A Cowboy Christmas. Janette Kenny

Several inviting meals came to mind.

      If that meat was still there, she’d attempt to carve a few steaks. With the dried mushrooms she’d found in a tin, she could make a savory gravy to dress the panfried pork steaks.

      A few vegetables seasoned with spices and dressed with butter would make a passable first meal.

      But first she had to ascertain if they had pork. To do that, she had to brave the elements.

      “It is good to have such appetizing smells in the kitchen,” Hubert said from the doorway of the pantry, startling her. “Is there anything I can do to assist you?”

      She nearly made the mistake of asking him to go to the meat locker for her. No, if Mrs. Leach gathered her own ingredients for meals, she’d do so as well.

      “Everything is in order,” she said.

      He gave her that odd look again, as if he knew she was a fraud and stumbling through meal preparation. “Very well. I was a bit concerned when I noted you’d not begun dinner preparations.”

      She bristled up at that, hoping she appeared indignant instead of defensive. “I decided to bake a pie while I apprised myself of what was on hand. Now that I have, I’ll have supper on in short order.”

      “Excellent.” Hubert’s thin lips twitched with a hint of amusement. “Mr. Barclay will expect to dine promptly at five.”

      Thanks to being a clock-watcher, Ellie knew that gave her a bit less than forty minutes to have a meal on the table. While chicken-fried pork steaks and a medley of vegetables cooked on the stovetop, she’d put a whip on her just-baked pie and set the meringue.

      Yes, her first meal was very doable—if she didn’t have to fetch the meat from the locker. And if the pork was gone?

      Her stomach quivered at the thought of failing her first meal here. A simple vegetable soup seasoned with salt pork was sounding more appealing.

      She marched to the cloak she’d hung on the hall peg with the intentions of shrugging into it and striding out the door. She managed to swirl the fabric around her shoulders in a show of impatience when the back door burst open.

      A gust of icy wind swept down the hall and ripped her cloak from her hands. She yelped and grappled with the yards of fabric still cold from her long drive to the Crown Seven.

      Ellie’s head jerked up and her eyes surely went wide as saucers. For standing in the kitchen was an elf of a man from her dreams—short, rotund and swathed in a heavy red-and-black buffalo plaid coat.

      Snow clung to his white beard and mustache, and his round cheeks were rouged from the cold. His green eyes stared at her with disapproval that made her shiver.

      Ellie swallowed, unable to form words as she stared at the man. No, he couldn’t be. He couldn’t be that bold to steal a horse and return to the ranch.

      “Reckoned since ya’ll got in late I’d share my Irish stew,” he said in a rusty voice she didn’t recognize. “Though the only Irish in it is a touch of whiskey.”

      Her pa had changed drastically, packing so much weight on his wiry frame that he looked like a barrel. His black hair was now snow white, and a full beard hid his grizzled features.

      Her heart set off on an icy race. No, he looked nothing like the father she’d known, nor did he resemble the man on the wanted posters nailed in jails across the west.

      If not for his sour expression, he’d pass for the jolly old elf Santa Claus.

      Somehow she managed to move forward to take the offered pail from him. “Thank you for sharing your bounty.” And for finding a reason to come to the house, though his darkening frown wasn’t at all heartening.

      “I’ll set it on the stove,” he said and took off in that direction before she could object.

      She should have followed him into the kitchen, but she couldn’t force her legs to work. Of all the reunions she’d imagined, this one had never occurred to her.

      Surely he recognized her. Perhaps he was simply being cautious with Hubert in the house. Perhaps he truly wasn’t pleased to see her again after all these lonely years.

      He returned to where she stood in the hall. She noted his halting gait and wondered what had happened to him. The years had turned him into someone she barely recognized. Even his voice was scratchy, as if speaking took great effort.

      She longed to step into his embrace and lose her breath from his bear hug. Even if his demeanor welcomed it, she didn’t dare make such a bold overture with Hubert bearing down on them.

      “I thought I heard voices,” Hubert said, insinuating himself into this awkward moment. “Allow me to introduce Mrs. Leach’s friend, Miss Cade.”

      “How do, miss,” her pa said, his green eyes warming a bit.

      Hubert made no sign of noticing as he continued with his formal introductions. “Miss Cade, this is Gabby Moss, the chuck cook.”

      At least she knew what to call him now. “How good to make your acquaintance, Mr. Moss.”

      If he felt as awkward as she, it didn’t show. “The men went hunting today and bagged a couple of prairie chickens and a deer. I’ve dressed both and hung them in the meat locker.”

      “Thank you,” she managed to get out in a voice that didn’t quaver.

      “Were they able to find Kincaid’s trail?” Hubert asked.

      Her pa shook his head, not meeting her eyes or the Englishman’s. “Nary a sign of it. Boss had the men pen up the rest of them thoroughbreds.”

      “That should deter this thief,” Hubert said.

      This time she caught a hint of mischief flickering in her pa’s blue eyes. Good heavens, surely he didn’t intend to steal another horse? Surely he realized he was playing a dangerous game by passing himself off as a chuck cook while he was rustling horses.

      “Reckon the weather will slow him—” Her pa broke off, scowling and sniffing the air. “What in tarnation’s on fire?”

      She drew in the smell of burnt sugar and scorched crust at the same time Hubert muttered a curse and hobbled toward the kitchen.

      “My pie!” she said as black smoke billowed into the hall.

      Chapter 4

      Reid smelled the smoke before he saw the black cloud stringing across the dusky snow sky. He drew in a deep breath. Not wood smoke. No, this smelled sweet, like burned sugar.

      What the hell?

      A thousand improbable things went through his mind as he trudged toward the house. He caught sight of Ellie standing in the open door, fanning a towel and looking ready to cry. Smoke escaped the back door in puffs.

      “What the hell happened?” Reid asked as he stomped to her, giving her a head-to-toe perusal that had her flushing red. “You start a grease fire?”

      “No, I didn’t do any such thing,” she said and coughed.

      He peered past her into the hall and noted the worst of the smoke had dissipated. All she was doing now was letting frigid air inside, but she seemed to be unaware.

      He moved her back into the house and yanked the door shut. His eyes immediately watered from the lingering smoke.

      “What was burning?” he asked.

      Her narrow shoulders slumped. “My pie, I fear.”

      That didn’t say much about her culinary talents. Just what had Mrs. Leach been thinking to recommend Ellie Jo Cade for the job of housekeeper and cook?

      “Where’s Hubert?” he asked, his patience shot to hell now.

      Ellie pointed a shaky finger into the kitchen. “He’s in there with my—with