Luke said something under his breath that made Carla wince. She turned away and began searching through cupboards with hands that shook. All she found was peanut butter, jelly and a jar of pickled jalapeno peppers. She grabbed the jar and shoved it into Luke’s hand.

"Here. Suck on one of those. It will cool you off."

Ten’s laughter filled the kitchen. Luke slammed the jar back onto the shelf and gave Carla a narrow-eyed look.

"Listen, schoolgirl. This is the real world where men work hard and get hungry. I said dinner at six and I meant it. If you’re too immature to get the job done I’ll find a woman who can."

Luke turned and left the kitchen before Carla could answer. Not that she had anything to say; she hadn’t heard Luke so cold and cutting since the night three years ago when he had told her that she wasn’t woman enough to love a man.

"Hey," Ten said gently, "don’t take the boss seriously. He’s just upset about that black mare of his. She’s going downhill fast and the vet can’t figure out why."

Carla made a neutral sound and kept on searching the cupboards. She found nothing useful. Part of the problem was that she was fighting against tears. The rest of the problem was that she wanted to throw things.

"Is that big pot boiling yet?" she asked tightly.

Ten lifted the lid. "Nope."

"Closer."

"Nope. I’ll tell the men to take their time washing up."

"Thanks."

Carla finally found the pot holders, retrieved the cobbler and set it aside to cool. While looking for the pot holders she also found the coffeepot. Like everything else in the kitchen, the pot was oversize. It quite literally made gallons of coffee at a time. She filled everything, putting in twice the coffee any sane person would have wanted, and thumped the pot onto the stove to perk.

By the time she lit the burner under the coffee, the spaghetti water was showing vague signs of life. With a heartfelt prayer she slammed the lid back in place and resumed searching the cupboards for plates.

"What are you looking for?" Ten asked from the doorway.

"Plates," Carla said despairingly, shutting another cupboard door with more force than necessary.

"They’re in the mess hall, along with knives, forks, spoons and all the rest"

She flashed him a grateful smile. "Thanks."

Ten shook his head as Carla rushed past him, all but running. "Slow down, nina. The men won’t starve if they have to wait a bit for chow."

"Tell Luke."

"All right."

Carla grabbed Ten’s arm as he headed through the kitchen toward Luke’s office at the other end of the house.

"I was just kidding," she said quickly.

"I wasn’t" Ten looked down at Carla’s unhappy face and shook his head. "You haven’t been here two hours and already you look like somebody rode you hard and put you away wet. Have you tried telling Luke how you feel?"

"The first day on a job is always tough."

Ten made an impatient sound. "That’s not what I meant Have you told Luke that you’re in love with him?"

For an instant Carla felt as though the floor had dropped from beneath her feet. She tried to speak. No words came. Red flooded her face.

Ten sighed. "Hell, Carla. There isn’t a man on this place who doesn’t know it, except maybe Luke. Don’t you think it’s time you told him?"

Her lips trembled as she thought about a night three years ago. She licked her dry lips and said carefully, "He knows."

Ten said something harsh beneath his breath, took off his hat and raked his fingers through his black hair. After a moment he sighed and said, "It’s none of my business, but damn it, I hate seeing anything as gentle as you get hurt. Chasing something that doesn’t want to be caught can be real painful."

"That’s not…" Carla’s voice faded. "That’s not why I’m here. I came to cure myself of loving…of my childish infatuation…" She swallowed twice and tried again, holding her voice steady with an effort. "I think Luke must have guessed why I’m here, so he’s doing everything he can to help the process along."

It was Ten’s turn to be speechless. He shook his head and turned away, swearing softly. As an afterthought he added, "I’ll set the table."

"Thank you, Ten. I’ll be more together tomorrow, I promise." Silently Carla added, I’ve got to be. I can’t spend the summer holding my breath, feeling my heart beat like a wild bird in a net, listening, listening, listening for Luke’s footsteps, his voice, his laughter.

The rattle of the lid against the pot of spaghetti water jarred Carla from her unhappy reverie. The water was boiling energetically. She added salt and oil and began ripping apart packages of pasta. By the time the last package went in, the water was back to lying motionless in the pot. Anxiously she looked at the big kitchen clock. Six-twenty.

At least the vegetable part of the meal was ready. It was only canned green beans, but the bacon and onion gave the limp beans a whiff of flavor. Carla would have felt better if she had had a few loaves of garlic bread to put out on the table as well, but there was no help for it. Pasta, meat sauce, green beans and cobbler were all that was available. And she didn’t even have that. Not yet.

Worst of all, the coffee water was barely warm.

Stifling a groan, Carla rushed into the (lining room and began helping Ten distribute cutlery around the tables, which had been pushed together to make a single large rectangle. The surface of the table itself dismayed her, it was no cleaner than the kitchen counters or walls. Whoever had wiped the table in the past had rearranged rather than removed the grease.

"Wait," Carla said to Ten. "The table needs cleaning."

"You start cleaning now and we won’t eat until midnight."

She bit her lip. Ten was right.

"Where does Luke keep the tablecloths?" she asked.

"The what?"

She groaned, then had an inspiration. "Newspapers. Where does Luke keep the old newspapers?"

"In the wood box in the living room."

A few minutes later Carla ran back to the dining room carrying a three-inch stack of newspapers. Soon the big table was covered by old news and advertisements for cattle feed and quarter-horse stud service. By the time she and Ten had finished laying out silverware, the hands were beginning to mill hopefully in the yard beyond the dining room. One of the braver men – an old hand called Cosy – stuck his head in the back door. Before he could open his mouth, Ten started talking.

"I said I’d call when chow was on." The ramrod’s cold gray eyes measured Cosy. "You getting hard of hearing or are you just senile?"

"No sir," Cosy said, backing out hastily. "I’m just fine. Planning on staying that way, too."

Ten grunted. Cosy vanished. The door thumped shut behind him.

"They must be starving," Carla said, looking as guilty as she felt.

"Nope. They still remember the cookies you used to bake. When Luke told the men you’d be cooking for a few days, they started drooling."

"Tell them to relax. I’ll be here all summer, not just for a few days."

Ten shrugged. "The last woman who stayed here more than three weeks was ugly as a rotten stump and drank to boot, but what really got her sent down the road was that she couldn’t cook worth a fart in a windstorm."

Carla fought not to smile. She failed.

The left corner of Ten’s mouth turned up. "Finally we took up a collection to buy her a bus ticket to Nome."

"Alaska?" asked Carla.

"Yeah. She got a job scaring grizzlies away from salmon nets."

Feminine laughter bubbled up. Soon Ten was laughing, too. Neither one of them noticed the big man who had come to the kitchen through the living room and was now leaning against the corner counter, his thumbs hooked in his belt and his mouth a bleak downward curve. He glanced at the clock. Six-forty. He glanced at the stove. Everything looked hot and ready to go. Whiskey-colored eyes cut back to the laughing couple in the dining room.