His Prairie Duchess

by Kit Morgan

  * * *

  Jefferson sipped his whiskey slowly and attempted to enjoy it. But the amber liquid didn’t have as much appeal of late and he’d be hornswallowed if he knew why. Before it always brought him solace. Or at least got him drunk enough to think so. But ever since Colin’s wedding it didn’t do much to help his usual foul mood.

  Mrs. Dunnigan’s cooking on the other hand...

  “One roast beef and potatoes. No free meals here, Jefferson Cooke! Be sure you pony up when you leave!” She set a plate of mouthwatering, steaming hot food on the table.

  He glared back as she looked at him, her face all scrunched up, her dark beady eyes narrowed in challenge. Anyone in their right mind would take the cantankerous creature out back and shoot her! But the woman was quickly becoming known as the finest cook in the eastern Oregon territory, and who on earth would dare part with that? They’d be the one shot for sure!

  “What’s for dessert?” He barked.

  “Cherry pie and coffee!” She barked right back. “Coffee that will do you much better than that swill you’re drinking!”

  “Fine!”

  “Fine!” She spat. Jefferson didn’t think it possible, but she scrunched her face up another notch and said, “I’ll bring you some when you’re done with your dinner!” And with that she stomped off to serve the other men in the saloon.

  Jefferson watched her go then turned his attention to his food. He angrily stabbed a piece of beef and was about to cut it with a knife, then realized there was no need. The meat was so tender it easily parted with his fork alone. He took the first bite and closed his eyes. Heaven.

  Which certainly beat the alternative. And which seemed to be Jefferson’s problem of late.

  Could it be he was getting a conscious?

  Whiskey had kept it at bay all this time, but now not even a good stiff drink seemed to help quell the guilt he battled. Guilt at not helping his wife Honoria when she got sick. Guilt at not listening to Harrison when he pleaded with him to take her to Doc Waller. Guilt at not wanting to be with her when she died. Nor bury her. Nor to this day even go to her grave. And guilt about the fire. No amount of whiskey it seemed, could touch that.

  Instead he sat in his cabin and stared at the cold, empty hearth, or came into town to drink and play cards. But cards did nothing for him of late either. Besides, his fellow card players hadn’t been around to play. They were off doing... other things. Things he decided he should steer away from.

  “Ohhhh, Mr. Cooke!”

  Jefferson looked up from his food as Mrs. Mulligan quickly approached. He continued to chew and said nothing.

  “Mr. Cooke, would you mind giving this to Sadie when you get back to the ranch?” She handed him a folded piece of paper.

  He unceremoniously snatched it from her hand. “What is it?”

  It’s a list of people to invite to the dance of course. I want Sadie and Belle to have a copy so we can figure out who should be in charge of what. It’s going to be a big event!”

  Jefferson stopped chewing.

  “Everyone’s invited!”

  His eyes widened.

  “And isn’t it lovely that we’re having it out at your ranch? So kind of you! And you Cookes certainly do know how to throw a party! Why, the wedding was wonderful!”

  Jefferson dropped his fork. It landed on his now empty plate with loud, rattling, clinks.

  He was about to bark something he shouldn’t, then realized what she said. Your ranch. You Cookes. Ever since Harrison and Sadie got married and that father of hers stormed in, he’d always viewed it as his step son’s ranch. He and his two birth sons were excluded. The ranch stolen from him and handed to his step sons on a shiny silver platter by that loud-mouthed cattle baron, Horatio Jones.

  Jefferson licked some gravy from his lips and looked at her. “There’s gonna be a dance at my ranch?”

  “Why yes, I thought you knew.”

  “My ranch?”

  “Yes, your ranch! Doesn’t anybody out there tell you anything?”

  Jefferson’s mouth curved ever so slightly into a smile. “My ranch?”

  “Jefferson Cooke! Take that list to your daughter-in-law and see to it she gets to work right away! The dance is in less than two weeks! I’ll drive out tomorrow to help with the invitations.”

  “Invitations?” He barked.

  “Of course. You Cookes are gonna have to start doing things a lot more formal like now that you’ve got a Duke in the family! I hear to be one of those is the next thing to royalty!” She took his empty plate and happily went to see to her other customers.

  Jefferson sat and absently licked at his lips even though he’d already licked them clean. His ranch? His daughter-in-law? Royalty?!

  Jefferson slowly smiled as Mrs. Dunnigan stormed over to his table with his pie and coffee.

  And on the Thirteenth Day...

  Cozette pulled another shirt out of the laundry basket and hung it on the line. She and Mrs. Van Cleet worked in relative silence. Cozette because she didn’t speak, Polly Van Cleet because she had a mouth full of clothes pins. They both turned when they heard the sound of a horse and rider gallop up and stop at the front of the house. Polly took the clothes pins from her mouth and threw them in the basket. “Go into the house Cozette while I see who it is.”

  Cozette’s eyes widened as she looked toward the house. But what if it’s a stranger? She quickly complied and ran into the house through the back door and straight to the Remington revolver resting in Mr. Van Cleet’s holster. He’d slung it over the back of a chair and didn’t take it with him when he’d left to go rabbit hunting with her father. The Dupries had been invited to stay with the Van Cleets until they could build a home of their own. Cozette stayed in a small second bedroom (more of a large closet, really) while her father was content to sleep in the barn. Her father happily accepted the invitation and figured it would be good for Cozette. And he was right. Her rickety little bed was wonderful compared to the cold ground. And though she didn’t mind sleeping on the ground in the summer, winter came soon enough on the prairie.

  Not to mention danger. Cozette took the pistol and quickly made her way to the front door where she peeked through the lace curtains of a nearby window to see who was speaking with Mrs. Van Cleet. But the only thing she saw was a big black horse tethered at the Van Cleet’s hitching post.

  “See something interesting?”

  Cozette jumped and spun around. Duncan immediately grabbed her wrist and took the gun from her. She’d never seen a man move so fast or with such incredible reflexes. Nor be so quick to scold her. “This is not a toy, you know. You could hurt yourself!”

  Cozette boldly looked up at him and squared her shoulders. You don’t know that, you know nothing about me or that I can shoot a gun! Probably better than you!

  “I’ll make some coffee, Duncan.” Polly called from the kitchen. “And I’ve got cinnamon bread almost ready to come out of the oven!”

  Duncan, her wrist still locked in his hand, continued to glare down at her. “Much obliged, Polly. Sounds fine.”

  Cozette glared right back and narrowed her eyes to boot.

  He smiled at her reaction. His look then softened as he studied her. “I would hate to see anything happen to you.” He looked to the gun in his hand. “And I don’t suppose you can use one of these?”

  Cozette glanced to the gun and continued to glare.

  “I thought as much. Are you any good?”

  She raised a single brow in challenge.

  He smiled. “Really? Now there’s something I’d like to see. Care to show me?”

  She raised her other brow and smiled confidently.

  “I see. Do me a favor then?”

  Cozette cocked her head to one side.

  “Do try your best not to shoot me.”

  Seven

  Duncan rode out to the Van Cleet’s after Sheriff Hughes told him he’d heard Cyrus and Mr. Duprie discuss rabbit hunting. He thought it worth Duncan’s ti
me to see if that wasn’t where he’d find the Frenchman.

  But he didn’t find him. What he did find was a whole lot of trouble. Trouble in a pink dress. A beautiful calico pink dress that fit his little future Duchess perfectly. Her dark hair shined and glistened in the sun. It was loose and flowed down her back in a silken mass. Why she wasn’t wearing it up he had no idea. He only knew how maddening it was to stand beside her and keep the disapproving scowl he wore in place.

  But he couldn’t keep it there for long. She was adorable. Beautiful. A lively, bright spot of brilliant color in an otherwise grey world. The world of his heart. And she was quickly filling it,

  confirming the fact he knew he shouldn’t be doing this. He should have hightailed it back to town the moment he saw her. But today he couldn’t find the strength to pull himself away. Thank Heaven Polly watched them as she hung laundry on a clothesline and waited for her bread to finish baking.

  “Are you sure you can hit that thing?” He finally asked.

  Cozette’s shoulders relaxed at the remark. She rolled her eyes then looked at him long enough to stick her tongue out. Without warning she quickly took aim and fired. The bottle he’d set atop a fence post twenty yards away shattered. Duncan stood in open mouthed shock.

  Cozette blew the smoke from Mr. Van Cleet’s gun and smirked up at him. Didn’t think I could do it, did you?

  He looked down at her in total disbelief before taking his gun from the holster on his hip. He looked at the other bottles, pieces of wood and what ever else they could find to set atop the fence posts and rails of the corral. He gave the gun a few rapid spins in his hand and reholstered it. He then gave her a quick little sideways glance and a wink. She flinched slightly at the action but not at all when he quickly drew his gun and began to fire and take out the rest of their targets. She obviously was used to being around gunfire, bullets, and men. But he’d shoot himself before he let her be around it any more. Unless it was with him of course.

  Not a target was left. He’d hit them all.

  Cozette let go a frustrated sigh. She set her gun on the ground and turned to him. With a face full of anger she held up one finger. She then pointed to herself with her other hand. I only got one shot! She then jabbed him in the chest and held up six fingers. You got six! She shook her head and sent him a scowl to rival any of his. No fair!

  “We could set up another round and see if you can’t have a better go at it. But don’t think you can beat me.”

  Her eyes widened in shock as her mouth dropped open and she placed her hands on her hips.

  “No, really. You obviously got a lucky shot, that’s all.”

  She narrowed her eyes, her jaw set, and stomped her foot.

  “Tsk, tsk. I dare say, a temper tantrum isn’t going to help you.”

  Her hands balled into fists as she glared at him. She then spun on her heel and began to scan the small barn area for other things to shoot at.

  Duncan could stand it no longer. He laughed. She was so utterly charming! Forced to communicate in other ways she used wonderful expressions and body language to say what she wanted to say. And by God, he could understand her! Yes, he most definitely could. It made him want her all the more.

  She spun on him the moment she heard his boisterous chuckling and again narrowed her eyes. Oh, so you think this is funny do you? She again scanned the area, her eyes coming to rest on an old horseshoe. She stood straight in triumph before she bent to pick it up.

  “You can’t possibly be serious! You can’t hit that!”

  She stormed over to him and held it out.

  He looked at the horseshoe, then at Cozette. “And where do you propose to put it? Hang it on a fence post perhaps?”

  She smiled an odd sort of smile. It almost made Duncan worried. But not quite. He spread his feet and stood firm, then folded his arms across his chest. “Well?”

  Her smile broadened as she made a tossing motion with the horseshoe.

  “You can’t possibly be serious!”

  She nodded, her eyes bright.

  “You’ll never be able to hit it!”

  She relaxed her stance, opened her mouth, and if he didn’t know any better, laughed. Her expression quickly became dead serious as she shoved the horseshoe at him. Try me.

  “You really think you can hit this?”

  Her eyes narrowed as she nodded. Good Lord, but she was beautiful when she was angry!

  “And if you manage to hit it, what then? I still have six to your one. Or rather two if you manage this.”

  She bent to pick up her gun as she again motioned for him to throw the horseshoe up in the air.

  “You’re serious? I see...”

  He threw it without warning and bugger if she didn’t react with lightening speed and shoot. There was a clear, high pitched, clang mixed with the sound of the shot. By God she hit it! She must have cocked the gun as she picked it up. Duncan looked down at her, his mouth hung open like a village idiot’s, and stared. How did she do that? She was a woman after all! How could she manage such a shot?

  But he had to remind himself she was no mere woman. She’d learned to survive in the wilderness and witnessed horrors only he himself could relate to. And now that he thought on it, they perhaps had more in common than either of them realized.

  He snapped his mouth shut as he straightened himself, then gave her a slight bow. “Miss Duprie, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to a dance?”

  * * *

  Cozette stared up at him. He was asking her to go to a dance? But I don’t know how to dance! How foolish would she look at such an event? She wouldn’t know the first thing about how to act, what to wear, let alone the dancing part!

  She backed away from him and automatically scanned their surroundings for an escape route. One would think he’d just threatened her life, not invite her to a social function.

  “Oh Cozette, Duncan! The coffee and cinnamon bread is ready!” Polly shouted from the back door of the kitchen.

  Duncan's eyes never left Cozette. “We’ll be right there!” He called back. He continued to study her with a tender look. He obviously didn’t want to frighten her and Cozette felt herself grow calm. In fact, his entire body suddenly became more a refuge than a threat. His stance was relaxed, his features softened. He held a friendly smile on his face as his eyes drank her in. But not the way she’d seen other men look at her before she and her father took refuge with the Van Cleets. No, Duncan Cooke wasn’t lusting after her. He was admiring her. And there was a big difference between the two. Had she impressed him with her shooting ability? Most men got incredibly angry when bested by her as a boy. How much more so as a woman? Some men would get so angry she’d have to run to avoid being struck by them. But not this man. He had respect in his eyes and something else. Something she’d never seen before. But she could feel it. Feel it because she was looking at him the same way. Oh my! Oh my, oh my!

  Cozette forced herself to turn around and break what now fused them together whenever he was near. She didn’t understand what it was, she only knew that each time she saw Duncan, it grew stronger. And today a warmth in her chest had started. It soon sank to her belly and began to spread the longer she looked at him. Not only that, today she noticed how incredibly handsome he was as he teased her, not to mention how big and tall. He towered over her when he’d taken the gun from her earlier in the house, his hand wrapped so completely around her wrist. She recalled the warm, rough feel of it and had to close her eyes a moment to still the strange tremors the memory caused.

  Her head snapped up as the warmth of his body suddenly engulfed her. How did he manage to come up behind her so quietly? “We’d best go in.” He said, his voice deep and soft. “We don’t want to keep Polly waiting.” He placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her around to face him.

  Cozette sucked in a breath. He pushed his hat back, his other hand still on her shoulder and simply looked at her. He swallowed once then took a deep breath. “I dare say, Miss Dup
rie, but you're so beautiful. So very beautiful. I do so hope you say yes.”

  Her head automatically cocked slightly to one side. Yes?

  He quickly looked away a moment, then faced her again. “The dance of course. You will let me escort you won’t you?” He took one step closer. Cozette looked at his broad chest briefly where his shirt lay open before looking up at him. Heavens! His size should intimidate her with him being so close, but it didn’t. Instead she felt like wrapping him around her so she could wear him like a blanket. His scent was like candy. Sweet and savory all at the same time and if she didn’t move away from him, she knew she’d want more.

  But Cozette couldn’t move.

  And he wouldn’t.

  They simply stood and looked at one another, his hand still on her shoulder as the sun grew hot. Or was it the two of them? The air immediately around them warmer, more so than was normal and Cozette swore that even the light shining down on them was suddenly brighter.

  “We need to go inside,” he whispered.

  Cozette’s knees suddenly weakened and she let go a delicate sigh. Oh dear! Where did THAT come from?

  He shuddered as the moist warmth of her breath brushed his chest. He balled his free hand into a fist and looked away, his eyes closed. She watched his whole body tighten as if he was under a horrible strain, before he let out a moan. Something told her she should run. Run while there was still time, but she couldn’t move. So long as he had his hand on her shoulder she couldn’t, no ... wouldn’t move. The warmth and feel of his hand wasn’t something she could part with so easily. Not now, not after having a taste of the safety she sensed. Yes, that’s was it. Duncan made her feel safe. Secure. Protected.