She returned to the kitchen, took Cricket’s hand in hers, and the two of them hurried out to the holding pens. Dust swirled with smoke and turned the air a chalky hue of grayish brown.
Cows mooed, calves bawled, dogs barked, fences groaned, gates squeaked, bridles and spurs jangled, voices blended, and leather creaked in a symphony of sound Emery found intriguing. The crack of a whip resounded through the air with a sharp snap, like cymbals clashing at the climax of a performance.
Uncertain if she should allow Cricket to wade into the hive of activity, Emery let the child climb onto a fence where she could watch without any danger of getting trampled or being in the way. Emery stood behind her, the fingers of her left hand looped around Cricket’s belt as an additional safety measure in case the little one started to slip forward, and tried to take in everything happening.
Cowboys on horses worked the holding pens, sorting out calves and cows while the dogs provided assistance, dodging hooves as they herded disgruntled bovines. The cows were chased into a round pen, then into a chute where they were vaccinated by an older man Emery knew was the Summer Creek veterinarian.
In a pen full of calves, cowboys roped the bawling babies and moved them over to where a couple of burly men wrestled them to the ground and held them while Hud burned the Summer Creek ranch brand into their hide.
Emery winced as the hot iron seared through the hair and into the skin, the smell of it wafting in the breeze with an acrid, unmistakable odor. Jossy gave the calf a shot, then tagged his ear.
When Hud picked up a knife and castrated a little bull calf, Emery’s eyes widened until she felt like they might pop right out of her skull.
The moment they finished, Hud released the calf. It ran to the far side of the pen where two women worked the gate, turning the calves out into a pen to be reunited with their mamas.
The entire proceedings seemed harsh, barbaric, and horrid. And she stood there letting Cricket watch the whole thing.
Determined to march right back to the house, Emery started to lift Cricket, but the little girl gripped the top pole of the fence with both hands. Cricket looked behind her and waved. “Hi, Grammy!”
Emery turned as Nell stepped beside her and rested her forearms on the fence.
“We’re sure fortunate to have such nice weather today along with so much good help.” Nell glanced at her, taking in her unsettled state. “Got to see the whole thing in action, did you?”
“It’s horrible what they did to that sweet little calf.” Emery huffed. “Are you sure Cricket should be watching this?”
Nell nodded. “She’s been out here every year. I’m not gonna make her miss out. Besides, even in watching the work, she’s learning. When Jossy and Hud were her age, they were already helping. As for thinking the animals are being treated with cruelty, they aren’t. It’s a part of life, Emery, one that’s necessary. Jossy is vaccinating the calves while Dr. Kressley is giving the cows the shots they need to be healthy. Even though we live in modern times, cattle rustling still happens, which is why we brand them, not just give them an ear tag. Every brand placed on a calf is part of the reputation and legacy of Summer Creek Ranch.”
Emery could appreciate Nell’s point of view, could even concede it made sense. But she still didn’t like the idea of the calves being hurt. “Are you sure the calves aren’t injured in the process?”
Nell tipped her head away from the pen. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
Cricket hopped off the fence and tagged along as Nell led Emery over to the pasture where the cattle that had been worked that morning had been turned out. A few calves nursed, butting the full bags of their mothers, while others raced across the green grass, tails high in the air, little bodies full of energy.
“Do they look injured to you?”
Emery smiled. “No. You’d never know they’d just been through that ordeal by watching them.”
“Exactly. They get scared and proclaim the injustice to the whole world, but as soon as they’re turned back in with their mamas, they calm right down.” Nell stepped back from the fence. “I’ve got gallons of tea and more cookies ready if you want to help me haul it out for this crew. They ought to wrap things up in about twenty minutes, I’d think.”
Emery and Cricket helped Nell set out the refreshments on the tables in the backyard where they’d eaten lunch, then she and the little girl went to see if the branding crew was about finished with their work.
When they walked up to the fence, Hud was burning the Summer Creek Ranch brand onto the last calf. Sweat dripped off his face and ran along his neck down to where she could see a mat of dark hair in the open V of his shirt. She knew her mother would be appalled that Emery found a sweaty man so exceptionally appealing and entirely tantalizing, but she couldn’t help it. Especially when Hud bent over on one knee with his jeans stretched tight across his backside.
Emery took Cricket’s hand in hers, wheeled around, and hurried back to the house.
“Can we have cookies now?” Cricket asked as they neared the backyard.
“Yes, Cricket. We can have cookies now, just no more pineapple for you.” She cupped the child’s chin in her hand, glad to see the rash had almost disappeared.
Out of the blue, Cricket threw her arms around Emery’s waist and gave her a tight hug. “I love you, Emery!”
Unaware of the emotional upheaval she’d created, Cricket raced inside the house. Emery sank onto the bench seat of a picnic table and stared into space, wondering if a heart could explode from feeling so full.
Reluctantly, Emery acknowledged she’d lost her heart twice since moving to Summer Creek. Once to Cricket, and again to the child’s handsome father.
Chapter Seventeen
“Mrs. Finley?” Emery pounded on the door of a small, modest home located a few blocks from the school. “Mrs. Finley! It’s Emery Brighton. I came to give you a ride.”
Since she’d been working in the library and organizing the old records in City Hall’s basement, Emery had found another way to get in community service hours. Each Thursday, she drove senior citizens who should not get behind the wheel of a vehicle to the community center for the weekly senior luncheon.
Mrs. Finley had to be ninety if she was a day and owned a huge boat of a car. Emery drove the old Lincoln town car around Summer Creek, collecting Mrs. Finley’s friends before taking them all to City Hall where the lunch was served in the community center gathering room.
Nell had been the one to suggest the poor old dears could use a driver and Emery was happy to help.
The first time she’d drove the behemoth vehicle, she’d felt silly behind the wheel of a car painted the same color as a disco-era leisure suit. Even the upholstery was powder blue velour. But Mrs. Finley loved her car and her friends, and loved attending the luncheon.
In fact, one of the women insisted they listen to a song about a hot rod Lincoln that played on an old eight-track tape as Emery drove down Main Street. When the song got to the chorus, they all chimed in.
One day, Hud had been standing across the street engaged in a conversation with Parker. Emery had belted out the chorus along with the occupants of the car, causing Hud to look over at them. He raised his eyebrow so high, it disappeared beneath the brim of his cowboy hat.
Old Emery would have died of embarrassment.
New Emery, as she so often thought of herself these days, merely laughed and waved at him before joining the older ladies as they continued singing.
The other reason Emery enjoyed driving the women was the stories they shared. They talked about the old days of Summer Creek, shared memories from their childhood and the early days of their marriages, and discussed the businesses that used to be in town. Emery had purchased an inexpensive recorder to collect their stories because she knew time was of the essence when the youngest person in the group was eighty-four.
“Mrs. Finley!” Emery pounded on the door again, aware the woman was hard of hearing.
She heard the flo
or creak, and eventually the lock clicked. Relieved the woman was alive and well, Emery smiled brightly as Florence Finley opened the door. Her blue-tinted hair shimmered in the sunlight as she shuffled outside.
“Good morning, Mrs. Finley.” Emery placed a hand beneath the woman’s frail arm and helped her down the two steps, then walked with her around to the carport on the side of the house. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”
The old dear stopped and glanced at the sky, eyes squinted nearly shut before she continued taking small, unsteady steps toward the car. “It is a nice day. Any day I wake up and can get out of bed seems like a reason to celebrate.”
Florence handed Emery the keys to the car. Emery unlocked the door and helped her into the front seat, then hurried around to the driver’s side. With great care, Emery backed out of the carport, then made the rounds gathering the other women. Four of them sat in the back seat, none wearing seat belts, while Abby Dunigan sat in the front seat with Florence. The woman was a chatterbox, laughed at everything, and still possessed the ability to climb over Florence to sit in the middle of the front bench seat.
Convinced Abby must have been a dancer at some point in her life, Emery admired the way the older woman carried herself. Every movement she made oozed elegance and poise.
Emery drove around to the back of City Hall and pulled as close to the door as possible. The front of the building had half a dozen broad steps visitors had to navigate, but the back had a small wheelchair ramp that made it easy for creaking knees and faltering feet to make it inside.
Once the women were out of the car, Emery parked it, then hurried inside the building to make sure they all made it into the community center room. She waved at the group, then went upstairs to the library where there was a small break room. Emery removed the salad she’d brought for her lunch from the refrigerator, filled a glass with water from the tap, then went to sit on a window seat where she could gaze across the street at the grouping of old buildings.
Emery couldn’t explain it if anyone asked, but she felt drawn to those buildings, almost like they beckoned to her. Something about them made her think the key to the town’s future could be found in them.
As she ate her lunch, she looked through a file she’d found with a map of the original buildings. Local history stated that a fire had burned most of the town to the ground in the early 1900s. When new buildings had been constructed, they’d used brick or limestone in hopes of keeping a fire from destroying them a second time.
Since almost two dozen of those buildings still stood, they’d built them well. In addition to the cluster of old buildings across the street and the empty hotel next door, other old buildings included the depot, the firehall which was still used, the church, the bar and grill building, the antique store, and even the barbershop. There were also several houses that had been around for a long, long time including the residence that was once home to the lumber baron who built the mill.
Emery continued staring outside at the buildings as she finished her lunch. She processed a handful of books that had been returned to the library, straightened a few shelves, then made her way downstairs as Florence and her gang walked out of the community center room.
When they were all seated in the car, Emery didn’t immediately drive them home. Instead, she turned on her little recorder, circled around by Shirley’s Machine Works, and drove down Main Street at a snail’s pace.
“What can you ladies tell me about the old buildings?” She pointed across the street toward the cluster of buildings that surrounded the broken fountain.
The women began talking at once, over each other, but Emery smiled and listened to what they shared. A small building in the block between the barbershop and City Hall had no records that she could find anywhere.
“What was that building?” she asked as they drove past it.
Florence’s face turned pink and some of the women in the backseat made tittering noises. Abby glared over her shoulder at them, then turned to Emery. “That, my darling, was a notorious bordello. It remained open far past the time it should have been. Once it closed, no one else dared go inside, let alone reopen the building.”
“Oh. I see.” Emery wanted to pump them all for details but remained silent as she turned on the street to take Abby home.
One of the women leaned forward and loudly whispered, “I remember one of the women who worked there. She used to come into my mother’s beauty shop to get her hair done.”
“No!” Another one said, clearly shocked.
“She did,” the first one said. Emery could see a white head bobbing up and down in the rearview mirror. “Every Thursday at three she’d come in and get her hair done.”
“Well, I never.” One of the other women spoke, sounding both amused and appalled.
“And it’s a good thing you didn’t,” Abby said. She kissed Emery’s cheek and hopped out of the car, before dashing up the steps into her tidy home.
Once Emery dropped off everyone and pulled the Lincoln into Florence’s carport, she rushed around the car to help the elderly woman out and up the steps.
“Will you come in for a cup of tea?” Florence asked, looking hopeful.
Although Emery really wanted to get back to the boxes of old maps she’d unearthed, she smiled in agreement. “I’d like that, Mrs. Finley. Thank you.”
Emery had been in the house a few times, so she didn’t spend time gawking at the antiques and aged photographs as she followed Florence back to the kitchen. She even remembered where the teacups were located and took down two with saucers. The vintage pattern from the early 1920s had been a gift from Florence’s father to her mother for their tenth wedding anniversary. The ivory cup accented with pink blossoms made her think of springtime.
It didn’t take long before they were seated at the kitchen table, sipping tea laced with sugar and cream.
“Why do you want to know about all those run-down old buildings?” Florence asked, tracing the edge of her saucer with an arthritis-gnarled finger.
“I want to learn all I can about them, Mrs. Finley.” Emery set her cup on the saucer with a sigh. “I don’t know how to explain it, but I think those buildings could help the town. I’m just not sure how, at least not yet.”
Florence smiled. “Honey, those buildings have been nothing but an eyesore for the last thirty years. If you can think of a way to fix them up so folks could appreciate them, then more power to you. It’s a shame they fell to rack and ruin, but some of them were that way before the mill closed.”
“I wish … ” Emery struggled to put a voice to her thoughts.
“What do you wish?” Florence asked, placing her hand over Emery’s.
Emery glanced down at the papery-thin skin covered in age spots, wrinkles, and scars. Like the buildings on Main Street, that hand had been in Summer Creek for decades. Age didn’t diminish the value. It gave it more character, more intrigue. The hand had witnessed joys and successes, failures and losses, but anyone who saw it could appreciate the life it had lived, all the storms it had weathered. Anyone who saw it …
Filled with inspiration, Emery’s eyes began to twinkle with excitement. “Oh, Mrs. Finley! You’ve just given me a wonderful idea. I have to go.”
The older woman watched with interest as Emery downed the last of her tea and set the cup and saucer in the sink.
“Thank you, Mrs. Finley.” Emery bent and kissed the woman’s soft cheek, inhaling the fragrance of English lavender perfume.
“Anytime, my dear. Anytime.”
Emery rushed out the door with a wave, ran all the way back to City Hall, took the steps upstairs to the library two at a time, and began yanking books off shelves.
She went downstairs multiple times to bring up maps, photographs, and the laptop she used to inventory the items in the basement and spread out her research.
When she finally tracked down the first piece of information she’d been seeking, she whooped in excitement. Busy typing notes on the laptop, s
he didn’t hear footsteps on the stairs or the jangle of spurs crossing the floor until she felt someone’s presence nearby. The combined scents of horses, sunshine, leather, and the familiar musky hint of an incredibly handsome man made her glance up, knowing who’d come looking for her.
Hud stared at her with a concerned, questioning look.
“Everything okay?” he asked as his gaze traveled from her around the library. Books, maps, papers, and notes covered every table and most of the counter.
“Yes. Better than okay, actually.” Emery beamed at him as she stood and began straightening the books piled around her, all dotted with slips of paper to mark information she wanted to be able to refer to again.
“Do you know it’s after seven?” Hud pointed toward the windows where evening shadows began to stretch across the sky.
“Seven? How is that possible? I’ve only been here a few hours after taking Mrs. Finley and her crew home.” Emery glanced at the big clock on the wall above the main desk. The hands on it inched close to seven-thirty.
“We were worried about you, Emery. You didn’t call to say you’d be late. We tried calling the library but got a busy signal, and the City Hall offices have been closed since four.” Hud released a long breath and forked a hand through his hair.
Emery’s fingers itched to do the same, so she turned away from him and continued bringing order to the mess she’d created. “I apologize, Hud. I didn’t intend to stay so late or worry you and Nell. I used the phone earlier and must not have hung it up properly. I had an idea today and got so caught up in researching the details, I guess I just lost track of time.”
“I’ve been known to do that a time or two.” The slow, easy grin that lifted the corners of his enticing lips made her heart cartwheel in her chest.
Catching the Cowboy: A Small-Town Clean Romance (Summer Creek Book 1) Page 17