Mrs. Stevenson. It didn’t even jar him to hear it. But that fact jarred him to the bones.
Chapter Eleven
Virginia glanced at the clock ticking away the minutes, looked back at her few dresses in the wardrobe and sighed. She needed to make a decision. She’d already taken too long with her morning toilette. Her hand hovered over the cream-and-dove-gray-striped dress. It was the best one she had brought with her. The pointed bodice above the two-tiered full skirt fitted her small waist in a most flattering way. And—
No! That dress was for church and other social occasions. She was only being vain wanting to wear it this morning so Garret would see her at her best. He didn’t care, anyway. He didn’t find her attractive, or he would have tried to kiss her last night. Not that she would have let him! Still, he’d had the perfect opportunity. The image of him standing in the snow, holding her shoulders and looking down at her, flashed into her head, brought with it the sting of his indifference, the hurt of his rejection. She pushed it aside. It was the memory of that moment that had stolen her sleep last night. She’d stared into the dark and gone over and over it, wondering why...
Enough! She was glad Garret hadn’t tried to kiss her. It would only complicate their pristine, in-name-only marriage. If one could even call it that.
She took a deep breath and fastened the waist of her quilted silk petticoat. What was wrong with her, anyway? It was foolishness to waste her time reliving the incident. She didn’t want Garret to be attracted to her. It was only that her pride was hurt. It wasn’t pleasant being...rebuffed.
She snatched her dark green wool dress with the ecru dots off its hook and slipped it on, puffed out the gathered fullness at the top of the sleeves and fastened the small buttons that closed the bodice. It was a nice, sensible dress.
Sensible...
Hmm. Perhaps if she looked older... She gazed into the mirror, removed the added ecru lace collar and cuffs, and ran her palms down over the wide pleats that flattened the front and left the fullness at the sides and back of the long skirt. That was better. Now, she had only to do her hair and she would be ready for the day.
She hurried to the dressing table, brushed her hair back and up to her crown, stopped and stared at her long, bouncy curls. They looked like a young girl’s. She frowned, turned her head this way and that. There had to be some way to—her gaze lit on the dark green braid that formed the short stand-up collar on the dress. Of course! She divided her hair into three sections, braided them together into a loose coil at her crown and studied the effect in the mirror. Yes, she looked older with her curls contained by the braid. She hurried out into the hallway.
She glanced toward Garret’s office. Was he there? Or in the lobby? Now that the snowstorm was over and the trains were running again, she needed to talk to him about her work—find out exactly what he wanted from her and establish a routine. She would be completely businesslike.
The smell of coffee brewing drifted through the sitting room. Was he in the kitchen? Her stomach fluttered at the thought of facing him. Warmth stole into her cheeks. Though why it should was beyond her. Nothing had happened between them last night. There was absolutely no reason for her to feel shy.
She squared her shoulders and walked into the kitchen. He wasn’t there. She fought down a rush of what felt suspiciously like disappointment. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, dear.” Mrs. Fuller looked up from her work and smiled. The woman’s hands stilled. “You’ve changed your hair.”
“Yes.” She lifted her apron off its hook on the pantry door and tied it on. “I’m sorry I’m late. But breakfast should not be so rushed today. The only guests we have are the Tanners.”
“Unless some of the passengers on the morning train decide to come to the hotel for a hot breakfast.” The older woman diced some cooked potatoes and placed them in a bowl. “Twenty minutes is not a very long time to enjoy a meal. But it’s long enough for coffee and fresh bread and preserves. Or cinnamon rolls. Or pancakes with eggs.”
She pulled up a smile. “And we have all of those things. Thanks to the trains bringing in supplies yesterday. Do you need me to do something?”
“No. The rolls are in the oven and I have everything ready to put on the stove when it’s time. I only need to know how many to cook for. And if Mrs. Tanner wants anything special on her tray.”
“I’ll go to their room and ask her wishes when it’s time.” She shifted her gaze to the table in front of the windows along the back wall, thought of sharing breakfast with Garret that first morning.
This dining table is for the help—when I have some.
Well, he had help now. She went to the dish cupboard, gathered settings for three and put them in place. “Will you need a bowl for oatmeal, Mrs. Fuller?”
“Me?” The woman stared at her, looked down at the table and back up again. “You haven’t set a place at the table for me?”
“Yes. This is where the help eat.”
“But Mr. Stevenson—I can’t—”
“That is his wish, Mrs. Fuller. And mine, also.”
The woman stared at her, then turned and gathered the dirty dishes into a pile. “Very well.”
She watched the older woman carry the dishes to the sink and slide them in a dishpan of soapy water. It was the first time she’d ever seen Mrs. Fuller look flustered.
* * *
The whistle sliced through the early morning darkness, quivered in the air. The train would pull into Whisper Creek Station in five minutes. He was finishing just in time. Garret poured oil into the last lamp’s small reservoir, lit the wick and replaced the glass chimney. The flame flickered. He turned the wick up a bit, waited until the lamp settled to a steady burn, then closed and latched the small, lead-framed glass door. That did it. All six of the lamps were filled and burning, the hotel’s front porch bathed in their golden light. If any of the Union Pacific passengers were interested in having breakfast while the train was stopped at the station, they would be able to find their way.
He put the container of oil in its storage box at the end of the porch, took a deep breath of the cold, fresh air and went inside. It wasn’t likely he would have any customers from the trains until daylight, when the passengers could see the hotel and read its sign, but it didn’t hurt to be ready.
He wiped his boots and glanced toward the door to his living quarters. He was longing for a hot cup of coffee and some of those cinnamon rolls he’d smelled baking earlier. But it would have to wait. A lot of soldiers rode the trains, and quite a few of them came to town to buy chewing tobacco and other necessities at Latherop’s General Store. Also Audrey Latherop’s biscuits. But Dr. Warren had told Audrey to rest as much as possible while she carried her baby, and she’d stopped baking. Blake Latherop had told him he’d send the soldiers his way.
He lowered the chandelier over the desk, turned up the wicks and raised it back into place. Once those soldiers discovered his dining room was open for business and a few of them had tasted Mrs. Fuller’s cooking and baking, his trade would grow. The soldiers would talk about Mrs. Fuller’s good food with their fellow troopers while out on patrol. And that was for certain. Cavalrymen often ate jerky and hardtack. They seldom got a decent meal. Even at the forts.
Firelight flickered on the hearth. A log fell, sent sparks flying up the chimney. He grabbed the poker and shoved the log back into place, then straightened at the sound of voices coming from the dining room.
“I’ll be back, Wally. And if you eat all of your oatmeal, and your papa says it’s all right, I’ll give you a big, sweet cinnamon roll.”
Virginia. He tugged off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair.
“Me, too?”
“You, too, Rachel. As long as your papa gives his permission.”
“Which you have, as long as I’m included, Mrs. Stevenson. Wally, stop that banging and eat. I
want one of those rolls.”
The soft tap of Virginia’s footsteps approached the dining room doorway. He stiffened, listened—her long skirts rustled, the hems brushing against the floor. Why was she coming into the lobby? Did she have a problem? He took a breath, braced himself for the sight of her after last night. That moment in the snow hadn’t seemed to affect her, but it had shaken him to his toes. He couldn’t resist many more moments of temptation like that. He scowled and poked at the fire.
“Oh. Good morning, Garret.” She paused, glanced at his coat, with his hat sticking out of its pocket. “You’ve been outside already. Is it snowing again?”
What had she done to her hair? “No. I wasn’t shoveling snow. I had to fill the porch lamps.” He looked down at the towel-covered tray in her hands to keep from staring.
“I’m taking Mrs. Tanner her breakfast.” She moved on toward the stairs, glanced back over her shoulder. “When you’re ready to eat, I’ve a place set for you in the kitchen.”
“Thank you. But it will have to wait until—” Two quick blasts of the train whistle drowned out his voice. He shrugged and lifted his hands. “—the train leaves.”
She nodded and hurried up the stairs.
He dragged his gaze from her, stepped into their sitting room and hung up his coat and hat. The smell of coffee was inviting. And the scent of the cinnamon rolls tantalizing. He took a deep sniff, straightened his tie and shrugged into his suit coat.
The bell on the lobby desk rang. “Yo! Anyone here?”
A cavalryman. He grinned and went back to the lobby. “May I help you, Lieutenant?”
“The store owner next door told me I could get a quick, hot breakfast here.”
“Indeed you can. It will be seven cents for coffee and bread and preserves, fifty cents for the complete meal, five cents for any added items.” He looked up at Virginia, who was coming down the stairs, and motioned to her. “The lieutenant would like a hot breakfast—fast. He has to be aboard when the train leaves.”
“Of course.” She smiled at the cavalryman, who had whipped off his hat. “If you will follow me, sir.” She turned toward the dining room.
The lieutenant tossed a coin onto the desk and grinned. “My pleasure, Miss...”
His face went taut at the soldier’s flirtatious tone. He scooped up the coin, clenched his fingers around it. “Mrs. Stevenson, Lieutenant.” He dropped the coin in the till, watched the cavalryman follow Virginia through the dining room door, and listened to her voice floating back to the lobby.
“If you will take a seat here at the table by the fire, I will be right back with your breakfast.”
The door opened. Two more soldiers entered, looked his way. “This where we can get a hot breakfast, fast?”
“It is.” He repeated the prices.
The older soldier glanced at his watch. “Sixteen minutes. I can eat a horse in that length of time. Here’s my fifty cents.”
“And mine.”
The coins hit the counter. He hurried around the desk. “Follow me, gentlemen.” He led them to a table between the doors to the kitchen and the fireplace. “Have a seat, gentlemen. My wife will serve you in just a moment.”
He caught Virginia’s arm as she hurried into the room carrying a tray loaded with coffee and bread, a plate of corned beef hash, two eggs and a cinnamon roll. “These gentlemen will have meals, also.”
She nodded, placed the lieutenant’s meal on his table. The cavalryman leaned forward, sniffed at the roll and smiled. “I’ll have another of these rolls, please.”
“That will be another five cents, sir.”
“And from the looks and smell of this roll, it will be money well spent.” He dug a nickel out of his pocket, tossed it on the table and picked up his fork.
“I’ll bring your extra roll as soon as I serve these other gentlemen their meals, sir.” She turned toward the kitchen, holding the empty tray.
He caught her arm again. “Do you need me to help you?”
“No. I can manage—as long as the food holds out.” Her blue eyes sparkled up at him. “I’ll be serving these gentlemen our breakfasts.” She grinned and hurried back to the kitchen.
Our. He clenched his jaw, stared at the swinging kitchen door.
The desk bell rang. He picked up the nickel from the lieutenant’s table and hurried back to the lobby. Three soldiers stood by the desk. “How can I help you, gentlemen?”
“This where we can buy breakfast?”
He looked at the grizzled older trooper. “It is, Corporal.” He glanced at the clock—ten minutes. “But I’m afraid there isn’t time—”
A young trooper with a bloody bandage on his forearm stepped forward. “We’ll take some hot coffee and bread, if you got it. We been out on patrol and—”
“Say no more. We’ll be happy to serve you. That will be seven cents apiece.” He held up his hand as they dug into their pockets. “You can pay me after you’ve been seated. That will give you a bit more time to eat. Follow me.”
The influx of customers stopped. The clock ticked off the minutes. The train blew its whistle, and boot heels thudded against the floor as troopers raced from the dining room to the front door, all of them with cinnamon rolls clutched in their hands.
“You almost lost your cinnamon roll, too. There are only three left. Here is the money.”
He turned and Virginia smiled at him. He held out his hand, and her soft fingers brushed against his palm, sent warmth shooting up his arm.
“There is hot coffee—if you have time for some.” Her gaze fastened on his. “Mrs. Fuller and I would like to discuss some things with you before the next train comes.”
He nodded, tossed the handful of nickels in the till and followed her to the dining room and on to the kitchen. “You wanted to speak with me, Mrs. Fuller?”
The woman looked up, then returned to slicing bacon into a cast-iron frying pan. “I’m sorry I don’t have any hash left for your breakfast, Mr. Stevenson. I wasn’t prepared to feed so many people. I’m wondering if it will be like that with every train? Should I plan on having to feed that many regularly? I don’t want to disappoint you.” She laid down her knife and wrapped paper around the bacon. “Are you ready for breakfast? Should I put the bacon over?”
He glanced at the three cinnamon rolls left in a baking dish on the table. He might not want to be around the woman, but she had questions he needed to answer, and his stomach demanded he stay.
“I’m ready to eat. As for running out of food, that was my fault, not yours. Blake Latherop told me he would send some customers my way, but I had no idea how many to expect. I imagine it will be the same with all of the trains, now that the dining room is open. There may be more when the sun comes up and the passengers can read my sign.” He grabbed a cup, strode to the stove and poured himself some coffee. “There’s simply no way of knowing how many passengers are on a train, or how many of them might want a good, hot meal—though the short length of time will likely discourage most.”
“Do you believe so?” Virginia came from the dining room carrying a tray loaded with dirty dishes. “People from the cities are accustomed to meeting friends for tea and a sweet while they are out shopping. And from what I saw this morning, soldiers will eat anytime and anywhere. And they love sweets. Every soldier bought at least one extra cinnamon roll. They took them with them so they wouldn’t miss the train. There was a tremendous rush for the door when that train whistle blew.”
“A stampede, to put it in cavalry parlance.”
She laughed and unloaded the tray onto the sink cupboard. He grabbed one of the cinnamon rolls and took a bite to keep from staring at her. “Those soldiers weren’t the only ones rushing.”
“That’s true. I was unprepared, as well. But I won’t be the next time.” She put down the tray and came to stand beside him. “It struck me, as I was running ar
ound, that if I set the four tables closest to the fireplace with cups and saucers, napkins and flatware, and bread plates along with butter and preserves in the lull before the trains arrive, I will only have to carry plates of food and pour coffee or cider during the rush. I will be able to serve the patrons much faster. And every minute is important when they have so little time to eat their meal.”
He nodded, his throat too constricted to chance speaking. How much she had changed. How willingly she had gone from a pampered rich daughter to a hardworking...wife. His stomach knotted.
“From what you say, I’d best get to cooking and baking as quick as I finish your breakfasts.” Mrs. Fuller glanced up at him. “There are no more rolls for the soldiers to take with them, and it’s too late to set the dough. Perhaps cookies...” The bacon sizzled. “This bacon will be ready in a minute. How do you want your eggs fixed, Mr. Stevenson?”
“Broken.”
She nodded, grabbed a small bowl, broke eggs into it, added water and beat them with a fork.
“You know how to make ‘broken’ eggs?”
The older woman’s hands stilled. “Mrs. Stevenson told me the other day.” She cleared her throat, poured the beaten eggs into a frying pan and removed the pan of bacon from the stove. “Perhaps I should plan soups and stews for meals the next few days until we learn how many diners to expect. Cold as it is, there’ll be no waste if I set any extra out on the porch to keep.”
He finished the roll, took a swallow of coffee and nodded. “That’s an excellent idea. And your rolls are excellent, too.”
A look of pleasure swept over her face. “That’s nice to hear. Eggs are done.”
“Here are our plates.” Virginia held out three plates and looked up at him, a challenge in her eyes.
He glanced over at the table set for three and winced inwardly. It was too cozy. But there was no getting out of sharing a meal with them this morning. It was too late to make an excuse, and they had business to discuss.
But this would be the last time. He’d make certain of that.
Mail-Order Bride Switch Page 13
