Ryder (Prairie Grooms, Book Two)

by Kit Morgan

  The men unloaded the wagon and then went to tend the horses. Constance stared at the pile of goods on the kitchen table and tried to figure out where she was going to put them. Up until now she figured Ryder had never brought home this many supplies at one time before. He had no larder, at least none that she could see, and she wasn’t sure if he had a root cellar either. She put both hands on her head and pulled her hair. What was she to do?

  She studied the room again and noticed some containers on the floor near the stove. What were they? She went to investigate and discovered they were stoneware storage jars. She took the lid off one. “Ah ha!” she said to herself. “Sugar. And what’s inside of you?” she muttered as she removed the lid off another. “Looks like flour.” She continued to examine the containers, and discovered a smaller one for salt, and the fourth had some old ground coffee in it. “Well, that solves one problem at least.” Since the jars were empty for the most part, she set about wiping them out before putting the new stores in. By the time she was finished, Ryder came back into the house.

  “Puttin’ things away, Sugar?”

  “Yes, but I don’t know where to place some of it.”

  “You leave that to me. I need to show you where things are kept. Got me a root cellar out back.”

  She hadn’t noticed it, but then, she hadn’t really been looking for one when she’d been out back. The only thing behind the cabin she’d been drawn to was the privy. “It would be most advantageous for me to know where everything belongs.”

  “Yes, ma’am. And for me when you start cookin’ them wonderful meals I know you’ll be makin’.”

  “I’m afraid my cooking will be less than satisfactory at first.” She looked away, embarrassed at her lack of culinary skill.

  Ryder reached her in a few quick strides, took her in his arms, and pulled her close. Her head fell back at the action and exposed her throat. He bent his head, kissed her neck and whispered. “I’ll teach ya, don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.” He kissed her again, this time repeatedly, and worked his way up to her ear lobe. “Besides, if’n I teach ya how to cook, then I’ll get things done the way I like.”

  Her knees went weak and she slumped in his arms. “I … I … hope I can learn,” she gasped.

  “Ahhhh Sugar,” he breathed against her ear. “I’ll be teachin’ ya all kinds of things. Ya just wait and see.” His mouth found hers, and he kissed her fully, just as he did the night before when he held her in his lap. Her knees gave way, and she almost collapsed. If he hadn’t been holding her, she surely would have.

  He broke the kiss and looked into her eyes, his own a deep brown. “You sure do taste sweet. I might never have to have dessert again,” he said, his voice low and husky.

  She swallowed. Her insides were flipping all over the place, and she couldn’t even begin to feel her legs. She then realized the only reason she was standing, was because he held her up. “I … I …”

  “Shhhh, don’t say nothin’, Sugar. Let me look at ya.” And he did, from top to bottom as he held her to him and drank in the sight of her. “I ain’t never been married before, and I don’t know much about doin’ it the white folks way, but I promise with everything that I am, that I’m gonna try.”

  She started. “Wha … what do you mean?”

  He straightened them both, having just bent her over to kiss her again. “I mean what I said. I aim to be a good husband to ya.”

  She blinked a few times to clear her head. Something he spoke earlier didn’t register right. “I’m a little confused …” White folk? There it was. Those were the words out of place. “What did you mean when you said, doing it the white folks way?”

  He held her close, looked away, and took a deep breath. “There’s somethin’ I ought to tell ya. No time like the present I guess.”

  “Tell me what?”

  He turned his face back to her. “Seth and I … well we were orphans ya see, wouldn’t have survived if … if’n the Indians didn’t take us in.”

  “Indians?” she squeaked, her eyes growing wide. “Real Indians?”

  “Uh-huh. You ain’t ashamed none, are ya?”

  “Ashamed? Why would I be ashamed?” she breathed. “I think it’s … why it’s … so … wonderful!”

  “Wonderful?” he asked in shock. “Most women think it’s horrible.”

  “No, it’s … well this is silly … but to me it’s all so romantic. Like something out of a dream.”

  “What?” he asked in disbelief. “Do you English look at everything that way, or did I just get lucky and marry someone who does?”

  She blushed. “I admit to being a hopeless romantic, I can’t seem to help myself.” She looked at him then, her eyes filled with admiration. “I have so many questions for you, I scarce know where to begin!”

  “How about we begin by getting’ the rest of these supplies put away. Then cook some supper. How’s that sound?”

  She nodded as he bent his face to hers once more.

  “And after supper, Sugar, I’ll teach ya how to make dessert …”

  His voice was laced with something she’d never heard before, and she wondered what kind of dessert he had in mind.

  * * *

  Dinner was simple fare of fried eggs and biscuits, but at least Constance got to learn how to make them. The eggs she’d mastered that morning, but biscuits were something else entirely. She put too much flour in at first while trying to pay attention to the steps he was giving her. He wasn’t showing her how to do it this time, he was telling her. She came to the quick conclusion that she learned much better by watching someone rather than listening to their instructions. She hoped she wasn’t as clumsy when it came time for him to show her how to make dessert.

  Cutty lifted a biscuit from the pan and eyed it suspiciously before taking a bite. “Not bad, a might on the burnt side.”

  “It’s my first try. I dare say you should find it in your heart to be more forgiving.” Constance straightened in her chair as she reached for one. She didn’t know you one could cook biscuits in a frying pan, but since Ryder’s stove didn’t have an oven, what other way was there? She lifted out a biscuit without burning a finger -- a small victory in itself – and reached for the butter crock. It was empty. “Oh dear … I see another thing that shall have to be remedied.”

  Ryder looked at the empty crock. “Yep, just as soon as you churn some, darlin’.”

  She slowly turned to face him. “Ahhh, yes, how silly of me …” she said with a shudder. Gads! It was all she could do to get through the biscuits! What sort of calamity would she make out of churning butter? She watched Edith do it once a little over a week ago at the Triple C, but didn’t pay attention to the details. If only there was an instruction book on how to do it all, she’d surely find a way to earn the money to purchase it!

  “Don’t worry, Sugar. I have to milk Harriet, then set aside some of the cream to start to sourin’. Once that’s done, you can try your hand at butter makin’.”

  She stared at him across the table, her mouth half-open. She snapped it shut. For crying out loud, what was she doing? She was acting as if he’d asked her to bring back someone from the dead, not churn butter! How hard could it possibly be? “I’m looking forward to learning,” she said with as much confidence as she could muster.

  Cutty reached for another biscuit and bit into it. “Ya didn’t mess these up too bad. Let her try makin’ something else tomorrow, boy. Maybe she’ll surprise us.”

  Ryder looked to the ceiling in contemplation. “Flapjacks. Yep, tomorrow I’ll teach ya how to make flapjacks.”

  “What is a flap … jack?” she asked, over pronouncing the words.

  “It’s a pancake, everybody knows that,” Cutty said, his own pronunciation better than usual.

  She eyed him with curiosity before Ryder broke into her thoughts. “I can teach you to make all sorts of things!”

  She gave him her attention. “Might I ask where you learned to make all these
fine foods?”

  “Chuck wagon,” was all he said.

  “What on Earth is a … oh never mind. Suffice to say you cooked a lot at one time?”

  “Yep. A man by the name of John Sutter taught me everything about cookin’ I know. He was one of the best.”

  “Chuck wagon, eh? Do tell?” asked Cutty as his brow rose in question. His speech was better again, and Constance wondered if he was beginning to mimic her. She’d heard of such things, but had never seen it in action. Perhaps if Cutty was around her long enough, he and Ryder would begin to speak properly. Either that or she’d begin to speak poorly.

  “Me and Seth were makin’ our way across Texas, and had a short tour with the Calvary.”

  “Wait a minute,” Constance interrupted. “You were raised by Indians, and you were in the Calvary? Isn’t that rather conflicting?”

  Ryder screwed his face up at her. “Nah,” he drawled.

  “What a oxymoron,” she commented to herself.

  Ryder and Cutty glanced at each other and shrugged. “Well, if’n you mean Indians and the United States Calvary don’t mix, then you’d be right. But the Indians we dealt with weren’t a problem, and Seth and me were only involved for a short time. We was just doin’ some volunteerin’ is all.”

  She sat speechless. He spoke of being raised by Indians and his short time in the Calvary as if they were nothing. But she could sense that underneath his casual demeanor, such was not the case. She would let it rest for now. It was not her business to pry into his past and if he wanted to share it, he would. This was not like asking him about his favorite color or if he liked to read.

  She suddenly froze. He could read, couldn’t he?

  “I bet Harriet’s back by now wantin’ her supper. I’d best go take care of the old gal.” Ryder got up from the table, stretched, and went to the door. “You comin’ Cutty?”

  Cutty wiped his mouth with his hand then brushed crumbs from his beard. “Yes sir, sure am!”

  Constance cringed at his actions, then sighed. Men, they were such uncouth creatures. She watched them leave then looked at the dishes left on the table. She would have to go outside to the pump and get water in order to wash them. She sighed and glanced out the window at the setting sun. Ryder had pulled back the burlap sacks he used to cover them so they’d have some light to eat by. In less than an hour, it would be dark, and she hoped he planned on shutting their makeshift curtains again. The thought of Indians roaming the prairie was still romantic in her mind. The thought of rustlers in the area wasn’t, and she didn’t relish the thought of an outlaw peeking into their cabin at night.

  She got up, grabbed a bucket she found earlier under the table, and went outside to fill it. The pump was similar to the one on the Triple C ranch, so she at least knew how to work the thing. She got her water, trudged back inside the cabin, and lugged it up onto the stove. That done, she glanced around for the pan she knew was for washing, but didn’t see it anywhere. “Now what am I going to do?”

  She folded her arms across her chest and tapped her foot in annoyance. “Where did I see that thing?” She did see it, she knew she did. “Oh yes!” She spun around and went out the front door. Sure enough, the pan was hanging off to one side of the door next to a few other things. Ryder had a saw, the wash pan, another smaller pan, and several other tools there. She recalled August Bennett’s farmhouse with its lovely yellow paint, white trim, lace curtains and pretty gingerbread scroll-work on the front porch. Ryder’s cabin was a far cry from what her sister Penelope lived in. It was dirty, tiny, and unorganized. “But it won’t always be like this …” she told herself. “It can’t be.” She sighed. Stop it Constance! You are not in competition with your sister over who has the nicest things …

  Eloise popped into her head. She’d be living in the hotel until Seth could afford to build a house, and that could take time. Even so, her sister would be living in a plush hotel room, not a one room, windowless, leaky cabin.

  But look at what he accomplished in one day! She thought to herself. He procured a wagon and supplies to last a couple of weeks. We now have much more than we did last night … And what had she done, but complain? To herself at any rate, but complaining was complaining.

  She plucked the pan from its nail and brought it into the house. She then put it on the table and sat to wait for the water to heat. As she waited she looked at her hands. They were soft, white, feminine. How long would it take them to become rough, tanned, calloused? A few days, a week, who knew? Were Sadie and Belle’s hands rough and calloused? She couldn’t remember, but as fastidious as she was about her own, she was sure to have noticed if theirs were in a bad way. But, there was more than one woman on the Triple C, and the workload was lighter with more to take care of it.

  She suddenly sat up. “Gloves! I shall wear gloves when I work! Constance you silly girl, why didn’t you think of that before?” She sat back in her chair, proud of her idea, and rubbed her milk white hands together in anticipation. But first, she would have to tackle the current dishes.

  Eight

  Finished with the dishes, she decided to light the lantern. The light outside was growing dimmer and dimmer, and it was becoming hard to see. The lantern lit, she sat at the kitchen table and again took in her surroundings. Soon she was twiddling her thumbs, and after twenty minutes, stepped to the door to see if Ryder was coming. There was no sign of either him or Cutty. “Where could they be?”

  She left the small porch and went into the barn. Nothing. She then marched around it, but still nothing. The cabin was nestled in a small dale between the prairie’s gentle hills with the tree line at it’s back. It was about a quarter mile away. Could that be where they were? Perhaps they went in search of the cow. Constance put her hands on her hips in annoyance. “Ryder Jones, where are you?”

  She shook her head, resigned to the fact they might not be back anytime soon, and went back to the cabin to entertain herself as best she could. Once inside she fiddled with the burlap curtains and re-covered the window openings. At least if there was a wind that night, it wouldn’t be blowing through the cabin! That done she gazed around the room and tried to imagine what it would look like if she could have it exactly as she wanted. She’d put lace curtains in the windows, and get bigger kitchen table with more chairs. A new bed would be in order, with a pretty quilt covering it, and fluffy pillows filled with goose feathers. She’d make sure she had a pretty tablecloth along with a full tea set.

  Constance sighed at the thought, and plopped down into one of the rickety chairs and stared at the crumbs on the table left by their dinner.

  She brushed them onto the floor in one quick move, and stared at the dingy walls, sooty stove, and rough-hewn table. “All good things come to those who wait …” she quoted. She looked at the burlap sacks covering the windows. “I just hope I don’t have to wait too long.”

  But wait she did. For Ryder’s return that is, and soon found herself growing sleepy. So for lack of a better idea, she crawled into bed and remembered Sadie was going to try to come the that day and deliver the rest of her things. She concluded she’d see her tomorrow. Harrison was coming after all, and wouldn’t it be nice to see Sadie? She slipped off to sleep with the thought, and didn’t so much as stir when her husband finally came home.

  * * *

  Ryder hung up his hat and took off his boots where he stood, never once taking his eyes from his wife’s slumbering form. She’d left the lantern burning and he smiled, a memory of his mother coming to mind, one of long ago, when she too would leave a light burning for him.

  He would go out to hunt bullfrogs at night, and would watch the stars and listen to his father tell stories of going west. He and Seth were six and eight years old at the time, and had no idea they would take part in their own story the following year. But their trip west did not contain the derring-do of their father’s stories. Instead it was full of heartbreak and death.

  Ryder closed his eyes against the memories as he balled his
hands into fists. He was twenty-six now, a man with his own ranch (though it wasn’t much) and a new bride. He’d want children soon, yet Cutty’s words kept coming back to him.

  He scanned the dim room and knew the old codger was right. He would need a better house before he added any children to the mix, and before he could do that, he’d need money. Unless …

  He could use the trees at the back of his property for lumber, and the well he already had would be good enough to support the needs of a larger household. It would take time and a lot of work, but he could do it. Cutty would help, as would August. Then there were the neighbors – okay, maybe not, he didn’t have any – but if he had enough men, he could get it built before winter. The cabin could then be used as a bunkhouse when his horse breeding business took off. Yes, he could do this.

  Ryder smiled and drank in the sight of Constance asleep on their cot. Her curves were evident even under the quilt, and he let loose a heavy sigh. Should he wake her? Or wait another few days until he could talk with some of the men in town and the Cooke brothers? If he planned to build a house before winter, he’d have to get going with it sooner than later.

  “Ryder?”

  His head snapped up, he’d been so deep in thought he didn’t hear her stir. “Hey there, Sugar,” he whispered. He went to the cot and sat. “I’m sorry if’n I woke ya up.”

  “Why are you whispering?” she asked, her voice just as low.

  “Same as you I guess, cause it’s night time and that’s what ya do.”

  She smiled. “Where have you been?”

  “Ol Harriet decided to give Cutty and I a merry chase. Cutty spied her out on the prairie between here and the tree line. I know she needs milkin’ so we went to fetch her, but she took off toward the trees and then up the hill. Blasted cow.”