Boot Hill Bride (10 page)

"Allow me," her father said, taking the lid off the cast iron

oven. "Mrs. Quinter, your plate please."

Ma Quinter handed him her plate. "Thank you, Mr. Fulton."

Howard lifted the plate in front of Randi and handed it

across the table to her father. "I believe there are two Mrs.

Quinters at this table."

Randi held her breath.

"Oh, of course, you're right," her father said as he scooped

food onto her plate.

The other dishes were passed around, the potatoes, the

carrots she'd glazed with honey, the platter of bread. Randi

took a helping of each, but her stomach rolled with each

spoonful. It was foolish to be so hopeful, and wrong to think

only of herself, her happiness. Belinda had told her more than

once she was selfish, and it appeared her stepmother was

right. Randi wanted to stay married to Howard because

anywhere was better than living with Belinda, but truth be

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told; she needed to stay married to him to save her father's

campaign.

When everyone's blue-speckled plates were full and the

others began to eat, Randi twirled her fork around on her

plate afraid anything that went down her throat would most

likely come right back up. No matter what her reasons were,

none of this was fair to Howard. None of it was what he

wanted—needed.

As if he heard her rambling thoughts, Howard's gaze

burned the side of her face. She peered at him out of the

corner of her eye. A fierce frown covered his face, pulled his

lips into a straight line.

Inwardly she groaned. A deep disturbing boil grew in her

stomach.

"Aren't you hungry," he asked.

She shook her head, "Not really."

"Randilynn, don't be rude, eat your dinner," Belinda

snapped, clearly disgusted.

Howard set his glass down with a solid thud. His voice was

low and held a warning growl, not unlike what Randi imagined

a wolf sounded like.

"Don't speak to my wife with that tone." His eyes glared

across the table at Belinda.

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Randi groaned—aloud this time. The air around the table

sizzled like a lightning storm was about to erupt. She

swallowed the lump in her throat and lifted her fork.

"Sorry, I guess I am hungry." Praying her stomach

wouldn't erupt, she wrapped her lips around the forkful of

potatoes.

Her father cleared his throat. "Forgive us, Mr. Quinter, it'll

take us some time to get used to the idea Randi is no longer

our little girl." He patted Belinda's hand.

"Well, get used to it." Howard stared at her father.

"Quick."

The false pasted-on smile on her father's face, one she'd

seen many times before, made the potatoes become lodged

in the back of her throat. Randi gulped, tried to force them

down. It didn't work. The air locked in her lungs began to

burn. She tried to cough, but the potatoes blocked her

airway. Panic filled her mind. Nothing worked. She couldn't

swallow, couldn't breathe. The fork fell from her fingers. She

pressed her fingers against her throat to push the food down.

"Randi?" Howard glanced at her.

Water filled her eyes. Her lungs had become an oven. She

clawed at her throat with both hands. Nothing helped.

"Randi!" He jumped up and pulled her off the bench.

The world swirled. The next thing she knew he'd flipped

her over one of his arms and slapped her back.

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The potatoes thrust out of her throat, splattered across the

ground. She slumped in his hold, gasping for air, needing to

refill her burning lungs. After a few seconds, her gasping

slowed, and her quaking body calmed.

Howard eased her back up, twisted so he stood in front of

her. "Are you all right?"

Her throat was on fire, but she nodded. "Y-yes," nodded

again. "Thank you."

His handsome features were twisted with concern. "Are

you sure?"

Tears stung her eyes. She tried to hold them at bay, but

couldn't. She nodded, and then shook her head. She wasn't

okay. She was never okay. A sob tore over her raw throat.

Pain made the sound even louder. Lifting both hands, she

tried to hide behind her palms.

"Come here," he whispered, pulling her forward.

His wide chest and broad shoulders shrouded her, gave a

shelter she'd never known. She dug her face into the soft

material and wept.

Big hands rubbed up and down her back. The soothing

action penetrated deep into the raw gaping wounds only

someone who'd never known real comfort could explain. In

one way, it was hard for her to accept, in another, it filled a

yearning so deep she wanted to snuggle in and never leave.

"Shh," he whispered in her ear. "It's all right."

She rubbed her cheek against his shirt, nodding, and knew

he told the truth. Somehow he understood she wasn't crying

because of the choking.

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He stepped forward, forced her to move with him. His hold

never eased, strong arms kept her secure as they walked.

When he stopped, she lifted her face. They stood several

yards away from the table near the bucket of water he'd

carried for her.

He lifted the dipper, held it up. "Here, take a drink. It'll

help."

She obeyed, let the cool water trickle down her dry throat.

After several soothing sips, he asked, "Had enough?"

She nodded and lifted her hands to wipe the tear residue

from her cheeks.

His hands wrapped around her wrists, gently tugging her

hands off her face. He winked at her, and a smile turned his

face into one of the most glorious sights she'd ever seen.

"Aw, sweetheart," he murmured as he leaned forward. His

warm lips pressed against her forehead, stayed there for an

extended length of time.

When they slipped away, she felt much better, as if his

touch had erased her pain, her worries. How did he do that?

"Feel better?"

She smiled. "Yes, I do. I-I'm sorry about that."

He glanced at the table, then back to her. "Want to try

again?"

Did she?

Not really, but knew she had too. A deep sigh blew out her

mouth. "Yeah."

"What I said this morning is still true. You have nothing to

be afraid of. I won't let anyone hurt you."

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As if she had no control over it, her hand rose to his face.

The side of his jaw filled her palm. A shadow of whiskers

tickled her skin as she caressed the area. She met his gaze,

which held a tint of deep concern.

"You are a very, very nice man."

His eyes twinkled like stars at night, and he winked at her.

"Well, thank you, ma'am." He nodded his head in a very

charming way, and then his gaze grew a touch more serious.

"You're a very nice woman."

Her heart flipped in a delightful way, it made a giggle tickle

her chest. Before her mind had a chance to stop her mouth

from speaking, she admitted, "I'm glad it was your tent I

snuck into."

He leaned down, kissed the end of her nose. "Me, too."

The evening meal was much less eventful, but just as

delicious, a fact that made Howard follow his mother to the

well. "When did you learn to cook? I've only been gone two

weeks, and you didn't know how to make food taste this good

before."

Ma's eyes glistened with merriment as she handed him the

bucket of water. "I was wondering when you were gonna ask.

I expected it 'afore now."

"I've been a little busy today," he answered, his eyes

wandering to where Randi stood near the back of the supply

wagon washing supper dishes.

Mixed with a lilting giggle, Ma answered, "I ain't learned.

And don't plan on learning, but your new wife," she let out a

low whistle, "that little gal can cook up a storm. She's worse

than you. That's all she talked about all day—cooking and

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fancy named dishes. Sheesh, it's enough to make a mind bust

from all the twittering."

Water sloshed onto his boots as he skidded to a halt.

"Randi cooked supper?"

"Uh-uh, and lunch." Ma patted her stomach. "Mighty fine

fixin's if I say so myself."

His gaze bounced between Ma and Randi, wondering what

to say. He'd observed her several times during the day

working side by side with Ma, but he'd assumed she'd been

assisting.

"You best take her that water, she's gonna need it to rinse

the dishes," Ma said and started to walk toward the fire. Over

her shoulder she asked, "When you gonna get her a real

stove? I'm thinking I might like tastin' that beef William she

talked about."

He caught up with her. "Do you mean Beef Wellington?

She knows how to make Beef Wellington?"

Ma nodded. "Yup, she wanted to make it for lunch, but

can't without an oven."

His hand tightened on the bucket handle seconds before it

slipped out. "I'll be damned," he muttered.

Ma thumped him on the chest. "See how good I am at

finding the right gals for my boys. Don't know why you all try

and put up such a fuss." She shook her head and then patted

the bun of her gray hair as she strolled toward the tent,

shoulders squared with pride.

Howard gathered his shocked mind and carried the bucket

of water to the supply wagon. He dumped a good amount into

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the steaming basin of rinse water and began to dip the dishes

stacked near it, rinsing the suds away.

The faint light of the moon highlighted the perfect curl of

Randi's smile. "Thank you," she offered, "but I can do this,

you must be exhausted from working all day." Her head tilted

toward the building site. "I can't believe how much you

accomplished today."

He didn't stop rinsing, kept piling clean dishes on the other

side of the basin. "Yes, we had a good day, but you

accomplished just as much. The meals you prepared were

very good. Where did you learn to cook so well?"

Her head bowed, and her gaze settled on the wash water.

"My mother."

"She must have been an excellent teacher."

"She didn't actually teach me how. I mentioned this

morning that her family had a hotel back in New York..."

When she didn't continue, he encouraged her. "Yes, I

remember you said that."

"She missed the foods from home, so when I got old

enough, I taught myself to cook some of the dishes so she

wouldn't be so lonesome for her family." She set the last

clean dish down and picked up a thin towel. Moving around

him to start drying the ones he'd rinsed, she added, "I've

never cooked over an open fire, so I didn't know how things

would turn out."

"They turned out perfectly," he mumbled, more to himself

than her. The meals were better than his cooking, which was

something to be considered. Since he'd been old enough to

stand on a stool and stir a pot, he'd been cooking. It had

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happened by default, he'd been honest when he said Ma

didn't know how to cook, never had. When his brothers had

jested him, teasing only girls knew how to cook, he'd taken a

back role in the cooking, only did so when the coast was

clear. It hadn't been until after Kid married Jessie, and he'd

taught her how to cook, he'd stepped forward and admitted

he enjoyed the task and wanted to cook in a fancy restaurant

some day.

The fact Randi knew how to cook was a surprise. Besides

teaching Jessie, he'd also taught Lila, his other sister-in-law,

which had caused him to believe most young women didn't

know how to do much more than boil water. Randi's

knowledge was something to take into consideration. He

would need assistance in the kitchen, especially during the

first few months when he'd be busy getting the business off

the ground. Jessie had offered, so had Lila, but they both had

small children to look after, and their husbands wouldn't

appreciate their wives being gone for any length of time. The

Quinter men were very possessive when it came to their

women.

A featherlike touch tickled his mind. Perhaps that's where

this overwhelming need to protect Randi came from. It was

natural, given the way both Kid and Skeeter guarded their

wives, why would he be any different?

A hard tug on the dish in his hand sent his thoughts to

dust, and he released the plate. Randi dried it while he

continued to rinse the last of the stack. Whether she could

cook or not had never been a problem. The problem was her

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father—the Populist. That was enough to ruin his business

before it ever got off the ground.