by Regina Scott
Though his brother was devoted to his schoolteacher wife, he still went out of his way to be gallant to the ladies, young and old. Another woman would have simpered and blushed.
With one hand, Callie pulled a pan from the rack above the stove. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Wallin. If you’ll excuse me, I should earn my keep.” She brought the pan down on the stove with a clatter.
“I thought you brought a ward, not a housekeeper,” James murmured to Levi, brow up.
“We have a few things to work out,” Levi said, and he managed to push his brother out at last.
He closed the door and turned to Callie. For all her bravado, she was shifting from foot to foot as if unsure what to do next. Mica peeped over her shoulder and wrinkled her nose at Levi.
“I thought I’d cook for you,” he said, moving closer. As he passed the infant chair, he gave it a push that set it rolling toward Callie.
She turned as if noticing the rumble of the wheels against the planks. “What’s that?”
“A present from my brothers,” Levi told her. “For Mica.”
The little girl was already reaching out a hand and wiggling her fingers as if wanting to draw the chair closer. Callie tilted her head to study the contraption. “Why? What’s it for?”
“If I may?” Levi held out his arms.
Callie hesitated a moment, then handed him the baby.
He was more sure of how to hold the little girl this time. But it probably wouldn’t have mattered if he hadn’t been. Mica smiled up at him, cheeks pink and eyes sparkling. Levi gave in to the thought of rocking her a moment, her weight soft in his arms, before sliding her into the seat.
Mica blinked, then shifted as if getting comfortable. Her smile spread, and she set up a delighted chatter.
Callie looked less impressed, eyes narrowing.
“It rolls,” Levi explained, demonstrating. Mica slapped her hands down on the tray in front of her and crowed her approval. “You can take her to wherever you’re working without having to carry her.” He gave the chair a little push, and Mica squealed, bright and pure.
Callie’s hand came down over Levi’s on the back on the chair. “Do not show the twins.”
He had a sudden image of Frisco and Sutter, batting the baby and chair between them. He cast a glance toward the stairs. “I won’t.”
Mica scooted as if hoping to get the chair moving again. He held it steady, trying not to relish the feeling of Callie’s hand warm against his.
“How were they doing when you checked on them?” she asked.
He rubbed behind his ear with his free hand, then stopped when he noticed the nervous gesture. “I haven’t had a chance.”
Callie’s eyes widened, and she released him to back away. “You watch Mica. If I haven’t returned in a quarter hour, send for that deputy. I may need rescue.”
Chapter Six
Levi Wallin had filed a claim he couldn’t pan.
That’s all Callie could think as she lifted her mother’s skirts and climbed the stairs to the loft. He wasn’t sure how to deal with a baby, couldn’t keep his family from overrunning his house.
And he had no idea how to handle her brothers.
Callie shook her head at the sight that met her at the top of the stairs. The loft was one long room, peeled logs bracing a roof that no doubt kept out the rain, with a stone hearth at one end and a window with a shutter at the other. Three pallets and two trunks lay waiting. Perhaps it was the dim light that had inspired her brothers to try to start a fire in the grate.
With what looked like one of Levi’s shirts as tinder.
“Here,” Callie barked. “Now.”
She must have sounded sufficiently commanding, for both her brothers obeyed.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, hands on her hips.
Frisco raised his chin. “Setting up the room, like you asked.”
“It’s kind of cold up here,” Sutter agreed.
It was warmer than the house they’d left. “Where’d you get that shirt?”
Sutter nodded to one of the trunks. “In there.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “He has near a dozen!”
Another mark of a preacher, not that she’d mention it. “And what did you do with your clothes?”
Sutter cast a quick glance at the pack, which they’d left along one wall, the quilts piled up around it.
“They’re fine where they are,” Frisco blustered. “We ain’t staying long.”
Sutter nodded. “We was figuring to head north as soon as the thaw sets in.”
Callie bent to put her face on a level with theirs. “You are not heading north. This is our home now. You want to live out of a pack? Fine. But you take Ma’s quilts, and you lay them on the beds. She didn’t work that hard to have them dumped on the floor.”
He and Sutter both looked to the pallets along the far wall as if noticing them for the first time.
Sutter glanced back at her. “We get our own beds?”
“Looks that way,” Callie said, straightening.
“I get the quilt with the velvet patch,” Sutter yelled, diving for the pile.
Frisco wrinkled his nose. “You can have it. Someone spilled tea on it.”
Callie felt a pang of guilt. They had so few things left from her mother—the dress Callie was wearing, the quilts pieced together from cast-off clothing, the gold ring Pa had given Ma—in promise, he’d said, not only for the many years they’d spend together but the gold he would heap at her feet. Adam had given the ring to Anna, and now Callie kept it for Mica. After all, Callie wasn’t planning to marry.
“I’ll wash it when I can,” Callie said, moving forward to take the quilt from Sutter. “Use another one for now.”
While her brothers prepared their beds, Callie retrieved Levi’s shirt. Fine material, soft under her hands. Did it feel good against those broad shoulders?
What was she thinking?
She wadded it up with the quilt for washing, then escorted her brothers downstairs for supper. The preacher had said he was well stocked for food, though she hadn’t noticed any, come to think of it. She blew out a breath. Another area where he was lacking. Maybe she should go hunting.
She had barely reached the ground floor when the scents assailed her—warm bread and the tang of onion.
“What are you cooking, preacher?” Frisco called, hurrying closer to where Levi stood by the stove, Sutter right behind.
Callie deposited the quilt and shirt in the bedroom before going to the table. Mica had been pushed up to the edge of it in the funny little chair and was waving around a wooden spoon. Every few swipes she brought it to her mouth to gnaw on. Time to feed that baby. But with what? If Levi didn’t know how to hold her, he likely didn’t know what kind of food she needed, either.
“My mother called it rag-oo,” he was telling her brothers now, lifting the lid on a copper pan to give whatever was inside a stir. Callie’s mouth started watering.
She made herself slide in next to Levi instead. He’d wrapped a cloth around his waist; already it was splattered with red and brown dots. She wasn’t sure why seeing him mussed pleased her. “I need to feed Mica,” she explained. “You got anything I can mash?”
“There’s a cupboard built into that wall,” he answered, pulling back the metal spoon. “Help yourself.”
She went to check. Sure enough, two little handles opened to a cupboard so stocked, Callie could only stare. Jar upon jar crammed on the shelves—red tomatoes, purple plums, golden applesauce, blackberry preserves, pearly onions swimming around blood-red beets, dusky green asparagus and brighter green beans. Oh, what she could do with all this!
She grabbed a jar of applesauce and carried it back to the table.
Frisco was already sitting o
n the bench. “When do we eat?” he asked Levi.
Levi covered his hand with a corner of the cloth at his waist and eased open the oven. “I’d say a quarter hour, by the look of the biscuits.”
“Biscuits?” Sutter hurried to the table and slid in beside Frisco. Mica called her welcome to them both.
Callie’s feet carried her to Levi’s side, her gaze latched on the browning morsels in the oven. “You know how to bake biscuits?”
He nodded, and she almost cried out in loss as he closed the oven door and shut out the sight of the food she hadn’t eaten since Anna had died. “Ma insisted we all learn to fend for ourselves,” he explained. “Cooking, cleaning, sewing.”
“See there, Callie?” Frisco called. “You won’t have to do anything anymore. The preacher’s gonna take care of us all.”
She didn’t believe that for a moment. Lots of prospectors learned how to pry open a tin and heat it over the fire. That didn’t make them good cooks. Besides, it wasn’t fair to expect Levi to do all the work.
“We ain’t greenhorns,” she told her brothers. “We don’t need to be coddled. I expect you can help with chores.”
Frisco pouted.
Letting her brothers think on the matter, Callie turned to the sideboard beyond Levi. She was thankful to see porcelain-covered cast-iron plates and cups instead of fine china. She wouldn’t have trusted the boys with anything breakable. A drawer in the sideboard provided access to forks and such. She carried them all to the table.
“Make yourself useful while you wait,” she told Frisco.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why should I?”
“We might eat faster,” Callie pointed out as Levi looked up with a frown.
Frisco began setting the table. Sutter pitched in.
As Callie passed Levi again, she nudged him with her shoulder to get his attention. “This rag-oo—can a baby eat it?”
He lifted the lid, and she thought her nose might fly off her face she inhaled the scent so hard. “Maybe the gravy and some of the softer vegetables.”
“Good enough,” Callie said and went to fill a bowl with applesauce, as well.
Frisco and Sutter had the places set. Anna had taught them how. On the trail, everyone had just grabbed what they could and sat around the fire to pull out what was in the pot or on the spit. She hadn’t had a table until Adam had built one for his bride.
Her eyes were feeling warm again. She was not going to let Levi see her cry. Besides, her brothers might think she was unhappy with the accommodations, and the truth was she was beginning to think partnering with the preacher just might work out.
“I can cook, you know,” she told him as she opened the jar and doled out a portion of the applesauce for the rest of them. “If you kill it, I can skin it.”
“Impressive,” he said with a smile, opening the door to check on the biscuits again. She purposely did not look in that direction. “Beth still prefers that we dress the meat before giving it to her.”
Callie nearly dropped the jar. “She puts dresses on the food?”
She thought she heard him choke. Had he taken a bite of the rag-oo? Maybe it wasn’t as good as it smelled.
Frisco must have heard the sound as well, because he frowned. “You all right, preacher?”
Levi gasped in a breath. “Fine. There’s cider under the sideboard. Pour it around, will you?”
By the time Callie had finished, he was bringing the food to the table. Frisco reached for the pot as Levi sat down.
“Grace first,” he warned her brother.
Sutter frowned. “Who’s Grace?”
The preacher’s color deepened. “Grace is what we call the prayer we say before eating, to thank God for the food and His other blessings.”
Now Frisco frowned. “Why? God didn’t cook this. You did.”
Callie had nearly forgotten the custom, and she felt that twinge of guilt again. “Anna said a prayer before we ate,” she reminded her brothers. “So did Ma. Fold your hands like this.” She clasped her hands together and watched as her brothers followed suit. “Now bow your heads and close your eyes.”
“All right,” Sutter said with a sidelong glance at his brother. “But nobody better touch the food.”
“I promise,” Levi said. He was all seriousness, except for the gleam in those deep blue eyes. She made sure her brothers had bowed their heads before doing so herself.
“Dear Lord,” Levi said, voice soft and warm, “thank You for the land to grow these vegetables, the woods to hunt this meat. Thank You for bringing us together at this table. May the food and fellowship bless us, and may we always bless You. Amen.”
“Amen,” Callie echoed, lifting her head. What a nice thought, to thank God for things. Why didn’t more preachers talk about things like that?
“Is ‘Amen’ like ‘the end’?” Sutter asked as Frisco reached once more for the pot.
“It actually means ‘so be it’,” Levi said, intercepting the food. “It’s a way of saying you agree with the prayer. Pass me your plates, and I’ll serve.”
“Don’t be stingy,” Frisco urged him.
He wasn’t. Levi piled the rag-oo on their plates, then popped on several biscuits. Callie alternated between taking a bite and giving a spoonful to Mica. The meat was tender, the gravy thick and spicy, and the biscuits? They melted in her mouth, light as a cloud. She nearly sighed aloud.
“I was thinking,” Frisco said, digging into his third helping. “Callie really should help Mica more. It’s hard for her to cook and such when she’s minding the baby.”
That was true, but her brothers hadn’t seemed to notice or care before now.
“It would be a real blessing, preacher,” Frisco continued, his smile making him look appropriately innocent, “if you was to cook for us every night. For Callie’s sake.”
“And Mica’s,” Sutter added.
Callie met Levi’s gaze and saw a smile. He knew what her brothers were up to. Something warm rose inside her. She wasn’t alone anymore.
“I agree with your sister that everyone in the house should help with the chores,” he said. “Even Mica when she gets a little older.”
Mica blew applesauce bubbles at him.
“I can chop wood,” Sutter ventured.
Frisco elbowed him. “Cannot. Callie won’t let us near the hatchet.”
“Not after you tried to chop down the apple tree Anna planted,” Callie reminded them.
“I can teach you to use a hand ax properly,” Levi said, mopping up the last of the gravy on his plate with a biscuit. “But that’s just part of the task. Once the wood is chopped, you have to stack it near the door, out of the rain where it will dry. And you have to carry the dry wood to bins, one here by the stove and one in the loft.”
“I’ll fill the one downstairs, you do the one up,” Frisco told Sutter.
“You can take turns filling the upper and lower bins,” Callie said. “And you can set and clear the table and learn to wash the dishes.”
Frisco pushed back from the table. “And what are you going to be doing?”
“Oh, all the washing and cleaning,” Callie said. “Mending your clothes. And, I expect, when spring comes around again, there will still be some planting and tending to be done.”
Sutter made a face. “You didn’t do all that at the claim. Why do you have to do it here?”
Callie’s face heated, but Levi stepped in smoothly.
“It had to be hard for Callie to do that all alone,” he pointed out. “When we pull together, the sled goes farther, faster.”
Sutter grinned. “You got a sled?”
“What he means,” Callie put in, “is that when we all work together, it’s easier on everyone.”
Levi nodded. “I’ve lived in a hou
se where everyone pitched in so that it was well tended. And I’ve roughed it in a quilt and tarp by a stream alone. There’s nothing to beat clean clothes, a roof over your head and family around you.”
“And good food,” Frisco agreed with a satisfied sigh.
Callie felt the draw of Levi’s words, as well. To live in a house with a roof that didn’t leak, where a fire warmed her, where good food filled her. Where she had help with all the many things that must be done.
Where Levi Wallin smiled at her across the table like he was her husband and she was his wife.
She sucked in a breath and dropped her gaze. That was just a fool dream, no different from Pa’s stories of big houses and servants. She was grateful for the opportunity to have her family cared for. She wasn’t ready to think about more, because she’d learned long ago that more never came.
* * *
Levi caught himself smiling as he headed for bed that night, then schooled his face before the twins caught sight of it. It didn’t do any good to dwell on Callie Murphy—her bright eyes, her soft sighs, her sweet voice. He had pledged himself to be her partner, to help her raise her brothers and niece. It was as simple as that.
And she didn’t trust him in any regard. After sending her brothers upstairs to bed, she had bid him good-night and carried Mica into the bedroom. A moment later, he had heard the scrape of wood against wood, and something had darkened the light coming under the door.
“Everything all right in there?” he’d called.
“Fine,” she’d called back. “Just moving furniture.”
That’s when he’d realized she’d shoved the chest Drew had carved for him across the door. She was protecting herself and Mica. From him.
He supposed he ought to be insulted, but all he could think was that Callie Murphy was once again being wise. She didn’t know him well enough yet to realize he would never have demanded her attentions.
As he came up into the loft, moonlight trickling down the center of the space, he could just make out Callie’s brothers, snuggled under the quilts they had brought from their brother’s cabin. He and John had carried the extra pallets over from John’s house and Simon’s. The beds had served for company there. Now they were serving his new family.
