Anything for You (5 page)

She kept an eye on Adam. This morning, she could not complain about his willingness to work. He had not spoken a word of complaint or questioned her orders.

Gypsy timed her return to the dining hall exactly. She needed to talk to the short, muscular man who sat on the bench closest to the kitchen. He had taken that privileged place on the first day camp opened so he could have the warmest food. As the crew chief, Waldo Peabody had the respected title of bull of the woods.

As the other jacks left in a steady parade, she picked up the empty plates and stacked them on the tables. When Peabody drained his coffee mug, she put her hand on the shoulder of his wool coat.

“Morning, Gypsy. Fine breakfast.” He winked at her from beneath his shock of black hair. “Just like always.”

“Can you spare a moment?”

“Sure thing. Always have a moment for the best kingbee cook in the north woods.” To his men, who were rising from the table, he added, “Get started. I'll be with you directly.” He smiled, revealing the gold tooth of which he was so proud. Standing, he settled his wool stocking cap on his head and glanced at the plate she held. With a laugh, he picked up another pancake and took a big bite. “What is it?”

“You know Adam Lassiter is working for me, don't you?”

He nodded, his smile vanishing. “Heard Farley sent him here.”

“Was he on your crew yesterday?”

“Sure was. You know I keep an eye on the greenhorns.” Taking another bite, he said nothing more.

“And how did he do?”

“Is he giving you trouble, Gypsy?” His eyes narrowed.

“I just want to know what happened.” She must not give Peabody any clue why she was asking. She could have asked Adam, but he answered every question too smoothly.

“Strangest thing, Gypsy,” he mused as he grabbed another flapjack from the plate. Grinning, he bit off more than half of it. “Lassiter was supposed to be helping Swede and Edvard skid a log to where the sky-loaders were heaping them onto a sled to take them down to the river. Nothing any jack can't do with his eyes closed and half a bottle of whiskey burning in his gut.”

“Was the skid path freshly frozen?”

He nodded. “Boys laid it down the night before. My road monkeys know how to do it right—tree wide, no more. We can't afford to have a log taking off on us and upsetting a sled.”

“I know that,” she said, wishing he would get to the point. “So what happened?”

“All of the sudden, Lassiter lets out a shout loud enough to wake Satan. Swede and Edvard were as surprised as any jack out there. They told me everything was going just as it should. I don't know what happened.”

“Adam says he slipped and twisted his ankle.”

“Slipped?” He snorted before smiling and stealing the final pancake. “He's no more cut out to be a jack than you are, Gypsy. Naw, you'd do a lot better.”

She laughed as she put the empty plate onto the stack beside her. “I'll accept that as a compliment.”

“I meant it as one. I wasn't sure that he'd broken it, but better to be safe than sorry, you know.” With a grin, he said, “Gotta go, Gypsy. My saw is itching to find the tallest timber in the woods today.” He paused, concern darkening his eyes. “Look, if Lassiter is a problem, I can find him something to do out on the hill.”

“What?”

He shrugged. “Set him as a lookout for axhandle hounds, so the blasted varmints don't come and eat all the handles off the branding mallets and axes.”

“Axhandle hounds?” She shook her head and shooed him toward the door. “Get out of here. I have enough to do without listening to idiotic tall tales. If you jacks would take better care of your tools, you wouldn't have to invent stupid excuses.”

Gypsy's smile left with Peabody. With a sigh, she lifted the stack of plates and went into the kitchen. She was unsure what she had hoped to hear, but his story corroborated what Adam had told Farley. Everything confirmed that her new flunkey was telling the truth—everything but her own instincts, which warned her Adam Lassiter was not what he wanted them to believe.

She let her work banish her uneasy thoughts. She had Adam wash the dishes again. Although he grumbled, she ignored him. It was a chore he could handle.

She frowned when she saw Hank chatting with Oscar by the woodbox. Clapping her hands, she asked, “What's so important that you have to talk about it now?”

Oscar colored as Hank said, “Just making plans for Saturday night.”

“Nissa and her girls won't be too interested in seeing you if you don't have a job.”

Hank chuckled and slapped Oscar on the back. “C'mon, boy. She's right. The hay trail doesn't lead to the Porcelain Feather.”

Gypsy hid her sympathy for Oscar when his blush brightened another shade. “Oscar, you and Bert can take the grub out to the men on the west hill at noon.”

“Ah, Gypsy, we did it yesterday.”

“You were also half an hour late yesterday. I convinced Farley not to send both of you packing by telling him you'd make up for your tardiness today.” Although she expected none, she asked, “Any questions?”

She went to check the larder. There should be plenty of food until the camp was broken down at the spring thaw, but she did not want to be forced to use salt pork at both meals during the final weeks. Scanning the shelves, she rubbed her lower back. Cherry pies might make a pleasant change, or she might try an apple crisp. She could serve it warm with a bit of syrup for those who had a sweet tooth.

She tapped her chin as she thought about the meat in the locker. The cold winter kept it from going bad. A beef roast would make a good supper. If Bert cut off a big chunk with an ax, there would be enough for sandwiches tomorrow at lunch.

An uneven thump interrupted her planning. She turned to see Adam in the doorway.

She grinned when she noticed the dark stain of water climbing nearly to the elbow of each sleeve and across the front of his shirt. Even the suspenders that stretched across his lean chest were splattered.

When he rested his shoulder against the doorframe, he said, “The dishes are done. What do you want me to do now?”

“From the looks of you, I'd say you washed the whole cookhouse.”

He plucked at his wet shirt. “It's not easy working with this cast and half a night's sleep.”

She chuckled. “It'll get worse.”

“I thought you'd tell me it would get better.”

“You've got eyes. You can see how hard we all work. But isn't it worth it?”

“Worth it?”

“How else could we enjoy the glorious weather up here?”

His smile returned as his gaze slipped along her with slow appreciation. “You don't look the worse for wear, if you don't mind my saying so.”

“I do.”

“Look worse or mind that I say so?”

“Adam, I've got too many things to do to stand here and jaw with you.”

He shifted so his broad shoulders nearly filled the door. “That's an easy excuse, Gypsy.”

“It's no excuse. It's the truth.”

“All right, so what do you want me to do next?”

Gypsy folded her arms in front of her as his gaze brushed her again. “I'm not sure how much you can do while you're on that crutch.”

“Oscar was weeping over the onions yesterday. I could spell the poor lad.”

“Yes, you could.” She hid her surprise that he would volunteer for the horrible job.

“How many do you need for supper?”

“These.” She pointed to a burlap bag beside a barrel of sugar.

He grimaced. “That whole bag? It must weigh—”

“Twenty-five pounds.”

“Twenty-five? Can I take back my offer?”

“Too late.” She laughed. “If you need help carrying them, just call Per.”

When she started to walk past him, he blocked the doorway with his crutch. “I see you aren't going to waste sympathy on this poor jack,” he said in a hushed voice which would not carry to where the other men were toting the canisters for the loggers' midday meal out to the sled.

“Why should I? You tried to ride a log and it bucked you off. Maybe you should be a cowboy instead.”

“And miss this chance to work in your kitchen, Gypsy? I think I'm going to like working here.” His fingers lightly caressed her shoulder. “I think there are quite a few things I can do to help you.”

She stepped away. “You're pretty useless while you're wearing that cast.”

“Are you sure there's nothing I can do for you?” He cupped her elbow and drew her closer.

“There are the onions …”

“That's doing something for the jacks,” he said softly, as her voice trailed off. “Is there something I can do for
you?
”

“Adam, I think—”

“About all the wrong things,” he grumbled, pulling her against him.

She gasped as his arm curved around her. He silenced the sound when his lips brushed hers with sweet fire.

“What do you think you're doing?” She jerked away and bumped into a cask of flour. Wincing, she rubbed her hip. Her fingers fled from her skirt when she saw his grin as he watched her.

“I thought I was kissing you.”

“I don't want you kissing me.”

The mirth vanished from his eyes. “Thanks for the compliment, boss.”

“That's right. I
am
your boss.”

“A friendly kiss won't cause trouble in the kitchen.”

“Friendly?” She jammed her fists against her waist. “Friendship doesn't require your hands all over me.”

Holding up his right hand, he corrected, “Hand. If you haven't noticed, I need one hand to keep myself on my feet.”

“Just don't get any ideas about you and me.”

“No ideas except about onions and cookies and a hundred ravenous jacks?”

“Exactly.”

“You're smart, Gypsy, to be just the boss.” He sighed. “Never get too close to anyone. It's much safer that way, isn't it?”

She flinched. How had a single kiss revealed so much to him? When his eyes slitted, she feared he was trying to discover more. She pushed past him. She heard him wobble on his crutch, but at the moment, she did not care if he landed on his butt on the rough boards.

The other flunkeys looked up as she strode past them to get the beans she had set to soak earlier. She saw the startled glances they exchanged. Her cheeks heated as she wondered what they might have witnessed.

Somehow she must keep Adam away before his charming smile and enticing lips convinced her to pay more attention to him than to her work.

“Howdy, Farley!”

At Per's greeting, Gypsy turned, shocked. The camp manager was coming to the kitchen for the second time in as many days. She could not recall the last time that had happened. Usually he left his mistress only long enough to work in his office.

Farley motioned for her to join him in the dining room. She wondered what was bothering him now. Wishing he had chosen another time for a chat, she sighed. She must give him an ear if he needed to talk.

“Hank, stir the soup for me, will you?” she asked.

“Sure thing,” he said, but he glanced uneasily toward Farley.

The thick pea soup's smoky scent followed her across the kitchen. “Don't let it burn.”

A smile tightened her lips as she walked past Adam. He was cutting onions with a fervor that suggested the job was his lifework, but she knew he was not oblivious to a single thing in the kitchen.

Farley closed the door behind her, pressing on it to be sure the latch had caught.

“Do you want to seal the edges so you can be sure no one eavesdrops?” she asked with more than a touch of sarcasm.

“I don't have to worry about your crew. You keep them too busy to listen at keyholes.”

“Easy when there are no keyholes in the cook shack.”

His chuckle sounded forced as he sat. Gypsy was astounded. Farley's manners were usually impeccable. That he would sit while she still stood warned there might be more trouble brewing.

“What's wrong?” she asked as she pulled out the bench across from him.

“That's what I wanted to find out from you.”

“Pardon me?”

He pointed toward the kitchen door before folding his arms on the table. “It's Lassiter. I wondered how he was doing.”

“Why should he be doing any differently than last night?” She was astonished when her laugh was as strained as his. “He's only been here a day. What do you expect?”

Rubbing his eyes, Farley sighed. “I'm not sure, but I heard you threatened to send him on the hay trail last night.”

“Who told you that?”

“Just heard it.”

Her fingers clasped in her lap. She did not need someone running to Farley and repeating every word she spoke. “Don't worry. I know proper procedures. I'll let you know before I fire anyone.”

“Gypsy …” He rubbed his eyes again. “Look, I'm sorry. I know you know how things work. It's just with Lassiter …”

“What do you know about him that you're not telling me?”

“Know? Gypsy, I don't know anything.” He reached inside his coat and pulled out a slip of paper. “Here. I should have shown you this right away.”

Gypsy scanned the letter. Even if it had not borne the ornate letterhead of Glenmark Timber Company, she would have recognized the carefully crafted handwriting. It belonged to Daniel Glenmark. The very simplicity of the request that Adam Lassiter be hired on for the rest of the winter astounded her.

Why would a jack arrive with a letter from the owner of the company? Work was always available for men who were unafraid of hard labor.

Glancing toward the door, Farley muttered, “Maybe he caught Glenmark with his fingers in the cookie jar.”

“Mr. Glenmark wouldn't let anyone blackmail him.” She folded the letter and handed it back to him. “After all, if he wanted to skim the profits from the company, who's to gainsay him? It's his company, after all.”