No Buttons Or Beaux Read online

  Copyright

  ISBN 1-59310-868-0

  Copyright © 2006 by Cathy Marie Hake. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Truly Yours, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 721, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  One

  Autumn 1892

  Just east of San Francisco

  Black smoke poured from the kitchen. “Oh, no!” April Chance ran through the doorway toward the oven, grabbing the corners of her apron to use as hot pads. The acrid smell of smoke nearly overpowered her. One quick yank, and the oven’s cast-iron door clunked open. She pulled out two loaf pans and stared in dismay at the charred bricks inside them. Scalding heat burned through her apron. By the time she made her way back to the door, both hands were unbearably hot. Flinging the loaf pans, she squealed, “Ouch!”

  “Ouch!” a deep voice echoed.

  April waved one of her tingling hands to disperse the smoke. Peter MacPherson approached from barely a yard away. A big, black rectangle of soot marked the front of his faded golden shirt. “Oh, no! Peter, I’m sorry.”

  He reached out and encircled her wrists. Looking at her bright red fingertips, he frowned. “Let’s soak yore hands straight away. Here. Sit down.”

  “I can’t. I need to open the other door and make biscuits in a hurry. Otherwise, lunch will be ruined.”

  “You have yoreself a sit-down. I’ll open the door and fetch you a bucket so’s you cain cool off the burn.” Somehow, Peter managed to make her sit on the back porch step. “Where’s Kate? She cain fix the biscuits.”

  April shook her head. “No, she can’t. She’s in the barn, trying her hardest to finish making her gifts for everyone. They’re bound to be back in just a few more days.”

  “Then what about Greta?”

  “She’s over at her sister’s for the next week or so.”

  “Makes sense. Betty Lou’s got her hands full. Heard tell this was gonna be another set of twins. What will that make?”

  “Seven children in five years.” April didn’t have to think about it for even a second. All around me, girls I went to school with—some even younger—are marrying and having babies.

  Peter strode into the cabin, opened the far door, and pumped water into a mixing bowl. He returned to her side, set the bowl in her lap, and calmly slipped April’s hands into the cool water. “There.” He looked down at her, his red hair wind-ruffled and his blue eyes steady as always. A smile creased his face. “Ever’ time I’ve come a-callin’ this summer, the quiet here astounds me.”

  “It’s odd, isn’t it?” She looked around. Mama, Daddy, all four sets of her aunts and uncles, and the younger children had gone to Yosemite for a seven-week adventure.

  “Yeah, but they’ll all be back, noisy as always. Iff’n yore missin’ the hullabaloo, you cain come o’er to my place. An hour there’ll make you rush right home and hit yore knees to thank the Almighty for this peace and quiet.”

  April bowed her head and wiggled her stinging fingers in the water. “I don’t think I’d ever feel that way. Nothing brings me more joy than being. . .surrounded. . .by. . .family.” The last words came out choppily as she fought tears.

  “Hey, there.” Peter hunkered down in front of her. Cupping her jaw in his rough hands, he tilted her face up to his. “What’s a-wrong?”

  “Everything!”

  He glanced over his shoulder at one of the loaf pans lying in the dirt. The huge lump of charcoal that was supposed to be bread rested beside it. “A coupla burnt loaves ain’t worth yore tears, April.”

  “It’s not just that.”

  “Hmm. Havin’ a bad day all ’round?”

  She nodded. “I broke a button off my boot this morning. Kate didn’t rinse the laundry enough, so we’re all rashy. I lost count while measuring the coffee. One pot was so strong, it could’ve dissolved a pitchfork, and the other was so weak, the boys said it tasted like bathwater.”

  Peter made a funny face. “How do they know what bathwater tastes like?”

  April let out a feeble laugh that slid back into tears. “I’ve burned the bread, and I’m almost out of yeast. Then, I almost killed you by flinging the pans across the yard.”

  “Now I’m going to take offense at that.” He sat down and bumped her shoulder with his in a friendly gesture. “D’you thank I’m such a weakling, a single loaf of bread would knock me into the hereafter?”

  Staring at the mess, she tried to rein in her wild emotions. “It’s more like a rock than a loaf!” Just then, her right wrist rested more heavily on the rim of the bowl so the water sloshed out and soaked her skirts. “Oh!”

  “No use cryin’ over spilt water. It’ll dry.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and April soaked his shirt with her tears. “None of them thangs is ’nuff to upset you. Why don’t you tell me what’s a-really wrong?”

  Embarrassed, she shook her head.

  “Hey, it’s just me. Peter. C’mon, little April.”

  “That’s just it,” she wailed. “I’m not little. I’m twenty-one, and I’m fat. Nobody wants me. I’ll never have a family.”

  “Now hold on a minute, here.”

  Once the floodgate opened, she just kept talking. “Polly is a healer. Two years ago, she met Eric, and they got married. Laurel is an artist. Last summer, when our group went to Yosemite—”

  “She met Gabe,” Peter said.

  “And now they’re married. I’ve been foolish enough to hope that since I was the next oldest Chance girl, this summer would be my turn. But it wasn’t. It’ll never be. Nobody wants a no-talent, fat girl.”

  “Nobody? No talent? Fat?” Peter half-pushed her away, then held her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “You stop right thar, April. God made someone extry special when He made you. You got a heart for servin’ Him and carin’ for ever’body ’round you. As for talent—there ain’t a woman in ten counties who cooks like you do.”

  “And there’s not a woman in those ten counties whose waist measures what mine does, either.” Horrified she’d admitted that shameful fact, April lifted her soggy apron and buried her face in it.

  Peter yanked the fabric back down and snapped, “I’ve never heard such nonsense. I could name off lots of women who got meat on their bones. There’s not a man alive who won’t admit that the quickest way to his heart is through his stomach. Jist like some folks like different dishes, men have different tastes in women. Me? I don’t wanna find me a bride who’s wasp-waisted. A healthy one like you—that’s what I want. The bitty ones look like a wallopin’ hug’ll break ’em in half. Not that I want you to thank I’m bein’ coarse,” he added, “but a man has to keep an eye out for a woman who’ll be by his side for years and years to come. He wants a wife who’ll give him plenty of strappin’ young’uns. Scrawny women wear out fast. With yore cousin and Aunt Lovejoy midwivin’ as they do, you ken that’s the truth.”

  Letting out a sigh, April tried to regain her composure. It didn’t work. She muttered, “If everything you say about my cooking and size is true, then it’s got to be me. There’s something about me that scares men off.”

  “What’d make you say that?” His brows furrowed.

  “Because
it has to be the reason. I have to be the only girl in all of Reliable who’s never had a boy walk her home from school or ask her to take a Sunday afternoon stroll.” Confessing that only made her feel worse. April started to bolt, but Peter yanked her back down.

  “Now jist you hold on.” He gave her a stern look. “You best better get yore head screwed on front-wise. Starin’ back niver got a body where she wanted to go.”

  April couldn’t help smiling a little. Peter. Dear Peter. A girl couldn’t have a better cousin. They’d grown up as neighbors, and he’d always been extra special to her. No matter how much schooling he and all of the other children on the MacPherson spread had, they only used proper English while in the classroom. The rest of the time, they fell back into the colorful dialect their parents had imported from Salt Lick Holler, Kentucky.

  “Better. Much better,” he crooned. “Iff’n you reflect on it a spell, you’ll realize some important thangs. First off, Polly didn’t want to accept none of the attentions of the local boys. Hit took Doc Walcott comin’ from afar-off to grab her fancy.”

  “But Laurel had suitors coming out of the woodwork.”

  “True ’nuff, she did. But if you pause and recollect, they wasn’t really carin’ ’bout her. They wanted to have a pretty gal on their arm so’s they could strut about like peacocks. ’Twas vanity what kept them sniffin’ ’round her; not true and deep love.”

  “You can say whatever you want, Peter, but the truth still stands. Something’s wrong with me. Never once has a boy even looked my way.”

  “No accountin’ for the foolish ways of others.”

  “It’s not them. It’s me.” The admission cost her all of her nerve.

  “Not that I agree, ’cuz I don’t. But let’s grant for the sake of this here discussion that yore right and hit’s you. How’s about us workin’ together on the problem?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well,” he drawled, “case you niver noticed, I’m a man.”

  “Don’t be silly. That’s not the problem. The problem’s that no one thinks I’m a woman.”

  “And so me bein’ a man is the answer. I’ll start shadowin’ you and watchin’ what yore doin’. Then we’ll meet up, and I cain give you pointers on how to act. Yore gonna practice on me.” He nodded. “Yup. That’s what we’ll do.”

  “I don’t know. . . .”

  He gave her a stern look. “Just how much do you want to be hitched and startin’ a nest full of your own chicks?”

  More than anyone knows. Biting her lip, April studied him. His eyes remained steady. “You’d do that for me?”

  “Yup.” He stood up and pulled her to her feet. “I reckon there’s nothin’ I wouldn’t do for you. Starting with me holpin’ you bake biscuits for lunch. What’re we havin’, anyway?”

  ❧

  Up to his elbows in flour, Peter grinned at April. She sat across the table, her burned fingers slicked with butter. He’d applied the butter himself. It made for a good excuse to get to touch her—just like his noticing one of the pins holding her rich brown hair was sneaking free. He’d poked it back into place and relished just how soft her hair felt.

  Chance Ranch usually buzzed with all of her aunts, her mother, and her cousin Kate, so he seldom managed to catch April alone. He’d been searching for an opportunity like this forever.

  The Chance and MacPherson kids grew up calling each other cousins. About a year and a half ago, when he realized he loved April, Peter sat back and thought matters through. His uncle had married April’s aunt’s sister. He and April weren’t related at all. Some of his cousins just happened to be cousins to one of her cousins. Both clans were big and loving. Somehow, they’d taken one slender kinship tie and wrapped themselves together into one big family—but they really weren’t related.

  The plan he’d come up with out on the back porch nearly had him giddy. He’d been biding his time now for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he’d be with April and get her to see herself how he saw her. Once he did, he’d pop the question.

  He tore his gaze from her and looked out the front window. Chance Ranch boasted a big yard in the middle of a sprawling rectangle of cabins and a stable. Each of the five Chance men had his own family cabin. Another cabin bunked the eight oldest boys, who now operated the horse ranch. Nestled protectively between the buildings was one more—the one April shared with her cousin Kate. If he had his way, Kate would soon be alone there, and he’d be building a place for himself and sweet April over on the MacPherson spread.

  “Are you daydreaming?” April sounded astonished.

  “Yeah, guess I’ve been gatherin’ some wool.” He couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. “Don’t believe I’ve ever seen you jist sittin’ still. Even at the table, yore always hoppin’ up to grab sommat.”

  April smiled at him. “I was just thinking the same thing about you—you’re always in motion. Between minding the livestock and crops and herding all of your siblings and cousins, the only time I see you relax is in the pew at church.”

  “I reckon that’s why they call Sunday ‘the day of rest.’ ” He flopped another biscuit onto the pan. “I niver guessed cookin’ was this much fun.”

  “I love being in the kitchen.” Just as soon as the words came out of her mouth, April groaned.

  “Whoa. Now that thar’s one of them times I can spot straight off that yore sabotaging yourself. ’Stead of making a big to-do, worryin’ about what you thank the feller is thankin’ ’bout what you said, jist tack on another comment to string the conversation where you’d like it to meander.”

  “Like what?”

  Peter looked at the biscuits in the pan, then the mess all over the worktable. “Mayhap you could said, ‘Cookin’ is loads of fun. ’Tis the cleanin’ up that vexes me.’ Then again, you could say, ‘Don’t you love how good a kitchen smells? I ’specially like bakin’ on account of the way cinnamon and vanilla tickle my nose.’ That sort of comment.”

  “I could do that!”

  “Shore could.” He grabbed the rolling pin and got ready to roll out the last bit of dough. Chuckling, he tilted the heavy utensil toward her. “Could be, you mention with all the knives and a rollin’ pin, there’s no safer place on earth for a woman. She’s got herself a whole arsenal on hand.”

  April’s laughter was ample reward for his nonsense. Peter sprinkled more flour on the table and started rolling the dough. “Next time someone sets a basket of biscuits afore me, I’m gonna have a new appreciation of them. You women make it all look so simple. Me? Some of my biscuits are thick and others are thin.”

  “You’re doing great. When Gabe helped make biscuits the first time, he couldn’t mix or roll them out. Laurel resorted to doing everything and just letting him cut them out with the glass. You’re doing all of the steps on your own.”

  “I’m not ’zactly on my own. I’ve got you giving me directions.” Peter glanced at her. “But what you jist did was good. A man niver tires of hearin’ a word of praise.”

  “I don’t want to be a liar, Peter. I can’t tell somebody he’s fabulous when he’s just ordinary.”

  He halted. “Ain’t nothing wrong with you appreciating how he pitches in and does the ordinary, April. Life jist flows along. Most days are much like the ones what came afore and the ones what’ll come after. If you cain honestly tell a feller his daily effort is good, he cain walk back out and do the same work the next time with a warm feelin’ in his heart.”

  Her brow furrowed. “I never thought of it that way.”

  “That’s why you need me to holp you out. With me giving you a man’s slant on matters, you’ll understand what’s important to us men.” He emphasized his comment with a sage nod. “Yup. I’m gonna open them purdy sky-blue eyes of yourn and let you see thangs in a whole new light.”

  Lord, You ken I’m speakin’ the gospel truth here. I aim to get my sweet little April to understand how special she is and how much I love her. Hit’s kinda fun, like You and me are k
eepin’ a pact all secret ’til we cain spring it as a big surprise.

  “Peter?”

  He raised his brows in silent inquiry.

  “You won’t tell anybody about this, will you?”

  “About what?” Kate asked through the front screen door.

  Two

  Peter scrambled to think of a way to steer the conversation so April wouldn’t be embarrassed. “Kate, c’mon in.”

  “I can’t. I’ve got stain all over my hands. Come open the door.”

  April started to rise.

  “You jist sit yoreself back down.” Peter strode to the screen and bumped it open with his elbow.

  Kate’s eyes grew enormous, and she started to giggle. “And I thought my hands were a mess! What are you doing covered in flour? Wait—first tell me what we’re not going to tell anybody.”

  April turned redder than Ma’s pickled beets.

  Peter held his hands aloft. “I’m holpin’ April make biscuits on account of she burned herself.”

  “You burned yourself?” Kate’s nose crinkled. “What else did you burn?”

  “You’re a smart one, Katie Chance. You done figgered it out for yoreself.” Peter gave April a look, then shrugged. “Couldn’t keep it a secret.”

  “Couldn’t keep what secret?” someone asked from the back door. That screen opened, and April’s oldest brother, Caleb, tromped in. “And why are you feeding the birds and squirrels outta the dishes?”

  April shot Peter a wry look. “And you thought it was quiet and peaceful around here?”

  He grinned back at her. It hadn’t taken much time for her to pull herself together. “I might have to reconsider that opinion.”

  Kate heaved a theatrical sigh. “Oh, well. Caleb knows now. Yes, April’s decided to feed the birds and squirrels. With all of the younger kids gone, not as much food’s been falling from the tables when we eat outside.”

  Peter chimed in, “And you know what a soft heart April has.”

  Her brother groaned. “I’ve heard everything now. It’s not like it’s the dead of winter and the animals are snowed in without a single scrap to eat.” He scowled at the pans of unbaked biscuits on the table. “And why are you feeding them before you make our lunch?”