Bartered Bride Romance Collection (33 page)

“Got lit?”

Jim could scarcely imagine this prim woman knew slang for a man making a fool of himself at the saloon. He cleared his throat. “Well, to make a long story short, he spent a whole month’s wages on beer and what he thought was some fancy, purebred sheep.”

“So now you’re saddled with a poodle!” Matty’s merry laughter filled the air for an instant, then she recovered her composure. “I apologize for making light of the situation. You’re a good man to let him keep the dog, and at least he’s one of the big ones so you don’t have to worry about the horses trampling him.”

Jim cocked one brow and drawled, “Are you trying to make me thankful to have that miserable beast?”

“It’s not always easy to trust God when He puts odd circumstances in our lives, is it?”

“You talkin’ about Ramon or about you and your sisters?”

“Maybe a bit of both.”

The sparkle in her eyes warmed something deep inside of him. Instead of nagging or wailing, she acknowledged this wasn’t a good situation.

“I’m sure you’re still hungry. I’ll be happy to fix you something.”

Just as he opened his mouth to refuse, his stomach growled. Jim gave her a wry smile. “I’d be obliged.”

They walked to the kitchen door. The whole way there, he kept getting a whiff of her flowery perfume. Nine days of this—then he’d have things back in order. He grabbed the doorknob, twisted, and pulled….

And nearly got knocked over as the ugliest thing he’d ever seen cannoned out of the house. A second later, the poodle streaked past, making more racket than a stampede of wild mustangs.

“What was that?”

“Roberta Suzanne Craig!” Bess shouted from the kitchen as Jim turned to watch the dog tree a spitting ball of fur.

Matty sighed. “I guess Bertie didn’t pack a bonnet in her hatbox, after all.”

Chapter 4

J
im stared at the ledger and gulped the dregs of his coffee. A soft rustling at the study door made him look up. “I thought you might appreciate a draught so you’d sleep well.” Matty approached his desk and set down a teacup that exuded a pungent aroma. “I’ve no doubt you’re hurting.”

“It’s not necessary.” The stuff smelled worse with each passing tick of the grandfather clock. Then again, his leg ached like crazy and so did his shoulders.

Once he’d snagged Bertie’s very ugly, very pregnant cat, Rhubarb, from the cottonwood, both animals massacred him instead of each other. Bess dragged the dog away, Bertie claimed her hideous fur ball, and he’d stomped off toward the pump.

Matty got there first and had already filled a bucket. “Come into the kitchen. I’ll take care of you.”

She’d been more than true to her word. Matty did a remarkable job of cleaning and stitching up the dog bite on his calf, and she’d applied a soothing salve to the deep cat scratches on his shoulders, too. To his surprise, she never batted an eye at the blood or the fact that he had to remove his shirt. She’d been soothing as could be and skilled enough to earn his respect. Better still, she hadn’t chattered or expected him to be sociable.

Corrine sat by the kitchen window to mend his shirt, Bess made him a gigantic ham omelet, and Bertie mumbled an apology for her wayward, hideous cat after locking it up in her room. She’d then gone to the barn and polished five saddles to make amends.

Jim hated each and every kindness because he didn’t cotton to owing anyone anything. Now, instead of them owing him for bending over backward to keep them, they’d gone the extra mile to make atonement—and it was for nothing more than a pair of lamebrained animals acting true to form. All day long he’d thought of how those Craig gals pitched in to make things right.

Now Matty was at it again. She still had that serene, comforting air about her, too.

“You’re not poisoning me, are you?”

Her smile could light up the ranch on a moonless night. “I’m afraid I didn’t bring anything toxic in my medical supplies.”

He motioned for her to take a seat. “I didn’t ask this morning, but I wondered what a gal like you is doing with a doctoring bag.”

On her way to the leather wingback chair, she straightened the portrait of his parents that hung a bit askew. Oddly enough, she didn’t act all fussy about it; she calmly set it to rights and even smiled at his folks as if she held pleasant memories of them.

“Back home, Dr. Timmons was stretched too thin. I’m handy with a needle, and I’m not goosey about changing dressings. Papa finally arranged for me to tag along with Doc for part of a summer so I could learn a few handy skills. I’m glad to see Lickwind boasts a doctor.”

Jim winced. “Don’t put too much store in Doc Mitchel. He didn’t get formal training—he picked up whatever he knows on the battlefield. Best you and your sisters stay fit until you’re back where you can get decent care … especially Corrine. A woman in her motherly condition doesn’t belong out here.”

“Believe me, Mr. Collingswood—”

“Jim. Two brothers sharing the same last name and four sisters sharing theirs will make formal address confusing.”

“Three sisters. Corrine’s last name is Taylor. Though I acknowledge that we’ll avoid considerable chaos if we follow your plan.”

He picked up the tea, gave it a wary look, and took a quick gulp. He half lowered the cup, squinted at the remaining fluid, and shuddered.

“I can see you prefer my coffee over my curatives.”

Just to prove he wasn’t a coward, Jim glugged down the rest and shoved the cup across his desk, only to discover a butterscotch candy on the saucer. “What’s this?”

“It’ll take away the dreadful aftertaste.”

“Something had better.” He popped the nugget into his mouth and said around it, “I haven’t tasted anything that pitiful since—”

“I burned the chili two nights ago.” Luke chuckled from the doorway. “Neither of us can cook worth a hoot.”

Matty tilted her head to the side and looked downright sympathetic. “You gentlemen must tell us what you enjoy. We’ll be sure to make it for you.”

“Since you asked,” Luke dove in without taking a breath, “cinnamon buns. Pork chops. A nice, tender roast with mashed potatoes and gravy. I’d think my mouth died and went to heaven if you’d boil up a batch of some kind of jam. Yes, that would—”

“Be far more than is necessary,” Jim cut in. With each thing his brother listed, he’d been able to imagine the taste until he practically drooled. He slammed the books shut and stood. “It’s past time we parted company for the night.”

A sweet pink suffused Matty’s cheeks as she backed up and left the room in a swirl of blue-and-white skirts. Her voice drifted back to them. “Just wait one more minute!”

Jim glowered at Luke. “Don’t let your belly take over your brain. We’ve gotta get these women shipped out of here.”

Luke shoved his thumbs into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I wouldn’t mind sleeping in the stable if we got fed as well as we have all day long.”

“Come December, you’ll sing a different tune. Let’s go hit the hay—” He paused, stretched, and winced. “Literally.”

Matty and Corrine stopped them as they headed out through the kitchen. Matty shoved plates that held huge wedges of pie onto a tray. Corrine hastily added two cups of steaming coffee as she said, “Black for you, Mr. James. One spoon of sugar in yours, Mr. Luke—just as you like it.”

Jim tried not to scowl at Corrine. Though she and Matty looked similar, Corrine seemed so fragile. One false step, one harsh word, and he feared he’d send Matty’s twin into another swoon. “Obliged, ma’am.” He took the tray and lifted his chin. “Now you stop fretting and scamper off to bed. Best you take proper care of yourself.”

Matty slipped up and curled an arm about her sister. The tenderness in her smile could bring a man to his knees. “Thank you for your concern, James. I’ll be sure Corrie rests.”

Jim lay in the barn with the sweet taste of Matty’s canned-peach pie on his lips, the warmth of her coffee in his belly, and the smell of fresh hay for his pillow. A man could do worse….

Luke cleared his throat in the dark and rumbled, “I was thinking—”

“That’s always dangerous,” Jim said wryly.

“If we married them, we could sleep in the house and eat like that all of the time.”

“Luke, you whizzed right past dangerous and plum hit loco.”

“Tell me it isn’t so!” Matty laughed as Bess and she held opposite ends of a sheet and wrung it out.

“Every last word is true.”

“Will wonders never cease!” They pinned the last sheet to the clothesline then hastily hung all of their small clothes between the bedding so the men couldn’t see the unmentionables.

Men had dropped by all morning. The Hatch cousins—Oscar and Linus—stopped by to “swap howdies.” The blacksmith, Amos Freeling, came calling to see if someone could read his latest mail and write letters for him. A shipment from the feedstore was delivered. James scowled at the fact that it had taken Keith Squires and two other men to bring out that one buckboard. In fact, one-eyed Gideon, the saloon owner, managed to dig out some long-forgotten requisition for medicinal whiskey that suddenly ought to be delivered in case of emergencies. Jim had already shooed his own cowhands back to work when they’d been moseying around the barnyard.

“I’d best add this apron into the wash kettle,” Bess mused as she pinned up one last petticoat.

“Better not. I already put the men’s shirts in the pot. I won’t be surprised if the dye on them runs.”

“No telling what’ll happen. I’m expecting them to fall to pieces. Dirt’s probably all that’s holding them together.”

Matty looked at the ranch and nodded. “They’re hardworking men.”

“I grant you that. You’d be happy as a cow in clover, staying out here. Me? I’ve had enough hay and fences to last me a lifetime. I’d rather settle in town.”

“I’ve been gathering information.”

Bess pushed the shirts around in the laundry pot with the paddle as Matty added another log to the fire beneath it. “And here I thought you were just making friends with every cowboy on the spread.”

“Well, that, too.” Matty accepted the truth with a small ache in her heart. She’d always managed to befriend the men in their congregation and the dairy hands. Each one ended up treating her as his sister. That was part of the problem though—not a one ever actually looked at her as wife material. If she were dead-level honest, none of them seemed much like husband material to her either. Never once had she felt the spark she’d seen between her parents. Still, she longed to be a wife and mother.

“Are you going to daydream, or will you tell me what you found out?”

“Oh.” Matty smoothed back a few stray tendrils. “The only place in town that’s empty is the jail.”

“The jail!”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds. They don’t have a sheriff here. The building is completely empty. It’s between the barbershop and the, um …” She knew Bess would be unhappy with the other business.

“Not a house of ill repute!” Bess lurched backward.

“No. The saloon.”

“Lord, have mercy on us,” Bess muttered as she fished out a shirt. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. It’s worse!”

Matty watched as a sleeve fell off the garment and plopped back into the pot. She could see Jim walking toward them. Even from this distance, she heard his moan. She quietly echoed her sister’s prayer, “Lord, have mercy on us.”

“Matilda Craig,” he thundered, “did you go into the bunkhouse?”

“Only after Chico assured me it was empty.”

“Woman!”

She smiled at him. “Really, James, I was very circumspect.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Just what is circumspect about a woman in a bunkhouse?”

“Rhubarb went in there. I didn’t think the men would be very happy if she decided to have her litter on one of their beds.”

“Chico could have gone in and hauled her out. Chico should have.”

“I’d normally agree, but Chico sneezes around cats.”

“Buckwheat—”

“Your cook isn’t to be trusted around animals. He threatened to dice Ramon and Rhubarb and put them in a stew!”

Bess said, “They need to boil awhile before they’ll turn out right.”

“Bess!” Matty wheeled around and stared in shock at her sister.

“I was talking about these filthy shirts,” she said as she dunked a pair of them. “Bertie loves that cat. Our sister has been dragged halfway across the nation and doesn’t have a place to call home. The way she clings to Papa’s old felt hat nearly breaks my heart. The last thing I’d do is let anyone touch a hair on that cat’s—” Bess’s voice died out as she searched for an adequate description.