Chapter 7

7

Dylan got down to business as soon as her father went on his merry little way. Time to take stock of Fletcher’s habitat.

Fletcher’s house smelled like man . But in a good way, she decided as she settled at the kitchen island. She had to come up with a plan . She could see the man in question out the window now, but…

Dylan looked a little closer. Was her grouchy old bossman limping? He was favoring his left leg, but she couldn’t see why. She immediately fought a rush of concern. She had to keep him in optimum condition, or this gig wouldn’t last long enough for her to win.

He disappeared into the barn and then was gone. She watched for him a few more minutes—but whatever he was doing in that tiny shed in the back was apparently taking a while. And, well…

Dylan had things to do.

The kitchen needed seriously rearranged for maximum efficiency. She needed to find all his cleaning supplies—she was seriously hoping his stuff wasn’t vintage or anything—and just take stock of everything a four-thousand-square-foot sprawling ranch house needed—it was single-story except for the super-scary attic and basement where the Yeti probably lived; she’d heard something skittering down there. Skittering. It had sounded man-sized, but since she’d seen Fletcher walking to the barn at the time…

She was going to mention a possible rodent problem to that man. Just in case.

There were eighteen tall windows in this place, including a beautiful bay window in the front living room. They would need to be cleaned on a regular basis. She had plans for that big bay window later—including hot cocoa, marshmallows, Tyler Bennett’s latest mystery novel, and a snuggly quilt. She’d found several beautiful quilts in Nikki’s closet.

It took her several hours to clean the main living areas. The side bedrooms—not hers or Fletchie’s—had apparently been used for storage through the years. They would eventually have to be cleaned out and organized.

There was one that would make a really nice home office—it was further away from the others and had Gilbert written all over it. Literally—Gilbert’s name or initials were in a few places. In the hand-carved wood trim and everything.

She hoped Mr. Gilbert Tyler had gotten seriously grounded for that.

She could almost feel the generations of Tylers who had lived there before. Dylan loved the feel of the house—it just needed a little extra love to make it work better for Cowboy Truckie.

She was working on her plan again when he came in that afternoon around three.

She had found frozen meat of indeterminate origin that had a date that was within the reasonable range for use. The freezers would have to be organized as well—why did the man have pounds upon pounds of meat and no veggies or anything resembling any in his freezers? Was he seriously going to eat what had to be six hundred pounds of beef?

Crazy.

She had beef and noodles—she’d made the noodles herself from flour she’d found and prayed was still good. And gravy, of course. The man liked to eat—hard to miss that. Every time she’d had to wait on that man in the diner and inn, he had ordered extra side dishes and biscuits, after all.

And then, there he was.

Staring at her like he had never seen a housekeeper before. “What is that smell?”

“That, boss, is your dinner. I have put it in the slow cooker. On low. Leave it. Just stir it occasionally. Gently, but don’t let the bottom stick. I have a two-hour shift at Talley Land tonight before my date with Wonkus McBubbles, so you must feed yourself. I will clean up when I get back.”

“You cooked. You really cooked.”

He looked completely astounded at the mere possibility. Well, sheesh.

“I cooked, Fletchie. I cooked. Beef and noodles and biscuits. You had no veggies anywhere, so I had to improvise. Stir occasionally, okay? I will return.”

“You cooked. For real. You know how to cook?”

“Yes. I know how to cook. Now, shoo. You are dripping slosh all over my nice clean floors.” She’d mopped them until they shined, after all. He looked down. Almost in shock.

He just kept looking at her like he had never seen a housekeeper before. Then he pivoted very nicely and headed to his bedroom to change. She watched him for a moment. The man wasn’t limping at all. Maybe she had just imagined it—but that limp had been a little noticeable.

She grabbed her list of supplies she’d need for later—a run to get some bleach and actual cleaners was a definite must—and then took off.

The diner—and her family—waited.