Lissa smiled back. “Yes, thank you.”
“Well, let’s ring it all up, shall we?”
She’d taken Nick’s suggestion to heart. She’d bought whatever she thought would keep a bunch of hungry, hard-working men filled and happy for at least a week.
Bags of sugar, of oats, of flour and rice and pasta and dried beans went from the cart to the counter to the cardboard boxes. Cans of tomatoes and vegetables followed, then packets of yeast. Cans of pineapple rings and apricots, bags of dried fruits, a couple of pounds of apples and pears as well as two ten-pound sacks of potatoes and another of onions made the same trip. Last up were quarts of milk, cartons of butter, packages of cheese, cold cuts, big bags of sandwich rolls, containers of orange juice, steaks and hamburger, chickens and turkey legs, along with a couple of pork roasts.
Nick looked bewildered.
“I won’t know what to do with most of that stuff.”
“I’ll cook it up and freeze it. And I’ll bake some bread and a couple of cakes, too. All you’ll have to do is defrost and heat.”
His face brightened. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I wouldn’t want you or the others to starve. Or to get ptomaine poisoning from you and Gus and your Adventures in Gastronomy.”
Nick laughed. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I have to admit, it’s probably well-placed.”
She smiled as Jessup punched a bell. Two boys appeared from the storeroom at the rear and started carrying all the purchases out to the truck.
“Not that,” Nick said quickly, when one boy reached for a small box. He looked at Lissa, then jerked his chin toward a semicircle of rush-bottomed chairs that stood near a kerosene stove. “Sit down.”
“What for?”
“Jesus, do you have to argue over everything?”
“I’m not arguing.”
“No. But you will. I recognize that tone.” Nick sighed. “Duchess. Do us both a favor. Sit down.”
She sat, and her eyes widened when he opened the box and took out a pair of leather boots.
“What are those?”
“What do they look like?”
“Are those supposed to be for me?”
“No. Here. See if they fit.”
“I just said, are those supposed to be for me? And you said they weren’t. And now you want me to—”
“What I said was, they aren’t supposed to be for you—they are for you. Try them on.”
“Nick. Honestly—”
“You came here expecting hot tubs, fire pits and spring wildflowers. What you found was an old house, a bunch of hungry cowboys, and a snowstorm. Just give in gracefully. Try on the damn boots.” He drew a breath, heaved it out. “Please.”
“But I’ll only be here until…” Lissa sighed. “Fine. I’ll try them on.”
She kicked off the three-sizes-too-big boots, easily slid her feet into the ones Nick handed her. The leather was butter-soft and the size was perfect, and she permitted herself one fleeting instant of self-indulgence, closing her eyes, giving another little sigh.
She loved good boots.
It was, she knew, something that came of growing up on a ranch.
“Good?”