City Girl (6 page)

Kinkade, Texas

There weren't too many trains into Kinkade each day, but Reagan had taken an early one. She had a name, William Harmond, and an address, and in her mind that was enough. She wasn't as fresh as she would like to have been for a first meeting with her new employer but felt sure he would understand.

The platform cleared swiftly, and Reagan was glad to have a moment to look around. She liked what she could see of Kinkade. It looked to be on the quiet side and nowhere near as large as her neighborhood in New York; she could tell that it was a town just her size.

“Excuse me,” Reagan said when a man in uniform passed by. “May I ask you a question?”

“Certainly, miss. What can I do for you?”

“I'm looking for a Mr. William Harmond. Could you possibly tell me where he lives?”

“Yes, ma'am, it just so happens he lives next to my aunt. You go to the middle of town, and then a block to the north, turn left, and he's the third house on the right.”

Reagan beamed at him. She never dreamed she would hear such clear directions.

“Thank you, sir.”

The man watched her walk away, a small smile on his face as he shook his head a little. She had smiled at him as though he'd given her a sack of gold.

Reagan did not look back. She moved toward downtown, a woman with a mission, her eyes swiftly scanning the storefronts. She watched the door of the general store just being opened, reminded again of the early hour. It was a brisk day, but not at all cold like New York. Reagan had everything she could do not to smile and greet everyone she saw.

A bit of preoccupation over one advertisement in the barber shop window almost made her miss her turn, but with just a few maneuvers, she was on her way again. It didn't take long to find that the instructions had been perfect. Doing exactly as she'd been told, she stood in front of a large, well-kept home and saw the name Harmond on the porch. Thinking there was no time like the present, Reagan started up the walk.

A brisk knock on the wide wood door produced a woman. She didn't look like a servant, and Reagan could only hope he hadn't hired someone else.

“May I help you?” the woman asked.

“Yes, please. I'm Reagan Sullivan. I'm looking for Mr. William Harmond.”

The woman nodded, and Reagan thought she looked at her oddly.

“I'll get him for you” was all she said before leaving Reagan on the front porch.

“Well, at least she didn't shut the door completely,” the nanny muttered, wondering what to think of what had just happened. She wasn't given much time. Within seconds the door opened wide and a man stood there.

“Miss Sullivan?”

“Yes. Are you Mr. Harmond?”

“I am. Won't you please come in?”

“Thank you.”

Her heart surging with excitement, seeing now that it was all going to work out fine, Reagan stepped across the threshold.

“You didn't get my letter,” Mr. Harmond began before Reagan could even set down her bag.

“Yes, I did,” she said plainly. “I wouldn't be here otherwise.”

William Harmond hesitated, his mind scrambling for words.

In that instant, Reagan knew something was wrong, and it wasn't hard to figure that the woman at the door had something to do with it. Nevertheless she was going to wait for this man to admit it.

“How is it you got my letter if you're just now arriving? I mailed it two weeks ago.”

Reagan smiled. “I left early and took a little time to see the country.”

Mr. Harmond nodded. He had hoped to avoid this, but now he had no choice.

“I must tell you, Miss Sullivan, that since I contacted you the first time, I've taken a wife.”

“Have you now?” she asked calmly.

“Yes.”

“And that would have been mentioned in this letter that I missed?”

“Yes. I'm sorry you've had to come all this way.”

Reagan eyed him for a moment and then let her gaze take in the foyer. It would have been a nice place to work.

“Well, I guess that's the end of it,” she said, not with a stinging tone but one that spoke of regret.

“I'm sorry.”

Reagan smiled at him and started toward the door. Mr. Harmond was there ahead of her, his gaze anxious as he watched her. For this reason he saw the exact moment she stopped. He froze when she turned to him, not at all sure what she might do or say.

“Who did you marry?”

Nearly flabbergasted at the question, the man still managed, “Beth Barton.”

“Where did she work?”

“She was a cook at the hotel.”

Mr. Harmond was awarded one of the smiles that drew people to Reagan.

“I'll have to head there then, won't I? They'll be needing a cook.”

William Harmond couldn't stop his shoulders from shaking. He'd never encountered anyone with such charm and pluck.

“Good day,” Reagan said as she moved out the door, across the porch, and down the steps. She was halfway down the walk when he called her name. Reagan turned to see him approaching.

“This is for you,” he said, his hand outstretched to offer money to her. “I only sent half your train fare because I didn't know if you'd really come, but this should be enough to get you home if the hotel has already hired someone.”

Reagan took the money without hesitation.

“I thank you, Mr. Harmond. As I don't even know where I'm sleeping tonight, I thank you indeed.”

They parted company then, Reagan back to the main street of town and Mr. Harmond back to his wife. Mr. Harmond was not sorry he'd married; indeed, he was quite content, and Reagan, although sorry the job didn't pan out, felt it was early enough in the day to still land on her feet.

Russell Bennett, a mountain of a man, wiped the sweat from his brow, put down his hammer and tongs, and stepped away from the forge in his blacksmith's shop. He needed a drink and a rest from the fire. Business was brisk, and this was his day to work in the shop. He wouldn't make calls to the ranches until Monday. Not only taking a drink but pouring some on his neck as well, Russell had only just set the water jug aside when he spotted her.

Standing in the middle of the double doorway, right where the horses came and went, was a small, dark-haired woman. She stood erect, a single bag grasped by both hands and held in front of her.

“Can I help you?”

“I don't know, but I was wondering what I need to rent one of your stalls for a time.”

“You need a horse.”

Reagan nodded.

“Would you say a horse is a pretty expensive item, something a person would want watched with care?”

Trying not to smile, Russell said, “I would agree with that, yes.”

“Well, that being the case, would it be possible to leave my bag in a stall for a time? I've got business here in Kinkade, and the bag's heavy enough to add inches to my arms.”

Russell did smile then. He also pointed toward a stall.

“No one will disturb your bag if you leave it right there.”

“Right here?” Reagan asked, setting the bag down so that it couldn't be seen from the door.

“That's the place.”

Regan brought up the small purse that hung from her wrist to look for a coin.

“You don't need to pay me.”

Reagan eyed him.

“Are you going to rent that stall and let some animal step on my things?”

Russell laughed at this, a booming sound that made Reagan smile.

“No,” he told her, still chuckling. “I close down at five. Just be back before then so you can get your things.”

“I thank you, sir.”

“What's your business?” he asked her as she began to walk away.

Reagan answered with only a glance over her shoulder. “I'm job hunting.”

That said, she continued on her way.

Russell stood still for a moment, a smile on his face. His own dear Holly would have to meet this one. Unless he missed his guess, she was too independent by half and just might need a friend in Kinkade.

“I need to see the manager,” Reagan said for the second time.

“What about?” the little man at the rear of the dining area asked again. She hadn't been willing to give her name, and he thought this might work.

“I'll tell the manager when I see him.”

It went a long way toward strengthening Reagan's resolve to hear pots crashing behind the closed door to the right of her and a woman's voice above it all. It didn't take any great skill to hear that she was unhappy.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Do I need an appointment?”

The little man gave up, saying with long-suffering, “Wait here.”

Going through the very door Reagan knew led to the kitchen, the man disappeared. As Reagan watched, her eyes caught a glimpse of a kitchen she felt sure had seen better days. For a moment she doubted her idea, and at that moment a woman appeared.

“Meddlesome busybody,” she muttered. “As if I can't use a few minutes out of that steaming kitchen.” The flushed woman didn't see Reagan until she was almost on top of her, but she didn't look sorry, only hot and cross.

“Are you the manager?” Reagan asked.

“I am. What can I do for you?”

“I hear you need a cook. I'd like to apply for the job.”

Much as the woman looked as though she needed relief, she still asked, “Do you have any experience?”

“Not much, but I'm a fast learner.”

The woman's eyes rolled heavenward. “As if I have any time to teach you.”

Reagan eyed her, taking in the stains on her apron and the beads of sweat over her upper lip.

“Maybe you're right. It doesn't look like much fun.”

Reagan was turning away when the manager said, “It pays well if you're experienced.”

Reagan turned back in surprise. Had she not heard her say she wasn't?

“What does it pay if you're not experienced?”

The manager smiled. “I like your honesty.”

“I won't promise something I can't give you.”

The two eyed each other.

“So how much experience have you had?”

“I can cook anything. I've just never done it for a large group.”

“Well, that's a start.”

“You didn't answer me about the pay.”

The woman quoted a wage that was so low Reagan was outraged.

“
A week
?”

“That's right.”

“I'm used to twice that.”

“Where are you from?”

“New York.”

“This is not New York.”

“I know that, but I don't even have a place to stay. It could cost a fortune to live in this town!”

“It's not that bad, especially since you can eat here anytime you cook. That would leave most of your pay for rent.”

“And clothing. Kitchen work is murder on fabric.”

The manager smiled; this one was as dumb as a fox.

“I'm Sally March, by the way.” The woman offered her hand.

“Reagan Sullivan.”

“Megan?”

“No, Reagan with an
R
.”

“That's different.”

“
I'm
different.”

“I can see that. I'm willing to give you a try, but it's only fair to warn you that my cousin from Cincinnati is supposed to be coming to take this job. If he ever shows up, I might not need you.”

“Well, at least for the moment I'll have work, but I'd better warn you, I plan to eat plenty.”

Sally's eyes twinkled. She didn't know what the food would taste like, but the new cook was sure to lighten the load and the atmosphere. There wasn't much to her, but over the years Sally had found that the plucky applicants worked the hardest. Indeed Sally was getting ready to put her to work when Reagan moved as if she was leaving.

“I thank you for trying me, Mrs. March. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“It's Miss, and you can call me Sally. I was thinking you'd be starting right now.”