Love on the Range: A Looking Glass Lake Prequel by Rebecca Nightsong Read Free Book Online Page A

flaps back, securing them with ties. “If you show me where ya put yer soaked beans, I’d be happy to set ‘em on the fire for ya,” Crazy Hoss said.
    Marlee blinked. “Um….”
    Outside, the low-lying sun tinged everything in the camp with gold. It was a picture-perfect evening. The sky above purpled and blazed as cowboys finished pitching tents and gathered around the fire, talking and laughing and waiting for their dinner.
    It was picture-perfect, except for one thing: nobody had told her she needed to put beans on to soak.
    Crazy Hoss cracked his knuckles. “Might not sound like much, but beans and cornbread cooked in a Dutch oven over hot coals could feed a king, if he was in the saddle all day. I shore am lookin’ forward to this.”
    “Um, I—” Marlee stammered, as her mind worked. The one thing the men wanted, and she couldn’t get it on to cook. And this was no normal kitchen. Improvising wasn’t going to be easy. “I’ve got something else planned,” she blurted.
    It was kind of true. She could do something with that chipped, dried beef. And she’d brought along the produce she’d prepped at the ranch. Spinach, peppers, cabbage, tomatoes and green beans.
    She took a deep breath. “I can handle it,” she said. “You go relax and I’ll get everything ready on my own.”
    When Crazy Hoss left, Marlee let out a long sigh and rolled her head back, stretching sore muscles.
    Seriously. Would it have been too much to ask to pack a propane grill? She’d never cooked with a Dutch oven, but Crazy Hoss had said something about cooking over coals.
    How hard could it be?
    Marlee got to work. She cobbled together a weak stew of chipped beef, tomatoes, and cabbage. She tossed in all the peppers she’d roasted and soaked in garlic oil that morning. That should give the stew a nice deep flavor, even though it wouldn’t be cooked for very long.
    At the last minute, she even hustled up a quick dough for dumplings. They would thicken the broth, and between the stew and the garlic sourdough croutons she’d toasted earlier that day, there wouldn’t be an empty belly in camp.
    Marlee settled several large Dutch ovens full of stew on the coals, and then plopped into a chair by the fire next to Fern.
    Already, as the last bit of purple turned to navy blue in the sky above, cold rolled down from higher up in the mountains.
    “We’ll push on to our base camp tomorrow,” Jett said. “It’ll be another full day of driving in the chuck wagon.” He peered at her, a question in his eyes.
    “She’ll survive it,” Fern chuckled. She patted Marlee on the knee. “This gal’s tough.”
    Marlee stretched and smiled sweetly back at Jett.
    His doubtful look would come right off after he tasted the dinner she’d just created.
    Yeah. She was going to survive this cattle drive. She might come back with mosquito bites all over, and a whiplash from the chuck wagon, but Marlee Donovan had already risen to the occasion and produced a dinner that would knock their socks off.

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    Marlee stirred the stew and took a plate from the first cowboy in line. She plopped a heaping serving of stew onto his plate.
    Oh, no.
    The dumplings had sunk to the bottom, and were stuck in one gritty burnt layer. Their charred edges taunted her from the steaming stew she’d just served.
    For the next plate, Marlee tried her best to avoid dishing up the blackest parts. She prayed the burnt flavor hadn’t bled into the entire dish.
    But when she finally sat down with her plate, she tasted the awful truth.
    Not only had the dumplings burnt, but ash permeated the entire stew. Her stomach churned, threatening mutiny at the next bite.
    Everyone else had their heads down, not looking at her or at each other.
    No one spoke.
    They all ate. And they ate with mournful faces.
    And no one lined up for seconds.
    But at least they ate without complaint.
    One of the cowboy mumbled something about a full belly, and Marlee’s ears burned.
    She