Whitefeather's Woman by Deborah Hale Page A

Caleb made a manly effort to suppress a grin.
    â€œWe don’t have time to beat around the bush. Mrs. Muldoon will be here before we know it, and what’s poor Jane to do then?”
    Ruth headed back to the dining room, where she began clearing dishes off the table. John and Caleb each carried a load out to the kitchen.
    â€œI reckon that doctor is a confirmed bachelor,” announced Ruth as she poured steaming water from a kettle over the dirty dishes. “Well, that’s his loss. Now who’s next on our list?”

Chapter Seven
    â€œW ho’s next on our list?” asked Ruth, a note of desperation creeping into her voice.
    Henry Hill, proprietor of the Four Kings Saloon, had just ridden back to Whitehorn after an awkward evening that had ended with Jane spilling a bowlful of creamed peas into his lap.
    John chuckled again, remembering it. Jane had fled upstairs in an agony of embarrassment, and for that he was sorry. But Henry Hill had those creamed peas coming to him, the way he’d been looking at her. As though she was one of his saloon girls. Why, if John had been the one passing those peas, they’d likely have landed on top of Henry’s Macassar-slicked head.
    â€œWhat are you laughing at?” Ruth glared her brother. “This isn’t comical. First the doctor, then the minister, now Mr. Hill. We’re soon going to run out of prospects. Who’d have thought it would be so hard to find a decent husband for a smart, pretty girl in Montana?”
    â€œJane Harris is too good to be a saloonkeeper’s wife,anyhow.” John had said so from the start, but his sister had overruled him.
    Ruth shook her finger at him. “If we don’t soon find a husband for Jane Harris, she could end up serving drinks in a saloon.”
    â€œWhy can’t you just keep her on here if she’s willing to stay?”
    Caleb frowned. “My ranch isn’t a settlement house for runaway gals from the East Coast. Besides, three women in one kitchen is nothing but a recipe for trouble.”
    â€œThe Mormon folks down in Utah seem to make out fine.”
    â€œThen maybe we ought to ship Miss Harris off to Salt Lake City.”
    â€œNow who’s being comical?”
    Ruth hurled a dish towel at John and another one at Caleb. “Stop it this minute, both of you. Caleb’s right, there won’t be enough work for three of us when Mrs. Muldoon gets here. Besides, Jane deserves a home and family of her own. She’d make a wonderful mother—have you seen the way she is with Barton?”
    John growled something like a yes as he dried the bowl that had earlier held the creamed peas. Of course he’d seen how tenderly Jane cared for his nephew. He’d also seen how some folks in town looked askance at the little fellow on account of his Cheyenne blood. Jane had never once looked at Barton like that, or shown any favor toward Zeke, the child of two white-skinned parents.
    Ruth was right, though; Jane deserved a better future than tending other people’s houses and children. He’d taken selfish glee in watching Ruth’s matchmaking go sour. Just because he wanted to keep Jane around where he could enjoy the pleasure of her company without taking any responsibility for her.
    Well, enough of that. He was not the man for her, no matter how she had begun to plague his dreams.
    The way she’d behaved around Dr. Gray, Reverend McWhirter and Henry Hill proved beyond doubt that she had too sensitive a nature to withstand the life of a ranch foreman’s wife. Besides, he already had a family—the folks at Sweetgrass. He owed his first duty to them.
    Time for him to stop playing dog in the manger and do whatever he could to help Jane. Even if that meant helping her become the wife of another man.
    â€œAs far as prospective husbands go, Amos Carlton’s our ace in the hole,” said Caleb. “Recent widower. Bags of money. A fine house.