by Jillian Hart
She bent her head in exhaustion just thinking about the days she had before her, though.
Lord, give me strength, she managed to pray. She could not go further. Her feelings for God had suffered when it had seemed everything had lined up against her in Boston. Some people reported sensing God’s care for them in hard times, but all she had felt was an overwhelming silence. It was as if God had been as disappointed in her as her husband must have been to do the things he’d done.
When she’d heard from Noah, she’d begun to think God had decided to be in her life again. And now that future was uncertain.
She had given up any hope of love, but she had believed she would find respect in a new marriage. With God’s help, that would be enough for a good life.
She blushed wondering what the ranch hands must think about her now. Noah had said it all very politely, but it was clear that he had called off the wedding, hoping she would grow weary and say she no longer wanted to marry him.
She could only bless the men’s hearts for their clear disappointment. They, at least, wanted her to stay. Noah might, too, she assured herself, once he saw how useful she could be.
She heard footsteps and knew Noah was coming back through the hallway. His steps were different from those of the other men. They sounded more confident. Maybe a little quicker. Heavier.
“How long have you had it like this?” Maeve asked when Noah reached the open doorway.
When he didn’t answer, she continued, “The wood on these chairs needs to be polished or it will crack and ruin.”
“I don’t have time to be polishing the furniture.”
“I can do it,” Maeve offered. After her years working in Boston, there wasn’t much she didn’t know about caring for expensive furniture. “You want to keep it nice for—”
Her voice trailed off. She wasn’t exactly sure she wanted to say the words indicating he was saving the furniture for when his wife returned, but she had no other theory to offer.
Maeve looked down. Her daughter was lying on the bench, with her head in Maeve’s lap.
She could feel the man looking at her so she glanced up.
“You must like European furniture,” she finished. “It’s beautiful.”
“Neither,” Noah said with a smile. “I bought it to show myself I could.”
Maeve wondered how much money the man had.
A dozen men had marched back and forth to the kitchen carrying things past the doorway. Most of the supplies were still coming, but she saw a couple of big bags carried to the back of the house. From the sounds of the steps, two men carried her trunk to the end of the hall. She suspected they had taken it to the bedroom, but the warmth from the fire was making her toes tingle and she didn’t want to walk down the hall to see.
She looked around. Back East, she’d rented the smallest room she could find. It had had a bed, two chairs and a stove for heating. She’d barely been able to afford that. This parlor alone was three times the size of her room. She’d brought some of her doilies with her, the ones she’d crocheted for her first wedding. They’d faded over the years and she would be ashamed to even put them out in this house.
She watched as Noah walked out of the room.
He turned and said, “The downstairs bedroom is at the end of the hall. The men are finished unpacking. They’ll be leaving in a minute. Don’t worry about waking up early. Dakota will be cooking for the men.”
Maeve said nothing, but she vowed to be up early enough to make breakfast. She didn’t have much time to show Noah how useful she could be and she planned to make the ranch hands the best food they’d ever eaten.
He might not want another wife, she told herself, but he had never wavered on wanting a cook for his men.
* * *
The night was black as Noah braced himself against the growing wind and walked as fast as the storm permitted toward the light in the bunkhouse window, thinking about Maeve. She had pursed her lips when he even looked at her inquisitively. She had secrets she still hadn’t told him, but he didn’t want to press her. He didn’t like going to bed with these kinds of mysteries on his mind, though. If he didn’t know the problem, he couldn’t fix it.
All of the buildings on his ranch were built firm. He’d used milled wood. The planks were measured and cut to fit. That’s why there was no dip in the roof of the bunkhouse and there were no gaps in the corners of the side room he’d added to the bunkhouse.
He turned a knob and the door opened. He could see the fire burning in the rock fireplace on the far wall. He stepped inside and stomped the snow off his boots. The group of men sitting by the fire turned in unison to look at him.
He nodded in greeting, wondering how to tell them Reverend Olson might be asking them about him and his sleeping habits.
But the men looked as if they had something on their minds, too.
“Yes?” he asked.
They were silent for a minute and then, Bobby, the youngest ranch hand, let loose.
“We worked hard to get a new cook. And here you are, sending her back. She came for us, too, you know. We wrote the ad.”
“Ah,” Noah said as he took off his coat and rubbed the snow off the back of his neck. “But it’s me she came to marry.”
“Well, she says she’s willing,” Bobby said in frustration. “The rest is up to you.”
Noah walked over to the straight-back chairs gathered around a table and pulled one of them closer to where the men sat. “It doesn’t matter whether she’s my wife or my cook,” Noah said as he settled himself into the chair. “I won’t have a woman go back on her agreement with me again. So I want her to be sure she wants to stay here.”
The men sat in silence as they considered this.
“You’re thinking about that divorce, aren’t you?” Dakota finally said from where he sat by the window. “We all know that wasn’t your fault. You did everything you could for Allison.”
“Did I?” Noah asked them. “Sometimes I wonder. I brought her out here to the ranch and then I left her alone too much. Everyone within a hundred miles of here knew she was unhappy and I didn’t take her to town more than once every few months.”
“You were busy,” Bobby said.
“That’s no excuse.” Noah gave him a smile. “Someday, when you’re married, you’ll understand. Marriage is a commitment that isn’t always easy.”
“Have you been talking to Mrs. Barker?” Dakota asked as he walked over to Noah and peered at him as if he was trying to determine the state of his soul.
Noah squirmed. The older woman was the biggest gossip in the area. “She was at the church this morning, but that’s all. Why?”
The men looked at Dakota and he looked back at them.
Finally, the other man shrugged. “She told me her husband saw your Allison down in Denver last week when he was there on railroad business. She goes by Alice now, but it was her all right. Mr. Barker told her you were getting yourself a new bride. Mrs. Barker said it didn’t sound like Allison—or Alice, I guess — was too happy about that.”
“I’m sure she was only making some polite response. You know how Mrs. Barker likes to add to the truth to make the telling of something more dramatic.”
“I don’t know,” Dakota muttered. “I can still hear Allison complaining. The table was too rough. The sun was too hot. No one came to visit. The cows had flies. The flowers didn’t grow.”
“She hoped for more out of life than me,” Noah said ruefully. “She knew how much land I owned and she pictured herself entertaining governors and other important people. The only one who ever came out to see us was Mrs. Barker and I am grateful to her for that.”
“Ranch women know what to expect,” Dakota said firmly.
Noah nodded. “That’s just it. Maeve lived in Boston for most of her life, except for a few years in Ireland when she was young. She hasn’t even had a chance to think of what life here would be like.”
It was quiet again as the men considered that.
“We don’t even know for sure that she can cook,” another ranch hand said philosophically.
“With hair like that, I’m not worried,” a different cowboy said. “Irish women are born cooking.”
“I know she can do better than Dakota,” Bobby said with a look at Dakota.
“I’d like to see you make a flapjack worth eating,” the older ranch hand retorted with no rancor in his voice.
Noah knew a lot of bickering went on in the bunkhouse and he usually turned a deaf ear to it. He’d had a long day himself and was looking forward to slipping into bed and sleeping.
“The Reverend Olson might be talking to some of you.” Noah didn’t have to look around to know he’d caught their full attention. The reverend was respected around here. “He says you’re to be my chaperones. Make sure I sleep in the room off the bunkhouse and don’t go to the house at night.”
Bobby grinned. “So the preacher is worried you might want to be more married than you think.”
Noah felt the tension shoot through his jaw. “He’s not meaning me particularly. He just knows the value of a woman’s reputation in these parts. For that matter, I should make sure none of you leave the bunkhouse for long periods of time at night, either.”
“You can count on us,” the men chorused in unison. “We’ll take care of her.”
Noah looked at them skeptically.
“Do you think she should be cooking for us tomorrow at all?” Bobby asked then, his hand going up to scratch his head. “She looked pretty tired.”
“As far as I’m concerned, you can treat her like a lady of leisure tomorrow,” Noah said. “She doesn’t need to cook. Show her we’re friendly around here. Fix her up a cup of tea in the afternoon.”
The men nodded their heads and Noah reached up to feel his beard.
“Whoever gets up first, fill the washbasin with water and set it on the stove to heat,” he said. “We’re all shaving our beards off tomorrow morning before we leave the bunkhouse.”
“What?” the men protested in near unison.
“You want us to freeze our faces?” Dakota demanded to know. “It’ll be a hard winter if I read the signs right.”
“The little girl is afraid of men with beards,” Noah said. “That’s why she screamed.”
The men were silent for a moment.
“That was the worst scream I ever heard,” Bobby finally said. “I’ve heard trapped animals show less terror. I guess I can give up my whiskers.”
The other men nodded.
“Thank you,” Noah said with no small satisfaction. He’d done what he could to help his guests. Tomorrow was another day.
He walked over to the door that led to the private room and went inside, closing the door behind him. Even though he was tired, he couldn’t resist looking out the window facing the house. He saw a faint light in his bedroom. Maeve must have the lantern with her as she went to bed. If Maeve was going to learn that ranch life wasn’t for her, it would be good if she did it soon. It would sure ease his mind to have his hopes cut down before they started to grow inside him.
Chapter Four
Hours later, Maeve lay in bed, the darkness all around her, and gave thanks for the warmth of the blankets. Her daughter was curled up beside her and she could no longer hear the wind blowing outside. Dim light, the kind that came just before dawn, was starting to shine through the frost-covered windows. She was going to get up in a few minutes. She planned to show the men what a good cook she was and she knew they ate early. Sliding away from Violet gently so she wouldn’t wake the child, she reached for a spare quilt that was sitting on the chair by the bed.
She pulled the quilt to her and then sat up, wrapping it around her. She’d never known the luxury of having a spare blanket and she marveled at the bounty found in this house. The bedroom had none of the discord of the parlor. All of the furniture here, from the bed with its peeled log frame to the wide dresser made of walnut, had been built by a craftsman, but it wasn’t made for show. There were no carved vines to gather dust and no inlaid marble. She doubted the desires of his wife had influenced Noah to buy any of the furniture in this room.
Last night, she had explored the kitchen and realized that cooking for the ranch hands took place in the main house. A solid plank table, the boards pressed together so they met perfectly, stood in a large room off the work area. At least twenty people could sit up to the table with the benches and chairs arranged around it. At the end of the room, a shelf held stacks of heavy white plates and bowls—the kind of dishes the servants used back East. In the center of the table, a jar of honey and several sets of salt and pepper shakers were grouped together.
Maeve stood and bent over to light the lantern on the stand by the bed. She kept the flame turned down so she wouldn’t waken Violet. She did not need much light anyway.
She walked over to the side wall and opened the lid of her trunk before slipping her hands down to where she kept her two work dresses. They were black cotton dresses with full white aprons, freshly washed, starched and ironed each week. The lady of the house where Maeve had done most of her heavy work insisted that all the women on her staff wear black dresses with white aprons. Not that she paid for the clothing, of course. Fortunately, the cook had outgrown a couple of dresses and offered them to Maeve. She was grateful even though they had been washed so often the dye was faded in spots and the cuffs on the sleeves were frayed.
The lady had given Maeve a critical look when she first saw her in one of the dresses. The woman didn’t refuse to let her wear them, although she had added the requirement of a white cap to cover Maeve’s copper-colored hair. Her employer would have bleached the freckles from Maeve’s face and the pink from her cheeks if she’d been able. A servant, the woman had said that same day with her lips pressed together in disapproval, shouldn’t look too colorful since a proper maid blended into the background so her betters would be the ones to gather the admiring glances.
Maeve pulled a dress and an apron out of the trunk and set them on the chair by the bed. She wasn’t going to wear a cap. She would pull her hair back and put a net around the bun she made, but she wasn’t going to be a servant in this house. Or anywhere else likely. After she’d lost her job, no other house in Boston would even talk to her when she called at the servant’s door to ask for employment. The newspapers had ensured that the whole city was aware of the shame her husband had brought to their name.
That was all in the past, though, Maeve told herself as she washed, fixed her hair securely and dressed. She had hung her gray dress up last night and she checked it to be sure it was drying. While she was thinking of it, she took the sprig of mistletoe out of the dress pocket and set it on the low dresser. Even if it didn’t result in any kissing, the sprig would be a fond Christmas decoration for her.
Violet turned over a few times, but she stayed sleeping as her mother quietly moved around the room doing a few other things. Maeve had heard the back door to the house open a few minutes ago and now a board creaked as someone walked on the kitchen floor.
She went over and kissed Violet on the forehead.
“Mommy’s going to be close by,” she whispered, thinking how she’d dreamed of being able to say those words to her daughter as she headed off to work. She could be a proper mother for the first time in years, able to hear any call Violet might give.
Maeve left the lantern burning low when she exited the room. The kitchen was only a few feet down the side hall from the bedroom and she’d heard more sounds. She’d put on her leather shoes because they were still damp and she didn’t want them to shrink as they dried. The heels clicked on the plank floor so she knew Dakota, who was likely the one who was in the kitchen, would be expecting her.
The door to the kitchen was closed so she gave a soft knock. She didn’t want to startle the older man.
She didn’t wait for an answer before she pushed the door open.
“
Oh.”
It wasn’t Dakota.
The blaze in the cast-iron cookstove gave off some light because the firebox in the front of the stove was wide-open. Maeve had to step closer before she could truly see, though.
“Noah?” she asked.
The man stood there with his shirt unbuttoned and a towel draped over his shoulder. His hair was tousled and his beard was covered with what looked like white soap. He stood by the stove with a kettle in one hand and a bucket in the other.
“I’m boiling water,” he whispered. “I didn’t want to wake you up. You should be in bed asleep.”
“I got up to make breakfast.” She squared her shoulders so she’d look ready to work and took a step toward him. “I plan to make coffee so I can do that for you.”
Noah shook his head. “The water’s for washing up.”
Maeve looked down at the top of the stove then and noticed that several pans and kettles were boiling. Steam was rising up from them into the cold air of the kitchen.
Noah moved a kettle on the stove and uncovered the open circle where a burner usually was. A golden light flared as a piece of wood snapped and she could see Noah clearly in the surrounding darkness. His eyes were watching her and there was a kindness in them that she hadn’t seen before. Maybe he was getting used to her, she thought hopefully.
“I wanted to have this all done before you got up,” he explained.
“I can help,” Maeve offered as she reached for handle of one of the pans.
“You have a child to take care of,” Noah said as he took the handle from her. “That’s work enough for anyone.”
Maeve hesitated. “Violet will be fine. She just needs a little time to get used to where she is.”
Taking a deep breath, Maeve continued, “Sometimes I think it might help to have another child around. Someone for Violet to play with.”
Noah shrugged. “I didn’t have any brothers or sisters and I did fine.”
“So you don’t like lots of children?” Maeve whispered, her heart sinking.
Noah didn’t answer because the back door leading to the kitchen opened again and a dark shape came into the room.
