by Joyce Armor
Several hours later, Libby startled awake to the sound of voices. She had no idea what time it was. Worried she would be confronted in her chemise, she leaped out of bed and noticed the tub was gone and a flowered ewer and matching bowl of water sat on the mahogany dressing table. She certainly must have been sleeping soundly. She looked in the mirror above the dressing table and nearly shrieked. Her still-damp hair had taken on a bizarre shape, with lumps, odd kinks and tangles. She dug her brush out of her carpet bag, hurriedly wrestled the tangles into submission, pulled her long hair back and quickly braided it. After that, she splashed water on her face, dried it and donned her most attractive day dress, a light blue frock trimmed with a white lacy ribbon. She had hung it earlier to get the wrinkles out. That hadn’t been altogether successful, but she straightened out what she could, put on her black button shoes and pinched her cheeks to add a little color, running a wet finger over her teeth.
“You are an intelligent, resourceful and self-sufficient woman,” she muttered as she left the room, but at that moment she didn’t quite believe it. This was harder than she had imagined it during her journey across the country. That had to be Jackson Butterman’s voice she heard. It was deep and resonant. It seemed as if everything was riding on this meeting with him. Her entire future. Her whole life. So much for moving on to Oregon or California if this did not work out. She did not want to move on. She wanted to live here. To stay here, maybe forever.
Following the sound of the voices, she headed down the hallway and down the wide staircase, clutching the polished banister as she descended. The trip down the stairs was reminiscent of that fateful journey down the stairs in St. Louis. That seemed so long ago. And sometimes it seemed as if it happened to someone else.
“I think you’re taking a big chance,” she heard the unmistakable loud voice of mean Garrett Winslow.
“I doubt she’s a criminal, Garrett.” This voice sounded calmer. “If she does not work out, I will find someone else. Problem solved.”
“Why not just hire the right person in the first place?”
“You’re the one who brought her here.”
“Yeah, my mistake.”
That evil worm. He was trying to get rid of her before she even started. Ooh! She wanted to clout him a good one. Libby gathered up her courage, fueled once again by outrage, and followed the voices to Jackson Butterman’s study, where the door was ajar. Before she could think better of it, she knocked on the door and entered, instantly taking in the crackling fireplace and warm atmosphere. The room was all male yet not dark and oppressive.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I think I may be the person you’re arguing about.”
She stepped farther into the room and gave the men her best smile. Jackson Butterman smiled back and Garrett Winslow glowered. Big surprise. She truly would like to sock him as she had the drunk, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the other occupant in the room. Her father. He was so handsome in an older man kind of way, rugged and strong looking, with his dark hair with just a few silver streaks around his temples and blue, blue eyes. Strong jaw. Really white teeth. He wore a white shirt, black, soft leather vest and black trousers. The only thing missing was a black Stetson. Garrett had cleaned up nicely, too, but who cared? Certainly not her.
“Miss Wagoner?” Jackson said.
“Please, call me Libby. I did not mean to interrupt, but I wanted you to know I will work very hard for you and I will not let you down.” She looked at Garrett, her chin up, daring him to contradict her.
“I’m Jackson Butterman. I am pleased to meet you. What brought you to Deer Lodge?” he asked, indicating a cushioned wing chair.
She sat. Oh, God, why hadn’t she realized that would be a question and prepared for it? She coughed several times to buy some time, then looked up at him, clearing her throat and waving her hand.
“Excuse me. Dust. I traveled west to make a new start, Mr. Butterman, and Deer Lodge looked like a nice town.”
Now it was Garrett’s turn to snort, but Jackson gave him a look that squelched it.
“We’ll give it a go on a trial basis of, say, two weeks. If all goes well and you and I are both happy, you will have the job for as long as you want it,” he said. “Barring unforeseen circumstances.”
Yes, she knew about them. He mentioned a salary that sounded fair, although she would have worked for nothing. She jumped up and was about to hug him before she caught herself. “Oh, thank you! You will not be sorry.”
She started to leave, looking askance at Garrett as she passed him, then turned back to Jackson. “Oh, Mr. Butterman. Um, Carmen said I should eat and attend church with the family, but that does not seem right to me. I…”
“When you work in the house, you are part of the family, Miss…Libby,” so you will dine and attend services with us.”
“Yes sir. Thank you, sir.” She curtsied and left quickly. Not until she was gone did she think about the contrast between Jackson Butterman’s warm, inviting study and Elias Parminter’s cold, dark, foreboding study. For that reason alone, she already liked her father. Oh, she knew he wasn’t her father for certain. She had no proof yet. It did not stop her from wishing.
After she left the room, Garrett looked at Jackson and shook his head. “There is something not right about her.”
“You are not a very trusting person where women are concerned, Garrett. I promise you, I will take that under consideration.”
Garrett looked at him suspiciously. Was that a twinkle in his eye?
“I think I’m right about her. She does not add up.”
“Maybe not, although I think she might be good for us. And maybe we all have our secrets.”
“Huh.”
“Well, time will tell, my young friend. Time will tell.”
The supper, a tasty rice dish with chicken, stewed tomatoes and canned peaches, with sponge cake for dessert, landed like an anvil in Libby’s stomach as she tried to fit in without ruffling Garrett’s feathers or making her fellow diners more skeptical than they already might be. Three other ranch hands, Dusty, Gem and Joss, joined them for the meal. The discussion at the table was lively, ranging from ranch and cattle business to the designation of Yellowstone as the country’s first national park to Parley Finn’s gout.
Garrett, Jackson and the ranch hands also peppered Libby with questions. It took so much more energy to lie than to tell the truth, she realized, and she felt imminently close to being hoisted on her own petard. She described her difficult journey across the country colorfully and tried to explain her motivation for the trip as a thirst for adventure, which was true in part though in reality it was wearing a bit thin.
When the conversation moved on to, in her mind anyway, more interesting topics, she asked herself why she did not simply tell Jackson Butterman the truth and ask him if he was married to her mother. And then some niggling little unwanted thought entered her mind: What if her mother had lied? Maybe lying was a family trait, like blue eyes. If she could just make it through the two probationary weeks on the Butterman ranch, surely she would know the handsome rancher well enough to tell him the truth, or what she suspected to be the truth or at least know that she did not want to tell him. She already knew there were worse things than not having a father. So far, though, he seemed like a decent man. Truthfully, he seemed like a storybook cowboy right out of the pages of a dime novel.
“You don’t agree, Miss Wagoner?” Garrett said as all eyes at the table stared at her.
She almost cringed. “Oh…I’m sorry…I…My mind was wandering.” She smiled weakly. “It has been an eventful week.”
“Garrett doesn’t believe women should travel alone,” said Jackson. She thought she saw a little gleam in his eye, but it could have been the light from the candelabrum at his end of the table.
“And it would be so wonderful if we all lived in an ideal world,” said Libby evenly.
Carmen chuckled and it looked like Jackson was fighting back a smile.
�
�You don’t have a brother or a father who could have accompanied you?” Garrett asked mistrustfully.
“No. I am an only child, and my father…well, he abandoned my mother many years ago.”
“Your mother then,” Garrett said stubbornly.
Elinora. Why did he have to bring her up? No doubt she had passed by now. Without her daughter to comfort her. The thought was unbearable. Visibly upset but trying to hold herself together, Libby tried to swallow the bitter regret she felt at leaving her mother before she died. She managed to get the bite of cake down and tried to compose herself, closing her eyes for a moment before opening them and looking directly at Garrett. “My mother…my mother died recently.” She was near to breaking down, undoubtedly from exhaustion, with a fair dose of guilt mixed in. “Excuse me. Thank you for the delicious meal, Carmen.” She got up, nearly knocking over her chair, and fairly sprinted from the room.
Now all eyes glared at Garrett, who felt about two inches high. Damn. He knew under all that dirt she would be attractive but was not prepared for how his heart stuttered when he saw her milky white skin framed by little wisps of her ebony hair, which was tied up in one long braid. She was not classically beautiful; rather, she was stunningly pretty in an approachable kind of a way, with her pert little nose and rosy cheekbones.
“Who wants more sponge cake?” Carmen said cheerily, and the meal went on, but the mood was somber.
Carmen and Jackson exchanged a look. They both knew Garrett’s attacks and resistance to Libby were a matter of him protesting too much. It would be interesting to learn more about Libby Wagoner, thought Carmen, and find out if she truly was the answer to her prayers for Garrett. He might think he did not need a woman. She knew better.
“When will you apologize to Libby Wagoner?” Carmen asked him as she began stacking the dessert dishes.
Garrett sighed. “Tomorrow.”
The ranch hands grinned.
“You can be mucking out stalls all day tomorrow,” Garrett spat out.
He had planned to apologize to Libby at breakfast, but she didn’t show. Of course not. Why would anything be easy where that woman was concerned? Even before he finished his flapjacks and coffee, Garrett pushed his chair back and rose from the table, tired of Carmen’s eyes boring a hole in his forehead.
“I’ll be branding in the south pasture most of the day,” he said. “If you would ask Miss Wagoner to meet me on the veranda at 5 o’clock, Carmen, I would appreciate it.”
“Whatever you say, señor,” Carmen smiled, her eyes positively shining.
Garrett stalked off, while Jackson just shook his head. “I can see your Spanish eyes dancing, Carmen. What are you up to?” He watched her over the rim of his coffee cup as he took a drink.
“My patrón, you are a suspicious man, no?”
Taking another long sip of his morning coffee, he eyed her warily. “Don’t give me that patrón crap. What’s going on? Where is our fair housekeeper this morning?”
“I do not know. I suspect she is avoiding your nasty foreman.”
“He has been kind of hard on her, hasn’t he? I wish he would lose that chip on his shoulder.”
“I think he is afraid of the señorita,” the cook said mysteriously.
“I’ve never known him to be afraid of anything, even when he should be.”
“This is not a saloon girl or loose woman. This is a young lady of substance, with a backbone. Just the kind of lady Garrett needs.”
“Is that so?”
“Jes, that is so.” She wiped some crumbs from the table onto her stack of dessert dishes.
“Well, let’s just let nature take its course then and not play matchmaker.”
“Of course, patrón.”
He shook his head. “If Miss Wagoner decides to actually work at some point today, tell her not to clean my study. I’ll be going over the books there most of the day and do not want to be disturbed.”
“As you wish. It was a very long journey to arrive here for our new housekeeper. I think we must be understanding, no?”
Jackson stood. “I’ll leave it up to you, Carmen, but I expect her to do her job. You have a good day.”
“You also,” she smiled.
A minute after he left the room, Libby peeked in, wearing her gray day dress. She came forward then and fixed herself a plate of flapjacks and strawberries.
“Jes, they are gone.”
“Was I that obvious?”
Carmen just looked at her.
Libby sat, buttered and poured syrup over her flapjacks and began eating as they talked. “I’ll be at all the other meals with them, I promise. I just needed to work up a little courage this morning.”
Carmen sat. “Let me tell you about Garrett.”
“I’d rather hear about Mr. Butterman.”
“You will, but Garrett needs your understanding.”
“Hmmph.”
“I know he has not been kind to you, Libby, but he is just trying to protect himself.”
“From me?”
“From opening his heart.”
“I don’t want his heart.”
“The heart wants what the heart wants.”
“Not if the head can help it,” Libby muttered as she ate her breakfast thoughtfully and Carmen began wiping the table. “Women have hurt Garrett and he is gun-shy, I think. He tries to shoot you before you shoot him, you see?”
“I’m certain we will find a way to get along,” Libby said, but she didn’t believe it for a second. The man was impossible.
Carmen just smiled.
Time to do some research. “How long have you worked here, Carmen?”
“Twenty-three years,” she replied, pretending not to notice the gasp Libby tried to cover. “Why?”
“Oh, I just wondered. If you have worked here that long, you must know everything about this ranch.”
“Not everything. It is a big ranch, always changing. Bring your dishes to the kitchen when you have finished your breakfast and we will talk about your duties for today.”
“Thank you for all your help and understanding, Carmen. You’re a wonderful cook and I am immensely grateful to be here. I hope we will become very good friends.”
Carmen smiled that smile that made Libby want to throw herself into her arms. In some ways, she already seemed like more of a mother to Libby than Elinora had ever been. And could that be any sadder?
As Carmen walked off with a tray of dishes and condiments, she glanced at Libby and had the oddest sensation of familiarity. Ah well, she thought, if one lives long enough, there must be something familiar about everyone, including the señorita. And that thought amused her. After all these years on the Butterman ranch, she was even thinking in English.
Twenty minutes later, Libby was wearing one of Carmen’s long aprons over her trusty gray gown, trudging upstairs to start cleaning the bedrooms. She swept, dusted and straightened out her own room first to get up to speed, then tackled a large and very masculine bedroom that obviously belonged to Jackson Butterman. Fighting the urge to snoop, she cleaned the room and changed the bedding, covering it carefully with his thick brown and gray blanket and then a red and gray quilt.
Once that was done, she looked around the premises to see what it could tell her about her father without rifling through his belongings, reminding herself for the hundredth time that maybe he wasn’t her father. She couldn’t deny she felt some sort of connection with him, however. The room did not tell her much, except that he was tidy and liked rich, dark furniture. On the dresser were a brush and comb, a ewer and ceramic dish that held gold cufflinks, a silver stickpin with a turquoise stone and several coins. A few books sat on a small oak table with a comfortable deep red chair and matching ottoman nearby, facing the stone fireplace. Two of the books were ranch related, one about Angus cattle and another about irrigation. There was also a novel, Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea, by Jules Verne.
The walls were adorned with several paintings, including two lumine
scent western landscapes she recognized as the works of Albert Bierstadt.
So Jackson Butterman was an educated man with excellent taste in art. He was obviously attractive and very masculine. Why didn’t he have a wife? Did he have any other children or grandchildren? Could she have half-sisters or brothers? Where were they?
“Are you finished in here?” Carmen stood in the doorway expectantly.
“Yes,” Libby smiled. “I was just admiring Mr. Butterman’s taste in art.” She picked up his soiled linen, broom and dustpan and followed Carmen into the hallway.
“I’ll take those,” the cook said, indicating the sheets.
“Has Mr. Butterman ever been married? Does he have any children?” Libby asked.
“He was married for about 10 years, but his wife died. They had no children.”
“He’s still a fairly young man.”
“Jes. He should marry again. He does not listen to me on this matter, however.”
“Lots of stubborn people on this ranch,” Libby said, and Carmen chuckled. “Are you married, Carmen?”
“Jes. My husband Hector is one of Jackson’s wranglers, although his bones are getting older and he will probably be working in the stables soon.”
“Do you live in the house?”
They started down the stairs.
“No, we are in one of the cottages.”
“Do you have children?”
“Jes, my daughter lives in Texas with her husband and children, and I have two sons who are married with families. They live in California. I have seven grandchildren. My youngest son was killed in the Indian wars.”
