Lead Me Home. Vicki Thompson Lewis

then, she couldn’t resist spraying some on her finger and sucking it off before she put away the can. She had her finger in her mouth when she heard Matthew clear his throat. Turning, she met his gaze.

      This time she had no doubt that the gleam in his eyes had nothing to do with her food and everything to do with her. Heat pooled low in her belly as his status changed from harmless crush to potential lover. Ah, but that was a bad idea, wasn’t it? She hadn’t been brought over from Nebraska to get horizontal with the horse trainer.

      Perhaps he had the same thought, because he broke eye contact and looked down at the cookbook. “I think you should lose the eggplant.” His voice was husky.

      She was so focused on the undertone of lust that it took her a couple of seconds to register what he’d said and muster a protest. “Eggplant is the whole point to ratatouille.” She returned the whipped cream to the refrigerator, pulled spoons out of the utensil drawer, and brought the two dishes of figs over to the table.

      He cleared his throat again. “I realize that, but eggplant’s a tricky vegetable when it comes to cowboys. They might accept it breaded and fried in eggplant parmesan, but I’m not sure they’ll take to it in a stew.”

      “So ratatouille without the eggplant.” She sat next to him because the idea had been to study the recipe together. “Maybe I should fix something else, instead.” His warmth and his scent reached out to her.

      “No, I think this will work.” He pulled his dish of figs closer. “Thanks for fixing this.”

      “You’re welcome.” She cut through the whipped cream with her spoon and scooped up a bite of fig and cream. Sitting within easy touching distance of him made her tremble, and she took another calming breath. She didn’t want to drop the mouthful of dessert in her lap.

      But she was determined to eat and prove that she was in control of the situation. She put the spoon in her mouth, but not all the whipped cream made it. She had to lick away the excess.

      She thought he hadn’t noticed until she realized his breathing had changed. When she peeked over at him, he was watching her with that same intensity that played havoc with her pulse rate.

      Closing his eyes, he pushed back from the table. “You know, maybe I should turn in, after all.”

      She had the distinct impression he was running away before he did something totally inappropriate. And how she wished he would. But he was acting like a responsible adult, so she would, too. “All right. But should I substitute something for the eggplant?”

      “Yes.” He picked up his bowl of figs. “I’ll take these with me, if that’s okay.”

      “That’s fine. What should I substitute?”

      “Potatoes.” He headed out of the kitchen.

      “Potatoes? Really?”

      “Yes,” he called over his shoulder. “Cowboys love potatoes. See you tomorrow, and thanks for a great meal!”

      She stared after him, not sure whether to feel rejected by his abrupt departure or immensely complimented because he’d almost lost control of himself. She settled on feeling complimented.

      But knowing they wanted each other this much changed everything. She wondered if he’d abandon the evening meal planning he’d suggested. If they went ahead with it, something was bound to happen. He had to know that as well as she did.

      Would that be a mistake? From what she’d gathered from Aunt Mary Lou, the Chance family didn’t interfere with their employees’ personal lives as long as they fulfilled the duties they were hired for. Yet Aurelia didn’t want to do anything that would reflect poorly on her aunt.

      Being the aggressor in the relationship might look really bad, so no matter how much Matthew turned her on, she wouldn’t pursue him. If he decided to resist temptation, then she would admire him from afar. But if he decided not to resist … Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to imagine the possibilities.

       3

      WOUND TIGHT FROM his encounter with Aurelia, Matthew carried his dessert down to the bunkhouse. He hoped the card game was still in progress. He desperately needed a distraction.

      He’d been here less than an hour. Seducing the ranch cook within the first sixty minutes of arriving was not his style, but he’d come damned close to doing exactly that. He was the kind of man who liked to take it easy and work up to things. That was one of the qualities that made him a good horse trainer. So he needed to dial it back several notches.

      Pushing open the screen door, he took in the welcome sight of six cowhands playing poker on a battered wooden table positioned in the middle of what was obviously the bunkhouse kitchen. They’d fortified themselves with beer, soda and various kinds of chips. A couple had cigars going. They all looked up from their cards as Matthew walked in.

      “Hey, Matthew!” Jeb folded his hand and laid it on the table. “Let me introduce you to everybody.” He pointed to a dark-haired cowboy on his left. “This joker is Tucker Rankin. He’s only here for a couple of nights while his fiancée is at some forestry conference in Spokane, but the rest of these bozos live here full-time, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with them and their snoring.”

      “Speak for yourself, carrot-top,” a rugged blond guy said. “You’re a damned buzz-saw.”

      “Am not, Shorty. That’s coming from Danny’s bunk.”

      “Hey!” A guy with prominent ears pointed his cigar at Jeb. “I do not snore. And that’s a fact.” He stood and extended his hand to Matthew. “Nice to meet you, Tredway. I’m Danny Lancaster. I admire your work.”

      “Thanks.” Matthew transferred his dessert to his left hand so he could accept the handshakes of the rest of the poker players as they introduced themselves. Besides Shorty LaBeff and Danny Lancaster, the two cigar smokers, the table included Bob Gilbert, who wore wire-rimmed glasses, and Frank Delaney, who had a neatly trimmed mustache.

      Danny glanced at Matthew’s bowl of figs. “Those things look familiar. The trash is over yonder.” He gestured with his thumb.

      “Thanks, but I’m going to eat them.”

      “Don’t put yourself through it. She’ll never know the difference.” Danny reached for the bowl. “Here, let me get rid of—”

      “No!” Matthew jerked it back. “I want these! If the figs are half as good as the meal she fed me, they’ll be great.”

      Danny stared at him, and then he broke into a wide grin that eventually turned to a chuckle and wound up as a belly laugh. Soon all the other cowhands were laughing, too.

      “That’s a good one, Tredway!” Danny clapped him on the back. “For a second there, I thought you were serious.”

      “He couldn’t have been serious.” Bob pulled out his shirttail and began polishing his glasses. “But it was good for a laugh.”

      “I am serious.”

      That set everyone off again.

      “Yeah, right.” Shorty grinned before sticking his cigar in the corner of his mouth. “Okay, joke’s over. Pull up a chair, Tredway. Let’s play some cards.”

      Matthew dragged a chair over and sat at the table. “I’m not kidding, guys. I enjoyed the meal Aurelia fed me.”

      Tucker, the guy who was only staying overnight, stared at him. “Then she must not have given you the lunch leftovers, because that stuff was awful.”

      “You can say that again.” Frank picked up his cards. “What’d she call it?”

      “Something French-sounding.” Bob looked at his cards and put them face-down on the table. “Shetty fou lardy, or something like that. And I’m here to tell you it was definitely shetty.”

      “She