Once in a Blue Moon (15 page)

Willie shook his head.
“Too bad. Seems like girls around here are too young, or
married.”

James spoke up. “So,
you never said. Did you meet your wife in Boston? How’d you
meet?”

Richard thought about
what to say. Telling them about his stint as a male model, even if
it had only lasted for one day, wasn’t going to happen. He could
just imagine their reaction. “Melissa and I met while I was
working. The job didn’t work out, but I got the girl.” Richard
decided that he’d change the subject. “So what other kind of work
do you do around here? I hadn’t expected to be gathering hay
today.”

“There’s one thing you
need to learn about ranching. Ranchers are farmers too, and
anything that needs doing, we do,” said John.

Merrill’s lip curled.
“You think you’re too good to do the work?”

“I don’t remember
saying that. In fact, I don’t remember asking your opinion on the
subject, either.”

Merrill strode forward.
“I don’t like the way you said that, pretty boy.”

Richard felt steam
gathering in his head. “I suggest you back off.”

“You just think you
have it made here, don’t you? You just waltz right in here and snap
up a job. We don’t need you here and we don’t want you here,
either.”

“What is your problem?”
asked Richard.

Willie looked between
the two of them, excitement gleaming in his eyes. “He’s just mad
because you’ve got yourself a wife. His sweetheart ditched him not
too long ago. He was too poor for her tastes. She married a city
boy like yourself. A rich one.”

Merrill turned on
Willie. “Just shut up! He doesn’t need to know my business!”

Richard stepped
forward. “Look, I’m really sorry if--”

Merrill punched him
hard in the mouth.

Pain exploded and
Richard staggered, barely keeping his balance. He wiped his mouth
with the back of a shaky hand and stared at the blood streaking his
glove. Anger welled up, but he tamped it down. He’d managed men
long enough to know fighting didn’t solve anything and he had no
intention of losing his job.

“You want to tell me
what that was for?”

Merrill spit at
Richard’s feet, then lunged.

Richard ducked a blow.
Anger, strong and virulent ripped through him. He’d been taking
Merrill’s crap all day and, job or no job, he’d had it.

He returned the punch
and his fist connected with Merrill’s nose, snapping his head
back.

Richard dodged the next
blow, threw off his gloves, and slugged his right fist into
Merrill’s gut. Hard.

Merrill grunted, but
recovered quickly and slammed a fist into Richard’s jaw.

Numb to the pain, heart
pumping hard, Richard returned with two short blows to the ribs,
then one to the stomach.

Merrill bent over,
staggered back a few paces, then rushed head-first and cannoned
into Richard’s middle.

The air whooshed out of
Richard’s lungs and they both went down.

The cowboys gathered
around them jumped back to get out to the way, and Richard heard a
few of them betting on the outcome.

Richard flinched as a
blow hit him hard in the kidneys. He punched, connected with
Merrill’s throat, and had to twist to avoid a knee to the
groin.

Merrill grabbed
Richard’s hair and snapped his head back. Richard twisted as
Merrill tried to bite him on the arm. He shoved an elbow into
Merrill’s chest.

Slugging, thrashing and
kicking, it took about five minutes, but finally they wore
themselves out.

They lay in the dirt,
looked at each other, and started to laugh.

All seven cowboys stood
in a circle around them.

John shook his head.
“Well, did you both work it out of your systems? Get up, and get
back to work.”

A lanky redhead by the
name of Joe grinned and winked.

Everyone turned and
wandered away.

Richard and Merrill
both stood. Breathing hard, they eyed each other. Merrill had blood
dripping from his nose.

One of Richard’s eyes
was already swelling shut, and the corner of his mouth burned.

Richard crossed his
arms across his chest. “So, what’s it going to be?”

Merrill stared, eyed
Richard up and down, then finally, he stuck out his hand.

Richard took it and
they shook.

Merrill rubbed his jaw.
“That’s a strong right hook you got there.”

Richard nodded and
flexed his sore fingers. “Been swinging a hammer for years. Your
left jab packs a lot of beef behind it.”

Merrill nodded. “Been
punching cows for a lot of years.”

They smiled.

Richard flinched as the
smile pulled at his freshly cut mouth.

Merrill laughed and
slapped his back.

Richard turned to get
back to work. “Just don’t call me pretty boy again.”

“How about pretty smart
boy?”

“No.”

“Pretty hard
worker?”

Richard felt a glow of
warmth at that. “Maybe. I’ll let you know.”

Merrill laughed. “You
do that. Boy.” This time the name had no sting to it.

Richard laughed. It was
turning out to be a good day.

* * *

Melissa walked down the
boardwalk and tried not to give into the tears that threatened to
fall.

No one was hiring. No
one.

All her hard work, her
years of university and practical experience meant nothing to these
people.

The mercantile
proprietor was into nepotism, the hotel already had a receptionist
and a maid, and the ice store owner had childishly refused to even
grant her an interview.

Everything had gone
downhill from there. She’d tried for a job at the citrus packing
plant, the bakery, the insurance office, and just about every
storefront she’d passed.

Everywhere respectable
anyway. Regardless, she’d been propositioned three times, laughed
at, stared at, sneered at, ridiculed and approached by a
suffragist.

She
just wanted to go home. Not to the ranch, to that
hovel
, but to her real
home. Her real job.

Shoulders drooping, and
hunger once more eating at her insides, she glanced up and down the
dusty street. It wasn’t as if she were being picky. At this point
she was willing to take any job. Do anything. She noticed the
prostitutes, lounging outside the saloon. Well, almost
anything.

She finally came to a
stop outside the restaurant; her last hope. Reluctant to go inside,
and face rejection once more, she loitered for a moment.

A man stared at her
from across the street. He was one who’d propositioned her earlier
and it spooked her. She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin
and pushed open the door.

There were a couple of
men eating lunch, cowboys tucking into their food, their
conversation soft. They didn’t even look up when she entered.

A big, pot-bellied,
husky man, about six-foot tall, approached her, and she was
relieved to see he was relatively clean. She could work for this
man. “Can I help you?”

Melissa tried a smile.
“I’m looking for a job.”

Interest sparked in the
man’s gaze. “Can you cook?”

She thought about
lying, opened her mouth to do so, but realized her lack of culinary
skill would quickly be revealed. “I can learn.”

The man shook his head.
“I need a good cook. Sorry.”

“I could learn really
fast,” her voice broke, and she swallowed.

Genuine sympathy filled
the man’s eyes.

It gave her hope.

He shook his head. “I’m
sorry. But I can’t hire a cook that can’t cook.” His voice was
gentle, his eyes sympathetic.

The rejection, the
sympathy, brought tears to her eyes and she quickly looked down.
She couldn’t even qualify for a menial labor job. She willed the
tears back and met his gaze. “If I learn to cook, then would you be
interested?”

He looked thoughtful,
doubtful. “If there’s still an opening. Then yes.”

“Can I ask what a
situation like this would pay?”

“Breakfast, lunch and
dinner, six days a week, fifteen dollars a month. Plus meals.”

Melissa was horrified,
but tried to hide it. Fifteen dollars a month? She swallowed and
nodded.

The man gestured to one
of the chairs. “Why don’t you sit down?”

She sat, hopeful, and
watched him walk into the back room. Maybe he had something else in
mind? She could certainly clear tables or seat patrons. She’d even
wash dishes if she had to.

A moment later he came
back with a plate of food which he set before her. “Here, eat this
before you blow away.”

“I can’t pay you.”
Deeply mortified, she could feel heat burn into her cheeks.

He smiled and winked.
“On the house.”

Melissa was reluctant
to take his charity. But this was the first person she’d met in
this century who’d been kind to her and she was grateful. “Thank
you.”

“Just leave the plate
there when you’re done.”

She smiled and
nodded.

He headed toward the
kitchen again.

She quickly ate the
delicious food: a pork chop and some green beans. The two rolls she
slipped inside a pocket to save for the kids. She avoided
eye-contact with the other diners as she slunk from the room.

When she stepped
outside, she noticed the saloon once more. Didn’t they used to pay
women to dance with the cowboys? She considered it for a moment,
seriously considered it, but at the thought of the dirty smelly men
she shook her head. Besides being humiliated, she’d be dead.
Richard would kill her.

Perhaps she should
simply go to Los Angeles and get a job for the duration? She
quickly rejected the idea. She needed to stay in the area in order
to get back home. She wouldn’t risk missing that for anything.

She headed for the park
and, when she reached her destination, spotted the kids almost
immediately.

They ran over, Jeremy
reaching her first. “Hi, Mom.”

She handed him a roll,
then handed Jessica one as she ran up.

Jessica grinned.
“Thanks. We’ve already had some food, but these look good.”

At Melissa’s
questioning gaze, Jessica pointed to a couple of kids about their
age, watching from a distance. “Sally and Daniel shared their lunch
with us.”

Jeremy smiled. “We’ve
been playing Annie-I-Over. It’s a little lame but they seem to like
it. I guess it’s kind of fun.”

Melissa nodded. “Time
to go now.”

They waved at the kids
and fell into step beside her. Jeremy shot her a questioning
glance. “Did you get a job?”

With food inside her,
Melissa suddenly felt more optimistic. She nodded. “Almost.”

Jeremy shot her a
curious glance. “How do you almost get a job?”

Melissa shrugged. “I
just need to learn to cook first.”

Both kids started to
laugh.

Smoke
curled from the stove top, choking Melissa and burning her eyes.
She tried to set the metal-plate-thingie back over its hole, tried
to get it properly positioned, but it kept tipping. “Hot,
hot,
hot
!” She
dropped the metal plate once again as the heat burned clear through
the towel she held.

She sucked on the base
of her index finger. With an exclamation of dismay, she grabbed the
towel again and moved the potatoes off their burner and onto the
side warmer.

Disheartened, she gazed
at the lard-soaked chunks, the blackened edges completely inedible.
The aroma was unappetizing. Already teary-eyed from the smoke, she
considered just sitting down to have a good cry.

The
door opened behind her. “Whoa, what’s going on? Are you
cooking
?” Richard asked,
his voice incredulous.

Melissa closed her
eyes, took a deep breath, and almost choked on the smoke. She
turned to face him and followed his wide-eyed gaze to the table
top, where her aborted attempt at biscuit making, mixed with the
potato peelings, littered the table.

The astonishment in
Richard’s expression irritated, big time. She thought of all the
salads she’d made in her lifetime. “I’ve cooked. It’s not like I
haven’t cooked before.”

Richard glanced up from
the mess, opened the door wide, moved her aside, plucked a piece of
metal from the top of the stove that Melissa had failed to notice,
and fixed it over the hole. Within seconds, the smoke quit swirling
out of the stove top.

Richard turned to face
her, gripping her arms. “Honey, this is so great. I didn’t expect
you to make dinner. What a wonderful surprise.”

She eyed him
suspiciously, but he seemed sincere. Moving away, she didn’t tell
him about her ulterior motive. She just lifted the bowl of eggs off
the shelf.

Richard glanced up to
the loft. “Where are the kids?”

Melissa shrugged.
“Outside somewhere. I haven’t seen them for a couple of hours.”

Again, he looked at the
unholy mess on the table.

Anxious to turn his
gaze elsewhere, she searched for something to talk about. “So, what
did you do for your daily dollar today?”

Richard grinned. “Cut
and hauled hay.”

“What, no horse to--”
Melissa got a good look at his face, and her mouth fell open. “Have
you been fighting?”

Richard grinned. “Naw.
Just fooling around.”

“Oh, good grief.”
Melissa rolled her eyes and turned away. She started cleaning the
mess off the table, scraping flour and peelings into a big bowl
with her hands before wiping and rewiping the table with a wet
cloth.

Richard unwrapped the
bacon and picked up the knife. “Did you work in the garden
today?”

Melissa shook her head.
“No.”

“Melissa, you need to
work in the garden. They specifically asked you to.”

She heard some of the
anger from their morning fight coming back and narrowed her eyes.
“I had things to do.”