Running Blind Read online

  Too bad that same part made him wonder if he’d really be able to share a house with Carlin for months without trying to get her into bed with him, or going crazy because he knew damn well he couldn’t. Shouldn’t. Except why shouldn’t he? As to whether or not he could … that was yet to be determined.

  All he knew for sure was that he wanted to get his hands on her worse than he’d ever wanted any other woman, and that she was beyond a doubt going to be a lot of trouble either way, in bed with him or not.

  He took a long sip of the cooling coffee. Damn it, even her coffee was better than his.

  Chapter Ten

  THE MEN, ALL seven of them, dug into the huge roast and devoured it. There were potatoes and green beans, too, and like the roast those were all gone. Tonight’s bread had been simple—frozen rolls. Maybe it was cheating, and maybe they weren’t as good as Kat’s homemade rolls, but they were obviously okay with the men because not one of them whined about the rolls while they were grabbing them from the basket.

  And using the time she’d saved by using the Crock-pot and frozen bread, Carlin had rummaged through the pantry and come up with the ingredients for a dessert recipe she’d found in one of the cookbooks. The page itself was clean, uncreased, so this was probably not one of Libby’s recipes: Never Fail White Cake. The recipe seemed to be tailor-made for her.

  She didn’t eat at the table with the guys. Instead she made herself a small plate and ate in the kitchen. A couple of the men—Zeke included—had asked her to join them, but she’d declined. She was more comfortable in the kitchen, by herself, and besides, while the table was long enough to seat a dozen there were only nine chairs there. She would’ve had a choice of sitting next to Zeke or Darby, and she really wasn’t in the mood to be too close to either. Zeke made her jumpy. Darby had wandering eyes.

  Sitting alone in the kitchen was just more peaceful.

  But when it came time to serve dessert, she proudly carried the white cake into the dining room. It was a layer cake, homemade top to bottom. And it was pretty. The white frosting was fluffy and sweet; she hadn’t been able to taste the cake, but she’d sneaked a bit of the frosting onto the tip of her finger and tested it. Yum. She’d never thought herself much of a cook, but the training at Kat’s had been superb, and the men she’d been feeding seemed to like her cooking. She could do this, and do it well.

  The men oohed and ahhed when she placed the cake on the table. While they admired her work, she hurried back into the kitchen for dessert plates, coffee cups, and clean forks. A pot of coffee—decaf, since she didn’t want to be accused of robbing any of the men of their sleep—was ready.

  Walt took a clean knife and began to cut the cake while Carlin poured coffee for everyone who wanted it. Plates were filled with big slices of cake and passed around, until everyone, including her, had one. It was Walt who insisted that she sit with them for dessert, and because it would be rude to refuse—and because she wanted to watch them enjoy the cake—she agreed. She took the chair next to Zeke because he seemed to be the lesser of two evils. Maybe he was annoying, but he didn’t stare at her unimpressive cleavage, and not once had he winked at her. She probably would have fallen out of her chair if he had.

  Almost simultaneously, all the men cut into their wedges of cake. Carlin watched them before doing the same.

  One by one, expressions of delight turned to confusion and then dismay. The men all chewed, and chewed, and chewed. And chewed.

  Carlin put a piece of cake into her own mouth. The taste on her tongue was great. What was their problem? And then she chewed. Once.

  The cake had the consistency of a sponge. Not just any sponge, but an old, tough sponge. “Never Fail,” my ass! She glanced around the table in horror. To a man, the guys who’d wolfed down the meal and began eating their dessert with relish wore expressions of surprise and dismay. Six of them continued to chew. Only Darby grabbed a paper napkin and spit the cake into it. He opened his mouth to say something—she could only imagine what—but Zeke interrupted him.

  “You know, I’m just stuffed. I can’t possibly finish this cake.”

  “Yeah,” Walt said. “It’s … good, really, but I just can’t …”

  Eli and Bo both swallowed long swigs of decaf behind an inedible chunk of cake before they nodded their heads in agreement.

  Patrick and Spencer each scraped off a forkful of icing and downed it with relish.

  Darby looked at the men around him and shook his head. “If it was anybody else but a pretty girl who made this cake you all would be raising the roof.”

  “Darby,” Zeke said simply, and in a low, almost threatening voice.

  “It’s okay,” Carlin said. All eyes turned to her. “I’m so sorry. This cake sucks.”

  “It’s not that bad,” Spencer said. “It’s just a little …”

  “Rubbery,” one cowboy supplied when Spencer faltered.

  “Chewy,” another chimed in.

  “Tough as old saddle leather.” Everyone laughed at that one.

  Carlin was embarrassed, and angry that she’d wasted so much time on the blasted cake, but at the same time … With one notable exception, the men had all been concerned about hurting her feelings. Six out of seven had swallowed a piece of that awful cake, and if she hadn’t acknowledged its suckiness, they wouldn’t have said anything.

  It was very possible that she found herself surrounded by gentlemen, of a sort. Rough and tumble, yes, but still … gentlemen.

  If she’d learned nothing else in the past few months, she’d learned how to roll with the punches. This was a culinary setback, but it wasn’t a disaster.

  “For your information,” she said as she lifted some icing onto the tines of her fork, “the name of this luscious dessert is Never Fail White Cake.”

  They laughed at that, as she’d known they would. “Feel free to pick off the icing, if it suits you. It’s actually pretty good. And believe me, the next time I make this cake it will be better.”

  The laughter died. A couple of them stared at her. It was Spencer who said, kindly, “There doesn’t have to be a next time, Miss Carly. I think Libby used those cake mixes. She just added eggs and water and viola, she ended up with a cake that was pretty darn good.”

  Carlin bit her lip to keep from laughing. Viola? Surely he meant to say voilà, but she wouldn’t embarrass Spencer by correcting him at the table. After all, he’d gone out of his way not to embarrass her. Maybe sometime when they were alone she’d use the word correctly and maybe, just maybe, he’d take the hint. “We’ll see,” she said. “I’d hate to let some flour and shortening and eggs get the best of me. I just need to figure out what I did wrong.”

  “The brownies you made last night were good,” Walt said.

  “And you know,” Eli added, “you can always buy some pies from Kat.” He looked at Zeke. “Before you came to work here, those pies were the only decent food we’d had for …”

  “Hey!” Spencer interrupted. “I did the best I could. I didn’t see your sorry ass in the kitchen trying to help out.” The words might’ve been harsh, but there was no real animosity there. Then he looked at Carlin and his face turned red. Sheepishly he said, “Pardon my French.”

  It struck her that these men had formed a family, of sorts. From what Zeke had said earlier, Libby had been a big part of that family. Carlin didn’t think she’d ever be accepted that way, not into the heart and soul of this place. Maybe if she stayed for years instead of months, but … she was temporary; welcomed and needed, at the moment, but temporary.

  She stood and started gathering dirty dishes. “Well, you’ll be happy to hear that I called Kat this afternoon and ordered a couple of pies for tomorrow night.”

  The announcement was followed by several wide grins and at least two hoots.

  As Carlin walked into the kitchen she added, “But I will make that Never Fail White Cake again, and it will turn out the way it’s supposed to.” By golly, by the time she left this ranch she and he