by Rita Hestand
"I'm sorry for that."
"So am I. He was a good man, just a drinker." She told him. "The Irish have a weakness for liquor sometimes."
"What about your mother?"
"She died years ago, of small pox."
"Then you're alone?"
"Yes, what's that got to do with anything? That's why I needed this job so badly. The only work I could have gotten back home was scrubbing floors or taking care of the elderly, which I wouldn't get paid much for. Taking care of the elderly means you get room and board and not much else. Scrubbing floor makes a woman age fast, and I've done it for too many years now, as that's what my mother did most of her life. I wanted to be a cook. When I saw your advertisement, I answered quickly as I'm a very good cook. I so needed this job."
"Can you make a chicken fried steak he asked?"
"With speckled gravy and biscuits on the side, mashed potatoes that melt in your mouth, corn on the cob and fresh greens from the garden. You name a dish, and I can either make it, or learn to."
"Who taught you to cook?" He seemed mildly impressed.
"My Aunt Betty, she lived with us for a while." She said she couldn't stay forever, so she wanted me to know all the basics before she left."
He smiled at her for the first time and it curled her toes. Why did he have to be so darn handsome? It was almost as distracting as his kisses.
"I sent a wire to Priscilla."
"Well, what did it say?"
"I haven't gotten a reply yet."
"Do you mistrust all women?"
"Trust has to be earned. Respect I have that for all women. But trust doesn't come as easy. And her not being on that train is a very good reason why."
"That should settle it then, you can get an annulment, I'll be on my way I guess, people will forget, and you can be married."
"Won't work!" he told her as she jumped off the bed.
"Why not?" She picked up her valise, starting for the door.
"Because weddings are not something people forget, and you are the bride, maybe not the right one, but certainly the one I married. Besides, I hired you as my cook, you can still do that for me, can't you. The way I see it, you owe me."
"I owe you? Are you out of your mind? You practically drug me to the church, giving me no time whatsoever to explain who I was. You even nudged me in front of the preacher to say, 'I do'. And I owe you?"
"Do you want a job or not?" he asked his lips firming as though it was the end of her discussion.
"Of course, I do."
"Then you got one. You'll be the cook alright, but also my wife, for now."
"But why?" she wailed.
"Because I married you in front of all those people, and you can't run out and leave me to explain this. I'd be the laughing stock of this town if anyone knew this. Look, I'm a damned good rancher, I work hard for all I get, and I've earned the respect of this community. But a man doesn't allow others to laugh at him about women. Not out here."
"Well it was plain as day that it was your fault," she declared loudly.
"It doesn't matter whose fault it is. Why didn't you object when I hauled you to the church. Why didn't you throw a fit, make a scene like any normal woman would have?"
"The truth?" she realized she had blurted that out.
"Yes." He insisted.
"Because you kept kissing me. And I was plum discombobbled."
"Discombobbled?" he laughed despite himself. "Where the hell did that come from?"
"My Irish parents, I suppose. What other word do you use when someone sweeps you off your feet so unexpectedly and kisses you like there's no tomorrow?"
"You liked my kisses, I take it?"
"I'm not used to being kissed sir."
"You expect me to believe that? You sure know how to respond."
"Well, of course I do. You were a total stranger and you kissed me, in broad daylight, like you meant it. Things like that don't happen to normal people. That only happens in dreams."
"My kisses bothered you?" he asked with a sarcastic smile.
"They didn't bother me, but they—"
"They what?"
"Never mind, how long will I have to continue this charade?" She asked.
"I wouldn't call it a charade, we are married. Until I can come up with a plausible explanation as to why I married you by mistake." He told her.
"Can't you just talk to a judge and get it annulled?"
"Then what do I tell the entire community here that I didn't know you weren't my bride? That you couldn't speak up about who you were? Who would believe either of us?"
She set her valises down and stared, her hands going to her chest. "I find it hard to believe that a man like you would marry someone he only corresponded with."
He nodded and lit a cigar. "It's simple. I'm a rancher, a very busy rancher. I didn't have the time to court a lady proper and there was no one around that I cared to pay court to. So, I read an advertisement about women who wanted to marry but were basically in the same position as I, unable to find suitable mates. I joined this list and wrote a few women. Pricilla's letters were unique, and I kept writing to her. People around here kept badgering me to get myself a wife. So, I asked her. That sums it up."
"But you never met her in person."
"No, I haven't."
"I find it hard to believe that a man that is slow to trust, would just marry a woman he'd never even met."
"I guess I did trust her. I wrote her for two years."
"What if she sent you a picture of someone else, I had a cousin did that and when the man saw her, he rejected her, she cried for a month." Trudy told him.
He stared at her now, "I guess that's possible too. Although I admit I never even considered it. Out here good women are scarce. I wanted a lady, but I knew very few and most were already married. It's not unheard of to write to a woman."
"You don't trust, yet you trusted her letters." She shook her head. "Letters can be deceiving."
"The way I felt a letter is something you put your heart into. I'll admit I'm not the best at courting in any manner. A man knows where to get what he wants when he wants it. I never had or took the time to court anyone. I'm just too busy."
She let a slight smile light her lips, "Perhaps this is God's way of tellin' you to slow down."
"Perhaps," he smiled too.
She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes going over him thoroughly. "I guess I can understand though. I was never courted either." She said dully. "I truly hope it all works out for you, but what are we going to do about this?"
"You'll just have to be my wife in public." He told her. "For a while."
"So now, I'm an actress, too?"
"I reckon you are." He studied her. "One thing about it though, when I make a mistake, I make a beautiful one." He smiled now with a sexy curve to his lips. Lips she had already kissed several times.
"Alright, if you promise I can be your cook, I'll do it, I need this job. You were my last hope. I'll admit, I'm dead broke and I need this job like crazy."
"You've got it, lady."
She flopped down on the bed on the other side and put her face in her hands and shook her head. "All I wanted to do was cook for you."
"Well that part won't be hard to live up to. We'll figure something out about the sleeping arrangements, until we get this settled." He told her.
"And what will you do if the real bride shows up, demanding you marry her."
"Well, I won't become a bigamist for any woman." He told her firmly.
She walked around the bed and came to stand in front of him. "What about the things they'll expect of you?"
"Who will expect?"
"Your friends."
"Like what?"
"Well, as a new bride, they'll expect you to kiss me, romance me a little, won't they?"
He looked at her and studied her, "Yeah, I guess they will."
"Of course, they will. I can't play both parts." She frowned, "Are you so desperate to please your fr
iends you'd do it?" she croaked.
"You don't understand men. I have a certain standing in the community. If most anyone knew about us, the truth I mean, I'd me laughed right out of town. You are right they will expect it of me. It's better than having them laugh at me. And we already know that kissing isn't a chore."
"I don't understand, haven't you ever made a mistake?" she challenged. "Is being laughed at so bad, especially if they are your friends."
"Yes, more so if they are your friends, they never let you live it down." he stood up, facing her, "Yes, I have made mistakes, too many in fact, and you are one of them!"
She felt that insult, like a slap in the face. He'd done it now, he'd put her in her place for sure.
"And what makes you think I'll go along with being your blushing bride?" She tried to insult him as much as he had her.
"Because, despite everything, you are my wife and we'll both have to play along until we figure out how to get out of this." He told her in no uncertain terms. "Assuming you want out of it, that is. And assuming you want to keep your job as my cook."
"You think I wanted this?" She gasped. "I don't even know you. I didn't know you were my boss until the man at the door called you Mr. Rogers, and then Lance. I like to have fainted again when I heard that. If you knew how much I looked forward to working for you—"
"I'm flattered. But what gets me is, all you would have had to do was speak up. You didn't. What am I to think?"
"Why you pompous Jackass!" she yelled and covered her mouth.
"You've got a mouth like a back-room saloon girl."
Without thinking she lifted her hand and slapped him hard. She had to raise herself on tiptoe to do it, but she managed. The sound of her hand meeting his cheek made her gasp a bit, and him back away.
"I guess in some way I might deserve that. But you try it again and I'll bend you over my knee."
Her face was scarlet now, "Well, you should see the difference in me and your girlfriend now!"
"Yes, I do! She'd never talk like that, she's a lady."
"Would she slap your face?"
"That I don't know."
After things calmed down to a talking level again, Lance looked at her, "Look, I hired you as my cook. You got that job, if your cooking is as good as you say it is. And the rest we are adults we can be civil to each other."
"I do need the job, but the other I don't know about. I'll try for a while at least. Maybe your girlfriend will show up and settle it all for us." She told him.
An actress and a cook and married to the most gorgeous man she'd ever met, not to mention how well he could kiss.
"I guess you are right about that. Well, let's go home for now."
She nodded and he opened the door for her.
This was a big mistake and it would be over if he wasn't such an influential person in the community. She knew that. But how were they ever going to pull it off?
"Can you ride?" he asked her as they went down the hotel stairs.
"Yes, I can, thank you."
"Good. At least I won't have to teach you that."
She sent him a quick scowl. "If you want me to stay," she paused in the middle of the stairs. "You better start acting like a newlywed husband instead of grouchy bear."
"Lady, wait until you see how newlywed I am!"
"I could always leave!"
"Don't try it, I'll follow you and drag you back, and that's a promise!"
Dear God, they were off to a heck of a start.
Chapter Three
They rode for a long while, way into the country. Evidently it had just rained the day before because the mosquitoes were out. She slapped her arm and killed one. There were blue bonnets everywhere and they paused to enjoy the sight of them.
"My, they are beautiful," she murmured. "Like a carpet over the land. Do they bloom often?"
"Bluebonnets. They bloom every year about this time." He told her.
"They cover the land."
"God's gift to Texas."
She glanced at him, "You believe in God?"
"Yes, don't you?"
"Of course, I do, I'm Irish, the devil would be after me if I didn't." she smiled.
"Are you from St. Louis?"
"No, I was born in New York. But they were an unfriendly bunch there, and my father decided to move westward."
"I see, did you like St. Louis?"
"Yes, pretty much."
"The only thing wrong with Texas is the weather, you can't depend on it. It can be a beautiful morning and a blue norther moves in and it turns cold. It can be dry as a bone in the summer and come a gully washer. It's something you never get used to."
She smiled and they rode on. "God handles those kinds of things."
"Wait until you see how… " he chuckled. "You ride like you've ridden a lot."
"We had a mule, I rode it to work."
"Work?"
"Yes," her tone changed, her head hung. But she held her head high. "Oh God, I wanted to avoid this more than anything."
He stared at her now. "Avoid what?"
She shook her head, a tear spilled down her cheek. "You might as well know, I'm not too proud to admit the truth. I come from a long line of Irish. And since you live out here in the wilds you probably don't even realize what that means, do you."
"So, you're Irish, what of it?"
"What of it?" she repeated dully.
"My great-grandparents were indentured slaves to a plantation owner in Virginia."
"Indentured slaves?" he repeated as though he'd never heard of such a thing.
"Yes, slaves like the black men and women here in the south."
"Are you telling me you are a slave?"
"No, but my grandparents were. And even though I don't like telling it, I'd never be ashamed of them. They worked for a fairly decent plantation owner. At their death, he released their children from slavery. But you see my folks were in a strange land, with little money and even though my grandparents were free, they had nothing to live on, nowhere to go. My father was going to go to New York and set sail back to Ireland, after working and saving the money. But in New York things were hard for the Irish. The only work he found paid little money, and they were treated badly. When my folks met and fell in love my father had become a seaman and he paid to release my mother into freedom. They married, but life was still hard. Had it not been for my mother's relatives in the old country she would have had very little, but she inherited a sum from her grandfather. Since we were poor and Irish, jobs were hard to come by in New York. My mama told me even as a wee one that we'd make out. My father continued to work at sea, but it became unbearable for my mother after a while. So, when we moved, my father gave up the sea. I scrubbed floors with my mother. That's how I started out. When she died, I kept doing it. I'd ride to different places almost every day to do the Mayor's floors. So now you know where I came from. And I probably don't stack up to the lady you were going ot marry. But I refuse to be ashamed of working. It's good for the soul."
Lance stared at her but didn't say anything. His arrogance faded into the wind.
"This happened here, in our country?"
"Yes, some still remain slaves to this day. They call them indentured slaves."
"But you're white."
"Eye, I am. But I'm an Irish white."
So now he knew he had a poor excuse for a bride.
He fell silent, as though thinking of all she'd told him.
An hour or so later, he stopped above a ridge.
She didn't know what to expect of his place, but when he pulled up on a ridge and looked down there was a big ranch house spread out over the land. A huge barn was to one side, corrals and a fenced in area surrounded the place.
"There she is." He told her.
Trudy gasped, "This is your place?"
"Yes, what do you think?"
"Well," she stared in awe of it for a moment. "To tell the truth, I told everyone back home I was going to work for a big rancher, but I never
imagined anything this big. How much of the land is yours?"
"From the edge of the tree line to the east to the banks of the river on the west."
"Your joking?"
"No, why?" He turned his head to stare at her.
"No wonder your too busy to court a lady." She whispered, her glance taking in the vast amount of property.
He chuckled. "I have a lot of help now, but when I was younger it was a real challenge."
They rode for a long while before they reached a trail leading down.
"How long have you lived here?" she asked.
"I was born here. It's been Rogers land for a three generations." He told her.
He stopped and looked at her. "Maybe you should tell me a little more about yourself. People will want to know where you are from."
"I was born in New York, but we moved to St. Louis while I was still a wee one. I grew up in St. Louis." She wouldn't be telling him she grew up in the poor part of town and struggled to go to school as her parents struggled to make ends meet. It wasn't that she was embarrassed, but it wouldn't do him any good to know.
"Did you go to school there?"
"Yeah," she didn't explain any more than that.
"College?"
"No," she eyed him a moment. He had no idea how poor she really had been. "I went to work at twelve."
"Work, scrubbing floors?"
She stopped and stared down the hill, "Alright Mr. Rogers, you want to know it all. You want the truth about me. Well, I'll tell you. I'm not ashamed. I got too much pride to be ashamed. For years I scrubbed floors six days a week, for a prominent citizen of St. Louis and all his properties which were vast. I wanted to work in the kitchen, but they already had help there."
His expression changed, "I see."
That was all he said, but he was very quiet after that.
"Now that isn't something you can tell your prominent friends, is it?" she didn't mean to sound so sarcastic, after all, this man did give her a job in the kitchen. "I guess you'll just have to make something up for them, because I have nothing grand to tell you. I took this job because I needed it. I'm tired of scrubbing floors and I'm a damn good cook!"
"And you have quite a temper, too."
