Warm lamplight spilled over him as he knocked and opened the door. The smell of hot coffee and biscuits made his mouth water and his stomach rumble.
His two hired hands sat at a plank table playing dominoes. Reed stood as Harrison entered and removed his drenched hat.
“Evening, boss. Everything all right with the cattle?” He motioned for Harrison to take his chair and perched on the end of his bunk.
“Right as can be. With all this rain you’ll have to watch the trouble spots along the creek over the next few days and make sure none of them bog down.”
Lem tipped his chair back and snagged a tin cup. “Coffee’s hot.”
Harrison helped himself, inhaling the warm fragrance. He stripped out of his slicker and pulled the chair up to the stove. “Sure hope things dry out quickly.”
“The rain isn’t all bad. The grass will grow, and we could use the break.” Lem ladled up a plate of stew and biscuits. “Tuck in to this. Jane brought it over this afternoon, so it’s edible, not like Reed’s cooking.”
The kid shrugged. “I never claimed to be no cook. I can only make beans and rice anyway.” He picked up a lariat and twisted the rope until it creaked. “We got all the tools sharpened and went over the wagon and all the harnesses. Everything’s tight.”
“You’ve done well, both of you. I know I’ve asked a lot, and there’s still plenty to do, but I never would’ve gotten this far without you.”
Lem grunted and laced his fingers on his belly. “Or Jane. Best thing you ever did, marrying that gal. I don’t know how she does it. Even today, instead of resting like she should’ve, she was scrubbing laundry, mine and Reed’s, too. Said a rainy day was the perfect day to catch up on other chores.”
Harrison’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. “Laundry?”
“Yeah, and she had me string a couple of ropes for her so she could hang clothes up to dry.”
“Boss, two riders from the Circle M passed through with word that their foreman wants to buy some feed. He says it’s plain foolishness to pay for grass, but the ranch owner says better safe than sorry. They’ll take a couple of tons, and they’ll send the wagons and hands to load it.”
Harrison managed a smile. Word was spreading.
“That will help, won’t it? Will we still be here ranching come spring?” Reed tossed the rope onto the bed. His blue eyes held the same worry Harrison knew lingered in his own.
“If hard work and praying can do it, we will.”
Letting his chair fall back onto all four legs, Lem inclined his head to Reed, who nodded. “Boss, me and Reed have been talking, and there’s something we want to say.”
Harrison stilled. Lem’s sober face and tone sent a chill racing through him. If they quit, he’d lose the ranch for sure. Please, Lord, don’t let it be that.
“We know you’ve been about killing yourself trying to meet your dad’s demands, and we know every penny is precious. So we have a proposition for you. Me and the kid have been talking it over, and we’ve decided we don’t want any wages for the next little while.”
“What? No. Absolutely not. You can’t work for nothing.”
“Sure we can. And it wouldn’t be for nothing.” Lem eased his suspenders over his shoulders. “If you lose this ranch, we lose our jobs. Neither of us has forgotten how you brought us out here and gave us jobs when nobody else would. Since the accident that mangled up my leg, I had to quit the factory. But you still thought I could be useful, and that means a lot to me.”
Reed nodded. “And you didn’t listen to all the folks who told you I was too dumb to work. You taught me to read and write, which nobody’d ever been able to do before, and you gave me a job and your trust. I ain’t forgetting that.”
Harrison studied his hands, humbled to his core. “I don’t know what to say.” Their wages, though modest, added back into the total would go a long way toward reaching their goal. “When this is over, I’ll pay you both back. I promise.” He held out his hand to shake Lem’s then Reed’s.
“We ain’t worried about that.”
Harrison knew a lightening of heart as he made his way to the soddy, something that hadn’t happened in quite a while. He had the best crew in Wyoming Territory.
As quietly as he could, he eased open the door and slipped inside. Jane had left the firebox open on the stove, and pale orange light illuminated the lines of drying clothes. Boadicea’s green eyes glowed from the end of the bed.
He let the cat sniff his fingers and stroked her furry cheek. She rumbled a purr, stood, and walked to the door to be let out. Navigating the clotheslines and the still-full bathtub, he got ready for bed.
The minute he slid between the sheets, Jane turned toward him, as she always did when she was asleep. His arm went around her, and she tucked her head under his chin. The pillow she clamped to her middle pressed against his side, and her soft breathing feathered across the base of his neck.
He brushed a kiss across the top of her head and closed his eyes, his muscles relaxing by increments. She might remain aloof during the day, but at night, she slept in his arms. He yawned, his thoughts already evaporating into sleep. But one notion persisted. The minute the ranch was his, the instant he could finally relax and think of something besides that contract, he was going to start courting his wife like she deserved. He was determined to find that sweet, spontaneous, loving girl he’d caught a glimpse of the first week they were wed.
Chapter 8
Jane walked another round on the haystack, careful of the edge now that she was several feet off the ground. The wheatgrass slipped and slid under her feet, seeds and chaff floating around her, sticking to her skin and clinging to her clothes. Sweat trickled between her shoulder blades.
Lem pitched the last forkful of hay from the wagon and stopped to swipe his handkerchief over his face and neck. “Sure wish that rain would come back. Hot enough to fry a stove lid.”
She let the heavy rake fall from her fingers and shaded her eyes. Harrison was a tiny dot on the hillside across the creek, a perfect picture of how far her heart felt from him. Her hand started for her waist, but she stopped, not wanting Lem or anyone else to guess her secret.
She dropped to her seat and slid off the partially formed haystack, her feet thudding on the baked earth. The shade cast by the barn beckoned her, and she straggled to it, aching from head to foot and fighting a wicked headache. Lem hefted the water jug from under the wagon seat and toted it to where she leaned against the barn wall.
“Here, take a few sips of this. Not too much now. Don’t want you getting sick.”
She tilted the earthenware jug and let the lukewarm water trickle into her parched mouth. Though she wanted to gulp it down, she heeded Lem’s advice. Her bonnet slid off her hair, and she welcomed the breeze on her face.
“Who do you reckon that is?” Lem stepped around the wagon, shaded his eyes, and squinted. A plume of dust followed a dark carriage.
Jane blinked. Heat made the landscape shimmer, and she wondered if she was seeing things. As the vehicle grew larger, sunlight glinted off glass. A carriage with glass windows? Out here?
Lem let out a chuckle. “Awful fancy rig. Somebody got lost. Must’ve made a wrong turn at Saint Louie.” He took the jug from Jane and wet his handkerchief, swiping the damp cloth over his reddened face. “Looks like Harrison sees it, too.”
Her husband was headed down the far hill, scythe over his shoulder. It almost appeared as if he and the carriage were on a collision course. She shook her aching head. The heat was making her giddy.
Blinking away odd, black spots on the edges of her vision, she took the jug from Lem, but it seemed too heavy for her leaden limbs, and she dropped it. “I’m shorry.” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry.” But she made no move to pick up the container, and the water glugged onto the parched ground.
Hooves clattered, harness jingled, and a horse snorted. Jane took all this in, keeping her eyes closed against a wave of dizziness.
“
That you, Barton? Where’s Harrison?” An imperious voice forced her eyelids open, and she stared into a face that seemed acutely familiar, though her mind didn’t seem to be working well and she couldn’t place him. “Is this her? The girl he married?”
The gray-haired man, immaculate in a dark suit, climbed from his coach. He pointed with his cane. “Where is that son of mine?”
“Mr. Garvey?” The name slipped out between her stiff lips, and she had just a glimpse of Harrison rounding the corner of the corral when the ground rushed up and smacked her in the head.
Harrison pulled his chair closer to Jane’s bedside and bathed her face with a cool, damp cloth. When she’d fainted, he’d died about a hundred deaths, and his heart still whumped erratically. Fear stalked him, armed with spears and arrows of guilt.
This is your fault. How stupid could you be? You had no business letting her help with the haying.
“Where is that doctor?” His father smacked his cane-head into his palm.
“It’s a long ride into Sagebrush, and the doc might’ve been out on his rounds.” Harrison brushed baby-fine wisps of hair off Jane’s temples. Her skin was so pale and clammy. “Thank you for sending Lem in your carriage.”
His father waved aside the thanks. “How is she?”
“I don’t know. I wish she’d wake up.” He wrung out the cloth and placed it against her forehead. Hours had passed since Lem had pelted it to town, and she hadn’t so much as flickered her eyelashes.
His father grunted and pursed his lips, making his mustache poke out. “This is utter nonsense. Look at this place.” He waved toward the clay-plastered walls and canvas ceiling. “What kind of hole is this to live in? It’s a wonder you aren’t all sick in bed. I wish you’d listen to reason. And another thing …” He levered himself up from the table. Hampered by the small space, he could only pace two steps before having to turn around. “I don’t like it that you’ve ignored my letters. I haven’t heard from you in weeks, not since you told me you got married. What was I supposed to think? Regular communication, you promised. I don’t like being ignored. Now I arrive to find you looking like a scarecrow, down to skin and bones, and that girl beyond the brink of collapse. And what for? Hardheaded mule.”
“Not now. We’ll talk about all that later.” Harrison glanced out the open doorway at the gathering dusk. Pushing himself upright, he stretched his back and worked the kinks out of his shoulders, stiff from bending over the bed. Digging into the matchbox, he withdrew a match and scratched it on the heel of his boot. Raising the glass on the lantern, he touched the flame to the wick, inhaling the pungent kerosene-smoke smell. “I need to go take care of the stock. Will you sit with her?”
“Of course.” His father leaned his cane against the table and took Harrison’s chair. “I’ll be right here.”
Harrison headed toward the barn in the fading light. The cow had to be milked, the animals fed and watered, but the whole time he worked, his mind was back in the soddy. If Jane didn’t recover, he would never get over his guilt. Driving her so hard. And for what? A few acres of land?
He knew a flash of anger. Why hadn’t she told anyone she didn’t feel well? Why had she pushed herself so hard? She’d promised to tell him if the work was too much for her.
His conscience shoved him. Hard. Jane wasn’t to blame for this. It was his fault. And the minute she woke up, he was going to tell her so, beg her forgiveness, and make plans to return to Columbus. Life here was too difficult, even for his redoubtable Jane. His shoulders sagged, and he leaned against Buttercup’s warm flank. Though he hated to admit defeat, he would, for Jane’s sake.
At least his father would be pleased at getting his way.
He set the entire bucket of milk into the calf pen, not wanting to bother with straining and storing it. The calf could enjoy it instead.
Emerging from the barn, he drew in a deep breath, contemplating the faint stars emerging as the sunlight faded. He loved this ranch, this wide-open land, and it would be a wrench to lose it. But the truth was, he loved Jane more, and he would give it all up to have her love. He only hoped he got the chance to tell her.
Chapter 9
Why couldn’t she seem to open her eyes? She frowned and tried again, this time rewarded by a sliver of lamplight before her heavy lids fell again.
She ached. From the top of her head to the soles of her feet, everything hurt. And her brain felt as if someone had wrapped it in wool. She moistened her lips, or tried to, but her mouth was so dry she only snagged her tongue on her chapped lips.
What time was it? She needed to get up. She needed to get to work, to help Harrison keep his ranch, so maybe he would love her. Feebly, she tried to move aside the quilt, but firm, gentle hands stopped her.
“Here now. You need to lie still and rest.”
A strange voice. With every ounce of energy, she forced her eyes to open, but they didn’t seem to want to focus.
“Harrison?”
“He’s gone to stretch his legs. We’re waiting for the doctor, and Harrison’s been glued to your side for hours. I thought he needed a break. He hasn’t left you except to do the chores since you first passed out.”
“Thirsty.” A desert fire raged in her throat, rasping her voice.
Awkwardly, he held her head up a bit and pressed a tin cup of water to her lips. Thankfully, she gulped the refreshing liquid until no more remained.
“Is that sufficient?”
She nodded and closed her eyes, fatigue rolling over her in waves.
“What time is it?”
“About two in the morning. The physician should arrive any time.”
“Who are you?” she whispered.
“I’m your father-in-law, Rutherford.”
Jane bit her chapped lip but couldn’t stem the rush of tears that leaked from her eyes. She hiccuped on a sob.
“Here now. Here. What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”
“This is all my fault.”
“You can’t help being ill.” He patted her hand, rough and tender at the same time, this man she’d labeled a dragon to be battled in the quest for Harrison’s ranch and happiness.
His gentleness seemed to open the floodgates where she’d stored up so much fear and pain and sorrow. Tears ran into her hair, and she couldn’t muster the strength to wipe them away, nor could she seem to stop them.
“Do you want me to fetch Harrison?” Rutherford pressed a handkerchief into her hand, his voice gruff.
She shook her head. “No, please.” Here she was supposed to be helping Harrison reach his dream, proving to him that she was a good helpmeet, and look at her. A bedridden, sobbing mess, not only failing to help him but taking him away from his work all afternoon and evening to care for her. What kind of impression was she making on his father?
She pressed the handkerchief to her lips. “He must be so disappointed in me.” The words came out all broken, half-stifled. “I’ll never earn his love now.” Her heart cracked wide open.
“What kind of nonsense is this? Harrison isn’t the least disappointed in you. That boy is besotted, judging from the letter he wrote me just after you married. He filled page after page about you. I couldn’t have been more pleased. That’s half the reason I came all this way. I wanted to meet the woman who could make my son wax lyrical.”
She blinked, smearing tears with the back of her hand. “You’re mixed up. He wouldn’t wax lyrical about me. Sylvia Norwood maybe, but not Plain Jane.”
“What’s Sylvia got to do with anything? Proper little baggage. Everything has worked out perfectly. I couldn’t have planned it better.” He rubbed his hands on his knees, smiling like a cat with canary feathers decorating its whiskers. “I know my son better than he thinks I do.”
“What do you mean?” The tears abated in the face of her curiosity. If only she had the strength to get out of bed, or even to lift her head off the pillow.
“My son is as stubborn as his father. I knew if I crammed Sylvia Norwood down his
throat, she would be the last woman he’d marry. And I was right. Not only did he not marry Sylvia, he found himself a bride all on his own.” Rutherford cackled and slapped his leg. “Yep, I know Harrison. I’m tickled to death he defied my wishes and came out here to make his own way. Seems to be a family tradition. I did the same with my father. Do you think he owned a factory? No he did not. He owned a fleet of barges on the Ohio River, and he expected me to take over for him, but I struck out on my own, built my own empire. And I wanted Harrison to do the same.”
Trying to make sense of this incomprehensible man, she asked, “But what about the contract?”
“What good would it do him if he had it too easy? If he had too much money too soon, it would ruin him. He needed to fight, to prove to himself that he could do it, that he didn’t need family money to reach his dreams.”
His reasoning baffled her, but she was too tired to sort it out. Her eyelids fell, and she rushed toward sleep.
The doctor arrived just before dawn, yawning and blinking. Harrison greeted him at the door and brought him to Jane, who still slept soundly.
Rutherford jerked awake from dozing in a chair. He’d refused to go to the bunkhouse to sleep, though Harrison had encouraged him to.
“Tell me what happened.” Dr. Iverson shrugged out of his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. “How long has she been asleep and what brought on her faint?”
His eyes were so piercing, Harrison was taken right back to his schoolboy days, caught in some prank or other. “She passed out yesterday just after noon. We were putting up hay, and I guess the heat got to her.”
“She woke up a few hours ago, cried her eyes out, and fell asleep again.” Rutherford rubbed his bristly cheek.
The doctor frowned. “All of you go out. I want to examine her.”
Once on the other side of the door, Harrison couldn’t stand still. He paced the grass, and while he paced, he prayed:
Lord, please let her be all right. I’ll get her out of here as soon as possible, just let her wake up and be fine. I have so much I need to tell her.
Love Is Patient Romance Collection Page 13