Her Montana Man

Eliza nodded, and with quiet words of encouragement, the other guests agreed.

Edward Phillips, the banker, turned to Royce and laid a hand on his shoulder. Royce drew his ominous stare from Eliza, and Luther Vernon blocked her view.

She had never been sure what position Luther held to earn his place on Sutherland Brick’s payroll. He never dressed like a factory worker and most often accompanied Royce. But all of her questions about the operations of the business had been met with contemptuous instructions to stay out of Royce’s way.

She’d won this hand. She’d bought herself a couple of months at the most. Royce couldn’t defy her public decision to observe propriety, but he would be biding his time until the allotted weeks of mourning had passed. And then he would play his trump card. By then Eliza needed to have a better plan. There was still time to set aside some cash for train fare and travel—if she could get a job.

There was one person she could ask to help her find a job and keep it a secret from Royce. Her gaze sought and found him. He appeared to be listening to Reverend Miller, but his awareness was focused on her.

She was placing her last hope on Jonas Black.

Jonas paused in the hallway. A torrent of complaints, punctuated by the clattering of pots and pans, streamed from the kitchen at the back of the hotel on the ground floor.

“Told ya she’s been howlin’ like that for half an hour,” Quay told him. “Phoebe came and got me, but I barely got m’ head inside the door afore she started throwing skillets.”

Jonas glanced at the massive door, wishing he could just leave until the storm passed. He had to be the one to assuage Lilibelle’s temper however. “I’ve got this. You go check in the delivery that’s pulling up in the alley.”

“Thanks, boss.” Quay lit out before Jonas could say another word.

Jonas glanced at his pocket watch, relieved that breakfast guests were well on their way for the day and there were no guests in the foyer or dining room. He strode along the polished oak floors until he reached the kitchen door. After only a momentary pause, he pushed it open.

“What’s all the racket about, Lily? You’ve sent the girls runnin’ for cover. Is it your intent to chase off the kitchen help?”

“It’s my intent to prepare salmon steaks with mustard sauce for supper this evening, but I can’t make salmon steaks if I don’t have salmon!” Lilibelle gestured wildly with the wooden spoon she held. The starched white apron that covered her ample bosom and rounded belly drew attention to the fact that not only was she twice the size of any other person who worked in the kitchen, but twice as clean. Lilibelle Grimshaw cooked for the hotel dining room, and she was a stickler for setting and following rules, and that included menu plans.

“I do see your dilemma,” Jonas said with all seriousness. “That would be the recipe with parsley and butter I like so well?”

“The very one!” She struck the spoon against the cast-iron stove and it shot out of her hold to flip in the air and clatter on the smooth oak floor. “The train’s come and gone and Pool tells me they didn’t bring the salmon. I sent him off to the telegraph office with a piece of my mind.”

“Well, the supplier deserves that, if not worse for disappointin’ you.” Jonas walked around the long worktable that separated him from the cook and stooped to pick up a kettle, then glanced at the open back door and the crates outside. “What did they deliver?”

“Duck!” she shouted and slammed a skillet on the worktable.

“I guess duck is a lot more difficult to prepare than salmon,” he said, as though wondering.

“Duck needs to be roasted slowly,” she replied, then turned to pick up a white towel and dab her red face with the damp corners.

“How do you make that sauce that goes on it?”

“With grated orange peel and wine, a little Worcestershire and cayenne. It’s not all that tough.”

“That’s sounding awfully tasty to be truthful. And your rice always turns out just right.”

She picked up the wooden spoon from the floor with a grunt and mumbled.

“I’m thinking duck would be a good choice for this evenin’,” he told her. “You can make salmon once that incompetent warehouse puts your order together correctly. I’ll handle that myself.”

“They should reduce the cost for the inconvenience,” she said with a haughty flick of her pudgy fingers.

“I’ll see that they do.”

“Get on about your day then, and let me get to work on dinner,” she told him. “Where are those silly girls who are supposed to be peeling apples?”

“I do believe you scared ’em all away, Lily. Remember some of these girls have been boxed around a mite. They take to cover when tempers flare and things start flyin’.” He fixed her with a square look.

She acquiesced to his wisdom with a quick nod and a grimace. “If you see the shrinking violets out there, tell ’em I’m not going to bite their heads off,” she replied.