Piecrust Promises

By Roberta Olsen Major

Nellie Farmer has always been the best source of gossip—and baked goods—in the town of Williams Trace, Texas. Plump as a dumpling, lonely as a heifer in a flock of sheep, and feeling bleak about her life and prospects, Nellie opens her second-best rent room to a handsome young stranger with mischief—and vengeance—on his mind. He's a charmer—and Nellie is ripe for the charming. But promises, so they say, are like piecrusts…easily broken.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9781590881088

Book preview

What They Are Saying About Rising Star,

Roberta Olsen Majors

[B OUND] is a great book—and wait until you read both TIES and PIECRUST PROMISES. More of those same folks! They're every bit as well crafted and entertaining.

—an advance reader from Iowa

BOUND IS A THOROUGHLY entertaining romance with an unflagging social conscience. **** (four stars)

—Gina Bernal,

Romantic Times Magazine

...I really, really enjoyed BOUND. It was like Louis L’Amour, only with a woman.

—a male reader from Texas

Once I reacquired TIES from my granddaughter, I found myself being highly entertained... It was much more of an attention-getter than James Mitchner... Major is a talented author who gives her readers the opportunity to partake of sheer reading for pleasure... style, composition and wild imagination... I love reading a book where the good guys win and the bad ones go to that place where bad guys will reside for all eternity...

—a reader from Texas

I just finished TIES over the weekend! What a great book. I just loved it. I just love the subtleties...such a delightful band of characters! Harry is a loverly hero!!

—a reader from California

Piecrust Promises

Roberta Olsen Major

A Wings ePress, Inc.

Western Historical Romance Novel

Edited by: Lorraine Stephens

Copy Edited by: Sara V. Olds

Senior Editor: Crystal Laver

Executive Editor: Lorraine Stephens

Cover Artist: Pam Ripling

All rights reserved

NAMES, CHARACTERS AND incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Wings ePress Books

Copyright © 2002 by Roberta Olsen Major

ISBN: 978-1-59088-108-8

Published by Wings ePress, Inc.

Published In the United States Of America

Wings ePress Inc.

3000 N. Rock Road

Newton, KS  67114

Dedication

For Lorraine Stephens—trusted editor, valued colleague,

and all-around good guy—who knew Nellie had a story long before I did.

And in memory of Joe, a genuinely nice man

who greatly enriched my life in the short time we had together.

The author wishes to thank Terry Roy

for solving a balky horse problem...

Prologue

Williams Trace, Texas

March, 1857

Nellie smoothed the crumpled paper flat with a quick pass of her heated flat iron, then set the iron on the mantle to cool.

The nib of her pen had broken again, and she was just too blamed glum to make the walk over to Charley Fugg’s mercantile this evening to buy a replacement, so she rummaged through her box of pencil stubs and fished out the best of the bunch. Licking the tip, she set pencil to paper.

Dear Phyllis,

It was dandy to get your letter! Thank you for remembering my birthday was January and for wishing me well. You were the only one to do it—not that I’m complaining, mind you, but in years past Verna Louise’s brother-in-law, Garrett Galway—You’ll remember him from five years back at the New Year’s sociable?—has been known to recollect. But never mind. I’m sure he’s busy running that fancy restaurant of his up Dallas way and can’t be called upon to mark another year in the life of Nellie Jane Farmer.

Nellie licked the tip of her pencil again, and reread what she’d written. It wasn’t fancy writing, and maybe the former schoolteacher would be critical? No, she decided, not Phyllis, who hadn’t a mean bone in her body.

I was pleased as can be to read that you are increasing at last. I figure one of your own will be a joy after the Reverend’s four—Not that they weren’t sweet children, mind you, but it’s a brave soul who takes on the raising of another woman’s children. That Johanna must be quite the young lady by now. She always was a pretty little thing. Just like her mama, or so Bess used to say.

I’m increasing as well, though the cause is from too many cookies and pies, and not from the particular attentions of a man. But I was already as round as Charley Fugg’s pickle barrel to begin with, so I figure a bit more girth won’t matter.

Have you heard from Bess and Benjamin? I expect you have and don’t mean to tell me in case I let my tongue slip around Sheriff Caldwell, but I’m sure it’s all blown over by now and they are in no danger from the law. Milt would no more leave Williams Trace to track them down than he would give up his visits to that bawdy house over at Six Gun Hollow. Scandalous, how Eunice lets him get away with such behavings!

Business is good, though my two rent rooms are empty at present.

I had a nice couple from over by Stafford’s Point stop in for a few days last week, but didn’t see much of them as they had just been married by Reverend Galway and had more pressing matters on their minds, if you know what I mean. Which of course you do, being a married woman yourself.

Well, now that I’ve managed to depress myself completely, I will close, being too cheap to pay for extra pages anyhow. But it was grand to hear from you, Phyllis, and to receive your good news.

Your friend,

Nellie Jane Farmer

Nellie sighed and folded the page into thirds.

She’d baked herself a little cake, three layers, rich with butter and drizzled with a sugar glaze that should by now have hardened to a decadent crunch.

I almost don’t have the heart to eat it, she muttered, then got to her feet. Almost, but not quite. A nice slab of cake washed down with a cup of tea would maybe fill the hole brought on by Phyllis’s reminder of this year’s unremarked fortieth birthday.

Though why Garrett Galway hadn’t sent along a little note like he had five years running was still a mystery that the two months since her birthday hadn’t dimmed.

Well, cake wouldn’t solve the mystery, but it might make the presence of it easier to swallow. Though it would surely take more than one puny slice of it to do the trick.

Might as well take her fork to the whole thing. There was no one here to share it with anyhow.

One

C an’t we stop, Daddy ? I’m just about wore out.

Judson Deavers looked at his son, who was partial to complaining, and his daughter, who wasn’t. This time it was Shirley who’d piped up. Norman just had that whipped look about him, his fourteen-year-old shoulders drooping and his head hanging like it was too heavy for his neck to hold up. Jud recognized that look. It was as familiar to him as his own face.

It was his own face.

We’ll stop soon as we find a likely spot.

Aren’t any likely spots round here, Shirley said. Just towns, which you aren’t so very fond of.

There’ll be something, Jud said. He took his hat off his head and scratched at the few hairs he had left up top, then ran his fingers from his droopy mustaches down through his bristly chin whiskers. Wasn’t that just like life? Not enough on top to block the sunshine, and so much sprouting on the chin that scraping it off with a razor was like scything through a wheat field.

Why couldn’t there be a moderation in things? he wondered. Just enough up top to rest a hat on and enough below to trim up nice for a Saturday night sociable?

But life didn’t work that way, not with hair and not with luck—as Judson Deavers had learned to his sorrow these past two years. Not that I’m partial to a Saturday night sociable anyway, he reminded himself, though the reminder gave him a pang.

Look, Daddy, it’s a cabin! Shirley had gone on ahead, but now she turned back. Nobody here.

That’s on account of it’s burned down, idiot, Norman muttered.

"It’s not all burned down, you twice-idiot. Just the front. Shirley was already up on what remained of the porch, kicking at the charred door until it swung open with a mournful creaking. The backside’s sound enough."

Jud didn’t hold out much hope, but he followed his daughter, putting a foot through the wood of the blackened porch, which was to be expected, but not scraping any skin off in the process, which was a happy surprise.

Shirley was right. The back half of the cabin was sound, with a nice rock hearth which was, ironically, the place least covered with smuts and ash.

They’ll be back, Norman said. No one leaves a place like this for long.

There’s nothing much here, Shirley reported. Except a bunch of spiders and cobwebbing. She chuckled. They must like the quietness of the place. They’re probably cursing us right now, and shaking their eight legs at us.

No need for cursing, Norman muttered. We been cursed all we can take.

Norman had the right of it, but Jud didn’t say so out loud.

No stock, no neighbors, no food, Shirley went on with her inventory. Too bad about the food part, Daddy, but you can’t have everything.

You got that right, he said, but prudently, only to himself.

So can we stay, Daddy? Rest up? I got a blister the back of my heel that’s giving me some pain. Shirley was stripping off the remains of her tattered shoe, exposing a raw and bloody wound that made Jud wince and Norman pretend to wretch.

Why didn’t you say something sooner, Shirl? Jud felt that old helpless, hopeless feeling creep up inside him. What was he doing to his kids by this kind of life, except serving them up more misery and grief?

And what would you have done about it? Shirley asked with a wisdom well beyond her sixteen years. Carried me? She turned, rummaged among a pile of debris, and found a crock with a big chunk missing from its lip. There’s bound to be water nearby, a nice cabin like this. Go find some, Norman, and bring it back so we can commence to cleaning.

You ain’t the boss of me, Norman said. Besides which, it’d take a hundred trips to bring back enough water in that to even make a dent in the dirt of this place.

Then you’d best get started, Shirley said. She found a broom handle next, only slightly charred, though the straws were burnt to the nubs. Maybe we can find some dry grass to fashion us a replacement. It’s a dandy handle.

Dandy, Jud echoed. He didn’t have the heart to argue the merits. I’ll fix that.

Fine, Daddy, she said, and gave him a particular smile that reminded him of Doloros.

He took the handle and turned away. No use blaming the daughter for the sins of the mother.

He thanked God just about every day that Shirley was as practical and determined as old Granny Deavers had been. That made one of them who still had a slim chance of landing on their feet. He figured he and Norman were just about gutshot—though that was a sad thing to admit about a boy of fourteen and a man just turned forty-two—but maybe Shirley would be all right if he could ever untangle the mess of these past two years.

For now, though, the broom was almost more than he could manage.

There was bound to be something edible around here, as fertile as this land was. And this was spring, after all, which meant things were growing.

Harvests had been bitter in the past, but maybe that meant the Deavers were due for a break.

And maybe this abandoned cabin was the start of it.

MISS NELLIE. ABEL Galway stood at the door of Nellie’s front room, just about blocking the light.

Nellie took a moment to study him, this oldest son of Maurice and Verna Louise. He’d been an unlikely child and a horrible adolescent, but had surprised everyone in Williams Trace, except, perhaps, his mother, when he’d turned into a fine young man. He’d been fat as a child, and soft, and a whiner, but now he was husky and filled out some, thanks, in part, to his job as a teamster.

He’d even learned to chew with his mouth closed, which the whole town had reason to be grateful for at Sunday School picnics and town fairs and sociables.

If only he’d quit sniffing around Brita Blum, who was trouble wrapped up in a flaxen-haired, blue-eyed, dimple-cheeked package. But there was no use in pointing out things like that to a young man. It was in a young man’s nature to be drawn to the liveliest filly in the corral.

What’s got you darkening my door? Nellie asked. I’m sure it’s not my cookies. She’d already picked two of them off a plate and carried them over.

Abel grinned and, with mumbled thanks, took a bite of one of them.

And it’s not time for one of your peddling jaunts, Nellie went on, because I haven’t made up my batches of jar cakes yet. So what is it brings you here this afternoon, Abel? Speak up. You know how I hate the sound of my own voice going on and on. She grinned to show she knew what a whopper she’d just told.

Abel chewed his bite of cookie and swallowed before replying. I was carrying some barrels out to Lovell’s this morning for Mr. Fugg, he began, and I passed by Benjamin Rivers’ old place.

Nellie’s interest perked right up. And?

And you know how you told me to mention if anything ever changed out that ways?

Nellie nodded. I half-promised myself I’d watch out for it, in case Bess and Benjamin ever decided to come back. She shook her head. Fool that I am. They’re never coming back, and we ought to have let that cabin burn to the ground three years ago, instead of rushing to save it. She got back on track with an effort. So you’re saying something’s changed out at the cabin? What, did the roof finally fall in?

Someone’s staying there, Abel said. I saw smoke.

Likely it just caught fire again, Nellie said with a sigh. And that would be that, wouldn’t it?

It looked like smoke from a cook fire, Abel said. Small and clean.

I’ll drive out and check on it, Nellie said. Not much stirring around here at the present anyhow. And a little ride might purge my soul of the dismals.

I’ll drive you, Abel offered.

Don’t you have something better to do?

Abel grinned. Papa plans to whitewash the church this week, but I’d rather drive you out to the cabin, Miss Nellie, if it’s all the same to you.

I’d be obliged, Nellie said. I hate handling that team of mules myself. I’ll just get my hat, Abel, and you run and tell Verna Louise what you’re up to.

I’m nineteen, Abel said. I’m too old to be telling my mama where I’m off to every minute of the day.

Until you’re wed, you’re obliged. By courtesy, if nothing else. Nellie smiled. I’ll pack a little bite to eat while you’re doing your duty, if that motivates you any.

Abel’s eyes lit up.

He moved fast for such a big boy.

THEY’D TIDIED UP THE cabin pretty well these three days, the Deavers, working like they meant to stay, though Jud knew it was impossible. Norman had snared a rabbit—though it was Jud’s daughter who’d been left to dress it while Norman went off and had himself a good cry over having caught himself a bunny then having to eat it instead of make a pet of it—and Shirley had found some greens to boil, enough so that, even with the Deavers helping themselves, the local squirrels wouldn’t miss out come winter.

Still, they went to sleep each night with a rumble in their stomachs that hadn’t been silenced completely for coming on to two years.

It’s a nice place, Jud said on the afternoon of the third day. Worth fixing up, if anyone had a mind to.

How about us? Norman asked, a faint spark showing in his brown eyes for the first time in as long as Jud could remember.

We’ll sure leave it better than we found it, was all Jud would say, but he’d already begun mentally restacking rocks around the overgrown well out back, and shoring up the charred porch.

Do we have to leave? Shirley asked quietly. Why can’t we stay, Daddy?

You know why, Jud said, his rising spirits taking a familiar plunge. Besides which it don’t belong to us. Place as nice as this, someone’s bound to turn up to claim it. He turned away and headed off through the underbrush, his shoulders sagging.

If only his kids could have what they deserved.

But no one did, did they? Doloros sure hadn’t gotten her just deserts, had she?

Which was why they were here—while she was warm and comfortable at home.

Jud shook his head. The world was not a fair place. Some ate the whole pie, while others were left to wash up the empty tin and go to bed hungry.

NELLIE AND ABEL DROVE up to the front of the cabin in the wagon and team that Nellie had bought three years back, and that Abel was now working to buy from her.

You were right, she said. Someone’s been here.

I’m right from time to time, Abel said mildly, in spite of what you and Mama like to think.

Nellie ignored him, climbing with a bit of difficulty off the high wagon seat. Hello! she called. Who’s here?

Silence met this attempt, but Nellie wasn’t fooled. She strode over to the ruined porch.

Miss Nellie— Abel began, but it was too late.

Nellie’s step was too heavy for the charred wood. It groaned underfoot, then caved in. Nellie’s feet shot forward, wedging under the porch, while wood collapsed around her like a house of cards.

Miss Nellie! Abel ran forward, horrified.

Nellie looked back at the young man, her face bright red. I’ve been meaning to take off a few pounds. I guess this is what you’d call motivation.

Are you hurt, Miss Nellie?

She shifted, testing limbs and muscles. Only my pride. But my pride has taken a powerful beating, Abel Galway, and if anyone back in town hears of it—

Your secret is safe with me, Miss Nellie.

Don’t lie to me, boy. Now how in blazes are we going to get me out of here? I can’t move my feet. They’re stuck. And I got a board jabbing me in my back. And I’ve barked both my elbows. Likely there’s more to complain about, but it just hasn’t hit me yet. You got a rope, Abel?

Yes, ma’am.

Hitch me up to the team, then, Nellie said with a sigh, and pull me out like a tree stump.

That’ll likely hurt, Abel said.

The scorched door slammed open, just missing whacking Nellie full in the face by a hair’s breadth. A girl with a pair of fat brown braids stood in the doorway, eyes blazing down into Nellie’s. What have you gone and done to my porch?

"Your porch?" Nellie’s eyebrows went up, but she was at a distinct disadvantage here, trapped as she was by a pile of charred wood.

Daddy was about to repair it, the girl wailed, and now you’ve gone and broken it to smithereens!

It was an accident, Abel said.

I’ll take a broom to you! the girl shrieked. To the both of you! How could you?

A skinny boy with a mop of brown hair elbowed past the girl. You ain’t got a broom, so quit your caterwauling, Shirl. He looked down at Nellie. Whoo-ee, ma’am! You got yourself in a pickle, don’t you?

A sour one, Nellie said. Abel here was just making ready to hog tie me and have the team pull me out.

That’ll likely hurt, the boy said.

Nellie closed her eyes. Lord, give me strength. You got a better idea?

Sure, the boy said, then leapt over the whole mess like a deer and headed off, hollering, Daddy! Daddy! We got a woman stuck in the porch needs yanking!

Nellie closed her eyes again. If I get any more red in the face I’ll expire, and then they can yank at me all they like—and no harm done.

You had no call to break my porch, the girl said, arms akimbo.

Nellie kept her eyes closed. When you’re old and fat and foolish, girl, there are days when you’d druther just be shot and get it over with.

It was an accident, miss, Abel said again. Miss Nellie was just meaning to check on the cabin.

Is it yours? the girl asked.

Belongs to some friends, Nellie said, eyes still closed. They won’t care about the porch. Bess would laugh about it. At the moment, though, Nellie felt a lot closer to crying.

Two sets of feet came running. Here, a new, deeper voice said, then groaned. Our luck’s turning, all right. It’s getting worse.

Nellie opened her eyes as the man came closer, and twisted to get a look at him.

He was not a particularly tall man, on the thin side, with a drawn face under a thatch of brown whiskers. His eyes were a tired brown, giving him the look of a droopy old hound dog. Maybe it’s the mustaches, Nellie thought. They bracketed his mouth like a hairy frown. And he’d look a sight better without the chin whiskers.

Are you hurt, ma’am?

Nellie scowled at him. No. In fact, I’m so comfortable I think I’ll set up a homestead.

He flinched.

Instantly, she was remorseful. It’s not your fault I’m fat and foolish, she said. And mortified besides. If you can help me, I’d be much obliged.

The man gestured to his lanky son, and, with Abel joining in, they worked together to pull away as much of the debris as possible.

The girl, Shirley, fussed over each stick of charred and splintered wood until Nellie wanted to box her ears.

That’ll do, Shirley, the man finally said, with the first bit of spark Nellie had seen in him. Make yourself useful. Get the lady some water. She’ll likely have scrapes.

Once the disgruntled Shirley was gone, Nellie felt even more embarrassed.

Here, son, the man said to Abel, you get on the one side and I’ll get on the other, and when I count three, we’ll pull. He crouched down and put an arm around Nellie. Begging your pardon, ma’am. I’ll be obliged to get a little familiar with your person for a minute, but—

Most fun I’ve had in years, Nellie muttered.

Why, me, too, ma’am, he said, an unexpected smile threatening his mouth.

Nellie caught the twinkle in his brown eyes. Just get me out of here, will you? And don’t you dare laugh at me, mister, or I’ll brain you with my cast iron skillet!

Yes, ma’am, he said, his voice meek. But his eyes were still bright, and it did much to cheer his face.

With Abel on one side and the man on the other, the lanky boy cheering them on like it was some kind of gentlemen’s sport, they gave a great tug. Nellie popped out like a cork, and they all tumbled backwards into the dust, Nellie’s skirts flying up over her head.

Could this get any worse? she thought. Maybe she should just leave her skirts up around her ears and play possum. But no, the man was reaching for her hand. And at least her underdrawers were freshly washed.

Are you all right, ma’am?

Nellie tugged her skirts out of her red face and jerked them down where they belonged. If I don’t die of embarrassment, I expect I’ll survive the experience.

Not like the porch. Shirley was back, with a broken crock of water that she probably wanted to dump on Nellie’s head.

The man put an arm around Nellie to help her up. Any place in particular that hurts?

Nellie struggled to her feet, wincing just a little. What I lack in grace, I make up for in padding, she said when she’d caught her breath. Now, care to tell me who in the Sam Hill you all are, and what you are doing at Benjamin Rivers’ cabin?

The man looked at his kids, and they looked back, the girl with a flash of despair in her eyes so strong that it made Nellie blink.

The man held out his hand. I’m Judson Deavers, he said when Nellie took it. And these are my kids, Shirley and Norman. He paused. Norman is the one on the right.

Nellie looked from him to his kids and back. And she laughed, laughed loud and long, until finally, reluctantly, the others joined in.

It was a short step from there to pulling out the picnic hamper and sharing pie and cold fried chicken all around, while Nellie tried to make sense of the Deavers’ story.

They were just passing through, they said, and happened to stop in here for a short time, but they’d be on their way right off, and were right sorry to have trespassed.

Nellie shrugged. "The fact of it is,