Looking unusually meek under her father’s stern glance, Annie brought a large cast-iron skillet to the stove that brimmed with thick white gravy.
Caleb jumped up and reached for the skillet, sloshing coffee on his boots. “Let me help you.”
“I have it,” she said, turning the skillet from his reach. “No need to go spilling your coffee on account of this gravy.”
Caleb watched her deftly handle the heavy skillet and center it on the small stove top.
“Smells mighty good, ma’am,” he said, hoping he wasn’t as pushy as his charges at the livery had been. He took his seat and caught a quiet laugh coming from behind Whitaker’s raised tin mug.
Annie straightened and planted her small hands on her hips, but this time her eyes held a friendly glint, unlike the double-edged sword he’d met yesterday morning.
“Do you like sausage gravy, Caleb?” A slight blush colored her cheeks at the use of his name. It made her look even prettier, if that was possible.
“I surely do. It’s been a while since I had such fine cooking.”
The remark raised her hand to her brow. She returned to the sideboard, set out three plates with biscuits and forks, then brought a ladle to the stove and stirred the gravy. “Won’t be but a minute now,” she said.
After serving, Annie took the only chair left—next to Caleb.
“Daddy, don’t you think a prayer is in order, seeing as how we all have a place to live and food to eat?”
Caleb choked on the bite already in his mouth.
Annie shot a worried look his way. “You all right?”
He nodded, coughed a couple times and jerked beneath Whitaker’s hearty back slap.
“You’re not against praying are you, son?” The laughter in his voice assured Caleb that Whitaker was jesting.
“No, sir. Not at all.” He pulled a bandanna from his hip pocket and wiped his mouth.
“Then why don’t you do the honors?”
Caleb stared at the man. Did he see preacher written across Caleb’s forehead?
Whitaker raised his silvery brows.
“Yes, sir,” Caleb said. “Be happy to.”
Annie dipped her head and folded her hands. Her father closed his eyes.
Caleb feared his heart would stop any moment and the others would be praying over his dead body instead of the biscuits and gravy. It had been a while since he’d offered up a prayer like this. He sucked in a deep breath and clamped his eyes shut.
“Lord...thank You.” A familiar warmth invaded his chest as he forced his thoughts toward gratitude. “Thank You for this fine cooking and for the Whitakers’ hospitality. And thank You for giving us all a roof over our heads and—” his voice bottomed out to a near whisper “—and for sending Your son, Jesus. Amen.”
He opened his eyes to Annie staring at him as if he’d transformed right in front of her.
Which, in a way, he guessed he had.
“Amen to that, son,” her father said. “Amen to that.”
Caleb couldn’t tear his eyes from Annie’s, and his throat tightened at the tenderness he saw there. Something he’d never seen in Mollie Sullivan.
* * *
Annie paid little attention as she washed the skillet. Her mind kept replaying Caleb Hutton’s prayer, and each time it stirred something in her that she shouldn’t be feeling.
Not for a man she knew nothing about.
She peeked at him seated by the stove, scraping the last bit of gravy from his plate. There was more to this cowboy than he cared to let on, and she was determined to find out what it was. She dried her hands on her apron as her father hurried past without a word and out the back door, and Martha Bobbins rushed in beneath the singing bell.
“Good morning to you.”
Annie shook her head at the woman’s perpetual good nature, stuffed a handful of dried apples in her skirt pocket for later and greeted Martha at the front counter.
“You’re here early.” Annie noted how the crisp fall air had rouged Martha’s cheeks, brightening her eyes to perfectly match the blue floral calico she wore.
“Martha, may I introduce you to Caleb Hutton?”
He stood with his hat in one hand and an empty plate in the other. “Ma’am.” He nodded.
“Caleb, this is Martha Bobbins, our dressmaker in town and a good friend.”
“Nice to meet you, Caleb.” She scanned the store for its older proprietor, and her shoulders dropped the tiniest bit when she failed to find him.
“He’s out back,” Annie whispered with a conspiratorial grin.
The revelation brought a glow to Martha’s already ruddy face, and she began an urgent search through her reticule. “I know my list is in here somewhere,” she said.
Caleb slid his plate into the dishpan and retrieved his cup from the stove, where he stood tall and mysterious, sipping his coffee.
Annie’s face warmed as she caught his eye, but she forced her thoughts to Martha’s visit, pulled a bundle of heavy canvas from the shelves and unrolled a double length across the counter.
“Oh, no, child. I need lace. And buttons for Hannah’s wedding dress.”
“Yes, and I have some beautiful pearl buttons I’m sure you’ll want. But before I fill your order, I have one of my own. I’m glad you came by.”
Martha looked up, delight in her eyes.
“See the opening through the back wall, behind the stove? Daddy and I just moved in back there, and we need a curtain to draw during the day. I thought that might be an easy task for you with your sewing machine. Nothing fancy, just straight seams.”
Martha patted Annie’s hand. “Good for you. About time that old fox showed a little generosity.” She picked up the cloth, giving Annie a chance to turn away and hide the hot blood that warmed her cheeks. Fox indeed. Wolf was more like it.
Caleb must have noticed her reaction for a questioning frown shadowed his face.
“A nice print would be more attractive, but this heavy canvas will do,” Martha said. “I’ll measure the opening and get started on it for you later today. Will that be soon enough?”
“Perfect,” Annie said.
Martha moved toward the doorway just as Annie’s father appeared.
“Oh, Daniel, dear. I’m so glad to see you.” Martha seemed to coo. “Annie tells me you need a privacy curtain here for your new living quarters.”
He coughed heartily, and Martha joined him in the back room as if she’d been invited.
Though she couldn’t see him, Annie knew exactly how her father looked with his brows dipped to the bridge of his nose and his chin tucked in his chest.
“I know I have a tape measure in here somewhere,” Martha said. “Yes, here it is. Daniel, hold this end for me while I take a measurement.”
Caleb’s boots sounded against the wood floor and he stopped at the counter. Annie busied herself refolding the fabric, trying to ignore his strong presence. She failed miserably and looked up into dark, worried eyes.
“Is your landlord less than a generous man?”
The question came low, for her ears only, and she sensed that Caleb’s penetrating gaze would eventually pull the truth from her.
“Yes.” She raised her chin, determined to hold her own against the likes of Jedediah Cooper. “But he has seen the error of his ways.”
A question slid across Caleb’s face, but the bell rang, and a woman with two children entered. The little girl’s eyes lit immediately on the licorice jar on the counter, and the boy, perhaps twelve, assumed a grown-up air until he recognized Caleb.
“Springer Smith.” Caleb broke into a broad grin, so unlike his earlier worried expression that it took Annie by surprise.
The boy stuck out a hand and pulled off his floppy hat with the other. “Mr....”
“Hutton,” Caleb said, gripping the boy’s proffered hand. “Caleb Hutton.” He looked to the mother. “Mrs. Smith? Your son and I met a couple of evenings ago at the river.”
Her concern vanished as she relaxed and cast a scolding eye at her son. “Yes, I do remember Ben mentioning a man camping downstream with his horses.”
Caleb’s demeanor warmed as he clasped the woman’s hand with the slightest bow. “Good day, ma’am. I am sure you will find what you need here at the Whitaker’s.”
With that he disappeared through the door, leaving Annie marveling at his transformation.
More curious than ever, she wanted to follow the perplexing man and demand that he tell her who and what he was, but a customer awaited her.
Gathering her thoughts, she turned to the woman with a smile.
“What can I get for you?”
The woman pushed her bonnet back and loosened her cloak. “Have you heard of any rooms or cabins to rent?” Her bright cheeks betrayed a brisk walk, and from the sand that stuck to the girl’s buttoned shoes, Annie guessed they were living at the river like so many people had during the summer. Like Caleb had?
“I’m Annie Whitaker.” She came from behind the counter.
The woman extended her cold hand. “Nice to meet you. We’re the Smiths. I’m Louisa, this is Emmy and that’s Ben, or Springer, as he prefers, over there eyeing your leather goods.”
“You have a lovely family, Louisa.” Annie reached for the licorice jar and lowered her voice. “May I offer a welcome-to-town gift to the children?”
Louisa’s lips thinned but quickly curved at Emmy’s beseeching expression. “All right, but only one between them, please.”
Overhearing the offer, Springer volunteered to divide the black whip in half. Annie held the jar toward him, and when he reached for a candy she playfully pulled it back. His startled eyes fastened on hers.
“If you break it in half, then your sister gets first choice.”
He reached again, threw a glance at Emmy and snapped the candy in two. “You get to pick,” he said, kneeling before his sibling.
Thrilled at getting to choose first, the child pulled the longest piece from her brother’s fingers. “Thank you, Springer,” she said, and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.
“Thank Miss Whitaker, too, children,” Louisa said with a laugh.
Springer nodded, grinning around the piece already in his mouth. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“My pleasure.” Annie bent toward Emmy. “I’m a younger sister, too, so I know we sometimes get the short end of the deal.”
Emmy wrinkled her blond brow. “But I took the long one.”
Springer laughed and returned to the saddles and horse blankets, and Emmy followed, giggling.
Annie straightened and faced Louisa. “There are so few places to live, but the Turk brothers are cutting timber in the Shadow Mountains this month and hauling logs for cabins. They made a trip last week, hoping to bring a sled full back before snowfall. If you’d like to leave them a note asking for a load, I have paper and pencil here.”
The woman looked longingly at the crates of potatoes and apples and sifted a handful of dried beans through her fingers. “We’re more likely to stay in our tent before we raise a cabin. I was hoping there might be an extra one with all the building I hear going on.”
Annie’s heart squeezed at the thought of keeping a family warm all winter in a tent.
Louisa spun slowly to survey the offerings. “Do you have stoves?”
“We have two ordered, and they should be in next week,” Annie said. “They’re small, not really cookstoves. More like the potbelly we have here in the store. But they’re wonderfully warm, and if you plan it right, you can cook a good meal on one.”
Louisa looked Annie in the eye with a smile. “Anything is an improvement to a campfire.”
“How true.” Annie was relieved to see good humor in the woman’s expression.
“My William is a stonemason, and he’s working for the Fairfax family. With the high demand for housing, he hasn’t a moment to spare for cutting and fitting stones for our own home this winter. We’ll just have to make do as best we can.”
By the time the Smiths left with their purchases and an order for a few specialty items, Martha and Annie’s father sat together near the stove. Relaxed and laughing, her father didn’t see Annie studying him from behind the counter she pretended to dust.
She’d been right about them. They needed each other.
And what did she need?
Caleb Hutton’s gentle voice settled on her heart like the yellow leaves that fell along the river.
That was what she needed. The river.
Her father and Martha could mind the store and enjoy a few moments alone.
“Martha, do you mind staying for a bit? I’ve an errand to run, and I hate to leave Daddy alone in case we’re flooded with customers.”
Her father stared, his mouth half-open. Martha rose with distinct pride at being needed. “I’d be happy to, dear.” She fluttered her fingers toward Annie. “You run right along. We’ll be fine.”
Biting the inside of her mouth to keep a grin from breaking free, Annie stole a retreating glance at her father, who sat with one brow arched above a cutting glare.
“You’re not going back—”
“No, Daddy. I promise.” She’d not be visiting the Fremont Saloon ever again. She shivered as if shaking off the notion and saw again Caleb’s questioning look. She tore a strip of brown paper from the large countertop roll and twisted two licorice pieces inside it. Then she escaped out the door before her father could say anything more.
Indian summer in Omaha was hot, muggy and hazy. In Cañon City it was warm, clear and sharp against a brilliant sky.
Last night she’d shivered in her bed, but today, the sun was brassy and warm, melting wintery thoughts and drawing birdsong from the woods. She lifted her face to a breeze, and cottonwood leaves trembled, gossiping as she passed.
A sudden whiff of beans assailed her, and Annie studied a tent cluster huddling in an open space ahead. Someone baked their evening meal with salt pork no doubt, for the aroma nudged her stomach into a whimper even though she wasn’t hungry.
She turned downstream, continuing along the water’s edge, mildly disappointed that the water merely chatted over rocky places. Where was the roaring white water of the mighty Arkansas? Where was the impassable raging river that gouged the Rocky Mountains?
A quick toss of her stockings and a hitch of her skirt, and she could wade right across without getting her knees wet. She paused, rolled the temptation around in her mind, imagining what it would feel like to tell Edna she’d done such a thing.
Childish laughter caught her ear, and she looked upstream. Springer and Emmy ran through the shallows near the tents, giggling and splashing water on each other.
She and Edna had never played like that. Edna had always been so proper, so ladylike, that her attitude goaded Annie to be as different as possible. And look where it had gotten her.
Alone in Kansas Territory—the farthest edge—with her father on the verge of finding companionship. Caleb’s image rose in her mind’s eye and her father’s words slipped in beneath the water’s happy murmur. I believe that boy is honest and good. What did Daddy know about Caleb? He was no boy, that was for sure. Good? Well, his prayer had sounded a chord in her heart that both pleased and disturbed her, making her almost doubt his honesty. She’d keep her own counsel on that until she knew more about the brooding horse handler.
Last night’s dream had only added to the mystery.
But she had a feeling she was going to get to know more about Caleb soon.
A sudden honk and splashing lifted her gaze. Two Canada geese rose from a sandbar where others rested. Oh, th
e down ticking she could make from their soft undersides.
With a cautious glance around, she leaned against a large boulder, stripped off her shoes and stockings and gathered her skirts. The water’s icy caress pulled the breath from her lungs, and dozens of brown black-necked geese rose at her gasping intrusion, honking in protest.
No matter. They would return when she finished gleaning their “dead” feathers, and she’d ask a special blessing on their goslings when she snuggled beneath a new warm cover this winter.
After gathering a meager start on a feather ticking, she waded back through the icy river, clambered up the smooth granite boulder and wiggled her feet into her stockings and shoes.
As she approached Main Street, Jedediah Cooper exited the mercantile. She ducked back into the cross street and pressed against the barbershop wall, hoping he hadn’t spotted her. Her hair would surely give her away. Why hadn’t she worn a hat or scarf?
She shuddered. The saloon owner made her ill. He was not to be trusted, particularly by a woman alone, of that she was certain.
Peeking around the clapboard building’s corner, she watched Cooper walk toward the saloon. Swagger, really, his bowler tipped to one side as if he owned all Cañon City and everyone should be grateful for it.
On her right stood the church building and directly across from it the livery. With a deep breath, she stepped from behind the building and crossed the wide street, praying Jedediah Cooper would not look in her direction as she made her way to talk with Caleb Hutton.
Chapter 7
Henry’s hammer sang on the anvil as Caleb tossed straw into the big mare’s stall. She’d cleaned her hayrack by the time he’d returned from breakfast, and now she lipped through the fresh bedding for stray oats in the mix. He needed to tell Daniel Whitaker about the horse’s condition, but he suspected the storekeep would be less than happy about it.
Caleb leaned the pitchfork against the stall, stepped inside and kicked the straw around to spread it. “You need a few carrots from the mercantile. Don’t you, girl?” He let her smell his hands and then rubbed them gently along her distended belly. “You going to make it to Christmas?”
The Cowboy Takes a Wife Page 7