Plots and Pans (29 page)

She’d have sacrificed far more for her aunt’s safety—and she couldn’t be anything but grateful for the situation now that the danger had passed. Besides, if the wagon needed one repair, it might be an excellent opportunity to fix a few other things….

“I’ve fixed things now.” Desta murmured the words to herself, but Ralph heard.

“Fixed ’em, how?” Funny thing about the man, now that the two of them finally got to talking, he always heard what she said.

Funny thing about her, she liked being heard.

Desta shot a glance toward the huge, handsome man who kept nearby even as he started cleaning up the carnage around them. His hands closed around the tabletop he’d torn clean from the wagon to shield her, and suddenly Desta realized her feelings for Ralph ran deeper than his easy smile or a shared fondness for conversation.
I like that he cares enough to listen. And I like knowing that Ralph Runkle won’t quit caring even when he gets old and hard of hearing
.

Maybe someday she could tell him that. But right now, Desta couldn’t imagine what he must think of her.

I never lost my head so far gone and so fast. And, Lord, while the sin sits on my own shoulders and I crave Yore pardon, I can’t help wishin’ the whole thing hadn’t happened in front of Ralph. Figures I’d make a right fool of myself in front of a man I respect. Just now I can’t even look him in the eye!

Instead she ducked her head to hide her heat-pinked cheeks, sweeping dirt and coffee grounds back into a sack as she told him, “Never you mind my mutters. Yore already doin’ more than yore part helping clean up the mess made by my foolishness.”

Ralph tugged the sack from her hand, taking away any excuse to avoid looking at him. “You didn’t make this mess, and you done nothin’ to be ashamed of. Everybody knows the only fool here today’s been kicked off the Bar None.”

“He’s right!” Jess passed the pair of them on her way to the buckboard, her grin too wide for the sad circumstances.

That girl’s planning something
. Desta closed her eyes for a minute.
I’m ‘fraid I know what it is, and the blame lies with me
.

“Proverbs warns how ‘A fool’s wrath is presently known: but a prudent man covereth shame.’ ” Desta tugged the sack from his grasp, brushing against the reassuring strength of his fingers. “Can’t sugar-dust the Word of God, and I sure showed my wrath today. That makes me a prize fool.”

“Strange enough, this whole thing called Proverbs to my mind, too,” Ralph rumbled. “But I’m thinking on that one ’bout how it’s better to take a meal of herbs where there is love than a fattened calf with hatred.”

“Especially when you think of how Rick ‘seasoned’ his meat.” Jess wrinkled her nose. “We’re all grateful he won’t serve supper.”

“Desta, you might’ve gotten het up, but even the anger yore repenting came from having such a big heart.” Ralph’s words had that big heart of hers melting even before he finished. “God forgives you, and you can’t change what’s over and done with—but don’t let what you
can’t
do keep yore hands from what you can.”

“Ma always said God asks one thing of His children—do the best you can, where you are, with what you have now.” With the weight of her guilt eased, Desta smiled and slid a glance toward the buckboard she’d helped Jess pack that morning. Then, finally, she looked Ralph in the eye again. “And it occurs to me that together, we can make something sweet come from all this strife!”

Approval warmed his gaze. “Nothin’ in the world like a smiling woman offering to make something sweet to get a man moving!” With that, he picked up the broken tabletop and headed back to the chuck wagon, his jaunty whistle perking up the plains.

“No mistaking the fact that Ralph likes his dessert,” Jess observed then winked. “But I’d say he’s already sweet on someone.”

“Maybe.” For the second time that afternoon, Desta felt the tingle of a blush. Her first instinct was to shrug off her niece’s comment, but her actions earlier tattled the truth—she wouldn’t have lost her temper so badly if she didn’t care so much about Ralph. So she took a breath and admitted her true thoughts on the subject. “I hope yore right. Ralph Runkle’s an extraordinary man, and it’d be a privilege to spend my days making him happy.”
Making us
both
happy
.

“Supper tonight’ll be a good starting point then.”

“My thoughts exactly. That no-good belly-cheat wouldn’t let us unload the dried goods, so we’ve still got everything we need to fry up fresh doughnuts!” Desta spoke as they walked over and began to unload, a sense of purpose and hope lightening her step.

“It’ll be the perfect way to end the meal! And the perfect way to butter up my brother and Tucker …”

“Why?” Desta already knew the answer. She didn’t regret costing them that old coot of a cook, but she sure regretted the ideas it put in her niece’s head.

“I’m looking to take care of the Bar None crew beyond the roundup.” Jess sounded determined and downright gleeful and grabbed Desta’s suddenly chilled hands. “And you could get a head start on making Ralph happy, if you want to test your resolve. What would you say if I asked you to join me as chuck-wagon cook on the trail drive?”

Suspicions didn’t soften the shock of hearing her niece voice such a scandalous plan. Desta shook her head. “I’d say yore cookin’ up trouble.”

D
elicious.” Tucker rested a hand on his stomach and let loose a sigh of satisfaction. The best thing he could’ve said about the midday meal was that it sufficed to keep a man’s stomach from scraping against his spine.

But for supper the women wrought a minor miracle. He’d never eaten so well at a chuck wagon, and rarely eaten so well at any other table. If he weren’t so stuffed and peaceable, Tucker would’ve puzzled over that. He knew Ed put pan-fried steaks on the menu with far better cause than spilled supplies—he’d sampled Desta’s cooking before.

Tonight he’d packed in three tins full of what the woman and her niece brought forth from a simple campfire. Butter-rubbed, pan-fried steaks cooked pink, tender, and moist. Hot onions baked in buttermilk. Skillet corn cakes hearty and sweet enough to eat plain, but served with a creamy gravy conjured from the steak drippings. Tucker licked his lips. If it wouldn’t break his belly, he’d be back for another helping. Of everything.

All around him, the ranch hands lucky enough to be working a later shift groaned in satisfaction and lolled around smaller campsite fires. Worn out and well fed, none of them seemed inclined toward conversation. Even more telling, none of them seemed inclined to eavesdrop. No one paid any mind when Ed left the cluster of ranch owners—more seemed to have stayed on for the last night than usual, but Tucker chalked that up to the vittles—and sauntered over to his side of the campsite.

“We’ve done it.” Ed voiced Tucker’s own thoughts, but the grim edge to his voice gave the words a different meaning.

“Yep. No one’ll run home telling tales about this afternoon and making it harder for Desta to take her place as your aunt. Thought you’d be pleased.” He made it a statement instead of a question. Ed could answer if he chose or let it ride.

Ed snorted. “They’ll still talk about Desta being our aunt, but that’s unavoidable. No, I’m talking about Jess’s introduction to half the male population of the county. That’s what they’ll talk about.”

Tucker saw where his partner’s thoughts headed and didn’t care for the view. Seeking a distraction, he looked around the campsite again. What he saw offered little reassurance. The men might not be flapping their gums, but bellies full to bursting hadn’t affected their eyesight. Several kept slanting looks toward the chuck wagon, and others kept heading back for another corn cake or a drink of water. At least, those were handy excuses for the treat Tucker knew the men really craved—another gander at Jess. Tucker groaned aloud.

“My sister’s sudden return from England, her memorable appearance at the roundup, and the feast she prepared on site with no warning … she’s halfway to legend.” Ed sounded properly aggrieved over his sister’s social triumph. “Atchkinson and Hodges have both started asking questions about whether she’s spoken for. Bell danced right up to the line trying to find out about her dowry.”

“Unbelievable.” Trouble was, Tucker believed it. Worse, he believed there’d be more men, more questions, more hopeful hounding headed Ed’s way for the foreseeable future. Or until Jess married.

Desperate for any way to stave off the inevitable, Tucker seized on the only possible saving grace. “She’ll be in mourning for another year.” But even as he forced the words through, Tucker knew the truth.

Men around here were too practical to be patient when faced with a woman like Jess. Ed could try to stem the tide, but he couldn’t single-handedly fend off a slew of suitors forever.
Like it or not, she’ll be engaged—if not married—before I’m back from the long drive
.

His stomach clenched at the realization, and Tucker almost lost his superb supper as it surged upward to choke him. Ed looked queasy, too, and for a brief moment Tucker hoped Jess had somehow poisoned them all. Violent illness might make men think twice about pursuing her.

“Won’t make a difference.” Ed shook his head, looking sorrowful but not sickening. “Mourning or not, unless Jess lights the wagon afire before everyone rides out tomorrow morning, we’re done for.”

“Done! Loaded up and ready to go.” Jess beamed at Tucker and gave the side of the repacked chuck wagon an affectionate pat.

Strange as it might seem to someone else, she’d developed a soft spot for this wagon. Some carried foodstuffs and supplies, but for Jess, this one carried memories. A faded recollection of Papa hoisting her onto his shoulders years ago so she could peer into the top cubbyholes, while he explained that a trail drive revolved around its cook. The image of Desta almost breathing fire at a weedy man wearing a tin of beans as a hat. The satisfaction of successfully serving meals to the crew in between bursts of convincing Aunt Desta to join her plans for the trail. The chuck wagon carried more than foodstuffs and bedrolls—it held Jess’s hope for earning back her place at the Bar None.

Home—where I belong. Not just because of my last name, but because I’m part of running the Bar None now
. The knowledge energized her. It didn’t matter that she and Desta scraped together only a handful of hours’ worth of sleep last night, rising before dawn’s first light to make another meal memorable enough to prove their chuck-wagon capabilities.

Judging from the men’s reaction—and the spotless tins they returned once they’d eaten every scrap—they enjoyed Desta’s Mennonite toast every bit as much as they liked last night’s supper. When her aunt first suggested dipping slices of bread into a mixture of whipped eggs, milk, and salt, then frying the slices, Jess hesitated. But served alongside crispy curls of bacon and a browned hash of thinly sliced potatoes, Desta’s special toast made a mouthwatering morning meal—especially when doused with syrup. It put everyone in a cheery mood.

Everyone but Tucker, who stomped up and drained an entire pot of coffee before grunting hello. After that he perked up enough to pack in a substantial breakfast, issue instructions, and get the other outfits rolling home in short order. Since he seemed determined not to let anyone lollygag around, Jess and Desta cleaned up and got ready to clear out before he said a word.

He didn’t seem to appreciate the effort, surveying the wagon and the buckboard before pronouncing judgment. “If you’re ready, what’s keeping you from driving back?”

“I don’t know how to drive a team.” Desta eyed him with the same measure of disapproval he showed them. “You’ll hafta get somebody to bring in the chuck wagon. We’ll take the buckboard back.”

“Fine.” He waved them on their way without another word.

Jess gritted her teeth against her own irritation, refusing to pick an argument and undo all the hard work she’d done so far. Especially after Desta’s outburst yesterday, Jess needed to prove a woman could keep calm and carry as much responsibility as any male cook.