Do Not Forsake Me
Page 44
“Mr. Hunter, I would like to thank you. You certainly did not need to go out of your way to find these strays, but I am truly grateful that you did.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am.”
He ducked his head, and with all the shadows in the barn, she could not see if Amanda’s assessment of his eyes was correct. “I wonder if I might speak to you after you’ve finished here,” she added.
“I expect these men know a good deal more than I do about how to save this little guy, ma’am.” With his hat he gestured toward the doors and waited for her to lead the way. The problem was that Roger was between them and the door, observing every move she made—as usual. So she turned in the opposite direction, moving deeper into the shadows. The drifter hesitated, then followed her, and thankfully the rest of the men turned their attention back to the injured calf, discussing treatments and whether or not the little guy would make it.
“I believe you mentioned that you are looking for work, Mr. Hunter?”
He was still holding his hat, and he cocked his head to one side as he looked down at her. “You don’t call the others ‘mister.’ Why me?”
Rattled by his sudden switch in topic, Maria felt her cheeks flush and was glad for the protection of the shadows. From the corner of her eye she saw that Roger had moved closer and was now standing on the edge of the circle of men, pretending to give his advice on the calf, but Maria was not fooled. She decided to ignore the stranger’s question and get to the point.
“I would like to offer you the position of foreman for the Clear Springs Ranch, Mister…Chet.”
“You’re offering me work?”
“I am offering you the position of foreman.”
He leaned against a stall and crossed his arms over his chest. “And if I say I don’t want to be your foreman, what then?”
“Why would you turn me down?”
The late afternoon sun was coming in through gaps in the rafters and the light settled on his face. He grinned, and the way that smile relaxed his features made her look away. Amanda was right—sparkling eyes or not, this was one good-looking cowboy.
“Because, Miss Porterfield, I don’t want to be the boss of these men. Besides, they know what they need to do. They are all good at their jobs from what I’ve seen.”
“But they need direction.”
He uncrossed his arms and ran a hand through his thick hair. “Well now, from what I’ve been hearing, miss, that would be your job. You are in charge since your father died, right?” He glanced back toward the men—toward Roger. “On the other hand, maybe that guy has realized his mistake in leaving. Looks to me like he’s gotten right back into that saddle.”
He had a point. Roger was ordering the men around, raising his voice when they didn’t react with the speed he expected. “Excuse me a moment, Chet.” She headed back to where Roger stood over the calf. The other hands had scattered to do his bidding. “Exactly what do you think you’re doing, Mr. Turnbull?”
“Taking charge. Looks to me like somebody needs to.” This last he aimed directly at Chet.
“I am in charge,” she said quietly. Behind her, she heard Chet clear his throat and had the oddest feeling that he was offering his support—or perhaps his admiration. Either way, that gave her the strength she needed to stand her ground. In spite of her uncertainty about how she was going to keep this place that had been her father’s legacy from going bankrupt like so many other small neighboring ranches already had, she would not back down.
Roger cupped her cheek, and behind her she heard the drifter take a step in their direction. “Just go, Roger,” she said, lowering her voice so the others would not hear. Then she stepped away from him, breaking the contact. “You made your choice. Now please just go,” she repeated and walked past him and out into the yard. She hoped that neither man was aware that her knees were shaking so badly that walking was a new adventure.
* * *
She was quite a woman, this Maria Porterfield, Chet thought as he watched her walk across the yard and resume the task of hanging the wash. First she had stood up to him and then the guy who seemed to think his job as foreman carried with it certain side benefits when it came to his former boss’s daughter. Now that the boss’s daughter was in charge, that probably didn’t sit well with a man like Turnbull. From what Chet had observed, this was a man who was used to having his way.
Turnbull was watching him now, sizing him up. Neither man moved. Neither man blinked. It was a contest to see who would speak first. As far as Chet was concerned, it was not worth his time to play this game. He was tired and hungry. He jammed his hat in place and walked past Turnbull, nodding once before continuing on his way. Once he reached the yard, he wondered if he ought not to just keep on walking.
His horse’s reins were looped over the corral fence and Cracker was waiting as always for him to make a decision about what they would do next. That dog was the closest thing he had to a best friend, someone he could talk to and trust. Whatever decision he made, he had to do right by her. He had pretty much decided that whether he stayed or went, Cracker deserved her dinner and the horse could use a good brushing. He led the animal to one side of the stable. Some time later he was just finishing the grooming when he turned to find Maria clutching a bundle of laundry she’d evidently collected from the clothesline. The setting sun was behind him, and he knew she was having trouble seeing him clearly.
“Something you need, ma’am?”
“I believe I offered you a position. I need your decision.”
He swallowed, taking his time, hoping he wasn’t about to make a big mistake. “I’ll take the work—as a hand, not as your foreman.”
“I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to take a position that will pay more.”
He thought about everything that Eduardo had told him the night before. “It’s not my place to offer you advice, miss, but seems to me that Mr. Turnbull wants to come back. Don’t you think it might work out better for you having him here than over working for the Tiptons?”
Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. “Mr. Turnbull is none of your business. The question is will you stay on.”
He shrugged. “For a while.”
“I need people I can depend on, Chet.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She scowled up at him. “Does that mean I can trust you to be here when we need you?”
He allowed himself the pleasure of looking her over for a long moment. “Can’t say, ma’am. Only you can decide if you trust me or not. It means I’ll work hard for as long as I’m here.” He realized he was wearing his hat and snatched it off his head. “I do thank you for the chance to work, Miss Porterfield. I won’t let you down.”
She studied him for a long moment, squinting up into his eyes as if trying to decide whether or not to believe him. Then she brushed past him on her way back to the house. “We’ll see about that,” she muttered.
He slowly began to smile as he watched her go.
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About the Author
Award-winning novelist Rosanne Bittner is highly acclaimed for her thrilling love stories and historical authenticity. Her epic romances span the West—from Canada to Mexico, Missouri to California—and are often based on personal visits to each setting. She lives in Michigan with her husband Larry and near her two sons Brock and Brian, and three grandsons, Brennan, Connor, and Blake. You can learn much more about Rosanne and her books through her website at www.rosannebittner.com and her blog at www.rosannebittner.blogspot.com. Be sure to visit Rosanne on Facebook and Twitter!