Carla Kelly (25 page)

“My, but we are a self-satisfied couple,” he said in a low voice meant just for her ears. “These gents will probably start to gag any minute. Rein up here, Julia. We take the rest of the distance on foot. Chuck wagon rule: no horses near to kick more dust in the food.”

She dismounted, and they walked toward the chuck wagon. Julia smiled to see Alice Marlowe peeling onions and a thin woman who had to be Elinore Cuddy slicing them. Paul's hand rested naturally on her shoulder, reassuring her.
I am Mrs. Otto
, she thought with quiet delight.

Her courage nearly deserted her when she saw Cookie Brown. He was a massive man, looming over Alice and Elinore, who were both tall women. He held a slab of bacon in one hand as though it was no heavier than a slice of toast.

“Does he eat small children for breakfast?” she whispered to Paul.

“There is that rumor,” he teased. They came closer. “Cookie, got a minute? Let me introduce another flunkie. This one's mine, and she's on short loan.”

Cookie set down the bacon and wiped his hands on his apron. With a frown on his face, he looked her up and down. Julia gazed back, fascinated, at his leathery, dark skin that looked as though it had been hung in a smoke-house and cured for a year or two.

He nodded, and his voice was surprisingly gentle. “Mr. Otto, pleased to see you. How'd you winter?”

“It was tough, Cookie.” Paul put his hand in the small of Julia's back and pushed her forward a step. “This is Mrs. Otto. She's new to cow gathering, but she can cook. Malloy will bring up a sack of bread that she baked for you.”

“I'll take it with pleasure, sir.” He continued his perusal. “Not much to her. Looks a bit fragile.”

“Looks are deceiving. I'll leave her in your hands, Cookie. Just two things to remember about this lady.”

Julia looked around at the crowd of interested cowboys that had gathered.
I'm the nine day wonder
, she thought in dismay. Her heart started to pound.

“Just two things?” someone called, and there was general laughter. Julia felt her cheeks burn.

Paul looked around, taking his sweet time to eye everyone in the small gathering. Some of the men started to move restlessly, and all were silent.

“Two things to remember: First, she's
my
wife. Second, she doesn't do any heavy lifting.” He looked around again, knowing who his real audience was. “Most of you know what happened to her in that range fire. No heavy lifting. Julia, I'll see you later.” He tipped his hat to her and left her there. The crowd parted like the Red Sea.

Silence, then Cookie clapped his meaty hands. Julia nearly jumped. “I have a pile of potatoes with your name all over them, Miz Otto,” he said. He made a shooing motion with both hands, and the cowboys all simultaneously decided they had business elsewhere.

“I brought my own knives,” Julia said, surprised that she still had a voice, since her throat was so dry. She had carried them with her in a canvas satchel, slung over her good shoulder. She spread out her prized knives at the work table, where Alice was peeling onions, her eyes managing to be red and merry at the same time.

Cookie nodded. He picked up the French knife and flicked his thumb on it. “Miz Otto, you have my permission to stick this in anyone who gets uppity.”

“I'll focus on the potatoes first,” she said, sitting beside Alice. “But thank you.”

Cookie carried over a fifty-pound burlap sack of potatoes with all the effort of a maid carrying a dust bunny and set it in front of her. He put down a pan big enough to bathe a small child in and returned to slicing the slab of bacon.

“My goodness,” Julia whispered as she picked up the first potato.

After Alice introduced Elinore Cuddy, they worked quietly and efficiently. By the time Julia had finished peeling and slicing the potatoes, the sun was much lower in the sky, and Matt had brought up the bread in waxed paper. Cookie looked it over and nodded, his expression inscrutable.

It's the best bread around
, Julia wanted to tell him. Instead, she started on the next burlap sack of potatoes, even though her back ached. No one else was complaining, and she wasn't going to be the first.

But there was a matter that had been on her mind for at least an hour. She whispered to Alice, “Where do we go, you know, to relieve ourselves?”

“I didn't mention that?” Alice asked, all innocence. She gestured with her knife toward a small tent on the edge of what she was already recognizing as Cookie's domain. “We have some of the comforts of home.”

“Probably not what you're used to in Salt Lake City,” Elinore added, her first comment of the afternoon.

Julia excused herself and walked toward the tent.
It appears to me, ladies, that you are testing me too
, she thought.
I suppose I am fair game, even to a friend
.

Julia had hoped Cookie would put her to work frying the potatoes, and he did, plopping down a massive frying pan on the grill over the trench fire. She added lard and reached for the pan of potatoes, but Cookie was there first.

“No heavy lifting, Miz Otto,” he reminded her. “Tell me how many you want in there at once, and let me know when they're done.”

Her heart warmed to the big man. “Thank you, Cookie,” she said simply. “I'd do it myself if I could.”

“I expect you would,” he replied. “Mr. Otto never hires any slackers, and I doubt he would choose a wife so inclined.”

She stirred the potatoes, content, even as she wiped sweat out of her eyes and brushed away flies.
This proves it
, she thought, humming softly.
I'm happy as long as I have food to deal with
.

When the fried potatoes were crispy just the way she liked them, she added salt, and then forked out a piece. “Almost,” she murmured and turned back to the table where she left her knives. She pulled out a packet of dried rosemary and brought it back to the trench fire. Leaning over carefully, she stripped several leaves and sprinkled them in.

“Stop right there!” Cookie thundered behind her.

Julia gasped and put her hands behind her back. “It's… it's just rosemary,” she quavered, as she looked up and up to the tall man's frowning face. “Try it, Mr. Cookie?”

Cookie glowered at her a long time, and she gazed back, determined not to look away.
Oh, Heavenly Father, I've done it again. Here comes a foolish prayer. Please let him like rosemary with my potatoes
, she thought.

After what seemed like years, he came closer and set her aside as though she weighed nothing. “You're too close to the fire, Miz Otto,” he told her, but in a more normal tone of voice. “Hand me a fork.”

She did, interested more than frightened now. He stirred the fork around in the aromatic potatoes and plucked out a crispy one, blowing on it. He ate it and she held her breath. It was such a small thing, and she truly hadn't meant to cause trouble. She watched his eyes, and then let out her breath slowly. She had cooked for enough prima donnas to know satisfaction when it was writ so large.

“That'll do, as long as no one complains,” he said finally. “Do you have enough for all these potatoes?”

“Probably enough for all week.”

He shook his finger at her. “If I get objections, that's the end!” He stirred it around with the fork again. “I'd better try another and make sure. Yep. I'll move these and bring over some more.”

Julia fried the rest of the potatoes with rosemary. The urge was strong to ask Alice if she could have some of those raw onions and caramelize them for the steaks that Cookie was frying at another trench fire, but she decided against it. Rome wasn't built in a day, after all.

Elinore had sliced a mound of her bread and placed it on a platter next to the raw onions. When her skillet was empty of potatoes, Julia took off two slices of bread and set them in the skillet to toast crispy, fortified with the lard and potato bits. When Paul came through the line, she handed them to him.

“What makes your old man so special?” Cookie growled, but there was no denying the humor in his voice.

“He just is, Mr. Cookie,” Julia replied. “He likes toasted bread. It's even tastier than plain white bread and onions. Would you like to try it?”

“Shore would. Toast me some later.” Cookie turned his attention back to the diminishing pile of raw meat. He forked a half dozen onto his massive meat fork and plopped them on her grill. “How about you wrangle these, Miz Otto, since you're not busy.”

The cowboys looked at each other in surprise. Even Paul stared.

“Of course, Mr. Cookie.” She whispered to Paul when the cook returned his attention to his own steaks. “What just happened?”

“The earth moved,” he whispered back, his eyes on Cookie like a kid hoping not to be caught talking out of turn at school. “Only Cookie ever does the meat. Looks like you're on, sport.”

I can do this
, she thought, relishing the challenge more now than fearing it.

“You can put some onions on mine, like you do at home,” Paul said, forking his steak to someone else. “I'll wait.”

There was still room on the grill for the frying pan, so she added a little more lard and a generous handful of onions, after separating them into graceful rings. “Timing is everything,” she murmured as Paul's steak was ready at the same time as the caramelized onions. “Hold out your plate, cowboy.”

“I'd like that too.”

She looked up and smiled at Mr. Kaiser, holding out his plate. “Nice to see you, sir,” she said and put the rest of the caramelized onions on the steak he had taken from her grill.

He nodded to her and then Paul, and turned away. “Well, what do you know?” Paul said, a little amazed.

When Cookie finally turned her loose, after washing a mound of dishes, the stars were out. He had already dismissed Alice and Elinore, so she knew all those dishes must be some part of her probation. “Be here before daybreak,” he said, chewing on the toast piled with onions that Julia had caramelized just for him. “Bacon and eggs and hash browns.” He pointed a fork at her. “You any good with flapjacks?”

“No one throws them back,” she said.

“We'll add that too, then. I have some maple syrup.” His laughter boomed out. “No rosemary on them, though!”

“Would you object to some vanilla extract?” she asked.

He gave her the same measuring look as when he ate the rosemary potatoes. “As long as no one complains,” he repeated. He looked beyond her. “Mr. Otto, you can have her now, but I get her at daybreak.”

“Just for you, Cookie,” Paul said and took her arm.

“I am so tired,” she said.

“Good tired or bad tired?” he asked, his hand in hers. “He put you through it, sport.”

“Good tired.”

They walked slowly away from the chuck wagon. The stars were out and the moon just rising. She saw the prairie littered with men in bedrolls, some of them snoring already.

“Thought I'd try a spot a little closer to the outer circle, near the wagon,” he said. “Guess I never noticed how noisy they are.”

While she watched, he circled his lariat around their bedroll. “What's that for?” she asked.

“Snakes. They never cross rawhide.” He grinned at her expression. “You don't believe me.”

“You're making fun of the new girl too,” she said, “but I still love you.”

“Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug, as he unhooked his suspenders and pulled out his shirt. “I've been doing this for years and haven't been snake bit yet.”

After a long and cautious look around, Julia unhooked her skirt and pulled it down. He held up the blankets for her and she slid inside, taking off her shirtwaist with a sigh. “He wants me there before sunrise,” she whispered as she wriggled out of her petticoat. She sniffed herself. “I already smell.”

He rose up on one elbow and took a whiff at her neck, which sent prickles down her spine. “Still better than the men. And is that vanilla extract behind your ears? Julia, you amaze me.”

At Paul's whispered suggestion, he prayed for them both. “Don't think I'm afraid to do that in front of the others, but let's not terrify them totally,” he said when she said “amen.” He stretched out his arm, like at home, and she pillowed her head on it. “Learn anything so far, sport?” he asked.

She closed her eyes, peaceful, even though the ground was hard. That pebble under her hip was probably going to feel like a boulder before morning. “I'm starting to think it's the same lesson the Lord has been trying to teach me for years,” she said. “I'm learning to endure.”

He kissed her. “What if that's the whole lesson? It could be, you know.”

“It could be,” she echoed. She turned over and backed closer to him, because the night air was cooling the dusty land. “Now be quiet. You'll disturb these other gents, and I'm sleepy.”

“Yes, ma'am.” He put his hand over her stomach and pulled her closer, to whisper in her ear. “Branding starts tomorrow, sport. I predict you'll get a wash basin full of those handy little baby bull pouches.”

Julia sighed. “Loan me your little knife?”

Even with flies, dust, and cattle bawling, breakfast was flawless, right down to the vanilla-flavored pancakes. When one of the cowboys swore and complained about the fancy food, Cookie gave the man such a look that he was rooted to the spot, somewhat like Lot's unfortunate wife.