Plots and Pans (2 page)

England
April 1879

“I can take care of myself,” Jessalyn assured her new roommate—her sixth roommate to date at Miss Pennyworth’s Penitentiary.

More generally—if less honestly—known as Miss Pennyworth’s Academy, the institution locked up everything from the sugar bowls to the stables in an effort to “mould young women into fine ladies whose appearance and behavior are a credit to society.” This meant that everything about Jess, from her sweet tooth to her “unseemly inclination toward independence” was unwelcome within these walls. Unfortunately, her father’s money had thus far convinced Miss Pennyworth to overlook Jessalyn’s faults for far longer than the four academies she’d attended previously. Miss Pennyworth’s staunch determination was almost enough to win Jess’s admiration.

Almost. Because teatime inevitably rolled around, serving dry soda biscuits instead of cake with a measly half a sugar cube allotted each student. Then Jess’s rebellious spirit flared to life, and an entire pot of tepid tea couldn’t quench the blaze. Miss Pennyworth cited society’s admiration for “trim waists, tightly laced”—but Jess preferred buttered crumpets and breathing.

“But Miss Pennyworth sent us to our rooms because it’s time for our afternoon rest,” Cecily Something-or-Other squeaked, following Jess onto the balcony she could no longer call her own.

Right now all the girls were draping themselves artistically across a myriad of lounges, poufs, and settees provided for just such a purpose by the academy. Supposedly every young lady of quality should be attractively exhausted after a morning filled with such taxing pursuits as letter writing and—Jess suppressed a shudder at the memory—embroidery.

“You’re right,” she soothed, wondering whether it was her imagination or if her roommates were becoming mousier. Jess strongly suspected Miss Pennyworth assigned them based on their lack of spine and willingness to turn rat if she did anything unconventional.

For instance, when she shimmied over the wrought-iron railing of the balcony to the library terrace, then snuck down the servants’ stairs to swipe a treat from the kitchen on her way to the stables. She’d repeated and perfected this maneuver until she probably could have done it in her sleep. Which might come in handy if she was finally forced to follow the rules and nap along with everyone else.

“Oh, good!” Cecily gladly turned tail and followed Jess back into the room. She gracefully sank onto the chaise lounge by the door and arranged her skirts to hide her ankles. Ladies, Miss Pennyworth lectured, hid their ankles at all times. Apparently a mere glimpse could make men mad with lustful, animal urges.

Jess snorted and plunked herself down atop her bed, hoping that Cecily proved to be a champion napper. Sound-sleeping roommates who dozed off quickly were valuable commodities.

“Aren’t you going to remove your boots?” Cecily wiggled pink little stockinged toes as though relishing a forbidden freedom. “It’s ever so much more comfortable on a warm day.”

“It’s not warm to me.” Jess clicked the heels of her boots together and rolled her ankles, glad to have a truthful response besides “I’m going to sneak out and steal some fresh air.”

“Oh!” Cecily propped herself up on an elbow, now looking interested and disappointingly alert. “Is it much warmer in the Americas then?”

Quite so
. Jess clamped her lips shut against the tickle of such an oh-so-proper response. This sort of incident—times when she began to think like a British miss instead of the Texas cowgirl half born in the saddle—had been sneaking up on her with increasing frequency during the past couple of years. Without fail, each of these moments made her wonder how many times she
hadn’t
caught herself and whether anyone would recognize her when she finally got home.

If I ever do get back
. The dangerous doubt pricked her.
It’s been seven years now…
.

Cecily’s worried glance broke through that dismaying line of thought, letting her know she’d taken too long to answer the girl’s insipid question about Texas weather.

Jess kept her answer short and hoped Cecily stopped talking. “Yep.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” Jess reached for her pillow and punched it into something comfy.

“Yes,” Cecily clarified. “Ladies don’t say things like ‘yep.’ Miss Pennyworth asked me to take notice of your American habits and help you work to correct them.”

“Please don’t trouble yourself.”
Or myself
, Jess added silently, surprisingly unsurprised that Miss Pennyworth had already recruited Cecily to help monitor her “mistakes.”

Cecily’s sweet smile swiftly gave way to a delicate yawn. “It’s no trouble at all, Jessalyn. I’m always happy to help a friend.” Then she kindly fell asleep, which was all the help Jess needed to creep back out to the balcony and be on her way.

The grandfather clock in the hall warned Jess how much of her free time Cecily’s chatter nibbled away, so she hastened to the kitchen. Usually she made a point of shooting the breeze with the cook and other servants. Largely unappreciated by the students they served, the staff became valuable allies whenever Jess needed to stretch her legs or—after an academy-approved breakfast of stewed tomatoes and kippers—her stomach.

“We heard you had a new roommate.” The cook waggled her ladle at a small, linen-wrapped bundle neatly tucked atop the baking table. “Carrots for your mare and fresh-baked shortbread for you.”

Jess grinned her thanks and slid the bundle into the pocket of her skirts. “No danger of me getting those mixed up. Carrots are wonderful, of course, but Morning Glory is welcome to them when there’s shortbread nearby.” She waved good-bye and didn’t mention that she’d be sharing the shortbread with the stable boy next door.

Little Ben’s sweet tooth rivaled her own—she’d once caught him sucking on the tea cubes of sugar she’d brought for Morning Glory. Since then, she’d made a point of passing along a treat whenever she snuck into the stables. In return, Ben had Morning Glory saddled and ready for her every afternoon, kept her split riding skirts well hidden in the tack room, and acted as lookout for the other grooms while she changed. The gap-toothed smile of her nine-year-old friend made one more thing to love about visiting the stables. No one really smiled in an academy. Manners nixed vulgar things like grinning or laughing louder than a bell-like tinkle.

She’d heard many of the girls complaining about riding lessons, deploring the filth of the stable yards and the smell of the horses. But Jess didn’t mind getting her boots and hands dirty, and to her way of thinking, horses, hay, and grit smelled like home. England’s gloomy weather hid the sun, but something about hay reminded her of sunshine, open air, and things growing wild. Jess drew in a deep breath as she left school grounds and made her way to the stables.

“There you is.” Ben put down a grooming brush and came out to greet her. “Mornin’ Glory an’ I was wondering if you would make it.”

“Got held up,” Jess admitted, drawing the bundle from her pocket. “I might be a little later tomorrow, too. Miss Pennyworth gave me a new roommate, so it’s harder to get away.”

“Wot say I ‘as Morning Glory ready at same time, but if you isn’t over by ‘alf past, I put her back?” Ben suggested, happily cramming half the shortbread into his mouth in one blissful bite.

“Good idea,” Jess called from the tack room as she slid out of her day skirt and shimmied into her split riding skirts. Luckily the legs were wide enough to pull on over her boots, so she moved quickly. At first Jess couldn’t decide what part of her afternoon escapes Miss Pennyworth would find most troubling—her climbing over the balcony rail and swinging onto the library terrace, or the split skirts themselves. Then Miss Pennyworth found her first pair hanging in the wardrobe—she searched student rooms at will—and confiscated them as scandalous. Since she started changing in the stables, Jess figured the skirts won as “most likely to give the headmistress apoplexy” when she finally found out about the whole procedure.

Because Miss Pennyworth
would
catch her sooner or later. Jess didn’t fool herself about that—after all, she’d been caught at three of the four schools she’d previously attended. She hadn’t been caught at the first school she’d gone to for one reason: Jess hadn’t broken the rules. She’d been convinced that if she behaved, applied herself to her lessons, and became a perfect little lady, Papa would want her back. She’d been a model student right up until the day the doddering headmistress died and her father arrived to pick her up—and took her to another school before boarding a steamship and returning home without her.

After that Jess saw no point in pretending Lady Lessons didn’t bore her senseless. She warred with headmistress after headmistress until they gave her the boot, always hoping that this would be the time Papa realized she belonged back home at the ranch. But it didn’t work. Year after year, school after school, he always found another headmistress-turned-warden to keep Jess corralled an ocean away.

Exiled from the Bar None
. The irony never wore off, but years of use certainly wore it thin.

“She’s chomped up them carrots,” Ben informed her when she hustled back to the stalls, his collar coated in buttery crumbs.

“How’s my girl?” She stroked Morning Glory’s velvety nose.

The mare whickered softly, shifting to the side and pulling her nose from Jess’s hand to gently nudge her shoulder. Horses had an uncanny sense of time, and Jess could tell Morning Glory had grown anxious, waiting for her to show up. They both wanted to get out in the open for a while. Jess didn’t waste any more time and swung up into the saddle. That was one of the many nice things about riding astride—she didn’t need a mounting block or a man’s assistance.

Why ladies—who were supposed to be so very delicate and sheltered—were required to perch so precariously atop their mounts made no sense to Jess. Sidesaddles were downright dangerous. Papa had plunked her on a pony at age four, and even
she
felt off balance and unsteady on the silly things. The way a woman had to hook her knee around a pommel and tangle her limbs in heavy skirts effectively hobbled her as a rider. She couldn’t center herself well, nor adjust her seat to match the horse’s gait, or even tighten her knees for stability. She certainly couldn’t jump off if the need arose.

Compromised control with no ability to escape … sidesaddles were the riding equivalent of all the other fussy, foolish rules Jess rode to get away from. She kept Morning Glory reined in at a trot past the corral, waiting until they reached the overgrown fields. Then she gave the mare her head, settling into the fluid rhythm of an all-out gallop. Together they ran from all the people, procedures, and never-ending sets of expectations that confined them. Just her, Morning Glory, and the wind cooling their faces.

During these precious, stolen moments, Jess could breathe. It seemed like she never got enough air in the stifled halls of the academy. Only outside, one with the grass and trees and the horse helping her fly away, could she clear her lungs and her thoughts. When she rode, she could remember Mama’s voice, feel the safety of Papa’s bear hugs, and see the home she’d lost.

But time ran faster than she could, and today she turned Morning Glory back to the stables long before the halfway mark of their usual circuit. Jess swung off the mare’s back, giving her one last pat before entrusting Morning Glory back to Ben. She trusted the stable boy to water and brush Morning Glory down after their afternoon jaunts, grateful her little friend didn’t mind the extra work. If she had to tend the mare after each run, they’d hardly have any time to ride.

Jess was thankful for Ben—and even more thankful that she didn’t have to worry about her escapades getting him in trouble. Miss Pennyworth didn’t have the acreage or, Jess suspected, the funds to operate a stable for her students on school grounds, so she’d made arrangements for the students’ horses to be stabled at the establishment next door. That way the students still learned the valuable social skill of sedate, sidesaddle riding, but the stables weren’t part of the academy.

She hurriedly changed back into her day skirts and ran back to the school, sneaking in the back and taking the servants’ stairs two at a time. Once upstairs, she slowly tiptoed along the edge of the hallway—the center creaked—eased open her door, and prayed Cecily stayed asleep.

No such luck. Cecily’s chaise lay empty, and Jess couldn’t quell the first stirrings of panic as she turned toward the beds. There sat Cecily, wringing her hands. And across from Cecily, holding herself so stiffly that she hadn’t so much as wrinkled the counterpane, sat Miss Pennyworth.

The jig was up.

Bar None Ranch, Texas May 1879

S
he’s in it up to her eyeballs, that’s for shore.” Ralph Runkle, longtime cowboy for the Bar None, gestured southward. “Tried to pull her out, but it’s gonna take more than me and Samson here”—he patted the powerful neck of his oversized mount—“to get the job done. Anyone in particular you want to have ride the line with me and rescue her, or can I grab whoever crosses my path?”

“No need.” Tucker stuffed his bandanna in his back pocket. “I’ll go—it’s been too long since I rode the south pasture anyhow.” He headed for the stables housing his favorite stallion.

“Hold up there, Boss.” Ralph swung out of the saddle and ambled after him, his long stride catching him up quick. “I heard tell you was up all night helping birth those twin foals.”

“Yep.” He didn’t elaborate. Tucker could see where Ralph was heading, and the ranch hand needed to take the hint that the boss spent his time wherever and however he pleased.

“Boss.” Ralph took a half step into Tucker’s path, forcing him to stop. “I know it ain’t my place and all, but you didn’t get any shut-eye the night before that neither. It’s almost sundown. Why don’t you let Virgil help me get the cow while you grab some grub and catch a few winks?”

Tucker thumbed back the brim of his hat and pinned Ralph with a steely glare. Staring down a man when you had to tilt your head back to look at him made for a tall order, but Tucker could fill it. Ralph’s size made him an asset on the ranch, so long as his mouth didn’t get too big.