Sassy Cinderella

“All I have is boots. Cowboy boots and work boots, one pair of Hush Puppies and house slippers.”

“Let’s see the boots.”

When Pete showed her into his closet, she saw the problem. All of his boots were brown and his suit was blue. She selected the best-looking pair, brown ostrich skin. “I think I can make these work.”

Pete looked doubtful. “If you say so.”

She patted him on the arm. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Are the kids getting dressed?”

“I laid out their clothes.”

“It’ll take more than that.”

Sherry checked her watch. She still had forty-five minutes before Pete and the kids had to leave for the church. “Sam! Kristin?” No answer. When she checked their rooms, their church clothes were untouched. Those rascals, they were probably hiding, testing her authority over them. She would have to be more stern, she knew. Soon Pete wouldn’t be here to help her manage them.

She’d seen some black shoe polish under the sink. She gave the boots a makeover, then buffed them, bringing the ostrich skin to a shiny black finish. A rancher should get married in cowboy boots, she thought with a grin. She set them on newspaper to dry, then went in search of Jonathan’s children. His breakfast would have to wait.

They weren’t in the house. She stepped outside and called, but no answer. Slightly worried now, she ventured farther from the house, calling their names. “Come on, kids, you have to get dressed for Grandpa Pete’s wedding!”

When they still didn’t answer, she headed for the barn, the most logical place for them to be. When she stepped inside the modern building, she heard childish laughter and sighed with relief. “Kids? Children? Come on, now, it’s time to get dressed for the—” She skidded to a stop when she spotted the children in an empty stall. They both leaned over a huge aquarium that sat on an old picnic table.

And they both did a really good job of ignoring her.

She came closer. “Do I need to clean the wax out of your ears? You don’t want to be late for the wedding, do you?”

Sam finally looked up. “These are our pets, Alexander the Great and Miss Pooh. Here, see?” He reached into the aquarium, picked up something large and before she could react, plopped it on Sherry’s shoulder.

She got a fleeting impression of slimy skin and huge, bulbous eyes, a cold, wet foot, or tentacle, or something touching her neck.

She screamed. The thing, whatever it was, leaped from her shoulder and landed on a hay bale.

“Get him!” Sam shouted. And both children dived for the creature, which Sherry could now see was an enormous bullfrog.

“No, you’ll get dirty!” Sherry objected, ineffectually as it turned out. Both children were crawling around on the filthy stall floor, chasing after the slippery frog.

Finally they corralled the animal and returned it to its habitat. Only then did they turn their attention to Sherry, who was trembling with anger.

If they’d been about to giggle at her reaction to the frog, they stopped when they saw her face.

“Go back up to the house this instant,” she ordered. “Wash your faces and hands, put on your church clothes, then sit in the living room, and don’t move until it’s time to leave for the wedding.”

Sam gulped. “Yes, ma’am.” He scurried away, followed by Kristin, who’d looked as if she were ready to cry.

Great. Jonathan hated her guts and now she’d made enemies of the children. At least Pete liked her.

Or so she thought.

Pete stood in the kitchen, bow tie in hand, staring down at the black boots. “What in tarnation did you do to my ostrich boots?”

“I polished them.”

“You turned them black! Missy, those are seven-hundred-dollar custom-made boots!”

“I don’t understand. Can’t boots be black?”

“But these are supposed to be brown!”

She was at a loss. She’d thought the boots looked much better after her polish job.

Just then, Jonathan hobbled into the kitchen. He wore the same pair of jeans as yesterday, one leg split up the center seam to accommodate his cast, but he’d also put on a starched dress shirt. He’d shaved and combed his wavy brown hair.

Her breathing came in shallow gasps.

“Problem?” he asked.

Sam and Kristin came running up to him, still dirty, still not dressed in the proper clothes. “Dad, Dad, Sherry yelled at us.”

Jonathan spared a flickering gaze toward Sherry.

“They threw a frog at me,” she said in her own defense. “And they weren’t obeying me very well. I’m sorry I lost my temper, but I didn’t want them to make Pete late for his own wedding.” While she made this speech, she pulled a chair out for Jonathan to sit at the kitchen table. Though he’d said nothing, she could tell by the tension in his face that it hurt him to stand.

Jonathan sat down, then looked at his children. “Go wash up. And put on your church clothes,” he said so quietly she almost didn’t hear him.

They scrambled to do his bidding.

“See? No need to yell.”

Right. She’d told the children exactly the same thing, but they hadn’t listened to her. Were people like Jonathan born with a natural authority that children responded to? And had she been born without it? Or did it have something to do with her lack of parenting role models in her formative years?

If she ever wanted to have children of her own, she’d better figure that out.

Pete picked up his boots and, grumbling all the way, left the kitchen.

Jonathan watched him go, seeming faintly amused. Then he turned his gaze on Sherry. “Well, seems you’re winning friends and influencing people this morning. If you can manage to burn my breakfast, you’ll be four for four.”

JONATHAN ACTUALLY FELT a bit sorry for Sherry as he watched her bustle around the kitchen, frying his eggs and toasting an English muffin. She was trying, he’d give her that. She might be a skilled nurse, but she obviously wasn’t going to fit in here. He should have listened to Jeff.

He’d wait until after the wedding reception, he decided, then he would let her go.

With that decision made, Jonathan felt much more mellow. He went easier on Sherry, thanking her for breakfast and telling her it was good, even though she’d made his eggs too runny and the muffin too dark. No need to correct her. This was the last breakfast she would cook for him.

Pete and the kids got off to the wedding without further incident. Sherry stood at the front door and waved to them. “Bye, good luck, Pete.” Then the real fun began. Sally’s two best friends, Gussie and Reenie, arrived with flowers and garlands, a wedding cake in the shape of a cowboy hat and enough food to feed a third-world country.

Sherry was obviously in her element. Gussie and Reenie, who thought of themselves as Cottonwood’s social directors, were a little suspicious of her at first. From the recliner in the living room, where he pretended to read, Jonathan could see the two septuagenarians whispering to each other whenever Sherry stepped out of the room and shaking their heads disapprovingly.

But Sherry worked tirelessly, ironing a small wrinkle out of a tablecloth, rifling through cabinet after cabinet to find a punchbowl, quickly polishing a silver candelabra, pinching a brown leaf off a flower arrangement. She did whatever the two older women requested of her with a smile, complimented Gussie’s horrific hat and even asked for Reenie’s crab salad recipe.

Pretty soon the three women worked as a team, chattering and laughing as if they’d known each other for years.

Sherry did have a way about her, Jonathan conceded. She could drive him crazy in thirty seconds, but anyone could see she meant well. She didn’t seem to have a malicious bone in her body.

Her very sexy body.

The way she was dressed, Jonathan couldn’t help but notice her physical assets. She’d changed out of her earlier outfit and into a white, ruffly blouse that showed two inches of cleavage, paired with a red miniskirt and a wide black belt that made her waist look minuscule. Her legs were encased in black stockings, her feet in black spike heels with red polka-dots. She even had a red polka-dot bow in her hair, which cascaded around her shoulders and down her back in a waterfall of blond curls.

Her lips and fingernails, of course, were bright red, too.

When Sherry leaned down to pick up a runaway olive, she very nearly showed him her panties. Were they color-coordinated, too? Determinedly he buried his face in his book. It was useless to entertain fantasies about Sherry. Even if she wasn’t going to be out of his life soon, she wasn’t the type of woman he wanted to involve himself with. If he’d learned one thing from his marriage, it was that what turned him on wasn’t what he needed to be happy.

Did that mean there was a type he would become involved with?

Good question. After his divorce from Rita, he swore he was done with women for good. But he supposed that was a pretty normal reaction. He didn’t hate women. His brothers had managed to catch a couple of good ones. In fact, he’d been on a date not too long ago with Allison. He’d done it strictly to make Jeff jealous, but he’d found her company more pleasurable than he’d expected and that night he realized he missed female companionship.

But if he were to start dating again, he wouldn’t date someone like Sherry. He would look for a country girl with simple tastes, one who understood and loved ranch life. Judging from the few comments she’d made, Sherry didn’t know a steer from a bull. He would look for a woman who was good with children. Hard as she tried, Jonathan suspected Sherry had zero maternal instincts. His children were usually pretty easy to get along with, yet she’d managed to upset them somehow.

He would look for a woman who wasn’t ashamed to buy clothes at Wal-Mart, one who didn’t agonize over breaking a fingernail, one who didn’t crave champagne and five-star dining experiences on a daily basis. The casual comment Sherry had made about credit card bills was a red flag. She was probably a shopaholic, like Rita.

Not that he minded an occasional shopping trip in Dallas or a special dinner out at a fancy steak-house. He wasn’t cheap, and before his marriage he’d actually enjoyed treating a woman to special things now and then.

But Rita had wanted those treats in her life every day. She’d thought nothing of spending two hundred dollars on a pair of pants and then never wearing them. It wasn’t that he couldn’t afford her, the ranch made good money, but their priorities simply hadn’t meshed.

When she’d suggested they hire a full-time nanny for the children, Jonathan had flatly refused. There was no practical need for professional child care. Rita didn’t work outside the home and Pete would watch the kids virtually any time Rita asked. But all of her Dallas and New Orleans friends had nannies, so she wanted to keep up.

She’d left him soon after that argument.

Jonathan sneaked another look at Sherry. High maintenance, that one. Don’t even think about it.

Then, there wasn’t time to think about anything because the wedding guests started to arrive—hundreds of them, or so it seemed. Each and every one of them had to pay his respects to Jonathan and ask all about the accident. He repeated the story so many times it became rote. Then people kept bringing him plates of food, precious little stuffed mushrooms, tiny quiches and pimento-cheese minisandwiches. He would have preferred some real food, like a roast beef sandwich. But his hired nurse was too busy playing hostess to see to his needs.

“You look like you swallowed an olive pit.” This comment came from Jonathan’s father. Edward perched on the arm of his recliner. “Is all this matrimonial bliss getting to you? First Wade and now Pete. In December it’ll be Jeff and Allison.”

That was as good an excuse as any. “Yeah, looks like you and me are the last hold-outs. You ever think about finding a woman?”

Edward laughed. “Me? Too set in my ways.”

“That’s what Pete used to say.”

Edward sobered. “I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t. Every woman I meet, I compare her to your mother and find her lacking.”

“Mom was special, all right.”

“You’re not thinking of—”

“No, not me. All the good women in Cottonwood have been taken.”

“Is that why we’ve started importing new ones?” Edward’s gaze followed Sherry as she bustled around the room with a bottle of champagne in one hand and a plate of hors d’oeuvres in the other, refilling glasses and making sure everyone had everything they needed.

“No exotic imports for me,” Jonathan said with an exaggerated shiver of revulsion. “Been there, done that.”

By the time Pete and Sally had left for their honeymoon and the last guest had finally departed, Jonathan felt exhausted. He couldn’t imagine why. All he’d done was sit in this blasted chair. He supposed small talk required more of an effort from him than most people. Being pleasant to casual acquaintances sapped his energy. He’d much rather spend time with his horses and cows, which didn’t require conversation.

Sherry moved around the room with a trash bag, scooping up paper napkins, plates and plastic champagne glasses. “Well, I’d say that was a success.”

“You would?” He looked at the devastation the party had wrought on his house.

“Oh, don’t worry about the mess. I’ll clean it up in a jiffy.” She kicked off her high heels and continued her efforts. “It was just so nice, getting to meet everybody. Now when I see them in town, I won’t be a stranger. Of course, I’m not sure all of them liked me. Anne’s mother, Deborah Chatsworth, I thought was going to flip her wig when I pulled a champagne cork out with my teeth.”

“Deborah Chatsworth is something of a snob and her husband is worse. They wanted Anne to marry Jeff, have a doctor in the family. Instead, she went for Wade, an itinerant rodeo cowboy. But once they realized Anne and Wade were really in love, they accepted him. They’re okay once you get to know them.” Jonathan didn’t add that Sherry wouldn’t get that chance. She’d be gone.

“And Reverend Crane, Allison’s father,” she said. “I burned my hand on a hot plate and I sort of let out a little curse. He turned so red I thought I was going to have to perform CPR on the spot.”

“You burned your hand?”

She held out one elegant, pale hand toward him, showing him a red mark on the outside of her little finger. “No big deal, but it hurt like hell—I mean, heck.” She cast worried glances around, but the children were nowhere in the vicinity. “Shoot, where are those kids? I hope they changed clothes before running down to the barn to play with their frogs.”

“I doubt they did.”

“They’re not mad at me anymore.”

Jonathan already knew that. Once she’d told them they could have all the cake and punch they wanted, since it was a special occasion and all, she’d instantly become their friend. He thought a nurse should know better.

She stopped halfway to the kitchen. “Jonathan, is there anything I can get for you? I’ve kind of ignored you these past few hours.”

Nice of you to notice. “I could use some lunch.”

She looked shocked. “How could you be hungry? I saw all those adoring women bringing you plates of food.”

“Finger food. Itty-bitty pastries. Not enough to keep a mouse alive.”

“Gee, I’m so stuffed I won’t eat for a—” She stopped. “Of course, I’m not you. What would you like? There’s leftover Frito-chili pie—oh, no, of course you wouldn’t want that, it almost poisoned you. I could make you a sandwich or soup.”

He hoped never to see that Frito-chili pie again. “Is there any roast beef?”

“I think so. Anne and Allison stocked the fridge pretty thoroughly.”

“A sandwich, then, please.”

“Okay.”

Moments later he heard her clattering around in the kitchen and he started feeling guilty. She had enough to do, cleaning up after the party. Then again, there wouldn’t have been a party if she hadn’t arranged it.

A short time later she set a tray in front of him—a sliced barbecued-beef sandwich and a bowl of thick potato soup. He wasn’t sure how she’d managed this. The soup tasted homemade. Maybe Anne or Allison had brought over some dishes already cooked, along with the groceries.

“Is that all right?”

“Mmm, yes, it’s fine.”

She smiled, then resumed her cleaning efforts.

He couldn’t wait to hear what Deborah Chatsworth would say on the subject of his nurse, not to mention Reverend Crane. In fact, he was pretty sure everyone who’d met Sherry would have an opinion on the subject.

What a relief it would be to tell them, “She’s already gone. I fired her.”

“Those choir ladies from the church sure seem nice,” Sherry said as she sprayed some furniture polish on the coffee table.

Jonathan didn’t know to which ladies she referred, since he seldom noticed the choir when he went to church. “Mmm-hmm.”

“It’s a shame, them missing out on their practice.”

“Mmm-hmm. What?”

“It seems Reverend Crane rented out the church hall to the high school dance squad to practice their routines while the gymnasium floor is being repaired. The church needs the money, so the choir ladies don’t blame the reverend.”

“No, I don’t imagine so.” Jonathan picked up his book, hoping to discourage Sherry’s idle chitchat. He wasn’t much for flapping his gums just to fill silence. He soon learned, however, that this conversation had a very specific purpose.

“But the choir has no place to practice.”

“Can’t they practice in the church?”

“Thin walls. They tried it once, but pretty soon they were all singing the disco song the dance squad was playing, and the dance squad girls were all kicking each other in the head because the singing next door was throwing off their rhythm.”

“That’s a shame,” he said.

“The reason I’m telling you all this is, well, I felt sorry for them, so I invited them to come practice here.”

“What?” He couldn’t have heard right.

“The invitation popped out of my mouth before I could stop it. There’s plenty of space, if we move the furniture out of these two rooms.” She indicated the living and dining rooms, which were separated only by a short bookcase. “And set out folding chairs—”

“Are you out of your mind?” he roared. “The church choir? Here?”

“The music will cheer you up. Doctors have done studies, you know, and—”

“The music will not cheer me up. Having fifty strange women in my house will make me exceedingly cranky.”

“There are only thirty-two members in the choir.”

“Look, Sherry. I don’t like parties. I don’t like company. And I particularly don’t like a lot of jabbering women who only stop jabbering when they sing—off-key, I might add.”

She looked stricken. “But I’ve already invited them.”

“Then you can just uninvite them.”

“But that would be rude.”

“Did it ever occur to you that inviting them without consulting me first was rude? And this wedding reception—you didn’t ask me about that, either. You just bulldozed ahead, like you owned the place.”

“But I thought…I thought you’d be pleased. Allison mentioned how disappointed you were to miss the wedding, and I thought—”

“You thought wrong.”

She drooped. “All right. I’ll uninvite the choir. And next time I’ll ask before I issue any invitations like that.”

“There won’t be a next time.” Jonathan already felt like he’d kicked a puppy. He might as well get the rest of this over with.

Sherry blinked her green eyes at him a couple of times. “What?”

“Look, this isn’t working out. You simply don’t fit in here. It’s obvious you can’t manage the children. Yelling at them and then bribing them with sweets is no way to deal with kids. Anyway, I can take care of things myself. I’ve been getting around on the crutches okay.”

Sherry faced him squarely, her hands on her slim hips. “You turn white as Wonder Bread every time you stand up and totter around on those crutches. You most certainly cannot take care of yourself. How are you going to look after those kids? They move faster than the speed of light.”

“I’ll manage.”

“How will you cook for them?”

“That’s what a microwave is for. It couldn’t be any worse than—” He stopped himself, but she already knew what he was going to say.

“I got the message. You hate my cooking.”

“It’s a bit spicy. We’re used to more basic fare. Don’t worry, I’ll pay you for the time you’ve been here, plus a few days extra for the trouble you went to.”

“I can do better. All you have to do is tell me when you don’t like something, and I’ll…” her voice trailed off when she realized Jonathan wasn’t going to budge. She slumped in defeat. “All right, then. I’ll just finish cleaning up in here, then I’ll pack my things.”

“Leave the mess. I have a service that comes every two weeks. They’ll be here Monday morning.”

She slowly set down the plastic cup she’d been holding. She stared at him a moment, eyes challenging, but only for a moment. Then she swept from the room.

He’d made her cry, he realized. He hadn’t intended to be harsh. He just wanted her gone. Surely even she could see that this wasn’t a compatible employer-employee relationship.

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