Free Wyoming Tough by Diana Palmer Page A

“Look at how fast those trays are going down!”
    â€œGood thing we’ve got plenty of raw material in here.” Mavie chuckled.
    They worked steadily for the next hour, making and baking succulent treats for the guests. The band was playing some lazy blues tunes, and a few couples were dancing in the big family room by the patio door.
    â€œYou should be in there dancing and having fun,” Mavie said. “You’re young enough to enjoy these parties.”
    Morie gaped at her. “I’m the hired help.”
    â€œBaloney. The boss doesn’t think like that.”
    â€œWant to bet?” Morie murmured under her breath. She’d already had an unforgettable taste of the boss’s attitude toward the lower classes. It had a sting.
    Mavie glanced her way. “You want to watch that Gelly person. She was raging to the boss about how you talked to her like a dog and said she was a useless person.”
    â€œI said no such thing!” Morie replied indignantly.
    â€œJust telling you what she’s saying” came thesoft reply. “I’ve seen women like her all my life. They purr when they’re around the man in charge and claw when they’re not. She isn’t as wealthy as she makes herself out to be. One of my friends works for her folks, and gets paid nothing, not even minimum. She says they put on airs and pretend to be rich, but they’re barely middle class. Gelly’s hoping for a rich husband to prop up the family finances. She’s got her eye on the boss.”
    â€œIf he’s nuts enough to marry her, he’ll get what he deserves,” Morie pointed out. “That woman has more sharp edges than a razor’s blade.”
    She nodded in agreement. “I think she does, too.”
    It was almost ten o’clock. The staff would leave soon, and so would most of the guests. Morie would be glad to see her bed. She’d been on her feet since daylight. She was half-starved, as well, because she hadn’t had a dinner break. Neither had Mavie.
    â€œI’m so hungry.” Morie sighed.
    â€œMe, too. We’ll save a few canapés for ourselves,” she said, laughing. “I’ll put some on a plate for you to take back to your room.”
    â€œThanks, Mavie.”
    â€œNo, thank you,” she replied. “You’re a wonderful little worker. I couldn’t have managed this alone.”
    She grinned. “I like working in the kitchen.”
    â€œMe, too. Call me old-fashioned, but I love to cook….”
    Â 
    â€œW HERE’S THAT WONDERFUL cook?” came a familiar deep voice from the doorway. A minute later, Morie’s uncle Danny Brannt came through the doorway, laughing. He stopped dead when he spotted Morie.
    She put her finger to her lips, when Mavie’s back was turned, and shook her head frantically.
    â€œWho’s the cook?” he repeated, beaming at Mavie. “I just had to thank you for those delicious canapés. It’s been a long time since I’ve tasted anything that good.”
    â€œIt was me—” Mavie laughed “—but my helper here came up with most of the recipes.” She indicated Morie. “She’s Morie,” she added. “I’m Mavis, but everyone calls me Mavie.”
    â€œI’m happy to meet you,” he said. “Both of you.” But when he looked at Morie his eyebrows lifted. “Like working here, do you?” he asked her.
    â€œOh, yes, very much,” she replied.
    He pursed his lips. “Can I speak with you for a minute?” he added. “I want to ask you something about that little sausage canapé. For my housekeeper,” he said.
    â€œSure,” she replied.
    He walked to the back door, held it open and lether go out before him. She worried that it might make Mavie suspicious, but she had to make him understand. She explained what she was doing.
    â€œWhat the devil are you up to?”