Maryland Beaten Biscuits, that’s what Monk called them. She ran her finger down the list of ingredients. Although she had no idea what the equations of a tad, a lump, a smidgen, or a handful would translate to, she had watched the cook make biscuits before. She could do it by guess and by golly. It hadn’t looked too difficult. A might laborious, but she remembered how scrumptious the biscuits turned out. Quin would be thrilled. After she got the bread made, she could decide whether he might like ham and eggs or biscuits and gravy. Bleakly, she discounted the gravy, not having the slightest idea how it was made. She was pretty sure she’d need cream of tarter or soda, but not sure which.
The biscuit recipe looked simple enough. She followed the recipe exactly. “Take one crock of warm water, not too hot, put in a smidgen of salt, a lump of lard, and the amount of flour you think the size of the family may require.” She stopped and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand.
Now, we aren’t a family. So, that means not as much flour as I’d use if I were making biscuits for a bunch, she thought.
She added a couple of handfuls of flour and read on. “Make it into a paste, douse it with flour, and beat the batter with a rolling pin until its workable, right at thirty minutes. If one doesn’t have a rolling pin, a solid mallet or ax will do.”
She proceeded to pour the gooey mess out on a tea towel. A little watery, but it did say paste, she thought. Kaira sprinkled it liberally with flour. No rolling pin to be found. A mallet? Isn’t a hammer the same as a mallet? She knew exactly where Monk had put the claw hammer.
Hurrying to the office, a trail of flour followed her. She found the hammer, and glancing at the clock she realized she had to hurry, and hot-footed it back to the kitchen.
With the hammer posed over the puddle of flour and water, Kaira gave the whole procedure a second thought. The pointy end would take too long. She examined the flat side of the tool. Fairly flat, and it would speed up the process. If only she had an ax, not that she knew what one looked like, but she did know that it was much larger.
Taking aim, she drew in air to reinforce her misgivings. She closed her eyes and thought through the process. Yes, she’d done exactly as the recipe had called for, and the biscuits were truly a delicacy that would tempt any man’s taste buds. Even Monk appreciated them.
Using both hands, she lifted the hammer high above her head and proclaimed silently that she wouldn’t stop until she had beaten the dough for thirty minutes.
One second. Two seconds, she counted.
Splat! Water and flour shot through the air with lightning speed. She reared back and made contact again. And again, trying desperately to convince herself that with a few more beats, her biscuits would be perfect.
Slam! She’d make the newspaper a success.
Slam! Make her grandfather sorry.
Slam! Make Quin happy and give him a life he deserved. One he didn’t have to pay for by compromising his values.
One hundred twelve. One hundred thirteen…
“Sweetheart.” Quin’s voice split the air and caused Kaira to jump as though he’d caught a black widow guaranteeing her inherence. “I hate to bring it to your attention.” He laughed, full-bodied, whole-heartedly. Once he controlled his hilarity, he came to her and took the hammer from her hand. “I think you’ve beat that damn thing to death.”
Quin laid her assault weapon aside and turned only to chuckle again. He couldn’t believe his eyes. There stood Kaira Clarice Renaulde, astounded member of the
“I’m sorry, Quin.” She bit at the corner of her mouth. “I think I made an error with the amount of water I was supposed to use.” Then she joined him in his merriment, not stopping until tears ran down her cheeks.
Pouring water from the kettle, he wet a cloth and began helping her clean up. He swept and mopped the floor, while she picked dried dough out of her hair and tried to wash off his apron. He made a mental note to tell Mary Carol Diggs to buy two new aprons. One extra large and one tiny.
While the floor dried they sat on the worktable, legs dangling as if they sat on a dock. They sipped tea and laughed. Laughed and sipped tea.
Quin wasn’t sure exactly how he ended up drinking such a dainty, wimpy concoction, unless of course hell had frozen over.
“Quin, I’ve had a lot of time to think today. You gave me valid reasons why society shouldn’t try to make people into something they aren’t. Isn’t that exactly what you are doing?”
“I don’t see how I’m forcing-” He drained his cup and set it beside hers.
“No, you aren’t forcing others. You are forcing yourself. You are a cattleman who needs to be out on the open range, not cooped up in a newspaper office.” She moved her thigh, so it fit more comfortable against his, enjoying the feeling of his warmth through his Levi’s. “That’s why you stay angry, or did until today.” She rested her fingers lightly on his arm. “It isn’t because of the losses in your life…but that you’ve lost your life.”
“Then tell me why you want to be someone you aren’t, too.”
“Ah, there’s where you are wrong. That’s my problem. I didn’t conform to society, so Grandfather shipped me down here, so far away from Boston that if I spoke my mind the election would be over before New England got word of it. He wouldn’t have to take a chance on me embarrassing him and costing him the election.”
“So what are you going to do about it?” He leaned into her, nudging her shoulder with his.
“My ball gowns and those ugly hats you seemed to detest have already been shipped to Grandfather. I don’t need anything bought with his money. I want to be myself. Enjoy life. Enjoy a good prank. And enjoy…” She looked up at Quin. The smoldering flame she saw in his eyes startled her. “Enjoy kissing you.”
“Then what in the heck are you waiting on, sweetheart?” He swung her into the circle of his arms. “You know I have nothing to offer but a passel of love and a broken-down cowboy with no cows.”
“You mean steers?”
“Smart aleck.”
“Quin, I’m not in love with your cows, your steers, or your body. It’s your heart.”
Quin feathered warm kisses over Kaira’s lips, and she quivered at the sweet tenderness of his touch. Kissing the corner of her mouth, he nipped at her lower lip, sending sensual anticipation down to her soul.
Slowly, he outlined her lips with the tip of his tongue in leisurely exploration. All rational thought fled her mind. Not being able to stand the torture another minute, she claimed Quin’s mouth with hers. Kisses that had begun as soft and sensual became hungry, demanding.
Quin’s hands roamed freely over her body, allowing his fingers to touch as much skin as possible. He nestled her against him, the cradle of his hips welcoming her, and he didn’t try to hide his excitement. His tongue delved into her mouth, meeting hers, tasting, savoring the familiar and longed-for sweetness. She showed him how seriously she had taken his lessons on kissing, as she pleased him again and again.
Kaira circled Quin’s neck with her arms, inching her fingers into his tousled black hair. The smell of musk lingered. Quin’s breathing was rough, ragged as he moved to trail a ribbon of kisses along her throat and slipped his hands under her skirt, finding her warm, delicate thighs and hips. A vision only in his memories. Her bosom was crushed against his chest, her soft curves molded to his heated, aching body.
She answered the demands of his lips but wanted more, all of him. Desiring to touch him freely, she whispered, “Do you think we have time to make love?”
“I don’t know, let me check my watch.” He pretended to reach in his pocket.
Kaira caught him hand. “Not now you don’t.”
Quin angel-kissed her nose. “To answer your question, until now, making love to you never crossed my mind.”
“Liar.” Kaira unbuttoned his shirt, one button at a time, until his chest was fully exposed. “Don’t forget we have a newspaper to get out.” Burying her face in his chest, she breathed a kiss there.
“Hush.” Quin eased his hand from beneath her skirt, and lifted her head to where they were eye to eye. “I’ve
