Love Inspired Historical December 2013 Bundle: Mail-Order Mistletoe Brides\The Wife Campaign\A Hero for Christmas\Return of the Cowboy Doctor (15 page)

Neither of the aunts had spoken with him much. Fortunately, they'd each had a gardener who had taken him under their wings. From the one, he'd learned about growing plants. From the other, he'd learned how to take care of goats and then the milk cows.

He had not known what a family felt like, though, so he had been glad to marry Allison.

Now he wondered if he hadn't missed too much growing up to ever be a good husband or father. Allison had certainly found him lacking. His ranch hands had taught him something about loyalty and the contentment that comes from caring about others, but there was more to family than that. He knew Mrs. Barker had advised him once to share what was in his heart—his fears and dreams—with Allison in hopes of improving their marriage. That hadn't worked well, though.

Chapter Five

M
aeve stretched her legs while her eyes were still closed. The bed was warm and Violet was still sleeping. There were no sounds from the kitchen so Maeve guessed Dakota had not started breakfast for the men yet—which was the way she wanted it to be.

When she opened her eyes, she saw that the sun had risen.

She rolled over to the edge of the bed and sat up.

This was the first time she'd seen the bedroom in full light and she was delighted with the golden hue of the logs that made up the outside walls. A bearskin hung near the doorway to the hall. A dozen books were sitting on a shelf next to the bed. One of them was a Bible. Another the works of Charles Dickens.

Maeve reached over and pulled her dress and apron to her so she could put them on again. Within a few minutes, she had her shoes on, too, and was ready to go to the kitchen. She wanted to be there before Dakota came so she could find out where the supplies were kept.

Sunlight was streaming into the kitchen when she walked through the door. The air was steamy, but there were no more kettles boiling on the stove. The fire was going though so it would be easy to fry up some bacon before she started on the eggs.

She went into the side room that served as a pantry. There was a large bag of flour and a smaller one of sugar. A jar of honey, like the one on the table, stood in the corner of a shelf. What looked like twenty tins of oysters and a big jar of pickles were next to it. Empty bags were lying on the other shelves.

Deciding that there must be another place for food that needed to be kept cold, Maeve pushed against the door that led to the outside. As she suspected, there was a small room with yet another door that gave final exit to the outdoors. Between the two doors was a little room where a cabinet hugged one wall and a bench the other. A tall shelf over the bench had an assortment of hats on it.

When she opened the cabinet door she saw it was lined with tin. She could feel the air inside was cooler than in the kitchen. Vents were cut to let in the outside air. A side of bacon sat on one shelf, a ham was hanging from a hook in an open area and several large jars of milk, a thick layer of cream on top each, were on another shelf with pieces of cheesecloth draped over them. A washbasin filled with a mound of eggs, both brown and white, was by the milk. She figured there were easily four dozen eggs and five gallons of milk.

On the train, Mercy had assured her that a rancher like Noah would have an abundance of food and she was right. Maeve reached up carefully and started putting eggs in the pocket of her apron. She couldn't wait to give Violet a cup of that milk. Her daughter hadn't tasted any since Maeve lost her job. Instead, they had made do with watery bean soup and the foodstuffs her friend had given them.

Before long, Maeve had found a sharp knife and sliced up enough bacon to fill three cast-iron skillets. She put the pans on the cookstove and was lining up thirty eggs to crack when she felt the first tremble of unease in her stomach. She told herself it was nothing.

The bacon started to sizzle so she opened a drawer looking for a fork to turn the meat when it was browned on one side. She figured if she ignored her queasiness, it would go away.

While the bacon fried, she went in search of a pot to make coffee. She found two of them on a high shelf in the pantry. They looked clean, but she took them to the basin to wash anyway. A small bag of coffee was in the cupboard by the basin.

Before long, the smell of the bacon mixed with that of the coffee. She walked over to the stove and used a long fork to put the cooked bacon slices on a platter. She slipped that plate into the small warming oven on top of the stove. She poured most of the bacon grease out of the skillets before cracking eggs and dropping them into the hot pans.

She had managed to ignore the nausea that plagued her until she had all the eggs cooking. Then, looking down at the thirty yolks, a wave of it rolled over her and made her clutch her stomach. She knew she had to sit down.

Just then, the back door swung open and Dakota stepped inside.

She had her eyes on the closest chair in the side area where the table was and she began walking over there. She couldn't even think about greeting the ranch hand until she sat down and took a deep breath. She'd be fine if she just closed her eyes for a few minutes.

She barely had herself settled on the chair when she saw Dakota looming over her.

“What's wrong?” he asked as he leaned down.

“Nothing,” she managed to whisper and then wondered if something was wrong with her eyes.

The ranch hand had lost his beard. At least she thought he'd had one. Maybe in the dark last night she'd been confused. But it had seemed as if all the men wore beards, some scruffy and some trimmed, but all distinctly there. And then she saw the nicks on his face like the ones her husband used to get when he went to the barber around the corner who didn't have much experience.

“You shaved!” she said.

Dakota didn't even respond. He was looking at her as if he was trying to figure something out. He was frowning for a full minute, examining her, when his face cleared and he smiled.

“You're pregnant,” he said with a grin.

His pronouncement was enough to make Maeve sit up straighter in the chair. “How'd you know?”

“I was married once, a long time ago. I'd know that color of green on your face anywhere.”

“You can't tell anyone!”

“We're going to have a baby!” Dakota kept grinning. “Right here on the ranch.”

Then his face fell. “Noah doesn't know, does he?”

She shook her head. “I don't think he even wants a baby. You heard him this morning. He was an only child and he thinks that's fine.”

“Oh, I wouldn't take his words to heart,” Dakota said as he reached up to rub the beard that wasn't there and then put his hand back down. “Noah is a good man. He'll do what's right.”

Maeve just shook her head. It was hard to imagine anything drearier than someone doing his duty for her, especially when Noah didn't owe her any duty. She wasn't quite sure how these mail-order-bride agreements worked, but she understood from others that no one was obligated to go through with the wedding.

“You can't tell him,” she repeated.

Just then Maeve smelled something burning.

“The eggs!” she exclaimed as she started to stand.

“You just sit there,” Dakota said as he straightened up. “I'll get them.”

“No, I need to make breakfast,” she told the ranch hand, feeling panicked. “Noah needs a cook. I want him to see that I'm useful.”

“You're in no condition to—” Dakota started and then stopped to listen.

Maeve heard the back door to the kitchen open then and the sound of boots as the men stomped the snow off of them. She took a deep breath and forced herself to stand. She walked over to the stove while the men were still in the entry room.

Dakota slipped something into her hands as they started coming into the kitchen. No one saw him.

Maeve smiled and waved the spoon he'd given her around. If anyone was thinking, they would realize that no one used a spoon to fry eggs, but she was counting on the men all being sleepy still. It was seldom anyone thought about the cook, and especially what utensils she used to make the food.

By now, Dakota had turned over all of the eggs. The edges were burned black and the middles a hard yellow. Maeve wasn't sure anyone could eat them.

The men shuffled their feet as they stood in the middle of the floor. The last man to come into the kitchen was Noah. Seeing his face without his beard suddenly made her realize.

“You shaved your beards,” she exclaimed, her gaze going from man to man. “Every one of you.”

They all suddenly took an interest in the floor and looked sheepish. Or maybe it was that they seemed younger with their skin so white where their whiskers had been and so dark on the rest of their faces.

“We can get by without them,” Bobby finally said. “They're only whiskers.”

Maeve turned to Noah. She knew he had been the one to ask the men to shave off their facial hair to make it easier for Violet.

“Thank you,” she whispered as she took a step toward him, blinking a little so no one would see her eyes were damp.

Noah nodded back, but didn't say anything.

They looked at each other and Maeve thought she might break down and really cry. No man had ever done something so kind for her. And his eyes were steady, as though he understood.

Finally, when it seemed they would go on gazing at each other forever, Noah took a step toward her and bent down slightly to give her a kiss on her cheek.

Maeve put her hand up to the place his lips had touched. She knew it couldn't be, but it felt warmer there than the rest of her face.

By then the ranch hands had moved through the kitchen and she heard them sitting down at the table. Almost at the same time, Bobby was taking the plates from the shelf and passing them down the line until everyone had one. Then he did the same thing with a jar that held the forks and another that held knives.

So far the ranch hands had not noticed that she and Noah were standing together. Maeve stepped back a little, certain they had not seen the kiss. She liked that it had been private, something just between her and Noah.

“We'll probably want spoons, too,” Maeve suggested as she took another step toward the table. She wished she had more to offer the men for breakfast.

She looked back at Noah and he smiled at her. Then she turned to the young man in front of her. “The spoons are right here.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Bobby said shyly.

In a few minutes, most of the men were sitting down in their chairs. They had left two places empty in the corner closest to the kitchen and another across the table from them.

“This one's for you, Dakota,” one of the men pointed to the lone seat.

That left Noah and Maeve standing.

Smiling even wider, Noah walked over and pulled out one of the remaining chairs for her.

Maeve nodded her thanks as she sat in it. Maybe the men had seen the kiss, after all.

Noah sat down and moved his chair closer to her so that their elbows touched.

Dakota carried in the two platters and set them on the table. The eggs and bacon looked forlorn, Maeve thought as she saw them.

“Thanks to whoever prepared this,” Noah said without looking at the food.

Maeve glanced at Dakota and then back at the burnt edges of the eggs. She knew the ranch hand was planning to take the blame for the meal, but she glanced at him and shook her head slightly.

“I'm the one who ruined the meal,” Maeve said.

The men looked up in unison at that announcement. It didn't take long for dismay to fill their faces. They looked as if they had lost their last chance at good cooking, she thought.

“Let's all pray,” Noah said quietly.

Maeve was used to holding hands when she prayed, usually just with Violet, but she stilled the impulse as everyone bowed their heads.

“Father, we thank You for Your goodness to us,” Noah said, his voice sincere. “Help us to live in ways that please You. We thank You for Your provisions for us. Bless this food. In Jesus's name, Amen.”

The men murmured in agreement as they looked up and opened their eyes.

“At least she didn't burn any biscuits,” Maeve heard one of the men mutter mournfully to another. “They're my last hope.”

She smiled. “Maybe tomorrow.”

The men grinned with her.

“All I know is that you better appreciate these eggs,” Dakota said as he started to pass the platters around. “These will be the last eggs we eat for a while.”

“Huh?” Half of the men responded in shock. The others just sat there with their mouths open.

“We're going to take all the eggs and get some hens to sitting on them,” Dakota declared. “We need some babies around here.”

The smile on Maeve's face froze. She cast a frantic look toward Dakota.

“Baby chicks?” Bobby asked the older ranch hand in further astonishment.

Dakota nodded. “We need babies of any kind.”

Maeve listened carefully, but Noah didn't say another word.

“I need to go see to Violet,” Maeve said as she nodded politely to all of the men.

She stood and walked with dignity until she got through the bedroom door. Then she fought her queasiness and her tears. She dampened a cloth in the washbasin and put it on her forehead. She didn't want Noah to see her like this. She hoped God was looking, though. She could use His help.

* * *

Noah knew leadership wasn't always easy, but his men relied on him so he slid two eggs off the platter and started to eat them. He finally decided they were the worst eggs he'd ever eaten. The crispy black on the down side of the fried eggs made it impossible to taste the regular part. Not that the regular part looked all that appealing, either.

“They're very good,” Noah said, hoping no one questioned him. “Adequate anyway.”

The men didn't say anything.

“Going without eggs for a while, might be good,” he added as he unsuccessfully tried to cut the egg with his fork.

“I knew you'd see it my way,” Dakota said with jubilation in his voice. “You'll like seeing all the babies around here. Maybe we can get some kittens, too. All kinds of babies.”

Noah looked at the ranch hand. Something more was going on here than Dakota was saying, but the other man wasn't saying what it was.

“You missing your boy?” Noah asked. The cowboy's son, who was almost thirty, was working in Chicago as a butcher. Dakota was very proud of him and his grandsons.

“You can never have too many children,” the ranch hand said.

Which wasn't really an answer, Noah realized, so he was silent for a moment.

“But what are we going to eat for breakfast?” Bobby asked in dismay, clearly impatient with all the talk of children and baby chickens.