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

wanted to take the shovel they’d used for the fire pit, and go dig a hole to crawl into.
    Jett loped to the chuck wagon and pulled out a batch of cornbread Cassie must have baked in preparation for the trip.
    Marlee’s face went hot, all the way up through her scalp. She was such a bad cook, she hadn’t even been able to locate the cornbread.
    She tossed the last two charred hunks of beef from her stew into the campfire. The meat was so dry, the flames barely hissed.
    By the time she drug herself into her kitchen tent to clean up after dinner, she was feeling beaten, tired and desperate.
    Outside, everyone sat around the campfire telling stories. Talking about rustlers.
    But in the privacy of the kitchen tent, tears stung Marlee’s throat as she faced down a huge stack of dishes.
    “Get it together, Marlee,” she scolded.
    What was wrong with her?
    Despite the tears, she nearly giggled at her own ludicrous question. Everything was wrong. She deserved a good cry. Her body ached, she’d flopped majorly on her first day, and now she had a towering stack of dishes to wash.
    With freezing cold water.
    Oh. And after that, she had a freezing cold night to look forward to, sleeping on the ground. And then another whole day of a torturous chuck wagon ride.
    Marlee poured a pail of cold water into a dishpan, rolled up her sleeves and started scrubbing.
    Fall had dazzled so lovely that afternoon, casting the mountain skies in deep blue, and tinging the air with the smells of wet earth and leaves. But now, the cold was anything but lovely. Marlee shivered, her fingers nearly frozen in frigid dishwater.
    This was by far the most miserable day of her career as a chef. This was even worse than the day she’d forgotten to take her knives home after class, and someone had stolen them. That had earned her an automatic failing grade, and she’d had to re-take the class.
    Washing this particular batch of dishes with the stuck-on burnt stuff was the worst part of the worst day ever.
    Could she really make it out here for a whole month?
    A hot tear rolled down her cheek and splashed in the water. Maybe if she let herself cry, she’d feel better. Maybe if she cried enough, she could warm up the water a bit.
    She heard the soft flick of tent canvas. Marlee sniffed and ducked her head, trying to dry her tears on her shoulder.
    She’d been embarrassed enough today. The last thing she needed was some mouthy cowboy catching her blubbering into her dishpan.
    Somebody patted her awkwardly on the back, and Marlee looked up.
    Jett stood there, one hand on her back, and the other carrying a steel bucket of steaming water.
    “Stand back,” he said.
    She did, and he poured a little hot water into her dish pan.
    She slipped her hands back under the water.
    “Ahhh.” She breathed a sigh of joy as warm water soothed her cold fingers. “Thank you.”
    In that moment, she forgot all about being mad at him.
    How could a girl be mad at a man who had just transformed her dishwater into a nearly spa-like experience?
    He grunted, and a small smile turned up the edge of his mouth.
    She bent down, scrubbing harder now. Hot water made all the difference. She had six heavy cast-iron Dutch ovens full of gunk. They needed lots of scraping. If she kept on task, she could power right through them, and then finally collapse in her sleeping bag.
    Jett set out another dishpan beside her.
    Marlee stopped and watched him pour in hot and cold water. He rolled up his sleeves and took the first Dutch oven off the stack.
    Marlee’s shoulders relaxed, warmth spreading through her. He was actually going to help her with the dishes. Fresh tears sprang to her eyes.
    Who knew such a rough man could be so thoughtful?
    “I set up a tent for you,” he said. “With a bedroll and a pillow.”
    “Thank you,” Marlee said. She blinked the tears away and cleared her throat. She was too tired to care that she hadn’t done it herself. She’d pitch her own tent tomorrow.
    And do