Holly grew up on posts while her father was an interpreter and scout for the Army. Because Holly’s mother was Cheyenne, her father could speak that language, and several other Indian languages, so his service was in demand on the western frontier.
Mr. Clancy was in his mid-to-late twenties, although it was hard to tell with his boyish grin. His brown hair, on the long side, had lighter streaks of gold in it, showing the effects of being in the sun most of the year. Apparently, he wasn’t in the habit of shaving daily because he had a week’s worth of stubble on his face. Or maybe he hadn’t shaved since leaving the service. What she liked the most was the look of trust she saw in his sparkling gray eyes.
She felt at ease around him, probably because he was a former soldier and wearing the army clothes she’d always seen her father wearing.
“Okay, we’re ready to serve. Let’s feed your hungry customers.” Mr. Clancy lifted the heavy tray of plates easily and backed into the dining room. Holly carried two more plates and put them in front of customers before picking up and distributing plates from Mr. Clancy’s tray.
“Today’s specials for all of you are Clancy Stew, cheese wedges, and berry crumble for dessert.” Mr. Clancy announced, therefore not giving anyone a chance to ask for something different.
They turned to get the next plates when someone called out to question, “What if I want more stew? Not sure this will be enough to fill me up.”
“Each extra bowl of stew is ten cents. We have plenty so eat up and enjoy.”
Holly gulped down a protest thinking of how far they’d stretched the stew so far, but Mr. Clancy thought they’d have enough.
By the time they served forty meals, four men were holding up their bowls for a refill.
“That’s good stew. I want another.” The man who had given her a hard time was now asking for more? What will he say when the first bowl won’t taste like the second?
“Coming right up, sir, then we’ll start handing out desserts next. Anyone need more coffee?”
Several cups went up in the air indicating they wanted refills.
“Miss Brandt will be happy to pour more coffee while I refill the stew bowls,” Mr. Clancy called out as if he was running the place, which he was today.
“Don’t forget to leave a tip for your waitress, besides for your extra bowls of stew.” Holly heard Mr. Clancy say under his breath while clearing tables.
“Why?” the man questioned him.
“Because it was a good meal, good service and she had to put up with your rude comments.”
“But she’s a….”
Mr. Clancy cut him off with a hard stare and cold reply. “She deserves your respect because she’s a woman. Weren’t you ever taught manners?”
“We can go outside, and I’ll teach you some manners, Soldier.”
“Come on, Griffin. Just shut up and pay up. We had a good meal. Let’s go see if the train is leaving this afternoon.”
Holly watched from the kitchen door as Mr. Clancy collected money from the last two—and worst—customers, and walked them out of the café. She knew the soldier could take care of himself, but she’d thought about pulling Mrs. Randolph’s shotgun out of its hiding place just in case.
Holly went back into the kitchen and poured hot water over the soap shavings she’d added to the washbasin. The worst thing about many customers was it left her with a lot of dishes to wash. But Mrs. Randolph would be so happy to see the cash this large group brought in today. Holly knew money was a concern for the widow, and she was happy she would help the kind woman who had taken her in after her father died a year ago.
Mr. Clancy carried a loaded tray of dirty dishes into the kitchen and set it down on the side table.
“Now I remember the worst job I had to do in my grandparent’s café.”
Holly looked over her shoulder as she lowered the first handful of silverware into the hot water. “Let me guess. Washing dishes?”
“Yes, you know what washing dishes can do to your hands. Now imagine how a teenage boy might be razzed for having ‘dishpan hands.’ The skin on my hands was always red, cracked, and sore.”
“You could have rubbed some salve on them after washing dishes,” Holly pointed out.
“Nah, then I would have been accused of having pretty girl hands,” he teased back.
Holly stopped to look up at Mr. Clancy and was caught off guard by his charming grin.
“Well, washing dishes is part of my job, so your hands are safe today, Mr. Clancy.”
“I thank you for that, but I’ll be glad to dry the dishes for you,” he offered.
“Don’t you need to check on the train? You don’t want to miss it leaving.”
“One of the customers in here heard it might not leave until tomorrow.”
“Oh dear. That means I could have another full café for supper tonight and tomorrow’s breakfast.” Holly pursed her lips, embarrassed she’d said that aloud.
“Hinting you could use some help for the next few meals, Miss Brandt?”
“No, just thinking of something I could stretch like your grandfather’s stew,” she bantered back, waiting for the smile she knew would follow.
“Chili can be stretched by adding more beans, but you have to plan ahead and have the beans soaked the night before.”
“Or chicken and dumplings could be stretched. I can make more dumplings and add more canned chicken if need be,” Holly felt good with her answer.
“Make plenty of quick biscuits too, and what you don’t use tonight you can serve in the morning.”
“What about serving biscuits for breakfast?” They both turned around when they heard Mrs. Randolph speak behind them.
“Why did you come downstairs when your side is so sore, Myrtle?” Holly quickly dried her hands on a towel and helped the older woman sit down on a chair in the kitchen.
“It was so noisy down here I figured you had quite a few people for lunch and would need help cleaning up,” Myrtle said while carefully sitting down with Holly’s help. “And who is this soldier helping you in my kitchen? Hello, son, I’m the widow Myrtle Randolph.”
“Nolan Clancy at your service, Ma’am,” the man said as he shook Myrtle’s hand. “Miss Brandt served fifty-seven plates for lunch today, and I volunteered to help with the dishes as part of my pay.”
“Oh dear. You still haven’t eaten your meal,” Holly exclaimed, feeling her face blush, thinking of her taking advantage of the stranger’s help, and then not feeding him.
“Holly, please dish up some leftovers then so we can all eat,” Myrtle instructed her.
Holly hated for Myrtle to come downstairs, yet she felt more at ease than being with the soldier by herself. He might have been polite at first, but maybe it was a ploy to get her alone.
“Where you been stationed, Mr. Clancy?” Myrtle asked the question Holly hadn’t had time to ask yet. Holly listened to the two converse while bringing their filled bowls to the table.
“Fort Ellis.”
Holly sat down in her chair, ready to eat her meal. “My father worked at Fort Ellis before retiring six years ago, and we moved to this area. I wonder if you would have been there at the same time.” Holly was curious if the two men had ever worked together.
“Sergeant Brandt, by chance?”
“Yes, he was an interpreter and scout.”
“Yes, I remember him. I came in ‘78, and he left in ‘79. What does he do now?”
“Actually, he died last year while working for a mining company in Silver Crossing. It’s a town two day’s ride up the mountain from here.”
“Sorry for your loss,” Mr. Clancy said before taking another spoonful of stew.
Holly nodded in response. Her life had drastically changed once she was on her own.
“I decided Miller Springs was a safer place to live than around the miners, so I moved down here.” Luckily, Mrs. Randolph hired her right away, letting her live upstairs as part of her pay.
They ate in silence, a
ll hungry because it was way past noon.
“Tasty stew, Holly,” Myrtle said after thoughtfully tasting a spoonful. “You added green beans to it?”
“Mr. Clancy came to my rescue when I had only one pot of stew—to stretch to feed over fifty people.”
“Plus we handed out several bowls of seconds,” Mr. Clancy added.
“I recognize vegetables we canned with summer,” Myrtle stirred her bowl, looking over the contents, “and the meat we cut up and canned from the side of beef we bought from the Campbell Ranch.”
“I learned this trick from my grandfather. My grandparents raised my sister and me, so we spent our childhood in their café. I can do anything except make a pie.”
“And why didn’t you learn that?” Myrtle asked. “People like a dessert to finish their meal.”
“We have a woman in town, Millie Wilerson, the marshal’s wife, who makes the pies for the Clancy Café and the Paulson Hotel. Or anyway she used to when I lived there. By now she’s probably too busy with her family to still bake for both places, if either.”
“Having pies brought in would really help with time and oven space. What did you serve for dessert today?” Myrtle looked at Holly, then Mr. Clancy.
“Another one of Mr. Clancy’s ideas. We scooped the top crusts off the pies and set them aside, then dumped the contents of the three pies in a big bowl, mix in cherries and blackberries we’d canned with summer.
“We put the fruit mixture in custard bowls, crumbled the pie crust, and sprinkled the crumbs on each bowlful.”
“Mr. Clancy whipped the cream and put a spoonful on top of each dessert.”
“So three pies served over fifty people. My grandma called it ‘berry crumble’ if she had to stretch out a few pies.”
“Well, you just taught this old cook a few new ideas. Thank you for helping Holly out today. How long are you in town?”
“Until the train leaves, which I should probably go check on since I’m done with my bowl of stew…but then I couldn’t help you with dishes,” Mr. Clancy hastily added.
“I can dry dishes while sitting down, Mr. Clancy, so you’re free to go.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Randolph,” he said rising from his chair. He added his bowl to the stack of dirty dishes on the side table before reaching for the layer of clothing he’d shed while working.
“No, sir, I thank you for being an upstanding young man. You were taught good manners by your elders,” Myrtle pointed her finger at Mr. Clancy.
Mr. Clancy laughed and shook his head. “Oh, I was part of a gang of boys in town, and we did our share of mischief. But the pastor’s wife always caught us and straightened us out.”
“Why the pastor’s wife?” Holly asked, wondering why this woman would have been involved.
“Six of the boys causing the trouble were her sons,” Mr. Clancy grinned. “She’d get so mad, she’d switch to her Irish brogue, and we couldn’t understand a word she said. But we knew what she meant when she thumped our heads. Boy would that sting.”
“Well, sounds like she had her hands full and still did a good job,” Myrtle commented.
“Yes, and I can’t wait to get home and give Kaitlyn Reagan a hug. Her words of wisdom—and scolding—have helped me in many situations over the past years.”
Holly stood up and walked over to Mr. Clancy. She didn’t know how he’d react, but she reached out her hand to shake his. Would he take her hand since she was a mixed breed?
Her hand tingled when he clasped her hand with both of his, holding it a second before squeezing it and letting go.
“Thank you, Mr. Clancy, for coming to my rescue today,” Holly spoke while watching the man’s expressive eyes. He hadn’t been offended shaking her hand.
“Well, thanks for letting me help today. I actually enjoyed it.”
Mr. Clancy looked around the kitchen before nodding and walking to the door.
Holly’s eyes followed Mr. Clancy as he trudged through the snow and disappeared in the swirling snow. Why do the decent men always leave?
Chapter 2
Nolan braced against the pelting snow as he walked back to the depot. The snow was several inches deeper than when he left the train three hours ago, looking for somewhere to eat.
He would not miss the territory’s winter that was for sure. He’d experienced some bad snow blizzards in Kansas, but then the sun would come out and thaw the snow, granting the residents a few days without snow now and then. Here in the territory once it started snowing, there would be snow on the ground until May, and longer up in the mountains.
The Kansas prairie would be a sea of green by the end of April. Meadowlarks singing as they enjoyed the warmth, as well as the first rattlesnakes sunning themselves on the rocks outside the caves in Horsethief Canyon. Oh yes, he was ready to experience spring on the Kansas prairie again.
One of the first things he wanted to do when getting home was to visit his friends at the Cross C Ranch and go for a ride.
All the Reagan brothers had worked on the ranch at one time or the other, but only Seth chose it as his life’s profession. Isaac Connely, who started the Cross C Ranch back in the late 1860s, had bought other ranches in the area over the years. Seth managed the Straight Arrow Ranch and its Morgan horse herd.
Nolan had ridden countless horses during his years in the cavalry, but none matched the ride and loyalty of a horse trained by Seth.
Would he have time to ride much after taking over his grandparent’s café? Might be something he’d have to prioritize after he settled in. Nolan was going to have problems being inside working all the time after spending years riding the open lands of the Territory of Montana.
Not for the first time, he wondered if he was making the right decision in going back to Kansas, but he’d promised his grandparents, so he would stand by his word.
He could barely see the train in the heavy snow as he approached the depot platform. Would the train stay here for the night or try to plow through the snow to the next little town?
The depot door opened up just as he stomped up the steps of the platform. He couldn’t see the men’s faces with their hats bent as they headed into the storm, but he recognized their voices, being the two who had bothered Miss Brandt in the café.
Why did men like those two have to be mean to others? Nolan guessed they’d kick a dog just to laugh at his surprised yelp.
The depot waiting area was full of passengers trying to stay warm by the pot-bellied stove. Nolan felt guilty opening the outside door of the depot, knowing he’d let in more cold and snow.
He approached the depot agent’s window, knowing the man had spent his morning answering the same questions repeatedly.
“Sorry to ask, but any word on the train’s departure?” The agent may have made an announcement to the people waiting in the depot, but he’d missed it since he’d been helping at the café.
“Engineer said he’s waiting until morning, so make yourself comfortable in the depot, or over at the church. Reverend Nelson said people could stretch out in the pews to sleep there tonight.
“Your choice for food is Mrs. Randolph’s café or buys some crackers or tinned food at Carson’s Mercantile. Our town is too small to have any other choice.”
Nolan nodded, guessing a person could see practically the whole town from the depot platform on a clear day.
“My haversack and clothing bag are still in the rail car. Can I go get those?”
“Yes, but don’t plan on staying in the car overnight. We aren’t going to keep the cars’ stoves going tonight.”
“What about the luggage car?” Nolan had a small trunk with all his earthly belongings in it and didn’t want to lug it to the church if he didn’t have to.
“Already locked up, so whatever you have in it is safe for the night.”
“Thank you, sir.” Nolan walked away from the agent’s window and looked around the waiting room. There wasn’t a seat available, and the few children on the train were already getting r
estless. It was going to be a long night for those children and their parents.
Nolan quickly opened and closed the door to the platform, hunching up his shoulders to keep snow from blowing down the back of his coat.
Shoot. Why was his neck so cold? Where was his wool neck scarf? Had he left it at the café or was it still on the train? Did he have it on when he left the train this morning?
Nolan walked the short distance to the rail car he’d been riding in, went up the steps, and let himself in the car. He could already see his breath as he walked down the aisle to where he’d sat. Nolan reached up to pull his two bags off the shelf above his seat, and set them on the bench, then checking on the shelf and underneath the seat, hoping to see his scarf. No luck. Either someone had taken it, or he’d left it at the café.
He planned to take shelter in the church for the night so he’d stop by the café to check on his scarf. Nolan wouldn’t mind revisiting the women, so this would be his excuse.
Nolan stepped into the café door and heard voices coming from the café’s kitchen. He spied his scarf still on a hook and took it down to wrap around his neck. He’d walk down to the church and not bother the women since they were busy.
He paused when it sounded like a chair had fallen on the floor.
“No, I don’t, so please leave the café!”
Nolan didn’t hesitate a second, knowing it wasn’t just the two women conversing in the kitchen. He could hear men’s voices talking now.
He pulled his revolver before pulling the swinging door his way to confront the situation. He didn’t want to be hit with the door if someone was on their way out, or if Miss Brandt was standing on the other side.
“I suggest you leave like the woman asked,” Nolan growled when he saw the same men who had been taunting Miss Brandt during the lunch hour.
“Well, if it isn’t the soldier boy,” Ronald greeted him with a sneer.
“Why do you have a gun pulled on us, Soldier?”
“Because it sounded like you were trying to do harm to this woman.”
“Oh no. We just came in to see if she had some of that good dessert left.” Nolan saw Miss Brandt shudder, her eyes darting between the men on either side of her. They had her trapped before Nolan came in. What had they planned to do? Hurt, or rob her since they knew she’d just taken in a lot of cash at noon?
Grooms with Honor Series, Books 7-9 Page 11