Tracie Peterson (10 page)

“I rather enjoy the freedom they afford,” Amelia said. Satisfied with having distracted her sisters, she unfastened the latches on the trunk. “But I would find a bath quite favorable.”

They spent the rest of the day securing their belongings and laying out their claims on the various parts of the room. By standing their trunks on end they managed to create a separate table for each of them and it was here they placed their brushes, combs and perfumes. Helping Penelope to string a rope on which they could hang their dresses, Amelia realized they’d brought entirely too many formal gowns and not nearly enough simple outfits.
Where had they thought they were traveling? It wasn’t as if they’d have anyone to dress up for.

Logan came to mind and Amelia immediately vanquished his image from her thoughts. She would not concern herself with looking nice for him. Her father expected her to look the lovely English rose for Sir Jeffery. That was why the clothes were packed as they were. Her desires were immaterial compared to her father’s.

“Amelia has twice as many gowns as we have,” Penelope complained at dinner that evening.

Lord Amhurst gave her a look of reprimand, but it was Lady Gambett who spoke. “Your sister is the eldest, and by being the eldest, she is to have certain privileges afforded her. You mustn’t complain about it for once she’s married and keeping house for herself, you shall be the eldest.”

This placated the petite blond, but Amelia felt her face grow hot. She was grateful that Logan was nowhere to be seen.

“I suggest we make an early evening of it,” the earl said with an eye to his daughters. “There is to be an early morning hunt and I’m certain you won’t want to lag behind.”

Margaret and Penelope began conversing immediately with Henrietta and Josephine about what they would wear and how they would arrange their hair. Amelia could only think on the fact that she would be forced to spend still another day in Logan Reed’s company.

“Papa,” she said without giving the matter another thought, “I’d like to rest and walk about the grounds. Please forgive me if I decline the hunt.”

The earl nodded, appraising her for a moment then dismissing the matter when Lady Gambett spoke up. “I will stay behind as well. I can’t possibly bear the idea of another ride.”

With the matter settled, the party dispersed and went to their various beds. Amelia faded to sleep quickly, relishing the comfort of a bed and the warmth of their fire. In her dreams she kept company with a green-eyed Logan, and because it was only a dream, Amelia found herself enjoying every single moment.

Logan was glad to be home. The valley offered him familiar comfort that he had never been able to replicate elsewhere. His cabin, located just up the mountain, wasn’t all that far from the lodge where he’d deposited the earl and his traveling companions. But it was far enough. It afforded him some much-needed privacy and the peace of mind to consider the matters at hand.

Kicking off his boots, Logan built a hearty fire and glanced around at his home. Three rooms comprised the first floor. The bedroom at the back of the cabin was small but served its purpose. A kitchen with a cookstove and several crude cupboards extended into the dining area, where a table and chairs stood beneath one window. This area, in turn, blended into the main room, where the fireplace mantel was lined with small tin-type photos and books. A comfortable sofa, which Logan had made himself, invited company, which seldom came, and two idle chairs stood as sentinels beside a crude book shelf. The tall shelf of books seemed out of place for the rustic cabin, but it was Logan’s private library and he cherished it more than any of his other possessions. Whenever he went out from the valley to the towns nearby, he always brought back new books to add to his collection. This time he’d picked up an order in Greeley and had five new books with which to pass the time. Two were works by Jules Verne that promised to be quite entertaining. Of the remaining three, one was a study of science, one a collection of poetry, and the final book promised an exploration of Italy.

With a sigh, Logan dropped down onto the sofa and glanced upward. Shadows from the dancing fire made images against the darkened loft. The house was silent except for the occasional popping of the fire, and Logan found his mind wandering to the fair-haired Lady Amelia. He knew he’d lost his heart to her, and furthermore he was certain that she felt something for him. He wanted to chide himself for his love-at-first-sight reaction to the delicate beauty, but there was no need. His heart wouldn’t have heeded the warning or reprimand. Lost in his daydreams, Logan fell asleep on the sofa. He’d see her tomorrow before the party went out on the hunt, but how would he manage the rest of the day without her at his side?

Amelia hung back in her cabin until well after her family had left for the hunting expedition. She was determined to keep from facing Logan Reed and having to deal with his comments or suggestions. She couldn’t understand why he bothered her so much.
It isn’t as if he has any say in my life. It isn’t as if he could change my life, so why give him the slightest consideration?

Making her way to the lodge, Amelia guessed it to be nearly eight o’clock. She could smell the lingering scents of breakfast on the air and knew that Logan had been right about one thing. Mountain air gave you a decidedly larger appetite.

“Morning,” a heavyset woman Amelia knew to be the owner’s wife called out. “You must be Lady Amhurst. Jonas told me you were staying behind this morning.” Amelia nodded and the woman continued. “I’m just making bread, but you’re welcome to keep me company.”

Amelia smiled. “I thought to tour around the woods nearby, but I’d be happy to sit with you for a time, Mrs. Lewis.” She barely remembered her father saying the place was owned by a family named Lewis.

The woman wiped her floury hands on her apron and reached for a bowl. “Just call me Mary. Mrs. Lewis is far too formal for the likes of me and this place.”

Amelia sensed a genuine openness to the woman. “You must call me Amelia,” she said, surprising herself by the declaration. The mountain air and simplicity of the setting made her forget old formalities. “What is that you are doing just now?” she asked, feeling suddenly very interested.

Mary looked at her in disbelief. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen bread made before?”

“Never,” Amelia said with a laugh. “I’m afraid I’ve never ventured much into the kitchen at all.”

“But who does the cooking for your family?”

“Oh, we’ve a bevy of servants who see to our needs. Father believes that young women of noble upbringing have no place in a kitchen.”

Mary laughed. “I guess I’m far from noble in upbringing. I was practically birthed in the kitchen.” She kneaded the dough and sprinkled in a handful of flour. “Would you like to learn how to make bread?”

Surprised by an unfamiliar desire to do just that, Amelia responded, “I’d love to.”

Mary wiped her hands again and went to a drawer where she pulled out another apron. “Put this on over your pretty dress so that it doesn’t get all messy. And take off those gloves. It doesn’t pay to wear Sunday best when you’re working in the kitchen.”

She turned back to the dough while Amelia secured the apron over what she had considered one of her dowdier gowns. The peach and green print was far from being her Sunday best. Amelia tucked her white kid gloves into the pocket of the apron and rolled up her sleeves like Mary’s.

“I’m ready,” she said confidently, anxious to embark on this new project. Lady Bird had told her that only in experiencing things first hand could a person truly have a working knowledge of them. One might read books about crossing the ocean or riding an elephant, but until you actually participated in those activities, you were only touching the memories of another.

“Here you go,” Mary said, putting a large hunk of dough in front of her. “Work it just like this.” She pushed the palms of her hands deep into the mass. “Then pull it back like this.” Amelia watched, catching the rhythm as Mary’s massive hands worked the dough. “Now you do it.” Mary tossed a bit of flour atop the bread dough and smiled.

Amelia grinned. “You make it look simple enough.” But it was harder than it looked. Amelia felt the sticky dough ooze through her fingers and laughed out loud at the sensation.
Father would positively expire if he saw me like this.

“That’s it,” Mary said from beside her own pile. “You can work out a great many problems while kneading bread.”

“I can imagine why,” Amelia replied. Already her thoughts of Logan were fading.

She worked through two more piles of dough with Mary’s lively chatter keeping her company. When all of the dough had been prepared Mary showed her how to divide the mass into loaves. Placing the last of her dough into one of the pans, Amelia wiped a stray strand of hair from her face and smiled. It was satisfying work. Twenty-two loaves lay rising before her and some of them had been formed by her own hands.

“There are so many,” she commented, noting some of the dough had been placed in pans before her arrival. Already they were rising high, while still others filled the lodge with a delicious scent as they baked.

“I’ve been collecting bread pans for most of my life. Working this lodge takes a heap of bread for the folks who stay, as well as those who help out. I alternate the loaves so that some are always baking or rising or getting kneaded down. Bread is pretty much alike the country over, so travelers take right to it when they won’t eat another thing on the table. And I sell a few loaves on the side. Menfolk around here don’t always want to bake their own bread, so they come here to buy it from me.” As if on cue the door opened and Logan Reed strode in.

Amelia stared at him in stunned silence, while Logan did much the same. A lazy smile spread itself under the bushy mustache, making Amelia instantly uncomfortable. “You don’t mean to tell me that Lady Amhurst is taking lessons in bread baking?”

“She sure is,” Mary said, before Amelia could protest the conversation. “Amelia here is a right quick learner.”

“Amelia, eh?” Logan raised a questioning brow to keep company with his lopsided smile.

“Sure,” Mary said, betraying a bit of German heritage in her voice. “She’s a charming young woman, this one.”

“That she is,” he replied then turned his question on Amelia. “Why aren’t you on the hunt?”

Amelia couldn’t tell him that she’d purposefully avoided the hunt because of him. She tossed around several ideas and finally decided on the closest thing to the truth. “I wanted to tour about the grounds. I’ve had enough horsebacking for a while.”

“I see.”

For a moment Amelia was certain he really did see. His expression told her that he knew very well she’d made her decision based on something entirely apart from the discomfort of the old cavalry saddle.

“Why are you here? I thought you’d be off with the others.” Amelia knew that if he had doubted the reason for her decision, she had just confirmed those doubts.

Mary looked rather puzzled. “He comes for the bread. One of those menfolk I told you about.” She nudged Amelia playfully. “He’s needs a good wife to keep him company and make his bread for him.”