“Take it to the cookhouse and take care of it.”
Muttering under his breath, Charlie stomped from the barn.
Levi took off his cowboy hat and dragged his fingers through his hair. “Sometimes I wonder if he’s worth the effort.”
A shiver raced down Beatrice’s spine. Did he think the same of her? Not worth the effort? She drew herself up to her tallest and faced Levi. “Is anyone who can’t do the things you do considered not worth the effort?”
His dark eyes were bottomless, revealing nothing, though the way he crossed his arms over his chest made her think he was prepared to defend his view. “It isn’t that he can’t do the chores I’ve assigned him. It’s that he doesn’t care to make the effort. He believes chores are beneath him. For that reason I find him difficult to deal with.” His gaze bored into hers. “I believe in an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay.”
She floundered to think what that meant to her. She didn’t expect to be paid, didn’t want to be. “Maybe he’s doing the best he can.”
He unwound from his position at the fence. “If I thought that I would be happy. But Charlie is capable of doing almost anything he puts his mind to. Come along, I’ll show you the cookhouse.” He paused at the doorway, retrieving the slop bucket where he’d left it. “That is, if you’re interested.”
“Yes, I am. I want to see everything.” She might have told him she found it fascinating to see life at its roots, but he seemed cross so she kept the words to herself and accompanied him across the yard to a low building. They stepped inside and she stopped to take it in. To one side, there was a long wooden table with backless wooden benches on either side. Hooks on the wall next to the door held a variety of items—bits of leather, furry leggings and two soiled hats. To the other side was an enormous black stove, a long wooden counter and pots, pans, crocks and kitchen utensils of every size and kind. Apart from that, the room was bare of any sort of decoration. The windows lacked curtains. The only bright color in the whole place was the red rim of some of the granite pots.
“What do you think?” Levi asked.
She closed her eyes and drenched her senses, then she opened her eyes and told him her impressions. “The room is sparse.” She pointed out the lack of color. “But the air is alive with spices and warmth. I smell apple pie, gingersnaps, chocolate pudding. I smell mashed potatoes in a huge bowl, fried chicken and tomato sauce rich with basil and oregano. It’s like walking into an open market with a hundred things cooking at the same time.”
His laughter rumbled. “Soupy would be pleased you can’t smell dirty boots and manly sweat.”
She opened her eyes and grinned. “There might be a touch of that, as well.” Why was it she felt trapped by his gaze when he smiled like that? As if the rest of the world had slipped away and left them standing there alone? And when had she ever had such fanciful thoughts? Certainly not with Henry, whom she’d loved, and never with the young men her father presented as suitable.
Levi turned his attention to the room. “Charlie has left the milk.” Every trace of humor had disappeared from his voice and a cold chill crossed Beatrice’s shoulders.
“I’ll have to do it. You don’t need to wait if you don’t want.” He started a fire in the stove and filled a kettle with water from the pump at the sink.
The bucket of milk stood on the wide counter. Levi pulled out a jug and draped a white cloth over it.
Curious as to what he meant to do, she said, “I’ll wait and watch if you don’t mind.”
His eyebrows arched as if uncertain what to think of her answer. “I don’t mind.” He poured the milk through the cloth until the jug was full, then covered it with another cloth that he dampened in cold water. “Normally Soupy would use most of the milk. We use a little at the house. But with him and the cowboys away, we don’t need it all. The rest will go to the pigs.” He rinsed the straining cloth then filled a basin with boiling water and rinsed it again.
He took the milk bucket to the door and set it down. “Maybe Charlie will stir himself to take this to the pigs.” He looked around for his cousin. “He’ll be trying to find a bottle about now.”
Beatrice couldn’t decide if Levi sounded condescending or worried, so she made no comment.
He hung the straining cloth to dry, took the jug of milk and the empty slop bucket and escorted her back to the house.
“I was getting concerned when you were gone so long but I see I shouldn’t have been,” Maisie said. “You were with Levi.”
“I’m sorry to make you worry.” She’d be more conscious of Maisie in the future.
“I’ll hang about while Beatrice changes your dressing, in case she needs anything,” Levi said.
Beatrice’s insides stiffened. The last thing she needed or wanted was to have Levi watching while she tackled a job she didn’t know how to do. Her spine grew rigid. Her hands curled into fists. She would do this and whatever else she must learn in order to make her own way in life.
* * *
Levi struggled to sort out his thoughts. What was there about Beatrice that kept him off balance? He wanted to see her as a city girl. Unfit for ranch life. And she was. But she was more. Or was she less? He wished he could decide.
He’d expected her to grimace when she stepped into the barn. Instead, she’d been intrigued by the odors and even managed to make them seem pleasant. Yes, she’d been put off by the smell of pigs, but he didn’t know anyone who wasn’t. And wouldn’t Soupy have been amazed at her assessment of the cookhouse? A hundred cook fires at the same time. It gave him a mental picture that made his mouth water.
He shook his head, hoping to clear his thoughts. All that mattered to him was that Beatrice took care of Maisie and that Charlie stayed out of trouble.
How did he manage to get both Charlie and Beatrice here at the same time? He couldn’t possibly be in two places at once.
“Ma, can I help you to your room?” She was able to hop about, but he preferred she didn’t cross to her bedroom on her own.
Maisie looked from Beatrice to Levi. “It’s too early for Beatrice to retire. What will she do if I go to bed now?”
“I’ll take her for a walk down to the river if she likes.” He’d said the words without thinking and now that they were out, they couldn’t be pulled back.
“I’d like that,” Beatrice said.
Maisie nodded. “Then I’ll prepare for bed and Beatrice can tend to my dressing.”
Before she could struggle to her feet, Levi jumped forward and helped her upright. He’d pick her up and carry her, but Maisie would fight him so he settled for holding her firmly as they left the kitchen and crossed the living room. He threw back the covers, eased her to the bed and lifted her injured leg, then stepped back, loathe to leave her to Beatrice’s inexperienced hands.
Beatrice eased forward.
Ma must have sensed her uneasiness. Though she could hardly miss the way Beatrice wrung her hands and the way she chewed her bottom lip.
Ma spoke softly to her. “Don’t look so frightened.”
Beatrice nodded but didn’t relax.
Maisie smiled. “Why don’t you tell me the sort of things you did to amuse yourself as a child?”
She got a faraway look in her eyes. “I read lots. Did needlework. I’m quite good at it, actually.” Her smile was faintly apologetic.
“Didn’t you play?”
She shifted her gaze toward the window. “I was taught a young lady