Nolan's Vow (Grooms with Honor Book 8), Page 3

  “Actually that’s a nice name combination.”

  “Thank you.”

  Nolan rocked back on his boots, wondering what to talk about next.

  “Well, now that I have wood inside, what’s the next task I can do for you?”

  “Carry in water? The town well is behind the schoolhouse.”

  Nolan sighed inwardly. “I’m guessing there isn’t enough in the stove reservoir for the evening meal?”

  “Not after all the dishes I had to wash after lunch.”

  So much for getting out of this storm. But then if he didn’t do it, Holly would have to bundle up and trudge through the snow herself.

  “How many buckets of water do you want to be brought in?”

  “At least six, if you could?”

  So three more trips out into this snow, probably sloshing and freezing water on his trousers. Well, he’d ask to help so no use complaining.

  “What did you and Mrs. Randolph decide we should make for supper?” He just as well dream of hot food while he was doing this next task.

  “We’ll make creamed chicken and mashed potatoes. We’ll use canned chicken, which will be quicker rather than to catch and clean fresh chickens this afternoon.”

  Nolan was glad for that suggestion on the main meal. He didn’t relish the thought of cleaning and burning pinfeathers in the kitchen when it was snowing. They couldn’t open up the windows to air out the smell of singed feathers and skin, which would drift into the dining room, too.

  “I’ll put out bowls of pickles on each table, and I’ll make biscuits to go with the meal.”

  “Shall we have a contest to see whose biscuits are better?”

  “Excuse me? What?”

  “We’ll both make biscuits, and the customers can decide which ones they like better.”

  “Why?”

  “The travelers are grumbling about being delayed, so this will help boost their morale.”

  “When did you last make a batch of biscuits, unless you’re not lying about being an Army cook?”

  “I admit it’s been a while since I’ve made biscuits, but my grandparent’s customers preferred mine over my grandmother’s.”

  Nolan liked the sparkle lighting up in Holly’s eyes. Hopefully, his idea would help her forget the confrontation with the men earlier.

  “Really? Better than your grandmother’s biscuits? I doubt that.” Holly’s hand went on her hip, giving her an air of confidence he hadn’t seen before. Hmm, maybe her biscuits were better than his were, but he’d already made the challenge, so he needed to follow through.

  “So each customer will receive two biscuits and vote for the best?”

  “Yes. If Mrs. Randolph feels like coming downstairs, she can take care of the tally, or we can pick someone out of the crowd.”

  “And what does the winner get for making the best-tasting, fluffiest biscuits?”

  Nolan hesitated because all he could think of was winning a kiss from this pretty lady. He couldn’t believe how awestruck he’d been since walking in the door before lunch.

  “Loser has to wash the dishes, and winner dries them?” Holly’s question pulled Nolan away from his thoughts.

  “That doesn’t sound like a fun prize.”

  “But I always wash dishes, so it would be nice to only dry them instead since my biscuits will win.”

  “Okay, but I haven’t washed dishes since leaving my grandparent’s café, and I don’t plan to do it this evening since my biscuits will win.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll let you make your first batch of biscuits while I start peeling potatoes. What do you need?”

  “Just the usual. Flour, baking powder, salt, lard, and milk.” Nolan noticed her hand halted a moment by the baking soda, but she didn’t take it off the shelf when he didn’t mention it. Was her recipe different than his?

  “Do you make a drop or cut out biscuits?”

  “Either, depending on the time I have. Shall we both make cut biscuits, so they look similar?”

  “That will be fine. That way we can tell which biscuits rise higher.”

  Nolan liked watching Holly move efficiently around the kitchen. He noted the layout of the kitchen, and how it differed from that of his grandparents’ cafe. This kitchen was definitely more organized than the one he grew up in. Could he change things in his grandparent’s café without causing hard feelings? It’s not something he had thought about when saying he’d take over the café for them.

  Nolan starting measuring flour in the mixing bowl, enjoying the texture of the flour as it dusted on his fingers. It had been so long since he’d done any baking.

  “And what do you plan for dessert tonight?” Nolan realized they hadn’t talked about it yet.

  “Rice pudding, topped with currant sauce,” Holly replied. “There’s a good patch of currant, and huckleberry bushes close to town that I picked from last summer. We dried the fruit, then rehydrate them to use them in a variety of ways.”

  “The bears don’t get to them first?”

  “Depends on the year,” Holly said matter-of-factly as she peeled a long strip of peel off a big potato. Nolan liked the ease of them visiting and working together.

  “I won’t miss bears when I leave the Montana Territory. We don’t have them in Kansas.”

  Nolan turned to Holly when he heard her drop the potato on the worktable.

  “You’re from Kansas? Really? Where?” Nolan enjoyed hearing Holly’s excited question. Not many people would get excited about hearing someone was from a Plains state.

  “I’m from a little town called Clear Creek, in central Kansas close to the famous cattle town of Ellsworth,” Nolan answered.

  “Which is only a few miles from Fort Harker! We lived there from when the fort opened in ‘66, to ‘72 when it closed.”

  “So you know my ‘neck of the woods or prairie’ I should say?”

  Miss Brandt’s mood sobered. “I remember it well, especially the fort cemetery. My big sister died in ‘67 when a cholera epidemic hit the fort, and my mother died in ‘72, a day after my baby sister was born stillborn. I was eight at the time, but I still remember it like it was yesterday.”

  “That had to be so hard on you and your father. We didn’t move into the area until ‘68, but I remember the talk of the epidemic that hit the fort and community hard.

  “So where did you go when the fort closed?”

  “Father’s troop was sent to Fort Union in the New Mexico Territory, so I tagged along with the other soldiers’ families. Then his troop moved up to Fort Ellis. I haven’t left the area because I don’t have any family elsewhere.”

  “Where were you born?”

  “Fort Riley, Kansas, in ‘64.”

  “I was born in eastern Missouri in ‘60, and my sister, Daisy, two years later. Our mother died in ‘66 from pneumonia, and we moved in with my father’s parents. Pa signed on with the railroad crew when the railroad was being built across the Midwest. My grandparents contracted with the railroad to provide food for the workers, and we camped along with the crews.”

  “Providing food, including buffalo meat,” Holly quietly said.

  “Yes, it was handy meat to shoot from the roaming herds. Good flavor…”

  “My mother talked of the great herds her ancestors followed across the Plains.”

  “Was your mother from Kansas then?”

  “She was Cheyenne…was brought into the fort after a raid…and eventually married my father.

  “Why did your family stop in Clear Creek when the railroad continued on to the Colorado border?” Holly asked, maybe wanting to change the subject.

  “One day a load of ties rolled off a car and crushed my father. We were camped near the newly platted town of Clear Creek, so my grandparents decided they were done following the railroad.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I can see why they didn’t want to continue on west.”

  “Yes, they decided to stop before they witnessed another accident. Their café in Cl
ear Creek was one of the first buildings built on Main Street. It didn’t have a full upstairs, so we lived in a dugout on the edge of town until our house was built.”

  “It’s been a long time since I thought about the dugouts in Kansas. There’s plenty of trees in this area to build log or lumber buildings. I remember being in a dugout once with a friend and a snake fell from a hole in the sod ceiling, landing on the kitchen table. I screamed in fright, and the mother just reached for the hoe she had in the corner of the dugout, slid the snake off the table, and whacked its head off.” Holly’s hand, still clutching a half-peeled potato, was on her heart, apparently vividly remembering the scene.

  “I assume prairie rattlers are still abundant in Kansas.”

  “Yes, I’d assume so, too. Now you’re making me think of stories of my childhood as we camped with the railroaders.

  “I do remember buffalo roaming by us in the distance, always eating as they walked. They were in small groups, except during the rutting season when they’ll all group together.

  “Sometimes they’d stop and watch the workers, almost like an audience watching a play. I’m sure you saw herds when you were a child at the fort.”

  “I remember my mother wanting to run out to watch the herds if they were in the area. I do remember soldiers going out to shoot animals for meat. It stretched their meat supply that the fort had to buy otherwise.”

  “Do you ever serve venison or elk here in the café? Depending on the time of year it seems deer and elk would be practically walking through this little town.”

  “Whenever we can because it saves what we have to buy.”

  “So are you a good shot?” Nolan couldn’t help asking, although he kept his eyes on the biscuits he was cutting out of the dough and lining up on a cooking sheet.

  There was silence as he heard Holly chop up another potato and throw the pieces in a pot.

  “Of course. My father was a soldier. And... I was a half-breed needing to know how to defend myself and my family.”

  Nolan didn’t quite know what to say. He hadn’t meant to offend her, but her answer sounded like it did.

  “Always good to know how to shoot a gun when you’re trying to divide up the huckleberries between you and the bears.”

  “I once served bear stew...” Holly chuckled, and Nolan had to turn to stare at her.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. A hunter brought in a hunk of bear meat for us.”

  “I must say I’m enjoying your company, Miss Holly Elizabeth. I haven’t had much chance to talk to women being in the army.”

  Nolan opened the oven door and slid the first batch of biscuits into the oven. Holly stood next to the table, her hands ready to lift the big pot of cubed potatoes onto the stove.

  “Please let me move that over for you. You peeled a lot of potatoes. Planning on feeding the army tonight?”

  “I’m hoping to have extra mashed potatoes leftover to make potato balls for tomorrow morning’s breakfast.”

  “Potato balls? That’s not something I remember my grandparents making. How do you do it?”

  “Roll mash potatoes into a small ball, about the size of a big walnut, then roll the ball in mixed egg and then dry bread crumbs. Then fry the balls in butter.”

  “Oh, I can just imagine how they melt in your mouth! I hope the train doesn’t leave early in the morning, because I want to eat breakfast here first,” Nolan enjoyed seeing her face blush at his praise.

  “So extra potatoes and biscuits made today will be ready for tomorrow’s breakfast. What else do you plan to serve?

  “Tomorrow morning I’ll fry salt pork and make white pepper gravy to pour over the warmed and buttered biscuits. And if I still need to make more food, I can always make pancakes.”

  “Sounds like a good breakfast. Shall I start working on the creamed chicken next while you mix up your contender biscuits?”

  She boldly watched him as she put the baking powder back on the shelf and took the baking soda to the worktable. Next, she went to the pantry and carried out a large gallon crock of…?

  Nolan raised his eyebrows, silently questioning what was in the crock that she needed for her biscuit recipe.

  “I use buttermilk instead of plain milk, and baking soda instead of baking powder. Shall we guess now whose biscuits will win?” Nolan groaned when Holly’s smile turned into a wide grin. He guessed buttermilk would give the biscuits a richer flavor.

  But he didn’t care. His goal was to help this woman who was caught in a snowstorm with a bunch of hungry people, two that would prefer to take advantage of her instead of just enjoying her cooking.

  Chapter 3

  Holly kept her eye on the two men who had confronted her in the kitchen earlier today. They sat at one of the tables against the far wall of the café. The men accepted their meal without making any rude remarks as she served them. Both men said ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ when she asked if they wanted more coffee.

  To anyone else in the room, the two were just travelers eating at the café tonight. Was she upset for no reason? No, they had been rude to her, just like other men when they met her and saw her heritage.

  Holly glanced over at Nolan, laughing with a customer about something, probably the biscuit contest. He was the first man in a long time who put her at ease and didn’t judge her for any reason. Nolan caught her staring at him, and he winked, making her turn away, blushing as she moved to another table to refill their coffee cups.

  The mood could almost be considered festive in the café this evening. Besides the travelers, a few townsfolk ventured out to eat since the snow had stopped and the evening sky turned starry.

  Miller Springs could be snowed in part of the winter, so townspeople liked to visit with any travelers coming through, for news from the outside world.

  One traveler staying in the church asked Reverend and Mrs. Nelson to be his guests at supper, in thanks for opening up the church for the stranded passengers.

  The Cobbs were also in the café, although sitting by themselves. They weren’t the most hospitable people, but if there were a chance to promote their mercantile, they’d be there.

  “Miss Brandt, is Mrs. Randolph in the kitchen? I’d like to talk to her about her pickles,” Mrs. Cobb addressed her. The woman was only in her thirties, but she always addressed Holly as if she was a child instead of twenty.

  “She hasn’t felt up to working today.” That was all the information Holly would give the woman.

  “I hope it wasn’t from food poisoning since we’re eating here this evening,” Mr. Cobb sharply replied.

  “Mrs. Randolph’s hip is bothering her, so your stomach is safe, sir.”

  Holly reminded herself she always had to be polite to the customers, topping the coffee in both their cups while she was at their table.

  “I can pass on your question to Mrs. Randolph if you’d like.” Holly kept her smile pasted on, ready for the complaint she knew would come next.

  “These pickles are homemade and inferior. I’d like Mrs. Randolph to buy and serve our pickles instead.” The woman dangled the crisp dill pickle spear up in the air as if it was a dead mouse.

  Holly had planted, tended, and harvested a large garden plot in the vacant lot beside the café this past summer. They had canned everything they didn’t serve fresh in season, to provide vegetables for the winter meals. There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hot weather that Mrs. Randolph would buy pickles when they already had a supply in the pantry. But Holly couldn’t very well confront Mrs. Cobb about the fact that people raved about how good their dill, and bread and butter, and sweet pickles were...compared to what was offered in Carson’s mercantile.

  “I’ll be sure to pass that on to her, Mrs. Cobb.”

  “Miss Brandt, several tables would like more bowls of your delicious dill spears. Could you bring those out for them, please?” Holly rolled her eyes at Nolan’s blatant suggestion after overhearing Mrs. Carson’s comment. It wasn’t fair that he wa
s just passing through town, and she had to put up with Carson’s attitude every time she had to shop in their store.

  “Yes, I’d be glad to.” Holly turned on her heel and marched back to the kitchen, happy to be away from the Carson’s table.

  Holly had just set the last bowl of pickles on a table when Nolan held up a water glass and tapped the side with a spoon.

  “May I have your attention before we serve dessert, please? It’s time to vote on your favorite biscuit. Reverend Nelson will come around to all your tables and mark down your choice to get a tally.”

  Nolan held up two biscuits, one from his batch, and one from hers. “This light brown one is choice number one, and the yellower one is choice two.”

  “Who made these?”

  “Miss Brandt and I each made a batch.”

  “What’s the prize for the winner?” someone called out.

  “The winner doesn’t have to wash any dishes tonight,” Nolan replied, and everyone chuckled, knowing there were a lot of dishes to wash with all the customers in the café.

  “I think it should be a monetary prize because one was definitely better than the other,” a traveler called out to Nolan.

  “What do you suggest then?” Nolan asked the customer.

  “Two cups passed around, one each to represent each biscuit. We can put whatever change we want in our favorite choice.”

  Who gets the money?”

  “The winner takes all,” the man sitting with the Nelson’s called out.

  “All right, although we’ll still do the count tally if people don’t want to let their money vote. Someone might stuff the cup to sway the vote.”

  “So why the contest?” another person called out.

  “Miss Brandt and I have different biscuit recipes so we each made a batch, hoping it would be fun for you, the customers, to pick their favorite.”

  The noise level in the room rose, and people talked across the table to each other. It had been months since the room was this full of customers and Holly wished Mrs. Randolph was downstairs to see the crowd in her café.

  “I’m ready for dessert, ma’am, and more coffee…please?” Holly knew which table the request came from and gritted her teeth to go and refill their cups. She’d be glad when those two men departed on the train tomorrow. Too bad, it meant Nolan would be leaving, too.