Montana Untamed (Bear Grass Springs, Book One): Bear Grass Springs, Book One

by Ramona Flightner

  “What’s this I hear about you being our competition?” Irene asked as she set a plate of chicken and dumplings in front of Annabelle. “And here I thought we’d been welcoming to you.” Steam fogged the café windows on the dreary late March day, and many had ventured inside for a warm meal and some conversation. Annabelle sat at a small table at the front of the café.

  Annabelle laughed at Irene’s attempt to sound disgruntled. “You’re a business woman through and through. You know as well as I do that a bakery is a good idea for the town.”

  Irene grumbled and moved into the kitchen as another dinner was ready to be served. Harold laughed as he joined Annabelle at her table. “She’s just upset she didn’t think of the idea herself. She’s never happier than when she’s setting up a new business. It’s keeping the old ones going that she finds tedious.”

  Annabelle’s smile held a hint of relief. “I’d hate to lose her friendship.”

  “If anything, you’ve risen in her estimation.” Harold took a sip of water from a glass Irene had slapped down in front of him. “Having more businesses in town only helps us all.”

  “I’m eager to start work.” Annabelle took a bite of dinner and sighed at the delicious flavors. “I’ve never been this long without working before.”

  Harold nodded to men entering for dinner and said a few words in passing. “I saw the young MacKinnon there yesterday. He’s a good choice for you. Does excellent work but won’t overcharge. He tapped his finger on the tabletop. “There are a few others who claim to be carpenters in town, but I wouldn’t trust them as far as I could throw a cow pie. They barely know one end of a hammer from another.” He grinned at her as she fought a giggle. “You’ll be up and running soon.”

  Irene bustled over to her. “And, when you are, I expect a visit. Since our baker quit, I have no patience with rising at such an ungodly hour to make sure there are rolls and sweet breads for my customers. If you’re as good at baking as is rumored, then we will expect to be customers.”

  “What rumors?” Annabelle gasped. “I haven’t sold anything yet, and I haven’t baked a thing.”

  “Small town,” Harold muttered. “Seems one of the gents mentioned your plan to your sister, and she let it be known you were the best baker in Maine.”

  Annabelle flushed. “She exaggerates.”

  “Did you or did you not win first prize at the state fair for your pies three years running?” As her blush intensified, Irene nodded. “Exactly. We will expect a taste test. If you pass, which we expect you will, then you will have no shortage of customers clamoring for your goods.”

  Harold leaned in as though imparting a great secret. “There is a shortage of womenfolk in these parts. Many men are willing to pay good money for a little something sweet.”

  “As is testament to the success at the Boudoir,” Irene muttered as she moved away.

  “Never mind her. She likes to act affronted at times.” He winked at Annabelle. “An’ here we’ve been feeding you our inferior pie for weeks!” He chortled with laughter until his wife tapped him on his head.

  “It’s been delicious,” Annabelle protested.

  “It’s barely edible, and I know it,” Irene said as she sat next to Annabelle. “Baking has never been my strong suit. I can cook a fine roast chicken, but I’ve never had the soft touch for pastries.”

  Annabelle bit back a smile. “You gave me further incentive to consider my store.” At Irene’s interested smile, she said, “My first day here, you mentioned you’d lost your baker. It made me wonder if a bakery would survive in a town like this.”

  “If you’re any good, you’ll thrive.” Irene heaved herself up to laugh and joke with miners who sat toward the back of the room.

  “Good luck, Miss Annabelle,” Harold said. “For all of us wishing you well, just as many are wondering if you’ll fail.”

  Annabelle took a long sip of her coffee and nodded. “I’m tougher than I look, Mr. Tompkins.” She shared a laugh with him as she nonetheless battled her nerves.

  Two weeks later, in early April, her bakery was on the verge of opening. After backbreaking days helping Ewan MacKinnon sand and paint the walls, she had worked as his assistant for the remainder of the construction. Her largest battle had been ordering provisions from the cantankerous Tobias. However, after negotiating a reasonable rate for her baking supplies and ensuring they would be ordered on a regular basis, her main worry was opening day. What if no one desired what she had to offer?

  Annabelle swiped at her brow as she took a break from cleaning the outside of the front windows two days before she planned her grand opening. The inside of the store was hidden behind pale yellow curtains, adding a sense of mystique for the town’s residents. She smiled at her weak reflection, her black hair tied in a braid down her back, her worn apron marred with splatters of paint around her waist. She grinned as she thought about the fair rental rate she had received from the building’s owner before grimacing as she recalled the owner’s shouts of outrage when he realized he had rented to a woman. She sighed. And to a woman whose sister worked at Betty’s Boudoir.

  She puffed out a breath, blowing away a strand of hair, before grabbing a rag to wipe the lower part of the glass door. She lowered her knees to the boardwalk to clean the glass, humming to herself while she worked.

  “Well, if it ain’t Miss Evans on her knees,” a man said in a taunting voice from behind her. The man in rough miner’s clothes laughed at her dismayed gasp. “You’re famous in the mining camp.” He waved to the mountains in the distance.

  Annabelle rose and met the man’s leering gaze. “Good day, sir.” She kept a tight hold of the bucket of water she’d used to wash the windows and door. “I’m certain I’ve no reason for such infamy.”

  “I’d much rather a good night from a woman as fine as you rather than a good day. Seems to me you’re wastin’ your talents”—he raised and lowered his eyebrows—“with your foolish notion of this store. Many would like to make your acquaintance.”

  “When my store opens in two days, I’ll be happy to meet all those who are inclined to purchase any of my baked goods,” she snapped.

  He tilted his head as he studied her. “I know you ain’t slow, miss. You come from far away, and some folks say you’re educated.” He hooked his thumbs through his bright red suspenders. “I’d think you’d be eager for what a man could offer a woman like you.”

  “As a respectable woman, I’m certain I don’t understand your meaning.” She fought a flush rising on her cheeks.

  He laughed before spitting out a wad of chewing tobacco at her feet. “’Course you do. With a sister like yours”—he watched her closely—“it’s only a matter of time afore blood tells.”

  Annabelle took a step back from the man, and his eyes shone with triumph. She glanced from him to the splat of tobacco marring the previously cleaned boardwalk in front of her storefront. She backed up another step until she leaned against her door, before emptying the bucket in an apparent attempt to clean the area in front of her store. She smiled innocently at the man as she soaked him from the waist down. “Forgive me my clumsiness.” She opened her door and shut it with a click of the lock behind her.

  After she heard his boot heels and angry mutterings fade into the distance, she collapsed onto a stool as the shaking began. The bucket fell to the floor with a clang as she wrapped her arms around herself. After taking a few deep breaths, she swiped at her cheeks and rose.

  The inside of the previously barren room had undergone a complete transformation. With the help of Ewan MacKinnon and another carpenter, she had turned the one large room into three spaces. The front room, now painted white with a mint-green trim, held glass-fronted cases awaiting baked goods. A doorway led to the kitchen area in the back while her small living space was set aside in one corner.

  She walked into her private room, large enough for a desk, a comfortable chair, and a single bed. She sat on the chair, glancing outside to the distant mountains and
attempted, but failed, to imagine the rough mining camp hidden in a canyon there. She jumped at a tapping on the back door to her store and rose.

  “Who is it?” she asked, pressing her ear to the door.

  “It’s Leticia, Miss Evans.”

  Annabelle flipped the lock, opening it a hair’s width to ascertain it was Leticia and then smiled her welcome. “I wasn’t expecting you today!” Annabelle ruffled the red hair on Hortence, Leticia’s five-year-old daughter, and motioned for them to enter.

  Leticia Browne, the town’s schoolteacher and girlfriend to Alistair MacKinnon, looked around the kitchen area of the bakery, although she was unable to hide her anxiety. Her blonde hair was tied in a severe knot at the nape of her neck. She stood about Annabelle’s height, although her frame was much more willowy than Annabelle’s curvy figure. Annabelle watched her newest acquaintance with curiosity, as she wondered what more was hidden behind her bright blue eyes.

  “Have you thought any further about hiring help, Miss Evans?” Leticia asked. She kept a firm grip on her daughter’s shoulder, who remained rooted in front of her. “Few children’s parents are desirous of private lessons over the summer.”

  Annabelle sighed and moved into the kitchen area. “I have to admit I haven’t. I like to believe I will be busy enough to need your help. However, I’m uncertain that is true.” She watched as Leticia paled at her words. “At least not for an entire day’s work. Why don’t we start with you working for me in the mornings when I will be busy baking? It would be hard for me to bake, clean, and serve customers all at once. School will be out soon after I open, and I’m sure I will need your help then.”

  Leticia smiled, and her shoulders stooped with relief. “Hortence is a wonderful dishwasher.” At her mother’s slight nudge, Hortence nodded.

  “I’m sure she is,” Annabelle said with a smile. “However, let’s see if her help is needed.” Annabelle paused and glanced around the kitchen where sacks of flour, sugar, and spices were stored. Her icebox remained empty, although, starting tomorrow, she would have fresh milk, eggs, and butter delivered daily.

  “If you’re worried about being busy enough, I’d inquire at the Grand Hotel to see if they would like to purchase any of your breads. The woman who baked for them recently married, and they’ve struggled in the past months. Besides, I’ve heard the proprietor has been quite down in the mouth since you paid your bill and moved into your room here.” She laughed at Annabelle’s chagrined look. Then she covered her daughter’s ears. “The same could be said of the Boudoir. I hear they eat poorly.”

  “I thank you for your advice. I’ll inquire at each of those establishments.” She motioned to her small room off the kitchen. “What do you think? Isn’t it perfect?” she asked as she stood behind them as they stared at her tiny living quarters.

  Hortence giggled. “It’s like a dollhouse.”

  Annabelle laughed. “Yes, it is rather small. But it’s mine. And I couldn’t be more pleased.”

  Leticia smiled as she ran a hand over her daughter’s head. “Then, as long as you’re happy, nothing else matters.” She squeezed her daughter’s shoulder. “Come, love. We should head home for supper.”

  “Can we see the horses, Mama?” Hortence asked.

  Leticia shared an amused smile with Annabelle before she brushed the hair out of her daughter’s eyes. “Yes. I know Alistair would love to see you.”

  “’Bye, Miss Anna!” Hortence called as she raced to the back door. Leticia followed her, grabbing her hand. She waved to Annabelle before she walked hand in hand with her daughter toward the livery and Alistair.

  Annabelle stood, watching them go, and took a deep breath. She nodded to a neighbor who walked along the dirt path formed behind the row of businesses that lined the main street and the homes behind them. She took a moment to enjoy the late afternoon sun before turning inside to prepare for her grand opening.

  Annabelle left the Grand Hotel with a spring in her step. The manager had devoured her samples and had been eager to hire her to provide baked goods. She had had to deflect a dinner invitation, citing her busy schedule setting up her new business. He had barely haggled over her prices, and she frowned, wondering if she had set the prices too low. As she wandered up the boardwalk, she considered raising them but decided a price adjustment could wait until she determined if she was successful. “I don’t want to discourage businesses from working with me,” she muttered to herself. The café and Grand Hotel restaurant had agreed to a three-month contract with her, and she could barely believe her good fortune.

  She took a deep breath as she stared at the closed back door of the final business she would offer to sell wholesale to. She walked up the steps and rapped on the door.

  After a moment, a heavily rouged woman stared at her. “Yes?” she asked.

  “I’m hoping to speak with the Madam,” Annabelle said.

  “You don’t look like someone wanting to join us,” the girl said, her dress sleeve falling over one shoulder and her petticoat ruffles visible.

  “I have a business opportunity for the Madam.”

  The woman snorted. “Is that what you call it now?” She stared with interest at the covered basket. “We don’t need no rouges or powders. An’ we don’t need no potions. The last ones nearly killed us.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m a baker, and I would like to see if the Madam would be interested in purchasing my goods for you and your colleagues.”

  A small tussle ensued, and the girl was pushed aside. “Blessing, stop your yammerin’.” Fidelia appeared in the doorway and stared at her sister with frank confusion. “What are you doin’ here?”

  “I wanted to speak with the Madam,” Annabelle said.

  “You aren’t working here.” Fidelia’s blue eyes hardened to the color of frozen sapphires.

  “Oh, no. No. No,” Annabelle stammered out. “As I explained to your colleague, Blessing, I wanted to ascertain if the Madam was interested in purchasing bread for you and your friends.” She flushed at her sister’s incredulous look and shifted on her feet.

  “Well, come in then,” Fidelia said, stepping aside to allow Annabelle inside.

  Around a long trestle table with benches on either side, a dozen women sat in various stages of undress. Annabelle tried not to stare, but she was fascinated at their ease with their near nakedness and that of the other women’s. “I beg your pardon,” she stammered as she stared out the window while the women laughed at her discomfort.

  “Come then. If you want to know if we’ll desire your goods, give us a taste. We’ll convince the Madam for you,” Blessing urged.

  “As long as Ezekial agrees,” one muttered.

  Annabelle nodded, pulling out a small plate filled with bite-size morsels of sweet breads, cookies, and basic bread. The women gobbled them down, moaning their delight and fighting each other for every sample.

  The Madam stormed into the kitchen. “What in damnation is going on?” She swatted at one of the girls scratching another over one of the last samples and spun to glare at Annabelle. “Are you the one causing such chaos? How dare you storm in here, uninvited?”

  Her shadow man, who Annabelle ascertained was named Ezekial, glowered at her. His black clothes made his forbidding look even fiercer and drained any color from his silver eyes. A billy club poked out of his back pocket.

  Annabelle squared her shoulders, ignoring him to confront the Madam. “I was invited in. I made samples for you and the women who work here. I wanted to offer you the opportunity to be one of the few businesses I sell my products to in bulk.”

  The Madam stared at Annabelle a moment as though dumbfounded before her gaze moved among her girls. The Madam correctly interpreted the mood in the room. “I’m sure we can come to some arrangement that is mutually beneficial.”

  Annabelle smiled. “I have a fixed wholesale rate that must be agreed to. If you are unwilling to pay that rate, I will be unable to sell my goods to you
. I have no need of any other arrangement.” Her voice chilled as she and the Madam attempted to stare each other down.

  “If you will follow me into my office?” the Madam asked. She motioned for Ezekial to remain in the kitchen with the girls and left the kitchen, assuming Annabelle walked behind her.

  Annabelle nodded to the women in the kitchen—who had avidly followed her business discussion with the Madam—and then gave a small smile to her sister. Fidelia watched Annabelle with impassive boredom as she left the room.

  The small office was dark, covered in velvet burgundy wallpaper with thick curtains covering the windows. Annabelle sat in the worn leather chair across from the Madam, who sat behind her desk. Annabelle balanced the basket on her lap. After a few moments of silence, she rose. “I see that was a display for your girls. If you will excuse me?”

  “I want you here, Miss Evans. Working beside your sister.” The Madam’s gaze raked over Annabelle’s perfect posture, her hourglass figure confined by a corset and covered by a demure sky-blue wool dress. “Do you realize what you could earn here?”

  “The basic point is that I have no interest, now or ever, in working for you. I am smart enough to know that I would not be my own person, with the ability to make my own decisions, were I to work for a woman such as you.” She tilted her head back farther in a show of disdain. “I bid you good day.”

  “I imagine you thought to inveigle your way into your sister’s good graces with a few sweet buns. You truly are an innocent.” The Madam smiled as Annabelle froze at the door, her fingers on the handle, but the door remained closed. “Your sister lost her innocence and her decency years ago. I wonder how long it will take you to learn that she will never be more than a whore in a small town. She is no more your sister than I am.”

  Annabelle turned to stare at the Madam. “You are a woman devoid of hope, decency, and charity. You are correct in that I am only here to offer my sister whatever support I can. If it also aids the other poor wretches working under you, I will consider it a bonus.” She took a step toward the Madam, Annabelle’s eyes lit with disdain and distrust. “I will never cease working for the day my sister is free of you.”