Cowgirl for Keeps

Garrick sat at the kitchen table, his face a study in mortification that matched exactly how she felt. Had her joyful singing broken some British rule of etiquette? Too bad. If he didn’t like her music, he needn’t listen. She wouldn’t let him ruin her happiness.

* * *

Garrick hadn’t been in a kitchen since childhood when he and Helena used to pester Uncle’s cook for treats. Yet here he sat while Percy and the Northam brothers chatted as if they were in the drawing room of White’s Men’s Club in London, where Garrick would much prefer to be rather than in this American ranch house. Instead of uniformed footmen serving him high tea or his fellow members inviting him to play a hand of whist, a pretty Mexican girl—the family cook—offered biscuits and coffee. Her smiling demeanor and shared grins with the two young Northam wives indicated a decided lack of propriety for a servant, at least by British standards. He wasn’t certain Uncle ever met his cooks, for all communications with below stairs were done through the housekeeper and butler.

Still, he couldn’t complain about the American informality. Here in this cozy, crowded room, he could enjoy the aromas of roast beef sizzling in the oven and bread rising on the sideboard. While the biscuits—he supposed he should call them cookies, as the locals did—managed to stave off his hunger, he could well imagine supper would be a satisfying experience.

A sudden glorious sound from the back hallway wafted closer to the kitchen door, a lovely soprano voice lifted in a spirited rendition of the usually melancholy “Home, Sweet Home.” As the song ended in a majestic high note rather than descending into pathos, Miss Northam burst in, her pretty face aglow with happiness. Her eyes focused on Garrick, and her expression turned to shock and then dismay. Now his face felt like a mask reflecting the same feeling. Why did she find the sight of him so troubling? He forced a smile and stood. “Miss Northam.”

Percy jumped to his feet. “Miss Northam.”

The brothers remained seated.

A smile crept over her stunning face, and something struck Garrick’s midsection. Must he always feel a jolt when encountering her?

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. Howdy, Nate, Rand, Tolley.”

“Hey, now.” Nate stood, urging his brothers to do the same. “We’re gentlemen, too.” He approached his sister and hugged her, and his wife followed suit.

Garrick felt a pang in his chest. Issues of propriety aside, the genuine affection among these Northams reminded him of sweet Helena. Somehow he must make Uncle’s project work so he could provide his sister with a dowry.

“Do be seated.” Miss Northam took an apron from a hook on the wall and donned it over her pretty yellow frock. “On second thought, you men should vamoose and get your chores done so we ladies can get supper on the table.”

“Look who’s giving orders after being home five minutes.” Rand chucked his sister under the chin and brushed his wife’s cheek with a kiss on his way toward the back door.

“Say, is vamoose proper grammar?” Tolley grabbed a handful of cookies from the serving platter on the table as he headed after Rand. “Or did the Colonel waste his money sending you to that fancy Boston school?”

Nate followed his brothers, beckoning to Garrick and Percy. “Come on, fellas. Let’s skedaddle before the hen party begins. We’ll show you around the place.”

“I say, that sounds capital.” Percy followed them, giving Garrick no choice but to do the same.

“Not so fast.” Susanna’s order stopped them all, and a significant look Garrick couldn’t decipher passed between her and Nate. “You can save that for tomorrow. These gentlemen are still in their nice travel clothes.”

“Maybe they’d like to see the house first.” Marybeth gave Rand the same look.

Now the older brothers eyed each other while Tolley huffed in annoyance, apparently eager to do those chores.

“Tomorrow. Right.” Nate seemed to be smothering a grin. “Gentlemen, we’ll see you at supper.”

The three men made their exit without argument, so Garrick concluded that the ladies gave the orders in this family. As much as a turn around the ranch might refresh him, he wouldn’t contradict either young Mrs. Northam by insisting upon going with their husbands. Percy didn’t seem to mind the change of plans. But then, very few things bothered him.

Susanna, a tiny blonde with an accent he recognized as from the American South, turned her attention to Rosamond. “We can manage supper. You take our guests on a tour of the house.”

“Oh, but...very well.” Miss Northam removed her apron. “Come along, gentlemen. We’ll start with the dining room.”

She led them through the swinging door by which they’d entered earlier. The room was surprisingly large, with a mahogany table long enough to seat twelve and matching sideboard and china cabinet, the same sort of furnishings Garrick planned to order for the hotel. Such luxuries could be a sign of Northam wealth. Possibly.

“I say.” Percy paused before the large glass front cabinet. “Wedgwood china, is it not?”

Miss Northam nodded. “Father gave it to Mother for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. It was the talk of the San Luis Valley.”

“I should think so.” The words, borne on a laugh, slipped out before Garrick could stop them. Miss Northam’s indignant look made it clear he’d offended her...again.

* * *

At Fairfield Young Ladies’ Academy, Rosamond had learned that one never made another person feel uncomfortable, even when that person was rude. After all, one couldn’t truly know what someone else was thinking. This man, however, was easy to read, even without speaking a word. His obvious disdain for her beloved Valley didn’t bode well for their working together. Why had he come here if he held Americans in such contempt?

She schooled her face into a tight smile. “Shall we go to the parlor?”

They followed along, with Percy making pleasant remarks about various bits of bric-a-brac or paintings, some of which Rosamond hadn’t seen before. Her parents must have purchased them in Italy when they’d traveled there last year for Mother’s health.

Some new furnishings also graced the parlor—chairs, side tables, figurines. It still felt like home to Rosamond. They passed through to the ballroom, which Nate had built five years ago for the twenty-fifth wedding-anniversary party. Mother loved to entertain, and many times the community gathered here for special events. Although not used daily, the room was spotless, probably due to the efforts of Consuela, the new housemaid. Mother had written about the young Mexican girl they’d employed to help Rita manage the house. Too bad no one had written to Rosamond about the hotel.

“What a charming ballroom.” Garrick’s expression appeared to reflect true admiration. “One would hardly expect...I mean...” He ran his hand over the carved mahogany balustrade beside the three steps descending into the room.

Rosamond withheld a laugh. Was he truly arrogant or merely socially awkward? “Why, thank you, Mr. Wakefield.”

He gave her a sheepish grin. “I heard you say first names are the custom here. Please call me Garrick.”

“I will.” She accepted his olive branch. “Please call me Rosamond.”

“A lovely name, to be sure.” His gentle tone surprised her. Was he trying to make amends? Or was she being too hard on him? “A family name?”

“No. I was named for Rosamond Oliver in Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre, Mother’s favorite novel.”

The pleasantries seemed to break the tension between them. Along with Percy, they spent the next half hour exploring the rest of the house, including Father’s office and library. He’d added many books while Rosamond had been away. “Feel free to borrow any of these to read at your leisure.”

“Ah, American authors.” Percy studied the names on the book spines. “Mark Twain, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Louisa May Alcott. I shall be delighted to read them.”

“And you, Garrick?” For a moment, Rosamond’s heart hitched with an odd sort of hope. How she wanted to hear he enjoyed reading as much as she did. But why? He wasn’t a potential suitor. Gracious, no, not when they seemed only to tolerate each other.

“Yes, of course.” He also perused the books. “One cannot graduate from Oxford without obtaining a great appreciation for fine literature.”

So much for her hopes of common interests. Oxford, indeed. She doubted his education was any better than her own.

And she was expected to consult with this arrogant man? It wouldn’t work. After supper tonight, she’d make Father understand that simple fact.

* * *

Garrick attempted to follow the conversation over supper, tried to speak when appropriate. But with ten adults around the table, some not schooled in the proper way to converse at mealtime, he didn’t have to try hard. The playful banter among the brothers and Rosamond helped them reclaim the years of separation. Unlike English customs, they found talking across the table acceptable instead of only conversing with the persons to one’s right and left.

Further, no one here dressed for dinner. Although the brothers washed hands and faces after their chores, they’d come to the table in their work clothes, dusty trousers and all. Nor did footmen serve the meal. Instead, the cook and the young ladies carried steaming bowls and platters to the table. Everyone passed the food around and served themselves. At least Garrick’s and Percy’s valets possessed the good sense to decline Mrs. Northam’s invitation to eat with the family, insisting upon eating in the kitchen with the cook. Perhaps Rita, the senior servant despite being quite young, could explain to Roberts and Richards how she ran the household so they wouldn’t get underfoot while tending to their own duties.

To Garrick’s relief, after supper the two older sons and their families departed for their nearby homes, leaving behind a measure of peace, as well as a minor concern. Guests in an English house were expected to participate in the evening’s entertainment: reporting the latest news, joining a game of whist, offering to read a favorite passage from a book. What did one do to amuse Americans in the evening? Travel weary though he was, he must somehow participate in whatever activities they offered or risk offending his host.

Colonel Northam soon put that concern to rest while igniting another. Like the military officer he’d been, he ordered Tolley to entertain Percy and sent Garrick and Rosamond to his office. Considering the young lady’s obvious dislike, Garrick steeled himself for an uncomfortable interview.

“Have a seat.” The Colonel waved them to leather chairs in front of his desk. Mrs. Northam sat beside her husband. “I know you’re both tired, so I won’t keep you long. Just want to give you some marching orders so you can get started on Monday. That’s the day I’m leaving on business, so it’s on your shoulders now.”

“Father, this hotel business is a complete surprise to me.” Rosamond fidgeted. “You said in your letters I could build my high school this summer.”

A high school? Garrick sat up straighter and eyed the pretty lady beside him. Obviously, she had a concern for the education and welfare of the lower classes, just as her namesake in Jane Eyre did. His esteem for her rose.

“No reason you can’t do both.” The Colonel’s affection for his daughter resonated in his paternal tone and warm gaze. “Plenty of workers around now that this leg of the railroad’s finished.”

“Yes, but—” Her voice was tight, and her smile a grimace. “Surely Mr. Wakefield has made his plans. Why would he need my help?”

The Colonel chuckled indulgently. “The hotel needs a woman’s touch, and your mother has enough to do. That leaves you. Why did I send you to boarding school if you aren’t going to use what you learned? Not only that—” he held up a letter, and Garrick could see the elegant W of Uncle’s seal on the stationery “—Lord Westbourne likes the idea just fine. He has complete trust in you and Garrick to create a fine establishment for European and American tourists alike.”

“Well, then.” Miss Northam clearly didn’t care for the project any more than Garrick, but she at least had her school. Garrick’s future, and Helena’s, depended entirely upon this man’s good opinion and cooperation. “With your approval, sir, we can begin tomorrow.” Against his usual reserved behavior toward young ladies, he offered what he hoped was a charming smile to Rosamond. “Shall we?”

She returned one of her prim looks. “I believe Father said Monday. Tomorrow I’ll help my brothers with cattle branding. Then I’ll take Percy to meet Beryl. And of course the day after, we’ll go to church. Do you attend church, Mr. Wake—Garrick?”

“Rosamond!” Mrs. Northam’s soft voice resounded with shock. “Of course he goes to church.”

Colonel Northam laughed out loud. “At least he will while he’s in this house, won’t you, my boy?”

Heat rushed up Garrick’s neck. Did they mean to insult him, or was this just banter, like the dinner table conversation? He’d choose to believe the latter. “I try never to miss church, sir. Nothing sets the tone of a man’s week like an hour of worship and a stirring sermon.”

“Well spoken. You’ll be glad to know our Reverend Thomas always delivers a thought-provoking message.” The Colonel stood and reached over the desk. Garrick rose and shook his hand. “Now you get a good night of sleep. If you’re interested in watching the cattle branding tomorrow, you’re welcome to come on out. If not, please feel free to use my library.” He indicated the shelves Garrick had perused earlier. “Good night.”

With this clear dismissal, Garrick took his leave of these people who held his future. As he trudged up the elegant front staircase and down the long hallway, he could hear laughter coming from Percy’s room. Through the partially open door, he saw Tolley was paying Percy a visit, as ordered by his father. Apparently the two got along well. Garrick was happy for his cousin. As long as he enjoyed himself, he’d stay in Colorado, where Garrick would need him now more than ever, should things become impossible for him to bear.

* * *

“Now, Rosamond.” Father gave her a rare stern look. “I understand your concerns, but working on both projects will prepare you for your many and varied headmistress duties.”

“Yes, Father.” How could she argue against his faith in her? Didn’t she believe just as strongly in her own ability to manage the school and at the same time teach both boys and girls just a few years younger than herself?

“You can always ask me for ideas.” Mother came around the desk to sit in the chair Garrick had vacated. She grasped Rosamond’s hand. “As a girl, I spent many happy days visiting my grandfather’s hotel in Philadelphia. And, of course, the hotels in Italy cannot be surpassed. I can describe them to you in detail, and I’ll help in any other way you ask.”

“Now, Charlotte, I won’t have you overdoing. You manage the house. That’s enough.” Father’s eyes filled with concern. “In fact, you need more help, and I don’t mean Rosamond. She’ll be busy. I’m going to hire more help for the gardening and other such things.”

“Oh, Frank, don’t coddle me.” Mother gave him an intimate smile, one that made Rosamond ache for the kind of love her parents shared. “I’m fine. Now, enough about me. Let’s hear about Rosamond’s trip home.”

Taking the hint, Rosamond launched into a description of her last days at the academy, the graduation ceremony during which both she and Beryl had received academic awards and their lengthy train travels. They’d already heard about the attempted robbery from Sheriff Lawson, so she brushed past the event. When she almost fell asleep in the middle of her own narrative, her parents ushered her upstairs to the comforting warmth of her bedroom.

Despite her exhaustion, she knelt beside her window as she had as a child to view the sparkling diamonds sprinkled across the velvet black sky. In Boston, with its many streetlamps and lighted buildings, she’d missed the stark beauty of Colorado’s nighttime skies. She’d also missed this window spot, where she’d learned to pray and to leave every concern in the Lord’s hands. Tonight she prayed for Beryl, anticipating their reunion tomorrow. She prayed for her school and her future students and, finally, for willingness to obey Father in helping the Englishman build the hotel.

When she awoke the next day, the sun already shone on the alfalfa field outside her window. In the bright midmorning light, everything seemed possible, even working alongside Garrick. A joyful, giddy feeling swept through her as she dug around in her wardrobe for her split skirt, plaid shirtwaist and riding boots. After donning her comfortable cowgirl garb, she raced down the backstairs to the kitchen. She took care not to sing, even though a song played in her mind, lest Garrick hear her as she entered the kitchen and be offended again.

Her worries were groundless. Only Rita and one of the valets occupied the room. Curiously, the valet had rolled up his sleeves and plunged his hands in the soapy dishpan up to his elbows.

“What would you like for breakfast, Senorita Rosamond?” Rita was preparing sandwiches for the men who were branding the cattle, but she took a moment to stoke the fire under the skillet and lay in some bacon. “Two slices of bacon, two sunny eggs, two biscuits, strawberry jam and coffee?”

“You remember.” Rosamond wasn’t surprised. A mere eighteen years old, Rita already managed the entire household. More proof that Rosamond’s twenty-one years wouldn’t hinder her from completing both of Father’s projects.

“Sí, senorita. How could I forget?” She poured coffee for Rosamond and set it on the breakfast table.

“May I be of assistance, Rita?” The young valet, Roberts, dried his hands on a tea towel. “I can fix Miss Northam’s breakfast while you finish those sandwiches.”

Rita gave him a sweet smile, and her brown eyes sparkled. “I’d be most grateful, Senor Roberts.”

“Just Roberts, miss.” He winked at her and then turned a more serious face to Rosamond. “I have experience in the kitchen, as that’s where I started in service as a boy. If no one minds, I’d like to help Rita. I’ve very little to do for Mr. Wakefield today, and I like to keep occupied.”

“By all means.” Rosamond sat at the table and sipped her coffee. She could easily fix her own breakfast, but watching a possible romance budding right before her eyes was more enjoyable. “Where’s Richards?” Percy’s valet was somewhat older, perhaps in his thirties.

Roberts arched his brown eyebrows at her question. Visiting wealthy friends in Boston, she’d noticed that servants didn’t chat with the family of the house. No doubt that was also the custom in England. “He went with Mr. Morrow to watch the branding, miss.”

“Hmm.” Rosamond hid a grin. “To watch or to protect his employer?”

Roberts also hid a grin by laboring unnecessarily over the bacon. “I’d imagine both. Our gentlemen didn’t bring what you’d call work clothes, so it’ll be our job to repair any damage.”

A memory popped into Rosamond’s mind. Last night, Nate, Rand and Tolley traded looks suggesting they’d devised some initiation into the cowboy world for the Englishmen. She needed to eat before joining the branding, but she dearly wanted to see what mischief her brothers planned for their hapless victims.

“On second thought, I’ll just take this.” She picked up a beef and cheese sandwich, wrapped it in a napkin and tucked it in her pocket. With her coffee cup in hand, she headed for the door. On a hook by the back entrance hung her old hat right where she left it before going back East. Prepared to reenter her old life, she dashed out into the warm May sunshine.

And she’d try very hard not to laugh too much at whatever disaster fell upon stuffy Mr. Garrick Wakefield.

Chapter Three

Garrick, Percy and Richards perched on the fence of the labyrinthine corral to watch the Northam brothers work. Cattle branding was a messy, noisy business, but no more so than sheep shearing, which Garrick had observed every spring at Uncle’s manor. As heir presumptive, he’d spent his first eighteen years learning about his future responsibilities. Even after six years of knowing he wouldn’t inherit, he couldn’t put aside the habit of recording new knowledge, new experiences that might be helpful in the future. Of course, he’d never need to know about cattle branding. He’d never even dressed the deer or grouse he’d shot in Uncle’s park. The gamekeepers always did the dirty work.

Yet somehow, in spite of himself, he was impressed by the Northams’ personal involvement in the ranch work. They employed countless cowboys, yet stayed in the thick of the branding process. Garrick never touched a sheep, although his governess let him feel the freshly sheared wool. He suspected she enjoyed the waxy lanolin balm present in the wool.

“Hey, gents.” In the center of the corral, Nate raised a branding iron in the air. “Want to try it?”

“No, thank you.” Garrick couldn’t think of inflicting pain upon those young calves. At least sheep shearing was painless to the animals, even welcomed, for it removed their heavy winter coats.

“Yes.” Percy jumped into the corral. “I’d be delighted.”

“Sir?” Seated on the fence beside Garrick, Richards called out. “May I be so bold...?”

“Certainly.” Percy beckoned to him. “Come along.”

Richards hopped down and strode alongside Percy with a spring in his step, as though he were on his way to a picnic.

Garrick shook his head. Richards held one of the highest ranks possible for a servant. Why ever would he want to get his hands, not to mention his clothes, soiled with such menial work with dirty animals?

“Don’t you want to play?” Rosamond nimbly climbed the fence and sat beside Garrick. Pulling a sandwich from her pocket, she began to eat.

In spite of her boyish attire, his midsection did its usual dance. He really mustn’t allow himself to react this way. But how did one stop the involuntary feelings? How even to relate to her? He knew so little about young ladies. The aristocratic girls he’d known in his youth turned a cold shoulder to him once his newborn cousin replaced him as Uncle’s heir.

“Good morning to you, too, Rosamond.”

She laughed, a musical sound that reminded him of her merry song the day before. “Are you enjoying the show?” She tilted her head toward the action in the corral.

“That? Well, I must say I feel a bit sorry for those calves.”

If the rolling of her eyes was any indication, he’d said the wrong thing...again.

“If we didn’t brand them, they could be stolen and someone else could claim them.”

“Stolen? From right here on your father’s ranch?”

Another rolling of the eyes, this time accompanied by a shake of her head, as though he were a hopeless numbskull. “The ranch doesn’t grow enough hay to feed all the cattle year round, so the hands drive the herd up into the hills for summer grazing. Sometimes our cattle mingle with other herds, so the brands keep everybody honest.”

“Ah, I see.”

She polished off the sandwich in a rather dainty manner, considering the setting and her hoydenish garb. “You’ll excuse me?” She started to jump down.

“What? You?” Garrick felt an entirely different kick in his midsection—fear. For her. The actual branding wasn’t the hard part of this operation. The unwilling calves struggled violently to avoid their fate. What if she were injured?

“Yes, me.” She stayed on the fence. “These are my cattle and, like my brothers, I always participate in the branding.”

“Don’t you mean they’re your father’s cattle?” He’d say anything, no matter how annoying, to keep her from danger.

She huffed out a sigh. “Yes, my father’s, my mother’s, Nate’s, Rand’s, Tolley’s and mine. We’re all owners of the Four Stones Ranch.”

“Indeed.” Garrick eyed her doubtfully. “Are you saying your oldest brother won’t inherit everything?” Even for Americans, this idea was truly novel.

She gave him an indulgent smile. “That’s what I’m saying. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”