Inside the top box are stacks of dusty photo frames filled with pictures. I pull out the two nearest the top and squint at the figures, trying to work out the scene. It's a man and woman, and in front of them are five children; five of the cutest boys I've ever seen. The kids are all too small to properly identify, but it must be the Bradfords. Their parents aren't sitting close together, and it's the same in the next photo. It's presumptuous of me, but I don't get the feeling that theirs was or is a happy marriage. Their father has a stern look about him that leads me to think of him as a strong disciplinarian. With five young children, maybe that was necessary, although my momma always said that a kind word goes much further than a scold.
Would the Bradfords want me to display these pictures, or have they left them in boxes because they're reminders of an unhappy past? I guess I'm going to need to ask them.
Just as I'm sliding the frames back out of sight, the now-familiar sound of the front door banging makes me jump.
Loud men's voices echo through the hallway, and as I scuttle quickly into the kitchen, I'm faced with the five men of the house all in one hit. And what a hit it is.
I am absolutely certain that the amount of testosterone in this room is at a dangerous level. They look like they've grown up eating only the best American beef. In one synchronized move, they all remove their hats, except Scott, of course. He keeps his in place.
"Melanie." Cash declares my name as he gazes around the space that I've transformed from dingy hovel to homely farmhouse kitchen. The smell of roasting chicken is thick in the air, and they all inhale, nostrils flaring with appreciation.
"Dinner is almost ready. You need to take those boots off right there. The floors have all been cleaned, and I'm not repeating the process tomorrow."
Cary grins, still chewing something as though his life depends on it. "One thing's for sure. Cash hired a bossy housemaid."
"I'm not a maid. This isn't eighteenth-century England."
"It smells like you're a chef. I swear, whatever's cooking is going to be the best meal we've eaten in months," Sawyer says. He's already shucking off his boots and dropping them in the big basket by the front door. His brothers follow suit, even Scott, who glances at me with narrowed eyes as though he wants to stride mud through the rooms just to spite me. I guess his brothers wouldn't stand for it. Or maybe his petulance is more about attitude than action.
"Wash up, and dinner will be ready in thirty minutes."
"Yes, ma'am," Colt says. He's the first out of the door and up the stairs, whistling at the cleanliness as he goes. I haven't touched their bedrooms yet. I thought I should ask for permission before dealing with their personal spaces—another job for tomorrow.
I prepare the last of the meal, making a meaty gravy to go with the chicken. There aren't many serving dishes, so I use wooden chopping boards to protect the table from the roasting pans. I'm used to carving chickens and make quick work of separating all the good parts from the carcass. By the time they begin arriving, everything is ready, and the table is set.
To say that I'm proud of myself is an understatement. It isn't because I want them to be paying me compliments. It's nice when people are happy with my work, for sure. It's more that today has given me confidence. If this doesn't work out here, I know I can apply for similar positions, maybe in higher-class houses. Maybe I could leave ranch life behind and head for the city.
Even as I think it, I don't feel excited. Maybe it's true that you can take the girl out of the ranch but not the ranch out of the girl.
"This looks…" Cary shakes his head as though words are escaping him.
"Take a seat and serve yourself," I order primly. I might be cooking the food, but I'm not going to be providing silver-service dining here.
Cash is next to take a seat and load up his plate. It's at this point that I realize I should probably serve some bread to go with the meal too. There's plenty of food, but these men have been working for hours. They're going to need a serious number of calories to get them through.
I slice the last of the bread, and Cary and Cash take it appreciatively.
When Sawyer, Scott, and Colt arrive, I finally take the last seat, glancing around at the clean group of men in front of me. Damn, they really scrub up. The C triplets all have light brown hair with a slight curl to it. In contrast, the S twins are darker, and their style is closer cropped. There's not a clean-shaven face amongst them. I guess beards are either fashionable for ranchers right now, or maybe it's just about practicality. Although there is such similarity, I can already easily tell them apart through facial expression and posture. Bone, skin, and flesh might be the same, but character shines through like a beacon.