A Taste of Love for the Brooding Rancher (Preview)

Chapter One

Sulphur, Nevada

If it had been any hotter today, Cora was sure she’d have burst into flames by lunchtime. Her usual work at Mrs. Mooney’s boarding house, dubbed the ‘Halfway House,’ in her home of Sulphur, Nevada, exerted her enough to break a sweat on any ordinary day. With the mercury rising higher by the second, it only made the work that much more difficult. She’d started the day as she usually did, waking before the morning light and riding into town with her sister to start her weekend of work. Before the sun came up, the heat wasn’t so bad, which was why she hadn’t minded the walk. When she’d arrived, she’d gotten going on breakfast for the guests and finished tidying up the kitchen. 

Trudy, the older woman who worked at the boarding house on days when Cora wasn’t there, wasn’t quite as tidy and mindful as Cora. Because Trudy had been working the day before, Cora had a bit more work on her hands than she would tomorrow morning. She looked forward to those days when she’d only be cleaning up after herself. By the time her counters were all cleaned up, the back of Cora’s dress was already drenched in sweat. Her clothes were so wet that it felt like she’d gone for a swim in Split Rail Creek, except far, far less refreshing.

Trudy had left her a note outlining the guests staying with them this week. The older woman worked Monday to Thursday and Cora worked Friday to Sunday. They usually had a few more guests staying on the weekends, but Cora didn’t mind. One of the things she hated most in the world was being bored, so the more guests there were, the more tasks she’d have to keep herself occupied. 

This week they had a married couple, Mr. and Mrs. Thackeray, who were stopping by on the way to a wedding, staying in room 1. They were only staying for last night, so that meant Cora would need to make up their room today. Rooms 2, 3, 4, and 5 all had bachelors staying in them, all of whom were staying at least one more night. Room 6 held their long-time resident, Mr. Reynolds, the writer, who’d been there as long as Cora. Room 7 was currently housing Sulphur’s temporary teacher, Mr. James Hamilton, who Cora had a feeling might be sweet on her. Lastly, room 8, their biggest room, held the Adams family, in town for a funeral. According to Trudy’s note, the Adams family didn’t want their room tidied at all, but Mr. Hamilton’s room could use a once over.

Cora sighed. She didn’t like being in Mr. Hamilton’s room. He somehow always managed to ‘stumble upon her’ cleaning up and made some excuse to stay with her while she finished up. His attention made her uncomfortable, but she didn’t want to say anything. She needed this job more than anything, so for now, she would just have to put up with it. 

Breakfast was a simple affair. She made grits and served each bowl with a hefty pat of butter on top that melted into a delicious yellow river before it had even made it to the table. Then came the eggs, thick cut bacon, roasted potatoes, and her special cinnamon rolls. They didn’t usually have cinnamon at the boarding house because it was far too expensive. But one of the bachelors had brought a little as an extra thank you for feeding him so well, so Cora had made good use of it.

“My good gracious,” Mr. Reynolds whispered as she took his grits bowl and served him another helping of bacon, “I didn’t think food could taste this good. When I was a boy, I thought my mother was a good cook. She would make the basics fairly well, but when it came to baking, she was miserable. Her pies always just tasted like salt, somehow. I’m not sure how she did it. Anyhow, I’m rambling as I always do. This is magnificent, Cora. Thank you.”

She couldn’t help but blush. Her parents, while very kind, were never very effusive with their praise of her. She wasn’t used to hearing compliments like this. “You’re very welcome, Mr. Reynolds,” she said to him as she whisked out of the dining room and put her armful of dishes on the counter. Sweat was trickling down the back of her neck now, and she wasn’t sure she could make it to the end of the meal without dripping on someone. She picked up a kitchen rag and dabbed the back of her neck. Just then, the kitchen door opened, and Cora turned around just in time to see Mrs. Euphemia Mooney backing through the door with one of the ladies’ wash basins. When she turned around, the water sloshed up in the basin, and a cupful splashed onto the floor. But Mrs. Mooney didn’t notice and was just about to take a step forward, step into the water, and almost certainly slip and drop the porcelain basin, breaking it. Cora reached out and stopped Mrs. Mooney just in time, but the older woman didn’t look pleased with her. 

“Yes, what is it, girl?” she asked gruffly, forgetting herself. She shook her head a couple of times, her eyes wide, and then she blinked and returned to her real self. “Sorry. Goodness. Why did you stop me, dearie? Is something the matter?”

Five years ago, Mrs. Mooney took up running the boarding house after her beloved husband, Gerry Mooney, passed away. She hadn’t wanted to do it, but there were few options for employment for a widowed woman of her age. She couldn’t sew to save her life and was far too old to be a teacher, so boarding house it was. She’d taken the last bit of money that she and Gerry had saved and bought the boarding house. But it hadn’t been as easy as she’d hoped. Mrs. Mooney was naturally a very sweet, kind woman who just wanted to make everyone happy. But in the boarding house, that meant customers were far more likely to walk all over her and take her kindness for granted. And so, when she was around the public, Mrs. Mooney had adopted a gruff exterior, which had served her well. When it was just her and Cora, though, Mrs. M immediately dropped the act.

“You were about to slip, Mrs. M,” Cora told her, pointing to the puddle. Mrs. Mooney looked down and rolled her eyes.

“I swear on Gerry’s grave,” she said, stepping gingerly around the puddle and opening the back door to huck the water outside, “if you weren’t around, Cora, I would have accidentally killed myself fifty times over!”

Although Cora laughed in response, she knew there was a lot of truth to that statement. Mrs. Mooney was so clumsy that she didn’t quite understand how she’d run the Halfway House before Cora and Trudy had gotten there. “You may have had a few more accidents,” Cora told her as she wiped up the water with her sweat-sodden kitchen rag, “but you certainly wouldn’t have killed yourself. You’re too smart for that.” Cora straightened up, and a slight breeze hit her as Mrs. M closed the back door. Although the Halfway House was crumbling here and there, and the floorboards had begun to buckle slightly, it was filled with an old-world charm. Even here in the kitchen, where no guests ever went, Mrs. M had added little touches of personality in places. She’d sewn some delicate white curtains for the windows that now fluttered in the slight breeze, quilted pot holders hung on the wall to the right of the stove, and a small woven rug lay on the floor where Cora spent so much of her time standing, stirring soups, stews, and more. Although the dark wood made the space feel tighter and dimmer than it actually was, the single window above the dry sink let in a lot of beautiful light. But because of the house’s location on the main street, it also let in so much dust that it often made Cora sneeze. 

Now, Mrs. M had closed the back door and came to stand beside Cora, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You have far too much faith in me, my dear. If you’d met Gerry, he’d have been the first to tell you that I was the most wonderful woman in the world … but that I was just a little silly at times.” With that, Mrs. M swept back out of the kitchen, leaving Cora to ponder what she’d said. She didn’t believe that Mr. Mooney would have said that because he seemed as though he was nothing but kind, but she wasn’t going to tell Mrs. M what she thought her deceased husband would and wouldn’t have commented about his wife. She’d never met him, after all.

The rest of breakfast went off without a hitch, and soon all the guests had dispersed for the day except for Mr. Reynolds. He spent six days a week locked up in his room, scribbling away on his next great American novel. He never let anyone read it, although he had alluded to letting Cora read a chapter here or there. However, he’d never actually brought anything to her, so she didn’t push him. Cora often wondered how he managed to pay for his room, seeing as how he never seemed to sell any of his writing. But Mrs. M had never made any complaints about him, so Cora assumed they had some sort of arrangement worked out between them. In her heart of hearts, she thought that Mr. Reynolds was deeply in love with Mrs. Mooney and that Mrs. Mooney quite liked him back. She saw the way Mr. Reynolds watched the housekeeper as she moved swiftly throughout the house. She’d also heard Mrs. Mooney laugh a little too hard at many of the comments that Mr. Reynolds had made. But neither of them had ever confided in her, and they were both as stubborn as mules, so Cora doubted anything would actually happen. They’d just continue doing this funny little dance they’d begun three years ago until one of them shuffled off this mortal coil, leaving the other forever wondering about what might have been.

After Cora had finished cleaning the rooms that needed it upstairs, blessedly without a visit from Mr. Hamilton, she stopped in the front hall to tidy herself. She was a very pretty girl: medium height with hair the color of sun-bleached straw and eyes that shone like two jade stones. Her dear father, Eldon Mullins, had always said her smile lit up a room and that her cheeks looked like the happiest apples he’d ever laid eyes on. When she countered him, saying that apples couldn’t be happy, he’d take her chin in his hand and say, “I’m just tryin’ to tell you you’re beautiful, darlin’.”

The remembrance of her father made her eyes water, but she didn’t allow herself to cry. The accident had been such a shock for them all, but he was going to get better, she was certain of it. She wasn’t going to let herself think anything else.

The rest of the day unfolded without issue. Cora made lunch, served it, sweated like she’d never sweated in her life, made dinner, served it, and tidied everything up. As she returned from the kitchen after delivering the last bunch of plates from the table, she took a moment to fix herself. She was just adjusting her hair to try and make herself look slightly less disheveled when the front door opened. It made her jump and put her hand on her chest, and when she saw who was standing in the doorway, her expression did not change.

“I do apologize if I startled you, Miss Mullins,” said Theodore Newman, the tall, lanky young man. He stood about a foot taller than Cora and had thin, black hair. He’d been trying to grow facial hair since he was a boy but had only succeeded in squeezing out a pencil-thin mustache. The overall air the young Mr. Newman gave off was, unfortunately, quite creepy. To add insult to injury, he always smelled a little greasy, no matter how often he seemed to bathe. “I … I was just walking by, and my mother wanted me to drop off this apple pie for you and your family. She says she … hopes your father is doing better.”

Cora sighed quietly. Theodore, never ‘Teddy’ or ‘Ted’ for those weren’t distinguished enough for him, lived on the other side of town. His family wasn’t very wealthy, but they were well-off enough that he was much better dressed than Cora. Theodore thought very highly of himself and his family, and because of their high social status, he spoke with an affectation. It wasn’t something that came naturally to him. Cora had known Theodore since they were both very young, and back then, he’d spoken normally. But since he’d turned eighteen, he’d started speaking more like his father, which Cora couldn’t stand. Each sentence sounded like he was swinging on a swing. He’d get a few words out at the top, then his voice would drop out for a few moments as he swung back, and then he’d finish what he was saying. She had very little patience for Theodore, which was a great inconvenience as he was the man she was supposed to marry.

“It’s all right, Theo,” Cora reassured him. He’d gone by Theo when he was a kid, so that was what Cora knew him as, and she refused to refer to him as anything else. “I just wasn’t expecting anyone to come by until lunchtime. Thank you for the pie.” She took it from him and headed back towards the kitchen, knowing that he would follow her, which he did. The pie would be delicious, without a doubt, but it would never rival anything Cora could make. She was slightly insulted that Mrs. Newman had their cook bake them, of all things, a pie. Cora would have been far more appreciative if she’d sent over something she wasn’t outstanding at making. She placed it on the counter just inside the door. When she turned back around, he was standing uncomfortably close to her. Cora could smell … something on him. It seemed he’d put some sort of perfume on himself in an attempt to smell like a valley of flowers, but it only succeeded in smelling quite overpowering. She couldn’t help wincing a little but then controlled her face. She looked up at him, and her heart sank. He was looking at her with a mixture of pity and adoration. She could tell that he was thinking something along the lines of, I can’t wait to pluck this poor creature from her wretched little life and make her into the good little wife I’ve always known she would be. Her upper lip began to curl, and she had to bite it to make it stop.

“How is … your father?” he asked haughtily, his affectation still firmly intact. “Has he made any … strides in his recovery?”

Cora let go of her lip. She hadn’t been expecting him to ask that right away. Her thoughts traveled to her father lying in his bed, trying to sleep but unable to because of the pain in his back. Her mother, Lily, was doing everything she could to make him comfortable, but it was no easy task. The fall from the ladder had gravely injured Eldon, and Dr. Finch, Sulphur’s town doctor, had said little could be done to help him.

“He needs time and rest,” Dr. Finch had told them the day of the accident, and both Mrs. Mullins and Cora knew that was going to be a herculean task. Eldon never stopped working, and even as he lay writhing in pain, he constantly talked about the things that needed to be done on the farm. Cora’s younger brother, Lee, was doing the best he could to keep things running with the help of their only farmhand, Tucker ‘Tuck’ Fowler. But the ship was foundering faster than either of them could bail out the water, and Cora knew it wouldn’t be long before the bank came-a-knocking. Her thoughts jumped back to the present, and she gave Theodore a small, sad smile.

“He is still here, and that’s what matters most,” Cora told him. She’d never been a good liar, so that was all she could say. Theodore possessively put a hand on her shoulder, and Cora immediately wanted to shrug it off. But then she thought of her mother last week, pleading with her to give Theodore a chance.

“You remember what I … offered you, don’t you?” Theodore asked, his lips pulling into what might have been a smile, if you looked at it the right way. “Your father could have far better … medical care than Dr. Finch could offer him. Your brother, sister … and mother would never have to worry about … money again, and you’d be very well taken care of. All you have to do is say … yes.” 

As he said the last word, his eyebrows went up and down, as though he were saying something titillating. Cora wanted to vomit. The thought of spending the rest of her life with Theodore Newman was so terrible that she didn’t dare even imagine it. It wasn’t just that he was creepy, weird, or unsettling. If those were the only problems, she could have likely put them aside for the sake of her family. The problem was that the young Mr. Newman was so boring. He never talked about anything interesting; he seemed to have no passion for anything other than her, and when she saw him speaking to what few friends he had, it always sounded like small talk. If she married Theo, she could see herself going out of her mind with boredom within a fortnight. This was not the life she wanted. But with her only other option being working at the Halfway House for the rest of her life to help support her family and her mother breathing down her neck, she didn’t have many good reasons to deny him. Her own happiness mattered little. And so, tossing her own cares to the side, she thought of her family and opened her mouth to respond.

But right at that moment, the door banged open. Both Theo and Cora looked down the hallway and saw a man with a lifeless child lying in his arms. He looked at Cora urgently. “Please help him … he’s been kicked by a horse, and I didn’t know where else to take him!”

Chapter Two

Winnemucca, Nevada

June 15th started like any other day for Charlie King. He’d risen before the sun and got started on the ranch chores before Elliott, Xander, and Roy were awake. He was hungry, but because he knew he had to make anything they were going to eat, he wasn’t eager to get breakfast in him. He hoped that maybe, by some miracle, their neighbor Mrs. Douthwaite would come over again and offer to cook them something, but the chances of that happening were slim to none. Maybe Roy would wake up and take pity on his cooking skills, making them all something a little better than  Charlie could? That wasn’t likely either because Roy hated being in the kitchen. As Charlie was bringing the cattle out into the field for the day, he sighed. It truly was time to find a woman to help them out with things around the house, but he didn’t know where to start. 

When Charlie eventually got back to the house, he was surprised to see smoke puffing from the kitchen chimney. When he got inside, he made straight for the source of the delicious smell. He opened the door and was overjoyed to see Roy standing in front of the stove. 

“Thank you, old boy!” Charlie said, coming up behind him and ruffling his hair. 

Roy was the youngest of the four King boys yet stood a good few inches taller than any of them. He looked a bit like a bean pole with gangly extremities, and Charlie hoped that as he got older, he’d grow into his looks. He had black hair like their mother and shared her loving smile, too. When he turned around and graced Charlie with it, he felt his heartstrings tug. It had only been two months since Louella King had passed from this world, and Charlie was still having a very hard time getting over it. Although Roy looked the most like Louella, Charlie was the most like her in temperament. They bonded over their love of books, nature, and animals, but what Charlie loved most about her was her kind spirit. There was never anyone in need that Louella said no to, and Charlie tried to emulate her in everything he did. But the fever had taken her so quickly that they’d barely gotten to say goodbye, which left Charlie heartbroken. Now, whenever he saw Roy, he couldn’t help seeing his mother.

“You’ve been working so hard that I figured I could help out a little more in the kitchen,” Roy said, flipping some flapjacks on the stove. “But don’t expect me to do this for very long. You need to get a wife quick because this–” he pulled at a few strands at the front of Charlie’s hairline, “– isn’t going to last forever.”

Charlie playfully swatted Roy’s hand away. It was true, his hairline was starting to recede slightly, just as their father’s had. Lewis King had been a formidable man who had died just after Roy was born. Louella had tried to convince young Charlie to let her help with the ranch chores when he’d started to take over, but he’d refused. He was just old enough to handle things, and he insisted on being the man of the house. His mother had always been grateful to him for that and told him every chance she got. The King household was not shy when it came to sharing their feelings, for better or for worse.

“Well, when the right woman comes along, I’ll tell you,” Charlie said, picking up a warm flapjack and taking a bite of it. The family wasn’t rich enough to enjoy a treat like vanilla, yet Roy had made the flapjacks taste like it. They melted over Charlie’s tongue, and he closed his eyes, tilting his head back in delight. When he returned his attention to his brother, he shook his head in astonishment. “Why did we ever have me in the kitchen, Roy?”

“Because you refuse to relinquish responsibility for anything, even when you know someone can do it better,” Roy told him matter-of-factly with a shrug. Charlie let out a shocked laugh and patted his younger brother on the shoulder. 

“All right, all right, just go on and tear me a new one like that,” he said, still chuckling. He couldn’t believe how much his littlest brother had grown up, even just in the last few months. Charlie was very proud of him and the direction he was taking his life in … unlike one of his other brothers.

Xander King slid through the door as if on cue. He grabbed a flapjack, a glug of water straight from the jug, and was halfway out the door before Charlie got a hold of his collar and pulled him back into the room.

“Woah there, Xandy,” Charlie stopped him, “where are you running off to in such a hurry?”

“I said don’t call me that,” Xander replied angrily, not turning around to face his brother. He tried to continue walking, but Charlie held fast. He finally turned around, and Charlie was greeted with a visage that was almost identical to his father’s. “Will you let go of me?! I’m going to be late!”

“Late for what?” Charlie asked. Xander rolled his eyes and crossed his arms in front of his chest. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Xander replied, his voice laced with attitude. Charlie looked at him, quite baffled.

“What has gotten into you?” he asked seriously as he let go of Xander’s collar. “You never used to talk to me like that. That’s unkind, Xander.”

But Xander did not relent. He narrowed his eyes at his brother. “So is what you’re doing to me. You’re trying to keep me locked away on this farm when there’s a whole world out there I could be exploring. Let me live my own life, Chuck.” With that, Charlie let his younger brother walk out the door, and he didn’t try to stop him this time. 

For a moment, Charlie just stood there, letting Xander’s words sink into him. Since his mother had passed and left him in charge of his brothers, he thought he’d done a pretty good job of keeping them in line and keeping the farm afloat. Elliott was the most understanding of the younger ones and was Charlie’s right-hand man when it came to completing chores. Roy was always trying to help, but sometimes he was more of a hindrance. The young man should have been leading the life of a poet or a stage actor, not a farmhand. But because of their precarious financial situation, Charlie didn’t feel like he could spare him. Xander was the biggest problem. He had no interest in farm life, and any time Charlie asked for his help, it was like pulling teeth. Xander wanted to be anything other than a farmer, but more importantly, he wanted to find the woman of his dreams and marry her. This was no difficult task: practically every young woman in town was head over heels in love with him. He was tall with curly dark brown hair and kept a tidy beard, and when it came to speaking with women, he was an accomplished romancer. The difficulty came when Xander tried to pick just one woman. It seemed he had a different girl every week, and that unfortunately meant that Charlie was often calling them the wrong names when he saw Xander with them in town. The latest girl was Missy Pickett, the daughter of the town blacksmith. Charlie was a little more worried than usual about this one because Missy’s father had an array of tools that he could use against Xander when he made an error with her.

“He’s just going through a rebellious stage.” Roy’s voice pulled Charlie back to the present moment, and he turned around to face his wiser-than-his-years brother. He was tossing the last flapjack on the plate and said, “He doesn’t understand that you have his best interests at heart, so he thinks you’re just trying to control him. Don’t worry, he’ll grow out of it. Either that, or you’ll lose him forever, but in any case, you won’t have to deal with his nonsense anymore.”

Charlie’s mouth dropped open, and he stood speechless as Roy carried the plate out of the kitchen to the dining room. His sentiment was brilliant, but brutal. Charlie wasn’t sure what he’d done to be graced with such a hilarious array of brothers, but whatever it was, he was grateful for it. He hollered up the stairs for Elliott to get up, and a few minutes later, the three brothers were seated at the table. Elliott, the second oldest, was rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. His light brown hair looked a bit like a haystack with all of its bits and pieces sticking out here and there. He was a hard worker and an even harder sleeper. He’d come down with scarlet fever when he was twelve and had slept for fifty hours straight. Charlie thought for certain he’d died, and they were just appeasing him by telling him he was asleep. But sure enough, when Elliott woke up, his fever had broken, and he was well on his way to recovery. Now, whenever Elliott slept in later than the rest of them, Charlie simply remembered his brother’s body was capable of extraordinary things because of that extra sleep and let him be. 

“We’re nearly out of binder twine,” Elliott reported in between bites of flapjack. He was positively inhaling his food and hardly looked up the whole time he was at the table. “We’ve got a little bit left, but I think one of us should go into town and get some more today.”

Charlie groaned. “There’s no more in town, remember? They started that Binder Twine Festival this year.”

When Elliott finally looked up at his brother, his brows were furrowed. “Binder twine … festival?”

Charlie nodded. “It was in the fall. Some fella came to town from somewhere up north and said they did the same thing up there. I think his name was Shaw. He told everyone the mice get to the twine too fast when it’s stored all together, so he needed to make sure everyone got their share of the twine fast. Thus the Binder Twine Festival was born.”

Elliott shrugged and nodded. “All right then. One of us will have to ride into Sulphur.”

That was just about the last thing in the world Charlie felt like doing. The King brothers lived in Winnemucca, about a day’s ride from Sulphur. Although Sulphur was in the middle of nowhere, it was well-connected to the rest of the state by the Feather River Route of the Western Pacific Railroad. Charlie could take the train into town, but that would cost a pretty penny. The journey wasn’t an easy one either and would require staying a night at the Halfway House, which cost, too. 

But he knew it had to be done, so he decided to go the next day, and for the remainder of that morning, he tended to his chores around the farm. It was getting real hot. Charlie didn’t feel much like working in the fields that day, but he knew it had to be done. 

Later, Charlie came back inside to get some water. When he heard the groaning coming from upstairs initially, he thought it was just the house creaking. But the groan had a distinctly human tone to it, so he ran up the stairs to check which one of his brothers was suffering. When he came to Roy’s room, he found the source of the groaning.

“What’s the matter, Roy?” Charlie asked. 

Roy didn’t respond for a moment. He was making a terrible noise, holding his stomach and writhing in pain. Charlie tried not to let his worries get the better of him. Roy had a flair for the dramatic, especially when it came to illnesses.

“I … think I’m dying.”

Charlie stepped closer to his bedside and kneeled beside him. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re feeling?” 

Roy let out another great moan. “Death. Illness. Plaaaaaague!”

The way he drew out that last syllable confirmed for Charlie that he indeed was not on death’s doorstep. 

“Is it your stomach?”

Roy nodded. “It started just after breakfast. I made us such a nice meal, and what do I get? Torture. Torment. My stomach is trying to claw its way out from the inside. I … oh no. I think I’m … I’m …”

Roy gagged, and Charlie grabbed the chamber pot just in time. He also, thankfully, managed to look away so that he didn’t see the remains of Roy’s breakfast coming out just as quickly as they’d gone in. When the noise stopped, Charlie returned his gaze to his brother. He somehow managed to look both better and worse at the same time. 

“I think the milk I used in the flapjacks was no good,” Roy explained after Charlie had given him a drink. “It was only a couple of days old.”

Charlie gave him an analytical look. “Are you sure it was only a couple of days?” 

Roy winced and coughed. “Maybe a little longer. I’m real sorry, Charlie. I tried my hardest.”

Charlie put his hand on his back. “You were doing a nice thing for us, Roy. Not to worry. You stay in bed for the rest of the day, and I’m sure you’ll be right as rain in the morning. Just have to hope that—”

But before Charlie could even get the rest of his sentiment out, he heard the door downstairs open and shut. Footsteps sounded up the stairs, and before long, Elliott was standing in the doorway. He looked to be in about as bad shape as Roy.

“Charlie, I have vomited three times in the last hour. I have attempted to proceed with my work, but found I was at last unable to. I will be taking to my bed for the rest of the evening.”

With that, Elliott continued his way down the hall. Charlie called after him, “Sounds good, hope it’s not too bad for you.”

Charlie heard his door close a moment later. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One… he thought.

The front door opened and closed again, right on cue.

“You’re sick, aren’t you?” Charlie called down to him.

“Sure am,” came the resigned reply. “Everybody down?”

“I’m still kicking,” Charlie reported, “but everyone else is. Head to bed, I’ll come see to you in … in …”

It was too late for Charlie. The nausea came on quickly. He desperately looked around for something to catch his refuse. When he found nothing, he ran over to the window and lost his breakfast out that way. He felt disgusting, but there was little he could do.

For the next twenty-four or so hours, Charlie alternated between caring for his brothers, vomiting, and lying in his bed. At some points, he could hardly get up. It felt like his body was rejecting every movement. He’d never wished for his mother more than right then, and he longed for someone to come take care of him. But as he was the only option right now, he forged onwards.

The next day, when the boys were all recovered, and he needed to ride and get the binder twine, Charlie made a decision. It was clearly futile to keep going like this. None of them were skilled when it came to kitchen work, and they couldn’t afford to all take another day off. It was time to accept defeat and try to find a woman willing to come stay with them and take care of that sort of thing. Charlie would pay her well, and hopefully she wouldn’t mind the brothers and their … peculiarities.

Charlie left Roy and Elliott with a list of things needing to get done before he got back the next day, and headed out on his trusty steed, Willow. They rode through the Eugene Mountains all day but thankfully encountered no trouble. When he reached the main street in Sulphur, he was starving, and his clothes were soaked through from his sweat. He loved June because it was so warm, but sometimes that intense heat was just too much to handle. 

When he tied up Willow outside of the Halfway House, he could think of nothing other than a nice big steak for dinner. But when he looked up into the quickly darkening sky, he was fairly certain he’d missed dinner.

Just then, he heard a loud clump and what sounded like a little boy’s scream. He whirled around just in time to see a young boy hit the ground, and the horse just in front of him replace his hoof on the ground. Charlie immediately ran to him, his heart beginning to pound. When he arrived at the boy’s side, he kneeled beside him. He hadn’t needed to see it happen to know that horse had just kicked him, but he wasn’t sure where. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay, you’re going to be all right,” he found himself saying, as though he were comforting one of his brothers. The little boy, seemingly unattended, judging by the nearly empty street, was lying with his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open. He was breathing, but Charlie worried he might have something gravely wrong with him internally. He looked around frantically for any sign of where a doctor could be found but only saw a couple of men standing way down the boardwalk, unaware of what had happened. He looked to his right and saw that the Halfway House was much closer, so he scooped up the boy in his arms and ran towards the inn. When he burst through the door, a man and a woman were standing at the other end of the hall, staring at him in shock. 

“Please,” he panted, “help him. He’s been kicked by a horse, and I didn’t know where else to take him!”

The woman ran to him right away and pointed to her left. “Put him on the lounge in the sitting room!” she ordered him, and Charlie did as he was told. He gingerly laid the boy down on the sofa, and the young woman set to checking him over. She put her ear to his chest and seemed pleased with what she heard. Then, she began pressing his torso in various places, felt his forehead, and opened his eyelids to check his eyes. The man was standing just behind Charlie, simply watching. Charlie realized that he, too, was doing very little, so he knelt and took the boy’s hand. At least he could offer him some comfort.

The young woman looked back at the other man and barked at him, “Don’t just stand there, fetch Dr. Finch!” Charlie turned back just in time to see the man leap up and hurry out the door. They both turned their attention back to the little boy, who thankfully was now moving a little and groaning. “Where did the horse kick him?” the young woman asked Charlie.

“I’m not sure, unfortunately. I only saw him after the kick happened.”

“I was just playing with his tail,” the little boy whined in answer to Cora’s question, grabbing his stomach, “and then he kicked me in the chest! It was real mean of him.”

The young woman maternally put her hand on his cheek and smiled at him. “Well, you shouldn’t have been playing with his tail, but we can talk about that later. Can you breathe okay?”

“Yes, but it hurts when I take a breath,” the little boy grumbled, wincing with each breath to demonstrate his pain. 

“All right. Is it a sharp pain or a dull one?” the young woman asked.

“Sharp,” was all he said. The young woman let out a breath of relief.

“Is that good?” Charlie asked, mystified. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“It is a very good sign,” the young woman said, finally meeting Charlie’s eye. For the first time, Charlie really looked at her. She was breathtaking. She had the most mysterious green eyes he’d ever seen, her hair shone like gold, and her smile seemed to welcome him in. He had to remind himself to blink and breathe because he was so taken with her. But she seemed to take no real notice of him, which he took as a good sign because she was so focused on the little boy. “If it was a dull, constant pain, it could mean that he was bleeding internally. But a sharp pain that only hits on the in or out breath usually just means a broken rib or two. It’s a bothersome injury, but not life-threatening, which is what we need.”

Charlie was in awe of her. “How do you know all this?”

The girl shrugged. “I have two younger siblings, and they got into a lot of trouble when they were little. Dr. Finch named a discount especially for us, ‘The Mullins Percentage,’ he called it. He was coming to bandage up Lee and Mabel so often that he figured he should give us a bit of a break.”

So her last name was Mullins and she had younger siblings named Lee and Mabel. That was a good place to start. Charlie chuckled, and just then the front door opened. He looked back just in time to see who he presumed was Dr. Finch come through the door with the other man. Dr. Finch went straight to his patient, so Charlie and the young woman stepped away for a moment. The doctor examined him and came over to speak with them after a moment. It seemed the young boy was going to be fine, but he would need a few days at home in bed under observation. His name was apparently Walter Deloitte, and he’d run into town for a bit of alone time away from his twelve siblings.

“I’ll give him a ride home and explain what happened to his parents,” Dr. Finch said kindly, and both Charlie and the young woman thanked him effusively for his work. The young woman tried to pay the good doctor, but he refused. “I’ll not accept payment from you; you were the ones who rescued him! His parents can pay for his mischievousness.” Charlie helped Dr. Finch load the young man into his carriage, and then the doctor and his patient were off. The other man who had stood with the young woman had seemingly disappeared, so Charlie thought no more of him. He was probably just a patron of the inn that she was speaking to. He figured this was as good a time as any to introduce himself. 

“I’m Charlie King,” he said, tipping his hat to her. She looked up at him and gave him a small, delightful smile.

“Cora Mullins,” she said simply and curtsied. Cora. That was a beautiful name. He’d never met anyone else by that name, and he liked how it danced off his tongue.

“Cora,” he repeated, nodding. “It means heart, right?”

One of her brows raised slightly. “Not that I know of. I believed it meant maiden or daughter … what made you think it meant heart?”

Charlie was ashamed that he’d made the error. “I … I just …” He didn’t know if he should explain himself or just let the subject drop. Before he could really make a decision, though, words were tumbling out of his mouth. “The French word for heart is coeur. I thought your name sounded a bit like that, so I assumed there was a relationship between the two words.”

Now it was Cora’s turn to ask, “How did you know that? It’s not every day I meet a cowboy who knows French.”

“It was my mother’s influence,” he told Cora. “She was a very intelligent, worldly woman who just so happened to be stuck on a farm in the middle of nowhere. She read like no one else I’ve ever met, and as she read, she taught herself to speak other languages, French included. My brother’s name is Roy, which she derived from the French word roi, meaning ‘king’. So my brother’s name is actually–”

“King King.” Cora cut him off with a smile. Seemed this girl was pretty smart, too. 

“Exactly,” Charlie responded, pleased with her answer. He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you new? I haven’t seen you around here before.”

The girl shook her head. “No, I’ve been here for three years. I used to work only one day a week, so you may not have come in on the day I worked. But I’ve started working more in the last few months. Are you from out of town?”

Charlie nodded as she spoke. “My brothers and I live on a ranch in Winnemucca.”

Cora raised her eyebrows. “Brothers? Plural?”

“I have three. Roy, whom I just mentioned, is the youngest, then Xander, Elliott, and I.”

Cora nodded knowingly. “You did seem like an oldest child.”

That took Charlie by surprise. “What do you mean by that?” 

Cora didn’t respond, simply smiling knowingly back at him. 

“Miss Mullins, do you happen to have any free rooms tonight?”

“I most certainly do. You’re staying over, then?”

“I am,” he informed her. “I came into town to pick up some binder twine, but it’s a day’s ride to get home. Is it the usual rate?”

Cora waved her hand as if she were literally brushing away his question. “Your stay is free tonight. I’ll make sure of it. You were so kind to help that little boy, and I worry what might have happened to him if you hadn’t scooped him up right then!”

Charlie could hardly believe his luck. “Are you sure? I’m very glad to pay.”

But Cora just shook her head. “When I tell Mrs. Mooney what happened, she’ll say the same thing that I am.” That puzzled Charlie because the Mrs. Mooney that he knew was quite a gruff, hard woman. He couldn’t see her extending that type of kindness to him, but he supposed Cora knew better. The young woman reached into the cabinet by the base of the stairs to fetch a key for his room, but right at that second, Charlie’s stomach gave a loud growl. Cora looked at him with laughter on her lips.

“Someone’s hungry,” she commented. “When’s the last time you ate?”

Charlie thought back to the flapjacks the previous morning. Had he eaten anything since then? “Maybe around … six?”

Cora looked at him a little harder. “In the morning or evening?”

“Morning.”

Cora sighed loudly and replaced the key in the cabinet. She grabbed an apron off a hook by the kitchen door and tied it around her waist. “You men,” she said as she smoothed the faded white fabric over her gray house dress. “You never listen to your bodies or treat them right. Come on, I’ll fix you something.”

Charlie obeyed and followed this gorgeous young woman into the kitchen. She was smart, funny, beautiful, and could cook to boot? He sure was in trouble!