Mail Order Merchant: Brides of Beckham (Cowboys and Angels Book 5), Page 3

  He gave her a surprised look. “You can do the books? Really?”

  She nodded. “I’m quite good with numbers. If you want to put me on a household budget, I’m happy to be on one.”

  “There’s no need. I own the store, after all.” He studied her for a moment, thinking about just how different she was from his Grace. “Would you like to go down and see the store?”

  “That would be very nice. I’d like to see where I’ll be working. Tell me, is there a day the store is less busy? When you won’t need me in the afternoons?”

  Mortimer shrugged. “You could take off any afternoon you wanted. I’d like if you’d help out in the store on occasion to give my son or me a day off, but I don’t need you consistently. It’ll only be once in a while.”

  “I see. Well, Beatrice asked that I come over one afternoon a week to share tea and cookies with her. I think she just wants some female companionship. Would that be a problem for you?” She would need to do something with her time if he didn’t need her in the store. She’d expected at least a week of scrubbing the house to her liking, but it looked as if that had already been done. She’d be sitting with idle hands in no time.

  “Not at all. Your main duties will be housework. I had Hannah, one of the woman who was abducted, come in and get the house cleaned for you. There shouldn’t be a great deal to do except cook meals. Please tell me you know how to cook.” So far, everything about her had been different from his Grace. He hoped they had this one thing in common.

  “Yes, of course. I enjoy cooking a great deal. I know in your letter you mentioned your love of fresh baked bread, and I will make sure to always have fresh bread on hand. And if you want me to bake extra for the store on top of what Beatrice bakes, you just let me know. I would be happy to help.”

  His Grace had been able to cook, but she was a loss at baking. Maybe this woman would be suited for him after all. He pushed open the door to the mercantile, walking in to show her the space. “I put Beatrice’s baked goods over here, and as you can see, we’re already out for the day. She made four dozen cookies, six loaves of bread and two pies today. If you feel like you can bake anything to add to what she brings in, it will be greatly appreciated.”

  “I’ll do my best, then. Is there food in the kitchen now? Or should I make some selections for supper?” She saw that he had a cabinet that was kept cold with blocks of ice like they’d had in Beckham. She could easily choose anything necessary for a good meal there.

  “There are only a couple of hours until supper time. Just choose something to cook, if you will.” Mortimer looked over at John. “Come over here and meet Toria.” He’d started to call her John’s new stepmother, but he knew his son would take exception to that.

  John came over, his arms crossed over his chest and an unhappy look on his face. “I don’t know how she’s going to be half as good at anything as Ma.”

  Toria looked him in the eye and smiled. “Don’t think of me as your mother’s replacement, John. Think of me as Toria, a new person altogether. It’s nice to meet you.”

  John said nothing in return, merely nodded and walking back to his post behind the cash register.

  Toria decided to ignore his rudeness. Instead she walked over and chose some chicken for supper. She assumed everything else she’d need would be in the house. It was only the perishable items she’d have to purchase often. She carried the chicken back to Mortimer. “I’ll turn this into supper, if that works for you.”

  Mortimer was still frowning at John. He wasn’t any happier about having someone other than Grace there than his son was, but at least he wasn’t being rude about it. “That’s fine.” He went to the cash register and rang up her purchase as he watched her leave.

  Toria carried the chicken up the stairs she’d gone down with Mortimer just minutes before. As soon as she got upstairs, she put a pan with some oil in it on the stove, heating the oil. Then she rolled the chicken in flour before dropping it into the oil. She found a supply of potatoes, and she carefully peeled enough to feed a small army. There was no time to make fresh bread that day, but she’d make some biscuits. She knew it would please him.

  As soon as everything was cooking and she had a break, she sank into a chair at the kitchen table, buried her face in her hands, and wept. Her husband was disappointed in her, and he barely knew her. Her new stepson showed only derision. What had she done to deserve this?

  She only gave herself five minutes to give in to self-pity, believing that no one should whine about their lives for more than five minutes a day. If you spent more time complaining than that, you were giving into your life as it was, and not working to make things better.

  She carefully flipped the chicken before going into her room and changing into a day dress and pulling an apron on over it. She should have done that before starting to cook, but she’d worried that supper wouldn’t be finished in time. Thankfully she’d not made a mess of herself.

  Hurrying back into the kitchen, she searched through exactly what ingredients he had, and she found she had everything she needed to make a cake. There was nothing to frost it, but she could use brown sugar and butter and make a caramelized topping that should suit her husband just as well.

  Chapter Three

  By the time Mortimer had finished scolding John for the way he’d treated Toria, it was time for him to go upstairs for supper. He knew he was being a bit hypocritical, because he didn’t have strong positive feelings for his new wife either, but he still wasn’t about to allow his son to disrespect her.

  When he stepped into the kitchen, his nose was pleased by all of the different smells competing for his attention. “This smells delicious.” Whether she was exactly what he was looking for in a wife or not, she could cook. That was one of the main reasons he’d felt he needed a wife. “I’m going to go change out of my Sunday best for supper. I’ll be right back.”

  As soon as he’d disappeared, Toria had let her face fall. He’d said nothing about anything but the food she was cooking. Maybe he wasn’t looking for a companion after all. His comment in the letter about liking to take long walks had made her think that he wanted a wife to love, not just someone to do the chores.

  She had supper on the table before he returned from his bedroom, wearing just some casual slacks, suspenders, and a white shirt. “You’ve really outdone yourself, Vic—I mean Toria.”

  “You were thinking of me as Vicki before my arrival, weren’t you?” she asked, her voice soft and husky as if she’d been crying.

  He eyed her carefully, but didn’t see a trace of evidence of tears. When his Grace had cried, you could tell she’d been crying for hours and hours later. “I did. I’m sorry that I didn’t realize your nickname.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’d rather not be called Vicki, but take your time adjusting. It’s not a big deal to me. I’ve answered to Victoria for many years.” She poured them each a glass of water, setting his on the table in front of him. She added the plate of biscuits she’d made to the middle of the table before sitting down beside him. “I didn’t have time to bake bread today, but I thought you might be happy with some biscuits.”

  He smiled, nodding at her. “Everything looks wonderful, and I’m almost as partial to biscuits as I am to fresh-baked bread.”

  “You’ll have fresh-baked bread tomorrow,” she said softly. Maybe he wasn’t pleased with her so far, but there was no reason she couldn’t change his opinion. Her mama had always told her that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. This man seemed to set great store in eating special things that pleased him, so she would just have to see if her mother was right.

  “Thank you for caring about my tastes in food.”

  “It’s my job as your wife.” Toria watched as he served himself, passing the dishes to her after he got his portion of each.

  “May I say a blessing over our meal?” He’d not thought to ask for a Christian wife, but he could see he’d found one. How had he forgotten something s
o fundamental?

  After the prayer, he took a bite of his mashed potatoes and gravy, his eyes widening in surprise. “This is delicious.”

  “I got the impression from your letter you wanted a wife who could cook.” It was one of the reasons she’d agreed to marry him. She knew she had a skill that she would be bringing into the relationship that he needed.

  He frowned. “You’re everything I asked for, aren’t you?”

  She nodded. “And I’m not quite sure why that displeases you, but I can see it does.”

  He sighed. “It’s not that you displease me. I think you’re a beautiful woman. I don’t know you.” He looked down at his plate for a moment, deciding he needed to confess what was really bothering him so he could get it off his chest. “The truth is I was hoping for a bride just like my late wife. She was a petite blonde. When I saw you standing on the platform, I was sure the wrong woman had been sent to me. That’s not fair to you at all, so I’m going to do my best to get those ideas out of my head and be happy with the beautiful woman God has sent me.”

  “Is that really what your disappointment was?”

  He nodded. “That’s everything that upset me upon seeing you. I know it’s silly, but that’s how I felt.” He took a bite of his fried chicken, closing his eyes as the flavors washed over his tongue. “Tell me why you responded to a letter for a mail order bride. Looking at you I can’t imagine that you would have trouble finding a husband.”

  Toria shrugged. “I had some offers, but none seemed right to me. I’ve been working for several years at a mercantile in town, and the owner’s wife died a short while ago. As soon as she was buried, he started chasing me around, telling me that I needed to marry him and help him raise his six children. Now I have nothing against children, but I did have something against him. Quite frankly, he made my skin crawl. There was no way I could marry him. When he trapped me in an alley, I screamed for help, and my niece’s butler heard me yell. He rescued me and took me straight home to Elizabeth, who showed me your letter. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Did you think about trying to get another job?”

  “After Sebastian fired me, I knew there was no way anyone else in town would hire me.” She shrugged. “It’s time I married anyway. I’ve always wanted children, but I’ve only ever had my nieces and nephews—and no one would want to claim those children.”

  Mortimer widened his eyes. “Why do you say that?”

  “They were referred to as the demon horde, because they were always in some sort of trouble. No teacher lasts more than a semester because the demon horde frightens them off. If you’re driving down the road and you have a rotten apple hit you in the head from the highest tree? One of the demon horde is in that tree throwing apples at you.”

  He grinned. “They sound like a lively bunch.”

  Toria simply shook her head. “Lively doesn’t begin to describe the demon horde. Elizabeth was a very well-behaved child, along with her sister Susan. The next two boys who come after them were well-behaved. It’s the youngest ten that people need to avoid if at all possible.”

  “Sounds like they were children who wanted to be allowed to play.”

  “Play pranks, you mean.” Toria sighed. “I stopped babysitting them, and I don’t even regret it.”

  “John was always very well-behaved before Grace died. Once she died, he changed. There was never a school here, but she’d taught him at home until she got so sick. She died within two months of her first symptoms. After that, John started to come to work with me every day. He didn’t particularly like it, and he always blamed me for his mother’s death.”

  “Why? What does he think you could have done?”

  “I shouldn’t have moved us out here to a place where there was no doctor, you see. That’s why it’s my fault.”

  Without thinking, Toria reached out and covered his hand with hers. “I’m sorry. I hope you realize that he’s being unfair.”

  “I do realize it. Sometimes it helps, and others it doesn’t.” He shrugged. “I have some of my own guilt for not being close enough to a doctor to save her.”

  “I think I probably would too, though I don’t think you should at all. People get sick and die sometimes. I won’t say it’s God’s will, because I don’t believe it’s ever his plan for someone to die. Time heals you. Some are healed slower than others. It sounds like your John is still very much grieving his mother.”

  Mortimer turned his hand over, gripping hers. “You might be right. I just wish I knew what to do to help him. He’s going to the saloon and drowning his sorrows in a bottle more often than not. I’d much rather he was staying home, or courting some nice young lady.”

  “It might be good for him to stay home…but if he’s still grieving his mother, it’s not a time for him to court any young ladies, nice or otherwise. Do you think he would accept a supper invitation if I made one? I hate the idea of him being alone and feeling the only way to avoid the loneliness is to go to the saloon. It’s not good for him.”

  “I don’t think that’s why he goes, but if you want to invite him to supper, be my guest. I would love to have him here for a good reason.”

  “He’s been here for bad reasons?”

  “Sometimes when he’s had too much to drink, some of the men from the saloon will bring him to me because they don’t know what else to do with him.”

  Toria nodded. There hadn’t been a saloon in Beckham, thankfully, but she’d heard many stories of how men were changed by drink. “Sounds like he needs to get his head back on straight, doesn’t it?”

  Mortimer smiled, liking her despite his desire not to. “How was your journey?”

  She shrugged. “It was long. Very long. I made you a gift, though. I almost forgot!” She jumped up from the table and ran from the room, digging through her satchel for the socks she’d knitted him to keep herself busy on the train. “I thought a man who had been widowed for a while would need some socks.” She handed them to him, watching his face as he took them.

  He looked down at the socks in his hands and turned them over. “Thank you. You’re really determined to be a good wife to me, aren’t you?”

  She nodded. “Of course I am. I’ve never done anything halfway in my entire life. If I’m going to sweep out the backroom, you won’t find a speck of dust on the floor when I’m done. If I’m going to balance the books, you won’t find a penny that doesn’t add up properly. If I’m going to be a wife, then I’m going to make sure that I’m the best wife any man has ever seen.” Suddenly she felt as if her words put her in direct competition with his late wife. That wasn’t what she wanted at all.

  Mortimer nodded. “I approve your attitude. I’ve always been the same myself. I was a miner for a while, and I was determined to be the best darn miner that had ever lived. When I realized that my lungs were incapable of being underground that long, I took the meager amount of silver I’d found and I opened a mercantile. I waited until I felt like I could support her before I sent back east for Grace, who had been waiting for my letter that it was time for her to join me.”

  “Were you already married?”

  He nodded. “We married right before I left to seek my fortune in the mines. She stayed with her parents until I sent for her, and then she was on the next train out here. We were apart for two years at the beginning of our marriage.”

  “I’m sure that was very hard.”

  “In some ways,” he said, his eyes dancing with mischief. “In the end I was glad of our time apart, because her mother used it to teach her how to cook without poisoning me. She never did learn to bake.”

  Toria felt an odd sense of pride that she could do something the perfect Grace hadn’t mastered. “Speaking of baking, I made dessert.” She stood up and got the cake from where she’d had a towel draped over it. She carefully cut two slices and got two fresh forks, carrying them to the table. “I hope you like sweets.”

  Mortimer grinned. “There’s very little in this world I like more
than sweets, if you want me to be honest with you. If I could get away with it, I’d eat sweets for every single meal.”

  “Are you telling me that it doesn’t matter what sweets I make as long as I make something? That’s going to make my life so much easier!”

  He laughed. “That’s about right.” He studied her for a minute. “I’m really sorry that I judged you as being unworthy as soon as you got off that train. I can see that I sorely misjudged you.”

  Toria shrugged. “We’ll start over.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Mortimer frowned at her, trying to figure out what his wife was trying to say to him.

  “Hi, I’m Toria Miller. I’ve just moved here from Beckham, Massachusetts. I’m thirty-two years old, I like to cook and bake, and I’ve never been married.”

  He smiled, understanding. “I’m Mortimer Jackson, and I’m something of a goose. I’m a widower, the father of the orneriest nineteen-year-old boy in existence, and I’m planning to make you the best husband you’ve ever dreamed of having.”

  She grinned. “Sounds good to me.” She ate the last bite of her cake and stood to start clearing the table. “I love the kitchen. It’s very easy to work in. I’m going to need some more supplies, though, especially if you want me to help make baked goods for the store.” She immediately switched to business mode. “I do think we could make a significant profit if there were enough of the baked goods. Is there anyone else in town who could be hired to help bake?”

  He shrugged. “Most of the women are too busy with other pursuits. There are a few of the women who were kidnapped who are still trying to find the right things to do here in town, though.”

  “Well, we’ll make do for now. I’ll try to make at least four dozen cookies and two cakes every day. But that means I’m going to need a list of supplies. If I give it to you, could you have it up here for me by the end of the day tomorrow? I can start contributing to the sweet teeth of the men in Creede on Friday.”