No Buttons Or Beaux

by Cathy Marie Hake

  By midday, Matt reckoned even Miss Jenny’s cooking would taste pretty good. He hitched his horse to the post outside of Joe’s Eats. A burly man in a stained apron waved his arm toward the room. “Have a seat. Coffee?”

  Matt nodded. He’d discovered if he let the other person start talking, they were more likely to give information as he subtly steered the conversation.

  Thump. A mug hit the table. “I’ve got catfish, ham sandwiches, and ribs. Whaddya want?”

  “How fresh is the catfish?”

  “Billy there,” the aproned man jabbed his thumb to the left, “caught a mess of ’em this morning. I add cayenne pepper to the cornmeal to give ’em a kick, so if you’ve got a sissy-mouth, choose something else.”

  “I’ll take catfish.”

  A slow smile lit the cook’s face. “Double the cayenne?”

  “Triple.”

  Billy leaned way back in his chair. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

  “The hotter, the better.” Matt lifted the coffee mug and took a long, loud slurp. After enduring Miss Jenny’s weak-as-dishwater coffee each morning, this stuff tasted strong. He nodded approvingly. “Cup of this could wake a dead man.”

  Chuckling as he headed toward the kitchen, the cook asked, “Staying around very long?”

  “Don’t know.”

  The man across from Billy shoved the last of a biscuit into his mouth and spoke around the food. “Itchy feet?”

  “Show me a cowboy who doesn’t have itchy feet,” Billy shot back.

  “Or a powerful thirst,” the first man said.

  Matt took another gulp, then set down the mug and twisted it slowly from side to side. “There’s strong coffee; then there’s strong whiskey.”

  Billy snorted. “Not around here. The Tankard waters down all of the liquor.”

  “Now that,” Matt paused meaningfully, “is a crime.” He’d spoken the truth. It was criminal to represent goods to a customer and purposefully give him less than he paid for. Nonetheless, Matt knew full well these men would take the comment in another light.

  “A sorry circumstance,” Bill agreed.

  “Then the emporium—”

  Billy scoffed. “The old coot at the mercantile won’t sell spirits. Says it’s the devil’s brew. If a man here wants decent whiskey, he goes off to the city and brings himself back a supply.”

  “And he’s got to reckon with his neighbors if he doesn’t take an order from them.” The other man smacked his hand on the table and bellowed, “More coffee!”

  “Come get the pot yourself,” the cook hollered.

  “Some way to treat a paying customer,” the man muttered as he rose.

  Billy shoveled a heaping forkful of peas in, chewed all of twice, then swallowed. “Pennington’s usually looking for another hand. Can’t keep ’em long. Won’t abide a man who takes a nip now and then. One of those holier-than-thou sorts. Everyone on his spread has to go to church. He’s got no call, telling men what to do during the time they call their own.”

  “Can’t keep the help for long, huh?”

  “Nope. And his daughters are uglier than a mud-stuck fence.” Billy shuddered. “Buck-toothed and horse-faced. A feller might turn a blind eye to that if he knew when the old man passed on, he’d get the ranch.”

  “But he won’t?”

  “He brought in a nephew last year. Greenhorn from back East.”

  Matt grimaced.

  “I swear,” Billy said, “there’s more air between that Easterner’s ears than there is under the crown of his ten-gallon hat.”

  The other man returned with the coffee pot. “Best you fill that cup of yours with milk, mister. Much cayenne as Sam put on your catfish, your mouth is gonna beg for mercy.”

  “I’ll handle it.” Matt knew the game. These men were taking his measure. It wouldn’t hurt if he got a few folks talking about him. . .as long as it cast him in light of a tough, ready-to-work wrangler. He’d mentioned his experience. There was no way for these men to check it out, but by downing the punishingly hot catfish, he’d prove himself.

  He lifted his mug and accepted the refill with a nod. “So Pennington is out. I’m looking for something short-term, but if I take a nip of who-hit-John, I don’t want the job to be over. I leave on my terms, not theirs.”

  The cook came out with a plate. He placed it in front of Matt, then pulled out the chair directly across from him and took a seat. “Give ’er a taste.”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” He speared a chunk, popped it into his mouth, chomped a few times, and swallowed. “Now that’s catfish!” He took another bite.

  “Like it?” The cook gave him a sly look.

  “It’ll do. Don’t mean to insult you, but do you have any Tabasco?”

  As Matt doused the fish with Tabasco, he asked, “Any other spreads looking for help?”

  “Could be the Berlews would hire you on. That kid’s a skinflint, though. More than one cowboy’s walked away with less in his pocket than Berlew promised.”

  “Is that a fact?” Matt mumbled that comment without intending it as a question. It would merely serve to keep the conversation going.

  “He’s got prime breeding stock and plenty of pasture. His granddaddy kicked the bucket and left the place to him. Won’t come as no surprise if he runs it into the ground by the time he’s thirty.”

  Matt washed down the last bite of fish with a long swallow of coffee. “Well, sounds like I’d better hit the road if I wanna find me work. Places hereabouts don’t sound much to my liking.”

  The cook stared at Matt’s empty plate with nothing short of admiration. “Somebody’s gotta want a man like you.”

  Billy perked up. “Hey—d’ya only run cows, or will you work horses?”

  “I’m not choosy.”

  “Next town east of here is Reliable. Chance Ranch puts out the best saddle horses you’ll ever see.”

  The cook stood and wiped his hands down the front of his apron. “They hardly ever hire help.”

  Billy rapped his knuckles on the table. “Might be that they would. A bunch of the Chance men left for a while. Handful of young’uns are running the place.”

  Men leaving for a spell might mean they were up to something. If their horse ranch was so successful, few things would promise profits great enough to entice them away. Moonshining was lucrative. The facts added up to paint a suspicious picture. The MacPhersons who bought all that sugar were from Reliable, too. Either family or both could be involved. Matt mused, “Chance Ranch, huh?”

  Six

  Shoving back several damp curls that had escaped her precarious bun, Kate wilted onto a bench in the yard. “I’m beat.”

  April laughed. “Is that your way of saying you’d rather watch the kids the next time?”

  “I’m going to write a letter to the Ball Mason company and ask them to make thirty-gallon jars.” Kate grinned at her. “It would be a whole lot easier to can kids and watch vegetables.”

  “You have a point,” April said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help.”

  Shaking her head, Kate turned toward her and said, “You’re not the one who ought to apologize. I should. You’ve always helped with the canning. Most years, I either watched the kids or managed to be busy with some other project.”

  Peter sauntered up. “Well? Get a lot done?”

  “I’m not sure,” Kate confessed. “For all the work we did in the kitchen, it doesn’t seem like all that much when I look at the results. How can it take that much work to fill up those quart jars?”

  “It takes four jars to feed everyone just one supper.”

  “April,” Kate moaned, “did you have to say that?”

  Giving her a sweet smile, April said, “Well, it would only take two right now with half of the family gone.”

  Peter chuckled as he stepped to April’s side and casually poked in a few of her hairpins as if they needed attention—even though they didn’t. “But yore using fresh-picked truck right now. See
how much work yore saving?”

  Laughter bubbled out of Kate. “Only you would point that out. Are you staying for supper?”

  “Will it be more work for you?”

  Kate pretended to glower at him. “You know you’re always welcome here. There’s always plenty of food, too.”

  A stranger rounded the edge of one of the cabins. He yanked off his hat, revealing sable hair and deeply tanned features. A couple of days’ worth of whiskers sandpapered his jaw. “Ladies, sir.” He nodded, then rode his palomino a little closer before dismounting.

  “Lose your way?” Peter asked as he stepped in front of Kate and April. Kate wanted to push him out of the way. Then again, she used the shield he created to reach up to swiftly tuck hairpins back into place and lift the corner of her apron to blot her face.

  “Hope not. Sign at the entrance said Chance Ranch. I’m looking for work. I’m Matt Salter.”

  Peter stepped forward and shook hands. “Peter MacPherson. I’m the neighbor to the east.”

  Kate leaned to the side to see Mr. Salter’s face. His smile robbed him of the disreputable look days in the saddle lent.

  “MacPherson,” Mr. Salter repeated. “You must belong to that buckboard that just went by me on the road.”

  Peter chuckled. “Were they all still singing at the top of their lungs?”

  “Seemed like they were enjoying themselves.” Mr. Salter’s brown eyes sparkled as he tacked on, “Only time I ever saw that much yellow in one place was standing in front of the corncrib right after a husking.”

  Popping to her feet, Kate added, “I’d be willing to bet there were more children in the buckboard than there were ears of corn in the crib.”

  “Ma’am.” Mr. Salter gave her a mannerly nod as he said, “I’d be hard pressed to disagree.”

  “It’s miss,” Kate said.

  Peter cleared his throat loudly to drown out her words. “The Chance men’ll be by directly. You’ll need to talk with them.”

  “Thanks. Mind if I water my horse?”

  “Please do.” Kate couldn’t get out another word before Peter took hold of her arm and pulled her around.

  “Ladies, ’tisn’t fittin’ to leave Mr. Salter out here on his lonesome. I’ll keep him company whilst you tend to the supper.” Peter pulled April to her feet and prodded them toward the kitchen.

  Kate didn’t want to go back into the kitchen. She’d been there all day, canning beans, corn, peas, and tomatoes. Even with the doors open so the air would blow through the screens, the place still felt hot as could be.

  April hooked her arm through Kate’s. “We need to plan tomorrow’s menu, anyway.”

  As soon as they got into the cabin, Kate pulled away from her cousin. “What was that all about? Any time a wrangler comes through, the least we do is invite him to stay to supper.”

  “Quiet down,” April hissed. “We normally have five more men, five more women, and a half-dozen kids here, too. Peter’s being cautious, and it’s for our welfare.”

  “That man has honest eyes. Steady, deep brown, never-let-you-down eyes. He’s taken good care of his mount, too. Uncle Bryce swears you can tell a lot about a man by how he cares for his horse.”

  “When the boys come in, they can decide whether he’s staying for supper.”

  “I vote that he stays—for supper, and for a job.”

  “You’re not old enough to vote,” April reminded her. “You won’t be twenty-one for almost a year yet.”

  Kate winced. The family’s rule stood strong. Any member was given a vote on matters as soon as they reached their twenty-first birthday. “Caleb, Tobias, and you are the only ones who have votes. Well, Greta, too, but she’s not here. So you have to vote in favor of him, April.”

  “Why are you taking on so?”

  “We could use the help,” Kate muttered. She turned toward the stove and grabbed a potholder. By keeping her back to April, she might manage to hide her feelings.

  “Just yesterday, you were saying how well we’ve done on our own.”

  Kate opened the oven door and moved the huge roasters full of casserole around. They didn’t necessarily require that action, but it kept her busy. “We have done well, but it would be good to hire a little help so we could accomplish a few extra projects before everyone gets home.”

  “We’re expecting the family to get home any day now.”

  “See? That proves that we’d better grab this opportunity.” Kate shut the oven door and turned around. “There’s no telling when another man will be by.”

  April gave her a knowing grin. “I have a funny feeling there’s something about this particular man that has you angling for him to stay.”

  “He’s young and healthy, and he has fine manners.” Kate stared at her cousin. “Not that you’d notice. You and Peter are so besotted with one another, it could rain pie tins and neither of you would notice.”

  Cheeks turning scarlet, April squeaked, “Kate!”

  “Don’t bother to deny it. Peter’s hovering over you. He even fussed with your hairpins out there when they didn’t need any attention at all.” April looked ready to say something, so Kate plowed ahead, “Just now, Peter protected you from that stranger—even though no danger existed.”

  “Peter protected both of us. And you can’t say for certain that Mr. Ummm. . .”

  “Salter,” Kate provided.

  “Yes. Well, you can’t vouch for Mr. Salter. Plenty of women have been beguiled and deceived by charming men.”

  “He was charming, wasn’t he?” Kate stirred the peas.

  “Add a pinch of sugar to that water. The peas always taste better if you do.”

  “So that’s your secret!” Kate meant to put in a dab. Almost half a cup plopped into the boiling pot. “Oh, no!”

  April hopped up and grabbed the colander. “Dump them in this right away!” She placed it in the sink as Kate grabbed hot pan holders.

  “Do you know how many peas I shelled to get this pot?”

  “I have a pretty fair notion,” April said wryly. “Now rinse them off. We’ll cover them with water we dip out of the reservoir. It’ll be hot enough to keep them warm ’til we slather them with butter.”

  As she rinsed off the peas then jumbled them back into the pot, Kate said, “You never slather peas with butter. You barely even dot them with it.”

  “Exactly.” April winked. “This is a new recipe. We’ll see how the men like it.”

  Kate dipped hot water from the stove reservoir and quickly covered the peas. “I never did get around to making dessert.”

  “Pull out two cake pans.” April walked over to the far side of the room. April often measured out an extra set of the dry ingredients for a recipe she was making. She stored that set away in jars on the bottom shelf of the copper-punch-fronted pie safe.

  “Oh, bless you!” Kate finished covering the peas with water, then grabbed for the cake pans.

  April drew four, one-quart jars from the bottom shelf. Cradling them in her arms, she headed toward the table. “We need melted butter. While you do that, I’ll measure out the vinegar, vanilla, and water.”

  “Ohhh,” Kate breathed. “Crazy cake?”

  Bobbing her head, April said, “I think I can manage to mix one while you do the other. You can take the casseroles out of the oven and pop in the cakes. By the time supper’s over, the cakes will be done.”

  “As I recall, Peter loves your crazy cake,” Kate said.

  April didn’t meet her eyes. She urged, “Hurry up and get to work. You can’t go back out there looking like we stirred your hair with an egg beater.”

  ❧

  “You’re welcome to stay to supper.” Caleb Chance smacked his leather work gloves against the side of his jeans, making dust fly.

  Matt nodded. “Appreciate the invite. I’m hungry enough to eat the legs off a lizard.”

  “As for a job,” Caleb warned, “I’ll get back to you on that later this evening.”

  “Fair
enough.” A grin stretched across Matt’s face. “Maybe better than fair. Decent food’s been known to put men into a good frame of mind.”

  The blond gal with the cute freckles stepped onto the porch of a cabin. “Supper’s ready. Tanner, go wash up.”

  “Awww, Kate—”

  “Just ’cuz Mama’s not here, that doesn’t give you call to come to the table gritty as the path you rode today. You P’s, come fetch the dishes. C’s, you can carry out the food.”

  “P’s and C’s?” Matt looked to Caleb for an explanation.

  “Brothers all have names starting with the same letter.”

  “Tanner is Kate’s brother?”

  “Yup. Girls got named whatever the mother fancied. April’s my sis.”

  Matt murmured, “If MacPherson has his way, it won’t be long before she’s his wife.”

  Caleb’s features darkened as he snarled, “They’re cousins.”

  “My mistake.” The sinking feeling that he’d ruined any opportunity to hire on assailed Matt. He shrugged. “Guess that’s why I haven’t gotten hitched. Never could figure out a woman.”

  In scant minutes, food and dishes appeared on the table. The women sat at the end of one of the two abutted tables. Matt made it a point to head toward the extreme other end.

  “You jist lay yore hand atop mine,” Peter told April. “That-away, I won’t hurt yore burns none.” When April complied, Peter’s smile could put the moon out of business.

  Cousins or not, that man’s chasing that woman.

  To Matt’s astonishment, everyone linked hands. “I’ll ask the blessing,” one of the men offered. Matt bowed his head.

  As prayers went, it was short and to the point. After the “amen,” men yanked the napkins from the table, draped them in their laps, and grabbed for the nearest dish.

  Not an hour ago, red-headed Peter MacPherson could have made a prosecuting attorney run for cover with all the questions he’d posed. Once the Chance men came from all parts of the property for supper, they’d been just as nosey. These men must not have heard of the Code of the West where a man’s past was nobody’s business but his own.