Plots and Pans (28 page)

Tucker tried to tamp down his temper, but the scene unfolding before him when he descended from the point brought it surging to the fore. Men—who should be back at work once they finished eating—surrounded the buckboard, entirely blocking it from view.

I knew it
, he stewed.
The second they saw her, they swarmed
.

As he neared, he saw they were unloading things from the wagon, but that did little to assuage his irritation. More helpful was the realization that Ralph’s girth alone accounted for a good third of the barrier. Even so, Tucker had a hard time keeping his pace at a brisk walk. Some irrational part of him wanted to gallop at the mass of men for the simple satisfaction of seeing them scatter.

By the time he hopped from his horse, he noted the men who kept glancing toward the head of the wagon where Jessalyn stood, beaming that smile of hers. Was it any wonder some of the roundup crew looked a little stunned? Not that Tucker planned to cut them any slack.

He glowered indiscriminately as he stalked up, completing his first objective before he even reached them; the cowpunchers beat a hasty retreat back to the remuda for fresh ponies. Only the women and Ralph remained to greet him, so Tucker didn’t feel the need to put on pretty manners. His scowl stayed put.

Must’ve been a good one, too, because Ralph took one look at him and told Desta he hadn’t gotten his second serving yet. Desta slid a sideways glance at her niece, hesitating just long enough for either one of them to speak to her if they so chose. Then, without a word, she headed after Ralph, leaving the explanations to Jess.

Jess herself looked as if she wouldn’t mind leaving the explanations to someone else. She stood uncharacteristically silent, one hand resting against the rough wood of the buckboard, eyes wary beneath the brim of her hat.

Maybe she’s learning
. Tucker crossed his arms and continued to wait. No need to demand that she justify her appearance at the roundup—she knew full well he and Ed
both
told her to stay home. Even Ed wouldn’t let her off the hook for this flagrant disobedience.

Which might be a good thing
. He caught himself as he started uncrossing his arms and tightened them instead. No matter if the severity of the offense convinced Ed to take Tucker’s concerns more seriously—that had hardly been her intention.

Suddenly, a brouhaha broke out at the chuck wagon. Someone with a foul mouth yelped and launched into a tirade amid the clatter and clash of who-knew-what. Tucker raced for the ruckus, realized Jessalyn followed suit, and skidded to a halt, throwing out his arm to stop her advance. Had she no sense of self-preservation? A woman couldn’t run into the midst of a knock-down, drag-out!

Tucker caught her before they rounded the chuck wagon. He twisted, pinning both her arms to her sides within the circle of his own. Between her momentum and the force of her sudden stop, she parted company with the ground, feet flailing until she landed none too softly against his chest.

The impact knocked the wind out of her in a huff of warm, sugar cookie–scented breath. It kept her from screeching at him and alerting the combatants to her presence, so Tucker clapped a hand over her mouth before she contributed to the commotion. Then he shifted, holding her tight against him so he could keep her still with only one arm encircling her.

Whuh
. Suddenly she wasn’t the only one who couldn’t breathe. Tucker’s thoughts screeched to a halt. Between his adrenaline and the feel of the woman now pressed far too tightly against him, all he could do was hold still and try to make her do the same. His senses flooded him with messages about just how nicely Jessalyn fit in his arms, and how good she felt pressed this close … and if she didn’t stop wriggling around, this would become awkward in a hurry.

Tucker shifted as much as possible, trying to make space between them without letting her go. As his hold eased, she stopped struggling so much. At some point in all of this, she’d lost her hat, and he saw for the first time that she’d taken her braid and wound it around her head like a crown of summer wheat.

“Mmpf!” Jessalyn stared up at him, eyes anxious and outraged above the hand still covering her mouth. She rolled her shoulders, trying to work her arms free from his loosened hold.

“Shhh.” He moved his hand, pressing a single finger against her lips in silent admonishment before taking it away altogether.

“Let me go!” She jerked her head, making the margin between them slightly wider.

“Stay put.” Tucker tightened his clasp to remind her of his control, closing the space between them once more. He held her there, dimly hearing continued shouting and smashing, until she hissed her agreement. Then he intensified his hold for the merest fraction of a moment, pressing her even more firmly against him in an undeniable display of his dominance.

Tucker enjoyed her faint gasp far more than he should have, but he recognized it as the acknowledgment of his control. Mollified, he eased his hold. Not completely, but enough to let her pull free.

Jessalyn tensed, cheeks blazing, then whipped from his grip as though his touch burned. He hoped it did—hers left him singed.

Tucker stepped around the corner of the wagon, keeping his right arm held aloft as a barrier she wouldn’t dare to cross. He positioned himself at an angle, keeping himself between her and the fracas.

Ralph stood slightly to the side of Tucker, having torn the folding table from the back of the wagon and upended it as a sort of shield. He’d kept Desta tucked behind him, further protected by the bulk of the water barrel. Pots and pans littered the ground. Flour and cornmeal streaked the grass, the turned-on-its-side tabletop, and even the side of the wagon. For all the mess, Ralph remained surprisingly unmarked.

Farthest away from them, seeking cover behind the pole holding up the canvas awning across the back of the wagon, the cook hopped up and down, still screaming invectives. Beans dropped from the tin mashed atop his head, splattering his clothes with graying globs.

Now that the danger had passed, Tucker caught the content of those shouts, and the banked coals of his anger burned bright once again. He strode into the open, walking around Ralph’s makeshift barricade to stand in the middle of the carnage. When he came to a stop, so did the cook’s raving racialism. A silence fell that was so absolute, Tucker could have sworn he heard the sporadic drips still falling from the pan on the man’s head.

“You’re fired.” Jessalyn beat him to it, but since she said the words as she stopped by his side, Tucker decided not to quibble. Whether she meant it or not, the position declared them partners. “Get off Bar None land before we decide to press charges.”

“Don’t take orders from no highty-tighty hussies,” the idiot sneered, brandishing a fist. “No more than I roll over to any ni—”

“I warned you about using language like that.” Tucker stepped away from Jessalyn, angered anew by that waving fist. “Now I’ll tell you not to threaten or insult any woman in my presence. Before you head on your way, you’ll apologize to Miss Desta, Mr. Runkle, and Miss Culpepper.”

He opened his mouth as though ready to keep arguing, but Tucker’s gaze kicked some long-forgotten survival instinct back to life, and he shut it with an audible click. He eyed Tucker then looked up as if struck anew by Ralph’s size before glancing at Jessalyn. His gaze snagged on the holster at her hip, which she deliberately reached down and unsnapped.

Gaze skittering away to meet Tucker’s glare once more, he stammered a sullen “Sorry!” before turning tail with the tin of beans still perched atop his head like a hat and running from the campsite. Only after he’d become a stick figure in the distance did Tucker return his attention to the mess he’d left behind.

Dread pooled in his stomach as he surveyed the destruction surrounding them and realized the gravity of the situation. The danger had passed, but the damage done might well be catastrophic.

“Where am I going to find another cook in time for the cattle drive?”

R
ight here!
Jess wondered if a woman could choke from swallowing something as insubstantial—though possibly life-changing—as a single statement. The cry clogged the back of her throat, but she sensed the debacle with the roundup cook pushed Tucker to his edge, and now wasn’t the time to tip him over the precipice.

After the roundup, but before the trail drive, she could tackle his temper. For now she’d sidle her way into the crew with stealth—and supper. The first step to filling the old cook’s boots was to kick up the quality of the camp’s grub.

“The trail drive won’t leave for days,” Jess soothed Tucker. “Tonight Aunt Desta and I can rustle up something to keep the roundup crew from fussing.”

“No.” As she’d expected, Tucker shook his head. “You women should head back to the house. After what happened already, you know it’s not safe.”

“I feel safer here, with you men all ‘round, than I will heading home just me and Jessie.” Aunt Desta spoke to Tucker’s concern, but kept her gaze fixed on Ralph.

“Ralph will take you both back.”

“Only if you give me leave to lay out my bedroll on the porch, Boss.” Ralph looked at Tucker as he spoke, but kept his body turned toward Desta, as though still shielding her. “Can’t be sure how far that Rick went, and he strikes me as stupid enough to circle back.”

“Could be.”

“If Ralph stays with us and you have to allocate someone to play cook, you lose the labor equivalent of three men.” Jess made a sweeping motion to indicate the savaged cook site. “Four, since someone will need to help clean up while someone else is cooking. It’ll draw a lot of comments.”

The sound of someone riding up stopped the conversation cold, giving life to Jess’s worries about unwanted attention. When the rider rounded the chuck wagon, she breathed a sigh of relief to see her brother slide from the saddle.

“What in tarnation happened here?” Ed cast an incredulous look around the area, stepping over a broken crate and edging around the cast-iron cookware littering the ground.

“We lost our cook.” Tucker’s mild summation amid the carnage of the fight, combined with his grim expression, hit her funny bone.

A giggle escaped before she could tamp it down, earning her a set of matching glares from him and her brother.

“That’s not funny, Jess!” Edward cast another glance around the campsite as though trying to determine how much he should blame her. “You can’t run off our cook right before the trail drive!”

“She didn’t.” Desta moved forward, shoulders back. “I’m the one who slapped a tin of hot beans atop his fool head.”

“You did
what?
” Ed goggled at his aunt then repeated himself. “
You
did what?”

“Bigot spat in the dish he offered Ralph.” Even amidst the aftermath of the man’s hateful temper, Desta’s revelation shocked everyone.

“He deserved worse!” Agitated, Jess turned to search the horizon for the weasel, but he’d long since scurried out of sight.

“So Jess and I fired him,” Tucker finished. “And I was just sending Ralph to take the women home and keep watch over them.”

At that last statement, Ed’s confusion cleared. “Right.”

“No, not right! Desta and I should stay and make supper for the roundup so you don’t lose the labor. Besides, some of the men heard me call Desta my aunt when I corrected the cook. No one else said a word about it at the time, but if the men find out about this mess just after they learned about our relationship, we won’t be able to avoid a scandal.”

“That’s right.” Desta looked stricken. “They heard you call me your aunt, and not a one of them said anything bad about it except that cook. Word will spread—folks will know about the connection long before we head to town for church this week.”

“Which is all to the good, as long as we clean everything up here before anyone noses around.” Ed reached out to pat their aunt on the shoulder, and relief at her brother’s thoughtful support swelled in Jess. “The other ranch owners swore they heard shouting, but they aren’t much for moving unless something threatens their wallets. We can still make sure there’s no gossip.”

Jess knew better—no matter what they did about the chuck wagon or the cook, Desta’s revelation would set tongues wagging. But they could at least slam the lid on this little incident.

“We’ll just tell them the truth—I fired him because I didn’t care for his attitude and decided we could manage without him for the last night of the roundup.”

Ralph gave a slow nod. “The men saw ‘nuff to believe that. So long as the grub’s good and there’s plenty of it, they won’t ask many questions.”

“Plenty might be a problem.” Tucker toed the limp edge of a sack of scattered cornmeal.

“Fresh skillet steaks can go a long way to keeping a man’s mouth too busy to ask questions, and no matter what’s salvageable here, we have beef for miles.” Ed was already reaching for his pommel. “Tucker, come with me to cut out a yearling and bring it back. Ralph, see what you can do to help the women clean things up so they can get cooking.”

“Keep an eye out for Rick—just in case,” Tucker murmured as he passed Ralph, but Jess still heard the worry in his voice.

His concern tugged at her heart and almost made her feel guilty about using this entire episode to strengthen her position for the trail-drive argument ahead. Almost—but not enough to make her change her plans.

Earning a place on the long drive was the perfect way to establish her role at the Bar None.
Even Papa would be impressed if he knew I managed that—and no one could say I didn’t contribute every bit as much as the other owners
.

Galvanized, Jess walked right up to the end of the chuck wagon. The back of the wagon boasted a slanting tower of nooks, niches, and drawers all designed to be cleverly concealed behind the hinged door Ralph broke off and used to shield Desta. The mobile kitchen cupboard was designed like a secretary’s desk, with the flat door swinging downward and resting on folding supports to form a worktable. Now broken, the table would need to be refitted and reinforced, but Jess didn’t mind.