"I'm not sure I understand, Mr. Marston." Sam tried not to sniff at the
bowl of oatmeal in front of her. The scorched aroma was less noticeable if
she leaned back in her chair.
"It's quite simple, Miss Flanagan. I can't possibly retain your services as a gunslinger." He sipped on his tea, carefully balancing the cup on the tips of his fingers. "But we have a great need for someone who can cook. You do know how to cook, don't you?"
The eager look in his eyes mystified her. "Yes, of course. I've cooked for my family since my stepmother died. But...I don't mean to be rude...I need to know..." She broke off unhappily.
"You mean, how much? Shall we say 20 gold pieces a month?" He frowned at his plate and gingerly picked up a piece of toast.
She gasped. "That is very generous, Mr. Marston. Cooks in Fremantle don't make even a portion of that amount. In that case, I would be pleased to accept your offer."
They ate in silence for a few minutes.
"Are you sure I can't redo those bandages for you?"
"Yes, thank you. That would be very kind."
***********************************************************
Sam moved her belongings over to the small bedroom attached to the cookhouse that morning. She was barely in time to prepare an adequate lunch for the men. By dinnertime, she was able to provide more substantial fare.
The other women on the ranch were pleased with the arrangement and surrendered their responsibilities without protest. There was some concern about Lushy's feelings but she seemed to take the situation well and could be seen popping in and out of the cookhouse throughout the day.
By the time Marston left the men in the yard after dinner, a general feeling of contentment once again pervaded the ranch.
He sat on the porch and took a deep breath of the cool evening air. He had solved one problem, at least for a while, but he was still without a gunman and time was running out. Important people would be demanding explanations and he didn't have them.
Darkness was falling fast and lamps were visible through the various bunkhouse windows. They glowed like molten lumps of gold in the encroaching gloom.
"Evenin', Mistah Maahr-ston."
He sighed. "Good evening, Lushy."
She swept out of the shadows and up to the porch. He watched carefully but she negotiated the steps and kept most of her balance as she sat beside him.
"Ah'm awful sorry about this mahnin'. Want me to come in tonight and make it up to you?"
"Uh, no thanks, that won't be necessary."
"Okey-doke. No harm in askin'." She wrapped her arms around her drawn-up knees and tilted her head back to enjoy the wind. "I like that new gal."
"Do you?"
"Asked me a whole bunch o' questions about the stockrooms an' the provisions an' where everythin' was kept. Said she was really grateful for mah help." Lushy gave him a sidelong glance. "She was tryin' to make sure that I felt important and that mah feelings weren't hurt."
Marston looked at her with some respect. It occurred to him that it was important for a woman in her profession to be able to read people accurately.
"Asked me about you, too."
Searching his jacket for a cigar, he paused and glanced up quickly. "Oh?"
"How the ranch is doin'. How long you been a rancher. Where you come from. Real interested in how often you go to town."
"Is that so?" He found the cigar and took his time lighting it. The smoke drifted over their heads on its way to the clouds. "And what did you tell her?"
"Told her the truth: that I didn't know nuthin' about you and not much about the ranch." She gave him another look from under her lids and this time the shrewdness in her eyes was undeniable. "After all, you're the boss."
"Yes, I am. And most people around here know it."
"You bet, sir." She rose to her feet and brushed off her skirts. The sky was completely dark now and the sound of night insects was growing louder. In one of the bunkhouses two men were laughing and someone began to tune a fiddle.
Lushy swept down the steps and into the yard. She looked back at him with her sauciest smile. "Don't be too hard on the new gal, sir. She's just tryin' to feel her way around the place."
"Good night, Lushy."
"Night, sir." She paused at the edge of the total darkness. "You're sure you don't want -?"
"I'm sure. Thank you anyway."
She shrugged and disappeared into the night.
Marston leaned back and stared up into the sky. So his newest employee was curious about him, was she? He blew out a cloud of smoke.
By the time he was ready to turn in, he had made up his mind. He would wait a day or two until she was settled in. Then he would make a strong effort to get to know Sam Flanagan.
Intimately.
"It's quite simple, Miss Flanagan. I can't possibly retain your services as a gunslinger." He sipped on his tea, carefully balancing the cup on the tips of his fingers. "But we have a great need for someone who can cook. You do know how to cook, don't you?"
The eager look in his eyes mystified her. "Yes, of course. I've cooked for my family since my stepmother died. But...I don't mean to be rude...I need to know..." She broke off unhappily.
"You mean, how much? Shall we say 20 gold pieces a month?" He frowned at his plate and gingerly picked up a piece of toast.
She gasped. "That is very generous, Mr. Marston. Cooks in Fremantle don't make even a portion of that amount. In that case, I would be pleased to accept your offer."
They ate in silence for a few minutes.
"Are you sure I can't redo those bandages for you?"
"Yes, thank you. That would be very kind."
***********************************************************
Sam moved her belongings over to the small bedroom attached to the cookhouse that morning. She was barely in time to prepare an adequate lunch for the men. By dinnertime, she was able to provide more substantial fare.
The other women on the ranch were pleased with the arrangement and surrendered their responsibilities without protest. There was some concern about Lushy's feelings but she seemed to take the situation well and could be seen popping in and out of the cookhouse throughout the day.
By the time Marston left the men in the yard after dinner, a general feeling of contentment once again pervaded the ranch.
He sat on the porch and took a deep breath of the cool evening air. He had solved one problem, at least for a while, but he was still without a gunman and time was running out. Important people would be demanding explanations and he didn't have them.
Darkness was falling fast and lamps were visible through the various bunkhouse windows. They glowed like molten lumps of gold in the encroaching gloom.
"Evenin', Mistah Maahr-ston."
He sighed. "Good evening, Lushy."
She swept out of the shadows and up to the porch. He watched carefully but she negotiated the steps and kept most of her balance as she sat beside him.
"Ah'm awful sorry about this mahnin'. Want me to come in tonight and make it up to you?"
"Uh, no thanks, that won't be necessary."
"Okey-doke. No harm in askin'." She wrapped her arms around her drawn-up knees and tilted her head back to enjoy the wind. "I like that new gal."
"Do you?"
"Asked me a whole bunch o' questions about the stockrooms an' the provisions an' where everythin' was kept. Said she was really grateful for mah help." Lushy gave him a sidelong glance. "She was tryin' to make sure that I felt important and that mah feelings weren't hurt."
Marston looked at her with some respect. It occurred to him that it was important for a woman in her profession to be able to read people accurately.
"Asked me about you, too."
Searching his jacket for a cigar, he paused and glanced up quickly. "Oh?"
"How the ranch is doin'. How long you been a rancher. Where you come from. Real interested in how often you go to town."
"Is that so?" He found the cigar and took his time lighting it. The smoke drifted over their heads on its way to the clouds. "And what did you tell her?"
"Told her the truth: that I didn't know nuthin' about you and not much about the ranch." She gave him another look from under her lids and this time the shrewdness in her eyes was undeniable. "After all, you're the boss."
"Yes, I am. And most people around here know it."
"You bet, sir." She rose to her feet and brushed off her skirts. The sky was completely dark now and the sound of night insects was growing louder. In one of the bunkhouses two men were laughing and someone began to tune a fiddle.
Lushy swept down the steps and into the yard. She looked back at him with her sauciest smile. "Don't be too hard on the new gal, sir. She's just tryin' to feel her way around the place."
"Good night, Lushy."
"Night, sir." She paused at the edge of the total darkness. "You're sure you don't want -?"
"I'm sure. Thank you anyway."
She shrugged and disappeared into the night.
Marston leaned back and stared up into the sky. So his newest employee was curious about him, was she? He blew out a cloud of smoke.
By the time he was ready to turn in, he had made up his mind. He would wait a day or two until she was settled in. Then he would make a strong effort to get to know Sam Flanagan.
Intimately.