A Bride in the Bargain Part 6

Again, Joe scrambled for something to say but could think of nothing.

"So." Miss Ivey cleared her throat. "Perhaps we should discuss exactly what my duties will entail?"

The conversation around them came to a screeching halt. The boys didn't even try to pretend they weren't listening.

Was she asking what Joe thought she was asking? Heat crept up his neck. He wasn't about to discuss such a thing in front of the entire town-wasn't even sure he could discuss it in private-but he had to say something.

Purposely misinterpreting her question, he offered what he hoped was a reasonable response. "The boys who work for me only go to town on Sat.u.r.day nights, then return to my place after dark on Sundays. So during the rest of the week I was hoping you'd be willing to cook them two meals a day along with packed lunches."

"How many men are on your crew?"

"Fourteen."

She smiled. "I should be glad to do that for you."

He nodded, pleased. "You know how to cook, then?"

"Quite well."

"Mercer had said you did, but, well . . ."

She gave a soft chuckle. "I understand your reluctance to take his words at face value, but in this instance, he was being forthright."

She took another sip of coffee, her extended pinky again capturing his attention, along with everyone else's.

"Do you have a cookhouse or a cook tent?" she asked.

"Neither. You'll be using the kitchen in my home."

She hesitated. "I see."

He realized he should have said our home, but before he could correct his mistake, Nausley appeared with plates of cold ham, poached eggs, new potatoes, hot cakes, fish chowder, hominy, bacon, fried biscuits, b.u.t.ter, and orange marmalade.

Joe spent the next few minutes a.s.suaging his initial hunger pains. Halfway into his meal, he noticed Miss Ivey had stopped eating completely.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"No, no. I'm just not used to so much."

He cut a piece of ham, jabbed it with his knife, and stuck it in his mouth. She might claim she could cook, but if she wasn't used to eating decent meals, maybe that meant she wasn't used to preparing them, either.

"Mercer said you did the cooking for an establishment in your hometown?"

She sat up a little straighter. "Yes, that's correct."

"Weren't those meals similar to this one?"

She gave the fare on their table another look. "The portions weren't this large, but we served about fifty people at a time. So the quant.i.ty of food we cooked was rather significant."

"We?"

"Yes. One other girl worked with me."

He nodded.

"I was wondering . . ." She looked down, smoothing the napkin in her lap.

He took the opportunity to examine the piece of jewelry resting above her right breast. A watch. It was a spherical little thing hanging upside down from a delicate bow of gold. From her vantage point of looking down, though, he realized the face would be right-side up. The quality of the ornament contrasted sharply with her threadbare gown.

"Yes?" he said, drawing his eyes back up to her face.

"I suppose I'll find out soon enough, but," she lifted her gaze to his, "I was wondering where exactly I'll be staying?"

Exactly? She wanted to know exactly? As in . . . which room?

He tried to stop the blush but could not. Inwardly cursing himself for choosing such a public place to have their first intimate conversation, he took a bite of hot cakes, trying to formulate an answer. Again, the men around them quieted.

"I mean," her tongue shot out to moisten her lower lip, "where do the men who work with you sleep?"

Privacy. Of course. Being the only woman out there in the midst of all those men, she was worried about privacy. He released his breath.

"The men sleep in a bunkhouse a mile or so from the house you and I will be staying in."

Her eyes widened. "You and I will be staying in a house?"

"Well, yes."

"Alone?" she whispered, though everyone around them heard it and didn't miss the rush of color touching her cheeks.

Clapping his hands together, he indicated the untouched portions of her breakfast. "Well. Are you going to eat that?"

She jumped. "What? Oh. No. Thank you."

"Would you mind?"

She opened, then closed her mouth. "Well, Mr. Denton. I, well, actually, I do admit to being a bit concerned. I mean, do you think it proper?"

He lifted his brows. "To finish a meal I paid for?" He smiled. "I doubt the boys will be offended. That is, unless you would be?"

"Oh!" She fiddled with her watch pin. "Oh. My meal. No, no. Of course not. Please. Help yourself."

She quieted and he concentrated on eating, hoping she'd hold any more questions for later. But the longer they sat there, the more she squirmed.

He ate faster.

"Mr. Denton?"

Hesitating, he swallowed the new potatoes in his mouth. "Yes?"

She touched each corner of her lips with her cloth. "Did Mr. Mercer mention a contract I signed with him?"

He reached for his coffee, only to find Nausley had never returned with another cup. "Well, I didn't realize Mercer wrote one for you, but it makes sense, I suppose."

"You know, then, about the cost of my pa.s.sage?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"And you don't mind?"

"I've already taken care of it."

A quiet rush of air left her. "Oh. Thank you. You'll not be disappointed with me. I promise."

He yanked the napkin from his neck and jumped to his feet. "Time to go."

He pulled out her chair, tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, and whisked her from the room.

Anna scurried to keep up with him, taking three steps for every one of his. Men drew their legs from the aisle to let her pa.s.s but made no effort to disguise their fascination with her. She decided she'd never watch a fish inside a bowl again.

"Where are your things?" Mr. Denton asked as soon as they cleared the dining hall and entered the lobby.

"The front desk has my bag."

He steered her toward the counter. The clerk standing behind it reminded her of an old hound dog-saggy skin, slow movements, and big ears.

"Morning, Joe," he said. "Miss."

"Do you have Miss Ivey's things?"

"Sure do." He lumbered to the end of the counter and picked up her carpetbag. The jacket she'd borrowed from Mr. Denton lay across it, looking fresh from the brus.h.i.+ng she'd given it. "Here you are."

"Thank you."

Her seash.e.l.l collection clinked inside her bag.

Mr. Denton looked around. "Where's her trunk?"

"Trunk?"

"I don't have a trunk," she interjected.

Mr. Denton frowned. "You don't have a trunk?"

"No."

He looked down at the bag in his hand. "This is it?"

"Yes."

"You came all the way from Ma.s.sachusetts and this is all you brought?"

She lifted her chin. "It is."

After a slight hesitation, he pulled some coins out of his pocket and pressed them against the counter. "Is that enough for breakfast and Miss Ivey's room?"

With slow movements, Mr. Collins unfolded a pair of wire spectacles, hooked them on his ears, then counted out each coin. Anna stared at the floor, embarra.s.sed to witness the exchange of funds on her behalf.

Mr. Denton's large booted feet looked out of place on the beautiful burgundy and navy rug. He s.h.i.+fted his weight from one foot to the other.

"This will cover it nicely, Joe."

Nodding, Mr. Denton grasped her hand and pulled her out the front door, down the steps, and to a light spring wagon with a canopy on top.

She wasn't about to get in it with him. Not without knowing what was what. She jerked back.

Releasing her, he stopped. "Did you forget something?"

"Where are we going?"

"To the church."

She blinked. "The church? But it's only Tuesday."

He rubbed his forehead. "Listen, I've been away from my work since yesterday and I really need to get back. I know you must feel rushed, and I'm really sorry about that, but would you mind if we went ahead and stopped by the church, then headed out?"

She studied him, tempted to say no just to see what his reaction would be. She could sense he was anxious. Testing his temper now would be better than testing it on some isolated homestead where no one could come to her rescue.

"Please?" The curls he'd slicked down with water had begun to bounce free now that they'd dried.

In the end, she couldn't work up the nerve to rebuff him. "I have no outright objection to stopping by the church, Mr. Denton, but I do think we need to clarify some things between us before we leave town."

Men from inside the dining hall began to filter out onto the porch. Some settled into the rockers it offered, others hooked a hip on its railing. All were silent.

Mr. Denton lowered his voice. "I'll answer any questions you have. I just don't want to do it while every ear's turned our way."

A man wearing denim trousers and no jacket stepped up to his horse at the nearby hitching rail. Instead of mounting, he flipped up the stirrup, unbuckled the cinch, and began to adjust it.

She made herself take a calming breath. She didn't care for their audience either, but she had one question she wanted to ask while she still had two feet on the ground and a place to run to if her employer turned violent.

The only man as big as he that she knew was Hoke. And though Hoke had never actually hit her, he'd hit Helen. If Mr. Denton was of that same bent, she wanted to know it before she climbed into that wagon.

She kept her voice to a bare minimum. "Very well, sir. But before we go any farther, I have a question about my sleeping arrangements."

His face turned bright scarlet. "You will have your own room and complete privacy," he whispered.

"Then it will be just the two of us in your house?"

"I've no other relations living with me, if that's what you mean."