Lauri Robinson - Mail-Order Brides Of Oak Grove

She dressed and covered her hair with the same cloth she’d used yesterday, tying it beneath her hair, and then quietly snuck out of her room and headed downstairs. After building a fire in the stove, she made a pot of coffee and then set about making a batch of biscuits. Once they were in the oven, she poured Rex a cup of coffee and pushed the pot to the back of the stove top to stay warm.

After a brief discussion with Rex, who was feeling better this morning, she ventured into the cellar for a large slab of bacon, and then went outside to gather eggs from the fenced-in chicken coop.

That task was easy—gathering eggs, it was the one she’d have to do next that had her a bit nervous. They—her family—had never owned a cow. Rex had said his morning chores included gathering eggs and milking the cow. She knew what to do with the milk once it was in the bucket—how to skim off the cream and make butter, buttermilk, even a soft cheese, but how to get the milk in the bucket was a different story.

She didn’t want to fall short of her duties. That—the fear of falling short in his eyes—must be why Steve affected her so. She’d concluded that this morning, while being as quiet as possible to not wake him.

“Morning, ma’am,” one of the cowboys said as he stopped near the door of the chicken pen. “Is there anything I can do to help you this morning?”

Problem solved. “A matter of fact there is. I have biscuits in the oven, and wouldn’t want them to burn. Would you mind milking the cow?”

“Consider it done,” he said with a grin. “Name’s Walter, Walter Reinhold. You can just call me Walter. Everyone goes by first names around here.”

“In that case, you can call me Mary, and thank you, Walter, I appreciate the help.”

“Not a problem at all, ma’am. I’m glad to be of assistance.”

More than satisfied, she went back into the house to resume preparing a meal Steve would not find any fault in.

All the while she’d cooked, she hadn’t heard any movement upstairs, so was a bit surprised when Steve walked through the kitchen door with the rest of the men. She was a bit flustered, too, at the way her heart picked up an extra beat.

He didn’t say a word, and neither did she. Not to him. The rest of the men were very appreciative of her efforts this morning, and weren’t shy about saying so. She replied to their generous compliments, offered second and third helpings, and considering they were a curious bunch, answered their questions, which were mainly about what she would serve for their next meal.

Other than the cowboy with shaggy brown hair—she recalled his name was Jess Rader—who was curious about other things. “So, what’s your sister’s name?” he asked, spooning eggs into his mouth.

“Maggie.” Hoping to get the subject away from the whole bride scenario—mainly because it had Steve’s brown eyes focused on her, she added, “Actually, it’s Margaret Mary, and my name is Mary Margaret.”

Several frowns formed as all their eyes landed on her.

“Couldn’t your folks think up any other names?” the tall and thin cowboy named Leroy asked.

“Mary Margaret was the name my mother had chosen, not knowing she was carrying two babies. She died shortly after my sister and I were born, so, since I was born first, my father named me Mary Margaret, and my sister Margaret Mary.”

“Don’t that beat all,” one of them said, she hadn’t caught exactly who because the very thoughtful expression on Steve’s face held her attention.

“How do you know that?” he asked.

“Because my father told me,” she answered the obvious.

“If you’re twins, identical, maybe he mixed the two of you up.” Looking at her over the rim of his coffee cup, he continued, “Maybe she’s Mary and you’re Maggie.”

Confident that had never happened, she smiled. “No, he didn’t. I’m Mary. Mary McCary.”

“How can you be so sure?”

She could tell him the truth. Show him the birthmark on the back of her neck that proved she was exactly who she said she was, or tell him about it and why she and Maggie always wore their hair down, so people were never sure which sister was which. Maggie had no such birthmark, and more than a time or two they’d used their likenesses to their own advantages. She then wondered if he’d be able to tell her and Maggie apart without knowing their secret. There was something about him, his intuition, maybe, that said he might be able to.

Still smiling, she met his gaze eye for eye. “Why are you so suspicious of people? Or is it just me?”

The nervous silence that settled around the table told her what she already knew. Few people questioned Steve Putnam. She didn’t mind being one that did. As crazy as it seemed, she didn’t mind getting under his skin—most likely because he got under hers so thoroughly.

He never looked away while saying, “Saddle up, boys.”

As they all gathered their hats and stood, he added, “Lunch will be at noon, Miss McCary.”

“Yes, it will be, Mr. Putnam,” she replied.

He waited until the rest of the men exited, and then while standing in the open doorway, he said, “Walter won’t be milking any cows tomorrow morning. That’s your job.”

She should have known he’d discover that. “So be it.” As he pulled the door shut, she started gathering dishes off the table and muttered, “Insufferable beast.”

The door opened again and he poked his head through the opening. “I heard that.”

Hoisting the pile of dirty dishes off the table, she merely repeated, “So be it.” She’d learn to milk a snake just to spite him. Of course snakes couldn’t be milked, at least she assumed they couldn’t. She couldn’t be sure about the snakes in this country, though. They had to be different from the ones she’d ever seen. Just as different as the cows. Men, however, were the same everywhere. Insufferable beasts.

Not a single man had ever appealed to her in any shape or form, and Steve Putnam had to be the least appealing of all. At least he should be. The way he antagonized her with nothing more than a look was reason enough. Sure he might be more handsome than all the others, but some dogs were better-looking than other ones, too, and that sure didn’t make them better dogs.

“Mary?”

She let the smile that wanted to appear at the sound of Rex’s voice form and after setting the dishes on the counter, walked into his room. “Yes?”

“Is there something I can help you with this morning? I’m sure I could sit at the table and peel potatoes or something.”

Maybe she was a bit wrong. Rex wasn’t unlikeable or insufferable. A matter of fact, she’d already grown a bit fond of him. Why couldn’t Steve be more like him? She gave her head a quick shake. What was she thinking? She didn’t want to become fond of Steve.

Crossing the room, she said, “I’m sure you could, but I’m not going to let you. You need to stay in bed so that leg heals.” That needed to happen as much for him as for her. She couldn’t stay here any longer than necessary. “However,” she continued, noting the frustration in Rex’s green eyes. “I am hoping you’ll be up to churning butter later today. And...”

He frowned slightly. “And?”

“Telling me how to milk a cow.”

Chapter Five

Steve led the group of cowboys toward the house at full speed. It was a half hour or so before noon, but that was how he wanted it. Showing up early and frazzling Mary’s composure a bit would suit him just fine. He couldn’t say why. Normally he was easygoing. He loved his ranch and wanted everyone who worked here to love it, too. It not only made for a happier group, it got more done. Men who liked their work accomplished more than those who didn’t. He should consider that when it came to her, but couldn’t. There was something about her that got to him.