by Cox, Carol
Just yesterday, he had seemed to pick up on her unwillingness to face Letitia and helped her hurry away. A chivalrous gesture or an attempt to keep her from learning the truth?
Her Michael, a deceiver?
And when, she wondered, had she started thinking of him as “her” Michael?
No more. She wiped her tear-soaked cheeks with her palms and pulled herself to her feet. She would have to deal with Michael’s perfidy another time.
Right now, there were customers to attend to and pies to bake.
❧
“Are you all right?” Jenny asked, coming into the kitchen.
Elizabeth slapped a ball of pie crust dough onto the counter. “Why do you ask?”
Jenny watched her pound it into a flat, round disk with the side of her fist. “Didn’t you tell me light pastry required a light touch? You look like you’d rather be punching someone in the face.”
The idea didn’t sound half bad. At the moment, she had no lack of ideas for potential targets. Still, her customers didn’t need to suffer for her inner turmoil. She stepped back from the counter and took a series of slow, calming breaths.
“It was that woman, wasn’t it?” Jenny went on. “The one who came in here this morning. You’ve barely spoken since she left.”
Elizabeth rolled the dough out with smooth, even strokes and settled the crust into a waiting pie tin. “She said some things that upset me, but I shouldn’t be taking it out on you. You had nothing to do with it.” Unless Michael O’Roarke planned to deceive you, too. In which case, I will most definitely punch him in the nose!
Jenny brightened. “I’m glad. I was afraid I might have done something wrong.”
“No, I just found out I was wrong about someone, and that’s never pleasant. But I’ll get over it. No harm’s been done.” Except to my pride. And my heart.
She rolled out the rest of the dough and lined the other pie tins. Cutting vents into the top crusts for the steam to escape and crimping the edges together kept her hands in motion, soothing her with the practiced motions of a familiar task. She slid the four pies into the oven.
“There. While those are baking, how about that lesson in making gravy?”
❧
Jenny dipped a spoon into the gravy and brought it to her lips. “Perfect,” she proclaimed.
“It can’t be,” Elizabeth stated. “I’ve never made perfect gravy in my life or any that was remotely close to perfect.” She sampled her own spoonful, and her eyes widened. “It isn’t bad, is it? I can’t believe it. Why didn’t anyone ever tell me cooking could be this much fun?”
“Wait until I teach you to make fried chicken. Then we’ll try baked ham.”
“And roast turkey?”
“That, too.” A knock at the back door interrupted their laughter.
“I’ll get it.” Jenny pulled off her apron and started toward the door.
“No, let me.” Elizabeth hurried past her. The thought that Burleigh Ames could be searching for Jenny kept Elizabeth vigilant.
She pulled the door open a crack and looked out.
“It’s a beautiful evening,” Michael said, smiling. “How about a walk in the moonlight?”
Angry tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them back. She would not show him how he’d hurt her.
“I can’t, Michael, I’m much too busy tonight.”
His smile dimmed only a fraction. “Then why don’t I come in, and we can talk while you work?”
“No, Jenny and I have a lot to do. Girl things.” She started to close the door. Michael reached up and blocked it with his palm. Concern creased his forehead.
“Tomorrow, then? I can come by right after you close.”
Elizabeth felt her throat closing. A deep heartache compressed her chest. “I’m afraid I’m going to be unavailable then, too. It’s a really busy time.” Michael stared at her a moment, then withdrew his hand and walked away.
She bolted the door before he could say anything more. Tears threatened, and she turned to hurry to her room before they spilled over. Jenny stood behind her, leaning against the wall with her arms folded.
“It’s him, isn’t it? I thought it was just that awful old woman, but it has something to do with Michael, too, doesn’t it?”
Elizabeth held her head high and tried to draw a deep breath. Instead, she heard a ragged gasp. She squeezed her eyelids shut. She would not cry. She would not lose control.
The tears slid past her closed lids and down her cheeks. She felt Jenny’s arm slip around her shoulders.
“Even a white knight gets knocked off his horse sometimes. Now, what are those girl things we’re going to be doing this evening?”
Sixteen
Elizabeth stood by the counter watching Jenny work, but her thoughts kept going back over the last week. She truly had kept busy, but mostly to prevent herself from thinking too much.
“Like this?” Jenny lapped one side of the thin circle of dough over the other and lifted it cautiously. The tip of her tongue protruded from one corner of her mouth.
“That’s right.” Elizabeth fought back the urge to reach out and help. Jenny had to learn on her own—was determined to, in fact. Elizabeth had come to realize that Jenny had a streak of independence that rivaled her own.
Jenny settled the folded dough in place atop a peach pie, then spread it open again and let out a pent-up breath. “I always have a problem with the next part.” She pressed the tip of her thumb and the knuckle of her first finger at the rim of the pie plate, then used her other thumb to push the overlapping dough into the vee they formed.
She looked at her work and beamed. “That looks pretty good, though, doesn’t it?”
“Just right,” Elizabeth affirmed.
Jenny continued to work around the rim of the pie, methodically crimping the edges. Elizabeth dampened a cloth and began wiping down the counter.
“You’re getting better every day, Jenny. Pretty soon, I’ll be able to turn all the cooking over to you.”
Jenny laughed. “Not anytime soon. I still don’t quite have the hang of this.” Her hands moved in rhythm now, pinching and pushing the dough into sharp peaks.
“You’ll see.” Elizabeth scooped the loose flour into a pile and swept it off the counter into her cupped hand. “Before long, I’ll be able to sit back and become a lady of leisure. I thank God every day that He brought you here. But I’m sure you’ve already thanked Him plenty of times for getting you out of the hands of men like your guardian and that saloon keeper.”
Jenny’s hands stilled. Elizabeth could see the girl’s shoulders tense beneath her light blue dress. “No, and that won’t happen anytime soon, either,” Jenny murmured. She shoved the dough into a lopsided mound. “I don’t think God is all that interested in hearing what I have to say.”
Elizabeth paused in the act of dusting the flour off her hands. “You aren’t serious, are you? Of course He is. God loves you, Jenny.”
“Really? He sure has a funny way of showing it.” Her hands moved like uncoordinated pistons.
“He brought you here. He got you out of that horrid place.”
“I wound up there because I wouldn’t put up with Martin Lester’s advances. And that wouldn’t have happened if my parents hadn’t died.” Jenny’s voice choked off.
“But surely you can see—”
“Do you have any idea what it’s like to hide in the darkness of a root cellar and know your family’s being massacred? To hear your ma plead for mercy and find none?”
“Jenny, I—”
“To peek out long enough to see your little brother run away and try to get back to the cabin, then hear him scream and know he didn’t make it?” She picked up a lump of dough and squeezed it until it oozed through her fingers.
Elizabeth kneaded the damp cloth in her hands, praying for the right words. But how could any words make sense of Jenny’s loss? “I can’t answer that. I have no idea why He would allow that to happen. All I can say is that He must
have something planned for you, some reason you were spared.”
“Spared?” Jenny slammed her hand on the counter, flattening the dough under her palm. “You call it being spared when I live with those images every day of my life? When I wake up at night thinking I hear my mama screaming?”
“But the Bible says—”
“I know. I remember the stories. He’s supposed to love everyone. I thought He loved me. Maybe He did, once. But He didn’t love me when that was happening. And He can’t love me anymore. Not after the saloon.”
“That wasn’t your doing, any of it. You didn’t choose to be in that place.”
Jenny picked up the dough again and rolled it into a ball. “Being pawed like that was enough to make me feel like I’d already become like those other girls. But I never did go upstairs with any man. Not once. And it wasn’t all the men who came in there who were bad. Some of them just ignored me. It was the other ones, the ones who’d had too much to drink. They’d grab me when I walked by, grab me and. . .” She threw down the dough and covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders heaved.
Elizabeth wrapped her arms around the sobbing girl and pulled her close. “It’s over, Jenny. Over for good. No one is going to treat you like that again.” She stroked the soft golden hair. “And Jenny? You can trust God. He does love you.”
Jenny straightened and backed away, mopping her blotchy face with her hands. “What about Michael? I think he loves you, but you don’t trust him.” She turned on her heel and ran to her room.
Elizabeth stared after her. “Oh, Lord, how do I get through to her? It’s not the same at all. Michael couldn’t love me and be a party to that vile scheme. I don’t want him to love me. Do I?”
❧
Michael’s horse brought him through the trees to the edge of town. His mule herd was grazing about three miles from Fort Whipple, and the herders hadn’t had any trouble from Indians. His competition had all lost animals to raids, but so far, God continued to protect his business.
His stomach growled on the way down the hill into town. He could go home and make do with whatever he could find on his shelves. But I want a real meal. He reached the plaza. The Pine Cone Eatery would have chili, if his stomach could handle all the chili powder they used to cover up the taste of spoiled meat.
He glanced across the plaza, and his gaze locked on the Capital Restaurant. The pain of being ignored warred with his longing for a good meal.
Hunger won out. As soon as he put his horse away, he’d wash off the trail dust and head straight for the restaurant and a decent supper.
If Elizabeth didn’t throw him out.
Michael pondered the situation all the while he brushed and fed his horse and sluiced water over his head and arms. Elizabeth’s first refusal to go walking had puzzled him, but he’d put it down to pressures of the business. That he could accept. But her subsequent rejections didn’t seem to have any logical explanation. He put on a clean shirt and headed out the door. Maybe the extra hours spent training Jenny were taking their toll.
Jenny. Michael snapped his fingers. Could Jenny have done something to cause Elizabeth’s sudden change in attitude?
But that didn’t explain why she’d taken such a sudden aversion to him. Unless she blamed him for Jenny’s presence in her life. Michael nodded his head. It’s my fault.
Looking back, he knew he’d made a mistake in not telling Elizabeth about his plans to rescue Jenny ahead of time. He thought she’d taken their surprise midnight visit rather well, but obviously, that wasn’t the case. That must be it. He grinned, pleased at having discovered the source of the trouble.
He crossed the plaza with a lighter step. A man couldn’t fix a problem if he didn’t know what was wrong. Now that he did, he would talk to Elizabeth, apologize, and get back in her good graces.
He could spend time at the restaurant again without feeling like a pariah. She’d even go out walking with him again. That would be nice. He really missed her company.
He missed her spunk, her wit. Missed her smile and that green fire in her eyes when she got riled.
“Face it,” he told himself, “you miss her, pure and simple. This is more than friendship.”
He felt the truth of his words. Without him noticing, Elizabeth had captured his heart. . .had become so much a part of the fabric of his life that he couldn’t imagine having any kind of happiness without her.
With a prayer for God to work it all out, he walked into the restaurant. Jenny stood taking an order from a table of miners. He smiled and gave her a brief wave, then sat down near the window. When she came to take his order, he could ask to see Elizabeth.
He would offer his apology, she would accept, and things would smooth out just fine. Heartened by the knowledge that they’d soon be laughing over their little misunderstanding, he scanned the menu tacked to a board on the wall. His stomach rumbled as he perused the list: venison steak, roast beef, venison pie. . . . The roast beef, he decided. Just the thing for a hungry man who wanted something tasty under his belt before he had to dine on crow.
Jenny headed his way, a smile of welcome lighting her face as she threaded her way between the tables.
“Well, hello, little darlin’.” A grimy, middle-aged man scooted his chair back, barring her way. Jenny halted abruptly, then gave him a tight smile and circled to her left.
The man stood quickly and blocked her path. “Don’t you recognize me, sweet thing?”
Other customers interrupted their conversations and turned to watch. Jenny’s eyes darted back and forth like a hunted animal seeking a way to escape.
A pulse throbbed in Michael’s throat. He jumped to his feet and waded through a sea of empty chairs, shoving them aside like Moses parting the waters.
“Aw, come on. I know you remember. When you were singing over at the Nugget, I used to think your songs were meant just for me.” The man made a lunge for Jenny’s wrist. Michael redoubled his speed.
Before he could reach Jenny, the door to the kitchen flew open and a whirlwind erupted.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Elizabeth, all five foot two of her, glared up at the man, a diminutive David ready to take on Goliath.
“No need to get upset, little lady. I’m just renewing an old acquaintance. This little gal and I are friends from the Nugget, aren’t we?” He gave Jenny a suggestive wink. She pivoted on her heel and escaped through the swinging door to the kitchen.
Elizabeth pointed to the door. “Get out of my restaurant before I have you arrested.”
“This doesn’t concern you.” His meaty hand reached out as if to brush Elizabeth aside.
Michael blocked the movement by grabbing a handful of the man’s shirt and swinging him around in one motion. “You heard the lady. It’s time to leave.”
Jenny’s tormentor started to swing, then took a second look at Michael and reconsidered. He stepped back, loosening the wad of fabric at his throat.
“Sure, Mister. There’s no problem here. Just a little misunderstanding, that’s all.” He picked up his hat and backed toward the door, giving Michael a wide berth.
Not until the door swung shut behind the retreating form did Michael turn back to Elizabeth. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, her eyes still focused on the doorway. “Thank you for stepping in.” Her gaze met his for a brief moment, then skittered away. “Jenny needs me,” she muttered and disappeared into the kitchen.
The other customers, deprived of any better entertainment, focused their attention on him. Michael looked once more at the list of delectable offerings, then headed for the front door and home.
His appetite had disappeared.
❧
“Jenny?” Elizabeth tapped again on the girl’s door and huffed out a frustrated sigh when she got no answer. That Jenny needed to be with someone was obvious. That she had every intention of keeping the rest of the world—Elizabeth included—at arm’s length was equally clear.
Elizabeth pressed her f
orehead against the door frame. She needed to see Jenny, talk to her, and make sure she was all right. Together, they could pray and lay the whole ugly incident in the hands of the only One who could take the pain out of Jenny’s past.
She needed to get back to her customers, especially now that it appeared she would be waiting tables and manning the kitchen on her own for the time being. She needed to decide what to say to Michael back in the dining room.
I can’t go that many directions at once, Lord! The wood bit into her forehead. She pushed away from the door frame and rubbed the tender spot, hoping the pressure hadn’t left a mark. The last thing she needed right now was one more reason for her customers to gawk at her.
That odious man! The memory of his effrontery and Jenny’s white face brought the moment back all over again. What right did he have, coming into her place of business and casting aspersions on Jenny’s character, right in front of a roomful of people?
If Michael hadn’t stepped in when he did. . .
If Michael hadn’t stepped in, she’d have thrown the lout out herself. His willingness to help had been appreciated, though surprising, but she would have been perfectly capable of handling the situation on her own.
Just like she’d be capable of going on with the rest of her life without Michael’s assistance. The knowledge left a raw wound, but she reminded herself of the need to be strong. How could she ever trust someone who would stoop to scheming with the Bartletts?
She couldn’t. Life had seemed for a moment to hold such promise. But the lovely dream had turned out to be a nightmare instead. She would have to wake up to reality and go on.
Bracing herself for the encounter, she pushed through the door to the dining room. A dozen faces, still alive with curiosity, turned to greet her.
None of them belonged to Michael.
Her shoulders sagged, and she felt as though the wind had been let out of her sails. Relief, she assured herself.
Really? That empty sensation felt a lot like disappointment.
Disappointment? At not seeing Michael O’Roarke? Ridiculous! She had no patience with the man and not the slightest desire to talk to him again, not after what he had done.