Читать книгу Mail-Order Brides Of Oak Grove - Lauri Robinson, Kathryn Albright - Страница 13

Chapter Three

Steve had stopped at every farm and ranch between his place and Oak Grove, and though his neighbors were willing to give him food out of their larders, not a one was willing to hire on as a cook for his men, or part with an employee to do so. He couldn’t blame them. This time of year was busy for everyone. He’d thanked them for their offers just the same and headed for home empty-handed.

His mind kept going back to the woman at the train station, contemplating if he should have asked her if she wanted to earn a few dollars before heading west again. Yet, he knew that would have been a bad idea. A woman that pretty would cause a stir like no tomorrow at the ranch. Furthermore, any man who had a wife that fine would be searching her down when she didn’t arrive as scheduled, and that would leave him in the same predicament. Perhaps a worse one.

He’d have to rustle something up for his men to eat on his own tonight, and lacking a better idea, would head to Dodge tomorrow. Or he could take Fred Matthews’ advice and send a telegram to the newspaper down there, place a want ad for a cook. Either way, it would be days or even weeks before he’d have the help he needed. He could cook enough to get by, but his men wouldn’t like what he made any more than they had Walter’s flapjacks this morning.

The sun was dipping low in the sky by the time he arrived at the ranch, and the weight on his shoulders pressed a little harder as he wondered what he could muster up to feed the men who were washing up at the barrels beside the bunkhouse.

As he climbed off his horse, he spun around to take another look. Why were they washing up at the barrels? “What’s happened?” he asked as Leroy grasped the reins out of his hands.

“Always said you’re the best boss a man could hope for,” Leroy said while his long and gangly legs almost tripped over themselves in his rush to lead the horse to the barn.

Confused, Steve stared at the rest of his men. The ones who weren’t splashing water on their faces were combing their hair back with their fingers or tucking in their shirts. Normally they didn’t even take the time to wipe their feet before stomping into the house to eat.

“You outdid yourself, Boss, and we thank you,” Wyatt said, slapping the dust off his pant legs with both hands. “Thank you kindly.”

“Outdid myself with what?”

“That new cook you hired,” Henry said, using his hat to get the dust off his britches. “She sent us out here to clean up before we eat. But that’s all right. We don’t mind.”

A shiver tickled Steve’s spine as he turned to gaze toward the house. “She? What new cook?”

“The one you had Brett drive out,” Henry replied. “Can’t wait to taste those vittles. If they taste half as good as they smell, I’m gonna think I died and went to heaven.”

Still confused, Steve asked, “Brett Blackwell?”

“Yes, sir,” Leroy said, slapping him on the back as he walked past. “And here I was thinking we’d have to eat Walter’s salty flapjacks again for supper.”

“They weren’t that bad,” Walter said while smoothing his mustache back in place after his hearty scrubbing.

“Yes, they were,” several others answered in unison.

Steve started for the house along with the rest of them, until Jess laid a hand on his shoulder.

“You might want to wash up, Boss,” Jess said. “Henry was the only one who made it inside the door. She snapped him with a towel and told him to go wash up before stepping foot in the kitchen again, and that went for the rest of us, too.”

Steve had no idea who this woman was, but if she was half the size of the blacksmith, it was no wonder the boys had all washed up. However, it was his house and he didn’t take orders from anyone.

His men, trying to get through the opening two at a time, dang near broke the door off its hinges. He followed them over the threshold once the ruckus settled down, and then wasn’t exactly sure what stopped him dead in his tracks. Her or the aromas.

The house hadn’t smelled this good in so long—actually it had never smelled this good. Cinnamon. And apples. Baked apples. Apple pie maybe? He treated himself to a slice of pie every now and again while in town, but not often enough.

She stood at the stove, with her back to him, and was nowhere near the size of Brett. She was about the size of the gal who’d fallen onto his lap back at the train station, the one he couldn’t get out of his mind.

Tiny and slender, with one cloth tied around her waist and another over her hair, she spat, “For heaven’s sake, close the door before that wind covers everything with dirt.” And, “Hats are not to be worn at the table.”

While hats hit the floor all around the table, Steve shut the door, hung his hat on a hook and then took a seat next to Brett. The blacksmith’s grin was bigger than his biceps. Steve was about to turn around, to get a good look at the woman, when she barked out another order.

“Start passing the bread around.” A second later she set a huge bowl next to him. “Fill your plate with potatoes then pass the bowl on.”

As soon as he did, she set down another pot. “Now cover your potatoes with this.”

The thick gravy looked more like stew, but he did as ordered, as did everyone else, ladling the stew over the potatoes.

Setting another plate of sliced bread atop the one that was already empty, she said, “Eat up. There’s plenty.”

Appreciative groans echoed throughout the room, and his could easily have joined the others, but Steve held it in. Not only because the mouthful of potatoes and stew was delicious and the delectable smell of apples still filled his nose, but because he sensed something familiar about her, yet couldn’t say what. Other than... It couldn’t be her. She was on her way to Denver.

Once again squeezing between him and Brett in order to do so, she set a large baking pan in the center of the table. “Once you’ve had your fill, there’s apple cobbler for dessert.”

Steve had a great desire to twist about and get a good look at her, but the appreciative groans from his men had him leaning toward Brett. “I owe you, my friend. Where did you find her?”

“At my place, waiting for a ride,” Brett answered.

“Hey,” Jess said. “Didn’t I see you get off the train with the other women today?”

Steve’s spine stiffened as he spun about. As their eyes met, his and her sky-blue ones, he knew she was the woman he’d seen at the train station—she knew he knew, too.

She quickly turned toward Jess and leveled a glare that could have sliced the cowboy in two. “No.”

Jess nodded. “Yes, I did. I saw you.”

“You couldn’t have,” she said. “I did not get off the train with the other women.”

“I’m sure—”

“That would have been my sister,” she said, cutting Jess short. “We look alike.” Setting a smaller kettle on the table, she said, “This is caramel sauce for the cobbler. It’s best eaten warm.”

The men needed no further invite than that, even Jess, and though Steve wanted a piece of that cobbler so bad he could taste it, his mind couldn’t get off why she was in his kitchen. Why she’d claimed she was going to Denver. His gaze settled for a second on each one of his men, wondering which one was responsible. Jess had been the only one he’d seen at the station, and was also the only one who’d been remotely taken with the idea of a bride.

“You sure—”

“Eat,” Steve told Jess, cutting short whatever the other man had been about to say. He’d get to the bottom of it, but feeding his men came first.

“You want cobbler, no?” Brett asked.

“Yes.” Steve took the dish, spooned a large portion onto his plate and then took the smaller pan and poured the thick brown syrup atop the cobbler. It was even better than the meal had been, and that shouldn’t have been possible.

Silence other than satisfied moans and groans surrounded the table again—and polite requests for more.

Once they’d all had seconds, and would have taken thirds if the pan hadn’t been empty, Steve nudged Henry and then nodded toward the door. His silent command circled the table. With obvious reluctance, one by one the men stood, thanked the woman generously for the meal and then exited the house, closing the door quietly behind them.

Steve contemplated his words and what might follow carefully before asking, “Why aren’t you on your way to Denver?”

She paused stacking the empty plates and met his gaze eye for eye. Hers were bluer than the Kansas summer sky, but they weren’t nearly as friendly.

“I—I—uh—”

“You are one of those brides.”

The gasp that sounded came from Brett.

“If you don’t want her, I’ll take her,” the blacksmith said. “She cooks like my ma.”

“No, I’m not one of those brides,” she snapped. “I had no intention of marrying anyone.” As she glanced toward Brett her gaze softened slightly. “Still don’t.”

Steve read around her answer. “But you are from Ohio. You are one of the girls the mayor paid to have sent out here.”

“If you don’t want her, I’ll take her,” Brett said again.

Flustered, Steve growled, “I never said I didn’t want her.” He bit his tongue as soon as the words were out. “As a cook,” he clarified. Mainly because her eyes had grown as wide as the plates she’d been about to pick up.

“Oh, Miss McCary!”

The shout was slightly elongated and slurred, but he recognized Rex’s voice and a hint of shame stung Steve’s gut. He hadn’t checked to see how the man was doing. Frowning at how Rex sounded, he pushed away from the table. She was already on her way into the room off the kitchen and Steve paused at the doorway.

“Can I have a little more tonic?” Rex asked, smiling at her.

A smile from Rex was as rare as the rest of the men washing up before eating.

* * *

With her cheeks still burning, Mary hurried toward Rex’s bed. So much for good luck. Bad luck was the cowboy from the train being Steve Putnam. She’d recognized him the moment he’d walked in the door and her entire being had been shaking—inside and out since that moment. “Of course,” she said to Rex. “Is your leg still hurting?”

“No,” Rex said. “But I don’t want the pain to come back.”

“This will help.” She picked up the bottle of tonic she’d left next to the bed and carefully poured a spoonful of the thick liquid. Rex had his mouth open like a baby bird waiting for a worm from its momma. That was how it normally was. It truly was a cure-all, just as Da always said. Of course, she’d seen it cure many ailments herself. Everything from gout to gas when administered correctly.

“I think I need two spoonsful,” Rex said. “I’m in pretty bad shape still.”

He certainly was. She’d changed the bandage on his leg earlier. Now was not the time to be stingy or think of profits, considering how badly Rex needed the tonic, so she filled another spoonful and fed it to him. Then, while replacing the cork in the small bottle, she said, “You can have some more in a little bit, before you go to sleep for the night.”

“Can I just suck on the spoon?” Rex asked.

She couldn’t help but giggle. The man’s face might be wrinkled and his hair gray, but he put her in mind of a little boy the way he was looking up at her. She handed him the spoon. “Of course.”

“What are you feeding him?”

Tingles shot up her spine. She’d momentarily forgotten the man who stood in the doorway—the one she’d lied to about going to Denver. The one whose lap she’d fallen into. No matter how hard she tried, that memory wouldn’t leave her alone.

“The best tonic I’ve ever tasted,” Rex said.

“Tonic?”

She turned around and held up the bottle as the man walked closer. “Yes. McCary’s Finest Recipe Tonic.”

Beneath a set of dark brows that were frowning, his brown eyes bore so deeply her hand shook as he took the bottle from her. “McCary? That’s your name? You made this?”

“Yes, that is my name. Mary McCary, and yes, I made it.”

He pulled out the cork and smelled the contents. His frown increased as he poured a small amount onto the tip of one finger and then stuck it in his mouth.

“Good stuff, isn’t it?” Rex asked.

Steve’s face filled with something she’d seen before. Disgust. And that turned her stomach hard.

“It’s snake oil,” he said while sticking the cork back in the bottle.

She snatched the bottle out of his hand. “Only ignorant people call it that.”

His hard stare never faltered as he said, “Only ignorant people think alcohol will cure what ails them.”

“It sure took away my pain,” Rex said. “And tastes a whole lot better than the stuff the doc left.”

“Because you’re drunk.”

“He is not.” Mary set the bottle on the table. “This tonic is an old family recipe and has been proven medicinal many times over.” Trying to convince men of that was next to impossible. Because doctors refused to prescribe it. That was only because it cured their patients. Her family had been run out of town by more than one doctor over the years. She drew a deep breath and asked, “Are you interested in hiring me as a cook or not?” Nodding toward the doorway behind him, she added, “If not, Brett and I need to head out before the sun sets.”

“Ya,” Brett said from the doorway.

Steve’s jaw twitched but he didn’t glance over his shoulder, just kept staring at her.

“I thought you already hired her,” Rex said. “I can’t cook for the boys, not in my condition.”

“I’ll hire you,” Brett said from the doorway.

This time Steve gave Brett a glare. “You don’t need a cook.”

“Ya, I do.” Brett looked her way. “I’ll pay you twenty dollars a month.”

Mary bit down on her bottom lip. She’d have to sell an entire batch of tonic to make twenty dollars.

“Cooks don’t make twenty dollars a month,” Steve said.

“You pay me thirty,” Rex said. “Same you pay the cowboys.”

The way Steve scowled at Rex tickled Mary’s insides. Thirty dollars would be more money than she’d ever made in a month. More than Da had made.

“I can’t pay her what I pay the boys,” he said.

“Sure you can,” Rex answered. “The boys won’t mind.”

“You’re drunk,” he snapped.

“I’m not,” Brett said. “I’ll pay her thirty-five.”

Steve threw his arms in the air as he spun around. “This isn’t an auction.”

So much excitement danced inside her, Mary’s toes were tapping inside her shoes. Thirty-five dollars would go a long way in getting her and Maggie westward. It took her a moment to remember Brett had said he’d put money toward bringing the brides to Oak Grove, but had left the train when the girls got off, figuring he’d get to know them later when it wasn’t so crowded. But he wanted one. A bride. And she wasn’t about to become that.

However, she could take advantage of the situation. Stepping forward, she put herself between Steve and Brett who were in a staredown. At this moment, they looked to be about the same in size and temperament. If push came to shove, either one had a good chance of winning. But this win would be hers.

“No, it’s not an auction,” she said, “but it is a contest, and I know how we can settle it fair and square.”

“How?” all three men in the room asked at the same time.

Keeping her smile well-hidden, she said, “Rex, you get some rest now. You other two follow me.”

Once in the kitchen, she cleared a section of the table and then gathered three tin cups of manageable size and the cork from the vanilla bottle she’d used to make the caramel sauce. “Sit down, gentlemen.”

Casting each other stern stares, they sat.

Positioning the cups on the table, she said, “Whoever guesses which cup this cork is beneath will be the winner, and that person will agree to pay me forty dollars for a month of cooking.”

“Thirty-five,” Steve said.

She was about to agree when Brett said, “Forty.”

Steve shook his head, and for a moment her breath stalled. She feared she’d gone too far, until he blew out a long sigh.

“Fine,” he said, “forty, but that includes laundry and housekeeping.”

“All right,” she said quickly before Brett could say more. “Forty dollars for cooking, laundry and housekeeping for one month. Now watch the cork.” With great show, she put it under one of the cups and then started shuffling them around each other. After switching her hands back and forth over the moving cups several times, she lined them in a row. The odds hit her then. They were much more in her favor when only one person was guessing. She should have thought of that earlier.

It was too late now. Besides, she was fairly confident neither of them would pick the right cup. “Brett, you can pick first,” she said.

“Ya, I vill.” He stared at the cups while rubbing a hand over his chin.

After an extended length of time, Steve said, “Pick one, will you?”

“I vill,” Brett said. “Let me think.”

After another length of time, the rancher huffed out a breath, “Oh, for—”

“That one,” Brett said.

Having started to worry, Mary let out a sigh and lifted the cup to reveal the empty space.

“Who wins if Steve doesn’t pick the right one?” Brett asked.

She really hadn’t thought this through. Usually she didn’t want the cork found. “I guess we’ll try it a second time,” Mary said.

“No, we won’t. It’s under this one.”

The rancher picked up the cup, revealing the cork. The glint in his dark eyes had Mary’s insides quaking, and she wondered if she’d just won or lost.