Miss Rolfe sidled up to him. “You make bread? I’d say that makes you a rare gem.”
The man blushed clear to his hairline. “Matter of survival, miss, and I ain’t never found any of the passengers complained about being served it.”
“My name is Rowena Rolfe. Miss Rowena Rolfe. And yours?”
The man turned to face the others who watched Miss Rolfe as if they’d paid for the entertainment. “Sorry, folks. I forgot my manners. I’m your host, Peace Lewis. Everybody just calls me Peace. Ain’t that right, Dutch?” he asked of the stagecoach driver.
Dutch? Why had she not heard his name before now?
Dutch shed his big buffalo coat and parked on the bench on one side of the table. “That’s right, Peace. And I’ve been counting the miles since noon hoping you’d have bread in the oven when we got here.”
“Everyone, sit,” Peace said. He grabbed a stack of tin plates from the cupboard and skirted Miss Rolfe.
When Nate and Louise sat down, she leaned over to whisper in his ear, “Miss Rolfe looks as if she’s measuring the poor man for a wedding suit.”
He grinned at her and nodded. “I doubt she can run fast enough to catch him.”
Peace handed the plates around, then brought over the pot of stew. He placed the hot bread before them along with a big knife for cutting.
Louise glanced around the table. Everyone looked as eager as she felt to dig in.
Peace stood at the end of the table. “Folks, we’re civilized out here, even if things might appear crude to your way of thinking. So we say grace before we eat.” He bowed his head.
Louise jerked hers down. His reminder made her realize how quickly it was possible to forget her manners. She’d been ready to dig right in. Sometimes it was hard to remember to think about God. No wonder her faith was so small. She didn’t have her own Bible, had always used Aunt Bea’s or shared with someone else, but right here and now, with Peace Lewis praying over the food, his guests and the weather, one of the first things she decided to do when they reached civilization was purchase her own Bible.
“Amen,” Peace intoned. “Now hand me your plates.”
After the first taste of his stew, she didn’t care what else the place lacked. The food was excellent. His bread would put many a woman’s attempts to shame.
Miss Rolfe had chosen the place at the end of the table closest to Peace. She asked him question after question, and he politely answered, though it was evident to everyone that her interest made him twitch. Everyone, it seemed, but Miss Rolfe.
“I’ll wash the dishes,” she said as soon as the meal was done.
“Oh no, ma’am. You’re my guests. You’ve paid for the meal and that includes the cleaning up.” He grabbed a stack of dishes and backed away.
She followed, every eye in the place on her. Would she succeed in getting his interest or drive the poor man out into the cold?
Louise caught Nate’s gaze on her and they smiled in shared amusement. But then she couldn’t look away. It was as if he held her in his grasp, their thoughts as one, their wants the same. For a moment she could almost think her future was promising, see herself held in a pair of strong hands, feel an unbreakable bond.
Peace grunted and Louise freed herself from Nate’s invisible hold and drew her attention back to Miss Rolfe and her determined pursuit.
Peace handed her a towel. “Very well. I’ll permit you to dry the dishes, though I normally put them on the towel and let them dry by themselves.”
Miss Rolfe almost snatched the towel from him and stood as close to his side as possible. Peace made sure it wasn’t too close by putting the basin of water on the corner of the table and parking himself kitty-corner to his pursuer.
Mr. Adams brought a book out of his breast pocket. “I’m anxious to get back to my story.”
Young Mr. Adams likewise pulled a book out of his breast pocket. “This is a story about the march of the North-West Mounted Police from Winnipeg to Fort Macleod. They faced and conquered tremendous odds. It’s a thrilling story.” He opened the book and was soon lost in the retelling of the adventure.
Missy had her book and turned to it.