by Lily Reynard
"Mr. Williams, I'm very sorry about the misunderstanding. I assure you that I would have never come here if I had known that my presence here would cause strife." Her voice quavered a little as she spoke.
Walt felt a surge of protectiveness as he noted how scared and lost she looked despite her calm tone. And this mess is all my fault, dammit! I need to find a way to fix this!
Larkin straightened up. To Walt's relief, he looked sheepish rather than angry now.
"Look here, Miss Hunter," he said. "I'm sorry you heard that. I may not want to marry you, but I don't mind if you want to stay a while and get to know Walt better."
Unfortunately, his words had the opposite effect from what Walt hoped.
Sarah raised her chin proudly. "I couldn't help but overhear part of your conversation just now. Since you think that my presence here will be a burden, I think it's best if I take lodgings at that big brick hotel we passed in town. Or perhaps Mrs. Kottinger will be kind enough to rent me a room until the next train arrives."
She dumped the contents of the basin into the rosebush growing next to the back steps and went back inside the house.
Walt dropped his hoe and rushed after her. He caught up to her in the kitchen. "Sarah, please don't go! Or at least, not yet. Twin Forks is no place for a respectable woman without a man to protect you."
"But I'm clearly not welcome here," she pointed out.
"You are!" he protested. "Look, I'm the one who invited you here, and it's my responsibility to make sure you're safe and comfortable. The rooms upstairs are yours for as long as you want them." He wasn't used to begging, but he'd made such all-fired mess of things that he was willing to go down on his knees to keep her from leaving. "Please stay."
He held his breath as she thought things over. Finally, she sighed. "All right. I'll stay…at least until the next train arrives."
"Thank you," he said, feeling the words well up from the bottom of his heart. He wanted to lean in and kiss her, but he didn't dare frighten her off after having worked so hard to convince her not to leave.
She looked around the kitchen. "I'd be happy to prepare luncheon, if you don't mind me invading your pantry and cellar."
Luncheon. Now there's a dandified word!
"Not at all," Walt said with enthusiasm. "Let me show you where everything is."
Chapter Seven
Sarah went upstairs to dig through Liza's trunk in hopes of finding a cookbook, since her own suitcase had gone with Liza's remains.
She bitterly regretted losing her treasured copy of Mrs. Beeton's invaluable book on cooking and housekeeping, which had been a sixteenth birthday present from her mother just a month before consumption claimed her life.
She knelt on the rag rug before the trunk and began removing piles of Liza's neatly folded clothing while trying to think of a way that she could calm the situation between Walt and his friend.
Despite her brave words about leaving just now, she had to find a way to somehow soften Larkin William's heart towards her presence here, because her painfully reduced funds would not cover an extended stay at a hotel, much less new train fare to Butte.
She tried to take it as a favorable omen when she found several books at the bottom of Liza's trunk, including a battered copy of Mrs. Beeton's book.
Sarah clutched the precious volume to her breast and wanted to weep with relief. She wasn't normally such a watering pot, but her sleepless night, combined with the shocks of Liza's death and the realization that she had made a serious miscalculation in switching places with her late friend, had sapped her reserves of strength and determination.
Why, oh why didn't I just continue on to Butte? Walt seemed perfect at first, but my presence here has clearly become a point of contention between him and his friend.
Still kneeling, she paged through the cookbook, looking for something special that she could prepare with the ingredients she was likely to find on this ranch.
Thanks to her late mother, who had been an excellent cook, Sarah had received a thorough grounding in the culinary arts, a skill which was going to be much more useful on this ranch than fine needlework, playing the piano, or the ability to hold a conversation in French.
Her gift for the culinary arts had certainly proved useful the past two years at home, when Father's indiscretions with bottle and cards had led to straitened circumstances. One by one, Sarah had been forced to dismiss Tilly the maid, Betty the laundress, and worst of all, Althea the cook, who had been with their family since Mother and Father were newlyweds.
Trying to dismiss the painful memories, Sarah stopped on a page.
Yes, she thought, reading through the recipe. This could work.
She rose to her feet and made her way back downstairs.
After exploring the kitchen cupboards and the various shelves in the pantry, she ventured into the cellar's cool, dark depths, where she discovered a goodly quantity of root vegetables, a large side of smoked bacon, and half a deer preserved with salt.
She made her selections, then tied on an apron embroidered with pink and yellow roses and set to work preparing a large pot pie.
Using a mixture of chilled and chopped-up butter, lard, flour, salt, and cold water, just like Mama taught her, she mixed up the dough for the pie's flaky pastry crust. She wrapped the large ball of dough in one of the waxed cloths she had found in the pantry and put it in the kitchen's large wood-and-tin icebox to keep cold while she prepared the filling with chunks of the venison, minced bacon, diced onion, and a sliced selection of the root vegetables. She seasoned the mixture with salt, pepper, dried bay leaves, and fragrant fresh sprigs of sage gathered from the vegetable garden.
After feeding the fire already kindled in the stove with some of the wood stacked against the kitchen wall, she began sautéing the filling in a deep, enormously heavy cast-iron skillet.
As Sarah worked, she continued to mull over the precarious situation she found herself in here.
If she could buy herself some goodwill with Larkin, it might also give her some time to accustom herself to the idea of taking two husbands.
She shook her head at the still-outlandish prospect as she wielded a wooden spoon to stir the onions and vegetables sizzling in bacon fat, waiting for the moment when the onions turned translucent and she could add the venison. Sarah had never actually cooked venison before, but the instructions in Mrs. Beeton's book indicated that it should be handled like extremely lean beef and be cooked with a generous amount of bacon or butter.
From the looks of the neat sitting room and bedroom upstairs, Walt had been looking forward to her arrival. She had never before seen a bed as large as the one in her room.
That thought led to another, more wicked speculation: What would it be like to be married to both men and sleep in it together? All three of us could easily fit.
Her face grew warm, and not just from the heat of the stove. She quickly pushed the image away. It was unlikely to ever happen, not when she could still hear raised voices outside.
Though she couldn't make out the actual words over the sizzling in the pan, she could tell that Larkin was still upset, and Walt was trying to reason with him.
As desperate as her circumstances were, she didn’t want their friendship troubled because of her. Plus, her brief acquaintance with Walt had left her feeling guilty about her deception. Despite his own fibs about Larkin's willingness to wed her, he seemed like a gentle, well-meaning man who cared deeply about his friend.
Should I tell them the truth about what happened to Liza, and who I really am?
It was a tempting thought…until the corollary occurred to her.
What if they fall into a rage and decide that since I'm not actually Liza Hunter, I'm fair game for whatever vengeance they wish to enact upon me?
Walt seemed a gentler soul than the fiery Larkin, but it hadn't escaped her notice that in addition to the pistol that Walt wore, there had been a rifle tucked beneath the driver's bench on the wagon.
Wha
t if they keep me a prisoner here and ravish me over and over? She shivered at the thought, but strangely, she found it more exciting than terrifying. She remembered what it had felt like when Walt kissed her a few hours ago.
I know that everyone calls it "a fate worse than death," and with someone like Clyde Burgess it would be, but with Walt or Larkin…or both of them, would it really be so bad?
She couldn't suppress a shudder and a sick twist in her stomach at the memory of Mr. Burgess's stumpy, tobacco-stained fingers pawing at her during his most recent visit to their house.
She swallowed hard. It's bad enough that I'm all alone here with these men. Giving up my maidenhead outside of marriage would make a bad situation even worse if they end up sending me away. I'd be a fallen woman, with no money, no kin, and no recourse except to live in one of those shacks on the outskirts of town and advertise myself.
She could only hope that a delicious meal made by feminine hands would be enough to soften Larkin's opposition towards her. Even if he refused to consider wedding her himself, perhaps he could be convinced to accept a union between her and Walt.
* * *
"I'm heading back to the mine after lunch," Larkin said, torn between exasperation and guilt at upsetting both Walt and Sarah. "I'll sleep in the mining camp with the other men and leave you to your courting."
"Will you stop being such a damned fool!" Walt retorted. "Look, tell me true: if you'd just met Sarah in town, would you be interested in keeping company with her?"
"Of course," Larkin said honestly. "Even with that crazy purple hair of hers, she’s a damned fine-looking woman." He bent to pull another of the fast-growing weeds threatening to crowd out the feathery green sprigs of sprouting carrots.
Walt huffed and leaned on his hoe. "Well, if that's the case, then why are you so dead-set against getting to know her?"
"I got my reasons," Larkin growled.
Normally, he'd be all for the notion of getting better acquainted with a pretty girl. But he was still hopping mad that Walt had gone behind his back to court Sarah by mail. It meant that Walt hadn't trusted him.
"Look, it's not like we don't have room to let her stay with us for a while. You can just continue sleeping in our old bedroom. I've given Sarah my folks' old attic rooms."
"And where are you gonna to be sleeping? Upstairs with her, or downstairs with me?" Larkin demanded.
The memory of Walt's bed, stripped down to the mattress, niggled at him like a sore tooth.
"Neither," Walt replied, with a crooked smile. "I think it's best that I'm the one who heads over to the mine. With Jim away, it's my turn, anyway. Plus, it'll avoid temptation, since we might not be getting married after all, and I wouldn't feel right about taking advantage of Sarah."
"And what about Sarah?" Larkin demanded. He was beginning to get an inkling of Walt's sneaky plan.
Walt grinned at him. "I was thinking that you and she could use the time to get to know each other."
"Aw hell no—" Larkin began to protest.
Walt raised his hand to interrupt. "Look, if you haven't changed your mind about her by the time I get back, then I'll stop bothering you about it." He stopped and took a deep breath. "And I'll ask her to leave her on the next train."
Larkin thought that sounded like a pretty decent deal. He opened his mouth to accept, then something occurred to him.
"But you're already sweet on her," he pointed out. "Why would you want to send her away if I say no to getting hitched?"
Walt's grin disappeared. "I think she's perfect," he said, sounding resigned. "And I really do want to marry her—but not at the cost of our friendship, Larkin. This is your home too, and despite her many attractions, Sarah is a stranger. I wouldn't want to do anything that would make you feel as though I was favoring her over our friendship."
As Larkin stared at him, Walt blew out a breath. "Lark, you're like a brother to me, and I don't ever want that to change."
Larkin's anger faded in the surge of warmth that accompanied the reminder that Walt and his parents had been a better family to Larkin than his own flesh and blood had ever been.
And besides, Sarah was pretty and seemed sweet-natured. And a good cook, if the mouthwatering smells of frying onions and bacon wafting from the house were any indication.
"All right," he said grudgingly. "One week. And then we'll see."
Walt beamed at him, his expression lightening like the sun breaking through rain clouds. "I sure do appreciate that, Lark! I'm sure things will work out if you just give Sarah a fair chance."
With that settled, the two of them turned their attention back to the kitchen garden.
Larkin gave Walt an update on the mine's operations, and the good news that there hadn't been any further attempts by claim jumpers after chasing off the Harley brothers.
Then they spent the next hour or so working quietly. But it was a comfortable silence now. Having said his piece, and struck his bargain with Walt, Larkin was feeling easier.
He hated getting angry or generally losing control over his temper. It brought up too many bad memories of what happened when his Da had surrendered to his emotions and behaved badly. He still wasn't overjoyed about Sarah's unexpected arrival, but a deal was a deal, and he knew that Walt would keep up his end of the bargain.
And despite his determination not to let Walt win, Larkin couldn't help wondering what it would be like to spend the next few days alone and private with pretty, curvy Miss Elizabeth Sarah Hunter.
Over the next hour, the smells drifting from the house grew ever more tempting as Walt and Larkin continued to weed and hoe the garden and to train the tender green tendrils of pole beans around the tipi-like frames of branches and string intended to support the rapidly growing plants.
The sun was high overhead, and Larkin's stomach was growling, when the back door opened.
Sarah, now clad in one of Mrs. Edwards' old embroidered aprons, stood framed in the doorway, looking pretty as a picture. "Lunch is ready," she called. "I hope you like pot pie."
Pot pie? Hell yeah, Larkin liked pot pie. He usually only got to eat it if it happened to be on the menu at the Hotel Bede on his trips to town.
If Sarah was really as good a cook as she appeared to be, then maybe Larkin needed to rethink his opposition to her presence here.
He and Walt hustled inside, pausing at the big metal sink in the laundry room to wash their hands and faces before continuing on to the kitchen.
Sarah had set the dining table that stood next to the window with a cheerful blue-checked gingham tablecloth. The pot pie, baked in a large cast-iron Dutch oven, now stood in the center of the table, fragrant steam rising from the slits in the golden-brown pastry.
As Larkin and Walt seated themselves, Sarah moved gracefully around the table, filling their glasses with iced tea from a pitcher, then used a big spoon to break through the pie crust and serve them heaping portions.
Larkin began to dig in soon as Sarah seated herself. Walt punched him in the arm before his spoon reached his mouth. Larkin glared at him as Sarah bowed her head and began to say grace.
Luckily, she wasn't long-winded, and Larkin shoveled in the first mouthful as soon as she murmured "Amen."
Holy shit, but Sarah's pie is even better than Mrs. O'Sullivan's at the Hotel Bede!
With an effort, Larkin stopped himself from moaning in pleasure and set to cleaning his plate as quickly as possible, in hopes of getting seconds before the food cooled off too much.
Every mouthful was heaven, from the flaky, buttery crust to the savory filling with its tender chunks of venison, potatoes, carrots, and turnips.
Sitting across from him, Walt was eating with the same single-minded intensity. He looked happier than Larkin had seen him since he lost his parents.
No one talked. Neither Larkin nor Walt were big on mealtime conversations—usually, they were intent on eating as quickly as possible so that they could get back to work.
But Sarah looked very subdued, and Lark
in couldn't help noticing the darting, wary glances she cast in his direction.
Her behavior brought uncomfortable memories to mind. He had dreaded family dinners when Da had been in one of his moods. He and Mam could sense the rage boiling up inside Dad like dark thunderheads on the horizon, ready to let loose a raging torrent of hail, thunder, and lightning. Those were the times when they had spoken very softly and deferentially to Da in hopes of delaying the inevitable, knowing that sooner or later something would set him off, and the raging storm would come crashing down around them.
