“We’ll treat the lady like a queen. And we’ll be nice to her kids, won’t we?” Rick promised, giving each of the boys a warning glare.

“She doesn’t seem so bad,” Cody conceded. “Not like the other ones. Hell, the second lady couldn’t even take a joke.”

“It’s hard to laugh when your girdle is flying from the flagpole,” Rick accused, glaring at both Peter and Cody.

“I bet Catherine’s underwear would be a sight prettier.”

“Leave the lady alone,” Gunter said softly.

Peter quickly nodded, his hands going up defensively.

“Catherine and her kids need to be here,” Gunter continued, looking at each of the boys.

“They were living in that old cabin, for chrissakes, and probably need this place more than we do. And be careful with the girl, Nora. Do any of you realize that she’s barely spoken to any of us? And she only whispers to her mom and brother? Be nice to her.”

Everybody nodded again. Robbie hid his smile. Well, hell. This was the first time he’d seen these guys agree onanything all at the same time. Had a miracle fallen into his lap or what?

“Oh, hi. You’re back,” Catherine mumbled as she walked into the living room, her eyes blinking with sleep.

Robbie sucked in his breath. She looked like an angel. Her hair was disheveled, and her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes were… well, sexy-looking. Robbie felt his insides clench, his anger turning to desire with the suddenness of an explosion.

Hell. If Catherine Daniels even caught a hint of what he was thinking, she’d run screaming back up the mountain to her hidey-hole—and he wouldn’t be able to catch her this time, either.

“I—ah—dinner will be ready in two hours,” she whispered, her cheeks flushing at the boys’ undisguised gawking.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Cody whispered. “I’ll marry you.”

Her blush deepened.

Robbie thought to intervene, but Gunter beat him to it.

“Ignore the moron, Catherine. The boy thinks with his taste buds, and chicken is his favorite,” Gunter said. “And the house looks great. We really didn’t know the kitchen floor was blue,” he added, lightening the mood.

She gave him a thankful smile. “I was as surprised as you.” But then she sobered and gave them each a tentative look. “I didn’t get to the upstairs today,” she confessed, not seeing Robbie’s glare at that admission, since she was looking at the boys. “I didn’t want to go into your bedrooms without permission, so I didn’t get any laundry or make the beds. I wanted to speak with each of you first.”

“You were respecting our privacy?” Rick asked.

Catherine nodded. “If you have clothes that need washing, just leave them in the hall if you don’t want me going into your rooms. But if you want me to change your beds, put away your clean clothes, and vacuum and dust, then all you have to do is show me what

’s off limits and what’s not.”

“It’s all off limits,” Robbie said.

Catherine spun around, her eyes wide and confused. “What do you mean? I’m just trying to do my job.”

Robbie stood up.

She took a step back.

“The boys will help with the housework. They will wash their own clothes, make their own beds, and do the vacuuming. They’ll be responsible for keeping their bedrooms clean, and they’ll help with the supper dishes.”

Her chin rose throughout his speech, and she was scowling at him by the end of it. But as soon as she realized what she was doing and just how defiant she appeared, Robbie watched her instantly deflate. Then he saw her realize what she was doing again, and her shoulders squared and her chin rose—but just a little.

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

“Cook. Take care of your kids. Go for walks.” He smiled. “And you can shop. You can be responsible for buying the food and anything else we need.” Yeah. That was a good idea. He hated shopping. “You can handle that. Women love to shop.”

If she hadn’t been so wary of him, Robbie would swear that Cat was near to stomping her foot in frustration.

“But we can’t figure out the washing machine,” Peter said. “It’s possessed by demons.”

“I can show you,” Cat quickly offered, turning away from Robbie, probably before she said something she’d be sorry for. She turned back to Robbie. “But the bathrooms,” she said with a shudder. “I want to be in charge of the bathrooms.”

“Why would anyone volunteer for that?” Cody asked.

“Because I have this thing about clean bathrooms. And keeping them sanitary is sort of an art.” That said, she turned back to Robbie, folded her arms under her breasts, raised her chin as high as she dared, and waited.

Robbie curtly nodded agreement, then left her standing in the living room with four incredulous boys staring at her.

If the lady had a thing for bathrooms, who was he to argue?

Chapter Eight

It was Saturday morning,day two of her new housekeeping job, and Catherine was in the chicken coop with her children. The four boys were in the house, cleaning their bedrooms and trying to master the art of vacuuming.

Her boss was in the huge garage with several men from his logging crew, examining the tree harvester they’d trucked in late last night. The gigantic machine was broken, and Catherine had learned it was one of three that Robbie owned and would leave several of his men idle until it was fixed.

She had also learned that all four boys worked in the logging operation at least ten hours a week, doing various jobs. Peter, being only fifteen, was responsible for keeping track of the maintenance records for all the machinery. Cody and Rick did some of the maintenance, changing oil and air filters and keeping the equipment clean. Gunter actually ran some of the equipment, often working right beside the loggers.

Robbie had told her he wanted to nudge the boys in the right direction, and it seemed his logging operation was his means to that end. Catherine decided she had to admire anyone who took on the task of guiding four wayward boys into manhood.

Actually, there were a lot of things she was coming to admire about Robbie MacBain.

The man seemed to have the patience and disposition of a saint. At the supper table last night, and without accusation or condescension, Robbie had told Cody he had to spend this Sunday cleaning John Mead’s skidder, which Catherine had learned was a large machine that dragged trees out of the forest. Apparently, Cody and a few of his friends had shot something called a potato gun at the skidder, smearing it with potato pulp.

Catherine guessed it would be an unpleasant job, considering the potatoes had had four days to dry.

Cody had taken his punishment rather well. Nathan had certainly been impressed, with both the potato gun and Cody’s promise to show him how to shoot it. Catherine’s first instinct had been to forbid Nathan to go anywhere near anything called a gun. Robbie had read her reaction and spoken up before she could, promising her a potato gun was just the thing for an eight-year-old boy to experience. And for some reason that she couldn’t quite understand, Catherine found herself trusting Robbie’s judgment when it came to dealing with young males.

Catherine brought her thoughts back to the task at hand and urged Nathan and Nora further into the henhouse. “Don’t make any sudden moves, and talk softly when you’re working in here,” she told her round-eyed children as she peeled Nora off her leg.

“You have to make sure they always have clean water and plenty of food.” She smiled encouragement. “And for a reward, these little ladies will give us plenty of eggs.”

“Do they bite?” Nathan whispered.

“No. But they may try to peck you. Just ignore them, and they’ll leave you alone.”

“Will they be mad at us for stealing their eggs?” Nora asked, clinging to Catherine’s leg again. “Aren’t eggs their babies?”

“No, sweetie. There’s no rooster here, so the eggs can’t turn into chicks. And the hens won’t mind us taking them.”