The Sisters of Bethlehem Springs Collection

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  Cleo had noticed the same thing. In those first days after her father asked him to act as ranch manager, Woody had looked overwhelmed by the prospect. No longer. In fact, whenever she saw him, she couldn’t help thinking how well he looked—as if he stood a little straighter, held his head a little higher. And Stitch was right about something else. Her father had taken a real liking to Woody. The two of them were spending more and more time together.

  “Listen,” Stitch said, breaking into her thoughts. “If you’re wantin’ to get on back to see how your dad is, why don’t you ride on ahead. Me and the boys can bring the herd the rest of the way without any trouble.”

  He was right. She did want to know how her dad had fared today. This was the first time she’d ventured farther than the barn and corrals since he first came down with the influenza. And without her there, who knew what sort of mischief he might get himself into.

  “I’ll see you there.” She pressed her heels into Domino’s sides. The pinto shot forward and galloped around the edge of the herd, headed for home and a bucket of oats.

  The May afternoon was warm, the sun casting a buttery yellow hue across the valley, and Sherwood had joined Griff on the veranda—as had become their usual practice once Griff was allowed out of bed—to discuss ranch business.

  “I walked that piece of land earlier today,” Sherwood said. “It seems to me that with the addition of another two or three acres and the use of irrigation, you could increase your yield of hay per season significantly while at the same time lowering your annual expense.”

  Griff cocked an eyebrow. “And you base that upon what?”

  “I was reading one of the books you have in your office.”

  “Ah.”

  “I admit I’m not a farmer, but what the author had to say made a great deal of sense to me.”

  “You surprise me, Sherwood.”

  “Why is that, sir?”

  “To be honest, when you first arrived, I didn’t hold out a lot of hope for you to settle in the way you have.”

  “To be honest, I didn’t hold out much hope for it either.”

  They laughed in unison, but Griff’s laughter ended in a series of dry coughs. When the spell was under control, he drew a long, slow breath through his nose and released it through his mouth.

  “Maybe you should go inside, sir.”

  Griff waved away the suggestion. “I’m tired of being cooped up.”

  Sherwood nodded. No one had to explain to him what that was like. His time spent recovering in the hospital had almost made him go insane.

  “I informed Cleo this morning that I’ll be joining the rest of you for church come Sunday.” Griff cleared his throat. “I’ve been away too many Sundays. I miss hearing Reverend Barker’s sermons.”

  “He does give a man much to think about.”

  A smile crept into the corners of Griff’s mouth. “Tell me what you mean.”

  Sherwood wasn’t sure he could explain what he meant. Only that the vicar at Dunacombe wasn’t anywhere near the preacher that Reverend Barker was. Each Sunday, Reverend Barker had challenged Sherwood with his words, enough so that he’d returned the following Sunday to hear more.

  It was at that moment Cleo loped her horse into the yard, saving Sherwood from having to come up with an answer. When she saw the two men on the veranda, she rode over to the house before dismounting. “How’re you feeling, Dad?” She climbed the steps to join them.

  “Fine. I’m enjoying the weather.”

  “You aren’t overdoing, are you?”

  “No, my girl, I’m not. Do you think sitting on the porch is more strenuous than sitting in my room?”

  Cleo smiled as she leaned over to kiss her father’s forehead. “No, I guess not.”

  “Sherwood and I were discussing the possibility of putting a few more acres into hay production and digging some irrigation ditches.”

  “You were?”

  The look she gave Sherwood begged the question: What do you know about hay production? He couldn’t argue with her. He had no practical experience. All he knew was what was in that book and a feeling inside that said the author was right.

  “I think it’s a good idea,” Griff added with a nod. Then he turned his gaze toward the north. “The cattle far behind you?”

  “Not far. They ought to be here in another hour. We’ll start branding the winter calves first thing in the morning and begin culling the herd after that’s done. Have you decided how many are going to market?”

  Griff shook his head. “Let’s begin with the ones that aren’t pregnant or nursing a calf already. After we see how many there are of those, we can decide the number of productive cows to add to them.” He looked at Sherwood. “You and I can go over the finances again in the morning, and then we’ll decide.”

  What was it Sherwood saw in Cleo’s expression as her father spoke? It was there and then gone. A look that said…what? It bothered him that he didn’t know.

  But then, why should it bother him? That was even more perplexing.

  He stood. “I’ll take care of Domino while you two chat.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to—”

  “I don’t mind, Cleo.” He went down the steps, took the pinto by the reins, and led the horse toward the barn.

  Cleo removed her Stetson and ran her fingers through her hair as she watched Woody walk away. His gait wasn’t as stiff and awkward as it used to be. When had that changed? Those sessions at New Hope must be doing him some good. She was glad of it, for his sake—and felt the shame of ever resenting his visits to the spa.

  “He’s been a great help to us,” her father said.

  She looked over her shoulder at him, then moved to sit in the chair Woody had vacated moments before. “He’s doing all right.”

  “I told him I hadn’t thought he would do well on a ranch, and he admitted he hadn’t thought so either.”

  “Nobody’s more surprised than me.”

  “Here’s another surprise.” Her father grinned. “He took his horse out for a ride this morning.”

  She felt her eyes widen. “You’re joking.”

  “No. I saw him from my bedroom window, plain as day.”

  “Well, I’ll be.” She looked toward the barn, but Woody was no longer in sight.

  “Don’t let on that you know.”

  “Why not?”

  “He didn’t mention it so I expect he doesn’t mean for us to know as yet.”

  Cleo couldn’t think of any reason to keep it a secret, unless maybe it was a man’s pride. As she rolled that thought over in her mind, she decided pride was reason enough. She remembered the way Rose Winston had looked at him that first Sunday he came to church. No doubt she wasn’t the only woman who’d acted that way when she saw him. And over what? A scar. Sakes alive! The things some females chose to be squeamish about.

  She rose from the chair. “I’d best make sure Domino gets his oats or he’ll be riled at me.” She kissed her father’s forehead a second time and left him to enjoy the fresh air.

  When she entered the barn a short while later, she discovered Domino in one of the stalls, his saddle and bridle removed, his coat brushed, and his nose deep in a bucket while he munched on his favorite grain.

  Woody appeared in the doorway to the tack room. “I gave him two scoops. That’s his usual, I believe.”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  Interesting that Woody knew how much grain she gave her horse. Not once since he’d been at the ranch had she asked him to feed or groom Domino. He must pay close attention to her whenever she was around.

  A strange sensation shivered along her spine. Something akin to pleasure.

  FIFTEEN

  With the spring branding in full swing, Gwen and Morgan didn’t come to the ranch for their usual Thursday visit. However, Daphne McKinley arrived in her brother’s automobile in the early afternoon. Griff invited her to join him on the veranda, but she demurred, saying she’d come to watch the branding.

&n
bsp; “Sherwood,” Griff said, “would you mind escorting the young lady out to the pasture?”

  “Not at all, sir.” He offered his arm, and she took it, giving him a bright smile.

  There was something appealing about Daphne McKinley, beyond her pretty face and fine figure. Unless Sherwood was mistaken—and he wasn’t—there was a glint of mischief in her dark eyes. He’d already recognized her streak of independence, the same streak he’d observed in Cleo and Gwen. Perhaps all American women were that way. To his surprise, he was starting to like it.

  They circumvented the barn, and when they reached the first paddock, Daphne released her hold on his arm so he could open the gate for them. Then the two set out across the paddock, Daphne holding her skirts above the grass to avoid staining the hem. Ahead of them, in the second large paddock, they saw a cowboy wrestle a calf to the ground while another prepared to press a hot branding iron to its hindquarter.

  The smell of burning flesh filled Sherwood’s nostrils while the bawling complaint filled his ears. In an instant, he was back in France, looking out at a battlefield littered with the dead and dying, the dead lying at odd angles with eyes open, the dying screaming in pain from their burns and open wounds. Terror filled the trenches as men—boys, too many of them—crouched low, clutching their rifles close, wishing they were home with their mothers. Sweat and sickness, chaos and blood and death. Run, his mind yelled. Run away while you can.

  “Lord Sherwood?”

  He heard her voice as if through a tunnel, felt it pulling him back from the edge of a black abyss.

  “Lord Sherwood?” Daphne’s hand alighted on his forearm. “Are you all right?”

  He blinked several times and gave his head a slow shake as a shudder ran down his spine. “I…I suddenly remembered something, something I’d rather not…” He pressed his lips together, ending the confession before it could be spoken.

  Kindness was written in her brown eyes as she looked up at him. “The war.” She said it softly but in a tone that told him she empathized with him. She only thought she understood, of course. No one could understand except those who had been there, those who had lived through hell and come home again. And yet there was something in her gaze that told him she might understand more than he imagined was possible in a pretty young American girl.

  “Yes,” he answered at last. “The war.”

  With a nod, she resumed walking, earning his gratitude with her silence. They stopped when they reached the fence separating the two large paddocks.

  Daphne peered through the opening between the top rail and the one below. “There’s Cleo.” She raised her arm and waved.

  Cleo rode toward them on her pinto. “I thought Gwen and Morgan weren’t coming today.”

  “They didn’t. I came alone. I wanted to see what this was like. I’ve never seen cows branded before.”

  Cleo shrugged, as if to say, “Suit yourself.”

  “It’s very noisy, isn’t it?” Daphne continued.

  “Noisy enough.” A calf racing down the fence line drew Cleo’s gaze away. “That little guy’s mine.” She tugged down on her hat brim at the same time she kicked Domino into a gallop. Seconds later, the business end of a lariat flew through the air and dropped around the calf’s neck. Domino sat back on his hind legs, sliding to a halt. The calf hit the end of the rope and fell backward, hitting the ground with force.

  “Oh, my!” Daphne clapped her hands. “I had no idea Cleo could do anything like that. Isn’t she wonderful?” She pulled a small writing tablet from the pocket of her skirt and scribbled something in it with a lead pencil. When she was finished, she glanced at Sherwood, her eyes sparkling with delight. “I like to make notes of my impressions when I see something new so I can remember what it was like later. The sights. The sounds. The smells.”

  Sherwood smiled back at her, as if in agreement. However, he wouldn’t need to take notes about anything he saw Cleo do. Nothing she did was forgettable. Not the way she rode and roped. Not the way she walked and talked. Not the flash in her eyes when she was angry or the sparkle in them when she laughed.

  She was unique. One of a kind. And completely memorable.

  It bothered Cleo, knowing Sherwood and Daphne were watching her every move. Made her as jumpy as a bit-up old bull at fly time. Branding wasn’t a spectator sport. It was work. Hard, sweaty work. If they didn’t want to join in—that’d be the day—they’d just as well head back to the house where they belonged. Look at them. The idle rich, talking and smiling and having a good time while everybody else was busy earning a living. Thank heaven she wasn’t one of them. It would make her crazier than a bedbug in no time at all.

  After removing Cleo’s rope from around the calf’s neck, Randall lifted and flopped the young bovine to the ground while Allen drew the iron from the fire. The calf bawled in fear, but the branding took mere seconds. Randall released his hold, and it was up and off in search of its mother. With a cluck of her tongue, Cleo rode Domino after another calf. The next time she thought to glance toward the neighboring paddock, Sherwood and Daphne were gone.

  Two hours later, Cleo entered the house. She heard male laughter mixed with Daphne’s coming from the direction of her father’s office. She thought about joining the merry group and discovering what amused them so, but her desire for a bath was greater than her curiosity. She climbed the stairs and began to unbutton her shirt the moment the door to the bathroom closed behind her.

  As soon as the claw-footed tub filled with warm water, she sank down into it until only her nose and knees poked above the surface. In that silent place, it was easy to let the tension ease from her shoulders and neck, easy to forget the complaints of the muscles in her arms and thighs. She wouldn’t have minded staying there until the water grew cool, but she couldn’t. It was too close to dinnertime. She sat up and began to scrub the remnants of the day’s work from her hair and skin. After rinsing away the soap, she stepped from the bathtub and wrapped herself in a large towel.

  A knock sounded at the bathroom door. “Cleo,” Daphne called. “Are you decent? May I come in?” She didn’t wait for a reply but opened the door and stepped inside.

  “I’m not decent, Daphne. All I’m wearing’s a towel.”

  “Oh, don’t be missish. I can’t see anything except those wonderful long legs of yours.” With a sigh, Daphne turned her back toward Cleo. “Is that better?”

  “I reckon it’ll have to be.” She continued to dry off.

  “I found the branding very exciting to watch. I knew you were good with horses, but I had no idea you could ride the way you do. You could be part of Buffalo Bill’s Wild West. I can see Annie Oakley doing her trick shooting and you doing all kinds of fancy riding.”

  “Why on earth would I want to be part of a show like that? Land sakes! Those are for the same folks who like to read dime novels.”

  Daphne glanced over her shoulder. “And what’s wrong with dime novels?”

  “I guess nothing unless you’d rather live like a cowboy than dream about it.” Cleo glowered at Daphne until the younger woman looked away again. Then she began to get dressed. “I thought you’d learned a thing or two about the real West after living in Idaho for near on a year.”

  “Oh, I have. But there’s so much more I haven’t seen. This summer I want to visit Yellowstone National Park. Maybe you could go with me?”

  Cleo buttoned her shirt. “Maybe.”

  “Perhaps the whole family could go. And wouldn’t it be fun to show the American wilderness to Lord Sherwood?”

  Cleo felt that funny catch in her stomach. Was Daphne growing fond of Woody?

  “I don’t imagine he’s seen anything like it,” Daphne continued. “Europe has its forests and castles, of course, and they’re quite glorious, but from what I’ve heard, Yellowstone is amazing.”

  “Mmm.” Cleo couldn’t imagine anywhere more glorious than right where she lived, this valley and these mountains.

  “Oh, dear.”

&nb
sp; “What?”

  “I don’t suppose Morgan would allow Gwen to undertake such a trip, now that she’s with child.”

  Cleo ran a brush through her damp hair. “No, I don’t reckon he will.” She set the brush on the edge of the sink. “You can turn around now.”

  Daphne faced Cleo, her eyes snapping with excitement. “Then you really must go with me. Promise me you’ll think about it.”

  “Okay. I’ll think about it.”

  “Wonderful. Now I suppose I should start for home.”

  “You’re not staying for dinner?” Cleo stepped past Daphne and opened the bathroom door.

  “No. Your father was kind enough to invite me, but I really must get back to Bethlehem Springs.”

  Cleo didn’t try to stop her. As much as she liked Morgan’s sister, today she’d just as soon not have her here. Why that was exactly, she couldn’t say. Maybe she’d think on it later.

  Cleo’s father was waiting for the two women when they reached the bottom of the stairs. “Daphne, are you certain you won’t stay to eat with us? I’ve asked Sherwood to make it a foursome.”

  “I’m sorry.” She gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I must go home. I have some things I must do before the day is over. I’ll come next week with Gwen and Morgan.” She turned and gave Cleo a hug. “You think about Yellowstone,” she whispered in her ear. “I’m determined to go.”

  Cleo nodded.

  Daphne looked toward the office. “Good-bye, Lord Sherwood.”

  Woody appeared in the office doorway. “Are you leaving already, Miss McKinley?”

  “I must. Thank you for escorting me to see the branding.”

  Woody strode forward and took hold of her hand. “It was my pleasure.” He lifted her hand and kissed it.

  Once again Cleo felt that odd catch.

  Strange. Very strange.

  SIXTEEN

  Sherwood entered the general store, a bell overhead announcing his presence. The store was empty except for three men standing near the counter at the back of the store, talking in agitated voices.