Sparked By Fire (Dorado, Texas Book 4)

by Linda Carroll-Bradd

  Laughter sounded from around the crowd.

  Two names were called, and men Berg recognized as hands on the Wallache ranch stepped up to the tree stumps. Both stood with axe handles held in their hands above their heads as they stretched their muscles before settling into a ready pose.

  Gerhard held up the stopwatch then snapped his finger downward. “Start.”

  Berg moved to where he could see both men in action to watch their methods and listened for their tallies. He did this with the next team, as well, and noticed how Trevor compensated for his weak hand with the missing fingers by making an initial chop on both sides of the round. Several more pairs stepped up to the stumps.

  “I think you have a chance of winning.” Ivey smiled upward with a nod.

  Berg spotted excitement in her gaze and knew he’d work his hardest to make her proud.

  Then the last pair was called, and he heard his name. He connected with Ivey’s bright gaze and flashed a smile before stepping up to the closest stump opposite Kell, acknowledging his friend with a curt nod. So far, eighty was the number to beat.

  As he worked, he kept that number in mind. His strength allowed him to split the biscuit with a single blow, move the pieces a quarter turn, and repeat. Then four easy blows were needed to split the four wedges. The rhythm satisfied just like when he performed the task to replenish his own woodpile. Most people hadn’t a clue the amount of wood a blacksmith used. With great effort, he kept a confident smile off his face while he worked.

  When he heard Gerhard yell “stop,” he could barely move for the mounds of split pieces surrounding his stump and his feet.

  Ivey dashed up, beaming. “Oh, Berg. Look at all this.” She swung out a hand to encompass the pieces.

  Stepping away so the splits could be counted, he grabbed a bandanna from his back pocket and mopped at his forehead, finally allowing himself a satisfied smile. “It’s nothing. I do this much chopping every week.”

  Shaking his head, Kell snorted. “Figured as much. Well done, Berg.”

  People milled about, waiting for the official announcement, but everyone murmured to their neighbor about who’d won.

  Gerhard climbed onto the stump, put his fingers into his mouth, and whistled. “The winner is Berg Spengler with ninety-six splits, second place is Jake Adley with eighty, and third is Trevor Driscoll with seventy-two. Gents, collect your ribbons.”

  When he turned with ribbon in hand, Berg spotted the pride on Ivey’s face, and his chest pinched. He wanted to always see that light in her eyes. The woman was as special to him as his next breath. His mouth dried, and he could only nod when she came up beside him, chattering away with compliments. But he’d learned she didn’t mind his silence, and he was content to just have her at his side.

  Later, Berg lay stretched on his side on one of the blankets belonging to the Treadwells. The heat and humidity prompted people to spread out and find shade wherever they could under a pecan or wild plum tree.

  From a trip to the food tables, Ivey arrived and set down a tin plate brimming with his meal.

  He glanced at the chicken pieces, pickles, potato salad, corn, and green beans. “Now tell me what you made, and I’ll taste it first.”

  She sat with her feet to one side and arranged her skirts before lifting her plate and pointing with her fork. “The crispy chicken, rolls, and potato salad came from my kitchen. Oh, and those are Mama’s pickles, so be sure to compliment her.”

  Berg eyed the golden-brown uniform shapes that must be the chicken. “Why are the pieces the same size?”

  “I removed the bones. Penn trapped a half dozen prairie chickens so I could choose the meatiest parts to use.”

  After picking up a four-inch portion, he bit it in half. The flaky crust crunched in his mouth, and the meat was tender and juicy. “Must be a special Miss Ivey ingredient in this coating, because I taste a tang.” He popped the rest of the piece into his mouth.

  She shrugged but her gaze followed his movements. “I went back to the garlic patch Penn found and collected a bunch. So, chopped garlic is mixed with the buttermilk that I soaked the meat in before I dredged the chicken in a flour-and-breadcrumb mixture. Plus some pepper, chili powder, and mustard powder.”

  Unable to resist, he licked his fingers to get all the spicy juices. “Another recipe with ground mustard, huh? I’m learning to appreciate the robust flavor.”

  “The preparation took longer than regular fried chicken, but I like not worrying about bones.” She tilted her head and smiled. “I also like how curious you are about the dishes I concoct.” She nibbled at the crispy chicken.

  “Do you write down the ingredients? You should make a book of these receipts.”

  Ivey stopped chewing and stared, wide-eyed. “Me? Write a cookbook?”

  “Sure, why not? Lots of other frontier women might like to know how to use the plants growing around their localities.” He popped a whole roll in his mouth and mumbled, “Hmm.”

  For several minutes, they ate in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

  Vevina Hawksen rushed up, baby Maeve balanced on her hip. Her bonnet had fallen down her back, and her eyes were wide. “Have you seen Davin and Timmy? I thought they were with Kell, but he just came back to the blanket without them.”

  Berg thought of the cute kid who’d held Ivey’s hand. He jumped to his feet and headed to where a group of men gathered. “I go see if help is needed.”

  ***

  Heart pounding, Ivey thought back over the last few minutes. She’d been contemplating Berg’s suggestion and really hadn’t noticed anything but that. She dropped her plate on top of Berg’s and stood. “Don’t worry, Vevina. They’ll be found. They are probably playing with friends. Who might that be?”

  Vevina shook her head, loosening strawberry-blonde wisps from her bun. “On Shady Oaks, they just have each other as best buddies. And the ranch hands, of course.”

  “So, have you checked with Trevor or Jake?” Ivey rubbed a hand over the fretful woman’s shoulder as she scanned the faces of the men in the group gathered a rod or so away. Trevor and Jake were both there. Her stomach pinched.

  The men split up and headed outward to cover all directions, yelling the boys’ names.

  From behind the ranch house, a small boy came running. Ivey recognized the red gingham shirt from earlier in the day. “Look, there’s Davin.” She pointed to where several men now raced. That doesn’t look good.

  “Here, take the baby.” Wide-eyed, Vevina put the little girl in Ivey’s arms, lifted the front of her skirts, and ran across the field.

  Compelled to see what was happening, Ivey followed, walking as quickly as she could. Little Maeve started wailing and stretched out her arms to her fleeing mother. “You’re all right, sweetie. We’ll catch up in just a minute or two.” When that didn’t soothe the child, Ivey started singing a happy tune and put an extra bounce in her steps.

  When she reached the house, she heard someone call out that the boy had fallen into the well. Then she spotted Berg run from the direction of the picketed horses with a rope slung over his shoulder. What is he doing? Her heart raced. Surely, he’s not going down the well. She hurried forward, making her excuses as she pressed through the crowd, barely recognizing anyone’s face.

  Berg stood like he was carved from stone, the rope tied around his waist and looped over a shoulder, gloved hands holding the rope taut.

  Vevina sat on the stone edge, leaning over the opening and reaching down a hand toward her son. “We’ll get you out, my brave boy. Don’t move.”

  Timmy’s frightened cries echoed from within the round shaft.

  Kell balanced on the top of the well, tying the other rope end around his waist. “Push back against the wall, Timmy. Papa’s climbing down to get you.” Hands grasping the stone edging, he lowered his feet over the side. “Ready, Spengler?”

  Nodding, Berg braced his feet a few more inches apart. “I am.”

  With his boots scraping agai
nst the stones, Kell twisted and moved over the upper edge.

  A throaty grunt sounded.

  Ivey circled to the opposite side of the well and leaned down to see how far Kell had to climb. Timmy was on a rock approximately a rod down. Still patting Maeve’s back, she glanced up and shouted to get the blacksmith’s attention, “Berg, watch my signals.” She raised her free hand and waved him closer. Each forward step Berg took dropped Kell lower. When she saw him draw even with Timmy, she moved her hand palm out and connected with Berg’s gaze.

  The shirt over his massive shoulders and arms strained from the bulged muscles beneath. Sweat ran down the sides of his face.

  But that mountain of a man never wavered. He was a true hero. Pride and love built in her chest and clogged her throat.

  “I’ve got him. Pull us out.” Kell’s deep voice seemed to fly from the well.

  Ivey glanced at the crowd and spotted her brother. “Penn, catch up the rope and help.”

  Penn and Mister MacInnes stepped to the rope and grabbed on. Slowly, on Berg’s command, they backed up, and moments later, father and son appeared at the top of the well.

  Vevina scooped up her boy and smothered him with happy tear-drenched kisses.

  Silently cheering him with her proud look, Ivey watched as the crowd surged forward and congratulated Berg’s efforts. He kept glancing her way as he accepted a multitude of handshakes and pats on the back. Her gaze didn’t waver, even when Vevina reclaimed the baby.

  Only when the last person drifted away and Berg stood coiling his rope did Ivey approach him. “Wow, that was some rescue, Berg Spengler. You stood as solid as Atlas.”

  Berg grinned and cocked an eyebrow. “A comparison to a Greek hero? I like that. Does that mean you’ll be my mate, Phoebe, and we’ll govern the moon?”

  Ivey sucked in a breath, knowing a future definitely existed for them. Still, she wished for the time to be courted and to get to know this new personality that had emerged. “Tonight it’s only half a moon, so not much governing is needed.” She moved close and rested a hand on his forearm. “I was both scared and proud.”

  “I have to admit to never feeling so welcomed anywhere as here.” He slung the rope over a shoulder.

  “I’m so glad to hear you say that. I hope you stop your wandering and make Dorado your home.”

  With a smile, he held out his elbow and they walked around the house just in time to see the first exploding Roman candle. “I can’t let this opportunity pass.” He stopped and rested his hands on her shoulders. “What better place to share our first kiss than under a sky filled with fiery sparks?”

  For once, Ivey didn’t have a thing to say because Berg’s lips pressed on hers, and she melted against him. The tingle that ran over her mouth was delicious, like when she’d eaten too much chili pepper. But nicer, because the sensation filled her entire body, making her pulse race and her throat tighten. When they broke apart to draw in a breath, she was content to remain within the shelter of his warm, strong embrace.

  Chapter Five

  Several days later, Ivey stood at the sink, wiping the last of the breakfast crumbs from the counter. The picnic had changed so much. Her mother acknowledged them as a courting couple. Berg seemed more at ease when she saw him at mealtimes. Shared secret glances made her heart race, and she thought their relationship was progressing. But, suddenly Berg was busy with the shop and returned there right after supper every night. They had spent only a few moments alone since the celebration. Although she wasn’t surprised at his reticent behavior, she’d hoped for chats on the boarding house porch as they watched the gorgeous sunsets. Reliving their kiss right before she fell asleep each night was her comfort.

  Today’s plan was to sort through her receipts to see if she could produce a cookbook using local plants as Berg suggested. The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea of compiling the receipts into one place and shelving the book next to her great-granny’s—representing the past and the present. She carried the wooden box holding the scraps of paper with her receipts and a writing pad to the bin table. Glancing through the scribbled notations, she realized no one else could understand what her marks meant.

  A knock came on the back door a second or two before it opened.

  Clari stuck in her head and smiled. “Oh, good. You’re here.”

  Ivey laughed and swept her hand around the room. “This is where I spent most of my time. How are you, Clari?”

  She jumped into the room and stepped to the table, her fingers running up and down the folds in her skirt. “Excited, and panicked, and happy.”

  “Why are you panicked?” Ivey scrutinized the high flush of her friend’s face.

  “Trevor has asked Pastor Oswallt to announce our wedding banns on Sunday. I tried to tell him that wasn’t need in this church. But he insisted, and he wants us to be married by month’s end.” The last word rose to a squeal as she bounced on her toes.

  Gasping, Ivey jumped to her feet and ran around the table to hug Clari. “That’s such happy news. Congratulations.” She pushed away the niggle of jealousy that tightened her chest. How wonderful Clari and Trevor were sure of their future together. “But why the panic?”

  “Because back home in Racine, my older cousins sometimes took months to plan their weddings. And I have only three weeks.”

  Ivey set Clari at arm’s length. “Life here isn’t fancy like in the big cities. Tell me what help you need.”

  Shaking her head, Clari spun a circle. “I don’t know if there’s time to send for Mama’s wedding dress and the coupe de mariage.” She bit her lip. “Although, maybe I can ask Aunt Alda to use her toasting cup. Come to think of it, that tradition was passed down from Papa’s side of the family.” Whirling, she clapped her hands to her cheeks and paced across the floor. “Who will bake my croquembouche? I haven’t been working on my trousseau like I should have, and I don’t know where to purchase dragées, which are an absolute must.”

  “What are those?” Ivey didn’t think she’d heard Clari use so many French terms in all the time she’d known her.

  “Sugar-coated almonds that are tied into a bundle of netting and gifted to each guest.”

  Ivey scooped up the writing pad and a lead pencil and started jotting notes. “Let me start a list of everything you want to include. Have you asked Trevor if he has family traditions, too?”

  Shaking her head, Clari covered her face with her hands. “Oh, this is impossible.”

  “Words that probably every bride-to-be says at some point.” She reached out and squeezed Clari’s hand, hoping to reassure her friend. “Calm down. We can create a lovely wedding.”

  On the last Sunday in July, Ivey stood in the tiny storage room at the back of the church and looked out at the gathering. Alda Othmann sat next to her sister, Blasa Rochester, Clari’s mother. Behind them were the Hawksens and those who worked on Shady Oaks Ranch. Her family and the guests from south Texas helped fill out Trevor’s side. Maisie snuggled close to her beau, Dylan—her smile radiant when she was in his presence. Ivey wondered how much time would elapse before they announced a wedding date. Several other ranch families were also in attendance.

  Most of the townspeople had stayed late after church services and claimed their usual spots on the pews following a modified procession starting at the mercantile to escort Clari to the church. She’d walked on her father Claude’s arm at the head of the procession, and Trevor strode alone at the back. In three spots along the way, her younger brother and sister, Drystan and Lyonette, held white ribbons across Clari’s path. She bent and cut the ribbons with scissors, which symbolized overcoming life’s obstacles. Both were French traditions this central Texas town might never see again.

  Now Ivey waited for the pastor to play his bagpipe as the signal to start down the center aisle of the church. Several times, she’d scanned the gathering but hadn’t spotted Berg. Disappointment pinched her chest, because she’d wanted to share their friend’s special day with her
beau.

  The first high-pitched reed sounds floated in the air.

  She glanced back at where Clari perched on the edge of a chair. She glowed in an ivory gown with lace swaths that rode the caps of her shoulders over a fitted satin bodice. The skirt gathered at her waist and brushed the top of her matching satin slippers. A sheer lace overlay with embroidered edging extended to her knees. The only spot of color was the wreath of white, pink, and yellow rain lily blooms Clari wore like a crown.

  “You’re staring. Does the dress look outdated?” Clari stood and tugged at the lace on her shoulder.

  “You look beautiful.” As she spoke, she ran a gloved hand down the pale yellow crepe de chine gown that had been her bridesmaid gift from Clari’s parents. The princess neckline exposed just a bit more décolletage than anything she’d ever worn. Two bows accented the fabric gathered just below her knees, displaying a white taffeta underskirt. She loved the rustling sound that came with every step.

  “Truly?” Clari blinked fast. “She matched the style of the one Queen Victoria wore, but that was more than thirty-five years ago.”

  “Don’t worry, the gown is lovely.” Ivey flashed a big smile before stepping forward to press her cheek against her friend’s. “Best of luck to you both.” Then she turned, nodded at Clari’s father, who waited a few feet away, and started her slow walk toward the front of the church. The small bouquet she held matched the flowers in Clari’s bridal crown.

  Beside the parson stood Trevor looking dashing in a white shirt and black trousers with a reddish plaid sash wrapped at his waist. At his side was Jake Adley, his curly hair tamed for once. Seeing a wide smile brighten Trevor’s face, she knew Clari had emerged from the room. Ivey scooted to the side of the front pew to watch Clari’s approach, letting her thoughts wander to what type of dress she might have at her own ceremony.