“I Didn’t Come to Marry Anyone” — Until One Cowboy Changed Her Entire Life

Chapter 6

The trouble with Wade Cutter had been building for weeks.

He was Rididgewell’s best hand by ability — there was no disputing that. Twenty years of cattle work had made him fast and skilled and nearly indispensable at roundup time. It had also made him certain that his value to the ranch placed him beyond ordinary consequence. He was forty-two years old and had never been told no by anyone who lasted long enough to matter.

He started with small things. Staying at the table after the other men had cleared out, watching Evelyn clean with the particular quality of attention that was designed to be noticed. Remarks just loud enough for her to hear — about how a woman’s place was in a kitchen, wasn’t it, or how the new cook was at least easy on the eyes even if her coffee was weak. She ignored it. That was what Holloway had told her to do, and it was usually good advice with men like Cutter, who fed on reaction like a fire fed on air.

But Cutter wasn’t interested in being ignored.

It escalated in small steps, the way these things always did — a hand on her shoulder as she passed, removed before she could object; a comment about her figure that he made to another man but said loud enough for her to hear; a morning when he came into the kitchen early on the pretense of refilling his coffee and stood too close to her while she worked, until Mrs. Chen appeared in the doorway and he stepped back with the lazy smile of a man who knew he could afford to wait.

Evelyn said nothing to Holloway. She wasn’t sure why, except that she’d been handling men like Cutter her entire life, and she was reluctant to bring someone else into it when she hadn’t exhausted her own options yet. Pride, maybe. Or the knowledge that Rididgewell had said any man who bothers you, tell Holloway or tell me, and she didn’t want to be the woman who ran to the boss after six weeks on the job.

That was a mistake.

The morning it came to a head was ordinary in every respect until it wasn’t. Evelyn was carrying a heavy pot of coffee from the stove to the table, both hands occupied, her attention on not spilling it. She didn’t hear Cutter come up behind her until his hand closed around her arm — not a brush this time, not something that could be laughed off, but a grip that was a statement.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, low and close to her ear.

“Let go of my arm.”

“I just want to have a conversation.”

“I said let go.” She kept her voice level. Her hands tightened on the coffeepot. The kitchen was mostly empty — two men at the far end of the table who were suddenly very interested in their plates. “I’m going to count to three, Mr. Cutter, and if you haven’t—”

“Or what?” His fingers tightened. “You’ll tell the boss? Go ahead. I’ve been here twelve years. You’ve been here six weeks.” He leaned closer. “Nobody’s going to choose you over me, sweetheart. Best you understand that now.”

Evelyn set the coffeepot down on the table. Slowly. Deliberately. And then she turned to face him fully, making him let go or make it obvious — he chose to let go, but barely. His eyes were flat and certain with the confidence of a man who had never been seriously wrong about anything.

She looked at him for a long moment.

Then she slapped him.

The sound cracked across the kitchen like a gunshot. Cutter’s head snapped sideways. The two men at the end of the table went completely still. Someone in the doorway inhaled sharply.

When Cutter turned back to face her, there was something new in his expression — something that had replaced the easy certainty with something uglier and more dangerous.

“You just made a very serious mistake,” he said quietly.

“No,” Evelyn said. “You did. Twelve minutes ago, when you put your hands on me without permission. I gave you a chance to stop.” She picked the coffeepot back up, because her hands needed something to do. “Now I suggest you finish your breakfast and get to work, because I guarantee you that whatever you’re thinking about doing next, the cost will be higher than you want to pay.”

The silence in the kitchen stretched and stretched.

From somewhere outside — the shadow of the main house porch — a man who had been watching with his coffee cup halfway to his lips set it down very carefully and began walking toward the bunkhouse.