Read Online Counterfeit Cowgirl (Love and Laughter) by Lois Greiman - Free Book Online
Authors: Lois Greiman
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tired.”
She straightened. “I’m sorry my appearance isn’t up to your lofty standards,” she said. “I’ll feed the calf.”
“I don’t mind,” he countered.
For a moment silence lay gently between them, but then she remembered herself. “It’s not going to be that easy to back out of our agreement,” she said. “That calf is going to live, and he’s going to live because of me.” She jabbed a thumb toward her chest. Water splashed into her eye. She ignored it for the sake of dignity—a slippery thing lately. “You’ll be paying me a thousand dollars and I’ll be leaving this backwater toilet on the first plane.”
He snorted and bending, lifted Daniel easily into his arms. “Okay. If that’s the way you want it.” He turned, then stopped in the doorway. “Oh, breakfast is at six. I like my eggs over easy.”
O VER EASY ! Nothing was easy. Not on this piece of godforsaken tundra.
Hannah groaned as she slid her feet over the edge of the bed and onto the floor. The cold floor. The cold, uncarpeted floor.
She didn’t have an alarm clock. She’d always regarded them as barbaric, and had insisted on having Maria awaken her with fresh-squeezed orange juice on those rare occasions when she’d had to rise before noon.
But now, despite everything, she had awakened on her own every couple of hours during the night. She didn’t know why. Perhaps she was worried about Daniel, whom she’d fed twice since her bath. Or perhaps it was simply because, no matter what, no matter if the sky fell and the sea turned to chocolate mousse, she was not going to let that half-brained, black-haired Neanderthal man beat her.
He liked his eggs over easy! She would cook them to golden perfection, then dump them over easy on his head!
The image of Tyrel Fox with an egg flopped over one odd flat ear, propelled her out of her nightgown and into jeansand a short pink, button-down cardigan. She’d bought it on a Christmas trip to London. Derik had said it made her look like a million dollars.
Derik was an Englishman, with an Englishman’s dry wit and fashionably narrow build. She’d thought herself in love with him. Her first love really, and had decided with a virgin’s determination to make him her first lover.
Their kisses had been hot and impassioned. Or so she thought. Too hot. Hot enough to scare her. She had apologetically called a halt. The following morning he’d told his cronies that she’d had to quit before her shell of ice melted off. They didn’t call her the ice witch for nothing. Somehow that cliché had sounded even worse with an English accent.
She’d returned home a wiser woman, she told herself now.
Hurrying to the ancient chest of drawers near the window, she grabbed the brush she’d left there and dragged it through her hair. Then, in a brave moment, she glanced in the mirror before rearing back in horror. Two nights in North Dakota and she looked like this! She’d better keep an eye on the sky or a house would be sure to fall on her. All that would be sticking out was her ruby-colored slippers.
But she didn’t care what Tyrel Fox thought of her looks, she reminded herself. All she had to do was get the work done.
She scowled at herself again, brushed her hair back, and bound it with a ribbon.
Maybe she should add a little foundation. A dab of lipstick? A few strokes of mascara.
No! Not for him. Not for the Barbarian Brothers, she determined, and raising her chin, stomped down the stairs to the kitchen.
It was still relatively clean. She found a pan without undue difficulty, switched on the burner with comparative ease, and broke a couple of eggs into a bowl.
Before long she had breakfast cooking. It was still dark outside and the house was quiet. Never in all her twenty-fouryears had she been up at this hour, or if she had, she’d come at it from the other end.
It was then that she heard the noise. She frowned, glanced into the living room, and saw that Daniel was still asleep
She straightened. “I’m sorry my appearance isn’t up to your lofty standards,” she said. “I’ll feed the calf.”
“I don’t mind,” he countered.
For a moment silence lay gently between them, but then she remembered herself. “It’s not going to be that easy to back out of our agreement,” she said. “That calf is going to live, and he’s going to live because of me.” She jabbed a thumb toward her chest. Water splashed into her eye. She ignored it for the sake of dignity—a slippery thing lately. “You’ll be paying me a thousand dollars and I’ll be leaving this backwater toilet on the first plane.”
He snorted and bending, lifted Daniel easily into his arms. “Okay. If that’s the way you want it.” He turned, then stopped in the doorway. “Oh, breakfast is at six. I like my eggs over easy.”
O VER EASY ! Nothing was easy. Not on this piece of godforsaken tundra.
Hannah groaned as she slid her feet over the edge of the bed and onto the floor. The cold floor. The cold, uncarpeted floor.
She didn’t have an alarm clock. She’d always regarded them as barbaric, and had insisted on having Maria awaken her with fresh-squeezed orange juice on those rare occasions when she’d had to rise before noon.
But now, despite everything, she had awakened on her own every couple of hours during the night. She didn’t know why. Perhaps she was worried about Daniel, whom she’d fed twice since her bath. Or perhaps it was simply because, no matter what, no matter if the sky fell and the sea turned to chocolate mousse, she was not going to let that half-brained, black-haired Neanderthal man beat her.
He liked his eggs over easy! She would cook them to golden perfection, then dump them over easy on his head!
The image of Tyrel Fox with an egg flopped over one odd flat ear, propelled her out of her nightgown and into jeansand a short pink, button-down cardigan. She’d bought it on a Christmas trip to London. Derik had said it made her look like a million dollars.
Derik was an Englishman, with an Englishman’s dry wit and fashionably narrow build. She’d thought herself in love with him. Her first love really, and had decided with a virgin’s determination to make him her first lover.
Their kisses had been hot and impassioned. Or so she thought. Too hot. Hot enough to scare her. She had apologetically called a halt. The following morning he’d told his cronies that she’d had to quit before her shell of ice melted off. They didn’t call her the ice witch for nothing. Somehow that cliché had sounded even worse with an English accent.
She’d returned home a wiser woman, she told herself now.
Hurrying to the ancient chest of drawers near the window, she grabbed the brush she’d left there and dragged it through her hair. Then, in a brave moment, she glanced in the mirror before rearing back in horror. Two nights in North Dakota and she looked like this! She’d better keep an eye on the sky or a house would be sure to fall on her. All that would be sticking out was her ruby-colored slippers.
But she didn’t care what Tyrel Fox thought of her looks, she reminded herself. All she had to do was get the work done.
She scowled at herself again, brushed her hair back, and bound it with a ribbon.
Maybe she should add a little foundation. A dab of lipstick? A few strokes of mascara.
No! Not for him. Not for the Barbarian Brothers, she determined, and raising her chin, stomped down the stairs to the kitchen.
It was still relatively clean. She found a pan without undue difficulty, switched on the burner with comparative ease, and broke a couple of eggs into a bowl.
Before long she had breakfast cooking. It was still dark outside and the house was quiet. Never in all her twenty-fouryears had she been up at this hour, or if she had, she’d come at it from the other end.
It was then that she heard the noise. She frowned, glanced into the living room, and saw that Daniel was still asleep
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