Mail-Order Brides Of Oak Grove: Surprise Bride for the Cowboy

Chapter Five

Steve led the group of cowboys toward the house at full speed. It was a half hour or so before noon, but that was how he wanted it. Showing up early and frazzling Mary’s composure a bit would suit him just fine. He couldn’t say why. Normally he was easygoing. He loved his ranch and wanted everyone who worked here to love it, too. It not only made for a happier group, it got more done. Men who liked their work accomplished more than those who didn’t. He should consider that when it came to her, but couldn’t. There was something about her that got to him.

As did the way the men behind him were shouting at each other, guessing what they’d have for lunch and betting it would be one of the best meals they’d ever eaten. They could very well be right. In fact, they better be right. At the fortune it was costing him to feed them, they better enjoy every morsel.

On that thought, Steve reined in his horse, slowing the pace for everyone. Mary wasn’t costing him that much more than he’d paid Rex to cook and clean, and considering the quality of the meals last night and this morning, the extra money was worth it.

They rode into the homestead around the back of the barn, which was where Steve caught sight of the two horses tied up outside the bunkhouse, and the two men sitting in the shade under the awning.

“What are they doing here?” Walter asked, drawing his horse to a stop.

“I don’t know,” Steve said. “But I have a good idea.”

“What?”

“She’s cooking our lunch.” Steve dismounted and handed the reins to Leroy before he crossed the yard to the bunkhouse.

“Sheriff, Mayor,” he greeted as the men stood. “Hot day to be sitting out here.”

Pulling his britches up over his pudgy waistline, Josiah Melbourne puffed out his chest. “You tell that woman to get out here right now.”

“I’m assuming you’re talking about my new cook.”

“Of course I am,” the mayor said. “You can’t hire her as a cook. You never contributed to the Betterment Committee, therefore she can’t be here.”

Tom Baniff stepped forward. He’d been the sheriff for the past two years and was doing a dang good job of it. He always got straight to the point, and did so now.

“Mary McCary is one of the brides,” Tom said. “And Brett Blackwell confirmed he brought her out here right after the train arrived.”

“Brett did,” Steve agreed, “but Miss McCary claims she had no intention of becoming a bride.”

“She doesn’t have a choice,” Josiah barked. “She knew the rules before she left Ohio.”

“Could you have her unlock the door so we can talk to her?” Tom asked. “We’ve been here long enough.”

Steve started for the house, and as the sheriff stepped up beside him, he asked, “How long have you been here?”

“Left town at eight this morning.”

“And you’ve been sitting here the entire time?”

“Yes. Josiah refused to leave, and I didn’t want to have to ride out again because she shot him or something.”

“There’s a town full of men expecting—”

Interrupting the mayor, Steve asked the sheriff, “She pulled a gun on you?”

Tom shook his head. “Not that I saw, but she said she had one and would use it if needed. Josiah wanted me to kick the door in. I said we’d wait for you.”

Steve walked up the back steps and tried the door knob. It turned easily. After pushing the door open, he waved for the sheriff and mayor to enter while holding his other hand up to his men, telling them to wait outside.

The table was set, the room smelled wondrous and Mary stood near the doorway to the parlor, as puffed up as a grouse guarding her nest. Steve had to keep his grin hidden, but couldn’t deny he felt a fair amount of respect for this little woman and her gumption. “These men would like to speak with you, Miss McCary.”

“I’m aware of that,” she answered. “I didn’t think it was appropriate until you were present to vouch for the agreement we’ve made.”

“There can be no agreement between you two,” Josiah shouted. “I already told you that. Now, get your belongings. You are coming to town with us.”

The man was crossing the room as he shouted. Steve crossed the room, too, and planted himself between the mayor and Mary. “She’s not going anywhere. I hired her as my cook for the next month.”

“She isn’t available for hire,” Josiah bellowed. “Especially not by someone who wouldn’t even contribute to the cause!”

That was a sore spot for the mayor. He’d been out to the ranch several times asking for contributions, and had been upset that “the most prominent citizen of Oak Grove” wouldn’t participate. Steve didn’t care how prominent others proclaimed him to be, he thought it was a stupid idea from the start, and wasn’t going to put his hard-earned money behind it.

“I’ll contribute to your committee,” Rex shouted from the bedroom. “How much do you want?”

Obviously listening from the back porch, Walter stuck his head through an open window. “All of us out here will contribute, too. How much will it take to keep her?”

Steve smothered a growl. They’d all been on his side until they’d met her. Actually, he no longer had a side. If it came to keeping her, he had no choice but to pony up. “How much?”

“I got twenty-five dollars ready to hand over,” Rex shouted from the bedroom.

“It’s too late for that,” Josiah said. “You had to make your contributions before the brides arrived.”

Steve glanced past the mayor, to the table where a plate of cornbread sat and whatever was in the oven, ham he’d guess, had the house smelling as good as it had yesterday. Settling his gaze on the mayor, he said, “I’ll give you fifty bucks. That should more than cover her travel costs. Once she’s done working for me, she can marry any one of the other contributors.”

“I’m not—”

The glare he cast over his shoulder stopped her protest.

“Take the money,” the sheriff said to Josiah. “We have to get back to town. The party will be starting soon and you’re to give the opening speech.”

The mayor shook his head. “That won’t—”

“Seventy-five,” Steve interrupted.

* * *

Mary gulped. No one had that kind of money just lying around. Leastwise not anyone she’d ever known, nor would they have been willing to donate it to a committee of any sort. The air in her lungs started to burn, but she didn’t dare let it out. Didn’t dare make a peep. Not even to say no one needed to cover her traveling expenses. She’d traded Buck, their horse, for her and Maggie’s train tickets, but she doubted anyone wanted to hear that. The mayor was so red it looked like his head was about to burst off his shoulders, and the sheriff’s gaze was wary as he looked from Steve to the mayor and back again.

“I said seventy-five dollars, Melbourne,” Steve said. “Take it or leave it. Either way, you will be leaving without Miss McCary.”

“It’s time we leave, Josiah,” the sheriff said.

Mary let her breath out then. The sandy-haired sheriff appeared to be a much more intelligent man than the mayor—who was still red-faced and glaring at Steve.

“Fine,” the mayor said. “I’ll take your money, Mr. Putnam, but Miss McCary will be expected to fulfill the terms of the agreement she signed at the end of her employment with you.”

Mary wanted to protest, but pinched her lips together instead. There was no sense arguing a moot point. She’d be hightailing it out of Kansas at the end of her employment. A twinge of what she could only describe as guilt fluttered through her midsection. Steve—who had spun around and left the room—was laying out an enormous amount of money in order for her to cook for his men for the next month. The forty dollars he was paying her and the seventy-five he’d agreed to give the mayor was more money than she’d ever seen at one time. She’d fulfill her commitment to him. The McCarys had honor and never had been indebted to anyone. Which was what she’d told Sheriff Freiday back in Ohio upon trading Buck for their train tickets.

Steve returned and handed the mayor several bills. As the sheriff led the mayor toward the door, Steve said to her. “The men are hungry, Miss McCary.”

Her thudding heart told her she should say thank-you, but her commonsense said not within hearing distance of the mayor, therefore she nodded and walked toward the stove. “Lunch is ready, Mr. Putnam. Please tell the men to come in and eat.”

The two large kettles of boiled dinner she’d made of ham, potatoes, carrots, onions and cabbage, as well as the cornbread disappeared in no time, as did the spice cake she’d baked for dessert, making her glad she’d carried Rex in a plate before the others had started to eat.

Relatively quiet while they ate, the men thanked her boisterously once they’d finished. Gathering their hats off the floor, they filed out the door. Steve followed, collecting his hat from a hook by the door. He paused, though, to glance back at her.

“Thank you, for—” Shrugging, she simply said, “Everything.” She hadn’t meant to whisper, but her voice didn’t want to work.

His expression softened as he said, “I expect supper on the table by six.”

“It will be.”

He nodded and pulled the door closed, and she pinched her lips as a grin formed. She would be eternally grateful that he hadn’t sent her back to town. At this moment, there was no place else she’d rather be than here.

Organized by nature, she had always liked being busy, and with the generous supply of food stuff, cooking for the men was not overly taxing. Most of her life she’d had to scrounge for the ingredients to put together every meal, which had taken far more time and effort.

After cleaning the kitchen and providing Rex with a couple spoonsful of tonic in order for him to rest for a bit, she went upstairs to burp the tonic. The fact Steve had told her to get rid of the tonic jiggled and mixed with her other thoughts. He was paying her well for being here, and she should obey some of his orders. Not this one of course—the tonic was her and Maggie’s future—but she could pretend to. Easing the cork back into the crock, she stood and crossed the room to look out the window. There had to be someplace she could hide it. Close enough to be tended to regularly, but hidden well enough that no one would notice.

After contemplating the underground cellar and springhouse and deciding they would be too cool, she settled her gaze on the woodshed. This time of year, the only wood needed was for the cook stove, and therefore she’d be the only one visiting it regularly. The jug could easily be hidden there, and no one would question her venturing out to get wood.

As she removed the jug, the jar of yeast starter she’d brought from Ohio shifted. She quickly caught it before it had a chance to tumble. The lid could never be tightened completely or the yeast would go bad. Noting the contents had more than tripled in size, she set it on the floor along with the jug of tonic. The yeast could be used for many things besides making tonic.

After she had the tonic jug hidden in the wood pile, she returned to the bedroom and using the straw from the trunk, carefully packed the bottles of tonic into two small crates she’d found in the pantry. The bottles would be easier to spot in the woodshed, so she stored them under her bed. Then she went to the kitchen where she’d left the jar of yeast starter on the table. There was more than enough yeast to make several batches of iron muffins.

Her heart tumbled inside her chest. Maggie loved iron muffins. Mary however, was not overly fond of them, probably because whenever their larder had been low, that was what she’d made, knowing Maggie loved the muffins so much no other food was necessary. She’d never told Maggie that. Letting her sister believe they were a treat had been more comforting than telling her it was their way to stave off hunger.

As she separated the starter, setting aside enough to feed over the next few days until it would be ready to rest and ferment into more, she wondered how Maggie was faring. Steve’s abundant supply of food had guilt twisting her stomach into knots. Being separated from Maggie, wondering if she was getting enough to eat, had a place to sleep, if people were being kind to her, was a constant worry. One she wasn’t taking lightly.

The idea she couldn’t do anything about it for the next thirty days weighed heavily. A few days were one thing. Being separated from Maggie for an entire month was entirely different. She would have to find a way to get a message to her sister. Perhaps she could convince Steve she needed help. He wouldn’t have to pay Maggie. What he was already paying her would be more than enough for both of them.

Her mind was as busy as her hands as she mixed up a batch of dough and set it to rest while mixing up a second batch. Surely he would agree to the idea. He would be getting twice the help for the same amount of money. That wasn’t true. As much as she loved her sister, Maggie had never been fond of work—that had been part of their argument on the train. Selling tonic was the only task Maggie had willingly taken on—and that wasn’t really work. The tonic sold itself.

Thinking of the tonic made Mary’s mind return to Steve. And she grinned. This time because of how he pretended he wasn’t pleased to have her here. At least that was what he wanted her to believe. To believe he was a tyrant. That wasn’t true. If he was, he’d have sent her to town with the mayor and the sheriff. Or with Brett last night.

A tyrant wouldn’t have put out that kind of money just to have his employees fed. A tyrant would have told his men to fend for themselves.

Which would have not worked in her favor. Not at all.

An odd sensation rolled inside her. It was almost as if she was glad Maggie wasn’t here, which made no sense. Flustered, she put all her focus into the muffins. By the time the first batch was ready to roll out, she had four other batches resting. She had to pull out every frying pan in the cupboards and when she was done grilling the muffins, there were enough to feed the men nothing but the spongy-on-the-inside-crisp-on-the-outside griddle cakes.

That of course wouldn’t do, but she grinned, hoping Steve liked the muffins as much as Maggie did.

Chapter Six

Steve couldn’t remember a time he’d been so flat-out angry. At least not at himself. Like he was right now. The idea he’d given the mayor seventy-five dollars had eaten at him all afternoon. Was he daft? No cook—no woman—was worth the kind of money Mary was costing him. How tasty her food was didn’t matter. Men ate for the substance not the taste.

At least that was the way it had always been. In less than a day, Mary had his men talking more about their next meal than the work they were doing. Other than Jess. Rather than talking about her cooking, he was talking about her. As in how she’d be marrying some lucky fellow next month.

Steve didn’t consider any man getting married lucky, and considering how much she’d already cost him, the man marrying Mary McCary would be the unluckiest one ever. He couldn’t wait for the month to be over and bid her good riddance. Hopefully he’d still have two nickels to rub together by then.

More eager than ever, the men put up their mounts, washed their hands and faces and all but knocked him down in their rush to get in the house, which only added to the fury fueling inside him.

The wondrous smells filling the kitchen didn’t help his mood whatsoever. Neither did how every bite he took seemed tastier than the last. Those little round pieces of honeycomb bread that when slathered with the butter she’d mixed with honey were downright addicting. Every man at the table ate four or more, including him. The two platters that had been piled high when they’d entered the house now held nothing but crumbs. He wasn’t sure what she’d done to the pork, either. Usually this time of year, having been smoked last fall, it was tougher than old leather, but what he’d just eaten hadn’t been. It had been as soft and easy to chew as the beans she’d also served.

“That was the best bread I’ve ever eaten,” Jess said, licking his lips. “What’s it called?”

Steve had purposefully kept his gaze off Mary since entering the house. The anger that had built in him all afternoon hadn’t only come from the money he’d laid out, or her cooking. It was the way she’d smiled and said thank-you to him earlier. At that moment, he’d known he’d never seen a more beautiful woman. With everything else, it would have been more fair if she’d been as homely as a half-plucked chicken. Beady eyes and all.

However, her eyes were far from beady. They were sparkling now, and twinkled brighter than stars in a midnight sky when she started to sing.

“Do you know the muffin man, the muffin man, the muffin man? Do you know the muffin man, who lives in Drury Lane? Oh, yes, I know the muffin man, the muffin man, the muffin man. Yes, I know the muffin man who lives in Drury Lane.”

The men all clapped as she finished her little tune, which had been sung with a pitch-perfect cadence and a hint of an Irish accent that had put smiles on everyone’s faces.

She curtsied. “Thank you. To answer your question, they are called muffins, and are my sister’s favorite. A woman in Pennsylvania taught me how to make them several years ago.”

It couldn’t have been that many years ago. She wasn’t that old. That thought brought upon another and Steve asked, “Pennsylvania? I thought you lived in Ohio.”

“We did,” she answered. “But we also lived in Pennsylvania.”

“Well you can make those Pennsylvania muffins any time you want,” Jess said.

Her giggle tickled something inside Steve. Or maybe it was the way she was smiling at Jess.

“They are called iron muffins because you grill them on top of the stove, like flapjacks,” she said.

“We all like flapjacks,” Jess said. His gaze then settled on Walter. “When made right.”