They rode behind her until she reached the store and let herself in. The exhausting day had taken its toll on her mind and body. She extinguished the lamps and wearily climbed the stairs.
How much more chaotic could things get? Thank goodness Jonathon had gone to the Kincaids’, where he had a friend and someone to feed him a hot supper. Abby wouldn’t have been up to it. She’d eaten only a few bites of the charred flapjacks and sausage Sam had prepared at lunchtime. Now she forced herself to eat some cheese with a chunk of bread, and washed it down with warm broth.
She hadn’t seen Dilly that evening, so she assumed he’d gone to the ranch with Jonathon. She double-checked all the rooms and opened the back door to look out over the alley just to make sure.
She barely got out of her clothes before her head hit the pillow and she slept.
The following morning, she’d pulled herself from bed and was staring at her tangled hair in the mirror when a knock sounded on the outside door.
She pulled on her wrapper and padded to the kitchen. “Who is it?”
“Me, Mama!”
Abby threw open the door. Dilly bounded in ahead of Jonathon, snow clinging to his fur. Zeke followed Jonathon, giving her a shy smile, and Brock brought up the rear. He had his arms filled with a wooden crate, which he set on the table.
Abby hugged Jonathon and grabbed a towel for the floor.
“I’ve come to help you today,” Brock told her.
She blinked up from the pile of slush she was mopping. “Help me what?”
“Whatever you need. There’s breakfast in there.” He pointed to the crate. “I’ll heat water so you can have a bath.”
Even though the thought of a hot bath was delightful, the idea of him preparing it seemed all wrong.
“I’ll go down and get the stove hot, open the store, do whatever Sam usually does, while you take some time to yourself. The boys will come with me, and I’ll send them off to school.”
She stood and clutched the front of her wrapper. “I couldn’t possibly let you do all that.”
She remembered her disheveled hair and raised a hand self-consciously. Knowing how she looked and remembering what had happened the last time they’d been together, hot embarrassment rose in her chest.
“Well, you’re going to have to let me, because I don’t see how you’ll stop me without causing a scene in front of the boys.”
The children he referred to had tromped into Jonathon’s bedroom and were emitting horse noises.
“It’s so…so wrong,” she managed to say.
“For someone to offer a hand? The way I hear it, you spent the whole day helping Mary Rowland yesterday, and half the night taking care of Mr. Waverly—”
“I didn’t take care of him, really.”
“You’re tired and need a little time to yourself. Everyone can use a hand sometimes, Abby. It’s no disgrace. I’m going to heat water while you eat this food.”
He placed covered dishes on the table.
“Ruth sent this?”
He nodded and held out a chair.
Abby acquiesced and took a seat. The potatoes and some kind of meat casserole were barely warm, but delicious, and she indulged her appetite.
The whole time Brock filled her tin tub, she imagined him thinking of her bathing in it, and couldn’t meet his eyes. Finally, he had it filled and called to the boys.
“Don’t come down until you’re rested,” he told her. “I don’t care if it takes all day.”
“How will you know how to run the store?” she asked.
“I’ll figure it out. Come on, boys.”
“Bye, Mama.” Jonathon kissed her cheek and followed Brock into the hallway. Their boots thudded down the inside stairs.
Abby locked both doors, removed her nightgown and got into the steamy tub of water. It felt wonderful to her aching body. She never filled it this full herself, because filling and emptying it was such a chore.
An hour later, she sat before the heater, drying her hair, feeling drowsy and pampered. How positively indulgent to sit here like this when the store was open below. She’d never before had the luxury. Intending to merely rest her eyes, she woke an hour later, sat up on the divan and stretched. How many customers had seen Brock working in her store by now?
Dressed in a fresh dress and apron, her clean hair neatly braided, she descended the stairs. The floor had been swept, she noticed right off, and the strong smell of coffee wafted through the building.
Following the sound of men’s voices, she discovered Brock and Harry Talbert in a discussion near the stove. One foot on a chair, leaning forward with his elbow on his knee, Brock held a cup and gestured with the other hand.
Her steps alerted them, and Harry turned first. “Held the store down for ya, Mizz Abby.”
Brock turned an appreciative gaze, and she hoped her blush wasn’t visible. “Thank you.”
“It’s thawing,” Harry told her.
Abby glanced at the front windows, where the sun shone weakly. “What have you heard?”
“It’s a Chinook,” Brock told her. “Thaw and rain in the forests in the high country.”
“Should we sandbag?” she asked with a worried frown.
“River is brown and muddy, but not overfull,” he replied. “I think we’ll have another snow before the week’s out. We won’t have a real thaw until April.” He stood and emptied his mug, then hung it on a peg. “Sam will be back to work tomorrow.”
She had sorely missed Sam’s help, but she knew Mary didn’t have family.
“Mary’s going to have someone in to help her for several hours each day,” Brock said, as if reading her thoughts.
“Really?” Abby asked curiously.
“Brock’s sister-in-law found a girl from the reservation,” Harry told her.
Abby studied Brock’s placid expression, but if he’d had a part in finding help for the Rowlands, he said nothing. He met her gaze evenly. Disturbingly sensual thoughts came to Abby, and she looked away.
Harry got up from his chair. “Need a couple of bolts while I’m here.” He hitched up his trousers and ambled off toward the back of the store.
“The boys got off to school just fine,” Brock told her.
“Thanks.” She didn’t know what to say to him. “And thank you for watching the store while I rested. I do appreciate the thought.”
“I’ll be going if you think you’ll get by for the rest of the day.”
“Yes, of course. You’ve done plenty. More than I would have expected.”
He settled his hat on his head and shrugged into his coat. “I’m going to dump your bathwater, and then I’ll be gone.”
She nodded and watched him stride toward the back. She just hadn’t had the energy to be angry with him that day.
Brock had been right. By the end of the week another snowfall had covered the landscape. The air turned bitterly cold once again, and as luck would have it, calving began. The first-timers had been kept in the corrals, and they got them over first, whisking the newborns out of the cold into the barns by wheelbarrow before their ears could freeze. There, their ears would be bandaged prior to sending them back out to their mothers.
They were coming about twenty a day, giving the ranch hands barely time to rest and handle the other chores in between, so for another week, Brock didn’t make it back to town. He would have loved for Jonathon to see this.
Brock watched one slippery young calf come into the world, steam rising into the cold air, and thought how his son would have reacted. Helping the cow clean her baby quickly, he bundled the calf for a ride to the barn. The miracles of nature never failed to humble and amaze him, and his thoughts quite naturally turned to Abby, helping Sam’s wife give birth. Not for the first time, he regretted not knowing about his son, not being there for the miracle of his tiny life as it came into the world.
Who had helped Abby? Had it been a long labor? A difficult or easy birth? Had Jed been at her side? An ache consumed Brock at the tho
ught. Had she thought of him? Cursed him, no doubt.
Brock tied a bandanna around the cow’s right front leg so he could identify her when he returned the calf, and pushed the wheelbarrow across the rutted, frozen earth to the barn.
That night he sat at the table in the bunkhouse, the oil lamps lit against the night, and listened to the snores of the sleepers and the weary talk of those eating in shifts. This was a good life, a life he could tuck into and enjoy if, like Caleb, he had a warm bed and a wife to go home to at night.
How could Abby proceed with her plans to marry Matthews? Brock hadn’t planned what had happened between them to make her change her mind, but it should have. Lord, it should have. How could she deny the pull between them? How could she shrug it off as a mistake or a physical act that meant nothing? He’d thought of it every day. And every night. Along with every other confusing thing about Abby.
Belatedly, he chastised himself for getting carried away with his desire for her. The last thing he needed was to plant a baby inside her and have her marry another man again—this time right in front of him. How could he have been so reckless? A tiny, nagging voice told him a baby would trap her, would make her his, but he knew better.
Even if she chose to tell him, which she quite likely would not, that didn’t mean she would suddenly change her mind about him. And even if she did, he didn’t want her that way.
He wanted her, but he wanted her to come to him because she cared for him.
What more could he do? Maybe drastic measures were called for. Finishing his meal and taking a turn on a narrow cot for a few winks, he let his plans take shape.
It had been nearly two weeks since Abby had seen Brock. Everett had come over for dinner twice, but he’d never mentioned the kissing incident. The whole time she was with him, she strained not to compare him to Brock. When she was alone, thinking and planning, she could make this impending marriage seem more plausible, because Everett was just an idea then; but when she spent time in his company, a growing uneasiness invaded her peace of mind and her confidence. She would remember the kiss, and his reaction and her reaction, and her stomach would tighten.
Since it was Saturday, and fairly nice weather, she had a steady stream of customers. By late afternoon business dropped off, and Sam swept the floor. Through the panes of glass, Abby watched Jonathon build a snowman on the corner of the dock.
A gray horse and rider appeared, leading a black horse with a rope, and Abby recognized Brock immediately.
Even wearing his long coat, he dismounted in a fluid motion and tied the reins to the post at the corner of the dock below Jonathon. Her son waddled over in his layers of winter clothing. Brock tipped his hat to the back of his head and looked up.
He gestured to the horse in tow.
Jonathon jumped up and down and nearly fell off the edge of the wooden structure. Brock steadied him and then lowered him to the ground. A minute later, he lifted the boy to the saddle on the horse’s back and grinned up.
Abby got a bad feeling in the pit of her belly. What was going on? Grabbing an old coat, she slipped into it and stepped outside, wary of her footing on the icy dock.
Jonathon saw her approach. “Mama! Look! Brock gave me a horse! A horse of my very own! I can even name him! Ain’t he purdy?”
The fact that the word horse had come from her son’s lips without a lisp surprised her more than the manipulative deed Brock had executed.
“Where will you keep this horse of yours?” she asked, careful not to say he couldn’t have it and therefore alienate him.
“He can stay at Brock’s ranch and I can thee him there! Ain’t that grand?”
“That’s just grand,” she replied without enthusiasm.
“Can I ride him now?” Jonathon asked.
“Have you ridden alone before?” Brock asked.
“No, but I can do it. I know I can.”
“You need a little practice first,” Brock told him. “Just for safety. I’ll walk you down the street.”
Jonathon’s expression fell.
Brock took the reins and led the sad-faced boy on the shiny black gelding away from the store.
The wind bit into Abby’s cheeks and made her eyes water, but she watched until they returned.
“Brock thays I can come to the ranch for the night. Can I, Mama? Please?”
“Why don’t you join us for the evening?” Brock’s tone sounded deceptively innocent. “You’d probably like some time away for a change, right? We can pop some corn by the fireplace.”
Jonathon’s expression pleaded for her to concede.
“Do you have a wagon?” she asked, fearing she knew the answer.
He shook his head. “You haven’t forgotten how to ride, have you?” he asked. “You and Jonathon can ride together.”
“Thay yes, Mama! Thay yes!”
“I have a few things to do before I can close the store.” She gestured lamely behind her.
“We’ll help.” Brock reached for Jonathon and placed him back on the dock before tying the horse beside his and sprinting around to the stairs to meet them at the door. “That’s a fine-looking snowman you made there, partner.”
Delegating the tasks, and running upstairs to change and get extra warm clothing, Abby delved deep inside herself, desperately seeking the anger that she needed to get her through this.
This horse was another ploy by Brock to worm his way into Jonathon’s life, and maybe even into hers. Denying a boy his father would be wrong, she had started to realize, but before she could sort anything out in her head, the man was always coming up with something else. There was no way Brock could acknowledge Jonathon as his son and she could save face at the same time.
Her hurt and her anger had served her well in reinforcing the protective shell she’d drawn around herself and her son. She’d fended the man off with torrents of nasty words and scathing looks and disapproval—the one exception being that solitary physical encounter, which had set her on her ear emotionally.
Perhaps she was just plain weary of the animosity. Maybe he’d beaten down her defenses until nothing remained but resignation. Otherwise, why would she be going with him? She had used her brother as an excuse for so long that she hadn’t faced the truth of her real reasons for holding a grudge. Guy had been the obvious excuse. Brock’s desertion had been the true cause of her resentment, and now she could admit she’d played a part in his leaving.
Sam went home and Abby locked the store. Brock steadied the horse, while she and Jonathon mounted from the dock, Jonathon in front of her in the saddle. She pulled a blanket around them, covered her face with her scarf, checked Jonathon’s wraps and nudged the horse after Brock’s.
“She’s a fine horse, ain’t she, Mama?”
“She’s a he,” Brock told him.
“He is a dandy horse,” Abby replied.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d ridden. After growing up on a ranch, she found the rhythm came back quite naturally. She had forgotten how much she enjoyed the experience.
Brock guided them toward his family home. “How’s Mr. Waverly?” he asked.
“He seems just fine. He was at the store most of this morning. Told me his nephew actually came and visited him while he was in bed at the boardinghouse.”
“Heard there was a family feud of some sort there,” Brock replied.
“Look at all them baby cowth!” Jonathon cried, pointing with a mittened hand.
“Those are calves,” Brock said. His collar was pulled up over the lower half of his face, but his eyes sparkled with amusement.
“But they’re baby cowth, ain’t they?” Jonathon asked.
“Yes,” Abby explained, “but they’re called calves.”
“How come thome of ’em have tape on their ears?”
“Those are the newest ones,” Brock told him. “The wrap is to keep their ears from freezing and disfiguring them.”
“My ears won’t freeth, will they?”
“That’s w
hy I tell you to wear your cap and scarf,” Abby told him. “Ears and fingers and toes can get frostbite.”
“Noses and cheeks, too,” Brock added. He proceeded to tell Jonathon about the calving season that had just passed, sharing the experience in such a way that even Abby found it fascinating, and she’d grown up with it.
The discussion continued as they neared the house, where steady streams of welcoming smoke spiraled from the chimneys. A ripple of apprehension waffled through Abby’s stomach. What would Caleb and Ruth think of her coming to the ranch with Brock?
“You can head into the kitchen and get warm, while I put up the horses,” he told her.
“Couldn’t we—um—help you with the horses?” she asked.
“Sure.” He led the way to one of the barns, where he did most of the work, while Abby and Jonathon stood by. A ranch hand showed up and offered to finish the task, and after thanking him, Brock guided them to the house.
Ruth turned from the stove and spotted Jonathon first. “Zeke will be pleased to see you! He’s been asking me all afternoon to put together a puzzle with him, and I’ve been baking.”
She peeled a checkered cloth back from a golden-crusted pie. “Do you like apple?”
“I love apple pie!” Jonathon assured her, shrugging out of his coat.
“Abby!” Ruth dropped the cloth into place and wiped her hands on her apron. “What a nice surprise! Have you come for supper, I hope?”
“Abby came for a change of scenery,” Brock told her with good humor in his voice. “She’s here in time for supper, too.” He took her coat and Jonathon’s and hung them up.
A metal clang echoed through the room, and Abby glanced around to spot baby Barton sitting before a cupboard, a sea of enamel pans surrounding him.
“It keeps him out of mischief for a short while,” Ruth explained.
“Entertaining Jonathon safely in the store was a challenge at that age,” Abby remarked. “Jed built a gate at both ends of a counter, so I could corral him.”
Ruth smiled.
Abby realized suddenly that Brock had grown unnaturally still at her mention of Jed, but when she glanced at him, his stoic expression revealed nothing.
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