Cailean pushed on the door when she moved to slam it shut behind her, preventing her from locking him out. “I’ve come for the two loaves of bread, Miss Evans.”
She glared at him before she marched to the back of the store. He heard clanging noises and then a soft thud. After a few moments, he tiptoed around the counters and peered into the kitchen area. He frowned when he didn’t see her and moved toward the back door. He paused at hearing a stuttered breath come from a small side room.
He squinted at the bright light entering the single window to the room before he focused on her rocking herself on the edge of a cot, quietly crying. “Miss Evans,” he whispered as he moved to sit next to her. “Nothing he could have said would warrant tears.”
She buried her head in her hands as her shoulders shook with her sobs. He scooted closer and pulled her into his embrace, holding her as she cried. He made crooning sounds, like he and Alistair made to the horses, and sighed with relief as she began to calm.
She sniffled, her hands riffling through her pockets for a handkerchief. “I beg your pardon. All you wanted was bread, not my theatrics.” Her voice broke on bread. She pushed away from him and rocked as though she would rise.
He settled a hand on one of her thighs, holding her in place next to him. “What did he say that unsettled you so?”
She swiped at tears that continued to fall. “It’s of no importance. Not to you.” When his grip remained implacable and his stare concerned, she shuddered. She plucked at a loose thread on the patchwork quilt covering her cot. “He wants me to join my sister at the Boudoir. He told me in detail about his evening last night with her.” She dropped her face in her hands in shame.
“Bastard,” Cailean rasped. “I beg your pardon. I shouldn’t speak like that in front of you.” He gripped her hand, prying it away from covering her face. “He should never speak to you in such a way. You are respectable. And he should know hearing of your sister’s treatment would torment you.”
A tear leaked down her cheek. “Because of who my sister is, there are those who will always see me as fair game.” She hiccupped out a sob. “That’s what he called me. Fair game. Living here alone. Unprotected.” She glanced around her small room, the sunlight streaming in the window, with a wildflower in a glass on her desk by the door.
“It’s so unfair! I’ve felt safe and welcomed here, except for a few men like him. Why do they believe they can act like that?” She glared at Cailean and pushed his hand off her leg. “And you being in my private living quarters does nothing to help my reputation.”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Evans. I was worried about you after seeing your interaction with that man today.” Cailean rose. “I’ll await you in the front of your store.”
He inched out of the back room, flushing when Leticia froze as she entered the kitchen area. “Leticia,” he said with a nod. “Could you find the two loaves of bread set aside for me?” He marched to the front of the store, his coins on the counter.
She brought them to the front but refused to hand them to him. “What did you do?”
He glared at her. “Nothing. A miner upset her, and I foolishly attempted to soothe her.” He snatched the bag from Leticia. “I should know that she’s not a woman who appreciates an attempt at comfort.” He stormed out, noting that Leticia locked the door behind him.
Leticia poked her head into Annabelle’s small room, frowning when she saw her sitting on the cot and swiping at tear-stained cheeks. “I’ve sent him on his way. What did he do to upset you?” Leticia whispered. She pulled out the small chair in front of Annabelle’s desk and sat.
“Where’s Hortence?” Annabelle asked as she held the handkerchief to her eyes.
“Sitting at the counter, composing a letter to my great-aunt in Kansas. It’ll be more pictures than words, but it will keep her busy for a few minutes.” Leticia smiled as Annabelle chuckled. “What happened? I’ve never known Cailean to be mean.”
“He wasn’t. He was remarkably kind for a man who doesn’t like me.” Annabelle sniffled and then blew her nose. “He was here when I needed someone.” She bit back a sob. “I haven’t had that in such a long time.”
Leticia leaned forward to hold one of Annabelle’s hands. “It can’t be that bad.”
Annabelle shook her head. “I’ve had to be the strong one. After Mother died, and Fidelia left, and my father drowned himself in a bottle …” She took a deep breath and let it out. “It’s been so long since someone worried about me.” She shook her head again at the folly of the sense of wonder in her voice. “A miner was rude and propositioned me. Mr. MacKinnon arrived for his bread in time to aid me.”
Leticia bit back a smile. “I think it’s more than that. From what I hear from Alistair, Cailean doesn’t know what to make of you. I think you surprise him as much as he does you.”
Annabelle tossed her handkerchief in the direction of the hamper bin in the corner of the room. “I’m not here for romance. Why would I want romance after what has happened to my sister?” She glared at Leticia who watched her with kind concern. “I want to prove to the townsfolk that a woman can run a successful business. Alone.”
Leticia shrugged. “There’s no harm in wanting companionship. Or in acknowledging that life is easier with a good man by your side.” Her gaze dared Annabelle to contradict her. “No matter how much you want to argue, you know Cailean is a good man.”
Annabelle leaned against the wall, closing her eyes in resignation. “He might be. I hope for his family’s sake he is. However, he takes great pleasure in irritating me.”
Leticia laughed. “I doubt that brings him pleasure. I imagine it bothers him as much as it does you.”
“Either way, it doesn’t matter. I don’t want or need a man in my life. I merely want a peaceful existence where I run my business and have a few friends.”
Leticia watched her and smiled. “So you say. But there’s no harm in wanting more from life.”
Annabelle sighed and rose. “Come. Let’s tidy up today’s work and prepare for tomorrow.” She attempted to put the afternoon’s events firmly out of her mind with little success.
Sorcha sliced one of the loaves of bread Cailean had bought, setting it on the table next to the butter. She rattled pots and slammed the metal spoon a few times, glaring as her brothers wandered into the kitchen.
“What’s got ye so fashed?” Ewan asked, his hair still damp from his evening wash.
She set bowls of stew in front of each seat and sat down with them. “All I do is cook and clean. There’s nothin’ to do in this town.”
Ewan shared a long look with his brothers and made eyes at Cailean to speak.
Cailean shifted in his chair and raised his soup spoon. “What did you do differently in Scotland?” She glared at him, and he raised his hands in a placating manner. “I left when you were little more than a wee lass. I wasn’t there to watch you grow. What did you do when you weren’t helping with your chores?”
“I’d walk to the Fairy Pools or down to the Loch. I’d visit with Maggie’s family.” She ducked her head at the mention of Maggie. “I was free to wander.”
Cailean sighed. “I ken you believe I’m being unreasonable. But it’s not the same here, Sorcha. You can’t wander alone into the woods or around town. Men aren’t always respectable.” At her incredulous snort, he shared a confused expression with his brothers.
“I had to fend off a few men,” she muttered with a roll of her eyes. “Ewan taught me what to do afore he left.”
“Who?” Cailean demanded as he slammed his hand to the table, the silverware rattling. “Who would accost you?”
“One of the new landowner’s hands. Out with his sheep,” she said. “Ye wouldna ken him.”
Cailean tore a piece of bread in half as though envisioning ripping the offending man limb from limb. “Did you tell Mother?”
Sorcha’s bravado eased, and her brothers saw the echo of fear and relief at her escape. “Aye. I told Mother. I acted like
a raving lunatic when I returned from my ramble, and it looked as though I’d rolled down a heather patch.” When she raised her eyes to see her brothers’ stormy gazes, she reached a hand out in reassurance. “I’m fine. Nothin’ happened.”
“Good of you to instruct her, Ewan,” Cailean said with a nod of thanks to his youngest brother.
After a few moments of awkward silence, Alistair spoke. “Considerate of ye to continue to purchase bread, Cail.”
Cailean rolled his eyes at his brother and continued to eat. After a moment, he lowered his spoon and looked at Sorcha. “Perhaps Miss Evans could aid you, Sorcha. She could teach you to make bread in that oven, and you’d have a friend.”
Sorcha bristled. “I dinna want the likes of her as a friend.”
Ewan raised an eyebrow at his sister’s vehemence. “The likes of her? She seems a nice woman with considerable skill.”
“Her sister has skills too, but they aren’t remarked upon.” At her brother’s shocked gasps, she barreled on. “I would think I could do better than to have her for a friend.”
Cailean fisted his hand on the table, his meal forgotten as he glared at his sister. “You’d condemn one sister for the actions of the other?” At her mutinous stare, he leaned forward. “You have no right to judge, Sorcha. No one knows what drove that poor woman to live the life she leads, and you should show compassion to her and her sister.” He nodded as his sister flushed. “I’ll not be buying any more bread. I’ll not coddle you further.” He rose, striding from the room.
Sorcha glared after him before meeting the censuring looks from her brothers. “I refuse to believe my best option for a friend is that harlot’s sister.”
“What happened to ye?” Ewan asked. “Ye were the one who took in strays. Who believed the best in everyone. I don’t know ye.” He rose to follow his brother.
Alistair sat in quiet contemplation as he watched his sister. She continued to attempt to meet his gaze bravely, but her composure cracked minute by minute. “When did ye discover the truth?” he whispered.
She jerked. “I refuse to speak of this with ye. It has no bearing on anything.”
Alistair took a long sip of water and crossed his hands over his flat belly. “I disagree. It affects everything. Until ye acknowledge that, ye will make yerself and everyone around ye miserable.” He rose, carrying his dish to the sink. He returned to the table, resting his hand on her shoulder. “Thank ye for dinner, little sister.”
After his footsteps receded, she pushed away her congealing stew and set her head on the table to cry.
Ewan MacKinnon walked into the bakery and sniffed at the air. He smelled a mixture of cinnamon and cloves. He held a hand to his stomach as it growled and fought his embarrassment as Annabelle emerged from the back.
“Hello, Mr. MacKinnon. How may I help you today?” She wiped her hands on a cream-colored towel as she moved behind her largely depleted shelves.
“I’d like one of those cookies and two loaves of bread.” He watched as she moved gracefully. He accepted the cookie and bit into it while she wrapped a piece of white paper around the loaves of bread. “Mmm, oatmeal with small chunks of chocolate.”
She smiled as she accepted his coin. “I hope it’s not your favorite, and you’ll come back to try the other flavors of cookies I make.”
He chuckled. “Talented and smart. It’s no wonder ye are a success.” He winked at her. “Cailean will be jealous as these are his favorite.” Ewan watched her closely as she fought a flush.
“I’m surprised to see you here. Your brother made a point last week of informing me that he’d no further need of purchasing anything from my bakery.”
Ewan chuckled as he scratched his cheek. “Cail can be a mite stubborn. He’s insistent our sister learns to cook properly.” He rubbed at his stomach as it growled again, and Annabelle fought a grin. “It’s been a disaster.”
“The café serves delicious meals.”
“If my sister caught me eatin’ there, she’d skin me alive.” He shook his head as though he were long-suffering. “I’ve come to ask ye a favor, Miss Evans.” He nodded for her to set the loaves of bread on the counter in front of him. “I’m buyin’ bread because my sister is having trouble masterin’ the new stove. I wondered if ye’d have a chance to help her.”
Annabelle sobered and shook her head as she blew out a breath. “I’m quite busy with the bakery.”
“Ye must have an hour ta spare for a starvin’ man an’ his family.”
At his beseeching look and the thickening of his accent, she burst out laughing. “You’re incorrigible.” Her comment only seemed to make him preen.
“It was Cail’s idea to begin with. Then he and Sorcha fought, and now he barely speaks to her.”
After a moment she shrugged. “I could help her a few days a week, for an hour or so. Not enough to bake a meal but enough to set her in the right direction and prevent you from starving.”
“Fantastic.” He grabbed his loaves of bread and moved toward the door.
“Mr. MacKinnon.”
He paused at the threshold.
“She knows I’m coming?”
“Ah, what Sorcha doesna ken willna hurt her.” He saluted her with one of the loaves and departed with a jaunty step to his gait.
“I’ve been played for a fool,” Annabelle muttered to herself. She forced a smile as other customers arrived and tucked away that worry for later.
Three days later, Annabelle stood at the MacKinnons’ front door and knocked. She waited until she heard soft footsteps approach before pasting on a pleasant, but informal smile. When the door swung open, she nodded to the woman standing behind the screen door.
“How may I help ye?” Sorcha stood a good three inches shorter than Annabelle. She was plump, with her red-brown hair tied in a loose braid. Her light-blue eyes shone with curiosity as they beheld Annabelle on the front step.
Annabelle straightened her shoulders. “I am Annabelle Evans, and I was asked to come here by your brother to help teach you to use your oven.” After a moment, where Sorcha’s expression transformed from one of mild pleasantry to disbelief, then to irritation, Annabelle reached for the screen door and eased inside. “I run the new bakery in town, and he thought I would be able to help you.”
Annabelle waited just inside the threshold for Sorcha to speak before glancing around the small dark hallway. The walls were a thick pine that matched the floor. No artwork was displayed on the walls, although a coat peg hung near the door, with a horse bridle slung over one of the pegs rather than a jacket. A stairway led to the upper floor, and there was a doorway to the right and to the left in the hallway. A tattered, faded woven rug covered the wooden floor. She frowned as there was no evidence of Sorcha’s feminine touch in the space. Annabelle raised her head and sniffed and tilted her head to the left. “I believe the kitchen is this way.”
Sorcha heaved out a breath and stomped into the kitchen and dining area. “I canna believe Cailean thought a whore’s sister would be an appropriate teacher.”
Annabelle’s momentary joy at hearing Sorcha’s charming accent, heavily Scottish, died at her words. “I beg your pardon?”
“Why would ye think I’d want anythin’ to do with the likes of ye? Ye cook bread, cookies, and cakes during the day, but who’s to say what ye do at night? Ye could easily be offerin’ other enticements to the men of this town that they’d find just as sweet.” She smiled as Annabelle paled. “The name of your shop says it all. ‘Annabelle’s Sweet Shop.’”
Annabelle flushed red and balled her fists around the apron she’d extracted from a small bag. “Aren’t you a vile little being. I had wondered why Leticia never spoke warmly about you, and now I know. It’s because you have a core of venom.”
“How dare ye come into my own home an’ speak to me in such a manner?”
“And how dare you make such horrible comments about me and those I love?” Annabelle bent until she and Sorcha were eye to eye. “I’m here at you
r brother’s request so that they no longer have to sneak food from establishments around town. They are at the point of desperation due to your inability to serve an edible meal. If I were you, I’d cease antagonizing the one person in this town willing to help you.”
She slipped the apron over her head and tied it around her waist. She approached the stove and sighed. “What a lovely stove.”
“Ye call that hideous contraption lovely?”
Annabelle rolled her eyes. “I imagine you prefer cooking over a peat fire, but this is a modern stove. If you haven’t thanked your brother for it yet, it’s high time you voiced your gratitude.”
Sorcha broke eye contact. “I told him it was an old piece of junk, worse than anything he could ha’ bought in Scotland.”
Annabelle laughed. “Oh, I imagine that burst his ego. Few can afford to buy such items, and yet he bought it for your arrival, I presume.” She smiled as Sorcha nodded guiltily. “Well, today, I won’t teach you anything about cooking. But I will teach you how to use this.”
She motioned for Sorcha to stand next to her, and she reviewed how to build the fire, control the heat in the different sections, and how to ensure the fire never went out. When she departed an hour later, Sorcha continued to watch Annabelle with disdain and mistrust but a glimmer of respect fought to emerge.
“I’ll see you next week, Miss MacKinnon,” Annabelle called as she walked down the steps. “Please attempt to cook something for your brothers. I’ll be curious to hear how it goes.”
Four days later, Annabelle stood at the front door to the MacKinnon residence and knocked. She stared at the closed door, listening for approaching footsteps. When none sounded, she raised her hand and pounded on the door with a bit more force. The door lurched open, and she sprang back as Cailean glared at her. “I beg your pardon. I’m here to see Sorcha.”
He waved her inside, following her into the kitchen. Slabs of bread slathered with butter lay on a plate by the sink. “I forgot about lunch, and I’m here for a snack.” He motioned for her to sit, but she shook her head.
Montana Untamed (Bear Grass Springs, Book One): Bear Grass Springs, Book One Page 7
