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.”
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’
