by Diane Darcy
“That’s none of your business, is it?”
“Just making conversation.”
Merrill and Willie walked by with a bale. “You can take your conversation and your curiosity and stow it. That woman’s a saint, and that’s all you need to know,” sneered Merrill as they threw their bale into the back.
Willie smiled at him. “Where you from anyway?”
John threw Willie a look of censor. “People’s business is their own, unless they care to share it. You know that, Willie.”
“He started it, asking about the widow.”
Richard realized no one had asked him any personal questions all morning, but now that he looked around, all within earshot were clearly interested. It wasn’t as if he minded answering questions, but he could hardly tell them he was from this area over a hundred years from now. He thought about the recent trip he’d taken to Boston on business. “I’ve spent some time in Boston.”
Willie grinned. “So, you’re a city boy. Thought so. You talk kind of funny.”
A young cowboy, James, chimed in. “I went to Houston once.”
Another cowboy groaned. “We don’t want to hear about it again.”
Willie’s grin widened. “I do.”
Tex, a few years older than Willie but tall and with a lot more muscle, hauled an armful of hay over to Richard’s fast-growing pile. “What I want to know is do you tie rope like a real man, hard and fast, or like a Nancy boy, by simply wrapping it around the saddle horn?”
The last thing Richard wanted to tell them was that he didn’t know how to do either. “Uh--”
Dave, a shorter, stocky cowboy joined them. “Don’t listen to him. He’s full of crap. I can rope better than him any day of the week. Why, out in Montana I once roped a steer in a snow storm with one hand tied behind my back. And I can tell you this much, I didn’t need no rope tied to my saddle to help me out none.”
Tex sneered. “You’re so full of it!” He turned back to Richard. “Boy, you ever brand cattle?”
Again, Richard didn’t want to remind them that he was incompetent but willing to learn, but decided they’d find out sooner or later anyway. “To tell you the truth, I don’t have much experience--”
Dave snorted. “I busted a horse back in Abilene that near about killed me dead. Boy, you ever broke a horse?”
Richard shook his head. “I really don’t have much experience there, either.”
Merrill smirked. “You’re pretty useless, ain’t ya? You don’t rope cattle, you don’t brand cattle, and you can’t break a horse. You’re not even good at haying. So what are you good at?”
Richard could feel his anger building. He was getting sick of this guy razzing him all the time. He’d been pulling his weight today as well as anyone, and planned to do so every day. “I’m a builder by trade, not a cowboy. But I’m anxious to learn.”
Willie gave him an interested look. “Any pretty girls in Boston? Is that where you met your wife?”
“Your wife as pretty as you?” Merrill sneered.
James grinned. “I saw his wife. She is somethin’ to look at.”
“Do you have any kids?” asked Willie.
Richard nodded. “Two. A boy and a girl.”
Willie looked hopeful. “How old is your daughter?”
“Both my kids are twelve. They’re twins.”
Willie shook his head. “Too bad. Seems like girls around here are too young, or married.”
James spoke up. “So, you never said. Did you meet your wife in Boston? How’d you meet?”
Richard thought about what to say. Telling them about his stint as a male model, even if it had only lasted for one day, wasn’t going to happen. He could just imagine their reaction. “Melissa and I met while I was working. The job didn’t work out, but I got the girl.” Richard decided that he’d change the subject. “So what other kind of work do you do around here? I hadn’t expected to be gathering hay today.”
“There’s one thing you need to learn about ranching. Ranchers are farmers too, and anything that needs doing, we do,” said John.
Merrill’s lip curled. “You think you’re too good to do the work?”
“I don’t remember saying that. In fact, I don’t remember asking your opinion on the subject, either.”
Merrill strode forward. “I don’t like the way you said that, pretty boy.”
Richard felt steam gathering in his head. “I suggest you back off.”
“You just think you have it made here, don’t you? You just waltz right in here and snap up a job. We don’t need you here and we don’t want you here, either.”
“What is your problem?” asked Richard.
Willie looked between the two of them, excitement gleaming in his eyes. “He’s just mad because you’ve got yourself a wife. His sweetheart ditched him not too long ago. He was too poor for her tastes. She married a city boy like yourself. A rich one.”
Merrill turned on Willie. “Just shut up! He doesn’t need to know my business!”
Richard stepped forward. “Look, I’m really sorry if--”
Merrill punched him hard in the mouth.
Pain exploded and Richard staggered, barely keeping his balance. He wiped his mouth with the back of a shaky hand and stared at the blood streaking his glove. Anger welled up, but he tamped it down. He’d managed men long enough to know fighting didn’t solve anything and he had no intention of losing his job.
“You want to tell me what that was for?”
Merrill spit at Richard’s feet, then lunged.
Richard ducked a blow. Anger, strong and virulent ripped through him. He’d been taking Merrill’s crap all day and, job or no job, he’d had it.
He returned the punch and his fist connected with Merrill’s nose, snapping his head back.
Richard dodged the next blow, threw off his gloves, and slugged his right fist into Merrill’s gut. Hard.
Merrill grunted, but recovered quickly and slammed a fist into Richard’s jaw.
Numb to the pain, heart pumping hard, Richard returned with two short blows to the ribs, then one to the stomach.
Merrill bent over, staggered back a few paces, then rushed head-first and cannoned into Richard’s middle.
The air whooshed out of Richard’s lungs and they both went down.
The cowboys gathered around them jumped back to get out to the way, and Richard heard a few of them betting on the outcome.
Richard flinched as a blow hit him hard in the kidneys. He punched, connected with Merrill’s throat, and had to twist to avoid a knee to the groin.
Merrill grabbed Richard’s hair and snapped his head back. Richard twisted as Merrill tried to bite him on the arm. He shoved an elbow into Merrill’s chest.
Slugging, thrashing and kicking, it took about five minutes, but finally they wore themselves out.
They lay in the dirt, looked at each other, and started to laugh.
All seven cowboys stood in a circle around them.
John shook his head. “Well, did you both work it out of your systems? Get up, and get back to work.”
A lanky redhead by the name of Joe grinned and winked.
Everyone turned and wandered away.
Richard and Merrill both stood. Breathing hard, they eyed each other. Merrill had blood dripping from his nose.
One of Richard’s eyes was already swelling shut, and the corner of his mouth burned.
Richard crossed his arms across his chest. “So, what’s it going to be?”
Merrill stared, eyed Richard up and down, then finally, he stuck out his hand.
Richard took it and they shook.
Merrill rubbed his jaw. “That’s a strong right hook you got there.”
Richard nodded and flexed his sore fingers. “Been swinging a hammer for years. Your left jab packs a lot of beef behind it.”
Merrill nodded. “Been punching cows for a lot of years.”
They smiled.
Richard flinched as the smile pulled at h
is freshly cut mouth.
Merrill laughed and slapped his back.
Richard turned to get back to work. “Just don’t call me pretty boy again.”
“How about pretty smart boy?”
“No.”
“Pretty hard worker?”
Richard felt a glow of warmth at that. “Maybe. I’ll let you know.”
Merrill laughed. “You do that. Boy.” This time the name had no sting to it.
Richard laughed. It was turning out to be a good day.
* * *
Melissa walked down the boardwalk and tried not to give into the tears that threatened to fall.
No one was hiring. No one.
All her hard work, her years of university and practical experience meant nothing to these people.
The mercantile proprietor was into nepotism, the hotel already had a receptionist and a maid, and the ice store owner had childishly refused to even grant her an interview.
Everything had gone downhill from there. She’d tried for a job at the citrus packing plant, the bakery, the insurance office, and just about every storefront she’d passed.
Everywhere respectable anyway. Regardless, she’d been propositioned three times, laughed at, stared at, sneered at, ridiculed and approached by a suffragist.
She just wanted to go home. Not to the ranch, to that hovel, but to her real home. Her real job.
Shoulders drooping, and hunger once more eating at her insides, she glanced up and down the dusty street. It wasn’t as if she were being picky. At this point she was willing to take any job. Do anything. She noticed the prostitutes, lounging outside the saloon. Well, almost anything.
She finally came to a stop outside the restaurant; her last hope. Reluctant to go inside, and face rejection once more, she loitered for a moment.
A man stared at her from across the street. He was one who’d propositioned her earlier and it spooked her. She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin and pushed open the door.
There were a couple of men eating lunch, cowboys tucking into their food, their conversation soft. They didn’t even look up when she entered.
A big, pot-bellied, husky man, about six-foot tall, approached her, and she was relieved to see he was relatively clean. She could work for this man. “Can I help you?”
Melissa tried a smile. “I’m looking for a job.”
Interest sparked in the man’s gaze. “Can you cook?”
She thought about lying, opened her mouth to do so, but realized her lack of culinary skill would quickly be revealed. “I can learn.”
The man shook his head. “I need a good cook. Sorry.”
“I could learn really fast,” her voice broke, and she swallowed.
Genuine sympathy filled the man’s eyes.
It gave her hope.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry. But I can’t hire a cook that can’t cook.” His voice was gentle, his eyes sympathetic.
The rejection, the sympathy, brought tears to her eyes and she quickly looked down. She couldn’t even qualify for a menial labor job. She willed the tears back and met his gaze. “If I learn to cook, then would you be interested?”
He looked thoughtful, doubtful. “If there’s still an opening. Then yes.”
“Can I ask what a situation like this would pay?”
“Breakfast, lunch and dinner, six days a week, fifteen dollars a month. Plus meals.”
Melissa was horrified, but tried to hide it. Fifteen dollars a month? She swallowed and nodded.
The man gestured to one of the chairs. “Why don’t you sit down?”
She sat, hopeful, and watched him walk into the back room. Maybe he had something else in mind? She could certainly clear tables or seat patrons. She’d even wash dishes if she had to.
A moment later he came back with a plate of food which he set before her. “Here, eat this before you blow away.”
“I can’t pay you.” Deeply mortified, she could feel heat burn into her cheeks.
He smiled and winked. “On the house.”
Melissa was reluctant to take his charity. But this was the first person she’d met in this century who’d been kind to her and she was grateful. “Thank you.”
“Just leave the plate there when you’re done.”
She smiled and nodded.
He headed toward the kitchen again.
She quickly ate the delicious food: a pork chop and some green beans. The two rolls she slipped inside a pocket to save for the kids. She avoided eye-contact with the other diners as she slunk from the room.
When she stepped outside, she noticed the saloon once more. Didn’t they used to pay women to dance with the cowboys? She considered it for a moment, seriously considered it, but at the thought of the dirty smelly men she shook her head. Besides being humiliated, she’d be dead. Richard would kill her.
Perhaps she should simply go to Los Angeles and get a job for the duration? She quickly rejected the idea. She needed to stay in the area in order to get back home. She wouldn’t risk missing that for anything.
She headed for the park and, when she reached her destination, spotted the kids almost immediately.
They ran over, Jeremy reaching her first. “Hi, Mom.”
She handed him a roll, then handed Jessica one as she ran up.
Jessica grinned. “Thanks. We’ve already had some food, but these look good.”
At Melissa’s questioning gaze, Jessica pointed to a couple of kids about their age, watching from a distance. “Sally and Daniel shared their lunch with us.”
Jeremy smiled. “We’ve been playing Annie-I-Over. It’s a little lame but they seem to like it. I guess it’s kind of fun.”
Melissa nodded. “Time to go now.”
They waved at the kids and fell into step beside her. Jeremy shot her a questioning glance. “Did you get a job?”
With food inside her, Melissa suddenly felt more optimistic. She nodded. “Almost.”
Jeremy shot her a curious glance. “How do you almost get a job?”
Melissa shrugged. “I just need to learn to cook first.”
Both kids started to laugh.
Chapter Ten
Smoke curled from the stove top, choking Melissa and burning her eyes. She tried to set the metal-plate-thingie back over its hole, tried to get it properly positioned, but it kept tipping. “Hot, hot, hot!” She dropped the metal plate once again as the heat burned clear through the towel she held.
She sucked on the base of her index finger. With an exclamation of dismay, she grabbed the towel again and moved the potatoes off their burner and onto the side warmer.
Disheartened, she gazed at the lard-soaked chunks, the blackened edges completely inedible. The aroma was unappetizing. Already teary-eyed from the smoke, she considered just sitting down to have a good cry.
The door opened behind her. “Whoa, what’s going on? Are you cooking?” Richard asked, his voice incredulous.
Melissa closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and almost choked on the smoke. She turned to face him and followed his wide-eyed gaze to the table top, where her aborted attempt at biscuit making, mixed with the potato peelings, littered the table.
The astonishment in Richard’s expression irritated, big time. She thought of all the salads she’d made in her lifetime. “I’ve cooked. It’s not like I haven’t cooked before.”
Richard glanced up from the mess, opened the door wide, moved her aside, plucked a piece of metal from the top of the stove that Melissa had failed to notice, and fixed it over the hole. Within seconds, the smoke quit swirling out of the stove top.
Richard turned to face her, gripping her arms. “Honey, this is so great. I didn’t expect you to make dinner. What a wonderful surprise.”
She eyed him suspiciously, but he seemed sincere. Moving away, she didn’t tell him about her ulterior motive. She just lifted the bowl of eggs off the shelf.
Richard glanced up to the loft. “Where are the kids?”
Melissa shrugged.
“Outside somewhere. I haven’t seen them for a couple of hours.”
Again, he looked at the unholy mess on the table.
Anxious to turn his gaze elsewhere, she searched for something to talk about. “So, what did you do for your daily dollar today?”
Richard grinned. “Cut and hauled hay.”
“What, no horse to--” Melissa got a good look at his face, and her mouth fell open. “Have you been fighting?”
Richard grinned. “Naw. Just fooling around.”
“Oh, good grief.” Melissa rolled her eyes and turned away. She started cleaning the mess off the table, scraping flour and peelings into a big bowl with her hands before wiping and rewiping the table with a wet cloth.
Richard unwrapped the bacon and picked up the knife. “Did you work in the garden today?”
Melissa shook her head. “No.”
“Melissa, you need to work in the garden. They specifically asked you to.”
She heard some of the anger from their morning fight coming back and narrowed her eyes. “I had things to do.”
Richard paused and glanced around the cabin. “Like what?” He sounded genuinely curious.
“Things.” She finished wiping the table, set four plates out, and scraped the burnt potatoes into a bowl. She set it on the table, and added butter and jam and the loaf of bread that had mysteriously appeared on their doorstep, along with jeans for Jeremy. She watched Richard finish slicing the meat.
He laid six large slices in a pan and moved back.
She put a dollop of lard in another pan and let it melt. Yuck. She tried an egg, but cracked it too hard and had to pick out pieces of broken shell.
Richard picked up the bowl of eggs. “Why don’t you take a break. I’ll finish this.”
Melissa shook her head. “No, I want to learn.”
“Really? Lissa, I’m proud of you. It’ll be good for you to learn something new while you’re here. It’ll keep you out of trouble,” he winked at her.
She snorted, watching as he moved the pan off to the side and away from most of the heat, expertly cracking the rest of the eggs. He turned a slice of bacon.
“Can I turn the rest?”
Richard grinned. “Sure.”
Melissa turned the slices, slopping some grease, but getting the job done.