Plots and Pans (18 page)

“No, but I want to be sure we do this right. I meant to bring it up back in the kitchen, but got the giggles and forgot all about it.” She shifted the pie she held to free up one of her hands then used it to snag Jess’s elbow. “Before we get started changing things around the ranch, we should ask God’s blessing on how we handle it.”

“Now?” Despite her best intentions, she couldn’t keep her astonishment to herself. After hanging around all day, the need for prayer became so urgent they needed to juggle pies?

“Now.” To her surprise, Tucker nestled his pie in the crook of his arm and scooted close enough to touch their arms, joining the circle. His eyes met hers. “Any time is a good time to pray, but this is particularly appropriate. It would make your dad’s heart happy to know you started off asking the direction of the Almighty.”

“Go ahead, honey.” A squeeze to her elbow accompanied the order as her aunt and Tucker both bowed their heads in expectation.

“Erhm.” Jessalyn cleared her throat. “You do the honors, Aunt Desta. It’s your idea, and I’m not quite caught up enough to act as the leader in anything important. I’m sure Tucker’ll agree with me.”

Actually, she wasn’t so sure. He’d raised his head a fraction and was giving her a quizzical look. “Go on ahead.”

Thankfully, Desta hadn’t opened her eyes and took his encouragement in Jess’s stead. The sudden weight on her shoulders eased a bit as her aunt started praying.

“Lord, we thank You for all the good You’ve given us and for bringing Jessalyn home to us. We pray for Ed and the others that You keep them safe while they’re gone. You know our hearts. Please help us find the words to speak and the ears to listen as we go in there and meet the men. Amen.”

Jess breathed easier once the prayer ended, but couldn’t tell why. A lot of people claimed they felt the loving peace of the Lord settle their hearts. But in her case, it was probably relief because she’d wriggled her way out of praying aloud in front of people she wanted to have respect her. She didn’t like being put on the spot, and she didn’t want to mislead them into thinking she’d be more than happy to pray over them on a regular basis.

It wasn’t that she minded when other people chose to pray. Jess didn’t—she’d happily join in. But something inside her shied away when someone chose for her to pray. Sure, she usually balked at being told what to do—but if it were that simple, she probably would’ve gone along just for the chance to make people listen to what she had to say.

“Better now?” This time Tucker looked at Aunt Desta, but Jess chose to answer. It only seemed fair since they’d swapped before.

“Better.” If anything, she kind of hoped answering this question made him wonder less about why she hadn’t responded to his other invitation. Jessalyn got the impression he—and Aunt Desta—took their prayer the same way Papa had. Serious.

And if they found out she didn’t feel the same, they might not be willing to shrug it off.
I’ve already got too much to learn about, adjust to, and brush up on without getting my mind examined. They should let me concentrate on wrestling all of that under control. Helping will give them plenty to do, and trying to keep them from doing more than helping will keep me hopping
.

“Lemme go in and make ’em simmer down.” He handed off his pie with obvious reluctance. “I wouldn’t let this go, but I’m afraid they’ll mob me for it if they think there’s only one. Then there’s no chance of this going well.”

“Why don’t we all go in together, at the same time?” Jessalyn pressed, anxious to move on. “Side by side, bearing equal amounts of pie—a united front!”

“Because it ain’t just us that’ll want to make a good impression.” Desta scooted the pies to get a better grip. “Tucker’s right to give the men a chance to sit up straight—or at least sit still—before we waltz in and surprise ’em.”

“Okay.” Jess stared at the door as the foreman went in to marshal his troops. She shuffled her feet, sick and tired of being left behind.

The door opened and a hand poked through, waving them in. For a second she and her aunt looked at each other without moving, silently waiting for the other one to take the lead. Jess hesitated out of respect for her elder and because the men would already be familiar with Desta, even if they didn’t speak much.

“Go on.” Her aunt waved a pie toward the door, and Jess realized her aunt didn’t hesitate out of nerves. Tucker left the door cracked open, probably so they could take their time and walk in when they were ready, but this caused a problem.

With both hands full, Desta would have to shoulder her way through and walk in backward. No woman wanted to introduce herself to a room full of men backside first!

“Oh!” Jess hurried to take one of the pies so they could do the thing in the right order. As soon as she had a firm hold, she followed Desta through the door, stepping to the side so she could stand next to her aunt.

Squinting at the change from soft violet twilight to a room filled with dark corners and furniture thrown in shadow, she tried to get her bearings. The door blew shut behind her with a loud slam. Jumping at the sound, she came within a hairbreadth of letting one of the pies topple to the floor.

“Lemme give yer a hand!” The nearest man leapt to his feet and snatched the confection before she could thank him. He turned to go back to his seat, but found his way blocked.

His friends murmured about being happy to help as they relieved her and Desta of the remaining pies, bearing them back to their respective tables with the air of marauding Vikings displaying their plunder. The ridiculousness of the whole scene made Jess want to giggle. Then she snuck a look at Tucker.

The woebegone expression on his face as his eyes darted from table to table, trying to keep track of the vanishing pies, did her in. The giggle grew to a loud laugh she couldn’t keep in. At the sound, everyone’s attention snapped her way, but she didn’t mind. The men grinned right along with her, and she figured they were off to a fine start before she so much as said hello.

“Nice of so many of you to lend a hand,” Tucker’s voice broke through. “But if you want to keep those hands attached, don’t be touching those pies until after the ladies have their say.”

“He’s worried we won’t save him a slice,” someone stage-whispered loud enough to make everyone chuckle again.

Tucker snorted loud enough to rival an occupant from the stables. “Why would I worry about a fool thing like that? Every one of you boys knows that if my share goes missing, you oughta be the ones worried.”

Groans and jeers mingled before he gestured for everyone to hush up. Everyone seemed to be directing his attention to her and Desta, but at the same time trying not to look too interested. Jess counted only a half dozen men and counted again. There should’ve been a good deal more men. Even accounting for some going with Ed, the numbers were low.

Even so, there’d seemed to be far more when they were jockeying for pies. These men took up more than their fair share of space with physical strength and outsized personalities to match. But despite evidence of those personalities as they joked with Tucker, none of them spoke up to ask about the pie bakers.
Then it’s not just me—he makes a habit of keeping everyone waiting
.

“You boys are the lucky ones, since you’re here tonight. No, I’m not just talking about the pie.” He pointed at one of the men, who sat rubbing his stomach comically. “The men who hit the road with Ed and the ones riding roundup duty will have to hear the news secondhand when they get back.”

“Or the ladies could come back with more treats,” one of the two older men shouted. “We promise to keep our pieholes shut real respectful and listen like we ain’t heard none of it afore!”

“Hush up there, Virgil! You’ll talk us out of the first batch if ‘n you flap yore gums hoping for a second.”

“I dunno what any of you rascals is hollerin’ fer.” A third older gentleman stepped onto the main floor from where he’d stood half behind the stove, hidden in the shadows. Half-stooped with wisps of white hair waving, he brandished a ladle with majestic outrage. “Actin’ as though you ain’t seen a pie in years. Didn’t I make you shoofly pie last week? Sweet tater pie afore that ‘un?”

“Mighty good it were, Cookie,” the man called Virgil humbly assured the cook to a chorus of agreement.

“Dern tootin’ it were good. Ain’t a one of you ungrateful cusses who’s been starved for dessert, but here you sit like plumb fools in front of these ladies. Yore makin’ it seem as though I don’t do my job, and I”—he drew himself up and pointed the dented ladle at each man in turn—“take umbrage with every one of yers!”

“Umbrage?” Someone slapped his knee. “If that ain’t a five-cent word.”

Jessalyn thought about interrupting them so they could get on with the introductions, but couldn’t stop smiling long enough to be stern. The men might be a handful, but they were a hoot and a half. Until they knew who she was, she’d leave it to Tucker to give orders.

“Calm down, Cookie.” Silence fell the instant Tucker spoke, and Jess couldn’t help but be impressed. “You’ve been gut-griping more than usual since the roundup crew left, and I’ve let it slide since you suffered a disappointment. But that’s enough. Everybody needs to sit down, shut their gobs, and open their ears.”

“Yessir.” He laid down the ladle in a disconsolate sort of way and shuffled over to join the other old-timer.

Rheumatism
, Jessalyn guessed, trying not to wince in sympathy. It wouldn’t make him hurt any less, and she didn’t need to be one of his objects of umbrage!

“Good. By now you’ve all done a fine job of ruining your chance to make a good first impression on these ladies. Even though you all know Miss Desta, Simon, Ed, and I didn’t see any need for formal introductions because there was no need to say more than howdy.”

He stopped for a second. Even though Jess didn’t turn her head to check, by the way the men straightened up and nodded, Tucker was glaring each of them into agreement. She hadn’t bothered to wonder why Desta needed an introduction beyond coming clean about her family connections. Now, looking at the boisterous crew and imagining it tripled, Jess suddenly understood. They didn’t know her because Tucker didn’t allow them to talk to Desta.

A housekeeper could be vulnerable if a man’s attentions proved unwanted. She often had the house to herself, and a former slave would be in more danger than most. Jessalyn didn’t agree with it, but she knew it was true.
Tucker’s been protecting my aunt from the same things he worked so hard to warn me about!

Her chest squeezed, caught up in too many layers of emotion. Gratitude that Tucker looked after her aunt came easy. Something stronger, having to do with the realization that his lectures hadn’t just been because he looked down on her as a wayward child, pinched more.
Tucker sees me as a woman, and one worth his protection
.

K
eeping an eye on this woman is going to drive me insane
. Two evenings after he’d introduced her to the men and allowed her to start taking her place on the ranch, Tucker gritted his teeth and thought he heard a crack.

Not even five days since she rode up dressed like a man and only two days since he’d taken her to the mess hall, and Jessalyn Culpepper just about managed to fray his final nerve.

The men flat-out adored her and happily accepted Miss Desta because, as they pointed out, none of the other outfits could boast two ladies of the ranch. And even if they did, theirs weren’t “half so purty or baked near as nice.” Cookie made a point of ambling by and doing a dance step whenever Tucker looked his way, swearing by Jessalyn’s poultice for helping ease his knee and “put the spring back in m’ step.”

Traitors
. Down to a man, they raced to do anything “Miss Jess” asked. If it meant leaving something else half-done, they shrugged and promised to finish it later. If it meant showing her where to find something or how to use it, they volunteered to demonstrate. And the worst part about it was she took such care to precisely follow their agreement that he didn’t have a leg to stand on when he needed to boot her out of ranch business.

She rode and flagged fences every morning. By day three Tucker anticipated her trick and made sure he got to the stables early enough to accompany her. He couldn’t forbid it because she let someone know where she planned to ride, wore the split skirts to cover her creamy skin, and proved capable—if not adept—at getting the work done.

But that didn’t mean he had to like it. Trying to get her to stop riding around her own property without an escort made for a losing battle. Even if Jessalyn weren’t the sort to dig in her heels, he would’ve had a job arguing against it. So tomorrow morning would find him lurking in the stables, waiting to shadow her ride to whichever stretch of fence or pretty pastureland she wanted to visit.

His mornings spoken for, he tried to cram everything else into the rest of the day with limited success. Somehow the schedule got more and more scattered every time he ran into Jessalyn, and he ran into her at every turn.

In the corral where Virgil should’ve been working with an almost-broken filly, no horse bucked. The post lay empty—at least, it lay empty right up until the moment Jessalyn lassoed it. Thanks to Virgil, she’d already started to fine-tune her rusty roping skills.

Virgil beamed at her progress and seemed blithely unconcerned when she mentioned practicing hard so she could help in next year’s roundup. But then, Virgil probably thought she was joking. Tucker knew better, but couldn’t say much against it until Ed got here to back him up. So Tucker held his tongue.

In the stables, where Hank should’ve known better, Tucker had spotted Jessalyn cozying up to a stallion. What with all the changes around the ranch since Simon fell ill that last time, Tucker hadn’t managed to more than start breaking the powerful horse. Yet here stood a slip of a girl, palming sugar cubes and spinning stories of moonlight rides she planned to take.

Tucker told her in no uncertain terms that she wouldn’t be riding another unbroken horse as long as he remained at the Bar None. She’d sweet-talked her way into disaster once, and he wouldn’t let it happen again. He gave Hank an earful, waving away the stable master’s protests that “of course she ain’t planning ta ride ‘im. She just likes petting the horses. Thinks they get wistful when she treats Morning Glory special.”