“I’ll attend to that task, then announce the meal.”
Hubert made a smart turn and left the kitchen. Ellie placed her biscuits in a towel-draped basket, and then joined Hubert in the dining room.
As she filled the glasses from the tilting water pitcher she’d prepared earlier, Hubert went about lighting the candelabra. A warm glow filled the room.
Hubert inclined his head, then left the dining room. Ellie did the same, only she slipped into the kitchen.
His dulcet voice drifted from the parlor to announce dinner was served. Ellie filled a gravy boat with beef broth and gave everything one last look. She’d finally gotten a decent meal together, and she could hardly wait to see Reid Barclay’s reaction to her offering.
Though she couldn’t imagine that a man who’d eat pie with his fingers would fuss about filling his own plate. My word, just remembering the kisses they’d shared had her flushing from head to toe.
But that blush of excitement soon vanished under a hot wave of guilt. It’d been wrong of her to dally so wickedly with another woman’s man. Wrong of her to feel no shame at the time. Wrong of her to long for his kiss again.
Ellie wouldn’t allow it, of course. She wouldn’t come between Reid and Cheryl, and she wouldn’t forget Reid and her pa were at crossed swords, so to speak.
Determined to get through this meal service with a minimum of interaction with the diners, Ellie plastered a serene smile on her face and made to carry the platter into the dining room. She froze midway.
Burl Erston stood in the doorway, a half-eaten cookie clenched in his hand. “I’ve tasted worse.”
With that scathing review, he entered the dining room. She allowed a calming breath and followed. When in the world had he slipped into the kitchen for that?
Reid was in the process of seating Cheryl at one end of the table when she entered. Erston had positioned himself midway between the two.
Ellie waited until Reid had taken his seat, then moved to Miss Morris’s left. Though technically a guest, she was also the future lady of the house.
A wave of intense longing to be in this lady’s shoes caught Ellie unaware. She recoiled from the feelings, hating that she’d coveted another woman’s man for even a moment.
In her own defense, she’d never been so attracted to a man before. She’d surely never thought to act upon those urges. But the memory of doing just that brought heat rushing to her face.
“This smells positively luscious,” Miss Morris said.
“Thank you.”
Ellie hoped everyone thought the compliment had brought on her blush. She moved to Erston’s left and stiffly held the platter while he forked hearty portions of the beef bouilli onto his plate.
“I’m quite famished,” he said, the lust in his eyes conveying he hungered for a woman.
Why, the lout even took the liberty of rubbing his elbow against her stomach, no doubt his attempt to persuade her to visit him later. And if that failed, he’d likely take pleasure in watching her fumble.
She resisted the urge to dump the platter of meat in his lap and walked to the head of the table, head high and shoulders squared in a servile manner. But beneath her reserved façade, her heart pounded a little harder as she held the platter to Reid’s right, and her mind replayed the scene with him in the parlor when he’d caught her decorating.
Ellie set the platter on the sideboard, surprised Hubert was standing there with the bowl of vegetables in hand. The sideboard, she noted, held the basket of biscuits and the gravy boat of savory broth.
“Thank you,” she mouthed to Hubert as she took the bowl from him, gaining a pleased smile in answer.
She offered the trio of diners the vegetables and broth in turn, anxious to be done with service so she could retreat into the kitchen. Erston declined the vegetables but ladled copious amounts of broth over his heaping plate of beef.
Glutton, she thought as she returned to Miss Morris’s left with the basket of biscuits. The lady had just taken one when Erston coughed and spewed his food.
“Good heavens, Burl. What’s amiss?” Miss Morris asked.
Erston grabbed his goblet and downed the water. He set the goblet down with a clunk and stared at his plate, chest heaving.
“You all right?” Reid asked.
Erston turned hostile eyes on Ellie. “The meat is unfit for consumption.”
“How dare you?” Ellie said, forgetting her station in the face of his insult.
Reid’s deep cough brought her gaze flying to his. If his frown hadn’t clearly displayed his displeasure, the napkin he used to catch the meat he spit out certainly did.
“A bit heavy-handed on salt, Miss Cade,” he said.
“It can’t be.”
Ellie marched to the sideboard and took a sample of the beef. The second it landed on her tongue, she clamped a hand over her mouth and coughed. Salt!
She hadn’t used it in this dish. But someone certainly saw fit to freely add it.
“I won’t keep a cook of her ineptness,” Erston said, as if to remind her he had the power to dismiss her if he chose to.
No one in their right mind would, Ellie thought as she turned to face Reid.
He stared at Ellie without revealing an iota of emotion on his ruggedly handsome face. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
She wiped her hands on her apron, fighting back tears of shame and anger. “I didn’t put salt in the beef bouilli.”
One black eyebrow arched in dubious question. “You’re saying that someone tampered with the meal.”
Ellie nodded, praying Reid would believe her. “Yes.”
“A likely story,” Erston said, his mouthed quirked in morbid amusement now. “A serious matter is at hand here. What if she decided to poison us?”
“Then we’d all be dead or so sick that we wished we were,” Reid said, his gaze questioning Ellie’s again.
“I’d never do such a thing,” she said with righteous heat, though at that moment she was tempted to do Erston grave bodily harm.
“In my manor, the cook is held accountable for everything that transpires in the kitchen,” Erston said, staring at her with cold triumph in his eyes and confirming her suspicion that he was the saboteur. “I warrant she seasoned the dish overmuch and is attempting to fob the blame off on one of us.”
Reid pushed to his feet. “I’d like a word with you in the kitchen, Miss Cade.”
Too hurt and angry to argue in front of Erston and Miss Morris, she simply nodded and walked into the kitchen with her head high and her back straight. But the second she reached the pantry, she whirled to face Reid.
“You should know that when I returned from setting the table earlier, Mr. Erston was leaving the kitchen,” she said, frowning at the memory. “At the time, I thought he’d come in to steal a cookie, but I believe he set out to ruin dinner and humiliate me.”
“He proposition you?” he asked as he helped himself to one of the cookies heaped on the plate.
She grimaced at the memory. “He did, and I disabused him of that notion immediately.”
He chewed slowly as if relishing the treat, as if taking this mishap in stride, but the hard glint in his eyes belied his calm. “If he tries anything again, you come to me.”
“I will.” She looked at the range and sighed, thinking her biggest challenge was ahead of her. “Now about supper. I’ll see what I can whip up in short order.”
“Don’t bother.” He headed for the door. “Moss had a big pot of beans on. There will be enough for us all tonight.”
“Thank you,” she said.
He took his coat off the peg and shrugged into it. “Keep an eye on him, Miss Cade. I don’t want a repeat of what happened tonight.”
Neither did she. But as he pushed out the door into the blistering cold, she wondered how in the world she could deter Burl Erston from more mischief.
Chapter 10
Supper ended up being the remnants of Moss’s beans, rice and pork, though the
re was damn little meat to be found in the pot Reid toted back to the house. Still, with the biscuits Ellie served up, it filled Reid’s belly.
Cowboy fare surely didn’t suit his guests.
“It’s filling,” Cheryl said, though she’d only managed to eat a hummingbird’s portion.
“This is beyond suitable,” Erston said, yet for all his bitching and griping, he managed to finish off a bowl full. “I can’t understand why you didn’t insist on your cook preparing a decent meal.”
“She did that already and somebody thought to ruin it.” He held Erston’s gaze with his own and damned near grabbed the man by the throat when he smirked.
Yep, Ellie was right. Burl Erston had ruined a meal just to make her look bad for turning him down.
His opinion of the man continued to sink.
“Where is the cook?” Erston asked when Hubert served them dessert. “Did you send her off already?”
“Nope. Told her to put this unpleasantness behind her and start fresh in the morning.”
“I hold majority shares, so I’ll be the one to say if she stays or goes.” Erston bolted to his feet.
“Sit down,” Reid said. “Cheryl is siding with me on this, so nobody has majority shares yet.”
“Ah, but I will soon.” Erston snatched up his wine goblet and finished it off, then tramped from the room.
Cheryl wilted on her chair and massaged her temples. “This is all so wrong.”
“Yep, but it doesn’t change what we have to do anyway.”
The color drained from her face. Not the reaction he wanted from his wife-to-be.
“I’m quite exhausted,” she said. “If you have no objections, I’d prefer seeking my room now.”
“By all means rest up.” For the rest of the week was going to try their patience.
Reid sat in the empty dining room long after his guests had left. He thought about seeking Miss Cade’s company for a cup of coffee and another gingerbread cookie, but dismissed the notion and took himself off to his office.
Thank God Burl Erston wasn’t in here guzzling his liquor and availing himself of the records. That wasn’t any of his business as far as Reid was concerned.
The horses were his, passed into his hands before Kirby died. But though the thoroughbreds had thrived here while he was in England, the men hadn’t a clue as to his breeding program.
The foals thrown were good stock, but he’d have to wait to breed the strong line he’d envisioned. That’d take time he simply didn’t have.
Nope, the thoroughbreds would have to go. He’d never get out of this fix unless he came up with the money. The question remained—how much could he expect to get out of the horses?
A good hour passed as he reviewed the figures he’d haggled over for a month. Though times were hard, the land was worth a pretty penny.
That was a good thing if a rancher or farmer was selling. But it was bad if a man was hoping to increase his holdings.
Or in his case, buy out a disagreeable partner.
He tossed his pencil on the desk and rubbed his tired eyes. If only Dade and Trey would show up, he’d have a better chance of squeezing Erston out. But he hadn’t heard hide nor hair from them in the year he’d been back, and God knew he’d spread the word that he needed to talk to them.
Guess their silence was his answer. They didn’t want a damn thing to do with the man who’d betrayed them. They didn’t want their shares of the ranch the three of them had called home.
He poured three fingers of Kentucky bourbon in a glass and leaned back in his chair. He wasn’t one to dwell on the things he couldn’t change.
His father had disowned him before he was born.
No family had ever stepped forward to take him in.
Not one soul who came into the Guardian Angel’s Orphan Asylum in all the years he’d been there had wanted to adopt him.
Those were cruel blows for a boy to accept.
Even as a man he felt the sting of rejection every time he looked into Cheryl’s eyes.
He tossed back his bourbon and poured another. That sleigh ride with his intended left him arguing with himself over whether they should go through with this.
Hell, Cheryl didn’t want to marry him any more than he wanted to tie himself to her.
But he couldn’t chuck it all. He had plenty of faults, but he wasn’t one to break a promise. But he did wish they could postpone the wedding until after Christmas.
That’d give Dade and Trey time to get here to claim their shares. And then? Well, then things could get interesting, because they’d have majority shares over Erston and could force him out.
But that wouldn’t happen if the boys didn’t show.
Kirby had opened his home and his heart to him when he had nothing. He’d given him a share in the Crown Seven. All he’d asked was that Reid make sure that Cheryl got her shares.
That wouldn’t happen if he took off like Dade and Trey had done. Even if he was a hard-hearted bastard, he couldn’t up and move in the dead of winter with a herd of thoroughbreds and no place to hang his hat.
He tossed back his liquor and grimaced as it burned a trail down this throat. Hell, he might as well make the best of a bad situation. Besides, after he and Cheryl were married and they’d bought out Erston, they could quietly divorce. She could still be a damned good partner in the ranch.
He splashed more bourbon in his glass then went still as death as the clear strains of a Christmas carol drifted into his office. Ellie. He recognized her voice right off, even though she was singing real soft.
She didn’t have an angelic voice. No, there was a throaty quality to it that called to something in him that he didn’t understand, that left him quivering and wanting.
As for the song, he’d heard it a time or two over the years. The Guardian Angel’s Orphan Asylum always saw fit to put on a Christmas show in the hopes the holiday spirit would move folks to welcome an orphan into their homes.
He left his office and crossed to the parlor.
She was in there, busy draping popcorn and berry garlands around the tree.
Singing. Swaying. Smiling.
He leaned a shoulder against the doorway and watched her, glass cradled in his hand and a sense of longing pounded in his chest. For the life of him, he couldn’t imagine why she was so heated up over the coming holiday.
But then he’d never celebrated Christmas in his life.
She stepped back and gave the tree a critical look, hands perched on rounded hips and head tilted at an angle that had him longing to step in and kiss that sweet place behind her ear and trail his lips down her neck.
She stepped forward and moved a shiny glass bell from one bough to another. All the while she was humming, when earlier she’d been down in the mouth over Erston salting her dinner.
“What put you in such a good mood?” he asked.
She whirled to face him, eyes wide and cheeks kissed with color. “It’s Christmas. Or nearly so.”
He didn’t need to be reminded, seeing as that would be his wedding day as well. But that shouldn’t make any difference to her, unless she was counting the days until Mrs. Leach returned.
“What’s so special about Christmas?”
“Nearly everything,” she said, taking a gilded glass boot from the box and hanging it on a bough. “It’s my favorite holiday of the year.”
A glance at his parlor proved she surely liked decorating for it. Why, it was looking as gay as the front window in the mercantile.
He motioned to the boughs liberally placed around the parlor, to the tree that was fast becoming loaded with shiny glass balls, strings of popcorn and berries, and gilded cardboard Santas, cherubs, animals, and fruit. For the life of him he couldn’t see the point in going to such fuss.
“You always do all this decorating at Christmas?”
“To varying degrees,” she said. “My aunt put up modest decorations because my uncle was mindful of the cost. But the owner of the boardinghouse was as e
xcited about Christmas as I was, so we went all out decking the halls.”
“That makes you happy?”
She flashed him a dazzling smile that threatened to melt the cold resolve around his heart. “Everything about Christmas makes me happy.”
“Everything?” he repeated, wondering what the hell else she aimed to do.
“Oh, yes! I love the caroling, and gathering with friends and family to share memories and give gifts. It’s a time when magic dances on the frosty air, and glittering decorations brighten the gloomiest winter day.”
He shook his head. Only time he sang was if he was night-watching a restless herd, or so drunk he thought to serenade a fetching calico queen. Only time he met up with friends was over a game of cards, or in a saloon. Those memories were best forgotten.
As to family, he had none.
“Never done none of that,” he said.
His hand stole to the watch pocket of his vest and the solid, comforting feel of his timepiece. The beginnings of a smile pulled at his mouth, because he did understand the awe in receiving at least one gift in his life. But he hadn’t thought to do the same.
“I can’t believe you’ve never celebrated Christmas,” she said.
“It’s always been just another day to me, though I recall that Mrs. Leach fixed a special dinner that day and invited the hands up. But she never went all out decking the halls,” he said, taking the term she’d used with such glee.
“Of course not everyone does go to such lengths to make a home festive,” she said. “Didn’t your parents celebrate the holiday at all?”
He shrugged and handed her what looked to be a glass horse’s head with twisted wire halter and reins. One thing he never talked about was his past, though he was tempted to share a bit of his with Ellie. Was that what she meant by getting together and sharing memories?
“Wouldn’t know if my folks did or didn’t.” Though he imagined his father followed the holiday tradition to the letter with his legitimate family in England. “See, I was raised in an orphanage and never knew my parents.”
“You didn’t have any relatives to go to?” she asked as she hung the ornament on the tree.
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