The Bachelor Tax

His eyes narrowed and his lips tightened. “You were in my father’s study?”

Rosemary scented anger. She’d hit a sore spot, sure enough. “I took the liberty of looking into all the rooms, Mr. Tanner. I didn’t know that any of them were out of bounds to me.”

“It’s full of my father’s things.” His words were abrupt.

“Your father?” If the man was here, Rosemary surely hadn’t seen any sign of him.

“I had a father, Miss Gibson. Like yours, he is no longer with us.”

She flinched from his words, recognizing his intention to cause pain. The man had a cruel streak. “Then he will no longer be needing the room, will he?” she asked quietly.

Tanner’s mouth twisted and his nostrils flared briefly, as his boots clattered against the stairs. Reaching the bottom, he halted before her.

“Now that you mention it, I don’t suppose he will.” His chest rose and fell as he hesitated.

“If it’s too much trouble, I can…” she began, wishing she had not begun this battle.

“You’ll have to put up with one of the rooms upstairs, until I can sort his things out. Shouldn’t take me more than a couple of evenings.”

She cast a look at the dim interior of the dining room. “Why not use…”

“I’ll take care of it.” His tone ended the discussion and Rosemary pinched her lips together as Tanner looked at the duet of husky men, jerking his thumb up the stairs in the direction of the bedrooms there. In less than a minute, her belongings had been carried up and deposited in the first bedroom, Tanner directing the move.

Bates spoke from the porch, his voice carrying through the kitchen. “You boys about ready? Supper’s gonna be late, and your ma don’t like keepin’ food hot, Sonny.”

“All right, Pa,” the largest of the two young men answered, grinning quickly at Rosemary as he passed.

They were gone. Just that quickly, they climbed aboard the big wagon and Bates disappeared from view.

Rosemary walked into the kitchen, halting in front of the big bureau that held an assortment of crocks and utensils.

From behind her, Tanner’s footsteps crossed the floor. “I’ll expect supper on the table in two hours, Miss Gibson. There’ll be six hands and myself.”

“Do I get to eat, too?” She couldn’t resist. His words begged for rebuttal, and to her dismay, her sharp tongue offered it without pause.

“You’d better make plenty, or there might not be any left for you, ma’am. You’re cookin’ for hungry men.”

That was an understatement, Rosemary decided later, watching as the seven men devoured her efforts. In less than ten minutes they had plowed through two platters of beef steak she’d breaded and fried, then placed in the oven to bake. A big bowl of pale gravy was poured without prejudice over their plates, covering potatoes, biscuits and meat, the spoon she had provided even now staining the tablecloth she’d used.

Two quart jars of green beans had disappeared, and the dried apples she’d made up into a dessert, with sugar and cinnamon and sweet dough on top, were but a memory.

It was as if a horde of locusts had descended and devoured every scrap of available food, she decided, watching with wide eyes as one of the men wiped the gravy bowl clean with a piece of biscuit, then stuffed the dripping bite into his mouth.

“Sure is good grub, ma’am,” he announced, shoving his chair back from the table as he gained his feet. “Pert near as good as Mama Pearl’s.”

The glow ignited by his offhand compliment faded as Rosemary registered his final words. “What does Mama Pearl cook for you?” she asked hastily as the men clustered at the doorway, filing out onto the porch.

Tanner sat at the other end of the long table and leaned back in his chair. “You’ll get a chance to ask her tomorrow. It’s her day to show up here.”

He eyed the empty bowls and his grin was unrepentant. “Doesn’t look like they left you much, Miss Gibson. You can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She nodded. “That’s true.”

Tanner rose from his chair, nodding at her as he pushed it beneath the table’s edge. His fingers raised in a half salute as he strolled from the kitchen. “I might as well start on the study, ma’am. There may be part of a loaf of bread left in the pantry if you’re hungry.”

“I took you at your word, Mr. Tanner,” she said beneath her breath.

He paused at the doorway. “Oh? How’s that?”

She turned, opening the oven and, with a heavy pot holder, drew forth a plate upon which she had placed a generous portion of the meal she had prepared.

“I got mine first. Just in case.” With a flourish, she sat down at the table, spreading a dish towel across her lap. Folding her hands before her, she closed her eyes, her mind searching for words of thanksgiving.

For the first time in her life, she met a blank wall. The presence of the Almighty seemed not to occupy this room, and the simple prayer she was accustomed to speaking before her meals was somehow gone from her mind.

She compromised, closing her eyes, whispering a few words of thanks for her food, and asking only for safe refuge in this place. The image of Gabe Tanner’s face flashed before her closed eyes, his lips curved in a smug grin, his gaze flashing a challenge.

Her eyes opened and she gritted her teeth. The man was determined to be an aggravation. With fingers that trembled, she picked up her knife and fork and sawed at a piece of steak, reconsidering her quick petition to the Almighty.

Perhaps, she thought, she should have asked instead for patience.

Chapter Five

The rain began during the night, blowing through the window, sending a fresh breeze into Rosemary’s bedroom. She awoke with a start, only a sheet covering her, the residue of a dream fogging her mind. Rising quickly, she moved toward the window, where filmy curtains billowed in the wind, the fabric soaking up the dampness. Beneath her feet raindrops spattered the floor, and she shivered as chills vibrated through her body.

Arms circling like those of a windmill, her legs wobbling beneath her, she slid in an awkward dance across the wet, bare wooden floor. With a loud thump, her left hand banged against the wall, and she cried aloud as she fell, her bottom landing with bruising force. The fabric of her nightgown soaked up the puddle she sat in, and between the throbbing of her hand and the chill of the soggy material wrapped around her, she was beyond discomfort.

Outside the open window the rain increased, and she winced as the lightning flashed, a loud clap of thunder following on its heels, battering her eardrums. It was not, she decided, an auspicious beginning for this, her first night in this house.

“Miss Gibson? Rosemary?” From the doorway, Tanner’s booming voice filled the room. He stepped quickly to the bed as if he sought her there, and then moved around it to where she sprawled inelegantly on the floor in front of the open window.

“If you want to take a bath, there’s easier ways to go about it, ma’am.” He reached past her to close the window, before squatting beside her. Bathed in another flash of light, he leaned toward her, bare chested, his smile raffish. It was too much to bear—this man with his sarcasm, the rain drenching her, a wet curtain draped across her head, and the knowledge that she wore her only clean nightgown.