A Family For Carter Jones

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“I’ll do it,” Dennis offered. “Kate can show me how.”

“And the apple crisp should be done any minute now. You need to keep watch because that stove burns.”

Kate came up behind her sister and gave her a little shove toward the door. “We’ll handle it. If you don’t hurry on upstairs, you’ll be greeting your guests looking like the scullery maid.”

Jennie took a look down at her bedraggled frock and gave a wail. “I wanted everything to go so well.”

Kate laughed. “I wonder why. Dr. Millard and Dorie have eaten in this house dozens of times. Which means it must be Mr. Jones you want to impress.”

Jennie frowned. “I don’t want to impress anyone. I just feel that we should thank the people who have stood up against the rest of those close-minded—”

Kate gave her a hug and a more forceful push. “Don’t get started, sis. We’re here to have a pleasant evening. So go upstairs and get yourself beautiful.”

Jennie sagged a little against her sister’s arm, which tightened against her. It felt comforting. She took a deep breath and a last look around the kitchen. Most of the meal was ready. Barnaby had disappeared into the dining room with the first of the good plates, which he evidently intended to transport one by one. Kate was right. Everything was in good shape except herself. She leaned over to give her sister a peck on the cheek, then darted out of the kitchen toward the front hall.

Barnaby stood by the front door looking up at her with wide eyes. Behind him was Carter Jones. She gave a little shriek.

“Am I early?” he asked.

Bits of dumpling dough clung to her hands. She put them behind her back. “No. I’m…ah…late. I mean, I’m not quite ready yet.”

“Shall I come back later?” he asked uncertainly.

“No, of course not.” She wished there was some way to keep his eyes from roving up and down her stained old dress that way. She pushed at the hair that had fallen down her neck, but stopped as she felt it stick to her doughy fingers. “Barnaby, take Mr. Jones into the parlor, please. Then ask Miss Kate to come out and sit with him until I…until I come downstairs.”

His gaze had followed the movement of her hands and seemed to fix on where the tendrils of hair just under her left ear were now stuck to her neck with dough. Jennie could feel the beginning of one of those blushes whose existence she had so recently discovered.

He smiled at her, his gray eyes warming. “I’ll be fine, Jennie,” he said softly. “Take your time.”

She let out a long breath, irritated that her heart refused to slow to anything near normal. With a lift of her chin, she returned his gaze directly and said, “I’ll be down in five minutes.”

Dorie Millard had worn her hair styled in the same blond ringlets framing her face ever since Jennie could remember. She was two years older than Jennie, approaching old-maid status by Vermillion standards, but her single state wasn’t for lack of offers. Jennie reckoned she’d be hard-pressed to find an eligible male in town under the age of fifty who hadn’t asked for Dorie’s hand. But the doctor’s breezy daughter seemed perfectly happy to continue being the unmarried belle of the church ice-cream socials and the harvest dances at the back of the feed mill.

Jennie watched with unusual interest as Dorie turned her sunshiny smile on Carter, waiting for the inevitable male response. But to her surprise, Carter seemed to divide his attention equally among the ladies present. In fact, he addressed just as many comments to Dr. Millard and the silverheels, or at least Dennis. Brad and Smitty weren’t much for conversation.

She wouldn’t admit to herself that she was gratified by Carter’s apparent failure to be charmed by Dorie. After all, it was possible that he was just being polite. He was a politician, used to having to stay on good terms with everyone. With three women at the table, he probably knew enough not to play favorites.

Nevertheless, she couldn’t help noticing that Carter’s eyes followed Jennie herself when she began to help Barnaby clear away the dishes. And while Dorie was in the middle of one of her most vivacious stories, Carter was smiling at Jennie and seemed not to be paying the least attention.

She hummed a little ditty to herself as she went swinging through the door to the kitchen, her arms full of plates.

“The dinner went well, didn’t it?” Barnaby whispered when they were both on the kitchen side of the door. He seemed to sense her good mood.

Jennie smiled. “It certainly did, young man. Thanks to your help.”

Barnaby looked pleased but embarrassed. “I only put out the dishes,” he mumbled into his chest.

“You did a fabulous job.” Jennie reached over to give his small shoulders a squeeze. “You served the meal like a real waiter from the most elegant restaurant in Virginia City.”

He looked up at her with a grin. “Maybe we should open our own eatery. That would give old Pruneface Potter something to really complain about.”

Margaret Potter did have something of a prune face. Jennie struggled not to smile, but felt obliged to say, “You shouldn’t talk that way about your teacher, Barnaby.”

The lad shrugged, unchastened. “Shall I spoon out the apple crisp?”

Jennie nodded. “A ladle of cream on each one. I’ll bring the rest of the plates.”

She turned back toward the dining room, still smiling. She could hear Dorie’s merry laugh before the door swung fully open. Her friend was standing directly behind Carter, her hands on either side of his neck, pulling up on his starched collar. “I don’t know how you men stand these things,” she said in a teasing voice. “Why, look…you’re as chafed as a newly saddled bronc. Now would you care to repeat those words about women suffering for vanity?”

Carter looked uncharacteristically embarrassed and had his hands up trying to hold the collar in place as Dorie tried to tug it off. The three miners were grinning, Kate looked mildly shocked and Dr. Millard sat shaking his head at his daughter with a look of longsuffering resignation.

“Miss Millard, I think I’ll keep my ensemble as is, if you don’t mind,” Carter protested.

Dorie laughed again and pushed the four inches of collar back down into the neck of the shirt. “You see, you men suffer for vanity, as well.”

Jennie felt an uneasiness in the pit of her stomach as Dorie’s slender fingers rubbed up and down Carter’s neck. It was a bit chafed, she could now see. But it would be hard to imagine him without the snowy-white collar. It seemed almost part of him.

Dorie gave one last stroke to her victim’s neck, then let him go. “We’re not so different—men and women,” she said. “Old and young. Town and country. Everyone likes to think they’re so different, but we’re all human. Deep inside we’re all the same.”

As usual, Dorie’s seemingly frivolous words sank in with surprising weight. Jennie looked over at Kate, who was endorsing Dorie’s observation with a serious nod.

Carter had relaxed his stiffened position and was regarding Dorie with an odd expression. The heightened color was fading from his face. “You may be right about that, Miss Millard,” he said with a glint of admiration in his voice. Jennie’s heart plummeted. Another conquest. How did Dorie manage?

The happiness she’d felt in the kitchen with Barnaby had disappeared. With a strained smile she took the plates from in front of Dennis and Brad and turned toward the kitchen.

Dorie was still on her feet. “Shall I help you with those, Jennie?” she asked. It was impossible to be resentful of Dorie, in spite of her ability to turn the head of any male she wished. She was simply too much fun and too nice to dislike.

“Sit back down and entertain the folks, Dorie,” Jennie said with a little laugh. “Barnaby and I will bring in the sweets directly.” She looked back at the group over her shoulder. “How many want coffee?”

When every male voice answered in the affirmative, Carter pushed back his chair and said, “She’s right. You must continue to provide the entertainment, Miss Millard. I’ll help Miss Sheridan with the coffee.”

The three miners looked over at Carter with surprise. It appeared that the stiff public prosecutor had had more than his collar loosened.

Jennie hesitated, then finally said, “All right. I’d appreciate a hand.” She continued on into the kitchen, her arms just a little shaky from the heavy plates.

Carter was right behind her. “Miss Millard is quite a debater,” he said softly, for her ears only. “She should consider a career in politics.”

“Some folks in this town might say she already practices her own special brand of politics,” Jennie said dryly.

“Politicking with the men in town?”

“With the eligible ones, at least. Dorie wouldn’t make time with someone else’s husband, but every other male out of short pants is pretty much fair game.”

Carter grinned as he stacked the dirty dishes he carried on top of the pile. “Do I detect a note of jealousy, Miss Sheridan? I thought you two were friends.”

“We are friends. And I’m certainly not jealous of her. In order to be jealous, I would have to care about making time with the men in town myself.”

“Which you don’t,” Carter clarified with an amused smile.

“No, sir.”

“Is this enough cream, Jennie?” Barnaby interrupted their exchange by stepping between them holding out a bowl of apple crisp.

Jennie gave the boy a grateful smile. What was it about talking with Carter Jones that made the breath stick in her throat? “That’s just perfect, Barnaby. You can begin taking them out to the dining room. Remember to serve the ladies first.”

Barnaby drew himself up proudly and marched toward the door, holding the bowl of crisp like a tournament trophy. Jennie’s smile turned tender. Their little foundling was always so eager to please.

Carter appeared to read her thoughts. “He glows like a lightning bug when you pay him a compliment.”

Jennie nodded. “You should have seen him when he first came here. He was so shy that he could hardly utter a sentence. He used to hang back in the shadows hoping no one would notice him.”

An odd expression flickered across Carter’s face, but after a moment, he smiled and said, “He’s learning fast. He had no problem with shyness the other day when he was barricading the door against me.”

Jennie nodded. “He’s grown very protective of Kate and me. It’s quite touching.”

Carter tipped his head in the direction of the dining room. “You seem to have a room full of protectors out there.”

Jennie laughed. “I guess we do. The miners are great. They even helped with the dinner tonight.”

Carter leaned back against the kitchen counter and surveyed her. She presented quite a different picture than the harried young woman with dough sticking to her neck he’d encountered before dinner. Her hair was back up in a proper chignon and she was wearing some kind of bustled blue silk thing that sculpted her slender silhouette as if she’d spent the entire afternoon being pinned and stitched by a seamstress.

Carter reckoned that nine men out of ten would pick either of the two blondes in the next room over Jennie Sheridan. Kate was a sleek beauty and Dorie a vivacious charmer. But there was something about Jennie. Half the time she was acting stubborn and prickly, daring the rest of the world to say something bad about her baby sister. But then she had those moments of looking like a child who had lost every anchor she’d ever had in life. And somewhere in between both those Jennies was a glimmer of the woman she refused to admit to being, a woman whose passions might fit the sensual promise of that sculpted, low-necked dress.

Suddenly he realized he’d been staring for too long. And that Jennie was staring right back. Barnaby had whisked past them three times now, carrying the bowls of dessert one at a time into the dining room. He cleared his throat. “So he was lucky to find you,” he said.

Jennie looked confused and blinked her unfocused eyes. “Who?”

Carter smiled gently. There was definitely a woman inside there waiting to find her way out. He wouldn’t mind being the one to help make it happen. “Barnaby. He was lucky to find this place to live with you and your sister.”

Jennie swallowed hard and said, “Well, we were lucky to have him. He’s been a tremendous help.” She reached out and gave Barnaby’s shoulder a pat as he passed by with another bowl. Then she and Carter lapsed into silence as they watched the boy swing through the door. Neither one was thinking about Barnaby.

“Goodness,” Jennie said suddenly. “The coffee!”

She was slightly flushed, and just at the side of her slender neck in the precise spot where the dough had stuck earlier, Carter could see her pulse beating. “Relax,” he said, in a voice that was lower and more intimate than any he had yet used with her. “There’s no hurry. Everyone’s having a good time. Including me.”

He leaned over and brushed a kiss on her mouth, then backed away almost before Jennie could realize what he had done. He waited for a protest, but she simply stood and looked up at him, her eyes grown wide. Finally he flashed a smile and turned to cross the room to the sink. “All right,” he said briskly. “Put me to work.”

* * *

All the parlor lamps were lit, the wicks turned up full, but it seemed to Jennie as if a kind of haze hung over the room. She was feeling much the same kind of fog she’d felt after her parents’ deaths, though without the pain. She’d worked hard all day and knew that she was nearly giddy with exhaustion as they’d sat down to eat. But this was something else. It had started when Carter had followed her into the kitchen. As soon as the door had swung shut, closing them off from the other guests, her heart had begun to accelerate. When he’d touched her with his lips, it had settled into a fast staccato that was still drumming away inside her chest.