The Hired Man

by Lynna Banning

  “How ‘grown-up’ is a grown-up boy?” Danny wanted to know. And then he immediately added, “What kinda ache, Cord?”

  Cord grinned. “It’s an ache that happens every time a special girl is near you. Not just a pretty girl, but a special one.”

  Danny lowered his voice. “You mean a naked lady?”

  Cord laughed. “Well, no. A lady doesn’t have to be naked to make a boy feel that ache.”

  “Well, what does she have to be?”

  “Don’t you dare answer that!” Eleanor shouted. She flew out from behind the maple trees and confronted him, fists propped on her hips.

  Danny looked up, his expression bland. “Oh, h’lo, Ma.”

  “Mama, you wanna play with my dolly?”

  Cord got to his feet. “We were talking about David Copperfield, and one thing led to another.”

  She glared at him. “Have you read David Copperfield?”

  “Yeah, actually. When I was in, uh, Missouri I did a lot of reading. Some books I wouldn’t recommend for Daniel just yet. Come to think of it, Eleanor, have you read David Copperfield?”

  “Certainly not!”

  “Why not?” he asked, keeping as straight a face as he could manage.

  “Because it’s...it’s... Well, I don’t have the time.”

  He couldn’t help grinning. In the middle of a tense week, the last hour had been halfway enjoyable. Arousing, even. Just talking about a male reaction to something exciting had gotten him swollen and achy in a place he didn’t dare look at.

  Girls can tie a man in knots.

  “Dan, why don’t you and your sister go get some lemonade from that pitcher on the front porch?”

  When the kids galloped off, Cord stepped toward Eleanor. “Okay, I admit I knew you were listening, and I was having some fun teasing you.”

  “Fun! It was downright embarrassing!”

  “Yeah, maybe it was. But there’s nothing wrong with David Copperfield. And maybe you shouldn’t get so hot and both—So het up about a book you haven’t read.”

  “Don’t you tell me how to raise my son.”

  “I’m not telling you how to raise him. I’m telling you not to criticize something you don’t know anything about.”

  “Oh.”

  Her furious scarlet face told him his remark had hit home. She stalked toward him. He stood unmoving, and when she got within two feet she began pelting him with the flowers she’d picked. At first he tried to catch them, but as the rain of asters and daisies and little furry-looking pink things pelted him, he gave up. When her hands were empty, he stepped in close and pulled her into his arms.

  Her whole body was shaking. He pressed her head against his shoulder, noticing that her hair smelled of carnations. “Eleanor, don’t cry.”

  “I—I’m n-not crying. I’m just mad.”

  “What about?”

  “What about!” she sobbed. “How can you ask that?”

  He waited, not saying anything.

  “About everything, I guess,” she said in an unsteady voice. “I just f-feel overwhelmed.”

  He walked her to the front porch and poured a glass of cool lemonade. “Drink this.” He folded her hands around the glass. After she downed three good gulps, he propelled her up the steps and settled her in the porch swing.

  “I threw away all the flowers I picked,” she said.

  “I noticed,” he said with a smile. “You want me to go gather them up?”

  She shook her head. “I was deadheading.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Snipping off the spent flowers. It makes them bloom even more.”

  “Kinda like shaving, I guess.”

  She gave a choked laugh. “I never thought of it like that, but yes. I guess shaving makes a man’s whiskers grow even more.”

  He sent her a sharp look. “That’s true of other things, too.”

  “Really? What other things?”

  “Well, how about this. Someone told me once that if something doesn’t kill you, it makes you stronger. I thought about that a lot in prison.”

  Her head drooped. “Oh, Cord, some days I feel like I’m in prison on this farm. And it’s my farm.”

  “You’re not in prison,” he said bluntly. “You have no idea what being in prison is like. It changes you.”

  She frowned down at the glass in her hand. “This summer is changing me. I’m not sure who I am anymore.”

  Cord said nothing. This summer is changing me, too. And it scared him.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The next trip Cord and Danny made to town with a load of fresh-picked apples resulted in an unexpected growing-up experience for Eleanor’s son. The wagon rolled down Main Street, headed for Ness’s mercantile, and just as they reached the Golden Partridge, Danny grabbed Cord’s arm. “What’s the Golden Partridge, anyway?”

  “It’s a saloon, Danny.”

  “Where they drink liquor?” He twisted to study it as they drove past.

  “And do other things,” Cord said.

  “What kinda ‘other things’? Do they have naked ladies?”

  Cord laughed. “Nope. No naked ladies. They play poker and faro and gamble with dice.”

  “Where do they have naked ladies?”

  Cord coughed. “You sure you want to know?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure!”

  “And you won’t breathe a word to your ma that I told you?”

  Danny nodded and sketched a big X over his chest with his forefinger. “Cross my heart.”

  “Okay. We’ll drive by the naked lady place on our way out of town.”

  “Gosh,” Danny breathed. “Maybe I’m gettin’ too old for lemon drops, huh?”

  “Lemon drops are for Molly. I thought you liked caramels.”

  “I like ’em both. But I’m sure not gonna steal any, not after I saw that jail cell in back of the sheriff’s office.”

  Ness’s mercantile now sported a painted mural of winding vines and flowers against the same pale green background Cord had seen last week. Maybe young Edith Ness was expanding her artistic streak. Or maybe she was getting more serious about it.

  Carl Ness, however, still exhibited his usual surliness, despite the fact that the store was jam-packed with people buying hoes and rubber boots and ribbons and chicken feed.

  “Unload yer apples around the back, why don’tcha, Cord?”

  Cord wondered why Carl never volunteered to help him and Danny wrestle the heavy bushel baskets out of the wagon and into the back of his store. Maybe he had a bad back. Or maybe he didn’t feel comfortable leaving his cash register untended. Or maybe the man was just plain lazy.

  “Cord, look!” Danny jostled his arm. “Over there, behind the shovels.”

  He turned, half expecting to see Tom Malloy. Instead, Darla Bledsoe and Fanny Moreland stood in the aisle, debating the merits of a bolt of calico. The two women spied him at the same instant.

  “Cordell!” Fanny reached him first. “Why, you sweet thing, ah wager you’re bringing Miz Malloy’s apples to market.”

  Darla managed to cut in front of her. “I haven’t seen you in town lately, Cordell. And just when I—”

  “How is Mrs. Malloy, Cordell?” Fanny interrupted. “Is she still—?”

  “Despaired of seeing y’all again,” Darla finished.

  Fanny elbowed her to one side. “Is she still managing that farm all by herself?”

  Cord opened his mouth to reply, then snapped his jaw shut. He sure didn’t want to get in the middle of the catfight these two ladies looked like they were working up to. He dropped one hand to Danny’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Go get some caramels for the trip home, Dan. And some lemon drops for Molly.”

 
“Sure, Cord.”

  Darla attacked again. “I was just remarking to Mr. Ness that...”

  Fanny jerked to attention. “What were y’all saying about...?”

  “The flowers painted on the front of the mercantile look so beautiful. I am partial to roses, myself,” Darla purred. “What about you, Cordell?”

  “Miz Malloy’s apples? There surely seem to be a lot of them this season, don’t there?”

  “Yeah, lots of apples. And sure, roses are real nice.” He couldn’t remember which answer went with which lady, so he smiled at both of them and turned toward the candy counter, where Danny was choosing caramels and lemon drops.

  Fanny followed them all the way out to the boardwalk, and Darla was close behind.

  Cord put his hand on Danny’s shoulder. “Come on, Dan.” He steered the boy toward the Golden Partridge. Thank the Lord women aren’t welcome in saloons!

  Inside it was dim and smoky and blessedly quiet. In one corner a poker game absorbed the attention of four men gathered around a grimy-looking table. “Okay, Dan, this is what a saloon looks like.” He stepped up to the bar. “One whiskey and one sarsaparilla.”

  One shot glass and one dark bottle slid along the smooth mahogany bar. “Lemme taste your whiskey, Cord.”

  He looked down into the eager face of a kid real anxious to do his growing up in a hurry. Well, what the heck? He passed the whiskey over.

  “Sip it,” he ordered.

  Danny swallowed down a mouthful, grimaced and shut his eyes tight.

  “I said to sip it,” Cord said with a grin.

  The boy opened his mouth, but no words came out. Cord slapped his back two or three times and after a moment Danny sucked in a guttural breath. “I think I like sarsaparilla better,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  Cord tried hard not to laugh. He bit his lip and downed the rest of his whiskey while Danny gulped the fizzy liquid in the bottle of sarsaparilla.

  “Okay,” the boy wheezed. “Now do I get to see some naked ladies?”

  The bartender’s russet eyebrows went up. Cord spilled some coins onto the bar top, snagged the pop bottle and ushered the boy out onto the street. Once they were settled on the wagon bench, Cord leaned over. “You’re not actually gonna see any naked ladies, Dan. Just where they live, all right?”

  “All right, I guess.” He took a big swig from his bottle of pop. “Do you have to be all growed up before you can see them naked?”

  “That’s right,” Cord lied. “You have to be at least thirty years old.”

  “How old are you, Cord?”

  “Thirty-two. Old enough to know better.”

  “Know better about what?”

  “Everything, son. Young men do foolish things.”

  Danny peered up at him with interest. “What’d you do that was foolish, Cord? You know, when you were young. What’d you do after the War?”

  Cord looked out at the distant hills for a long moment, then ruffled the boy’s hair. “Well, I got tired of yellin’ at herds of cattle so I worked as a gunsmith for some years. Settled in town. Got married.”

  “Didja ever have any kids?”

  “No.”

  “How come?”

  “One reason is that my wife was...interested in other things. Another reason was...” He broke off. He figured Danny didn’t need to know the rest. His wife... Oh, hell, he didn’t need to rake up that old pain.

  He turned the wagon down a short side street and the gray gelding clopped slowly past a rambling brown house with blue cornflowers growing in the front yard.

  “You sure this is the right place, Cord? Looks just like all the other houses. They even got flowers, just like Ma does.”

  “Yep,” Cord said. “Naked ladies are just like other ladies in lots of ways.”

  “’Cept they’re naked, huh? Sure wish I could see one.”

  “Chances are you’ve seen one already. They dress just like other ladies.”

  “You think that pretty Fanny lady is a naked lady?”

  Cord grabbed the sarsaparilla bottle out of Danny’s hand and downed a swallow. “That pretty Fanny lady is a lot of things, but a naked lady isn’t one of them.”

  “I bet she is underneath all them ruffles.”

  Cord coughed and grabbed the bottle again.

  “Do you think Ma is a naked lady, too, underneath?”

  “No.” Well, yes. Eleanor was most definitely naked underneath her work dress and her petticoat and her camisole and her... He closed his eyes. He couldn’t let himself think about it.

  “Time to head for home, Danny. Remember, not a word to your ma about this afternoon.”

  “’Course not, Cord. Us men got to stick together, huh?”

  Cord bit the inside of his cheek and again closed his eyes.

  * * *

  “You saw Darla and Fanny in town?” Eleanor queried. “Danny said they were both at the mercantile when you delivered the apples.”

  “Yeah,” he said, keeping his voice noncommittal. “Forgot to tell you.”

  Eleanor studied the tanned face of her hired man across the supper table. Surely any red-blooded male would remember meeting a pretty woman in town. Especially two pretty women.

  But, she reflected, it was Tom and not Cord who usually went into town after supper. For some reason she didn’t really care what Tom was up to at night. Cord was another matter.

  Oh, dear God, that was all backward. Backward and upside-down. And confusing. And maddening!

  “What’s the matter, Ma? Don’t you like that pretty Fanny lady? Or that other one with the red hair?”

  Eleanor bit down hard on her bottom lip. “Hush up and eat your potatoes, Danny.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Ellie, you got any more beans?”

  Without a word Eleanor ladled a dollop of baked beans onto Tom’s supper plate and added a square of corn bread.

  “Where’s the butter?” he barked.

  “You ate it all,” Danny shot back.

  Eleanor laid her hand on her son’s thin shoulder. “I will be churning tomorrow. There will be plenty of butter by suppertime.”

  “What about breakfast?” Tom grumbled. “Can’t you churn some tonight?”

  “No, she can’t,” Danny protested. “Ma’s worked real hard all day an’ she’s tired.”

  Tom lifted both elbows off the table and leaned back in his chair. “You talkin’ back to me, son?”

  “I’m not your—”

  Cord’s hand shot out to clamp onto the boy’s other shoulder.

  “Son,” Danny said under his breath.

  Tom hunched forward, his fist raised. “Why, you little—”

  In the next second, Cord was on his feet. He grabbed the front of Tom’s shirt and yanked him up out of his chair. “Malloy, you lay a hand on the boy and I’ll kill you.”

  “Yeah? Well, I’m just waitin’ for you to try.”

  “Tom! Cord! Stop it this instant!” Eleanor tipped a full glass of cold milk down Tom’s trousers. “You will not kill anyone in my kitchen! Now, sit down and hush up, both of you.”

  Danny watched them, his eyes wide with fear. Molly began to cry.

  “Shut up!” Tom shouted at the girl.

  Eleanor smacked the baked bean ladle hard across his knuckles.

  “Ow! What’ja do that for?”

  “You do not yell at my children. Ever. Do you understand?”

  Tom glared across the table at Cord. “What’re you lookin’ at, boyo?”

  “I’m looking at a bad-mannered supper guest who’s about to get hell beat out of him.”

  “Children,” Eleanor interjected, “go upstairs to bed. Now.”

  Tom lurched to his feet, and
suddenly Cord realized the man was drunk. He collared him, pushed his bulky frame across the floor and out the screen door, and flung him down the porch steps.

  “Cord,” Eleanor whispered when he returned to the kitchen, “he’ll kill you.”

  “No, he won’t. He’s drunk.”

  “But tomorrow he’ll be sober.”

  “Won’t matter. He won’t kill me.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “His hands shake. Probably drinks too much.”

  “But if he tries... Cord, you can’t kill him. He’s the children’s father.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said tersely.

  She sent him a stern look and began gathering up the dishes.

  Cord stepped out onto the porch to confront Malloy, but there was no sign of him. Or his horse, he discovered when he strolled over to the barn. Where did the man go during the day? Apparently he had enough money for barbershop shaves and whiskey, but where did he get it? He sure wasn’t helping Eleanor around the farm, and if he thought the land still belonged to him, why didn’t he take on some responsibility? The only thing Tom seemed to be interested in was Eleanor, and Cord could see his frustration in that regard.

  He knew it was foolish to think that a drunken or a cowardly man wasn’t dangerous. A drunk or a coward was even more dangerous. But there was more at stake here than just besting Tom Malloy. Danny and Molly must be kept safe.

  And there was Eleanor. He blew his breath out through tight lips. Guess it was time to get his priorities straight.

  * * *

  Eleanor stared at Cord across the breakfast table in disbelief. “You want me to what?”

  “Come with me to Gillette Springs to deliver the apples.”

  “That is an absolutely scandalous idea! A woman just cannot—”

  “Sure beats tangling with a drunk man who could turn violent in a heartbeat. We can take Molly and Danny with us.”

  “No,” she said quickly. “There are too many uncertainties on the road. I would rather leave them with Sarah Cloudman in town.”

  “You could stay with Sarah, too,” he pointed out. “It would be safer than being here, alone, on the farm.”