crew before this,â Mavie muttered. âThe brothers knew itâ¦I told them so. Now here they come wanting me to cook for visiting politicians from Washington and figure out how to put priceless china and delicatecrystal and silver utensils in some sort of recognizable pattern on an antique linen tablecloth!â
âItâs all right,â Morie said. âIâll help.â
She blinked. âYou will? They wonât like it.â She nodded toward the distant living room.
âThey wonât know,â she promised.
The housekeeper shifted nervously. âOkay. Thanks. That Bruner womanâs always in here complaining about how I cook,â she added sourly.
âThatâs all right, sheâs always complaining about how I dress.â
The other womanâs eyes actually twinkled. Nothing made friends like a common enemy. âShe thinks Iâm not capable of catering a party. She wants to hire one of her society friends and let Mallory pay her a fortune to do it.â
âWeâll show her,â Morie said.
There was a chuckle. âOkay. Iâm game. Whatâs next?â
Â
M ORIE SPENT A VERY ENJOYABLE hour of her free time laying out a menu for Mavie and diagramming the placement of the silver and crystal on the tablecloth. She advised buying and using a transparent plastic cover over the antique tablecloth to preserve it from spills of red wine, which, the housekeeper groaned, the brothers preferred.
âTheyâll never let me do that.â She sighed.
âWell, I suppose not,â Morie replied, trying to imagine her mother, that superhostess, putting plastic on her own priceless imported linen. âAnd I suppose we can find a dry cleaner who can get out stains if theyâre fresh.â
âI donât guess I can wear sweats to serve at table,â Mavie groaned.
âYou could hire a catererâ came the suggestion.
âNearest caterer I know of is in Jackson, ninety miles away,â the housekeeper said. âThink theyâll spring to fly him and his staff down here?â
Morie chuckled. No, not in the current economic environment. âGuess not.â
âThen weâll have to manage.â She frowned. âI do have one passable dress. I guess it will still fit. And I can get a couple of the cowboysâ wives to come and help. But I donât know how to serve anything.â
âI do,â Morie said gently. âIâll coach you and the wives who help.â
Mavie cocked her head. Her blue eyes narrowed. âYouâre not quite what you seem, are you?â
Morie tried to look innocent. âI just cooked for a big ranch,â she replied.
The housekeeper pursed her lips. âOkay. If you say so.â
Morie grinned. âI do. So, letâs talk about entrées!â
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M ALLORY CAME IN WHILE Morie was sipping a cup of coffee with Mavie after their preparations.
Morie looked up, disturbed, when Mallory stared at her pointedly.
âItâs my afternoon off,â she blurted.
His thick eyebrows lifted. âDid I say anything?â
âYou were thinking it,â she shot back.
âHard worker and reads minds.â Mallory nodded. âNice combination.â
âShe gave me some tips on canapés for that high-society party youâre making me cook for,â Mavie grumbled, glaring at him. âNever cooked for any darn politicians. I donât like politicians.â She frowned. âI wonder what hemlock looks likeâ¦?â
âYou stop that,â Mallory said at once. âWeâre feeding them so we can push some agendas their way. We need a sympathetic ear in Washington for the cattlemenâs lobby.â
âThey should keep buffalo in the park where they belong instead of letting them wander onto private land and infect cattle with brucellosis,â Morie muttered. âAnd people who donât live here shouldnât make
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley