out of her pocket and showed it to him. âItâs just for 911 calls, but it would do the job.â
âIt wouldnât. Weâll get you one. Itâs essential here. Iâll tell Darbyâheâll arrange it for you.â
âThanks,â she said, surprised. She should have been using her own phone, but she thought it might give her away. It was one of the very expensive models. The one she was carrying looked much more like something a poor cowgirl would own.
âOh, weâre nice,â he told her with a straight face. âWe have sterling characters, we never curse or complain, weâre always easy to get along withâ¦.â He stopped because she was muffling laughter.
âJust because Cane can turn the air blue, and Mallory throws things is no reason to think weâre not easygoing,â he instructed.
âYes, sir. Iâll remember that.â
He laughed. âIf you need anything, you call,â he said. âKeep your eyes open. The man who escaped was charged with killing a man in cold blood,â he added solemnly. âJoe Bascomb. He was with me in Iraq. But desperate men can do desperatethings. He might hurt a stranger, even a woman, if he thought she might turn him in to the law. Heâs sworn heâll never go back to jail.â His eyes were sad. âI never thought heâd run. Iâm sure he didnât mean to kill the other man, if in fact he did. But theyâre bound and determined to catch him, and heâs determined not to be caught. So you watch your back.â
âIâll be more careful.â
âPlease do. Good help is hard to find.â He tipped his hat, and rode away.
Morie breathed a sigh of relief and got back on her horse.
CHAPTER THREE
T HERE WAS SOME BIG SHINDIG planned for the following Friday, Morie heard. The housekeeper, Mavie Taylor, was vocal about the food the brothers wanted prepared for it.
âI canât make canapés,â she groaned, pushing back a graying strand of hair that had escaped its bun. She propped her hands on her thin hips and glowered. âHow am I supposed to come up with things like that when all they ever want is steak and potatoes?â
âListen, canapés are easy,â Morie said gently. âYou can take a cocktail sausage and wrap it in bacon, secure it with a toothpick and bake it.â She gave the temperature setting and cooking time. âThen you can make little cucumber sandwiches cut into triangles, tea cakes, cheese strawsâ¦â
âWait a minute.â She was writing frantically on a pad. âWhat else?â
Morie glowed. It was the first time the acid-tongued housekeeper had ever said anything halfway pleasant to her. She named several othersmall, easily prepared snacks that would be recognizable to any social animal as a canapé.
âHow do you know all this?â the woman asked finally, and suspiciously.
âLast ranch I worked at, I had to help in the kitchen,â Morie said, and it was no lie. She often helped Shelby when company was coming.
âThis is nice,â she replied. She tried to smile. It didnât quite work. Those facial muscles didnât get much exercise. âThanks,â she added stiffly.
Morie grinned. âYouâre welcome.â
Her small eyes narrowed. âOkay, what about table linen and stuff?â
âDo you have a selection of those?â
âI hope so.â The harassed woman sighed. âI only came to work here a couple of weeks before you did. Iâve never had to cook for a party and I donât have a clue about place settings. Iâm no high-society chef! I mean, look at me!â she exclaimed, indicating her sweatpants and T-shirt that read Give Chickens the Vote!
Morie tried not to giggle. Sheâd never credited the Kirksâ venomous housekeeper with a sense of humor. Perhaps sheâd misjudged the woman.
âI cooked for a bunkhouse