“Do you think Mr. Brody would let us take two horses out on a ride? Does he have the right tack for two riders, or are his horses mostly suited to buggies?”
“Oh, I’m sure we could ride. Mr. Brody has a horse of his own, and I believe Tom does too, and this horse is a third. Yes, please—let’s ask. I haven’t ridden in months, and I’ve missed it.”
Mr. Baxter smiled at her. “I’ll ask when we get back to the hotel. The ride might have to wait a day or two, though—I’ve realized I need to attend to some business out of town, but I’ll be back.”
Camille frowned. “I thought you were out of town on business right now.”
“I am, but I have other business . . .” He chuckled. “I’d try to explain, but it would get even more complicated. I’ll simplify by saying that I’m taking the last train out tonight, and then I’ll return Monday.”
“So you’re going to dangle the prospect of a horseback ride in front of me, and then make me wait two days before its fulfillment? That hardly seems fair, Mr. Baxter.”
“I know. I realized that as soon as it left my mouth.” He looked at her with a faint smile. “Do you suppose you can forgive me?”
“Well, I forgave you for the hair ribbons, so I suppose I can forgive this as well.”
She was surprised when his face turned a little red. “I hoped we’d never have to discuss those infernal hair ribbons again. May we please move past that, Miss Waterford? You have no idea how wretched I’ve felt.”
Camille smiled and reached out to touch his sleeve. “Of course we can forget about it. I’m sorry—I have a tendency to tease, and I should know when it won’t sound as I intended.”
“I enjoy teasing too, but apparently, only when I’m not the target. Don’t worry about me—I’ll get over it sooner or later. You did me a favor by it, though.”
“I did? How is that?”
“You taught me that I need to view the world from the perspective of others, and not to think only of myself. It was a valuable lesson, and I appreciate it.”
She looked down, not sure how to accept his warm praise. “Well, why don’t you let me have the last slice of bread as my reward, and we’ll consider ourselves even?”
“Done.” He reached into the basket, pulled out the bread, and offered it to her with a flourish.
As they finished eating and drove back to the hotel, their conversation became much lighter, which suited Camille to no end. While she enjoyed discussing deeper things, she’d felt as though there was more going on than met the eye, like Mr. Baxter knew more than she did, was withholding something from her, and she didn’t like that. When they moved to other topics, she was able to keep up with his ideas, and she found that she liked him very much.
Was he the reason she’d felt she shouldn’t marry Mr. Johnson? Had fate taken her by the hand and led her to Mr. Baxter, or was this a coincidence? And for that matter, would Mr. Baxter return on Monday as he’d said he would, or would he decide that a few days of brief chatter weren’t enough to begin a relationship?
She couldn’t answer that question, and while she knew she liked him, she didn’t know if her feelings ran deeper or would ever begin to run deeper. The best thing would be to wait and see what happened. Usually, that kind of ambiguity bothered her, but she was content about it in this case. Life sometimes held twists that no one could have anticipated, and she’d learned that fighting it would do no good. She’d fought her parents’ deaths, and that had gotten her nowhere.
Chapter Ten
The first thing Camille did when they arrived back at the hotel was to check on her rising dough. This was the first time she’d been put in charge of such a large kitchen task, and she wanted to get it done quickly and properly. She took the dishtowel off one of the bowls and gasped when she saw that the mixture was the same size it had been when she left.
Mr. Baxter had followed her into the kitchen, saying he’d like some coffee, and he came to her side. “Looks like your yeast didn’t work,” he commented.
Camille glanced at him in surprise. “You know about baking?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Enough to keep myself from starving. How hot was the water you used to start this?”
“Um, I’m not sure. Pretty hot, though—I took it out of the tea kettle Sarah had on the fire.”
“You might have killed the yeast. How much honey or sugar did you put in?”
Heat flooded Camille’s face. “I . . . I think I forgot. I was concentrating so hard on getting the right amount of salt.”
Mr. Baxter smiled at her. “I won’t insult you by pointing out that yeast needs something sweet to feed on.”
“Oh? You won’t mention that at all?”
“No, not even once. I’m too much of a gentleman.”
“I’m certainly glad. It would be horrible to be reminded of something like that.” Camille lifted all the bowls from the shelf and looked at each. None of them were salvageable.
“What am I going to do? I just ruined all these ingredients.”
“I think the first thing is to start new dough. You’ll need this bread soon, won’t you?”
Camille nodded. If they ran out of bread, the fault would be entirely hers.
Mr. Baxter took off his suit coat, draped it over the back of a kitchen chair, and reached for one of the clean aprons hanging from a peg on the wall. “I’ll start some new dough. In the meantime, it might be good to find your manager and let her know what happened.”
Camille nodded, although she wanted to argue with him. Did she really have to confess the awful mistake she’d made? Even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew that yes, she had to do the right thing. If she wanted to keep this job for any length of time whatsoever, she had to own up to it and show that she could be trusted.
“All right, I’ll go find her. Thank you for your help, Mr. Baxter.” She paused. “I think we’re past formality by now, don’t you? May I call you Jem?”
He seemed to be surprised at her request, but he immediately replied, “Of course you may. And you’re Camille, yes?”
“That’s right. Well, Jem, time for me to tell Mrs. Brody what I did.”
When Camille found Elizabeth, she was sitting on the floor of the parlor, playing with her small daughter, Rose. She was sprawled on the carpet in the most unladylike way, but it looked comfortable, and Camille envied her that freedom for a moment.
Elizabeth sat up straight and tried to regain some dignity when she noticed that Camille had entered the room, but Camille held up a hand.
“Don’t stop your play on my account. I just need to let you know of a mistake I’ve made.”
Elizabeth looked at her curiously. “Oh? And what is that?”
Camille hated to admit it—she knew better than to make such amateur errors. “I ruined several batches of bread dough. I think the water was too hot, and I forgot to put sugar in it.” Just saying the words aloud made her embarrassment so much worse.
Elizabeth nodded. “Get started on some new dough, and I’ll send Ruth in to make some corn bread. That will mix up fast and tide the customers over for a while.”
Camille was surprised. “Are you sure you want me to do the dough? Shouldn’t Ruth do it instead so it doesn’t get ruined?”
Elizabeth smiled. “And just how do you expect to learn if you don’t practice?”
Gratitude flooded Camille’s heart, replacing her embarrassment. “Thank you, Mrs. Brody. Er, Elizabeth. I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t. You’re a good worker, Camille.”
Camille hurried back to the kitchen as quickly as she could so she could set things right. Mrs. Dupree was there, chatting with Jem.
“Camille, I was just telling Mr. Baxter that we can take this bread dough and cook it on a skillet, making a sort of little flatbread. You don’t have to throw it out entirely.”
“We don’t?” Oh, that would be so nice. Camille had no idea how much food she’d nearly wasted, but it had to be at least a
dollar’s worth, as she’d mixed up several batches.
“Let me show you.” Mrs. Dupree pinched off a bit of dough, flattened it between her hands, and placed it on the skillet. After a moment, she used a fork to grab the edge and turn it over. Then once it was cooked, she handed it to Camille. “Taste it.”
Camille took a bite. Surprisingly, it wasn’t bad.
“Why don’t you let me cook these up while you and Mr. Baxter prepare the next batches? I really have nothing to do until Harriet decides she’s ready, so I might as well make myself useful.”
The three of them worked together companionably, chatting about this and that. Ruth came in a few minutes later and whisked up some corn bread. Between that and the flatbread, their customers should have enough to eat until the real bread was ready.
“What other kitchen skills have you been hiding?” Camille asked as Jem pounded down yet another mound of dough. His hands moved with surety, as though this was something he did every single day. She’d never seen a man work in a kitchen before, and she liked it. There was something very attractive about it.
“Oh, I like making cakes and pies. I’m not much good at roasts or things like that, though.” He flipped the dough he was working on into a greased bowl, covered it, and moved on to the next. “I’ve often thought I need cooking lessons.”
“Perhaps you have a friend or a neighbor who could help you with that,” Mrs. Dupree suggested.
“What I really wanted was to find a wife who could do it for me,” Jem replied.
Something odd crackled in the air between them, and Camille looked up curiously. They weren’t attracted to each other, were they? Mrs. Dupree had to be ten years older than Jem, and she was married besides. No, Camille didn’t think that could be it, but something was definitely going on.
By the time the train whistle blew, three platters of flatbread were waiting on the counter, along with several pans of corn bread. The new bread dough seemed to be rising just right, and Camille took a deep breath and released it. The meal was saved—at least, if the customers didn’t mind Mrs. Dupree’s unusual creation.
The train brought them few customers, and the dining room was only half full. After taking a look at the situation, Giselle told Camille, Ruth, and Polly they were excused from duty until after the meal. That sounded wonderful to Camille after how hard she’d worked trying to make up for the bread incident.
She found Jem seated at a table in the corner and sat beside him. “I hope you don’t mind if I join you.”
“No, of course not.” He looked down at the table and toyed with his fork. “I’ve really enjoyed the time we’ve spent together, Camille.”
She could hear something in his voice, something that indicated he wasn’t saying everything that was on his mind. She wondered if he was about to tell her that he’d decided not to return from his quick trip, and she felt a zing of disappointment.
“I’ve enjoyed it too,” she replied. Even if she was about to get let down, she saw no harm in thanking him for his company. It had been nice, once she forgot about the hair ribbons, and to be honest, she’d even started to wonder if those really were such an offense as she’d made them out to be.
“When I come back on Monday, I fully plan on taking you for that horseback ride,” he continued. “I spoke with Tom just now while you were finishing up in the kitchen, and he says it’s no problem at all.”
Camille grinned, unable to hold back her feelings. “That’s wonderful! I can’t wait to ride again—I’ve been aching to do it. I had my own horse once upon a time, back before the bank came in and took everything, and I wish I could have one again.”
“Your own horse, eh? What was its name?”
“Achilles,” she replied. “A little highbrow for a horse, I admit, but he and I used to go everywhere together. It drove my mother to distraction. She was trying to raise me to be a lady, and there I was, mud on my skirts, flying through the air on the back of a ‘smelly animal.’ Her words, not mine. I’ve always loved the smell of horse.”
“So have I,” Jem replied. “It’s a wholesome smell, not all perfumed like some of those soaps you can get. It’s the smell of an honest day’s work, of the finer things in life.”
She grinned again. “You seem to be reading my mind.”
They ate in companionable silence, and then Jem rose from the table. “I’m going to catch this train,” he said. “I hadn’t meant to leave until later, but if I go now, that’s all the sooner I can come back.”
“You’re changing your travel plans because of me?” Camille asked. She’d meant to say it in a lighthearted, joking way, but as the words left her mouth, she realized how serious they sounded, and how very much she wanted his answer to be yes.
“I am. And you’d better be ready for that horseback ride.”
Before she knew what was happening, he’d bent down, taken her hand in his, and kissed the back of it. Then he was off, striding through the dining room toward the lobby, and she wondered how it was possible to be so intrigued by someone she’d just met.
***
He kissed her hand?
David wanted to kick himself. If something as simple as buying her hair ribbons was going to get him in trouble, just what would happen to him as a result of making actual physical contact with her, and with his lips, no less? He’d never understand all these rules and conventions, and he wasn’t actually sure he wanted to. It seemed like a waste of perfectly good time trying to keep it all straight.
He boarded the train and plopped down on a seat halfway down the passenger car, where he stared at the hotel through the dirty glass of the window. He was trapped, and he knew it. He couldn’t escape his fate now even if he wanted to. He’d only spent the smallest amount of time with Camille Waterford, but he knew as surely as he knew anything that she was the girl he wanted to marry. He didn’t care if she didn’t think she was ready or if she thought he needed some other sort of woman. She was perfect in every particular, and the fact that they were going to ride horses together was just the last bit of the puzzle he needed to convince himself of the rightness of this whole thing. The small matter of his lie . . . well, that was a small matter indeed, and hardly even worth considering.
He dozed off as the train reached its ideal traveling speed, the back-and-forth motion of the car lulling him to sleep. He didn’t like how loudly the wheels clacked along the tracks, but he’d learned long ago to sleep wherever he could, so he did his best to ignore the noise. He slept deeply, not having gotten much rest the night before because he’d been thinking about Miss Waterford.
When the train pulled in to Wichita, David blinked awake, then stood and stretched. His neck had a horrible crick in it from the way he’d slouched against the window while he slept, and he rotated his head around a few times. Then he descended the steps to the platform and collected his satchel as it was unloaded from the baggage car. Home sweet home—until he turned around and headed back to Topeka on Monday.
When he reached the ranch, he plopped his bag on the porch and headed out to see the animals first thing. It looked like Henry, the neighbor boy, had done a good job—the cows were milked, the stalls had been mucked out, and the feeding troughs had been replenished. David nodded with satisfaction. As long as the animals were all right, it didn’t much matter what else had happened in his absence because they were his priority.
Everything looked all right in the house as well, but this time, he was seeing the place with new eyes. When he was preparing for a mail-order bride, he’d gotten things clean and freshly painted, and that seemed fine. But now that he’d met Camille and had a face and a personality to put with the name, he was no longer content. He wanted to replace the curtains and put another coat of varnish on the kitchen table. He wondered if the rug was too faded from sitting in the sun—the large window did tend to create a beam that shone right in the center. All of a sudden, nothing was good enough, and it wasn’t because of anything she’d said or done to indicate that she w
anted a fancy lifestyle—it was simply that he wanted to give her the very best of everything.
As he walked around the house, he made a mental list of everything he wanted to change. It would take quite a bit of time, and it wouldn’t be cheap, but it would be worth it. What he wouldn’t do, though, was wait until it was all done before he proposed. If he didn’t act quickly, he would lose her, and he knew it. There were more women in the west than there had been even ten years before, but she’d have five men on her doorstep within the month once word got out that there was a pretty new waitress at the Brody. He knew how it worked—a girl came to town, and all the men had to gather round and inspect her. David had done that very thing himself countless times, which was why he’d finally decided to send for a mail-order bride. The search was long, grueling, and disappointing, and he was tired of the entire process.
He knew what he wanted, and it was Camille.
A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. He cleared his throat and crossed the floor to the door, where he found Wallace Dupree waiting on the porch.
“How was your trip to Topeka?” Wallace asked as he entered the house and took off his hat.
David held out his arm and motioned for his friend to take a seat on the sofa. “It was very revelatory. And your wife is quite the trickster, isn’t she, showing up at the hotel the way she did?”
Wallace chuckled. “We’d been discussing her making a trip to Topeka just moments before you came for dinner, and the coincidence of it wasn’t lost on us, we assure you. We most likely should have said something at the time, but her trip wasn’t definite.”
“I was certainly surprised to walk into the dining room and see her sitting there. She was surprised to see me, too, if only for the reason that I’ve taken on a different name for my time in Topeka.”
Wallace blinked. “A different name? What do you mean?”
A Begrudging Bride (Kansas Crossroads Book 11) Page 7