Love is Blind (Cutter's Creek Book 8)

by Kit Morgan

  When Taloa first laid eyes on him she thought she’d swoon, as did many a young miss. But Anson was still young, just eighteen and unwise in the ways of the outside world. He’d hardly left the farm even before it became a regular stage stop and when he did, it was only to go to Clear Creek. No, as handsome as Anson White was, he wasn’t marriage material yet. In about five years, maybe …

  “Will ya stop daydreamin’ ‘n get the dough ready?” Mrs. White sprayed in exasperation.

  Taloa jumped. “Yes, ma’am!” She continued to knead the dough for a minute, sprinkled it with flour and began to roll it out with a rolling pin.

  Mrs. White divided the dough into three pieces, cut each in half, rolled them up, then gave three of them to Taloa. “Now use yer hands ‘n roll’m back ‘n forth to make ‘em longer.”

  Taloa watched her as she demonstrated. “Oh, I see. Then when they’re long enough, we braid them together.”

  “Thass right.”

  “But what do we bake them in? They’re too long to fit into a bread pan.”

  “We make a circle outta the braid ‘n bake ‘em in pie tins.”

  Taloa’s eyes lit up. “I see – then the bread bakes into itself.”

  “Yep. The loaves’re real purty baked like that.”

  “I wonder if the stranger … what was his name?”

  “Mr. Judrow.”

  “I wonder if he’ll like it.”

  Mrs. White squinted her one good eye. “Ya seem awful interested in ‘im.”

  “Me?” Taloa said, flustered. “Heavens, no. Why would I be interested in someone like him?”

  “He’s handsome, I’ll give ‘im that. That might be ’nough fer ya.”

  Taloa’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Mrs. White!”

  “Well, it’s true ‘nough! I swear I ain’t never seen a girl so ready fer marryin’ as ya are. Only a matter o’ time ‘fore some young cowhand or dandy comes through and whisks ya away. Then what’ll I do?”

  Taloa gasped. If the woman only knew that she didn’t dare leave the stage stop. It was the only place she could think of to hide for a time. Better to hide in plain sight than to go lurking in dark corners. “I don’t plan on leaving. I like working for you.”

  “Still cain’t believe ya’d rather stay here ‘n work with me than go on to Oregon City with yer friends. Ya coulda learned to work in a dress shop.”

  Taloa stared at the dough. “No, I … I’m not one for cities. Too noisy.”

  “Oregon City ain’t ‘zactly Boston or New York, ya know. It’s juss a town. Which makes me think … why’d a young woman wi’ matrimony on ‘er mind wanna work at a stage stop in the middle o’ nowhere when all the young bachelors’re elsewhere?”

  Taloa swallowed hard, then shrugged. “I’m not in any hurry. And if I’m working here, I can see what sort of men are traveling there.”

  Mrs. White stared at her a moment, her eyebrow raised, then shook her head and sighed. “Makes no sense to me. Yer a strange girl, Taloa, ya know that?”

  Taloa began to roll up a piece of dough. “So I’ve been told.”

  After the bread was in the oven, Taloa had a few moments to herself. She went upstairs to her room, closed the door behind her, went to the small vanity and sat. She ran a finger along the vanity’s smooth surface and glanced around the room. It was pretty with flowered wallpaper and lace curtains.

  The Whites’ original house had been just a large cabin. But they’d added a second story, redecorated most of the downstairs, put a counter in the large parlor/dining room and made it what it was today: a huge family home that also served as a place for weary travelers to stop and rest. She had one of the six bedrooms upstairs, while Mrs. White and her sons kept their original rooms downstairs.

  Taloa sighed and looked at her reflection in the vanity mirror. For her, this place was a safe haven – and a lookout. “Oh Emma,” she said to the reflection. “It’s only a matter of time before he comes for you.” She rested her chin in her hands.

  Inevitable though it seemed, the last person she wanted to see again was her brother Jack.

  She sighed as she stood. She’d come too far to be dragged back home to Connecticut and have her life dictated to her by her older sibling. He could be a tyrant when he wanted, at least with her. He’d marry her off to some old oaf with money, just so he could say he’d made sure she was taken care of. Then she’d fritter her time on the old codger, who’d probably up and die on her before she was twenty-five. Then the process would start all over again.

  A shiver went up her spine at the thought. “Not me!” she hissed to her absent sibling. “You’re not going to control my life!” If it wasn’t her brother always telling her what to do, it was her father. Never mind about her mother – she always did what she was told. Except when she’d needed to most …

  Emma went back to staring at herself in the mirror. “Taloa Branson.” She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Why didn’t I pick a prettier last name?” Taloa, she’d picked up along the trail – it was a Chickasaw Indian word for “song”. She thought it fitting as she liked to hum when she was by herself. The sound of her voice kept her company. One of the women on the wagon train started calling her that, and before she knew it, everyone was. That’s what had given her the idea to change her name in the first place.

  Branson, though? One of the families in the train had come from a town by that name, somewhere in Missouri or Arkansas. She’d taken it for lack of a better idea. Looking back, she should have given it more thought.

  She turned toward the door, thinking she should go downstairs and sweep up the kitchen. She wondered if she’d catch sight of the handsome stranger before supper. What if he didn’t join them? Maybe he wanted to eat in his room – some did. Most liked visiting with any other folks staying at the Whites, not to mention the Whites themselves. But tonight might be pretty quiet unless another traveler wandered their way.

  She straightened her hair – a girl could hope, couldn’t she? – smoothed the skirt of her dress and left her room. She examined the hallway. Nothing. With a sigh she started for the stairs …

  There was a rumbling coming from the other side of one of the doors at the top of the stairs. “What’s that?” she whispered.

  It had to be Mr. Judrow’s room. He was snoring, frightfully so, and it was all Emma – oops, Taloa – could do to keep from giggling. Why she found it so amusing she didn’t know, but she did. She pictured the tall, handsome stranger sprawled on the bed in a deep sleep … heavens! She would have to put him out of her head or she’d never get any work done. Maybe it was best he was leaving in the morning. He might prove too much of a distraction should her brother, by some ugly twist of fate, show up looking for her.

  She bounded downstairs – and ran right smack into Oscar. “Oh!” she gasped as she bounced off him.

  He, of course, hadn’t moved an inch. “What’s your hurry?” he asked in his deep voice. If Jack ever did come for her, he’d be no match for the pastry-baking Oscar.

  “I have work to do in the kitchen.”

  “Good. Henry and I caught some trout. Gonna cook ‘em up for supper. Would ya mind fetchin’ me some taters from the root cellar?”

  “Not at all. Do you need anything else?”

  Oscar twisted his face as he though. “Maybe pick some greens from the garden. That’d go good with roasted taters and trout.”

  She smiled. Oscar was a natural chef – he could win prizes for anything he made, even simple fare like tonight’s menu. She was happy just to contribute her braided bread. “I’ll get my basket.”

  “Ma in her room?”

  “I’m not sure where she is, but that would be my guess.” She turned toward the kitchen. “Oh, and we have a guest. He’s upstairs sleeping in his room.”

  Oscar looked confused. “How do ya know he’s sleepin’?”

  Emma couldn’t help but smile. “Because if you listen closely, you can probably hear him from down here.”


  He listened, and nodded in amusement. “Ah, I see.” He headed for the kitchen, Emma on his heels. She grabbed a basket near the back door and went outside to the root cellar to get the potatoes he wanted, then made her way to the side of the house where they kept a small garden. Well, not that small – she’d had to weed it, and thus considered it otherwise.

  She picked some lettuce, thinking it would be good with vinegar and sugar if Oscar decided to serve it that way. She carried her basket of vegetables into the kitchen, humming as she went about her work. The day was still warm and pleasant, and she hoped to take a walk before supper.

  Emma liked her life at the Whites’. It was peaceful, uncomplicated, just busy enough to not be boring. And she had to admit that Mrs. White was also a good teacher and very wise. Maybe she was more than a little taken with the opposite sex at the moment, but she was sure Mrs. White would steer her clear of any man she deemed not “up to snuff,” as Jack used to say.

  “Jack,” she grumbled and set her basket on the worktable. As she unloaded it, thoughts of being married off to some stuffy old man hit full force and her stomach knotted. It was all she could do not to shudder in revulsion. Hadn’t he and her father spoken about Mr. Bell down the street as being a good prospect? And that was before the war! By now poor Mr. Bell had probably died of old age.

  “Thank ya, Taloa,” Oscar said.

  Emma started to hum in hopes it would chase thoughts of her brother away.

  “Taloa?”

  She jumped. “What?”

  “I said thank ya,” he repeated.

  She gaped at him. She hadn’t even heard him! “Yes … you’re welcome.”

  “Best clean yer ears out. If I ever had to shout ‘fire,’ ya’d be a dead woman for sure.”

  She swallowed hard. He had no idea. She had to keep reminding herself that no matter how much she loved living there, she might have to leave at a moment’s notice. One look at Jack and she’d be off like a shot.

  But so far, so good. She hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him and hoped it stayed that way. Oregon City was the one place she knew he’d look if he figured out she’d gone west and with whom. But she hadn’t gone on with the others – she’d stayed with the Whites. They needed the help, and she’d needed the hiding place. She smiled. It would be pretty hard for Jack to find her in Oregon City when she wasn’t there!

  “Ya wanna peel them taters while I get the trout ready?” Oscar asked.

  She quickly hid her smile and looked at him, her face expressionless. “All right.”

  “Ya feelin’ okay? Ya look kinda pale.”

  “I’m fine.” She went to the hutch to get a knife out of a drawer. “How many of these should I prepare?”

  “How hungry ya think our guest’ll be?”

  She shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “How big is he?”

  She looked Oscar up and down. “About your size, but thinner.”

  “Hmmm … best peel ‘em all.” He grabbed his string of fish and headed out the kitchen door to clean them.

  Emma’s eyes drifted to the ceiling. She wondered if Mr. Judrow was still asleep. She also wondered if she’d be able to keep herself from staring at him like an idiot during supper. She pressed her lips together in thought. Maybe if she sat next to him, she’d be less inclined to do so.

  She smiled again and started to peel the potatoes.

  4

  Lucius awoke an hour before supper. He’d had no idea he was so tired. He hoped he wasn’t coming down with something – it wouldn’t bode well for his investigations. He had to stay sharp and look for any signs that this “Taloa Branson” might prove to be Emma Carlson. He’d stay long enough to find out, then move on if she wasn’t. If she was, she had a lot of explaining to do.

  He went downstairs, saw no one in the combination parlor and dining room, and decided to go check on his horse. He’d taken his saddlebags upstairs after signing in, gotten his mount taken care of, then been in his room ever since.

  In the barn, a handsome young man was feeding the stock. Lucius stared at him a moment, wondering if he had any interest in Taloa. “Hello.”

  The young man spun to face him, a pitchfork in his hand. “Land sakes, Mister, ya scared me half to death! I didn’t even hear ya walk in!”

  “I’m light on my feet.”

  He looked Lucius up and down. “At your size?”

  Lucius smiled. “I came to check on my horse.”

  “Oh, I just fed him. Mighty fine-lookin’ animal.”

  Lucius nodded. “That he is.” He went to the stall where his horse stood munching his dinner.

  “I got me a mighty fine horse too,” said the young man, offering his hand to Lucius. “I’m Anson White.”

  Lucius shook it. “Lucius Judrow, but you already knew that.”

  “Yeah, I saw yer name in Ma’s book, but it ain’t the same as meetin’ a man proper.”

  Lucius half-smiled. The boy had manners. “So where’s this fine horse of yours?”

  “Out back in the corral. I gotta feed her next.” He pitched some hay into a wooden wheelbarrow. “Follow me – I’ll show ya!”

  Lucius smiled once more. Anson was obviously proud of his horse. He followed him outside, around the barn, into the corral … and stopped. Young Mr. White had not been exaggerating – he did indeed have a fine horse, a beautiful black mare with a white star on her forehead. “Well, will you look at that?” he muttered to himself.

  “Raised her myself,” Anson said proudly. “Trained her, too.”

  “Did you now?” Lucius walked a circle around the animal. “She’s a good-looking piece of horseflesh, no doubt about it. How old is she?”

  “Almost nine.”

  Lucius nodded his approval. “Good saddle horse, I take it?”

  “Best I ever had,” he said, puffing his chest out.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Fred.”

  “Fred? You named your mare Fred? Whatever for?”

  “On account of a guest we had stayin’ here a long time ago. She couldn’t remember who she was, see, and the fella that brought her to us found her with some Injuns. He called her Fred, after a horse he used to have.”

  Lucius’ brow puckered. “What?”

  “It’s true, every word. Her real name was Susara, though. She remembered it while she was here.”

  Lucius whistled long and low. “I hope she remembered the rest of her life after she left.”

  “She did. That fella she came with, Logan Kincaid, he married her. We see him now and then when they take cattle to sell in Oregon City.”

  “They?”

  “The Triple-C Ranch in Clear Creek.”

  Lucius stifled a chuckle. “Ah yes, I’ve heard of it. Glad to hear things worked out for her. Does she still go by Fred?”

  “Nah – only Logan calls her that. Everyone else uses her real name. But I still named my horse after her.”

  Lucius nodded and scanned his surroundings before giving his attention back to Anson. “You live here long?”

  “All my life. I was born here. That’s one of the reasons my ma and pa decided not to go to Oregon City with the rest of their wagon train.”

  “Really? You mean your family has lived out here all this time with no neighbors, no … anything?”

  Anson studied him coolly. “Ain’t no trick to it, Mr. Judrow. But I guess ya know that.”

  Lucius eyed him. “And how would I know?”

  “Well, ya ain’t wearin’ nothin’ fancy and ya look like ya been on the road a long time. And a gentleman usually don’t wear his hair as long as yers.”

  “You’re very astute.”

  “Oh, and them boots of yers.” Anson pointed. “Those ain’t the boots of a cowboy or someone headin’ west.”

  Lucius looked at his knee-high boots. They were lightweight and faded like a well-worn glove, easy to run in for when he had to chase a man down. He could also step quietly in them. “These old things?” he said ca
sually.

  “I like ‘em,” Anson said, admiration in his eyes. “Where’d ya get ‘em?”

  “A bootmaker back in Kentucky.”

  “Is that where you’re from?”

  Lucius didn’t answer.

  “Ya know I’m from here, so what’s the matter with ya tellin’ me where yer from? ‘Less ya got somethin’ to hide …”

  “I’m from a lot of places,” Lucius said firmly. “I was just trying to decide which one I’d been in the longest.”

  “Oh, all right.”

  “I’d have to say Kentucky – I was born there. But I’ve spent a lot of time in Texas, Tennessee, Missouri.” He turned and looked at the barn. “What about the rest of your family and your hired help? Where do your folks hail from originally?”

  “My parents and brothers came west outta St. Louis. Ma was born in Pennsylvania, Pa came from Virginny. He was a doctor.”

  Lucius’ eyebrows rose at that. “Do tell?” He glanced over his shoulder at the barn again. “And what about Miss Branson in there? Where’s she from?”

  “Back east somewheres. Don’t rightly know where, exactly – never thought to ask.”

  “That surprises me, Mr. White. For someone so keen on my appearance and state of origin, I figured you’d know hers, as pretty as she is.”

  Anson shrugged. “Well, to tell ya the truth, she’s kinda uppity for me. If I was more interested in her, I’d find out.”

  Lucius chuckled again. “But is she sweet on you? You two must be around the same age.”

  “Nah, she’s a year older – I’m eighteen, she’s nineteen. I don’t fancy myself an older woman. ‘Sides, I’m not ready to think ‘bout bein’ with a girl. I got Fred to take care of, and that’s enough for me for now. When I’m older I’ll think ‘bout getting’ hitched and all that.”

  “A wise decision, Mr. White. So what time is supper?”

  “Didn’t Ma tell ya when ya signed in? Six o’clock, and ya’d better be on time or she gets mad as a rattler.”

  “I’ll try not to be late,” he said with a tip of his hat. “Think I’ll explore a little first.”