Libbie_Bride of Arizona Page 9

  “Feathers? What value can they have?” He stood and paced away several steps. “Libbie, I have work I need to take care of.”

  His stiff walk and terse voice indicated his disbelief. She bit back her disappointment at his lack of support. “You won’t have to do anything related to my ostriches. That’s why Jomo was sent along. He’s been handling them for many years and has been teaching me.”

  She thought back to the previous night and how cold the air had become. With winter coming, the temperatures would drop even farther. Over time, her birds could adapt to the climate but not to the threat of new predators. After overhearing men on the train discussing how coyotes and wolves posed a threat to their herds, she knew extra precautions had to be taken. “My priority is to create a warm place for them to sleep. And the crates didn’t supply enough boards for a solid-walled structure. Do you have a supply here on the ranch we can use?”

  Dell pulled a hand over his face. “Might be scraps in the cast-off pile behind the barn. Besides that, the ranch’s budget has no room for extras.” He shrugged then jammed both hands on his hips. “But you must have known that fact.”

  Dealing with a budget was a limitation that had never been imposed and definitely one she hadn’t anticipated with a man who owned hundreds of acres. “Maybe I did.” A vague memory of the word “frippery” from his ad surfaced. Under the pall of the recent tragedies, she had read his parameters but hadn’t absorbed the finer details. No matter, she would find a way because her birds meant everything to her.

  ****

  After a last look at the restructured corral, Dell had to walk away before he said something he would end up regretting. Only a day married, and already he was curbing his tongue to avoid causing offense─a trait he never imagined himself using. He stomped up the porch steps and walked into the kitchen to find a cup of coffee. After grabbing a mug from the shelf over the counter, he crossed the floor and stopped in front of the stove. No rich scent filled the air, but he figured the brew might have been made a while ago. Libbie had looked fresh-eyed, like she’d been awake for hours—a fact that tested his control. He wanted to scoop her close and plant kisses on that sweet mouth. A finger touched to the spackled enamel pot indicated it was stone cold.

  He bit back a curse, grabbed his hat from the table, and smashed it on his head. At the last minute, he stuffed an apple into his shirt pocket and carved a big bite out of another. A lousy meal, in his estimation, but at least it would stop his stomach from caving in on itself. Undoubtedly, coffee was still available in the bunkhouse. Although, the cow hands should have been out doing their chores several hours earlier.

  Heading across the yard, he braced himself for the ribbing he knew he’d get from the hands. Early afternoon sun warmed his back, indicating the cold temperatures weren’t here to stay…yet. He moved abreast of the big square building, noting bare spots on several boards where the paint had chipped off. Is there still time to slap on a new coat before winter? As he thought about which of the men hated painting the least, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

  The new cook, Pete, stood at the counter, chopping onions. The balding man glanced over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “Afternoon, boss.”

  “Got any coffee left?”

  “Always.” The middle-aged cook jerked his chin toward the metal cups in the drying rack. “Heard a rumor that you brought home a bride yesterday.”

  Sergio, the gossip. Dell took a few sips of the strong brew before he dipped his head. “I did, and I’ll be sure to walk her down to meet all of you tonight after supper.”

  “Brought a man along with her who slept back there last night.” The cook pointed the tip of his knife toward the cot in the farthest corner.

  Dell glanced where he indicated and then took a second look at the cot that had been angled so the head end fit into the room’s corner. A worn leather pouch hung above the pillow from a rawhide thong nailed and strung between the walls. What is that? “If I’d have known, I would have informed you. In truth, I learned of his presence only minutes ago.”

  The man crimped his lips and shook his head. “Seems this new bride has wrought many changes.”

  That was an understatement. Rather than admit aloud his waking thought that he’d made a big mistake, Dell swallowed the last of his coffee and set down the cup. “I’m told marriage involves compromise, or at least, that’s my mother’s admonition.” He headed toward the door and hesitated with a hand on the knob. “Any idea where the hands went today?”

  “Ho, ho.” Pete chuckled and angled the knife like a wagging finger. “Wait until William hears his son doesn’t know if he’s coming or going.”

  “Never mind. I’ll find them myself.” Shoulders hunched and ears burning, Dell stomped toward the barn. The frustration was in knowing that teasing was only the beginning.

  Chapter Seven

  From outside came men’s voices and the lowing of several cattle. Libbie glanced at the window and saw blue sky and bright sunlight. An excellent day to take Koning for a ride. Thankfully, the weather had stayed warm for the past couple of days, so the need for more lumber wasn’t as pressing.

  The food provided by Hazel had finally run out the previous night. Libbie had chopped up the last slice of beef and mixed it with the potatoes and gravy—an idea that had sounded better in her mind than what appeared on the plate. At the last minute, she’d remembered the vegetable garden and picked two big handfuls of scrawny green beans. Lucky for her, she often at them raw from the kitchen at the compound. The food provided a small meal, and she’d been sure to take only a small portion for herself. She’d pretended not to notice when Dell glanced over his shoulder into the kitchen, probably to see if more food awaited.

  Libbie was torn about wanting to be out on a ride but knowing she really should be studying the cookbook. Standing in front of the clothes on pegs, she debated over the selection of a dress or her riding outfit. Indoors or outdoors? Struggling to master a new recipe or exercising in the open air? The battle was short. She reached for her split skirt, noticing smudges of mud along the hem. A third choice presented itself—laundry. At that thought, a shudder ran through her, and she snatched up her riding outfit, dressing quickly.

  Libbie scampered down the stairs, not bothering to walk quietly because she knew Dell would already be outside. She hurried toward the kitchen.

  “Excuse me, Libbie.”

  “Eek!” Dell’s voice from the parlor startled her. She walked more sedately to the open doorway and peeked inside. “Yes?”

  He sat in one of the armchairs with a high back, one boot resting on the opposite knee. “Please join me.” With a smooth wave, he indicated the sofa and the other burgundy-upholstered armchair.

  “Good morning.” She walked across the room and sat at the edge of the armchair cushion, aware he watched her every move.

  “Morning.” He cleared his throat, and he leaned forward so he could rest an elbow on his knee and be at eye level. “I wanted to talk with you about expectations. You’ve had three days now to settle into a routine.”

  Expectations? Routines? Why was this talk sounding more like a lecture? If he only knew how long she’d been without a routine of her own making. “That’s true. I have been at the Bar S for that time.”

  “Do you have what you need in Maida’s room?”

  “Yes, it’s lovely. I’m quite comfortable.” Her stomach gurgled, and she pressed a hand to silence it. Then her eyes rounded, but she kept her gaze straight ahead. What had Dell eaten for his breakfast?

  “I wasn’t sure if maybe you needed an alarm clock.”

  Awareness that, except for the first morning, he’d been up and working at chores by the time she came downstairs settled over her. Remembering the kitchens of the various places she’d worked, she realized that food preparation started early. “Because a ranch wife is supposed to have food prepared before her husband leaves the house? So I need to wake up before you do. And that’s why I need th
e alarm clock.”

  A smile creased his mouth, and he leaned back. “All true. Also, I’d like to see and talk with you before I’m away from the house for several hours.”

  The moment she’d always known had to happen was here. “I’m not much of a cook.”

  “No?” He cocked an eyebrow and narrowed his gaze in her direction. “That’s different than your response to my ad indicated.”

  She heard the censuring note in his voice and clasped her hands together to keep from flinching. “You have to take into account that the dishes I can cook are with different foods.” Weak excuse, but still a valid reason. “I’m quite adept at roasting grasshoppers over a campfire.”

  He snorted before pulling his mouth into a straight line.

  Oh, he’s making his disapproving face again. “My Eastern cousins were adamant that eating insects is frowned upon. I actually thought that sentiment was just theirs, but seeing your reaction, I think you agree.” This discussion was so much harder than she imagined. Think of foods he will recognize. “More traditional dishes I can make are ingelegde or sikbadj, which are African stews. One has fish, and the other uses goat and is more of a curry.”

  Dell shook his head. “What’s that?”

  “You don’t know about curry?” She couldn’t repress her sigh over the wonderful flavors he’d not yet tasted. “It’s a tasty sauce made with lots of different spices.”

  His brows wrinkled. “Other than salt, pepper, and Tabasco?”

  Libbie bit back a grin. “Like cumin, coriander, allspice, mace, cinnamon, chiles, cilantro, and turmeric.”

  “From that list, I’ve only heard of cinnamon.”

  Is that an agreement? “Now you see my problem. On my brief tour of Prescott, I didn’t see any little shops where I might find those essential ingredients.” In fact, the majority of the people she’d seen in town had been white-skinned. “Maybe I need to search harder. Does the city have a Chinatown, or an area where Arabs would live?”

  “You won’t go searching by yourself, Libbie. That wouldn’t be proper behavior.”

  Blood pounded in her ears as the words “proper behavior” rattled through her thoughts. Almost since the day she’d arrived at the Boston docks, she’d heard from her father’s relatives what was proper. Mostly, she’d been told that everything about her clothes, her accent, and her behavior—the things that made her Libbie—were not up to their standards. Dell’s words hurt, stiffening her spine. After ten seconds of holding her breath, she felt calm enough to make eye contact. “Did you have a purpose for this talk? A result you wanted to achieve?”

  He rested both elbows on the chair arms then steepled his fingers. “I’d hoped to learn if my kitchen lacked items that kept you from preparing our meals.”

  “What did you do before I arrived? Eat with your parents or in the bunkhouse?” The night Dell introduced her to the rest of the ranch’s employees, she’d smelled lingering food scents. The solution seemed obvious and would free her time to develop her business. “Why not have Pete cook enough extra for us and have it brought to the house? Or, I’ll even agree to collect the food and return the dishes cleaned.” Washing dishes was a chore she could handle.

  “But you’re my wife. Cooking and cleaning are your responsibilities.”

  “Even if my skills are lacking?”

  “Well, you weren’t prepared well by your mother for the role you’d have…” He quieted and just shook his head.

  At the word “mother” Libbie jumped to her feet and jammed both hands on her hips. “Actually, in Boston, I was being prepared for the role I’d expected to have—ˮ Her throat tightened, and she had to look away to regain her composure. “I know how to oversee a kitchen and a household staff, but I just don’t know how to do any of the tasks myself. My family has always had servants who performed the work.” She jutted out her chin and stared into his shocked cinnamon eyes. “I apologize for misstating my abilities. I don’t see what’s so important about who cooks the food as long as food is available when you’re hungry.”

  This probably should have been the opportunity to reveal her orphan status, but she was too riled up about the assumption that her mother hadn’t raised Libbie well. “If you insist on making me cook, then write a list of foods you like. I will do my best to attempt to create them, without any guarantees that you won’t suffer through a few disastrous meals. Or, you can let me spend my time in a better way by developing what I am sure will be a profitable business with my birds.”

  With slow, deliberate gestures, Dell leaned forward then pushed himself to a stand. “You’ve heard my opinion of your business.”

  Hating to be at such a height disadvantage, Libbie gritted her teeth, but she didn’t lower her gaze. While growing up, her brothers had used the same tactic as a way to intimidate her.

  “Our household is expected to contribute a dish to the Harvest Dance gathering in town this evening.” He took three steps to the door before looking back. “I’m not sure everyone tolerates raw beans the way I do.”

  Libbie drew her hands into fists at her sides. How dare he malign her mother! Mama had done what she’d known to do for the family lifestyle. Libbie waited until she heard the back door slam before slumping into the chair again. Covering her face with her hands, she quit fighting the burning in her throat and sobbed again for all that she’d lost. The lifestyle the Van Eyckens enjoyed should have continued unchanged. No one could have predicted the accident that altered the direction of her family life.

  With a final sniff, she straightened and stood, using the back of her hands to wipe away her tears. No more feeling maudlin. She had to figure out what she could possibly cook for the dance. And the way Libbie thought best was when she was around her ostriches.

  Another apple from the bowl on the counter would serve as her breakfast again, and she was out the door heading down the porch steps. At the bottom, she hesitated and turned to gaze at the bunkhouse. An idea formed, making a smile play at her lips.

  Or maybe she’d talk with Pete.

  ****

  “Libbie. We need to get going.” Dell called up to the second floor before swiping a hand down the front of his clean, but wrinkled, shirt. He’d always considered this his “sparking” shirt because of the jade color with a sheen that caught the light and the mother-of-pearl buttons. Now the name would change to his “evening out” shirt.

  An upstairs door closed, and footsteps clumped on the stairs.

  Satisfied she was ready enough to leave her room, he walked into the kitchen to look for what she’d prepared. After their discussion this morning, he hoped she’d gotten the message about her duties. He’d allowed fifteen minutes on top of the travel time, in case her creation needed to be heated in his mother’s oven. Even though he’d included only apple pie on his list, he would be happy with just about any dessert. Problem was, he didn’t see a single sign that the stove had been used. Had she gone against his wishes?

  “I’m here, Dell.”

  Hearing her soft voice, he turned and spotted his blonde beauty at the edge of the kitchen. She stood with her hands behind her back, looking at him from beneath lowered lashes. The lemon yellow blouse she wore gave a glow to her face. A dark skirt hugged her tiny waist then flared from her hips, and on her dainty feet were lace-up boots. “Do you have a coat for the return ride?”

  “A cape.” She brought a hand out from behind her back. “What I’ll be needing soon is a hat. The ones I brought were for working around the compound, and they aren’t appropriate for parties.”

  Compound? Wonder what she means by that? “The buggy is waiting out front, and if you tell me where the food you prepared is, then I can load it.”

  She walked across the floor and laid a hand on the breadbox. “I used this to store the meat pies.”

  “Meat pies?” Had he heard right? He jerked back his head. “Never heard of such a thing.”

  Libbie stood still with her eyes closed and her lips barely moving.


  “What’s wrong?”

  Slowly, her eyes opened. She bit her lip and shook her head.

  Big blue pools of reproach looked his way, and Dell knew he’d made a mistake. But he didn’t know what it was. “Libbie, tell me what’s the matter. We have to talk out our issues.” Needing to be closer, he moved beside her and leaned his hips against the counter.

  Looking down, she folded and refolded the length of cloth in her hands. A colorful striped bag hung from a strap on her wrist. “Dell, saying that you’ve never heard of a food to a person who is already unsure about her cooking abilities isn’t helpful. Actually, it’s almost hurtful.”

  Her words stabbed him in the chest, and he dropped his chin. She was right. He made a vow right there to be more accepting of their differences. Darn, he owed her another apology. “I’m sorry. That was a rude statement.” Shifting so he faced her, he reached out a finger to hook her chin and ease it toward him. “You keep presenting me with surprises, but I’ll figure out the right response, I will. Please be patient.”

  Her gaze roved over his face, lingered on his mouth before lifting to meet his, and then she nodded. “You must use patience with me as I learn, too.”

  Because her expression was almost as serious as when they’d recited their wedding vows, he couldn’t resist leaning forward and brushing her lips with a light kiss. When he felt her sigh, he drew her closer and smoothed a hand over her cheek to hold her head in place. His thumb caressed the soft skin of her cheek, and he smoothed his fingers through the wispy hair at her temple. Tingles ran over his mouth, and he inhaled through his nose.

  Her response was untrained and a bit clumsy, which only made his pulse race faster. Every man viewed his role as the instructor in the art of lovemaking. On this type of communication, he knew his message would be clear. With regret, he eased away and let out a breath, slowly opening his eyes. He’d hoped to address the subject of intimacy in this morning’s talk. Unfortunately, his command of the discussion had shattered─much like his control could now, if he didn’t move away from her sweet lips.