Dear Miss Cucinotta

by Kit Morgan

  Tom smiled. “Look for yourself?”

  “If we could get in there, we would!” Irene barked. She shoved past him. “Well? Who is it?”

  The crowd parted as someone made their way toward Irene. Everyone’s eyes went wide, especially hers, as the man approached. He was almost as tall as the Weaver men, and dressed like an English lord. “Hello, Mrs. Dunnigan,” he said with a grin.

  She scrunched up her face, then just as suddenly smiled back. “Duncan Cooke! About time you came to visit!”

  Chapter Four

  “Duncan Cooke?” Calvin whispered to Benjamin. “Ain’t he the prince of somethin’?”

  C.J., now behind them, whispered, “Duke, I believe.” He stood as wide-eyed as the rest and stared at the handsome man still hugging Irene Dunnigan.

  The Weavers were slack-jawed at this point. Except Harlan, who managed to get behind Irene. “Duncan!”

  “Sheriff Hughes!” Duncan said as he released Irene. “It’s so good to see you!” He stepped around her and embraced the older man.

  Harlan smacked him on the back, stepped back and stared at Duncan as so many others were. “I don’t believe it,” he said in awe. “What are they feeding you in England?”

  Duncan smiled good-naturedly. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You haven’t aged a day. Not one day,” Harlan said with wonder.

  Duncan chuckled nervously. “Well, my diet is much improved in England. Less fried chicken, more vegetables. And lots of exercise, especially swimming! Swimming and cold baths,” he said with a mock shiver. “Very good for staying young.”

  “Must be,” Wilfred said as he looked him up and down. “Land sakes, you don’t even have a gray hair. Not like your brothers.”

  Duncan took off his hat and ran his hand through his thick dark locks. “Cold baths, I tell you – you should try it. The icier, the better.”

  Wilfred exchanged a quick look with Harlan. “Maybe we ought to take a trip down to the creek and try it.”

  “I don’t mind gray hairs and aging,” Harlan said. “I’ll stick with hot baths myself.”

  “Duncan Cooke, is that you?” Grandma asked as she made her way through the crowd.

  He pulled her into a hug and kissed her on the cheek. “Hello, Grandma.”

  “My goodness, it’s been ages. Where’s Cozette?”

  “She’s in the hotel with the others.”

  “Others?” Harlan said. “You mean there’s more of you? Are Andel and Maddie here?”

  “Did you hear that, Calvin?” Benjamin whispered. “Andel Berg!”

  Duncan must have heard him. He looked at the twins and his eyes widened slightly. “Why, hello.”

  “Duncan, let me introduce you to my new family,” Harlan said.

  C.J. watched Harlan make introductions as more townsfolk gathered outside the hotel to see Clear Creek’s own bit of royalty. Cyrus, of course, had told him how Duncan Cooke had inherited a duchy in England and moved there to run the estate. He’d taken several other Clear Creek residents with him – Amon and Nettie Cotter, and Newton and Arya Holmes. According to Cyrus, Duncan had only visited Clear Creek once since being crowned or whatever they did with dukes. So today made two.

  C.J. shifted to allow more people to get to the man, and continued observing. He was tall (though not as tall as the Weaver men), broad and darkly handsome. You could tell he was related to Harrison and Colin Cooke – there were definite similarities, including the English accent. But despite being the oldest of the three, he looked much younger. Harrison and Colin, though still in fine shape, were graying at the temples and had lines around their eyes their older brother didn’t.

  The only thing C.J. could think of was that the duke, despite the talk about swimming, didn’t have to work as hard. Colin and Harrison were dealing with the Triple-C Ranch every day. But at least Duncan was married and thus wouldn’t catch Rufina’s eye – if, that is, she was marriage-minded. He didn’t really know anything about her or her intentions. One more reason to hold off on pursuing her, even as every bone in his body was screaming he should.

  “Well, don’t just stand there,” Grandma declared. “Move out of the way – I want to go in and see Cozette.”

  “Of course,” Duncan replied. “And you’ll be happy to know that Mrs. MacDonald is here with me. She brought some special herbs for you and for Dr. Drake.”

  Grandma clapped her hands. “Mrs. MacDonald! Is her husband with her?”

  “Of course. We arrived together. In a … private coach.”

  “Well, that explains it,” Harlan said. “I was wondering how you made it, since we took up all the room in Willy’s.”

  Duncan smiled and nodded at the Weavers. “Indeed you would. I look forward to getting to know you all better. As you can see, however, I must say hello to my old friends while they’re here.”

  “Oh yeah, Yer Dukeness,” Calvin said. “We understand.”

  Harlan laughed. “We don’t have to say any of that flowery stuff to him while he’s in town, Calvin. We just call him Duncan.”

  Calvin blushed. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know.”

  Duncan smiled. “It’s quite all right. It happens all the time.”

  “And the correct term is ‘Your Grace,’ if you’re really feeling high-faluting,” Cyrus added. He smiled at Duncan. “Hello, young man.”

  Duncan pulled him into a warm hug. “Cyrus, it’s so good to see you.”

  C.J. inched past Duncan into the hotel lobby, where there was a whole other reunion going on. A pretty olive-skinned woman with dark hair and eyes was speaking with several other women he recognized from around town. This must be Duncan’s wife, the duchess.

  Standing off to one side were three other newcomers – two tall men and a petite woman with bright green eyes and long auburn hair she was quickly braiding. She wrapped it atop her head and elbowed one of the men, who quickly handed her some pins to fix it in place. She looked like visiting royalty as well, making do without her usual ladies-in-waiting.

  The men looked just as extraordinary. One was a dark-haired fellow with eyes just like the woman’s and built like a hundred-year-old oak. The other was turned away, as if he didn’t want anyone to see his face. He was just as tall but not as broad as the other, with long silver hair, almost white, cascading out from under his top hat. C.J. thought he looked like President Lincoln might, had he lived to the present day – except he couldn’t imagine “Honest Abe” growing his hair down to his lower back. As if reading his thoughts, the man pulled his hair back and tied it with a thong.

  Only then did C.J. notice that the Weaver women had entered the lobby. Rufina glanced his way and smiled. C.J. swallowed hard and smiled back.

  “Cyrus – in the corner.” Duncan tossed his head toward the two men and the woman.

  Cyrus beamed and headed straight for them. “Mr. and Mrs. MacDonald! It’s so good to see you!”

  The dark-haired man stepped forward. “Cyrus,” he boomed in a thick Scottish brogue. “How’ve ye been, man?” He looked beyond him at the growing crowd. “Is Polly with ye?”

  C.J. was impressed. A Scotsman, in addition to all the British and Irish here? Despite its size and isolation, Clear Creek was a very cosmopolitan place …

  “She’s resting. She gets tired easily nowadays.” Cyrus’ eyes were downcast. “Age, you know.”

  Mrs. MacDonald stepped forward. “I would love to see her if she’s up to it. I’ve brought some herbs for her.”

  Cyrus smiled and nodded, then looked at the second man. “You’ve brought a friend?”

  Mr. MacDonald winced. “Aye. He’s what ye might call a fellow explorer.”

  Cyrus glanced between the two tall men. “Explorer? What do you mean?”

  Mrs. MacDonald sighed. “Mr. Van Cleet, we’re looking for something.”

  Cyrus’ blue eyes were suddenly bright with curiosity. “What, pray tell?”

  The other man finally turned around. C.J. wasn’t the only one to gasp – a
nd much to his dismay, the loudest came from Rufina a few feet away. She openly gawked at the stranger, as they all did. The man looked like … an angel? A god? A … something more than human, that was for sure. Everyone noticed.

  Except, apparently, the man himself, who just looked over the crowd and sighed. “Well,” he said in a sing-song voice, “I suppose it’s time we stated our business.”

  Grandma was the first to recover. She slowly approached the man and stared up at him, then extended a wrinkled hand. “Howdy. I’m Grandma Waller. And you are?”

  He exchanged a quick glance with his companions then looked at her with inquisitive, steel-gray eyes, his dark eyebrows rising in amusement. “My name is Melvale, Madam Waller.” He took her hand and kissed it. “And how can I be of service to you?”

  The man’s manners and speech reminded C.J. of some upper-class snob from Boston. It rankled, but the man was just being polite. Besides, it wasn’t the attention he was giving to Grandma Waller that bothered him. It was the way Rufina was staring transfixed at him.

  “My, you’re a tall drink of water, aren’t you?” Grandma commented.

  Melvale looked like he was about to burst into laughter. “Actually, my brother is a bit taller than I, if you can believe that.” He turned to the MacDonalds and smiled. “Remind me to introduce you when we get back. He should have returned by now.”

  Mr. MacDonald arched an eyebrow but said nothing.

  “Land sakes, you mean there’s more at home like you?” Grandma asked.

  “Trust me, Mrs. Waller, there’s no one like Melvale,” Mrs. MacDonald commented dryly.

  “Thank the Saints for that,” Mr. MacDonald muttered. Hmm – a bit of division in the ranks, C.J. thought.

  “Be that as it may,” Grandma said as she looked Melvale over. “What brings you to Clear Creek?”

  Melvale stepped forward. “Well, it’s simple, really.” He looked over the crowd. “I lost something and I need to find it.”

  “Well, why didn’t you just say so?” Grandma cocked her head. “But how can you lose something here if you’ve never been here?”

  Melvale glanced upward and back. “A bit of a complicated story, that. Suffice to say it slipped by me at an inopportune time.”

  “What is it?” Cyrus asked.

  The Scotsman sighed as if it pained him to say it. “A chicken.”

  There was a brief pause before several people blurted, “Whaaaat?”

  “A chicken?” Grandma cried.

  By now, the Dunnigans had joined the group and were staring wide-eyed at the stranger Melvale. “What in tarnation do you want with a chicken of all things?” Wilfred asked.

  “Best I clarify,” Melvale said. “It looks like a chicken. In actuality it’s a very rare bird – one of a kind, you might say.”

  “Oh, that makes more sense,” Cyrus said, and there was a general agreement.

  Mrs. MacDonald stepped forward now, her cheeks pink. Was she embarrassed? “We recently discovered that it’s somewhere in this area.” She glanced at her husband and back. “Where can we find August Bennett?”

  “August?” Wilfred said. “What do you want with August?”

  “Oh, that explains a lot!” Irene declared. “Are you talking about Clyde?” The second she said it, several of the older citizens began nodding in recognition. C.J. was still confused – this must relate to a story he hadn’t heard yet.

  Melvale, however, was less sanguine. “Clyde? You named it?!” he yelped in shock.

  Grandma stared up at him. “You mean to tell me, you folks came all this way looking for that sorry excuse for a rooster?”

  The MacDonalds and Melvale looked at each other, then nodded.

  “I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed, then,” Wilfred said. “That bird ran off months ago. Mind, he’s done that before and come back, but he’s nowhere around right now.”

  Melvale went straight up to Wilfred. “I know it sounds odd, but it’s imperative that we find the creature.”

  “Or what?” Wilfred said. “You make it sound like it’s life or death.”

  Melvale exchanged another look with Mr. MacDonald before grimacing at Wilfred. “Let us hope not.”

  Soon most of the crowd finished gaping at the newcomers, welcomed Duncan and his wife back to town and left to go about their business. C.J. kept telling himself he was still in the hotel because Cyrus needed to instruct him on the work he wanted done. But who was he kidding? He wanted to talk to Rufina Weaver. Wait – was Weaver her last name? Or was it something else? Mr. Hughes had simply introduced her as part of his family. He really didn’t know much about her, did he?

  Calvin slapped Benjamin on the back. “What luck, huh?”

  “I know, ya keep sayin’ that,” Benjamin griped. “There’s all sorts of folks here that Tom told us ‘bout.”

  “Well, ain’t ya excited?” Calvin asked in astonishment.

  “I’m still tryin’ to get used to these people bein’ real and not just part of Tom’s stories.”

  “It is kind of overwhelming, isn’t it?” Charity asked.

  Benjamin put his arm around his wife. “It sure is. I still can’t get over that they came all this way to look for Clyde the rooster.”

  “Yer right,” Calvin stated. “I recall him bein’ a real interestin’ one. I guess that ain’t just one of Tom’s tales neither.”

  C.J. did his best to hide a smile as he leaned against the hotel counter. He’d overheard bits of the story in the last few minutes – how when August was courting his wife Penelope, he’d obtained a cantankerous and odd looking rooster from Tom Turner’s father Frank. The thing loved Penelope, followed her everywhere, and apparently saved her from a horrible fate at the hands of some outlaw. Because of that, they let him roam freely around their little farm and come and go as he pleased. “But how can that be?” he said to himself.

  “What?”

  C.J. jumped as Rufina sidled up beside him. His heart began to thunder in his chest, the traitorous thing. “Oh, excuse me – I didn’t see you there.”

  “Obviously” She looked around at the people still in the lobby with a tiny smile. “So you just moved here?”

  He took off his hat and nervously ran his hand through his hair. “Not quite a month ago, Miss, er …” Egads, had he forgotten her name already?

  She smiled again. “My name is Rufina Cucinotta, but everyone calls me Rufi.”

  He lifted his hat. “Carlyle Branson. But everyone calls me C.J.”

  She glanced at the MacDonalds and Melvale, her eyes lingering on the latter, then turned back to C.J. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Branson. Do you know what it is they’re looking for?”

  He too, cast a quick glance at the MacDonald’s and their odd friend. “Some sort of rare bird, from the sounds of it.” He grinned. “One that someone around here keeps as a rooster. I’m surprised they haven’t eaten it.” He cocked his head to one side. “How long do chickens live, anyway?”

  “But if it is not a chicken …,” she pointed out.

  “That’s right.” He couldn’t believe she was talking to him. He caught her staring at Melvale again and cocked his head to the other side. “Do you think he’s some sort of zoologist?”

  She looked at him. “A what?”

  “A zoologist. You know, someone who studies animals.”

  She shrugged. “I haven’t heard of such a thing.”

  He laughed. “Oh, don’t feel bad – there are probably a lot of folks around here who don’t know what a zoologist is.”

  “How do you know?” she asked with raised eyebrows.

  “Me? Well, I read a lot.” And he actually knew one, a professor at the University of Maryland, but didn’t want to sound like he was putting on airs.

  Maybe he should have – her eyes swiveled back to Melvale and stayed there. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she was just striking up a conversation while she took her time examining the better prospect across the lobby. His heart sunk. But wha
t did he expect – there was no competing with that. “I like to read,” she stated.

  C.J. sighed. At least she was still talking to him. “You read both English and Italian?”

  “Of course.” She glanced at him, but only for a moment. Then she went back to watching Mr. Melvale stuff his long hair under his hat.

  “How nice to be able to speak, read and write two languages.” Should he tell her he could speak, read and write in three, plus some Latin? Probably not.

  “Yes, it is. Where do you suppose he’s from?”

  C.J. tried not to roll his eyes. “Well, the big man is obviously from Scotland. Perhaps from somewhere near there?” Mentally, he went over a map of Europe – what was near Scotland besides England and Ireland? Norway? No, he knew what a Norwegian accent sounded like, and Melvale’s wasn’t it. “Should we ask?”

  “Oh no – wouldn’t that be rude? We don’t know the man, and we haven’t been properly introduced. I am not without decorum Mr. Branson.”

  C.J. smiled. “Glad to hear it, ma’am.” At least he’d been able to draw her attention away from Melvale a little. Alas, Cyrus was suddenly nowhere to be seen, which lost him his excuse to hang around. But it was a start.

  Chapter Five

  “Mr. Branson?”

  C.J. turned to find Lorcan Brody standing behind the lobby counter. “Mr. Brody? What can I do for you?”

  Lorcan, despite being blind, looked right at him. “I’ve just been speaking with Cyrus. He wonders if ye could help the MacDonalds and their friend in their search?”

  “What? Me?” C.J. took a step back. “But …”

  “Seeing as ye have the time,” Lorcan added. “Cyrus says ye’ll be well paid.” He turned toward Rufi. “It might be a good idea to ask a few folks to help ye.”

  Rufi’s eyes lit up. “I’ll help.” She quickly looked at Mr. Melvale again.