Mail-Order Brides of the West: Trudy (A Montana Sky Series Novel)

by Debra Holland

  Once the food was dished out, Seth folded his hands and bowed his head.

  Trudy followed his example.

  “Dear Heavenly Father, we thank you for your blessings…for bringing us together…for the gift of this bountiful food. Amen.”

  The simple prayer went straight to Trudy’s heart, and she mentally echoed his words to the Lord, giving thanks for their blessings. She raised her head, tensed, and held her breath as her husband took his first bite.

  Seth chewed several times, paused, as if savoring the taste, and gave a small unconscious nod before finishing his bite. “Prime, Trudy. Just prime.” He didn’t say another word, but steadily worked his way through each part of the meal.

  His obvious enjoyment in her cooking gave Trudy a deep feeling of satisfaction. Not that her father hadn’t appreciated her efforts. But he’d also taken the meals she’d prepared for granted, food that could just as well have been made by the housekeeper—and often were. In fact, most of the time, her father had no idea who prepared his meals.

  Seth polished off his plate and reached for seconds, saying, “This is the best dinner I’ve ever eaten.”

  His words sent flutters of pleasure through her. “Surely, you mean,” she gently corrected. “The best meal since your mother passed.”

  He shook his head. “For most of my young years, my mother was a saloon girl. She never did much cooking. I was raised in the upstairs room of Hardy’s saloon before Hardy owned the place.”

  Trudy wasn’t sure how she felt about her husband being raised in a saloon. But, she remembered her lecture to Evie. Seth had obviously made something of himself, and she admired him for that.

  Seth circled the air with his fork. “Everything changed when my mother married George Grover, and we moved here. She started cooking regular.” He picked up a roll and held it in the air. “Her food tasted good enough to me…but not like this.” He spread the roll with butter, slathered on the strawberry jam, and took a bite.

  “Well, I’ve never taken such pleasure in cooking for anyone, Seth Flanigan. I have a lot more good meals in me.”

  He smiled with his eyes. “I look forward to enjoying them, Mrs. Flanigan.”

  She liked the way he called her Mrs. Flanigan, using that special inflection, which made her new name into an endearment. “What do you usually cook for yourself?”

  “Beans.”

  With a shake of her head, she burst into laughter. “Seth Flanigan, you must eat more than beans!”

  “Beans are easy.”

  “Seth!” she exclaimed in mock seriousness.

  He shrugged. “Stews are easy, too. Eat a lot of those. Whatever comes out of cans. When I have a chance to go to the store, I’ll have bread and pie for a few days.” He grinned at her. “Sure am glad those days are over, and I’ll be eating your cooking on a regular basis.”

  They finished up the meal with him telling her about the shingles on the barn he’d repaired, and Trudy sharing about her unpacking.

  Seth told her he’d make her a cabinet, but it would have to wait until he’d finished planting the alfalfa.

  Again, Trudy wondered if she should mention her money…make a request to hire someone else to help with the work. But she wasn’t well enough acquainted with her husband to know if that would dent his pride.

  When Seth finished his second helping and all the rolls, he rubbed his stomach and sighed. “I think I’ll get a heap more work done today with this meal inside me.”

  A glow spread through Trudy.

  Seth folded his napkin and set it on the table. “If I’d have known what was in store for me, I’d have sent for a wife long ago.”

  Trudy’s spirits deflated. Would he feel this way about any woman who’s a good cook? Would Bertha from the bride agency have made him just as happy? “Then you wouldn’t have gotten me,” she said in a flat tone.

  He looked up sharply. “I was teasing you, Trudy. I didn’t mean I would have preferred another bride.”

  “Even if you’d gotten one who cooks better than me? There was another bride at the agency whose bread and rolls were even lighter than mine.”

  “Impossible.” He rose, strode over to her, and held out his hand.

  She placed hers in his.

  Bending, Seth brushed a kiss over the back of her hand.

  Tingles raced through her.

  He straightened and looked into her eyes. “I’m mighty grateful for my bargain.” Seth released her hand. “Now, wife, I must get back to repairing the barn roof. I thank you for the fine meal” He plucked his hat off the antler rack, placed it jauntily on his head, and touched the brim in a salute to her before striding out the door.

  Trudy watched him leave, absently rubbing the spot he’d kissed. Seth’s words and the gesture reassured her, but the doubt had tarnished the shine off her pride in the success of her meal.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Feeling stuffed to the gills, contented in body and mind, Seth strolled to the barn to finish the roof repairs. He couldn’t help thinking about the meal he’d just eaten…no, experienced. His thoughts lingered on the marvelous food, the laden table, set, he imagined, as fine as any in the land. He savored the remembered taste of each dish and thought he’d never forget the first bite of Trudy’s apple pie, tart and sweet and heavenly.

  But best of all was the memory of his pretty wife sitting across from him, glowing with pride at the meal she’d served him. He’d lucked out, all right. Won the bride sweepstakes. Seth felt confident that soon Trudy would be his wife in more than name…

  He let out a deep breath of satisfaction. Too bad, I can’t stroll into Hardy’s for a drink, drop some hints on how well Trudy’s feeding me.

  Thinking about Hardy’s made Seth remember Lucy Belle. Guilt shafted him. How could I have forgotten my love? Was he so fickle that a pretty face and a full belly could sway his affections?

  Images of Lucy Belle’s teasing dark eyes, her full breasts, the tantalizing sway of her hips spun through his mind. But today, the memories didn’t have the power to move him in the same way they had in the past. After the help they received yesterday, he realized the good people of Sweetwater Springs might have judged her and kept their distance despite Lucy Belle’s friendliness and charm. In addition, he had a sneaking suspicion the saloon girl wouldn’t have fed him near as fine a meal as Trudy just had.

  Guess the way to win a man might just be through his stomach. Seth tried to find some humor in his situation but the thoughts of Lucy Belle had soured his sense of contentment and made him a little sad. Yes, it was good that he’d found himself such a fine wife, but he couldn’t help missing the spark that Lucy Belle could kindle in him.

  I’m a married man now. I must put Lucy Belle out of my mind.

  * * *

  That evening after supper, with the dishes washed, dried, and put away, Seth and Trudy settled on the porch to watch the sunset, well wrapped against the evening chill. Seth had waved her to the rocker, while he’d taken the bench.

  As the purple shadows deepened, and gold and orange streaked across the fading blue sky, Trudy started knitting a gray scarf for Seth. She’d chosen the color to match his eyes. The scarf he had hanging on the antler rack was so full of holes as to render it practically worthless. She didn’t need bright light for knitting, for her fingers could do the work without much need for the sharp eyesight other handwork required.

  Seth leaned back and rested his head against the side of the house, closing his eyes.

  Again, Trudy sensed the mood in him that she’d felt this afternoon in town. Maybe he’s tired, and I’m making too much of it, she chided herself. You don’t know him, after all. “You’re quiet,” she probed. “Tired?”

  He opened his eyes and gave her a lazy smile. “Tell me more about your friend…the one you told me about on our drive out here.”

  Trudy settled back in her chair, her fingers moving the knitting needles. “Evie Holcomb. I met her at the agency, and we became fast friend
s. She left St. Louis before me. Married someone from Montana. From the town of Y Knot. Do you know it?”

  Seth shook his head.

  “I wish I knew how she and Mr. Holcomb were getting along.” She rapidly added another row. “I know they started well, as we have.” She decided not to reveal anything more. She didn’t want to give Seth any reason to have doubts about their relationship. If he knew the Holcombs were having problems, he might wonder what troubles lay in store for them. She remembered his quiet mood earlier. Maybe he might already have concerns.

  Her husband shot her a sharp look, studied her face as if trying to make out the truth of her words, and then seemed to relax. He leaned back against the wall.

  Whatever did that mean? Trudy mentally shrugged and continued on with her story. “Evie’s first letter to me seemed happy enough—ecstatic actually.”

  He closed his eyes. “Then Holcomb must be a lucky man tonight.”

  Heat flooded Trudy’s body. She didn’t know what to say. Did his words mean Seth wanted to be more physical? Did the fact that they’d refrained bother him?

  But he’s the one who offered to wait until I was ready.

  They sat for a few minutes with only the sound of the small clicks of Trudy’s knitting needles breaking the silence.

  Seth opened his eyes and straightened, his movements stiff. “Holcomb have much of a spread?”

  “I don’t know. Evie never said.”

  He asked her a few more questions.

  Soon, Trudy was rattling off the whole story of her and Evie. When she told about the spider in the bathroom, he gave a bark of laughter, which made joy race straight through her body. She liked making him laugh. Maybe everything is all right, after all.

  His hand drifted to her thigh, just above her knee. The tips of his fingers traced slow patterns over her dress that she could feel through the material of her skirt, petticoat, and drawers all the way to her skin, sending shivers up her body, and making her drop a stitch. Her power of speech died.

  In the gathering darkness, she couldn’t see well enough to pick up the stitch. Lest she make the mistake worse, Trudy set down the needles and the ten-inch long scarf in her lap.

  Seth’s fingers trailed up her leg and slid under her palm. He cupped her hand. They stayed silent, holding hands and watching as, one by one, the stars came out.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Two days later, before he headed into town, Seth pulled up in front of the house.

  Trudy stepped out onto the porch, holding a mixing bowl and wooden spoon. Well aware he had no plans to head for Sweetwater Springs, she seemed puzzled.

  The fact that he now had to stop his work and go to town galled him to no end. “I’ve broken the plow and need to take it to the blacksmith,” he called to her, pointing a thumb to the back of the wagon. “It’s more than I can repair by myself.”

  She walked to the edge of the porch. “What happened?”

  He grimaced. “My own darn fault. That piece has been getting weaker, and I didn’t want to take the time to drive to town and have Reinhart reinforce it. Between planting and calving…” Feeling weary, Seth took off his hat and wiped his face with his sleeve.

  Trudy set the bowl down on the bench. She walked down to the wagon, reached up, and touched Seth’s knee.

  Warmth spiked up his leg, cutting through some of his irritation.

  “Do you want to eat something first?”

  “No. Can’t spare the time. I want to finish that field today. Almanac says there’s a storm coming.”

  Trudy pressed her lips together. “I worry about you working so hard.”

  Seeing the genuine concern in her eyes eased his ire some more. “As if you’re not a busy bee yourself, Mrs. Flanigan.”

  “Just a minute.” She whirled and vanished into the house.

  Seth waited with impatience for her to return, his foot tapping the floorboard.

  Trudy reappeared, carrying a roll of cloth and some letters. She pressed the cloth bundle into his hand.

  He felt something warm inside.

  “To tide you over.”

  “Thank you,” he said, touched by her caretaking gesture.

  “I’ll have a meal waiting when you return,” Trudy said with an earnest wifely expression.

  He placed his hand over hers, squeezed. “You don’t know what that means to me.”

  Trudy flushed, as she always did when he paid her a compliment, and handed him the letters. “I don’t need anything from the store. But can you please check to see if there’s mail?” She stepped back.

  Seth touched his hat in a salute. “Yes, ma’am,” he drawled, then flicked the reins to start the team moving.

  She waved and called good-bye.

  As annoyed as he was about taking the time out of his day to drive into town, Seth had a good feeling about having a wife to come home to. This was his first trip without Trudy, and the thought of a hot meal waiting—no longer having to dish up cold beans for dinner because he was too hungry to bother to heat them up—was something to look forward to. And not just any meal, one of Trudy’s meals. He almost patted his waistline in satisfaction. Good thing he was working so darn hard. Otherwise, he’d grow as stout as a banker.

  It wasn’t just the excellent food. Trudy was good company, and he liked someone caring about him. In fact, he liked caring about another person. Yep, not a night had passed when he hadn’t lain on his hard bedroll in the loft and wished he were in his own bed with his wife.

  Yet at the same time, when he had those thoughts about Trudy, Seth also felt as if he was betraying Lucy Belle, which didn’t sit right with him foolish as that notion was. Seth knew he was holding back a bit from his wife because of his guilt.

  Everything will work itself out in time, Seth told himself. No need to rush.

  Juggling the reins in one hand, Seth unrolled the cloth and found a heel of warm bread cut from a loaf just out of the oven. He bit into the piece, crusty on the outside and soft inside. The melted honey butter Trudy had magically made yesterday dripped down his chin. He swallowed the bite of sweetness, wiped his face with the back of his hand, then licked the stickiness off his skin. He’d never tasted anything so wonderful, and the heat from the bread seemed to settle into his stomach, easing the tension caused by the broken plow.

  With thoughts of Trudy, his herd, and plowing on his mind, the drive didn’t seem to take long. Seth soon reached town and drove straight to Reinhart’s blacksmith shop. He set the brake and lifted the plow out of the wagon, carrying it into the open-fronted smithy. A fire burned in the forge, sending out the acrid smell of burning coal.

  Reinhart hunched in front of an anvil, pounding on a glowing red horseshoe. He gave Seth a quick glance but didn’t cease what he was doing. Lifting the horseshoe with long-handled tongs, the blacksmith thrust it into the coals. He cranked the handle of the blower to send air over the coals, heating them red. The horseshoe glowed orange, and Reinhart laid the metal on the anvil, pounding a few more times until the metal cooled to gray. Apparently satisfied, the man plunged the horseshoe into a tub of water. The water hissed and steamed. Smoke and a metallic smell permeated the air.

  Reinhart was a German giant, with tree-trunk arms seamed with the scars of old burns. He had a clean-shaven face and a head as round and bald as a billiard ball. The man wasn’t prone to talking, and a quick glance at the plow told him about the problem without any need for an explanation. He took two thundering steps forward and crouched to examine the plow, testing the strength of the metal and fingering an old dent, which Seth had tried to hammer out.

  The man stood and rubbed a hand over his smooth head. “Come back in an hour.”

  Reinhart didn’t like people standing around watching him work, so Seth took himself off, wondering what he should do. Normally, he would have headed toward Hardy’s. He looked across the street at the saloon, checking to see whose horses were tied at the hitching rail. He recognized Slim’s, and a twinge of regret pinched
him. Resolutely, he looked away from the saloon, remembered Trudy’s letters, and figured he’d walk to the depot and deliver them.

  The train had been and gone not long ago. Seth had heard the whistle when he’d approached the outskirts of town. As he walked, he glanced down at the letters and saw one to her father, one to each of her sisters, and one to her friend Evie.

  Inside the post office of the brown-and-yellow painted depot, Seth found Jack Waite, the stationmaster, sorting through the mail and slotting everything into crates stacked on shelves running across the whole wall. The room smelled of soot and paper. He dropped Trudy’s letters into the flat box on the counter.

  The stationmaster, a squat man with bushy hair haloing his head, smirked at Seth. “Have a surprise for you.”

  “For me?”

  With his forefinger, the man thumped on one of the crates stacked on a middle shelf.

  Seth’s gaze followed the man’s gnarled finger and noticed “Flanigan” was painted in neat letters across one box.

  “That wife of yours is getting so much mail I figured you two needed your own box.”

  “Guess I’m coming up in the world,” Seth quipped. “A mailbox. You’d think I was one of the head honchos around here.”

  Jack scowled, obviously offended. “Volume of mail,” he grumbled. “Not social status. That’s what I go by.”

  Seth held up his hand. “Sorry, Jack. Didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. Been a lot of changes for me lately. Takes some getting used to.”

  Evidently mollified, Jack took two letters from the Flanigan crate. “One from your wife’s father and one from that friend of hers who lives in Y Knot.”

  Seth shook his head at the man’s knowledge of Trudy’s correspondents but didn’t say anything. Sure wasn’t any privacy in this town. It was a miracle he’d managed to keep the secret of Trudy being a mail-order bride. He thanked the stationmaster, said good-bye, and left.

  Back on the street, Seth wondered if he should go to the mercantile, but then figured he might end up buying something he didn’t need. He decided to brave Reinhart’s wrath and headed back to wait for his plow at the blacksmith’s shop.