Deanna Tompkins

by Blue Mountain Passion

  "I woke up early, and decided to bathe," Meagan explained in a breathless rush. "I dallied longer than I intended. I hope I'm not too late to help with breakfast."

  Stephen stared down at her, open mouthed, but said nothing. She squirmed, knowing he hadn’t seen her in such a fine garment before. Still, he was being quite rude. "Stephen, are you listening to me?" she demanded.

  "What?" he replied, his attention clearly somewhere else.

  Her frustration mounted. What was wrong with him this morning? "I asked if I was too late to help with breakfast?" she repeated slowly and a bit louder than usual.

  He finally focused on her face. "Of course not," he answered with a wide grin.

  Meagan glanced around the kitchen. "Where's your mother?"

  His grin vanished as quickly as it came. "I - uh - there's something I haven't told you," Stephen stammered.

  She raised her brow. "Oh?"

  He shuffled from foot to foot. "Ma said she’s been cooking for Pa since the day they married and she intends to do so until the day she dies,” he explained with a shrug. “I guess she's kind of set in her ways."

  Meagan frowned. "I see."

  "You can still cook for me and Cole, though” he reassured her.

  She didn't like the sound of this at all.

  '"You can make all the decisions," Stephen continued, unaware of her growing dread.

  "That's what I'm afraid of," Meagan mumbled, more to herself than Stephen.

  "What?"

  Meagan shook her head. "Nothing." She glared up at Stephen. "Will my pay stay the same?"

  "Oh," Stephen mumbled, "yea, sure."

  Meagan nodded. Money was her only incentive and she'd do whatever was necessary to earn it.

  Stephen backed toward the door. "I'll just go get cleaned up."

  Meagan watched him leave. Dread settled in her stomach. She'd spent her days working beside her pa and eating in the cookhouse with the cowboys. She'd spent more time in the stables than in the kitchen. She’d really been counting on Anne McAllister to show her the ropes.

  Well, what was decided, was decided. She went in search of an apron. At least she could look the part, she thought, as she slipped the full length garment on. She quickly took inventory of the contents on each shelf of the pantry and memorized most of them.

  She lit the stove and placed a cast iron skillet on top, pondering what to cook. Eggs. How difficult could they be? She gathered six brown eggs in her apron and cracked them one by one into the pan. She jumped back as a loud hiss and billow of steam accompanied the action. She found a spoon and stirred the eggs, then stirred harder and faster as they began to stick to the pan. Large black chunks mixed with the eggs. Meagan grimaced. They were too thick. She pumped some water into a cup and poured it into the eggs. She added more, a little at a time, until they seemed to be the proper consistency. Satisfied they were done, she set them aside and cut off four large hunks of ham. She placed the slices in a separate skillet then filled two large glasses with milk. Deciding that some thick slices of bread with jam would be just the thing to go with ham and eggs, she cut several one inch thick slices from a loaf on the cupboard.

  Smoke filled the room. Meagan rushed to the stove and flipped the ham with a twist of her wrist. She brushed the sweat from her brow with her sleeve as she stared at the blackened meat. It was difficult to keep track of all this at once. The eggs had thickened again, so she added more water. Satisfied the ham was done, Meagan removed it from the heat.

  She spread strawberry jam on the bread and arranged the slices on a platter then dished up the ham and eggs into two large glass bowls. She placed it all on a large silver tray and entered the dining room. Both Stephen and Cole were there.

  "I hope you're hungry." A billow of smoke followed her into the room. Meagan's heart skipped erratically in her chest as she studied Cole from the corner of her eye. A troubled frown etched deep lines in his forehead as he stared at the food. She allowed herself to relax. Cole must not remember her intrusion into his bedroom, for he appeared more interested in the food she carried than he did in her.

  "What happened in there?"

  Meagan ignored Cole's question. Smoke invaded her nostrils and she smothered a cough behind her hand. "I forgot the forks," she exclaimed, setting the food on the table before pivoting and disappearing back into the kitchen.

  Cole waited until Meagan was gone before addressing his brother. "If this tastes like it looks, so help me you'll..." He stopped mid-sentence as Meagan returned. He flung Stephen a look that promised retribution.

  Meagan handed them their forks then waited, expecting them to start dishing up the food. For heaven’s sakes, she thought as they both just sat there. “Allow me,” she offered with a hint of exasperation. Surely Mrs. McAllister didn’t serve their food to them like they were children.

  Cole watched as Meagan put a chunk of ham and spoonful of eggs on his plate. "That's enough," he raised his hand to block her from spooning more eggs onto his plate.

  "Nonsense," she frowned. "You must eat more than this. Why, look at how big you are."

  Distracted by the way Meagan was looking at how big he was, Cole forgot to pay attention to her, and frowned as he looked down at a huge mound of eggs and two slices of ham on his plate. He reached out and grabbed several slices of bread before she turned to Stephen. His ma had baked the bread. It would be edible, if he scraped an inch of jam off.

  Cole scooped up a fork full of eggs and shoved them into his mouth. He choked and grabbed for his glass of milk. It was warm. Cole was certain he could chew on the eggs all day and they'd just grow larger and thicker in his mouth. He picked up his knife and attempted to slice through the ham. It crunched in protest. He managed to break through the outer layer and stabbed at the charred chunk with his fork. It shot across his plate and fell onto the table. Cole noticed Stephen was having the same problem, and couldn't suppress a grin.

  "You don't like my breakfast, do you?"

  Meagan's accusing eyes locked with his. Cole picked up his bread and devoured the whole slice while she watched. "Delicious," he lied as the sweet jam stuck to the roof of his mouth.

  Meagan shot him a doubtful glance. "Are you sure?"

  Cole nodded as he crunched on his ham.

  Meagan grinned. "Good. I can't wait until lunch, why I'll fix you both a..."

  "Stephen and I eat lunch with the ranch hands," Cole interrupted, grateful for the tradition they'd started years ago.

  "Oh. Okay then, at supper. You'll be surprised at supper."

  Cole felt ill. "I'm sure we will."

  "Here, have some more." Meagan dished the rest of the food onto his plate.

  Cole placed the flavorless lumps of egg into his mouth and swallowed them whole with the warm milk. Finally, all he had left was a few bites of the crispy ham. He crunched on the charred chunks, his smile pasted on his face for Meagan's benefit. He wanted to kill Stephen.

  Meagan disappeared into the kitchen and Cole took advantage of her absence to slip from the house. Stephen followed him out the door.

  "You don't look so good, Cole. You're kind of green."

  Cole was ready with a sharp retort when his stomach roiled. He dashed behind a large clump of bushes. Several minutes later he emerged to find Stephen there, looking a bit funny himself. With a weak grin, Cole stepped aside. Stephen disappeared next, clutching his stomach.

  Cole noticed Meagan on the front porch just as Stephen emerged from the bushes. He turned away and headed toward his horse.

  "Cole, wait up."

  He continued forward. He was in no mood to speak to Meagan. He mounted his horse. Meagan was less than ten feet away when he turned to look down at her. She stood beside his horse, hands on her hips.

  "Didn't you hear me calling you?" she scolded.

  Cole opened his mouth, but never spoke his reply. Meagan had removed her apron and, from his angle, it appeared she might pop out of her dress at any moment. Stephen walked up behind her, a big,
knowing grin on his face. "What are you wearing, Meagan?" Cole asked.

  Meagan glanced down at her dress. She returned his gaze. "It's a dress."

  Exasperated, Cole lowered his voice. "I know it's a dress, Meagan. But, where is the rest of it?"

  A puzzled frown created two small lines between her brows. "This is all there was."

  Her fingers toyed with the material. Cole watched as the exposed portion of her breasts increased each time she pulled on the gown. Her wide emerald eyes reflected an innocence that was difficult to dispute. "Where did you get that dress, Meagan?"

  "It's one of Bethany's." She flashed a defiant glare his way. "Remember, you told me I could wear them."

  "I didn't expect them to fit you... that way." Cole emphasized the last words. He hoped he wouldn't be forced to spell out the problem.

  Deep color invaded Meagan's cheeks and Cole was unable to determine if it was due to embarrassment, or anger.

  "I'm sorry if my attire offends you." Her eyes flashed green fire his way. "If," her face turned pink, "and I repeat if I had something more appropriate to wear, I would certainly wear it. I know I’m not part of your family and don’t belong in such a fine gown, but you have no right to tell me I can wear it and then chew me out when I do."

  Anger, Cole surmised. He remained quiet as she continued ranting and raving.

  "You might recall that all my clothes burned up." She spun on her heels and strode away, but not before Cole caught a glimpse of tears shining in her eyes.

  "Damn." Cole dismounted and followed her. He hadn't meant to hurt her feelings.

  "Meagan, wait." He quickened his pace when she showed no signs of slowing hers. He caught up to her and curled his fingers around her arm, swinging her around to face him. "Meagan, listen to me."

  "I won't." She tried to twist from him, but he held firm.

  "Meagan, the dress doesn't fit you."

  Her right eyebrow rose a fraction. "It’s all I have to wear. What do you suggest I do?"

  "Go see Ma," Cole advised. "She'll fix you up with another dress."

  Meagan pulled back. "Oh, no. I'm not going to talk to Mrs. McAllister about this."

  Cole caught her once again as she attempted to flee. "Yes, you are."

  "But,"

  "But nothing," He interrupted. He couldn't handle the sight of Meagan dressed this way day after day. It was more than any man should be asked to bear.

  She’d had more criticism than she needed in a lifetime and once again tried to free herself from his grip. "Let me go," she demanded.

  Cole couldn't keep his gaze from wandering to her chest.

  "Stop looking at me."

  "Find something else to wear and maybe I won't have to look."

  She managed to escape his grip and took several steps back. A pout caused her lower lip to stick out. "I'll talk to your ma," she conceded, surprised at the hurt she felt knowing Cole didn’t want to look at her.

  Cole hid his amusement behind a blank stare. Meagan looked like he'd just ordered her into a lion’s den. “Good.” He nodded then turned and walked away with a bounce in his stride that she had never noticed before.

  With a resigned sigh, Meagan turned and went in search of Cole’s ma. No time like the present to humiliate herself.

  She located Anne McAllister in a small room at the end of the main hall. It was cluttered with books and papers. The only furniture was a small desk, a chair, and an old cabinet which the lady of the home had her head buried in.

  "Hello," Meagan spoke out tentatively, cursing Cole under her breath.

  Anne McAllister jumped and dropped the papers from her hand. "Meagan! You frightened me."

  "I didn't mean to," Meagan apologized. She waited until all the papers were gathered and placed back into the file drawer from which they’d been removed. "I was hoping you could help me with a problem."

  With a quick stroke of her hand Mrs. McAllister brushed a strand of hair from her face and straightened her dress. "What is it?"

  Meagan's palms began to sweat. She'd never talked to anybody about this type of thing before, and she didn't know Anne McAllister well enough to feel at all comfortable now. She cleared her throat. "I wondered if you..." Meagan felt her face flush, and continued with difficulty, "if you had any ideas how to - um... well," she sputtered and finished in a quick rush, "make this dress fit better."

  "Oh." The woman quickly assessed her appearance. "Actually," she placed her hands on her hips and tilted her head to the side, "the dress looks lovely on you."

  "Cole doesn't think so," Meagan confessed.

  "I see." A wry smile touched her lips. "I think my eldest son may not have very good taste, then."

  Meagan placed her palms over her burning cheeks. She recalled Cole's comment and tried to explain, "it's not his taste," she offered. "It's because," she lowered her hands and clasped them together in front of her. "I just think I need a different dress, is all."

  Relief filled Meagan when Mrs. McAllister nodded. "Come with me," she ordered.

  Meagan followed without protest and waited as Mrs. McAllister shut the door with a bang. "That," she nodded towards the closed door, "is my husband’s den. No one is allowed to enter it when he's away, except Cole."

  Meagan’s brow furrowed. "Why were you in there, then?"

  Mrs. McAllister tossed her a sheepish grin, "because, Meagan,” she confessed, “I'm a snoop." She didn't seem the least concerned by her confession. "Judd won't allow me in there because he says it's mans work. Well," she straightened to her full five foot one inch height. "I say I can do a better job than my husband any day. He hates being cooped up inside."

  Meagan grinned and clapped her hands together in delight. "I've always believed women to be stifled by man's idea of what they can or can't do." She leaned closer and whispered with a nod, "I know a woman can do anything as well or even better than a man if she puts her mind to it." Meagan straightened, wanting to prove her point by stating she’d been doing so for months, but she didn’t dare.

  Mrs. McAllister grinned. "I like your spunk, Meagan. You know what else?"

  "What?"

  "I think I'm going to tell my husband that when he returns."

  “Oh, dear,” worried she’d started a family feud, Meagan continued, "Mrs. McAllister, I..."

  "Anne."

  She lost her train of thought. "What?"

  "My name is Anne. Mrs. McAllister makes me sound like an old woman."

  "I couldn't," Meagan protested with a nervous twitch of her hand. "I'm certain that a person of your position..."

  "Nonsense," she declared with a firm shake of her head. "You are living under my roof, and besides, I sense we are going to be great friends, and friends should call each other by their first names."

  No woman had ever offered her friendship before. Meagan wanted to be her friend, but friends didn't keep secrets from each other, either. "I appreciate it, Mrs. McAllister, but"

  "I insist, Meagan."

  The woman’s tone bade no argument and Meagan felt excitement stir in her stomach. Why not? "Anne it is," she declared with a grin. "I've never had a woman friend before."

  A surprised stare met her words. Meagan knew she hadn't led what most would consider a normal life, but she refused to be ashamed of things she couldn't control. Still, she didn't want Anne to think her odd, or worse yet to feel sorry for her. She forced a cheerful grin. "I'm glad you're going to be my first."

  Anne returned her smile and placed an arm across her shoulders. "Let's see if we can find you another dress."

  "Can I ask you a question, Anne?" Meagan asked on impulse.

  "Of course you may. Anything you'd like."

  "When you said you wanted to be my friend, did you mean a real friend? The kind you can confide your thoughts and secrets to and they’ll stick beside you no matter what?"

  Anne slipped her arm off Meagan’s shoulder and turned to face her. "Meagan, you may not have had many friends, but you know what friendship is."
She nodded. "Yes, I’d like to be that kind of friend to you."

  "I have something to confess, then," Meagan continued before she lost her courage.

  Anne’s eyebrow raised, "Oh?"

  Meagan's hands turned clammy and she wiped them on her skirt. What if she broke the fragile stem of friendship she'd just formed? "Anne,” she spat out, “I can't cook."

  Anne gaped at her, rendered speechless by her confession.

  "I'm not good at most things women do." Meagan continued with a shrug. "When I asked Stephen for work and he suggested cooking, I thought it wouldn't be so hard." She chanced a quick glance at Anne, encouraged by her smile. "I prepared Cole and Stephen breakfast. They said they liked it but I could tell they hated it." In her defense, Meagan couldn't help but add, "I knew the eggs were too thick, that's why I added the water. And the ham was only slightly burnt, that is until I got so busy spreading jam on the bread. And the milk, well, I didn't think it took so long to cook a meal, so I'm afraid it was quite warm." She slumped her shoulders in defeat. "I'm hopeless, I guess."

  Anne clapped her hands together in delight. "How wonderful!"

  Confusion clashed with resentment as Meagan stared at her new friend. "I don't understand," she muttered, unable to mask her hurt. How could Anne derive pleasure from her failures?

  Anne reached out to her. "Meagan, I think you've discovered a way to do something I've been trying to do for years."

  "What's that?" Meagan wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer. Suddenly, Anne didn't seem quite sane.

  "You can help show those two sons of mine a thing or two about dominating other people's lives and making decisions without any consideration of the consequences."