Shades Of Gray. Wendy Douglas

      Derek raised his arms in mock surrender. “Do you take prisoners?”

      She glared at him and lowered the mallet. “Why don’t you ever make some noise so a person can hear you coming?”

      He shrugged. “Too much time trying to do the opposite, I suppose. I’d like you to meet our new cook.”

      She blinked, and her irritation evaporated as she regarded the man standing behind Derek. He didn’t indicate much interest in her, but the rugs, or perhaps the porch or her roses, seemed to captivate him.

      Derek made the introductions, and Beau stepped forward. “Ma’am,” he said in a soft drawl.

      Georgia? Amber wondered as she tried to place his accent. No, that wasn’t right. Virginia, perhaps?

      She ignored Derek and candidly eyed Beauregard Montgomery. For pity’s sake, he had both his arms. Trust Whitley to exaggerate the case. She should have known better; she hadn’t trusted the young cowboy since the day she caught him sneaking out of the ranch house study, trying to steal a decanter of Richard’s best whiskey. Richard would have fired Whitley if he’d been able to find enough competent workers.

      Whitley’s shortcomings, however, didn’t concern her nearly as much as did Beau. She’d never met a man who seemed so downright skittish, due, she’d wager, to his missing hand. She could well imagine the reality of his situation; her own more limited experience had taught her how cruel and unthinking people could be. She’d stake her reputation—if she had one—that the loss of his hand had caused Beau a host of difficulties that had nothing to do with his physical infirmity.

      “How do you do, Mr. Montgomery.” She tried to catch his gaze with hers. “Please call me Amber.”

      He looked at her then, uncertainty etched on his features. “Thank you. And I prefer Beau.”

      She smiled and stuck out her hand. “Welcome to the Double F.”

      “Thank you, ma’am.” Carefully he accepted her handshake. “Er—Amber.” He corrected himself with a crooked smile that, at best, was only half there, but she took it as a start.

      “I should be thanking you. You’re the answer to my prayers. Derek promised he’d find a cook to help me—and here you are.”

      “You haven’t tasted my cooking yet. I’m afraid I learned out of desperation, during the war.”

      “No matter.” Amber smiled in encouragement. “I’ll be glad to help at first, if you need. I have a whole book of recipes, and I’ve learned a few tricks myself.”

      “I’d appreciate that.”

      “We’re agreed, then,” Derek interjected, sounding suddenly impatient. He had remained quiet until now, which had enabled Amber to concentrate on Beau. Even so, she had remained supremely aware of Derek’s presence; she heard his every breath, noticed each time he stirred. He seemed to have invaded her very consciousness, and she could never quite dismiss him.

      “I’ll introduce you to the other hands and show you where to put your gear,” Derek said to Beau. “You can meet up with Amber later.”

      “If I’m not at the house, I’ll be in the cookhouse or one of the gardens.” She pointed in the proper direction.

      Beau nodded.

      “I’ve got stew started already, so tonight’s meal should pose no difficulty.”

      “How’s your recipe for biscuits?”

      “Light and fluffy.”

      Beau nodded again and almost smiled again, too. “Then we’ll use yours.”

      “Gideon, Six and I won’t be here,” Derek announced suddenly.

      Amber stared at him. “What? Why?”

      He leveled a flat gaze on her. “This is a cattle ranch with a herd that’s been neglected for too long. There’s work to be done, not enough men to do it, and I can’t wait any longer to get started.”

      “I see,” she said slowly. “How long will you be gone?”

      “Overnight.”

      Curse him and his stiff, one-word answers. She did her best to settle her features into an even display of indifference. “Is anything…wrong?”

      He raised his brows and angled his head in her direction. “There’s a lot wrong. I told you that. Right now I want to get a better idea of this herd and see how these cowboys work.”

      He turned and strode toward the bunkhouse. “I’ll see you sometime tomorrow. This way, Beau.”

      Amber couldn’t bring herself to look away from the men’s departure. Nor could she lie to herself. It was not Beau she watched, but Derek. He carried himself like a warrior, a man she instinctively recognized as someone to be counted on—if he believed in you. He had a presence that threatened her, overwhelmed her, unnerved her…fascinated her.

      She whirled around to face the half-beaten rugs. No. Fascination suggested something entirely inappropriate, something like—enchanted? Perhaps mesmerized, or even infatuated. And those reactions were completely unacceptable. Utterly ridiculous. She hardly knew Derek. He didn’t like her, and she didn’t like him. Did she?

      Don’t worry. He’s leaving, at least for a day.

      Relief spread through her, making her almost light-headed. She wouldn’t have to see him, think about him or this sudden awareness that refused to give her any peace. And if he left, even for a day, she could escape his damned questions. A day wasn’t much of a reprieve, but it would do for now.

      Derek and the others were ready to leave within the hour. Amber packed some food in a canvas bag—smoked meat and bread and cheese—and handed it to him as they prepared to ride out.

      “Here. I don’t know what provisions might be left in any of the line shacks, or even where you’ll be going. This will carry you through, at least until tomorrow.”

      “Thank you.” He took the package, his eyes darkening with what she interpreted as grateful surprise. Didn’t he expect his housekeeper to look after his welfare? He gave no indication of his thoughts, however, merely settling his hat on his head. It deepened the shadows over his face and effectively obscured any clues his features might have revealed.

      She swallowed a small sigh of frustration and stepped aside as Derek secured the pack to his bedroll. He swung up into the saddle without another word, his movements clean and sparse, and with a style and grace that created a curious little ache in the middle of her chest. For the second time in less than an hour, Amber couldn’t make herself look away from him. Merely breathing seemed suddenly difficult.