by Pam Hillman
Even their hardscrabble lives were similar. Living from hand to mouth, on the fringes of society at an early age. Dependent on no one. As much as she felt sorry for the cat, shouldn’t she feel more compassion for the man?
Confusion wafted through her, and she chewed her lip. Why should she feel sorry for Slade? Because of him, she didn’t even have a home anymore.
She sighed. Grandma was right. He’d only done what anybody in the same circumstances would have. What would her father have done if the tables had been turned? Why, he would have produced the deed and demanded justice. He would have fought tooth and nail to provide for her, Amanda, and Grandma.
What had happened years before? Did he have accomplices? Had her father walked up on Donovan’s claim and robbed him at gunpoint or snuck up on him at night? A hard knot formed in her middle. She couldn’t picture her father robbing anyone—and certainly not holding a gun on them. It didn’t seem possible. He hadn’t been a particularly religious man, but he’d been a good man and a good father. People had liked and respected him.
All the speculation just tied her stomach in knots and left her more frustrated than before. She’d probably never know what had happened between her father and Slade’s, and worrying about it wouldn’t accomplish a thing.
The sound of horses drew her gaze to the road. Slade and Buck rode side by side, headed to the barn. Slade sat tall in the saddle, shoulders broad. Confident. He pointed toward something, and Buck nodded. She slipped into the kitchen, knowing it wouldn’t be long before they’d be ready for supper.
Mariah set the table, trying to dredge up the anger and resentment she’d felt when Slade first demanded the ranch. But she couldn’t. She only wanted—
Confusion flooded up from her midsection and swamped her.
What did she want?
She wanted everything to be all right. She wanted Amanda to finish her schooling and come home. She wanted the ranch back. And . . . and she wanted a chance to get closer to Slade, to bring him into the light and help him see that he’d been living on the fringes too long. Her heart thudded against her rib cage.
Could this yearning be love? Or did she just want to fix the man as much as she wanted to fix the poor lonely cat that lived in the woods behind the house?
Her feelings for Slade had started slowly enough. First with his tales of hardship as a child, then when he’d held the kitten out to her, and again when he’d watered her garden.
Lord, give me strength. Strength to resist whatever flight of fancy made her ache for a life with Slade—the most unlikely man for her to fall in love with.
An urge to run to her room and pack up her grandmother’s and her belongings came on so strong that Mariah shook her head and pushed the thought out of her mind. She hurried to the stove and checked on the biscuits. She’d never been a quitter, and no matter the unfamiliar feelings churning inside her, she wouldn’t shirk her duty. She’d cook and clean even if being around him killed her.
Her pulse spiked the minute she heard the sound of Slade and Buck washing up on the back porch. They came in a short while later, hands and faces scrubbed clean. Mariah was painfully aware of every movement Slade made. Would he sense anything different about her?
He slapped his hat on one of the pegs by the door, and his damp hair gleamed in the lamplight. She engrossed herself in preparations for supper. Why, oh, why, did his presence affect her so? He would never forgive her for the past. Obviously there was only one thing to do.
Pray.
Pray that the Lord would deliver her from wanting something she could never have.
If Mariah had taken one bite, Slade hadn’t seen it. She’d spent the entire evening pushing peas back and forth on her plate.
And she wouldn’t look at him.
The more she ignored him, the more he wanted to get a glimpse of her flashing brown eyes, of the smile that lit up her face. The more he wanted to hear her laughter and her teasing comments to her grandmother.
He frowned into his coffee cup, his senses alert to every nuance of her movements, the flat tone of her voice when she thanked him for passing the butter, the swish of her skirts when she got up to pour more coffee. She’d given brief answers when Buck and her grandmother tried to pull her into the conversation. Something was bothering her, and he couldn’t figure out what.
“That was good eating.” Buck pushed his plate away. “Thanks, Mariah.”
“Glad you enjoyed it.” She stood and started clearing the table as if she was in a hurry to shoo them out of the kitchen.
Mrs. Malone shifted on her straight-back chair. “Do either of you play checkers? I’ve got a hankering for a good match, and Mariah doesn’t care for the game at all.”
“Buck’s a better player than I am, ma’am.” Slade glanced at the feisty old woman. He didn’t have any doubt she’d beat the socks off his brother.
“Are you?” She pinned Buck with her gaze.
“I guess so.” Buck shrugged.
“Well, come on into the parlor.” Mrs. Malone stood and began to shuffle out of the room. “We’ll see how good you are.”
Slade finally caught Mariah’s eye.
“She really is very good.”
“Buck’ll put up a good fight.”
“Good.” She finished clearing the table. “She beats me in a handful of moves, and I never know what hit me.”
Mariah bustled about the kitchen, dumping scraps into a bowl for her cats, covering the leftover pie and storing it in the pie safe. She kept her back to him, her hands busy. “Can I get you something else? Another piece of pie? More coffee?”
“I’m fine.” Slade sipped his coffee, wishing she’d stop flitting about the kitchen like a skittish colt. “You didn’t eat anything. Is something wrong?”
She stiffened. “No—nothing’s wrong.”
“How’s your foot?”
“Fine, thank you.”
Slade grunted. He’d seen how she favored it when she walked.
She finally glanced his way, all hint of laughter and sunshine absent from her expression. “Thank you for watering the garden. I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.” He dipped his head and gave her a tiny smile, but she didn’t smile back. She blinked, looked away, and started washing dishes, movements quick and efficient.
While she worked, he took stock of the small, sturdy kitchen. Mariah’s kitchen. She knew where every pot went, where to store every plate. Somehow he couldn’t picture this kitchen without her. But he’d have to. She’d be leaving soon, and he’d never see her again. Unsure how he really felt about that, he drained his coffee cup and carried it to where she stood at the sink, hands immersed in hot, soapy water.
He held out the cup, his gaze roaming over her face, stoic in the lamplight. She took the cup, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye but not making eye contact. He clenched his jaw. He’d already asked what was wrong, and she’d brushed him off, claiming everything was fine. He wouldn’t ask again.
“Thanks for supper, Mariah. It was good, as always.”
“It’s my job.” She shrugged, a tiny movement of her shoulders.
The resignation in her voice brought him up short. How could he have forgotten she wouldn’t even be here if she had the money to leave? He strode to the door, picked up his hat, and jammed it on his head.
“Slade?”
He paused, his hand on the latch. “Yes?”
“When do you expect your mother and sisters to arrive?”
“A couple of weeks, maybe a month. She had some things to settle in Galveston.”
“Thank you. I was just wondering.”
“Good night, Mariah.”
“Good night,” she whispered, her voice sounding close to tears.
He waited, the silence broken by her vigorous scrubbing of the plate in her hand. Finally he unlatched the door and strode into the night, pondering her reaction. Relief that she could leave so soon? Or disappointment that she might have to stay another
month? An ache squeezed his chest. He settled his hat more firmly on his head and stomped across the yard toward the barn.
The idea that she might want to get away from Wisdom as soon as possible, away from him, bothered him more than he liked to admit.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MARIAH REACHED FOR another stick of firewood, planning her day’s work. She had a lot to do to whip the place into shape before Slade’s family arrived. The furnishings might be tattered and worn, but everything would be neat and tidy when she packed her trunk and left for the last time.
Pounding hooves interrupted her thoughts, and she shaded her eyes against the morning sunlight. She spotted Slade’s horse loping down the lane toward the house, and her heart ricocheted against her rib cage. But she tamped down the joy that bubbled up inside and trudged toward the porch.
No need to dally. He’d feel obligated to speak to her, and her heart had been trampled enough already. She had to get through the next few weeks without making a complete and utter fool of herself, and the least amount of contact they had with each other, the better. How would she survive the daily ache of seeing him, being near him? She’d pour all her energy into spring-cleaning and the garden. Work was her only hope.
He headed straight for the porch instead of the barn, and she spotted a small boy on the back of the horse, his arms wrapped securely around Slade’s waist. He swung the child to the ground, and Mariah recognized the little boy she’d seen down by the railroad tracks.
Slade tilted his hat back; his blue eyes flickered over her face before he jerked his head at the boy. “Mariah, I’d like you to meet Jimmy Denton.”
“Jimmy.” She dumped the wood in the wood box and focused on the boy, trying not to notice how Slade’s shoulders filled out his worn shirt, the shadow forming on his unshaven jawline, or how he kept his prancing horse under control with ease.
The boy ducked his head and dug in the dirt with his big toe. “It’s Jim, ma’am.”
Mariah suppressed a smile. “Oh, I’m sorry. Jim it is.”
“Could you rustle up some breakfast for Jim, then send him out to the barn?”
“Of course.”
“Soon as you get a bite to eat, Jim, I’ll show you around.”
“Yes, sir.” Jim grinned, showing a gap where he’d lost a front tooth.
“I’m counting on you. Now, go on with Miss Mariah.” Slade reined away.
Mariah led the way into the kitchen, where she sliced two biscuits and placed a thick piece of fried ham between each. “Here you go.”
Her heart ached when the thin youngster gulped down a huge bite as if he hadn’t eaten anything in days.
“Do you like buttermilk?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded, floppy bangs waving wildly.
“I had a little left from breakfast. It’ll keep me from having to drink it or feed it to the cats.” She filled a pint jar and slid it across the table. “I’ll tell you a secret. The cats don’t like buttermilk much. It sticks to their whiskers.”
He took a swallow and grinned at her, his upper lip covered in buttermilk.
She tidied the kitchen while Jim concentrated on his breakfast. Why did Slade need the boy out in the barn? What was going on?
“Jim?”
“Yes’m?” he mumbled around a mouthful of biscuit.
“Did Mr. Donovan offer you a job?”
The boy swallowed a big gulp of buttermilk. “Yes, ma’am. I want to make enough money to buy a horse. I ain’t never had one.” His brown eyes, older than his years, gazed fearfully at her as if he expected her to send him back home. “I promise to work really hard.”
“I’m sure you will.” She patted him on the back, feeling his thin shoulders through his threadbare shirt. “Finish your breakfast. I’ll be right back.”
She marched toward the barn. Once inside, she blinked against the dimness, searching for Slade. She saw him in the shadowy recesses of one of the stalls.
“Where’s Jim?” he asked.
“Still eating.” She crossed her arms and glared at him.
He draped his arms over the top of the stall and cocked a brow at her.
“He’s just a little boy. He’s not big enough to do a man’s job.”
“Who said anything about a man’s job?” He frowned, pushing his hat back. A tangle of dark hair fell over his forehead, and Mariah scrambled to hold on to her displeasure.
“Jim did. He said if he did a good job, you’d pay him. Maybe even give him a horse.” She stared hard at him. “What exactly are you going to make him do?”
He jerked his head at the cluttered stall behind him. “For starters, he can learn to muck stalls, gather eggs, take care of the horses, and milk the cows. There are lots of things he can do. Then he can learn to ride. Did he tell you how much he likes horses?”
She nodded but didn’t let the question sway her from her purpose. “It’s too much. He can’t do all that.”
Slade gazed steadily at her. “It’s the only way. His ma won’t let me help them, but she’ll let him come here to work.”
“But he’s just a boy!” Tears welled up in her eyes.
“Do you really think I’m going to make him do all that work?” He latched the stall and stood in front of her, a half smile on his face. “Buck does most of it, and Jim will just be his shadow. It won’t hurt him a bit to gather eggs and tote water for your washing. And at the end of the day he can go home with a sackful of potatoes, some carrots, and a chicken now and then. By the end of summer, he’ll know how to ride a horse. I can’t just give him anything. Don’t you see? His ma and pa have got to believe he’s working for it.”
Mariah’s ire subsided. “I’m sorry. It’s just that . . .” She trailed off, unwilling to admit that she’d thought the worst of him. Again. He was trying to do something for the boy’s family, something they could accept without sacrificing their pride.
Lord knew she could relate to that.
“I’ll take care of him.” Slade tipped up her chin, the warmth of his touch twisting her stomach into knots. “I promise.”
Sounds, movement, light all tilted into slow motion. Mariah’s lips parted, and her senses raced to the spot where his fingers seared her skin. Her breath caught as his gaze tumbled to her lips. His hand moved along her jaw, cupped her head, and pulled her closer. She swayed toward him, unwilling and unable to do anything else.
“I’m ready when you are!” Jim raced into the barn, and Mariah’s eyes popped open wide.
Slade’s broad back shielded her from the boy. His heavy-lidded gaze held hers as he traced his thumb over her lips. She shuddered at the fleeting touch and the promise in his eyes.
He dropped his hand and turned to Jim. “All right, partner, let’s get to work.”
The kitchen floor gleamed. Mariah tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and lifted the pail of dirty water. She surveyed the clean boards with satisfaction before lugging the bucket outside.
Her grandmother looked up from her rocker on the porch, a pile of mending in her lap. “Mariah, I wish you’d let me help with the cleaning. You’re doing too much.”
“I’m fine, Grandma.” Mariah poured the water around the two rosebushes beside the porch. She snipped off three roses, savoring the sweet aroma cast by the deep-red petals. “I’d rather scrub floors and let you darn socks any day. You know I don’t care much for chores where I have to sit down. I’d rather be up and about.”
“It’s just that I feel so useless.” Her grandmother sighed.
“Grandma, just because you’re weak and can’t get around like you used to doesn’t mean you’re not doing your share. You do plenty—”
“Like what?”
“Like keeping me company and keeping watch on the stove when I’m outside, and shelling peas and beans and mending clothes. I don’t how I’d get it all done without your help.”
Her grandmother reached out a trembling hand and smoothed back Mariah’s hair. Her eyes misted over, and she shook her head. �
��You’re just saying that. I’m not—”
“Grandma, when I was a child, you did everything I’m doing now and saw after me and Amanda. Surely I can do it all now and take care of you too.”
A wide smile creased her grandmother’s weathered face. “You’re just like your grandfather, Mariah. He always could turn things around to his way of thinking.”
Mariah grinned. “Good. I’m glad you’re seeing things my way.”
She glanced up as Jimmy and Buck sauntered out of the barn and ambled over to the porch. Jim looked like he’d rolled in the muck. His straw-colored hair stuck out every which way, and big splotches of dirt and cobwebs, mixed with hay, clung to his threadbare clothes. Covered in grime and filth, you’d think he would be anything but happy. But the grin on his face told a different tale.
Her gaze met Buck’s, and it was all she could do to keep from laughing. The twitching of his lips told her he was holding in his own laughter.
“Well, how did your first day on the job go, Jim?” she asked, remembering to use the more grown-up version of his name.
“Me and Buck got the corner stall cleaned out, and Buck said when I get my pony, I could put him in there.”
“You didn’t disturb the kittens, did you?”
“Oh no, ma’am. We left them alone.” His face screwed up, looking apprehensive. “But Buck let me play with them.”
“Good. They need a little boy to teach them the ways of the barn.”
He grinned at her, then dug into his back pocket and pulled out a slingshot, handing it over. “Look what Mr. Slade made for me.”
Mariah dutifully admired the slingshot. “That’s a beauty. Think you can hit a rabbit with it?”
“Sure he can. He’s just got to practice.” Buck put one hand on Jim’s shoulder. “Well, come on, kid, let’s go down to the creek and get cleaned up. I promised Slade I’d bring you over to the west pasture so he could take you home.”
Jim whooped and raced off.
“Come by the house before you leave,” Mariah called after them. “I’ve got a sack of fresh potatoes for you to take to your mother.”
“I’ll say one thing,” her grandmother said as they watched man and boy go over the rise toward the creek. “Giving that little feller a job was about the smartest thing Slade could have done. From what I’ve heard, the boy’s pa is too much of a drunk to take care of his family, and his ma’s too proud to take a handout.”