by Danni Roan
"That boy has a bit to learn about living' on the Broken J, but more than that, about woman in general." Isadoro’s bright cinnamon eyes twinkled as he explained the problem.
"Could be prob'em," Josh said with concern.
"Nah! They just have to figure out that expectations and preconceived ideas of marriage have no place in that institute," Isadoro chuckled again.
"Bia, worried?" Josh asked, grimacing as more coffee splashed his once white shirt.
"No, she had to go back to our room to hide her laughter. Our little Isabella can stand her ground. It might get a little rocky for a while, but I think in the end they'll be alright. In the meantime, it might prove to be entertaining."
Josh smiled his now familiar, crooked smile, and looked out the window at his ranch. He still wasn't strong enough to be of any real use around the ranch, but he would do his best.
"Eric's been teaching Callie to walk up onto the front porch," Isadoro said casually, not meeting his son-in-law’s eyes.
"Why?" Josh looked confused.
"He's got it in his head that pretty soon you'll be able to make it all the way to the porch on your own and he can bring Callie and the cart to you."
"Steps." Josh said with finality, only to see his father-in-law run a hand behind his neck, a sure sign he wasn't telling him something.
"Well ya see, Hank and I sorta made some ramps, and the pony can come up one side and down the other once you get in that cart." He actually looked guilty.
Josh smiled and held out his cup to the smaller man, who took it and placed it on a small table. Josh then offered him his hand. "OK," he said, his eyes misting.
Isadoro reached out a strong dark arm and wrapped it around the shoulders of a man who was more than a son to him. Then, standing and dashing a tear from his eye, he walked out, picked up a hammer, and began removing the railing on one side of the porch.
Josh sat in his bed listening to the steady sound of a hammer modifying his home, his life, and looked out the open window at the barn. He could see smoke softly rising from the forge and his old friend Davrum Deeks as he walked into his shop. Soon the song of mallet on anvil joined the sound of a hammer on wood, playing the harmony of a work day on the Broken J.
Deeks looked good from where Josh sat. He'd had a hard go lately, but maybe things were working out between him and Ray. He knew that the woman still kept to herself for the most part, and that she'd taken to working in her garden and the kitchen garden at odd hours of the day or night. At least, that was his impression from Nona's grumbled "Crazy old bat's in the garden again," comments.
Unless his eyes had been damaged by the stroke, he was sure that Deeks was even standing a little straighter. His old friend had suffered from that injury to his back for years, never complaining, but determinedly moving on and keeping the ranch well supplied with the steel and iron work needed to keep a cattle operation going.
Josh ran his one good hand over the stubble on his chin and sighed. He'd gotten discouraged when this tragedy struck. He'd always known he wasn't in control of his life, and he had to let go. Had to find the faith to just trust. Slowly, he closed his stark blue eyes, closing out the bright hazy heat of the day and lifted his heart in prayer. Maybe he couldn't control his situation, but he could control his attitude.
******
Isabella was exhausted when she came in for supper. She was looking forward to a good meal, a hot bath and a chance to snuggle up close to her handsome husband. She hoped that he’d had some time to get used to the idea of her riding for the round-up during the day.
Katie, Nona, and Fiona had dinner on the table when the riders arrived, and they walked straight to the tables after washing their hands. She was so pleased to see her father seated at the head of the table that she barely noticed the scowl that Taylor shot at her. The usual chatter and banter of an evening meal almost drowned out the cold silence that was directed at her.
Taylor was already in bed when Bella came in from a tepid bath where she'd washed away the smell of horse, cattle, and dust. He lay on his side of the bed facing the wall, and she thought he must already be asleep. Quietly, she slipped into the bed and sighed at the soft comfort it offered her sore and tired muscles.
Taylor lay awake as Bella slipped under the covers. He could smell the scent of lilac from her bath and his hands itched to feel her soft skin under his fingers. His temper rose again and he burrowed deeper into his pillow; he wouldn’t let his body betray his sensibilities.
Exhausted from the first day of the round-up, Isabella thought she’d sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, but despite the warmth of the night she felt cold without Taylor’s strong arms around her. Even though she’d only been married a short time, it felt wrong without his body snugged up to hers. Slowly, exhaustion overcame her need for warmth and she drifted into a troubled sleep.
The next morning, Isabella was relieved to see that although Taylor gave her attire a cold glare, he didn’t say anything about her dungarees and work shirt. Instead he rose, dressed, and headed down for breakfast, after which he left with his brother for the fields, without so much as a word to her. He was being stubborn, but she could be just as stubborn as he was, and despite the heaviness in her heart she wouldn’t give up being who she was.
Katie stood at the kitchen sink washing dishes while Mary sat in a tall wooden chair chewing a hard biscuit Nona had made, and watched her newest brother-in-law stalk off toward the field without so much as a kiss good-bye for her little sister. Rinsing the last dish, she lay it on a towel to dry with the others and sighed.
“Nona, this doesn’t look good,” she stated once Issy had gone.
“You leave them two be Katie, they have to find their own way.” Her grandmother’s tone was matter of fact. “You and Will had to go through your trials on your own. Isabella will do the same.”
Katie shook her head but took Nona’s words to heart. “Oh look,” she suddenly spoke again. “Ray’s in her garden.” She said looking out the window. “Who would have thought Deeks’ odd, reclusive wife would like working in the garden?”
Nona shot a scowl at her granddaughter. “You leave her be too. She’s no business of yours.”
Katie shook her head at her grandmother’s uncharacteristic attitude toward the other woman, but then lifting Mary onto her hip, stepped out onto the back porch hoping to catch a bit of a breeze. There before her, on the wide gray, planks of the eating area, sat two large bushel baskets full of freshly harvested items from the kitchen garden, looking like they’d appeared by magic. She smiled when she saw the small muddy foot prints leading down the stairs and toward the bunk house. It looked like Ray was trying to do her part, and making life a little easier for her and Fiona both along the way. Katie looked off toward the bunkhouse and to the small patch of earth where the older woman was working. Ray had definitely filled out since arriving at the Broken J a little more than a year ago. She hoped that the odd woman was happy.
The next night was the same for Isabella; although the usual chatter was present at the dinner table, Taylor did not talk to her. Instead, Reg reported that within the next day or two, if the weather held, they'd have the wheat in and could start threshing. But that night as the young bride crawled into bed with Taylor, he once again had his back to her and appeared to be a sleep. Sadness settled in Issy's heart, but she knew she hadn't done anything wrong and that her home needed her abilities as much as they needed Taylor’s. The question was would his need for her have changed by the time the round-up was done?
Two days later, Taylor stood in the broiling sun setting up the big threshing machine in front of the barn. The contraption would make the process of removing the grain from the straw much easier and faster, but it would be hot, itchy work. Stripping his shirt, he ran a damp bandana across the back of his neck, lifting his too long sandy hair off his neck. His taut muscles rippled over a svelte torso as the sun baked his already brown skin. He wasn't a tall man, but he was strong and agile,
more than capable of doing the work of a larger man, and he was used to hard work; farming wasn’t an easy task.
"My team won't be able to power this," Hank said as he stood by the tilted box like device that powered the thresher. "They're just too big."
"Babe can do it," Reg said, leading his lanky bay mare from the barn. "She's worked just about everything on a farm, I don't see why she won't do this."
Taylor looked at the ramp that led to the wooden tread mill. "If any horse here will take to it, Babe will." He reached out a hand and patted the animal’s neck. "She’s done pretty much anything that ever needed doing around a farm without complaint." For a moment his conscience stabbed at him. Wasn't that all Bella was doing?
Reg led the mare toward the wooden ramp easily, letting her sniff the planks before urging her to step up the ramp and into what looked like a squeeze stall, but had slightly more room. The gentle mare lowered her head and moved forward, her well shod hooves clunking as she walked hesitantly into the angled box.
"How do we get her started?" Hank asked.
"We have to start the big wheel on the side that drives the belt. Once Babe feels the floor starting to move she should start walking and the pushing motion will cause the belts to turn from there." Reg replied.
Hank nodded, then placed a big hand on the wheel, turning it.
"Get up, Babe," Reg called, and the lean animal lifted her head, taking a tentative step. The wheel turned and soon the bay horse had found a slow, even walking gait on the moving floor.
Taylor turned with a smile as the belt began to whir, and grabbed a bundle of golden wheat from the wagon, tossing it into the hopper as the clatter of working machinery echoed in the yard. They'd set up in front of the barn so that as the stack of straw grew, they could use the hay lift to move it into the second floor of the barn to be used for bedding during the winter. At least that part would be easy.
Sweat trickled down between Taylor's shoulders as he hefted the bundles of wheat. Hank did the same, while Reg knelt on the head of the machine watching for jams. Babe, seemingly content to walk slowly on the moving floor, nibbled at stray grains that popped back out of the hopper on the little platform where Reg worked.
Irritation at his present situation pricked at Taylor Ogden more than the shafts of straw from the wheat bundles. Isabella continued to defy him. Each morning she rose, dressed in men's clothing, and headed out to the round-up without any sign of shame. "Woman should do woman's work," he mumbled as he tossed another sheave to his brother.
"Taylor, what on earth has your tail in such a twist?" Reg called down to him, "you've been grumpier than a bear with a sore tooth all week."
"You'd be a grump too if your wife was out chasing cows like some loco cowboy." Taylor glared at his brother.
"What's wrong with that?" Reg asked logically.
"Wrong! Wrong! Can't you tell? That is not woman's work, that's men's work and it should be left to the men." He jerked his hand toward the fields on the other side of the ranch for emphasis. "Bella should be makin' me a new shirt, or cookin' or something." He scowled at his brother as if he were crazy not to know that.
"Why?" Reg asked simply.
"Why what?" his brother shot back.
"Why shouldn't she be out chasin' cows?"
Taylor stood staring at his older brother as if he'd lost his mind.
"Didn't you hear me? It's not work that's fit for a woman."
Reg glared down at his brother. "Who says it's not?" he finally asked.
"All the men at the mill knew a woman's place," Taylor stated.
"Well, we're not back in Pennsylvania anymore and out here things are different. People do what needs to be done, just like when we were on the farm with Ma. Isabella's been riding like that her whole life; how can that be wrong? Besides, who's to say what job’s fit for a woman or not? Women are just as smart as men and just as able, some more so if you ask me. A woman should be able to choose the same as me what she wants to do. I admire a woman with intellect," he finished a strange look in his eyes.
"You don't know a thing about women, Reg, so don't go pretending you do. And keep your nose out of my business!" Taylor turned and with a huff stormed off, just as Hank returned from the barn leading his own sorrel horse, Tracker, who would take the next turn on the tread mill.
After four days of intense work, the wheat had been threshed and bagged, and heaps of fresh straw mounded in the loft of the big barn. It had been grueling work, especially with only three men harvesting nearly thirty acres of wheat. Still, it was good to have the work done. More importantly, they had completed the task before the rain started.
The storm moved in during the night and pelted the Broken J with sheets of water, soaking the dry earth and flowing in rivulets to lower ground. Taylor was horrified to see that despite the steady rain outside, Issy had dressed in her denims and flannel shirt, prepared to head back out to the pastures to bring in more stock.
"You can't be going out in that," he stated, breaking his four days’ worth of silence to his wife for the first time.
Isabella turned sad brown eyes toward him. "I have to, the herd we prepare will go to market in less than a week and we're still shorthanded."
"Isabella, this is not fit work for a woman," Taylor stated coldly.
"Who says, Taylor?" she questioned, her voice soft before turning and walking through the door and away down the stairs.
The flashy sorrel horse shot up out of the gully, slipping and splashing in the mud as it gained the higher ground, coming to rest on the top of the slight plateau. Isabella gasped, recognizing her husband’s mount, and turned her sturdy cow pony toward the lower ground. As the big gray horse slid down the wet embankment Isabella's eyes grew wide and her heart began to race.
"Taylor!" She screamed over the sound of a steadily growing stream.
Before her, up to his chest in muddy water, stood her husband, legs braced wide against the flow holding a calf out of the cold stream with both arms, while an agitated longhorn cow bawled on the embankment.
Issy pulled back on the reins of her horse, who stopped and braced his heavy hind quarters in the mud. "What in heaven's name are you doing?"
"You said you were shorthanded," he yelled back, trying to throw his wet hair out of his eyes with a flick of his head.
"You shouldn't be out here," Issy called again, the blood pounding in her ears. "I'll throw you a rope. Get it around the calf's middle and I'll pull him out," she called, slipping her lariat from her saddle horn.
“The calf? What about me?” Taylor roared.
In one toss the rope landed over the calf's head, and Taylor quickly secured it over the animal’s shoulders. As soon as the rope was around the little animal, Issy urged her horse to pull the rope taut. The well-trained pony moved slowly and steadily along the embankment, pulling the bawling animal out of the mire and onto solid ground.
In a heartbeat, Isabella was out of the saddle and while her horse kept the rope tight, ran to the calf and turned him loose before pushing him up the gentlest slope to his snorting mother.
Hastily recoiling the rope, she threw herself back into the saddle and with a flick of the wrist, tossed the loop over Taylor’s head and shoulders, where he quickly settled it around his torso and allowed himself to be dragged out of the sucking, swirling mud by the sleek, gray cutting horse.
Staggering and slipping, Taylor Ogden found his feet on firmer ground, as a second later his wife's pony turned toward him and she offered her hand, pulling him up behind her. "Let's get out of here," she said, laying her heels to the horse's ribs, urging him to scrabble out of the muddy bottom of the gully.
No sooner had they reached solid ground then she pulled their mount to a halt and jumped down, pulling Taylor with her and in the same moment she was in his arms. "Are you crazy," she cried as her arms encircled him, her pretty face pressing against his muddy shoulder as tears mingled with the still falling rain.
"You are not a cow hand.
You had no call for coming out here and nearly getting yourself killed." Her breath caught in her throat and for a moment Taylor wrapped his arms around her. Even soaked to the skin and now covered in mud, she was beautiful. The fire of her soul glowed through tear-filled eyes.
Anger rippled through Taylor at the harsh recrimination. "And you are?" he shouted, pushing her away from him. "It's alright for you to be out here risking your life for some stupid cow, but not alright for me?" His words were sharp, his pride bruised.
Isabella gaped at the man she had married. Her heart squeezed in her chest, making it hard to breathe as with a snarl Taylor turned into the rain and trudged away from her, leaving her completely alone in the cold downpour.
The round-up finished in a whirlwind of activity and soon Will, Benji, and the cowhands were moving the doggies toward Casper. Hank and Fiona, along with Eric, took to the trail in the big, red wagon, following along with the herd. Hank had insisted on Fiona going for a checkup with the doctor and to collect supplies for the ranch. Cathleen also joined them to help with the cooking, and because she preferred to stay with Benji wherever he went.
The ranch was quiet, and without the activity and hard work of round-up, Issy didn't know what to do with herself. She and Taylor still shared a room, but that was all. Ever since she'd saved the man's life, he'd been nothing but cold toward her and her heart ached. How could they have been so much in love, and now be so far apart? She'd thought she knew him, thought he understood her. Confusion, pain, and despair threatened to overwhelm her.
Taylor Ogden threw himself into work around the ranch in preparation for the order for materials to build a saw mill on the Broken J. Each day he rose early, and after a quick breakfast, headed out to the site he and Isadoro had chosen. Although the wiry Italian man had gone to town with the herd, Taylor was determined to have as much set up and ready to go as possible.
Each day Reg joined him, and even Taylor could tell that his brother was being decidedly quiet on the issues that had arisen in Taylor and Bella's marriage. He felt like a fool and knew he probably looked like it, too, but he just couldn't let go. For the first time in his life, Eustis Taylor Ogden felt small.