Fancy Pants (Only In Gooding Book #1) by Cathy Marie Hake Read Free Book Online

but you’re due up at daybreak. I respect your uncle too much to let him come home to an English dandy of a nephew. By the time he gets here, you’ll have learned enough to make yourself useful.”
    “That’s only a week away!”
    “Don’t remind me. I already have indigestion from watching you eat. You chew meat longer than a cow chews a wad of cud.”
    Sydney’s fork and knife clattered to the plate. “That was less than appropriate table conversation!”
    “Spoil your appetite?”
    “It’s apparent nothing spoils your appetite. You’ve torn into a perfectly delightful meal with no more manners than a rabid wolf.”
    “Wolves tear apart baby animals that are wet behind the ears. Don’t forget that, sonny.” Creighton took a huge bite, gnashed on it only half a dozen times, and swallowed while staring at her.
    Sydney caught herself swallowing along with him.
    Tim gave her a smile that showed every last one of his teeth. After that, there wasn’t any more supper conversation.
    Sydney went to bed and lay in the dark, horrified. To be sure, the soft bed felt great, but her mind reeled with Tim Creighton’s actions. How could Uncle Fuller have left her to the vagaries of such a boor? A big one, too. She’d tried to convince herself he wouldn’t be worthy of a second-in-command position, and seeing him at the table came as a terribly rude shock.
    The way he acted as if she were the problem galled her; yet, that was precisely his perspective on things—and he made no bones about it. But if every man here works, he’s right. I’m useless .
    Sydney had to admit she presented a unique challenge to the man. He obviously liked Uncle Fuller and wanted him to be spared the pain of seeing a relative who was pitifully inept. Just what would this deception demand of her?
    The idea of misleading others went against her deep sense of honor, but it paled in comparison to the appalling alternative of becoming Rex Hume’s wife.
    Sydney determined she would have to be a man’s man and quickly realized she’d have to develop mettle to make it through. I always did love a challenge .

Chapter Three
    The door rattled on its hinges from a sound smack, but Tim got no response. Velma yelled from downstairs, “Sun’s almost up! Get movin’.”
    Tim wrenched the doorknob, crossed the small bedchamber, and grabbed the mattress. One quick flick of his wrists, and Hathwell tumbled through the air and hit the floor with a resounding thud. The kid let out a shrill yelp.
    “Velma gave you a wake-up call fifteen minutes ago.” Tim dumped the mattress back down on the bed frame. Disgust twisted his features as he watched the kid clutch the rumpled bedsheets to his nightshirted chest. “Stop squawking. Get on your feet and get moving. If you don’t show up to eat in five minutes, Velma’ll use the flapjacks to slop the hogs.”
    “Five minutes!”
    Tim shot him a heated look. “Don’t ever expect me to tilt you outta your bed again.”
    “I won’t!”
    Tim didn’t stick around to listen to the kid whine. No use in both of them eating Velma’s flapjacks cold. He sat down to breakfast, said grace, and implored God to intervene with Fuller’s nephew. If ever a situation existed that required divine intervention, surely this was it.
    Eight minutes later Tim watched in utter disbelief as the youngster carefully cut a single, tiny bite of a flapjack and daintily slipped it between his lips. The kid even crooked his pinkie like a fussy old woman. Tim propped his elbows on the table and fought the urge to bury his head in his hands.
    “Eat up, kid.”
    “I have gracious plenty, thank you.”
    One flapjack and two rashers of bacon. How could that possibly be enough? No wonder the kid is skin and bones .
    Hathwell scanned the table and frowned.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “I don’t see the sugar or cream.”
    “Black and strong enough to float a horseshoe—that’s how men drink their coffee. Finish eating. Work’s piling