Cowboys 08 - Luke (12 page)

"Why should you be scorned?"

She looked up, surprised to find Luke standing practically at her elbow. "Otto said Rudolf would insist that people continue to use our titles. From what you've said, I thought that might be unwise."

"Would you have everybody calling you Valeria?" Otto asked.

"In America we refer to an unmarried lady by her family name," Luke said. "After she is married, she takes her husband's name."

"What would I be called?" Valeria asked. "Probably Miss Badenberg."

Valeria had been addressed as
princess
or
your highness
for so long, she couldn't imagine anything else. Still, she liked the simplicity of his suggestion. With no title, she could become anonymous. That thought frightened her as much as it intrigued her. She'd always been a princess. She didn't know how to be anything else.

"What did you want?" Luke asked.

"To ask about provisions," Otto said. "The chef will need to replenish his larder in two days. Please take us to a town where suitable supplies can be obtained."

"The only way to do that would be to go back to Bonner," Luke said.

"Are you saying there are no towns ahead of us?" Otto asked.

"How far is the next town?" Valeria asked. It was obvious what Luke meant.

"It depends on how far we can travel each day," Luke replied. "If we were on horseback, we could be there in two days. With all these wagons, probably a week at a minimum."

"We will starve before then," Otto said.

"Can we get food when we get to this place?" Valeria asked.

"Yes, but not what you're used to." He pointed to the remains of their lamb. "Out here, if you want lamb, you have to buy it on the hoof and dress it out."

"That's absurd," Otto said.

"Well, it's not likely to be a problem," Luke said. But Otto enjoyed only a moment of relaxation. "I doubt you'll find any lamb to buy, on the hoof or otherwise."

"Goose," Otto said. "I would love a fat goose."

"You'll find salt pork and dried beef," Luke said. "Anything else will have to come in a can."

Otto looked horrified. Hans looked equally nonplussed.

"What can we eat if we run out of food?" Valeria asked.

"You're not going to like it," Luke warned.

"I haven't liked anything that has happened to me in the last year," Valeria snapped. "And not much that's happened to me during my whole life," she added as an afterthought.

"You have two choices," Luke said. "You can eat with us. I brought enough to last the trip for all of us."

"And the other choice?" Otto asked in a faint voice.

"You can go hunting," Luke said. "Your best bet is a mule deer. They generally don't go too far from the river. If you bag one, it ought to last you a few days. If you've got your heart set on sheep, you can climb any one of the mountains you see from here. If you're lucky, you might get a desert bighorn, though you might have a hell of a time getting to the kill before a mountain lion does."

Otto lost considerable color.

"If you're interested in pork, there's a piglike creature called a javelina. I don't like it myself, but some people think they're right tasty. You'll probably need three or four of those."

"I didn't hire you to be told I had to hunt for my food," Otto said. "I demand-"

"You didn't hire me," Luke replied, cutting off his angry explosion. "Hans did. And I was hired to take Valeria to Rudolf. When I asked about supplies, you said you would take care of your own."

"We expected to be able to buy what we needed."

"You could if there were anybody selling it." "But there isn't," Otto nearly shouted.

"Now maybe we can start to deal with reality," Luke said.

"What does that mean?" Valeria asked.

"It means you make your food last as long as possible.

It also means you'll have to get used to eating things you've never eaten before."

"I will not hunt for my food," Otto declared.

"I doubt you could," Luke said. "You're much too fat." "How dare you-"

"You need to eat more at breakfast and less at dinner," Luke said, turning to Valeria. "If you want something at midday, ask your chef for some leftovers."

Valeria had never had leftovers. Everything that came to her uncle's table had been cooked fresh. "What should we ask for?"

"Meat, bread, cheese."

Valeria didn't know if her chef had anything like that.

Someone else had always ordered the food.

"It's clear we should have consulted you on that aspect of the trip before we set out," she said, determined to make the best of a difficult situation. She refused to apologize to him, but it would be foolish not to admit she needed help. "However, it's too late for that. In my country, it's not the custom for Hans, Otto, Elvira, or me to be involved in ordering provisions."

"Don't you know what you're going to eat?"

She sighed over her next admission. "Not until it reaches the table."

"People here generally take care of things themselves, or nothing gets done."

"I understand that," she said, trying hard to keep her voice steady. "I just need to know what you think we ought to do now."

"I need to talk to your cook. Go find him," he said to Elvira.

Valeria had to bite her tongue to keep from saying anything. Luke deplored her dependence on servants, yet he spoke to Elvira as if she were a slave. How could a man who kept talking about the importance of the individual act like people were of so little value?

Chapter Eight

Luke wondered why Europeans came to America thinking they could continue to behave as they had in the old country. Didn't they know anything about America? And the cook-Luke refused to call him a chef-had no concept of how to prepare anything except grand dishes. One of the drivers said he'd rescued enough leftovers from that night's meal to feed the whole party for two days.

"I don't care how you do it," Luke told the cook when he presented himself at the table. "You've got to do your work faster and make your food last longer."

It was nearly midnight, and they still hadn't finished cleaning up. Luke didn't know how he was going to get that many pots and pans washed when the river went underground and there was no surface water to be had without digging for it. There'd be a lot of dirty pots, pans, dishes, and glasses. Sorry, goblets. Royalty didn't drink from glasses.

"I cannot serve the princess ill-prepared food," the cook protested. "I would disgrace my profession."

"Fine. She can eat with us," Luke said.

"The princess cannot eat that
melange you
call food," he said, turning up his nose with enough disdain to have been a member of royalty himself.

"Do what you want," Luke said. "Just remember we leave at dawn tomorrow."

"When is dawn?" Otto asked.

"About six o'clock."

"I'll have to be up at four!" the cook exclaimed. "The princess will have to be up at four to dress. We will both be too tired."

"Your wagon leaves whether you're in it or not. That goes for everybody else. You should have been in bed hours ago."

"I haven't finished my cognac," Otto said.

"By all means, finish your cognac," Luke said as he turned away.

"Mr. Attmore."

Luke didn't stop at the sound of Valeria's voice. He'd had just about all he could take. Though they came from a country where revolutions happened all the time, they didn't seem the slightest bit concerned about danger.

"Mr. Attmore!"

"What?" Luke whirled to find Valeria had followed him.

"You can't leave like that," she said. "You haven't told us what to do."

"I have, but you continue to ignore it. Apparently you can only learn by experience. Well, you're in luck. You're about to get more experience that you ever thought possible."

She drew herself up just like he was certain her royal ancestors had when about to announce someone was going to lose his head. "Why don't you like us?"

"There are too many of you for one answer."

Her back seemed to get a little stiffer, straighter. "Very well, I'll make it easier. Why don't you like
me?"

He'd never expected her to ask that question. "Give me one reason why I should like you."

"I'm a woman, reasonably attractive, I'm told. I thought American men liked women."

"You got two things wrong. First, American men like
sex.
They don't much care about the woman as long as she isn't downright ugly."

If it were possible, she became even more stiff. "And the second thing I got wrong?"

"You're not reasonably attractive." He saw her prepare herself for the blow. "You're beautiful. Even a savage American can see that." It pleased him to know he'd surprised her.

"Then why are you so cruel to me?"

"I just gave you facts. Why should I waste time being cruel?"

"Because you don't like me, what I represent."

"I don't hold you responsible for what you represent, but I can hold you responsible for what you do." "Then I can hold you responsible for what
you
are." "And what am I?"

"You're rude, thoughtless, and you enjoy making fun of me. You resent the fact that you have no ancestors you can point to proudly, no history, no-"

Luke's patience snapped. "You got two out of four this time, a better average than before. I am rude and thoughtless. I'm hired for my ability, not my manners. I don't give a damn about your ancestors. You people don't think, you don't create. You're like a wind-up toy that does the same thing over and over again.

"You're right in saying I have no noble ancestry. I don't have hundreds of relatives with portraits on the wall prodding me to remember who I am, but you're wrong in thinking I want to remember my family. My father was an outcast from an old Southern family, my mother a barroom songstress. Their passion for each other burned out almost as quickly as it ignited. I'd hardly learned to walk when she ran off. My father dragged me from one highstakes card game to another until a poor loser shot him in the back. My parents had nothing to leave me but their weaknesses. They're probably laughing right now, waiting for me to screw up, knowing I'll end up in Hell with them.

"My advice about the food and my plans for tomorrow still stand. It'll be a lot easier if you cooperate, but if you want to fight me, I'm game. Just remember I knew a hell of a lot more about fighting before I was five than you'll ever know."

Luke walked away, leaving Valeria in a state of shock. She felt nearly destroyed. He didn't hate her. He felt nothing at all.

"I don't think he means that."

She turned, startled to find Hans standing a few feet away, mortified to realize he had heard every word Luke uttered. In her world appearance was everything. That was why clothes, servants, palaces, and extravagant food served on costly silver or exquisite china were essential. That was the reason for the ritual, the pageantry, the enormous sums of money spent on show. Luke, and circumstances, had ripped all that away from her, and Hans had seen and heard every bit of it.

"I'm certain he does," she said. "From the first moment he set eyes on us, he's made no effort to disguise the fact that he despises me and everything I stand for."

"I don't think-"

"You heard him, Hans. It's not a matter of guesswork."

She was surprised to feel the tears start. Princesses weren't allowed to cry. Weakness wasn't tolerated.

Yet she was crying. She turned away to dash the tears from her eyes.

"I don't understand him," Hans said, "but I think he's a good man."

"He's not. He said so himself."

"He could have taken the money Otto offered him and disappeared, but he stayed. He also kept anybody else from taking his job. He's a proud man, your highness. I don't think anybody has ever fired him before."

"So being stubborn and full of pride is a good thing."

"It has to be. It's what has sustained your family for these past five hundred years."

Somehow it didn't look the same when she saw it in Luke. Was it the clothes, the palaces, the wars they won? Did all that wealth and power make it look admirable and worthwhile in her family but churlish and meanspirited in him? "Are you sure?"

"My family has served your family for more than a hundred and fifty years," Hans said. "We know just about every mean, despicable, underhanded, traitorous deed your family has committed during that time. I can assure you that there are enough to make a man like Luke Attmore seem very good. He may not think much of himself, but he has a code of honor he will up hold at the perilpossibly even the expense-of his life. Your greatgrandfather wouldn't have hesitated to sacrifice his entire family to keep his throne."