Wolf Creek Wife

by Penny Richards

  To his surprise, she laughed. It was the first time he’d ever heard her laugh; in fact, her smiles were rare. The happy sound echoed throughout the room, mingling with the delicious aromas of their meal and filling him with an indefinable something that wrapped itself around his heart and settled there like a cat looking for the perfect place to curl up for a long rest. If he weren’t too afraid to believe in the feeling, he might say it felt like home.

  “Did you think my fairy godmother had come while you were gone and granted me a wish?”

  “I don’t know what to think,” he confessed.

  “Nothing so miraculous,” she said, crossing to the kitchen and reaching for the apron that hung on a peg next to his jacket. “It was Nita.”

  “Nita Allen?”

  “Yes. She stopped by with some things that she called a little wedding gift, and she brought her famous basket filled with all sorts of wonderful goodies. Like the pie.”

  “You didn’t make the pie?”

  She gave him an impish smile. “Technically, I did bake it, but Nita brought it ready to go into the oven. I’m not brave enough to try pie just yet. She did show me some things about the stove, and I did make the bread.”

  “You made bread from scratch?” He heard the disbelief in his voice.

  “‘Oh, ye of little faith,’” she quoted. “Actually, it’s the soda bread her late husband, Yancy, brought over from Ireland. Nita gave the recipe to my mother and she passed it on to me. There’s no yeast, so I thought I’d give it a try. If I don’t burn it, maybe I’ll have my first culinary success.”

  “It looked almost perfectly brown to me,” he told her.

  “Will you fill the glasses, or would you rather have coffee? Nita showed me how to make that, as well.”

  “Water is fine, but coffee would be great when I come in this evening.”

  Will stood there, bemused by the change in Blythe. All because she felt she’d finally done something right. It wasn’t so surprising, really. He knew how good he felt when he accomplished something at the mill he’d never done before.

  He watched as she grabbed a couple of towels and opened the oven door. A rush of fragrant, hot air filled the room. Careful of not burning herself, she lifted the pan from the oven and set it next to the pie. Then she placed her hands at the small of her back and arched against them.

  “You okay?” he asked. He hadn’t forgotten how her back had been hurting or that she’d fainted at their wedding. He thought she was doing too much, but he suspected there was nothing he could say to stop her. Hadn’t he already tried?

  “My back’s just tired,” she told him offhandedly. “Nita said to let the bread sit a couple of minutes and then turn it out. It will get soggy on the bottom if you leave it in the pan.”

  Will had always liked Ace Allen’s mother and never more so than at that moment. “How are Ace and Meg doing?” The couple had married on Valentine’s Day.

  Blythe took a ladle off the hook and began to dish up the soup. “Nita said, and I quote, ‘They’re as happy as two fat hogs in the sunshine.’”

  “Good.” Will took the bowl she’d filled and handed her the empty one. If ever there were two people who’d suffered during their lives and needed happily-ever-afters, it was Meg Thomerson and Ace Allen.

  “Go ahead and sit,” Blythe said, going to the bread and turning the skillet upside down on a plate.

  “A gentleman doesn’t sit until the ladies do.”

  “I appreciate the sentiment, but please. Indulge me.”

  She lifted the cast-iron skillet and it came right up, leaving a perfectly browned round loaf of bread. Will wasn’t aware he was holding his breath until he heard it whoosh from him in relief.

  She whirled toward him, exultation on her face. “Look, Will!”

  “It looks delicious,” he told her truthfully.

  A glimmer of worry crept into her eyes. “I hope it is.”

  “‘Oh, ye of little faith,’” he quoted back to her.

  “You’re right. I followed the instructions to the letter. It will be wonderful.”

  To their mutual surprise, the meal was everything they’d hoped for, though Blythe was too tired to fully enjoy it.

  “Great meal,” he said, cutting himself a second slice of pie.

  “Thank you, but I can’t take credit for much of it.” Blythe pressed the tines of her fork into the crumbs of crust on her plate. “Will?”

  He glanced up from his task, a quizzical look on his face.

  “I couldn’t help noticing that you left the mill’s ledger on the table last night. I know you were looking over some figures, and you seemed...frustrated about something.” She drew in a breath, as if she were trying to gather the courage to continue. “I was wondering if you’d like me to take a look. I’m a much better mathematician than I am a cook.”

  “You haven’t already taken a peek?” he asked.

  Blythe was horrified at the suggestion. “Of course not! Whatever is between those covers is none of my business.”

  “Actually, it is,” he told her. “You’re my wife, remember?” He stared at her thoughtfully for a moment in the quiet of the room, and then he nodded. “Since our future depends on the mill, yes, I’d be happy for you to have a look. In fact, if you don’t mind, I’ll get you the records for the last couple of years. Things started going wrong and money started getting tight before Martha left.”

  “Who kept the books?”

  “Until she left, Martha did.”

  Martha. Recalling the way Will’s first wife dressed, Blythe had a pretty good idea where some of the money had gone without ever opening the ledgers. Of course, her theory might be prejudiced because of her intense dislike of the other woman.

  “All I know is that, with so many of my machines needing to be replaced, I haven’t been able to catch up since she left.”

  “I almost have the house in order. I may have a chance to get to them this afternoon.”

  A look of relief spread across Will’s features. “Thanks, Blythe. That would be great.”

  * * *

  After he returned to the mill, Blythe set to work getting a head start on their evening meal. Nita Allen had left some deer meat in the springhouse and told Blythe how to fry it and use the drippings for gravy. She knew how to mash potatoes and she’d seen a jar of corn in the pantry that she would open up and warm to go with the meal. There was enough bread and pie left over to go with it. With one decent meal behind her, she was confident she could pull off another.

  She finished waxing the parlor furniture and dusted and washed the globes of the lamps and the glass on the pictures on the wall. Though she was chomping at the bit to get to Will’s books, she wrestled the parlor rug outside and somehow managed to get it flung over the clothesline. She spent the next several minutes beating it and then lugged it back inside.

  Hands on her hips, she arched her back against the nagging ache and surveyed her handiwork. Floors and furniture glistened and gleamed. The scent of lemon balm and beeswax left a clean scent in the air. Finished! Or at least as finished as she could be until she and Will could financially manage to change out some things. Bring on Bess Slade. Blythe was ready for her.

  Free to examine the mill’s books, she poured herself a cup of the coffee left warming on the back of the stove and sliced herself a small sliver of the pie.

  Three hours later she had at least part of the answers Will was seeking.

  * * *

  Will was stacking some freshly cut boards to air-dry when he saw the approaching buggy. His jaw tightened as the well-dressed man jumped from the carriage and headed his direction. Win Granville, no doubt coming to check on his sister.

  Will slapped one of his workers on the shoulder and asked him to finish while he went to greet the newcom
er, who was looking at the operation with definite interest.

  “Slade,” Win said, extending a hand in greeting.

  “Granville.”

  The adversaries shook hands and Will decided to take the initiative. “I suppose you came to check on Blythe.”

  “If I’d wanted to check on her, I’d have gone to the house,” he said, then ruined it by asking, “How is she?”

  “Working hard to put her own stamp on the house before my mother arrives,” Will said. “After the way she fainted at the wedding, I think she’s doing too much, but I’m not there to stop her.”

  “She can be hardheaded.”

  “I’m finding that out. So...to what do I owe the honor of your visit?”

  “I thought I’d try one more time to make you see reason.”

  “Which means you want me to sell you the mill.”

  “I’d settle for part of it. It would solve your current financial problems and make going forward a lot easier.”

  “There’s only one problem with that.”

  “Which is?”

  “That Slade Mills was started by my father and has always been operated by Slades.”

  “I have no problem with you running things if that’s what’s holding you back,” Win said.

  “What’s holding me back is that I know this business inside and out and I’m perfectly capable of getting it back on track on my own.”

  Win’s temper was on the rise. “What’s holding you back is your stubborn pride.”

  “Maybe it is,” Will agreed. “Look, Granville, I’m thinking pretty clearly these days, and I think I’ve come up with a plan to have the mill back in the black in a year or so.”

  “You’re a fool, Will Slade. Instead of clinging to your pride and the way things used to be, maybe you should think about my sister. She’s grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle, and I hardly think your little cabin in the woods will be enough for her in the long run.”

  Will thought he’d choke on his fury. Attacking a man’s ability to provide for his family was a shocking breach of conduct. “That was a low blow even for you, Granville.”

  Win knew he’d stepped over the line. Regret lingered in his eyes and he had the grace to blush. “You’re right. It was uncalled-for. My apologies. It’s just that I want the best for her, especially after all she’s been through.”

  As much as Will disliked Granville, he knew that most of that sentiment was rooted in the fact that the blasted man would not take no for an answer when it came to buying the mill. Will also knew his concern about Blythe was genuine. He felt the same way about his sisters.

  “Apology accepted. It might come as a surprise to you, but I want the same thing for Blythe that you do. We’re going to be forced to spend a considerable amount of time with each other, and I think we both know that she would feel a lot better about things if she knew we’d buried the hatchet. Preferably not in each other’s backs.”

  “You’re right,” Win agreed.

  “Another thing.”

  Granville regarded him with a lift of his sandy eyebrows.

  “You might not know your sister as well as you think you do.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning Blythe and I both know we started out with a couple of strikes against us. It was an insane idea, but we both agreed to it, and despite what we’ve both been through, we believe in the sanctity of marriage. We made promises before God, saying we were in it for better and for worse. So far, I haven’t heard her complaining.”

  Win nodded. “Point taken. Now, can we go inside and talk about this plan of yours?”

  Will’s conversation with Win stayed in his mind the rest of the afternoon. When his brother-in-law left the mill, things were better between them, though Granville still maintained Will was a stubborn fool. Will didn’t deny it. Maybe Win would stop hounding him about the mill now that they’d reached a tentative truce and he’d given his plan the stamp of approval.

  * * *

  When Will stepped through the door, he was once again greeted with an abundance of delicious smells. Blythe was standing at the stove, her hair drawn back with a ribbon at the nape of her neck, the long, dark tresses falling down her back in gentle waves. She was stirring something in the cast-iron skillet and turned with a shy smile of welcome when she heard him come in.

  “How was your afternoon?”

  “Good,” he said, marveling again that she was interested in his work. “We shipped the big order out and got another one from a place in Little Rock.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “What’s for supper?”

  “Deer steaks, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn and the bread and pie from lunch.”

  Will couldn’t help smiling at the satisfaction on her face. She might have been raised with a silver spoon in her mouth, but clearly Libby Granville had passed on the grit she’d developed from her days as Lucas Gentry’s hardworking wife. Blythe seemed determined to do her part to make their marriage a success.

  Will walked over to the stove and peeked over her shoulder at the bubbling gravy. He was so close he could smell her sweet lilac scent. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, filling his senses with the floral aroma.

  “Smells delicious.”

  She turned to look over her shoulder and their faces were mere inches apart. The memory of the sweetness of her lips against his the previous evening flashed into his mind. It was all he could do to keep from repeating the act.

  Her eyes were wide and filled with a combination of expectancy and curiosity. He forced himself to say something in an attempt to break the mood. “Looks good.”

  As he’d hoped, the inane words shattered the intimacy binding them. With a quick, mischievous smile, he reached around her and snatched a piece of the fried steak from the platter.

  “William Slade!” she said, smacking the back of his hand before he could pull it away. “Stay out of my food. You remind me of Win.”

  Heaven forbid! Instead of answering, Will popped the meat into his mouth. It needed a little more salt, had a bit too much pepper, and it could have been tenderer, but definitely would be no hardship to eat.

  “Pretty tasty, wife.”

  “Why, thank you, husband,” she said. “What about the gravy?” She let a spoonful drip back into the skillet. It was more like a plop than a steady stream. “I think it’s too thick, but Nita said to err on the side of too much flour instead of too little.”

  The milky sauce looked thick enough to stand a spoon in, but Will didn’t want to be the one to burst her bubble. “Um...maybe a bit. Nita’s right, though. It’s easier to thin it than thicken. Why don’t you add some water?”

  Blythe did as he suggested, but there wasn’t room enough in the skillet to thin it as much as was needed. In the end, the gravy was almost the same consistency as the mashed potatoes, but after they’d given thanks for their food, Will dived into the meal with his usual enthusiasm. Once again, he had few complaints. It wasn’t perfect by a long shot, but it was tasty enough, and if Blythe continued to improve, she’d be a great cook in no time.

  He was finishing his pie when Blythe said, “I had time to look over the mill’s finances. I haven’t finished, but I can already tell you a couple of things with certainty.”

  His appetite fled. “And?”

  “First, there’s no rhyme or reason to the money you took from the mill for your personal use.”

  That wasn’t much of a surprise. He shrugged. “I don’t doubt it. Whenever Martha started harping on wanting new curtains, clothes or a trip to Little Rock or St. Louis, I just took the funds from the mill’s profits. I figured it was mine, and I wanted to give her whatever she wanted.” A look of chagrin flashed across his face. “It was easier than hearing her nag about it for months on end.”<
br />
  “Well, if it makes you feel any better about her leaving, I can tell you that if she hadn’t left, she’d have spent you into the poorhouse in less than a year.”

  As bad as things were, he’d had no idea that he’d been so near ruin. Probably still was.

  “I can also tell you that only a portion of the money you were giving her to deposit actually made it into your account.”

  Will just stared at her, trying to reconcile what she was saying with what his ears were hearing. “Are you saying she was stealing money?”

  “Technically, yes, though I doubt she looked at it that way. I imagine she felt that it was as much her money as yours and that she was entitled to it.”

  “She could have just asked me and—”

  Blythe reached out and covered his hand with hers. “It wouldn’t have mattered, Will,” she said. “It would never have been enough.”

  Without thinking, he curled his fingers around hers. “What do I need to do to get out of this mess?”

  A sudden memory of his kiss the night before slipped into her mind, causing her heart to skip a beat. She struggled to make her voice and her gaze steady. “The best advice I can give you is to take Win up on his offer.”

  Will pushed away from the table and got to his feet. “Win actually came out to the mill this afternoon and tried to talk me into at least a partnership. I turned him down.”

  “I know you say you don’t want to, but taking him up on his offer would help you get back on your feet.”

  “No. The mill is mine. Ours. That’s the way it’s going to stay. We may have to tighten our belts for a while, but I think I can have us in the black in a year.”

  Blythe shook her head, but there was a slight smile on her lips. “I just realized that the reason you two butt heads all the time is because you’re as alike as two peas in a pod.”

  “God forbid.”

  She laughed. “All right,” she said. “If you’re dead set on doing this your way, you have to have a plan. First of all, there can be no more drawing out money on a whim.”

  “What do I do?”

  “Give yourself a weekly salary, and don’t take another penny for your personal use. After I wash the dishes, we’ll sit down and make a list of all your expenditures. If I go back the past eighteen months and average your gross income, I’ll have an idea of what you bring in monthly. We’ll allocate money appropriately from there—employee wages, your salary, my household budget from your salary and so on. That way, we’ll know where every penny is spent.”