She turned onto her side, thinking of all the pies she’d served Luke since he returned. To make things fair, she needed to bake a different pie—something he wouldn’t recognize as hers. Jacqueline fidgeted for a while; then her breathing deepened as sleep claimed her. But Rachel’s mind raced. She had to find a special pie to woo the man she loved.
CHAPTER 22
“Marshal, they’re ready for you to come and judge the pie contest.” Mayor Burke stood inside the jail door, all but bouncing. He grinned. “And there’s a big surprise for you.”
Luke stood, dreading the task ahead. If he chose a winner, the losers would be disappointed, but then contests were always like that. They just didn’t normally have your whole future riding on them.
He followed the mayor outside, where a crowd filled the street and boardwalks. His cousins had rigged up a table in front of the freight office, and Rachel and the ladies had decorated it with a white tablecloth, ribbons, bows, and other frippery. Atop it sat not three pies, but four.
“How in the world could something like this happen?” Luke’s gaze swerved toward the mayor, who stood to the left of the table.
The man grinned and shrugged. “Nobody seems to know. One minute it wasn’t there, and the next it was.”
Luke lifted his hat, ran his hand through his hair, and slapped the hat back down. Picking a wife by sampling three pies was enough of a chore, but now there were four—the last, a golden colored one that looked like a custard pie, with a sign beside it reading ANONYMOUS ENTRY. The fragrant scent of the pies made Luke’s mouth water. But warning bells clanged in his head. That pie could be from any unmarried woman for miles around.
“Hey, Marshal, how’s it feel to have all them gals wantin’ to marry up w’ya? Maybe some of us bachelors could have the leftovers.” Dan Howard laughed, and the crowd filling Main Street joined in.
“Yeah, Marshal, share the wealth,” someone cried.
Luke shook his head at their good-natured teasing but focused a glare on Garrett. None of this would have happened if not for him. “Are you sure no new brides have come to town?”
“Not as far as I know,” Garrett answered.
Standing beside his brother and the mayor on the left side of the table, Mark also shook his head and shrugged one shoulder.
Luke scanned the crowd for Rachel. She could confirm if another bride had arrived in town, but he didn’t find her. He could hardly blame her for not attending the contest, considering their past and how she’d begged him for forgiveness. He studied the ruffled edge of the tablecloth covering the pie table and sighed. He couldn’t give her something he didn’t have. So why did he feel guilty about the whole situation?
“This is outrageous.” Miss Bennett, standing to the right of the table with the other brides, stomped her foot and hoisted her chin in the air. “That last pie ought’a be tossed out.”
With her hands planted on her hips, Miss Blackstone stepped forward. “Yeah, I thought this contest was just between us three.”
Miss O’Neil fiddled with her sleeve, her eyes looking as wide as dinner plates.
Luke pinned his stare on the brides. “Has someone new moved into the boardinghouse? Another bride, I mean.”
All three gals shook their heads in unison—blond, brunette, and redhead. They would certainly know if another husband-seeker had come to town.
He studied the table holding the contest entries. Each one had a label made from a folded paper, and they read Bride #1, Bride #2, Bride #3, and Anonymous Entry, but the last sign was in a different handwriting than the others. The four pies sat, begging to be cut, although one of them looked a bit charred, and two had notches out of them that looked as if a varmint had feasted on them. The pie from the anonymous bride was by far the best looking. His stomach gurgled, reminding him that he’d been so nervous this morning he’d skipped breakfast.
His gaze wandered back to the fourth pie. What if it tasted the best? If he chose that one as the winner, he might well end up marrying Bertha Boyd. A shiver snaked down his spine, and he scanned the crowd to see if she was there. Sure enough, the wagon-sized woman sat on a sagging bench on the boardwalk across the street, fanning herself with one of those cardboard advertisements on a stick that a mortuary office from a neighboring town had handed out. The crowd in the street in front of the freight office, watching and waiting to help judge the event, had tripled in size from what it had been earlier.
Max crept up beside Luke and licked his hand then trotted back into the jailhouse. The dog hated crowds, probably because most of the “kindly” townsfolk had chased him away from their trash heaps at one time or another. Luke wished he could hide out like his dog, but he straightened his shoulders and turned back to the mayor. “What do you make of this additional entry?”
The mayor sucked in his overly large belly and grinned. “I haven’t a clue, but it will make a great headline: ANONYMOUS BRIDE COMPETES FOR MARSHAL’S HAND IN MARRIAGE.” He chuckled and shook his head then scanned the crowd. “Where’s that newspaper woman? Someone get Jenny up here,” he yelled, “and tell her to bring her photographic equipment.”
“I’m here, Mayor.” Jenny Evans peeked her head between two beefy men. “Let me through, you big belugas.”
Both men turned sideways, looking as if they were trying to figure out if she’d called them an offensive name, and Jenny shot through the opening carrying her big camera. Jack followed right on her tail with her arms filled with photographic plates. Jenny was one gutsy lady to entrust Rachel’s daughter with something so fragile.
“You brides line up behind the pie you made.” Jenny set down the long legs of the tripod and arranged them the way she wanted, then set the boxy camera on top. Jack handed her a film plate, and Jenny inserted it. “All right, ladies, look up here. Hold your expressions steady.”
Luke was amazed the three mail-order brides did as ordered without complaint, although Miss Blackstone hung back a bit, as if she didn’t like being photographed. He now knew who made which pie. Not that it mattered, because he didn’t favor one gal over the other, except he maybe liked Miss O’Neil the least because she was so skittish. She was a lovely thing with that mass of copper hair and intriguing accent, but she didn’t have what it took to live in Texas.
That would have left two brides to pick from if not for the anonymous entry. He searched his mind, trying to figure out who might have made it. There weren’t many marriageable women in Lookout, which was why his cousins had concocted this whole scheme. But someone from another town might have read of the event and entered, or someone from a family he hadn’t yet met.
“Thank you, ladies. You can move now.” Jenny waved her hand, setting the brides in motion.
“Now, Marshal,” Miss Evans said, “if you’d be so kind, I’d like a picture of you in front of that mystery entry.”
Luke shook his head. He’d never had his photograph taken before and wasn’t going to start today.
“Go on, Luke. Don’t be shy.” Garrett’s cocky grin made Luke want to knock it off his face. “You gonna let those brides show you up?”
The crowd joined in cheering for Luke to get his photo taken. He sighed and took his place behind the table. Holding a hooded glare on his face, he hoped he made everyone squirm. This whole shebang was getting out of hand. Whatever made him agree to marry was beyond him. Even a lawsuit sounded half good at this point.
Jenny took the photograph, and the mayor quickly stepped in front of the table, facing the crowd. Jack slipped in beside him and tugged on Luke’s pants. He leaned down. “I like that surprise pie best, don’t you?”
He studied her expression for a minute but decided she knew nothing about the owner of that particular entry. Either that, or she sure could keep a straight face.
“I probably should reserve judgment until I taste them.” He grinned and tweaked Jack’s button nose.
Mayor Burke lifted his hands, and the crowd quieted. “All right, let’s get this show on the road, a
nd maybe we’ll have a wedding tonight.”
A cheer rang out from the crowd at the same time a lump the size of a turkey egg formed in Luke’s throat. Nobody had said anything about an immediate wedding. Weren’t there other parts to this contest yet to be held? He ran his hand over his jaw. If only he hadn’t given his word to marry.
“First, we’ll let the marshal taste the pies. I’ll go next, and then the Corbetts. After that, it will cost you five cents for one spoonful of each pie until they are all gone. There’s a jelly jar in front of each pie plate. When you pay your money to my wife over there,” he motioned his hand to the right, “you’ll get a dried bean. Taste the confections, then drop your bean into the jar you feel is the winner. All funds received will be donated to the church, so if you feel inclined to give more than required, I’m sure the reverend would be appreciative. And of course, Luke doesn’t have to marry the gal who gets the most votes. He has the final say as to which pie he thinks is the best. If he’s ready to pick a bride, I reckon we could have a weddin’ tonight.”
The mayor glanced at Luke, as if expecting him to object, but Luke clamped his mouth shut. He just wanted to get this over with.
“All right,” the mayor said. “Let’s get started.”
People pushed forward, as if each wanted a chance to sample the pies before they were all gone. The noise of the crowd grew louder. Many of the folks who lived around Lookout were farmers or ranchers who worked hard and lived a lonely existence. These social gatherings were few and far between, but Luke knew that each person would be encouraged just because they came to town to enjoy the fun and were able to forget their own troubles and visit with their neighbors for a short while.
“Just wait until you bite into this, Marshal Davis.” Miss Bennett grinned and batted her lashes. She served him a large slice of her pie, which was the one with the bite gone. Luke was glad she cut his slice from the other side of the pie, not that he wouldn’t eat it just because of that, but he’d had his share of eating food that critters had gotten into during his cavalry days. The other brides also served him generous portions of their pies. Miss Blackstone’s and Miss O’Neil’s were the overly cooked ones, but they still looked juicy inside. Maybe all wasn’t lost for them. He stopped in front of the fourth pie, but nobody stepped up to serve it.
“I can help.” Jack, her hands now empty, scurried behind the table and reached for the knife.
Miss Bennett hurried past the front of the table and held out her hand. “You’d better let an adult handle that.”
Jack scowled but dropped the knife and stepped back, arms crossed. Miss Bennett deftly cut a rather thin slice and dropped it onto his plate. She grinned. “Here you go, Marshal Davis.”
Eager to get away from the staring brides, Luke took his plate back into the jail and shut the door. He didn’t want people gawking at him while he ate and decided which pie he liked best. His mouth watered at the scent of cinnamon, apples, and peaches, but his fork went to the custard first. It had always been a favorite of his, and he hadn’t had any since he’d left the cavalry. The sweet, buttery flavor tickled his taste buds, and his eyes dropped shut as he ran the confection over his tongue. This wasn’t custard at all, but something different. Something even better. And it was a chilled pie, something he’d very rarely had. Too bad he hadn’t gotten a larger slice of that one.
Garrett kicked the door open and stormed into the room, carrying his plate. “Whoowee! Can you believe all the people who came to town today? Must be a couple of hundred.”
Mark followed, already chewing. His blue eyes widened, and he spit out the bite of pie. His wild gaze searched the room, then he grabbed Luke’s coffee cup off the desk and downed the last of the cold coffee. Garrett lifted up an edge of the apple pie as if wary of it.
Mark spun around, one hand lifted up, palm outward. “Don’t try that. Something’s wrong with it.”
Garrett sniffed it. “Smells fine.”
“By all means, if you don’t believe me, go ahead and take a bite.”
Garrett eyed it again. “Guess I’ll try the peach one.” He cut a slice with his fork and shoved it in. His eyes closed for a second but then went wide just as Mark’s had. He wagged his hand in front on his mouth. “Water!”
Mark shook his head and grabbed Luke’s coffeepot. Garrett downed the mug in one long gulp then glared at this brother. “I thought you said it was the apple pie that tasted bad.”
“I did.”
“Well, so does the peach. Miss O’Neil must have grabbed the salt instead of the sugar.”
Luke stared at his plate, wondering if the nut pie would also be bad. He glanced up at his cousins. Mark dropped down onto a chair, arms crossed, and grinned at him. Garrett set his plate on the desk and watched. Luke now dreaded having to taste the last pie, but he figured it was only fair to try each one. He put a tidbit of the nut pie on his fork and licked it. Burnt sugar assaulted his senses.
“I can tell that one’s just as bad.” Garrett said. “What do you think happened?”
Luke swallowed hard and set the plate down. “I don’t know. This one’s not salty, but the inside tastes burnt. As for those other two, I can understand one person accidentally grabbing the salt instead of sugar since they look just the same, but for two of them to do that?”
Mark’s head jerked up. “Two?”
“Yeah, that custard—or whatever it is—tastes great.” As if needing to confirm it, he retrieved his plate and finished off the last of his slice while his cousins dug into theirs.
Mark’s eyes rolled upward. “That was delicious.”
“Yeah, it’s great,” Garrett said around a mouthful. “But who made it?”
Luke shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“Seems strange for a woman to enter a pie-baking, husband-getting contest but not give her name.”
Garrett shrugged. “Maybe she’s as ugly as the backside of a mule.”
Luke didn’t care for his cousin’s crude comment. “So, what do I do about it?”
Mark licked the section of his plate where the custard had been. “If everything she cooks tastes like this, I’ll marry her myself.”
The men chuckled, and Luke shook his head. The outer door opened, and the mayor stomped inside and glared at Luke.
“What a disaster. The whole town is upset. Half the people are fussing for a refund because the pies were so bad. Only one of them was edible.”
Luke walked to the door and looked out. “Guess I should go see if I can soothe everybody.”
“This is a nightmare. That’s what.” The mayor huffed and puffed like a wild turkey trying to impress its mate.
“It’s a setback, not a disaster, Mayor.” Mark always was the diplomat of the group. “It will just serve to increase interest for next week’s contest.”
The mayor tugged his vest down and pushed his glasses up on his nose. “How so?”
Garrett flashed the grin that Luke knew would make the mayor see his side of things. “Everyone will wonder if those brides can sew better than they can cook. If Luke postpones making a decision, I reckon most folks will come back next week to see if he chooses one then. Also, everyone will be talking and trying to figure out who the mystery bride is.”
“Maybe you could somehow play it up to benefit the town,” Mark said. “Have a potluck and dance afterward.”
Mayor Burke rubbed his chin with his index finger and thumb. “Yes, I do see your point. Perhaps this wasn’t quite the disaster I thought. Although most of the men who were asking about the leftover brides took to the hills when they learned the women couldn’t cook.” He chuckled, and his whole belly bounced.
Luke stepped away from the door now that he was sure things were all right outside. “It’s odd that three of the four pies would be so bad.”
“You think someone sabotaged the contest?” Garrett asked.
Luke shrugged. “I don’t know, but it is a possibility.”
“But who, and why?” Mark asked.
Since the pies were cooked at Rachel’s, Luke could well imagine Jack playing a prank and swapping the salt and sugar containers, but for what purpose?
Could it be the girl was jealous and thought she’d lose his friendship if he married? Maybe he needed to reassure her that such a thing wouldn’t happen.
***
Rachel stirred the pot of potato soup then set the spoon on her worktable. The sandwiches and pumpkin pudding were ready for lunch as soon as the brides and other guests returned from the pie contest. She’d stood in her doorway, watching the crowd, but couldn’t bring herself to walk down there. If Luke selected a bride today, she didn’t want to be there.
It was foolish of her to have entered, and if not for Jacqueline’s help, she would have been discovered. Her gaze darted toward the pie table. Had Luke liked hers the best?
The Anonymous Bride (Texas Boardinghouse Brides 1) Page 21
