Free The Chili Queen by Sandra Dallas Page A

bedroom, but there was nothing to be done about it. At least, it was Sunday night, and business would be slow. She wouldn’t have to do her part. As she left the room, she looked over her shoulder at Emma and wondered if the woman appreciated what she was doing for her. Then she glanced at Ned, who winked at her. He, at least, was grateful for the scheme she’d dreamed up.
     
    Emma reached for a sheet of paper and squared it in front of her on the oilcloth. The paper was wrinkled, and she flattened it with her hand.
    Ned picked up the pencil, examined its broken tip, and took out his penknife, feeling the blade with his finger before he sharpened the lead. When he was finished, he handed the pencil to Emma and pushed the shavings into a neat pile on the table. “What are you going to say?” he asked.
    Emma shrugged. “He’s my brother, but I never wrote him a letter in my life.” She frowned at the paper and reached for the pencil, touching Ned’s index finger as she did so. Ned looked up quickly, but Emma didn’t see him. He rubbed his index finger with his thumb.
    “Dearest Brother John,” she began, then stopped. “I would never call him that,” she said. She crossed out “est,” then thought again and crossed out the entire word. “This will have to be a practice paper.”
    Ned folded his hands on the oilcloth. “You two don’t have much to say to each other.”
    “No.” Emma didn’t elaborate. Ned started to say something, but Emma held up her hand. “I have to concentrate.”
    It took her more than an hour of writing, blacking out words and crossing out sentences, rewriting, adding words here and there. At last she put down the pencil and held up the sheet of paper, moving her lips as she read the words to herself. “I think this will do,” she said.
    Ned reached for the paper, but Emma shook her head. “You won’t be able to read it. I’ll copy it over. Is there ink and a pen?”
    Ned shrugged. “Not that I ever saw, but I wasn’t looking.”
    “It would be better with ink. John always writes his letters in ink.” But she took a fresh sheet of paper and carefully copied the letter in pencil. She read it through, then went to the stove and used the lifter to remove the lid and dropped the first draft through the hole. “We wouldn’t want to leave this lying about where one of Addie’s girls might find it,” she explained. She stirred the fire with a poker until the paper caught and flamed up. Then she went back to the table, where Ned was reading the letter. He didn’t move his finger along the words when he read as Addie did.
    When he finished, he set the paper on the table and stared at it, while Emma studied him anxiously. “You are a man. I would value your opinion.”
    Ned leaned forward, his arms on the oilcloth, then he examined the cuff of his shirt where it had settled on a spot of gravy. He wet his finger and rubbed at the gravy, then gave up and rolled up his sleeves so the spot didn’t show. “Well, one thing, if I was your brother and disliked you as much as you say he does, I wouldn’t care what your husband thought of you. I’d just care what kind of money I could make. So I’d take that part out.”
    Emma picked up the pencil and crossed out a line.
    “And here’s another thing,” Ned said, squinting at the letter. “You don’t say in here why this rancher wants to sell you the land at half the price. I’d suspicion the deal if I could get twenty-thousand-dollar land for eleven thousand five hundred.”
    Emma thought that over. “Yes, I think that’s right.” She scribbled something.
    Ned squinted as he read the corrected letter. He read it through a second time, then grinned at Emma. “I’d say you got her.”
    Emma looked relieved. She copied the letter onto another piece of paper, and when she was done, she pushed it across the oilcloth to Ned. He read it through, then looked up slyly. “You spelt ‘written’ wrong. It’s got two t