Читать книгу Mail-Order Brides Of Oak Grove: Surprise Bride for the Cowboy - Kathryn Albright - Страница 15

Chapter Six

Steve couldn’t remember a time he’d been so flat-out angry. At least not at himself. Like he was right now. The idea he’d given the mayor seventy-five dollars had eaten at him all afternoon. Was he daft? No cook—no woman—was worth the kind of money Mary was costing him. How tasty her food was didn’t matter. Men ate for the substance not the taste.

At least that was the way it had always been. In less than a day, Mary had his men talking more about their next meal than the work they were doing. Other than Jess. Rather than talking about her cooking, he was talking about her. As in how she’d be marrying some lucky fellow next month.

Steve didn’t consider any man getting married lucky, and considering how much she’d already cost him, the man marrying Mary McCary would be the unluckiest one ever. He couldn’t wait for the month to be over and bid her good riddance. Hopefully he’d still have two nickels to rub together by then.

More eager than ever, the men put up their mounts, washed their hands and faces and all but knocked him down in their rush to get in the house, which only added to the fury fueling inside him.

The wondrous smells filling the kitchen didn’t help his mood whatsoever. Neither did how every bite he took seemed tastier than the last. Those little round pieces of honeycomb bread that when slathered with the butter she’d mixed with honey were downright addicting. Every man at the table ate four or more, including him. The two platters that had been piled high when they’d entered the house now held nothing but crumbs. He wasn’t sure what she’d done to the pork, either. Usually this time of year, having been smoked last fall, it was tougher than old leather, but what he’d just eaten hadn’t been. It had been as soft and easy to chew as the beans she’d also served.

“That was the best bread I’ve ever eaten,” Jess said, licking his lips. “What’s it called?”

Steve had purposefully kept his gaze off Mary since entering the house. The anger that had built in him all afternoon hadn’t only come from the money he’d laid out, or her cooking. It was the way she’d smiled and said thank-you to him earlier. At that moment, he’d known he’d never seen a more beautiful woman. With everything else, it would have been more fair if she’d been as homely as a half-plucked chicken. Beady eyes and all.

However, her eyes were far from beady. They were sparkling now, and twinkled brighter than stars in a midnight sky when she started to sing.

“Do you know the muffin man, the muffin man, the muffin man? Do you know the muffin man, who lives in Drury Lane? Oh, yes, I know the muffin man, the muffin man, the muffin man. Yes, I know the muffin man who lives in Drury Lane.”

The men all clapped as she finished her little tune, which had been sung with a pitch-perfect cadence and a hint of an Irish accent that had put smiles on everyone’s faces.

She curtsied. “Thank you. To answer your question, they are called muffins, and are my sister’s favorite. A woman in Pennsylvania taught me how to make them several years ago.”

It couldn’t have been that many years ago. She wasn’t that old. That thought brought upon another and Steve asked, “Pennsylvania? I thought you lived in Ohio.”

“We did,” she answered. “But we also lived in Pennsylvania.”

“Well you can make those Pennsylvania muffins any time you want,” Jess said.

Her giggle tickled something inside Steve. Or maybe it was the way she was smiling at Jess.

“They are called iron muffins because you grill them on top of the stove, like flapjacks,” she said.

“We all like flapjacks,” Jess said. His gaze then settled on Walter. “When made right.”

“Perhaps I’ll make some for breakfast then,” she said while opening the door.

“Where are you going?” Steve asked.

“To get the clothes hanging on the line out back while you all finish eating.”

Steve glanced at the table that didn’t hold enough food to satisfy a ground squirrel. He would have told her that, but she’d already slipped out the door. He pushed his chair away from the table and grabbed his hat on the way out the door. However, once he found her at the clothesline, he had no idea why he’d followed.

“Did you need something, Mr. Putnam?” she asked while plucking off the pins with one hand and gathering the dried laundry with the other. “Was the meal not satisfactory?”

“The meal was fine.” Still trying to come up with a reason to have followed her, he asked, “When did you live in Pennsylvania?”

Without looking his way, she asked, “Why?”

“Because—because I like to know a bit about the people who work for me.” That was true. He usually interviewed any person he hired. Asked about their past, such as where they used to live.

“Actually, I lived in Pennsylvania several times. My father was a traveling man. Ohio just happened to be where he died.”

“How? When?”

“Last winter. He was run over by an out-of-control stage.”

The sadness of her tone had him wanting to touch her, to comfort her in some way. He settled for saying, “I’m sorry.”

Sincerity filled her eyes as she said, “Thank you, but you didn’t have anything to do with it.” She dropped the handful of clothes into the basket near her feet. “However, this seems like the perfect time to mention something.”

A shiver rippled over his shoulders. “What?”

“Rex.” She started taking more clothes off the line. “I’m wondering if he should see the doctor again. When I changed his bandage today, there was still blood in it. I understand it’s a deep wound, but would have thought it should be done bleeding by now.”

Guilt shot up inside him. Once again he hadn’t checked on Rex upon entering the house. That wasn’t like him. He’d always prided himself on taking care of the men in his employ. “I’ll send one of the men to town.”