The 12 Brides of Summer Novella Collection #3

by Margaret Brownley

  Then he was moving, running toward her.

  The large, brawny man charged at Lucy like a raging bull. She froze.

  Before she could think or move, her gaze shifted up and over his head to the tree, big enough to flatten half-a-dozen cable cars on the streets of Chicago. The tree swayed then, almost in slow motion, began to fall—directly toward her. A scream bubbled up from her chest, only to cut off abruptly as the lumberjack slammed into her. The impact knocked the breath from her, but she felt them rolling, everything a hazy blur as her straw hat was ripped away, and twigs jerked pins from her hair.

  Her crazy, tilting world stopped, and she found herself on the forest floor, the lumberjack’s broad frame hunched over her, sheltering her. She reached to push him away, but froze, when over his shoulder, she caught a glimpse of the monster tree hurtling toward earth. She whimpered, squeezed her eyes shut, and tucked her face against the roughness of the man’s work shirt.

  Please, God, don’t let me die.

  A mighty shudder shook the ground.

  Lucy didn’t move; she barely even let herself breathe. Everything slammed into her stunned brain at once. The fact that she was alive. The utter stillness of the man who’d protected her with his life. The quiet of the forest. No sound. Nothing. Not a leaf stirred, no birds chirped, not even a cricket could be heard.

  Then she felt it, or heard it. She wasn’t sure.

  The rapid staccato beat of the lumberjack’s heart where her ear pressed against his broad chest. She listened as the rhythm slowed, keeping time with her own heartbeat’s gradual return to normal. She pulled in a shuddering breath as the truth of what had almost happened struck her full force. Her rescuer stirred, pushed himself up, and gazed down at her. Shadow-filled dark eyes probed hers, then swept her face.

  “Ma’am?” His voice rolled over her, breathless and jagged like the teeth of the crosscut saw he’d tossed aside as he rushed to her rescue. “Are you all right?”

  “I—” Lucy stammered, trying to control the trembling that set in. “I—I think so.”

  Chapter 2

  When tears pooled in her liquid blue eyes, Eli panicked. He pushed himself up from the ground, reached for the woman—not much more than a slip of a girl—and stood her on her feet. She swayed, trembling.

  “What in heaven’s name were you thinking?” He growled, hands anchored on his hips to keep from reaching out to steady her again. If he did, he was afraid she’d dissolve into a puddle of tears at his feet, and then he’d be in a logjam for sure.

  “Annabelle sent me—”

  “You could have been killed.” The more he thought about how close she’d come to getting flattened by that tree, the madder he got. He grabbed her dainty little straw hat off the ground and shoved it at her. “Don’t ever do that again.”

  Her blue eyes flashed fire, and bright pink rushed back into her face which had been pale only moments before. She plopped the hat on her head and shoved her mass of golden curls up under it before crossing her arms and glaring down her pert little nose at him. Or at least it felt like she glared down at him, which was ridiculous since she was a good eight inches shorter than he was. “Rest assured, Mr. Everett, I won’t do it again. I’ll just leave your lunch on the ground and you can fight the ants for it.”

  She whirled, lifted her skirts, and marched away.

  “Eli?” He glanced over his shoulder. Josiah stood near, looking worried, the basket dangling from one hand. “Is she all right?”

  “Yeah. She’s fine.” Eli jerked his slouch hat off, slapped it against his leg, and huffed out a breath. “Maybe that little scare will teach her to be more careful in the woods.”

  “Must be Jack’s cousin from Chicago.” Josiah let out a shrill whistle to call their brothers in for lunch then plopped down on a stump. He dug into the basket, unearthing a thick, juicy-looking roast beef sandwich. “Wasn’t Jack’s uncle supposed to arrive this week and take over as ink slinger?”

  “That’s what they said.” Eli stared after the young woman as she picked her way through the woods, her pink flower-sprigged dress held clear of the forest floor. Nobody had told him Mr. Denson’s daughter was so pretty or that she’d be helping out at the camp kitchen.

  Josiah swallowed a bite of his sandwich and nodded in the direction Miss Denson had gone. “You gonna eat your lunch or go tell her she’s headed in the wrong direction?”

  Eli scowled, slapped his hat on his head, and stomped off after her. The sooner he got her out of the woods and back with Annabelle and Maggie, the sooner he could get his mind back on his work.

  As he drew near, she turned, her brow wrinkled in confusion. “I seem to be. . .”

  “Lost?” he growled.

  “Not exactly lost. Just turned around a bit.” A pale pink blush swept over her cheeks, like the gentle sweep of a summer breeze. “If you could just point me in the right direction.”

  “I’ll do better than that. The skid road’s this way.” Eli gestured toward the road and let her precede him. She hadn’t gone three steps before she stumbled over an exposed root. Grabbing her elbow, he kept her upright.

  She threw him a grateful glance. “Thank you, Mr. Everett.”

  “Name’s Eli. We don’t stand on ceremony around here.” Eli didn’t bother to ask how she knew who he was. He figured Annabelle had filled her in on every man who worked for Sipsey Creek Lumber and Logging. “You’re Miss Denson, aren’t you?”

  She nodded. “I didn’t realize you and your brother were so far away when I volunteered to deliver your lunch. It sounded as if you were right over the ridge from the road.”

  “Sound carries out here in the woods.”

  “I realize that now.”

  Finally, they arrived at the log road, a long swath weaving its way through the pine forest toward base camp. Miss Denson glanced right then left, her brow puckered in a frown. “Which way—”

  Eli motioned left and started that way.

  Lucy hurried to keep up with Eli Everett’s long-legged stride. “I’m sorry for taking you away from your work.”

  “It’s all right.” He shrugged.

  She was sorry, but glad he’d taken it upon himself to show her the way back. She’d been so focused on following the sound of the saw she hadn’t really paid attention to her surroundings, and one tree looked much the same as another.

  The sound of jingling harnesses reached them, and just around the next bend, she spotted Maggie and Annabelle headed toward them in the wagon they’d driven out to the woods to feed the men. Maggie waved and pulled the wagon to a halt, a look of relief on her face. “Oh, there you are, Lucy. We were getting worried.”

  Annabelle’s gaze swept her from head to toe then shifted to Eli, one eyebrow lifted in question. Lucy glanced at her dirt-smudged dress, tsking at a rip in the hem. If her clothes were any indication, she must look a sight. She lifted one hand and made sure her hair was still restrained under her hat. Unless she missed her guess, she’d lost some of her pins, but she couldn’t very well repin her hair in front of Mr. Everett.

  “I had a bit of an accident. I arrived just as the Everetts—Eli and his brother—finished cutting down a tree.”

  Annabelle and Maggie gasped in unison. “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  “She almost got killed,” Eli growled.

  Lucy sighed. “But I didn’t. You made sure of that.”

  “Thank goodness you weren’t hurt.” Maggie shook her head, looking at Lucy like she should’ve had more sense than to walk up on two men felling a tree. Well, she’d learned her lesson. She wouldn’t do it again. Ever. She eyed her ruined dress, confident she’d avoid the woods completely in the future.

  Maggie scooted over on the wagon seat. “Well, we’d better get back to the kitchen. Supper will be here before you know it. And Annabelle isn’t feeling well.”

  For the first time, Lucy noticed how pale her cousin looked. “Annabelle?”

  Her cousin smile
d wanly and pressed a hand to her midriff. “I’m fine. Just a little nauseated.”

  Eli handed Lucy into the wagon and tipped his hat. A faint grin played with the edges of his mouth. “Miss Denson, my ma used to ring a cowbell when she brought meals to the woods. We’d all come running like a herd of cattle when we heard Ma’s bell. Worked like a charm every time.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Everett.” Lucy inclined her head and smoothed her skirt. “A herd of cattle. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Long strides took Eli back to where Josiah, Caleb, and Gideon were just finishing up their lunch. Josiah waved him over and handed him a sandwich. “Here. I saved you some. Did you get little Miss Priss back to safety?”

  Eli chuckled at Josiah’s description of the prim and proper Miss Denson. At least she’d been prim and proper before a tree had almost pinned her to the ground. But even the ripped and torn dress, her smudged face, and disheveled hair hadn’t robbed her of her cultured look. “Don’t be too hard on her. She’s from the city. She couldn’t have known how dangerous it could be out here.”

  “Is she pretty?” Caleb wiped his mouth on his sleeve and grinned.

  Gideon snorted. “Even if she was, she wouldn’t look twice at you, you big lug.”

  “Better me than you, that’s for sure.”

  Eli ignored their banter and dug around in the basket Lucy—Miss Denson—had left with them. He frowned when he unearthed a pinecone. Must have fallen in the basket when the tree toppled from the sky. He tossed it to the side, then grabbed a sandwich and took a bite of the savory roast beef sandwiched between two thick slices of bread.

  Good, almost as tender as his mother’s. He wondered if she’d had a hand in cooking today’s meal. His ma missed being able to cook for the lumber crews, but after arthritis set in, her fingers were too drawn and stiff to do much cooking, other than for herself. All she’d ever known was cooking. They’d travelled all over the south, from lumber camp to lumber camp, his pa logging, his ma working in more camp kitchens than a body could count. He and his brothers had cut their teeth on saw blades and loblolly pines.

  “So, what do you think, big brother?” Caleb pressed.

  “About what?”

  “About Miss Denson. Is she pretty?”

  Eli scowled. Oh, she was pretty all right, but she didn’t seem to be the type to be interested in a lumberjack. “I don’t think we’ll be seeing much more of Miss Denson. She’s a city girl through and through.”

  Josiah stabbed a finger at the remaining sandwich. “You gonna eat that?”

  “Naw. Go ahead. But you’d better be quick. We’ve got work to do.”

  Within minutes, they finished their meal and packed up the basket, set it aside and went back to work. The crew set about stripping the limbs on one side of the tree from top to bottom, then used log rollers to roll the heavy tree over to get to the other side.

  Eli grabbed his axe and started swinging at the smaller limbs, and that’s when he saw it; a soft, gauzy crocheted shawl nestled on the forest floor. Blue. Like her eyes. He reached for the flimsy material and a vision of Lucy Denson crushed beneath the tree slammed into him. How close she’d come to death. How close they’d both come when he rushed to save her.

  He tucked the shawl inside his shirt, the cotton warm against his skin. As he picked up his axe, he took a deep breath and released it slowly, closed his eyes, bowed his head, and offered up a prayer of thankfulness that they’d both been spared.

  Chapter 3

  But I can’t.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Lucy.” Jack’s wife rushed about the outdoor summer kitchen, her brow wrinkled. “With Annabelle sick, I wasn’t thinking about your accident. Are you feeling all right?”

  “I’m fine. Really.” Lucy ducked her head, wishing Maggie would just forget about her near accident. “It’s just that I don’t know how to fry chicken.”

  Maggie shoved a bowl of potatoes into her hands. “Well, just peel these potatoes, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

  Lucy set to work, glad of something to do to help. The creak of Mrs. Everett’s rocking chair set a frenetic pace as she rocked Maggie’s baby, along with the clatter of pots and pans as Maggie prepared supper for the logging crews.

  “I’m sorry, child, I should have warned you to be careful.” Mrs. Everett’s lined face filled with worry. “The woods can be dangerous when the fallers are around.”

  “It’s not your fault, Mrs. Everett.” Lucy dipped her head, face flaming. “Any idiot should have known better.”

  The rocking chair stopped, and a storm cloud gathered on the elderly woman’s brow. “Did my son say that?”

  “No ma’am.” Eli Everett hadn’t called her an idiot, but he might as well have. She’d seen the look in his eyes, the one that told her he thought she was a brainless twit who wouldn’t know how to get out of the rain—or out of the way of a falling tree.

  Mrs. Everett hefted Maggie’s colicky baby higher on her shoulder and started rocking again, her foot tilting the rocker back and forth with dizzying speed. “He’d better be glad. I might be old and decrepit, but I’d take a stick to that boy if he said such a thing to a lady.”

  Lucy ducked her head, hiding a smile. The idea of the tiny, white-haired woman taking a switch to her grown son seemed ludicrous, but the fierce glare in her eyes left no doubt she knew how to give all four of her boys a tongue-lashing they’d never forget if they disobeyed her.

  Maggie rushed to the stove and opened the damper. “Oh no, look at the time. The men will be here soon, and I haven’t even cut up the chickens yet. It’ll take forever to fry it all.”

  “Maggie, why don’t you make chicken stew or dumplings? It would be faster and would fill those men up in a hurry.”

  Maggie scrunched up her nose. “Frying chicken for fifteen men was not my idea. But it’s Samuel’s favorite, and today’s their anniversary, so Annabelle wanted fried chicken tonight.”

  Mrs. Everett grunted. “Just wait until she has two hundred to cook for. She’ll change her tune right quick.”

  Two hundred men? The very thought made Lucy queasy. She peeled faster, wishing she could do more to help, but the sight of raw chicken turned her stomach. She finished the potatoes, wiped her hands, and took a deep breath. Poor Maggie looked as flustered as a swarm of bees after a honeysuckle vine. “Maggie, what else can I do?”

  Maggie spared her a glance as she cut up a chicken. “Mix up a batch of cornbread. Use that washtub over there, and triple whatever you’re used to making. Hopefully, it’ll be enough.”

  Cornbread. It couldn’t be that hard, could it? Lucy grabbed the washtub and searched for the cornmeal. That much she knew.

  Mama had always shooed her out whenever she’d ventured into the kitchen, saying her daughter’s presence made her nervous. Instead, Lucy had turned her talents toward keeping the house spotless and volunteering on various committees at church. She had a knack for decorating, so she’d been quite busy since she’d finished school. At least until her father had plucked them up and moved them to the backwoods of Mississippi. From the looks of the rough housing the lumberjacks lived in and the simple clapboard church, she didn’t expect to find many opportunities to pretty things up around here. She plopped the cornmeal beside the washtub and glanced around. What now?

  Her panicked gaze met Mrs. Everett’s, and without missing a beat, the elderly woman nodded at a tub on the shelf above her head. “Lucy, there’s the lard, right up there. Maggie, where are the eggs?”

  And just like that, Mrs. Everett gently guided Lucy through the ingredients needed to mix up the cornbread. Lucy shared a smile with the elderly woman and stirred the grainy mixture, pleased with her efforts. Maybe she could learn to cook after all.

  The baby started fussing then let out a howl. Maggie groaned. “Not now, Aaron. Mama’s busy.”

  Mrs. Everett rocked harder, trying to appease the crying child. But to no avail. He just cried harder. “It’s no use, Maggie. You might as well go feed
him. He’s not going to hush until you do.”

  Maggie looked around the disaster of a kitchen. “But—”

  “Go on. Lucy and I can finish up here.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Maggie clutched her baby and headed toward the cabin Jack had built at the edge of the clearing, when he’d been courting Maggie almost two years ago.

  Lucy stared at the mound of raw chicken, wondering how she’d manage. Gingerly, she reached for a piece of chicken, knowing it wasn’t going to cook itself.

  “Never you mind about frying chicken, Lucy. Boil it and make dumplings.”

  Relieved to have someone else in charge, Lucy did as she was told. Soon the chicken was boiling in the water meant for the potatoes. “Now what?”

  Mrs. Everett nodded toward the stove. “Turn the damper down and let that grease cool a bit. Fried potatoes go a long way toward filling up a bunch of hungry men.” She flexed her arthritic fingers. “I wish I could help, but these stiff hands can barely hold a knife anymore. It’s a pitiful thing to be old and useless.”

  “That’s all right, Mrs. Everett. You’ve been more help than you know.”

  “Might as well call me Ma. Everybody does.” Mrs. Everett rocked and kept Lucy busy for the next hour.

  “Check on the cornbread.”

  “How’s the chicken?”

  “Stir those peas.”

  “Don’t forget the potatoes.”

  “Oh no, the potatoes.” Lucy grabbed a spatula and a dishcloth. She moaned. “They’re sticking.”

  “They’ll be fine. Close that damper. Yes, that one. Put a little water in the pan and put a lid on. In a few minutes, they’ll be fine. And on the next batch, toss ’em with a little flour. That’ll keep ’em from sticking.”