Embarrassed by his excessive praise, Linnea dabbed her mouth with her napkin and folded her hands in her lap. "I doubt any fancy restaurant would hire me," she protested with a shake of her head.
Half a dozen voices rose to assure her, and Will set down his coffee cup with a loud thunk. Silence descended on the table. He had a way of squashing a good mood like one would swat a bug.
One by one, the men excused themselves and left the kitchen, until only Linnea, Aggie and Will remained.
"Looked like you bought everything I had on my list," he said in his usual gruff manner.
"Yes."
"Did you get the kitchen supplies you needed?"
She proceeded to list the items she'd purchased on his account, including Aggie's needles and thread.
"Look what else the girl bought." Aggie had maneuvered herself up out of her chair and shuffled over to her sewing basket. She plucked out the eyeglasses and held them up so Will could see them.
"Not on your account," Linnea said quickly, making sure her employer didn't think she'd done anything without his approval.
"Aggie asked for those?" he asked.
"No," she replied.
Aggie put on the glasses and inspected Will with magnified eyes. "You've been frowning so much, you've worn lines in your forehead," she told him.
He ignored her.
Her eyes twinkling, Aggie continued, "She made a gift of 'em," she said, emphasizing the word gift in a haughty manner. "Some people do kind things just for the heck of it, don't ya know?"
Will glanced from Aggie to Linnea, a muscle in his jaw jumping, and she wasn't sure if his irritation was caused by Linnea or his stepmother…or both. "You bought them yourself?''
"Yes."
"I'll pay you back," he said.
"No need," she said. "It was my idea. I wanted to get them."
His storm-gray gaze moved over her hair and clothing, and she wondered if he was looking to see if she was wearing anything new.
He finished his coffee and stood. "Appears you did a good job with the shopping. That's one less chore I'll need to worry myself over. Plan to go into town every other week for supplies from now on."
Linnea's ears rang from his words, the closest she would likely ever get to hearing praise from the man. Relief washed over her. With Cimarron's help, she'd done well. She'd shown Will Tucker she was capable of another task, and he'd acknowledged the fact in his gruff manner.
And he'd said nothing about sending her away now that he knew about the baby she carried; in fact, he'd said that she'd be doing the shopping!
Her heart suddenly felt as light as a feather.
Without another word, he grabbed his hat and left the house, the screen door banging behind him.
"Charming dinner companion, isn't he?" Aggie remarked.
Linnea was too relived to think critically of the man right now.
"I'm making a trip out back," Aggie continued, "and then I'd like to take my sewing to my room. Would you mind moving my chair in there?''
"Not at all." Linnea stepped beside the fireplace and found the cane she'd been encouraging Aggie to use to keep her balance. "Take this."
Aggie accepted it and shuffled out the door.
After moving the rocker, Linnea scraped plates, and stacked and washed dishes. Although she didn't mind Aggie's company as she worked, it was nice to have the kitchen to herself for a change. She felt free to move about unobserved.
All day she had debated whether or not to accept Nash and Roy's encouragement to see the colt in the barn, but now knew she would do so when her chores were finished.
Finally, hanging her apron and the flour sack towels to dry, she carried warm water to her room, washed her face, and rebraided her hair. She wound the lengthy rope around her head and pinned it in place.
From her pathetic choice of clothing items, she selected a clean pressed skirt, brown as all of them were, and wore her oversize shirtwaist over it. Once, when she'd been married to Pratt, he'd traded stolen gunpowder for two bolts of fabric—both brown—and a half a dozen chickens.
The fabric had been new and the garments she'd sewn from it were serviceable. And she'd never had anywhere to go that required anything fancier. If she'd ever dreamed of colorful dresses in silky materials, hair ribbons or pearls, it had been long ago and in a state of hopeful innocence she'd long since lost. She hadn't minded all that much until Will Tucker looked her over, and she remembered his sister's lovely clothing and hair.
Linnea smoothed a little glycerin Aggie had given her into her hands and traveled through the darkened kitchen and out the door.
Nash and Roy lounged at the corner of the barn as though waiting for her. They straightened and smiled as she approached, touching their hat brims politely.
"Evenin', Miz McConaughy," Roy greeted her.
They led her into the barn, where lanterns were lit to guide their way. From a rear stall, the young colt pushed his nose through the gate as they approached.
"Oh, look, isn't that darling?" she asked.
"He remembers you," Roy told her.
Nash lifted an iron hook and opened the gate a mere foot. "Slip in."
"It's all right?"
"Sure, his mama's outside, and he's not afraid of you."
Sure enough the colt stretched his neck to catch her scent, and stepped nimbly forward when she entered the stall.
Linnea rubbed his bony forehead and finger-combed his coarse mane. The animal bumped his nose against her arm and nickered.
"You think he really remembers me?" she asked.
"Horses are smart critters," Nash replied. "He knows a friend when he meets one."
Linnea grinned and continued to pet and stroke the colt. She talked to him, and his ears pricked forward with interest.
The two hands allowed her to take all the time she wanted with her new friend, and eventually, thinking she was taking them away from something else, she told the colt goodbye and stepped out of the stall.
"Join us for coffee, ma'am," Roy said. "We always have a fire of an evenin' and sometimes Clem plays his harmonica."
"Oh, I don't want to intrude," she told him, hanging back.
"You're not intrudin'," he assured her. "The fellas told me to ask you. We'd like your company. Please?"
At those amazing words, she couldn't help but allow Roy and Nash to usher her out of the barn and around back of the bunkhouse a way to where the hands did indeed have a fire built in a circle of blackened stones. An enormous battered coffeepot sat to the side. All the men stood when she approached.
Ben Taylor handed her a cup of coffee and gestured for her to sit on a short stool, which was already waiting. She took the cup and the seat, and sipped the strong hot liquid, feeling sorely out of place. The men took their seats again and gave her encouraging nods.
"Want sugar?" Roy asked, holding a tin can toward her.
She accepted a spoonful and stirred it into the black brew.
"Hope the coffee's to yer likin', ma'am," Clem said with a gap-toothed grin. "Lost a spoon in mine, I did."
Linnea pulled out her spoon and glanced into her cup.
Chuckles erupted around the campfire.
She met their amused friendly gazes and realized she'd been teased.
"Don't mind Clem, he pulls that on a tenderfoot any time he can," Ben explained.
"Miz McConaughy's no tenderfoot," Cimarron objected. "Anybody seen somethin' she didn't know how to do yet?''
Several nos were spoken around the gathering, and her cooking skills were highly praised.
Linnea blushed, uncomfortable with the attention.
"Now, Emory Coleville was a tenderfoot," Roy said.
Cimarron chuckled and agreed. To Linnea he said, "This Coleville fella joined a trail drive, writin' a piece for a paper back East, he says. He was watchin' us break a few horses we caught along the trail in Montana."
Clem slapped his leg and hooted. "And he asked what made the horses so mad that they jumpe
d up and down!"
Laughter rose and Linnea joined in.
"We got a real gully washer one night,'' Cimarron told her. "Emory's socks got soaked inside his fancy shoes, so he hung 'em on a stick over the fire."
"The stick burned clean in two," Roy added, "droppin' his socks into the fire and scorching them. That crazy tenderfoot had to pull 'em out with another stick and wear 'em that way."
"How about the night we told that Jenkins kid to start the fire?" Clem asked.
Another story unraveled, and in no time the men's banter and laughter had her laughing until her cheeks ached. They included her in their conversations and vied to tell the most outrageous stories about each other. She listened, enjoying their playfulness and the ease with which they spoke to one another and to her.
She hadn't enjoyed herself so much around people for as long as she could remember. She'd never felt as accepted as she did around this mismatched gathering of men, young and old, who hailed from all over the country. And she had spent many a night beside a campfire with a gathering of men.
But those men had been unkempt with cagey expressions and glittering eyes. Their talk had been furtive, and bottles of whiskey had laced their words and their plans, and made her wary of every move and glance. Her husband had been one of them, but she'd never felt safe, not even when he was present.
Here there was no threat evident, no malice or malcontent on the lips of those who spoke. And Linnea drank it all in, like sipping sweet hot cocoa on a frosty night. A star twinkling overhead caught her attention, and she glanced up. What good fortune had brought her here? And how long could it last?
Chapter Nine
Will came upon the lively scene as he left the corral and headed for the barn. Fifty yards away, from the shadows of the building, he stopped and observed the motley gathering around the fire. To his surprise, his young widowed cook sat in the midst of the men's circle, looking for all the world as though she fit right in.
At the moment, Roy and Cimarron were trying to outdo each other in a far-fetched tale about a bear attack that had happened while they were ice fishing two winters ago. The story had grown out of proportion since Will had first heard it, and now included being lost in a cavern and running into a Sioux hunting party.
Even from this distance, the expression on Linnea's face was one of pure discovery and delight. She listened with rapt attention, which only drove the tale tellers to more extended heights of malarkey, and she wore a smile that would have lit the cool evening without a fire.
That smile changed everything about her; her plainness became gentle beauty, her timidity a sweet serenity, and the amazing transformation hit him like a plank in the chest.
He'd observed his men many a night. Some of them he knew from years riding herd, others since he'd started the ranch and hired them on. He was used to being an outsider while they swapped tales and speculated on subjects from ghosts and stars to womenfolk. Roy and Cimarron continually argued good-naturedly about the best knots and the best guns. But Will had never seen them like this with a woman in their midst.
Will hadn't missed the fact that whenever he stepped into their gatherings, the men fell silent and the laughter stopped. He told himself it was because he was their boss, and bosses couldn't afford to be too friendly with their help, but he didn't fool himself. It had been this way on trail drives, too, back when he wasn't the trail boss, but just another hand.
Not so with the widow McConaughy. If anything, the men's antics had increased and the mood become more jovial than ever with her here.
In that second, as he studied her in the firelight, the sound of her muffled crying across a campfire came to mind and brought with it a helpless regret, like a mistake he couldn't go back and fix. At the time, he'd wondered if there had been something he should have done. But she skittered from him like a prairie dog fleeing a fox and besides, he hadn't wanted to encourage her to think he might weaken and let her stay.
Might as well have; he'd broken down and changed his mind the very next morning. Or had it been that night? Had it been those tears?
Clem had pulled out his harmonica and begun to play "Red River Valley," a far cry from his usual saloon repertoire, and Will knew the choice was purely for Linnea's benefit.
Roy poured Linnea more coffee. Will could remember only one young woman, many years ago, who had caught Roy's attention. The girl had married another man, and Roy hadn't seemed inclined to keep company with females since. But his longtime partner was showing the same obvious weakness for Linnea as all the other hands. One after the other.
Somehow the woman had won over his sister, too. Had Corinne felt sorry for her? From day one, Linnea had ingratiated herself with Aggie. And today the eyeglasses. He would've bought 'em for the old woman if she'd said anything. Did Linnea have some deliberate ploy in mind? Get Aggie on her side. Sidle up to his men and get them soft toward her. If that was her plan, it was doggoned damned well working. Will studied each man settled around the fire and calculated their reaction when he finally had to let Linnea go.
And he would have to let her go. Wouldn't he? She was going to have a baby, and this was no place for her or a baby. Why hadn't she realized that herself? Why was he the only one concerned?
He turned and headed to the barn. After all these years, he still understood horses a lot better than he did people.
Cimarron caught Linnea's attention and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. Instantly, she stood to excuse herself from the gathering. "Thank you for the coffee and the visit," she said.
The men stood and wished her a good-night.
"I'll walk you back, ma'am," Cimarron said, join-ing her. "I'll show you the spot," he told her in a hushed voice, leading her away from the house in the darkness. "And after this time, you just meet me here. That way no one will see us leavin' together."
The moonlight guided them to a flat bank beside the bubbling stream. Cimarron lit a lantern he'd left in the crook of a tree and knelt to a saddle bag at its base. "I got these today."
He showed her two slates and opened a small cloth bag containing sticks of chalk. "We'll start with learning letters."
"Is that how you do it?" Linnea was somewhat disappointed to see no book in his bag.
He nodded and made a cushion with a saddle blanket for her on the ground beside the lantern. "That's how you do it. You memorize your letters first."
Linnea placed her hands on her cheeks, and her insides jittered. "I do hope I'm smart enough." She'd been worrying about the fact all day.
Cimarron chuckled. "You're plenty smart enough."
He proceeded to draw stick and circle symbols on the slate and tell her the names of the letters and what they sounded like used in words. He had her draw the same letters, and Linnea felt like a clumsy child. She placed her trust in her young teacher, though, believing him that A sounded two different ways depending on the word, and that B was a letter, not an insect that stung, although the letter was in the word bee.
Head swimming, and a million questions later, she couldn't believe the time was over when Cimarron concluded the lesson and opened his bag to pack the slates away.
Pausing, he held one toward her. "Would you like to keep it with you so you can practice?"
Without hesitation, she accepted the slate and gave him an appreciative smile. Linnea knew he had barely begun teaching her, and she was impatient to learn, but she was grateful for his time and generosity. "Your laundry is no charge from now on," she told him.
"That wasn't our agreement," he told her as they made their way toward the ranch house. "I can't let you do my wash for nothin'."
"Then I will pay you for my lessons."
"Your lessons are my pleasure, ma'am. I want to do them. For nothing. As a friend."
Linnea had never had a friend before. She rolled the word around in her mind. "And I want to do your shirts," she told him. "For nothing. As a—a friend."
She had him there, because he didn't argue any more. "All right
then."
He paused fifty yards from the house. "I'll watch you from here. Evenin', Miz McConaughy."
"Night," she replied. After bestowing a grateful smile, she hurried to the house, climbed the back stairs, and entered the kitchen.
Will Tucker sat at the table with a lantern, a ledger book opened before him. He glanced up.
"Mr. Tucker!" She hid the slate behind her skirts.
He nodded and looked down at his figures.
"Can I get you a cup of coffee? There's apple strudel left."
"Got my own coffee." He gestured to a mug on the tabletop.
Removing her shawl, she draped it over the back of a chair, then walked into the pantry, hid the slate behind a crockery jar and scooped dry beans into a kettle. After carrying the pot of beans back to the kitchen, she set it under the pump.
"Here." Will Tucker's chair scraped back, and he stood, moving forward to edge her aside and prime the pump.
Surprised at his helpfulness, she stood aside and watched.
Water splashed into the kettle and he continued until the container was half-full. "That enough?"
"Yes, that's good."
He lifted the pan by the handle and set it on the back of the stove. "Set it here to soak overnight?"
She nodded. "Thank you."
When he went back to his seat, she scooped a measure of salt from the wooden box with her fingers and dropped it into the water.
She looked over her shoulder. He picked up a quill pen and dipped it in ink, then wrote something on the paper. Her attention was drawn to his knuckles, scraped and raw looking.
"What happened to your hand?" she asked, without thinking.
He glanced at the cuts. "Mare backed me against a stall gate today."
"You washed those fingers good?"
He nodded.
"You should probably put something on them or they'll be sore tomorrow when you bend your fingers."
The man turned and looked at her then, making her uncomfortable as always beneath his gaze. She glanced away.
"I suppose so," he said.
"I'll get something." She moved to the shelf beside the pantry which held salves and ointments in tins. Opening one, she sniffed the contents, then returned to the table. "This should do."
The Tenderfoot Bride Page 8
