Matthias stepped in through the back door the next morning with an armload of wood, the tune of a mountain birdsong on his lips. The aromas emanating from the kitchen were enough to make anybody sing—man or bird. No matter how much he traveled, he’d not found a cook in all the western territories who could make sourdough bread like Mutti Shumeister. And she had a loaf ready for breakfast each morning he was there.
After using his shoulder to push through the kitchen door, he took in the flurry of activity before depositing the load of oak logs he’d cut short enough to fit inside the cook stove’s fire box.
Mutti sat at the table rolling some kind of thin pastry, and Miss Boyd worked at the taller counter.
“Hallo, Matthias. You are hungry, ja?” Only the twinkle in Mutti’s eye gave evidence of her smile.
“I could eat ten loaves of your famous bread.” He rested a hand on each of her fleshy shoulders, then leaned down to plant a solid kiss on her cheek.
“Nein, go on.” She waved him off in the flustered way she usually responded to his affections.
He chuckled and patted her shoulder as he straightened. They did this same song and dance every time he came, and ’twas fun to see the red creep into her face as she pretended not to enjoy the attention.
“How can I help? I hope you saved a job so I can work for my food.” He turned to scan the room, his gaze stalling on the lithe form of Miss Boyd as she wrapped bread loaves in a cloth bundle.
She’d pulled her blond hair into a braid, which hung almost the length of her back. A glorious length, and the tips looked feathery soft where they flared out from the ribbon she’d used to fasten the end.
“You can make ze deliveries zis morning.” Mutti waved to the cloth bundles Miss Boyd had already prepared.
He nodded and moved to the packages next to Miss Boyd. A light scent of apples laced with the yeasty flavor of the bread, and their combined aroma filled his senses enough to make him lightheaded. Maybe he was just hungry, but the woman’s nearness seemed to overpower his every thought.
Miss Boyd tapped the bundles as she instructed him. “This goes to the leather shop. This to Mr. Williams. And these to the mercantile. Oh, and we have some for Mr. Lefton at the livery, too.”
Matthias cringed. Not that man.
“Nein.” Mutti’s sharp call made them both look up. “Not the livery. Gunther will deliver that one. Only the others.”
Matthias didn’t look at the maiden beside him as he reached for the bundles. He hated the way the Shumeisters tried to shield him from that oaf. But they didn’t want trouble, and as long as Matthias stayed under their roof, he would abide by their strictures. Besides, the man was their paying customer, and he couldn’t jeopardize that income.
The burn of Miss Boyd’s stare heated his face, but he ignored it as he gathered the packages and turned toward the door.
Opal and Mrs. S. had breakfast ready by the time Mr. Björk returned from his deliveries. Mr. S had shuffled out not long after the younger man with the delivery to Mr. Lefton at the town stable. It still made no sense why Mr. Björk couldn’t have taken it all, but when she questioned Mrs. S, the older woman had only shrugged. She wasn’t usually talkative, but when she didn’t want to answer a question, it was impossible to get a word from her.
Mr. Björk sat at the table with the doctor, sipping coffee while the older man filled him in on recent events around town. Doctor Howard worked his way through a plate of meats, cheese, and bread slathered with blackberry preserves, but Matthias hadn’t loaded anything on his dish. It appeared he planned to wait until Mr. S. returned to break his fast, a thoughtfulness the older man would appreciate.
Opal was just bringing the coffee pot to refill their mugs when the front door crashed open. “Doc. Come quick.”
Little Benjamin from the mercantile staggered into the room, panting and gripping his side. This wasn’t the first time he’d come running for the doctor, and his presence always tightened a knot in Opal’s stomach.
Doctor Howard wiped his mouth with a serviette as he rose from the table. “What is it, Ben?”
The boy glanced at Opal, then turned back to the doctor. “Mr. Shumeister. He got knocked down by Big Dan at the livery an’ he’s hurt bad.”
Opal's foot snagged in the carpet, and she stumbled forward to the table. Grabbing the edge, she righted herself and set the coffee pot onto its surface with a clatter. The image of the big bay stallion at the livery filled her mind’s eye. The stallion that had a reputation for wildness. What had Mr. S. been doing close enough to the animal to be knocked down?
She headed for the door and Benjamin as the others gathered around the boy. “How badly is he injured?”
“Don’t know for sure. He was holdin’ his arm an’ groanin', so Mr. Lefton sent me runnin’ to get you.”
Opal’s pulse thundered as they all stamped out the door and down the street, but her skirts slowed her so much that Mr. Björk and the doctor quickly outpaced her. Mrs. S. moved even slower, and Opal finally pulled them both to a walk as the older woman panted.
She threaded her arm through Mrs. S.’s. “I’m sure he’s fine.” At least she prayed he was. Mr. Shumeister wasn’t a young man, and his bones were likely more fragile than they’d once been.
A cluster of figures had gathered in the street ahead, and the sight coiled the ball of dread even tighter in her stomach. She wanted to run to them, but Mrs. S. was leaning heavily on her arm now, and the older woman needed her more than the men did.
She patted the woman's hand. "I'm sure he'll be fine. The doctor's with him now."
Before they reached the group, people were beginning to disperse. Three figures rose from the street and limped toward them. They were still a hundred feet away, but from their profiles, it was easy to see the man in the middle was the hunched form of Mr. Shumeister. The doctor and Mr. Björk flanked him, and the sight of all three walking eased the knot in Opal’s stomach.
“My Gunther.” Mrs. S. pulled away from Opal, gripped her skirts, and broke into a run again.
Opal did the same, but more to be there for Mrs. S. than anything else. The older woman didn’t get around as well as someone half her age, and this fright couldn’t be good for her nerves or her heart. If anything happened to either of the Shumeisters...the thought was too awful to even consider.
When they reached the men, Mrs. S. took Matthias Björk's place at her husband’s side, murmuring in what must have been German. Opal looked to Doctor Howard, the knot in her throat choking off her breathing as she scanned his face for some sign of how bad it was.
The doctor met her gaze. “I think his arm’s broken, but there doesn’t seem to be more. We’ll get him home to splint it.”
Only a broken arm. She nodded, letting all the fear trapped inside leak out in a long breath. She turned on unsteady legs as the others started back toward the boardinghouse. With Mr. S. flanked by his wife and doctor, she and Mr. Björk took places behind them.
It seemed strange to walk beside the man, and she fought a wave of uneasiness. Especially since he might be considered the cause of Mr. S.'s injury, in a roundabout way. After all, if Björk had taken the bread to the livery, Mr. S. wouldn’t have been in that dangerous place when the horse struck out. And maybe this was her chance to ask why. “Mr. Björk, why did Mr. S. deliver the loaves to the livery instead of you? Why didn’t Mrs. S. want you to go?”
He was silent as they walked. The pace was more of a stroll really, as the trio ahead moved at a turtle's speed. “Call me Matthias.”
She glanced at him. “Beg pardon?”
Something flexed in his jaw. “Everyone calls me Matthias. I’d prefer you do the same.”
“Are you avoiding my question?” She couldn’t fathom what gave her the boldness to confront him, other than the fact that his response irked her.
A corner of his mouth twitched. “I have no idea why Lefton dislikes me, but ’tis a fact. It bothers Mrs. S. when we get in a row, so I oblige her and stay away from the place.” He slid a glance at her. “I can’t be running off the paying customers.”
Then a sadness entered his eyes that gave hint of his regret. “I wish I’d gone today, though. A broken arm causes a powerful pain.”
“You sound as though you’ve experienced it.”
His eyes narrowed. “I’ve done my share of impulsive antics.”
The words gave her pause. “You mean like riding pell-mell through the mountains with a lady clinging to the back of your horse?” She nibbled the inside of her lip. She wasn’t normally so outspoken, but something about this man raised her dander. Or perhaps Tori had finally rubbed off on her.
“At least no one broke her arm during that ride.”
Thankfully, they’d reached the boardinghouse door, so she was saved a response. Probably a good thing, because she had nothing kind to retort.
Over the next few days, Opal worked to settle in to the new routine of the household. The doctor had splinted Mr. S.’s arm and bound it tight to his chest. He spent much of his time in the overstuffed chair by the large hearth, reading or sleeping. When he wasn’t entertaining visitors from around town, that was. The Shumeisters were such good people, and that fact wasn’t hidden from neighbors, despite the couple’s quiet ways and heavy German accents.
Mrs. S. rarely left her husband’s side unless he was sleeping, which was as it should be. And the extra work made it easier for Opal to hide herself in the kitchen or the backyard, away from the steady stream of visitors.
Matthias seemed to keep busy, too, taking over all of Mr. S.’s responsibilities around the place. Which meant she saw him throughout each day when he restocked her wood supply or carried in fresh water. And, of course, at every meal.
She would have thought these frequent interactions would make her immune to the strength of his presence. But still, each time he walked into the room, her senses came alive. She could feel his every movement, whether she had her back turned to him or not. And her skin would almost tingle when he turned those sharp green eyes on her.
What was it about him that seemed to steal the air from the room? It must be the aura of wildness he emanated, with those broad shoulders and the way his blond hair was just long enough to curl at the nape of his neck. Not to mention the stubble that glittered on his face by the end of each day.
Which was another thing that surprised her. She would have expected a mountain man to let his beard grow shaggy, especially during the winter months. Yet Matthias appeared to shave each day.
“Your thoughts are deep.”
Opal caught her breath as she turned from the laundry basin to see Mrs. S. standing behind her, squinting against the late morning sun. She tried to smile, but ’twas hard to force her mind to break through the web of thoughts. “Washing makes for good thinking.”
Mrs. S. studied her, and Opal turned back to the shirt she was scrubbing on the washboard. “How is Mr. S. this morning?”
“Sleeping. His pain is better now. I think ’tis time I resume my work.”
Opal glanced at her. “I’m taking care of things. You should be there when he needs you. Don’t worry about the baking, I’ll let you know if I need help.” She’d spent an early morning in the kitchen, then several more hours after breakfast, and finally escaped outside with the laundry to soak up a few rays of the winter sunshine.
“Nein. You are almost done with ze clothes. I pack lunch for you to take with Matthias. Go for a ride and let him show you ze fountains of water.”
“What? No.” Mrs. S. was sending them out for a picnic? She straightened and wrung out the shirt, then looked around at her work. This was the last of the clothing she’d brought outside, but she could probably find more to wash if she looked for it. It shouldn't be hard to convince the woman she was too busy to go for a joyride.
Mrs. S. reached for the satchel of clean, wet clothes. With the weather hovering so cold outside, they usually hung laundry to dry in the solarium, a room near the back of the house encased in wax paper windows so they could grow herbs and seasonings through the winter months.
“Let me carry those.” Opal reached to take the bundle from the woman’s arms, exchanging it for the washboard and bar of soap—a lighter load.
Mrs. S. accepted the items and turned with Opal toward the house. “Matthias will empty the wash bucket, and I will hang zese clothes while you go to gather your horse."
Opal let out a huff. So many things wrong with this picture. If she were going for a ride with Matthias, why couldn’t he retrieve Butter from the livery like a gentleman normally would? Why must he be so protected from Mr. Lefton? Maybe now was the time to ask. “Mrs. S., what happened between Matthias and Mr. Lefton? Why do we keep them apart?”
The woman grunted as they reached the back door. “It is God’s business, and He’s taking care of it. Put ze clothes in the sun room and go prepare for your ride.”
Argh. Opal wanted to release a frustrated grunt, but knew better than to be so disrespectful. What did Mrs. S. mean, God’s business? And why was she so insistent that Opal go on this outing?
She'd been working long hours lately, and an afternoon away would be a blessed relief. But could she leave the Shumeisters for so long? And did she really want to spend that much time with Matthias? She wasn’t concerned about him being dishonorable. At least, she didn't think so. After watching him with Mr. and Mrs. S., it seemed he had a good heart. But his presence was distracting. Could she spend an afternoon with him and not be affected to the edge of her sanity?