“Arsenic.” At his horrified expression, she shook her head. “Baking powder, like the recipe said,” she insisted.
He went to the cupboard and took out a small orange box. “You mean this?”
“Yes.”
He started laughing. “This is baking soda, not powder.”
“There’s a difference?”
“Oh, yes. If you taste your dessert it’ll be sharp, and a bit bitter.”
She did, made a face, and struggled to swallow the solitary bite.
“I’m a complete failure. And of no use to you, obviously. I’m sorry, Connor, for wasting your time and mine.” She pushed out her chair, haughty as a queen, and made for the stairs.
“Hey,” he interrupted, lunging after her and grabbing her arm. “One disastrous meal does not a deal-breaker make.”
“Why not? You sure can’t eat my cooking for the next six months. You’ll starve, if I don’t kill you with food poisoning first.”
“Have you ever cooked before?”
“No.”
“Then why on earth did you think you’d suddenly be perfect at it?”
“I didn’t think it would be so hard,” she murmured, leaning against the banister of the stairs. Tears threatened again. “Oh, these stupid hormones!” she said, frustration finally bubbling over. “I hate crying! I never cry!”
Thankfully he ignored the tears and remained pragmatic about the whole issue. “I know how to cook because my mom taught both my brother and me. I’m no great chef by any means, but I can show you the basics.”
Alex took several breaths in and out, calming herself. She was the only one throwing a fit here. Connor was being particularly good-humored about the whole thing. Because of it, she decided to give him a little insight into her past.
“My mom never cooked much. We were sort of the take-out and convenience food house on the block,” Alex admitted, not sure why he was being nice about it. “But I can do stuff out of cans and frozen entrees really well.”
Connor laughed, and Alex smiled up at him. His eyes were warm, framed by those shaggy dark locks. He wasn’t mad. Not even a little. Even though she’d wasted that food and made a horrible mess of everything. Connor Madsen had a generous spirit, she realized, despite the unorthodox relationship they seemed to have started. He was certainly nicer than she deserved.
“You need this money badly, don’t you?” she asked him.
He nodded slowly, his eyes swallowing her up in their dark, honest depths. Their bodies stood close together, and for a moment she wondered how it would feel to put her arms around his waist and simply rest against his strength.
“Bad enough to put up with terrible cooking and hormonal mood swings?”
A ghost of a smile tipped the corners of his lips. “Yes.”
She wondered how long he’d lived here alone, and why. Why hadn’t he married yet? He certainly wasn’t lacking in the looks department. In fact, she was constantly having to remind herself to be practical—which was hard, considering she was already fighting attraction. She mentally added things up: his stellar manners, his consideration, his understanding and lack of a quick temper. He was the kind of man she thought she could trust, and more than anything that counted for a lot. Even knowing him a short few days, she sensed his integrity and strength. He would keep to any bargain they made.
“I’ll probably regret this.”
His hand lifted to cup her chin gently. “I sincerely hope not.” Her eyes strayed to his lips, serious now, but shaped so that she couldn’t help but think of kissing him.
“It’s not forever, Alex. But you need to decide if you can trust me. You need to take that leap of faith.”
“After a few days? No one in their right mind would make such a decision,” she breathed, feeling the tug between them again.
“My great-great-grandparents met on a Wednesday and got married the next day. But you need to decide for yourself.”
He started to pull away. She stopped him with her fingers gripping into his arm. “Wait.”
He waited patiently, steadily.
“Trusting comes hard. Surely you can understand that? I can’t afford to screw this up, Connor. I need to know what I’m doing is right for my child.”
He put his hands on her shoulders, dipping his head to place a soft kiss on her forehead. “You wouldn’t have told me that if you didn’t already trust me,” he whispered against her skin. “And you know it. It’s OK to be frightened.”
He was right, and it scared the daylights out of her.
“Marry me, Alex.” The calm force of his voice almost made it a command.
She closed her eyes and jumped.
“All right. For better or worse, the trial period’s over. I’ll marry you, Connor Madsen.”
THE radio was playing softly in the kitchen when he entered, and the table was set for two, but Alex was nowhere to be found. On the counter was a crockpot. He lifted the lid and the appetizing smell of chili wafted out. His stomach rumbled in appreciation. She had told the truth when she’d said she was a fast learner. It didn’t look like they’d have a repeat of last night.
“Alex?”
“Out here.”
He followed the voice to the deck that faced west. She was standing at the railing, facing the dim outline of the mountains, squinting against the sun.
He stared at Alex. The deepening sunlight framed her figure, outlining her curves, and he was shocked to feel desire streaking through him like a current. Where in the world had that come from? Of course she was attractive—he wasn’t blind—but he hadn’t factored that into the plan. He frowned slightly. It had been a long time since a woman had had that effect on him. He’d been focused on Windover, and working things out, and hadn’t taken the time to pursue a relationship. And he honestly hadn’t considered how much having an extra person around would change things. He’d looked forward to being alone with Alex all day, perhaps too much. He had thought of how her eyes snapped and flashed as she angered, how hard she was on herself for the smallest error. How independent she was. But they’d made a bargain. And he had to keep personal distance.
“Are you all right?” Her voice was sweet and a bit shaky.
“I’m fine.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, keeping back. “Dinner smells great.”
She turned back to the view. “I found the recipe on the kidney bean can. I told you I could make things out of a can.”
He smiled. “Mmm, progress.”
“You haven’t tasted it yet,” she remarked wryly, and he took a place beside her at the rail, making sure their elbows didn’t touch. He could still smell her, though, light, citrusy, and his nerves clawed at his stomach.
“Can we eat later? Let’s take a walk. You haven’t even seen anything of the ranch yet, and you’re going to be here for at least the next several months.”
They hadn’t really had a chance to talk much about themselves, only about the deal they were making. They could be friends, and maybe, just maybe, he’d forget about how pretty she was in the late-day sun.
“Is it OK to leave the chili on?” Her eyes looked up at him, worried.