheesecloth. She put the cloth on top of the jar, made an indention in the top with her fist, and deftly wrapped a rubber band around the edge of the jar. Then she carefully poured the milk through the cloth and into the jar.
When the job was finished she removed the cloth, tossed it into the empty milk bucket, and set the bucket in the kitchen sink. She squirted dish soap into the bucket and ran warm water in it, washed out the cheesecloth, hung it on the dish drainer, and turned the bucket upside down in the drainer.
“You don’t waste time or motions. That’s good,” he said.
Sage picked up her coffee and carried it to the living room where she curled up in the rocking chair. Creed followed her, and she did her dead level best to ignore him. He had no right to be sitting in Grand’s rocking chair with his long legs pushed toward the fire that she’d built.
* * *
Sage was prettier than the picture of her sitting on the mantel and a lot bigger than he’d imagined she would be. She was almost six feet tall and there