Free Love on the Range: A Looking Glass Lake Prequel by Rebecca Nightsong Page A

This morning, it had her steaming under the collar.
    “Didn’t know you had such a good sense of humor,” he chuckled.
    Marlee’s hands flew to her hips, and she dropped the apple.
    It rolled to his feet, but she ignored it, glaring up at Jett.
    “The joke’s on you if you think I’m gonna sit around the kitchen all day.”
    He rubbed his chin, and blinked. “You’re a chuck wagon cook,” he said. “You’re supposed to be in the kitchen.”
    She took a deep breath and bit her lips. Hard. She wanted to correct him.
    She wasn’t a cook. She was a chef. Big difference.
    But now wasn’t the time. Now was the time to try the logic that had worked so well on Crazy Hoss and Fern just yesterday. Now was the time to prove she was not somebody who slept through her first morning on the job. She was somebody they could count on. In the kitchen and in the saddle, if necessary.
    “Some cooks are also ranch hands.”
    He grunted and widened his stance.
    “And the ranch is short-handed right now. You could use more help if you’re going to get the cattle out of the mountains before the snow sets in. You said so yourself.”
    He didn’t say anything, but his brows relaxed a little, and he rubbed his jaw.
    Her skin prickled. She could imagine how his skin would feel, with its stubble so short it would only sting a little bit. But she shouldn’t be imagining that right now. Not if she wanted to make her point.
    “And I can ride,” she said quickly.
    His dark eyes flickered. He was going to say no.
    “All I’m asking for is a chance to prove myself.”
    His eyebrows shot up, and a thrill of satisfaction straightened her spine.
    Yeah. That got his attention real good.
    She shrugged. “I spent some time on my uncle’s farm every summer,” she said. “So I know my way around a horse.”
    He grunted and then turned on his heel and left the tent.
    Marlee snorted. So he was probably some kind of a horse snob. Riding experience only counted on ranches and not farms.
    She scooped the apple off the ground, and dashed at it with a towel. She was half tempted to leave the dirt on it and bake it into his own special apple dirt-dumpling tonight. That would teach him to ignore her offer.
    “A nice mouthful of genuine Rocky Mountain dirt ground into his Apple Brown Betty,” she muttered, jabbing viciously at the apple with her peeler. She almost took the skin off her knuckles when it slipped. “That’s exactly what this situation calls for, and I’m the chef for the job.”
    She stiffened when a gust of cold morning breeze told her someone had entered the tent.
    Most likely Jett, based on the silence behind her.
    She lifted her head high and tried her best to focus on peeling apples. She discovered it was a lot harder to do when her nose was up in the air.
    But so be it.
    She nearly jumped out of her skin when his arm brushed hers. He set a tin mug of coffee down on the folding table, but he didn’t step away from her.
    That runaway heartbeat—the one that had surprised her when he’d startled her outside that morning—was back. Her skin prickled again, too.
    He cleared his throat.
    He had to know how he affected her. Her heart was thumping along at a gallop so loud even Crazy Hoss could probably hear it way over there by the fire.
    Her face flamed hot, and she was grateful for the shadows of the tent. Grateful she’d set her nose so high in the air.
    “You’ll need caffeine,” he said. “It’s a long ride.”
     
    * * *
     
    A few hours into the drive, and Marlee’s body screamed at her for being so stubborn.
    She’d ridden before, yes. But not all day. And Calamity, the horse Jett had saddled for her, was not the sleepy nag Jett had said she would be. Plus, she didn’t seem to like Marlee. She had a habit of sidestepping every time Marlee wanted her to turn, and when Marlee tried to get her to stop, she took a few extra backwards dancing steps that had Marlee’s heart seizing up in panic.
    Why had she ever