by Emily Woods
Part of her could understand. His mother had interfered with his life and he didn’t want that, but was he so opposed to her as a wife? Or was it just her in general? Did he not think her pretty? Then again, no one would think her pretty or even womanly with the stench of the barn on her.
Feeling self-conscious about her hands and the scent she was no doubt emanating, she clutched her skirts and ducked her gaze from his as he approached.
“I’m done,” she said.
“Already?”
The surprise in his tone drew her gaze to his. “Yes. You gave me a job and I completed it.”
Before he could hide it, she saw his surprise. It almost made her smile, but she held back the urge. She had to show Arthur that she was capable. She had to show him that she belonged here. Or at least that she could hold her own here.
“Well,” he said, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck.
“What’s next?”
Now she did see his surprise, but he quickly masked it. “No. You’re done for today.”
“But—-”
“Why don’t you go…clean up.”
She heard the insinuation there. She smelled bad. Like a man after working.
Anger flooded into her like a violent wave and she clenched her fists. “Maybe I will.”
She went to move past him but made the mistake of looking up. He hid a half-smile but not quickly enough and it only fueled her past him. She was doing a man’s job, and what? She was supposed to still smell like a wildflower?
Thoughts of some of the men she’d had to wait on at her father’s restaurant filled her mind and she huffed out a breath as she stomped toward the house. Most of them hadn’t gotten away with comments or even grasping hands, but plenty had. Her father had always tried to protect her, but he couldn’t be there every day.
A flush filled her cheeks as she pushed through the door into the house. It was early afternoon and she was already done with work? There was no way that Arthur would have treated his other men this way. Then again, she wasn’t sure she could physically do anything else. Her arms were shaking they were so tired and her head had started to pound, likely from missing lunch. Why had he given her this break?
She halted in the doorway and for a moment, she wondered if Arthur had a soft side to him. Yes, he’d made a snide comment to her, but was it possible he hadn’t realized its ramifications? But why the smile?
Shaking her head, she was walking toward her room when the sight of Rose in the kitchen derailed her.
“Why, you look exhausted,” the woman said, wiping off her hands on her apron. “Did that stubborn, frustrating son of mine work you to the bone?”
Violet forced a smile. “Hardly. He did say I was done for the day, but I’m sure there’s more for me to do.” She didn’t mention his suggestion about her hygiene.
“You could do the wash if you’d like.”
Violet smiled, thinking that would work out well for her. Wash clothes and herself at the creek.
“I’ll do it.”
With the wash in a basket at her hip, she headed down the wooded trail. The creek was almost large enough to be called a river, with rushing water that had been dammed slightly to create a pond.
She picked a rock near the water and got to work washing the clothes and, once they’d been hung out to dry, she doubled-checked that she was alone and slipped out of her dress. The water was cold and her chemise and undergarments clung to her, but once she was in up to her neck, the water started to feel warmer.
She lathered up and washed everything, including her hair, then got out and sat in the sun to dry. It was close to heaven out by the creek and she felt the day’s work slip from her muscles in the warmth of the sun.
Maybe working on the ranch wouldn’t be so bad after all.
6
Arthur felt paralyzed when he came across Violet on the trail back to the house from the creek. Her long, golden hair looked as if it had just begun to dry and it hung about her shoulders in loose waves. Her skin was clear, almost sparkling in its cleanliness, and she smelled of strong soap and that rosewater scent he now was starting to think was just her smell.
“V-violet.” Her name slipped from his lips and he felt heat creep up his neck. This was the first time he’d said her name out loud and it tripped across his tongue sweetly.
“Arthur,” she said, hefting the large basket of semi-dried clothes on her hip. “I’m cleaned up now.” Her words had a bite to them.
He swallowed. So she had taken his misspoken words the wrong way. He’d meant to say that she could go relax and clean up, no doubt she’d hated being as dirty as she’d been due to her task, but it had come out all wrong. No surprise. His words always came out wrong when he was talking to women.
“I see that.” His words drew her attention to him and her eyebrows rose in something that reminded him of a challenge, but when their gazes collided, her eyes widened. What had she seen on his face? Had she been able to pick up the hint of appreciation for her looks there? He’d hoped not, but maybe he hadn’t hidden it as well as he’d hoped.
It wasn’t something he usually gave in to, allowing himself to admire a woman for her God-given beauty, but it was almost impossible not to notice how Violet fairly glowed with beauty.
“I’d—” She cleared her throat. “I’d better get back to help your mother with supper.”
“You don’t have to,” he said.
She stopped short of walking around him and frowned up at him. “Help her? Of course I do.”
“No…” He closed his eyes for a moment, shutting out her impossibly wide eyes and the soft curve of her ruby lips. “No, I mean you don’t have to work. So hard.”
“Why?” Suddenly, twin spots of pink highlighted her cheeks. “Because you want me to just give up and leave? I’m sorry, but it’s not going to happen.”
And with that, she spun around him, the basket bumping his arm, and thudded back down the path.
He rubbed a hand over his face again. He’d done it again. Maybe if he composed all of what he would say to her first, he wouldn’t make such foolish mistakes. And maybe—just maybe—he’d say something that she understood.
He’d wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to all but kill herself to prove she was a good worker. He almost hated to admit it, but she’d done a better job mucking out the stables than his brothers combined. Something about her attention to detail and her precise method of cleaning had wrought terrific results. But he’d seen the way she walked away from the barn, away from him, once she was done. She was going to be so sore in the morning, and she’d have no one to blame but herself.
And him. He’d been the one to give her the ask. She could have stayed in the house with his mother and done things in the kitchen and around the house, but he’d been stubborn, hoping to push her to the point that she’d want to leave.
Now, the thought of her leaving caused his stomach to seize in panic. Would she go? Then again, she should want to go. She could leave and, even if she stayed in the West, she could find a nice man to settle down and raise a few kids with. She could have a good life with someone who could love her. Better yet, someone who could talk to her.
He forced his feet to continue down the path to the creek, where he bathed after a long day of working with a new horse while waiting on his brothers to come back. They wouldn’t likely come to dinner tonight, but he was sure they’d come the next day, seeing as it was Saturday.
He’d just have to make the most of it that night alone with the two women. God help him.
Violet was fuming, again. How was it that this arrogant man could draw up her frustration with only a few words?
She braided her hair, tossing it over her back despite it still being slightly-damp. She then tied on an apron and set to work making a meal for that night. Rose had told her that they wouldn’t be expecting Arthurs brothers that night, but that they would likely come over the next night. Good, she thought, maybe one of them was in w
ant of a wife.
Her cheeks flushed and she dropped her gaze to the brush she held in a white-knuckled grip. She was being uncharitable. And, if she were honest with herself, she wasn’t being completely honest.
Despite the fact that Arthur found ways to aggravate her that boggled her mind, she was drawn to him. No, that was too strong of a word, but she was…perhaps intrigued was a better term? He fascinated her with his quiet, sullen attitude, and yet when they’d stopped on the path, she’d seen something in his gaze.
She couldn’t nail down what the expression was, but it certainly hadn’t conveyed a desire for her to leave him alone. In fact, it had almost felt the opposite. Yet his words had directly contradicted that and she’d decided she had likely misread the expression, though her thoughts couldn’t quite let her believe that.
Huffing out a breath, she brought a steaming cast iron skillet to the table just as the door closed. Rose was in the other room getting something, which meant that Violet was the first to greet Arthur. His hair, mussed in a boyish way, still held the wetness of the bath he’d taken in the stream, and the scent of strong soap wafted toward her. Her gaze slipped to the slightly open V of his shirt and she yanked her gaze away, back to the food in front of her.
“Dinner’s almost ready.”
“Thank you,” was his soft reply.
She felt his presence as he walked past her toward his room on the opposite side of the house and heat flamed in her cheeks. What a ridiculous reaction to him walking past. She was being foolish, and yet her eyes trailed to watch his muscled back as he walked out of the kitchen. Something twisted inside of her and her hand slipped, her wrist touching the hot surface of the skillet.
“Ouch!”
“Violet?” Arthur was back in the kitchen doorway in an instant, a look of concern on his sharp features.
“It’s nothing,” she said through gritted teeth as white-hot pain flashed through her mind.
“That’s a nasty burn,” he said, stepping toward her. “Here.”
He took her hand, his fingers so tender that she almost didn’t feel his touch, and drew her to the wash basin where he began cupping handfuls of cool water to drip over the burn. It hurt at first, making her gasp, but then the coolness of the water started to do its job.
“Wait right here,” he said a few minutes later.
She did, wishing she hadn’t been so careless. How could she have allowed her attention to drift like that?
When he came back inside, he had an oddly-shaped leaf, thick in size, between his fingers.
“This’ll help, but it might sting going on.”
“What is it?” she asked, eyeing the alien plant.
“Aloe.”
Not knowing what that meant but somehow trusting that he knew what he was doing, she held out her arm to him.
He accepted her hand, his calloused fingers still so gentle with her, as he began to lightly smear the odd moisture on her arm. He was right, it did sting, and she squeezed her eyes shut at first.
When she opened them, she found that he was looking at her, a look almost like he was in pain on his features. He quickly bent his head over her arm again, but the action had shifted something inside of her. He cared.
“All right.” He finally let her arm go and stepped back. “That should help, though the pain will last for a while, I’m afraid. You should keep it open to the air for a while and then cover it loosely before going to bed tonight.”
Violet blinked. It was the most she’d heard him talk, but it seemed when he was given a task, he could explain himself well.
“Thank you,” she said, hoping that her simple words could somehow convey her gratitude. Could he see it in her eyes? Because she didn’t have any other words at the moment.
He nodded then turned back to the door, leaving her alone in the kitchen with a stinging arm and the memory of his gentle, warm touch across her skin.
The memory of Violet’s face scrunched up in pain kept Arthur awake. He laid there, his eyes turned up to the dark ceiling, remembering how thin her wrist was, how smooth her skin, and how being close to her had made him want to be closer still.
He’d hated seeing her hurt. If it had been anyone else, save Ma of course, he would have told them to swallow the pain and get back to work, it had only been a small burn, but Violet wasn’t anyone else.
A sigh escaped his lips and he rolled onto his side. He was being foolish. She was just like any other woman he could meet, impossible to please and unwilling to converse with him, and yet…he couldn’t exactly see that. She didn’t shy away from him, even when he’d said things that had come out poorly. Instead, she challenged him with her true feelings.
She’d also trusted him with her pain and he’d felt the success of helping her. Of guiding her and giving her something she needed—relief and direction.
What was this feeling he had lodged deep in his chest? The thought that he hoped Violet wouldn’t come to him the next day and demand he take her into town so she could leave? The hope that she wouldn’t finally see that this ranch was no place for her? That he had no place for her?
Even after only two days, the woman had gotten under his skin and he didn’t know how to deal with it. It was foolish, ridiculous even, but the sensation of something was growing inside of him. It terrified him even as it thrilled him.
To care about a woman like this was only to open himself up for disaster because she would never be happy here. He could never make her happy.
With that thought, his eyes closed, his tired body overriding his mind and demanding sleep. So what if he had started to care—even a little—for Violet Chandler? She would soon decide to leave and that would be best for everyone.
He had to continue with the plan to show her that this life was not the one she wanted. Not in the least.
7
Never in her life had Violet felt so exhausted. It had been a week—no, more than a week, though she’d almost lost track—and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to move her legs to get out of bed.
The tenderness she’d seen in Arthurs eyes when he’d tended her burn had all but vanished, though she was certain she saw glimpses of it here and there. His brothers had come to dinner the next night and, while the time had been interesting, she’d found that she wasn’t comfortable with the attention Albert gave her or the inquisitive nature of Aaron.
They were both kind and she knew better than to assume Albert’s attention meant anything more than friendship, but it was odd to be suddenly surrounded by brothers when she’d just started to get used to one brother.
She hadn’t seen them since that night, but Arthur had left only a few days before to go on a cattle drive, as he called it. They had all gone together, leaving her with Rose and her duties. The duties she’d insisted Arthur give her before he left. He’d been hesitant, but then she’d pushed him and he’d given her a good list of things she could do each day.
Not knowing ranch life, she wasn’t sure if the list was fabricated of the ‘easy’ tasks he thought her capable of, but at this point, she didn’t care. It hadn’t felt easy, that was for certain.
When she finally managed to get out of bed, she hobbled to the wash basin and splashed cool water on her face to wake her up. If her count was correct, the men should be back that day and she planned on enjoying the fact that she had done everything Arthur had asked and more.
After a hasty breakfast, she saw Rose off to take the several hours’ trip to the store and back for supplies, and then made her way to the barn to begin mucking out the stalls again. This time, she knew it would take much less time since she’d keep up a routine of cleaning that made the chore less strenuous.
She had just finished the first stall when the sound of hoof beats drew her attention to the prairie, where she saw Arthur’s horse galloping toward the barn. He was alone and the speed of his approach told her that something was wrong.
Racing from the barn, she met him halfway across the yard, his horse skidding
to a stop in front of her. When he half-fell, half-slid down from the saddle, she came to his side without hesitation.
“Arthur, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”
“Got shot,” he said, groaning and holding his side.
Fear coursed through her veins. “Shot!?” The word came out as a squeak.
“Where’s Ma?”
“Sh-she went to town,” Violet stammered.
“Help me inside?” he asked, doubling over in pain.
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
He let go of the reins and slapped the rear end of the house, who trotted off to the barn, instinctively knowing there would be food there for it. She stepped up close to his uninjured side and helped him toward the house.
A thousand questions rolled around in her mind, but she wasn’t sure which to ask first, or if she should ask questions yet. Clearly, Arthur was in a lot of pain and she didn’t want to add to the stress by having him relive whatever had happened.
But then a thought occurred. “Your brothers?”
“Fine. In a different pasture.”
She frowned. Hadn’t they gone out together? He’d said they were all going to move the cattle from one area to another. She didn’t understand all the logistics of it, but she’d assumed they’d stay together. Yet another thing she’d have to ask once they assessed how bad the wound was.
They reached the house and she helped him up the steps, nearly buckling beneath his weight. From the look of his side, he’d lost a lot of blood and was growing weaker with each step. She surprised herself with her own ability to help him, thinking that the chores she’d found so hard at first had helped her grow stronger already.
“My bedroom,” he gasped when she’d tried to take him to the sitting room. And of course, why wouldn’t she take him there? He had to lie down. She hadn’t been thinking.
When Arthur sagged onto his bed with a deep groan, Violet’s hands started to shake, whether from the strain of helping him there or from the blood that made his shirt cling to his side, she wasn’t sure.