The Anonymous Bride (27 page)

“Just wait until you bite into this, Marshal Davis.” Miss Bennett grinned and batted her lashes. She served him a large slice of her pie, which was the one with the bite gone. Luke was glad she cut his slice from the other side of the pie, not that he wouldn’t eat it just because of that, but he’d had his share of eating food that critters had gotten into during his cavalry days. The other brides also served him generous portions of their pies. Miss Blackstone’s and Miss O’Neil’s were the overly cooked ones, but they still looked juicy inside. Maybe all wasn’t lost for them. He stopped in front of the fourth pie, but nobody stepped up to serve it.

“I can help.” Jack, her hands now empty, scurried behind the table and reached for the knife.

Miss Bennett hurried past the front of the table and held out her hand. “You’d better let an adult handle that.”

Jack scowled but dropped the knife and stepped back, arms crossed. Miss Bennett deftly cut a rather thin slice and dropped it onto his plate. She grinned. “Here you go, Marshal Davis.”

Eager to get away from the staring brides, Luke took his plate back into the jail and shut the door. He didn’t want people gawking at him while he ate and decided which pie he liked best. His mouth watered at the scent of cinnamon, apples, and peaches, but his fork went to the custard first. It had always been a favorite of his, and he hadn’t had any since he’d left the cavalry. The sweet, buttery flavor tickled his taste buds, and his eyes dropped shut as he ran the confection over his tongue. This wasn’t custard at all, but something different. Something even better. And it was a chilled pie, something he’d very rarely had. Too bad he hadn’t gotten a larger slice of that one.

Garrett kicked the door open and stormed into the room, carrying his plate. “Whoowee! Can you believe all the people who came to town today? Must be a couple of hundred.”

Mark followed, already chewing. His blue eyes widened, and he spit out the bite of pie. His wild gaze searched the room, then he grabbed Luke’s coffee cup off the desk and downed the last of the cold coffee. Garrett lifted up an edge of the apple pie as if wary of it.

Mark spun around, one hand lifted up, palm outward. “Don’t try that. Something’s wrong with it.”

Garrett sniffed it. “Smells fine.”

“By all means, if you don’t believe me, go ahead and take a bite.”

Garrett eyed it again. “Guess I’ll try the peach one.” He cut a slice with his fork and shoved it in. His eyes closed for a second but then went wide just as Mark’s had. He wagged his hand in front on his mouth. “Water!”

Mark shook his head and grabbed Luke’s coffeepot. Garrett downed the mug in one long gulp then glared at this brother. “I thought you said it was the apple pie that tasted bad.”

“I did.”

“Well, so does the peach. Miss O’Neil must have grabbed the salt instead of the sugar.”

Luke stared at his plate, wondering if the nut pie would also be bad. He glanced up at his cousins. Mark dropped down onto a chair, arms crossed, and grinned at him. Garrett set his plate on the desk and watched. Luke now dreaded having to taste the last pie, but he figured it was only fair to try each one. He put a tidbit of the nut pie on his fork and licked it. Burnt sugar assaulted his senses.

“I can tell that one’s just as bad.” Garrett said. “What do you think happened?”

Luke swallowed hard and set the plate down. “I don’t know. This one’s not salty, but the inside tastes burnt. As for those other two, I can understand
one
person accidentally grabbing the salt instead of sugar since they look just the same, but for two of them to do that?”

Mark’s head jerked up. “Two?”

“Yeah, that custard—or whatever it is—tastes great.” As if needing to confirm it, he retrieved his plate and finished off the last of his slice while his cousins dug into theirs.

Mark’s eyes rolled upward. “That was delicious.”

“Yeah, it’s great,” Garrett said around a mouthful. “But who made it?”

Luke shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“Seems strange for a woman to enter a pie-baking, husband-getting contest but not give her name.”

Garrett shrugged. “Maybe she’s as ugly as the backside of a mule.”

Luke didn’t care for his cousin’s crude comment. “So, what do I do about it?”

Mark licked the section of his plate where the custard had been. “If everything she cooks tastes like this, I’ll marry her myself.”

The men chuckled, and Luke shook his head. The outer door opened, and the mayor stomped inside and glared at Luke.

“What a disaster. The whole town is upset. Half the people are fussing for a refund because the pies were so bad. Only one of them was edible.”

Luke walked to the door and looked out. “Guess I should go see if I can soothe everybody.”

“This is a nightmare. That’s what.” The mayor huffed and puffed like a wild turkey trying to impress its mate.

“It’s a setback, not a disaster, Mayor.” Mark always was the diplomat of the group. “It will just serve to increase interest for next week’s contest.”

The mayor tugged his vest down and pushed his glasses up on his nose. “How so?”

Garrett flashed the grin that Luke knew would make the mayor see his side of things. “Everyone will wonder if those brides can sew better than they can cook. If Luke postpones making a decision, I reckon most folks will come back next week to see if he chooses one then. Also, everyone will be talking and trying to figure out who the mystery bride is.”

“Maybe you could somehow play it up to benefit the town,” Mark said. “Have a potluck and dance afterward.”

Mayor Burke rubbed his chin with his index finger and thumb. “Yes, I do see your point. Perhaps this wasn’t quite the disaster I thought. Although most of the men who were asking about the leftover brides took to the hills when they learned the women couldn’t cook.” He chuckled, and his whole belly bounced.

Luke stepped away from the door now that he was sure things were all right outside. “It’s odd that three of the four pies would be so bad.”

“You think someone sabotaged the contest?” Garrett asked.

Luke shrugged. “I don’t know, but it is a possibility.”

“But who, and why?” Mark asked.

Since the pies were cooked at Rachel’s, Luke could well imagine Jack playing a prank and swapping the salt and sugar containers, but for what purpose?

Could it be the girl was jealous and thought she’d lose his friendship if he married? Maybe he needed to reassure her that such a thing wouldn’t happen.

***

Rachel stirred the pot of potato soup then set the spoon on her worktable. The sandwiches and pumpkin pudding were ready for lunch as soon as the brides and other guests returned from the pie contest. She’d stood in her doorway, watching the crowd, but couldn’t bring herself to walk down there. If Luke selected a bride today, she didn’t want to be there.

It was foolish of her to have entered, and if not for Jacqueline’s help, she would have been discovered. Her gaze darted toward the pie table. Had Luke liked hers the best?

A figure parted from the crowd and strode in her direction. Rand. Rachel clutched the door frame, not wanting to face him today with her emotions all in a tizzy.

“Afternoon, Rachel.” Rand removed his hat and held it in front of him.

She forced a smile, almost wishing she did have feelings for the kind rancher. “Rand.”

He glanced back over his shoulder. “That’s some to-do they’re havin’.”

“Did you sample the pies?”

He shook his head. “Nah. I thought about it, but I don’t like being caught up in a crowd. Been out on the open prairie too long, I reckon. Anyway, I heard none of them were any good except that mystery pie.”

Rachel’s heart somersaulted. “What was wrong with the others?”

“Two of them were too salty, someone said. Not sure about the third one.”

Her grip on the door frame tightened. “So, the marshal didn’t pick a bride?”

“Nope. There’s to be a shirt-sewing contest now.”

Relief that Luke hadn’t chosen a wife yet made her knees weak.

“You wouldn’t want to accompany me to the judgin’ next Saturday, would ya?”

Rachel closed her eyes. She didn’t want to hurt Rand, but he needed to know she had no interest in him.

“Never mind. I can tell by your expression that’s a no.” He hung his head and curled the edge of his hat.

“I’m sorry, Rand. I like you a lot. You’re a good friend, but friendship is all I have to offer you.”

His mouth pushed up in a resigned pucker. “I reckon I’ve known that for a while, but I just didn’t want to accept it.”

Rachel laid her hand on his arm. “You’re a good man, Rand. You deserve a woman who will love you with all of her heart.”

“Thank you for your honesty.” He nodded and shoved his hat on. “I won’t pester you anymore.”

She watched him stride back toward the dispersing crowd, her heart aching. But she’d done the right thing. She wouldn’t marry another man she didn’t love.

She returned to the kitchen, and her hands shook as she carried the plate of sandwiches to the buffet in the dining room where she set them beside the individual bowls of pudding. She just needed to ladle up the soup, and all would be ready.

“Who would do such a thing?”

“I’ve never been so humiliated in all my life.”

Rachel hurried into the entryway at the distressed sound of the brides’ voices.

Miss O’Neil held her handkerchief in front of her red face. “Oh Mrs. Hamilton, everything was such a—” The girl lapsed into a phrase in Gaelic.

“My thoughts exactly.” Miss Blackstone’s face scrunched up, and she kicked at the bottom step of the inside stairway. “The whole thing was a disaster.”

Miss Bennett anchored her hands to her hips. “I want to know who would trick us like that.”

“Please, won’t you sit down to lunch and let us sort this out?” Rachel held out her hands, hoping to calm everyone.

“I ... I don’t believe I can eat.” Miss O’Neil dropped into a chair and rested her chin in her hand, elbow on the table. The poor girl looked so forlorn.

Miss Blackstone rolled her eyes, while Miss Bennett claimed her seat at the dining table.

Rachel laid her hand on the Irish girl’s shoulder. “Some warm soup will make you feel better.”

While the women waited, Rachel quickly ladled the soup into the tureen and placed it with the other food on the buffet. By now, the other guests had entered and also seated themselves. She stood at the head of the table, curiosity nibbling at her. She knew about the mice getting into the pie safe and damaging a couple of the pies, but how had two of them turned out too salty? “Shall we pray?”

Miss Blackstone made a snorty sound that resembled a laugh, but everyone else ducked their heads. “Heavenly Father, we thank You for Your bountiful blessings and pray that You will work out things for each of the young women seated here today. Bless my other guests, too, and keep them safe in their travels.”

Conversation was kept to a minimum while her guests served themselves. Rachel walked to the front door, wondering where Jacqueline was. She rarely missed mealtimes. Just then, she saw her daughter exit the marshal’s office, hike up her skirt, and make a beeline for home. Rachel pursed her lips. Would that child never learn proper manners?

Jacqueline skidded to a halt on the porch when she saw her mother watching her. “You missed all the excitement, Ma! I just gotta go wash up. Sorry I’m late for lunch, but I was talking with Luke.”

Rachel stepped outside. “Jacqueline, ladies do not run—and don’t refer to the marshal by his given name.”

“Sure, Ma.” Jacqueline waved her hand as she hurried around the side of the house toward the back where the water pump was.

Shaking her head, Rachel walked back inside, suddenly remembering the day the brides had arrived. She’d done the very thing she’d chastised her daughter for doing when she’d remembered the pies she’d left in the oven. She sighed and went to the buffet and dished up Jacqueline’s soup.

When they were all seated again, Rachel looked around the table. “So, what happened? Mr. Kessler mentioned something about the pies being too salty.”

The three brides looked suspiciously at one another. Miss Bennett hiked up her chin. “It seems someone must have switched your sugar for salt. My pie and Miss O’Neil’s were both overly salty and inedible. We made our pies at the same time, remember?”

“Maybe you just grabbed the wrong container,” Jacqueline said, helping herself to a bowl of pudding off the buffet.

Miss Bennett frowned at her. “I’ve been cooking all my life and have never made that mistake.”

“That nut pie tasted as if the inside mixings had been burnt,” Mr. Sanderson offered.

“I guess I cooked it too long.” Miss Blackstone stirred her food on her plate. “I didn’t normally cook on a stove, so I didn’t make many pies.”

Rachel wondered about her comment. Where had she lived that she had to cook without a stove?

“The fourth one was the best,” Jacqueline interjected as she took her seat. “It was better than perfect.”

If the other three pies had turned out bad, that meant Luke probably liked hers the best. Rachel ducked her head to hide a smile.