Free Audrey and the Maverick by Elaine Levine Page A

was.
    Audrey mixed up a huge batch of pancakes, then sliced the bacon. She set a pot of coffee to boil on the stove, put milk, sugar, butter, syrup, plates, cups, and flatware outside on the main serving table beneath the cook tent. Jenkins sat on a stool and watched her, his arms crossed in front of him, brows lowered. Soon she had bacon frying and pancakes cooking, enough to fill several large platters. The smells filled the camp, rousing those who still slept. By the time she was ready to feed the men, they were standing anxiously at the serving table with their plates and forks at the ready in a neat line. Audrey smiled at the exuberance with which they watched her fill their plates.
    She wished her children were there, lined up for the breakfast feast. She hoped Malcolm knew what to feed them to stretch their meager rations. She turned her attention to pouring out more pancakes and putting fresh strips of bacon out to fry. For the next hour, she filled and refilled the platters and plates and brewed two more pots of coffee.
    When she could take a break, she filled a plate that she set aside to share with Amy, and took another to Jenkins, who still sat and stewed on his stool near the outdoor serving table.
    “Mr. Jenkins, please eat. We have a lot of work to do today—you’ll need your strength.”
    “Good morning.”
    Audrey jumped as McCaid’s deep voice sounded behind her. She had tried all morning to keep her emotions controlled, to not think of last night, of what it felt like to be in his arms. All her best intentions shattered at his greeting. She remembered the feel of his embrace, the rippling muscles of his flat belly. She turned to face him, consciously regulating her breathing. His hair was damp, his jaw clean-shaven. He wore a blue chambray shirt and buff vest and pants.
    It didn’t matter that he was fully clothed. Her mind knew what was under them, how he smelled, how he tasted.
    Resolutely, her gaze rose to his face. She wasn’t sure what to expect from him this morning. Would he think her a wanton for throwing herself at him last night? Would he fire her now and demand she face her sentence in jail? He looked forbidding, his jaw set in a hard line, his eyes shuttered.
    “Good morning,” she answered, braced for the worst, hating the blood warming her cheeks.
    “You wanted to see me, Mr. McCaid?” Franklin asked as he joined them.
    “I did. Miss Sheridan and I have come to a different work agreement. As fine a cook as she appears to be, she is also an accomplished seamstress, which I need up at my house. I would like you to hire a replacement cook.”
    “No.” The word popped out of Audrey’s mouth, startling her as well as the men. Her mind was racing, following the paths of several courses of action. She was shocked that he still wanted to help her, despite the fact that she had stolen money from him and thrown herself at him so provocatively. The practical side of her shouted for her to take the sewing machine and any help he’d give her. The decent side of her warned the cost would be too high. The survivor in her said it was a cost she was bound to pay anyway, if it was the only way to keep McCaid away from town.
    “No?” McCaid asked, a note of warning in his voice.
    Audrey looked at Jenkins and Franklin, wishing she didn’t have to have this conversation in front of them. “I will cook for you and that’s it.”
    McCaid eyed her with all the irritation he would a stiff-legged mule. The silence stretched awkwardly into a minute. Jenkins buried his attention in his breakfast plate, noisily shoving food into his mouth. Franklin looked as if he wished to be anywhere but there.
    “I can help you, Miss Sheridan,” McCaid quietly offered. “Let me. Take the sewing machine. Learn a trade”—his gaze dipped to her chest—“a new trade.”
    “Boss, I just remembered a horse I gotta check on. Come see me when you’re done here.” Franklin said this last even as he hurried