The Second Chance Brides Collection, page 40
Shouts and curses turned to bets on the winner as the crew tossed the rivals into the middle.
“That don’t make you the one she wants!”
In less time than the breadth of a horse hair, the first man fisted and decked the second guy.
Not ducking out, the punched man recovered, again with the assistance of a buddy, and flew into battle. The rest of the crew leaned over seats, egging the two on, cheering for their favorite, and passing money to the man nearest the fight, who acted as the bank.
By the time Lukas made it through the tangle of bodies blocking his progress, the culprits were on the floor trying to strangle one another over a woman. Not the first fight he’d seen, since females were as rare in this rugged country as trout in the low river. The job challenged the strongest men physically, mentally, and spiritually. After a month as the hiring foreman, he’d discovered the most grueling job, his, was keeping the mines running against the constant loss of manpower from giving up or getting beat or moving on. Men could take the hard work. They could handle the extremes in temperature. But the lack of womankind wreaked havoc in a way he couldn’t have fathomed when he agreed to the contract. Men forged the roads, built the towns, answered the call of adventure. But women—they tamed hearts, settled men, and created civilization.
The production reports took a backseat to order, discipline, and the act of production. Two months of reports from the last foreman never happened. Now he knew why. His first had yet to be finished for the company. But if he lost any more men, he’d be down in the mines working an empty shift again. Though he’d earned respect by doing it before. Now this mess—before the day even started. He pushed the gawkers in the inner circle back into their seats, a firm hand on a shoulder if one protested. They took one look at who dared and backed down. Many here stood taller than average and sported physiques built out of years on farms, railroads, mines, or prison. All came for the opportunity, but few boasted the equivalent of Lukas’s height and frame—the epitome of a European man who’d worked hard through his boyhood. That fact alone stopped many problems. He had the additional benefit of an excellent education and leadership skills. His deep voice cinched it for the rest.
Lukas grabbed a handful of shirt collar and hauled the bigger brute up in one yank. The man landed on his feet, staring up into his foreman’s darkened glare. “You will stop.” The other contender leaped to his feet and launched forward, fists primed. Lukas extended a flat palm with such force toward the oncoming attacker, he knocked the wind out of him. “You will also stop.”
Never once did he raise his voice above a low growl as he spoke in his native language. His height alone commanded attention. Add the muscular body of heavy labor since childhood, and most would-be challengers remained just that. He had a resonant baritone that, when raised in worship, filled a church with beauty, but directed in discipline, shook the recipient to the core. As head foreman in charge of men pushed past human endurance, when decency in the ranks didn’t last long, Lukas had no choice but to be half father and half bouncer. What he couldn’t afford to be was too close of a friend, not given these intense conditions. Enough familiarity to build connection and enough command to build respect. Something his father had taught him about managing their holdings while tutoring Lukas to take over.
“What was this about?” He asked the man whose scruff he still held.
“Her.” He pointed at the baker in the front row, wooden bins of bread all around her making a kind of blockade. She faced forward with a stiffened spine, pointedly ignoring the scene not far behind her, arms wrapped tightly around her torso. Did she know the fight was over her, or couldn’t she understand the language?
One of the miners nearby laughed, and explained, “Ain’t no big deal. Someone’s always makin’ a play for her. She ain’t givin’ the likes o’ those two no never mind. Gotta be a rich man to catch a gal like that one. I’ll get me rich and then get that gal for my personal canary.” The fellows around him slapped him on the back. “You’ll all be jealous, then.”
The bakers, hired directly by the Milwaukee Railroad, were hard to find and hard to replace. If Lukas wanted bread for his crews, that lady needed protection from the men she had to feed.
He switched to English, hoping the woman would understand he had everything under control. “You will all leave the baker alone. If not, you will answer to me.” He narrowed his eyes, looked at each man, and asked, “Do we understand each other?”
Lukas caught a flicker of movement in the front row. Had she glanced over her shoulder?
“Ja,” the one who could speak said as he nodded.
Letting the man go, Lukas pointed at the bench several rows back. Then he turned to the smaller culprit. “Und?”
He nodded.
Lukas released him.
The fellow sputtered, wheezed, and worked his way down the aisle doubled over, to sit as far away from Lukas as he could get.
Lukas stared down the entire compartment. Then he shook his head. One perfect day. This wouldn’t be it. He searched for a seat, catching hold of one he passed to balance as the train swayed around a bend. All full until he reached the front.
“May I?” he asked the pretty bread baker. The company of a sweet soul with kind words would do a lot to ease the stress today.
She turned from the window, sized him up with caramel-brown eyes in a flash that rocked him as hard as dynamite blasting a mining shaft. “No.”
He’d caught a glimpse of freckles across glowing cheeks and honey-colored hair under her baker’s scarf. Eyes he hadn’t seen in the month he’d ridden behind the baker or in a different car dealing with new men, paperwork, and supplies. He’d seen her from a distance. He knew of her. Until now, he’d no idea what she looked like. Only the rumor that she was a looker. Sometimes Lukas missed the train altogether when he had to roust employees out of a bordello, likely still drunk. But those eyes needed studying. He understood now what the men fought over. A chance to capture the light in those eyes—or to be the man that put it there.
The train ratcheted around another curve, jostling Lukas into a giant basket, almost spilling its contents. He righted it without losing a loaf or the perfect packing order, and then held out a hand. “Terribly sorry, Miss—”
“It’s Mrs.” The woman held up her hand, displaying a plain gold band on her fourth finger. She reached across the basket and pulled it back from Lukas. Then she turned away to the window without another word.
A choked snicker transformed into a cough when Lukas turned to look. The miner fixed his eyes on the floor, suddenly fascinated by his boots. More now than any time, Lukas had to establish authority with the replacements or risk costly disrespect. That could mean lives. He lengthened his scrutiny with disapproval until the man inched toward the window like a naughty puppy. Expanding to include the others in the vicinity, he quelled any further laughter intended to minimize his leadership. Sometimes he felt sorry for his past teachers. This must be similar to how they felt with a bunch of unruly adolescents.
“My apologies, ma’am.” He lifted the basket off the bench across the aisle. “Would you mind if I held this for you while I sit here?”
She glanced over her shoulder, took in the packed passenger car, and then at him. “That would be fine, as I see no other option.”
“I’m Lukas Filips.” He thumbed toward the other passengers, half already snoring. “They shouldn’t bother you again.”
“Yous got that right,” the conductor said as he arrived, coming up through the train. “I ain’t got the time to be runnin’ through my train to keep the peace.” He shook his head. “From now on, any o’ your lot rides an’ yous gonna be ridin’ or y’all be walkin’!”
Lukas furrowed his brow. “I can’t—”
The conductor shrugged. “Suit yerself.” He leaned down toward the woman and peered out the window at the thick brush along the river. “Guess them boys want to work up a good appetite fer yer baked goods since they’ll be addin’ a couple miles’ walk through the brambles.” He chuckled as he straightened, but that low laugh held a tone of finality.
She rewarded him with a raised eyebrow. “Could make for an uncommonly pleasant ride, Mr. Kelly.”
“You know I have to keep my men working. I can’t—”
“No siree, ain’t gonna tell yous yer business. Jes tryin’ to help as best I can in the circumstance.” He held his palms up. “You ‘n’ me, we got our jobs. Mine is to get my passengers, cargo, and the baker ladies to their destinations. When yer fellas make my job harder, ain’t much of a leap fer me. I like her cookin’ more than I like bustin’ up a boxin’ match ever’ mornin’ and noon. Get me?”
One more log to roll out of the way in the jam piling up. He’d have to ride from Rowland and make the loop every day to ensure the early crew arrived until their bunkhouse, closer to the mine, was completed. “What if we strike a deal? I ride for a short time. If there’s no problem, we call it solved.” The hour, plus travel time, would cost him in yet later reports. But if helping this one very pretty woman helped him manage his crew better, then so be it.
“Knew he’d see reason, Widow Hayes. Yous let me know if you got any problem.” The conductor pulled out his pocket watch. “Back to it, then.” He flipped it closed as he left Lukas and the caramel-eyed widow staring at each other.
Lukas curbed the desire to shout, and spoke low enough for the two of them. “How am I supposed to get any work done or manage my crews?”
Her eyes widened like an oasis emerging from the sands, and just as surprising, “You think I’ve no work to do? It’s your men that often delay me.” She rose with hands on hips. The train jockeyed for its position, snaking round another bend. “I have bread to get to—” Another quick jolt to the left and the beauty flopped down on her bench as if the hand of God brushed against her, plopping her in a most unladylike fashion to finish the conversation. “Never mind.” She turned away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Wait, Widow Hayes.” He slid a basket off the seat and sat beside her. “How do my men make you late?”
She stared at him. “How would you manage in this female-starved environment if you were me?”
She expected him to answer that other than he’d advise her to get married? “I don’t understand.” Maybe it was a nuance in the English language he had yet to learn, though his education had been thorough in English, Russian, French, Croatian, Italian, and his own mother tongue. “What do you mean?”
“Was that not you breaking up the fight?” She tilted her head. “That’s only one example. When that kind of thing happens, I’m often blocked from getting deliveries through the crowd and miss a train. Or, heaven help me, I get stopped just for a chat.” Her voice mimicked the gruffness in many of the men. “As if I don’t know what that means. What do I have to do to avoid all the manhandling?”
“I—”
“If I wanted to work in a bawdy house, that’s where I’d be. I’ve chosen to bake.” She folded her arms. “That’s all.”
“I—”
“Of course, the drunks on the train each day that make it harder to get on and off or try to follow me home have to be the worst. Then again, you did say you would personally stop the poor behavior. Why don’t you tell me how you’ll do that if you aren’t on board?”
Would she breathe and let him speak? For a woman who didn’t want to talk about it, she said a lot.
“Well?”
Oh, his turn. “I’ll be on board. My men will not bother you.”
“Fine.” She arched a brow that proved she didn’t believe in the possibility. The train pulled into the makeshift station at Stetson. “If you’ll hand the basket down, please, I’ll be right back. Unless you’d extend your protection into the depot?”
He assessed the silent car. Not one man dared break a grin. But all eyes were on him. If he wanted to show these men how to behave, now he had the chance.
“Ma’am.” Lukas stood with her, stepped aside to allow her to pass, and followed her off the train, carrying the massive basket. He heard a low whistle and then, “Look at that, will ya? I ain’t sure if’n the Widow Hayes tamed the foreman or the foreman is tamin’ the Widow Hayes.”
“I’ll take that bet.” And the ruckus started, money passing back and forth, plainly visible through the windows to anyone on the depot platform.
Lukas closed his eyes for a brief moment and breathed deeply. He could and would be a gentleman. He could and would be the example the men needed. Hopefully, she hadn’t heard that last bit in English.
She turned back toward the noise, studied the apparent nonsense, and said, “I’m not sure you’ll be able to manage that lot. Perhaps you won’t want to get back on the train, either, Mr. Filips.”
His hackles rose at her challenge, and he drew his brows together. First the conductor and now a woman he’d never met before. “You’ll leave that to me.” With this many men vying for her hand, surely she could simply solve the problem before he’d have to do much more. Especially since she no longer wore widow’s weeds. “However, it seems you should simply choose a husband. Plenty will be at the celebrations tonight. You can take your pick.”
The widow spun on her heel before she crossed the depot threshold. One hand on her hip and one pointing right into his chest. “You hear me good. I will never, not ever, will not even consider a ruffian the likes of these!” She flicked her hand outward toward the audience. Her eyes narrowed, “No trainman or miner or any man…no, no, no! Why can’t you all leave me alone?”
He’d hold his hands out to show he’d meant no offense, but they were full of her bread. Then he realized the entire train could see him getting an earful. Could she make his job any harder today?
“And you! You’re just like all of them, aren’t you?”
“My bet is on the widow, Foreman Filips!” At least that jest was in his mother tongue. Laughter roared out of the open windows behind him.
But from the irritated expression on her face, she likely caught the gist anyway. Did she speak more than English?
She tightened her lips and went inside.
Yes. She could make it harder. Lukas growled under his breath as he went inside the cooler log building, dropped the load where she directed, and walked her back to the train in silence.
Chapter 3
The train chugged down the track to the next stop. They repeated the delivery in near silence, only speaking for directions or to acknowledge the other out of courtesy. His men watched every detail.
Juliana settled into her seat. He’d helped her finish the delivery even though she’d yelled at him in front of all those men. Embarrassed him, after he’d already broken up a fistfight. After he’d agreed to keep her safe, on a daily basis. The guilt poured over her heart and festered like yeast in sugar water.
“I’m sorry.” The words squeaked out. She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.” She snuck a sideways, upward glance across the aisle at his surprisingly clean russet hair and stoic profile. A fine-looking face, for a miner, she allowed with a tad bit of realism. She liked his clean-shaven chin with the small cleft.
He inclined his head without turning to look at her. “Accepted.”
He still clenched his jaw, a small muscle popping in and out. “You’ve accepted my apology, but have you forgiven me?”
No response.
“Mr. Filips?”
He searched her face. “You have made my job more difficult.” He gestured back toward his crew. “But, yes, I choose to forgive you.”
She smiled, and when he smiled back, Juliana’s heart warmed. Of course, the sunshine streaming in through the window had everything to do with feeling overheated. It certainly wasn’t the handsome mining foreman whose gray-blue eyes twinkled at her like sunlight winking on a lake. Juliana slid a finger around the high collar of her shirt blouse. She needed a cold drink of water.
Their mutual smiles brought attention. One of the men who’d been fighting yelled toward the front, “You oughta get in line, Foreman. Ain’t no cause for you to swoop in and steal the girl from them what’s been tryin’ all summer.”
Mr. Filips turned, his arm across the back of his bench. “The man drew the short straw on smarts,” he said quietly to Juliana, causing a giggle to burst from her. He gave her the most intense momentary stare as if the sound of her laugh entranced him. Then he raised his baritone. “Rowdy, I know you need this job, since you’ve been let go from two other foreman. You want a third boot?”
That sent a guffaw around the men who’d boarded at the new stops along the ride.
The depth of that look, penetrating behind her wall, sent Juliana scurrying to reinforce the safety zone. She mentally built a heavier barrier to his masculinity.
“I’m grateful for your help today and your willingness to help in the future.” She gathered the baskets and stacked them on the bench to keep distance between them. He’d done nothing untoward, but the way he looked at her sent sparklers to her stomach. Since she had no plans of attending the holiday celebration this evening, she didn’t want to see fireworks in a new relationship, either. She needed to get home and not dream of a tall handsome man when she slept away the afternoon heat. She needed to finish the first rising and then bake tonight. All the railroaders and miners would be busy celebrating. She wouldn’t have to fend off anyone between the oven and her quarters while they were at the saloons. Enough celebration for her. Then she’d prep the next batches for the ovens after the stragglers wandered through to the bunkhouses. She’d be done in time for the baggage man to tote it all to the platform, ready for the train.
“Mrs. Hayes, we’re going to be riding for at least an hour every morning, maybe more. Would it be a better idea to become friends?”
Juliana wished she could say yes to this intriguing man. But the risk outweighed the momentary relief. Good things come to those who wait, she told herself. She was waiting for a life outside the camps. “It’s not better for me.” She swallowed at his disappointed expression. Not wanting to be friends would hurt anyone. With as much courtesy as she dared, Juliana apologized. “I’m sorry. But you don’t know what I’ve been through.”
