Teaching the Cowboy Read Free Page B

titles in there, but when Ronnie had picked up one large dusty volume to examine, she had a good laugh when she discovered the row o’ smut organized neatly behind the serious books. Oh, that Becka was full of surprises, but Ronnie figured she would be an odd duck just based on all the phone calls she’d received between her placement finalization and her trip. Becka had called, asking her questions about everything from her favorite color to what her bedtime was. They hadn’t even been long conversations. Two or three questions, and Becka would end the calls with “ Buh -bye, now.”
    Ronnie leaned forward, picked up Phil’s drink and took a sip before he could object. Plain tea. Huh .
    Becka appeared in the doorway just as Ronnie set the glass back on the table. “Okay, you two. Showtime. Everyone’s here. I even put nametags on all the kids.” She giggled.
    “I appreciate it,” Ronnie said, really referring more to her whiskey-spiked iced tea than Becka’s organizational skills. She stood and yanked Phil up by the arm.
    He grunted.
    “I’ve gotten really good at learning names fast, though. Remember, I’ve spent the last four years teaching high school history. I had three classes last year and each had more than thirty students.”
    “Still, six must seem like a big step-down.”
    “Not at all. It’s a different kind of challenge.”
    “Oh, dear, I hope so. I worry you’ll get bored and leave us. Lord knows I can’t…” Becka let her words trail off and spun on her heel. They walked toward the scent of brisket and yeast rolls. “I love having a reason to cook something out of the ordinary,” she said. “These kids eat the same thing every week and there’s only so much monotony a woman can take.” Becka turned around and put her hands on her hips and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know, I made something called a pizza casserole a couple of weeks ago and those little ingrates wouldn’t touch it?”
    “Why not?” Phil asked.
    “Who the heck knows? Red sauce? Foreign seasonings? Who can tell with those kids? Ted isn’t much better, to tell you the truth. Meat and potatoes, that guy. He wouldn’t know pizzazz if it bit him in the butt.”
    Phil tried to stifle a chuckle, but not hard enough.
    Ronnie gave him the stink-eye.
    He smoothed his expression to a blank before asking, “How’s tonight’s dinner different?”
    “Oh, the brisket’s the same as always, but I put mushrooms in the pilaf and almonds in the green beans.” She smiled wide.
    Ronnie and Phil shared a glance. They started walking again.
    “Can’t wait to dig in,” Phil said. “We’ve had nothing but fast food since Saturday. Our guts could do with something that hasn’t been covered in a paper wrapper.”
    “Oh, then you’ll love dessert. I made pies. Colorado apples. It was another dry year, but I got some good ones.”
    Ronnie and Phil trailed Becka into the dining room where the long table was already jam-packed.
    “All the ranch hands and staff eat in the common house, so just family here. Ronnie, you can eat out there if you don’t want to cook some nights. There’ll always be enough.”
    “And we’ll do our part to keep her fed, too.” John Lundstrom stood from his place at the side of the table, wedged between his son at one arm and a pudgy preteen boy wearing a nametag that read Taylor . He nudged his son. “Hey, Lan, why don’t you sit next to Liss?”
    “Why?” his son asked.
    “You can help her cut up her brisket.”
    “I can do it myself,” Liss said, hiding her knife beneath her napkin.
    “Okay, baby, you sure can.” Mr. Lundstrom gave his son another nudge.
    His son blew a raspberry and abandoned his chair for the far end of the table.
    “Won’t you sit, Miss Silver?” Mr. Lundstrom said, indicating the newly vacated seat.
    Ronnie turned to Phil, as was her custom, and looked at his face for a summary of the situation.
    His raised eyebrow told her nothing she