A Bride for Noah (11 page)

A glance around the clearing revealed a glimmer of lamplight seeping through cracks in the long structure she had noticed last night. The voices came from that direction as well, and with her eyes adjusted to her dim surroundings she could see the shadow of smoke trailing into the sky. That building must be the cookhouse. Good. She wanted to get a good look at it.

Stepping with caution across the muddy clearing, she made her way to the structure, following the sound of male voices. When she drew near she spied a door standing open at the far end. She paused a moment to smooth her skirts and settle a sudden case of nerves. Then, with her head held high, she marched inside.

It took a moment for her eyes to make sense of the jumble of activity. Lamps created glowing circles of light throughout the room. Long tables stretched the length of the building. A closer inspection revealed that they were nothing more than wide logs that had been split down the center to form a roughly level surface. On top was piled the biggest feast Evie had ever seen. Stacks of flapjacks, platters piled high with meat, tubs of butter, and huge bowls of delicious-smelling fried apples. The benches pulled up to each one followed the same design as the tables, though obviously on shorter legs, and filled with men.

A dark-haired lumberjack on the far end of the room caught
sight of her. He jumped to his feet and pointed. “There's one of them now.”

At his shout all talk in the room ceased. Every head turned her way, and Evie found herself the center of attention. Her breath became a frozen lump in her lungs. Perhaps Noah had been serious in his cautions about her safety in a camp full of men. In the next moment benches tumbled backward as the men leaped up. Knit hats were snatched off heads and those seated nearest the door rushed forward. A dozen deep voices wished her good morning, and she found both of her hands tucked in muscular arms as she was pulled forward. A bench was hastily righted and she was invited to sit.

“I'll bring you a plate, Miss,” a brawny blond offered eagerly.

“I'll git your coffee.” The man next to him edged him away by planting his hands on the table and leaning toward her. “We got honey for sweetin'.”

Though moments before her stomach had complained of emptiness, Evie suddenly found the idea of eating in this crowd intimidating. The men formed a seemingly endless circle around her, their eyes roaming over her like so many starving dogs hovering outside a butcher shop. No doubt her every bite would be watched.

She declined a plate of food with a polite shake of her head. “Though I would appreciate coffee with a touch of honey.” Coffee was not something she normally cared for, but she remembered their chagrin yesterday at Ethel's request for tea.

Three men whirled and banged into each other in their haste to meet her request. The rest quickly closed the circle. The odor of unwashed bodies threatened to overpower that of the bacon, and she masked an unpleasant flutter in her stomach with a quick smile. She was answered by a dozen or so wide grins.

Someone pushed between two beefy lumberjacks and stepped into the circle. With a jolt, Evie looked up into Noah's unsmiling face.

“Miss Lawrence.” His voice held a chilly courtesy. “I didn't expect you to be up at this hour.”

“You'll find that I am an early riser, Mr. Hughes.” She poured extra sweetness into the smile she awarded him. “Especially when there is so much work to do.”

His jaw tightened, and he looked as if he would have answered except that her coffee arrived at that moment. A man inserted himself into the circle and carefully set a steaming tin mug in front of her.

“There you go, miss. A dollop of honey.” He did not move, but hovered with an anxious expression.

Evie picked up the mug and took an experimental sip. Scalding hot and bitter, she had to school her expression to hold back a grimace. “Delicious,” she lied. “Thank you, Mr.…”

The man straightened to attention. “Smithers, ma'am. George Smithers.”

“George?” A guffaw came from somewhere behind him. “Don't go trying to put on airs, Pig Face.”

He glared at the chuckles of his crew mates. “George is my given name.”

Unfortunately, his nickname was well earned. The tip of his nose pointed toward the sky, granting Evie an unobstructed view of two round nostrils that did hold a more than passing resemblance to a pig's.

“Thank you, Mr. Smithers.” She set the mug down on the table and let her smile travel around the circle of faces. “I am Evangeline Lawrence, recently arrived from Chattanooga, Tennessee.”

Her audience began calling out names so quickly she could do no more than give a brief nod of acknowledgment to each man.

“Lester Palmer.”

“Randall Miller, ma'am.”

“Red Anderson.” That one, at least, she would have no trouble remembering, thanks to a thick thatch of orangey-red hair that topped a face round as a melon.

Her gaze was drawn to the giant from the dock, which towered a full head above the others. “And your name, sir?”

“Jacob Carter, ma'am.” His hands twisted a knitted hat into a ball. “But everybody calls me Big Dog.”

She nodded, and then spoke to the lot of them at once. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, gentlemen. I hope we will become friends in the days ahead.”

“Miss Lawrence, may I have a word with you outside?” The disapproving scowl on Noah's face left no room for refusal.

Rather than cause a scene, Evie opted for a show of manners. “Of course, Mr. Hughes.” Taking her mug in one hand, she slipped off of the bench. The men moved out of her way, disappointment clear on their faces, and allowed her to head for the door.

A flash of color caught her eye. Toward the center of the table stood a bowl of oranges. Her oranges, of course, all the way from Mr. Langley's greengrocer in San Francisco.

She exclaimed with delight. “Oh, look at that lovely fruit.” Rounding her eyes, she turned an innocent look on Big Dog. “Do you think I might have one?”

Men fell over themselves rushing toward the table. A moment later she found the entire bowl thrust into her hands.

“The other ladies might like them too,” Big Dog said.

“Oh, I'm sure they will, Mr. Carter. Thank you for being so thoughtful.” She gave him her widest smile before following Noah out of the building.

She found him standing off to one side, scowling, with his arms folded across his chest. “I will not stand by and watch you toy with those men for your own amusement.”

Outrage warred with the tiniest stab of guilt in her. She
had
been putting her best foot forward, fully aware that the men would be charmed with a feminine presence. Yet how dare he accuse her of toying with them? “I am not toying with anyone.” Her whisper rasped in her throat.

“Of course you are.” Assuming a simpering smile, he batted his eyelashes and he clasped his hands together beneath his chin. “
Oh, look at those lovely oranges!
”

His high falsetto rubbed on her nerves like gravel. Under no circumstances would she ever simper like that.

“My oranges!”

“They were on my table.”

She felt like she could spit. “You are the most annoying man I have ever met.”

“And you…” A struggle twisted his features, and then he snapped his mouth shut. When he spoke, it was in a controlled tone. “I must request once again that you and the other ladies make an effort not to distract the men from their work.”

“May I remind you that I too have work to do? Can we not do both at the same time?” The rim of the bowl pressed into her stomach, but she managed to keep her voice low. “It is not my intention to distract anyone from anything, and the other women have done nothing but comply with your directions.” As far as she knew they were still sound asleep in the tent.

He shook his head. “Oh, you're a distraction all right.”

Torn between determination to make him see her point and pleasure at the compliment, she said nothing. A moment later she was saved from replying when Arthur Denny strode into the clearing. Catching sight of them, he covered the distance and fixed her with a wide smile.

“Miss Lawrence, I have good news. My wife and sister-in-law are delighted to have you and the other ladies stay with them. They both say they've missed the opportunity to talk with women, and they look forward to having you for as long as is needed.” He rubbed his hands together, obviously well pleased with the arrangement. “Noah will escort you to the cabin this morning.”

Evie hesitated, unsure how to proceed. Making demands to Noah was one thing, but Arthur's stern countenance did not invite discussion.

“But my things, my supplies—”

He dismissed her concern with a shake of his head. “Your personal belongings can go with you, of course. As for the rest, Noah will make sure they are stored and secured to your satisfaction.”

The issue thus resolved he started to turn away.

Evie stepped hastily in front of him. “Mr. Denny, I would like to talk with you about my restaurant.”

“I've spoken at length with Mr. Coffinger, who is, I believe, your partner?”

She nodded, though reluctantly.

“He knows my thoughts on the matter. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to give the men their orders for the day.” He stepped around her and disappeared before she had a chance to stop him again.

Evie turned to find Noah scowling after him. Apparently he wasn't any happier about being her escort than she was to have him.
If they think I will meekly be scuttled out of sight like a bothersome child, they are in for a surprise
, she thought to herself.

First, though, she needed to know what Miles discussed with Arthur. Then she could make plans from there.

“Where is your uncle?”

Noah shrugged. “Still asleep, would be my guess.”

“When he wakes, would you tell him I'd like to speak with him?”

At his nod, Evie gathered her skirts in one hand and, carrying her bowl of oranges, marched across the muddy clearing to wake the others. They had a busy day ahead of them.

Evie, Sarah, Lucy, and Ethel perched on one of the rickety benches in the otherwise empty cookhouse in front of plates of flapjacks and fried apples. Gone were the astounding quantities of food she had seen piled on the tables an hour past, devoured by men whose appetites surpassed anything she had imagined. When asked, Cookee haughtily informed her that men needed real food, and lots
of it, if they were to have energy to do the hard work of a lumberjack. Her lists concerning quantities and serving sizes would need to be revised before she opened the doors of her business. The white linens carefully pressed and stored were definitely out, as were the lovely glass vases intended for a single flower.

Though Miles had no plans to pick up an ax, he sat on the other side of the table with a plate as full as that of any of the lumberjacks she'd seen earlier.

Evie eyed the huge bite of molasses-soaked flapjack that he was preparing to place in his mouth. “If you continue to eat this way, you'll end up paying me to let out the seams of your trousers.”

The fork paused in front of his mouth. “You would charge your partner? My dear, how mercenary of you.” The food disappeared behind smiling lips.

“Business is business, and money is money. As you know, I have a loan to repay.”

Still, she couldn't stop an answering smile. Though Miles had misled her and misused her name without her knowledge, it was impossible to stay angry with someone whose enthusiasm shone in his countenance. He had entered the cookhouse this morning humming, his spirits contagiously high.

“I understand you've spoken with Mr. Denny concerning the restaurant.” She took a cautious sip from the tin mug. The coffee's bitterness was beginning to grow on her, especially when, halfway through the first cup, her mind fairly buzzed with an energy she'd never experienced from tea. “Did you discuss a likely location?”

“We didn't get so far as that, though he did outline his plans for the new town. If this next lumber sale goes through, they hope to attract investors for building a mill. Of course that will be located near the river's head—perhaps a more ideal place for our restaurant?”