Kiss Me (Fool's Gold 17)

They said goodbye to Elaine, grabbed the last of the luggage she’d left on the ground, and took it into the house. The guests had congregated in the large living room. Phoebe noticed that Eddie and Gladys made it a point to speak with each of the children. She wondered whether they had grandkids that they saw on a regular basis.

“Do we have enough beds to sleep everyone tonight?” Maya asked Zane quietly. “Phoebe and I can get a hotel if you want and then join you tomorrow morning.”

“We should be fine,” he said. “Besides, if anyone’s going to be kicked out of his bed tonight, it would be Chase.”

“Poor boy.” Maya moved next to Chase and hugged him protectively.

Phoebe knew she was kidding. Even so, she didn’t agree with Maya’s teasing. Zane might be stern and difficult, but this time he was right. Chase had really messed up by offering a fake cattle drive to vacationers. Because of him, Zane was now responsible for all these people. She wanted to say something supportive to him but couldn’t think of anything that didn’t sound stupid. Or obvious. The last thing she needed right now was Maya figuring out that she was more than a little attracted to Zane.

She satisfied herself with trying to convey empathy with a glance. His dark blue eyes seemed more intense than usual, but maybe that was proximity. She found her gaze drifting down to his lips and her mind zipping back to the kisses that they’d shared. She tried to tell herself that him being a good kisser was meaningless. That sort of a skill didn’t say much about a man, except that he’d either kissed a lot of women or had innate talent. Even as she mentally tried to change the subject, she found herself remembering that Jeff had been a lousy kisser—and more than a bit of a toad—and wondering if Zane came by his talent naturally, or if he’d earned it through lots of practice.

* * *

CHARLES ELVIS MONROE, otherwise known as Cookie, glared at Zane. “You’re bringing kids along?” he asked in disbelief.

Zane didn’t bother answering. He wasn’t bringing anyone along voluntarily. Instead, he was a reluctant host and caretaker, all in the name of teaching Chase a lesson.

“I figured you’d want to know,” he said, then stepped out of the way as Cookie opened the refrigerator and pulled out an armful of lettuce.

“Kids,” the old man muttered. “I’d ask what you were thinkin’ when you agreed to all this, but I’m guessin’ you weren’t thinkin’ at all.” He sighed heavily. “I’ll make sure I got some stuff along that they’ll like.” He drew his thick, gray eyebrows together. “Anything else?”

Zane thought about Andrea and Martin Lagarde. He cleared his throat and took a step back so he was close to the kitchen’s exit.

“There’s a couple from San Francisco. They’re vegetarians.”

Cookie slammed the lettuce onto the counter and spun around to glare at Zane. “What did you say, boy?”

Zane remembered the first time he’d met the older man. He’d been called all the way to Sacramento to make bail for a few of the cowboys. Apparently the usual Saturday night carousing had gotten out of hand. When the party had finally broken up, they’d been making time with several teenage girls on the shy side of eighteen.

After listening to the list of charges and the men’s explanations, Zane had fired two of the men on the spot, had given three a second chance and left the last one—already on probation for fighting—in jail to serve his time. Cookie had been in the last cell. When Zane had finished his lecture to the men he’d sprung, the old cook had straightened and asked where Zane’s spread was located. Zane had told him. Six weeks later Cookie had shown up. Instead of a resume, he’d baked biscuits, grilled steaks and put together a fudge brownie sundae good enough to make ice sweat. Zane had confirmed there weren’t any outstanding warrants on the man, then had hired him on the spot.

That had been ten years ago. Zane had never learned why the old man had been in jail. Cookie didn’t talk about his past, but then Zane rarely looked into other people’s histories. Cookie was grouchy, opinionated, stubborn about only working with good quality food and disappeared for three weeks every year without saying where he was going.

Zane stood his ground. The fact that Cookie had never started a fight didn’t mean he couldn’t be pushed too far.

“Vegetarians.”

Cookie muttered something under his breath. “I ain’t cooking no tofu. I’ll quit first.”

“Fine by me. You cook what you like. I just wanted you to know.”

“Vegetarians.” Cookie washed his hands, then attacked the lettuce.

Frank walked into the kitchen. “Everything’s all set, boss. Tents, saddles, supplies. Cookie’s wagon is loaded, except for the fresh stuff. We have a schedule set up. You’ll get a delivery every afternoon.”

Zane nodded. “You get a look at the folks?”

His second in command did his best to keep his expression neutral, but Zane saw the corner of Frank’s mouth twitch.

“You mean the fact that you’ve got to deal with Maya’s mouth, some old ladies and a couple of kids?”

Cookie picked up a lethal-looking knife, then reached for several tomatoes. “You left out the good part, Zane. Tell him about the damn nut eaters.”

When Frank looked confused, Zane shrugged. “Vegetarians.”

This time Frank’s entire mouth jerked, but he controlled his humor. “Sounds interesting.”