His frown intensified. “It’s in the garage, tuned up and ready to go for now at least, but it’s still a piece of shit.” His eyes narrowed. “You planning on leaving so soon?” he asked, an almost sinister challenge on his features.
The look in his eyes said that she’d better not dare think of leaving and even though it was an accusatory look filled with suppressed sexual heat, it forced an unbidden memory to come to her brain: Him, backing her into his bedroom and walking her toward his bed.
She felt the blush that warmed her cheeks, but forced herself to maintain eye contact as she answered with a small shake of her head. “No, but you and I both know that I don’t know how to cook. I’ve searched the kitchen cabinets but I can’t find a single cookbook, so I thought I’d run to town and go to the library.” At the stern look that hadn’t budged from his features, and the memory of him blasting her for asking for a taxi, she continued, “Redwood Falls does have a library, right?”
“Yeah,” he answered succinctly.
She swallowed and forced herself to persevere. “So, I know my week’s trial is almost over, but I’m prepared to keep trying and for that, I need a cookbook—I could call my mom and she could talk me through a lot, but I don’t want to make your phone bill go sky high.”
There was a prolonged silence while he cracked his knuckles before asking, “Are you close to your mother? Is she still in Shreveport?”
Sort of amazed that he’d remembered she was from Shreveport, she nodded her head. “Yeah she is and yes, we’re close.”
“Did you let her know where you’ve landed?”
“Yes. I did use your phone to give her my info. I’m sorry I didn’t ask first.”
He studied her, the dark look still in prominence. “It’s not a problem. You can use the phone any time you’d like—you don’t need permission. A few long distance phone calls aren’t going to break me.”
“Okay, thanks. About the library—”
“Fine—go. You want me to watch the kid—keep Hannah?” he asked, changing course in his question, and in doing so, letting her know that he was trying to get along, which was a small shock in itself.
“No, not at all, but thanks for the offer. We both need to get out of the house a bit. I have another question.”
He leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head as if he had all day, but he didn’t say a word, and he didn’t smile.
She swallowed down her apprehension. “If I stay, if I keep working here, will I have a day off?”
He shrugged as if it meant little to him. “Sure, if that’s what you want—it’s not like I’ve got you punching a clock.”
“No, I know that. But I don’t want to disappear for an entire day without giving you a head’s up. I’m going to need to run errands and things of that nature, so would Friday or Saturday work best for you?”
“I don’t care.”
“Are you telling me that I can play it by ear?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“Okay, thanks. Other than running to the library, that’s all I need to do today, so I’ll still have supper ready this evening.”
He grimaced—he actually grimaced. “Great, thanks. Will that be all?” he asked a bit formally.
She nodded her head and stood to her feet as he opened the center drawer in his desk and pulled out her car keys. He slid them across the desk and she grabbed them, turned and left the room, making her escape as quickly as humanly possible.
****
Janet spent an hour in the library with Hannah in her stroller. The place was otherwise deserted, and the librarian, a young woman about her age named Annie Knowles, was friendly and seemed genuinely nice. The librarian had appeared a bit surprised when Janet had told her she was working at the Bar M as the housekeeper, but had smothered her shock quickly and offered to help with whatever Janet needed. Before long, they were in a deep discussion about baking and cooking, a pile of cookbooks spread open on a table between them.
“Did you turn down the oven?” Annie asked, trying to figure out why Janet’s roast had been all but tossed in the trash. “You didn’t leave it on three-fifty for the entire time, did you?”
Janet flinched. “Yes—that’s not right?”
The librarian bit her lip and shook her head in a commiserating way. “No, hon. Maybe three-fifty for the first hour or so, but then you have to turn it way down. Somewhere around two-twenty or so. And you have to baste it. Did you baste it?”
“Baste it?” Janet asked, feeling seriously worthless.
Annie smiled before covering her mouth with her hands. “You have to baste a roast—or it helps, anyway. Every hour or so, open the oven and dip the juices over the top of the meat. That’s how you baste something. Like you would a turkey or a chicken.”
“Oh, dear Lord,” Janet mumbled, horrified that not knowing those two simple tricks had conspired against her in such a huge way. “Can you give me a hint why my gravy resembled dried up paint?”
“It was too thick?”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“Too much f
lour. You have to make a roux. Gravy’s pretty tricky. You can learn that later. For now, just buy those gravy envelopes at the market and follow the directions. That’s what I did when I was first married. Seriously—you can’t miss with those.”
“How long have you been married?” Janet asked, a little curious about the woman who was being so kind to her.
“Rusty and I got married the day after I graduated high school,” the other girl said with a nostalgic smile. “Seven years ago.”
“I’m twenty-five,” Janet said, calculating Annie’s age. “You, too?”
“Yes!” the other woman answered with a grin.
The women continued to talk for a while, exchanging phone numbers. The librarian was a mother of two young kids, and Janet felt an immediate bond with her. She was relieved when Annie told her she could call her any time for cooking advice or anything else for that matter.
After she left the library, Janet filled her gas tank and then drove to the grocery store. She bought personal items, shampoo, conditioner, tampons and things for Hannah. Diapers, wet-wipes and baby food.
She strolled the aisles, trying to get an idea of supper items, and she saw the gravy envelopes. Although she didn’t have enough money to supply the Bar M with groceries, the packets were cheap. Deciding to buy one to see if it worked, she tossed it in her cart.
Checking out, she thanked Mr. Rigsby for the job recommendation.
“So, it’s working out for you, is it, young lady?” he asked with a kindly smile as he rang everything up.
“Yes, sir, so far.”
“Well, good, good. Housekeepers are hard to come by in these parts—McIntyre got lucky, if you ask me. And let him know, will you, that his standard order will be delivered on Monday as usual.”
“He has groceries delivered?” she asked, a bit caught off guard. She knew they’d been running low, but figured he’d go to the store himself. Right.