Page 16 of Too Hot To Handle

„What?“

„I didn’t buy them.“

„Why not?“

For a long moment Tory said nothing, knowing that her next words would set off Reever’s famous temper but good. The job as cook wasn’t high-paying work. There was no reason for it to be; room, board, laundry, almost everything was paid for by the ranch. She was given a small – very small – weekly salary. Out of that she had already bought shoes, socks, a new T-shirt and a pair of jeans to replace the clothes that had been ruined the day she had tried to walk to town.

Nor did the expenditures end there. She had had to buy anti-inflammatory medicine and elastic bandages for her knee, soap, lotion, shampoo, toothpaste and intimate feminine items. By the time she had bought the necessities, there was nothing left, not even enough to pay her way in to a movie in town. The leather gloves that Reever had ordered her to buy would cost the equivalent of half a week’s pay.

„I’ll look for gloves the next time I’m in town,“ said Tory, knowing that „look“ was all she would be able to do. She could barely afford to renew her prescription for her knee. Then there was the second set of weights she had ordered to allow her to continue strengthening her knee. They were coming COD. She had to be able to pay for them. She couldn’t do that if she bought the gloves.

„I didn’t tell you to buy them next week,“ retorted Reever. „I told you to buy them two weeks ago when you started stumbling around after the men in the barn and the corral. Remember?“

„Yes, sir.“

The formality wasn’t sarcastic, it was a reflex left from years of being coached by overbearing males. Reever didn’t know that, however. His eyes narrowed as though Tory had slapped him.

„Just plain Reever, city girl. Think you can remember it, or should I have that hen tattoo it on the back of your soft, useless hands?“

„I’m sorry, Reever,“ said Tory tightly, struggling to keep her voice from breaking.

He stared at Tory’s downcast eyes, but she neither moved nor looked up at him. She had been like this since that first day in the kitchen – polite, respectful, trying very hard to please. And the harder she tried, the more angry he became.

Tory realized it but didn’t know what she could do. The verbal punishment Reever had given her for her flip remark about taking up the oldest profession still made her pale with humiliation every time she thought about it. So she stayed polite and cheerful and prayed that sooner or later he would get tired of peeling strips off her, or she would be able to save enough for that bus ticket home.

Only it wasn’t home she would be going toward, and Tory knew it. It was simply the only place she had left to go.

„Wash your hands,“ Reever said in disgust. „I’ll have one of the men drive you into town so a doctor can look at them.“

Tory stared at Reever. „But when Jed got that wicked rope burn, you didn’t make him go to town. Why should I go for a few lousy pinpricks?”

Reever’s mouth flattened until there was nothing but a tight line beneath his black mustache. He held Tory’s hand up to her face as though the fingers were separate condemnations. Blood trickled from the various small wounds the hen had inflicted. „Jed isn’t a soft little girl.“

„Neither am I,“ Tory said, fighting to keep her voice even.

„I said go and you’ll go.“

„I can’t,“ she said. „I’m sorry. I can’t afford a doctor.“

In silence Reever examined the thoroughly pecked flesh on Tory’s hands. „Is that why you didn’t buy gloves?“ he asked finally.

She hesitated, then nodded.

When Reever’s eyes shifted up to Tory’s face, she couldn’t help flinching. Seeing that didn’t make his temper any softer. Or his tongue. „Then maybe you should have spent less money painting the town red with the boys,“ he said harshly.

Tory stared, her green eyes wide with disbelief. „What?“

„Do you think that I didn’t notice all of you piling into Smitty’s car on Saturday afternoon and not coming back until early Sunday morning?“

Tory closed her eyes, telling herself that she could not, simply couldnot,let her temper slide out from under her control. „It was Dutch’s birthday.“

„Yeah, I heard. Was it a Dutch treat all around,“ continued Reever sardonically, „with you doing the treating and the boys doing the paying?“

All the words Tory couldn’t say crowded her throat. She pulled her hands free of Reever’s grasp and said, „I’ll buy gloves as soon as I can afford them.“

„Better buy a face mask, too, city girl. That old hen will peck your eyes out next time,“ retorted Reever.

He watched Tory’s retreat with narrow, steel-colored eyes. When he looked down at his scarred leather gloves and saw her blood on them, he swore savagely. Abruptly he kicked aside the egg basket, climbed the stepladder and opened the henhouse door.