Cowgirl for Keeps. Louise Gouge M.
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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.
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.