by Ginny Aiken
Emma didn’t dare look at him. He sounded cross. And he hadn’t struck her as especially cheery even once since they’d met.
“Ahem!” Colley cleared her throat as she gave the beans yet another stir. “Looks like I’m going to have to cook these down real low, all the way overnight. Hate to throw this much good food away, otherwise.”
“What?” Mr. Lowery sounded horrified. “We can’t afford to throw out food. What has she done?”
Emma went on the defense. “I only—”
“Well, Pete,” the older woman started, pouring the beans into a huge black kettle on short, nubby legs. “She says she did tell ya she didn’t cook. Cain’t fault a body for tellin’ ya the truth.”
Emma gave Colley a grateful smile.
“Yes, but I did tell her where she could find the information she would need.”
Colley barked out a laugh. “Them’s books, Pete. Ain’t the same’s knowing what you’re doing, nor nothing like having someone with you who does to show you how. I reckon a body can learn from them books of Miss Adele’s just fine, but that might could take a whole lot a time. Not just one day or so.”
“I don’t recall where sitting around and reading Adele’s books is part of earning her keep,” Mr. Lowery countered, crossing his arms, brow furrowed. “It’s clear to anyone who’s got eyes that those beans are nowhere near where anyone’s going to be eating them. Maybe tomorrow, but sure and it won’t be tonight. And we all still need supper.”
“True enough,” Colley answered. “I’m going to figger what I can make do with, and come up with something tasty—”
“Filling,” the rancher cut in. “Gotta fill a number of bellies here, Colley. Worry about tasty later.”
Robby’s dismay radiated from his every feature. “Papa!”
“We can do both, son,” Colley said in a conciliatory tone. “Let me make us a mess of gravy for that canned chicken Miss Emma’s been cooking, and see what the good Lord and I can do to help this doughy batter turn into biscuits.” She turned to Emma. “How’s it sound to ya if you help me put this meal on the table for us? You can do some watching. Reckon that should make it some easier next time you try your hand at a meal.”
“You mean tomorrow, Colley, right?” Mr. Lowery said in a voice as inflexible as the iron bar across the front of the fireplace. “You have shearing to do, and those two ewes are about to birth their lambs any moment now. Can’t be having you hold her hand through the making of every meal.”
Dread swam in Emma’s middle. He wasn’t about to ease up on his decision, was he?
Colley arched a brow. “Let’s see how we get us through tonight’s supper, now, Pete. My belly’s cozyin’ right up to my backbone, it’s so empty, an’ I reckon yours might could be, too. Tomorrow’s time enough for us to take care of tomorrow.”
While Colley’s description of her hunger struck Emma as a tad inappropriate, Emma had to fight to stifle her nervous laugh. The ranch manager had described her own appetite to perfection.
“How can I help you?” she asked Colley.
“Seein’ as how I figger anybody might could think of the green, string kinda beans ’stead of the regular kind when looking quick through some book, how’s about you fetch us a couple of cans of ’em from the shed?”
Emma nodded and scurried to the door, more than eager to redeem herself. Anybody could fetch a can… or two.
But when she returned, she could hear Colley’s and Mr. Lowery’s agitated voices, even before she opened the cabin door.
“Gotta tell ya, Pete, this ain’t one bit like the man I know you to be. Never known ya to be cruel, and holding that little girl to them kinda rules ain’t all that kind. Not her fault she ain’t never lived on a ranch, you know.”
Gratitude etched a slight smile on Emma’s lips.
“Haven’t said it’s her fault, Colley,” the rancher answered. “But I can’t risk Robby’s future on account of a silly woman who can’t even figure the basic difference between two kinds of beans. She’s here now, and it’s time for her to leave behind the kind of life that never did make any sense even back where she came from. Time to be good for more than her fancy clothes, storybooks, and, I suspect with good reason, breaking foolish men’s hearts with her silliness.”
Emma gasped. Why… he was accusing her of the same sort of thing a number of the jealous girls and their mamas did back in London and Denver. How dare he? He didn’t know her one bit.
Then Colley answered. “Miss Emma ain’t Adele, Pete.”
“I know that better than anyone.” Mr. Lowery’s voice came out rough and harsh. “Looks to me like she’s likely much worse. She’s the kind who expects everything done for her. She can’t even do half of what Adele could. My wife couldn’t handle the land, but she did run a house—well, too. And I know you remember her cooking. Never once did you or I have any kind of complaint. You just saw Miss Emma Crowell can’t do that, even with Adele’s cookery books to help.”
“Time, Pete. Time’s what she’d be needing.”
“Time and money are the two things I don’t have, Colley. There’s too much at stake here. What good does a silly girl like that do a man like me? She could cost me everything I’ve worked for. Miss Crowell strikes me as utterly useless, and I can’t carry useless out here. She’s really going to have to come up with the what-for and work like you, Wade, and me. Nothing else will do.”
Chapter 8
By the time she sat at the table for supper, Emma had no appetite. Eating became a battle. Tears burned her eyes, blurring her view of whatever Colley had concocted out of Emma’s unsuccessful efforts and put on everyone’s plate. The knot in her throat blocked every bite she tried to swallow.
To hear someone discount her as utterly useless had struck a devastating blow. This was the second time Mr. Lowery had spoken so poorly of her without knowing her especially well. Was that how everyone saw her? All those ladies in London and Denver who’d snubbed her? Was that the reason they’d showed no willingness to befriend her? Had Emma merely fooled herself when she’d thought they were all consumed with envy?
When she managed to rein in her ragged emotions, she noticed the strained air in the cabin. The room struck her as filled with a tension she’d never experienced before. Pleasant conversation and happy laughter had accompanied the meals she’d shared with family and friends—no, no, no! From what Mr. Lowery had said, she now had to view those people as mere acquaintances.
Emma had no friends.
A pang close to bitterness speared through her.
If anything, she felt lonelier than before.
None of the others showed even the slightest interest in her, so she soldiered on, trying to eat the food that for the most part refused to go down. After a bit, however, she began to register some of what was going on. Robby’s voice came through the fog that had surrounded her, and the constant stream of his typical chatter made her smile. She’d become quite familiar with his tendency toward constant conversation during the afternoon they’d just spent together.
Now, the little boy seemed intent on garnering his father’s attention. Unfortunately, his father appeared, if anything, more uncommunicative than she’d seen him in the brief time since they’d met. The most Mr. Lowery offered in response to Robby was when he let out the occasional grunted comment.
Every so often, Colley did exercise herself enough to pipe up. “Ya don’t say?” she murmured on a couple of occasions, then resumed her silent consumption of the mound of food on her thick, white china plate.
The two rustlers remained as silent as Mr. Lowery and as focused on their food as Colley.
Emma just stared at her still nearly full plate. How Colley had so quickly pulled the various elements of the disastrous dishes into something that resembled a meal, she still didn’t know. It would appear it took more than the sum of lard, water, salt, and flour to make biscuits. In the time she’d worked at Colley’s side to get the food done, the older woman had made sure Emma
understood the need for a small amount of both sour milk and soda powder—leavening, she’d called it. Never, ever would Emma forget that detail again.
Where the milk had come from, she didn’t know. Perhaps they had a cow hidden somewhere around the camp. There was, after all, an overabundance of darkened forest beyond the cabin door.
“… and Lady Emma says she has one like Mama’s book at her own house, too,” Robby told his father.
She winced. A glance at Mr. Lowery revealed a muscle tight in one cheek and deepened lines across his forehead. He shot her a glare then turned to his son again, disapproval loud in every inch of his posture.
But before he could scold the boy, Emma squared her shoulders and conjured the brightest smile she could. She would do all she could to spare the boy the pain of learning his great interest in books meant nothing more than a disappointment to his father. She couldn’t imagine how it would have felt to know Papa felt that way about her and something that mattered to her. Especially if it had as strong a tie to her mother.
“You know, Sir Robby,” she said, well aware her words would increase the rancher’s dislike, “I’ve visited a number of splendid castles in the British Isles.”
The child’s attention turned to Emma. “Really?”
“Indeed.” Although she felt the weight of Mr. Lowery’s disapproval as an almost palpable thing, Emma couldn’t bear the thought of the man bruising his child’s interest in history or literature any further. Surely there was much to value in matters of education, as she’d been taught since childhood.
She launched into a spirited and detailed description of various locales she’d visited across Great Britain while she and Papa had lived in London. Robby soaked it all in with a rapt expression on his face. As long as he showed interest, Emma kept talking. “And the queen—”
“The queen?” Robby asked in a voice hushed with awe. “You’ve seen a real queen?”
Emma fought to keep the corners of her mouth from quirking up into a broad smile. “I have. There are events in London that many folks attend where Queen Victoria appears. She’s a very serious lady, I’ll have you know, and busy.”
Of course, Robby wanted to know everything she could tell him about Her Majesty, the queen. Descriptions of Buckingham Palace also enthralled him.
When she couldn’t think of another thing to say, Emma fell silent. That’s when she realized everyone’s attention was fixed on her. Except Sawyer’s. He let out a snuffling snore.
Heat rose from her throat, through her cheeks, and to her hairline. She’d never intended to take over the conversation, but she supposed she had.
“I’m sorry.” Her words came out in little more than a whisper. “I didn’t mean to go on this long. I only wanted to tell Robby some things I knew he’d enjoy.”
“Maybe if you’d given him a list of sums to practice then he might have learned something that would do him good,” the rancher countered. “Don’t see where stories of castles and queens and palaces will help him any.”
Emma glared at the man. “We will certainly focus on mathematics, sir, since that is your wish, but I’ll suggest to you the boy also needs a solid foundation in literature, history, and a passing knowledge of the events that take place around the world these days. It’s a pity you don’t have the benefit of a good newspaper here at this camp.”
A deep sigh drew her attention to Ned. Uh-oh. The young man wore a dreamy expression, focused on her, and a silly smile tipped up his lips.
No-no-no! Over her recent past, Emma had become the regular recipient of that sort of attention. Any number of young men had declared themselves charmed by her presence, even though she hadn’t gone out of her way to… well, charm them.
Not much.
She hadn’t.
Not really.
Fine, fine. She hadn’t been excessive. Or mean-spirited.
Of course, it pleased her to know she was a charming person, but she didn’t work to charm every man she met. Besides, that had been then, this was now. Now she had to face a host who clearly wanted no part of her presence, while one of that host’s prisoners seemed to have fallen prey to her charms. Without her wanting him to do so.
She had to find the wisdom to handle the situation well.
Emma couldn’t remember when she’d needed wisdom as much.
Mr. Lowery, a look of displeasure on his rugged features, shrugged, then nodded. “I reckon if you give your word, then I’ll have to take it. Just see you don’t give my boy any more crazy notions to waste our time on. He needs to learn what he’ll need to run a solid sheep operation.”
A sharp retort popped to Emma’s lips, but she bit down on it. After exerting a moment of control, she sat up straight and crossed her arms. “In that case, sir, perhaps you ought to consider seeing to the boy’s education yourself. Since you seem so very particular as to what he learns, why, then, wouldn’t you be the person best suited for that specific job?”
He pushed back his chair and stood. “Are you suggesting you’ll take over my work with the sheep while I teach my son? Can Colley and Wade expect you ready to shear fleece in the morning? How about helping birth a lamb or two? We have some late ones about to be born.”
“Oh, no!” Ned said, his expression perking right up, his dingy blond hair dropping over his eyes in a thick curtain. “Miss Emma, she don’t need to be doin’ that, sir. She’s… she’s a lady. And a lady like her shouldn’t hafta get herself dirty with sheep. Please let me do it for her.”
Emma winced.
Peter snorted. “I’m not setting you loose, Ned, and you know it. Not until I hand you over to Marshal Blair in the fall. Even then, I doubt you’ll be any much looser than you are here.”
Ned’s expression turned to one of pure dejection.
Emma felt awful. Ever since she’d met him, Mr. Lowery had seemed to relish displaying a very rigid side to him. While she wasn’t ready to champion any outlaw, she also saw no reason to scold Ned for his attempt at kindness. But she couldn’t worry about Ned right then, much less wonder about the rancher’s reasons for his attitude. She had to do whatever she could to keep Robby from feeling as poorly as the young outlaw clearly did.
She followed Mr. Lowery’s lead and stood as well, determined to champion Robby’s cause, no matter how foreign the venture felt to her. Robby mattered. She knew only too well what life was like for a child without a mother’s tender, gentle attention.
“You know your suggestion is nothing less than foolish,” she told Mr. Lowery, chin up, gaze level. “I know even less about ranching and sheep than I do about housekeeping.”
The thought of the imminent births, however, did stick out in her mind and intrigued her more by the passing minute. She forged ahead.
“On the other hand, I wouldn’t mind learning about your animals, especially the babies. I assure you, I do learn—given the opportunity. It’s simply not reasonable of you to expect me to accomplish it in one afternoon with a couple of books. Which, I suspect, you knew only too well when you commanded me to do so.”
She felt a measure of triumph when he averted his gaze and his dark-tanned cheekbones turned a burnished red. She’d made her point. Still, his words had sparked a glimmer of interest within her. “Could I…” She squared her shoulders and took a firmer tone. “I would like to join you and Colley when the lambs are being born. Could I, please?”
He hadn’t expected her request. He met her gaze, surprise on his face. “I won’t have you distracting us at such a crucial moment, Miss Crowell. We can’t afford to lose even one ewe or lamb.”
“I wouldn’t distract you, sir. Observing from a reasonable distance is all I would like to do.”
“You are a distracting nuisance by just you being—”
“I reckon it’s right about time we get after washin’ up after this here supper we’ve done gone and had us… somehow.” A fierce frown wreathed Colley’s leathery face in lines and furrows. “How ’bout you and Wade get these two good-for-n
othings back to the bunkhouse, Pete? I’ll take care of things here, and then come on out to meet up with ya afore I git back to my bedroom and hit my bed.”
The rancher looked ready to object, but then, with another unhappy stare for Emma, he turned to Wade and jerked his head in the direction of the two outlaws.
Wade scurried to the hook on the wall where he’d looped the ropes that had secured Sawyer’s and Ned’s hands, did his job, tugged to make sure the knots wouldn’t give way, and then nudged the men toward the door. Mr. Lowery stood as straight as one of the massive trees outside the door and studied the barely-glowing embers in the center of the hearth. When the three others reached the door, he turned to his son.
“I’ll be back to read to you in a bit.” Then, with the briefest of nods for Emma in an apparent attempt at civility, he opened the door and left.
Emma released her tension in a huge gust of a sigh.
With a glance over her shoulder, she noted that Robby had made his way to his mother’s trunk and was rummaging, most likely for the Malory book. She smiled. Once she and Colley had finished cleaning up, she would read for a while. Mr. Lowery could certainly continue where she left off.
She turned to Colley, who was pouring steaming-hot water into the deep, wide basin where she’d washed her face and hands earlier that day. “Is he always such a dreadful curmudgeon?”
“Cur-mut-chon?” Colley scratched her head near the tight bun on top, making the silver knot jog only the tiniest tad, then shook her head. “Dunno ’bout that word, but he is sore-headed much of the time.”
Oh, dear. “That means I can expect quite a bit more of…” She gave a weak little wave. “That.”
Colley struck her as reluctant to answer, but then, after shaving some curls of the bar of soap into the steamy water, she shrugged. “Been mostly that way since his missus died. Hit him real hard, I tell ya.”
Emma tried to steel herself against feeling too much sympathy for the grumpy widower, but the memory of Papa’s suffering the first few years after Mama’s death melted her resolve. “I understand. No, I truly do,” she insisted when Colley seemed to disbelieve her. “I lost my own dearest mama when I was ten, and Papa… well, he had such a time back then. They loved each other very deeply, and he seemed lost without her.”