Bringing Trouble Home (Lost and Found in Thorndale Book 1)

by Amelia Smarts

  “Jack is older, that’s why.”

  Bitty’s eyes flooded with tears. “That’s not fair!” she exclaimed, and stomped. Her tiny foot was surprisingly loud against the hardwood floor and echoed around the room.

  Willow looked down the hallway longingly. She wondered if she could slip out unnoticed. She didn’t want to stick around to watch Bitty descend into a full-blown tantrum, which was where she appeared to be heading.

  “I’m sorry you feel it’s unfair, Bitty, but you’ve heard my answer.”

  Bitty’s hands closed into fists. Her face flushed red. “I-I hate you, Pa.”

  Heath closed his paper, folded it twice, and slapped it on the table next to his chair. His face had become hard. “You think that’s a nice thing to say to me, Elizabeth Wolfe?”

  Bitty’s lower lip quivered. “No, but you hurt my feelings as bad as Jack did.”

  “That’s no excuse for what you said. Come here.”

  Willow winced. She really wanted to escape, guessing that Heath was going to punish Bitty, but she wished he wouldn’t. If Bitty felt like she hated him in that moment, why shouldn’t she say so? It didn’t seem a statement worthy of punishment, but Willow highly doubted Heath saw things the same way.

  Bitty’s shoulders stooped and she walked over with her head bent to stand in front of him. She stared at her wringing hands in front of her.

  Heath’s voice was gentle. “How did I hurt your feelings?”

  Bitty began to cry in earnest. “B-because you l-let Jack pet Ace and it’s not fair that y-you don’t let me.” She sniffled and ran the back of her hand under her nose. “You don’t love me as m-much as you love Jack.”

  “That’s not true, and you know it. Jack is older and knows how to handle a big horse like Ace because I’ve shown him how. When you get older, I’ll show you how. You’re young and small and I want you safe with no broken bones or bruises. Alright?”

  The crestfallen look on her face seemed to lessen, and she nodded. “Alright, Pa,” she said, hiccupping.

  “That’s what fathers do, they make sure their children are safe, even if that means having one unhappy for a bit. I’m not trying to ruin your good time because I like doing that.”

  Bitty was looking down at a button on Heath’s shirt until he placed a knuckle under her chin and raised her face so she could look him in the eyes. “Fathers also make sure their children behave properly. Do you think you behaved properly by stomping your foot and saying you hate me?”

  She blinked and tears streamed down her cheeks. “No,” she whimpered. “I’m sorry.”

  He nodded. “Thank you for apologizing, sweetheart. Be more careful about what you say from now on. Why don’t you go help Miss Willow set the table? I know you’re very good at that.”

  Bitty nodded and skipped happily toward Willow, who put her to work placing forks on the table. All the while, Willow stole glances at Heath, who had resumed reading his newspaper. For the first time in her life, she felt respect and admiration for a man. He wasn’t like the other men she knew—full of bravado and bluster, with big booming voices and puffed-up chests, swaggering around and demanding respect. And yet somehow, Heath seemed infinitely stronger and more impressive than all the other men she knew. The irony struck her then. It was by caring so little about garnering respect that he had managed to earn hers.

  Chapter Six

  The next morning, while Heath was at the range, Willow thought about Heath’s interactions with his children and felt a sadness and longing so strong it took her breath away. Throughout her life, Willow’s interactions with men had been mostly antagonistic, since she was always determined to prove herself a worthy adversary despite her lesser physical strength.

  Having witnessed the exchange between Heath and Bitty, who could not be more different when it came to strength, Willow knew she’d seen fatherly love in its purest form, something she’d never experienced herself.

  She heated some water over the stove to use for washing clothes, simultaneously brewing with melancholy. As the water began to boil, she heard a female voice shout, “Hullo, the house!” Willow removed the kettle from the fire and wiped her hands on her trousers before opening the front door.

  The marshal’s daughter Sadie Shaw was tethering her horse to the post. The horse immediately lowered her head to drink from the trough of water next to it.

  “Howdy, Sadie,” Willow said. “You need any help getting your horse put up?”

  “Nah, I’ll just unsaddle her and pick her hooves, and then I’ll be right in.”

  A short time later, Sadie came inside and looked around. “Nice cabin you got here.”

  “It’s not mine,” Willow said. “I’m just the hired help.” She spoke the words bitterly, with renewed sadness and a pinch of anger that fate hadn’t granted her a home or family.

  Sadie said, “I’m the marshal’s daughter, and I feel like hired help too. I’ve had to do a lot of work since my ma died. I reckon that’s why Mr. Wolfe thought I’d be able to help you. I’m in charge of all the cooking at my place, so I know what I’m doin’.”

  Willow observed the twelve-year-old girl, doubtful over whether the child could teach her anything. She was mousy in appearance, with stringy brown hair pulled into a bun at her nape, more a schoolmarm’s style than a child’s. Her eyes were large and mournful, and her clothes brown and drab. She looked like the unhappiest child Willow had ever laid eyes on.

  “I’m sorry about your ma. Mine died as well,” Willow said. “Hard going through life without your ma.”

  Sadie shrugged her thin shoulders. “I guess we all got a sad story since the malaria outbreak. I don’t mean to complain.”

  “I didn’t take it that way,” Willow assured her. “Let’s go to the kitchen, why don’t we?”

  Sadie nodded. When they were in the kitchen, the girl spent a long time oohing and ahhing over the modern Dutch oven and the water pump that sucked in water from a well out front. “I just can’t believe it. Water right in the kitchen,” she murmured in awe, and then unnecessarily pumped the water out a third time. She seemed to be making an effort to convince herself it was real. “You sure are lucky, having all these newfangled things. Why, I have to lug water from the well fifty yards away fifty times a day.”

  “Can’t your pa help you?” Willow asked, with little attempt to hide her derision. The marshal was high on her list of least-favorite people, and hearing how hard his daughter worked to gather water did nothing to raise him in her esteem.

  “Sometimes he does. But he’s gone a lot. For a spell it was just me and Ada at home, but now we got Grace, Miles, and Luke. Ada’s too young to do much of anything, but I suppose I should try to get the other children to help.”

  “Who are they? I thought the marshal just had you and Ada.”

  “They’re orphans. Their parents died from the malaria, and my pa decided they needed a family instead of being put in an orphan’s home. He explained that we’ve got the room and it’s the Christian thing to do. Funny how the Christian thing always seems to mean more work for me.” She stopped and shook her head. “Lordy, there I go complaining again.”

  “Seems like you got cause to,” Willow said.

  Sadie studied her a moment. “Can I ask you a question?” she asked, frowning. “I hope you aren’t offended, but… why do you dress like a man?”

  Willow thought over how to explain it. She’d tried to explain it to women and girls before, but they’d never been satisfied with her answer. “I like men’s clothes because they are more comfortable. Why should I dress nice when I’m working? I’m not trying to attract a man, I’m trying to make a living, or in the instance of today, trying to learn how to cook. I also don’t like to call attention to myself with pretty dresses.”

  Sadie’s frown deepened before it turned into a small smile. “Pardon me for saying it, but I don’t think that’s working, you trying not to call attention to yourself. You’re a beautiful woman in men’s britches. I’d s
ay you are attracting attention as good as sounding a bugle.”

  Willow hadn’t thought of it that way before. And, in spite of herself, she flushed with pleasure over the compliment. Sadie was the first person to ever say she was beautiful, and she wondered if others thought the same. She found herself wondering whether Heath liked how she looked, but she quickly pushed the thought out of her mind.

  Sadie inquired about the goods in the cellar. They retrieved flour and sugar, picked carrots and potatoes from the garden, and removed utensils, pots, and pans from various drawers and cupboards. Jack and Bitty came in and out of the house throughout the cooking lesson, entertaining themselves and behaving well, just like Heath had promised they would.

  “I’ll show you how to mix and knead dough for bread,” Sadie said. “Then while it’s rising, I’ll show you how to roast a chicken in this here fine oven. My, I’m almost happy about cooking here.”

  By the time Sadie finished her lesson, Willow came to the opinion that Sadie was as nice a girl as she had ever met. She was simple and honest, without the airs and devices found in so many girls. As talented as she was in the kitchen, she behaved with humility. The two of them were alike in that neither cared to call attention to herself.

  After Sadie left, when the family sat down for supper that evening, Heath said, “Land’s sake, this chicken is mighty good.”

  The children nodded their agreement while eating with vigor.

  “Sadie is a gem,” Willow said. “It was a good idea of yours, having her come to teach me what she knows. I like her, and she’s very skillful.”

  “Not surprised about that. She comes from good stock,” Heath said. “The marshal is one of the finest men I know.”

  Willow snorted. Before she could censor her thoughts, she said, “I’m not convinced of the marshal’s fine qualities.” She managed to keep her reasoning to herself. She thought it a shame that a girl of only twelve had to be responsible for an entire household, and Willow blamed the marshal for allowing her to assume that responsibility.

  Heath drank some water, set the glass down, and gave Willow a long look. “I get the feeling it takes a lot for a man to win your approval.”

  She took a bite of her chicken and chewed it thoughtfully. “I reckon you’re right,” she admitted. “Most men are blustery, or domineering, or small-minded, or cruel.”

  Heath’s eyebrows raised slowly. “I will admit to only the first two, and only on rare occasions.”

  Willow shook her head. “You’re none of those, Heath, believe me.”

  An amused glint entered his eyes, and his lips quirked up. “And you’re in a position to know that after spending three days here, Trouble?”

  She blushed, feeling foolish for being presumptuous. “I get a feeling about people is all. Haven’t been wrong too often when it comes to people’s characters.”

  He gave her a broad grin. “I see. In any case, I’m glad I’ve been able to hide my lousy qualities, especially from you.”

  “Why especially from me?”

  “Because I want to impress you. You’re hard to impress, and I like a challenge.”

  She found it difficult to believe that Heath felt compelled to impress anyone, especially her, but she played along. “Shouldn’t I be trying to impress you, since I’m the one working for you?”

  He laughed. “You don’t seem to care about impressing anyone. You are who you are, and we can take it or leave it.”

  “And you know that about me after three days?” she shot back.

  He shook his head. “Touché, my dear. Touché.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s a French expression. See? I’m trying to impress you using fancy French words. Never mind.”

  Willow glared at him, suspicious over his assertation that he wanted to impress her. Wasn’t that something a man did when he was sweet on a woman? She couldn’t fathom that he would feel that way about her, but she felt dangerously close to believing him. She scowled and spent the rest of the meal in silence.

  After the children excused themselves, she filled the basin with water to do the washing-up, and Heath collected the dishes from the table.

  “I’ll get the plates,” Willow said. “You can go read your newspaper.”

  “I know I can. But suppose I want to stay in the kitchen and speak with you?” He placed the dirty plates on the counter next to her.

  She shrugged and rubbed one of the plates clean with soap and water. “It’s your house. Stay wherever you want.”

  He chuckled softly. “My, but you’re a tough little scamp, aren’t you? You ever let anyone past that wall you got up?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” she said crisply.

  “You certainly do, Trouble.” He reached down and gave her a whack across the rump that made her stand on her toes and emit a very girlish squeal of surprise.

  She stared at him, shocked, her mouth hanging open, the dish in her hand dripping water into the basin.

  His eyed twinkled. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Lying is naughty, Willow. Do it again and you’ll get another.”

  “I wasn’t lying! How can you know if I have a wall up? Maybe this is just how I am.”

  He brought his hand back as though to spank her again, but she whirled around and faced him head-on. She glared up at him as a soft growl came from her throat.

  He grinned back at her. “I suppose I know because I’ve got walls up myself. Anyway, I’m only teasing you, though I maintain you told me a fib that deserved a whack. I’ll let you finish the dishes in peace.” He walked out the door, leaving Willow to stare after him, still shocked.

  When she resumed washing the dishes, she couldn’t stop thinking about how Heath had swatted her. For some inexplicable reason, it was causing all sorts of butterflies in her tummy and an unusual awareness of her entire body, especially from her bottom to the private place between her legs, which pulsed with a strange new ache.

  Chapter Seven

  Heath was frustrated, but it was the best kind of frustration a man can have, and he welcomed it over the brooding sadness he’d felt off and on since Rose’s death.

  Willow silently flitted about his house and ducked out of rooms quickly, likely thinking she was inconspicuous, when in fact there wasn’t a moment in which Heath did not feel or notice her presence. He gritted his teeth every time she bent over, stretching her tight trousers even tighter over her round, plump bottom. It wasn’t much better when she reached up to open a window or dust a ledge, causing her breasts to bounce and her taut belly to become exposed.

  He thought about buying her a dress one size too big and ordering her to wear it, but he abandoned that idea quickly. She was smart enough to figure out that his own lust and weakness would be the reason for wanting her to cover up. Also, he didn’t want to change her or force her to conform to the appearance adopted by every other woman he knew. She was as unique as a star in the heavens, and to change her would be to dim her light. So Heath suffered his frustration as stoically as possible.

  Each day he grew fonder of, and yet also more irritated by her. He liked to watch her interacting with his children. She was engaged with them, funny, and kind, answering their questions and involving them in her work. She was also nonchalant about their foibles and permissive to the point of absurdity, which had the annoying effect of making him seem especially strict and stuffy.

  Her cooking skills improved—also something that resulted in him experiencing both fondness and frustration. He began to see her in a domestic light, which of course brought rumination over the possibility of marriage. That led to thinking about what he would like to do to her in bed. But coaxing the wild young woman to the altar or to his bed seemed an impossibility. He’d barely been able to get her to look at him without suspicion.

  He loathed her tobacco habit. Despite him voicing his disapproval more than once, he would frequently catch her with a puffed cheek. She made no effort to hide the chew fr
om him, but at least she would dutifully spit it out each time he held out the rag.

  “One of these days, I’ll punish you for this nasty habit. I’ll welt you good,” he threatened, tossing the spittle rag in a pile of dirty clothes.

  She must have known he was joking because she smirked at him. “You really think you’re man enough to punish me?”

  “Want to test me, Trouble?”

  She stared at him a moment before she shook her head and looked away. All trace of humor was gone from her voice when she said, “The thing about you, Heath, is that unlike other men, you don’t have to act tough for me to know you are. I don’t want to test you.”

  He studied her. “Was that a compliment?”

  She shrugged. “If you think being tough is a compliment, then I suppose it was.”

  “To any red-blooded man. Thank you.”

  She turned to look at him, her expression a challenge. “Aren’t you going to return the compliment?”

  He was caught off guard and unsure about how to respond. When he’d gathered his wits, he said, “I can’t think of only one thing to say in favor of you. You are a remarkable woman, through and through. A sweet, lovely, surprising young woman… with the chewing habit of a dirty old man.”

  She laughed. It was a good laugh, full of mirth and abandon. Heath couldn’t help but laugh along with her. It was in that moment he realized he’d won her friendship, and he felt like he’d won the world.

  Chapter Eight

  On Heath’s weekly trip to town, he bought the necessary supplies from the mercantile, then headed to the marshal’s office, intending to tell Clyde that Willow was doing just fine at the ranch. He knew the marshal would be curious, and Heath wanted to give him credit for setting up the arrangement.

  It was a hot day. The noontime sun beat down from overhead, seeming to burn through his Stetson, causing his scalp to itch. He wiped his brow with his blue kerchief as he ambled along the wooden walkway to the jailhouse.

  He nodded and said, “Good afternoon,” to the two young ladies who were walking toward him, Victoria Davis and Mary Appleton.