Free Nowhere Ranch by Heidi Cullinan

them there. Fuss. So much fuss for coffee.
    But I figured it all out, and before too long I had the java brewing. I took a moment to prepare myself before opening the fridge door, and it was about as bad as I'd feared. Eggs but no cheese. Milk, but it was expired. Beer, plenty of that, and some diet soda. The freezer had ice cream with a layer of frost on it, a few bags of vegetables that had turned into bricks, and some steaks. They at least were from his own stock, so they were in butcher paper. I assumed he thawed them and ate them with the baked beans in the cupboard. The vegetables must've been a nice idea that hadn't panned out.
    I stuffed my feet into my boots and headed out to check on the sheep while the coffee brewed.
    The trouble with Loving's operation was that he wanted it to be organic, but he kept getting stuck on all the problems that come up with going that route. He had been at this long enough to figure out you didn't just turn the animals out and watch them graze, that with sheep especially you had to get in there and trim hooves and move them around. That was the big change I'd made. I had them trimming more often and moving pasture twice as frequently. Tory was good about anticipating and preventing problems with the cattle, but he and Loving both tended to wait for a fire to start with the sheep before they did anything.
    Which was why I had just taken it on myself to check the sheep every day. They'd come to know me, and much as they didn't care for my hossing them around and pecking at their hooves, they enjoyed the alfalfa pellets I kept in my pockets, so I was still pretty popular.
    When I found an injured wether, I lured him out of the pasture with pellets, went back for some scrub, and cleaned him out good before I bandaged him. One of my goals for the year was to convince Loving to vaccinate for tetanus and other disease prevention. I'd made some calls and verified he could still certify organic with some of them, but he's all about purity.
    On my way back to the house, I stopped by my place and raided my pantry. I carried my supplies back in a Walmart sack, heading straight for the kitchen, where I planned to roll up my sleeves and get serious.
    Loving was up and sitting at the counter, sipping coffee. I hesitated when I saw him. He looked happy to have me there, but I'll be honest, I'd been looking forward to cooking alone. But that was rude, so I gave him a nod as I came through. “Morning.”
    He nodded back and watched me work. I'd worried he was going to get kissy on me, but he stayed where he was, and bless him, he didn't talk, just watched me work. I poured myself some coffee and got to it.
    “You were serious about the kitchen,” he said eventually.
    I nodded and went back to cooking.
    “Omelet?” he ventured as I whisked eggs.
    I nodded again. “There'll be one for you.”
    “Thank you.”
    They were not much. Ham and cheese with a bit of onion and pepper. I like bacon, but I put that on the side, next to some toast. It isn't as good a bacon as I could have gotten back home, but bacon was bacon, kind of like coffee. Loving seemed to think this was some kind of gourmet feast, though.
    “If you weren't so good with the sheep, I'd hire you as a cook instead,” he said between mouthfuls.
    I frowned at him, because that was just a damn ridiculous thing to say.
    He had the bit between his teeth now though. “Seriously, would you be willing to do this more often? I could get a line of credit at the grocery store.”
    “Eat your bacon,” I told him. I didn't like the idea of shopping for him. Not with his money. It was too weird, like I was his wife. Maybe I shouldn't have included the kitchen in the deal. But then I looked down at the omelet that had been so easy to make with counter space and hadn't burned on one side while being raw on the other, and I decided I could manage this if I stuck to my guns.
    Thankfully he seemed to get the hint that I didn't like the way his mind was