The Hired Man

by Lynna Banning

  “Be my pa.”

  “Nope. He won’t do that. First of all, nothing any man does will ever make him your pa. And secondly, he’ll never marry your mother.”

  Danny eyed him with doubt written all over his face. “How come?”

  “She doesn’t like him.”

  The boy’s eyes widened. “Huh? How do you know that? She feeds him cookies an’ lemonade every Sunday afternoon.”

  “Cookies and lemonade don’t mean diddly, son. That’s just a woman’s way of being polite.”

  “If she doesn’t like him, how come she has to be polite?”

  Cord rolled his eyes. “Darned if I know. Sometimes there’s no comprehending why a woman does what she does.”

  A relieved-looking Danny turned toward him. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Look at it from her point of view, Dan. Let’s say she gets all frosty and the gent with the glasses doesn’t come around again. There’s gonna be five more guys lined up right behind him, wanting cookies and lemonade and female attention, so then she gets rid of another one.”

  “Good riddance,” the boy muttered.

  “You’re missing the point, son. Your ma’s real pretty. There’s always gonna be some man mooning around her, drinking up her lemonade and taking up her time.”

  “You don’t moon, Cord.”

  “No,” he said carefully, “I don’t.” Mooning wasn’t exactly what he was doing around Eleanor, but he guessed it might come close. He liked Eleanor Malloy. He didn’t want to like her, but he sure as hell did.

  Daniel listlessly pushed the dishrag over a dirty plate. “Don’t you like Ma?”

  Cord almost laughed out loud. Like her? Eleanor Malloy was getting stuck so deep in his thoughts he couldn’t sleep nights.

  “Sure, I like her. But a man doesn’t have to ‘moon,’ as you put it, over a woman to show his...uh...regard.”

  “You think Ma likes any of those guys that come around here?”

  Cord swished the clean plate through the rinse water, automatically dried it off and set it on the counter. “I don’t know, Dan. A woman is real good at keeping her feelings to herself. But if you watch close, you might be able to figure it out.”

  “Gosh, thanks, Cord. And,” he added, eyeing the growing stack of plates Cord had run his dish towel over, “thanks for drying the supper dishes. Molly ran off to the barn to feed the kittens ’stead of helping me.”

  At that moment Eleanor appeared in the kitchen, the empty coffee cup and saucer in her hand. “What about the kittens?” She plunked the cup into the dishwater.

  “Molly’s feedin’ them,” Danny said quickly. “Again. Pretty soon they’re gonna be bigger than Mama Cat.”

  “No, they won’t,” Eleanor said. “Mama Cat’s pretty small.”

  “What about the papa cat?” Danny pursued.

  Eleanor frowned. “What about him?”

  “Well, he’s real big.”

  “How do you know that? How do you know who the father cat is?”

  “Aw, I heard that old tomcat Isaiah used to feed yowlin’ real loud one night, and I figured...well, that’s how they do it, isn’t it? The papa cat makes a bunch of noise, and after that...”

  Eleanor turned scarlet. Cord wanted to laugh so bad his jaw ached. “Yeah,” he said, his voice tight, “that’s how they do it, all right. But it takes more than—”

  “Cord!” Eleanor sent him a look that could freeze ice cream and pressed her lips together.

  “Yeah?” Danny said with sudden interest. “They yowl real loud and then what?”

  “Cord...” Eleanor said in a warning tone. She busied herself stacking the clean plates on the china cabinet shelf.

  Cord cleared his throat. He thought about escaping into the pantry or out the back door, but that would be a coward’s way out. “Well,” he said after thinking a moment, “Mama Cat and Papa Cat...uh...kinda lie down together and...” He cleared his throat again.

  “Yeah? Then what?”

  “Daniel!” Eleanor interjected. “It’s time for bed.”

  “What? No, it ain’t, Ma. It’s still light outside.”

  Cord busied himself hanging the damp dish towel on the hook near the stove. He couldn’t see avoiding the boy’s question. Danny had a normal boy’s curiosity and a right to ask about such things. He touched his shoulder.

  “Mama Cat,” he said quietly, “and Papa Cat touch each other in a special way.”

  “Gee,” the boy breathed. “That’s nice. That’s real nice. I’m real glad you told me about it, Cord.”

  Eleanor’s face was a study, part embarrassment, part relief and part...he hadn’t the faintest idea what.

  Whistling, Danny folded the dishrag, laid it on the counter and wrestled the dishpan out of the sink. “You want the dishwater poured on your roses, Ma?”

  At her nod, he tramped out the kitchen door and Cord heard his boots clomp down the back steps. After a moment there was a splashing sound.

  A silence thicker than valley fog descended over the kitchen. Cord racked his brain for what to say and finally decided to change the subject. “What kind of roses do you have, Eleanor?”

  “Pink ones,” she said tightly. “Cecile Brunner.”

  “Pretty,” he said. He lifted his hat off the hook by the back door. “’Night, Eleanor. Sleep well.”

  “Surely you’re not leaving! Why, it’s still light out!”

  He couldn’t help grinning at her. “I’ve dried all the supper dishes so there’s nothing left for me to do tonight. Unless,” he added with a chuckle, “you want to talk about Mama and Papa Cat?”

  She turned an enticing shade of raspberry and he found himself staring at her lips. A wave of heat flooded his groin.

  Oh, no, Winterman. No! Not interested.

  Well, heck yes, he was interested. He just wasn’t going to do anything about it. He’d had enough Mama Cat, Papa Cat experience in the past to know that he didn’t want to follow where thinking about a woman’s lips might lead. Never again.

  He tore his gaze away from Eleanor’s mouth and moved toward the back door. “Think I’ll, uh, check on Molly and the kittens out in the barn.”

  Chapter Ten

  Eleanor flopped over on the double bed and tried to keep her eyelids from popping back open again. Cordell Winterman had to be the most puzzling, annoying, know-it-all man she’d ever had the misfortune to meet. Not only could he bake apple pies that tasted better than hers, he could talk to her son about the facts of life—at least some of them. He could fix gates and fences and chicken houses and...whatever needed fixing.

  He’d even worked the squeak out of the porch swing and oiled the hinges on her oven door so it opened more easily.

  She turned over again. Nothing was more annoying than being mad about something when she couldn’t say what it was, exactly. But it concerned her hired man, that much she knew. All six-foot-something of him, with those incredibly clear blue eyes that laughed at her and winked at her children when he thought she wasn’t looking. Maddening man! His piecrust was flakier than hers and...and...well, he was just maddening.

  Daniel worshipped him, which made her grit her teeth. She supposed a boy needed a man in his life, someone to look up to. Molly followed Cord around like one of the kittens, firing endless questions at him and giggling at his wacky answers.

  Why do cats have four legs when chickens only have two? Molly wanted to know.

  Cord had answered, Because cats can’t fly and they need four legs to escape their enemies.

  Hah! Eleanor snorted. Chickens couldn’t fly, either. But Molly had just grinned and nodded and asked another question.

  What does Bessie the cow dream about at night?

  Cows have cow dreams, Cord had told her. They dream about green gra
ss and shady trees to lie under, and soft hands squeezing their teats for milk.

  Cow dreams! What utter nonsense. And then he’d shown her daughter how to squeeze Bessie’s udder to squirt milk out for the kittens, and Eleanor’d had to smile. Perhaps someday milking would be a pleasure for Molly instead of the twice-daily drudgery it was for her and every other farm wife in Oregon. Even when she’d been woozy with fatigue, she still had to milk that darn cow!

  She rolled over onto her other side and suddenly heard a noise in the yard. Quietly she slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the window. Was that a shadow moving behind the maple tree? The skin prickled up and down her arms.

  Very quietly she raised the sash and leaned out. The shadow moved again, slow and low to the ground. With a shudder, she glided to her bedroom door and down the stairs to the front door and carefully lifted the loaded revolver from its leather holster. She rested her finger over the trigger and waited, peering into the darkened yard and holding her breath.

  The gunshot brought Cord upright in an instant. What the—? He grabbed his Colt and was down the ladder and out the barn door before the horses even stirred.

  Good God, would you look at that? A figure swathed in something white was sitting on the porch swing, clutching a revolver none too steadily in both hands. He ducked behind the open barn door just in case she turned it on him.

  “Eleanor?” he called cautiously. “What happened?”

  “I—I don’t know, exactly.”

  He stepped into the moonlit yard. “What do you know, exactly?”

  “I heard a noise, so I came downstairs and shot it.”

  He chuckled. “No, you didn’t.”

  “I most certainly did. You just look behind that tree.”

  Instead, he tramped over to the porch. “Not with you sitting there with a loaded revolver. Put the gun down on the porch.”

  “What if it’s still there, behind the tree?”

  “I’m armed, Eleanor. Put the gun down. I don’t want you shooting me while I’m looking for your noise.”

  She leaned forward and plunked the revolver at her feet, then watched him walk silently toward the maple tree. Good heavens, the man was half-naked, wearing only his jeans and no shirt! In the moonlight his bare back looked smooth and well-muscled. His longish dark hair was mussed, and, she noted, he was barefoot. She flinched. Her feet were bare, too.

  He moved quietly to the tree, looked behind it and then disappeared into the dark. After a long minute he stepped out from behind the companion maple tree, a few yards to the right.

  “Nothing here but tracks,” he called.

  “What kind of tracks? A man’s?”

  “Nah. Some kind of animal, a raccoon, maybe. Or a skunk.”

  “Skunk!”

  “Could be after your chickens. Tomorrow I’ll check the henhouse. After—” he came up the porch steps toward her “—we have a shooting lesson.”

  “I don’t need a shooting lesson. I already know how to fire a revolver.”

  “Anyone can fire a revolver, Eleanor. It’s hitting your target that’s important.”

  “Pooh! I can hit—”

  “No, you can’t. Otherwise, there’d be a dead raccoon in the yard. We’ll have a lesson tomorrow morning after breakfast, all right?”

  “No, it is not all right. First you want Daniel to learn to ride the horse. Then you tell him how cats mate, and now you want to teach me how to shoot my own gun. No, no, no!”

  He said nothing, just calmly began removing bullets from his weapon and slipping them into his jeans pocket. Then he stuffed the Colt in his waistband, unloaded her revolver and settled on the porch swing beside her. “After breakfast,” he repeated, his voice quiet.

  “I said no, Cord. Tomorrow is my wash day. I will be busy after breakfast.”

  “Wash day, huh?”

  “Yes. I always do the laundry on Mondays, so tomorrow I will have no time to spare for a shooting lesson.”

  All at once she realized she was sitting here in the dark clad in her nightgown with a half-naked man. What on earth was she thinking?

  The truth was she was not thinking.

  “How about I help you do the wash tomorrow?” he said.

  “That’s ridiculous! I’ve never heard of a man who could do laundry.”

  He gave her a sharp look. “So? You think a man can’t do laundry?”

  “I most certainly do.”

  “Wanna make a bet?”

  Eleanor stared at him. She wished he wasn’t sitting so close to her. She could hear him breathing. She could even smell him; he smelled like sweat and horses and...mint? It was not altogether unpleasant, just...unsettling.

  What was he saying? Oh, yes, a bet. Very well, she would make a bet with him, and when she won she would never let him forget it.

  “All right, Mr. Smarty-Pants, I will bet that you don’t know the first thing about doing laundry. I bet you don’t know a washtub from a butter churn.”

  He laughed. “Eleanor, you’d make a really lousy poker player.”

  She stiffened. “And just why is that, may I ask? As if I would ever lower myself to playing poker.”

  He laughed again and she clenched her fists.

  “You make bets before you calculate the odds,” he said. “Now, I admit that the odds in this case are that I don’t know a thing about washtubs. But you might be surprised, right?”

  “I might be,” she retorted. “But I am betting that I won’t be.”

  “Okay, what’ll we bet? Not money, because I don’t have any.”

  “Um... I’ll bet you an apple pie.”

  “Nope. It’s gotta be something I really want.”

  “You wouldn’t want an apple pie?”

  “Not particularly. I can get an apple pie anytime I want just by making one.” He gave her a thoughtful look. “How about this. If you win, you can name your prize. If I win...”

  A squad of butterflies zoomed into his belly.

  “...I want what all those men buzzing around you are hankering for.”

  “Oh? And what is that?”

  “A kiss.”

  Cord watched her face as his challenge registered. First she blinked and her eyes went real wide. Then her fingers fluttered around on her lap, and finally her tongue darted out and she bit her lip. He wished she hadn’t done that.

  He forced his gaze away from her mouth. “Well? Do we have a bet?”

  Her fingers flew around her lap some more. “Oh, all right, we have a bet. Now, I really must go inside.”

  She stood up and the swing jolted. Oh, God, her nightdress didn’t cover her tiny little bare toes. He caught his breath.

  Not only that, but with the moonlight behind her, her gown was transparent. She was so beautiful his mouth went dry.

  She spun away toward the front door. “Good night, Cord,” she said, her voice icy. She disappeared through the screen door.

  “Eleanor,” he called after her with a laugh. “Don’t forget your revolver.” He picked it up from the floor and moved toward the door, but before he could step inside a feminine hand emerged and snatched the weapon.

  He chuckled all the way back to the loft, where he found Mama Cat and her kittens curled up in the warm spot he’d left. He tried hard to get back to sleep, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the sight of her almost naked body under that sheer nightgown. Even more, he couldn’t stop thinking about winning that kiss from her.

  * * *

  “After breakfast this morning, I am doing the wash,” Eleanor announced the following morning.

  “You do the wash every Monday,” Danny said. “How come you’re telling us like it’s something new?”

  “And Cord will be helping me,” she added.

  “Real
ly?” The boy’s voice rose. “Oh, boy, can I watch?”

  “You have school today, Daniel.”

  “Aw, Ma, let me stay home, please?”

  “Absolutely not. Education is important.”

  Molly grinned at her crestfallen brother. “I’ll watch, Danny. And I’ll tell you all about it when you get home from school.”

  Eleanor glared at both her children. Cord walked out onto the back porch and lifted the big tin washtub off the hook, then pumped a bucket of water and strode back into the kitchen to set it on the stove.

  A glum Danny dragged himself off to school with his book satchel over his shoulder, and Molly danced excitedly around the kitchen while the water pail heated up. Eleanor went up to strip the sheets off the beds and gather up the children’s dirty clothes.

  When she started downstairs, Cord met her halfway and lifted the wicker laundry basket out of her arms. She waited to see what he would do next.

  To her surprise, he piled the sheets and all the underwear—hers, the children’s, and even his own drawers—in the washtub. “Got any sal soda?”

  She shook her head. With a shrug he dumped two buckets of cold water into the tub, shaved in some soap and walked away.

  “Huh,” she scoffed. “You don’t wash clothes in cold water.”

  “Huh yourself,” he said calmly. “I let ’em soak while the water heats up.”

  Well! Her hired man was telling her how to do her own wash? She’d just see about that!

  When the first bucket of water came to a boil she lifted it off the stove and staggered toward the back door. Cord intercepted her and reached to take it out of her hand.

  “I do not need your help!” she said sharply. He stepped back with both hands raised, and she lugged the bucket over and dumped it into the washtub, then refilled it at the pump.

  “Eleanor, that’s too heavy for you.”

  “Leave me alone, Cord. I have been lifting buckets like this every Monday for the last nine years.”

  He grabbed the pail from her hand anyway and strode into the house, and Eleanor took the opportunity to sink onto the back porch step and catch her breath. She stayed there, breathing heavily, until he dumped the second bucket of boiling water into the tub.