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Her fall ended almost as quickly as it started, but her moment of gratitude disappeared almost as soon as it started. She had fallen out of the train car, but hadn’t landed on the ground. It had been years since she’d sat on Da’s lap, but would never forget what it felt like.
Scrambling and with her heart racing, she tried to get off whoever’s lap she was on.
“Hold still.”
The unfamiliar male voice had her struggling harder. “Let go of me!”
“I will. Just let me back my horse up otherwise you’ll break the neck I just saved you from breaking.”
His actions were as quick as her fall had been. Almost before she could blink, he’d backed the horse up, lowered her to the ground, and jumped off himself. Leaving her to look up into a set of eyes so dark brown they could have been black if not for the specks of gold. Horse feathers. If all the men in Kansas looked like this one, she could almost understand why the girls on the train had been so giddy.
“What were you doing?” he asked. “The depot agent will see the baggage car is unloaded.”
Snapped out of her stupor, Mary said, “I—I don’t want anyone touching my things.” Or her person. Sitting on his lap had caused nerve endings to tingle in places she didn’t know she had nerve endings.
“You one of the brides?”
“Me? Not on your life.” Praying for some kind of believable reason to be unloading her belongings, she glanced at the baggage car. “I—I’m heading west as soon as the train is unloaded. To Denver, and I don’t want my belongings mixed up with the ones that will be unloaded here.”
His expression—a dark scowl—didn’t change. Flustered by the way her heart wouldn’t stop trying to beat its way out of her chest, she said, “I’m meeting my husband in Denver and don’t want my china broken before I get there.” Pointing toward her trunk, she asked, “Would you mind?”
His gaze wandered left and right and then over her from head to toe before he swung around and lifted her trunk out of the car.
“Right there is fine,” she said. “I’ll wait with it until everything else is unloaded. Thank you for your assistance.”
Her heart was still pounding, perhaps because of her lies, but more likely because of him. He was tall and muscular, and could very easily thwart her plan before she ever put it in place. “Good day, sir.”
His dark glare once again went from her head to her toes, leaving her quivering, but then he grasped the saddle horn, swung onto his big gray horse with one easy movement, and touched the brim of his black hat with one hand as he turned the horse about.
Relief oozed out of every pore of her body as she watched him ride away. She sighed. Heavily. She’d just seen a true-to-life cowboy. Maggie said this country was full of them. That was what the other girls had said. Mary didn’t believe a cowboy was any better than any other man and was glad to see this one riding further and further away from her. A man had never made her entire being tremble before, and she certainly didn’t want that to happen again.
As he became little more than a speck on the horizon, she frowned. She had no idea what she’d hoped to see, but this wasn’t it.
Town was on the other side of the tracks, but other than a couple houses, this side was barren. “Good Lord, the harder I look, the less I see.” Twisting her neck, she scanned the area from her left shoulder to her right. “There’s nothing. Not a tree or bush. Nothing.”
Well, there was a building. A feed store by the name on the front. There was also a closed sign hanging on the door.
Fearing someone else may round the train at any moment, she picked up her bag and grabbed one trunk handle. Careful to not jostle the trunk too much and fighting the wind the entire way, she dragged the trunk around the backside of the feed store. Spying a lean-to on the side, she dragged the trunk inside it and then sat down on top of it to catch her breath.
Oak Grove sure didn’t have any groves. Could there be a more barren land in all of the world? The grass wasn’t even real grass. It was barely summer and it was already brown and had crunched beneath her feet as she’d walked. Good thing she had made a batch of tonic mixture before leaving Ohio. Finding a way to burp the crock along the way hadn’t been easy, but she’d managed, and soon could bottle it up.
The music had stopped, but she could still hear people talking. Mainly one person. The conductor had said the mayor would provide a welcoming speech, and from how he went on and on, it appeared the mayor liked hearing himself talk.
Oh, well, the mayor wasn’t any of her concern—neither was the image of that dark-haired cowboy that kept flashing in the back of her mind. Finding a place for her tonic to finish brewing was what she needed to focus on. She’d been hoping to find a grove of trees on the edge of town to hide it in, but that obviously wasn’t going to happen.
A loud cheer echoed against the building behind her, as did the whistle of the train, and a couple of loud blasts that made her nearly jump out of her skin. Gun shots! Good heavens, what kind of place was this?
The cheering that sounded again gave her a touch of relief. She’d heard men did that, fired guns for just the heck of it. Cowboys. Uncouth beings!
The idea of Maggie encountering a man much like the one who’d ridden away on his big gray horse rattled Mary slightly. She couldn’t remember being this upset with her sister, at least not for a long time, but she wasn’t going to give in. Being the older sister, if only by a few minutes, she was always the one to give in. Not this time.
Perhaps by the time she’d bottled up the tonic and sold it, Maggie would come to her senses and be ready to head out with her. She’d tried to tell herself she couldn’t care less if Maggie stayed here and married some uncouth man or not, but that wasn’t true. She did care, but Maggie had to learn sometime. And this appeared to be the time. Until that happened—when Maggie discovered the older and wiser sister was always right, Mary figured she’d stay well-hidden. Teach Maggie a lesson she’d never forget.
No longer winded, Mary stood and then crouched down beside the trunk to carefully lift the lid. Happy to see everything still safely packed amongst the straw, she eased the cork toward the top of the crock—just enough to let air out, but none in. When the hissing stopped, she pushed the cork down tight and closed the trunk lid before the bitter scent of fermentation could fill the air.
Now to find a place to hide. Her and the tonic.
Focused on surveying the lean-to, she jumped to her feet when an elongated shadow covered the ground near the wide opening. Fearing the cowboy had returned, she tried to come up with yet another excuse.
As a man appeared, she concluded the shadow hadn’t been elongated. He was that tall, and big, and clearly following the marks she’d left in the dirt by dragging her trunk.
Dang it. Why hadn’t she thought of that?
A tinge of relief that this wasn’t the cowboy had her drawing in a deep breath. She didn’t have an excuse for being in the lean-to but did have her wits.
Hurrying forward, she held out her hand. “Hello. I’m Mary, Mary McCary. Goodness, it is so hot I had to find some shade.” That wasn’t a lie. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck, making her wish she’d pinned her hair up. However the weight of it pinned up often gave her a headache. The same was true for Maggie. “I hope you don’t mind,” she continued when the man didn’t shake her hand. “I’ll be on my way shortly. I just needed to rest a moment.”
“Vhere you come from?”
“Where did I come from? The train. I just arrived.”
“The train? You a bride?”
The cowboy had been tall, but this one was a giant, making her half wish it was the cowboy again. “No, no, I’m—I’m a...” She pointed toward her trunk and said the first thing she could think of. “A cook.” That was true. She’d need a place to cook up the syrup to thicken the tonic. “I have all my supplies right there. The trunk is heavy so I dragged it in here, out of the sun.” Her insides quivered slightly. She’d never told so many lies in her life. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave now.”
“No. You stay.”
“I can’t stay,” she shouted over the train whistle. “I—I—I’m looking for—” Her brain wasn’t working as fast as she wished it would. Furthermore, the ground was shaking, which said the train was pulling out of the station.
His thick black brows met as he frowned. “The Circle P? You looking for the Circle P Ranch? To cook for Rex?”
“The Circle P Ranch? Rex?” A ranch had to be out in the country, a place she could mix up her tonic, and hide in case someone started looking for her, which was likely to happen. The conductor had kept a guarded eye on both her and Maggie. Thanks to Sheriff Freiday. Which was another reason she was so upset with Maggie. The way her sister kept feeding the other girls their tonic—in order to calm their nerves—could have easily have made the conductor wonder where it had come from and search her trunk. Thank goodness that hadn’t happened. At least not yet. It still could. “Yes. Yes, the Circle P Ranch. To cook for Rex. Is it far? Can you tell me how to get there?”
“Steve Putnam left. I vill take you,” he said. “If you don’t like it, you come cook for me, ya?”
Focused, she asked, “Right now? You will take me there right now?”
“Ya. I get my wagon.”
Mary wanted to jump for joy. She’d never been on a ranch, but surely it would provide a place for her to thicken and bottle the tonic and acquire a ride back to town in order to sell enough bottles to get her and Maggie on a train. An eastbound one. She’d already seen enough brown grass to last a lifetime. Although she hadn’t realized it before, there was a lot to be said about the tall green trees and lush rolling hills of Ohio.
The huge man pulled a wagon up to the side of the lean-to in hardly no time and hoisted her trunk into the back of it with no effort whatsoever. Thankful for small miracles, she climbed onto the seat and quickly braided her long hair to keep the wind from blowing it across her face.
As the wagon started rolling away from town, she learned the big man’s name was Brett Blackwell and that he was a blacksmith, as well as the feed store owner. The fact he’d moved to Kansas from northern Wisconsin explained his thick brogue, which grew increasingly easier to understand the more he talked. She let him ramble on as they traveled, focusing on her change of luck.
She normally made friends easily—less the train ride where the other three “brides” had irritated her from the get go. They had irritated Maggie at first, too. The two of them had come up with their own names for the others. Miss Know-it-All Rebecca, Miss Quiet-and-Quaint Sadie and Miss Gullible Anna, who all had been over the moon at the idea of finding a husband. Foolish girls. Men only made life more difficult. They’d have to figure that out on their own. She and Maggie had, long ago. They hadn’t attempted to transfer Da’s permit to sell their tonic because they both knew the men on the Bridgeport town council would never approve it because she and Maggie were women and considered incapable of running a business. Men here wouldn’t be any different. It shouldn’t take Maggie long to realize that. After all, they were sisters. Maggie should remember that, too.
As Mary’s wandering mind snagged something Brett said, she asked, “He what?”
“Rex dang near cut off his other leg.”
“His other leg?”
“Lost the first one in the war, and buried an ax in the second one. That’s why he needs help.” A frown drew his thick brows together as he continued, “I thought Steve hired you to cook. No?”
“Yes. Yes, he did,” she flat-out lied—again. “I was just confused there for a moment. Forgot about Rex.” She’d have to figure out the being-hired part once she got there.
Brett’s frown didn’t ease, which sent a shudder up her spine. Reacting to that, she glanced behind them, seeing nothing of Oak Grove but small dots. “So how much farther is it to the ranch?”
“A ways,” he answered.
“Meaning half a mile or...” Once again glancing around at the barren land, she continued, “or a couple of miles?”
“Five.”
A lump formed in her throat. She and Maggie had never been a mile apart, let alone five. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea she could have come up with.
Awhile later, she concluded it wasn’t. Not only had that been the longest, roughest five miles she’d ever ridden in a buckboard, she truly was hired as a cook. Well, she was cooking anyway. There hadn’t been any real hiring. Yet.
Upon arrival at the Circle P Ranch, which included several obviously planted trees and a large house that was very nice, she’d encountered a man older than Da had been, and who clearly needed to be in bed, trying to mix up a batch of bread dough. Without ado, she’d ordered the man back to bed, taken off her jacket and rolled up her sleeves.
The man, who turned out to be the Rex who had indeed injured his leg severely—the one that wasn’t a piece of wood from the knee down—said the men expected a hot meal and he couldn’t let them down. Her heart had gone out to Rex while anger built for his boss. A man named Steve Putnam who evidently expected people to work themselves into their graves. Literally. She’d give him a piece of her mind when she met him. For now, she’d cook a meal for the other men who were out rounding up the young ones. That was what Rex had said. Brett had explained Rex meant young calves. It turned out not only the grass was brown in this godforsaken place, the cows were, too.
She’d told Brett the only cows she’d ever seen were black and white. He said those had to have been milk cows. The ones on the Circle P were beef cattle. Whatever that meant. If you asked her, a cow was a cow. You fed it, milked it, and when it was too old for that, you ate it.
Once she got the dough mixed and set to rise, she filled a bucket with water and gave the kitchen a good scrub down. It needed it. Then, with Brett’s help and guidance from Rex, who shouted orders from the bedroom off the kitchen, she found everything she’d need to cook a meal for the six men expecting to be fed—plus Rex and Steve Putnam. And of course Brett whom she promised to feed if he’d stay and help her get things in order. He’d been so excited over that prospect, she’d feared he was going to hug her with those huge arms and had run to the other side of the table.
Stew was what she made, using beef since there was no mutton, and a big pot of potatoes that she’d mash up before serving. Pouring the stew over the potatoes not only made the stew go further, it was how Da had liked it.
Between helping her find things and placating Rex, Brett had carried in her bag and trunk and put them upstairs, in one of the bedrooms. The house had six, and after all the work she was doing, Steve Putnam better not refuse to allow her to use one. While showing her the outdoor ground cellar, Brett had pointed out a long and narrow building that the hired hands slept in—a bunkhouse, he’d called it. From the state of its porch, it needed scrubbing as badly as the kitchen had.
Where all the dirt came from was beyond her. The ground was rock-hard, yet the crazy wind that hadn’t stopped blowing since she’d stepped off the train was full of dirt. Luckily she’d found a cloth to put over the bread dough while it was rising. She’d folded another cloth into a triangle to cover the top of her head and tied it beneath her hair at the nape of her neck since her braid had long ago separated. A scarf tied so was how Da had liked her to keep her hair contained. He’d never wanted her or Maggie to cut their hair, so they hadn’t, but he’d insisted they keep it contained while cooking, especially over an open fire. Said he didn’t want it or them catching fire.
“What are you looking for?” she asked Brett when he started opening cupboard doors. The man’s size and rough voice no longer intimidated her.
“Something for Rex. His leg hurts. Steve must have a bottle around here somevhere.”
“Let me finish putting this bread in pans so it can rise one last time and I’ll get something for him,” she said.
“Vhere is it? I’ll get it,” Brett replied.
“No, I’ll get it,” she said firmly. “Go tell Rex I’ll be in with something that’s sure to make him feel better in a few minutes.”
Chapter Three (#ulink_48f1b65c-cda9-5dcf-817d-650b289b6bd3)
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.
