Lassoing A Mail-Order Bride Page 8

  Like she truly was interested, Elspeth peered up and out. “I do. She’s got a rather large nose, though.”

  They both laughed.

  “You should make your man some chicken soup and get him healed.” A terrifying voice scratched the air. “It’s going on supper time. And there’s a fine young hen waiting on you to rid her of her head and feathers and boil ’er up.”

  Ooma! Hez cringed. How had he not heard her shuffling down the hall with her crutch?

  Elspeth got up from the rocker, hands up. Like somebody had pointed a gun at her.

  “Chicken soup?” she asked, quiet, eyes wide. Like chicken soup was a dangerous occupation.

  Ooma yelled from the doorway. “The best remedy for whatever ails a body.”

  Elspeth turned white as aspen bark and Hez ached to reach for her. She was too far away, though. Clearing his throat, he sat up a tad.

  “Ooma, I’d like you to meet my wife, Elspeth. Elspeth, my grandmother Gretchen Steller. Or Ooma, as she prefers. From the German culture she claims she is.”

  Elspeth dropped a pretty curtsy like Ooma just might be important. “Sorry, just now. You startled me somewhat. I’m happy to meet you, um, Mrs. Steller.”

  “Permit yourself to call me Ooma,” Ooma boomed. “You’ve just wed my grandson, after all.”

  “Ooma, thanks. I will.” Elspeth’s smile seemed real. “Now, I know ‘Oma’ is a German endearment for grandmother. I’ve not heard Ooma.”

  “What? You of the German culture, too?” Ooma leaned on her crutch so hard Hez wondered if it would break in two. Eyes bright, cheeks plump and pink. He reckoned deep down she was as healthy as Fanatic but nobody dared take her to task for any of it.

  “Oh, no, but German is one of the languages I studied at finishing school.”

  Elspeth smiled and Hez got hard. Despite whiskey and pain.

  Ooma shoved herself into the rocking chair, eyes both curious and suspicious. “One? How many more?”

  “Oh, French, Italian. Spanish.”

  “I’m thrilled with your German. Regarding the others, I’m sure they’re stunning.” Ooma’s eyes squished small as black olives, but Hez read respect in them. “As well, what did finishing school finish you for?”

  “Um, life, I suppose.” Elspeth seemed to relax although her fingers gripped the footboard. “And being a wife. We learned piano, and stitchery, such as crewel, counted cross stitch, and needlepoint.”

  “All good there.” Ooma’s chins shook as she nodded. “Hezekiah and the ’hands’ll have tons of mending for you each week. But piano?” Fingers twiddled against a plump thigh. “I reckon you could plunk away some Sunday should the pump organ give out. There’s an old spinet in the choir loft. What else?”

  Hez hadn’t thought Elspeth’s eyes would open any farther. Right now they looked like blue sunflowers breaking apart at dawn. Then he read fear in them. Like she wanted to pull all the petals shut. Um, eyelashes.

  “Ah, literature.”

  “Fine. Bedtime stories for your babies. What else?”

  Elspeth was holding her own at the interrogation, for sure. Hez’s pride surged once again, as did the notch between his legs.

  “Um, some hints for housekeeping…”

  “Rightly done.” Ooma beamed, and Elspeth seemed to relax. Hez recognized Ooma’s expression, though. Trouble. “Laundry will keep you hopping. By the way, Theodore’s sister hightailed it back to Durango this morning.” Ooma thumped her crutch against the floor boards. “You see, since I’ve been laid up, she kept house for us. But now you’re here, dear. To take care of us. Ain’t we lucky? I can sense you’ll get everything done. Done good, and on time.”

  Ooma’s smile grew big as a harvest moon, but Hez still wanted to claw her eyes out when their gazes met. Because what he saw therein bore no good. It wasn’t personal against Elspeth. Hez reckoned any bride he brought home would have borne a brunt. No matter Ooma’s longing for an heir. Nobody would ever be exactly good enough for her boy.

  “You done good, grandson.” Her old hand ran down his face and didn’t scratch once. “You surely did. Your bride will do just fine. Elspeth, welcome to Ladyface.”

  In shock, Hez choked on air. Ooma was sincere. Hez knew her well, knew it for sure. And then she touched Elspeth’s hand in welcome. He gulped so hard he almost swallowed his tongue.

  Chapter Five

  “Thank you, Ooma.” Elspeth’s words shook, but Hezekiah’s smile was so full of, well, something good, her heart melted. Without her consent, her hand found his cheek, flashed with heat when their flesh touched. His gaze turned hot, too.

  And what she read in his eyes scared her. Like the devil was after her, she mumbled a quick excuse and dashed out of his room. The hallway seemed long but not long enough, nor far enough. Confusion pounded her head. She wanted him. No longer a simpering virgin, she wanted him. Pure and simple. And not just because she might have a bun in the oven needing to hatch with Auntie Judy at her side.

  She wanted Hezekiah for real. And for the first time in her life, wanted something she couldn’t have. Not for weeks, at least.

  And before then, there was chicken soup. And a hen to strangle and pluck. She gagged.

  Not to mention laundry and mending for a passel of grubby ranch hands. Ooma laid up…Chamber pots? She gagged again.

  In the hallway, panic attacked her like she imagined a bear’s claws would feel. What on earth she done? Elspeth could never hurt Hezekiah or give him hope. He deserved better than a helpless, tainted city woman. Tonight, she would start the trek back to Omaha and admit her wrong, confess her sin…retire to a convent with her illegitimate—

  “Miz Elspeth, what can I do you for?”

  Despite Tremaine’s gentle voice, she smashed, startled, against the wall. His sweet smile brightened the sun glowing through the window. Glass windows, surprisingly clean. At least she wouldn’t have to deal with that chore quite yet. But hadn’t she just decided to run off? Grief pounded her belly at the thought of leaving Hezekiah without…before…The doctor had explained in private about Hezekiah needing considerable time to recuperate. Four weeks, perhaps. She’d caught his drift right away. No wedding night in the meantime.

  Maybe she ought to stay, just a little while.

  “Tremaine, can you hold a secret?” She had an ally in him, providing she let down easy his childish infatuation.

  “Can and will, Miz Elspeth.”

  “I am in over my head, dear boy.” Like he was six, she patted his blond curls. He had to understand, didn’t he? “I am afraid the tasks of a ranch wife overwhelm me.” She’d not mention the inability to bed her bridegroom part.

  But his eyes brightened, and he puffed out his shoulders. “I’m here to help ya, Miz Elspeth. I’ll treat you right. We can get us a little place in town. I don’t got much, but—”

  Shock all but sparked from her fingertips. “Tremaine? I didn’t mean—are you—you can’t mean to court me? I’m married. And how—how old are you, anyway?

  “I’m a man. Almost seventeen. And before you critique me further, Miz Nusskracker is seven years older than his honor. I’m handy and clever—”

  “I don’t doubt it, but—” She stumbled for air and words.

  “Seeing you close up, when you hired me on for the Ladyface, I just knew it right then and there. Deep down in my soul. I came here to the ranch to be near you. And now you’re unhappy—I prayed the whole way here you wouldn’t want to keep Hez. Ain’t there things like annulment?”

  I’ve lost my mind. Either that, or I’ve fallen down Mr. Carroll’s rabbit hole. She grabbed for words, not wanting to hurt his happy young heart, and shoved down the hall to the kitchen.

  He followed her like a puppy. “Miz Elspeth…”

  “Tremaine, Tremmie.” She faced him. “Please, no more. I meant nothing of the sort. No unhappiness with Hezekiah, no encouragement for you. I simply meant I need help. That’s all. I know you’re clever. And—and dependable. Else I wouldn’t
have hired you to begin with. Hezekiah speaks well of how you’ve helped your mama keep things together. But please, I regret if I’ve misled you just now. I merely need some help.” The syllables tumbled forth like a rockslide.

  His face washed white, empty of confidence. Hurt and humiliation roiled in his gaze before he raised fists to hide his eyes. “Oh, thunderation and then some. I—I need this job, Miz Elspeth. I never meant to overstep. Can you forgive my…impertinence? Please, don’t get Hez to fire me already.”

  “Oh, no, Tremmie, nothing like that…”

  “Well, what can I do to make it up to you?”

  She grinned. He’d walked right into her predicament. “Chicken soup. Hezekiah requires some, and I have no inclination at all.” A twinge of shame dusted her through. All this commotion because she was too thin-skinned to pluck a chicken. “I’m weary, you know. From my journey. And of course, overwrought by my husband’s accident.”

  Tremmie’s smooth cheeks glowed with gratitude, his love doused. “I will get right on it, ma’am. Me and Ronnie learned a thing or two, helping out Ma. Ma says Miz Gretchen is a faker. No offense. But she should be up and about, helping you. I reckon she’s plucked a horde of hens.”

  “Chicken soup. Indeed thanks.” Elspeth breathed the words, glanced around the tidy kitchen. Tremmie disappeared inside a large pantry. What did one use for soup? Onions? Sage? Oh, the housekeeping lessons at Mrs. Ridenour’s Societal Institute for Young Ladies were failing her now. The curriculum, a batch of last-ditch hints to get a proper household through a temporary hard time, weren’t designed to run a ranch. And chicken soup had definitely not been on the list of approved recipes.

  “Found some dried pears and chokecherries, Miz Elspeth.” Tremmie rejoined her and waggled a brown paper package. “Bet Hez would enjoy a pie.”

  Even worse. Elspeth groaned. Her pie crust had failed at the onset. Food, the way to a husband’s soul. Her heart broke. She couldn’t even nourish her own husband. The man she loved.

  Loved? Her flesh goosed, and she didn’t dare meet Tremmie’s eyes. It had happened, hadn’t it? The falling in love at first sight.

  Or within a minute.

  “Oh, dearest Lord.” Her heart hammered. Fortunately, Tremmie misunderstood. Fear of getting fired glazed his face again.

  “Oh, please, Miz Elspeth, you gotta forgive me.”

  “Tremmie, it’s forgotten.”

  “Good. I’ll get started on stewing up that hen just fine. I’ll show ya next time how it’s done. You wait on that pie some other day. I’ll get a little cake baked up for you two. A wedding cake.” His voice croaked. “You need to go keep company with your man. I might suggest a swig or two.” The teen’s eyes were far older and wiser than they should be. “You too.”

  Elspeth gasped.

  Tremmie’s gaze held firm. “Just spied Miz Gretchen’s elderberry wine in the pantry. Ease Hez’s pain and calm your nerves.”

  She wanted to kiss his head but held back, all things considered. Keeping company with her man sounded just what she ought to do. At least, Tremmie had gotten that right. She’d live for the moment, and worry about the forever-after later on. But if she did need help later on, if she stayed, might Tremmie still be an ally in the kitchen?

  Or would she break his heart?

  God be praised, Ooma had vacated Hez’s room by the time Elspeth pinched her cheeks and combed shaky fingers through her hair. Wishing Hez was doing so instead. Wished he could do so sometime before she left. In the commotion of his injury, the pins trapping her chignon had vanished. For that matter, so had her fancy hat. She giggled almost without control.

  “What’s funny, Elspeth?” he asked from his mound of pillows. Oh, it was the voice she wanted to hear muttering her name in the dark. Her head resting next to his dark hair on a mountain of goose down.

  She cleared her throat, hand fluttering at the veins raging in her neck. “You can call me Ellie. If you’d like.”

  “I’d like it very much.” Eyelids closed for a second, like they might when he fell asleep. Her heart pounded. “So, Ellie, what’s funny?”

  “My hat. Somehow it’s run off.”

  He laughed, but with a gasp, like something hurt. His smile was huge, though. “My bet is Sissy found it. She’ll be re-selling it at the mercantile in no time flat. Like she’s doing with Miz Gertrude’s silk flowers.”

  “Miss Gertrude?”

  “Yep. You’ll be meeting her soon…

  She needed to know. “As for Sissy, did you break her heart?”

  “No, no and beyond another no.” He sputtered. “She’s like my sister. She and Gertrude and every other female—young and old alike in East Slope—stick their noses in everybody’s business. Can’t abide a biddy’s gossip.” He shuddered. Her hand found its way to his shoulder.

  Aha. No wonder he sought a mail order bride. She might be the butt of gossip for a long while, but she had no friends to divulge his secrets.

  “Folks ought to be honest and true,” he said. “Not besmirch folks they’re supposed to care about, you know? Even on the Lord’s Day, they cackle like hens from the devil.”

  Her blood chilled. Worries about gossip fled. It wasn’t the Lord’s Day at all but she’d duped this fine man, not been honest or true at all. But…her heart beat normal. They’d not have met otherwise. She loved him. And Tremmie could teach her to be a fine ranch wife. Specially if she threatened to reveal his awful faux pas. Maybe she wouldn’t have to leave.

  True, she’d need to tell Hez soon, about the unhatched bun. She owed him the truth. Not yet, though. Not with a real wedding cake on its way. Part of her honesty could release now, however.

  “Hezekiah, I—”

  “You might call me Hez. Folks who…are close to me always do.”

  After all, he’d done Ellie. “Hez, I…might let you down. I know nothing about housewifery. On a ranch, I mean. I had a wonderful governess, and Mama, to show me how it’s done where I came from…”

  “Bet you had servants keeping house, you affording a governess and all. Likely a big manor house. A four-in-hand coach.”

  “Yes. Papa was successful in the meat business.” She flushed.

  He grinned. “Likely some of my beeves passed through his plant.”

  “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised. He was a good man who passed too soon. His heart gave out one day.” Her voice slowed. “At the dinner table, truth to tell. Mama is something of a harridan. And without him to keep her in line—” Elspeth laughed, but her feelings weren’t funny. She could ignore Papa’s unfaithfulness, but Carmichael’s had been ruinous. Yet, maybe that was why Mama…

  “You needed a new place to live your life. And far enough away.”

  He understood! Their fingers tightened for a second before parting. “That, I did. And that’s why—” She hesitated, conscience roiling. Now was the perfect time.

  But she couldn’t.

  “But why here, Ellie? Why me…” His voice, slow, tender. Curious, interested. “Why leave the city and what you know, for me? And all the unknowns? You must have gents your own style waiting on you.” He stopped, his hand rustled, restless, across the counterpane. “Me, I was up and up with you, me needing a wife to get me an heir. I know it sounds crude, desperate. But there it all is.”

  His gaze met hers then. This time, qualm more than curiosity filled the air. Elspeth longed to confess. More than that, she ached to touch him. With no doubts of her feelings, she leaned toward the bed and grasped him close. She could not leave him, not with the newly-born love in her heart. But could she reveal her own truth, her own shameful reasons? Beg him to forgive her?

  His arms tightened about her. In the circle of his strong muscles, she longed to die at the end of a long, happy life as his wife. After several dehumanizing, painful childbearings. He’d be worth every pang.

  Shame swamped her. How could she reveal the actual facts? Confession had never been part of her master plan. How could she tell Hez she’d given her
virginity to another man? How she might be with child? Her selfishness sickened her stomach. She tried to pull away.

  Hez didn’t let go. His eyes blazed so hot she couldn’t breathe.

  Goodness, if the bright light in his eye meant he was falling for her, she should rightfully spend a long time in perdition. She’d deceived him. As Carmichael had done her. In a different way to be sure, but deception was deception no matter how you spelled the word.

  Outside the window, a chicken squawked. Once. Elspeth’s stomach turned for so many reasons and she choked on a frenzied giggle. There was always Tremmie. But no. She was Mrs. Hezekiah Jedediah Steller and that’s who she was born to be. Til death did them part. If she confessed and he could forgive her, asked her to stay, she would.

  If she repelled him…she trembled. Tremmie himself had used the word annulment. If so, well, she’d head for the train station first thing.

  Now was the right time.

  “Hez?” she managed, raising her head from the tangle of their arms. Maybe using his preferred shortcut for his name would soften the blow. But against the pillow, he was fast asleep. Something about him so comfortable, so relaxed in front of her warmed a heart thumping with pain and regret from her deceit.

  With nothing else to do, she settled her head against the expanse of his strong chest. The long days of travel and the load of her sins swept over her. Begging for a good dream, and praying for forgiveness, Elspeth closed her eyes.

  Chapter Six

  He was hard, so hard for her; his fingers ran through her hair…her soft, womanly bosom rested against his chest. Had he died and gone to heaven?

  In the crack of dawn, Hez hoped not. Hope he hadn’t died before…before getting to make love to a woman for the first time. Fact her being his bride made it all a whole lot better.

  And a whole lot more tragic if he was dead. Yet he must be. He didn’t hurt so much. Or at all.

  Ah. Ooma had slipped some morphine in his water glass. Had to be. Sunlight crawled over the ranch on little yellow knees, reaching his window soft and warm, like a flock of chicks.