Authors: Penny Richards
After the cattle came down from summer grazing and the steers taken to market, he and Tolley planned to head up to Wagon Wheel Gap to look for Jimmy O'Brien. If the weather turned bad and snow kept them from traveling over the mountain trails, they'd go first thing come spring. He understood Marybeth's eagerness to search for her brother, but Colorado weather could turn deadly in a very short time, killing horses and men. With all the dangers they'd face, he just couldn't let her go with them. She hadn't seen Jimmy in eight years, so a few more months shouldn't make that much difference.
He could just picture the way her sweet face would light up when she saw her brother again, and he sure did want to be the one who arranged that reunion. Then maybe she'd tell him all of her secrets. Then maybe she'd decide marrying him wasn't such a bad idea.
Waiting for spring would take a lot of patience, a trait to which he couldn't lay much claim. The last time he got impatient about his lot in life, he'd ended up killing a man. This time he wouldn't force the issue. But he would pray like crazy for the snow to hold off so he could bring Jimmy home to Marybeth before Christmas.
Chapter Ten
A
s she'd hoped, Mrs. Foster gained three additional boarders. Homer Bean, the new clerk from Mrs. Winsted's general store, took one room while he saved money to bring his wife and children from Missouri. In the other room resided the Chases, an elderly couple whose house up by Rock Creek had burned down. They needed a place to stay until their sons built a new one. None of the three could be expected to help with the household chores, so Marybeth and Mrs. Foster had extra cooking and cleaning.
After work each day Marybeth hurried home to help with supper, cutting short her time with Rand. Despite their usual banter, plus an occasional bit of jolly singing, not once did she feel as close to him as she had that Monday evening in August. With him being busy on the ranch and her being busy on Saturdays with Anna, their only other times together were Sunday mornings when they passed out hymnals. Marybeth missed him, missed being with his family, but with some effort, she was able to subdue such feelings by thinking of her quest to find Jimmy.
Due to Mr. Means's generosity, Marybeth's bank account had grown faster than she'd ever dreamed. By late September she had almost enough money to make the stagecoach trip to Wagon Wheel Gap. So far, she hadn't found the courage to tell Rand of her travel plans. From his comments about the volume of ranch work done in the autumn, she knew he wouldn't be able to go with her until after October. By then the stagecoach might not be running due to bad weather and deep snow. But she couldn't wait until spring, not when Jimmy might be so close.
Somehow she must summon the right words to tell Rand about her plans. While she was at it, she should probably tell him of her plans not to marry. Earning her own living had given her a self-confidence she'd never before experienced. How could she hand over the control of her life to a husband who would have the legal right to take her earnings, tell her what to do and even beat her if he felt the urge?
She reminded herself Rand wasn't like that, wasn't at all like Da. He never tried to tell her what to do. He never displayed a violent temper or threatened her. But after being married for any length of time, what husband wouldn't take charge? She doubted even Rand would let her continue to work, to have her own money with no one to answer to about how she spent it. No, marriage just wouldn't work for her. And she had one idea of how to show Rand she wouldn't make a good wife for a rancher.
With the church's annual Harvest Home only a few days away, she picked the last of the tart green apples growing on Mrs. Foster's tree. She made a pie with not enough sugar and a bottom crust so thick it would remain undercooked. She left the cinnamon out altogether. This would be her entry in the pie contest. Next, she would nominate Rand to be one of the judges. With all of his compliments to other ladies about their cooking, he'd made it clear he considered this an important issue. Once he tasted her entry, he'd think twice about wanting to marry her.
* * *
Fork in one hand, pencil and paper in the other, Rand stood in line with the two other judges as they moved down the table tasting each of the nine pies and writing down a score. Whoever nominated him to judge had no idea how much he disliked the idea of comparing one lady's cooking to someone else's. As a bachelor, he didn't want to hurt anybody's feelings, especially when each of the ladies had fed him at one time or another. Reverend Thomas seemed to have no such concerns. He enthusiastically moved from pie to pie, acting as though each one was the best he'd ever tasted before he wrote down a score.
Only one good thing might come out of the situation for Rand. The judges weren't supposed to know who baked each pie, but Marybeth had hinted that hers might just be resting on a blue-striped tea towel. He knew Mrs. Foster was a bit jealous of her kitchen, so Marybeth had been relegated to helping the older lady and hadn't had much chance to practice her own skills. Today he'd finally taste something she made. It would be a challenge to judge it impartially because he was sure she'd earn a perfect score.
Or so he thought. The instant he put a big forkful of the tart, undercooked apples and greasy, congealed crust into his mouth, he wondered how he'd even manage to swallow it. How had the preacher done it? Or Bert the blacksmith, the third judge? Yet both men had moved on to the next entry without any reaction.
Rand's eyes began to water as he chewed. Forcing the bite down his throat, he took a gulp of water from one of the cups the committee had provided for each judge to sip between entries. He blinked, and there before him stood Marybeth, a sweet, expectant smile on her pretty face. He answered with a nod and a shaky grin before writing down her score, a two on a scale of one to ten. Even that was generous.
Fortunately the next pie flooded his mouth with flavor, erasing the sour taste. He recognized Miss Pam's handiwork in the flaky crust, perfectly done apples, spicy cinnamon and just the right amount of sugar. He'd had her pies often enough to know she rated a score of ten on just about everything she cooked.
He couldn't fault Marybeth for her lack of cooking skills. She'd probably never had the opportunity to learn. Once they married, if they married, Susanna and Rita would teach her everything she needed to know.
* * *
Marybeth could hardly keep from laughing at poor Rand's expression as he bit into her pie. While the preacher and the blacksmith had taken small bites, probably saving room for the feast they would enjoy later in the day, Rand had forked up a huge mouthful. When he gave her a smile, weak as it was, guilt pinched her conscience. It was a mean trick to pull on him. On all of the judges. But if it accomplished her purpose, so be it.
Now that the judges had tasted all of the entries, other folks crowded around to finish off the pies, and Marybeth hurried to remove hers from the table. Unfortunately, Mr. Means reached for the pie tin just as she did.
“A little bird told me you baked this one.” He served himself a large portion and took up his fork.
“Wait.” How on earth would she stop him?
“Are you concerned I will ruin my dinner?” He chuckled. “We have two hours before it will be served.” With that, he took a bite. His eyes widened and he grimaced. After swallowing, he chuckled again. “Well, Miss O'Brien, I admire you for entering the competition. My hope for Anna...and for you...is that you will always have someone to cook for you, as every well-bred lady should.”
Such a charming, albeit two-edged comment. “Thank you, sir. I'll admit it would be a nice way to live.” With that, she whisked the pie away and dumped it into a pail where all leftovers not fit for people were collected for pig food.
* * *
Rand promised himself he'd never judge another food contest again. Now how was he going to face Marybeth? Of course no one knew exactly what score each judge placed on each pie, only who won the first three places once the scores were tallied. The blue ribbon went to Miss Pam, with red going to Rita's mother, Angela. Mrs. Winsted took home the yellow and seemed more than pleased to receive it. But when Rand happened to see Marybeth's pie in the pigs' slop bucket, his heart ached for her, and he found a stick to stir the slimy mess until it was unrecognizable.
After a horserace, which Tolley easily won with his reckless riding, and a potato sack race, which the Barley twins won, dinner was served under the cottonwoods surrounding the church. Once Reverend Thomas said grace, Rand looked around for Marybeth and nearly bumped into her coming around the corner of the building.
“There you are.” She gave him a sweet smile and nodded toward the folks lining up at the long makeshift tables where the food had been laid out. “Shall we join the crowd?”
His heart hitched up a notch at her use of “we” with its implication that she took for granted they'd eat together. So she wasn't avoiding him, something he'd worried about since she'd started spending her Saturdays with Anna Means. “Sure thing.”
As they filled their plates, he considered whether or not to bring up the pie competition, at last deciding he should, but carefully. “I'm sorry your pie lost out to Miss Pam's. Year after year, nobody can beat her.”
Instead of being upset, as some other contestants had been, she giggled in her cute way. “I always won the typewriting contests at the academy. I don't need to win everything.”
All the tension Rand had felt for the past two hours dissolved. “Well, I can tell you another thing you've won.”
They settled down on a blanket spread on the grassy lawn. “What's that?” The sweet look in her eyes gave him hope that today they could restore the closeness they'd enjoyed weeks ago.
“Myâ” He couldn't say she'd won his heart. It was too soon to say he loved her, especially when he still thought she was hiding something. “My utmost admiration, that's what.”
“You're very kind, Rand.” For some reason she grew pensive, staring down at her plate and stirring her food yet not eating. She inhaled a deep breath and blew it out. “I have something to tell you.”
Her tone warned him this would be bad news, and his heart hitched in a completely different way. “Go on.”
“I've been saving my money, and I'll have enough to go to Wagon Wheel Gap by the middle of October.”
Rand gaped at her. Nothing could have surprised him more. “You don't mean you're going by yourself.” He could hear the harshness in his own voice but couldn't rein it in. “And you already know I can't go with you until after we've taken the cattle to market.”
“Yes, I do mean I'm going by myself.”
Rand's appetite vanished and he set down his plate as anger took over. “How do I know you'll come back?” He hadn't meant to blurt that out, and regret immediately filled him, especially when she leaned away from him with a gasp.
“Why would you ask that?” Her eyes widened as if she was afraid, and he wanted to kick himself. “Of course I'll come back after I find Jimmy or find out what happened to him.”
He believed her, but he still couldn't let her go. “Wagon Wheel Gap isn't a safe place for decent ladies, especially traveling alone.”
She huffed out a sigh of impatience. “I traveled all the way across the country by myself. Decent people always look out for young ladies traveling alone.”
Rand also sighed. Deciding on a ploy he'd hoped never to use, he glared at her. “All right, you can go. That is, after you pay my family back for your train fare from Boston.”
Tears flooded her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, and his heart ached for her. But he couldn't, mustn't, relent. Her expression hardened and then grew haughty. “Very well, Mr. Northam. I will repay you. Of course that means I won't have enough money to search for my brother right away, but you knew that.”
She jumped to her feet. “I have no idea why you're being so unreasonable when I'm so close to having my dream come true. I thought you understood what finding Jimmy means to me. But since you don't and since you won't help me, I believe this sets a pattern for any woman who marries you.” She huffed out a breath, stared off for a moment and then bent over him with her hands fisted at her waist. “Please do me the favor of not forcing your company on me again. Do not come to the bank to walk me home. Do not meet me at the church to pass out hymnals. Do notâ”
“All right then.” He stood, towering over her in a posture mimicking hers. “I'll leave you alone just as soon as you repay that train fare.”
“Oh!” She stomped her foot. “You're being so unreasonable.” She started to turn away, but he took hold of her arm. Finally after all this time, he figured out what her secret was, just as he'd suspected from the first.
“You never did plan to marry me, did you?”
Eyes filled with guilt and defiance were the only answer she gave him. He released her and she spun around and stalked away.
With every step she took away from him, Rand's heart shattered just a little more. He'd tried to protect her, but he'd said all the wrong things. Worst of all, at last he knew for certain what she'd been hiding all this time. Now he just had to figure out what else she'd kept from him and from the good people of Esperanza.
* * *
Marybeth knew she should stay and help the other ladies clean up after dinner, but she couldn't bear to run into Susanna and Lizzy or any other member of the Northam family. Once Rand told them about their conversation, they all would turn against her, just as he had. Nor had Marybeth missed the smirk on Lucy's face. The waitress had been sitting several yards away and obviously had heard the argument. Well, now she could flirt with Rand all she wanted, even though she was supposed to be sweethearts with Rand's friend Seamus. Or maybe Mr. Hardison was her beau now. Marybeth never bothered to keep up with gossip.
She found Mrs. Foster and told her landlady she wasn't feeling well, which wasn't a lie. As never before in her life, she was truly heartsick over ending her friendship with Rand. The three-block walk home seemed to take forever. With each step, the truth about how wrong her deception had been hammered deeper into her soul. Yet Rand wasn't without his faults. He might not be brutal like Da, but he was just as controlling. She would never be able to live with that. They were better off without each other.
At least he followed her order not to come early for church the next day. While Mrs. Foster practiced her hymns on the pump organ, Marybeth dusted the hymnals and placed them in the pews. Even though she knew her actions helped out, it wasn't as enjoyable as when she and Rand raced to finish first, each placing the books just so in each row as part of their merry competition.
The sanctuary began to fill and she saw him approaching through the front door. Before panic could set in, she saw Anna and Mr. Means move into a pew and asked if she could sit with them. Both seemed pleased with the arrangement. On the other hand, Rand's scowl, Susanna's concerned gaze and Lizzy's confusion were hard to ignore. Nor was she helped in the slightest by Reverend Thomas's sermon on the thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians. Love might suffer long and be kind, but look at what that kind of love had gotten Mam. A life of misery.