The woman lived in a well-furnished home, the likes of which Linnea had never seen until she was ushered into the parlor and served tea in a delicate porcelain cup.
Corinne had assured her of the cooking job, given her encouragement and hope, treated her with respect and dignity, and even offered her a room in which to stay until travel arrangements were made and she was on her way.
When Cimarron had picked Linnea up in Denver, and she'd seen his smile and sensed no resentment or anger, she'd felt as though she'd landed in a dream world. Even spending two nights on the trail with him, she'd never been afraid. Starved for friendship and acceptance, she'd been drawn to his easygoing manner and brotherly smile.
Will Tucker, on the other hand, was more familiar territory. He was like the other men in her life, heartless men who had never given her a chance to prove her worth. But, she thought, moving across the yard toward the house in the darkness, that was not entirely fair, because he had given her a chance. He'd given her one month to prove she could do the work.
If that was the extent of the kindness and generosity that his sister had claimed he possessed, Linnea would have to say Corinne had exaggerated.
And Linnea had done the work, that had never been a question in her mind. But she'd angered him with the secret of her baby.
She'd never had the luxury of feeling safe or wanted, and though those securities were not to be hers, it didn't seem that fate had left her out to dry completely. There was plenty of beef and chicken on the Double T, as well as milk, eggs and crates of dried apples and bags of flour and sugar. Nearby she'd seen peach trees that would bear fruit in summer, and vegetables were growing in the garden. She and her baby were well nourished.
In the little room at the corner of the house, she had more privacy than she'd ever known. And so far no one had raised a hand to her. And…
A tingling excitement combined with the fear of doing something forbidden brought a shiver to her spine. She was going to learn to read.
Chapter Seven
Will Tucker didn't speak to her the following morning. At the opposite end of the table from where he sat, Linnea filled tin bowls from an enormous kettle of oatmeal. The hands passed them around and Will got his first. He helped himself to the pitchers of milk and molasses and slathered butter on bread she'd toasted in the oven.
She'd learned that the men would eat anything she prepared, and that they would eat a lot of it. Over the weeks she had doubled the amount of food she'd originally thought would suffice and the men had consumed it all.
"Cimarron and Mrs. McConaughy will be in town come noontime. Roy, you come in and slice a ham and bread for our meal."
Roy nodded. "Will do, boss."
Linnea had been wondering how the midday meal would work, but they'd obviously managed without her before she'd arrived and could do so for one meal.
"Cimarron, you see to it Mrs. McConaughy packs somethin' for both of you to eat on the road."
Cimarron glanced at Linnea. It would have been more suitable for Will to instruct Linnea to prepare their meal, but instead he'd spoken to Cimarron. She looked away and arranged places for herself and Aggie to sit, then helped the old woman onto one of the few chairs. Stools and long benches surrounded the long table, but the two women had each been designated a chair for their use. Settled in, Aggie ate her oatmeal in silence.
The conversation turned to the day's work. Will assigned chores and finished his meal in silence as the rest of the men bantered about the less desirable jobs.
Linnea had noticed that the men listened with respect when the ranch owner spoke. They accepted their duties and asked questions regarding watering, moving cattle and treating horses. When the conversation veered from work, however, the hands joked and teased, but Will didn't join in.
When he'd finished eating, Will pushed back his chair, took his hat from the rack near the door and exited without another word. The hands never seemed to notice the lack of pleasantries, but Linnea did.
A few of the others finished, thanked her and headed out.
When there were only a handful left, Linnea asked Roy, "I've been wondering how the young colt is doing. The one that was attacked by the coyote."
"He's doin' just fine, Miz McConaughy. The wounds are healed, he's growin' like a weed and frisky as all get-out. I think we'll be movin"im out of the barn later in the week."
Linnea gave him a shy smile. "That's good."
"Come out to the barn and see Mm," Nash suggested.
"Oh, I don't know…" she said, hesitating. "I wouldn't want to be in the way." She didn't know if her boss would want her where he hadn't invited her. Her trip out to talk to Cimarron last night had been dangerous enough.
"Sure," Roy agreed with Nash. "Come out later tonight and we'll show you the little fella."
Roy was the ranch foreman. She supposed if he said it was all right to visit the barn, it wouldn't hurt. "If you think it will be okay with Mr. Tucker."
"Heck, ma'am, you helped doctor that little guy," Nash said. "Ain't no harm in you getting a gander at 'im now that he's better."
She would like to see the colt, so she agreed. "All right then."
The men grinned and thanked her for the meal and sauntered out.
Linnea set about hurrying through the cleanup and the dishes, then settled Aggie into her chair and gathered her sewing for her. "Do you need anything while I'm in town?" she asked.
"I'd ask you to get me some threads for my piecework, but I can hardly see the stitches anymore,'' the elderly woman said with a disgusted cluck. "Don't get old, girl. It's no damned fun."
Linnea hung her apron and hurried to her room to check her hair in the grainy mirror. She settled the hat with the daisies on her head, surveyed her dowdy appearance in her baggy brown dress and took one of her precious coins to knot into the corner of a handkerchief and tuck into her pocket. She didn't intend to spend it, but if she needed her own money, she would have it.
When she hurried out, Cimarron had two horses standing in the traces before the springboard. He courteously stepped forward to assist her up to the seat, his polite touch not the least disturbing. He had placed a folded saddle blanket on her side of the bench seat, and as the wagon rolled over the ruts in the road, she was grateful for the padding.
The mountain air still held a morning chill, and though the afternoon would be blazing, Linnea was glad she'd brought her shawl.
As before, when he'd brought her to the ranch, Cimarron was a pleasant traveling companion. "You comfortable, Miz McConaughy?" he asked.
"Yes, thank you," she replied. The baby gave a healthy kick just then, and instinctively she placed her palm on her belly. Embarrassed, she drew her hand away quickly.
"One of my sisters is older than me, and she has two boys," Cimarron told her comfortably.
She remembered his mention of the ornery redheaded sisters. She turned to study his profile.
"My younger sister teaches school back in Indiana."
"Is that where you're from?" she asked.
"Yup. But I didn't want to farm, and I took off on a trail drive when I was just sixteen. My pa left the land to my sister and her husband, and they farm it now."
"Your father is dead?"
"Yes'm. My mama and my younger sister moved to Fort Wayne. Ever been there?''
"No. I've only passed through the southern end of the state."
"Where are you from?" he asked, not prying, but making friendly conversation. Still, the question made her uncomfortable.
"My father moved us around when I was a girl," she said simply. "My husband did the same."
"What did your husband do?"
Linnea had dreaded being asked that question, and she wasn't a very good liar. "He worked on the railroad. What kind of bird is that?''
Her companion glanced in the direction she pointed.
"Stellar's jay," he replied. "See the black crest and the dark blue wings? Noisy birds, those are."
Perched on the l
imb of a spindly juniper, the bird cawed loudly as if on cue, then took off with a flap of wings.
The rest of their trip was spent in companionable silence. When they reached Rock Falls, Linnea discreetly found an outhouse behind the livery while Cimarron watered the horses.
He showed her to the feed store, where he read the list to the owner and waited on the dock while the bags were loaded into the wagon bed.
Next came the mercantile, and when they entered the establishment, he guided her toward the front, quietly naming the first five items on the list, so she could request them herself.
A small man moved out from the shadows behind a stack of denim trousers and squinted at them. A pair of round spectacles sat atop his shiny bald head, the earpieces stuck into fuzzy yellow-white hair that sprouted on the sides of his head. He wore a white shirt with suspenders and an apron. "Double T, ain't it?"
"Yes," Cimarron replied. "This is Miz McConaughy," he said. "She's our cook now, and she'll be ordering supplies for Mr. Tucker and for her kitchen."
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma'am," the man said. "Marcus Carmichael, proprietor, at your service."
"How do you do, Mr. Carmichael. Mr. Tucker needs kerosene, shingles, ten penny nails and a razor," she said easily.
He turned in a sprightly manner and set about gathering the supplies. "Young fella, you'll carry the shingles from next door."
Cimarron said softly, "Give him your cooking supply list next." He tapped his temple, indicating she had it all in her head, then strode away.
Linnea took a breath, closed her eyes, and recalled all the items she'd gone over during the ride, praying she wouldn't forget anything. "I need twenty pounds of coffee, a sack of flour, one of sugar, salt, a barrel of vinegar, baking soda…" She continued ticking off items as Mr. Carmichael gathered them.
"Do you have thread for piecework?" she asked.
"There's a crate over by the fabrics," he replied.
Linnea studied the orderly bolts of colorful fabrics, ran her palm over one of the soft-looking materials and admired the variety of patterns and hues.
"Like something for a new dress?" the store owner asked, surprising her with his nearness.
"Oh, no," she said, snatching back her hand and moving toward the crate which held threads. She picked out a few colors for Aggie.
Back at the counter, he asked, "Need needles, too?" He squinted at a package, then remembered the spectacles on his head and brought them down to study a card of needles through their lenses. "These should do."
Noting his action, Linnea asked without forethought, "Do you sell spectacles?"
He bent to reach under the counter and pulled out a cigar box, which he opened and showed her. "Crystalline lenses," he told her. "They're the finest. The shape of the temples keeps these from falling off." He removed his own and demonstrated. "They're steel, so they're more affordable than gold-filled. Unless you want gold?"
"No, no steel is fine."
"Want to see if they fit properly?" He picked up the eyewear and held them out to her.
"They're not for me, they're for Mrs. Tucker. How much do they cost?"
"A dollar."
"Oh."
"Comes with this nice leather case."
She studied it, thinking.
"Want me to put them on the ranch account?"
"No," she said quickly. Will Tucker had not requested anything other than his supplies and the food necessities. She had no authority to spend a dollar of his money.
Linnea touched the handkerchief tucked into her pocket, felt the hard round coin. A sense of burning independence and pride came over her. She could spend her own money any way she saw fit.
She pulled out her hanky and untied the coin. "I'll pay for them with this."
"I'll wrap up the eyeglasses for you, Miz McConaughy,'' he said, reaching out for her dollar.
Linnea looked at his hand. Then she looked at the coin. And placed it in his palm.
The store owner's fingers closed over it.
Linnea blinked and looked up to watch him carelessly drop it in his cash box and close the metal lid. Gone. He folded the spectacles into their case, wrapped it in brown paper, and handed her the small package, along with the wrapped thread and needles. "Anything else for you today?"
Linnea accepted her purchase almost reverently. "No, thank you."
Cimarron returned then, and with their shopping finished, he led her out to the wagon. She waited on the seat while he and Mr. Carmichael loaded the rest of the crates and bags and Cimarron covered the supplies with a tarpaulin.
"We can stop a ways outside town to eat," he told her, glancing at the sun overhead in the sky.
She nodded her compliance and the horses jerked the wagon forward. Linnea tucked the small wrapped bundle into one of her roomy pockets for safekeeping.
Chapter Eight
They were back at the ranch in plenty of time for her to start supper. She gave Aggie the thread and needles, and the old woman thanked her, setting them aside to watch Linnea peel potatoes.
Linnea glanced at Aggie, remembering her remarks that morning, and wondering how the woman would react to the gift Linnea had brought back for her. Having second thoughts about her impulsive purchase, she wondered if Aggie would even be willing to try the eyeglasses. "I got something for you."
She dried her hands on her apron, and hurried back to her room where she took the paper-wrapped case from a drawer and carried it back to the kitchen, hoping the woman wouldn't be offended. She almost lost her nerve and ran back to her room, but she'd already told Aggie she had something for her, so she had to go through with it.
Linnea approached shyly. "I got these for you when I was in town."
"You already gave them to me."
"No, the thread was on Mr. Tucker's account. This is something I bought."
Aggie sat up a little straighter. "What is it?"
Linnea unwrapped the paper, revealing the leather case. She opened it and showed Aggie the eyeglasses that lay within.
Aggie's brows shot up. "Spectacles?"
"The mercantile owner uses them. He said these are called crystalline lenses, and that they're the very finest. They make the object you're looking at bigger, so you see it better."
Aggie simply studied the contents of the case.
"Want to try them?" Linnea asked.
Aggie shifted in her rocker for a moment, as though considering. Her expression showed her interest was piqued. "Can't hurt to try," she said finally.
Linnea sat the paper and case aside and lifted the eyeglasses out, opening the earpieces and holding them toward Aggie.
Aggie accepted them, settling the spectacles on her nose while Linnea helped her get the curved metal around her ears. That done, Linnea stepped back.
"Oh, my!" Aggie stared at her and blinked in surprise. "Land sakes, you're kind of pretty, girl!"
She picked up Aggie's embroidery hoop and handed it to her. "Look at this."
"Oh, my," Aggie said again.
"Can you see it better?"
"Looks like it's right in my face," she said with a dry chuckle. "Didn't realize that was blue." She pointed with a gnarled finger to the center of a flower she'd stitched on the fabric. "Thought it was black."
Linnea had knelt down beside her and joined her in looking at the various colors of the threads.
"I used to do a better job," Aggie said wistfully.
"It looks fine to me," Linnea replied.
A moment later, Aggie looked up at her, her faded blue eyes sparkling behind the lenses. "You did a real nice thing, girl. Thank you."
Linnea couldn't remember ever being able to buy a gift. It felt good. Aggie's pleasure seeped into her and warmed a lonely place in her heart. "You're welcome."
Linnea straightened and went back to the potatoes. After they were peeled and covered with water, she glanced over at Aggie. The woman was staring at her.
"You're carryin' a child," she stated.
&nbs
p; Uncomfortable with her stare, Linnea nodded.
"I felt your belly when you brushed up against me a couple of times," she said, "but I didn't realize that's what it was for sure. Does Will know?"
"He knows."
Aggie's blaring cackle filled the kitchen. "No wonder he's had an extra burr under his saddle lately. He gave his word he'd let you prove yourself and then he found out you were carryin' a babe. Did his face turn real red?''
Linnea nodded.
Aggie chortled. "Did his ears go back like a horse gettin' ready to buck?"
Linnea couldn't help a cringe at Aggie's apt description of Will Tucker's reaction. It seemed so strange to her that the old woman took perverse pleasure in anything that irritated her stepson. "He was upset and rightly so," she said simply.
Aggie set the rocker to moving and cast a look over Linnea's clothing. "Your husband left you flat broke, huh?"
Linnea nodded again.
Aggie clucked and shook her head as though she sympathized. "Damned fool men. Ain't a one of them have the sense God gave a mule."
Linnea stoked the fire under her potatoes and hurried to set the table.
It wasn't long before the men filtered in and seated themselves. They all showed up with clean hands and faces, most with hair wet and slicked back after their turn at the pump. She surveyed the gathering, noticing the assortment of shirts she had been paid to wash, iron, and mend. They looked mighty nice if she said so herself.
Will Tucker, too, made a habit of coming to the table freshly washed and groomed. Linnea didn't look directly at him, but took sidelong glances when he wasn't looking her way.
The hands were extravagant with their appreciation for the meal and the apple cobbler she'd baked for them that afternoon.
When she served the dessert and poured fresh coffee, silence drifted over the room, and in an almost reverent state, the men slowly consumed the warm cinnamon-flavored dessert.
"You have a considerable talent for baking, Miz McConaughy," Roy told her. "We're lucky you settled for ranch life, instead of cookin' for some fancy restaurant in the city."
The Tenderfoot Bride Page 7
