The Chef's Mail Order Bride: A Sweet Western Historical Romance (Wild West Frontier Brides Book 1)

by Cindy Caldwell

  She sighed, turned the lantern off and fell immediately to sleep, wondering if tomorrow would be as interesting as she hoped it would be.

  Chapter 8

  “You did well in there,” Tripp said as they shut the door of the bank behind them. “I was a little worried beforehand.”

  “Why do you say that?” she asked, turning toward him.

  He put his hat on and untied the buggy from the post outside the bank. He helped her in, got in himself and waited until he was a block away from the bank before he spoke again.

  “Mr. Brady told me when I first discussed the loan that the marriage had to be a real one, not just an arrangement. That was why he was at the wedding yesterday.”

  Her hand flew to her chest. “A real one? How could that be?”

  He shifted a bit in his seat and squeezed the reins a little tighter. “I might have told him that you were my sweetheart from long ago and had decided to come out to Arizona when your parents died.”

  She let out her breath and sighed with relief. “Oh. Well, that’s not too far from the truth.”

  She suddenly felt her heart speed up as she went back over the conversation with the banker. Tripp had asked her to say very little during the signing of the documents, and after he’d presented the marriage license to Mr. Brady, it had been over very quickly. She couldn’t think of anything she’d said that might be a problem.

  “If you’d told me before, I would have been extra careful,” she said.

  His grip on the reins loosened a little and she could feel his relief. “I’m glad you’re not upset about it. I didn’t want to tell you beforehand as I thought it might make you more nervous.”

  She laughed as she felt her heart settle. “You may be right. I might have blurted out something I didn’t mean to. I do that sometimes.”

  She smiled as she turned to him. “Probably better this way. And I didn’t say much at all. Thank goodness.”

  His head fell back as he laughed so loudly it made her laugh, too. He stopped, and said, “I guess it’s probably not that funny, but I am just so happy that this is all moving forward. We’ve got the loan, and I have a beautiful, new wife.”

  Her eyebrows rose and she considered what he’d said as he pulled up outside the mercantile. He’d never yet said anything about how he felt about her one way or another, except to thank her for helping him out.

  She wondered what else he thought about her as he hopped down and tied the horses to the rail outside their new restaurant.

  Our new restaurant, rolled around in her head as she looked up to the sign over the door.

  Adjacent to James’s mercantile, it was a lovely building with a wide porch out front and shuttered windows. He’d painted the shutters a lovely shade of green and Sadie thought it looked very sophisticated, like it was in Chicago. It suited his concept.

  She shook her head, remembering that she was just a helper, this was an arrangement, and in no way was it their restaurant, but his.

  “Welcome to the Occidental,” he said, sweeping his arms grandly toward the building and reaching out his hand for her to step up onto the boardwalk. He squeezed her hand before he turned to the door, taking a deep breath as he unlocked it and swung it wide open, waiting for her to enter first.

  She crossed the threshold slowly, her eyes adjusting to the light. She gasped and her hand flew to her mouth as she surveyed the beautiful interior. Her eyes were drawn to the ceiling, which was covered in copper tiles, reflecting light back onto the shiny, polished mahogany floor.

  To the left, along the wall, sat a beautiful bar with brass runners all across the bottom and gorgeous, etched glass covering the wall behind it. The windows lit the room beautifully, and the reflection of the sunlight streaming in made the room seem to glow, and she was sure that when the candle arrangements on each table were lit, it actually would glow.

  In front of her, at least ten tables sat between the bar and the windows on the right, all with beautiful tablecloths and dark wood chairs upholstered in rich, green velvet. It was a beautiful shade and matched the curtains hanging on the tall windows, which were also lined with beautiful braiding.

  “Tripp, it’s beautiful,” she said quietly.

  He grabbed her hand and she hurried behind him as he said, “Wait until you see the kitchen.”

  She smiled at his excitement, thinking he was like a little boy in a candy store.

  She almost ran into him when he stopped short after entering the swinging door of the kitchen. “This is amazing,” she said when her voice returned after her surprise at seeing such a beautiful, well laid out kitchen.

  She clasped her hands in front of her, imagining what fun it would be to help cook in it. Her chin dropped as she rounded the cooking counter and spied the brand new kitchen stove, complete with the auxiliary air chamber for stoves that she’d only heard about. She’d read about it, but had never seen one.

  “I can’t believe you have one of these,” she said as she turned to Tripp.

  He leaned against the counter, his arms folded over his chest. “Nothing but the best. Had it shipped from New York. Supposed to be the best thing to bake in with its two separate chambers. Provides even heat.”

  She brushed her hand over it as she passed. “I had planned to get one for the bakery, but…” She stopped, leaving those memories behind.

  She noticed another full set of copper pans hanging from the ceiling and a big stove with an open, flat surface for several pans. She’d never seen a restaurant stove before and ventured toward it.

  “How do you keep this at an even temperature?” she asked.

  “Ah, it’s quite complicated. I’ll have to show you, and the first person we should hire is a stove-tender.”

  He pulled open the door of one of the ovens. Everything was nice and clean now, with no soot covering anything. She imagined that soon it would look very different.

  She took a walk around the entire kitchen, asking him for explanations about various things she saw. There were quite a few items still in boxes, both in front and back where they were in the kitchen.

  She wasn’t surprised at all when he said, “We’ve taken a leap of faith and started advertising for an opening on Friday night. And the dishes don’t even come until tomorrow. We’ll really have to hustle to get this all ready in time.”

  “Well, count me in,” she said, smiling as she took off her gloves and coat, resting them on a bar stool out in the main dining room.

  Tripp followed her and set his own coat beside hers. Rolling up his sleeves, he said, “Okay, let’s get started putting things away, arranging, and on Wednesday, we start to cook.”

  Chapter 9

  The next few days flew by as Sadie, Tripp and sometimes Suzanne washed, pressed, stacked, moved, polished and organized every last thing. Each night, they’d stopped by Suzanne’s afterward and grabbed a quick bite to eat, too exhausted to cook for themselves.

  “Ironic, isn’t it?” Sadie said as they pulled up to the Occidental the day before the opening.

  “What is,” he asked, securing the buggy in the back of the building.

  “That you’re a chef, we’ve been married for almost a week and we have yet to eat a meal at home.” She laughed as he turned quickly around toward her.

  “Oh, I didn’t think. I…do you…is that okay?”

  Sadie patted his shoulder. “Of course it’s okay. This is a big thing to do, and I’ve been too exhausted to cook anyway. I’m sure you have, too.”

  “Yes, I have been,” he said. “Thank you for that, but I promise you’ll be very pleased with what you’ll be eating soon enough.”

  He certainly has no lack of confidence, Sadie thought as she followed him into the kitchen. Today was the day that they’d get down to the cooking part, and she’d come prepared.

  She set her things down in the small pantry to the right of the kitchen were they kept the larders and most of the dry goods. James had helped build shelves before they’d started, she wa
s told, and everything was easy to find. She was glad of that.

  She took her favorite cornflower blue apron—her “lucky” apron from the bakery—and placed it over her head, tying the big bow behind her. She smoothed it over her dress and checked to make sure that her hair was tucked under the cap she’d brought from the bakery as well.

  As she walked back out into the kitchen, Tripp was tucking his apron into his belt again, and had donned a chef’s hat.

  He turned and looked when she came in, and said, “What’s that?”

  She felt her cheeks burn as she looked down at her apron. “It’s my lucky apron from the bakery. I thought it might help, and I brought it all the way from Chicago.”

  Her hand went up to the cap on her head that he seemed to be looking at next. “What? You don’t like it?”

  “Well, I suppose it’s a good idea, but not exactly what I had in mind. You can keep it if you want, while we’re prepping.”

  “I don’t know what you did have in mind, but this suits me just fine, thank you.”

  She turned back to the pantry, grabbing a bag of potatoes that he’d mentioned. She took a deep breath and remembered that she was there to help, and that she would do it gladly. But she would not take off her apron. Not for anybody.

  “So what are you starting on first?” she asked, looking over his shoulder.

  “Today is just prep. I’m so glad you know your way around a kitchen. I don’t have time to teach anyone how to peel potatoes.”

  Here eyebrows rose as he turned back to his menu list and recipes that he’d brought from the house. She’d heard that New York chefs could be a little…well, full of themselves, and she’d noticed the looks her sister and brother-in-law had given each other.

  Time would tell, though, so she picked up a knife and began to peel potatoes and place them into a large pot of water.

  They fell into a rhythm, her prepared ingredients ready and in the icebox where they had placed the ice that was delivered earlier from the ice house the next town over. As he gave her another task to complete, she realized that they’d been working for hours and hadn’t eaten a thing.

  She wiped her hands on her apron and turned to ask him what they could have for lunch, but his head was over a steaming pot and his eyes traveled back and forth from his recipe book to the shelf of spices.

  Sighing, she walked to the icebox to see what she could come up with. In just a few minutes, she’d put together a plate of sliced meats, cheeses and a few olives she’d found, along with a jar of mustard that she’d thought looked good. She’d rummaged through the pantry and found a loaf of bread and she set it on the plate after slicing it.

  “Tripp,” she said as she set it all on a butcher block table and sat down on a kitchen stool, pulling the other one closer to their lunch.

  He hadn’t looked up and she said his name again, a little louder. “Tripp, lunch is ready.”

  The sound of the copper pots clanking together as he started and hit his head on them made her laugh, silently to herself, of course, as she didn’t want to offend him.

  “What? Oh, yes. Food. It’s so strange. I get so lost in my creations that I forget to eat myself. Thank you for getting this together. I guess I am hungry after all.”

  He pulled out the stool and sat down, handing her a napkin and a knife for the mustard. As he slathered some on a piece of bread and added some sliced roast beef and cheese, he said, “I think we’re making great progress. Preparations are going very well, and tomorrow, we cook.”

  Her heart fluttered a bit as she looked forward to something different than cutting potatoes and mincing carrots.

  “I can’t wait to see how you do it, and to help,” she said as she rolled up a slice of sliced roast beef and took a bite. She hadn’t realized quite how hungry she had been and tried not to gobble it down.

  “Yes, it will be very helpful to have you as a sous chef. I really am fortunate that you know how to chop.”

  She narrowed her eyes at the pot on the stove that was still steaming. “Chop?” she asked. “What exactly is a sous chef?”

  “It’s a fancy name for a chopper,” Tripp said, laughing as he took another piece of bread. “It’s really the chef’s assistant that does all the prep work.”

  She suppressed a groan as she tried not to imagine days and days and days of…chopping. She loved to cook and so was well aware of the necessity of preparations, but his recipes seemed to take so much more preparation than she’d ever seen before. She wondered how he would even have been able to do it on his own.

  She picked up the empty plate and took it to the wash basin, cleaning it and placing it back on the stack. She turned and leaned up against the counter, watching him throw spices into the steaming pot as he quickly got back to work.

  Well, I guess I’m a chopper, she thought as she picked up her knife and dove in to the bowl of onions.

  She stifled a laugh as she said under her breath, “Oh, excuse me. A sous chef.”

  Chapter 10

  After two days of being a sous chef, Sadie was pretty much chopped out. She enjoyed seeing Tripp create his dishes, and she was anxious for the opening of the restaurant, but she was feeling a little anxious.

  They’d had dinner at Suzanne’s again for two nights in a row, and Suzanne had pulled her into the kitchen to “help” her make tea to go with dessert and had pinned her down. “So, tell me everything. How’s it going?”

  “I believe I’ve chopped enough food to feed Chicago. For a week,” she said, stifling a yawn. “I love to help, but he is very protective about his ‘creative process’ and I don’t get to participate too much in that.”

  Suzanne wrung her hands as the kettle came to a boil. “Oh, dear. Is it too much? How are you faring?”

  Sadie poured the boiling water into the teapot as Suzanne put some brownies on a plate. She’d grown up working in the bakery, too, and hadn’t forgotten a thing.

  “It’s okay, really. I don’t mind. But I’m getting a little bored.”

  “Even with the opening tomorrow night? You know I’ll be there to help.” She placed the teabags in the pot and set the mugs on a tray. Adding a bowl of sugar and pot of cream, she said, “Is there anything you can do to…make it more fun for you?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m just trying to help, right now. It’s very important the Occidental is a success. I’ll manage.”

  “Well, you know how you love to bake. And that it makes you happy. Why not go in a little early and have some fun? It certainly couldn’t hurt, and Tripp isn’t going in until around noon, right? You’d have the place to yourself.” Suzanne winked at her sister as she picked up the tray. “It’s close enough to walk, and you could make some fun things. Maybe he’ll even put them on the menu.”

  Sadie’s eyes widened at the prospect. It had been a long time since she’d baked…or at least it seemed like it, although it had only been a little over a week.

  “Okay, I’ll do it. He has some leftovers in the icebox that I could use to make some more of those meat pies. Everybody seemed to like them, and it would be fun. I wanted to try a different kind this time, with a few different ingredients.”

  “Perfect,” Suzanne said as she pushed through the door into the dining room and was met with delighted squeals as soon as Lucy and Lily saw the brownies.

  Sadie took her place by Tripp, giving him a smile as she grew excited about the prospect of having some alone time in a kitchen again.

  * * *

  Sadie had told Tripp of her plans on their way home from Suzanne and James’s house. He’d turned toward her when she’d asked, looking her straight in the eye for a second.

  “Are you sure? You’ve been working pretty hard lately, and tomorrow’s a big night. We need to be fresh and ready.”

  She laid her hand over his, thinking that might be a way to reassure him. She’d seen it work for her sister with James.

  “I really do think it will do me a world of good. I’d like to bake some bread
to offer the customers while they wait for their food. We can serve butter with it.”

  He frowned, shaking his head slowly. “I don’t want their appetites to be ruined. Their meals will be delicious.”

  She really wanted to sigh, but didn’t. “I think they might like my bread, too, and we won’t give them too much. Does that work? Plus, it’s your first night, and things may take a little longer than you anticipate. This way, they’ll have something to nibble on and won’t get impatient.”

  She smiled sweetly as she squeezed his hand. She’d seen that work, too. She was still new to being married, but she’d been paying attention and was willing to try just about anything.

  “Well, I suppose that wouldn’t be a really bad idea, if you’re sure you have the time. I won’t be in until around noon. I have some measurements to plan out at home before I go.”

  Now she did breathe a sigh…of relief. “That’s perfect,” she said, trying not to sound too enthusiastic.

  She cared very much that Tripp was successful, but she’d been running the bakery on her own for so long that she needed to be in charge…of something. And baking was just the thing.

  As she quickly got dressed and remembered the conversation from the night before, she smiled in anticipation. She could almost smell the meat pies baking—as well as the bread she’d said she’d prepare for the dinner customers. Maybe she’d try some macaroons, too, if she had time.

  Her smile was as big as it could be by the time she’d reached the Occidental a few streets over. Tripp had given her the key the night before, and she slipped it into the lock, the click sounding loud to her in the early morning quiet. It was so early, in fact, that there were very few people about and it had just started to get light.

  It felt familiar—these were the hours she kept at the bakery. She breathed in deeply, feeling comforted by the sense of her old routine.