The table was set, the room smelled wondrous and Mary stood near the doorway to the parlor, as puffed up as a grouse guarding her nest. Steve had to keep his grin hidden, but couldn’t deny he felt a fair amount of respect for this little woman and her gumption. “These men would like to speak with you, Miss McCary.”
“I’m aware of that,” she answered. “I didn’t think it was appropriate until you were present to vouch for the agreement we’ve made.”
“There can be no agreement between you two,” Josiah shouted. “I already told you that. Now, get your belongings. You are coming to town with us.”
The man was crossing the room as he shouted. Steve crossed the room, too, and planted himself between the mayor and Mary. “She’s not going anywhere. I hired her as my cook for the next month.”
“She isn’t available for hire,” Josiah bellowed. “Especially not by someone who wouldn’t even contribute to the cause!”
That was a sore spot for the mayor. He’d been out to the ranch several times asking for contributions, and had been upset that “the most prominent citizen of Oak Grove” wouldn’t participate. Steve didn’t care how prominent others proclaimed him to be, he thought it was a stupid idea from the start, and wasn’t going to put his hard-earned money behind it.
“I’ll contribute to your committee,” Rex shouted from the bedroom. “How much do you want?”
Obviously listening from the back porch, Walter stuck his head through an open window. “All of us out here will contribute, too. How much will it take to keep her?”
Steve smothered a growl. They’d all been on his side until they’d met her. Actually, he no longer had a side. If it came to keeping her, he had no choice but to pony up. “How much?”
“I got twenty-five dollars ready to hand over,” Rex shouted from the bedroom.
“It’s too late for that,” Josiah said. “You had to make your contributions before the brides arrived.”
Steve glanced past the mayor, to the table where a plate of cornbread sat and whatever was in the oven, ham he’d guess, had the house smelling as good as it had yesterday. Settling his gaze on the mayor, he said, “I’ll give you fifty bucks. That should more than cover her travel costs. Once she’s done working for me, she can marry any one of the other contributors.”
“I’m not—”
The glare he cast over his shoulder stopped her protest.
“Take the money,” the sheriff said to Josiah. “We have to get back to town. The party will be starting soon and you’re to give the opening speech.”
The mayor shook his head. “That won’t—”
“Seventy-five,” Steve interrupted.
* * *
Mary gulped. No one had that kind of money just lying around. Leastwise not anyone she’d ever known, nor would they have been willing to donate it to a committee of any sort. The air in her lungs started to burn, but she didn’t dare let it out. Didn’t dare make a peep. Not even to say no one needed to cover her traveling expenses. She’d traded Buck, their horse, for her and Maggie’s train tickets, but she doubted anyone wanted to hear that. The mayor was so red it looked like his head was about to burst off his shoulders, and the sheriff’s gaze was wary as he looked from Steve to the mayor and back again.
“I said seventy-five dollars, Melbourne,” Steve said. “Take it or leave it. Either way, you will be leaving without Miss McCary.”
“It’s time we leave, Josiah,” the sheriff said.
Mary let her breath out then. The sandy-haired sheriff appeared to be a much more intelligent man than the mayor—who was still red-faced and glaring at Steve.
“Fine,” the mayor said. “I’ll take your money, Mr. Putnam, but Miss McCary will be expected to fulfill the terms of the agreement she signed at the end of her employment with you.”
Mary wanted to protest, but pinched her lips together instead. There was no sense arguing a moot point. She’d be hightailing it out of Kansas at the end of her employment. A twinge of what she could only describe as guilt fluttered through her midsection. Steve—who had spun around and left the room—was laying out an enormous amount of money in order for her to cook for his men for the next month. The forty dollars he was paying her and the seventy-five he’d agreed to give the mayor was more money than she’d ever seen at one time. She’d fulfill her commitment to him. The McCarys had honor and never had been indebted to anyone. Which was what she’d told Sheriff Freiday back in Ohio upon trading Buck for their train tickets.
Steve returned and handed the mayor several bills. As the sheriff led the mayor toward the door, Steve said to her. “The men are hungry, Miss McCary.”
Her thudding heart told her she should say thank-you, but her commonsense said not within hearing distance of the mayor, therefore she nodded and walked toward the stove. “Lunch is ready, Mr. Putnam. Please tell the men to come in and eat.”
The two large kettles of boiled dinner she’d made of ham, potatoes, carrots, onions and cabbage, as well as the cornbread disappeared in no time, as did the spice cake she’d baked for dessert, making her glad she’d carried Rex in a plate before the others had started to eat.
Relatively quiet while they ate, the men thanked her boisterously once they’d finished. Gathering their hats off the floor, they filed out the door. Steve followed, collecting his hat from a hook by the door. He paused, though, to glance back at her.
“Thank you, for—” Shrugging, she simply said, “Everything.” She hadn’t meant to whisper, but her voice didn’t want to work.
His expression softened as he said, “I expect supper on the table by six.”
“It will be.”
He nodded and pulled the door closed, and she pinched her lips as a grin formed. She would be eternally grateful that he hadn’t sent her back to town. At this moment, there was no place else she’d rather be than here.
Organized by nature, she had always liked being busy, and with the generous supply of food stuff, cooking for the men was not overly taxing. Most of her life she’d had to scrounge for the ingredients to put together every meal, which had taken far more time and effort.
After cleaning the kitchen and providing Rex with a couple spoonsful of tonic in order for him to rest for a bit, she went upstairs to burp the tonic. The fact Steve had told her to get rid of the tonic jiggled and mixed with her other thoughts. He was paying her well for being here, and she should obey some of his orders. Not this one of course—the tonic was her and Maggie’s future—but she could pretend to. Easing the cork back into the crock, she stood and crossed the room to look out the window. There had to be someplace she could hide it. Close enough to be tended to regularly, but hidden well enough that no one would notice.
After contemplating the underground cellar and springhouse and deciding they would be too cool, she settled her gaze on the woodshed. This time of year, the only wood needed was for the cook stove, and therefore she’d be the only one visiting it regularly. The jug could easily be hidden there, and no one would question her venturing out to get wood.
As she removed the jug, the jar of yeast starter she’d brought from Ohio shifted. She quickly caught it before it had a chance to tumble. The lid could never be tightened completely or the yeast would go bad. Noting the contents had more than tripled in size, she set it on the floor along with the jug of tonic. The yeast could be used for many things besides making tonic.
After she had the tonic jug hidden in the wood pile, she returned to the bedroom and using the straw from the trunk, carefully packed the bottles of tonic into two small