Read Online Scotsman Wore Spurs by Patricia; Potter - Free Book Online

toward the herd. She wondered whether he’d heard about her latest debacle. Embarrassment ripped through her as she remembered each humiliating moment.
    Stew had been a last-minute replacement for supper tonight. The planned menu had been beans, which she’d put on the fire as soon as they’d stopped at midafternoon, far ahead of the herd. Pepper had been busy making bread and had told her to put beans into a pot with water.
    She’d done exactly that, pleased that he had trusted her with that small chore. But then Terry Kingsley had arrived, telling them that the herd was an hour behind, and he’d taken a taste of the beans, immediately spitting them out. The younger Kingsley had sworn first at Pepper, who’d then turned on her.
    â€œWhat’s the matter now?” Pepper asked sharply, and when Terry held up his tooth for the cook’s inspection, Pepper let out a single explicit oath.
    Gabrielle still hadn’t been quite sure what she’d done wrong. Pepper had told her to put five pounds of beans in a pot and she’d followed his instructions precisely.
    But Pepper had fixed her with his blue pale eyes. “Sonofabitch,” he said. “What did I do so bad in my life that a vengeful god saddled me with you?”
    Gabrielle had stared at him, uncomprehendingly.
    â€œAny fool could see gravel was mixed with the beans,” he said. “Anyone with a lick of sense.”
    She still must have looked puzzled because the cook went into another spasm of creative oaths, then explained disgustedly. “Sellers mix gravel in with beans to add to their weight. You always have to sort it.”
    â€œI didn’t know,” she said.
    â€œAny jackass knows that,” Pepper muttered balefully. “I ain’t gonna let you anywhere near this wagon again.”
    Gabrielle had wanted to sink into the ground. Nothing she did was right. Nothing. She’d tried to swallow, but a huge lump of embarrassment had clogged her throat. She had seen some grit toward the bottom, but hadn’t seen any in the scoopfuls she’d measured. Minutes later, she’d been banished back to collecting cow chips. At least she was out of sight of Pepper, and hopefully out of mind. She winced as she remembered the outraged barrage of insults.
    At least this hadn’t been quite as bad as the coffee calamity. Having lived with her parents in rooming houses and hotels, she had never made coffee in her life. So when Pepper had told her to make it “strong enough to float a horseshoe,” she had taken him seriously. After searching the compartments and finding coffee beans, she’d hesitantly asked him how much to use. After he’d hollered for a while about how any simpleton knew how to make coffee, his growled instructions had been to “take a pound of coffee, wet it good with water, boil it over a fire for thirty minutes, pitch in a horseshoe and if it sinks, put in more coffee.”
    It hadn’t sounded right to her, but she was hesitant to ask any more questions. They always drew spiked contempt and exasperation. He obviously thought anyone should know how to make coffee. So she’d followed the directions—except for putting in the horseshoe—and she still didn’t consider it her fault that nobody had told her that she had to grind the coffee beans.
    Unfortunately, Kingsley had been the first person to pour himself a cup of the stuff she’d made. He’d taken a sip without looking at it. The reaction was immediate. He spat it out instantly, and his face had gone beet red. She’d been extremely thankful that the words he’d muttered under his breath were incomprehensible.
    Pepper’s comments, however, had been very plain. Gabrielle had heard inventive swearing in the theater, but everything she’d ever heard paled in the face of the old cook’s creative use of the language. And his comments over the coffee were nothing