“One pan my girlfriend gave me. Nothing else except what Chance has, which isn’t much. I have to admit, Ina…I’m a horrible cook. If it weren’t for the food Faith and Amy McCutcheon brought out the other day, and the meals Chance has prepared himself, we’d pretty much starve.”
Ina tsk-tsked and gave her a dubious look. “I’ll get you in that kitchen baking and cooking faster than you can sing ‘Jimmy Cracked Corn’! And I’ll lend you my things when the time comes. Also, when we get the cake in the oven,”—she pulled out a dog-eared, food-splotched card and placed it on the drain board—“I’ll give you a few easy recipes to take home, but not before we go over them. You’ll see. Cooking isn’t hard. It just takes a little imagination. And determination.”
Evie doubted cooking could be that easy. She could keep the house perfectly, remove the toughest of stains on a blouse, and wax a floor beyond tomorrow—but bake a cake? She might as well try to fly to the moon. Doubtfully, she glanced at the recipe sitting on the counter top.
Chocolate Mashed Potato Cake.
Mashed potatoes?
That didn’t sound enticing, but Evie held off voicing her opinion. Ina knew better and she’d not look a gift horse in the mouth.
“I can see the questions in your eyes. I picked this recipe because it’s basically a foolproof formula—not calling you a fool, of course, dear. I got it last year from Miss Langford, Y Knot’s schoolteacher. I’m sure you’ll be able to accomplish this at home without my help and simply dazzle your new husband. No one would ever guess it had mashed potatoes in it unless you told them, which I advise you not to do. The mashed potatoes keep the batter from falling.”
She pulled out the bottom drawer of a small freestanding cabinet and extracted three large brown spuds and handed them to Evie. “First, we’ll get these cooking. Have you ever prepared mashed potatoes before?”
Evie’s face heated.
Ina’s eyes opened wide. “Well, take these to the sink and rinse them off, for starters.”
When Evie was finished, Ina placed a light, metal object in her hands. “Now peel. I’m putting on a pot of water—always start that first. When you’re done peeling, you’ll dice up the potatoes and put them in the water. They won’t take long to cook.”
It took some doing, but Evie managed to get the hang of the potato peeler. That task accomplished, she next creamed two-thirds of a cup of butter with two cups of sugar, just as Ina directed, until the slippery mass was fluffy and white. Her arm ached from whipping, and the long wooden spoon was cumbersome. She tried to keep up the pace Ina wanted, but that was difficult.
Next, she ruined three perfectly good eggs trying to separate the yolks from the whites. The process—dumping the yolk from half-shell to half-shell to let the white drip away—was tricky and slimy and totally unappealing. Gooey clumps of white stuff jiggled around in the clear, uncooked egg, making her queasy. When she finally had four separated yolks without any shells bits, all completed to Ina’s liking, she beat them into her mixture.
With a fork, she tested the spuds. They were soft, as Ina said they should be. Draining the water and pressing out all the lumps, she added one cup of the still hot mashed potatoes to the egg mixture, wondering how this was all going to turn out.
To her surprise, she realized that somewhere during the process she’d begun to relax and enjoy herself. Maybe cooking wouldn’t be so hard after all!
Ina made them both a cup of tea while keeping a sharp eye on Evie to make sure she didn’t do anything wrong or hurt herself. The older woman kept her laughing with amusing stories of when she was young and first in love with Norman.
“Now, blend in one teaspoon of vanilla and one-half cup of this unsweetened cocoa. When you’re finished, set it to the side.”
Evie did as Ina instructed. Task accomplished, she took the end of her apron and wiped at her moist brow, just as the door opened and footsteps sounded in the entry.
Chapter Twenty-Two
STILL AGITATED, Chance crossed Main Street, his wagon jangling and rattling as he pulled his team to a halt in front of the livery. Every possible situation of why Evie wanted to spend the day with Ina bounced around in his mind until his head hurt. With each passing moment, his jealousy grew until it felt like a veritable demon writhing inside him. Distractedly, he hopped out of the buckboard and strode into the big barn as if he owned the place. A chicken, frightened by his abrupt entry, squawked loudly and flew out the window. Chance let his eyes adjust to the dim interior.
“Hello?” June called from the hayloft.
“Yeah, it’s Chance.”
“What are you doing to my chickens?”
“Nothing.”
“Be nice or they won’t lay a thing.”
When he didn’t answer, she looked down. A small smile played around her lips. “Haven’t seen much of you lately. What brings you around now?”
That was a heck of a good question. Why was he here? He’d just needed somewhere to go, someone to talk to. He was way out of his element with Evie and this whole situation and didn’t know how to proceed. Was he justified in his anger, or was he making a mountain out of a molehill? He didn’t know. One moment he thought he knew, and the next he was hopelessly mixed up—and furious.
June was a woman. Maybe she’d have some insight into what he should do, or whether there even was a problem in the first place.
“My right front wheel on the buckboard has been giving me trouble. Wondered if you had any extras around I might buy.” Buy! You’re stretched thin enough as it is.
“Funny, you never mentioned it before.”
She was almost down the ladder, and he wondered what she would say when she saw the wheel was perfectly fine. Without wasting a step, she passed him by and started for the tall twin doors.
“Wait!”
She turned around and gave him a questioning look. “Just what’s going on, Holcomb? I’ve never seen you so out of sorts. You look like you just lost your best friend.” She glanced around. “By the way, where is Dexter anyway?”
It was no use. He was no good at either fibbing or acting. He’d best get to the point. “My wheel is fine, actually.”
Her brows peaked up. “You been sitting in the sun too long?”
He shrugged.
She waited.
“Guess I just needed a friendly face, someone to talk with.”
She walked toward him slowly, then stopped. “This doesn’t have anything to do with that fancy new wife of yours, does it? The one that just arrived—what?—thirteen days ago?”
He shrugged, feeling like the biggest fool on earth. “Maybe.”
June took him by the arm and propelled him over by her small desk, dusted off the top of a chair and pushed him down with a plunk.
***
Hayden Klinkner stood in the doorway to the kitchen. His wide shoulders filled the space. His body-hugging shirt accentuated his muscular chest, strong arms and slender hips. When Evie realized she was staring, she jerked her gaze away, but not before she saw him smile.
“Hayden? Do you need something?” Ina set her teacup into its saucer.
He strode across the room, took a glass from the cupboard, and worked the pump. “Just came in for a glass of water.”
“Oh—did the bucket in the stream get loose and float away again?”
He turned around and smiled. “No. Just needed a break.”
The tilt of her chin said Ina knew exactly why her son was here. “Mrs. Holcomb is busy. Don’t come in here to tease. I know you better than you know yourself.”
Evie wished she didn’t know that look in his eyes. He was a scoundrel, the kind of man Mrs. Seymour always warned her girls against. “They’ll flirt with you, and if you’re not careful, use you, and leave your reputation in tatters. Avoid a rogue at all costs.”
She brushed at her spotted apron, trying to will her cheeks from turning pink. What was he thinking when he looked at her like that?
Hayden chuckled, then dr
ank down his water in three long swallows. On his way out the door, he stopped and looked into the bowl on the drain board. He started to stick his finger in, but Ina smacked him away with a wooden spoon. “Out with you! That is not yours!”
He chuckled again and tossed Evie one more charming smile before leaving.
Ina plunked her hands on her hips and watched until he was out of sight. “I swear! If I don’t get him married off soon, one of the men in Y Knot is going to—to do I don’t know what to him, but it’s bound to be bad. I hate to say that, but it’s true. He goes around making a pest of himself and angering all the husbands. If he would only find the right girl and settle down. Give Norman and me a couple of grandbabies to bounce on our knees. To coddle. To spoil.” She shrugged. “I’m sorry if he embarrassed you.”
“No, it’s all right.” Evie pulled herself together, trying to remember what she was supposed to be doing next. She pushed some hair out of her face with the back of her hand, then looked around.
Mrs. Klinkner watched her a moment and then a light flickered in her eyes. “Are there others like you, Evie?” At Evie’s confused look she added, “I mean, other nice, charming young women at the mail-order brides agency where Chance found you? Others wanting to come west? Marry fine, upstanding young men? Perhaps you know someone. Hayden…” She walked to the window, looking out at the flowering hyacinth.
“Ina?”
“Oh, never mind, dear. It’s just a silly dream. Now, where were we?”
Ina’s flushed face gave Evie the distinct impression she was cooking something up besides cake.
“Let’s see, yes,” the older woman said. “I remember now. In a separate bowl, you’ll need to sift together two cups of flour, three pinches of salt, two teaspoons of baking powder, and one teaspoon each of cinnamon and cloves.” She helped Evie measure and spoon the ingredients into the sifter without too much mess. “Now sift. It’s not hard.”
Ina was right. Evie loved sifting. The gliding motion was easy and fun. Much more pleasant than beating butter until she thought her arm would come off her shoulder. The soft particles of mixture floating to the bottom of the bowl reminded her of Christmastime in St. Louis. St. Louis reminded her of Trudy, and Trudy reminded her of Mrs. Seymour—and the agency, and how she’d left there without a good-bye. That still hurt. It wasn’t something she was proud of. Her heart thumped, and she blinked away her somber mood.
“Is something wrong, dear?”
Evie looked over, unaware that she’d stopped sifting only to stare at the flour in the bottom of the bowl. She shook her head. “Just thinking about St. Louis and my friends there.”
Ina came over and put a warm hand on Evie’s arm. “It must be hard leaving everyone you love behind to venture so far away and marry a man you don’t even know. If there’s anything you need, or want to talk about, you know you can come to me. I’ve always liked Chance Holcomb. He’s smart and honest, two qualities that go a long way here in Montana.” For a moment, she looked over, as if she could see through the walls to the mill across the road where her son was at work. “Sincere, too.” Her smile wobbled and she shrugged.
Evie nodded, taking Ina’s words to heart. “Thank you so much. That means more to me than you could know.”
“Well, I mean every bit of it.” She patted Evie’s arm a few times, then picked up the recipe card and gave it a quick read. “Fine, then. Now, mix the dry ingredients with the butter mixture while you add in a cup of milk. I’ll go get that now.”
Ina disappeared to a small room outside her kitchen door and came back with a pitcher of milk. She measured a cup and poured a small amount on the batter. “Not too much at once. Go ahead and stir until I tell you to stop.”
Back on task, Evie was starting to realize that making a cake was no little thing. They’d been at it for at least forty-five minutes and it still wasn’t in the oven. And what a mess. It would take another hour to get the kitchen back into shape. Ina must have noticed what she was thinking. “Don’t worry, honey. As you practice, you’ll learn it’s best to clean up as you go. It’ll get easier.”
Evie couldn’t hold back a soft laugh. “I hope so. This has certainly been a task.” Finished with the milk, and making sure there were no lumps or bumps in the batter, she thought she was finished.
“We’re not quite done yet. Remember the four egg whites? Now you have to beat them until they’re stiff and form into little peaks. It takes a strong arm.” She handed Evie a small wire whisk.
Twenty minutes later, the cake was finally in the oven. Evie sank onto a kitchen chair, tired but feeling triumphant. “That was more fun than I’d expected.”
“Yes. And like I said, it’ll get easier too. I do, however insist that we have another day just like this. Let’s say a week from today. That will give you some time to practice and by then I’m sure you’ll have lots of questions, too.”
Ina brought to the table two new cups of steaming peppermint tea and a plate of cookies. Evie took one and bit into it hungrily. The women sat then in companionable silence for a few minutes, enjoying the refreshment.
“I’ll get your kitchen cleaned up right away, Ina, as soon as we finish our tea,” Evie said at last.
Ina set her cup into its saucer with a clatter. “But, Evie,” she chided gently. “We still have so much we could do. I have ingredients and the volition to teach you a creamy parsnip soup and sorghum bread. After that, I thought we’d make a slaw and maybe a potato salad. Remember, many of the things I teach you today can be used with other foods. You have to be inventive. Have fun with cooking. Experiment.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
ALL DOUBTS Evie might have had that Chance was circling something unpleasant were confirmed when she saw his grumpy face where he stood on Ina’s doorstep at five o’clock sharp. His mouth was a straight, hard line, his eyes, unreadable.
Was he sorry he married her? Was that it? Had everything happened too fast for his liking? Perhaps he was making his feelings known so she’d take the stage out of Y Knot and out of his life. He’d barely acknowledged her, just waited with his hat in his hands while she gathered her things.
“How was your day,” she said, hoping to draw him into conversation as they walked to the buckboard. His mumbled response only heightened her anxiety. They drove through town without a single word between them, and still had a good half-hour-long ride ahead. She wrapped the blanket he’d brought along for her more securely around her shoulders and hoped he’d soften up.
“The cattle?” she tried again softly, letting the sway of the wagon ease her mind.
“Actually, it was good.”
She smiled, and a moment of relief washed through her. “Were there any more babies born today?”
“Yep. Two. Both bulls.”
“Oh.” She remembered his saying he’d prefer heifers over bull calves. Something about growing the herd faster. “Would girls have been better?”
He looked over at her, as if trying to decide if she were being sincere. An uncharacteristic frown drew down the corners of his lips. Why would he do that? Of course she’d be interested in what her husband did, thought, dreamed. Feeling a stab of irritation, she straightened and held his gaze, refusing to let him off the hook. “Well? Didn’t you tell me that the other day? Heifers were preferable?”
He cleared his throat and looked straight ahead. “Sure. I said that. But if these two grow up with the conformation I think they will, I should be able to sell them for a fair amount. Other ranchers will be interested when they see the quality of my beef.”
She thought of her heartfelt efforts today, all to please him, take care of him. His coldness fired her temper. “Your beef? Don’t you mean our beef?”
He shrugged evasively. “I guess. What’s mine is yours if you want to nitpick,” he drawled, glancing out to the prairie, away from her. “Whatever.”
Why, the big, fat, unfeeling ox! He didn’t even have the courtesy to look at her. Plus his uninterested mollifying t
one ruffled her ire even more.
Didn’t he have a thought to her feelings? She had hopes and dreams, too! This wasn’t the man who’d met her at the stage with a torrent of beautiful words, supped with her by candlelight, held her close in the darkness of night under a canopy of twinkling stars while calming her fears.
No! This Chance Holcomb was a stranger to her, coarse, closed-minded, and infuriating. He couldn’t care less if her heart were breaking into a thousand pieces. If she jumped out of the wagon this moment, he probably wouldn’t even notice. She’d worked her fingers to the bone today, trying to learn how to cook, just to please him. She’d burned her arm, sliced a finger, and got egg in her hair. And for what? All so she could bake a stupid cake for his stupid birthday!
Knowing it was childish, she glanced his way and stuck out her tongue, not that he’d notice; his gaze was glued straight ahead. She’d show him. Taking a deep, calming breath, she replied sweetly, “I’m so happy to hear that, Chance. When the time comes when I want to buy the piano I’ve always dreamed of owning, I’ll just sell off an acre or two of land. Especially now that I know you won’t mind. I know exactly where I’ll put it in my house. Right in front of my picture window.”
His mouth dropped open. He looked about to say something, but then didn’t, slapping the reins over the horses’ backs. The wagon jerked forward as the surprised horses picked up their pace.
Evie gripped the side rail to keep from being bounced out. Remorse for her outlandish behavior had filled her the moment she’d closed her mouth. What am I doing? We’re not children. There’s a lot at stake. From the time she was a child, her mama had said there wasn’t anything that couldn’t be fixed with a simple conversation. She’d best remember that and not be pulled into mirroring Chance’s immature behavior. She might even have to eat a little crow.
“Chance?” she asked, looking at his angry profile. “What’s wrong? Please tell me.”
Mail-Order Brides of the West: Evie (McCutcheon) Page 13