Tripp - Mavericks of Montana Creek Book One Page 4

  “Marty does the dishes,” he informed me.

  “I’m not Marty, and I’m here to cook, not clean up after you.” I had plenty to do that day, and the time it would take to do all those dishes hadn’t been factored into my carefully-planned schedule.

  “She’s right, Bill,” Tripp called from the dining room. “I asked her to cover meals, not worry about housekeeping. We can all do our part until we hire someone full-time.”

  Bill’s eyes swung from Tripp’s to mine and held them the entire time he was putting his dishes away. I returned his gaze, indifferent to his displeasure. After Bill, each of the men followed suit and put their dishes away before leaving to do whatever cowboys do.

  Tripp came into the kitchen and helped himself to another mug of coffee. “What’s your schedule look like between being here and your bakery?”

  “I’ll plan to get here in the mornings like I did today, then after breakfast put something together for lunch that I don’t necessarily have to be here for, like soups or sandwiches. I’ll work at the bakery from nine to four, then be back here by five to make dinner.”

  “You sure you can handle all that?”

  I lifted a shoulder. “Not like I have much choice. I’m not willing to give up on my bakery, and my landlord wouldn’t budge on an extension.” I’d meant it as a joke. Mostly. But he didn’t laugh. His gray eyes searched mine for a moment, and I thought he was about to say something, but instead, he gave a subtle shake of his head.

  “Can you find your way back to the house?”

  “Yep, I’m good.”

  “See you tonight, then.” He jammed his hat on his head and closed the door behind him. His departure felt like a vacuum, the house dead and empty without his incredible presence that I was growing accustomed to. I went to the window and watched him mount a horse and ride away, feeling a strange twinge of disappointment that he wasn’t waiting to take me back on the MULE.

  Shaking my head, I reminded myself this was nothing more than a business arrangement. Tripp wasn’t my friend, he was my boss.

  Still, I thought as I took a deep breath and his piney scent tickled my nose, the sooner I could earn my lease money and distance myself from the intriguing Tripp Maverick, the better. I had enough to worry about without factoring him into my mess of a life.

  8

  Tripp

  I spent that morning doing paperwork in my home office and trying not to think about what Hannah had said. Was I taking advantage of someone in a tough situation just because I hated my job and didn’t want to be bothered to hire a house manager? Should I have stuck to protocol, evicted her, and been done with it? Or was I being too hard on her by not granting her an extension? It’s not like her measly rent check would make or break the property management business, so why not give her a break?

  But the biggest question I couldn’t stop asking myself was, why did I care at all?

  I’d never made a habit of involving myself in other people’s lives, and it had served me well so far. I needed to keep that in mind and remind myself that this was a temporary fix and sooner rather than later, Hannah would no longer be my problem regardless of how cute she looked in those little aprons she wore.

  Wait. What?

  I needed to clear my head. I found my hat and told myself a ride through the countryside was the responsible thing to do. I’d be in a better place mentally to finish the quarterly paperwork for our accountants, and I could check on the property and cattle while I was at it.

  Pongo was wandering around the front yard where I’d left him that morning looking just as restless as I felt. I glanced toward the garages, and though I’d known Hannah’s Jeep wouldn’t be there, I still felt a strange twinge of disappointment that she’d left. Cursing myself for being such a sap, I mounted Pongo and let him set the pace. We flew away from the house and all the responsibilities and worry it held. The spring sun warmed my back, and I pulled in a deep breath feeling freer than I had in weeks. Pongo knew me as well as I knew myself, and he took us through meadows blanketed in clover, the rocky trails leading toward various houses and barns, and splashed through the creeks that ran throughout.

  An hour later, I nudged him toward the bunkhouse. I was hungry and curious to see what Hannah had prepared for lunch. Several other horses were already tied up out front, so I let Pongo join them for some water and oats.

  “Better hurry, boss. There won’t be much left the way these guys are chowing down today,” Jake, one of our newest hands, called when I opened the door.

  “What we got?” I asked and went to the counter where several crock pots and pans had been placed.

  “Read the menu,” Jake said with a snicker.

  A whiteboard had been hung on the wall to the left of the counter and window to the kitchen. In what I assumed was Hannah’s loopy writing, I read, ‘Lunch: chili and cornbread. The fixins are in the fridge. Dinner will be ready at six.’ I chuckled at the asterisk at the bottom of the board. ’Don’t forget to clean up after yourselves!’

  I grabbed a plate and bowl and moved to the line helping myself to several scoops of the chunky chili and a hunk of cornbread. She’d thought of everything, I mused when I found the ‘fixins.’ I sprinkled some cheese and onions into my bowl, skipping the crackers, jalapenos, and sour cream.

  I joined the guys at the table and dug in. “If we keep eating like this, I’m going to get too fat to get on my horse,” Jake said.

  “Well, it’s not like you were starving before,” Marty hollered from the far end of the table.”

  “Whoops, didn’t see you there, Marty,” Jake told him and then leaned over and said, “We weren’t starving, but we weren’t asking for seconds either.”

  Several of the guys around us chuckled, and though my loyalty to Marty wouldn’t let me chime in, I couldn’t help but agree. Between the donut, breakfast that morning, and the best chili I’d ever tasted, I’d be lucky if I didn’t gain a hundred pounds by the time she left.

  “Why don’t you just hire her full time?”

  I shook my head. “She’s got her own business to run. Besides, she told me she doesn’t want to stare at your ugly mugs every day.”

  “I’ll tell you what. I wouldn’t mind staring back.” Several of the guys grunted their agreement.

  “Never high-five in my presence again,” I demanded, annoyed with them but not entirely sure why.

  “Come on, Tripp. Not even you can be immune to a girl that pretty.”

  “She’s here to cook, nothing else.” I heard the hard edge in my voice as I shoved myself away from the table but was unable to stop it. I wanted to stomp my way out of there to prove a point, but that damn asterisk wouldn’t let me. So I circled back, put my dishes away, heard the sound of muffles, but no less irritating laughter, and left.

  Dinnertime. My dad had always taught us it was important to take a hands-on approach with our businesses, and the ranch was no exception. He would often take my brothers and me to dinner at the bunkhouse when we were growing up. I learned so much at those meals about how to ranch, how to lead, and how to think outside the box. But most importantly, how the people who work for you become more than just employees. They become an extension of the family.

  That’s the biggest reason I was driving Dad up to the bunkhouse that evening. It wasn’t because I was anxious to see what Hannah had made or if she’d stick around for the meal. It was business.

  “I’d rather just eat at home tonight, Tripp.”

  “Too bad. You’re the one who taught me how important these dinners can be, so really, it’s your fault I’m dragging you up here.”

  “When will you stop using all those life lessons against me?”

  “Probably never.” A part of me hoped that forcing him back into the land of the living would pull him out of the depression that had such a stranglehold on him these past months.

  “You’re as bull-headed as your mother,” he grumbled, arms crossed.

  “I’ll take that as a compli
ment.”

  He gave me a side-eye. “You heard from your brother?”

  I didn’t have to ask which one he meant. Gage. Of course, word had gotten back to him about the latest scuffle.

  “I left him a message earlier but haven’t heard back.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and worried the inside of his cheek. Rhett Maverick’s one tell.

  “Don’t worry. He’ll surface. Now get out.”

  We were the first to arrive, and as soon as we opened the door, the smell of something wonderful hit my nose, and I was immediately glad I came.

  “Almost ready!” a voice called from the kitchen.

  “It’s just us,” I replied and hung my jacket on a peg by the door.

  Hannah’s head poked out, her hair tied in a messy bun on top of her head and her cheeks flushed pink. “Good timing. You can help me with the potatoes.” She disappeared back into the kitchen then popped right back out. “Hi, Mr. Maverick. Nice to see you again. Tripp?”

  “Bossy little thing,” Dad muttered with a chuckle.

  “My thoughts exactly.” I followed her to the kitchen and was beginning to wonder who she thought was in charge around here when she piped up again.

  “I did some rearranging, so the oven mitts are in that drawer now,” she pointed. “You can put the potatoes in that dish right there.”

  Oh, so she thought she was in charge. “Anyone ever tell you you’re bossy?”

  “Once or twice, but I prefer to think of it as good leadership skills.”

  An unfamiliar feeling bubbled up in my chest. Laughter. “Hard to argue with that logic. What’s on the menu tonight? Smells good.”

  “Chicken and homemade gluten-free noodles. And I always think they taste better over a warm baked potato.”

  I peeked into the bowl she was working on. “What. Is. That?”

  She glanced up. “Salad. I was looking over last month’s menu, and you guys aren’t eating nearly enough veggies.”

  “We’re cowboys. Cowboys don’t need veggies.”

  “Clearly, Marty believed that, but I can’t in good conscience keep feeding you the same way. But don’t worry, I’ll make them taste good.”

  “I remain unconvinced. But speaking of Marty, where is he?”

  She finished messing with the salad and delivered it to the table. “I gave him the night off.”

  “You what?”

  “He was in my way. Besides, I’ll be doing this on my own soon enough. Might as well jump right in.”

  “Hannah.” I pinched the bridge of my nose and tried to keep the irritation out of my voice. “You do realize you’re not his boss? You can’t just decide to give my employees time off work.”

  “By all means, give the man his money. But I work much better alone, and he was more than happy to take off.”

  I stood, hands on my hips, mouth open. It wasn’t often I found myself at a loss for words. I was still trying to find them when Dad’s voice called from the dining room. “What the hell is this?”

  “Salad,” we said in unison, eyes locked on each other in an unspoken challenge.

  “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  “You’ll eat it, and you’ll like it,” she said and then snapped a set of tongs at me. “And you can go join him if you don’t plan to pull those potatoes out of the oven anytime soon.”

  I took the tongs and pinned her with a stare. “Listen up, little girl. You’re free to act however you want in your kitchen, but when you’re in mine, you’ll take your marching orders from me.”

  She opened her mouth, ready to sass me some more I was sure, but I wasn’t in the mood to give her the chance.

  “And let me remind you of one thing.” I took a step closer so she had to look up at me, relishing the fire in her eyes. “I own both the kitchens you work in.”

  Heh. I sure told her. I left her standing there with her mouth open and joined my father in the dining room.

  “What was that all about?”

  “She just needed a reminder as to who’s the boss around here, that’s all.”

  “You don’t usually get riled up so easily.”

  I turned to face him. “What are you getting at?”

  He lifted his hands in surrender. “Not a thing. I just know my Caroline was the only one who could get a rise out of me like that.”

  I huffed. “Yeah, well, I also find bull-headed women irritating. We’ve got that in common.”

  “Whatever you say, son.”

  His glib tone grated, and I wondered if everyone was on a mission to aggravate me. I should have left right then, but I was starving and didn’t want either of them to think they’d bested me. So I took a seat and watched with great satisfaction while Hannah scowled at me and pulled the potatoes out of the oven herself.

  Childish? Yup. Did I care? Not even a little.

  9

  Hannah

  “Crap on a cracker,” I muttered when the fuse to my power blew for the third time that day. I’d tried to fix it myself, but it was becoming clear that it was an issue beyond my skillset which meant I’d have to call my landlord. Which was the last thing I wanted to do after his episode at dinner the night before.

  In my defense, I just needed to work as efficiently as possible to keep up with my carefully-crafted schedule. I wasn’t trying to step on his toes, but lesson learned. Tripp wasn’t a man to be trifled with even if you didn’t know you were trifling.

  But I’d never make all my deliveries on time if I didn’t get the power issue fixed, which meant I wouldn’t be able to pay my rent, which meant even more time with that insufferable Maverick.

  Unacceptable.

  I pulled in a deep breath and dialed the number on Tripp’s business card. He answered on the third ring and sounded out of breath.

  “Tripp? This is Hannah Price. Is this a bad time?”

  “Always.”

  “Oh. Well, I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m having some electrical issues at the bakery and need to get it fixed quickly.”

  “Try flipping the switch in the breaker box.”

  “I did. And I’ve replaced two different fuses, but it keeps blowing.”

  “Are you trying to pull in more power than your outlets were designed for?”

  “No, I’m not doing anything differently.”

  “Well, hell.”

  “I don’t mean to be pushy, but I have several orders I need to get out, and the sooner I get them delivered, the sooner I can pay my rent, and the sooner you can get me out of your hair.”

  “Well, if that’s not motivation, then I don’t know what is.”

  “Hardy har har. So you’ll fix it?”

  “Yeah, I’ll send someone over.”

  “Thanks, Tripp.”

  “Bye.”

  Not as unpleasant as I’d anticipated. I never knew what to expect with Tripp, and that made me even more uneasy around him. To keep myself busy until the power came back on, I made the few deliveries I was able to and took some extra donuts to Beth who was still very pregnant and very hungry.

  On my way back to work, I grabbed a coffee and stopped at a little park near downtown to make shopping lists for both the bakery and the bunkhouse while I waited. Perfect spring days were few and far between in Montana, and I tried to take advantage when I could. I double checked my list and whistled low. It was incredible the amount of food those cowboys could plow through in a day. They spent more on meals in a month than I made in three.

  After finishing my lists and coffee, I went back to the bakery and was frustrated to find it was still dark. I pulled out my phone to check my schedule for the next day and groaned when I realized I needed to deliver another three dozen donuts to the police department after breakfast at the ranch. I was just about to call Tripp again when a thought struck.

  He owns both the kitchens I work in. He said so himself. So why would it matter which one I used for which job? It didn’t, I decided.

  Scribbling a quick note to stick
on the door, I wrote that I’d be back open tomorrow and day-old donuts would be half price. Then I ran inside to collect the ingredients for the donuts, loaded them in the Jeep, and headed toward the ranch.

  I timed everything perfectly and had dinner on the table and three dozen donuts cooling when the first of the cowboys started filing in.

  “Pre-dinner donuts? Don’t mind if I do,” one of them said and reached for a donut with his grubby hand. Without thinking, I reached out and rapped his knuckles.

  “Ow, what the?”

  “Those aren’t for you. Dinner is on the table.”

  He wandered off, muttering about how I was even meaner than Marty, which was hilarious since Marty was currently in the corner cursing me for rearranging ‘his’ kitchen.

  Tripp came in a few minutes later and eyed the donuts. “What’s all this?”

  “I had to get my baking done one way or another.” I arched an eyebrow at him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I still don’t have power at the bakery.”

  “Aw, hell.”

  “I don’t mind doing the baking here, but I really hate closing the storefront for any customers stopping by.”

  “Understood. It’s all part of your agreement anyway and should have been taken care of by now.”

  “Does that mean you’ll take the difference off what I owe you?” I didn’t care if he thought I was pathetic. A day’s worth of business was worth something to me.

  Tripp’s eyes held a strange glint when he replied. “I suppose that’s only fair.”

  “Yes! Look at me and my negotiating skills.” I buffed my fingernails on my shoulder.

  “Very impressive. Now get out of here, so you don’t miss my maintenance guy. I’ll give him another call along with a swift kick in the butt.”

  “Yes sir,” I shot him a little salute and marched out the door, donuts in tow.

  Twenty minutes later, I was back at the bakery which was still without power. I set my box down on the counter and went in search of candles and flashlights. It would be dark soon, and I didn’t like the idea of being there alone without any light.