Plots and Pans (30 page)

“No. Absolutely not. I can’t step in as cook!” Ed shook his head so hard and so fast Tucker marveled that it stayed attached to his shoulders. “One of us has to stay on and keep the Bar None running smoothly. If we both head out, rustlers will rob us blind in a matter of weeks.”

Tucker opened his mouth to respond, but his partner rushed to add more reasons.

“Even if that weren’t true, one of us needs to stay behind to keep an eye on Jess and a shotgun trained on the herd of men who’re already planning to come calling.” A steely glint in Ed’s eyes told Tucker he wasn’t joking.

Good. Thank You, Lord, for alleviating one of my worries. Between Ed’s protection and Jess’s own mule-headed disregard for etiquette, they’ll scare off the unworthy
.

Somehow that didn’t make him feel any less cranky. Because without the unworthy suitors to slow everyone’s progress, the viable candidates for Jess’s hand would have a clear path.
And I’ll be heading the opposite direction
.

It made a man reconsider his priorities, but Tucker didn’t see any way he could stick around to watch over Jess. He took what comfort he could from Ed’s assertion. “Can’t argue about the shotgun—but if Jess didn’t need you here, I would’ve sacrificed some cattle to the rustlers if it meant making our shipment this year.”

“I know—but you’d regret it. After one day of my slop, you’d be laying into barrels of jerked beef and cracknels.”

“We might have to do that anyway.” Tucker scraped his boots before entering the main house behind Ed. “This late in the season, there isn’t a decent cook for five hundred miles or more who hasn’t already signed on with an outfit.”

“Don’t be so sure.” Jess leaned against the study doorway, blocking her brother’s passage into the room and penning the men in the hall. Everything about her, from the split skirts she’d donned once again, to the spark in her eye and her position as makeshift blockade, belied her honey-sweet tones.

Tucker sensed a snare, knew he’d set it off, but didn’t know how to avoid putting a foot wrong when it came to talking with Jess. He’d find out how much trouble he triggered after he stepped in it.

“Oh? Do you have someone in mind?” Ed’s delight told Tucker his friend thought Jess had found a suitable replacement cook. It also told Tucker that his friend really needed to spend some time getting reacquainted with his sister.

“You could say that.” She levered herself upright and left her post in the doorway. But Jess didn’t adjourn into the hall, leaving the men to conduct their business. Instead, the contrary chit led them inside the office, slid a second chair behind the desk, and gestured for them to sit! “I’ll explain as soon as Desta and Ralph join us.”

“Desta and Ralph?” Surprised—and insufficiently suspicious, to Tucker’s way of thinking—Ed followed his sister and plopped into his seat without protest. “Join us for what?”

“A discussion about our little chuck-wagon dilemma.”

Ed missed the forest for the trees, narrowing in on a simpler concern. “Why Ralph? He’s not part owner of the Bar None. Does he cook?”

“’bout three things.” Ralph’s bass voice preceded him into the room. He waited until Desta took a seat then folded his huge frame into the chair beside her as he added to his answer. “Just ‘nuff to make a crew complain and quit within a week.”

“Ralph’s here on account of his role on the ranch,” Desta announced before Ed could recover from his disappointment. “And because Jess and I appreciate the trust Tucker put in him to watch over us, and we both agreed we wanted him to help make this decision.”

“It’s important to let people know they’re wanted.” Jess murmured so softly, Tucker would’ve missed it if he’d already taken his seat.

No one else acknowledged it, but Tucker filed the comment in his memory. Jess seemed so wistful, he couldn’t shake the feeling it mattered more than she would admit. That flash of vulnerability got him into his chair.

“Oh, I understand. You all want to be sure whoever we hire shows Aunt Desta and Runkle the respect they deserve, so you want to approve whoever we hire.” Ed looked chagrined at the circumstance, but pleased with his reasoning.

Tucker tried not to resent his partner’s cheerful ignorance. Whatever the women wanted, it went beyond approving the camp cook. “Every day we delay will cost us time and trouble on the trail. We roll out as soon as we find someone—anyone—willing to take the job.”

At this point, they couldn’t afford to be choosy. Not that it would be hard for the new cook to show up the old.

“Anyone?”
The way Jess stressed the word gave him gooseflesh, but Tucker didn’t have the time or patience to pussyfoot around the topic.

“Anyone.”

S
o long as the fellow has no problem with Ralph and produces grub that won’t grumble our guts,” Tucker elaborated, “I’ll send prayers of thanks winging northward and have the cattle chase after them as far as Wyoming.”

“In that case, you won’t need to delay at all.” Jess rose to her feet in a fluid, graceful motion. “You’ve already got two cooks who wholeheartedly approve of Ralph and made meals for your men that had them licking the tins. Aunt Desta and I will join you on the trail.”

“No.” Tucker gave his answer even before Jess finished speaking. “Women, facing all the danger and deprivations and drudgery of the trail? Not on my crew. I won’t put the two of you through the hardship and humiliation of trying to keep up with the workload, and I won’t set myself or my crew the impossible task of trying to protect two women on a journey that kills several experienced men every year.”

Ed’s interest turned to horror as he watched his sister round the desk, coming to a stop with her hand on her aunt’s shoulder. He goggled at the Culpepper women. “You can’t be serious.”

“Sure we can. We’re part owners of the Bar None alongside you and Tucker, and you both get yore hands dirty running things. Why shouldn’t me and Jess pitch in to see our men well fed?” Desta slid a sideways glance toward Ralph. “We got a powerful investment in the outcome.”

“We got a powerful investment in keeping you safe,” Ralph rumbled in return. “Why else do you think Tucker set me to watch? No mistaking that you two are the most precious things on the Bar None.” One of Ralph’s huge hands twitched to the right, as though wanting to reach for Desta.

“How will you keep us safe from hundreds of miles away?” Jess’s demand had Tucker’s stomach turning somersaults.

Lord, what do I say when I’ve been worried about the same thing? On the trail, she’d be safe from slobbering suitors. And with Desta and Ralph to help keep an eye on her, she couldn’t go climbing windmills or riding off alone without warning
. In spite of himself, Tucker found the thought tempting. But not for long—he knew better.

“The long drive endangers your very life, but the days bring drudgery.” He fought to find the words to describe the trail. “You travel hundreds of grueling miles, ford swollen rivers, endure dozens upon dozens of nights with little or no sleep. You serve a morning meal before four a.m., leave not long after sunrise to drive to the next campsite, set it up, and get dinner then supper underway while the rest of the outfit works their way forward to join you. We drive slowly through the grasslands so the cattle fatten up along the way and are worth more at the end of the trail. Men work in shifts, changing mounts every four hours or so, coming in at all hours for food and coffee. There’s never more than an hour or two without someone riding in hard-up, had-out, and hellfire hungry.”

“When you put it like that, how can we not go?” Indignant over his attempt to dissuade her, Jess looked even more determined. She made Tucker want to wrap her up, nestle her against his chest, and keep her tied down and out of trouble. “How can you refuse your men all those things you listed, in the face of their sacrifice?”

“They sign on for the sacrifice. You won’t realize how much you’re giving up until it’s too late! No clean clothes or baths as you face the constant threat of exposure, extreme exhaustion, and an unrelenting workload. Men find it miserable. It’s no place for women—there’s a reason why female cooks are unheard of.”

“Not unheard of!” Jess proclaimed. “Elizabeth Cluck accompanied her husband on the long cattle drive eight years ago—with their small children in tow and another babe on the way. If an expectant mother can handle the rigors of the journey without the benefit of another woman’s company, surely Aunt Desta and I can see each other through!”

“We’ll be there for each other, there to see the crew fed, and there to make right what I done put wrong.” Desta wondered if she ought to roll up her sleeves for the rest of the conversation.

Her niece had all the finesse of a marauding Viking swinging an ax. If the blade of logic couldn’t slice through Tucker’s opposition, Jess seemed willing to bludgeon him into taking her along.

“You didn’t put anything wrong.” A hard edge underlined Ralph’s denial, catching everyone’s attention. “And I want better for you than trail life. You women deserve to be looked after and taken care of.”

“You men deserve to be taken care of, too, and more than anything that means good food and plenty of it. But I cost you yore cook.” Desta didn’t know now whether she wanted Ralph to say he wanted her alongside him for the long drive. That line about wanting better for her … and how he thought she deserved to be looked after … well, she could think of worse things than letting Ralph take care of her.

In fact, Tucker’s description of the cattle trail might top that list of worse things.

“She’s right—and by the law of the trail, whoever makes Cookie leave the outfit takes his place until another can be found. I fired him after Aunt Desta dumped the beans on his head, so together we ran him off, and together we’ll take his place.”

“We owe it to the men.” Desta could’ve warned Ralph about the defiled food and let him handle it—she’d just gotten so mad she didn’t think straight. Now she worried she still wasn’t thinking straight, siding with Jess about taking on the chuck wagon.

When she knew full well she couldn’t cook. Not real meals like the men needed to fill their bellies and fuel their hard work. But what could she do but sacrifice her own comfort and do her best to lessen the damage her temper caused? Besides, she figured that if she did the baking, Jessalyn could help her with the heartier dishes.

“I would’ve fired him if you hadn’t chimed in,” Tucker growled.

“But you couldn’t take his place anyway,” Jess pointed out in an angelic, aren’t-I-so-very-reasonable tone of voice.

“I don’t see a way around this,” Ed confessed. Early on, he’d stood firm with Tucker’s position, point-blank refusing to even consider allowing the women to serve as cooks on the cattle drive. But her nephew boasted either more common sense or less conviction than his foreman. “I can’t cook.”

“Neither can Miss Desta!” Tucker burst out, shocking everyone into silence.

An absurd urge to giggle fluttered in her throat, but she swallowed it back. In all her years cooking for Simon and Ed, no one had come out and spoken the obvious truth. For it to happen now, when it mattered even less, struck her as ridiculously funny.

Jessalyn tilted her head in a motion Desta now knew indicated deep consideration. Was her niece thinking over the simple fare Desta served since she’d arrived, citing the heat and lack of men to cook for as a reason to avoid making anything difficult? Did she realize that the few times they’d worked on something hearty—mainly for Ralph’s sake—she’d pitched in with the preparation work but left the actual cooking and seasoning to Jess? Her niece’s eyes narrowed, but the brown depths gleamed in the firelight. Yep. Jess knew.

Ed made spluttering noises that could have been taken as protests, but Desta knew full well stemmed from an inability to argue. Her nephew and his father had filched far too many leftover dishes from the springhouse and relegated them to the compost heap or hogs over the years for him to defend her cooking now.

Only Ralph looked genuinely flummoxed, Lord love him.

“What do you mean, Miss Desta can’t cook?” Confusion lightened the deep rumble she so loved listening to. “Have you eaten her shepherd’s pie? I got so carried away she had to fetch another from the springhouse, and it’s her cooking that’s to blame.”