could use a shot of coffee, and since her machine was the same as the one Lily had given Gram, he could handle it.
“They pay you to scream?”
“Damn right. Three varieties for this job. I have to hit the pitch, the timing—as in six-point-three seconds for the bloodcurdling. I need to match the facial expressions of the actress for a good, clean dub. The director—I’ve worked with him before—likes three takes on each scream.”
“Do you want coffee?”
“No, I stick with water before I work, and during.”
“So you’re screaming and kneading bread.”
“Rehearsing,” she corrected. “And making Italian bread because I’m having my grandparents over for dinner tonight. A pasta dinner. I don’t have a deep culinary well, but I learned to make this meal in New York because it’s one of Lily’s favorites.”
He leaned back against the counter with his coffee while she greased a bowl, turned the dough into it. She covered it with the cloth he’d brought back, then—just as he’d been taught—put the bowl in the oven with the oven light on to rise in the warm.
He studied the work island. “You’re messy.”
“Yeah.” She went to the sink to wash dough off her hands. “And if I don’t clean it up to Consuela’s standards, I’ll hear her clucking her tongue when she comes in to clean tomorrow.”
He watched while she dealt with the excess flour first, dumped tools in the sink, put away canisters. Then got out a counter spray and wash rag.
She wore those leggings things, the ones that molded to—in her case—really nice, long legs. Over it a long blue sweater with the sleeves shoved up.
She’d let her hair grow long, had it pulled back into a tail.
Yeah, he thought again as she worked, she looked damn good.
“My mom’s working on an organic cleaner.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, like all-purpose to start, then laundry detergent and so on. You can’t tell Gram to slow down on the physical work on the ranch. I mean you literally can’t tell her, because she’ll kick your ass.”
On a laugh, Cate glanced back. “Experienced that, have you?”
“Oh yeah. So the connection between cleaners and ass-kicking is, if—no, when, because there’s no ‘if’ with my mother—when she has it down, she’ll turn it over to Gram. Like we expanded the goatherd, added a couple dairy cows a few years ago.”
Frowning, Cate rinsed out the cloth in the sink. “That sounds like more physical work.”
“It is, that’s a trade-off. It also means butter and cheese, which are mostly Gram’s areas.”
“I’ve got your butter and cheese along with your eggs, milk in my refrigerator. My grandparents stocked me up. I’ll be using your goat cheese on tonight’s salad.”
“I just delivered more up at the house.”
She hit the counter with the clean cloth. “Are deliveries part of the service?”
“For special customers.”
It fascinated her. The life the Coopers and Maggie lived had always fascinated her.
“Do you sell right off the ranch? Farm? Dairy?”
He smiled. “Sure. Something you need?”
“I will eventually. I’ll be using a lot of those eggs later when I make a soufflé. I’m a little terrified as I’ve never made one before, and they’ve got to be tricky. But my grandfather has a real soft spot for soufflés. I want to—it’s not pay them back. It’s . . .”
“I know what you mean.”
She rinsed out the cloth again, laid it out to dry before picking up her water bottle. Twisted the top off and on, off and on. “They’ve got their kid gloves on again, and I hate that. Frank Denby—he was one of the men who took me—somebody killed him. In prison. Stabbed him. And you already knew,” she realized, reading it on his face.
“Red spends a lot of time at the ranch.”
“They don’t think I know, so we’re not talking about it.”
He’d already stayed longer than he’d intended, had a list of chores to start and finish, but she stood there twisting that damn bottle cap.
“From what Red said, Denby wasn’t a popular guy in San Quentin. He had more than a few dustups that landed him in the infirmary, more bullshit that landed him in solitary. Hearing all this, well, it’s bound to take you back, upset you, but whoever shanked him most likely did it because he was, in general, an asshole and, according to Red, was suspected of being a snitch.”
She finally uncapped the bottle, drank. “I don’t know how I feel about him being dead. I can’t quite reach in and find what I feel about that. But I know I