“I suppose that’s why. So is it difficult having a woman constantly watching your every move?” She gave a teasing smile, but he didn’t see her. His body remained stiff, as if the fact she joked about herself slid past him.
“I hardly notice my aunt. She keeps to her fire and cabin, and I to my job.” Garrett Jones was harder to break than a diamond, but that didn’t mean she would give up. Someday she would chisel through his pride. Get past whatever reserve he had toward her, and perhaps even grow to like her. After all, he was her brother’s friend. In the meantime, she had to find a way to get out of cook duty.
* * * *
“And who have we here?” Aunt June studied Beth until she wiggled in her shoes. After a long, judgment-filled stare that left Beth wanting to chew her lip, the cook turned to pour a pot of steaming liquid into the cast-iron pan heating over the open fire pit. Beth relaxed a bit. The woman’s large, maternal frame gave a sense of home, as if one could approach her with any trouble, and she could make it disappear. Beth couldn’t help but smile at the woman as she placed the now empty pot on the ground, turned with hands on hips, and gazed at them both. “A little young to be runnin’ with the likes of this one, aren’t you?” she asked, motioning toward Garrett.
“Can I speak with you in private, Aunt June?” Garrett asked before Beth had a chance to greet the good-natured cook.
“Of course.” Aunt June turned to Beth. “Would you mind stirring this, young man?”
Beth nodded and Garrett ushered the cook to the other side of a little cabin sitting nearby.
Adjusting her position to the opposite side of the fire—the side closest to the whispering couple—Beth tried valiantly to hear what was being said, but with no luck. She concentrated instead on stirring the pot. He wouldn’t tell her secret, would he?
“This is Simon’s cousin, Brent,” Garrett introduced when they returned.
Aunt June’s eyebrows shot up. “Is it now? I’ve heard so much about you, young Brent.”
“You have?” Beth fidgeted in the overly large jacket and tried to suppress her sigh. By all accounts, Garrett hadn’t given up her secret. At least she hoped he hadn’t. So who had talked about her to Aunt June?
“Can Brent have first cook duty? I need to train him for the river runs.”
“Certainly.” Aunt June slid a white, stained rag off her shoulder and handed it to Beth. “Young Brent can start with wiping down the table and then set the tableware on the serving bench.”
With what sounded like a stifled sigh of relief, Garrett gave a slight bow to first Aunt June and then Beth. “I have something I need to do. If you’ll excuse me, you’ll be in good hands with Aunt June. I’ll return as soon as I’m able.”
The cook nodded, and Garrett scurried away. Beth’s stomach knotted as she watched his retreating back. She felt safer when he was near. Being alone in the quest to maintain her guise made her want to run for the train and hide in the railcar until it left. She needed to lift her chin and face the moment in a way that would make Garrett proud.
What sort of thing did make Garrett proud?
She turned her attention to Aunt June and gave an awkward smile. “Is he always this way?”
“Only around women.” A strange glint glistened in the cook’s eyes, and sent Beth’s heartbeat soaring. The trees surrounding the camp seemed to suck the air right out of the clearing. What was the old woman thinking? Had Garrett actually told her of Beth’s secret? Aunt June turned her smile to the ground, and then back up to Beth. “Curious how he acts that way around a strapping young lad such as yourself.”
After a long pause where the cook stared with what Beth could only call a challenge, she shrugged and continued, “Yes, well, what you need to know about me is that I don’t bite, and I don’t gossip. Secrets are always safe with me.”
Beth’s heart beat with alarm. She knew. She had to.
“Why, just the other day I heard a luscious little tidbit that I swore to never tell.” Aunt June prattled on as Beth began to wipe down the long, weathered table—one ear bent to the cook’s words, but not fully hearing what she said until, “She will be coming in a few days to help me out, you know. It will be her first time in a logging camp. I think you’re going to like her. She’s a might giddy at times, but has a level head about her.”
“She sounds very agreeable.” Heavens to Betsy. Who was she talking about? I really should learn to listen better. She focused on Aunt June’s cliché response, but it was too late. The agreeable girl would show up. Was Aunt June going to try to make a match between Brent and another girl? Or did she know about her little escapade? Beth tried not to show the small bout of panic turning her stomach into a pit. Complications were not what she needed. For the first time since the train, she was starting to doubt this brilliant idea.
Aunt June heaved the cast-iron pan off the open flames and set it on the ground with a thump. “We’re gonna need a few more dishes for this hungry bunch. Run into my cabin and fetch the spare tin before the rest of the men come thundering in here.”
With a nod, Beth tossed the rag over her shoulder and did as ordered, keeping one eye on the older woman as she walked away. She still didn’t know if Aunt June was always cheerful, or if she knew the secret. Either way Beth wasn’t going to give any fuel for the gossip fire.
The little cabin was decorated with a rough female touch, but pleasant nonetheless. It was a logger’s world bejeweled with feminine trinkets and delicate doilies over the horizontal surfaces. A small bed stood in the corner covered in a colorful hand-sewn quilt.
A ruckus sounded through the trees outside, so Beth grabbed the stack of plates and tin bowls and hurried to the table near the fire. Excitement bubbled in her stomach when she recognized the gentle mayhem of rowdy men in the distance.
Aunt June set the large pot at the end of the serving table and wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her sleeve. The rumble of shouts grew louder as the men began to race into the camp.
“Don’t you worry about these boys. They tend to plow in here at mealtime like bulls down Main Street. Despite their manners, they’re all angels.”
“Except us Devils,” a thick man shouted as he clambered onto the middle of the bench.
“Yeah, Aunt June,” another logger bellowed. “Don’t let Gar hear you call him an angel. God knows we have a hard enough time keeping him on this side of death.”
“Why’s that?” Beth adjusted her voice to an even deeper tenor, hoping no one saw through her disguise. Aunt June smiled down at the pot of food as she stirred. Beth furrowed her brows. By the sly smile on her face, she knew a secret she wasn’t yet willing to tell.
The first man who spoke leaned on the table with his elbows and raised his head in greeting. He kept his thumb rested on the side of his chin with fist open before his face—as if sizing her up. “He’s a risk taker. He’s always the first to ride into danger and the last to come out.” He eyed her. “Name’s Wallace…Wall for short. What’d you say your name is?”
Beth cleared her throat and moved to help Aunt June dish up the vittles. “Brent.”
“Where are you workin’, Brent?” Wall asked.
“With the Devil May Cares.”
Several of the men surrounding the table snickered.
“Ain’t no way you’re a Devil boy,” one of the men toward the end of the table called out.
“He is too. Heard it from Garrett myself.” Aunt June plunked down a bowl on the serving table, the contents splashing on the gray weathered top. “Now, all of you boys get over here and get your supper. I’m no serving