To Capture the Sky (Choices of the Heart, book 2)

by Jennie Marsland

  Beth sat up straight, exuding accomplishment. “You said you wanted to plant the vegetable garden this week, so I did it after chores. I found the seeds in the barn. Corn, carrots, peas, turnips, cabbage, and onions.”

  It was too early for the corn and turnips and there wasn’t a chance in hell that she’d planted the rest properly, but Trey didn’t have the energy to grumble. “Did Logan help you with the chores?”

  “No. I had them done by the time he got here. Since Calico wasn’t around, Cloud behaved himself.”

  The thought of Beth handling Cloud in his present temper gave Trey chills. In his coat, with the sleeves rolled up, she looked ridiculously small and fragile, her face radiant in spite of the dark circles under her eyes. “Did you get some sleep this morning?”

  “A little.” Not much, Trey guessed by the look of her. “I went to bed for a while just after you fell asleep. How’s your stomach today?”

  “Empty.”

  Beth stoked the stove and made porridge. Trey noticed that she didn’t forget the salt. When she handed him his bowl, he caught a glimpse of something on her palm. He caught her wrist and turned her hand over.

  Four good-sized blisters marred her soft skin. His temper rose at the sight. “For Chrissake, Beth, there are gloves in the barn.”

  She flushed and pulled her hand away. “I know. I tried them on, but they’re too big. I couldn’t work with them. Next time I’m in town, I’ll get some that fit. It’s nothing to worry about.”

  Trey’s head pounded with frustration – at being laid up, at having a woman do his chores for him, at the feelings churning inside him. He wanted to shake Beth, and at the same time he wanted to pull her down on the bunk and gather her in his arms. “I told you before that you don’t have to try so hard. You could have left the garden, and you could have waited for Logan to help with the chores. He said he would.”

  Chin high, cheeks rosy, Beth held his gaze. “I know, but finding Calico was more important. And Trey, you don’t have to try so hard either.”

  His hands clenched on the bowl, as much to keep from reaching for her as from anger. God, she was lovely. He’d have to be a poor excuse for a man not to want her, but having Beth creep into his heart so soon was something else entirely. Already the thought of his home without her left him bereft, and he knew that feeling all too well. His mother, Justin…

  You’re setting yourself up for a fall, McShannon, and you know it.

  “Beth, whether you like the word or not, you’re a lady. You weren’t raised a farmer’s daughter, and I don’t expect you to work like one.” He spoke more sharply than he’d intended.

  The glow faded from Beth’s face, replaced by hurt and anger as she stepped away from the bunk. “Then maybe you should have written to a farmer’s daughter.”

  Her brittle tone made something snap inside Trey. She sounded forlorn. After she’d been up all night watching over him, he couldn’t even show her a little tact. With a quick movement that made pain stab him between the eyes, Trey caught her wrist again. “But I didn’t. I wrote to you, and I’m not sorry I did.”

  He brushed the inside of her wrist with his thumb. Her skin was like warm satin to the touch. With a gentle tug, he brought her closer. Beth yielded a bit stiffly and sat on the edge of the bunk. Trey tasted his porridge. “I couldn’t do better myself.”

  She gave him a grudging smile. Apology accepted. “You told me you couldn’t make decent porridge.”

  “So I did.” He set the bowl on the floor and reached up to trace the curve of Beth’s cheek. When her eyes closed and her lips trembled open, Trey made up his mind. When she left, he’d have one taste of her to remember.

  He slid his hand under Beth’s hair to cup the back of her neck. Soft curls teased his fingers as he stroked her there. She sighed, leaned down and braced her hands on either side of his head. Trey felt her shiver as her lips brushed his in a tentative caress.

  Easy. Don’t scare her. In her well-chaperoned life, he doubted if Beth had been kissed often. Trey hadn’t touched a woman since last fall’s trip to Denver. Now, with Beth’s taste and scent entangling his senses, raw need overwhelmed him.

  He clamped down on his urge to devour her and savored her instead, nibbling her lips, tasting the corners of her mouth. When he probed with his tongue, asking entrance instead of demanding as his body screamed for him to do, Beth welcomed him with a soft moan. It felt like being seventeen again with a girl in his arms.

  Her sweet response fueled Trey’s craving for her. With his willpower crumbling, he put his hands on Beth’s shoulders and gently urged her to sit up.

  The thrumming in his head competed with the desire singing along his nerves. Judging by her flushed face and shining eyes, Beth felt the same way. Her hand trailed over his bare shoulder, burning him like a brand before she rose. “You’d better eat your porridge while it’s warm.” She smoothed her hair, crossed the room, and started fussing at the dresser, putting away the dishes she’d washed sometime in the night.

  Trey recalled each time her light touch and soft voice had wakened him. The thought started an ache in his chest that had nothing to do with his bruised ribs.

  He reached under the bunk for his writing case, pulled out two sheets of paper and a pencil. Wanted: Temporary help with general farm work. A dollar a day and board. See Trey McShannon, ten miles north of Wallace Flats. He wrote the notice out twice. Beth had an artist’s hands – in more ways than one – and he wouldn’t have her spoiling them with her stubbornness.

  “Beth, this afternoon I’d like you to ride into town and post these at the store and the telegraph office. We need some help.” Pain, present and anticipated, gave his voice an edge.

  Beth turned to face him. “If you think it’s necessary, I will.” She didn’t look hurt this time. She probably read him too well for comfort.

  “I do. There’s the plowing to do before the oats can be sown, and there’s too much other work for you to manage alone, though I know you’re stubborn enough to try. Neil said it could be a couple of weeks or longer before I’m myself again. Logan will have to handle all the work with the cattle. I can’t expect him to do more. And get yourself a couple of pairs of work gloves.”

  A wry smile. “I will.” Beth went back to putting the dishes away.

  Trey settled back on his pillows and closed his eyes. In spite of his pain and the emotions pulling at him, the homelike sound of her puttering lulled him to sleep.

  * * *

  When Beth walked into the store, June Baker bustled toward her, radiating curiosity. Of course, Neil Garrett would have spread the word about Trey’s accident, and his marriage. In heaven knew what kind of language.

  Beth put on a determined smile and marched to the counter. “Hello, Mrs. Baker.”

  “Well now. I hear congratulations are in order, Mrs. McShannon. That man of yours sure plays his cards close to his chest. He never breathed a word about you.”

  “Thanks for the good wishes. If you’ve heard about our marriage, then you’ve probably heard about Trey’s accident, too. He got knocked down in the barn and hit his head. He’s going to be fine, but we need a hand for a while.” Beth laid one of the notices on the counter. “Will you let me post this here?”

  “I’ll do it for you right now.” June searched out a hammer and tacks and pinned the notice up with several others on the wall behind the cash register. “I’m looking forward to seeing you both around town more. Trey has always kept so much to himself out on that place of his. Most men his age would be in the saloon every Saturday night, loaded for bear, looking for a fight and a girl.”

  “I suppose so.” Come to think of it, Beth hadn’t yet heard Trey mention any friends his own age. Logan and Maddy were old enough to be his parents, and John Reeves and his wife had a fifteen-year-old son. It did seem strange. “Of course, we’ll be in to church once Trey’s feeling better.”

  Beth posted her other notice at the telegraph office and hurried home. She found T
rey still asleep.

  His obstinate hair stuck out in all directions. Dark lashes brushing his cheeks, lips slightly parted, he looked more his real age, as if some burden he carried when awake had slipped away.

  That mouth. The gentle kiss they’d shared had roused feelings in Beth she’d never experienced before, but it took more than feelings to make a marriage work – especially a marriage between two people from such different backgrounds.

  Trey had a Southern man’s notion of ladyhood, even more constricting in its way than the definition she’d been raised with. A lady didn’t marry a farmer and spoil her hands with manual labor.

  He stirred in his sleep and murmured something she didn’t catch. His ribs bothering him, probably.

  Beth straightened the covers and eased her fingers into his hair, soothing him until he settled again. Touching him warmed her deep inside, emotionally as well as physically. Her aunt’s and uncle’s final illnesses had been the only times in Beth’s life when she’d felt needed. Now, for a short time at least, Trey needed her. If she could only feel truly wanted, she’d have all anyone could ask for.

  CHAPTER 8

  Twilight found Nathan on the bench in front of the saloon. He couldn’t afford to buy a drink, but he preferred sitting there in the fine spring evening, watching Neil’s crowd come and go, to killing time in his room. If he wanted the sheriff’s job, he needed to get familiar with these people. Not that there weren’t other, more interesting reasons to sit there.

  The saloon’s swinging doors creaked and someone came up behind him. Nathan caught a whiff of talcum and rosewater.

  “Where’ve you been, mister? I thought I’d be seeing you before now.”

  Lena. She certainly made a man wonder where his summer wages had gone. The neckline of her dress scooped low over her pretty breasts, and Nathan’s eyes just naturally followed it down. It really was a shame that he wasn’t more of a saving man. “Can’t afford you right now, Lena.”

  She gave him a slow, provocative smile. “Too bad. What’s your name? You aren’t from around here.”

  “My name’s Nate. Lena, I’m going to sit out here for a while. You too busy to join me?”

  “Not unless I want to be. Listen, I–”

  She broke off as two men staggered up the steps. It looked to Nathan like they’d started drinking hours ago, and by the disgust on Lena’s face, she’d seen them before.

  One of them grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the swinging doors. “Come with me.”

  Lena wrenched her arm free and glared at the man. “Hank, I’ve told you before, I want no part of you. You’re too damned rough. Go in and have a drink, or else get the hell lost before Neil takes his shotgun and ventilates your skull. He’s sick of tossing your sorry carcass out of here.”

  Hank turned beet red from the neck up. He grabbed Lena’s arm again. “You smart-mouthed little–”

  He never finished the sentence. Without saying a word, Nathan jumped up, pulled a knife from inside his jacket and threw it to pin Hank’s free hand to the saloon wall. Before the man could react, he found himself looking down the barrel of Nathan’s revolver. “You strike me as a very impatient man, Hank. Life gets complicated when you’re that way.” Keeping his Navy Colt trained on the man, Nathan pulled a pipe from one shirt pocket, rummaged in the other for his tobacco, leisurely filled the pipe and tamped the fragrant strands down. He checked the pockets of his jeans, sighed, and looked around at the crowd that had begun to gather on the porch. “Anyone got a match?”

  Neil had stepped out to see what was going on. He grinned and handed Nathan a match.

  With loving care, Nathan lit his pipe and took in a lungful of fruity smoke. Meanwhile, Hank stood pinned to the wall, pale with pain, not daring to move.

  “When you’re always in a rush, it seems to me you never get to enjoy things, like this fine evening. Just stop a minute and take it in. There’ll be others, but never this one again. You smoke, Hank?”

  “N-no.” Sweat trickled down Hank’s face. His companion had vanished. So had Lena.

  Nathan drew on his pipe again. How much tobacco did he have left? Three, maybe four pipes full at the most. Another shame. What immortal fool had said that the best things in life were free? “Good man. It’s a rotten habit. Guess I’ll have to break it when this lot of tobacco’s gone. Too bad. I enjoy it.”

  For the next few minutes, Nathan savored his pipe while blood oozed from Hank’s hand and the gun kept him frozen. When he finished smoking, Nathan stepped forward and slowly, deliberately, drew his knife from Hank’s hand. He dropped to his knees.

  Nathan put a hand on his shoulder. “Patience is a virtue. Possess it if you can, my friend. You have a fine evening.”

  Hank staggered away, clutching his hand. The crowd drifted into the saloon. Nathan heard the excited buzz and smiled. A problem dealt with, and no shots fired. One step closer to the sheriff’s job.

  Soon, Lena. Soon.

  * * *

  Bucket in hand, Beth stood by the well, watching the rider coming down the lane. When he reached her, the man pulled his black mare up, dismounted and doffed his hat. Silver-blond hair framed his clean-shaven face – a hard face in spite of its almost boyish features.

  He’d be as tall as Trey, perhaps a couple of years younger and probably fifteen or twenty pounds heavier, all of it muscle, covered by black pants and a gray chambray shirt. An intimidating package, though he spoke pleasantly enough.

  “Morning, ma’am. Is this the McShannon place?”

  Beth set the bucket down and held out her hand. “Yes, it is. I’m Mrs. McShannon.”

  The stranger shook her hand, looked her over with the palest blue eyes Beth had ever seen, then nodded politely. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. I’m Gabe Tanner. I saw your husband’s notice at the store.”

  “Yes. There are empty stalls in the barn, Mr. Tanner. Put your horse up and I’ll tell my husband you’re here.”

  Beth felt Mr. Tanner’s gaze on her back as she walked inside. Wearing her denim work pants, she supposed she couldn’t expect anything else.

  Sitting up in bed, Trey looked up from Great Expectations. “Who’s that?”

  “A man here about the job.” She handed Trey a shirt and pants from the basket of clean laundry by the table. “I’ll keep him busy for a few minutes.”

  Back outside, Beth joined Mr. Tanner by the corral, where he stood watching Cloud. The man looked as surprised as she had been to see a horse of Cloud’s quality on a place like this. “That’s quite a piece of horseflesh, ma’am.”

  “He certainly is. My husband grew up around Thoroughbreds, Mr. Tanner, and I have some experience with them myself.”

  Mr. Tanner put on a tolerant smile. “I haven’t had much to do with fancy-bred horses myself, but I’ll take your word for it.”

  Not the type to take a woman seriously. Beth didn’t care, as long as Mr. Tanner would work for his money. “We advertised for help because my husband had an accident and has to rest for a week or two. There’s plowing and planting that needs to be done. Are you willing to do work that can’t be done from the back of a horse?”

  “I’m not afraid of any kind of work, ma’am. Is your husband inside?”

  “Yes, he is. Come in.”

  Trey had gotten up to sit at the table. He wasn’t supposed to be out of bed.

  Beth gave him a stern look as she led Mr. Tanner into the cabin. “Trey, this is Gabe Tanner. Mr. Tanner, Trey McShannon.”

  Beth washed her hands and climbed to the loft to change into a dress. She took her blue print from its hook and sat on the bed, listening as Trey explained the layout of the place to Mr. Tanner and told him that whoever took the job would be bunking in the barn loft.

  Mr. Tanner’s voice floated up to her, cool and even. “I’ll be more comfortable out there anyway. I have a reference letter from the last place where I worked, up near Fort Collins.”

  Beth heard the rustle of paper, followed by a moment of silen
ce while Trey read the letter.

  “They seem to have thought highly of you. Why did you leave?”

  “The owner’s son took over as ranch foreman, and we didn’t get along. To be frank, we’d had a quarrel over a girl, and he wasn’t willing to let bygones be bygones. I had no problem with the old man, though. Trust a woman to stir up trouble.”

  “Yeah, it happens.”

  Beth’s cheeks heated with indignation. Trey didn’t have to agree with the man so easily. Mr. Tanner might come highly recommended, but she didn’t warm to him at all.

  “So how did you end up in Wallace Flats?” Trey asked.

  “Just drifting. From Fort Collins I went to Denver, but it’s too damn easy to spend money there. I needed to find work and I’d never been out this way, so I decided to have a look. I saw your notice in the store last night.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Ohio. I came out here after the war, as I expect you did.”

  “Yes, I did. I can’t tell you how long we’ll be needing help, Gabe, but probably not for more than two weeks. If we’re suited, though, I’ll be glad to help you find something more permanent when I’m on my feet again. If you want the job, it’s yours.”

  So, Trey was going to hire this man without even consulting her, and she was going to have to cook for him and work with him. And she’d thought Trey was starting to value her work here. Beth waited until Mr. Tanner had headed back to town for his gear, then grabbed her paint kit and easel and climbed down the ladder.

  Trey’s heavy brows drew together when he saw her face. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Trey, I know the final decision is yours, but I would have appreciated it if you’d discussed it with me before hiring the first man to show up here. I have to feed him and work with him–”

  Trey’s face set in hard, angry lines. “You won’t have to work with him. He can do the barn work as well as the plowing and planting. If we have to have help, we might as well get our money’s worth. We don’t know if anyone else will show up. And you’d better wait till you’ve been here a while before you start telling me how to run the place.”