by Linda Ford
Except it mattered far more than he wanted it to.
“Charlie, where have you been and what have you been doing since we last saw you?” Maisie asked.
“Been around.” He hung his head. “Tried to find work but no one wants to hire a half-breed.”
Levi refrained from pointing out the bottle was as much a hindrance for Charlie as his heritage.
“Not everyone feels that way,” Maisie soothed. She turned to Beatrice. “Tell us about your day, my dear.”
Beatrice chuckled, drawing Levi’s gaze to her, filling his mind with surprise and his heart with relief. He’d expected her to compete with Charlie for the worst day. “My day has been full of so many surprises I cannot begin to name them all. Being allowed the chance to do this job is an answer to prayer. Then I was rescued from the river by Levi. I am blessed beyond measure.” Her smile faded. “I apologize for the ruined meal. I found preparing it more difficult than I imagined.” She reached for Maisie’s hand. “And I thank you for being patient with me.”
Maisie looked pleased. “You’re welcome.”
When Maisie didn’t continue, Levi reminded her, “It’s your turn to tell about your day.”
“My blessings are self-evident. I was afraid I’d be lonely with Big Sam away, but here I sit with three young people at the table. How blessed I am.”
“You’re glad to see me?” Charlie asked, his tone indicating both doubt and longing.
“I’m always glad to see you. I hope you plan to stay a while.”
He grinned and pushed his longish hair off his face. “Maybe I will.”
If his cousin stayed it would keep him out of trouble. For some reason—perhaps their shared heritage—Levi always felt protective of Charlie. He looked at Beatrice to see if he could guess her feelings about Charlie being invited to stay. Their gazes collided. Her look went on and on. Challenging him. He wanted to say, Look after Maisie, make meals as best you can and leave my heart alone.
His heart? His heart had nothing to do with Beatrice. That thought was Maisie’s fault. It was she who had said he should listen to the call of his heart.
There would be no such call and even if there was, he would not hearken to it.
* * *
Beatrice didn’t realize how tense Levi made her until he and Charlie left the house again and a long sigh emptied her lungs.
“I’m a city girl, too.” Maisie’s voice brought Beatrice back to the here and now. “A teacher. I planned to teach in a girls’ school but when I saw an ad Big Sam had placed seeking someone to instruct his three boys, I changed my mind. The idea intrigued me. And I applied for the job. Big Sam demanded character references. He must have liked what my teacher and pastor said, as he said I got the job. My father wasn’t happy. He said it was a whim and I’d regret it.”
“Did you... Do you?” It amazed Beatrice to think of Maisie as a city girl.
“Not once. I fell in love with the boys immediately. They were wild and untamed. Big Sam had taken them with him everywhere after Seena died. I had my hands full teaching them manners and how to read and write. By Christmas, Big Sam and I were in love. How I love that man still.” She looked into the distance. “I hope he comes home soon. I miss him.” She gave a regretful chuckle. “He is not going to be happy to see what I’ve done to myself.”
“I’ll make sure you rest so you can heal as quickly as possible.” Beatrice prepared the water to wash the dishes.
“If you help me move closer I can dry,” Maisie said.
Beatrice would have refused but she heard the lonely tone of Maisie’s words. She pushed the chair and stool closer, then handed Maisie each dish as she washed it.
“Levi is very protective of me,” Maisie said. “So don’t mind him if he’s...” She waved her hands to indicate she wasn’t sure how to describe him.
Beatrice nodded as if she understood, but kept her attention on washing dishes, certain her cheeks were pinker than leaning over the hot water would make them. And she supplied her own words. Darkly handsome. Protective—even of a young woman he’d barely met. Has strong arms that make a girl feel safe.
Enough. She’d learned her lesson about trusting men. She had only one goal in mind—a life of independence that allowed her to follow her own plans and be freed of her father’s.
Thankfully, Maisie didn’t pursue the subject and they were soon done with the dishes.
Beatrice took the dry plates and returned them to the proper shelf. She stood back to admire the clean dishes. “Why did no one tell me how satisfying it is to see dishes washed and stacked in the cupboard?”
Maisie laughed. “Most people don’t find it quite so satisfying after doing it three or four times a day, three hundred and sixty-five days a year.”
Beatrice faced the older woman. “Do you find it satisfying?”
“Immensely so, but then I’m doing it for those I love and that makes all the difference.”
Love made all the difference. What a wonderful idea. Beatrice sighed almost inaudibly.
With the last of the dishes done and the kitchen clean so far as Beatrice could tell, she could think of no reason to stand about continuing this conversation, though she wished she could. It was nice to hear Maisie talk about love and marriage in such positive tones. Marriage, according to her parents, was more of a business deal than romance.
As if reading Beatrice’s mind, Maisie caught her hand. “I wish you and everyone could know the kind of love I’ve found. Don’t settle for anything less.”
She wasn’t interested in marriage of any sort but wouldn’t tell Maisie that. “What do I do with the scraps and wash water?”
“Dump the water on my flowers by the house. They thrive on it.” She chuckled. “Though they’ve had plenty of water today. The scraps...” Maisie looked doubtful, as if uncertain Beatrice could deal with the task.
“Tell me and I’ll do it.”
“Very well. Take the bucket of scraps out to the pigpen and dump them over the fence into the trough. Watch for puddles on the path. ”
“Where will I find the pigpen?”
Maisie gave her instruction.
Beatrice emptied out the basin of water then carried the heavy, slimy bucket from the house, being careful not to let it brush against her skirts as she passed the barn. She smelled the pigs before she reached the pen and gasped. Nothing had prepared her for so many strange and, sometimes, unpleasant odors. She reached the fence and counted two big pigs and half a dozen small ones that rushed toward her squealing and grunting and running into each other, pushing one another out of the way and climbing over each other.
She laughed.
“Amusing, aren’t they? Now you can see why bad-mannered people are often called pigs.”
She jerked about to stare at Levi. “I didn’t see you.”
He shrugged, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I was over there.” He pointed. “If you’d taken two steps to the right you would have tromped on me but you were too intent on your task.” His gaze shifted to the bucket on the ground beside her.
The pigs squealed loudly.
“They’re getting impatient.” Levi picked up the bucket and dumped the contents over the fence into a wooden trough.
Beatrice stared, fascinated as the pigs buried their snouts in the trough, not caring if they stepped on each other. She shook her head. “Pigs are...well, pigs.”
Laughter rumbled from Levi, drawing her gaze to him. How his eyes danced, and his face crinkled in a friendly sort of way. Just because she called a pig a pig?
She turned back to the animals. “They’re noisy, rude and loud. And they stink.”
More rumbling laughter. “Johnny says he thanks God he wasn’t born a pig.”
That brought a burst of laughter from Beatrice. Her eyes connected
with his and something sweet filled the air. She couldn’t remember a time she had shared real, honest amusement with a man. It caused her insides to bounce up and down...not an unpleasant sensation. She reminded herself not to stare, but despite her admonition she could not break the look between them.
He shifted his gaze first, letting it go toward the house. “Have you done Maisie’s dressing yet?”
Her thoughts jarred back to the reason she was here. Changing the dressing was not a task she looked forward to. She had not a clue how to tackle the job. “No, I just finished cleaning the kitchen.” She turned to retrace her steps.
Levi fell into step with her. They reached the barn. She welcomed the chance to shift her thoughts to something else. “I thought there would be horses and cows in the pens.”
“The horses are out with the men at the moment except for those we need for getting around and Pa’s breeding stock.” He pointed toward the animals in the pasture. “He has big plans for expanding our bloodlines into something that will make the Sundown Ranch horses more desirable than the average horse. We seldom keep cows in the pens. They are out grazing. Except for the milk cow. Do you want to see her?”
“Is she friendly?”
He grinned. “She won’t say hello if that’s what you mean, but she also won’t be rude like the pigs who act like pigs.”
He was teasing her and she didn’t mind. “It’s good to know she has her species figured out.”
They were at the barn door. He edged it wider open and she stepped inside.
“I hope you don’t find the smell obnoxious,” Levi said.
She sniffed as she turned her head from side to side. “There’s a warm, earthy scent, a musty odor and a kind of mushroomlike smell. None of it overwhelming or unpleasant. It’s rather a reassuring odor.”
He stared at her. “Reassuring? You make the smell seem vital.”
“Vital? Yes. That’s exactly how it feels.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know what to make of you.”
She wasn’t sure what he meant, nor was she sure she wanted to know. If it was good she would be flustered, if bad, she’d be wounded. No, better not to know. “So where is this milk cow?”
He swept his arm toward the alleyway and she preceded him the direction indicated. Old Sissy munched on her feed. There were wooden pens on either side, some with boards that looked as if they had been chewed. She glanced upward at the sound of something scurrying overhead.
“Mice,” he explained. “The cause of Maisie’s accident.” His expression hardened like black rock.
“Wouldn’t cats take care of that problem?”
“Cats are hard to find and harder to keep. We had a mama cat but she was half-wild and packed up her kittens and moved on.”
An amusing mental picture flashed through her mind of a cat carrying a valise out of which three little kittens peeked and she laughed softly, wishing immediately that she had kept her amusement hidden.
“What makes you laugh?” Levi asked.
She glanced at him to see if he was annoyed but he appeared more curious than anything and she explained. “After all, you did say she’d packed up.”
He grinned. “She carried them one by one to a new place.”
“Carried them. How?”
“By the scruff of the neck.”
“I remember a time the groom was angry with the boy who helped with the horses and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and shook him. It didn’t look pleasant.” She shuddered to think of baby kittens being carried that way.
“It’s the way cats do it, and the kittens don’t seem to mind. Now, do you want to see the milk cow?”
“Yes, of course.” Though she’d momentarily forgotten their reason for coming to the barn.
He moved along the alley and stopped where a gate had been pushed open. A tawny-colored cow stood patiently with Charlie squatting at her side squirting milk into the bucket at his knees.
Beatrice knew where milk came from...in a picture-book sort of way. But she’d never seen it foaming up in a pail. For some strange reason it brought a sting of tears.
Charlie gave Levi a pained look. “I ain’t no chore boy.”
Levi leaned back on the side of the pen and gave his cousin a steady look. “Nothing wrong with good honest work.”
“This is squaw work.”
Levi’s laugh lacked mirth. “Not here. Big Sam says it’s man’s work.”
“Don’t see him doing it, though.” Charlie stood. “I’m done here.”
Levi straightened. “Not until you’ve stripped her. I don’t want her going dry. We need the milk. Finish the job.”
Beatrice looked from one to the other as the words that made no sense hung about in her brain looking for something to connect to. Charlie looked ready to explode. Levi’s expression was hard. What would he do if Charlie disobeyed his order?
Looking rebellious, Charlie sat on the little stool again and returned to milking until no more hit the pail. “Happy now?” He pushed past Beatrice.
“Take it to the cookhouse and take care of it.”
Muttering under his breath, Charlie stomped from the barn.
Levi took off his cowboy hat and dragged his fingers through his hair. “Sometimes I wonder if he’s worth the effort.”
A shiver raced down Beatrice’s spine. Did he think the same of her? Not worth the effort? She drew herself up to her tallest and faced Levi. “Is anyone who can’t do the things you do considered not worth the effort?”
His dark eyes were bottomless, revealing nothing, though the way he crossed his arms over his chest made her think he was prepared to defend his view. “It isn’t that he can’t do the chores I’ve assigned him. It’s that he doesn’t care to make the effort. He believes chores are beneath him. For that reason I find him difficult to deal with.” His gaze bored into hers. “I believe in an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay.”
She floundered to think what that meant to her. She didn’t expect to be paid, didn’t want to be. “Maybe he’s doing the best he can.”
He unwound from his position at the fence. “If I thought that I would be happy. But Charlie is capable of doing almost anything he puts his mind to. Come along, I’ll show you the cookhouse.” He paused at the doorway, retrieving the slop bucket where he’d left it. “That is, if you’re interested.”
“Yes, I am. I want to see everything.” She might have told him she found it fascinating to see life at its roots, but he seemed cross so she kept the words to herself and accompanied him across the yard to a low building. They stepped inside and she stopped to take it in. To one side, there was a long wooden table with backless wooden benches on either side. Hooks on the wall next to the door held a variety of items—bits of leather, furry leggings and two soiled hats. To the other side was an enormous black stove, a long wooden counter and pots, pans, crocks and kitchen utensils of every size and kind. Apart from that, the room was bare of any sort of decoration. The windows lacked curtains. The only bright color in the whole place was the red rim of some of the granite pots.
“What do you think?” Levi asked.
She closed her eyes and drenched her senses, then she opened her eyes and told him her impressions. “The room is sparse.” She pointed out the lack of color. “But the air is alive with spices and warmth. I smell apple pie, gingersnaps, chocolate pudding. I smell mashed potatoes in a huge bowl, fried chicken and tomato sauce rich with basil and oregano. It’s like walking into an open market with a hundred things cooking at the same time.”
His laughter rumbled. “Soupy would be pleased you can’t smell dirty boots and manly sweat.”
She opened her eyes and grinned. “There might be a touch of that, as well.” Why was it she felt trapped by his gaze when he smiled like that? As if the rest of
the world had slipped away and left them standing there alone? And when had she ever had such fanciful thoughts? Certainly not with Henry, whom she’d loved, and never with the young men her father presented as suitable.
Levi turned his attention to the room. “Charlie has left the milk.” Every trace of humor had disappeared from his voice and a cold chill crossed Beatrice’s shoulders.
“I’ll have to do it. You don’t need to wait if you don’t want.” He started a fire in the stove and filled a kettle with water from the pump at the sink.
The bucket of milk stood on the wide counter. Levi pulled out a jug and draped a white cloth over it.
Curious as to what he meant to do, she said, “I’ll wait and watch if you don’t mind.”
His eyebrows arched as if uncertain what to think of her answer. “I don’t mind.” He poured the milk through the cloth until the jug was full, then covered it with another cloth that he dampened in cold water. “Normally Soupy would use most of the milk. We use a little at the house. But with him and the cowboys away, we don’t need it all. The rest will go to the pigs.” He rinsed the straining cloth then filled a basin with boiling water and rinsed it again.
He took the milk bucket to the door and set it down. “Maybe Charlie will stir himself to take this to the pigs.” He looked around for his cousin. “He’ll be trying to find a bottle about now.”
Beatrice couldn’t decide if Levi sounded condescending or worried, so she made no comment.
He hung the straining cloth to dry, took the jug of milk and the empty slop bucket and escorted her back to the house.
“I was getting concerned when you were gone so long but I see I shouldn’t have been,” Maisie said. “You were with Levi.”
“I’m sorry to make you worry.” She’d be more conscious of Maisie in the future.
“I’ll hang about while Beatrice changes your dressing, in case she needs anything,” Levi said.
Beatrice’s insides stiffened. The last thing she needed or wanted was to have Levi watching while she tackled a job she didn’t know how to do. Her spine grew rigid. Her hands curled into fists. She would do this and whatever else she must learn in order to make her own way in life.