“Would you care for more, Mr. King?” the blonde woman at Miss Cummings’s side asked.
“Please.” He passed his bowl across the table and she ladled him some more of the meat and potatoes. “Thank you, Miss . . . ?” He trailed off, realizing he’d not yet been introduced to her.
“Cummings,” the redheaded Miss Cummings supplied. “This is my sister, Belle.”
Belle Cummings gave him a tentative smile. “We’re glad you’re here, Mr. King,” she said in her soft voice, although something about the way she spoke made him question whether she believed her own words.
“Papa, will you tell us about the water machine again?” Dot asked.
Arlen smiled indulgently at the little girl. “I will indeed. As soon as we can scare up that last dollar, we’ll have it come here.” He launched into how he’d seen it drill deep into the ground, searching for water in town and out on the James farm. “It’s a miracle, is what it is.”
“It’s science,” his wife said.
As they argued good-naturedly about whether the machine was a God-given miracle or science—with Mr. Cummings chiming in that it was likely a bit of each—Mitchell found himself distracted by the woman across from him.
Miss Cummings had finished her meal and was listening to the discussion with what seemed like rapt attention. A curl of rust-colored hair had fallen from her upswept style, and she brushed it away absentmindedly. A sprinkling of freckles dotted her nose and cheeks and Mitchell smiled at their presence. A woman with freckles wasn’t one who much minded fashion or fretted about being outdoors.
A dusting of short, white hairs rested on the shoulder of her striped dress, and Mitchell pondered where they might have come from before realizing it had to be from one of the dogs. So this woman who clearly didn’t mind sticking her nose into his personal items loved dogs and spending time outside.
She caught him staring at her in that exact moment. He should look away, pretend he hadn’t been staring and letting thoughts of her consume his mind. But questions bloomed in her eyes, and he remembered her little grin and the way she’d said“Perhaps”back in the bunkhouse when he asked her if she’d learned enough about him.
And he didn’t look away.
Her cheeks pinkened just a bit—which he’d admit made him want to look at her more often—but she didn’t draw her gaze away either.
As much as he shouldn’t be interested, given that his livelihood depended upon remaining in the good graces of her family, Mitchell couldn’t help but want to know everything about her. What made her so bold? Where were her parents? Was there a man who came around to pay visits to her?
There should be a man courting her. Maybe that would drive some sense back into his head.
“Perhaps now Lara will tell us what she took from Mr. Snyder’s saddlebags earlier,” Mrs. Thomas said. She folded her hands over her stomach and sat back, her eyebrows raised in expectation.
“I . . .” Miss Cummings’s eyes widened as everyone at the table looked to her.
“You shouldn’t have. I told you so,” her sister said in a whisper.
Miss Cummings drew her lower lip between her teeth. She didn’t deny the accusation.
This was certainly interesting. So Miss Cummings had a penchant for going through others’ belongings, and not just his. Mitchell wasn’t certain if he was relieved or disappointed. He hardly carried anything that would implicate the misdeeds of his past, but her actions had made him wonder if she hadn’t suspected him of being more than a ranch hand. That was, of course, when he wasn’t hoping her curiosity had been sparked simply by an interest in him.
Finally, Miss Cummings sighed. “I took the mortgage notices. For . . . everyone. That he hadn’t yet delivered, of course. I didn’t mean to take them. I only wanted to look, but when I saw what they were and I thought about how upset everyone would be to receive one, well . . .”
Mitchell laughed.
He couldn’t help it. It was the least devious theft he’d ever heard of.
The entire table turned to look at him, and he stopped abruptly. Miss Cummings gave him a little smile as she bit her lip.
“I apologize. I was only imagining that bank man arriving at the next ranch to find his notices missing,” he said.
“I rather like that thought,” Mrs. Thomas said with a laugh of her own. “Serves him right.”
Arlen and George smiled too, and the tension in the room seemed to disappear. Only Miss Cummings’s sister remained unamused. She leaned over and whispered something in Miss Cummings’s ear.
“Your mother would wish me to admonish you,” Mrs. Thomas said, still smiling. “But I’m afraid I can’t. Please don’t tell her.”
“Oh, I won’t,” Miss Cummings said fervently.
After enjoying Hannah’s pudding, Mitchell made his way back to the bunkhouse, feeling lighter than he had in a long time. Memories of his own family flickered through his mind. He’d like to think they would have been a lot like the Thomas and Cummings family . . . if they’d lived.
