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He’d called her Cord’s play toy. She, who’d been a churchgoing woman all of her life, who had been above reproach in all things, had today been referred to as a man’s…Her mind could not even form the thought
Surely she could no longer stay in this house, not when her reputation was in danger of being dragged through the mud of scandal.
“Ma’am, I’m sure sorry Jake took on thataway,” Sam said quietly, his sad eyes fastened on Rachel’s countenance. “I knew Cord shoulda told you about him last night at the supper table. But, honest to God, Mr. Jake’s not usually so downright mean.”
Rachel brushed her hand against Sam’s sleeve. “He just wasn’t what I expected, Mr. Bostwick.” She edged past him, heading for the kitchen.
“Damnation! Just when we got ourselves a decent cook, things gotta blow around here.” Disgust was in Sam’s voice as he watched the young woman’s hurried escape. Behind him doors slammed, and the sound of breaking glass caused him to wince as he turned to trudge reluctantly back to the rear of the house.
Rachel was primed to blow. Her eyes met Cord’s as he walked through the kitchen door, and a sense of dread slowed his steps. Quickly, he scanned the kitchen, breathing easier when he caught the aroma ascending from the steaming kettle on the stove and noted the platter of biscuits in the center of the table.
A crock of butter and a bowl of jam nudged the plate, and he set his jaw as he considered the young woman who was noisily scattering silverware and plates down the length of the bare table.
“Smells good, Rachel. Want me to call the men in for dinner?” That they were already washing up at the pump was obvious, their raucous joking audible through the kitchen window. Rachel ignored his offer, turning to the stove to fill thick crockery bowls with beef stew.
“Heard tell you had a fuss in the parlor this morning.” Cord was beside her as he spoke, his big hands taking the bowls as she filled them, setting them in place on the table.
She cast him a sidelong glance. “You didn’t tell me your brother was a madman, Mr. McPherson.”
His face reddened at her choice of words, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled sharply. “I don’t know as I’d call him mad, Rachel. That’s a pretty strong statement.”
She handed him the last bowl. Her look was direct, her face flushed with remembered embarrassment. “You weren’t there.”
He cleared his throat. “Sam told me what happened. Seems Jake took offense at you playing the piano.”
“Your brother insinuated you had brought me here for your—”
“I heard about that,” Cord cut in quickly. “I’ll set him straight.”
“You could have told me about him. You could have warned me not to infringe on his territory. And you could have let me know about his vile temper.”
Cord’s shrug acknowledged her accusations, his nod accepting blame. “I wanted you to see the house and give you a chance to look things over first. I thought knowing about Jake would put you off. Putting up with his moods is enough to discourage a saint.”
“And I ain’t anywheres near a saint,” grumbled Sam Bostwick from the kitchen doorway. “I’ve about had it with that brother of yours, Cord. If I hadn’t known the man before the war, I swear I’d never spend another minute takin’ his guff.”
“He calmed down yet, Sam?” Cord asked.
“Yeah. But he sure was a sight to behold, goin’ after this young’un. It’s a wonder she didn’t hightail it outta here.”
“Would you like to take him some dinner?” Her innate sense of courtesy nudged Rachel into making the offer as she filled another bowl with stew.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Sam said, taking a wooden tray from atop the cabinet near the stove. Scooping up silverware from the table, he piled several biscuits on a plate, dolloping jam and butter on the side.
“I’ll be back out here to eat with y’all presently,” he said, carrying his laden tray from the kitchen.
“Doesn’t your brother ever eat at the table?” Rachel asked.
“Once in a while. Not often.”
She glanced at Cord, her ear attuned to the bleak response. “Is he always so fierce?”
His grunt of laughter was without humor. “That’s a good word for him. Fierce. Maybe bitter would describe him more accurately. He hasn’t found much to laugh about in the past years.”
Not like this bunch coming in the door, Rachel thought, an unbidden smile twisting her lips as the noisy cowhands invaded the quiet kitchen. Jostling for position, they fit through the doorway, finding their seats at the long table.
The stew was an apparent success, devoured with much lip smacking and accompanied by praise from the hungry men. They laughed and joked and ate at a rapid pace, as if racing to a finish line.
Indeed, Rachel had barely begun eating when chairs were shoved back and the crew took their leave. Cord watched her assessingly from the other end of the table, his own meal half-consumed.
“It seems you’ve got a job, Miss Rachel,” he said with satisfaction. “Old Sam said he hadn’t had such good food in a month of Sundays.”
Rachel’s spoon halted midway to her mouth. “I don’t know how you could hear him, with all the noise. Did he take your brother any coffee? I think he went on out with the rest of the men.”
Cord grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Why don’t you trot on down the hallway, and find out for yourself. Jake’s in the library, last room on the right. Makes it handy, with the wheelchair.”
“I don’t think so,” Rachel said quickly. “My last encounter with your brother Jake didn’t give me a taste for a second helping.”
Cord’s smile faded and he allowed his chair to settle on all four legs. “He’s a handful to deal with, Rachel. We all know that In fact, it’s almost too much for Sam these days.”
“And you want me to stick my nose into that room and get it cut off?”
“He’s probably cooled down by now. The piano playing was what set him off.”
Rachel’s brow furrowed. “He doesn’t like music?”
“That would be a mercy. Music was his life, before the war. He’d trained in New York City to be a concert pianist, and then when the war broke out, he felt compelled to join the army.”
He laughed, a mirthless sound. “We were all so worried about his hands. Instead, he lost his legs. One above the knee, the other below.”
Rachel nodded, shaking her head as she acknowledged the loss. “He can’t play because he can’t use the pedals.”
“Exactly.” Cord rose from his chair and walked to the door, looking through the screen to where Henry and Jay hung over the corral fence. “He wanted to have the piano burned at first. Then, when he’d thought better of it, he decided to give it to the church.”
“Why didn’t you?” Rachel asked.
“It wouldn’t go in the door. We measured every which way and it wouldn’t make it.”
“And so it sits and gathers dust. What a loss.”
Cord turned to face her. “I hear from Sam that you play well.”
She shrugged. “Well enough, I suppose. I certainly worked hard enough at it. We had to sell my piano when my folks decided to come West”
“It must have broken your heart.”
Rachel shook her head. “No, it broke my heart when I buried my mother and father two months ago. Selling the piano was small potatoes compared to that”
“They died two months ago? On the trail?”
She nodded. “Pa collapsed one day after we crossed a river. The horses were in trouble and Pa was done in when he finally got them up the bank. His chest began hurting and then he collapsed. We buried him there. The doctor in the next town said it was probably his heart.”
“What about your mother?” Cord asked.
Rachel’s voice was thick with the unshed tears she hoarded within herself as she whispered the tragic words she still found hard to believe as the truth. “Mama wandered off the next night while we were sleeping in the wagon and got bitten by a rattler. The scout found her the next morning.”
“My God, Rachel. How did you bear up under it?” Cord asked in a strained voice. He shook his head, as if he groped for words.
“I can see where the loss of your piano wasn’t nearly so important anymore,” he said finally.
“I wish I had it now,” Rachel whispered. “Music soothes the soul.”
“Maybe…” Cord hesitated, then gestured at the coffeepot. “Give it another try, Rachel. I’d be willing to bet Jake enjoyed his dinner. Pour a cup and take it in to him.” His lips curved as he tried on a grin for her benefit.
“If he throws something at you, duck. Chances are he’ll just grouse for a few seconds. Jake enjoys nothing in this world more than a cup of coffee.”
Her chin jutted as Rachel listened unbelievingly to his instructions. She glared at him, her mind torn from the sorrow she’d been reminded of for a few moments. “You owe me, Cord McPherson. I didn’t bargain for catering to an invalid, but I’ve a notion that’s exactly where I’ll be heading, once Sam Bostwick sees me waiting on Jake.”
Cord lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug. “Maybe you can deal with him, Rachel. God knows no one else gets anywhere.”
“I’m not taking him on, Cord.” Her mouth set in a determined line as she plunged both hands into her apron pockets. “I’m your cook, and I’ll wash your duds, but ducking every time I open your brother’s door is out.”
“Not even once, Rachel? Just one cup of coffee?” The teasing grin was gone.
The vision of the unkempt man who’d so rudely interrupted her few moments of joy burst inside Rachel’s mind, and she shook her head. “I doubt he’d welcome me, even with a cup of coffee in hand.”
Cord’s mouth twisted in a wry grin. “Can’t blame me for trying, Rachel.” He reached for a heavy cup from the cupboard and filled it from the blue-speckled pot “I’ll deliver it myself. Send in the troops if I don’t come back in five minutes.”
Breakfast was barely devoured the next morning when Cord stepped back into the kitchen, hat in hand. “Rachel, I’m going to town to the emporium. Anything we need for the house?”
She turned from the dishpan, wiping her hands on a towel. “Do you think I could go along? The boys need some boots if they’re going to be working in the barn, and I thought I could get them each a pair.”
“I can pay you for your first week here, if you need the money,” Cord said.
She shook her head. “No, I have enough, so long as I know I’ll be earning some right along. Shamus wants me to do up his laundry every week, and Buck and Jamie asked if I’d iron them each a shirt on Saturdays.”
He laughed. “That’s so they’ll look pretty when they go into town Saturday nights.” He shook his head. “You won’t make much cold hard cash ironing two shirts, Rachel. Better charge them a pretty penny.” He turned back to the door. “Come on ahead, then, if you’re riding along.”
She untied her apron and hung it on the hook in the pantry, running back to the stove quickly to check the black kettle where a stewing hen was simmering. With a practiced eye she gauged the bubbling liquid and slid the pot toward the back burner, clutching the handle with a heavy flannel pad.
“I’m ready,” she announced, her hands quickly smoothing back her hair. “I just have to run up and get my money.”
“Five minutes,” Cord said, heading out the door.
Jay and Henry were kicking their heels on the back of the wagon when Rachel crossed the porch, her bonnet strings trailing from her fingers.
“Mr. Cord said we could go along,” Jay piped up.
“He said you were gettin’ us some new boots.” Henry’s voice rose at the end of his sentence, as if he questioned the validity of such an idea.
Rachel nodded, her heart lifting as her brothers poked at each other with delight. She could even spare them each a couple of pennies for candy again, she thought, imagining their delight.
“Can we get high tops, Rae?” Henry asked wistfully.
“We’ll see,” she answered doubtfully, unsure of the cost of such a luxury.
“Looks like you need to get them some britches to go along with the boots,” Cord said, lifting himself to the wagon seat.
“Theirs have a lot of wear left in them,” she put in quickly. “Maybe next week we can look at new overalls.”
Cord reached down a hand to her as she peered up at him. “Let me give you a hoist up,” he offered.
Accepting his broad hand, she placed her foot on the wagon hub, and he lifted her to sit beside him. “They’ll be happy with boots,” she told him, settling her skirts around her.
He bent to her, watching as she tied her bonnet in place. Then, following an urge he’d resisted more than once in the past few days, he brushed at a stray wisp of hair that clung to her face.
She flushed at the gesture and turned her head, her fingers rising to spread across the rosy surface of her cheek. His touch had been gentle and unexpected, his fingertips a bit rough from the calluses he bore.
“Rachel?” He reached for her again, this time to cradle her chin within his grasp, turning her to face him.
“We need to be on our way,” she mumbled, unwilling to meet his gaze, flustered by his attention. “I can’t be gone all day with dinner cooking on the stove.”
“Look at me.” It was a command, delivered in a low, yet forceful voice, and she obeyed.
“You have no reason to fear me, Rachel,” he said firmly. “I’m old enough to know my place and decent enough to remain there.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered, her voice catching in her throat
It was a lie. There was about him something she feared, some unknown threat he offered that caused a trembling in her belly.
The level look he sent in her direction across the kitchen sometimes was enough to set her heart scampering, and his kindness to her brothers gave her a warmth deep inside, and made him tall in her sight.
“Aren’t you?” His eyebrow quirked as if he doubted her brave words, and then he flicked the reins against the backs of his team and they set off for Green Rapids.
There was no doubt about it. Mr. Conrad Carson was more than taken with Miss Rachel Sinclair. Cord watched from his post next to the cracker barrel as his cook chose boots for her brothers. And all the while, Conrad smiled and joked as he offered one pair, then another for her approval.
Kneeling before the boys, he took their measure, then tried on the boots Rachel pointed out. With only a moment’s hesitation, he assured her that her limited resources would be sufficient to cover the cost of two pair, and then his gaze rose, his eyes meeting Cord’s with a trace of warning in their depths.
“I’ll handle the difference, if she runs out of funds,” Cord said, his mouth twisting in a parody of a polite smile.
Conrad flushed a bit. “Miss Rachel can choose what she pleases, Mr. McPherson. I’m sure we can work something out.”
Rachel’s eyes widened as she looked first at one man, then the other. “I thought—”
“You have enough money for the boots,” Carson cut in smoothly. He grinned at the two boys, who were stomping their feet and marching up and down the aisle, admiring their new footwear. “Probably even enough for a couple of licorice whips for each,” he added, counting Rachel’s meager funds into his cash drawer.
Jay’s head turned quickly at the mention of candy. “Can we, Rae?” he asked hopefully.
“We got boots, Jay,” Henry reminded him quickly, as if he would relieve Rachel of the burden of refusal.
