Mail-Order Brides Of Oak Grove. Lauri Robinson

      A tinge of relief that this wasn’t the cowboy had her drawing in a deep breath. She didn’t have an excuse for being in the lean-to but did have her wits.

      Hurrying forward, she held out her hand. “Hello. I’m Mary, Mary McCary. Goodness, it is so hot I had to find some shade.” That wasn’t a lie. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck, making her wish she’d pinned her hair up. However the weight of it pinned up often gave her a headache. The same was true for Maggie. “I hope you don’t mind,” she continued when the man didn’t shake her hand. “I’ll be on my way shortly. I just needed to rest a moment.”

      “Vhere you come from?”

      “Where did I come from? The train. I just arrived.”

      “The train? You a bride?”

      The cowboy had been tall, but this one was a giant, making her half wish it was the cowboy again. “No, no, I’m—I’m a...” She pointed toward her trunk and said the first thing she could think of. “A cook.” That was true. She’d need a place to cook up the syrup to thicken the tonic. “I have all my supplies right there. The trunk is heavy so I dragged it in here, out of the sun.” Her insides quivered slightly. She’d never told so many lies in her life. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave now.”

      “No. You stay.”

      “I can’t stay,” she shouted over the train whistle. “I—I—I’m looking for—” Her brain wasn’t working as fast as she wished it would. Furthermore, the ground was shaking, which said the train was pulling out of the station.

      His thick black brows met as he frowned. “The Circle P? You looking for the Circle P Ranch? To cook for Rex?”

      “The Circle P Ranch? Rex?” A ranch had to be out in the country, a place she could mix up her tonic, and hide in case someone started looking for her, which was likely to happen. The conductor had kept a guarded eye on both her and Maggie. Thanks to Sheriff Freiday. Which was another reason she was so upset with Maggie. The way her sister kept feeding the other girls their tonic—in order to calm their nerves—could have easily have made the conductor wonder where it had come from and search her trunk. Thank goodness that hadn’t happened. At least not yet. It still could. “Yes. Yes, the Circle P Ranch. To cook for Rex. Is it far? Can you tell me how to get there?”

      “Steve Putnam left. I vill take you,” he said. “If you don’t like it, you come cook for me, ya?”

      Focused, she asked, “Right now? You will take me there right now?”

      “Ya. I get my wagon.”

      Mary wanted to jump for joy. She’d never been on a ranch, but surely it would provide a place for her to thicken and bottle the tonic and acquire a ride back to town in order to sell enough bottles to get her and Maggie on a train. An eastbound one. She’d already seen enough brown grass to last a lifetime. Although she hadn’t realized it before, there was a lot to be said about the tall green trees and lush rolling hills of Ohio.

      The huge man pulled a wagon up to the side of the lean-to in hardly no time and hoisted her trunk into the back of it with no effort whatsoever. Thankful for small miracles, she climbed onto the seat and quickly braided her long hair to keep the wind from blowing it across her face.

      As the wagon started rolling away from town, she learned the big man’s name was Brett Blackwell and that he was a blacksmith, as well as the feed store owner. The fact he’d moved to Kansas from northern Wisconsin explained his thick brogue, which grew increasingly easier to understand the more he talked. She let him ramble on as they traveled, focusing on her change of luck.

      She normally made friends easily—less the train ride where the other three “brides” had irritated her from the get go. They had irritated Maggie at first, too. The two of them had come up with their own names for the others. Miss Know-it-All Rebecca, Miss Quiet-and-Quaint Sadie and Miss Gullible Anna, who all had been over the moon at the idea of finding a husband. Foolish girls. Men only made life more difficult. They’d have to figure that out on their own. She and Maggie had, long ago. They hadn’t attempted to transfer Da’s permit to sell their tonic because they both knew the men on the Bridgeport town council would never approve it because she and Maggie were women and considered incapable of running a business. Men here wouldn’t be any different. It shouldn’t take Maggie long to realize that. After all, they were sisters. Maggie should remember that, too.

      As Mary’s wandering mind snagged something Brett said, she asked, “He what?”

      “Rex dang near cut off his other leg.”

      “His other leg?”

      “Lost the first one in the war, and buried an ax in the second one. That’s why he needs help.” A frown drew his thick brows together as he continued, “I thought Steve hired you to cook. No?”

      “Yes. Yes, he did,” she flat-out lied—again. “I was just confused there for a moment. Forgot about Rex.” She’d have to figure out the being-hired part once she got there.

      Brett’s frown didn’t ease, which sent a shudder up her spine. Reacting to that, she glanced behind them, seeing nothing of Oak Grove but small dots. “So how much farther is it to the ranch?”

      “A ways,” he answered.

      “Meaning half a mile or...” Once again glancing around at the barren land, she continued, “or a couple of miles?”

      “Five.”

      A lump formed in her throat. She and Maggie had never been a mile apart, let alone five. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea she could have come up with.

      Awhile later, she concluded it wasn’t. Not only had that been the longest, roughest five miles she’d ever ridden in a buckboard, she truly was hired as a cook. Well, she was cooking anyway. There hadn’t been any real hiring. Yet.

      Upon arrival at the Circle P Ranch, which included several obviously planted trees and a large house that was very nice, she’d encountered a man older than Da had been, and who clearly needed to be in bed, trying to mix up a batch of bread dough. Without ado, she’d ordered the man back to bed, taken off her jacket and rolled up her sleeves.

      The man, who turned out to be the Rex who had indeed injured his leg severely—the one that wasn’t a piece of wood from the knee down—said the men expected a hot meal and he couldn’t let them down. Her heart had gone out to Rex while anger built for his boss. A man named Steve Putnam who evidently expected people to work themselves into their graves. Literally. She’d give him a piece of her mind when she met him. For now, she’d cook a meal for the other men who were out rounding up the young ones. That was what Rex had said. Brett had explained Rex meant young calves. It turned out not only the grass was brown in this godforsaken place, the cows were, too.

      She’d told Brett the only cows she’d ever seen were black and white. He said those had to have been milk cows. The ones on the Circle P were beef cattle. Whatever that meant. If you asked her, a cow was a cow. You fed it, milked it, and when it was too old for that, you ate it.

      Once she got the dough mixed and set to rise, she filled a bucket with water and gave the kitchen a good scrub down. It needed it. Then, with Brett’s help and guidance from Rex, who shouted orders from the bedroom off the kitchen, she found everything she’d need to cook a meal for the six men expecting to be fed—plus Rex and Steve Putnam. And of course Brett whom she promised to feed if he’d stay and help her get things in order. He’d been so excited over that prospect, she’d feared he was going to hug her with those huge arms and had run to the other side of the table.

      Stew was what she made, using beef since there was no mutton, and a big pot of potatoes that she’d mash up before serving. Pouring the stew over the potatoes not only made the stew go further, it was how Da had liked it.

      Between helping her find things and placating Rex, Brett had carried in her bag and trunk and put them upstairs, in one of the bedrooms. The house had six, and after all the work she was doing, Steve Putnam better not refuse