Cowboy Homecoming. Louise M. Gouge

gasped together as if they were a Greek chorus.

      “Help you? The very idea!” Mrs. Runyan placed a hand on her chest and stepped back. “I pay for my room and board in this establishment, and I expect my supper to be served promptly at seven.”

      Barely able to comprehend the woman’s hauteur, Laurie looked to the man.

      “As I have already informed you, I am a watchmaker. Do you have any idea how delicate my hands are? How I must protect them?” He clutched the appendages to his chest and huffed. “Carry wood? How insulting.” He marched up the front staircase, stopping halfway. “Friends of Mrs. Foster or not, rest assured I shall watch you two young people. One small inappropriate step, and I shall vacate the premises and move to the hotel.”

      “Humph.” Mrs. Runyan began her own march up the stairs, but obviously couldn’t permit the watchmaker to outdo her with his arrogance. “Breakfast at eight a.m. Supper at seven sharp. My room is to be cleaned weekly, and I expect clean linens every week, or I shall find other accommodations. Is that understood, Miss Eberly?”

      “Why, you—” Tolley lifted a scolding finger.

      Again, Laurie stepped in front of him, this time elbowing him hard in the ribs. She covered his startled “oof” with “Why, of course, Mrs. Runyan. Breakfast at eight. And tonight, supper at seven sharp.” She barged through the swinging kitchen door, trying to quell her anger at the two selfish boarders. Did they have no compassion? Didn’t they know people out here in the West took care of one another?

      “Why’d you do that?” Tolley followed her into the kitchen, one hand on his rib cage. “You have sharp elbows.”

      She rolled her eyes as she spun around to face him. “Don’t you be giving me trouble, too.”

      He held up both hands in a pose of surrender. “Hey, take it easy. This isn’t all on you, y’know. I’ll help with the chores.”

      She exhaled in relief. “Thank you. That’s what I needed to hear. Now, while I start the chicken, would you please peel the potatoes and then clean up the back stairs?”

      “Wait. What? I didn’t mean I’d do women’s work.”

      The puzzlement on his handsome face would be humorous if he hadn’t just dashed Laurie’s hopes of getting real, actual help in making sure Mrs. Foster’s boarders didn’t move out. If they did, how would her dear friend support herself?

      Couldn’t Tolley see how selfish he was being?

       Chapter Three

      “This chicken is burned to a crisp.” Mr. Parsley dropped his fork with a clatter. “These potatoes are barely cooked. I’m paying good money here, and I won’t stand for this kind of tasteless fare.”

      Seated at one end of the dining room table, Tolley glanced at Laurie, who sat nearest the kitchen.

      Strain showed on her face, but she forced a smile. “I’ll do better with breakfast.”

      “I certainly hope so. This is terrible.” Despite her complaint, plump Mrs. Runyan continued eating. “If I have to purchase my breakfast at Williams’s Café, you can be sure I’ll deduct the cost from my rent.”

      “Now, see here, Mr. Northam.” Mr. Parsley aimed his tiny, bespectacled eyes in Tolley’s direction. “Exactly what will you be doing tomorrow? What I mean is, will you be staying here with Miss Eberly, with your only chaperone in this house a sick old woman upstairs in her bedchamber?”

      Tolley nibbled a bite of dry, grainy but edible meat he’d located beneath the burned crust and skin of a chicken breast. This man sure got under his craw, but as Laurie requested, he’d try not to get mad at the old coot. “Well...” He drawled out the word. “I thought I’d go over to the bank and see if they’ll rent me one of their empty Main Street buildings to set up my law office.”

      “Law office?” The small man’s scoffing tone almost earned him a boxed ear. “Why, you couldn’t possibly be old enough to be a lawyer. Why would you expect people to trust an untrained boy with their legal matters?”

      Tolley breathed in and out slowly. “I wouldn’t expect them to.” He also wouldn’t say another word in his own defense. His pastor friend in Boston urged him to let his work speak for itself. Instead, he mashed the hard potatoes into an almost edible consistency and poured gravy over the whole thing, the least he could do for Laurie, who’d obviously done her best to please these two boorish people. He might say something to her about improving her cooking, though not in the hearing of the older folks. He wouldn’t entirely discount marrying a gal who couldn’t cook very well, but she’d have to possess a powerful lot of other attributes to make up for it.

      Why did he entertain such foolish thoughts? Probably because fatigue crept into his bones and he couldn’t think straight. Yesterday and today had been the longest two days of his life. He’d spent the night before last at the hotel in Walsenburg, ridden the train over the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, found out his father nearly died of apoplexy, spent the night in the Esperanza Arms, moved to the boardinghouse and rescued poor Mrs. Foster when she broke her arm. Not to mention having to eat a poorly cooked supper. Things like that wore a man out. He’d sleep well tonight.

      “If you folks will excuse me.” He rose from the table and set his napkin beside his plate. “I think I’ll hit the hay.”

      “But—” For a moment, Laurie looked like a lost waif. Then she frowned. “Good night, Mr. Northam.”

      What set her off? He was too tired to ask. Besides, Mrs. Runyan and Mr. Parsley would probably find it scandalous if Tolley even walked into the kitchen when Laurie worked in there alone.

      He’d brought in the wood for cooking supper, and tomorrow he’d carry the water upstairs so Laurie could do whatever cleaning Mrs. Foster had intended. Maybe in the morning he should feed the chickens, too, the least he could do for his childhood friend.

      * * *

      While washing the dishes, Laurie let a few tears splash into the dishpan, dissolving some of the bubbles Mrs. Foster’s lye soap had generated. What a disappointment Tolley turned out to be. He hadn’t even helped her clear the table. But then, growing up in a family with a housekeeper and a sister to help his mother in the kitchen, no wonder he regarded housework as women’s work. Still, understanding him didn’t make it any easier to shoulder all of the chores herself. After all, she and her sisters had learned to do both housework and ranch work.

      A soft, cool evening breeze blew in through the window, bringing with it the merry chirp of a robin. Laurie brushed away her tears and smiled. How silly. Only yesterday, she’d resented having to fetch Tolley from the train depot. What made her think he’d changed? Still the same selfish boy she’d always known. And what of her own resentment over not being permitted to work around her parents’ house and ranch? Well, now her hands were more than full, and she thanked the Lord for it. If she must endure the eccentricities of Mrs. Foster’s self-centered boarders, so be it.

      Supper had failed because she’d forgotten Ma’s lessons. As promised, breakfast would be better. She’d dried and put away the last dish when a cross “meow” sounded at the back door. She hurried to let Mrs. Foster’s black-and-white cat inside. He rubbed against her skirt and looked up at her. His next “meow” definitely had a question mark at the end of it.

      “Mrs. Foster is upstairs, Pepper.” Fortunately, she’d left Mrs. Foster’s door slightly ajar so she could hear if her friend called for help. “I’m sure she’d welcome a visit from you.”

      The cat scampered from the room as if he’d understood her words. Laurie laughed. She’d always enjoyed playing with the barn cats at her family’s ranch and had missed having them while in Denver. Chatting with Pepper would brighten the days ahead. He knew her and always answered when she spoke to him.

      After