by Karen Kirst
“Don’t you want to approve the fabric choice?”
“I trust your judgment.” He made to walk past her and paused. “I’ll pay you extra wages, of course. Expect it with your next earnings.”
Overjoyed, for she would need yarn and thread to crochet blankets, and fabric to sew clothes for the baby, Ellie seized his hand and cradled it between hers. “Thank you, sir. You’re a godsend. First the cooking position, which I relish, and now this...” Her throat grew thick. “You can’t know what a blessing you’ve been to me.”
The roughness of his palm registered, as did the nicks and fine scars across the top expanse. She’d expected the slippery smoothness of a businessman’s hands. Without thinking, she traced the faded pink lines intersecting his skin. “You hurt yourself,” she murmured.
Alexander’s lips parted. Then his jaw hardened to stone. Yanking free, he glowered at her like a bear whose honey supply had been disturbed.
“It’s an old wound,” he gritted out.
Cheeks stinging, she sucked in air as an alarming bout of nausea assailed her. She knew how standoffish he was. This was one of the longest conversations they’d shared. He barely tolerated her presence, and here she’d been caressing his skin. How could she have been so forward?
“I apologize. I—I didn’t mean to...” Act with an absolute lack of professionalism? Make them both uncomfortable?
“It’s already forgotten.”
Striding from the room, his steps continued past the office and storage room and into the kitchen. The rear door slammed. Cringing, her stomach revolted and, hurrying to reach an empty pitcher on the hutch, she thanked the Lord no one was around to witness her humiliation—most of all, Alexander Copeland.
Chapter Two
He’d nearly come undone at an innocent display of gratitude. His overreaction had caused the young widow a great deal of embarrassment. Her pained expression had remained with him throughout the day, despite his best efforts to put it from his mind. Hiking through the forest at a brisk pace hadn’t done the trick; nor had sitting on the riverbank waiting in vain for the fish to bite. Alexander was convinced his brother and sister wouldn’t recognize him either by his appearance or his actions.
A deep sigh escaped his lips as he passed the almost indiscernible outlines of the vegetable garden and modest barn behind the café. He met Flo Olufsen on the kitchen stoop. The jolly sixty-year-old had come with the purchase of the café. A jill-of-all-trades, Flo’s tasks varied from day to day depending on what Ellie required of her. While she didn’t pester him, she didn’t spare him from her dry wit.
A circle of light spilled from her lantern. Frizzed corkscrew curls sprouted in all directions, faded strawberry mixed with gray, and her carpet-like eyebrows rested above twinkling blue eyes.
“Evening, boss.” She grinned, revealing a missing front tooth. “The kitchen’s tidied and ready for another day of business tomorrow.”
“Thank you. Good night.”
His fingers had closed over the knob when her voice stopped him. “Oh, you should know Ellie’s asleep at the table. Poor thing’s all tuckered out. Said she was going to rest for but a minute before heading home. Next thing I knew she was sound asleep.”
Alexander stared. “Why didn’t you wake her?”
“I saw you coming along the trail. My Eugene is waiting for me. He gets out of sorts if I’m too late getting home.” Waggling her fingers in the air, she bustled around the corner and disappeared into the alleyway.
Wonderful.
His steps measured, he entered the darkened kitchen. Spanning the entire width of the building, the room was divided by a natural walkway to the hallway smack in the middle of the far wall. The cooking was accomplished on a pair of cast-iron stoves to his right. A square table was situated nearby for food preparation. Opposite the stoves, a waist-high counter affixed to the wall held a dry sink, carving and bread knives, spoons and other utensils. An ice cabinet sat beneath the alley window. On the left side, stairs tucked against the wall led to his living quarters. Beyond that, another, larger table was situated before a pie safe and floor-to-ceiling shelving holding cooking and serving dishes. It was at that table where he discovered his cook.
Slumped over the surface, her face was hidden in the crook of her elbow. A single wall lamp flickered beside the hallway entrance. Her dark hair spilled in an unruly waterfall over her shoulder. Her even breathing suggested she was in the throes of sleep.
Alexander propped his fishing pole against the table.
“Mrs. Jameson?”
No response.
Frowning, he propped one hand on the chair and bent closer. “Ellie? It’s time to go home.”
Making a protesting warble in her throat, she turned her head so that he was afforded a view of her milk-white cheek and pert nose. She looked extremely fragile to him in that moment, nothing like her usual energetic, upbeat self. Annoyance flared. He wasn’t supposed to be making personal observations about his hired staff.
Giving her shoulder a firm shake, he repeated her name once more.
“Hmm?” Slowly sitting up, she stretched like a cat after a nap in the sun. Her vision must have cleared, for she appeared startled at the sight of him. “Oh! Alexander... I—I mean, Mr. Copeland.” Glancing about her, she passed a hand over her face. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I was more tired than usual.”
Watching her gain her feet, Alexander wondered if he was working her too hard. He experienced a pang of guilt. While he was the proprietor and could do as he saw fit, it went against his upbringing to allow others to shoulder the majority of the hard labor while he sat behind a desk balancing ledgers. The state of affairs hadn’t bothered him before she’d come around. But then his previous cook had been a stout, gruff man in his late forties who could shoulder fifty-pound sacks of flour without breaking a sweat.
Ellie pushed her chair in, took one step toward the door and swayed on her feet. Alexander caught her around the waist. Her palms found his chest to balance against. Her mouth slack, her big doe eyes blinked up at him.
“I’m sorry. I got a tad light-headed.”
The scent of vanilla surrounded him like a warm hug. “Can you stand on your own?”
She nodded. Her hands fell away, and he released her.
“I’m fine,” she said, smoothing her hands along her skirt. Then she gasped. “What time is it?”
“A quarter until ten.”
“I have to hurry.” Brushing past him, she selected a kerosene lamp from an upper shelf and quickly lit it. “My in-laws aren’t thrilled about my working. They’ll pitch a fit if I come home late.”
Alexander realized he had no idea where she lived. “How far is it?”
“About a twenty-minute walk,” she said matter-of-factly.
He hid his consternation. In a bustling city with lots of people around and gas streetlamps, that might not be a problem. In mountainous, sparsely populated terrain, a single woman walking alone at night courted trouble.
“Do you have a horse? Or mule?”
She opened the door, giving him a glimpse of the star-studded navy sky. “No. I don’t mind walking, though. Helps clear my head.”
No wonder she was exhausted. Walking that distance after a good night’s sleep wouldn’t be a burden. However, after a full day of slaving over a hot stove, her feet had to be sore and her body begging for rest.
“I’ll take you.”
She twirled the reticule dangling from her wrist in endless circles. “I don’t want to trouble you. I’m accustomed to walking.”
“No trouble.” Waving her onto the stoop, he locked the door behind him. The cooler air hinted that autumn was around the corner. “I’ll just be a moment.”
He had the team hitched and ready in a matter of minutes. Once Ellie was settled on the
high seat, he climbed aboard and listened to her instructions. They rode along the back lane past darkened businesses. His passenger fell silent. Considering her typically chatty nature, Alexander attributed it to fatigue.
Glancing at her profile, he noted the weary slump of her shoulders and the tight clasp of her hands in her lap. He’d bent the truth a bit. Giving her a ride home was inconvenient and awkward. Outside of the café, he hadn’t been alone with a woman since before leaving Texas. In fact, he’d had limited interaction with anyone. Alexander had always been one to enjoy his own company, but his hermit-like existence would shock his brother and sister.
Grimacing, he absently rubbed his midsection. What had stirred these thoughts of Thomas and Margaret? Nothing good could come of dwelling on everything he was missing.
“Are you in pain?”
“What?”
She pointed to his middle. “You do that a lot.”
Resting his forearm on his thigh, he shook his head. “Force of habit.”
“How long have you suffered stomach troubles?”
Since my wife and son were murdered.
Curling his fingers into a fist, he said aloud, “A couple of years.”
“That must be difficult.”
“My flare-ups happen when I’m not careful with my diet. Or when I go long stretches without sleeping.” He clamped his lips shut. Why had he told her that?
Thankfully, she didn’t pepper him with questions, and his tension ebbed. The clop of the horses’ hooves competed with whirring wheels. When the distant yowl of coyotes echoed through the mountains, she didn’t react.
“I had a great-aunt who suffered from ulcers. She was adamant that cabbage juice was the only true remedy.”
Stifling his curiosity about her background, he kept his focus on the dark lane as they entered a thick-growth cove. The avenue was barely passable. More than once, his black bowler was nearly lost to overhanging branches. She apologized.
“Howard, my father-in-law, has been promising to trim this for weeks. As you’ve surely heard, the list of farm chores is endless.”
Images of his family’s vast ranch surged unbidden in his mind. Farm or ranch, living off the land took energy, determination and raw grit. Homesickness rose up so fast he felt robbed of breath. What he wouldn’t give to see those rolling green pastures dotted with cattle, the ranch house and stables framed by boundless cerulean skies. And his siblings... His throat became clogged with emotion as he imagined how they’d changed. They exchanged letters every now and then, but it wasn’t the same as seeing them in person.
Memories of the fire that had stolen his home and his wife and child threatened, and, in order to stave them off, he sought conversation he normally wouldn’t have.
“I heard you arrived in the area in May. Where are you from?”
If she was startled by his interest, she didn’t show it. “Originally Lexington, Kentucky. Beautiful country. My parents died when I was ten, so I went to live with my grandparents in a different part of the state. Their farm abutted the Jamesons’ property. That’s how I met Nolan. My husband.”
Like him, she was no stranger to loss. “My mother died giving birth to my youngest sister,” he said. “I was eight.”
“I’m sorry. Is your father still alive?”
“His heart gave out on him the year I turned twenty.”
Lionel Copeland had seemingly enjoyed good health. His death had blindsided everyone. Thomas and Margaret, their cook and mother-figure Rosa and even the ranch hands had turned to Alexander for reassurance that their way of life would continue as it always had. While it had been an immense burden for one so young, he’d embraced his duty without complaint.
“Loss like that stays with you, doesn’t it?” she sighed. “The normal days are hard enough, but the momentous occasions are worse. Those are the days you really grieve their absence.”
Again his thoughts turned to a painful place. His wedding day had taken place four years after his father’s passing, and yet he’d craved his steadfast presence. He would’ve given anything for his father to have had the opportunity to meet Sarah. Then there was the day Levi was born...
He must’ve gasped aloud, because Ellie angled toward him. “Is something wrong? Are you hurting?”
Alexander glanced into her liquid brown gaze. The wagon lanterns swinging from their hooks had light patterns playing across her face. He felt suddenly like a man who’d been encased in ice, his mind and body numb, and now the ice was thawing and he was beginning to sense every pinprick of discomfort. He gritted his teeth. I’m not ready. I can’t relive the nightmare. Not yet.
“I’m perfectly well, thank you,” he told her in stilted tones.
With a skill born of practice, he locked away his past and concentrated on his surroundings, soaking in details he could transfer to paper later. He’d taken to sketching in his free time, mostly nature scenes and animals. He didn’t possess natural talent, but his work no longer resembled a child’s scribbles.
Unfortunately, Ellie did not sense his need for retreat.
“Nolan was excited about this move. Everyone was, including me. I had hoped it would provide us with a fresh start. We couldn’t have known what lay ahead.” Her voice hitched, and she cleared her throat. “The men started on Howard and Gladys’s cabin first. Nadine, Nolan’s sister, was insistent that she and her husband, Ralph, would have theirs built next. Within a month, they had both cabins finished. And then they started on ours. They were felling trees one drizzly June day, and Nolan was standing in the wrong spot. I wasn’t there... I didn’t see what happened. I was dressing a rabbit for stew I’d planned to serve that evening.”
Up ahead, lights shone in the windows of two dwellings situated on opposite sides of a stamp-sized yard. Relief coursed through him. He hadn’t asked to travel memory lane with her. Getting sucked into other people’s problems was a sure way to lose his hard-won control. Living their pain brought his own rushing to the surface.
As he guided the team to a stop, she didn’t seem to notice his lack of response. She appeared to brace herself as the door on their left banged open and an older couple already in their nightclothes emerged onto the porch. The gray-headed man with square features sported a rifle.
“Do you have any notion what time it is?”
The woman Alexander assumed was Ellie’s mother-in-law studied him with ill-concealed malice. Probably in her early-to midsixties, she was tall for a woman and big boned. Her dark hair hung to her waist and was striped with wide swaths of silver.
Ellie hurried to disembark. “I apologize, Gladys. I accidentally dozed off after my shift.”
“You know not to bring strange men here.” The man balanced his weapon against his hip.
“This is my boss.” Ellie’s voice was low and strained. “I’ve told you about him.” Not looking at Alexander, she waved her hand between them. “Alexander Copeland, meet my in-laws, Howard and Gladys Jameson.”
He touched his hat brim. “I’m sorry for the disturbance.”
Shooting him a baleful look, Gladys gestured behind her. “Get inside, Ellie.”
Even in the darkness, Alexander could sense her resistance.
“It’s late,” Ellie hedged. Motioning to the other cabin, she said, “I’d like to go to bed. How about we talk tomorrow?”
“We’ll talk now.”
Spinning on her heel, the older woman stalked inside, holding the door ajar. Howard reeked of suspicion.
Something inside Alexander demanded he seize his employee and take her back to town.
“Thank you for the ride, Mr. Copeland.” Her reticule balled in her hand, she started to follow her mother-in-law.
“Ellie.”
Her eyes widened. “Yes?”
“Do you have need of anything more?” Wil
l you be all right?
She hesitated. “No, sir.”
She continued inside the cabin. Howard joined them, shutting the door firmly without a word of goodbye. As he set the team in motion, he was startled at the sight of a man on the other cabin’s porch. Shrouded in shadows, he didn’t nod or wave, and his intent gaze followed Alexander’s progress. Must be the brother-in-law she’d mentioned. Apparently, these Kentucky natives weren’t keen on visitors.
Beyond the cabins, a crude shelter housed several horses. Ellie had indicated she didn’t have a mode of transportation. He realized it was more a case of not being allowed to make use of it.
The situation hauled him back years to another young woman who’d been bullied by her father and his twisted crony, Cyrus Pollard. He’d rescued Sarah from both men by marrying her, but there’d been consequences. If Ellie needed help, she had resources, men like the sheriff or Deputy Ben MacGregor. Alexander wasn’t about to get involved.
* * *
“Are you lookin’ to sink your hooks into that highfalutin businessman?”
Gladys had spun to face her, her hair in disarray and her bloodshot eyes shooting accusations. Harold remained by the door. Ellie felt hemmed in.
Shock ate at the bone-deep weariness weighing her down. She yearned for her bed. “Certainly not. I’m not in the market for a new husband.”
“You don’t behave like a woman who’s in deep mourning,” Gladys spit. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re relieved my Nolan’s dead and gone. You act as if four years of marriage meant nothing to you.”
“That’s not the case, Gladys. I’m as sorry about what happened to him as you are.”
Guilt wormed through her defenses. Of course she hadn’t wanted any harm to befall Nolan. Whatever his faults, he’d been a faithful husband, a hard worker who provided for her needs. Her physical ones, anyway. She’d never had to worry about a roof over her head or enough food and clothing.
But part of what she’s saying lines up with the sense of freedom you feel, doesn’t it?
