Mail-Order Brides Of Oak Grove

That task was easy—gathering eggs, it was the one she’d have to do next that had her a bit nervous. They—her family—had never owned a cow. Rex had said his morning chores included gathering eggs and milking the cow. She knew what to do with the milk once it was in the bucket—how to skim off the cream and make butter, buttermilk, even a soft cheese, but how to get the milk in the bucket was a different story.

She didn’t want to fall short of her duties. That—the fear of falling short in his eyes—must be why Steve affected her so. She’d concluded that this morning, while being as quiet as possible to not wake him.

“Morning, ma’am,” one of the cowboys said as he stopped near the door of the chicken pen. “Is there anything I can do to help you this morning?”

Problem solved. “A matter of fact there is. I have biscuits in the oven, and wouldn’t want them to burn. Would you mind milking the cow?”

“Consider it done,” he said with a grin. “Name’s Walter, Walter Reinhold. You can just call me Walter. Everyone goes by first names around here.”

“In that case, you can call me Mary, and thank you, Walter, I appreciate the help.”

“Not a problem at all, ma’am. I’m glad to be of assistance.”

More than satisfied, she went back into the house to resume preparing a meal Steve would not find any fault in.

All the while she’d cooked, she hadn’t heard any movement upstairs, so was a bit surprised when Steve walked through the kitchen door with the rest of the men. She was a bit flustered, too, at the way her heart picked up an extra beat.

He didn’t say a word, and neither did she. Not to him. The rest of the men were very appreciative of her efforts this morning, and weren’t shy about saying so. She replied to their generous compliments, offered second and third helpings, and considering they were a curious bunch, answered their questions, which were mainly about what she would serve for their next meal.

Other than the cowboy with shaggy brown hair—she recalled his name was Jess Rader—who was curious about other things. “So, what’s your sister’s name?” he asked, spooning eggs into his mouth.

“Maggie.” Hoping to get the subject away from the whole bride scenario—mainly because it had Steve’s brown eyes focused on her, she added, “Actually, it’s Margaret Mary, and my name is Mary Margaret.”

Several frowns formed as all their eyes landed on her.

“Couldn’t your folks think up any other names?” the tall and thin cowboy named Leroy asked.

“Mary Margaret was the name my mother had chosen, not knowing she was carrying two babies. She died shortly after my sister and I were born, so, since I was born first, my father named me Mary Margaret, and my sister Margaret Mary.”

“Don’t that beat all,” one of them said, she hadn’t caught exactly who because the very thoughtful expression on Steve’s face held her attention.

“How do you know that?” he asked.

“Because my father told me,” she answered the obvious.

“If you’re twins, identical, maybe he mixed the two of you up.” Looking at her over the rim of his coffee cup, he continued, “Maybe she’s Mary and you’re Maggie.”

Confident that had never happened, she smiled. “No, he didn’t. I’m Mary. Mary McCary.”

“How can you be so sure?”

She could tell him the truth. Show him the birthmark on the back of her neck that proved she was exactly who she said she was, or tell him about it and why she and Maggie always wore their hair down, so people were never sure which sister was which. Maggie had no such birthmark, and more than a time or two they’d used their likenesses to their own advantages. She then wondered if he’d be able to tell her and Maggie apart without knowing their secret. There was something about him, his intuition, maybe, that said he might be able to.

Still smiling, she met his gaze eye for eye. “Why are you so suspicious of people? Or is it just me?”

The nervous silence that settled around the table told her what she already knew. Few people questioned Steve Putnam. She didn’t mind being one that did. As crazy as it seemed, she didn’t mind getting under his skin—most likely because he got under hers so thoroughly.

He never looked away while saying, “Saddle up, boys.”

As they all gathered their hats and stood, he added, “Lunch will be at noon, Miss McCary.”

“Yes, it will be, Mr. Putnam,” she replied.

He waited until the rest of the men exited, and then while standing in the open doorway, he said, “Walter won’t be milking any cows tomorrow morning. That’s your job.”

She should have known he’d discover that. “So be it.” As he pulled the door shut, she started gathering dishes off the table and muttered, “Insufferable beast.”

The door opened again and he poked his head through the opening. “I heard that.”

Hoisting the pile of dirty dishes off the table, she merely repeated, “So be it.” She’d learn to milk a snake just to spite him. Of course snakes couldn’t be milked, at least she assumed they couldn’t. She couldn’t be sure about the snakes in this country, though. They had to be different from the ones she’d ever seen. Just as different as the cows. Men, however, were the same everywhere. Insufferable beasts.

Not a single man had ever appealed to her in any shape or form, and Steve Putnam had to be the least appealing of all. At least he should be. The way he antagonized her with nothing more than a look was reason enough. Sure he might be more handsome than all the others, but some dogs were better-looking than other ones, too, and that sure didn’t make them better dogs.

“Mary?”

She let the smile that wanted to appear at the sound of Rex’s voice form and after setting the dishes on the counter, walked into his room. “Yes?”

“Is there something I can help you with this morning? I’m sure I could sit at the table and peel potatoes or something.”

Maybe she was a bit wrong. Rex wasn’t unlikeable or insufferable. A matter of fact, she’d already grown a bit fond of him. Why couldn’t Steve be more like him? She gave her head a quick shake. What was she thinking? She didn’t want to become fond of Steve.

Crossing the room, she said, “I’m sure you could, but I’m not going to let you. You need to stay in bed so that leg heals.” That needed to happen as much for him as for her. She couldn’t stay here any longer than necessary. “However,” she continued, noting the frustration in Rex’s green eyes. “I am hoping you’ll be up to churning butter later today. And...”

He frowned slightly. “And?”

“Telling me how to milk a cow.”

Chapter Five

Steve led the group of cowboys toward the house at full speed. It was a half hour or so before noon, but that was how he wanted it. Showing up early and frazzling Mary’s composure a bit would suit him just fine. He couldn’t say why. Normally he was easygoing. He loved his ranch and wanted everyone who worked here to love it, too. It not only made for a happier group, it got more done. Men who liked their work accomplished more than those who didn’t. He should consider that when it came to her, but couldn’t. There was something about her that got to him.

As did the way the men behind him were shouting at each other, guessing what they’d have for lunch and betting it would be one of the best meals they’d ever eaten. They could very well be right. In fact, they better be right. At the fortune it was costing him to feed them, they better enjoy every morsel.

On that thought, Steve reined in his horse, slowing the pace for everyone. Mary wasn’t costing him that much more than he’d paid Rex to cook and clean, and considering the quality of the meals last night and this morning, the extra money was worth it.

They rode into the homestead around the back of the barn, which was where Steve caught sight of the two horses tied up outside the bunkhouse, and the two men sitting in the shade under the awning.

“What are they doing here?” Walter asked, drawing his horse to a stop.

“I don’t know,” Steve said. “But I have a good idea.”

“What?”

“She’s cooking our lunch.” Steve dismounted and handed the reins to Leroy before he crossed the yard to the bunkhouse.

“Sheriff, Mayor,” he greeted as the men stood. “Hot day to be sitting out here.”

Pulling his britches up over his pudgy waistline, Josiah Melbourne puffed out his chest. “You tell that woman to get out here right now.”

“I’m assuming you’re talking about my new cook.”

“Of course I am,” the mayor said. “You can’t hire her as a cook. You never contributed to the Betterment Committee, therefore she can’t be here.”

Tom Baniff stepped forward. He’d been the sheriff for the past two years and was doing a dang good job of it. He always got straight to the point, and did so now.

“Mary McCary is one of the brides,” Tom said. “And Brett Blackwell confirmed he brought her out here right after the train arrived.”

“Brett did,” Steve agreed, “but Miss McCary claims she had no intention of becoming a bride.”

“She doesn’t have a choice,” Josiah barked. “She knew the rules before she left Ohio.”

“Could you have her unlock the door so we can talk to her?” Tom asked. “We’ve been here long enough.”

Steve started for the house, and as the sheriff stepped up beside him, he asked, “How long have you been here?”

“Left town at eight this morning.”

“And you’ve been sitting here the entire time?”

“Yes. Josiah refused to leave, and I didn’t want to have to ride out again because she shot him or something.”

“There’s a town full of men expecting—”

Interrupting the mayor, Steve asked the sheriff, “She pulled a gun on you?”

Tom shook his head. “Not that I saw, but she said she had one and would use it if needed. Josiah wanted me to kick the door in. I said we’d wait for you.”

Steve walked up the back steps and tried the door knob. It turned easily. After pushing the door open, he waved for the sheriff and mayor to enter while holding his other hand up to his men, telling them to wait outside.

The table was set, the room smelled wondrous and Mary stood near the doorway to the parlor, as puffed up as a grouse guarding her nest. Steve had to keep his grin hidden, but couldn’t deny he felt a fair amount of respect for this little woman and her gumption. “These men would like to speak with you, Miss McCary.”

“I’m aware of that,” she answered. “I didn’t think it was appropriate until you were present to vouch for the agreement we’ve made.”

“There can be no agreement between you two,” Josiah shouted. “I already told you that. Now, get your belongings. You are coming to town with us.”

The man was crossing the room as he shouted. Steve crossed the room, too, and planted himself between the mayor and Mary. “She’s not going anywhere. I hired her as my cook for the next month.”

“She isn’t available for hire,” Josiah bellowed. “Especially not by someone who wouldn’t even contribute to the cause!”

That was a sore spot for the mayor. He’d been out to the ranch several times asking for contributions, and had been upset that “the most prominent citizen of Oak Grove” wouldn’t participate. Steve didn’t care how prominent others proclaimed him to be, he thought it was a stupid idea from the start, and wasn’t going to put his hard-earned money behind it.

“I’ll contribute to your committee,” Rex shouted from the bedroom. “How much do you want?”

Obviously listening from the back porch, Walter stuck his head through an open window. “All of us out here will contribute, too. How much will it take to keep her?”

Steve smothered a growl. They’d all been on his side until they’d met her. Actually, he no longer had a side. If it came to keeping her, he had no choice but to pony up. “How much?”

“I got twenty-five dollars ready to hand over,” Rex shouted from the bedroom.

“It’s too late for that,” Josiah said. “You had to make your contributions before the brides arrived.”

Steve glanced past the mayor, to the table where a plate of cornbread sat and whatever was in the oven, ham he’d guess, had the house smelling as good as it had yesterday. Settling his gaze on the mayor, he said, “I’ll give you fifty bucks. That should more than cover her travel costs. Once she’s done working for me, she can marry any one of the other contributors.”

“I’m not—”

The glare he cast over his shoulder stopped her protest.

“Take the money,” the sheriff said to Josiah. “We have to get back to town. The party will be starting soon and you’re to give the opening speech.”

The mayor shook his head. “That won’t—”

“Seventy-five,” Steve interrupted.

* * *

Mary gulped. No one had that kind of money just lying around. Leastwise not anyone she’d ever known, nor would they have been willing to donate it to a committee of any sort. The air in her lungs started to burn, but she didn’t dare let it out. Didn’t dare make a peep. Not even to say no one needed to cover her traveling expenses. She’d traded Buck, their horse, for her and Maggie’s train tickets, but she doubted anyone wanted to hear that. The mayor was so red it looked like his head was about to burst off his shoulders, and the sheriff’s gaze was wary as he looked from Steve to the mayor and back again.

“I said seventy-five dollars, Melbourne,” Steve said. “Take it or leave it. Either way, you will be leaving without Miss McCary.”

“It’s time we leave, Josiah,” the sheriff said.

Mary let her breath out then. The sandy-haired sheriff appeared to be a much more intelligent man than the mayor—who was still red-faced and glaring at Steve.

“Fine,” the mayor said. “I’ll take your money, Mr. Putnam, but Miss McCary will be expected to fulfill the terms of the agreement she signed at the end of her employment with you.”

Mary wanted to protest, but pinched her lips together instead. There was no sense arguing a moot point. She’d be hightailing it out of Kansas at the end of her employment. A twinge of what she could only describe as guilt fluttered through her midsection. Steve—who had spun around and left the room—was laying out an enormous amount of money in order for her to cook for his men for the next month. The forty dollars he was paying her and the seventy-five he’d agreed to give the mayor was more money than she’d ever seen at one time. She’d fulfill her commitment to him. The McCarys had honor and never had been indebted to anyone. Which was what she’d told Sheriff Freiday back in Ohio upon trading Buck for their train tickets.

Steve returned and handed the mayor several bills. As the sheriff led the mayor toward the door, Steve said to her. “The men are hungry, Miss McCary.”

Her thudding heart told her she should say thank-you, but her commonsense said not within hearing distance of the mayor, therefore she nodded and walked toward the stove. “Lunch is ready, Mr. Putnam. Please tell the men to come in and eat.”

The two large kettles of boiled dinner she’d made of ham, potatoes, carrots, onions and cabbage, as well as the cornbread disappeared in no time, as did the spice cake she’d baked for dessert, making her glad she’d carried Rex in a plate before the others had started to eat.

Relatively quiet while they ate, the men thanked her boisterously once they’d finished. Gathering their hats off the floor, they filed out the door. Steve followed, collecting his hat from a hook by the door. He paused, though, to glance back at her.

“Thank you, for—” Shrugging, she simply said, “Everything.” She hadn’t meant to whisper, but her voice didn’t want to work.

His expression softened as he said, “I expect supper on the table by six.”

“It will be.”

He nodded and pulled the door closed, and she pinched her lips as a grin formed. She would be eternally grateful that he hadn’t sent her back to town. At this moment, there was no place else she’d rather be than here.

Organized by nature, she had always liked being busy, and with the generous supply of food stuff, cooking for the men was not overly taxing. Most of her life she’d had to scrounge for the ingredients to put together every meal, which had taken far more time and effort.

After cleaning the kitchen and providing Rex with a couple spoonsful of tonic in order for him to rest for a bit, she went upstairs to burp the tonic. The fact Steve had told her to get rid of the tonic jiggled and mixed with her other thoughts. He was paying her well for being here, and she should obey some of his orders. Not this one of course—the tonic was her and Maggie’s future—but she could pretend to. Easing the cork back into the crock, she stood and crossed the room to look out the window. There had to be someplace she could hide it. Close enough to be tended to regularly, but hidden well enough that no one would notice.

After contemplating the underground cellar and springhouse and deciding they would be too cool, she settled her gaze on the woodshed. This time of year, the only wood needed was for the cook stove, and therefore she’d be the only one visiting it regularly. The jug could easily be hidden there, and no one would question her venturing out to get wood.

As she removed the jug, the jar of yeast starter she’d brought from Ohio shifted. She quickly caught it before it had a chance to tumble. The lid could never be tightened completely or the yeast would go bad. Noting the contents had more than tripled in size, she set it on the floor along with the jug of tonic. The yeast could be used for many things besides making tonic.

After she had the tonic jug hidden in the wood pile, she returned to the bedroom and using the straw from the trunk, carefully packed the bottles of tonic into two small crates she’d found in the pantry. The bottles would be easier to spot in the woodshed, so she stored them under her bed. Then she went to the kitchen where she’d left the jar of yeast starter on the table. There was more than enough yeast to make several batches of iron muffins.

Her heart tumbled inside her chest. Maggie loved iron muffins. Mary however, was not overly fond of them, probably because whenever their larder had been low, that was what she’d made, knowing Maggie loved the muffins so much no other food was necessary. She’d never told Maggie that. Letting her sister believe they were a treat had been more comforting than telling her it was their way to stave off hunger.

As she separated the starter, setting aside enough to feed over the next few days until it would be ready to rest and ferment into more, she wondered how Maggie was faring. Steve’s abundant supply of food had guilt twisting her stomach into knots. Being separated from Maggie, wondering if she was getting enough to eat, had a place to sleep, if people were being kind to her, was a constant worry. One she wasn’t taking lightly.

The idea she couldn’t do anything about it for the next thirty days weighed heavily. A few days were one thing. Being separated from Maggie for an entire month was entirely different. She would have to find a way to get a message to her sister. Perhaps she could convince Steve she needed help. He wouldn’t have to pay Maggie. What he was already paying her would be more than enough for both of them.

Her mind was as busy as her hands as she mixed up a batch of dough and set it to rest while mixing up a second batch. Surely he would agree to the idea. He would be getting twice the help for the same amount of money. That wasn’t true. As much as she loved her sister, Maggie had never been fond of work—that had been part of their argument on the train. Selling tonic was the only task Maggie had willingly taken on—and that wasn’t really work. The tonic sold itself.

Thinking of the tonic made Mary’s mind return to Steve. And she grinned. This time because of how he pretended he wasn’t pleased to have her here. At least that was what he wanted her to believe. To believe he was a tyrant. That wasn’t true. If he was, he’d have sent her to town with the mayor and the sheriff. Or with Brett last night.

A tyrant wouldn’t have put out that kind of money just to have his employees fed. A tyrant would have told his men to fend for themselves.

Which would have not worked in her favor. Not at all.

An odd sensation rolled inside her. It was almost as if she was glad Maggie wasn’t here, which made no sense. Flustered, she put all her focus into the muffins. By the time the first batch was ready to roll out, she had four other batches resting. She had to pull out every frying pan in the cupboards and when she was done grilling the muffins, there were enough to feed the men nothing but the spongy-on-the-inside-crisp-on-the-outside griddle cakes.

That of course wouldn’t do, but she grinned, hoping Steve liked the muffins as much as Maggie did.

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