Montana Untamed (Bear Grass Springs, Book One): Bear Grass Springs, Book One Page 5

  The Madam laughed. “Even were she to leave, she’ll never be free of me. No man will ever see her as more than what she is here.” She rose and sauntered over to face Annabelle.

  “You don’t have that much power,” Annabelle scoffed.

  “No. But Charity believes it. And that’s all that matters.” The Madam nodded to Annabelle’s basket, smiling as she saw Annabelle’s white-knuckled grip on the handle. “I’ll buy your buns. I’ll help you create the little fantasy in your head that you’re helping your poor fallen sister. And I’ll enjoy watching your downfall.”

  Annabelle glared at her. “One missed payment and the deliveries cease.”

  True ire flashed in the Madam’s eyes. “I pay my bills.”

  Annabelle turned, flinging open the door and marching out. She entered the now-empty kitchen and tripped down the back steps. As she made her way toward her bakery, she fought shivers and an overwhelming fear that the Madam’s words were prophetic.

  Chapter 3

  Annabelle took a deep breath as she peered around the curtains covering the front of her shop. She read the backward stenciled words Annabelle’s Sweet Shop in light blue on the front door and firmed her shoulders. She chastised herself for believing anyone would be awaiting her opening, as she drew the curtains, flipped the small sign to Open on the door, and unlocked it. She moved to the kitchen, listening for the bell to sound, heralding the arrival of her first customer.

  She mixed together a final batch of cookies, hand-rolled individual balls, and placed them on a cookie sheet in the large oven to bake. She moved to the front of the store and smiled at those peering inside. When a half hour had passed, and no one had entered, she cut up a few of the warm cookies, put them on a plate, and moved outside her storefront. She cajoled passersby to try a bite of warm oatmeal cookie.

  After a few minutes, customers were in her shop, eager to purchase more. One man leaned over the counter and whispered to Annabelle, “Don’t tell my missus I was in here. She’s angry you’re selling to those in the Boudoir.”

  Annabelle nodded and handed him his bag filled with a half-dozen cookies. “I’d eat those up then before you arrive home.”

  He nodded and tipped his hat at her. She frequently replenished the sample plate, smiling at all who entered. Her smile faltered as Alistair MacKinnon came inside. He waited behind a small gaggle of women who muttered disparaging comments about Annabelle. A few perused her goods, proclaiming they were too expensive to consider purchasing and that any woman worth her weight could bake as well as Annabelle did. One woman stared at Annabelle with scorn. “I can only imagine what your parents think, what with two daughters in business.”

  Alistair cleared his throat, and the women tittered at the sight of him. “I’d think Miss Evans’s parents would be proud. As should any family who had a member with enough resourcefulness to start a business.” He stared at the woman. “How is yer son, Walter, Mrs. Jameson?”

  She reacted as one slapped, then stiffened and composed herself. “Work for someone of his caliber is difficult to come by.” She sniffed as she glanced at Alistair’s dirty work clothes.

  He stepped aside as the women marched out, the majority with heads lowered in mortification. He approached the counter and stared at the display of cookies, breads, and a cake. He frowned when he saw her pursed lips and fierce grip on her apron strings. “I wouldna let an old gossip like Mrs. Jameson ruin yer day. She’s jealous of anyone who has better fortune than she does.”

  “Then she must hate most of the town.” Annabelle gasped and covered her mouth.

  A low rumbling laugh emerged, and he half smiled. “Ye’re a sharp one.” He pointed to the cookies. “I’ll take half a dozen and a loaf of bread.”

  She packed them up and handed them to him. By the time he had set his coin on the counter, three more customers awaited her care. “Thank you, Mr. MacKinnon, for your business. I hope you’ll be back.” She watched as he nodded to her and slipped outside.

  By midafternoon, she had sold out of her stock. She flipped the sign to Closed, pulled the curtains, and returned to the kitchen area to plan the next day’s items for sale. The cookies and bread were fast sellers. If she offered sweet buns in the morning, she could entice otherwise busy men into her shop for a quick purchase. The cakes had barely sold.

  “I’ll have to advertise those as special orders,” she said to herself as she moved to her living quarters, stripping off her apron. She untied her shoes, kicked them off, and flopped onto her bed, putting her feet up for the first time in over twelve hours.

  “Heaven,” she muttered to herself. She groaned at a knock at the back door. She pushed herself up and grimaced as she stood on sore feet. She eschewed her shoes and walked to the door barefoot. “Yes?” she called out.

  “It’s me, Leticia.”

  Annabelle let her in and moved to a stool. “Please forgive me. I was relaxing after a busy day.”

  Leticia smiled at Hortence who played marbles on the floor. “The boys at school said girls couldn’t play marbles. Now Hortence insists she can play as well as any boy.” She shared an amused smile with Annabelle. “How did today go?”

  “It started out slow, and I was worried I had made a grave miscalculation. I decided to give out samples to those passing by, and I soon had customers in the shop.” She frowned as she ensured Hortence was busy on the floor with her marbles before whispering, “Many said they had been reluctant to patronize my bakery because I sell to the Boudoir.”

  Leticia snorted. “Hypocritical if you ask me. The majority have visited it, and many of their husbands continue to partake of the pleasures offered there.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I shouldn’t worry. You’ll have them addicted to your cookies and muffins, and they won’t be able to keep away.”

  Annabelle fought a yawn. “Alistair was in today. Bought bread and cookies. He spoke rather harshly to a woman named Mrs. Jameson.”

  “Oh, she’s the worst! She lives on gossip and will do whatever she can to make your life miserable so she doesn’t feel so awful. Her husband left her a few years ago for a lady from the Boudoir, and so she has a special vendetta for anyone associated with the Boudoir. Her husband, Vincent, left her for a Boudoir Beauty.”

  “But I’m trying to extract my sister from there!”

  “Yes, but you’re making money off of the Madam by selling her your goods. Mrs. Jameson will see you as in cahoots with the Madam, even if you aren’t.” Leticia waved away Annabelle’s protest. “Don’t expect that woman to make sense. She’s the most nonsensical woman you’ve ever met. But she’s also got a tongue like barbed wire. When she fixates on you, others do too, and your life can become a living hell.”

  Annabelle studied her friend. “What did she do to you?”

  “Oh, she worked harder than anyone to prevent me from obtaining the teaching post. Even though there were no other qualified candidates, and it meant the students would have no teacher for at least a year. She thought it would be better to forego education than to expose them to a widow of dubious moral character.”

  Annabelle laughed. “Oh, that’s rich. Dubious moral character?”

  Leticia flushed before laughing with her friend. “It was four years ago, but I’m still angry.”

  “As you should be. I could tell the woman is a menace, and I barely made her acquaintance today.”

  “If you are fortunate, you will have little to do with her in the future. However, she will watch you to see if you set a toe out of line and then crow about it to everyone if you do. I’d give thanks we have no newspaper, as Mrs. Jameson would write letters to the editor airing everyone’s dirty laundry for every edition.”

  Annabelle took a sip of water. “Why don’t we have a newspaper?”

  “Well, we do of sorts, but we have no reporter. Thus, nothing is ever printed. The last reporter was shot over a hand of cards at the Stumble-Out two years ago. He was a cheat.” She made a motion with her hand. “Palming cards. And those pl
aying with him didn’t appreciate it.”

  “Oh my,” Annabelle breathed.

  “Yes. The same men who Ewan plays with. You can see why Cailean is worried.”

  “I’d think you’d worry only if you were a cheat.” Annabelle raised an eyebrow.

  “Well, the problem is, it’s one’s word over another and, when one of the men is dead …” Leticia shrugged. “Cailean is fearful of Ewan meeting the same fate.” She shared a long look with Annabelle. “I don’t know as Cailean could survive much more loss.”

  Annabelle looked up, startled, but refrained from blurting out her opinion. “I’m certain his brother will see sense before the worst happens.”

  Leticia tilted her head, as if considering whether to nod or not. “Anyway I hear that a search has begun for a new reporter. It will be interesting to see who decides to move here. It’s not a hot bed of riveting news, like the big cities.”

  Annabelle giggled. “Reporting on the weather or the latest saloon fight would have its limitations.”

  “Or the number of cattle rustled. Or how the garden crops fared after a late frost.” The women shared a laugh. “I can’t imagine a big-time news reporter wanting to live here.” A shadow crossed Leticia’s gaze before she smiled at Annabelle and stood. “Come. Put on your shoes, and join us at the café for dinner. You should celebrate your first day before you fall exhausted into bed.”

  Hortence jumped up, cheering. “The café!”

  “It’s her favorite place, other than the livery. She loves the stories Harold and Irene tell.” She watched her daughter pick up her marbles. “And she always hopes for a piece of pie.”

  Annabelle moved to her small room, donning her shoes. “I doubt they have pie tonight.” She winked at Hortence as the young girl made a face. “But I’m sure they have cake.”

  She followed a laughing Leticia out the front door, locking it behind her.

  Annabelle entered the Sunflower Café behind Leticia and Hortence as Hortence dragged her mother by the hand. Annabelle laughed as Hortence danced around Harold while sharing a schoolyard story before she settled into a chair at a small round table. Annabelle joined them, ignoring the other patrons’ curious stares. No one was seated near them, affording them privacy and the ability to speak freely.

  After opting for the special of chicken fried steak with mashed potatoes and corn bread, Annabelle took a deep breath as the tension of the day slowly seeped away. “How is the end-of-school-year planning going for you?”

  Leticia smiled. “Well enough. We are putting on a recitation for the parents, and I’m hopeful the students will remember their lines. I fear it will prove a challenge for some of the younger ones.”

  Annabelle smiled at Hortence who huffed out a sigh. “I imagine,” Annabelle said, “it’s hard even on the older students. I’d have trouble remembering lines!”

  Hortence giggled. “But you’re an adult. It should be easy for you.”

  Annabelle shook her head. “What’s easy for one can be very hard for another. Now, if my recitation was a recipe, I’d be fine.” That earned another giggle from Hortence.

  They were served their meals and continued to chat as they ate. “What was Maine like?” Leticia asked.

  Annabelle’s gaze drifted to a spot over her friend’s shoulder and became distant. “I lived in a coastal town. The sound of the waves hitting the shore was never far away, and the smell of salty sea air was ever present.”

  “Was there winter?” Hortence asked.

  Annabelle half smiled. “Oh my, was there winter. Snowstorms with wind bursts so strong they’d about knock me off my feet. And, when the storm was over, there would be feet of snow to clear away.” She sighed. “People were kind, especially as I’d lived there for years and known them since I was born.”

  Leticia tilted her head. “You don’t realize you’ll miss it until you no longer have that.”

  Annabelle nodded. “I never understood how hard it was to rebuild in a new place. I hate to admit I never gave it much thought.”

  “And alone, as a woman, can be a trying experience.” Leticia ran a hand over Hortence’s head before granting her permission to go to the kitchen to talk with Irene. “She’s quiet, but, with Irene, Hortence talks a mile a minute.”

  Annabelle laughed. “She’s a good judge of character.” After a moment Annabelle looked at her friend. “How did you come to choose this town? It seems you could have gotten a job in Kansas, closer to your remaining family.”

  “I only have my great-aunt Maude, and we couldn’t live with her. She runs a boarding house, and she didn’t want to lose the rental of a room for us.”

  Annabelle winced. “That seems harsh. She’s your only living family.”

  Her friend shrugged. “After I recovered from my anger, I have to admit that I understood. She has been on her own almost her entire life, and she was afraid of losing the income. I think she also feared she would become responsible for helping me raise Hortence.”

  “And Montana?” Annabelle prodded.

  “I was out of my mind with … grief and anger after my husband died. I wanted to escape all that was familiar.” She glanced around the café and shared a rueful smile with Annabelle. “I succeeded.” She took a sip of the coffee that Harold had set down along with a piece of cake for each of them. “I’ve been here four years, and this is more home to me than Kansas ever was.”

  “I imagine that the presence of a certain Scotsman helps with that sentiment.” Annabelle laughed as her friend flushed.

  “From the moment I saw Alistair, I wanted to know him better. I feared he’d be like his elder brother, uninterested in women. And few men are excited about a woman with a child. Especially a daughter. But he’s wonderful with Hortence.” Her mouth turned down in a grimace. “I had a few men proposition me, promising me that they were wealthy enough to send her away to boarding schools so I wouldn’t have the inconvenience of raising her.”

  Annabelle gasped and dropped her fork. “They never said such a thing!” She clasped Leticia’s hand after Leticia nodded. “I’m surprised they wouldn’t understand how much you love her and that she is a reminder to you of your late husband and thus is doubly cherished.” She frowned as Leticia squirmed a moment.

  Leticia freed her hand and took a sip of coffee. “At any rate, Alistair has proven his constancy, as well as his patience.” She bit back what more she was to say as Harold joined them.

  He pulled out Hortence’s chair, smiling at them as he cast a glance around the café to ensure no one needed anything. “How are the two loveliest women in town doing?” He winked at them. “Aside for my own Irene of course.”

  Annabelle laughed. “I’m exhausted. I’d forgotten how much work it was to bake and man the front of the shop. I can’t wait for school to be out so Leticia can help me.”

  Harold nodded. “Sounds a smart plan to me. I know a few were reluctant to patronize your establishment due to your ties to the Boudoir. However, enough townsfolk are singing your praises that it won’t be long before you’ll need to hire more help.”

  “I thank you for your confidence, Mr. Tompkins. More than anything, I merely want today’s success to continue.” She stifled a yawn. “I should return to the bakery to prepare for tomorrow.” Rather than rise, she sank farther into her chair as though a deep ennui had overwhelmed her.

  Irene bustled from the kitchen, holding Hortence’s hand. “It’s a shame you weren’t in here earlier. You could have met our grandson, Frederick. He came into town for supplies.”

  Harold leaned forward as though imparting a secret. “He was mighty impressed with your piece of cake we gave him. Thought his grandma Irene had been hiding a talent from the family all these years.”

  Annabelle shared a laugh with Hortence as Irene tapped him on his arm. “You keep that up, and I’ll make sure I don’t save any of Miss Annabelle’s treats for you.”

  “Is he Mr. Sutton’s son?” Annabelle asked.

  Irene gasped
before laughing. “Tobias’s? Oh, heavens no. Tobias will never marry. He’s our nephew, not our son.”

  Harold gripped Irene’s hand a moment. “Our son died a few years back. Caught pneumonia. Left the ranch to our grandsons, but only Frederick lives there. The others are off adventuring.”

  Leticia tugged Hortence onto her lap. “In all my years in Bear Grass Springs, I’ve never met Frederick.”

  Harold winked at her. “If you did, that man of yours would have some competition.” They all laughed and were momentarily silent, lost in their own thoughts.

  Annabelle took a final sip of coffee before rising. “I must go if anyone is to have breads and sweets tomorrow. Irene, I’ll be by in the morning with the breakfast and lunch rolls.” She smiled at Leticia. “Thank you for insisting I join you for dinner. It was much better than what I had planned.” She departed, her spirit light after a successful first day as the baker in her new town.

  Cailean entered the bakery, frowning to see bare shelves, save for two cakes. He sniffed the air and closed his eyes as he attempted to name the scents. Cinnamon. Vanilla. He sniffed again. Almond? When a throat cleared, he jerked, his eyes opening.

  “May I help you?” Leticia asked.

  “Lettie, what are you doing here?” he asked, wincing when his words came out harsher than intended.

  “I’m working here during the school break.” Her slim shoulders straightened as though daring him to challenge her further.

  He met her defiant gaze and smiled. “I’m glad. I know Alistair feared you’d leave town, looking for work over the summer months.”

  Leticia returned his smile. “I had no desire to uproot Hortence if I could help it.” She bit her lip as she waved around at the empty display cases. “I’m afraid we’ve sold out of almost everything.”

  Cailean sighed. “It’s my fault. I thought to surprise Sorcha with a loaf of baked bread tonight. Alistair came home with one last week, and Ewan can’t stop talking about it.” He shared an amused smile with Leticia. “Sorcha has yet to master the art of baking here.”