The Bachelor Tax

His thighs leaned into her, and he nudged her face with his own, tilting it upward. Her lips were pink, almost matching the flush that bloomed from her throat to her forehead, and he watched as they parted.

The movement of her mouth caught his attention, and with a muffled sound he kissed her, planting his lips directly on hers.

She had nothing to compare it with, this hot, damp capturing of her mouth. No other man had ever claimed her lips in this manner. Granted, her experience was sorely limited, only a chaste brush against her cheek one afternoon in the churchyard, years ago.

Rosemary sagged against him, her fists captured between their bodies, her eyes crossing as she fought for breath. She uttered muffled imprecations, only to find his tongue whispering along the seam between her lips, as if he would beg admittance. Her head was captured by a large hand that had somehow scooped beneath her hat to fit long fingers through her carefully twisted and pinned locks.

Not only had he taken her breath, but now the ribbon of her bonnet was cutting into her throat as his hand wedged between the black straw and her head. And then, as if he had discovered her plight, he eased the fingers of his other hand beneath her chin, and with a quick movement, the bonnet was released and tossed to the ground.

Tanner’s mouth eased from hers, brushing back and forth, each tingling increment sending shivers down her spine.

Her hands clenched, fingers gripping fabric warmed by the flesh beneath it, and she leaned against him, her legs seemingly useless beneath her.

If Tanner had thought to frighten her half to death, he was well on the way to success, Rosemary thought frantically. His big body was wedging her against the buggy wheel and his mouth had taken unforgivable liberties. His grin had vanished, and now he was looking at her as if he were angry as sin.

His dark eyes were mere slits, his skin was pulled tight over his cheek and jaw, and his mouth was only inches from her own. Rosemary opened her lips, whether to speak or call for help, she couldn’t decide, and then closed her eyes against the sight of his frightening visage.

“Now, sweetheart,” he whispered harshly. “Tell me why you came to visit.”

Her lashes flew open, and he shook his head. “No, just shut those blue eyes and answer me.”

“I can’t,” she wailed.

His voice was a purr. “Sure you can.”

She inhaled sharply and the words spurted forth, as if shot by rifle fire. “I came to take you up on your offer, but I’ve changed my mind.”

“Changed your mind? Why?”

“I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I can’t.”

“Did you get a better offer?” His eyes glittered, his head lifting a bit as he scanned her face.

“No!” She shrank from him, the buggy wheel unforgiving against her back.

“I thought you didn’t want to marry me. You turned me down, Miss Gibson.”

How he could call her by such a formal address when his tongue had been almost touching her teeth just moments ago was beyond her comprehension. “I didn’t, actually,” Rosemary muttered.

“Sure sounded like it to me.”

Rosemary shook her head. “As I recall, I only asked you why you wanted to marry me. I didn’t turn you down flat.”

He leaned back, his eyes flashing, his jaw jutting forward. The lips that had touched hers were still damp and he barely opened them as he spoke. “You didn’t?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Now you’ve decided to take me up on the offer?”

“I don’t think so. Well, maybe.”

His hands moved, long fingers tugging at the pins that held her hair in place. The heavy bone pins fell to the ground, and she was aware of the weight of her long hair falling around her shoulders.

“What are you doing?”

“If you’re gonna marry me, I have a right to look at what I’m gettin’, don’t I?”

“Now?”

His grin was quick and lethal, taking her breath. “I can’t think of a better time.” He lifted the weight of her hair and allowed it to cling to his long fingers, running his hands through the tresses, watching intently as the waves flowed across her shoulders to rest against her bosom.

“Please, Mr. Tanner,” she managed to squeak. “I think you’re taking liberties with me.”

His fingers clenched for a moment, and then he released her with an oath muttered beneath his breath. She cringed from the sound.

“I haven’t hurt you, Miss Gibson. You’ve no reason to flinch from me.” He stepped back from her, and his wide palms and long fingers formed fists.

Her gaze sought the whereabouts of those formidable weapons and she shivered, even as hot sunshine poured from above. “You look ready to do battle, Mr. Tanner.”

He followed her gaze and slowly unclenched his hands, wiping them distractedly against the sides of his denim pants. “I might use them on a deserving sidewinder on occasion, but I don’t hit ladies. Ever.”

“That’s most reassuring, sir.” She hated the slight tremor in her voice, despised the weakness in her knees, and abhorred the fate that had sent her to this man. And yet, there was no help for it. She’d had to come. Her mind grasped at words Bates Comstock had spoken during the hour long ride.

Perhaps she might have the answer to the problem. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

“Maybe marriage is not the answer for us. I understand you need a cook,” Rosemary said, calling forth her reserves of courage. Whether or not she could bear the sight of this man on a daily basis was not a question to be considered right now. Nor was his ability to send icy fingers of alarm down her backbone.

He frowned, looking puzzled. “A cook?”

Rosemary smirked at him. Tanner decided there was no other word to describe the look that possessed her features as her gaze slid over his face. “Yes, you know. One of those women who stand in front of a stove and serve up food for hungry menfolk.”

He shoved his palms into the back pockets of his pants and rocked on his heels. “Oh, yes. I’m very aware of the duties of a cook, Miss Gibson…but I didn’t know that you were.”

“Really? You might be surprised. Perhaps you would like to hire me. I bake wonderful pies.” Rosemary’s eyes were defiant, her jaw set.

“Mama Pearl does for us. What makes you think I’m in the market for someone else?” he asked. “Besides, I thought you were hell-bent on being my wife.”

Her lashes drifted to rest against her cheek for a moment, then rose, and he was struck by the brilliance of her eyes, as blue as the birds that nested in his fenceposts on the far side of the pasture.

“Put that aside for the moment. I have to wonder what you eat the other six days of the week when Mama Pearl isn’t here,” she murmured, those smart-aleck words sliding artlessly from between rosy lips.

“We make do.” And that was the truth. “Make do” was about the best he and his men had done. They’d gotten sick of meat tossed into a frying pan and cooked to shoe leather. They’d eaten eggs every which way but edible, and choked them down because not one man Jack of them knew how to make them taste any better than the last.

“Make do?” She eyed him dubiously. “Just what does that mean?”

Tanner’s chin jutted, and he felt the heat rise from his throat. Now she had him defending the food his ranch hands ate. And how the conversation had taken this tack he surely didn’t know.

“It won’t matter once I marry you, will it? And who told you I needed a cook here, anyway?”

“Mr. Comstock mentioned it on the way out from town.”

“I’ll just bet he did,” Gabe muttered, his frustrated glare aimed at the barn. “So which position are you applying for, Miss Gibson? Or are you just tryin’ to get my goat?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? Maybe, what?”

“I’ve been looking for a job in town, without much success. Perhaps working for you might be the answer. To tell you the truth, cooking for you beats accepting your marriage proposal.”

“I think I just took it back, anyway,” Tanner said bluntly. “I’m not sure you’d be the sort of wife I need.”

Gabe watched as her jaw clenched, and her skin lost its color. Then his gaze traveled her length and he bit at his tongue, almost ashamed of the scornful words he’d aimed in her direction.

He’d be willing to bet his best filly that she was shaking in her boots. But, damn! He had to give her credit. She was toe-to-toe with him and not backing down one little bit.

“I’m not sure a marriage proposal is retractable,” she told him primly. “Not if you plan on dodging the new tax on bachelors, anyway.”

“Make up your mind, sweetheart. Either you want to be my cook or my wife. Which is it?” And then he waited for a long moment as she hesitated. It’d be just like the woman to call his bluff, and if there was anything Gabe Tanner didn’t need, it was a female nagging at his heels every blessed day of his life.

At least not one that had any rights over him.

“I’d just as soon try the job as a cook, if it’s all the same to you,” she said.

He dragged his gaze from her mouth and his thoughts from the memory of how sweet those lips had tasted. His mind registered the words she had just spoken.

A cook. He’d just hired himself a cook, and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out how that piece of business had come to pass.

“You got your duds with you?” He peered into the buggy, then stepped back. “Must be you’re plannin’ on walkin’ back and forth to town every day. Or else buyin’ a rig to travel in. You sure don’t want to live on a ranch with a bunch of rowdy cowhands and a bachelor.”

Rosemary shook her head. “I don’t believe I could be here in time to cook breakfast, Mr. Tanner. And as for living in your house, I wouldn’t mind. You could always join your men wherever they sleep, I suppose.”

“I hardly think so, ma’am.” He tilted his head, nodding at the long, low building at the far side of the barn. “That there’s the bunkhouse.” He turned, aiming one long finger at the dwelling he’d helped to construct. “That’s my house. I sleep in it, every night of my life.”

Her gaze followed the line his pointing finger indicated, and he watched as her throat moved, grinning as he recognized the swallow she could not conceal. “I suppose the house is large enough for me to find a space for my belongings, Mr. Tanner.

“I have several pieces of furniture that I would need to store, sir. Perhaps there might be an extra room I could use.” She swung her head to face him and her eyes were bleak, the brilliant blue fading, as if sadness had drawn a shade, making her gaze colorless and dull.

“Furniture?”

She nodded. “Some things of my mother’s. Things I can’t…well, just family…” She halted, her hands moving helplessly against her dress.

Suddenly the baiting ceased to be enjoyable, and he spoke soberly. “There are a couple of empty rooms, Rosemary.” How he’d managed to acquire a cook was a moot question. Now that he had, the particulars of the situation were the issue to be faced.

“You know you’ll be the talk of the town, don’t you?”

Her shrug was eloquent. “I haven’t found employment there. I shouldn’t think it would be anyone’s business. Besides—” she looked up at him and hesitated. “I need a place to stay.”

The woman was in desperate straits. He released the breath he’d been holding, and the sound was audible between them. “We’ll see how it works. Maybe something else will turn up that’ll suit you better.”

She scanned the house, her eyes measuring the height and breadth of the structure, and he turned, wondering what she saw that held her interest. It was just a house, with four bedrooms up and four rooms down, one a big, bright kitchen, another the formal parlor his father had ceased using once his mother left. The dining room was useless these days—never had been much call for formal dining in this house. And then there was the study where his father had done his drinking. Gabe seldom went past the wide doorway. A ghost lived there, and a passing glance could almost persuade him that the grizzled man who had sired him still sat behind that desk some nights.

“You want to go inside?” he asked abruptly, the vision in his mind making his voice harsh.

“No, that isn’t necessary. I’ll just have Mr. Comstock take me back to town so I can arrange to have my things brought here.”

“All right. He won’t be long.”

As if he had a vested interest in her well-being, Bates Comstock went about the moving of Rosemary Gibson. Driving a heavily laden wagon up to the parsonage the next day, he brought his team of dray horses to a halt and ordered the two sturdy young men to work.

Rosemary stood on the porch, watching their approach and motioned to her meager belongings. A satchel and three boxes comprised her personal effects, and they were quickly added to the furniture that filled the rear of the big wagon.

“Hop on up here, ma’am,” Bates said cheerfully, offering her his hand. “We’ll have you all settled right quick.”

The two young men climbed into the back of the wagon and Rosemary caught her breath. This was really happening. Of all the circumstances in which she might have thought to find herself, this was the least likely.

And yet it had come to pass, more rapidly than she’d have thought possible.

From the house, Reverend Worth watched. Then, stepping onto the porch he raised his hand. “Don’t forget what I told you, Miss Gibson.”

Rosemary nodded, deciding that no answer was required.

“What’d he tell you, ma’am?” Bates asked.

Rosemary tugged at the strings of her bonnet and fussed with her gloves. “I suspect you already know, sir.” She looked straight ahead as the wagon made its way down the main street of Edgewood. “He’s going to pray for my safety.”

Bates slapped the reins across the broad backs of his team. “Nuthin’ wrong with that, I guess. But I’ll tell you one thing, ma’am. Gabe Tanner won’t let any harm come to you out there on his place.”

“Well, that’s encouraging,” she said, turning her head aside as Dex Sawyer stepped onto the broad sidewalk from the swinging doors of the Golden Slipper Saloon.

From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of his uplifted hand, and her chin tilted higher.

“I think the new piano player’s taken a shine to you, Miss Gibson,” Bates said cheerfully.

“I doubt that.”

Bates shrugged and grinned. “You’re a goodlookin’ woman. I’m just surprised you haven’t been snatched up before now. ’Course, with your daddy needin’ you in the parsonage, some of the men were kinda put off. Facin’ the preacher and askin’ for his daughter’s hand might’a seemed a bit much to most young fellas.”

“I didn’t notice any of them lining up on the porch,” Rosemary said, holding her handkerchief to her nose and mouth as the dust billowed up from the horse’s hooves.

“We sure do need a good rain,” Bates announced, pulling his own kerchief in place from around his neck. The wind had picked up, and a swirling dust devil scampered across the road in front of them, dying out as it reached the grassy verge.

“The sky was red this morning,” Rosemary said. “That usually means wet weather ahead.”

Bates nodded and urged his team into a faster gait.

The furniture was duly deposited in an empty upstairs room, and the two husky young men breathed deeply as they made their last trip into the house with Rosemary’s boxes and satchel.

“Where will I be staying?” she asked Tanner, who had supervised the move from the top of the stairs.

“Either in the dining room or one of the other rooms up here, ma’am,” he announced, his words not giving a hint as to his druthers.

“The dining room?” Rosemary stepped to the wide doorway that led into that dimly lit area, the furniture shrouded as if mourning were the order of the day.

“There is no door for privacy,” she said quietly, her eyes seeking him as he watched her from the head of the stairs.

“Your choice, ma’am. There are two other rooms up here, and both of ’em have doors…and locks.”

The two young men dropped her belongings to the floor and looked at each other, one with a sly grin that bespoke his thoughts.

It was too much. To start out with such an attitude was unforgivable. “How about the study, Mr. Tanner?”

His eyes narrowed and his lips tightened. “You were in my father’s study?”

Rosemary scented anger. She’d hit a sore spot, sure enough. “I took the liberty of looking into all the rooms, Mr. Tanner. I didn’t know that any of them were out of bounds to me.”

“It’s full of my father’s things.” His words were abrupt.

“Your father?” If the man was here, Rosemary surely hadn’t seen any sign of him.

“I had a father, Miss Gibson. Like yours, he is no longer with us.”

She flinched from his words, recognizing his intention to cause pain. The man had a cruel streak. “Then he will no longer be needing the room, will he?” she asked quietly.

Tanner’s mouth twisted and his nostrils flared briefly, as his boots clattered against the stairs. Reaching the bottom, he halted before her.

“Now that you mention it, I don’t suppose he will.” His chest rose and fell as he hesitated.

“If it’s too much trouble, I can…” she began, wishing she had not begun this battle.

“You’ll have to put up with one of the rooms upstairs, until I can sort his things out. Shouldn’t take me more than a couple of evenings.”

She cast a look at the dim interior of the dining room. “Why not use…”

“I’ll take care of it.” His tone ended the discussion and Rosemary pinched her lips together as Tanner looked at the duet of husky men, jerking his thumb up the stairs in the direction of the bedrooms there. In less than a minute, her belongings had been carried up and deposited in the first bedroom, Tanner directing the move.

Bates spoke from the porch, his voice carrying through the kitchen. “You boys about ready? Supper’s gonna be late, and your ma don’t like keepin’ food hot, Sonny.”

“All right, Pa,” the largest of the two young men answered, grinning quickly at Rosemary as he passed.

They were gone. Just that quickly, they climbed aboard the big wagon and Bates disappeared from view.

Rosemary walked into the kitchen, halting in front of the big bureau that held an assortment of crocks and utensils.

From behind her, Tanner’s footsteps crossed the floor. “I’ll expect supper on the table in two hours, Miss Gibson. There’ll be six hands and myself.”

“Do I get to eat, too?” She couldn’t resist. His words begged for rebuttal, and to her dismay, her sharp tongue offered it without pause.

“You’d better make plenty, or there might not be any left for you, ma’am. You’re cookin’ for hungry men.”

That was an understatement, Rosemary decided later, watching as the seven men devoured her efforts. In less than ten minutes they had plowed through two platters of beef steak she’d breaded and fried, then placed in the oven to bake. A big bowl of pale gravy was poured without prejudice over their plates, covering potatoes, biscuits and meat, the spoon she had provided even now staining the tablecloth she’d used.

Two quart jars of green beans had disappeared, and the dried apples she’d made up into a dessert, with sugar and cinnamon and sweet dough on top, were but a memory.

It was as if a horde of locusts had descended and devoured every scrap of available food, she decided, watching with wide eyes as one of the men wiped the gravy bowl clean with a piece of biscuit, then stuffed the dripping bite into his mouth.

“Sure is good grub, ma’am,” he announced, shoving his chair back from the table as he gained his feet. “Pert near as good as Mama Pearl’s.”

The glow ignited by his offhand compliment faded as Rosemary registered his final words. “What does Mama Pearl cook for you?” she asked hastily as the men clustered at the doorway, filing out onto the porch.

Tanner sat at the other end of the long table and leaned back in his chair. “You’ll get a chance to ask her tomorrow. It’s her day to show up here.”

He eyed the empty bowls and his grin was unrepentant. “Doesn’t look like they left you much, Miss Gibson. You can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She nodded. “That’s true.”

Tanner rose from his chair, nodding at her as he pushed it beneath the table’s edge. His fingers raised in a half salute as he strolled from the kitchen. “I might as well start on the study, ma’am. There may be part of a loaf of bread left in the pantry if you’re hungry.”

“I took you at your word, Mr. Tanner,” she said beneath her breath.

He paused at the doorway. “Oh? How’s that?”

She turned, opening the oven and, with a heavy pot holder, drew forth a plate upon which she had placed a generous portion of the meal she had prepared.

“I got mine first. Just in case.” With a flourish, she sat down at the table, spreading a dish towel across her lap. Folding her hands before her, she closed her eyes, her mind searching for words of thanksgiving.

For the first time in her life, she met a blank wall. The presence of the Almighty seemed not to occupy this room, and the simple prayer she was accustomed to speaking before her meals was somehow gone from her mind.

She compromised, closing her eyes, whispering a few words of thanks for her food, and asking only for safe refuge in this place. The image of Gabe Tanner’s face flashed before her closed eyes, his lips curved in a smug grin, his gaze flashing a challenge.

Her eyes opened and she gritted her teeth. The man was determined to be an aggravation. With fingers that trembled, she picked up her knife and fork and sawed at a piece of steak, reconsidering her quick petition to the Almighty.

Perhaps, she thought, she should have asked instead for patience.

Chapter Five

The rain began during the night, blowing through the window, sending a fresh breeze into Rosemary’s bedroom. She awoke with a start, only a sheet covering her, the residue of a dream fogging her mind. Rising quickly, she moved toward the window, where filmy curtains billowed in the wind, the fabric soaking up the dampness. Beneath her feet raindrops spattered the floor, and she shivered as chills vibrated through her body.

Arms circling like those of a windmill, her legs wobbling beneath her, she slid in an awkward dance across the wet, bare wooden floor. With a loud thump, her left hand banged against the wall, and she cried aloud as she fell, her bottom landing with bruising force. The fabric of her nightgown soaked up the puddle she sat in, and between the throbbing of her hand and the chill of the soggy material wrapped around her, she was beyond discomfort.

Outside the open window the rain increased, and she winced as the lightning flashed, a loud clap of thunder following on its heels, battering her eardrums. It was not, she decided, an auspicious beginning for this, her first night in this house.

“Miss Gibson? Rosemary?” From the doorway, Tanner’s booming voice filled the room. He stepped quickly to the bed as if he sought her there, and then moved around it to where she sprawled inelegantly on the floor in front of the open window.

“If you want to take a bath, there’s easier ways to go about it, ma’am.” He reached past her to close the window, before squatting beside her. Bathed in another flash of light, he leaned toward her, bare chested, his smile raffish. It was too much to bear—this man with his sarcasm, the rain drenching her, a wet curtain draped across her head, and the knowledge that she wore her only clean nightgown.

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