Guarding the Mountain Man’s Secret (Brothers of Sapphire Ranch #7)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

C lara tensed as she stepped ahead of Uncle Hiram from the little bed chamber Dr. Coulter had assigned them into the cabin’s main room. She and her uncle had gotten settled, and now they’d been summoned for the evening meal. She was about to face a host of strangers.

The large Coulter family bustled about, a flurry of activity centered around the long, rustic dining table. The scent of roasted meat and fresh bread that filled the air had Clara’s stomach growling.

She smoothed her skirts. How long had it been since she’d eaten with such a large group? Weeks at least. Since before she’d started her journey up the Missouri River on The Loraline .

This gathering felt far more comfortable than the meals on the steamboat had, where she’d encountered pleasant smiles and a quick kind word passed between men and women.

Miles drew out a chair, then pointed to the seat beside it. "Miss Pendleton, the two of you can sit in these."

She slid into the seat he'd pulled, and allowed him to slide her in. What an unexpected courtesy out in this frontier. Who had taught Miles such good manners?

Despite the pain he surely felt in his hand, Uncle Hiram settled in beside her and scanned the table with an excited light in his eyes. “Ladies, this meal looks magnificent. We can’t thank you enough.”

A smile touched Dr. Coulter’s face as she waved off the compliment. "It's our pleasure. We're glad we can help."

Jericho, seated at the head beside his wife, cleared his throat, and the chatter died down. “Miles, will you ask the blessing?”

They were a Christian family then? What a relief. That explained the kindness she’d felt since arriving at the cabin—though it made her wonder anew about the eldest brother’s hostility at the surveying camp.

She bowed her head with the others as Miles’s rich voice sounded beside her. "Lord, thank you for this good meal and for our guests. Heal the burn quickly, Lord, and take away the pain. Please bless the food for our strength and Your service. We ask these requests in the Savior’s name. Amen."

As the chorus of "Amen" echoed around the table, she opened her eyes and peeked at the man beside her. The prayer had been part frank conversation and part reverent respect. Definitely not something he’d memorized as a child and recited before each meal. And why did a younger brother pray? Where she’d come from, the eldest assumed the honor. They must take turns here.

Uncle Hiram passed a bowl of corn with his good hand, and Clara scooped a spoonful onto each of their plates. So much bounty. Vegetables and roasted meat swimming in gravy. Fresh-made biscuits. Every bite was a far cry from the limited fare she’d been able to cook over the campfire these past weeks. More than they’d usually had at home too, though her stepmother often served finer meals than they could afford on Papa’s income. Even for just the three of them.

As she savored her first bite of tender roast, one of the women—Patience maybe?—turned to her with a smile. "So, Miss Pendleton. A female in a surveying party. Do you mind if I ask how you came to join them? You must be an excellent cartographer."

Clara swallowed the bite of roast and tried to ignore the many eyes now focused on her. “Not really. I just like to draw. I guess my skill is passable enough that when Uncle Hiram mentioned me to the men in charge, they agreed to let me join.”

“You’re from the States then?” Patience looked truly interested, not like a gossip nosing into their affairs.

She nodded. “From Baltimore.”

One of the brothers—Jonah? …Joel? That didn’t sound right. Anyway, one of the brothers spoke to Uncle Hiram. “Are you from Baltimore too, sir?”

He shook his head. “A couple hours’ ride outside the city. Had me a little farm there, but I sold it when I decided I’d like to see more o’ the country. Surveyin’ lets me do that.”

“I imagine you’ve seen a lot of our territory so far. Where’d you start out?” This from the oldest brother, Jericho.

“I started with the rest of the men at Fargo, and Clara joined us at Fort Benton.” Uncle Hiram sent her one of those gazes so rich in love. “It sure felt like Christmas seeing her walk off that steamboat.”

Christmas. That holiday would be here in a couple weeks. Maybe she could shift the conversation by asking how the Coulters celebrated the day.

Dr. Coulter spoke before she could find the words. "What made you want to leave Baltimore, Miss Pendleton? Do you have family there still?"

Did she have to tell the full truth? Maybe a part of her story would suffice. "My father and stepmother live there. I needed a change, I suppose. A fresh start. When Uncle Hiram invited me to join him, it seemed like the perfect opportunity."

She couldn’t stop her gaze from sliding over to Miles, maybe because she could feel the weight of his focus. When their eyes met, his mouth curved in that small smile he often gave. But something seemed lacking in the expression this time. Had she spoken wrong?

Patience leaned forward with a sympathetic smile. "Well, we're glad to have you here. Both of you. Life in these parts can be challenging, but it's a wonderful land." She smiled lovingly at the brother Clara couldn’t remember the name of. “Good people here too. The very best people.”

The boy sitting on the other side of Miles—Shane? Sean?—coughed loudly enough to show how he felt about the affection dripping in Patience’s voice.

The older girl beside him gave him a hard jab with her elbow, then turned to Clara with a bright smile. “You’ll love it here on the ranch. You can see the mountains all around us, and the cabins stay warm in the winter. It’s so pretty to look out the window and watch the snowflakes fall when you’re snuggled up in a warm blanket by the fire. Do you think it’ll snow soon, Uncle Jericho?” She turned that last question to the man at the head of the table.

He wiped his mouth with a serviette and shrugged. “Prob’ly so. You never know around here, but the weather’s turning cold enough.”

Finally, the conversation shifted away from her and Uncle Hiram, so she could relax enough to enjoy the wonderful food on her plate. The family took turns sharing funny stories or interesting tidbits from their day, sometimes ribbing each other. She’d never seen so much obvious fondness for one another, despite the occasional bickering.

It felt so different from the stiff, formal dinners at home in Baltimore, with Papa and Sarah. Conversation had been so stilted compared to this, though she’d never thought of it that way before. The questions asked and answers given among Papa, her stepmother, and herself had been superficial, as though they were only spoken from politeness. Had it been like that before Papa remarried? She couldn’t remember. Those had been such dark days for them both.

Her gaze drifted to Miles, who had remained mostly quiet through the meal. He ate with a single-minded focus, as though storing up energy for some great task ahead. Yet, every so often, his eyes would flick to her, like he was attuned to her presence, her reactions.

How strange it was to be so aware of Miles. They hardly knew each other, and yet, from the moment he'd helped her from her horse, she'd felt a connection. A shared understanding, maybe, of what it was to be an outsider looking in.

She turned her attention back to her plate. It wouldn't do to let her mind wander down such paths. She was here to assist her uncle, nothing more. Once his hand healed, they would rejoin the surveying expedition, and the Coulters would fade into memory.

Still, as the evening wore on and the family began to disperse to their various pursuits, she couldn't help a pang of longing. For the warmth of the fire, the laughter ringing in the air, the sense of belonging that seemed to permeate every inch of the cabin.

This was a dangerous feeling, one she knew better than to indulge. Because she didn’t belong here. Just as she hadn’t belonged at home with Papa and Sarah. And especially with that rake Nathaniel MacGregor.

But as she bid the family goodnight and retreated to the small bedchamber with her uncle, she couldn't quite shake the notion that, in some strange way, she had found home.

C lara blinked open her eyes and looked around the small bed chamber.

Uncle Hiram still lay in the other single bed, his loud breathing steady in sleep.

His chest rose and fell under the heavy quilt that covered him, concealing his bandaged arm. This chamber was much cooler than the main room, chilly enough she could almost see her breath in the air above her. The weather had, indeed, turned quickly, as Mr. Coulter had predicted last night.

She forced herself to move, to push her blanket aside and pull her feet from its warmth, placing them on the icy wood floor. At least its surface wasn’t the dirt beneath a flimsy canvas tent, as she’d slept the night before last. And every night for nearly a month now.

A glance at the window showed sunlight through the frosty pain. Her heart lurched. It was too bright.

Had she overslept?

She stepped as quietly from bed as she could, then retrieved her dress from the foot of the bed where she'd laid it out last night. After rebraiding her hair and slipping into her clothes and boots, she stepped through the door connecting their chamber to the main room.

Two women worked by the cookstove, Dr. Coulter and the dark haired woman who was much quieter than the others.

She walked toward them. "I'm sorry I slept so late." A glance at the table showed no food or dishes on it. Had they already eaten and the family dispersed for the day? She was even later than she’d thought.

Dinah sent a smile as she continued scooping something lumpy from one bowl into a larger one. "You must have needed the rest. Patsy and Lillian went with some of the men to help clean Patsy and Jonah’s new cabin. Miles and Gil are doing chores in the barn, but I think Miles will be glad to see you're up and feeling well." A sparkle lit Dinah's gaze, and heat swept up Clara's neck.

How silly to let mention of Miles affect her. She forced her mind to focus on what she could do to help. "Is there a broom I can use to clean up?” She’d seen one of the women sweeping around the table after last night’s meal. Her stepmother had usually asked her to perform that same task at home. Along with many other chores Sarah found beneath her.

Dinah reached behind a stack of crates and pulled out a broom. “Here it is, but you don’t have to work. Why don’t you have breakfast while the food is still warm.”

It felt wrong to sit and eat while others worked, but Dinah's warm smile and the gurgle in Clara’s middle from the rich aromas won out. She settled at the table where Dinah placed a steaming bowl of porridge and a mug of coffee.

The food tasted every bit as good as it smelled, especially the bacon and biscuits the other woman—Jess—brought a moment later. Clara ate with vigor. Normally hunger didn’t overtake her this way, but something about this place made her feel like this was the first time she’d had a decent meal in years.

Her thoughts drifted to the day ahead. She needed to ride out to the survey camp and gather enough supplies to make the evening meal for the men. It would be a challenge to transport everything on horseback, but she would manage.

Almost as if reading her mind, Dr. Coulter spoke up. "You know, Clara, you're welcome to use our food stores to prepare meals for the surveyors. It would be much easier than hauling supplies from the camp."

Clara paused, her fork halfway to her mouth. " I couldn't impose like that. You've already been so generous."

The woman waved away her protest. "Nonsense. We probably have a lot more options too. When you’re ready to cook, let me know, and we'll all pitch in how ever we can."

Warmth spread through Clara's chest. Why would Dr. Coulter offer such benevolence? It felt like there should be an underlying motive, but what would that be? "Are you certain?”

Jess looked up at Clara and smiled, speaking for the first time. “The Coulters are sincere in their goodness. I’m often surprised at it, too, but they are simply good people.”

Dr. Coulter waved the compliment away, wrapping an arm around Jess’s waist. “The problem is, you didn’t meet with nearly enough kindness before you came to us. What we have is nothing special.”

Even Clara knew that statement to be a falsehood. If only a part of what she’d experienced last night was real—the camaraderie, the laughter, the genuine care for one another—it was more than she’d known in a long while. Perhaps ever. The sense of family and belonging here was palpable, and it tugged at something deep inside her. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and focused on her meal. She couldn’t allow herself to get attached. Doing so would make leaving that much more difficult.

When she finished eating, she washed and dried her dishes. Jess sent her a smile of thanks when she handed over the clean plate and spoon, then Clara reached for the broom. Sweeping was something she knew well.

By the time she brushed the last bit of dirt out the front door and replaced the broom in its spot behind the crates, Jess had gone to the barn to see Gil. Dinah sat at the table, studying a large book.

Clara cleared her throat. She hated to interrupt her reading, but she should at least decide what she’d cook for the meal tonight to know how long she would need to prepare. "I suppose I should start planning the evening meal for the surveyors. If you're sure it's no trouble to use your supplies?"

Dinah waved away her concern. "It's no trouble at all. Let's see what we have that might suit a hungry crew of men."

After Dinah showed her their substantial supplies, they chose a ham and potatoes to bake. Fresh sourdough bread would go well with that, and if she cooked enough of everything, the men would enjoy leftovers tomorrow morning before they headed out to work.

Dinah touched her shoulder as she stepped back, allowing Clara space at the counter. “I’m going to check your uncle and see if he’s ready for me to change his bandage.”

Clara jerked her gaze to the woman’s eyes. “Shall I help you?”

Dinah’s expression softened as she shook her head. “No need. It’ll only take a minute.”

When Dinah left, Clara opened the wooden crock the doctor had indicated held the sourdough starter. The sharp, fermented aroma hit her nose as she peered inside at the spongy mixture.

She found a large mixing bowl and carefully measured out a scant cup of the precious starter, using the edge of her hand to level it off just as Sarah had taught her. Even the smallest excess could throw off the entire recipe—she’d learned this the hard way, much to Sarah’s frustration. And she certainly didn’t want to deprive the Coulters of more than she had to use.

Next came the flour, poured from a cloth sack into a neat mound atop the starter. She used her fingers to create a well in the center, then slowly added cool water from a pitcher, pulling in the flour bit by bit until a shaggy dough began to form. The repetitive motion of mixing soothed her nerves as much as the feel of the living dough beneath her hands.

Once the dough came together, she tipped it onto the floured counter and began to knead. Push, fold, turn. Push, fold, turn. The steady rhythm took her back to countless times she’d done this in their kitchen at home. She’d taken over most of the food preparations by the time she turned fourteen. Though the work seemed endless at times, she appreciated the challenge of making something tasty with only a few precious ingredients.

Dinah stepped from the chamber Clara shared with her uncle and moved to the wash basin against the wall to scrub her hands. “Hiram has a bit of a fever this morning, but that’s normal. His body is working to create new skin over that burn.”

Clara’s chest tightened as she turned to the woman, though she kept her flour-covered hands over the counter. “Is it bad?”

The doctor dried her hands on a towel. "It's not too high. We'll keep a close eye on him, make sure he’s drinking enough water. I might change that bandage three times today. Infection is always a risk with severe burns, but he should recover well. It just takes time.”

Clara’s lungs squeezed tighter. She couldn’t lose Uncle Hiram. Abandoning the dough, she wiped her hands on her apron. "I’m going to speak with him, see if there’s anything I can bring him."

Dinah’s voice drifted from behind as Clara strode toward the chamber. "I’m making a tea to help with the pain and healing."

Clara could only nod as she pushed open the door. She had to see for herself exactly how bad this situation had become.