Just because you insist on perfection from yourself doesn't mean being perfect matters to everyone else. Pa had said that often enough. Hell, but he missed the old man.
Even as a boy, he'd always been straightening things in the house, putting Ma's sewing supplies in order and lining them up on the shelf. Ma tried to tell him it wasn't normal to worry so much about having everything "just so." Or to have your day meticulously planned out. She also scolded him for making assumptions about things and people without knowing the truth.
Cynara certainly couldn't plan her day in a strict regimen. She couldn't predict when a baby would awaken or need changing. Connor, Little Gage and Vella ruled her day. Barclay had to remember the woman had no need to answer to him for anything. He made a silent promise to stop making assumptions about her.
Now that he'd calmed himself, he managed a smile. "Figured I could use some fresh air." He knelt beside Connor's drawer and held out his finger to the little boy, who immediately grabbed on. "Look at that. He knows who I am. Smart kid."
Chase laughed. "They do that to anything that gets close enough."
"How would you know?" Barclay asked.
"Cynara explained it to me before you came out."
To Barclay's surprise, the corner of Cynara's mouth curled up slightly, vanishing when she spotted Dirk over by the bunkhouse. Her body tensed, her eyes darkened, and she picked up little Connor as if to protect the baby. She apparently disliked or distrusted Dirk. Or both. But why?
"You know the new ranch hand, Cynara?" he asked.
"No, but… he looks mean," she answered.
Once Schindler had disappeared inside, she rose, the baby still in her arms. "I'd best get the little ones back into the house. Will you help me carry them?"
Whether she meant him or Chase, Barclay didn't know. Chase picked up Vella and Barclay carried Gage in and laid him in the drawer. "We need to get them something better to sleep in."
"Want me to run into town and ask Jeb Stokes to make cribs?" Chase asked.
Barclay arched his brows. Jeb Stokes was the local carpenter who provided caskets when needed and did other odd jobs when folks asked. "That's not a bad idea. Too late to go tonight, though. How about first thing tomorrow morning?"
Chase adjusted the blanket that covered the little girl. "Sounds fine to me."
Oysters held open the porch door for them. "Saw ya comin'. Was about to ring the bell."
Barclay entered last. "Is Jared here?"
The cook nodded. "At the table, waiting."
"Right where I'm supposed to be," Jared called from the kitchen.
The next few days went as expected, with Cynara caring for the babies and the men doing ranch work. Barclay found his mind wandering often to Cynara. He wondered what she was doing and if she noticed his absence. His mother had promised to come out for a longer visit but hadn't showed up yet, and the men hadn't had time to go to town.
All three of the Givens brothers became tied up in counting stock. High Mountain consisted of a thousand acres, about a quarter of which were wooded. It would take weeks for the men to ferret out all the steers and count them.
On the sixth day after the triplets joined the family, so to speak, the men were able to take a break and relax.
Barclay couldn't keep his eyes off Cynara. She looked more rested and relaxed and seemed to grow prettier by the day. He noted the good care she gave the babies and how much she enjoyed it. He hoped she didn't end up with a broken heart when the triplets found new parents and left.
Did Barclay want to see the babies gone? His answer surprised him. He would have thought he would be glad to have his freedom and peace and quiet back. Instead, he feared he would be bored. He would miss the soft little noises they made and even their boisterous, hungry cries. He wouldn't, however, miss having the men tromping through the house at all hours.
The hands found enumerable excuses to visit the house so they could see the babies. That they drank their fill of Cynara as well annoyed Barclay.
"Look at those tiny toes," Canada said, leaning over the drawer. His long reddish hair nearly hid his face. "Hey, they have toenails. Did you know that? They're so little you can hardly see them, but they're there."
"You joke." Big Hank, the wrangler, rushed over to see for himself. Even young Roy, Slim’s fourteen-year-old boy, joined them, all gushing and cooing baby talk to the triplets until Barclay had to leave the room to keep from laughing. More than once he caught Cynara with a hint of a smile on her lips.
The house had acquired new life, along with dirty diapers, baby tears and a mounting collection of toys the babies had no idea what to do with yet. He liked it. What he didn't like was the way Jared and Chase monopolized Cynara's time. He wanted her to himself.
After supper, Jared and Chase kept up a constant conversation, asking Cynara questions as usual. To get her alone, Barclay invited her on a walking tour of the ranch. When his brothers tried to horn in, he gave them "the look" he only used when he meant to knock them silly if they didn't obey. It had worked well when they were small and did so again now. Darkness had already fallen, and he expected her to decline. She surprised him.
"I'd love to. Let me get my shawl." She fetched the garment from the back of the settee and joined him at the front door.
They strolled the length of the porch, then descended to the yard by way of the wooden steps.
"Pa built the old back porch about the time Jared was born," Barclay told her. "The next year he screened it in so Ma could churn her milk there without the bother of flies."
"I understood you built the wraparound veranda." Cynara took the arm he held out for her.
"Yes. Saw one in Helena and decided I wanted one. After Pa died and Ma moved to town, I started on it." He chuckled. "When Ma saw it, she said she sure wished Pa had such good ideas."
"I don't blame her. It's lovely. Perfect for enjoying a sunset."
"My thought exactly." He pointed to the long, single-level building across the yard. Lights shone in the windows and laughter came from inside. "That's the bunkhouse where the hired hands live, otherwise known as the bullpen. Probably a good idea to stay away from there so you don't accidentally hear some unpleasant language."
"I'll do that," she said. "What's the small building built across the creek?"
"The icehouse where we hang meat. The creek helps keep it cool. We have a cellar where we store ice blocks in the winter. The big building, of course, is the barn."
"Truly? I never would have guessed."
He stared at her, speechless. At first, he thought she'd made her comment in sarcasm. Then he noticed the light dancing in her eyes and those tiny curves at the corners of her mouth that came as close to a smile as he'd seen so far. Realizing she'd been joking, he bellowed in laughter. "You cracked a joke! I love it."
Her cheeks flushed, but her smile widened and became genuine. He felt as if he'd ascended to the tip of Granite Peak, one of Montana's tallest mountains. Maybe he'd win her over yet.
Was that what he wanted—to win her over? For what purpose? Had he already become enamored with her? Good hell!
Her hand tightened on his arm as they crossed the two wide boards that served as a bridge across the stream. He slowed his steps to allow her to set her own pace, so she didn't stumble, despite his distraction as he tried to interpret his own emotions. When they reached the other side, he pointed out the rest of the structures. "The lean-to next to the barn is our tack room. The small structure on the other side is where we keep newly born calves when it's cold, and the building that looks like a shack made by two-year-olds is the hen house. It doubles as shelter for the hogs with a wall in between."
"Clever," she commented. "You conserve on wood that way. My father had pigs. I detested the vicious things. You were lucky to keep your hand when you dumped the slop in the trough."
He chuckled. "I know what you mean. Never want to get between a hog and its feed."
Silence fell as they continued to amble
along the stream. The sun sank and painted the sky with oranges and pinks. The number of insects ballooned.
Barclay paused, still shaken by the direction his thoughts had taken minutes before. In the pale pinkish light of the sunset, Cynara appeared ethereal and beautiful. Had he noticed before that her hair held a touch of red? Now, tinted by the pink and orange sky, it looked on fire. Her head reached the lobe of his ear, the perfect height for him.
"It's a lovely evening," she said, watching the streaks of color fade. Soon it would be fully dark and difficult to see.
"Yes, it is." Almost as lovely as her face. He swallowed and glanced away. "Guess we'd better head back so we can still see our way and aren't eaten alive by the skeeters."
"I'm ready. Never liked mosquitos."
"Don't think anyone does." With trembling hands, Barclay adjusted her shawl around her shoulders to keep the chill off her.
"Do you know, Barclay," she said after a time, "how lucky you are to have such a beautiful home? I thought our little farm was nice, but it couldn't compare to High Mountain—even before the buildings were burned."
"That must have been hard," he said.
"Hard is a very small word."
He thought about that, knowing what she meant. Many of the words that affected them most in life were contrarily short: hard, bad, grief, death, even love. Of course, other words existed with the same meanings, but they didn't see as much use. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was for all she'd been through, but the sadness of the subject would steal the pleasure from their walk.
And he had found their time together tonight exceedingly agreeable. He loved the feel of her hand on his arm, her warmth at his side, the rustle of her skirts brushing his legs, and the sweet scent of her hair drifting on the breeze.
When they reached the house, he hesitated at the foot of the steps, reluctant to let her go. She turned to him. "I enjoyed the walk, Barclay. Thank you."
Pivoting, she started up the steps, then paused, glancing over her shoulder at him. "I'm glad Doc brought me. It's peaceful here, and I already love the babies. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Cynara."
Standing alone, he watched her turn the corner of the house and disappear. I'm glad Doc brought you too.
Chapter Seven
D irk stabbed the shovel into the pile of horse manure he and Roy, Slim's teenaged son, had cleared out of the stable and leaned against the rough-hewn wall. Tonight, would be the night. He saw no sense or need for waiting. The only thing left was deciding whether to take the woman too.
He scratched his stubbled jaw as he considered the matter. He could rent a wagon in town and just abandon it once he'd finished with it. He sure wouldn't come back to Cutthroat.
'Course, if he had the woman to deal with after getting rid of the brat, the situation would be a lot more complicated. Cynara was a somber little thing. Slim had mentioned that she'd recently lost her husband and a child. Didn't sound like she'd be much fun to spend time with. Wouldn't interfere in the fun he'd have bedding her, though.
Aw, hell, what did he need with the hassle of a woman? He could handle a pint-sized kid long enough to get it to the grandparents' house.
"That's it, Dirk," Roy called out. "We're done."
"Fine with me." Dirk followed the younger man to the tack room and stowed his shovel away.
"You headin' for bed?" Roy asked, pulling off his grimy gloves and whacking them against a post to knock off loose manure and hay. He had bright red hair and the start of a patchy mustache. Being only fourteen, his beard hadn't filled in yet.
"Naw. I'm gonna go visit my horse for a minute first, then go downstream and clean up in the creek." Dirk would also do what he could to clean his sturdy leather gloves.
"All right." Roy waved a hand at him and ambled toward the bunkhouse.
It had taken them all evening and into the night to finish cleaning the stable. The carrot-topped kid was the new stable boy. The old one had been fired for letting matters go to hell. He'd done more sleeping in the hay than cleaning.
Dirk rolled a cigarette and leaned against the barn for a bit, smoking, while he watched the house. When the last light went out, he followed the stream to the men's favorite bathing hole, stripped down and scrubbed his body. He hated being dirty, especially when the dirt he'd been wallowing in was three/quarters horse manure. After drying off as well as he could with his shirt, he dressed and returned to his post by the stable where he had a good view of the whole yard. He couldn’t see a light anywhere. Everyone must be asleep.
He went into the stable and saddled his horse. He wouldn't have a moment to waste once he grabbed the brat. The sooner he could get rid of it, the better.
Taking his time, he slithered over to the house, going around rather than crossing the yard where anyone from the bunkhouse could see him. When he reached the rear porch, he tested the screen door and found it unlocked. No surprise there. Few folks bothered locking doors out in the countryside. Not even in small towns like Cutthroat.
The knob moved easily under his hand and he slipped noiselessly into the kitchen. He heard snoring from behind the cook's door. Dirk made his way through the house using what moonlight came through the windows to see where he was going. The baby, Slim had told him, was being kept in the great room by the fireplace because of an early birth that required plenty of warmth.
He stopped dead in the center of the room when he saw three drawers set on chairs in front of the hearth. Why three? A bad feeling snaked its way into his gut as he crept closer.
Hell-damn! There were three babies, not one. Which was Minnie's? Did the other two belong to the wet-nurse?
Well, dog mites. This was a flaw in his plan. Why hadn't he noticed three brats when he saw the girl, Barclay and Chase in the yard. Cynara had been holding a baby, but he hadn't seen any others. He'd never thought to ask how many babies there were and no one at the bullpen had said anything. A couple of times he thought he heard the boys refer to babies in the plural, but he hadn't taken it seriously. He needed to rethink his plan and get a tad more information.
Quiet as a flea, he backed from the room, turned and left the same way he'd come in.
A breeze wafted across Cynara's face. She stirred on the settee where she'd bedded down for the night. Had someone opened a window. Sleepily, she opened her eyes, lifted her head and glanced toward the drawers. No sound came from her little charges.
The fire crackled and the faint sound of Oysters snoring were the only noises. The moon shining in through windows and the blazing fire provided the only light.
Nothing. Perhaps she'd been dreaming.
Out the corner of her eye, a movement near the dining area caught her attention. She turned her head in time to see someone go into the kitchen. A man. Barclay? Oysters?
Not Oysters. She still heard him snoring.
Didn't matter. Whoever she'd glimpsed must belong here. No one had any reason to be sneaking around. Her eyelids refused to stay open. Rolling over, she went back to sleep.
The next morning, Barclay found Cynara on the settee, hemming a diaper, with a babe at her breast under a blanket.
"Good morning," he said. "Did you sleep all right on that couch?"
"It wasn't the most comfortable bed I've lain in, but I slept well enough. How are you this morning?"
"Good. Will you be able to join us for breakfast?"
Before she could answer, Chase clomped down the stairs. He went straight to Vella's bed. Bending, he picked her up. "'Mornin', little sweetheart. How are you?"
The baby yawned. She curled her hand around his finger. Chase chuckled. "You got a hell of a grip on you, Vella."
"Hey," Barclay said, "watch your language in front of that young lady. And in front of this one over here too."
Chase straightened and glanced over at Cynara. "Sorry. Didn't mean to offend anyone."
"I forgive you," she said in her usual soft voice.
"Wow, I'm hungry." Chase returned Vella to her bed and ai
med for the kitchen, rubbing his rumbling belly.
"I better get in there while there's anything left," Barclay told Cynara. "I'll make sure Oysters saves you a plate."
"Thank you, Barclay. You're very kind. You've all been considerate since I came."
"Well, you're doing us a big favor."
"May I ask if you plan to put the triplets up for adoption?"
He scratched his chin. "I really don't know. I sent wires to the marshals in nearby towns to see if they can identify Minnie. She's the mother. If we can't find her, we'll look for her parents. Hopefully, they'll be willing to take charge of their grandchildren."
She put Gage to her shoulder and patted his back until he burped. "Won't you miss them? I'm afraid I will."
He looked down at Connor. "Yeah, I think I will. They're a lot of trouble, but they also bring a lot of life to the place."
"I know what you mean. I'm not sure I'll be able to live without having children around after this. I enjoyed people coming and going." Gage burped again and she put him to bed.
"Ready to eat?" he asked.
"Yes." She straightened her bodice. "I'm hungry too."
"Good. Your appetite is returning. We could hardly get you to eat anything yesterday."
She smiled, though it held no warmth. "Yes, I believe maybe I do feel better. The pain is still there, but I'm more able to deal with it. I think it's the babies."
"I’m glad." He led the way into the kitchen where Jared and Chase sat already with full plates of food in front of them.
The boys stood immediately, which pleased Barclay. They'd learned some manners. He pulled out a chair for Cynara and she sat down. "You'll have to excuse the lack of decorum here. Meals are sort of a first come, first served event at High Mountain."
"I don't mind." She unfolded a napkin and spread it on her lap. "You men have a long, hard day of work ahead of you. You need your food."
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