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Mail-Order Brides Of Oak Grove: Surprise Bride for the Cowboy
Kathryn Albright
Lauri Robinson
Twin sisters say ‘I do’ in the Wild West!SURPRISE BRIDE FOR THE COWBOY by Lauri RobinsonMary McCary never wanted to be a mail-order bride but falling off the Oak Grove train into Steve Putnam’s lap changes everything… Could he be the cowboy to tempt her down the aisle?TAMING THE RUNAWAY BRIDE by Kathryn AlbrightRunning from trouble, Maggie McCary signs up to be a mail-order bride. She doesn’t intend to actually marry…until she shares one sensational kiss with Jackson Miller!


Twin sisters say “I do” in the Wild West!
SURPRISE BRIDE FOR THE COWBOY by Lauri Robinson
Mary McCary never wanted to be a mail-order bride, but falling off the Oak Grove train into Steve Putnam’s lap changes everything... Could he be the cowboy to tempt her down the aisle?
TAMING THE RUNAWAY BRIDE by Kathryn Albright
Running from trouble, Maggie McCary signs up to be a mail-order bride. She doesn’t intend to actually marry...until she shares one sensational kiss with Jackson Miller!
Mail-Order Brides of Oak Grove (#ulink_76b74295-ef34-5862-9826-1c5b6a6ad23c)
From runaways to brides!
When twins Mary and Maggie McCary are caught selling their family tonic without a permit, they’re forced to agree to become mail-order brides to stay out of jail! Taking the train to Oak Grove, the pair are soon separated—but their adventures lead to unexpected romance... and the promise of wedding bells!
Don’t miss this delightfully warm and funny duet—
two stories in one volume from
Lauri Robinson and Kathryn Albright
Read Mary’s story in
Surprise Bride for the Cowboy
by Lauri Robinson
and
Maggie’s story in
Taming the Runaway Bride
by Kathryn Albright
A lover of fairytales and cowboy boots, LAURI ROBINSON can’t imagine a better profession than penning happily-ever-after stories about men—and women—who pull on a pair of boots before riding off into the sunset...or kick them off for other reasons. Lauri and her husband raised three sons in their rural Minnesota home, and are now getting their just rewards by spoiling their grandchildren. Visit her at laurirobinson.blogspot.com (http://www.laurirobinson.blogspot.com), Facebook.com/lauri.robinson1 (https://Facebook.com/lauri.robinson1) or Twitter.com/lauriR (https://Twitter.com/laurir).
KATHRYN ALBRIGHT writes American-set historical romance for Mills & Boon. From her first breath she has had a passion for stories that celebrate the goodness in people. She combines her love of history and her love of stories to write novels of inspiration, endurance and hope. Visit her at kathrynalbright.com (http://www.kathrynalbright.com) and on Facebook.
Mail-Order Brides of Oak Grove
Surprise Bride for the Cowboy
Lauri Robinson
Taming the Runaway Bride of Book
Kathryn Albright


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Tabel of Contents
Cover (#ud4cf1495-4178-5727-8577-9b18161e9392)
Back Cover Text (#uda59fd19-93be-5344-8e8f-34c25b029752)
Mail-Order Brides of Oak Grove (#ulink_ecd18e8d-0359-5ff8-a32d-d5914ded1d60)
About the Authors (#u7d13f61f-eb11-5dda-b21e-9e05f4d2c993)
Title Page (#u21219a6e-bb13-5506-a6c7-b57a5fdb7db2)
Surprise Bride for the Cowboy (#ulink_35e675e7-6c4f-52de-8ff2-146f901dd2ce)
Dedication (#u459a8afd-1ac5-59d3-bbfc-a528892d810e)
Prologue (#ulink_30d2366d-4eab-5d17-89f3-7d7e9746d8f7)
Chapter One (#ulink_5b787f67-794a-5564-9f84-e3adf6de87de)
Chapter Two (#ulink_aea6ee18-b2f1-5458-a67a-b7e51722ec22)
Chapter Three (#ulink_9d209b1a-318d-50d7-858f-b55185f7d103)
Chapter Four (#ulink_88c7a87e-74bf-5e17-8649-92d3a9cd5d39)
Chapter Five (#ulink_8586a117-4f12-55e4-9def-70955801bcb3)
Chapter Six (#ulink_0c14d440-88dc-596e-8ce3-a85a2394e64e)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Taming the Runaway Bride (#litres_trial_promo)
Dedication (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
SURPRISE BRIDE FOR THE COWBOY (#ulink_ea409001-b7c0-5c05-a7b8-3b7fe7f2e2e7)
Lauri Robinson
Evelyn Putnam, thank you for the use of your son’s name.
Steve’s a great guy and you have a lot to be proud of!
Prologue (#ulink_6859ff71-7cd6-566d-ac4b-7c6911dde82a)
“We won’t go.” Mary McCary wrapped her fingers around the bars separating her from Sheriff Willard Freiday and his spit-polished shiny badge. “We simply refuse.”
“You can’t refuse,” he replied.
She squeezed the bars a bit harder as his grin grew as smug as a cat lying in the sun. “Yes, we can. You can’t make us become mail-order brides.”
He shrugged. “No, I can’t, but I do have orders from Mayor Winsted that you two either agree to go to Kansas as mail-order brides or the town will press charges against you.”
Mary kept the growl that rumbled in her throat as quiet as possible. She’d figured all the bottles of tonic that Mayor Winsted’s wife kept buying would eventually get them in trouble, but not so much they’d be jailed, or exiled. Still, that had happened before. Da had gotten them kicked out of towns all across Ohio and a good portion of Pennsylvania. Or they’d left before they could get kicked out. “We didn’t do anything illegal,” she insisted.
“You are behind these bars because you don’t have a permit to sell those bottles of snake oil your father made. I’d have thought that stuff was all gone by now. He’s been dead going on a year.”
Disrespecting her kin was a sure way to get her riled up, but the good sheriff had already done that. “Our father died six month ago, Sheriff, and if anyone is pressing charges, it should be us. That stagecoach ran Da over in broad daylight.”
“Your father was drunk off his own concoction and stumbled in the stage’s path. There was nothing the driver could do. The judge already told you that.”
Her temper made the top of her head burn. “It’s a medicinal tonic. McCary’s Finest Recipe Tonic, and of course the judge says there was nothing anyone could do. He’s the stage driver’s brother. Furthermore, I already showed you Da’s permit. You have it.”
“Which doesn’t have your names on it, does it?”
“This town wouldn’t give us a permit even if we asked,” Maggie piped in.
“My sister is right,” Mary pointed out. “This town has never been overly friendly to any of us McCarys.”
The sheriff grinned. “All the more reason you should appreciate the efforts the mayor is taking. Oak Grove is a growing community in Kansas and needs women to marry some of the already prosperous men settling in that area.”
“Kansas?” Maggie asked. “Where’s Kansas?”
“West,” Mary answered her twin. Questioning if she was correct, she turned to the sheriff. “It’s west of here, right?”
“Yes, Kansas is west of here, and you aren’t the only women making the trip. There will be a dozen young ladies from this area. A Pullman car has been reserved for your trip. You’ll have beds to sleep in, plenty to eat, and of course you’ll be able to explore the sights of many fine cities along the way while the train makes its regular stops.”
“You can sweet-talk us all you want, Sheriff,” Maggie said. “My sister and I aren’t leaving. We are staying right here. Permit or not.”
Mary laid a hand on Maggie’s shoulder. Life had never been easy, but they’d gotten used to living in a house this past year. Granted the house was owned by the city and every month the sheriff stopped by to collect the rent, which wasn’t always easy to come by. Da had sold enough tonic to cover the bills, but since his death, she and Maggie had had to supplement their income by placing friendly bets they could pick the right card out of the deck or find the rock under the correct cup. It wasn’t too hard to collect a few dollars from local men. The McCary sisters’ shiny black hair and sky-blue eyes was the reason. They’d inherited that from their mother. At least that was what Da always said. However, those dollars were getting harder to come by considering the sheriff didn’t approve of the betting games any more than he did the selling of their tonic. Maybe it was time they moved on.
“I’m not becoming a mail-order bride,” Maggie said. “Marrying a man I don’t know and then living with him the rest of my life. I’m only nineteen. That could be a long time.”
Being twins, they could practically read each other’s minds, and that was what Mary took into consideration right now. The town owned the house they rented, and could evict them as easily as they’d been arrested. They’d had to sell their wagon to pay Da’s funeral bills, so an eviction would leave them completely homeless.
Lifting a brow, she looked directly into Maggie’s eyes. “Marriage is only until death do we part,” Mary said. There were plenty of towns between Ohio and Kansas where they could part from the others, and a fresh start might be exactly what they needed.
A smile formed on Maggie’s face. Mary’s too.
The sheriff cleared his throat, but the way his gaze shot between her and Maggie was enough to make Mary want to giggle.
“You are right, dear sister,” Maggie said. “Until death do we part.”
“You girls—”
“We’ll accept your offer, Sheriff,” Mary interrupted. “When does the train leave?”
Chapter One (#ulink_a9d97049-3a30-5897-8762-20da275068f3)
Oak Grove, Kansas.
Steve Putnam flipped the reins of his big gray gelding over the hitching post outside of the Wet Your Whistle Saloon and stepped up on the boardwalk in order to get out of the cloud of dust being swirled up along the main street of town. A parade of wagons, buggies and people on horseback and afoot was the cause. All headed in one direction. The train station. The last place you’d find him today. In his opinion, the entire town had gone loco over this mail-order bride scheme.
Turning about, he headed toward the batwing doors of the saloon. The “Closed” sign didn’t stop him from pushing the doors apart and letting them swing shut behind him.
The sight of Chris and Danny Sanders dressed in their Sunday best had Steve pushing the brim of his hat up in order to take a second look at the cousins walking toward him.
“Sorry, Steve, we’re closed,” Danny said. “Didn’t you see the sign?”
“Why?” Steve asked, not bothering to say he’d seen the sign.
“The women are arriving today,” Chris answered.
Taken aback, Steve shook his head. “You two bought into this hare-brained idea?” The cousins had opened the saloon in Oak Grove with the insurance money they’d received after the one they’d owned in Dodge City had burned down. Their business seemed to be flourishing and he couldn’t believe either Chris or Danny was looking for a mail-order bride.
Pointing a thumb at his much taller cousin, Danny said, “Chris here contributed heavily to the cause.”
“Why?” Steve directed his question toward Chris.
The cousins didn’t look much alike, not even with their blond hair oiled smooth against their heads and matching black suits complete with red vests and gold watch chains hanging from their pockets. They didn’t act much alike, either. Danny was shorter and always smiling and joking, while Chris was tall, thin and far more serious, especially when it came to money, and that was what Steve couldn’t believe. That Chris would have made a contribution to the Oak Grove Betterment Committee that had been raising money the past year “to bring suitable women of marrying age to their fine community.” He’d seen so many fliers and newspapers articles about the far-fetched idea he knew the sales pitch word for word.
“For the betterment of the community of course,” Chris answered.
Steve gave him a glare that said he knew the man was lying.
“Fine,” Chris said. “If there’s anyone we can trust with the truth, it’s you. Danny and I aren’t looking for wives, and we don’t believe every woman on that train will make a suitable one, either.”
Danny’s laughter left a sly grin on his face. “But they just might want to work in a high-end establishment such as the Whistle.”
“You’re hoping to get a couple of saloon gals out of the deal?” That was as hard to believe as the idea of getting a wife through this scheme.
“Why not?” Danny asked. “Working here would be far better than marrying a few of those men offering up their hands. Can you imagine any woman wanting to take up residence with Wayne Stevens and that creature he calls a dog? It’s dang near as big as your horse and I hear tell it sleeps in his bed every night.”
Steve had heard the same, and Wayne’s dog was big enough to saddle. Still he shook his head. “I just didn’t expect you two to participate in this idea.”
Chris withdrew his watch and clicked open the cover to check the time. As he poked it back in his pocket, he asked, “If you aren’t here to meet the train, why are you in town in the middle of the day?”
“Rex buried an ax in his knee chopping kindling last night,” Steve answered. “Doc was out and stitched him up, but said he’d be laid up for at least three weeks. I came to see if I could hire Helen Oswoski to cook for my boys for a month or so. With it being roundup time, I don’t have a man to spare.”
Danny let out a whistle. “Rex already has a hunk of wood for one leg.”
Everyone knew Rex Walton had lost a leg in the war, and Steve was worried the man would end up without both legs if he didn’t follow the doctor’s orders. “Unfortunately, it was the other leg he buried the ax in.”
“Sorry to tell you, but Helen Oswoski got married last month,” Chris said. “To Ole Hanson. She’s helping him run his stage stop between here and Dodge.”
“I hadn’t heard that,” Steve admitted. He’d made a mental list of people he could hire to cook for his hands, and Helen, being a widow, had been the only viable choice.
“I sure can’t think of anyone who might be able to help you out,” Danny said. “Maybe you can pick one of the brides off the train.”
Frustration made Steve’s neck muscles burn. “I don’t need a bride, I need a cook.”
“Suppose you could ride down to Dodge, might find some options there,” Chris suggested.
“I might have to,” Steve admitted. “Don’t have that kind of time, but might have to make it. Walter cooked breakfast for everyone and the entire lot said they’d quit if that happened again tonight.”
Chris slapped Steve’s shoulder as the train whistle sounded. “Maybe there’re some other newcomers getting off the train in need of work. Won’t hurt to check.”
The odds were slim, but men working their way west and looking to earn a few dollars had been known to get off the train now and again. For the time it would take, it sure as heck was a better choice than the hundred-mile ride to Dodge City, which could prove just as futile. This time of year, most everyone who wanted to be working had a job.
Steve followed the cousins out of the saloon and up the boardwalk to the train station, which was already packed with people. Of course Josiah Melbourne was in the middle of the crowd, up on a platform that had been decorated with ribbons for the occasion and acting like his pompous self. This entire bride idea had been his. Short and pudgy, he probably knew this might be his only hope of ever acquiring a wife.
As far as Steve was concerned, the mayor could have every bride the town had ordered. He’d seen what this county did to women, and men. There hadn’t been a town here fifteen years ago when his family had left Georgia shortly after the war. He hadn’t known what his father had promised his mother, but he remembered all the things he’d dreamed about while walking alongside the wagon for months on end. A house far bigger than the one that had been burned down by Union soldiers, a barn full of horses, rivers full of fish to catch and woods full of deer to hunt—things ten-year-old boys dream about.
Their arrival to what everyone now knew as the Circle P Ranch, his ranch, hadn’t been what any of them had expected.
Used to growing cotton and tobacco in the fertile soil of Georgia, his father had taken one look at the treeless, dried-up ground and concluded whatever might grow here would never feed a family. But, it would feed critters, so he’d invested the last bits of money they’d had in cattle. His father’s investment had paid off—selling cattle to the army posts and later the railroad as tracks were laid west proved lucrative—but it hadn’t happened fast enough for his mother.
She hadn’t lasted two years out here. Losing an infant son to pneumonia the first winter and a three-year-old daughter to rattlesnake bite the next summer had taken its toll on her. The morning after they’d buried his sister, his mother was gone. His father had found her less than twenty miles away, but it had been too late. A band of Kansa Indians had gotten to her first.
His mother was buried next to his sister and baby brother, and to his father, who after losing his wife had slowly started to die, blaming her death on himself. He’d watched his father drink himself to death for five years. The day his father died, Steve had determined he’d never get married. He’d been seventeen, and in the past eight years he’d never once questioned that vow.
Partly because he hadn’t had time to. He’d been too busy building the Circle P Ranch to one of the largest in the state. He now had a house bigger than the one he’d been born in down in Georgia, a barn full of horses, and more cattle than he could count in a day. What he didn’t have was a cook for the men who worked for him. The men who made it possible for him to be the rancher he was today. The men who counted on him for three squares a day.
Ignoring how the mayor was welcoming the crowd and congratulating everyone on the “betterment of the community,” Steve worked his way to the front of the crowd, where he could watch the passengers depart and hopefully snag a man who knew the difference between salt and sugar to work for him for a few months.
The door of the passenger car had yet to open, and the windows were too full of soot to see through, but he kept his eyes peeled for a suitable candidate to step off the short metal stairs.
“You here to get wife, no?”
Without turning his head, Steve glanced to his right and then upwards. He was close to six feet tall, but Brett Blackwell, the local blacksmith and owner of the feed store, towered over him. With arms thicker than most men’s thighs and an equally thick Swedish accent with touches of the Midwest in it, the blacksmith looked down at him.
“You, Steve Putnam, you here for wife?”
“No,” Steve answered. “I’m here for a cook.”
“Ya, me, too,” Brett answered. “My ma was da best cook. She cooked for all da men.” The man inhaled through his nose so loudly it drowned out the mayor’s speech. “I still smell her bread. So good. I want a wife like that. Good cook.”
“Good luck with that, Brett,” Steve said. “I hope you find one. I’m not here for a wife. Just a cook. Rex got hurt. I need someone to fill in for him. I’m hoping they’re on this train.”
“Ya. Dr. Graham told me. Poor little man, Rex.” For a man who could throw hundred-pound feed sacks in a wagon one in each hand, the blacksmith was a sensitive man. “You tell Brett what I can do.”
“Haul a cook out to my place,” Steve muttered while taking note of how Brett had nodded toward Nelson Graham standing on his other side. Frowning, Steve gave his head a quick, clearing shake. He hadn’t expected the doctor to be looking for a wife, either. Had every man in town gone loco? If they all thought a woman was going to make their lives easier, they needed a new line of thinking. While peering around Brett, Steve caught sight of the man standing next to the doctor and clamped his jaw tight.
“Excuse me, Brett,” Steve said, while squeezing past the man. After nodding to Dr. Graham, Steve planted himself next to the cowboy who should be rounding up spring calves. “What the hell are you doing here?”
The look in Jess Rader’s eyes said he would have run but was squeezed in too tight to move. “I told you this morning I was coming to town, Boss.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I didn’t?”
“No.”
“Well, I meant to.” Jess glanced left then right, and then must have concluded he still didn’t have an escape route. “I ponied up five bucks, Boss. I gotta be here for one of the gals to pick me or I lose my money.”
“You lose your money either way,” Steve pointed out. “And if you want one of those gals to pick you, you should have taken a bath.”
“It ain’t the first of the month yet,” Jess said. “Besides, with Rex hurt, there’s no use taking a bath. Ain’t no one to wash my clothes while I’m washing my skin.”
Steve huffed out a breath. Besides being able to cook, his new hired hand would need to know how to wash clothes.
“What are you doing here?” Jess asked. “I thought you didn’t like this idea of brides.”
“I don’t,” Steve said. “I’m here to hire a cook.”
“Good,” Jess said. “Did you know Walter put salt instead of sugar in the flapjacks this morning? They were awful.”
“Yes, I know. I tasted one.” And had tasted the eggs Walter had sprinkled with sugar. The bacon had been burned black, and the coffee had been too full of grounds to swallow.
“Aw, what? Really?” Jess stomped a foot. “If that don’t beat all.”
Steve glanced around as moans and groans filled the air from the men standing around him. “What?” he asked Jess.
“Didn’t you just hear that?”
“What?” Steve repeated.
“Someone just said there are only five. Five women instead of twelve.” Jess pointed up and down the men standing on either side of them. “Look at all these fellers; that ain’t good odds.”
Steve glanced up and down the row. Besides the blacksmith, the doctor, Jess and the saloon-owning cousins, the banker, the gunsmith, a couple of farmers, a couple of ranchers, as well as the hotel owner and few others he didn’t know were lined up next to the platform.
“All these men paid up front?” he asked Jess.
“You had to in order to be in the group the gals have to choose from.”
Lester Higgums started pounding on his drum, a signal that the train door would soon open, and suddenly Steve didn’t want to be in the front row. He didn’t want it assumed in any way he was here for one of the girls to pick from. In fact, the idea of finding a cook amongst all this hullabaloo was as far-fetched as the whole bride project.
Other instruments joined Lester’s drums; an entire band was playing. The pomp and circumstance the town was putting on for this was laughable. Or disgusting. Either way, he wasn’t impressed, and shouldered his way through the crowd.
Shouts and cheers said the conductor must be opening the door, and without a backwards glance, he headed toward the Wet Your Whistle to collect his horse.
Once mounted, he muttered a curse at how the road heading west out of town was blocked by wagons and buggies. He urged his horse eastward in order to cross the tracks behind the train and then he’d head north, back to his ranch, empty-handed.
Chapter Two (#ulink_da828de5-8843-5add-a924-19d0d8e53db6)
Mary had never been so frazzled. Her hair had never been so dirty or her clothes so dust-covered. And she’d never been so mad at her sister in her life. They were twins. They were supposed to think alike. They were supposed to have gotten off this stupid train miles ago. Days ago.
“We have to go,” Mary hissed. “Now. It’s our last chance.”
“I want a bath,” Maggie said. “I want a decent meal. The girls say that the town is supposed to have hotel rooms for us and everything.”
“We’re not staying in this dusty cow town,” Mary insisted yet again.
“Well I want to enjoy it while I can,” Maggie spouted back. “Nothing is wrong with a little pampering.”
“Pampering!” For being twins there were times they were as different as night and day. “We need to find jobs and I need to find a place to make more tonic.”
Maggie raised her chin as if she was some high and mighty princess. “The tonic needs another week before it’s ready to bottle. What does it matter whether we are comfortable at the hotel?”
“It matters. We’ve got to show them right from the start we aren’t going to marry anyone and they can’t force us.” Mary had to draw a breath to calm her ire. “You know how it is...how it’s always been with our business. We need to be ready to leave town if necessary. That’s why you need to come with me. We have to stay together.”
“We won’t make it. That conductor has eyes like an eagle. Besides, I heard the sheriff talk to him in Bridgeport. They won’t give us a permit to sell it here anymore than they would in Ohio.”
“Then we will just have to be more careful. Anyone who tries the tonic is happy enough with the results. It will only be for a few weeks. By the time the authorities find anything out, we will be gone.”
“Where will we go after this town?”
“I don’t know,” Mary admitted. “Maybe Denver. Somewhere big enough to make a good profit. Somewhere far enough west that selling permits aren’t a problem.”
“We can talk about it at the hotel,” Maggie said before she crossed her arms and spun around.
Mary may have been angry before, now she was furious. Her entire being shook. Ever since they’d boarded the train Maggie had been too busy making friends to care about anything else. Well, maybe it was time for her to discover friends weren’t the same as sisters. It would be a rude awakening for her, but if that was what it took, so be it.
As the wheels screeched to a halt and the others, including Maggie, rushed to stare out the windows, where the music played and people shouted, Mary slid into the small latrine. Her anger continued to fester. If Maggie had kept quiet, they could have snuck out without catching the conductor’s attention more than once.
Cracking the latrine door open, Mary peered out, waiting for the chance she wouldn’t let slip by.
As a portly man stepped aboard, commanding everyone’s attention, Mary slipped out of the latrine and out the door before anyone noticed. Taking a deep breath, which caught in her throat because the air was full of smoke from the puffing smoke stack, she grabbed the railing and hoisted herself over the edge and then down the ground. Everyone else was on the other side of the train, and that was just fine with her. She traveled past another car holding animals of some sorts, and then to the one carrying their baggage. It wasn’t as if they’d brought a lot with them from Ohio—the sheriff had limited them to a bag and trunk each.
“Pampering,” she muttered. “Fairy dust.” Mary slid the door open and easily spotted her and Maggie’s things. The ruckus on the other side of the train made it so she didn’t need to be too quiet, therefore she wasn’t. “She’s been pampered most of her life, that’s what the problem is,” Mary muttered as she climbed into the car. Tossing aside various bags and bundles, she collected her tapestry bag and tossed it out the open doorway and then pushed aside other trunks until she could grasp both of the handles on the sides of hers.
They had packed carefully back in Ohio, choosing what they would bring, and she regretted that now. Her tapestry bag only held an additional change of clothing and a few other basic necessities. Everything else was in Maggie’s trunk—the one she’d leave behind after she slipped a note inside it for her sister. Her trunk held what she needed to make some money. Fast money that would get her out of town. It held several full bottles, but more important, a brewing batch of McCary’s Finest Recipe Tonic. All she required now was a place it could brew for a bit longer and then she could bottle it up.
The trunk was heavy, and the only way to maneuver it to the opening of the rail car was to walk backwards, pulling it across the rough floor. As she gave the trunk a solid tug with each step, Mary’s irritation at Maggie continued. Talking about finding a job had been useless. Maggie hadn’t worked a day in her life. She’d always had something more important to do than washing or cooking or—
Her step had found nothing but air.
Startled, she let go of the trunk handle and grabbed for it again, but it was too late.
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.
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.
Chapter Four (#ulink_af9fbe8c-1beb-592b-8787-09555c83aa50)
As Steve watched Brett drive away the thrill of winning seeped out of him like a bucket that had sat in the sun too long. Slowly, he turned to face the house. What the hell had he just done? Forty dollars? For cooking and cleaning? His stomach did an odd little flip-flop. It wasn’t the money. Feeding his men was worth that. It was her. In his house. She’d made a point of claiming that included room and board. He’d known that was a given, but what that meant hadn’t completely struck him until right now.
She’d be living in his house. With him. What was he thinking? He’d already concluded that would start a stir long before he found her in his house.
“It’s only for a month,” he told himself aloud. “Rex will be up and about by then.”
Or drunk as a skunk on her tonic, the other logical part of his mind pointed out.
That he’d put a stop to right now. A few other rules wouldn’t hurt, either.
Steve entered through the kitchen door, and was amazed to find the room clean. Cleaner than he’d seen it in a long time. She was efficient, he’d give her that.
Snoring from the little room off the kitchen told him Rex was sleeping. Steve made his way through the front and back parlors, his office and the front entrance way, where he stopped to stare up the staircase. It was a given she’d stake claim on one of the bedrooms, and the notion of her sleeping down the hall from him instilled an agony he’d never experienced. Except for when she’d landed on his lap back at the train station.
Flustered by the entire situation, he started up the steps. She was in the third bedroom, the one that faced east, and staring out the window. Her hair was pulled over one shoulder and she slowly dragged a brush from the crown of her head to the tips of the long strands she held in her opposite hand. If he hadn’t seen it, he wouldn’t believe how much gumption came out of that short and slender body.
Her shoulders squared at the same time she turned about.
“Do you always sneak up on people?”
Speechless for a moment, he took a second or two before he said, “No.”
“You did at the train station and again now.”
“I saw you climb into the train car and figured you were up to no good.” Her pinched lips had him asking, “Why did you tell me you were going to Denver? To meet your husband?”
Her shoulders heaved as she sighed. “What was I supposed to say?”
“The truth,” he suggested. “That you were sneaking off the train to avoid the men waiting for a chance to marry you.”
“Posh! I’m not marrying anyone.” She flayed her arms in the air. “Fine. If that’s what you want to hear. I was sneaking off the train to avoid those men. Can you blame me?”
He couldn’t. Nor could he blame himself for admitting she was probably the best-looking woman any train had ever brought to Kansas. Which made no difference to him. At least it shouldn’t. Flustered, he drew in a deep breath. Something caught inside his nose. “Do you have more of that tonic up here?”
A nervous gaze shot to the trunk at the foot of the bed before she asked, “Why? Does Rex need some?”
“No,” Steve answered, moving into the room. “He’s sleeping off what you already gave him.” Upon arriving at the foot of the bed, he reached down to flip open the trunk lid. “China, you said?”
She hurried forward, but he’d already lifted the lid. A large corked crock and several bottles—too many to count—were packed securely in straw. The smell was stronger, and although he hadn’t smelled it in years, he clearly recalled what the wine his grandfather used to make back in Georgia smelled like.
She pushed his hand off the lid and gently closed it. “You have no right to go snooping in my things.”
“That’s a trunk full of wine, and it’s in my house, so I’m not snooping.”
“Your house or not, the trunk is mine.” Planting her hands on her hips, she continued, “And while I’m here, this room is mine and you’ll stay out of it.”
He held his stare, all the while wanting to shake her. Ask her why she’d ever felt the need to agree to be a mail-order bride. “While you’re here, you’ll take orders from me. And I order you to dump it out.”
“I will not.”
“Then pack up your stuff,” he said, gesturing to the few things lying on the dresser.
“Why?”
“Because I’m taking you to town.” Ignoring the pang that shot across his stomach, he said, “Chris and Danny Sanders will give you a job peddling alcohol at their saloon. You’re already good at that.”
A flicker of fear crossed her face, but then she crossed her arms. “And who’ll cook for your men? You?” The smile that appeared on her lips was full of conceit. “We’ve made a deal, shook on it. I never go back on my word, and I wouldn’t think a man of your stature would, either.”
Steve’s back teeth clenched. She had him over a barrel, and knew it. He never went back on his word. Her knowing that was enough to infuriate him, but it was another feeling he couldn’t ignore. That of how her flushed cheeks and pursed lips made him want to kiss her like he hadn’t wanted to kiss anyone in years. Tossing aside that thought took will. Deep will. “My men expect three meals a day, morning, noon and night. Good meals. Their clothes washed once a week, the bunkhouse swept and mopped weekly, and this house kept clean.”
“I already agreed to all that.”
She was so smug he searched his mind to come up with other chores. When none appeared, he said, “And there will be no more of your tonic. Not for Rex or anyone else.”
* * *
Mary squeezed her fingers tighter around the brush handle. She should be mad enough to pitch it across the room, but it wasn’t anger she fought to control. It was how he’d looked at her. How his eyes had settled on her lips so completely it made them tingle—just like her insides had when she’d fallen onto his lap back at the train station.
With lightning speed, she crossed the room and shut the door. Her heart was pounding so hard she laid a hand against her chest and the other over the flock of butterflies swarming in her stomach.
Why did he make her insides go so crazy? Even while he yelled at her, ordering her to dispose of the tonic, all she could think of was how the other women on the train had been right. That the cowboys in Kansas were a handsome lot.
“Aw, fairy dust,” she muttered. How could someone in her predicament have such thoughts? Perhaps because despite his handsomeness and her other cauldron of silly thoughts, this was rather a perfect solution for her situation. Not only would she gain finances, she could stock up on her supply of tonic while here. There had been honey and jam in the larder downstairs, which meant there must be more where they came from. Rather than train tickets for her and Maggie, maybe she’d buy another horse and wagon like Da. They’d traveled all over Ohio and Pennsylvania with Buck pulling their wagon.
She and Maggie could do that again. Travel about, selling tonic until they found a suitable place to settle. Perhaps a place with cowboys as handsome as Steve Putnam.
Telling herself that was a marvelous plan, she changed into her nightdress and climbed into the bed that had to be one of the softest and largest she’d even lain in.
Sleep came as quickly as the sunrise. She’d chosen this room just for that purpose, so the first rays of the rising sun would wake her. Although she didn’t like how he turned her inside out—for no one had ever done that to her before—she would not let Steve find fault in anything she did. It would be a challenge, she couldn’t deny that. The only people she’d cooked for were her family. Da had always been in such a hurry, off here or there, he’d rarely said if what he’d eaten was good or not, and as long as Maggie hadn’t had to prepare it, she hadn’t cared what she ate.
A wave of sadness washed over Mary as she folded back the covers and flipped her legs over the edge of the bed. That had been the first night she’d slept without Maggie nearby. Even on the train, while mad at each other, they’d settled down next to each other come nightfall.
Rising, she walked to the window and hoped that wherever Maggie was she was safe and knew they’d soon be together. Despite their differences, they were sisters, twins, and always would be.
Watching the rays of sunlight growing brighter, Mary decided she’d find a way to get a message to Maggie, just to assure her sister all would be well soon. But first, she had a bunch of men to feed. The task wasn’t all that daunting, though. Between Steve’s outdoor root cellar and the kitchen pantry, there was more food than she’d seen in some shops.
She dressed and covered her hair with the same cloth she’d used yesterday, tying it beneath her hair, and then quietly snuck out of her room and headed downstairs. After building a fire in the stove, she made a pot of coffee and then set about making a batch of biscuits. Once they were in the oven, she poured Rex a cup of coffee and pushed the pot to the back of the stove top to stay warm.
After a brief discussion with Rex, who was feeling better this morning, she ventured into the cellar for a large slab of bacon, and then went outside to gather eggs from the fenced-in chicken coop.
That task was easy—gathering eggs, it was the one she’d have to do next that had her a bit nervous. They—her family—had never owned a cow. Rex had said his morning chores included gathering eggs and milking the cow. She knew what to do with the milk once it was in the bucket—how to skim off the cream and make butter, buttermilk, even a soft cheese, but how to get the milk in the bucket was a different story.
She didn’t want to fall short of her duties. That—the fear of falling short in his eyes—must be why Steve affected her so. She’d concluded that this morning, while being as quiet as possible to not wake him.
“Morning, ma’am,” one of the cowboys said as he stopped near the door of the chicken pen. “Is there anything I can do to help you this morning?”
Problem solved. “A matter of fact there is. I have biscuits in the oven, and wouldn’t want them to burn. Would you mind milking the cow?”
“Consider it done,” he said with a grin. “Name’s Walter, Walter Reinhold. You can just call me Walter. Everyone goes by first names around here.”
“In that case, you can call me Mary, and thank you, Walter, I appreciate the help.”
“Not a problem at all, ma’am. I’m glad to be of assistance.”
More than satisfied, she went back into the house to resume preparing a meal Steve would not find any fault in.
All the while she’d cooked, she hadn’t heard any movement upstairs, so was a bit surprised when Steve walked through the kitchen door with the rest of the men. She was a bit flustered, too, at the way her heart picked up an extra beat.
He didn’t say a word, and neither did she. Not to him. The rest of the men were very appreciative of her efforts this morning, and weren’t shy about saying so. She replied to their generous compliments, offered second and third helpings, and considering they were a curious bunch, answered their questions, which were mainly about what she would serve for their next meal.
Other than the cowboy with shaggy brown hair—she recalled his name was Jess Rader—who was curious about other things. “So, what’s your sister’s name?” he asked, spooning eggs into his mouth.
“Maggie.” Hoping to get the subject away from the whole bride scenario—mainly because it had Steve’s brown eyes focused on her, she added, “Actually, it’s Margaret Mary, and my name is Mary Margaret.”
Several frowns formed as all their eyes landed on her.
“Couldn’t your folks think up any other names?” the tall and thin cowboy named Leroy asked.
“Mary Margaret was the name my mother had chosen, not knowing she was carrying two babies. She died shortly after my sister and I were born, so, since I was born first, my father named me Mary Margaret, and my sister Margaret Mary.”
“Don’t that beat all,” one of them said, she hadn’t caught exactly who because the very thoughtful expression on Steve’s face held her attention.
“How do you know that?” he asked.
“Because my father told me,” she answered the obvious.
“If you’re twins, identical, maybe he mixed the two of you up.” Looking at her over the rim of his coffee cup, he continued, “Maybe she’s Mary and you’re Maggie.”
Confident that had never happened, she smiled. “No, he didn’t. I’m Mary. Mary McCary.”
“How can you be so sure?”
She could tell him the truth. Show him the birthmark on the back of her neck that proved she was exactly who she said she was, or tell him about it and why she and Maggie always wore their hair down, so people were never sure which sister was which. Maggie had no such birthmark, and more than a time or two they’d used their likenesses to their own advantages. She then wondered if he’d be able to tell her and Maggie apart without knowing their secret. There was something about him, his intuition, maybe, that said he might be able to.
Still smiling, she met his gaze eye for eye. “Why are you so suspicious of people? Or is it just me?”
The nervous silence that settled around the table told her what she already knew. Few people questioned Steve Putnam. She didn’t mind being one that did. As crazy as it seemed, she didn’t mind getting under his skin—most likely because he got under hers so thoroughly.
He never looked away while saying, “Saddle up, boys.”
As they all gathered their hats and stood, he added, “Lunch will be at noon, Miss McCary.”
“Yes, it will be, Mr. Putnam,” she replied.
He waited until the rest of the men exited, and then while standing in the open doorway, he said, “Walter won’t be milking any cows tomorrow morning. That’s your job.”
She should have known he’d discover that. “So be it.” As he pulled the door shut, she started gathering dishes off the table and muttered, “Insufferable beast.”
The door opened again and he poked his head through the opening. “I heard that.”
Hoisting the pile of dirty dishes off the table, she merely repeated, “So be it.” She’d learn to milk a snake just to spite him. Of course snakes couldn’t be milked, at least she assumed they couldn’t. She couldn’t be sure about the snakes in this country, though. They had to be different from the ones she’d ever seen. Just as different as the cows. Men, however, were the same everywhere. Insufferable beasts.
Not a single man had ever appealed to her in any shape or form, and Steve Putnam had to be the least appealing of all. At least he should be. The way he antagonized her with nothing more than a look was reason enough. Sure he might be more handsome than all the others, but some dogs were better-looking than other ones, too, and that sure didn’t make them better dogs.
“Mary?”
She let the smile that wanted to appear at the sound of Rex’s voice form and after setting the dishes on the counter, walked into his room. “Yes?”
“Is there something I can help you with this morning? I’m sure I could sit at the table and peel potatoes or something.”
Maybe she was a bit wrong. Rex wasn’t unlikeable or insufferable. A matter of fact, she’d already grown a bit fond of him. Why couldn’t Steve be more like him? She gave her head a quick shake. What was she thinking? She didn’t want to become fond of Steve.
Crossing the room, she said, “I’m sure you could, but I’m not going to let you. You need to stay in bed so that leg heals.” That needed to happen as much for him as for her. She couldn’t stay here any longer than necessary. “However,” she continued, noting the frustration in Rex’s green eyes. “I am hoping you’ll be up to churning butter later today. And...”
He frowned slightly. “And?”
“Telling me how to milk a cow.”
Chapter Five (#ulink_e9032395-b571-5186-b476-8d068f9a19e7)
Steve led the group of cowboys toward the house at full speed. It was a half hour or so before noon, but that was how he wanted it. Showing up early and frazzling Mary’s composure a bit would suit him just fine. He couldn’t say why. Normally he was easygoing. He loved his ranch and wanted everyone who worked here to love it, too. It not only made for a happier group, it got more done. Men who liked their work accomplished more than those who didn’t. He should consider that when it came to her, but couldn’t. There was something about her that got to him.
As did the way the men behind him were shouting at each other, guessing what they’d have for lunch and betting it would be one of the best meals they’d ever eaten. They could very well be right. In fact, they better be right. At the fortune it was costing him to feed them, they better enjoy every morsel.
On that thought, Steve reined in his horse, slowing the pace for everyone. Mary wasn’t costing him that much more than he’d paid Rex to cook and clean, and considering the quality of the meals last night and this morning, the extra money was worth it.
They rode into the homestead around the back of the barn, which was where Steve caught sight of the two horses tied up outside the bunkhouse, and the two men sitting in the shade under the awning.
“What are they doing here?” Walter asked, drawing his horse to a stop.
“I don’t know,” Steve said. “But I have a good idea.”
“What?”
“She’s cooking our lunch.” Steve dismounted and handed the reins to Leroy before he crossed the yard to the bunkhouse.
“Sheriff, Mayor,” he greeted as the men stood. “Hot day to be sitting out here.”
Pulling his britches up over his pudgy waistline, Josiah Melbourne puffed out his chest. “You tell that woman to get out here right now.”
“I’m assuming you’re talking about my new cook.”
“Of course I am,” the mayor said. “You can’t hire her as a cook. You never contributed to the Betterment Committee, therefore she can’t be here.”
Tom Baniff stepped forward. He’d been the sheriff for the past two years and was doing a dang good job of it. He always got straight to the point, and did so now.
“Mary McCary is one of the brides,” Tom said. “And Brett Blackwell confirmed he brought her out here right after the train arrived.”
“Brett did,” Steve agreed, “but Miss McCary claims she had no intention of becoming a bride.”
“She doesn’t have a choice,” Josiah barked. “She knew the rules before she left Ohio.”
“Could you have her unlock the door so we can talk to her?” Tom asked. “We’ve been here long enough.”
Steve started for the house, and as the sheriff stepped up beside him, he asked, “How long have you been here?”
“Left town at eight this morning.”
“And you’ve been sitting here the entire time?”
“Yes. Josiah refused to leave, and I didn’t want to have to ride out again because she shot him or something.”
“There’s a town full of men expecting—”
Interrupting the mayor, Steve asked the sheriff, “She pulled a gun on you?”
Tom shook his head. “Not that I saw, but she said she had one and would use it if needed. Josiah wanted me to kick the door in. I said we’d wait for you.”
Steve walked up the back steps and tried the door knob. It turned easily. After pushing the door open, he waved for the sheriff and mayor to enter while holding his other hand up to his men, telling them to wait outside.
The table was set, the room smelled wondrous and Mary stood near the doorway to the parlor, as puffed up as a grouse guarding her nest. Steve had to keep his grin hidden, but couldn’t deny he felt a fair amount of respect for this little woman and her gumption. “These men would like to speak with you, Miss McCary.”
“I’m aware of that,” she answered. “I didn’t think it was appropriate until you were present to vouch for the agreement we’ve made.”
“There can be no agreement between you two,” Josiah shouted. “I already told you that. Now, get your belongings. You are coming to town with us.”
The man was crossing the room as he shouted. Steve crossed the room, too, and planted himself between the mayor and Mary. “She’s not going anywhere. I hired her as my cook for the next month.”
“She isn’t available for hire,” Josiah bellowed. “Especially not by someone who wouldn’t even contribute to the cause!”
That was a sore spot for the mayor. He’d been out to the ranch several times asking for contributions, and had been upset that “the most prominent citizen of Oak Grove” wouldn’t participate. Steve didn’t care how prominent others proclaimed him to be, he thought it was a stupid idea from the start, and wasn’t going to put his hard-earned money behind it.
“I’ll contribute to your committee,” Rex shouted from the bedroom. “How much do you want?”
Obviously listening from the back porch, Walter stuck his head through an open window. “All of us out here will contribute, too. How much will it take to keep her?”
Steve smothered a growl. They’d all been on his side until they’d met her. Actually, he no longer had a side. If it came to keeping her, he had no choice but to pony up. “How much?”
“I got twenty-five dollars ready to hand over,” Rex shouted from the bedroom.
“It’s too late for that,” Josiah said. “You had to make your contributions before the brides arrived.”
Steve glanced past the mayor, to the table where a plate of cornbread sat and whatever was in the oven, ham he’d guess, had the house smelling as good as it had yesterday. Settling his gaze on the mayor, he said, “I’ll give you fifty bucks. That should more than cover her travel costs. Once she’s done working for me, she can marry any one of the other contributors.”
“I’m not—”
The glare he cast over his shoulder stopped her protest.
“Take the money,” the sheriff said to Josiah. “We have to get back to town. The party will be starting soon and you’re to give the opening speech.”
The mayor shook his head. “That won’t—”
“Seventy-five,” Steve interrupted.
* * *
Mary gulped. No one had that kind of money just lying around. Leastwise not anyone she’d ever known, nor would they have been willing to donate it to a committee of any sort. The air in her lungs started to burn, but she didn’t dare let it out. Didn’t dare make a peep. Not even to say no one needed to cover her traveling expenses. She’d traded Buck, their horse, for her and Maggie’s train tickets, but she doubted anyone wanted to hear that. The mayor was so red it looked like his head was about to burst off his shoulders, and the sheriff’s gaze was wary as he looked from Steve to the mayor and back again.
“I said seventy-five dollars, Melbourne,” Steve said. “Take it or leave it. Either way, you will be leaving without Miss McCary.”
“It’s time we leave, Josiah,” the sheriff said.
Mary let her breath out then. The sandy-haired sheriff appeared to be a much more intelligent man than the mayor—who was still red-faced and glaring at Steve.
“Fine,” the mayor said. “I’ll take your money, Mr. Putnam, but Miss McCary will be expected to fulfill the terms of the agreement she signed at the end of her employment with you.”
Mary wanted to protest, but pinched her lips together instead. There was no sense arguing a moot point. She’d be hightailing it out of Kansas at the end of her employment. A twinge of what she could only describe as guilt fluttered through her midsection. Steve—who had spun around and left the room—was laying out an enormous amount of money in order for her to cook for his men for the next month. The forty dollars he was paying her and the seventy-five he’d agreed to give the mayor was more money than she’d ever seen at one time. She’d fulfill her commitment to him. The McCarys had honor and never had been indebted to anyone. Which was what she’d told Sheriff Freiday back in Ohio upon trading Buck for their train tickets.
Steve returned and handed the mayor several bills. As the sheriff led the mayor toward the door, Steve said to her. “The men are hungry, Miss McCary.”
Her thudding heart told her she should say thank-you, but her commonsense said not within hearing distance of the mayor, therefore she nodded and walked toward the stove. “Lunch is ready, Mr. Putnam. Please tell the men to come in and eat.”
The two large kettles of boiled dinner she’d made of ham, potatoes, carrots, onions and cabbage, as well as the cornbread disappeared in no time, as did the spice cake she’d baked for dessert, making her glad she’d carried Rex in a plate before the others had started to eat.
Relatively quiet while they ate, the men thanked her boisterously once they’d finished. Gathering their hats off the floor, they filed out the door. Steve followed, collecting his hat from a hook by the door. He paused, though, to glance back at her.
“Thank you, for—” Shrugging, she simply said, “Everything.” She hadn’t meant to whisper, but her voice didn’t want to work.
His expression softened as he said, “I expect supper on the table by six.”
“It will be.”
He nodded and pulled the door closed, and she pinched her lips as a grin formed. She would be eternally grateful that he hadn’t sent her back to town. At this moment, there was no place else she’d rather be than here.
Organized by nature, she had always liked being busy, and with the generous supply of food stuff, cooking for the men was not overly taxing. Most of her life she’d had to scrounge for the ingredients to put together every meal, which had taken far more time and effort.
After cleaning the kitchen and providing Rex with a couple spoonsful of tonic in order for him to rest for a bit, she went upstairs to burp the tonic. The fact Steve had told her to get rid of the tonic jiggled and mixed with her other thoughts. He was paying her well for being here, and she should obey some of his orders. Not this one of course—the tonic was her and Maggie’s future—but she could pretend to. Easing the cork back into the crock, she stood and crossed the room to look out the window. There had to be someplace she could hide it. Close enough to be tended to regularly, but hidden well enough that no one would notice.
After contemplating the underground cellar and springhouse and deciding they would be too cool, she settled her gaze on the woodshed. This time of year, the only wood needed was for the cook stove, and therefore she’d be the only one visiting it regularly. The jug could easily be hidden there, and no one would question her venturing out to get wood.
As she removed the jug, the jar of yeast starter she’d brought from Ohio shifted. She quickly caught it before it had a chance to tumble. The lid could never be tightened completely or the yeast would go bad. Noting the contents had more than tripled in size, she set it on the floor along with the jug of tonic. The yeast could be used for many things besides making tonic.
After she had the tonic jug hidden in the wood pile, she returned to the bedroom and using the straw from the trunk, carefully packed the bottles of tonic into two small crates she’d found in the pantry. The bottles would be easier to spot in the woodshed, so she stored them under her bed. Then she went to the kitchen where she’d left the jar of yeast starter on the table. There was more than enough yeast to make several batches of iron muffins.
Her heart tumbled inside her chest. Maggie loved iron muffins. Mary however, was not overly fond of them, probably because whenever their larder had been low, that was what she’d made, knowing Maggie loved the muffins so much no other food was necessary. She’d never told Maggie that. Letting her sister believe they were a treat had been more comforting than telling her it was their way to stave off hunger.
As she separated the starter, setting aside enough to feed over the next few days until it would be ready to rest and ferment into more, she wondered how Maggie was faring. Steve’s abundant supply of food had guilt twisting her stomach into knots. Being separated from Maggie, wondering if she was getting enough to eat, had a place to sleep, if people were being kind to her, was a constant worry. One she wasn’t taking lightly.
The idea she couldn’t do anything about it for the next thirty days weighed heavily. A few days were one thing. Being separated from Maggie for an entire month was entirely different. She would have to find a way to get a message to her sister. Perhaps she could convince Steve she needed help. He wouldn’t have to pay Maggie. What he was already paying her would be more than enough for both of them.
Her mind was as busy as her hands as she mixed up a batch of dough and set it to rest while mixing up a second batch. Surely he would agree to the idea. He would be getting twice the help for the same amount of money. That wasn’t true. As much as she loved her sister, Maggie had never been fond of work—that had been part of their argument on the train. Selling tonic was the only task Maggie had willingly taken on—and that wasn’t really work. The tonic sold itself.
Thinking of the tonic made Mary’s mind return to Steve. And she grinned. This time because of how he pretended he wasn’t pleased to have her here. At least that was what he wanted her to believe. To believe he was a tyrant. That wasn’t true. If he was, he’d have sent her to town with the mayor and the sheriff. Or with Brett last night.
A tyrant wouldn’t have put out that kind of money just to have his employees fed. A tyrant would have told his men to fend for themselves.
Which would have not worked in her favor. Not at all.
An odd sensation rolled inside her. It was almost as if she was glad Maggie wasn’t here, which made no sense. Flustered, she put all her focus into the muffins. By the time the first batch was ready to roll out, she had four other batches resting. She had to pull out every frying pan in the cupboards and when she was done grilling the muffins, there were enough to feed the men nothing but the spongy-on-the-inside-crisp-on-the-outside griddle cakes.
That of course wouldn’t do, but she grinned, hoping Steve liked the muffins as much as Maggie did.
Chapter Six (#ulink_2faa7d8c-e040-5de6-be25-ba2dfbbc49d1)
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.”

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