Meg Book Three: The Cattleman's Daughters: A Not Quite Spicy Western Historical Romance

by Danni Roan

  Clayton watched as the tall lanky cowboy, unfolded himself from the bench and offered a hand. “Howdy Clayton, I’m Will Robinson, and this here pretty young thing is my wife Katie.” Katie smiled as Will sat back down.

  “Howdy, young fella.” An old man with a scraggly white beard offered. “I’m Billy, or ya’ can call me Cookie. Don’t make no never mind ta me.” Unlike the young puncher, he didn’t stand or offer his hand but kept his place, holding fast to his knife and fork as if someone might try to take them away from him.

  Next a short, skinny hand, bald as an egg, winked up at him with bright blue eyes and a creased face. “I’m Walters, but ever ‘one calls me Walt.”

  “Walt’s our number one horse wrangler.” Joshua offered, he’ll keep the Remuda ready for us come round up.” Josh interjected. "Watch he doesn't wander off with that fine horse you rode in on." he added with a grin.

  A burly man of average height struggled to his feet, his bent back keeping him from standing straight.

  “I’m Deeks young man. I’m the blacksmith and if you’ve ever turned your hand to the steel I’ll be happy for yer help.” He gave a wave of a wide heavily scared hand then eased himself back down to the bench.

  “Steve.” Another white haired man offered. He was about the same size as Clayton but had at least thirty years on his Clay’s twenty-three.

  At the far end of the table a shorter man sat in the only other chair at the table. He had sparkling cinnamon colored eyes, and dark salt and pepper hair.

  “That’s my father-in-law, Isadoro.” Mr. James indicated and the other man waved a hand at him with a welcoming smile.

  On around the table they went, a slim teenaged girl with black hair falling loose down her back introduced herself as Mae Lynn as a Chinese man settled himself on a seat next to her.

  “This is my great-grandfather, Chen Lou.” She ended softly. Then along past the twins, Meg, Fiona then finally Eric and the hulking Hank Ballard.

  Clayton ran a hand over his face and swallowed. “Well I’d like to say I sure am glad to be here.” He drawled “Just don’t expect me to remember even half of ya’ll’s names for a bit, or ya’ll be very disappointed.”

  The whole table erupted in laughter, waving and chortling good-naturedly. Joshua James’ eyes twinkled at his large mismatched family, slapped Clayton on the back and indicated for Will to scoot down the bench so that Clayton could sit, then took his own place at the table.

  Stillness fell over the table again as the patriarch of the family closed his eyes to offer a blessing.

  “Lord, for that which we are about to receive, let us truly be thankful. Thank you for Your many blessings and for bringing young Clay here to us to fill the need we have. We trust that You have brought him here for a purpose and that things will go as they should. Amen.”

  While the food was passed around, Clayton watched the others fill their plates. As he ate he listened to various conversations and marveled at the fact that so many of these hands would be considered well past their prime. Billy was just plain old and Chen Lou seemed to be ancient. It looked like Mr. James had done the right thing by sending word to his brother for younger hands to come and work for him and not a moment too soon.

  Across the table from him, he noticed as the girls joked and laughed comfortably with each other and the older men often referring to them as Uncle and not just by their names.

  They were sure pretty girls but that Meg was just about a snooty as they come. The small hairs on the back of his neck stood up when she turned her aquamarine glare on him. What he’d done to make her dislike him he didn’t know but he’d be hanged before he gave her the satisfaction of letting it show.

  Instead he smiled his most charming smile and when the opportunity arose offered polite small talk, throwing in some acceptable complements along the way. No bright-eyed little chit of a girl was going to worm her way under his skin. He’d been through too much to put up with that at this point in his life.

  Piling more food on his plate he looked across the table again and gave her his best smile, then dug into the heaping mound of flat noodles and vegetables floating in a creamy sauce.

  Meg sat fuming, as the self-centered cowhand sat across the table from her grinning like a fool. Exactly who did he think he was swaggering in here, winking at whomever he wished and looking at her like she was some simpering female? One way or another she would bring the handsome puncher down a peg or two.

  She smiled sweetly at him while he loaded up his plate a second time. It would serve him right to get fat on Nona’s cooking, she thought, her smile brightening while her eyes flashed. Some people were just too accustomed to getting what they wanted with a flashy smile, or a few charming words. She narrowed her eyes at the man called Clayton Allen. She’d show him, one way or another.

  Clayton listened to the conversations around him and noted that the two most discussed topics were the round up that would come get started soon and the little house that was being built in the glen for Will and Katie.

  He was struck by the easy feeling of comradery that permeated the table as the men and woman around him spoke, and it struck him that although the James’ name was written large across the arched entry gates to the compound that each of the members at this table were treated like partners and friends not just hired men. It reminded him of the family back in Florida he’d stayed with when he’d tried to rest his father’s ranch from the hands of the no good skunk who’d taken everything he owned. A familiar heat rose up his neck at the thought and absently he stroked the thick metal object in his vest pocket settling his nerves.

  On the other side of the table, Meg lifted her eyes just as the new hand looked up. Their eyes met and a heat hotter than a prairie fire shot across the short expanse. His face was hard, his eyes burning and she could sense anger in him, but then it was gone, replaced in an instant by that infuriatingly easy smile.

  “Bianca, girls.” Mr. James was saying as he looked down the long table. “Another fine meal.” He patted his stomach contentedly. “Now I guess we’d better get back to it if we ever expect that house to get finished.”

  Will was the first one on his feet, leaning down to kiss his pretty wife, then dashing across the kitchen to snatch his hat from a peg. The rest of the table laughed but one by one rose to join him.

  Standing along with the others Clayton turned his best grin on the woman most called Nona. “Ma’am I can’t rightly recall when I had a finer meal. Why, that food was good enough to make the angles weep.”

  Bianca Leone’ smiled brightly and waved the young man away. “You go on and put that southern charm away.” She chided lightly. “There’s too much work to be done for that nonsense.” But everyone could tell she was delighted by the praise.

  “Clayton.” Joshua James said turning to the newest arrival to his ranch. “You get your gear and I’ll take you down to the bunk house so you can get settled, then we’ll head over to the house and put you to work.”

  “You don’t have to do that Pa.” Meg’s lilting voice surprised both men. “I’ll show him where to put his things, you’re far too busy for that, and after all we do want him to know his place.” She finished with an innocent smirk.

  All the older hands exchanged looks but didn't say a word as they watched for Josh's reaction.

  Chapter 4

  Clay stalked down the plank hallway past the stair well to retrieve his hat and his saddlebags, all the while wondering what the girl could be playing at by offering to show him the bunk house. Whatever it was, he’d play along and sooner or later she’d know he was every bit as good as she was at this game.

  “Ready when you are ma’am.” He called cheerfully as he entered the now much quieter kitchen. The older woman, Bianca, smiled at him encouragingly as he waited for Meg to wrap a dark brown shawl about her shoulders.

  The air was warm, as they crossed the back porch and stepped down the few stairs to a yard that was just beginning to turn green. A gust of
wind rustled the branches of some huge cotton woods, catching at Meg’s cloak and causing it to dance about her, revealing her thin waist and slim hips. The breeze tugged at her hair piled high on her head in a loose bun and several coppery strands fluttered becomingly around her face.

  For a few more paces the lean cow hunter followed the willowy young woman, studying her. The deep rust colored dress she wore was fetching, setting off her pale skin and accentuating her bright locks. She moved confidently, her head high, intent on her destination on the far end of the ranch yard.

  As they came abreast of the other small building that stood perpendicular to the house. He stopped looking at the log building with a low roof and only one small window set up high. A blackened metal stove pipe jutted through the roof to the right of center and heavy piping was visible by the front door where the building sat highest off of the ground on log runners.

  Clayton scratched his chin trying to puzzle out what the building could be for. It was too large to be a smoke house or a privy. Perhaps it was for storage, but then that wouldn’t explain the metal chimney. The roof was galvanized as were all of the buildings on the Broken J.

  Meg, not hearing the cowboy’s steady tread behind her anymore turned to see him studying the bath house. She smiled smugly. The dandy was in for a surprise here, and she grinned for being the one to deliver the shock.

  “It’s the bathhouse.” She called bluntly, strolling back to where he stood. She smiled wider as his eyebrows rose skyward.

  “A bath house? You don’t say?” He grinned at her roguishly. “Now doesn’t that sound nice?”

  Boldly he stepped up the heavy stairs and wrenched the thick door open. Soft light filtered in from the window he’d seen and its twin on the far side of the building. Three large copper tubs sat in a neat row on the thick plank floor, their interior polished bright by repeated scrubbings, while the outside had turned a soft bluish-green over time. A tall pump rose above the floor at the front of the building, its handle smooth from use, and a small potbellied cook stove stood just to the right of the tubs, its crooked pipe jutting into an adjoining room on the far end of the small structure before exiting through the roof.

  Clayton whistled low. “I guess your pa believes in doing right by his men.” He said, slicking his long black hair out of his eyes, “and look at the color of those tubs. Why their nearly as pretty as your hair, Red.” His eyes glimmered as he turned to face the girl who’d followed through the door and now rested, casually leaning on the thick frame.

  Meg, stood to her full height, her back ridged. “What did you call me?” her voice was harsh, her eyes narrowed.

  “Now Red, what are you all het up about? That hair of yours does have a rosy hue to it.” His voice was teasing.

  “My hair is not red.” The girl said placing her hands on her hips menacingly.

  “Well maybe not.” Clayton retorted, scratching his ear thoughtfully. “It’s more like cinnamon and ginger.” He smiled broadly before taking a step toward her and lifting a soft tendril away from her face.

  Rolling the silken strands between his thumb and fore finger, he looked into her brilliant eyes. “Yep, that’s what I’d say. I’d say ginger.” His eyes traveled up her face waiting, challenging.

  Meg’s eyes flashed as the arrogant pup took a strand of her hair in his hand. She clenched her hands into fists and glared at him. “I am not ginger!” her voice quavered as she tried to control her temper. How could this virtual stranger be so infuriating?

  Clayton chuckled. “You sure look like a spicy morsel to me.” He watched as her eyes narrowed like a cat’s about to strike. To his surprise, her lips quirked into a grin.

  “Just remember cowboy, ginger has a bite.” Her voice was soft, sultry, and yet held a sting. Her eyes never wavered from his.

  The young puncher leaned forward his face mere inches from hers. “I like things hot.” He drawled. “Sweltering is just about right for me.”

  His eyes glowed in the dim light as he stood his ground knowing the girl was trying to push his buttons and provoke him. Something feral stirred within him swirling with the simmering coals of anger that lay just beneath his smiling façade.

  “You play with fire you’re bound to get burned.” The words rolled off of the feisty girl’s tongue like warm butter.

  “I don’t know, you play just right and it keeps you warm.” He didn’t back down, didn’t blink but continued to meet her steady gaze watching as her eyes flared.

  A soft breeze whistling along the ground outside, battered the door against the wall of the bathhouse drawing their attention away from each other and back to their surroundings.

  The young puncher, eased himself back on his boot heels his motions fluid, smooth. “Reckon I’d best get my gear stashed before your pa comes looking for me.” He said a wide devil may care grin on his handsome face as he shrugged his heavy saddle bags on his shoulder.

  “Hm.” Meg replied then turning on her heel stepped back out into the warm springtime sunlight.

  “I don’t have all day,” she tossed over her shoulder as she walked briskly toward the long building that sat at a ninety-degree angle to the bath house and faced the south side of the big ranch house.

  Clayton chuckled and noticed how her shoulders squared and spine stiffened in response. It would be fun to get under her skin and teach her not to look down on others. Especially when she didn’t know a thing about that person. A flicker of annoyance flashed across his face. He’d dealt with bias and bigotry enough in his life time and he wouldn’t start out here that way. One way or another he’d best the snip of a girl and teach her a lesson she’d never forget.

  Meg could feel the eyes of the cowhand on her and she smiled. She was getting under his skin. She sashayed as she walked, plotting ways to annoy the young man further. Just because he was handsome didn’t mean he could go around winking at anyone he wanted to. She walked through the open door of the bunkhouse and stepped to the side of the door to let him enter.

  “You can put your things away at any of the empty bunks.” She waved negligently with a small white hand. “There aren’t very many men living here anymore.”

  The bunkhouse was cool and dry as Clayton stepped through the door way. Soft spring light filtered through windows on either side of the door illuminating the single long room. In the middle of the open space, a long heavily scarred table with a set of mismatched chairs provided a comfortable place to sit and have a cup of coffee or play a round of cards next to a small potbellied stove, similar to the one in the bath house.

  Seeing a bunk on the far side of the room directly across from the door, he hefted the weight of his saddlebags, skirted the table and flopped down on the low cot’s thick mattress with a smile. “Now isn’t this cozy.” He said turning his grin on Meg. “It’s quite comfortable. Don’t you want to see?” His dark amber eyes held a challenge, daring her to sit with him on the small bed.

  Meg, who had been leaning against the far wall smirked. He thought he’d scare her off inviting her to sit on a bed with him. Did he really think she was some frightened little girl?

  Slowly she meandered her way around the table to where he sat on the low mat. His big boots, their silver tips shining in the light from the door, scraped on the hard wood floor as he eased his legs out in front of him.

  Chin high Meg turned her back, tucked her skirts under her hips and lowered herself to the mattress, sitting primly beside the cowpuncher.

  “Nice and comfy, just like I said, isn’t’ it.” He drawled.

  “Yes, it seems to be quite adequate. I’m sure you’ll rest here fine.” She replied, keeping a quaver out of her voice with effort.

  She knew it was inappropriate to be sitting alone with a strange man on his bed, but she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her squirm. This was her home, her ranch and she’d sit where ever she wanted to. A soft chuckle next to her made her prickle but she refused to respond.

  It was all Clayton coul
d do to keep from throwing his head back and laughing. The girl had pluck he’d give her that. Apparently, it was going to take more than just sitting on a bed to make her swallow her pride.

  The echo of a screen door slamming brought them both to their feet and Clayton chuckled again.

  Meg, turned, her skirts twirling with her quick movement. “You can put your things away in the chest under the bed. All of the men have one, then climb over the fence at the back and head toward the sound of running water. You’ll find the rest of the crew there.” Her words came out in rapid fire her voice haughty.

  “I’m sure Nona is wondering where I am and I have better things to do with my time that sit around with a cow hand.” With another swish of her skirts she strode across the heavy plank floor and out through the open door.

  Clayton Allen sat back down on the bunk with a plop. The bed was low and his knees stuck up at an angle as he studied the now empty doorway.

  “That girl has a day of reckoning coming.” He whispered to himself dropping his fingers to his vest pocket. He ran a callused finger along the thick lip of the hard cold metal in his pocket, then grasping it in thumb and forefinger pulled it out of the black leather vest and tossed it in the air.

  The early afternoon sun caught and gleamed off the worn coin as it tumbled back toward him, its soft golden shine disappearing into his large hand. Clutching the familiar object for a moment he felt warmth transfer into it and he sighed.

  Dragging the large wooded trunk out from under the bed he quickly unpacked his overstuffed saddlebags, pulling out tightly rolled shirts, trousers, and underclothes, his copy of Huck Finn and a few other personal items before lifting the two heavy leather sacks from the black paniers and settling them under his clothes with a light clink. Glancing over his shoulder he checked to see that no one else was around then pushed the wooden box back under his bed.