Safe in His Arms

FOURTEEN





Larson teemed with people. Most everyone was in town today. Margaret let her father out at the mercantile, then drove the buckboard to the blacksmith’s to have a wheel repaired. The streets were muddy from the recent rain, and a passing buggy tossed clumps at Margaret’s boots. She gave the blacksmith instructions, then walked across the street toward the café.

It was too early for lunch so Emma should have time to talk to her. The sign was still in the window. Margaret paused on the boardwalk and glanced down at her britches. She should have worn her Sunday dress even if Pa had asked her about it. Though she’d never applied for a position before, it made sense that she should look her best instead of appearing in tan dungarees and a faded plaid shirt. She smoothed her hair. At least Inez had put it up for her this morning, though the wind had tugged strands of it loose on the ride to town.

She squared her shoulders. There was no help for it now. If she didn’t apply today, it would be another week before she came to town. The bell on the door tinkled when she pushed into the café and glanced around. The dining room was a pleasant place. Red-and-white-checkered tablecloths covered the tables, and the chairs were comfortable. Margaret had spent many an hour enjoying Emma’s excellent food.

A couple she didn’t recognize was drinking coffee by the front window. The woman kept peering out the window, then glancing at Margaret as if to ask what she was doing standing around instead of taking a seat. Margaret smiled at them before going through the door and down the hall in the direction of the aroma of roasting beef. Today’s special was beef stew.

The kitchen was at the end of the hall. A wooden table still held traces of flour from Emma’s famous homemade sourdough bread. The wood floor was spotless. A couple of pie safes and cupboards stood along the wall opposite the stove. The huge stove belched out heat.

Emma stirred a large pot on a woodstove. Her olive skin was smooth, but she’d owned the café for more than thirty years, so she had to be at least sixty. She didn’t take any guff from the men, and most of the trail riders knew better than to say a smart-mouthed word to her. Which was another of the many reasons Margaret held Emma in high esteem. As far as Margaret knew, Emma had never married. She’d forged a path for herself, just as Margaret intended to do.

Emma turned with the wooden spoon in her hand. She put it down and dried her hands on the large red apron she wore over her gray dress. Her hair was up in a tight bun. “Margaret, surely you’re not hungry at this hour of the morning. What can I do for you?”

Margaret walked into the room and stopped by the worktable. “I see you are still looking for a waitress.”

Emma’s eyes brightened. “I am. Doing this by myself is more than I can handle. It’s hard work, mind you. Twelve-hour days, six days a week. I pay three dollars a week, plus the men are fair tippers. Who are you recommending? Anyone I know?”

Twelve-hour days. There would be no time to help at the ranch at all. “What about half shifts?”

Emma put her hands on her hips. “What is this all about, young lady?”

“I’d like to apply for the job myself, Emma.”

The woman didn’t even gasp. She looked Margaret over and nodded. “No one could say you aren’t a bold one. I suppose you aren’t going to tell me why you’re thinking of leaving your ranch?”

Margaret held her head up. “It’s Pa’s ranch, not mine. He has other plans for its settlement, so I find myself in the position of needing to secure my future.” She gestured to the kitchen. “You built this business all by yourself. I’d like to learn from you.”

Emma’s gaze swept Margaret’s figure. “You’d have to wear a dress. I can’t have you working in my establishment dressed in those dungarees like a man. Men might think you aren’t quite proper.”

Though the comment was as she expected, Margaret’s smile faltered. “It will take me some time to acquire dresses. I don’t have anything serviceable for work.”

“The mercantile got in a shipment of ready-made dresses.”

Ready-made. Those would never fit, but Margaret nodded. “I will see what I can do. Now about the hours. Is there any flexibility?”

Emma chewed her bottom lip. “Your pa doesn’t know about this, does he? When he finds out, he’ll be mighty upset.”

Margaret’s throat squeezed. “So you won’t hire me?”

“I didn’t say that.” Emma turned back to stir the pot. “Paddy doesn’t scare me. But I don’t think you’ll be able to deal with being cooped up inside all day. You’re used to fresh air.”

“I won’t let you down, Emma. Please.” Margaret was ready to abandon the thought of asking for shorter workdays if it meant she could go back to the ranch and tell her father she had a job.

Emma turned back toward her and smiled. “We’re already shorthanded. Whatever hours you work would be welcome. Breakfast isn’t so bad. I have flapjacks and bacon cooked up ahead of time. I can handle that by myself. How about you come in at twelve every day and work through until eight? That will give you time to help with morning chores. And it will let us both see whether you’re suited to this work.”

“Thank you, Emma, I’ll work hard.”

Emma turned back to stir the stew. “I have no doubt about that. It’s different work than you’re used to, though. It will take some adjustment.”

Margaret glanced at the watch pinned to her shirt. “I’d better go. Pa will be done soon.”

“Let me know when you’ll be available to start.”

“I will.”

Her father was across the street on a bench when she exited the café. He saw her and waved her over. What if he suspected she was applying for the job? But no, why would he? She dashed across the street between two buggies.

“Your business is done?” If she got him talking, he would be unlikely to question her activities.

“When the buckboard is ready, we’ll stop back and pick up everything. I have another mission in mind now.”

The gleam in his eye was unusual. “What’s that?”

“We’re going to get you some dresses.”

“D-Dresses?” Had he overheard?

“It’s high time you started dressing like a woman. You were quite lovely in your mother’s dress at the dance.” He rose and extended his arm. “Shall we go see Sally?”

Margaret took his arm and they walked down the boardwalk until it ended, then stepped along the street to Sally’s house. Sally was Lucy’s aunt, and Margaret thought Lucy might look a lot like her when she was her age. The home was a neat bungalow with a large porch and flowers blooming along the brick walk. The door and shutters were painted green and so was the porch.

Sally’s daughter, Fanny, answered the door. Wearing a blue dress, she looked fresh and pretty. Her dark hair was up and her eyes were bright. “Why, Margaret, how lovely to see you! Come in. Mother is in the sewing room, but I’ll fetch her.”

“We’re here to secure her services. Pa wants me to buy some dresses.”

“I should say so! You looked magnificent at the dance. Come with me.”

They stepped inside the foyer. The blue-and-white-flowered wallpaper was a cheery welcome. The wood floor gleamed with polish. Fanny led them down the hall to a room off the kitchen. Fabric covered two worktables. Sally sat at a sewing machine. The needle whirred up and down as she pumped the treadle with her foot. The fabric was a soft blue that lay in lovely folds. The dress appeared to be mostly finished, and Sally was sewing lace onto the collar.

Sally glanced up. Her blue eyes peered over her glasses, then her face lit up. “Why, Paddy and Margaret. I wasn’t expecting you. Fanny, you should have summoned me to the parlor.”

“I offered, Mama, but Mr. O’Brien wants you to make some dresses for Margaret.”

Sally rose and snatched up her tape measure. Her smile beamed out. “I’ve wanted to dress you for ages, dear girl. I just got in some new fabric that would be quite attractive with your hair and skin.” She steered Margaret to the bolts of fabric on the far table. “This rich golden brown would look lovely on you.” She flipped out a length of fabric and held it up to Margaret’s face. “Exactly as I thought. And look here.” She pulled a book to the edge of the table. “Have a peek at some of the styles. I think this would be attractive.”

Margaret wrinkled her nose at the frilly apparition. “Perhaps some walking skirts and blouses with a vest.”

“That sounds very mannish, Margaret,” her father said. “I’d like to see you in something more feminine.” He stabbed a thick finger at a dress. “This one. In the brown.”

It had pleats on the top and deep flounces at the hem. At least it wasn’t as fussy as the first one. Its sleek lines looked elegant. “All right,” Margaret said. “But some serviceable skirts and blouses too.”

Sally held up a length of deep aqua. It was in a shiny fabric. “And what about this for a Sunday best?”

“Very well. Isn’t this going to cost a lot, Pa?”

“We aren’t paupers.” He scowled. “I can afford to dress you properly.”

“And it’s about time you did,” Sally said. “She’s not a ranch hand. She’s your daughter and needs to look the part. You’re a big man in Texas, Paddy.”

“She needs to find a husband,” he said. “So trick her out the best way you can.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Margaret protested. “And with my height, something simple would be best.”

Sally patted her hand. “You leave it to me, my dear. Let’s get your measurements, and I shall get to work.” She seized a pencil and paper and began to measure Margaret.

“How long will it take?” Margaret asked.

“How many dresses do you need?”

“Three,” Margaret said.

“Eight,” her father said. “How soon? I’ll pay extra if you can get them done in a week.”

“I can manage,” Sally said.

Margaret turned to stare at him. “Eight? I don’t need so many.”

“I’m going to send you to Austin for some parties. You seemed to think Daniel isn’t good enough, so we’ll find someone who is.”

“I said no such thing. I merely protested being auctioned off like a bull. I’d like to choose my own husband. Is that so hard to understand?” She put her hands on her hips. “I’m not going to Austin!”

His craggy face softened, and he tugged at his collar. “You pick him and I’ll vet him, my girl. But first let’s get one picked out.”

“You don’t have your heart set on Daniel?”

He shrugged. “He’s a good man, but I’m sure there are others out there.”

“And the ranch?” Her pulse beat against her ribs. Maybe he’d changed his mind about cutting her out of a share of the ranch.

Her father lifted a smug brow. “Find a husband and we’ll talk.”

She swallowed down her disappointment. “I don’t want to leave the Triple T. I don’t want to get married either.”

He patted her arm. “You’ll get used to the idea, Margaret. You’ll soon have little ones hanging on your skirts.”

She couldn’t imagine such a thing. Becoming a wife would mean more than being in charge of her own household. It would mean a change in her daily activities as well. Most husbands would expect her to take charge of the kitchen. She wasn’t afraid of hard work, but she liked her life the way it was.