She focused her attention instead on the entire wardrobe full of clothes she’d inherited. She had no idea whether she would like the items she found or whether they would fit, but she was grateful for the gift of them.
When she opened the wardrobe doors, she was assailed by the smell of roses. Priscilla Creed must have loved roses. They were embroidered on her linens, they decorated her water pitcher, and her soap and clothes smelled distinctly of rosewater.
Miranda reached for a rose-pink dress made of heavy linen that looked warm. The dress unfolded and unfolded and unfolded.
“Oh, dear,” she murmured.
Jake’s wife must have been almost as tall as her very tall husband. Miranda held the bodice against herself and saw that Priscilla Creed had been more well endowed than she was. The waist was larger, too. This dress was going to need a great deal of alteration before it would fit. She smiled ruefully as she realized how lucky she was that the other woman had been larger than her, rather than smaller.
Miranda tapped her fingers on the pair of Jake’s Levi’s under her hand and had a crazy idea. The trousers could be folded up at the bottom, and she could use one of Priscilla’s many ribbons to hold them in at the waist. She’d never worn trousers, mostly because she’d never had a reason to do something so outlandish. But why not?
She glanced guiltily toward the door. Maybe she ought to ask before she borrowed Jake’s Levi’s. But she’d have to go downstairs wearing a quilt to find him, which was silly. Surely he’d understand why she’d chosen his trousers over one of his dead wife’s dresses.
She folded up the legs of the Levi’s, then sat on the bed and pulled them up to her waist. They were big, but not too big to cinch in. She found a pink hair ribbon amongst Priscilla’s things and ran it through the belt loops and tied it in a small bow in front.
She found a beautiful chemise embroidered with roses and put it on, then added one of Priscilla’s white blouses with a frill down the front. She folded up the sleeves to her wrists and tucked the tails into the Levi’s as best she could. Last, she tied a pink knitted shawl around her shoulders and felt warm for the first time since she’d gotten out of bed.
It felt strange to be dressed half in the clothes of one sex and half in the clothes of the other. However, wearing Jake’s Levi’s, she would be able to do chores without tripping over a too-long skirt. She took a deep breath, then opened the door and headed downstairs.
Miranda was halfway down the stairs when she heard Slim start yelling. She hobbled as fast as she could on her stiff left knee the rest of the way to the kitchen. She found Harry sitting at a long kitchen table howling his heart out. Anna Mae was screaming at the top of her lungs in a high chair. A red-faced Slim was sitting in his wheeled chair tending a pan on the stove, his back to both of them. Jake was trying to calm the baby, while Nick was hovering over Harry.
“What on earth is going on here?” Miranda said from the doorway.
Harry jumped out of his chair and came running, clinging to her waist as though he were being chased by demons. “Slim yelled at me!”
“Kid nearly burned himself on the stove,” Slim muttered without turning around.
“Why is the baby crying?” Miranda asked.
“She pulled Harry’s hair, and he yelled at her,” Jake said. He picked up the little girl and held her in his arms, staring at Miranda as though she were a cow with two heads. “Why are you dressed like that?”
“Oh. Do you like it?” Miranda smiled self-consciously. She straightened the pink shawl on her shoulders, adjusted the pink bow at her waist, and finally ran her hands down the front of the dark blue Levi’s.
“Where’d you find that outfit?” Jake asked.
“The dresses were all way too big for me, so I borrowed a pair of your trousers and paired them with one of Priscilla’s blouses. The blouse is too big, too, but I was able to fold up the sleeves and this way I can work without tripping over a skirt.” She realized she was babbling and shut up.
He stared at her legs as though he was noticing for the first time that women had them, too. She supposed female limbs were mostly hidden from view beneath skirts, so maybe he had a right to gape.
Slim wheeled himself around to look and said, “Damndest thing I’ve ever seen. What kind of woman wears pants, I ask you?”
“A woman who plans to work and needs something warm to wear,” Miranda replied.
“It’s fine, Slim,” Jake said, never taking his eyes off Miranda. “How long is it going to take for you to cut one of those dresses to fit?”
“Depends on how much other work there is to be done around here.”
“I’m starving,” Nick piped up. “Are we going to eat breakfast or not?”
“Pancakes are ready when you are,” Slim said, setting a few more hotcakes on a platter at the back of the stove that was already stacked high with them. “Butter and blackberry jam are on the table.”
Miranda watched both boys’ eyes go wide at Slim’s announcement.
“Blackberry jam?” Nick asked in amazement.
“Blackberry jam?” Harry repeated.
“You both deaf?” Slim asked.
“No, sir!” Nick said. “How many pancakes—flapjacks—can I have?”
“Many as you want,” Slim said.
Nick shot a glance in Miranda’s direction, his blue eyes bright with excitement. Pancakes were only served on Sunday at the orphanage and each child could have a second, if he asked for it, and if he hadn’t incurred an infraction during the previous week. Nick rarely got the second pancake.
“I’ll take six,” Nick said. “To start.”
Slim grinned. “Nothing wrong with the kid’s appetite,” he said to Jake.
“Me, too,” Harry said.
“You’ll take two,” Miranda said to Harry. “When those are gone, if you’re still hungry, you can have more.”
Jake started pouring a tin cup full of milk from a jar.
“Is that real milk?” Nick asked, his eyes glued on the cup of milk.
“Straight from the cow,” Jake replied. “Milked her myself this morning.”
“Can I have some?” Nick asked.
“Can I have some, too?” Harry asked.
Jake frowned and exchanged a glance with Slim before he said to Nick, “I was pouring this cup for you.”
“Can Harry have some, too?” Nick asked before accepting the cup from Jake.
This time Jake exchanged a frown and a glance with Miranda, who flushed at the insinuation that she’d been depriving her brothers of the basic foods necessary for life. He handed the cup to Nick and said, “Sure.”
Nick set the cup of milk in front of Harry’s seat at the table and held out his hand for another.
Miranda caught another glance from Jake at this further proof that Nick didn’t trust adults. She wasn’t the one who’d deprived her brothers, it was the Institute, where they’d received enough food and drink to sustain life, but nothing as special as milk. Ever.
Both boys ate and drank as though they were starving, which they literally had been for the past few days.
Miranda found a seat near the baby, who’d already started on a pancake of her own, which she was eating with her hands. The child had large, dark brown eyes and long brown hair. She was pudgy with baby fat, proof that she’d been well fed.
“You don’t have her using a fork?” she asked Jake.
“Don’t see the point,” Jake said. “She does fine like this.”
Miranda pursed her lips. She could see why he needed a woman in the house. The baby wouldn’t learn to use a fork and spoon without practice. She would make sure in the future the little girl got them. Miranda smiled and said, “Good morning, Anna Mae.”
The little girl looked up at her and smiled back.
Miranda’s fingers got caught in tangles as she tried to brush her hand through Anna Mae’s hair. She’d often put her sisters’ hair in braids, and she was looking forward to doing the same with Anna Mae�
�s.
Miranda finished her fifth pancake and looked up to see Jake staring at her.
“Where are you putting all that?” he asked.
She pointed to her mouth, which was full. She chewed and swallowed before she said, “We ran out of food on the steamboat ride down the Mississippi.”
She realized how much she’d revealed about the struggles on their journey by that simple statement. She distracted Jake by asking, “What can the boys help you with today?”
“Stock has to be fed, but the boys don’t have coats. You can put one of my wool shirts on each of them, and they can cart wood from the back porch to the fireplaces around the house. What are your plans?”
“Cleaning seems to be the most urgent need right now.”
Slim’s eyes narrowed. “You sayin’ I ain’t a good housekeeper?”
“Not at all,” Miranda said. “We’re here to help. We can make up beds and dust and do dishes and give you more time to …” Miranda wasn’t sure what it was Slim did to fill up his days in the wheeled chair.
“Ain’t much else I can do ’cept cook and clean and play with my grandbaby,” Slim grumbled.
“I’d be willing to help cook, if you’ll teach me some of your recipes,” Miranda said.
“Got a book full of ’em,” Slim said. “My Willa Mae wrote ’em down for Priss.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Miranda had been wondering whether she’d be able to cook for the two men. Having recipes would solve the problem nicely.
“Guess you ain’t gonna plow that garden today with the ground froze solid,” Slim said to Jake.
“I’d better ride fence today, see if there are any breaks. Don’t want to give Blackthorne an excuse to steal my cattle.”
“Would your stepfather really steal from you?” Miranda asked.
“You bet that bastard would!” Slim retorted before Jake could speak.
“What’s a bastard?” Harry asked.
“A no-good son of a bitch,” Slim said.
“A bastard no-good son of a bitch,” Harry repeated.
Slim grinned. “You got it, boy.”
Miranda had her mouth open to chastise her brother, but Jake spoke first.
“That’s enough of that, runt.” Then he turned to Slim and said, “Watch your language around the kids. Otherwise, before you know it, Anna Mae’ll be swearing like a bullwhacker stuck in mud.”
Miranda rose along with Jake and watched as he put on a shearling coat, his black, flat-brimmed hat, a knitted wool scarf, and heavy leather gloves.
“When will you be back?” she asked.
“Sundown, I expect.”
“You’re not coming back to eat at noon?”
He pointed to a pail and said, “Packed a lunch. You and the boys are free to make yourselves whatever you want. There’s plenty of food in the pantry.”
A swirl of icy wind ruffled the frills on her blouse when he opened the kitchen door and stepped out. A moment later, he was gone.
She turned and saw her brothers licking blackberry jam off their fingers. The baby’s face was covered with the gooey mess. She glanced toward the pump at the sink, which wasn’t so different from what they’d had in Chicago. She found a cloth and wet it at the pump, then came back to wipe jam off small faces and fingers.
“Fold up your bed linens and put them aside,” she instructed Nick. “Harry, you can help him. Then come back in here. I’m going to need some help with drying the dishes and putting them away.”
“You gonna tell me what to do, too?” Slim asked once the boys were gone.
Miranda had completely forgotten about the old man, who was sitting quietly at the table.
“Of course not. What do you usually do?”
“That baby takes all my time. Can’t hardly turn around without changin’ a diaper or wipin’ a face.”
“I can help with that,” Miranda volunteered.
“Didn’t ask for no help.”
Miranda realized there was going to be no right thing to say, so she said nothing, simply went to the pump and began filling the sink to wash dishes.
Slim mumbled something under his breath, then said, “I’m goin’ to my room. Don’t nobody bother me.” He wheeled himself out of the kitchen.
Miranda realized there was something she’d been aching to do, something she hadn’t dared to do with Jake or Slim in the room. She crossed to the high chair and lifted the little girl out of it and held her close. She nuzzled the baby’s cheek with her nose. “You are about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”
She sniffed. And sniffed again. “And the stinkiest,” she said with a laugh. She turned to leave in search of diapers and powder when the kitchen door banged open.
She circled the baby with her arms to protect her from the rush of frigid wind and turned back to close the door.
And found a stranger standing in the open doorway.
Jake found the break in the fence at first light and followed the trail of beaten-down and eaten-down grass, hunting for the cattle he knew had made their way onto Blackthorne land. The job became difficult, and then impossible, as falling snow hid the signs of passage. He knew he should head home, but the thought of Blackthorne finding his cattle on the wrong side of the fence stuck in his craw. He wasn’t about to kowtow to his stepfather to get them back.
He kicked his horse into a trot down a sloped hill, anxious to find his cattle before the weather turned any worse than it was. “Come on, Red,” he urged the bay horse. “We better find those longhorns.”
No sooner had he finished speaking than Red’s hindquarters slid out from under him. The horse neighed when he lost his footing and lurched forward to regain his balance, but the slippery surface was unforgiving. The gelding stumbled and rolled, landing on his side—with Jake’s left leg pinned beneath him.
Jake screamed as his ankle bent at an odd angle across a large stone. He waited for the crack that would tell him his leg was broken, but he didn’t hear it.
His scream frightened Red, and the horse kicked out, scrambling desperately until he was back on his feet.
Jake had the presence of mind to free his legs from the stirrups, pulling the injured ankle loose with his hands as the horse found his footing and rose.
Red stood and shook off the snow and stared down at Jake.
“Little late to be worrying about me,” Jake muttered. “You should have been more careful coming down that hill.”
The horse whinnied.
Jake realized how lucky he was that Red hadn’t bolted. It wouldn’t be a pleasant ride back to the house, but at least he wasn’t going to freeze to death trying to walk back with a bum leg. He stared at his ankle, wondering if it was actually broken, and he just hadn’t heard the snap. He scooted closer to Red on his rump till he could loop his arm into the stirrup, then used it to pull himself upright on his good leg.
Jake set his injured foot on the ground and gently put his weight on it. He bit back an anguished cry of pain, not wanting to spook his horse again. Without taking off his boot, he couldn’t tell whether it was broken or not. Once he had the boot off, he doubted he’d get it back on again. Better to wait till he got home to tend the injury.
First things first. He had to get back in the saddle. Then he had to find his cattle. He’d worry about how he was going to mend the broken fence with one good leg after he’d driven the cattle back onto his land.
He was bracing to put his foot in the stirrup when he noticed Red was standing on three legs. His right hindquarters were canted, the right rear hoof off the ground. Jake hopped carefully, and painfully, around the horse, his hand on Red’s rump to let him know he was there and to keep him calm.
His heart sank when he saw the white bone sticking out. He looked to see what could have caused so much damage and found the granite outcropping near where Red had fallen. The horse must have broken his leg when he’d been kicking so furiously to get back upright after his fall.
There was no help for it. The horse
would have to be put down.
He’d raised Red from a colt. Even though he knew it was dangerous to have feelings for ranch animals, he’d let himself get attached to the horse. “I’m sorry about this, Red,” he said past the knot in his throat. He welcomed the pain as he hobbled back around the horse and began removing the saddle.
“This is all my fault,” he said in a soothing voice. “My foolhardy pride caused this mess. I was in a big hurry and wasn’t as careful as I should have been. I shouldn’t let Blackthorne get under my skin. I may just have handed him the prize on a silver platter. Considering how far I am from the ranch house, and the fact that I have a bum leg and there’s no one to come looking for me, I may not outlive you by much.”
Jake was sobered by the thought that he might have found a mother for his daughter and then deprived her of a father, all within twenty-four hours. If he somehow survived the freezing cold and made it back to the ranch house on foot, he had no idea how he was going to run the ranch with one functioning leg. It hurt bad enough to be broken, but even a sprain was going to make it impossible to do the manual labor that had to be done every day.
Slim couldn’t manage much outside the house. He doubted his wife from the big city was going to be any good at farm chores. The elder of her two brothers might be some help mucking out the barn, milking the cow, collecting eggs from the henhouse, and slopping the hogs. But how was he supposed to round up his cattle for market?
Assuming he didn’t freeze to death, how long was it going to take for his injured ankle to mend? How long before Blackthorne made good on his promise to take Jake’s land away from him? How long before he’d be a married man with three kids and an old man to care for with no work and no roof over their heads?
He set aside the saddle and blanket, which he could retrieve after the storm, then pulled the bridle off over Red’s ears and eased the bit out of the horse’s mouth. He tossed the bridle over to the pile of tack nearby, then put his arms around the horse’s neck and pressed his cheek against Red’s. “I’m gonna miss you, boy.”
The horse stood unmoving, unaware of what was to come. Jake took a step back, pulled his Colt .45 and put it to Red’s head, so it would kill the animal instantly, then pulled the trigger.
Texas Bride: A Bitter Creek Novel Page 11