getting dirty, how could she not do what she was asking the cowboys to do? Cleaning a house was as strange and repugnant a task to them as it was to her.
She started with the long-mustached cowboy. “Please take all the rugs outside and beat them with a broom to get all the dust off them. I suppose you can hang them over the porch rails to do that—on the opposite side of the porch from your boss, though. Let’s not annoy him any more than we have to.”
The cowboy laughed. “He’s letting you get away with this, hell, don’t bother me none if we annoy him a little.”
She handed another man a broom and then gave a mop and bucket to the man standing next to him, saying, “The entire lower floor, please. Soon as one room is swept, mop it. And I’ll need a volunteer to clean the fireplace and the chimney, which will be the hardest job.” That request was met by silence. “Please?”
“I’ll do it,” a skinny cowboy spoke up. “My ma made me clean the chimney when I was this high, so I know how.”
He’d put his hand down to his knee to show how small he’d been at the time, obviously an exaggeration, but it got the other men laughing. Tiffany even grinned before she tasked the last three men with carrying out the furniture for scrubbing and handed one of them a jar of beeswax for polishing the tables.
With all the cowboys busy now, she decided to tackle the kitchen herself. It was apt since they expected her to work in it.She just had to count to ten first. And get up the nerve to pick up the first dirty dish.
“You might want to fill the sink with water first,” said a deep voice behind her.
She swung around in the doorway, but Degan was already stepping around her and entering the kitchen. She was still glued to the spot. He’d said he’d help, but somehow she didn’t think he’d meant that literally, which was why she hadn’t dared to assign him any tasks. Besides, he’d already helped by getting the hired hands to do the heavy cleaning.
He started pumping water into the sink, then threw in a handful of soap chips from a box sitting on the windowsill above the work area.
“Some of this will wash up easier with a little soaking first.”
Dirty dishes were piled high on the worktable in the center of the room. She shuddered at the thought of touching them and didn’t reply to his suggestion. Although she had dozens of questions she’d like to ask him, she just couldn’t get up the nerve to talk to him. All she could do was picture him robbing trains or a stagecoach or even a bank. Were outlaws that versatile?
Degan took off his jacket and hat and hung them on a hook by the back door. Then he rolled up his sleeves. The man looked so out of place in the kitchen with his wide shoulders, bare, muscular forearms, and the gun still on his hip. He started scraping what was left on the dishes into a large pot and slid the dishes into the soapy water. Seeing him do menial kitchen work made him seem less intimidating—for the moment—and loosened her tongue.
“Mr. Degan—”
“It’s Degan Grant.”
“Mr. Grant—”
“Degan’s fine.”
“Humor me, please. I can’t abandon the etiquette of a lifetime overnight. Mr . Grant, I know this is a long shot, but do you know anything about cooking?”
He almost smiled, she could have sworn he was about to, but he didn’t. “I know once water boils, you should do something with it. I know that bread requires yeast, but I have no clue what else.”
“Neither do I,” she said with a sigh. “When I told Zachary Callahan that I don’t cook, I wasn’t just pointing out that it’s not part of my housekeeping job, I meant it literally. I’m not sure if he heard me or if he just chose not to hear me, more likely the latter.”
She took the hint that he didn’t really want to talk when he filled another bucket with water and set it on the wide work board next to the sink, then told her, “You wash and rinse, I’ll dry.”
She pushed up
She started with the long-mustached cowboy. “Please take all the rugs outside and beat them with a broom to get all the dust off them. I suppose you can hang them over the porch rails to do that—on the opposite side of the porch from your boss, though. Let’s not annoy him any more than we have to.”
The cowboy laughed. “He’s letting you get away with this, hell, don’t bother me none if we annoy him a little.”
She handed another man a broom and then gave a mop and bucket to the man standing next to him, saying, “The entire lower floor, please. Soon as one room is swept, mop it. And I’ll need a volunteer to clean the fireplace and the chimney, which will be the hardest job.” That request was met by silence. “Please?”
“I’ll do it,” a skinny cowboy spoke up. “My ma made me clean the chimney when I was this high, so I know how.”
He’d put his hand down to his knee to show how small he’d been at the time, obviously an exaggeration, but it got the other men laughing. Tiffany even grinned before she tasked the last three men with carrying out the furniture for scrubbing and handed one of them a jar of beeswax for polishing the tables.
With all the cowboys busy now, she decided to tackle the kitchen herself. It was apt since they expected her to work in it.She just had to count to ten first. And get up the nerve to pick up the first dirty dish.
“You might want to fill the sink with water first,” said a deep voice behind her.
She swung around in the doorway, but Degan was already stepping around her and entering the kitchen. She was still glued to the spot. He’d said he’d help, but somehow she didn’t think he’d meant that literally, which was why she hadn’t dared to assign him any tasks. Besides, he’d already helped by getting the hired hands to do the heavy cleaning.
He started pumping water into the sink, then threw in a handful of soap chips from a box sitting on the windowsill above the work area.
“Some of this will wash up easier with a little soaking first.”
Dirty dishes were piled high on the worktable in the center of the room. She shuddered at the thought of touching them and didn’t reply to his suggestion. Although she had dozens of questions she’d like to ask him, she just couldn’t get up the nerve to talk to him. All she could do was picture him robbing trains or a stagecoach or even a bank. Were outlaws that versatile?
Degan took off his jacket and hat and hung them on a hook by the back door. Then he rolled up his sleeves. The man looked so out of place in the kitchen with his wide shoulders, bare, muscular forearms, and the gun still on his hip. He started scraping what was left on the dishes into a large pot and slid the dishes into the soapy water. Seeing him do menial kitchen work made him seem less intimidating—for the moment—and loosened her tongue.
“Mr. Degan—”
“It’s Degan Grant.”
“Mr. Grant—”
“Degan’s fine.”
“Humor me, please. I can’t abandon the etiquette of a lifetime overnight. Mr . Grant, I know this is a long shot, but do you know anything about cooking?”
He almost smiled, she could have sworn he was about to, but he didn’t. “I know once water boils, you should do something with it. I know that bread requires yeast, but I have no clue what else.”
“Neither do I,” she said with a sigh. “When I told Zachary Callahan that I don’t cook, I wasn’t just pointing out that it’s not part of my housekeeping job, I meant it literally. I’m not sure if he heard me or if he just chose not to hear me, more likely the latter.”
She took the hint that he didn’t really want to talk when he filled another bucket with water and set it on the wide work board next to the sink, then told her, “You wash and rinse, I’ll dry.”
She pushed up
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