by Kit Morgan
She turned to Mr. Cummings, still slowly plowing through his meal. “Is the chicken not to your liking?”
He looked at her, his last bite of potatoes halfway to his mouth. He’d already eaten his roasted vegetables and nearly all his potatoes, but hadn’t touched his chicken. “Just enjoying one thing at a time, ma’am.”
“We’re glad you’re enjoying your supper,” Zadie commented. “And happy you could join us.”
He stopped chewing and nodded.
“We have cookies for dessert,” Lillie added for good measure.
Both Luella and Mr. Cummings looked toward her. Luella knew Lillie could read lips, but was still surprised that she’d followed the conversation so well. Mr. Cummings must’ve thought so too, judging from the astonished look on his face. He gave Jess’s wife a slow nod and finished his potatoes.
Luella, in turn, studied him more closely and once again pondered what he looked like under all those whiskers. Maybe she should move that particular item – talking Jess into ensuring his hired hands were clean-shaven and decently groomed – up her list. She’d helped her father and mother keep the ranch at home shipshape; she could do the same here. Her attention to detail and order was one of the reasons they’d sent for her. And when she started a task, she bloody well finished it.
“Have you unpacked yet, Lu?” Anson asked.
“Lu?” Wylie said. “I thought your name was Luella.”
Mr. Cummings surprised her by turning to the child and saying, “Most of her family calls her Lu.” He looked at Jess. “But her brother calls her…”
“Don’t say it.” Luella pointed a warning finger at him.
“Oh, do!” Jess encouraged. “I dare you.”
Mr. Cummings swallowed hard, appearing to weigh the outcome. Finally he leaned towards Wylie and whispered into his ear. Wylie laughed.
“What?” said his little sister Katie. “Tell me!”
“Children,” their mother said. “That’s enough.”
“Lulubell,” Jess hissed.
Luella glared across the table and pointed at him. “You are going to get it.”
Jess laughed and turned to Mr. Cummings. “See, what did I tell you? Watch yourself.”
Luella’s mouth fell open. “Jess Jones! Just what have you been saying to this man about me?”
Jess’s hands flew up. “Nothing, nothing at all. I plead not guilty.”
She turned her ire on Mr. Cummings, whose eyes widened ever so slightly. “Well?”
He made the same gesture as her brother. “I am but an innocent bystander, ma’am.”
She shook her head. “No, you’re not.” She snatched her napkin from her lap and put it on the table. “Dessert, anyone?” She pushed her chair back, got up and went to the kitchen.
“Uh-oh – we’re in for it now, Jonas,” Jess said.
“What do you mean?” Jonas asked, trying to remain calm. All he needed was to be pestered by an uppity woman.
“It means that my dear sweet cousin Lu might serve you cookies made with salt instead of sugar,” Anson explained.
Wylie and Katie started to giggle.
Jonas’s eyebrows rose in alarm. “I’d better make sure to take my meals in the barn, where it’s safe.” His expression showed he wasn’t making a joke.
Four
Luella walked to the barn, basket in hand. Mr. Cummings hadn’t shown up for breakfast, but she’d make sure the man didn’t go hungry. “Mr. Cummings?” she called as she entered.
There was a rustling of hay from one of the stalls, and out he popped. “Miss Jones.”
She took a few steps forward. “Is that where you sleep?”
“No, ma’am. Mine’s the last stall on the left.”
Luella went straight for it and looked inside. There was a pile of straw with a bedroll on top of it. She gasped in indignation. “This will never do.”
“Beg pardon, ma’am?”
She spun on him with enough force to make the basket on her arm swing around. “You’re sleeping on the ground?!”
He looked her up and down, as if he couldn’t believe his ears. Maybe he couldn’t. She did have that effect on people. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but I sleep on a bedroll, on a pile of hay, that’s on the ground.”
She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Didn’t my brother offer you a cot?”
“He did.”
She stared at him as if he’d grown a third eye. “And you turned it down?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She covered her face with one hand and let it slide down to her chin. “I see.” She set the basket down, reached into her apron, pulled out a small black notebook and a pencil and scribbled something down. When she looked up, Mr. Cummings seemed wary. “My list,” she explained, stabbing the notebook with a final period. She closed it and put it and the pencil back in her pocket, then offered him the basket.
To her surprise, he leaned back as if she’d pointed a knife at him. “Ma’am?”
Luella shoved the basket at him. “You missed breakfast. Here it is.”
“Chores,” he replied. If he leaned back any farther, he’d fall over.
Luella ignored the non sequitur. “Take it.” She moved closer. Maybe if he had the basket in his hands, the weight would pull him forward again.
He finally took the basket and, miracle of miracles, straightened. “Thank you.”
She eyed him. “You’re a man of few words, aren’t you, Mr. Cummings?”
“So I’m told.”
Hmmm, she thought, pulled out her trusty notebook and pencil and jotted another item on her list.
“You ever show anyone that list of yours?”
Her head snapped up. She couldn’t believe the man spoke a full sentence. Maybe she could scratch that last item off. “Not until all items are completed. Otherwise, what’s the point?”
“I don’t know. What is the point?”
She shifted her weight, finished writing and once again put the items away. “The point is to finish the list, one item at a time. Though they don’t have to be finished in any particular order – they just need to get done.”
“Then what happens?”
She blinked at him a few times. Had the man never made a list? “Then you can show you did them, of course.”
“To who?”
Luella clasped her hands in front of her and took a deep breath. “Those you are doing the list for, so they can see you’ve accomplished every task.”
“Can’t they see for themselves?”
Her hands came down, and, for lack of a better idea, she put them in her apron pockets, lest she throttle the man. She had a feeling he was teasing her in a dry sort of way, but couldn’t be sure. “Not always.”
“Hmmm,” he said, then peeked at the basket. “Much obliged for the food.”
“You’re welcome.” She turned to leave. “Oh, I’ll be back for the basket in an hour.”
He mumbled something, but she couldn’t tell what. No matter, she’d taken care of one more item on her list. When she came back, she’d make sure she finished another.
Feeling more accomplished, Luella headed back to the house just as a wagon pulled into the barnyard. Some of the men from town had come to help Jess and Anson work on Jess’s house. Good. The sooner it was done, the sooner her brother and Lillie would have their own space. Though she had to admit, it was nice having everyone gathered around the dining table last night. Even Mr. Cummings.
She glanced over her shoulder at the barn when she reached the house. She’d made biscuits and gravy for breakfast, one of Sally Upton’s recipes, put some in a bowl and covered it with a napkin. She’d also placed an apple in the basket, thinking a working man would need the extra food. If he didn’t eat the fruit now, he could always eat it later.
Inside the house she cleared off the kitchen table, did the dishes and put everything away, then went upstairs to check on Zadie, Lillie and the babies. She found them all in Zadie’s room, the babies sound asle
ep in their cradles, their mothers asleep on the bed. Zadie and Lillie had dozed off in the midst of doing the mending. She smiled, plucked the mending basket off the end of the bed and quietly left the room.
Downstairs she swept the kitchen floor, dusted the parlor and mended a shirt, all before it was time to return to the barn. Proud of herself, she pulled out her list and crossed off several morning chores, then returned her notebook to her pocket, gathered what she needed and left the house. She just hoped she’d be able to cross off her next item before day’s end.
* * *
Jonas had just finished cleaning all the stalls when she came back. He had to admit, the woman was a mighty fine cook, if a little strange. “The basket’s in the tack room,” he told her.
“Good, thank you. I’ll just leave these items in there for you for later.”
He glanced up from his work. “What items?”
She turned to him, one eyebrow raised in question – or challenge? Jonas wasn’t sure. In her hands she held a tray covered with white linen. “Just be sure you take care of business, Mr. Cummings.”
He slowly cocked his head to one side. “Business?”
She smiled. “You’ll see. Something that will benefit everyone, I’m sure. You’ll join us for lunch?”
He swallowed. “No, ma’am.”
Her eyebrows lowered. He’d bet a silver dollar she wasn’t going to take “no” for an answer. Sure enough … “I’m afraid that’s unacceptable.”
He leaned against the pitchfork, a half-smile on his face. “Why is that, ma’am?”
“Because we’re having soup for lunch, that’s why. I can’t very well bring soup out here for you – you’ll just have to come and get it.” She headed for the tack room. Thank Heaven she’d be gone soon. Though she was nice to look at …
She soon emerged with the basket. “Be so kind as to make use of the implements in the tack room, Mr. Cummings.” She smiled, a determined gleam in her eye. “The family expects it.”
His eyes flashed in alarm. Now what? He waited for her to leave before he set the pitchfork aside and went to inspect what she’d left behind. He took one look at what now sat where the basket had been and groaned. “She can’t be serious …”
Everything needed to give himself a shave and a haircut lay on the tray, the linen cover neatly folded and placed to one side. Now what was he going to do? He purposely kept his hair long and his face bearded to keep from being recognized. But from the sound of it, if he didn’t clean up, his job might be in jeopardy. The family expects it, she’d said. And Caleb was clean-shaven and kept his hair neat.
Jonas unconsciously reached up and touched his own hair. Maybe the Joneses had been watching him the last few weeks, testing his skills against the job they’d offered, seeing if he could cut it. Well, if they wanted him to clean up, they obviously planned to keep him. That was the good news.
The bad news was he’d risk being recognized if he ever crossed paths with any of his brother’s old gang, something he wanted to avoid. Rumor was they thought he knew where Clyde had hidden some of his stolen loot. Heck, the only person who knew the whereabouts of any of Clyde’s stash was Clyde, and he’d taken it to his unmarked grave.
His only consolation was, he was in Montana. Clyde and his brothers had done their dirty deeds in Kansas and Missouri. How far would any of Clyde’s old gang be inclined to wander? Even if they got this far, Jonas hadn’t even been to Morgan’s Crossing since he started working for the ranch. He supposed cleaning up to keep his job was a small price to pay. He’d just make sure he didn’t go into town often.
With a sigh, Jonas picked up the scissors, then reached for the hand mirror.
* * *
Luella set the tureen of soup on the dining room table. The table itself was full of men happy to break for lunch. Where the women in the family usually sat were the men from town. All the seats were filled – but someone was missing. “Where is Mr. Cummings?” she asked.
Anson glanced around the table. “No idea. His loss.”
“Really, cousin, the man can’t keep eating in the barn. He’s not an animal.”
Anson shrugged as Zadie came out of the kitchen, a platter of freshly sliced bread in her hands. “Here you go, gentlemen.”
“Thank ya kindly, Mrs. Jones,” one of the men said.
Luella put her hands on her hips. “Well, if he’s hungry later, then it’s his fault.” She turned to head back into the kitchen and instead bounced off a broad chest. “Oh!” She looked up to see whom she’d slammed into, and gasped.
“Well, well, Jonas – look at you,” Anson said in surprise. “Glad you could join us. Gentlemen, this is our newest hand, Jonas Cummings. Jonas, have a seat … oh, wait a minute. They’re all taken …”
“I can eat in the barn,” Jonas said.
Luella, now fully recovered, blurted, “You’ll do no such thing!”
Several men at the table chuckled.
“I mean, you … can’t very well carry soup out there.” She licked her lips, then did the most unladylike thing possible: she stared. With his hair snipped to just above his shirt collar, his face shaven and … by golly, had he even bathed? Well, needless to say, Jonas Cummings was an extremely handsome man. She swallowed hard and tried to catch her breath. “You may sit with … us.”
“Us?” he repeated.
“She means at the kitchen table,” Zadie explained. “I know Wylie and Katie won’t mind, Jonas. They like you.”
Luella noticed she’d stopped breathing altogether and did her best to start. “You’ll be fine and we have plenty of room.”
“Go on, Jonas, enjoy a hot meal,” Jess nodded toward the kitchen door.
Mr. Cummings nodded back, squared his shoulders and shuffled into the next room.
Five
Caleb White’s stepchildren had no shortage of giggles as Jonas sat himself at the kitchen table. “Don’t mind them,” Mrs. White said as she stretched. “They’ve obviously warmed up to you or they wouldn’t be acting so silly.”
He winked at Katie, and the little girl blushed and giggled again. “I don’t mind, Mrs. White. I like younguns.”
“Do … you have any children?” Miss Jones asked with a hint of hesitancy.
“No. Never been married.”
“I must say,” Mrs. White added, “I can’t understand why not.”
He looked at her, eyebrows raised in alarm.
“What Viola means is, well, you clean up nicely, Mr. Cummings,” Miss Jones added.
He could say the same about her. She was a pretty thing, with the most fascinating eyes. But it was the way her mind worked that really got his attention. He reached for a slice of bread. “How so?” he asked.
She blushed. “Well, um … your hair … your jaw, I mean, face.”
“Go on,” he said casually as he buttered his bread. He shouldn’t be having so much fun with this, and normally he wouldn’t. But it had been a long time since something made him laugh, even if inwardly.
“Oh, um … no, that’s all,” she stammered and snatched a slice of bread for herself. “Careful, the soup’s hot.” She’d placed a tureen on the dining table, but in the kitchen they ladled soup into their bowls straight from the pot.
Jonas waited until Mrs. White had served her children and herself, then ladled some into a bowl and handed it to Miss Jones. She gaped at him as if he’d handed her a live squirrel. “Oh yes, well, thank you,” she mumbled, taking the bowl.
He served himself. “Where’s the other womenfolk?”
“Upstairs with the little ones,” Miss Jones informed him. “They ate as soon as the soup was ready.”
“Now I suppose it’s the babies’ turn,” he said.
“For what?” asked Wylie between slurps of soup.
“Lunch. Babies got to eat too.”
“How come you don’t have no babies?” Katie asked.
“Katie!” Mrs. White said, mortified. “Don’t ask the man such things.”
&nbs
p; He looked to see what Miss Jones thought of the child’s question. Her expression said she was waiting for his answer just as Katie was.
“I was only asking, Mama,” the child said.
“To answer your question,” he said, his eyes still fixed on Miss Jones. “I’ve never been married. Not supposed to have babies unless you’re married.”
Miss Jones shifted in her chair, put her napkin in her lap and picked up her spoon. “Shall we say the blessing?”
“Oh land sakes,” said Mrs. White. “I forgot all about it. Wylie, put down your spoon.”
“Aw, Mama,” he whined.
Miss Jones smiled at Mrs. White. “That’s all right, I’m sure your mind is on other things.” She turned to Jonas. “Would you do us the honor, Mr. Cummings?”
Jonas’s breath caught. He hadn’t prayed in a while, not since prison. Five years of praying hadn’t gotten him anywhere then, so he hadn’t bothered since …
“Mr. Cummings?”
“Oh yeah, sure.” He bowed his head. “Uh … dear Lord, bless this food. Um … amen.” He really had nothing else to say. It would have to do. But when he looked up, the women and children were staring at him. “What?”
Wylie and Katie exchanged a glance, and Wylie shook his head. “You need some practice.”
“Wylie!” the two women said at once.
Jonas snorted. “Yes, I do. Thank you for pointing that out.”
“You’re welcome,” the child said. “I can help you if you want.”
By this time the boy’s mother had turned pink with embarrassment. Miss Jones, on the other hand, looked thoroughly amused. “Out of the mouth of babes.”
He nodded and took a spoonful of soup.
After the meal he thanked the women for lunch, promised Wylie he could teach him how to pray “proper-like” and returned to the barn. He’d been cleaning it most of the day, making room for the new batch of hay they’d bring in soon. Aside from horse breeding, the Joneses raised grass hay for their stock. Jess had told him the history of the ranch and its humble beginnings when he’d hired on. The Jones brothers had built it up quickly, which impressed Jonas. He could learn a thing or two from those men.
