Wish Upon a Cowboy by Maureen Child, Kathleen Kane Page B

No one wiped their boots. Her gaze dropped to the veritable parade of large black clumps of dirt and who knew what else tracking across her freshly swept floor. Outraged, she looked at the men again, but they paid as much attention to her as they would have a cigar-store Indian. None of them removed their hats or lowered their voices as they straddled the ladder-backed chairs surrounding the table heaped high with steaming-hot food. Her mouth opened and closed again before she could utter a host of words that would have horrified Eudora. Tight-lipped, she watched a dozen pairs of hands reaching for the breakfast she'd spent the last hour preparing. With disgust, she noted the grime encrusted on their palms and fingers.
    Hands at her hips, Hannah studied the features of the people who made up her new world. Whisker-shadowed faces blurred before her as her temper boiled like a thick, hot stew of fury. But no one noticed her toe tapping against the floor. No one heard her when she muttered curses she couldn't bring herself to shout, and she doubted anyone would have cared if they had.
    Two of the men were easily as old as Elias. Like that man, they were certainly old enough to know better. Most were somewhere in their thirties, she guessed, and at least one of them—needless to say, the most clean-shaven of the bunch—didn't look old enough to grow a beard.
    And not a one of them—including the Mackenzie  gave her so much as a glance.
    Had no one west of Massachusetts heard of washing up before eating? Were simple table manners and common courtesy not to be expected on this side of the Rocky Mountains?
    Hannah tried to remind herself why she was there. What she'd come for. How badly she needed the Mackenzie's help. But none of that went toward soothing the anger rushing through her like a river about to overflow its banks.
    Indignation roared through her veins. Her plan to ease into the Mackenzie's life and make herself indispensable seemed ludicrous at the moment. Rather than appreciating her efforts on his and his men's behalf, it was as if she didn't even exist.
    She spared an angry glance at the man she'd come halfway across the country to find and marry. And though he looked handsome in a rough-hewn, dirty, sweat-stained way, his behavior was no better than the men who worked for him.
    Snatching at a slice of fresh bread, he yanked a jar of preserves from the hand of the man next to him and then grabbed up four strips of bacon in a none-too-clean fist.
    This was the man she'd come so far to find? This was the great and powerful Mackenzie?
    Oh, if Aunt Eudora could only see him now.
    Her toe beat an angry tattoo against the floor, sounding, at least to her, like an overwound clock ticking away accelerated minutes. Her heartbeat quickened to pulse in time and she felt a pounding ache begin to throb in the center of her forehead.
    Gritting her teeth, she watched as one man poured coffee and sloshed the hot liquid across the platter of ham. She inhaled sharply. Another man laughed, lifted the platter, and, keeping one dirty palm on the meat, tipped the liquid out onto the floor.
    "Great thundering heavens!" she muttered.
    No one noticed.
    Words failed her completely. There were no curses strong enough to describe her feelings. She'd wanted to fit in. Wanted to make herself such an integral part of the Mackenzie's life that he wouldn't be able to get along without her.
    Well, she would never belong in this world. And what was more, she didn't want to. Thoughts, ideas, plans chased each other across her mind. She couldn't go home, she knew that. She still needed the Mackenzie's help, so she would still have to marry him.
    But… she wouldn't spend the rest of her life viewing scenes like this. She stared at them as they shoveled food into their gaping mouths. Uttered grunts of appreciation made them sound, as well as look, like a pack of hogs.
    She'd worked hard on very short notice to see that they all had their morning