He drove silently, as usual, and she settled into the familiar, taking in the rugged surroundings she’d come to so appreciate. Mostly, enjoying his company.
“Jess is coming along fine.”
His out-of-the-blue comment jolted her, and she tried to read his face. He glanced her way but quickly looked back to the road. His shoulders were squared, his back straight. Not his usual driving posture. Alerted to the subtle differences, she waited for the trap to spring.
“Aside from that episode at the picnic, she’s showing more signs of a positive nature.”
Corra squelched a laugh at his choice of words. “I have a confession to make.”
One brow shot to his hat brim.
“I was proud of her for standing up to that bully. I admit her response was not the most ladylike gesture, but did you notice all those boys standing around—including Joe—and not one of them came to her defense?” Corra stiffened as she spoke, reliving a similar incident from her own childhood.
Rena’s clip-clop against the hard-packed road filled the silence hanging taut above the wagon seat. Corra raised her chin and stared ahead. She would not explain further. Let him figure it out.
Josiah huffed. “I got a bit of satisfaction myself when I learned the whole story. But what you told her was right. She should have come to get one of us.”
His gaze met hers on the word us, and an unseen thread tugged at Corra’s heart. A thread that had somehow attached itself to a certain widowed rancher who had hired her services. Did his tenderness that day in the kitchen mean he thought of her as more than his employee?
“You’ve done right by her, Corra. By all of us.” He cleared his throat, as if to continue, but an ungodly racket stopped him short. The Westcliffe stage and six clattered around the rocks ahead, churning up dust and pounding right for them. The driver veered off and passed them with a “hoo-rah,” and passengers waved from the open windows. Corra coughed into her hands, amazed those people could actually breathe. Josiah yanked his neckerchief up over his nose and slapped Rena into a quicker pace. When they finally cleared the dust cloud, most of it had settled upon them, coating their clothing in fine grit. Josiah pulled off the road and came to a stop.
“What are you doing?” Corra choked out the question.
He jumped down and offered his hand. “The creek cuts close to the road here. Thought you might want to clean off some.”
Such thoughtfulness from a cowboy. “Thank you.” Perhaps his wife had exposed him to things a woman would consider important. The thought pricked her heart. She stood to accept his hand, but instead he caught her around the waist and set her down, holding her longer than needed. Corra had instinctively reached for his shoulders when he picked her up, and she couldn’t bring herself to let go. Memories of that day in the kitchen flooded through her. Dare she lay her head on his chest again? For no reason other than she wanted to?
Shocked by her bold fancy, she lowered her hands and stepped back. “A bit of cool water would be nice after that dusting.” She strode away, desperately hoping she was headed toward the creek.
Within a few feet, she heard the trill of water over stones and stepped around a thicket to a clear, trickling stream. She pulled a hankie from her pocket and dipped it in the water, startled by such cold in early August. She dabbed at her brow and the white embroidered cloth turned brown with near mud. She must be a sight. Dipping the small square into the creek again, she fully submerged it and wrung it out then proceeded to scrub her face and neck.
Josiah went downstream, and from the corner of her eye, she watched him do the same with his bandanna. Then he brushed off his shirtsleeves and denims before returning to hand her up to the wagon. What had he been about to say when the stage barreled around the turn? Should she ask him, or let it pass? He’d spoken to her often enough with those gold-green eyes, but he’d yet to put words to his thoughts.
Maybe Letty’s warning had been right all along—that she allowed herself to be carried off the pathway of truth and into a world of romantic nonsense.
Chapter 14
Josiah pulled Rena to a stop in front of Hobson’s Mercantile. That blasted stagecoach rattled all the smooth words from his mind that he’d planned to say to Corra. Words he’d hoped might make her consider staying on after Beatrice’s visit. In a more permanent capacity.
He reined in his irritation and lifted Corra from the wagon seat, catching the pleasant blush it brought to her face. He preferred that method of helping her down, and he would take every opportunity he got. In a fit of genteel manners, he offered his elbow and she took it. They crossed the boardwalk to the door, and she stopped and looked up at him.
“Would you mind picking up the few items I have on this list?” She pulled a slip of paper from her small bag and handed it to him. “I would so appreciate every moment I can spare to visit with Letty.”
And he would so appreciate spending the rest of his days with her beside him at the ranch. “No trouble at all.”
She touched his arm with that fiery hand of hers. “Thank you.” Then she left him standing there with his gullet full of words he couldn’t say and his heart stampeding through his chest.
Inside, Hobson greeted him as always and quickly filled the order before gathering the mail. “Got another letter for you from Missouri. I reckon you got kin there?”
Hobson raised his brows with the question, and Josiah stared him down. Wasn’t any of the man’s business who wrote to him or didn’t. And recognizing that tight, perfect handwriting didn’t exactly put him in a good humor. He shoved the letter in his vest, paid the bill, and loaded the wagon.
The sun angled across the road, leaving the wagon in the shade of Hobson’s store, so Josiah climbed up to wait and opened Beatrice’s letter. Her change in plans dropped his heart to his feet. Hands shaking, he folded the letter and stuffed it back in his vest. The woman’s news bore down on him like an early snowstorm, blinding him and leaving him cold and shivering with rage. He shouldn’t hate her. It was his Christian duty not to. But he’d not let her bust up his family. He balled his fists and prayed that Corra had instilled her ways into Jess enough to impress the old so-and-so. She’d certainly instilled her ways into him.
Corra left the boardinghouse and Letty feeling a bit homesick—for the Hanacker’s ranch. After sharing more details than allowed during their very public visits at church each Sunday, pride bloomed in her breast over Jessica and her family. Especially her father. By the time Corra kissed a tearful Letty good-bye and climbed into the wagon, she was overflowing with gratitude for what the Lord had allowed her to do. She would hold these few weeks as the most precious of her life and try not to long for more from Josiah than he could give. Fighting down the urge to link her arm in his as they made the edge of town, she looked up to see his dear face set like a stone.
Not one word did he say on the long ride back, and he kept the mare at a clipping pace. Corra bounced more than ever, but she’d not ask him to slow down. The man was driven with tension. It seeped through the cotton fabric of his shirtsleeve like heat from the cookstove.
At the ranch, the joyful welcome from Jessica and Joe and even Pop swelled her heart, but not a smile crossed Josiah’s cold features. She did her best to brighten conversation around the supper table that evening, but telltale glances from the children and Pop confirmed her fears. Something had gone horribly wrong. What had she done to upset him?
After clearing the supper dishes, Jessica sat close to Corra’s reading chair, clearly anticipating more from the story of Esther. Joe and Pop also waited expectantly, but Josiah went outside. Corra’s heart shrank with loss.
She cut her reading short, ending with, “And if I perish, I perish.” Closing her Bible, she took a chance. “Pop, would you mind saying an evening prayer for us, since Josiah is outdoors and… and…”
“Sure thing, Miss Corra.”
“Pa’s got his hackles up about something.” Joe uncrossed his long legs and stretched them
out in front of him as he gave her a quick look. “Anything happen in town?”
Corra let out a deep sigh. “Not that I know of. Everything seemed just fine on the ride in, other than the passing stage I mentioned earlier. But after he picked me up at the boardinghouse, he didn’t say a word. And not a word all the way home.”
“Nor at the table, either.” Jessica pulled a braid over her shoulder and twirled the end in her fingers.
“That much more reason to pray.” Pop scooted to the edge of his rocker, folded his bent hands, and bowed his head. “Thank You, Lord, for this ranch and this family and this fine woman You sent to share with us from the Good Book. Jerk the slack out o’ Josiah or heal up the hole in his heart. Amen.”
Corra rolled her lips around an exclamation. In all her life she’d not heard such a pointed and heartfelt prayer.
Joe took out for the barn, Jessica and Pop went to their rooms, and Corra stayed seated, searching for what she should do. She didn’t want to make things worse, but patty-footing around the issue would be as bad as working with a broken fingernail. Better to take the situation in hand and dispense with it. She walked out to the porch.
Josiah sat in the rocker, arms on his knees, a letter in one hand. An oil lamp on the boards beside him cast a frightful shadow across his features when he looked up. Tamping down her dread, Corra knelt by the rocker.
“Bad news?” Honestly, had she no wit? Before she could improve her comment, he spoke in a tight, controlled voice.
“Beatrice will be here next week.”
Chapter 15
Corra forced air into her lungs. Josiah handed her the letter, offering her the chair. Instead, she settled on the edge of the porch and pulled the lamp closer. Josiah leaned against the railing as she read.
No wonder he despised Jessica’s aunt. The woman had recently married and would be arriving in less than a fortnight. She and her husband would take a room at the boardinghouse and hire a buggy to the ranch.
Corra folded the letter. Everything she’d ever learned screamed at her to not do what she intended. But she stilled the warnings, pushed to her feet, and laid a hand on Josiah’s chest. He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. The pounding of his heart said everything. And the strength of his embrace convinced Corra that with the Lord’s help, she and Josiah and his family could weather any storm. Even the blustering threats of Aunt Beatrice.
In the next few days, Corra reviewed what she and Jessica had accomplished. They discussed private matters that left the girl blushing, but Corra insisted she be prepared. Her evening readings in Esther set a wistful look in Jessica’s eyes, as if the story of the young queen stirred a challenge in her own heart.
One late morning while she and Jessica helped Pop weed the garden and pull carrots, Joe came tearing into the yard as if chased by Comanches. He leaped from his horse and ran up to the deer fence. Several panting breaths escaped as he pointed back down the road toward Ford Junction.
“Buggy… coming… man and woman.”
Corra bunched her carrot-laden apron and hurried through the post and wire gate. “Jessica, go inside and wash, then change into your Sunday dress.”
Without a word of argument, the girl flew to the house.
“Joe, your father is somewhere in the far pasture. Find him. Tell him. And both of you come back as fast as you can.”
He pulled himself to the horse’s back.
“Wait! How far away are they? How much time do you think we have?”
“Quarter hour, maybe.”
“Go.”
Corra hiked her skirt and ran inside. Oh, Lord, have mercy. Remind Jessica of all the things I tried to teach her. Please don’t let this family be torn apart.
She dumped the carrots in a wash pan, scrubbed her face and hands, and hurried to her room to change. Jessica came in for help with the buttons on her blue dress. The girl stood silently, so compliant that under different circumstances, Corra would have thought her ill or fevered. She combed out the long gold braids and plaited the hair into one thick rope woven through with a blue ribbon saved for a special occasion. If this were not such an occasion, Corra didn’t know what was. Then she turned Jessica around and stooped, meeting her eye to eye.
“Remember, Jess, be yourself. You don’t have to be anyone else. Just like Esther was herself, yet still won the king’s heart. But be your lady self. For your pa. He loves you more than you can imagine.”
Jess blinked her blue saucer eyes and nodded soberly. “I’ll do my best. I don’t want to go live with Aunt Beatrice. I want to stay here with Pa and you.”
Corra swallowed her emotions and pulled Jessica in for a quick hug then set her back and bloused her skirt. “You look lovely. And I know you will do just fine. Let’s get dinner on.”
Weeks of routine drew the two into a pleasant rhythm, and they worked as if it were a normal midday meal and not one with life-changing implications. Jessica took a cooled pie from the windowsill and set it on the counter, slicing it into eight narrow pieces. Corra pulled her pot roast from the oven and lifted the lid to fill the house with the mouthwatering aroma. Garden vegetables ringed the tender meat. Jessica scooped them into a serving bowl, and Corra made gravy. They both jumped at the loud knock.
Jessica squared her thin shoulders and went to the door. Corra held her breath, regretting that she’d been so busy she hadn’t caught sight of the approaching buggy. She patted perspiration from her forehead with her apron hem. Lord, please, let this house not be divided.
The woman who entered with a flurry of skirt and hankie and heavy perfume had to be Beatrice. A thin spectacled man with slicked-back hair followed.
Corra stepped forward. “I am Miss Jameson, the Hanacker’s summer housekeeper and cook. You must be Jessica and Joe’s aunt Beatrice. So happy to make your acquaintance.” She regretted the polite lie until the woman raised her chin and looked down her nose. Corra continued, unruffled. “You and your husband are just in time for dinner.”
Beatrice offered a mean grip in reply, which Corra happily met with her own work-strengthened hand and a prim smile. Boots outside on the porch announced Joe and Josiah.
“Aunt Beatrice, won’t you be seated here at the table.” Jessica drew a chair back. “Miss Corra is right. We are about to have dinner. And I made the pie. I hope you like it.” Jessica curtsied before the man who hadn’t said a word, nor been introduced by his wife. “So pleased to make your acquaintance, sir.”
Corra could have kissed Jessica right there in front of the uppity woman and her speechless husband, but she slid into the background and tended to her duties. Josiah and Joe washed up and went to Joe’s bedroom to comb their hair with something other than their fingers.
Jessica set the table to perfection, and even Joe put on extra manners. Pop raised their guests’ brows with his typically bold-faced manner, but Josiah kept his eyes on his plate for most of the meal. Corra felt obligated to keep the conversation light. Beatrice had no such compunction.
“Jessica, my dear, I know you must miss your mother terribly. I have a rambling home in St. Louis that I would love to have you share. You could have your choice of rooms with a marble bathing tub and a lovely dressing table. And speaking of dresses, I know the best seamstresses in the city.” She paused for a breath and took the opportunity to scrutinize the blue calico. With a sniff and a tsk, she returned to her more than hearty helping of roast beef and endless diatribe over “unfortunate frontier fashions.”
Corra squelched her anger and schooled her face into civil deadpan. Unless her imagination had gotten the better of her, Josiah was grinding his teeth as he chewed. Jessica ignored her aunt and reached for the biscuits, garnering a wink from Pop.
By the time Jessica served her rhubarb pie, Beatrice was winding up for another round.
“Well, it’s settled, then. You will come with us this afternoon when we leave for town. I am sure it will take only a moment to pack your quaint dresses—” The woman’s fork stopped i
n midair as she cast a horrified expression at Jessica. “You do have more than one dress, don’t you?”
Josiah’s fist hit the table and the dishes rattled. Corra jumped to her feet and reached for the pie tin. “Please, Mr., uh, sir, would you care for the last piece of pie? I do believe Jessica outdid herself this time.”
“Thank you, Miss Jameson.” He tipped his head toward Jessica. “And yes, Jessica, it appears you have become quite the baker. And a lovely young lady, I might add.”
Beatrice blanched, and Corra feared she would stab her new husband with the flatware. Jessica beamed and went to the stove. “Coffee, anyone?”
As Jessica played hostess, Corra gathered dinner plates and set cream on the table. Her fingers ached to rub the knots from Josiah’s shoulders bunching visibly beneath his cotton work shirt. Instead, she returned to her chair and added sugar to her coffee.
A wordless exchange between Beatrice and her husband slumped the woman’s shoulders. Perhaps the little man had more starch than it appeared.
Beatrice took tiny bites of her pie and failed to hide her pleasure at its flavor. Blinking rapidly, she laid her fork aside. “It appears, Jessica, that you have retained much of what your dear departed mother instilled in you.”
Corra let the hard words run off her shoulders. She needed no commendation.
Disappointment dripped from the hard planes of the woman’s face, but she gathered herself. “I shall expect at least two letters a year from each of you children. I do not want to lose touch with my only relations.” It must have been the break in her voice that sent Josiah into a coughing fit, but Beatrice ignored him and pinned Jessica and Joe with watery blue eyes until they nodded their consent.
“Very well, then.” Beatrice rose, insisting she and her husband return before dark. Though relieved to see them go, Corra wondered what route they could possibly take that would spend the long sunny hours of an August afternoon before landing them five miles down the road in Ford Junction.
The Cowboy’s Bride Collection: 9 Historical Romances Form on Old West Ranches Page 43