The ram was the last of them and didn’t take to being sheared any better than the others. Aaron figured he deserved this for wanting so badly to see Kylie. He should’ve just let these contrary women have at their shearing, but he’d said he’d help and he’d be bruised for two weeks, thanks to his big mouth.
He snagged the feisty ram and dragged it into the fast-moving river, where he, fully dressed, began soaping the animal up. After the river had rinsed the ram clean, he hugged it against him and hauled it dripping wet over to a grassy pen. Shannon stood waiting beside the pen, also dripping wet from all the sheep that had shook the water out of their hides. She held her shears ready.
Bailey stood back, scowling.
They’d developed a system that had worked pretty well. Kylie herded a sheep to the water’s edge. Aaron grabbed it, wrestled it into the water, soaped it up and rinsed it. Afterward he carried it to Shannon.
It gave him some pleasure to watch her get soaked as each sheep shook its wool somewhat dry.
Yet Shannon didn’t seem to mind. She just laughed, her eyes bright and smiling. All that affection, and it was all for her sheep.
Once she was done shearing, Bailey caught the fleece and rolled it up. Meanwhile Kylie herded in another sheep.
It was like clockwork with sheep slobber.
Aaron envied Kylie her part of the job, which left her hands and clothes as clean as a mountain breeze.
Shannon was drenched and coated in wool fluff and had taken a few cloven hooves to the gut.
And Bailey had a tough job bundling the small fleeces into a roll, as the sheep weren’t ready to be sheared. Though Aaron knew little about sheep, he knew that much. Shannon had herself admitted she’d sheared them already in the spring.
The skimpy amount of wool made the bundles fall apart, so that when it was over, Bailey was so tufted she looked more sheep than woman.
But Aaron had come out the worst. He looked like he’d been shoved over a waterfall, then run over by a sheep stampede, which actually described the last hour pretty well. Normally he’d have stripped off his shirt to keep it dry, but he wasn’t about to do that with three women watching. So he was soaked to the skin with nothing to do about it but let the air dry him, clothes and all.
Shannon tossed the last fleece to Bailey and then gave the cantankerous short-haired old ram a hug. Aaron looked at Bailey and rolled his eyes. She smiled, then quickly made her lips into a line again.
Aaron and Bailey saw eye to eye on a surprising number of things, including their dislike of sheep and thinking Shannon had a strange way of behaving toward animals.
“We got done in half the time, thanks to you, Mr. Masterson.” Despite tricking him into this, Shannon had thanked him graciously several times.
“Considering I’ve got bruises in the shape of sheep hooves forming over half my body, I think you can call me Aaron.” He picked up his boots and holster and everything else he’d shed when, in horror, he realized what his offer of help was going to amount to.
Shannon grinned. “I think you’ve earned yourself some coffee and a slice of pound cake, Aaron.” She glanced at her sisters. “All of you have. I’d have been days doing this alone, and the three of us would never have gotten it done in one morning. Now we’re done early enough I can help you a lot this afternoon, Bailey. I can fix dinner if you’ve a mind to eat a bit early. I’ve got eggs and cheese and I baked bread just yesterday.”
“I put a venison roast on this morning, Shannon.” Bailey began brushing off the tufts of wool on her clothes. “When a woman works her heart out for fifteen hours a day, she needs a little meat to give her strength.”
As they walked toward the house, Aaron asked, “How’d you talk with Erica to sell the wool? Are you saying you saw her face-to-face and she came away from that thinking you’re a man?”
Shannon’s cheeks turned pink. “Um . . . well, no. There was a note tacked on my front door. I figured I’d just take the wool in myself, but you’ve got me worried about my disguise. So I’ve been wondering, Aaron, if you wouldn’t mind delivering it for me and also fetch my money.”
“And while you’re there, I’ve got a list of groceries I need,” Bailey said.
The women looked a little . . . well, Aaron had to say it. They both looked sheepish. “Of course I’ll do that for you, but keeping my mouth shut about you being women is not the same as taking on the job of helping you hide. I’ve got work of my own to do, you know.”
“Thank you.” Shannon smiled that pretty smile of hers.
Kylie patted him on his soggy arm.
Aaron figured he’d probably do about anything they asked.
They got to Shannon’s cabin, bigger than Kylie’s, smaller than Bailey’s and like the other two, very well built. “Did you ladies build these cabins yourselves?”
Shannon waved them to her table while she headed for the coffeepot hanging from a hook in the fireplace.
Bailey threw him a towel, then went outside and washed in a basin. When Aaron was as dry as he was going to get, he pulled on his boots and sat down. He noticed Shannon had four chairs, not two like Kylie. He wondered if that meant this house was more the family gathering spot.
Bailey came back in with clean hands and face, looking only slightly less woolly, and sat down.
“Bailey does the building.” Shannon poured coffee as they settled in.
“Shannon does the detail work and the furniture.” Bailey picked up her cup and slouched back in her chair, her legs splayed and her hair short. She moved in a manly way most of the time, with long strides, shoulders squared. But Aaron saw her delicate hands and the fine bones of her face and gave a mental shake.
Shannon brought a cake, shaped into a loaf, and began slicing it. “Kylie helps us with everything and makes it pretty.”
Kylie laughed. “I do if you two will give me time. You need curtains in here, Shannon. And Bailey, if you’d plant flowers out front of your cabin—”
“Stop with the flowers.” Bailey cut her off, but she did it good-naturedly.
Aaron wasn’t sure if they’d welcome it, but he was so curious about their war service he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “You really fought in the war? You were in battles? How did you survive it? I know you dressed as men but—”
“We got spread far and wide,” Bailey said, cutting him off, frowning into her cup, “mainly because we enlisted at different times. I’d hoped me going was enough for Pa. When Jimmy died, he worked us all into a fever. All I could think of was fighting in his place. Getting revenge on the Rebs, who killed my brother. I knew later that Pa had stirred all that up in me, and at the time I was in full agreement with him.”
“Bailey told us she’d fight for the family,” Shannon said quietly. “Pa was prodding all of us, but she didn’t want anyone else to go. She said she’d carry the name into war for the family. I was all worked up too, though not as eager to fight as Bailey. After she left, Pa kept at me until I wanted in. I delayed a year. I was too young, but that’s not what stopped me. I hated leaving Kylie. She needed someone there to buffer things between her and Pa.”
Kylie smiled like someone who was so used to a sad tale it was simply an old memory now. “Pa liked Jimmy best, and he always goaded us to help outside and not dally with foolish womanly ways. I gave him the most trouble. Part of it was just liking dresses and staying to the house, but there was more. Bailey would take him on, be all direct. Fight him toe-to-toe.”
Bailey jerked a shoulder in a smug way. “I never was much afraid of the old coot.”
“Shannon was a sneak.”
With a casual two-fingered salute, Shannon said, “And proud of it. I learned to agree with him and then go do as I pleased mostly. I think there’s a Bible story about that. The son who agreed to help, then didn’t, and the son who refused to help and then did. I’m pretty sure I’m on the wrong side of that story, but then so is Pa if he thinks I’m his son.”
“I did my best to charm him out
of his nonsense to the extent anyone could.” Kylie acted mighty proud of that. “I learned to trick a smile out of him and make his favorite foods.”
“You should see her bat those eyelashes when she wants her way,” Bailey said dryly.
Aaron looked at Kylie. “I think I’ve come under fire from those lashes.”
Kylie just smiled. She got up and refilled their cups.
“About the war, I know what the enlisted men lived like, the close quarters, no privacy. And the battles. To imagine a woman enduring that is beyond comprehension.”
That shut them all up, and Aaron remembered the way Bailey had cut him off. It wasn’t because she was eager to talk; it was because she wanted to talk about something else. The somber look on their faces made Aaron regret bringing it up.
Finally, Bailey said quietly, “My only answer to that is . . . how does anyone endure it? When in a battle, how is my being a woman any different than the man beside me. The fear is so big that being a woman or man doesn’t matter. Maybe some women are weaker than some men, more easily frightened, but this isn’t a little thing, like being startled by a mouse or jumping when you see a snake. This is different. This is a monstrous kind of terror. Exploding cannons, flying bayonets. Severed limbs and reloading rifles while lead whizzes past your face. How much sooner would a woman run from battle than a man? All I know is I never did.”
“None of us did,” Shannon added.
“I did my best to get out of it.” Kylie gave them all an impish grin. “I managed to become an aide to my commanding officer. I worked more with my head than a rifle.” The smile faded. “I didn’t avoid it all, though.”
“As for being in close quarters with the men,” Shannon said, “I found most of them to be as modest as I was. We didn’t bathe really, and we slept in the same clothes we fought in. It was common enough for a man to slip into the woods to find a private place to . . .” Shannon glanced at Aaron, clearing her throat. “To find the necessary. I did the same, and no one thought a thing of it.”
Aaron looked between the three women, each beautiful in her own way. While Kylie was the prettiest by far, the others were fine-looking women. For some reason it seemed important for him to know what they’d endured, as if by listening to their stories he could somehow help them. But they seemed neither to want nor need his help.
“Oh, and I solved the little problem of Kylie staying on her own,” Bailey said.
“You found a housekeeper?” Hadn’t Gage Coulter just said there was no such critter around?
“Yep.”
“Where?”
“She should be at my place today.”
“A woman, out here?”
“Yep.”
Aaron looked at Kylie, who asked a bit nervously, “Well, who is it?”
“She’s an outcast from the Shoshone tribe.”
“An Indian?”
“Yep.”
“You’re going to let a strange Indian woman move in with Kylie?” Aaron asked.
Bailey rolled her eyes. “You’re from Pennsylvania, aren’t you?”
“Virginia.”
“Same thing. You know nothing about Indians. I do. I’ve gotten to know them, and most especially this woman.”
“You’ve only been out here six months, and most of that was winter and you spent it snowed in. You think you know more about Indians than I do?”
“Yep.”
Aaron was getting tired of Bailey’s yep. “How well do you know her? Is she dangerous?”
Bailey gave him a disgusted look. “You think I’d arrange this if I thought for one moment Kylie would be in danger?”
“Who is she?”
“Her name is Sunrise. I’ve known her since I moved in last fall. She’s been married to a trapper from up in the hills for years and raised up a passel of kids with him, all grown now. But picking a white for a husband made her an outcast. Her husband died last winter, and she’s been living alone in a small cabin. I asked her if she’d come and stay with Kylie, and she said yes. She can help with everything. She can hunt and trap and sew. She chops wood faster than I do, and she’s a mighty tough woman. Sunrise can defend that cabin better than any of us.”
“Can I meet her first?” Kylie asked.
Aaron could see she was nervous. He didn’t blame her.
“She’ll be at my house when we get back. She’s bringing her own teepee, so you won’t have to find room for her in that puny cabin of yours.”
“That’s not what I mean. I mean can I meet her before I decide if I want her as a housekeeper?”
“I already told her she has the job.”
Aaron shook his head. Now he was going to have to ride back to Bailey’s. Then, because he wasn’t letting Kylie ride off with a stranger, Indian or otherwise, he’d probably just have to accept that he was gonna get roped into working at Bailey’s all afternoon and then ride with Kylie to her house and make his own decision about whether the new housekeeper would kill her in her sleep.
Confound it! He’d signed on as land agent. How had that turned into being caretaker to a bunch of women who couldn’t figure out how to dress and act and think like they oughta?
He had a job to do, a ranch to find and claim and build.
Instead, he was stuck baby-sitting these Wilde women.
13
Hush up, Bert.” Myra’s quiet command as she entered the room cut through Norbert’s moans of pain and shut him up.
A week had passed since Bert had been shot and she’d put it off until now, but Myra finally admitted the wound wasn’t going to heal without stitches. And of course it was going to be her job to set those stitches. The thought made her want to empty her stomach.
Archie sat on the floor of the tiny bedroom. There was no furniture, only two pallets where Bert and Archie slept.
Archie was a hand at getting them into trouble, but as always it fell to her to get them out of it.
She got them home after Bert was shot.
She scouted around and slipped them upstairs in secret.
She fashioned a tight bandage on Bert’s arm and went to work before her absence was noted.
Now she was going to have to deal with this bullet wound.
Bert lay in bed. The first few days they’d gotten Bert and Archie out the door early so they could spend the day in the woods hunting, as they usually did, which kept Mama from asking questions. But the doctoring Bert needed could no longer be put off.
Myra threaded a needle.
“No.” Bert slid toward the wall. “It’ll heal up on its own. Just keep a bandage on it.”
Myra looked at the cut again, then at Archie. “Have you got it?”
Nodding, Archie pulled a small bottle out of his shirt pocket. Laudanum. “This’ll ease the pain.”
Bert’s eyes went to the bottle. He’d had a taste for such things as whiskey and laudanum from a young age. Archie liked a swig of it himself, though there was no money for it mostly.
Looking at the bottle, Bert glanced at Myra with terror, then back at the small bottle. He licked his lips. Slowly he extended a shaky right hand; his left was curled against his stomach as he tried not to move that arm. “Yeah, a swallow or two should help.”
“Good, ’cuz we’ve gotta leave the stitching to Myra. We don’t dare ask Ma for help. There’d be too much explaining to do.”
“Don’t take too much,” Myra warned. She loved her brothers, but had no idea what to do with either of them. “You’ll need the rest, and the wound’s gonna hurt for a while.”
Bert took a swig. Too long a swig, but Myra let him. It’d be best if the poor fool went to sleep for this, because there was no way he could be quiet. And if he made too much noise and was found out, they might all be arrested.
Bert handed the bottle back.
Archie waited until Bert’s eyelids got heavy and then finally fell shut. Myra looked at Archie, her eyes shifting between him and the bottle. “Good. There’s still plenty left.”
A
rchie nodded. “He’ll probably be noisy when he wakes up. The laudanum will keep him quiet. We still got us a chance of driving off the Wilde woman.” Archie sounded smug, which was a plumb stupid way to act with Bert lying there wounded right in front of him. “If we can run her off that claim, Myra, then you can jump in and homestead it, then make a gift of it, along with yourself, to Coulter.”
Myra ran her hand deep into her wispy blond hair. She knew she was attractive enough to snare a man. Weren’t half the cowpokes in town sweet on her? It was just too bad that one of the first men she’d laid eyes on when her stepfather Bo Langley had moved them to Aspen Ridge this spring was Gage Coulter. From the first minute she’d seen him, she set her cap for him and no one else. She thought there was a spark of interest in Coulter’s eyes when they’d first met, and she’d done her best to fan that spark into a flame, but he never asked if he could come courting.
She figured this was because of his being busy with the short summer season, and she was calmly waiting until the man made his interest known.
And then she heard the rumors about Kylie Wilde, a woman Myra didn’t even know was in the area, and Coulter’s interest in her homestead. Finally, Myra discovered the way to Coulter’s heart.
Snaring him shouldn’t be hard, seeing as how this was the West. Women were so rare, a man would practically marry a copperhead if’n it wore a poke bonnet and could fry up decent corn pone. Myra had the bonnet, and she could cook better than decent.
If she married Gage Coulter, she’d take care of Archie and Bert, too. She’d see they got hired on with him. It stood to reason that Gage wouldn’t want the lazy louts around. But Myra was sure a wife could sway her husband.
She’d thought it would be simple to drive Wilde off, but they hadn’t figured on that land agent being there. And Myra sure hadn’t planned on the man firing back. Big war hero, Myra had heard. A man who was ready for trouble.
Their first try had failed, and Myra might’ve quit if Archie wasn’t so set on trying again. Archie had a mean streak, and if he got riled, Kylie might vanish and no one would ever think a thing of it. Indians, wolves—there were plenty of things that could be blamed.
Tried and True (Wild at Heart Book #1) Page 11