Biddy sucked in a shocked breath. But what choice did she have? “Done. What kind?”
Sourdough shrugged his shoulders. “Ah’ll leave that up ta you, ma’am. You know what you have on hand.”
“Ye drive a hard bargain, Mr. Sourdough.”
He rose stiffly to his feet. “Ah been told that before.” Then, nodding his head, he added, “Nice doing business with you. Ah’ll go tell Miz Glory yer ailin’ and need some rest.”
He’d taken no more than two or three bowlegged steps before Biddy called out to him. “Mr. Sourdough? I’ve had a sudden thought.”
The conniving old cook turned back to her. “An’ what’s that?”
“How in the world is it that I’m going to bake ten pies in three days when I’m supposed to be in my sickbed?”
Sourdough scratched his head and worked his mouth. Then nodding at her, he drawled, “A smart woman lak you? You’ll think up somethin’, Miz Biddy.”
* * *
Up to her elbows in flour and lard and sugar and cream, with endless pie pans scattered atop every available bit of space, with the cast-iron stove hot and ready, and surrounded by bowls of shelled pecans and opened jars of fruit preserves, an aproned Glory rubbed her wrist under her itching nose as she bent over to read Biddy’s recipe.
How in the world ten pies would make her nanny feel better, she had no idea. But there it was. And she had promised God only yesterday in the parlor that she’d do anything if Biddy would be okay.
Sighing, denying the tired throbbing in her shoulders—she’d been baking since sunup—she floured the rolling pin and rounded out yet another crust. Handling it gingerly, daring it to tear apart as many others had, she successfully wrangled it into a tin pan and then pinched the edges up. This one will be pecan, she told herself, being absurdly defiant. Only one crust required.
Setting the crust aside, Glory turned to the stovetop where a heavy pot bubbled with the syrupy filling. Stirring it, glad for the moment’s relative inactivity, she didn’t realize she’d blanked her mind until a knocking on the open back door recalled her to her surroundings. Jumping at the sound, she leaned back to see her foreman standing outside on the landing. “Come in, Smiley,” she sang out. “I’m just making these infernal pies.”
Smiley hesitated a moment but finally stepped inside, his hat in his hand. He stayed just inside the doorway. Glory glanced at him and saw him looking in confusion all around the thoroughly messy kitchen. “Ah ain’t never knowed you to bake a pie … nor nuthin’ else, Miz Glory.”
“And this is why,” Glory teased, seeing through his eyes the flour-dusted shelves and counters, the fallen-over jars of preserves, and the gaping sacks of sugar floundering about. “Now, what can I do for you?”
Smiley scratched his head and quirked his mouth, his face turning reddish. “’Scuse me, ma’am, but you got some … flour on yer nose.”
Glory felt her own face heating up as she quickly swiped at it with her doughy fingers. Smiley’s widening eyes confirmed her fear that she’d only made it worse. “Oh, the devil with it, Smiley. Tell me what you need.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m takin’ some of the men and headin’ out—while this here nice weather lasts—to round up some stray cattle Heck said he seen close to the … Thorne place.”
Glory stilled, nodding silently. They’d been steadily losing cattle over that way. Smiley knew it, and she knew it. “All right. How many men and how long you figure on being gone?”
“Five. And at least overnight.” He pursed his lips together, looked at his boots, and then back up at her. “I don’t like leavin’ you like this, Miz Glory.”
Glory frowned at the man. She suddenly realized he’d never come even this far into the main house. And he’d certainly never said two words about … well, caring. About her or anybody. Glory’s heart heated up to meet the kitchen’s warmth. “I’ll be fine, Smiley. Biddy’s here, and so’s Riley.” His name hung in the air between then. Glory looked down and then up again. “And the other men. Nothing will happen.”
“Yes, ma’am. I just wish I could believe that. I never … well, I never said much about it afore, Miz Glory, but you an’ yer sisters … it’s like yer my own girls. I ain’t never had a family ’cepting you-all. An’ it’s right sorry I am that me and the boys was off on that cattle drive and wasn’t here … that day. ’Cause it woulda turned out a whole lot different, ma’am. A whole lot.”
Her eyes tearing up, her throat tightening, Glory raised her chin as if that could forestall emotion. There was a time—no less than a few days ago—when she would have rushed to hug Smiley and gush all over him and tease him about caring. That she didn’t now was testament to her new grown-up status. That, and her being the Lawless-in-charge. You couldn’t cut the fool with your hired help, if you were the boss, Papa’d always said.
Finally, when she was able, Glory all but whispered, “Thank you, Smiley. What you said means a lot to me. More than you know.”
Frowning, red-faced, and obviously embarrassed, Smiley pointed with his sweat-banded slouch hat toward the hallway. “I’m wonderin’, Miz Glory, if’n it’d be okay for me to have a few words with Miz Biddy—if’n she’s up to visitors, that is.”
Glory’s eyebrows raised, almost of their own volition. She swallowed the smile that tugged at her lips. “Certainly. Please—go ahead. She’s in the parlor. I believe she’ll be heartened for having the company.”
Smiley frowned, dipped his eyebrows, trying his best, Glory figured, to look properly male and businesslike. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll just … go see to her for you, seein’ as how yer so busy an’ all in here.”
Glory nodded. “I’d appreciate it, if you would.”
Still, Smiley stood where he was, looking everywhere but at her.
Glory bit her lip … hard. “Have you grown roots, Smiley? I’ve got pies to see to. And the accounting books. And the wash. Now, go on with you. She doesn’t bite.”
Smiley stiffened the least bit. “Yes, ma’am.” He pointed to the kitchen’s entry and the hallway beyond. “This a-way?”
Glory nodded. “Yes. Just call out. She’ll hear you and yoo-hoo back.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Smiley took a deep breath and crossed the kitchen, acting for all the world as if a hangman’s noose awaited him around the corner.
Glory chuckled and shook her head. But then wrinkled her nose. It smelled like something was burning. Burning? She jerked around to the stove. The pecan pie filling bubbled up and over the sauce pot’s sides. Shrieking in disgust, Glory grabbed up a portion of her apron, wrapped it around her hands, clutched the pot’s handle and lifted it off the stove. In a temper now, she plopped it down harder than necessary, spilling its blackening contents all over the wood counter.
Angry beyond measure, close to tears of frustration, and surveying her mess, she kicked at a chair leg and griped, “Damn it all to hell and back three ways from Sunday.”
“It certainly smells that way.”
Her heart leaping, Glory spun toward the sound, only to see Riley stepping over the back door’s threshhold and into the too-warm kitchen with her. “You’d best get,” she mock-warned, her hands at her waist, “or risk getting put to work in here, Riley Eugene Thorne.”
“Is that so?” He stepped into the room, sized up the unholy mess, then looked her up and down, and laughed. “I don’t know which one you do worse—bake or swear. Come to think on it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen or heard you do either before now.”
Glory’s Lawless chin came up. “Mama and Biddy taught me to bake, and Jacey taught me to swear. When the need arises, I can do both equally well, thank you.”
Riley grinned and shook his head. “Well, from the looks of this place, you might want to stick to the swearing.” He then frowned at her and pointed. “You’ve got flour … and something else on your nose, Glory.”
Mortified, Glory put her sleeve to her face, rubbing as hard as she could. When she lowered her arm, she cried out, “Well, di
d I get it?”
“No. Come here, silly.” But he came to her. Taking her chin in his hand, he used his other to brush and rub her nose—and then her cheeks and her chin. Glory blinked with his efforts. “Mercy, girl, you’re a walking dessert. Just look at this apron. There’s blackberry and … what’s this?”
Glory tugged her chin out of his hand to look down at herself, at where he pointed. She held her apron out, commenting, “I think it’s pecan-pie filling. But it could be … well, almost anything in the kitchen, I suspect.”
Riley raised her chin again. Glory’s heart sank. His warm smile lit his so-dark-brown eyes. He smelled of the outdoors, of windswept plains, of endless meadows. “You look good enough to eat, sweetheart.” With that, he slanted his head down to kiss her.
Glory had time only to suck in a breath before his lips covered hers. Gone was the memory of their angry words from yesterday in the parlor. She melted against him. He held her tightly, jealously close to him. When their kiss deepened, when his tongue found hers, Glory heard a moan, knew it was hers. Aching for him, she clutched at his denim jacket, stood on tiptoes, sought instinctively to offer more of herself up to him. With urgent, answering motions, Riley’s hands moved over her back, her waist, down to her hips—
“Damn you to hell, Riley Thorne!”
Glory shoved away from Riley at the same moment he let go of her and spun to face … Smiley Rankin. A picture of angry outrage, the foreman stood framed in the doorway, his hands poised inches above his twin six-shooters.
Glory stepped back, her hands pressed to her wet and swollen mouth. Even though she’d caused this standoff, the moment belonged to the two armed men. There was nothing she could do to stop them. Life on the prairie had taught her that much.
Riley straightened up to his full height and stilled dangerously. “Easy does it, Mr. Rankin,” he warned the Lawless foreman. “This isn’t any of your business.”
Hands fisted, Smiley advanced stiff-legged into the kitchen, stopping a few feet short of Riley’s ground. His neck steadily reddened and corded as he jutted his chin out. “An’ I say it is. Don’t forgit yer standin’ on Lawless land. An’ Miz Glory here ain’t much more’n a girl yet. Ain’t you—nor no one else—goin’ to mess with her, neither.”
Glory sucked in a breath laden with the kitchen’s deliciously homey aromas, so at odds with the threatening words that peppered the air. As she watched, Riley’s broad chest seemed to expand in a flagrant challenge. “The way I see it, Mr. Rankin, this is Miss Lawless’s call.”
For one dark second, the men glared like enraged bulls before turning hard yet questioning faces to her. Glory’s stomach chose that moment to flop about sickeningly. Her knees weakened. She had to choose between Lawless concerns … and a Thorne.
A thinking part of her brain told her this wouldn’t be the last time she did, either. Begging for some of Hannah’s strength and Mama’s soft way with words, Glory straightened up. “It’s okay, Smiley. I can take care of … this. You go on. I’m sure the men are waiting for you.”
Smiley jumped as if snakebit. “But, Miz Glory, I cain’t leave him with—”
“Yes—you can, Smiley. I’m telling you, you can.”
Smiley narrowed his eyes at her. “Yes, ma’am, Miz Lawless. Yer the boss. But I don’t lak it one little bit. An’ neither do the rest of the men.” He then shoved past Riley and stomped out of the kitchen, slamming the heavy door behind himself.
Still weakened by the angry confrontation between the two men, Glory didn’t move for long moments. Neither did Riley. But then, suddenly overcome, she bent over, her hands gripping her knees, and took several deep breaths. Absurdly, she noted that the flour-dusted puncheon floor under her feet needed to be swept.
“You’ll ‘take care of this?’ Just what does that mean?”
Glory’s stomach muscles clenched at the tone in Riley’s voice. Straightening up, she sought his gaze. As she’d expected—wide mouth a grim line, his brown eyes staring a hole through her. She exhaled a huff of air which feathered out her bangs. Seemed like she couldn’t please anybody anymore. Used to be that was all she did. Still, despite her thumping heart and slick palms, she met Riley’s stare. “I don’t know what it means. I was just trying to calm you both down.”
“Calm us down? Neither one of us is calm, Glory.”
Her sudden vexation with this man pinched her face into an angry mask. “I don’t care one whit if you are or not. You’re alive, aren’t you?”
Then, sighting on something promising which could make her point, Glory scooped up two balls of raw dough and hefted them, one in each hand. “Now get the all-fired heck out of my kitchen, Riley Thorne.” Without warning, she heaved back and threw a dough ball at him, hitting him square in his chest.
Time stopped. Riley stared at his chest as if he’d just realized he had one. Then he raised his head. His gaze slipped around the kitchen, hunting for something to toss right back at her, no doubt. Then, an eyebrow rising, he smirked at her.
Glory’s eyes widened. “Don’t you dare, Riley Thorne. And don’t you ever kiss me again, either.” She chunked her other crust-in-waiting, but missed because her target ducked. The dough ball flew past him to plop with a wet, sickly sound onto the hallway floor.
Hot-faced, sweating, damp of hair, tight of chest, and absolutely beyond her limit with piemaking and peacemaking, Glory searched her immediate surroundings for something … anything …
“Now, Glory, calm down. I mean it. You’re just going to—”
“Calm down?” Glory jerked her gaze to Riley’s fuming face. “Calm down?” she screeched. “I’ll show you ‘calm down.’” She yanked an innocent bowl of pecans off the old sawbuck table and heaved them at Riley’s head. Again he ducked. The bowl hit the wall and broke. Pecans and crockery shards showered down, pelting the floor.
Riley stared at the mess, then at her. “That’s it—the last straw, Glory Bea Lawless.” His face a mask of determination, Riley came after her.
Glory shrieked and took off around the table. Riley went one way, she went the other. A strained and grunting few moments of hedging and feinting finally saw Glory grabbed up and dragged over to the nearest chair, yelling for all she was worth, and kicking like a Missouri mule. Riley sat down, threw her over his thighs, and proceeded to spank the temper right out of her.
Over the sounds of her own outraged screeching, Glory’s ears picked up an approaching voice, one she knew from her earliest childhood. Sucking in air, she clawed at Riley’s arm wrapped around her ribs. “Riley, stop it,” she hissed frantically. “Stop it!”
But too late. The voice and its owner came nearer and nearer. “What in thunderation is all the noise? Must a body leave her sickbed to see to—?”
The voice was in the kitchen now. It gasped. Thrown across Riley’s unyielding lap like she was, Glory felt Riley’s jerk of surprise. Undone to be caught in such a state, she slumped, hands and feet trailing on the floor, her long hair dusting through the spilled flour and sugar.
The voice spoke again … in a changed, almost reverent tone. “Oh my, ’tis shocked, I am. I never thought to see the like in all me born days. Such a turn me pride and joy has come to.”
Glory strained upward to see Biddy’s face, but held in the manner she was, the most she could see was her nanny’s ample bosom. But she didn’t need to see her face to know that Riley was about to get his comeuppance. Because Biddy would abide no one laying a hand on her darling, her pride and joy. Why, as like as not, she’d throw him off the place herself now.
Glory watched as Biddy came into the kitchen, walking right past her. The beloved invalid’s daygown and wrapper dragged across the food-smeared floor. “Will ye look at this mess in me kitchen—me pride and joy? Glory, get up this instant and start cleaning. Have ye taken leave of yer senses, girl?”
Chapter 6
It was cold and late that same evening. A wild wind whipped and whistled about the eaves and doors, hunting, searching for
a loose or rattling way inside the Lawless main house. On the other, warm side of those same walls, Glory made her evening rounds. The kerosene lamps were out, the front and back doors were locked. Gliding through the great room, her way lit by the glowing embers in the fireplace, she made her way to Biddy’s downstairs bedroom, just on the other side of the stairs.
She put an ear to the door and listened. Only quiet greeted her. She’d best be sure, she decided, in light of this afternoon’s pie-making and kitchen-scrubbing excitement. Glory opened the door and peered into the darkness. Deep, even breathing from the bed brought an indulgent smile to her face. Finally, her little patient was asleep. That liberal dose of whiskey she’d asked for, in her evening toddy, had seen her nodding off in contentment.
Taking great care to close the door quietly, Glory turned and rubbed her fingers across her forehead. Bone-tired, headachy, she wondered how Mama had so effortlessly taken care of them all. Straightening her spine, Glory resisted feeling sorry for herself and strode briskly toward the stairs. She had one remaining chore before she sought her own bed.
And that chore’s name was Riley Thorne. How dare he hire two new men, she intended to ask him. He had neither the right nor the authority to take on hands in her name. If a couple of drifters came hunting a station, all Riley need do was point them to her. Period. The end of his involvement. But no, she had to find out about the two new hands from Sourdough, who’d come to gripe about two more mouths to feed. Glory could only shake her head.
Worse, who was it again who’d preached cutting corners and letting men go? And here two new ones slept in the bunkhouse. It was a good thing Smiley wasn’t here. More than pie dough would have flown through the air if he had been. Just who did Riley think he was—a Lawless?
Granted, she conceded as she took the stairs one weary step at a time, he acted every bit as bold and rash as any Lawless, but the man was still a Thorne—one in her side, if anyone cared to ask her. Once upstairs, Glory passed her own room to stop two doors down in front of Riley’s. She fisted her hand to knock but, hearing Riley moving about inside the room, found she needed a moment to boost her courage.
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