Mail Order Mistletoe (Brides of Beckham Book 17) (6 page)

She removed the bread from the oven, smiling at the perfect loaves.  It was her first time to bake bread without her mother standing over her, so she was happy it had turned out so well.  Back in Beckham, it had been easier to buy her bread from the baker in town than make her own.  She'd had the extra money to do what she wanted, because her house had been provided.  The small school had paid more than most, but she understood as soon as she started why it had.  They knew the kind of children they were asking her to deal with.

Meg sighed and pushed her failure as a teacher from her mind.  She'd never realized just how badly she would feel leaving the job half done. 

She finished up the pie and slipped it into the oven, smiling to herself.  Already having accomplished more than she'd intended to do all day, she went back out to get the clothes in off the line.  They were finally dry, thanks to the strong wind blowing across the prairie. 

While she was removing a sheet, she heard a soft animal cry from the direction of the house.  She walked over and found a tiny kitten, barely old enough to be weaned hiding under a bush.  She picked it up, holding it close.  "I bet you'll be a good mouser in a few months, but more importantly, you'll be a good companion now.  Why don't you live with me?"  She snuggled the kitten under her chin, giggling when its fur tickled her.  "What should we name you?"  She thought for a moment.  "That's it!  I'll call you Beth. Beth was everyone's favorite in Little Women, and she was Meg's little sister.  I was named after Meg, so you can be named after Beth." 

She slid the kitten into the pocket of her skirt and went back to the clothesline, removing the rest of the laundry.  "You can help me with my chores and keep me company all day while Lars is out working."

She made up both beds with fresh sheets and blankets, thankful to have something clean for her bed.  The quilts were clean too, and she wouldn't feel dirty as she slept under them.  There was no better feeling in the world than sliding between fresh clean sheets.

The kitten followed her as she made up the beds, and Meg giggled as she learned to climb the stairs.  Beth was afraid to follow her when she went back down, so she scooped her up and carried her.

She spread the table cloth over the table and hung the curtains back on the windows.  The house looked a great deal better already, and she hadn't had any time to start on the small parlor at the back of the house or the bedrooms yet.  She wasn't sure how he'd feel about her cleaning the little nursery, but she was going to do it.  There was no way she'd let another inch of dust accumulate on it.  Her own child would sleep in that room someday.

Chapter Six

When Lars came into the house at the end of the day, he stopped short, not believing everything his new wife had accomplished.  Why, she had worked as hard as he had that day, and he hadn't thought that was possible.  The table was set, and the pretty tablecloth Olga had made was gracing the table.  It even smelled clean.

"You've worked hard today."

Meg turned to him with a smile.  "I did.  All of your clothes are clean.  You won't have a hard time finding anything to wear."  She planned to do just a bit more laundry the following day, because of the clothes they were both wearing. She wanted everything clean.  She knew it was silly, but she didn't want to have to deal with the filth she'd dealt with that day ever again.

"I'm impressed.  I know women's work isn't easy, but you've done so much you make it look simple."  He sighed.  "I'll be ready for dinner as soon as I've milked the cow."  Just as he turned to leave, he heard a soft meow.  Turning back, he frowned. "Was that a cat?"

She nodded.  "I found a kitten in the bushes.  She seemed hungry so I brought her inside."

"I'm not really fond of cats."  He didn't hate them, but found them relatively useless.

"You live on a farm.  I've seen a mouse here, and the cat will take care of mice, and she'll keep me company.  I don't think I can get by well without some kind of pet.  At least until children come."

He frowned.  "I suppose you can keep her."

"Thank you!" she said, a huge smile on her face.  "Do you like buttermilk?"

He blinked a few times, trying to understand her question.  "Not particularly."

"I'll let Beth have it then."

"Beth?"

"The kitten.  I was named after Meg in Little Women, so I named her after Beth.  You know, the sister who died."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, nor am I sure I want to.  I'll be back with the milk."  He walked outside, closing the door behind him.

"Well, he's a grump this evening," she told Beth.  Pouring some of the buttermilk into a saucer, she giggled as the kitten put a paw in the middle of the milk as she lapped it up.  "You're just going to make a mess and have to wash your foot."

The kitten ignored her in favor of her treat, and Meg hurried as she finished the meal preparations. She had the bread and butter on the table when he came back in, and she served them each a large bowl of stew. 

Lars set the milk on the counter and washed his hands, eyeing the tabby cat.  "She's not a very delicate eater."  He grinned as she splashed milk onto the floor.

Meg grinned. "She's still a baby.  I'm surprised she's old enough to be weaned. She's drinking milk just fine, though."

"You mentioned buttermilk.  Does that mean you made—."  He trailed off as she pointed to the butter on a plate in the center of the table beside a loaf of fresh bread.  Without thinking about what he was doing, he grabbed her and kissed her with a loud smacking sound.  "I have missed fresh bread more than anything!"

Meg laughed.  "I'll make sure you always have fresh bread if it makes you happy."

He sat down and immediately cut himself a piece, slathering butter on it.  "Delicious," he said, his mouth full of the bread.  He took a swig of his milk and sighed.  "I needed this."

"Well, enjoy it then."  She ladled stew into two bowls and put one on the table beside his arm.  "I'd like you to eat some stew as well."

"I won't forget the stew.  You're a good cook," he said, cutting off another piece of the bread. 

"My mother was a cook for a wealthy family back East.  I grew up helping her in the kitchen, and when I left home to teach, she gave me a book with all of her recipes written in it."

"No wonder you cook so well.  Do you know how to make cakes and pies?"

"I can make anything.  My mother filled the book with many different desserts.  And I'm what she called a 'natural cook.'  I just seem to know which spices go together to make things taste good."

Lars smiled.  "I'm happy to hear that.  I will not complain if you want to make something new every night, or if you make this stew every day for a year.  Thank you."

The words made Meg's stomach flutter.  "Thank you for working all day.  You're going to be an easy man to please where food is concerned, and I'm grateful for that."

When he'd finished his first bowl of stew and fourth slice of bread, she asked, "Do you want more stew, or do you want a piece of the pumpkin pie I made?"

He seemed torn.  "How about another bowl of stew, and then three pieces of pumpkin pie?"

She laughed softly.  "I can make that happen."  She got to her feet and filled his bowl, bringing it back to him.  "How did the plowing go this afternoon?"

"Very well.  I'm just about finished.  I should be able to do the rest tomorrow, and then I can start working on building more fences."

"Why do you build fences?" she asked.

"To keep predators away.  I don't want animals in my fields."

"That makes sense."  She looked over at the kitten who had curled up in front of the stove for a nap.

"Are you planning on keeping her inside?" he asked.

"I don't know.  What do you think?  I definitely want her to be inside some, because I want her for companionship, but I don't mind if she goes outside to hunt at night."

"That little ball of fluff is not ready to hunt."  He frowned.  "Keep her inside.  We can let her out when she wants to go, but there's no use worrying about her getting carried off by a wolf or something."

Meg hadn't thought of the danger the kitten could be in if she was outside.  "That's a good idea.  She can sleep with me."

He sighed.  "You're going to treat her like a baby, aren't you?"

"For as long as she is a baby, she'll be treated as one."  Meg didn't care what he thought.  Beth was her baby for the time being.  She got up and went to the counter, carefully skimming the cream from the top of the milk so she could make whipped cream. A few minutes later, she turned back to Lars, a generous piece of pie with a large helping of whipped cream on a plate for him, along with a fork.  She placed it on the table, and watched as he pushed his empty bowl away and picked up the fork, pulling the pie closer. 

Taking one bite, Lars let the flavors explode in his mouth.  The woman could cook and bake like nothing he'd ever seen.  Why, she was a better cook than his own mama back in Norway. 

He noticed that she didn't bother with a piece of pie, but instead started right on the dishes.  "You don't like pumpkin pie?" he asked.

She shrugged.  "I don't like it much.  I'd rather save it for you, since you like it.  I'll bake a cake in a day or two, and I'll certainly eat my share of that."

Lars sighed.  "Thank you for making me something that you wouldn't have made for yourself.  That means a lot."  He didn't want to feel like she was doing special things for him, but he couldn't deny it.  "You should make things that you like as well."

"Oh, I will.  I could just tell you were really hungry for a pumpkin pie, so I wanted you to have some." 

She put a plate over the top of the pie plate to keep the pie fresh for the next day.  "I'll put a piece in your lunch tomorrow as well."

"I'd like that."  He thought about his decision to eat while he was out, started to tell her he'd changed his mind, but thought better of it.  He needed to keep her off his mind while he worked.  Love was not in his plans.  It couldn't be. 

"Do you want another slice of pie?  Or can I wash your plate?"

He looked down at his plate, considering.  "I would like another slice if you don't mind."

She grinned, happy that he enjoyed it so much.  "Happy to do it."  She put another slice on his plate, and again added a generous spoonful of the whipped cream.  "What's your favorite dessert?"

"Pumpkin pie.  Cake.  Anything sweet really.  I would eat sugar by the spoonful if I thought I could get away with it."

She laughed.  "Any sweets you don't like?"

He thought about that for a minute and finally shook his head.  "Not that I know of.  I'm willing to sample a wide variety to try to find one I don't like, though."

She grinned at that.  "I'll see if I can help you do just that." 

After she'd finished the last of the dishes, and he'd finished his last slice of pie, she sat down at the table with a book, wondering what they would do in the evenings.  There were only a couple of hours before they needed to go to bed, but would he want to talk? 

He pulled out a knife and a block of wood, and started to carve huge chunks out of it, not speaking. 

She sighed, and read her book, wondering if they would always have so much silence between them.  "I'm going to take the kitten outside for a minute or two."

He nodded, not glancing up.  As soon as she'd shut the door behind her, he let out a sigh of relief.  Too much time in her presence was not good for him, not when he didn't have the right to carry her off to his bed yet.  She was too pretty for his own peace of mind.

When she came back, the kitten cradled in her arms, she said, "I think I'm going to go upstairs for the night.  I'll read in bed."

He stood, walking to her.  "I haven't kissed you goodnight yet."

She gave a low laugh.  "I wasn't sure you even remembered I was here."

He frowned.  "I know where you are every second.  I don't want to, but I do."  He pulled her to him, ignoring the kitten's angry cry and kissed her hard on the lips.  "You're welcome to share my bed if you don't want to go upstairs."

She shook her head.  "Thank you, but no.  It doesn't feel right."

"Is it going to feel any righter in six days when your time is up?"

"I hope so.  I really do."  Meg turned and climbed the stairs.  She'd done what she could that day.  If a man would really fall in love with a woman because of her cooking, then she would have him eating out of her hand in a matter of days.  He seemed to be a great deal too stubborn to love her for anything, though.  How was she going to live in a loveless marriage for the rest of her life?

*****

The next morning started the same.  She made pancakes and bacon for breakfast, happy that she could offer him butter for his pancakes.  She knew he preferred them that way.  The kitten happily drank more of the buttermilk while she worked on the pancakes.

She wasn't surprised when Lars came in from outside with the milk and eggs this time, because she had expected it.  She knew he was one to rise even earlier than she did.  She placed his pancakes on the table, along with a cup of coffee, while she continued to make her own.  She had already put his lunch into a lunch pail and covered it with a napkin to keep it from getting bugs or dust in it.

"Will you be home around the same time tonight?" she asked when she sat down to eat her own breakfast.

He looked at her over his coffee cup.  "Yes, same time.  Breakfast was good."  He pushed away from the table, walked around the table to kiss her softly, and took his lunch pail with him. 

When she heard the door close behind him, a tear escaped her eye.  He really wasn't ever going to love her.  At least, that's the way it seemed at that very moment.  As much as she wanted his love, maybe she should just resign herself to the fact it could never happen.

She shook her head, doing her best to get rid of the negative thinking.  She didn't know where that had come from.  She'd only known him two days.  Of course, he didn't love her yet.  How could he?  He hadn't heard her sing.  And more importantly?  He hadn't eaten her muffins.  She'd bake him some muffins that very afternoon, and then he'd come to her, begging her to love him.  She knew he would.  No one could resist her muffins.

She spent the day cleaning the bedrooms.  Her heart was heavy as she dusted the nursery, setting it to rights.  When it was clean enough for her future baby to sleep in the cradle, she knew she was done.  She looked at the tiny little clothes stored in the chest there, and she knew that his first wife, whoever she was, had spent many hours preparing for a baby who hadn't lived.  Her heart broke for her husband, and she promised herself she'd be patient. She had to be.  She'd lose him otherwise.

She carried the kitten up and down the stairs, but she let her follow her around the rest of the time.  She went to the spring house for more food and found a ham, carrying that into the house.  She could make ham and some scalloped potatoes, something her mother had called one of her own special dishes. 

She carried her ham into the house, the kitten trailing behind her.  While the ham was baking, she peeled potatoes, and got them ready.  They could go into the oven much later, but she liked for the cream to be soaked into the potatoes before she put them into the oven.

She had tucked the clothes that needed to be mended into a basket and carried them into the parlor.  Taking out her needle and thread she went to work on them.  If she could make the clothes he had now stretch for a bit longer, she would get the fabric she needed to make him new clothes when they were in town next.  She didn't know what his financial situation was, but she had some money of her own saved from her time teaching.