The Rancher's Virgin Acquisition(6)

"Finish it now and then I'll get you settled."

Luke was shocked when his reasonable request was met with a negative shake of her head and a glimmer of tears in her eyes.

Tears? What the hell had set her off now?

He reached out and took the glass from her hand when he saw it was in immediate danger of spilling. Her hand was shaking uncontrollably; he needed to find out what was making her panic all of a sudden. Did she think going to bed meant she was in danger from him? The idea that she thought he couldn't be trusted put a black frown between his brows.

The moment the milk was taken from her and pushed to the side, the subtle quaking of her body subsided somewhat.

"You all right?"

"Yes."

She looked better now. The color was coming back to her cheeks and the trembling had subsided. Now to get her settled and away from him. He needed some damn peace tonight and wasn't going to get it as long as she was in his radius.

"You sure you had enough?"

There was that glimmer of tears again.

"Please, Luke, don't make me drink it. I can't. I'm so full." Her expression beseeched his.

"Make you drink it?" The roar came from his diaphragm and as he blasted the question out her head jerked back and hit the back of the rocking chair.

She was silent and he continued. "Where the hell would you get the idea I'd make you drink it? Why would I make you drink it?"

She shook her head back and forth as she tried to answer him. "You told me to finish it." Her eyes dropped from his. "And I thought you meant it."

Luke looked at her bent head and searched for the answer to what the actual problem was. "I did mean it. But I'm not going to force it down your throat. Jesus. I'm just worried about you, that's all. I'm assuming you haven't eaten all day, or even had much to drink. I don't want your health to suffer."

Emma couldn't believe she'd misunderstood the situation so completely. It was definitely going to take her a while to learn how to read this man. His tone brooked no refusal, but evidently, she could refuse him and walk away unscathed. Couldn't she?

"I'm sorry. I misunderstood, that's all. I know we don't know each other, but I have a small phobia about being told how much to consume."

He studied her and the look of anger on his face wasn't directed at her.

"The orphanage?" He questioned in a menacing tone.

She understood what he was asking her. "Yes."

He nodded his head in quick understanding and reached out and lifted one of her hands and helped her to her feet.

His hand moved to her chin and he lifted it and stared down into her eyes. "You're right. We don't know each other. But know this about me now. I'll never force you to eat or drink anything you don't want. I'll never force you to do anything. I'm a harsh man. I know that. My words are sometimes sharp, but ask Maria tomorrow morning when you meet her, I'm nothing but a pushover."





Chapter Three


"He said what, Senorita?" Maria turned and completely abandoned her task of washing the breakfast dishes and stared askance at Emma.

"He said he was a pushover. Was he telling me the truth?"

While Emma took in the stunned look on the other woman's face, she looked around the kitchen in the light of day.

The room was far more comfortable than she would have imagined a kitchen on a ranch in Colorado could have been.

A large stove was at the center of the workplace and it vented to the outside. A water pump directly in the kitchen was a convenience she hadn't imagined she'd find. The table was huge, big enough to seat ten or twelve she expected, and the chairs were sturdy and strong. Blue and white decorated china graced the cabinets that were fronted by real glass doors, and the flatware she stood fingering was real silver.

It was a beautiful room, with a hominess that was enhanced by curtains and herbs that grew in containers on the windowsill.

When Luke had escorted her to her room the previous evening, he hadn't taken the time to show her the rest of the house. He had shown her where he slept in case she needed him, where to take care of her more personal needs in the middle of the night, and then told her goodnight as swiftly as he could.

She slept through the night, probably from pure exhaustion, and this morning she saw the room she had been given for the first time. She slept in a sturdy four-poster bed with a comfortable feather mattress, and a colorful, quilted coverlet. The furnishings in the rest of the room matched the bedstead; they were carved from a deep mahogany wood and embellished with intricate, detailed designs. There was a dresser with a mirror, and a small, feminine writing desk and chair to match.

The room was lovely and unlike any she'd ever been in other than the one time she had stayed in a hotel for a few days in St. Louis.

And the fact that all of this was found on a ranch in the middle of Colorado told her that Luke Butler was a man of wealth.

In an attempt at small talk and in getting to know the housekeeper, when she had questioned Maria as to how big the ranch was, the other woman had looked puzzled and had waved her hand in an airy way and replied that it went everywhere.

Emma wondered what exactly everywhere meant.

Before she left her room, she had washed as quickly and as well as she could, because she was anxious to see the ranch and where she would be staying for what would very probably be a week or so. Because she didn't have her things, she'd had no choice but to sleep in a single petticoat and put on the same dress that she had worn the previous day.

When she had haltingly arrived at the kitchen, Luke was nowhere to be seen, but the signs of his occupation were everywhere. Several hats identical to the one he had been wearing hung on pegs next to the door, and a coffee cup and used plate were still situated at the head of the table where he had undoubtedly had his breakfast.

She had found Maria, and had shyly introduced herself and offered her help in any way she could.

Maria was a pleasant, rotund soul with knowing, dark brown eyes and twin dimples in her cheeks that were forever creased in happiness for one reason or another.

Now, after a pleasant morning of chit-chat and female camaraderie, Emma was more than pleasantly surprised to realize that she liked the older woman and that her tentative feelings seemed to be returned.

But why in the world, she had opened her mouth and asked that question about Luke was beyond her. But it had slipped out. She had mentioned that Luke had prepared her a meal the night before and had taken pains to put her at her ease by telling her that he was far less gruff than he sounded.

And now Maria stood in front of her, her mouth open in shock, seemingly at a loss for words.

Emma dried the skillet and pans while sitting at the table, her chair turned to face Maria as they worked together and talked at the same time. Her hands stalled as she tried to interpret Maria's expression. She explained her question to the woman further, "I haven't been around men very much. He seems to be exactly like he is on the surface."

"And how is that?" Maria asked.

Emma's mouth formed a half-smile. "Stubborn." Her eyes flew to Maria's and asked, "Short-tempered, maybe?"

"Yes, these things are true about Luke."

"But not soft, as he told me?"

Maria's mouth twisted in a grimace. "I am not sure exactly why he would say such a thing to you. Soft? No."

They studied each other for a moment and when Emma didn't respond, Maria added, "He is a good man, but soft? No." She shook her head in denial.

"He's not mean, surely?"

"Mean? No, not exactly. Fair, I would call it. A man that is responsible for a ranch of this size and the many men under him, has to have a firm hand, would you not agree?"

Emma nodded her head in agreement, but her mind wandered. That description sounded exactly like the man she had met last night, although she hadn't had much time to develop an appreciation yet as to whether or not he could be called fair.

Certainly, when he realized her adversity to the milk he hadn't pressed it.

In fact, by the sound of things he had tried to calm her fears.

She did like that about the man.



Emma wasn't very happy with the lie she was embroiled in pertaining to her 'twisted ankle.' Evidently, Luke had told Maria and Maria was treating her much like an invalid.

She wanted nothing more than to go outside and explore but she couldn't because of her 'injury.'

Instead, she sat in a cushioned, comfortable chair with her leg propped up, reading a copy of the Farmers' Almanac.

She was quite understandably bored, really didn't know anything about farming and didn't particularly want to learn at the moment, and her eyes kept lifting to the window overlooking the kitchen garden. It was lost on her completely the irony of the book she held, versus the place she wanted to be.

The colors spilling from the plot were amazing. Maria had proudly boasted that the garden was hers, and when Emma had enthusiastically wanted to see it, she had been promised that treat when her leg healed properly.

Her leg would never heal properly and she was itching to go see the garden now. To the left and right of the garden, bright yellow flowers guarded the plot like sentinels would a much loved castle. The garden itself exploded in colors bursting of orange, greens, reds, and yellows. Emma could see tomatoes, cucumbers, okra, peppers, and squash.

She had always loved working in the garden at the orphanage; it was one of her favorite memories and one she cherished from her youth.

She had had no family, no mother to love her, but the garden was a constant that grew year after year, it seldom changed, and could always be counted on for nourishment and was a continued form of exercise.