The Marshal's Rebellious Bride (16 page)

But she also didn’t want her brother giving her a
spanking for anything else. She sucked in a breath, gritted her teeth and said,
“Thank you for doing my chores.” She couldn’t resist adding, “Even though I
didn’t need your help.”

His mouth twitched.
Amused?
It caught her off guard. Her heart did a little dance of
excitement at seeing his slight smile, which irritated her. She was mad at him.
He was keeping some kind of secret about his son from her. She hated secrets.

“Come sit down,” Morgan said and nodded to her chair.

“When I’m good and ready.” She didn’t move an inch,
but somehow she felt as if he were touching her. His gaze remained locked with
hers. His eyes seemed to smolder with a heat that had nothing to do with
irritation.
A dangerous heat.
A
promising heat.
The same kind of heat she’d seen in his eyes last night.

“Uncomfortable with me this morning?” Morgan
questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Now he was almost taunting her. “Irritated is more
like it.”

“Whiskey,” Taos warned and she ground her teeth at
having almost forgotten her brothers were still in the room.

“While this has been entertaining, I need to head into
town.” Keno shoved back from the table, grinning. “You’ve met your match, Sis.”

“Yes, she has,” Morgan inserted, sounding smug.

She stomped her foot, realized what a foolish act that
had been, and said, “Sorry. He just makes me so mad. You
all
make me mad. None of you listen to me. I don’t want to—”

“Don’t want to marry me. Yes, you’ve said that, but
you
are
going to do it.” Morgan cut
her off and nodded toward the seat across from him.

When she didn’t move, he looked pointedly at her lower
body. “Or were you talking about not wanting to sit down because your ass is
still sore?”

Her face flamed and she still didn’t move.

 
“Sit down.
You need to eat,” he said firmly.

For an instant she considered holding onto her
stubbornness and refusing. A glance at Taos told her that would be a very
unwise decision. He’d had enough. Morgan, evidently had, too. He looked ready
to stand up and haul her to the chair. With the expression on his face now, he
just might haul her to
his
chair,
bend her over his lap, and spank her…then plant her on the other chair.

She tipped up her chin and walked with as much dignity
as she could muster to her chair. All eyes focused on her, she gingerly sat
down. “Satisfied? I’m sitting.” Then a spark of temper seeped out and she
added, “And, yes, it isn’t a bit comfortable.”

Morgan nodded approval and she wanted to kick his
shin, but she controlled that need. Barely.

Taos still appeared upset with her and said, “Since
you’ll be sticking around the house today, you can cook supper tonight.”

She blinked in confusion. They had a cook for the
family. He’d been with them for years. “Manuel—”

“Manuel needed the day off to go see his sister. Her
baby was born yesterday and her husband needs help with their other children
today,” Taos explained. “You’ll be cooking tonight.”

“But I don’t cook,” she reminded him. “Don’t you
remember…
”

She stopped when she saw in his expression that he
didn’t care. Clearly, this was some sort of additional punishment that he was
assigning for what she’d done yesterday and probably for her attitude this
morning. While she hated it, this was more acceptable than having him decide to
take the paddle to her still sore bottom, although only slightly more
acceptable. “Fine.”

“I’m not sure…” Keno inserted, concern filling his
handsome face.

Taos shot him a quelling look. “She can do this.” He
focused on her again. “This’ll be your chance to show us what you learned from
Aunt Mae.”

He looked at Morgan, who also appeared concerned. “Our
aunt makes a pie crust so flaky it melts in your mouth. I’m sure Whiskey will
make us an apple pie with those apples she picked the other day.”

“The apples were for Demon and my mule, not for making
a pie!”

“You need to stop spoiling my horse,” Morgan grouched.

She rolled her eyes, and then ignored him. “Manuel
doesn’t like me in his kitchen,” she said in her final attempt to stop this
unpleasant situation.

“Manuel isn’t here,” Taos said flatly.

Resignation filled her. But then she decided this just
might be a good way to get back at her brothers and Morgan for all their plotting
and planning. Get back at Morgan for… Well, for what he’d done last night. Not
wanting them to see her sudden amusement, she lowered her gaze so the men
wouldn’t see the mischief dancing in her eyes. “Around five, I assume.”

“Around five.”
 
Taos stood, obviously pleased with her answer. “I’m sure Aunt Mae gave
you good instructions.”

He hesitated before moving away. “Oh, and Manuel said
there’s a chunk of beef ready to be cooked. Beans, too. He probably has the
fixings for that Mexican sauce as well.”

She nodded, certain their family’s cook did have the
makings for his typical Mexican-style meal. That didn’t mean she knew how to
cook any of it, but if that’s what her brother wanted.
 
“I’ll give it a try.”

And, no,
you’re wrong, brother dear. Aunt Mae didn’t teach me how to cook like her. She
gave up on me.

She glanced at Morgan and nearly laughed at his
worried expression. Maybe he was rethinking this whole getting married idea. A
man expected his wife to be a good cook, which she definitely was not. A man
expected a lot of things that she definitely wasn’t. Yes, this cooking tonight
just might solve her problem.

Keno—the chicken—said, “I doubt I’ll be
back for supper.”

Taos pinned him with a look. “This is special. You can
damn well be here.”

“Apple pie,” Whiskey said, smiling innocently. “Roast
beef Mexican style, in that spicy sauce you like. Beans, too. Maybe even
bread.”

He gave her a doubtful look and nodded. “I’ll probably
regret this, but I’ll be here.” Then he walked out of the kitchen.

Taos followed him out the back door, saying over his
shoulder, “I’ll ride into town with Keno. And I’ll make sure he comes back with
me later.”

That left her alone with Morgan. Her stomach tingled
with nerves, but she told herself it was because she hadn’t eaten yet. It
wasn’t because he looked so…so handsome.
No!
It was not!
It wasn’t because she liked his earthy scent, the stubble on
his face, the heat in his eyes.
No! No!
No!

She squirmed on her chair, which was a mistake. Tiny
tingles reminded her of the stropping she’d received at his hand. It revived
her anger with him.
 
“Don’t you have
somewhere to be?”

Slowly he shoved back from the table, his gaze steady
on hers.

She stiffened; maybe she was pushing him too far.

“Your pretty little bottom is safe.” A hint of a smile
creased his face. “For now.”

He walked closer to her. “Not pleasant to sit on a
well-burned butt, is it?”

He made her nervous. “No.” She wanted to squirm again,
wanted to jump to her feet. But she wouldn’t give him the pleasure of seeing
that.

“Best you behaved yourself for a while then.”

To her disgust, her face heated. “Just leave. I’ve got
things to do.” She glanced at the table of abandoned dishes and bit out,
“Starting with washing dishes.”

He strode across the room and took his hat from the
row of pegs by the door. Then he turned to face her once more. “We’re still
getting married, Angelina. That stunt you pulled yesterday doesn’t change the
situation.”

“You’re so damn stubborn,” she hissed.

“And you’re so damn much trouble sometimes. Best you
remember that I’ll burn your butt anytime you misbehave.” With that he jammed
the hat on his head and went out the back door.

She stood the second he was out the door and reached
back to rub her skirt-covered bottom. She didn’t want him—or her brothers—burning
her bottom anymore. Unfortunately that was a wish not likely to come true. Like
her wish that Morgan would just sell back his share of the ranch and head back
to Texas, forever.

* * *

Five hours of sweating in the hotter-than-Hades
kitchen wiped the humor at the ridiculous situation away. Whiskey would
never
put herself through this torture
again. Their family had a cook for a reason. None of them knew how to make an
edible meal. Well, maybe Taos could survive on the trail, but that was
different. No, she would never try this again. Her respect for Manuel and his
cooking abilities had grown immensely with each disaster she’d faced, and there
had been many.

She stood in front of the wood-burning cookstove and
stared into the cast iron pot on top. A knife used to lift the chunk of beef
into the pot refused to come out. She had cooked the meat all day as she’d seen
Manuel do. So what was wrong?
 
Why
hadn’t it gotten tender? She’d heard him say once that you just added a little
water to keep it moist. But she’d never asked how much “a little” actually was.
She had decided it was a handful. From the look of the chunk now, she was
pretty sure that hadn’t been enough for the
fifteen pound
slab. But she didn’t have time to fret any longer over this problem. Hopefully,
the chili sauce she’d made for it would moisten it up.

Thinking about that, she turned to lift the lid off
the kettle of bubbling sauce. A blast of steam hit her in the face. She slammed
the lid back on the kettle, grumbling a curse that would have her brothers
furious in a flash. Her eyes burned.
Wow
!
When she’d taken a quick taste of the thick, red mixture hours ago, it had
seemed kind of blah.

Her nose twitched at the powerful smell that lingered.
She wondered if adding the two pints of chopped peppers Manuel had in the
pantry and then a mountain of onions and garlic that she’d chopped had been
such a good idea. But it was too late to worry about that now.

She cautiously lifted the lid again to stir the
mixture with a wooden spoon. Tears misted her eyes. Had she used the wrong kind
of peppers? She knew Manuel had Jalapeno peppers as well as bell peppers in the
pantry.
 
She didn’t really know the
difference when they were chopped up and canned. Hmmm. She probably needed to
get a little more instruction from Manuel sometime…should she ever decide to
attempt cooking again. Which was doubtful.

She replaced the lid and used the corner of her apron
to pull down the oven door and study the kettle of beans inside. Again,
something just didn’t look right. She hadn’t been able to remember anything at
all about how Manuel cooked beans for his Mexican dishes, other than he cooked
them in the oven. From their sad state, she thought maybe she should have added
more than a handful of water for cooking. Maybe her hands were just too small.
Could she add more water now? Would they suck up the
moisture…

Distracting her, boots pounded on the back porch.
Her brothers?
Morgan, too
?
Weren’t they early? Or was she
just that late with all of this?

With a quick glance toward the door, she took in the
mess she’d made of Manuel’s kitchen. Flour seemed to have exploded in the room.
It coated the table where she’d attempted to make biscuits. It covered the
floor beneath as well and she’d made a trail with her footsteps between the
table and the stove. It would take her the rest of the day to clean up her
mess. Which soured her mood even more.

“Smells good, Sis,” Keno said with enthusiasm as he
stepped into the room. An instant later, after taking in the disastrous room,
he burst into laughter. “Manuel won’t ever let you in here again, with good
reason.”

“Fine with me,” she countered and closed the oven
door.

Taos walked in next and his eyes nearly popped out of
his head. “My God, Whiskey! What have you done!
”
He
leaned against a counter to shake his head in amazement.

She glowered at them both. “I never claimed to be neat
when I cooked.” She picked a glob of dough off her apron and considered tossing
it at them. “I never said I could cook either, which I’m pretty sure you’re
soon going to discover. Again.”

Taos spotted a lopsided, mangled, half burnt pile in a
pie pan next to him. “Pie, I assume.” His horrified expression lightened her
spirit.

Keno walked past her, rolled his eyes at the ruined
pie, and asked casually, “As cute as you look with flour dusting your
cheeks…and most of your body… are you planning on cleaning up for dinner?”

“I don’t see any point in it.” Besides, she was too
tired to drag her weary bones up the stairs to change clothes, or even to cross
the room and clean up in the sink.

“Not looking very impressive, Sis.”

“I’m
not
trying to impress anyone.” The foolish woman in her did struggle with not going
to wash up, with not going to make sure the flour was out of her hair.