Maka tromped up the porch steps with her head held high.
Wisdom dictated she leave those rough men to their rowdy jokes, but pride demanded she do so with decorum.
She refused to let Mr. Evans bossy and cold disapproval bother her.
Nothing was going to ruin her adventure, not even him.
And what an adventure this was turning into!
So far she was quite pleased.
Living here was going to be interesting.
The staff here needed to be taught manners, but that was something she could oversee.
They didn't introduce themselves properly and not a one offered to help her with her bag.
Her Mama had always said even the best staff slacked off when the master was gone.
From the top-notch condition of the grounds, the place must normally be run admirably.
Her uncle not being here was likely the cause of their rude ways.
"C'mon in!" an unseen woman sang out before Maka could even shut the screen door behind her.
A willowy woman in a blue calico apron appeared, nearly scaring Maka out of her new shoes.
The woman had waves of inky black hair pulled into a lopsided bun at the top of her head and her cheeks were flushed pink against her ivory skin.
She wasn't american, or even English.
She had a soft lilt to her voice that sounded foriegn.
Intelligence sparkled in her coffee-colored eyes, and small laugh lines at the corners proved she had a sense of humor.
She was the most exotic woman Maka had ever seen.
"You must be the young Albarn. I've been expecting you."
Maka smiled brightly.
Finally someone sivilized.
"Hello, you must be my aunt?"
The woman laughter lightly, mild surprise in her eyes.
"Oh, no. Stein has never been hitched, and I imagine he never will. My name is Tubaki, I'm the caretaker of the house."
"Ah, I see."
Maka felt slightly disappointed.
Her new family would be much smaller than she was hoping for.
"Do you know by an chance when my uncle be back? That grouchy cowboy said he wasn't here, but I was too nervous to question him further."
"That must have been Soul. Don't take no offense from him, I'm pretty sure he was born with a lemon in his mouth." Tubaki chuckled softly.
"Your uncle will probably be back in a month or two if I had to guess."
"Months?!" Maka choked out.
How could that be?
Tubaki must have seen the dissapointment on her face because she made a soft humming noise.
"Now now, don't you worry, your uncle will be back before you know it. He's a tough old boot, but I know he's excited to finally meet you."
"A month ago I didn't even know I had an uncle, I suppose I could wait another month to meet him." Maka sighed.
Tubaki patted her lightly on the back. "That's the spirit sweetie, don't let anything get you down."
Maka nodded her head in agreement; she was a tough Texan now, there was no need to be disheartened.
Her uncle being gone could actually work in her favor. It'd give her more time to master the act of being male.
"You must be exhausted from your trip sweetie." Tubaki commented, bring Maka from her thoughts.
"There are three empty bedrooms up stairs. Go on and pick one out. I'll come up in a bit to put sheets on the bed. No use in letting sheets go stale on a bed that lies empty."
She smiled softly at Maka.
"Supper's in an hour. I'll holler once and only once. You show up on time or you go hungry around here. These men here will eat us out of house and home in the blink of an eye." "Thank you." Maka murmured, feeling a little out of place. "Don't worry hun, you'll do just fine here. If you need anything just holler, my room is down the hall from yours. If I'm not in the kitchen, then you can always find me in the garden out back."
"Thank you so much for your hospitality."
Maka hesitated, staring at the stairs.
She hardly knew this Tubaki woman, but she already felt at ease with her.
She had been so lonely since her papa died, she almost wished the house keeper would let her stay with her in the kitchen.
Tubaki seemed to sense her hesitation.
"Hun, you'd best move on upstairs. Soul's gonna be bustling through soon, and he'll mow over you faster than a toad gulps flies."
It was not a reassuring metaphor.
Maka pictured the surly cowboy with the red eyes frowning at her with disapproval again.
She shuffled forward.
"I'll locate a room and meet you for supper. Thank you for being so kind to me."
Tubaki smiled brightly.
"Not all of us here on the ranch are grumpy old dogs."
"That's good to know."
"If you want my advice hun, Soul's going to give you a hard once-over at dinner. You ought to put on something a whole lot plainer if you don't want to have him squirm all through the meal. He's not a man to abide fussy manners and fancy clothes."
Maka had noticed the cowboys were all in shirtsleeve and denim as Mr. Evans had called it.
Maybe she did look a little more different than them. Standing out too much could be a problem.
Her secret might be discovered if she was watched to closely.
"I don't really have too many clothes."
"Well, you just wear whatever is most comfortable for you hun."
Maka smiled in return and headed up the stairs.
Though her bag was light, holding her few meager possessions, her shoulders felt as if they couldn't bear the burden for a second longer.
Her journey had been so very long.
Once she reached the head of the stairs, she walked straight into the first chamber and dropped her bag.
Nothing short of a pistol aimed at her head would convince her to pick it up again for the foreseeable future.
The bedroom held a modest bedstead and a nice threedrawer chest with a carved mirror above it.
A small bookshelf nook, and a long window seat gave the room a happy warm feeling.
Heavy green damask curtains hung on either side of the large window, and faded cabbage rose wallpaper finished the decor.
Maka smiled at the room.
She could spruce it up with a little attention and care.
In truth, it was far prettier than what she'd planned to find in the midst of this wild place.
The glimpse she'd gotten of the downstairs let her know the other rooms, though well worn, were tastefully appointed, too.
Perhaps Texas didn't entirely lack civilized touches.
It was probably the sweet housekeeper who had lovingly decorated.
The mixture of refinement and commonplace struck her as oddly charming.
She dropped down onto the edge of the bed.
Her feet ached every bit as much as they did after a long evening of dancing in London's finest socials.
Heel, toe, sole, and instep all burned and ached.
Struggling out of the boots, she rubbed her toes and decided to fetch a pitcher of water so she could wash up and soak her feet.
After that, she'd unpack and find her plainest shirt.
As she reviewed Tubaki's words and considered all of the men she'd seen, Maka had an alarming thought.
Mr. Evans would mow her over? Did that mean that brute of a cowboy was coming to dinner with them tonight? Did he live in the main house as well?
She had seen several out buildings and had assumed that's where the hired men lived.
Surely her uncle would allow such a man to live in his home with him?
Shaking her head to dislodge the troublesome thought, Maka tried to relax.
The cowboy was too . . . something.
She couldn't put her finger on the right word for him.
So far she had gather that he was her uncle's second-in-command.
Terse and rough-edged and gruff and, well, rude.
He didn't like her. She could see that as plain as day.
Whatever the reason why he disapproved of her was of no consequence though.
She wasn't going to let him bully her or ruin her evening.
She wasn't going anywhere.
Cheered by that thought, she went in search of water.
Under an hour later, the clock downstairs struck.
Maka heard Tubaki's call for supper and hastily smoothed her hair as she glanced in the mirror over the chest of drawers to ascertain if she'd done a sufficient job of binding herself.
Twisting sideways, she craned her neck and examined the effect.
She looked flat as a board.
A small smile tilted her lips as she gleefully judged.
At least being a small woman was finally good for something.
She left her room and started down the stairs.
Halfway down, she was run over by an express train of a man who galloped down the very same flight.
His boots made a muffled thunder that carried an oddly rhythmic quality, and his large body didn't seem to move at all from the hips up as those muscular legs churned with surprising agility and grace.
Once he hit the foot of the stairs, the man stopped and gave her a cool, assessing look.
It was Mr. Evan.
His hair was wild, his smile grim and pointy.
Without a word of apology, he wheeled to the right and strode off.
She remained rooted to the stairs.
This wild beast of a man can't be Uncle Stein's partner. Could he?
Following the scent of food, Maka went in the same direction Mr. Evans had.
With every step she wondered why Uncle Stien's rude partner was invited to be a dinner guest.
He sat at the huge trestle table. Alone.
He'd already started serving himself.
He looked freshly washed and dressed in a crisp blue button up.
He did clean up into a respectable-looking man.
Truth be told, he cut a fine figure.
For all of the refined gentlemen she'd seen in high society, none had ever looked half as imposing or innately capable of facing anything life might bring.
He glared at her from behind his mountain of mashed potatoes.
He'd spruced up on the outside, but that was it.
The man still failed to exhibit even a hint of manners.
Tubaki thumped a big bowl of green beans onto the table.
"Hello hun, why don't you have a seat before Soul eats everything in sight?"
"Thank you Tubaki."
Maka took a chair, mirroring his glare right back at him.
"Good evening Mr. Evans."
Her voice cracked like an adolescent's.
Grabbing for his coffee, Soul nodded. "Kid."
She narrowed her eyes at him.
Mr. Evans was going to be difficult. . . .
She had started out thinking this would be easy, but she was wrong.
If he wanted to be difficult, well, she was up for the challenge.
Maybe it would make her time here go by quickly.
At least until her uncle returned.
As she slipped her napkin across her thighs, Maka tried to approach conversation as she'd done back home.
Civility might tame the beast a bit.
"So, Mr. Evans"... Stop calling me Evans, it's Soul to everyone else."
Maka bit her cheek in annoyance.
She tried again, rushing through her sentence before he could interrupt her again.
"So, where are your people from?"
"My people?"
"Yes. Your people. Your family."
"I don't have a family."
The curt clip of his voice let her know to cease pursuing that line of talk, so she segued, "Pity. You've certainly done well for yourself. Forsaken appears to be a fine place."
"How would you know enough to make that judgment Kid?"
"I walked the length of the road. The fence is well kept, and the house is quite stunning. Then, too, there are all sorts of cows everywhere."
"Cattle—not 'cows'—and they're not everywhere. We've moved them to pasture off at the southeastern sector for the moment. Other sections are empty at present to let the grasses grow."
"Oh."
An awkward silence fell between the two.
Maka knew absolutely nothing about ranching and it bothered her greatly.
Maybe she could find a book somewhere on the subject?
"Do you ride? Most Englishers are trained at horsemanship, aren't they?" he asked, turning the tables on her inquisition.
She fought the telling blush that heated her cheeks.
Last night it had dawned on her that she'd have to ride astride.
Such a skill must, of necessity, be altogether different from perching on a sidesaddle.
It was a scandalous thought.
Her papa would be turning over in his grave if he knew what she'd eventually have to do.
She had always secretly wanted to ride a horse full stride though.
There was something quite exhilarating about riding a horse like a man.
She pictured herself like a wild indian, riding barback and free.
Though she was quite proficient at riding in a lady's english saddle, straddling anything would be a new thing to learn.
Hopefully the men wouldn't notice her lack of experience.
"I . . . er . . . excelled at equine studies. My time has been mostly spent in academic pursuits though."
"Hence the smooth, narrow hands and a complete lack of any muscle on those spindles you call arms."
The man shoveled food in like an animal as he spoke.
Nearly mesmerized by the precision with which he sliced off huge chunks of meat and devoured them, Maka hardly felt the sting of his implied insult.
"Did you study anything of particular interest?"
"Oh yes. Greek history, Roman mythology, Latin, and poetry. I also appreciate fine art."
"So much for the frills." Soul took a big swig of coffee.
"No one round here speaks Latin or walks around spouting poetry. Best painting in these parts is a sign in the feed store. Did you study anything useful?"
"I scarcely believe you'd find dancing or British history to be of practical application here in the West."
"You got that right kid."
Waving a fork in the air and disregarding the fact that mashed potatoes plopped back onto the plate, Soul announced, "No one sits on their tail around here. You're going to have to carry your weight."
"I plan to do just that Mr Evans."
Soul glared, the brat kept calling him Mr. Evans and it was driving him insane!
"Yes, you will kid. You'd best be ready—because come sunup, you're going to start earning your keep."
"I'm not afraid of hard work. I'll also remind you that I'm not exactly a hired hand to be ordered about like some kind of liveried lackey."
She wiggled in her chair slightly, squared her shoulders, and dabbed at her lips with the napkin.
"There is my position to be considered, I am your bosses family."
Soul leaned back in his chair, shook his head, and scowled.
"Fancy Pants, you've got it wrong. That stinkin' title of yours isn't worth a hill of beans around here. I don't care if you've got a crown permanently affixed to your head, you'd better slap a hat over it because you'll still have to work."
The man wasn't just blunt; he was ruthless.
He completely lacked couth.
Maka gave him a disbelieving stare.
He glowered straight back.
"Stein's a hardworking man. He expects every man on Forsaken to earn his keep. You're no exception. If you don't work, I'll kick you out of here before Stein makes it back."
Maka reared back at the force of his words.
"There's no call to be uncivilized."
Maka hates how her voice wobbles.
All she can think about is being sent back to England.
To Lord Ragnarok.
"We aren't civilized around here. Best get that through your head kid. Life is rough. Rugged. Hard," he hammered at her in a harsh tone.
"You don't toughen up, you won't survive. Pure and simple, the useful survive. The weak don't."
"Are you threatening me?"
"Take it however you want, but you're due up at daybreak. I respect your uncle too much to let him come home to an English dandy of a nephew. By the time he gets here, you'll have learned enough to make yourself useful and maybe, just maybe he'll let you stay."
Maka's fork and knife clattered to the plate.
"What's wrong kid? Did I spoil your appetite?"
"No, but it's apparent nothing spoils your appetite you brutish oaf! You've torn into a perfectly delightful meal with no more manners than a rabid wolf, watching you eat has made me sick."
"Wolves tear apart baby animals that are wet behind the ears. Don't forget that, kid."
Soul took a huge bite, gnashed on it only half a dozen times, and swallowed while staring at her.
Daring her to say more.
Maka caught herself swallowing along with him.
Soul gave her a smile that showed every last one of his teeth.
After that, there wasn't any more supper conversation.
Maka quietly thanked Tubaki for dinner then slipped into her room.
She went to bed and lay in the dark, horrified.
To be sure, the soft bed felt great, but her mind reeled with the cowboy's actions.
How could Uncle Stein have left her to the vagaries of such an animal?
A big one, too.
She'd tried to convince herself he wouldn't be worthy of a second-in-command position, and seeing him at the table came as a terribly rude shock. He held the authority to send her away.
The way he acted as if she was a problem galled her; yet, that was precisely his perspective on things—and he made no bones about it.
But if every man here works, then he's right.
She couldn't help but feel useless.
Maka had to admit she presented a unique challenge to the man.
He obviously had loyalty to her Uncle Stein and wanted him to be spared the pain of seeing a relative who was pitifully inept.
How much would this deception of hers cost though?
The lie had been so simple in the beginning.
The thought of masquerading as a man had been fun, promising adventure.
Now all it promised was an oafish cowboy and hard work.
The idea of misleading others went against her deep sense of honor, but it paled in comparison to the appalling alternative of becoming Lord Ragnarok's wife.
The very thought made her shudder.
She wasn't going to give up so easily.
Maka determined she would have to become a man's man and quickly.
She needed to develop mettle to make it through, and even though she hated him, Mr. Evans was probably her best bet at learning.
With her resolve improved Maka finally fell into a restless slumber.
She dreamt of smoke and flames, savage indians, and of wolves with crimson eyes and disarming smiles.