Love on the Range: A Looking Glass Lake Prequel (14 page)

But she could feel his eyes on her still. Warm. Admiring.

Honest to Betsy, she was gonna drop the beans if she wasn’t careful.

“I tell you what, boys,” Jett said. He lowered his voice, and the air around the campfire bristled with drama. “I tussled with a slab of granite, and took a crack to my shoulder from a boulder.” He shifted his weight and winced.

“It was dark,” Jett continued. “So Marlee had no idea it was me behind her on the ground squealing like a stuck pig.”

Marlee rolled her eyes. “More like I’ve always imagined what a badger would sound like.”

The cowboys laughed, and Jett started to laugh, but then winced and pressed his free hand to his side.

“For all she knew,” he said, “I was a rustler, so when I opened my eyes, there she was, leaning over me with a big old butcher’s knife in each hand.”

Fern guffawed.

“Chef’s knife,” Marlee corrected. But no one heard her.

“Now, don’t ‘spect me to believe that,” Crazy Hoss said. “You tell the tallest tales of any cowpuncher I know, and that little gal is as sweet as they come.”

Jett’s eyes widened. “I’m shooting straight,” he said. He crossed his heart.

“Well, I’ll be.” Crazy Hoss swiveled his shaggy head in Marlee’s direction, and she squirmed as the entire group looked her over.

“I was down for the count when those rustlers came in,” Jett continued, his voice growing more gravelly with tension. “Marlee was there, kneeling at my side and doing her dead level best to wake me up, a knife in each hand.”

Marlee bit her lip to stop a giggle. She could already tell this was the kind of story that was going to grow every time he told it.

She shrugged her knife roll off her back, and selected the perfect blade to cut the bacon. The hot pan sizzled as she threw chunks of the pork on, and her mouth watered at the sweet and salty smell.

“They had us cornered and at gunpoint, and there wasn’t a thing I could do. But Marlee wasn’t ready to give up.”

Marlee scanned their faces, all turned toward Jett.

There was no sound except the crackling fire, and the sizzle of bacon. She grinned and dumped green beans into the pan, enjoying the hiss as she stirred them into the grease.

“Now, right off, I could tell she was gonna do something crazy.” Jett sat back and stroked his chin.

“Because of the knives?” Buck asked.

“No, sir.” Jett’s teeth gleamed in the firelight. “I meant I could tell first time I laid eyes on her at the train station that she was gonna do something crazy one day.”

One of the cowboys whooped, and they all laughed. Crazy Hoss slapped Marlee on the back, grinning like a madman.

Marlee shook her head and snorted. “If I do anything crazy,” she chimed in, “it’s because he drove me to it.”

That got Fern laughing harder, and Marlee chuckled.

Jett grinned and then groaned, clutching his ribs. “Easy, now.”

Goose bumps rose along her arms. Because it was true. Those black eyes and that single dancing dimple, and those rough kind hands…yeah, they could drive her a bit crazy, all right. Already today, she’d had several insane thoughts of kissing him.

Thank goodness there had been other more dangerous things to occupy her mind.

“Well, she did something crazy, all right.”

Laughter died, and once again, all eyes were on Jett.

“They told her to put her knives down nice and easy.” Jett’s voice fell to a hush, and he spread his hands out like he was slowly laying weapons down. “But she went for my gun, and before they knew what happened, they were looking down the wrong end of a barrel, and it was smoking.”

“No!” Fern shrieked. She grabbed Marlee’s arm. “You shot at them?”

Marlee shrugged and stirred the beans. They were beginning to caramelize nicely. “It was either them or us,” she said. “Besides.” She threw in a handful of dried blueberries. “I had to get back to camp to make supper.”

That got a good laugh.

Marlee smiled, dished up her impromptu sauté and handed them out to the men. It was good timing. They were too engrossed in the story to notice the only thing on their plates right now were greens.

“I’ll say one thing,” Jett said around a mouthful of green beans. “You sure are serious about your food. I never had beans with chewy stuff. This could win a blue ribbon.”

Marlee flushed with pleasure. “Those are the vegetables you didn’t want me to bring along.” Marlee couldn’t resist throwing him a teasing glance.

“This is the first dish I’ve tasted of yours that wasn’t burnt,” Ty piped up.

Jett elbowed the younger cowboy in the ribs, knocking his hat down into his eyes.

“What?” The lanky cowboy set his hat back on straight. “I ain’t allowed to tell her she’s improving?”

“Good beans,” Crazy Hoss said. He cleaned his plate. “But I want to know about the shootin’.”

“Well.” Jett put the last bite of beans in his mouth and raised his eyebrows in a salute to Marlee. “There she was, guns blazing, and steam comin’ out her ears—”

“That’s a bit much,” Marlee put in.

Jett held up his good hand to stop her. “I’m telling the story,” he said firmly. “I was the witness. You were too busy saving the day to see how it all went down.”

Marlee rolled her eyes, but a small zing went up her spine, and raised the hair on her neck. This is what it felt like to have someone brag on her. It was nice. Like she was ten feet tall and weightless at the same time.

“So there she was, guns a’ blazin’—” Ty prompted.

“Yeah, and dust was flying.” Jett stretched his legs. “Men were callin’ out for their mommas, and trying to get their horses to turn around. But Marlee wasn’t satisfied with a little gunfire. No siree. Next thing I know, that gal has got her knives out, and she’s looking like one of those knife-throwing genies in the circus. The prettiest angriest banshee I ever saw.”

Fern nudged Marlee. “Sounds to me like he’s sweet on you,” she whispered loudly.

Marlee flushed. Better to ignore the comment and let Jett carry on with his story.

“Those rustlers took off like a pack of kitty-cats with a grizzly after them. And then next thing I know, Marlee’s got her Florence Nightingale hat on. Not five minutes later, she’s got my shoulder back in its socket, and somehow lugged me onto Fat Cat and poof, we’re back here, and she’s feeding us the best green beans in the county.” Jett grinned, teeth flashing in the darkness as he leaned back. “That about sums it up, boys.”

Cheers erupted. Cowboys whooped and whistled, and she was being pounded on the back, questions coming at her from all directions.

“How’d you learn to throw knives like that?”

“Do you think you hit anyone?”

“Think you could do it again for the county fair?”

Marlee sat there, stunned. Across the flames, Jett smiled. If it wasn’t for the admiration in his look, she’d think he was making her the butt of a joke. She wasn’t Florence Nightingale or a genie or a pretty banshee.

“Tell us how it happened from your perspective,” Fern said.

“Yeah, and don’t leave anything out,” Buck said.

More cheers and whoops.

She held her hands up. “Whoa, Nellie!” She raised her voice to be heard over the ruckus. Honestly, cowboys were like kids sometimes.

The hubbub died down to a few chuckles.

“That’s not exactly how it went down, but I’m too hungry to tell it,” she said. “So somebody else is going to have to tell the next story.”

“I was sweet on a woman from the circus once,” Crazy Hoss said.

Marlee sat back then and listened as the old man spun a crazy yarn about a woman with a peg leg who beat the men in every footrace.

She was so tired, she could barely focus as one story spun into another. She laid her head back, and thought instead of how she had felt when Jett came crashing down the cliff. The sickening thud. The way he’d fought off pain and forced himself to stay conscious.

When the rustlers had come, she’d only thought of one thing: protecting him. She’d never felt so fiercely about protecting anyone before. But then again, she’d never had to protect anyone from real harm.

Laughter and stories swirled around, mixing with smoke from the campfire. Every now and then, her eyes drowsed shut. But each time she opened them she saw Jett. Sitting back quietly, black eyes softened by the campfire, he watched her.

Even though she’d just saved his life, and even though he was battered and banged up, having him near made her feel safe.

“Let’s check those beans.” Crazy Hoss’s voice floated toward her, and Marlee sat up, rubbing her eyes. She struggled to stand, but Fern pushed her back gently.

“It’s okay, honey, I’ll get it.”

Crazy Hoss dished up the beans and cornbread, and Fern handed the plates out.

Marlee took her plate. And promptly spat out her first bite.

Burnt.

Again.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Marlee’s eyes stung as her empty stomach turned on itself.

Worst day ever to burn the beans and cornbread. But she’d done it.

Silence around the campfire was punctuated with a few coughs as the men forced their dinner down.

“Those green beans you made earlier sure were good,” Jett finally said.

What, was he being smart?

But his eyes were still soft, and he chewed solemnly, swallowing easily.

Marlee blinked back tears and forced herself to swallow a bite, too.

It wasn’t only that she was hungry. Every person here had worked a long hard day. And she’d let them down. They had to shovel burnt food into their bellies and crawl off to sleep, or go hungry.

“Yeah, what did you put in them green beans, anyway?” Crazy Hoss asked.

“Almonds?” Fern asked. “They were kind of nutty.”

Marlee shook her head. “They’ll taste like nuts sometimes when you cook them in bacon grease,” she said.

She kept her spine rigid.

They were being awfully nice about it. Following Jett’s cue. But for some reason, it wasn’t helping. Hot tears still pressed against her eyelids. She sniffed.

“They kind of reminded me of pancakes,” Buck said.

Marlee let out a watery laugh. “That’s because I put in some of the dried blueberries we use for pancakes,” she said.

And that’s when it hit her. The apples. She’d prepped apples for apple dumplings that morning. With all the excitement and exhaustion, she’d forgotten all about it.

She shoved to her feet and ran to the tent. Thirty minutes over steady coals, and she could feed them something more than burnt beans.

When she went back to the campfire, Jett stood up.

“What’s that?”

“Dessert.”

His eyebrows shot up and he moved to her side. Bending over, he whispered, “Did anyone ever show you how to adjust the temperature in a Dutch oven?”

Marlee stiffened. Where was the admiring Jett of only a few moments ago?

“I’m a certified chef,” she reminded him.

“Yeah, and I’m a tough cowboy,” he whispered. “I had to let a girl save my life today, and you don’t hear me whining about it.”

Stung, she tipped her chin up and met his gaze. His black eyes still echoed the admiration they had earlier. They held her patiently, waiting.

One of the verses she’d read came to mind like a whisper from God.

Where there is strife, there is pride, but wisdom is found in those who take advice.

Jett was right. She had saved his life. And the last thing she wanted to do was whine about somebody giving her advice.

But pride was an awfully hard thing to set down when a girl didn’t have much in her life to be proud of.

She looked down. Her fists clutched the pot handle, white knuckles shining. “I’ve never cooked with Dutch ovens,” she admitted.

He put an arm around her, and the stiffness eased out of her shoulders. He squeezed and then let go.

“You don’t want to put it directly on the bed of coals in the fire,” he said. “There are too many of them.”

He showed her how to adjust the number of coals for the right temperature, and how to space the coals for even heat.

“What heat do you need?” he asked.

“Three-fifty.”

“A ring of coals on top, and one ring on the bottom ought to do it,” he said.

She set the Dutch oven over a ring of coals, then carefully arranged another ring of coals on the top of the lid, using the tongs like he’d showed her.

“How long are you going to make us wait for dessert?” Buck demanded.

Jett returned to his seat. “You can’t rush food,” he said. “That’s how it burns.”

Marlee smiled. That’s what she’d said to him the day they’d met, when he’d tried to rush her in the kitchen.

“About as long as it takes to tell a story,” she said.