While the men talked about supplies, cattle, and grazing areas, Anna forced her attention onto finishing breakfast. As she sliced potatoes into the skillet, the heat flooded her chest again from their kiss. Was it love she felt for this man? Or just a strong attraction? Who couldn’t be attracted to such a tall, muscled cowboy with gorgeous blue eyes set in a perfectly proportioned face? But her feelings ran deeper than attraction. She respected his wisdom and deep faith, and over the months of coffee and conversation, she’d come to value his friendship. In fact, she was as close to Jacob as she was to her own brother. These were definitely the right ingredients for love.
* * *
Jacob heaved the ax over his shoulder and brought it down hard on the ice in the creek. Crack! A layer of the frozen stuff splintered, leaving another solid sheet underneath. He raised the ax back over his shoulder, welcoming the groan of his muscles at the effort. After five long days and nights staying in the line shack, he was glad for anything to distract his mind from the thoughts and images of Anna that had lodged themselves in his brain. Crack! This time he broke through the last layer of ice, and water poured into the frozen hole.
The lowing of the cattle behind him grew stronger as they smelled the water and charged forward. He grabbed the ax and jumped out of the way as horns clattered and animals vied for position in front of the small water hole. Standing off to the side, Jacob wiped the perspiration from his forehead with the back of an arm then repositioned his hat. Even in the freezing cold, he’d worked up a sweat. Glancing up at the grey sky, he tried to gauge how low the clouds were. Texas storms could be harder to predict than a bronco’s next buck, but if he didn’t miss his guess, they were in for more snow.
And he was right. Snow fell for two days solid, covering everything in sight and making it almost impossible to leave the shack. They had built a stall onto one side for a horse with a door in between so he could feed and water Marshall without having to traipse out in the snow. With almost four feet of the white stuff, the animals couldn’t move around much and were likely to stay holed up in the trees.
Jacob stayed in the little building, thankful he’d brought extra supplies with him. He’d never had a problem with eating beans and cornbread at every meal, but after Anna’s food for the last few months, it was hard to stomach the gritty stuff day after day. If it hadn’t been for his Bible and a few other books they kept in the shack, Jacob might have gone mad from being left alone with all his thoughts.
Finally, four days after the snow began, the sun came out and temperatures started to rise a bit. As Jacob saddled Marshall, the gelding stomped impatiently. “I know it, boy. I’m ready to get out of here, too.” He patted the horse’s shoulder before reaching to tie his bedroll and slicker behind the seat of the saddle.
Marshall had been with him since the horse was a two-year-old. Most cowboys left the horse breaking to the ranch wrangler, but Jacob had always preferred to train his riding horses himself, building a bond with the animal and preparing them thoroughly for any situation. Marshall’s intelligence was evident right away, and Jacob worked with the horse each day. First, teaching him to lead and tie, then getting him used to all kinds of noises and scary objects, including gunshots and barking dogs. Eventually, he trained the horse to ride, rope, and out-think even the most ornery longhorn. Jacob still rotated his riding horse daily to give each of them a rest, but Marshall was by far his favorite.
After a long day pulling out cattle from snow drifts and breaking layers of ice, Jacob was more than relieved to turn Marshall toward the ranch house. It was Bo’s turn to stay at the line shack, and Jacob was plenty happy to pass the torch. He couldn’t wait to fill his stomach with something warm and tasty, anything but beans and cornbread. And he would see Anna. In the flesh, although he’d seen her in his mind’s eye every night as he lay on the cot in the shack, trying in vain to sleep.
A faint breeze ruffled his hair and Jacob caught a whiff of stale body odor. Ducking his head for another sniff, he wrinkled his nose in disgust. He smelled worse than a pig after a rainstorm. There was no way he could show up at supper looking and smelling as rank as he did, but there wasn’t enough time for a bath. He’d have to settle for a wipe down and a change of clothes. Jacob ran a hand over his face, the coarse hairs way beyond stubble by this point. A little overgrowth on his face had never bothered him before.
* * *
Anna stared at the doorway from her seat at the far end of the table as the men around the room dove into their Irish stew and yeast rolls. Monty had said Jacob came back tonight with the men, but he hadn’t shown up for supper yet. Should she be worried? But maybe he was just tired and went to bed early. Should she send up a tray for him?
As she glanced toward the door again, Monty caught her eye with a reassuring grin. “He’ll be here soon, Senorita. He’s probably just cleaning up a bit. Smelled like a scared skunk by the time we finished today.”
She wasn’t too pleased with his comparing Jacob to a skunk, but before she could set the man straight, Jacob appeared in the doorway. He looked wonderful and whole…if a little haggard. His deep blue eyes met Anna’s as he moved around the table to sit in his usual chair at the end, right next to her. She gave him a shy smile, the butterflies in her stomach doing double-time at his sudden nearness.
“Welcome home,” she whispered, hoping the others couldn’t hear or wouldn’t notice. Jacob flashed one of his brilliant smiles at her, the kind that made her heart miss a beat.
“Jacob! Glad you made it home, son.” Mr. O’Brien’s greeting boomed across the table, stealing Jacob’s attention. While he answered the questions that flew at him from around the table, Anna busied herself filling Jacob’s bowl with stew and passing the yeast rolls and apple butter.
“How many head do ya think we lost in that last storm, boss?”
“Did the creek freeze through or could ya hack a bit o’ water out of it?”
“Sure was a cold one this time. One of them newspaper men from town said it got down to ten degrees one night last week.”
When Anna placed the bowl of hot stew in front of him, Jacob shot her a smile full of gratitude, then dug in as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks, which was probably not far from the truth. At least not a decent meal. His large frame bent over the bowl while he ate, but the men kept volleying questions like snowballs. He shrugged, nodded, or shook his head to most of the inquiries, and gave one- or two-word answers to those that required them.
When the cowhands had eaten their fill, including almost four whole peach and apple pies, they stood and ambled out of the room, heading in the general direction of the bunkhouse. Anna, too, rose and stacked dishes in preparation for clearing the table. Jacob was one of the last to stand, and her heart picked up a bit of speed. Was he waiting to spend a quiet moment with her? As she made her way around the table with a stack of plates, Mr. O’Brien strode toward his son and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Well, boy, glad you could make it back for your birthday. It would have been awfully lonely for all of us to have you spend it out at the line shack.”
Anna’s head jerked up. Her eyes zeroed in on both men, trying to gauge if she’d heard correctly. Was today Jacob’s birthday? Why had no one told her? She would have made a cake and maybe even bought him a gift. But a gift would have been too forward. Wouldn’t it? At least she would have liked to know about it. Now it was after dark and much too late to do anything special to celebrate.
As the dining room emptied, Anna’s mind whirled. She gathered a stack of dirty plates and proceeded toward the kitchen, lowering them into the clean water she’d brought in before supper for the washing. She turned to head back toward the dining hall for another stack of dishes. But as she stepped through the doorway, she ran squarely into Jacob who was balancing a rather precarious stack of bowls. He shifted the dishes in an effort to free his left hand to catch Anna but only succeeded in tilting the stack further toward the right.
Anna righted herself and s
tood, jaw open in momentary horror, as the entire stack of ironstone dishes continued their sideways momentum. Everything moved in slow motion. Anna forced her shock aside and sprang into action, catapulting forward to catch the bowls. Her efforts didn’t help much, though, because the entire stack landed with a crash on the hardwood floor.
“No…” The word came out like a moan as Anna dropped to her knees and examined the white dishes for damage. Each bowl was made of shiny white ironstone with wide, fluted edges and delicate leaf prints pressed into the sides. She had long admired their simple beauty and was always so careful when handling them. Now they lay scattered across the floor, covered in soup broth and leftover chunks of potatoes.
“Are you hurt?” Jacob’s voice was thick with concern, or maybe a touch of fear, as he dropped down beside her.
Anna didn’t stop to think about it. Her arms had padded the landing of a few bowls, but the violent crash had broken many. A chunk of ironstone slid several feet away. “The beautiful dishes…” she moaned under her breath as she began stacking each item she found undamaged. So far, four were not broken. Five. Six. Remnants of broth moistened the floor and clung to the bowls, spreading onto Anna’s hands as she handled them. Seven.
“Anna, you’re bleeding.”
She glanced down at both hands. A smear of blood coated the inside of her right thumb. Her heart sank. That meant another dish broken. She turned a bowl over in her hand. A chip was missing from the circular base. Before she could examine it closer, Jacob pulled the pottery from her grip.
“I need to see it.” She grabbed for the dish.
He held it out of her reach with one hand and with the other, grasped Anna’s arm to examine the injury.
“It’s just a little cut, but I need to see how badly that bowl is broken. Maybe I can glue it back together.”
“I’m not worried about the bowl, Anna.” Jacob’s voice sounded as if he were trying hard to rein in his patience like a runaway horse. “We need to see how bad you’re hurt and make sure there aren’t any shards still in your hand.”
Anna tamped down her frustration and finally stopped fighting his overpowering strength. She sat back on her heels to allow him to peer at her thumb. It only stung a little, nothing to stop the presses for.
“I don’t think it’s very deep, but we need to get it cleaned up.”
“It’s not deep at all, and I’ll take care of it when I’m done here.” She didn’t mean to sound as annoyed as she really was, but the words slipped out. Aunt Lola had told her these dishes first belonged to Mr. O’Brien’s wife, Jacob’s mother, and Anna wanted desperately to see if she could repair the damage.
At her words, Jacob stilled and the sudden lack of motion made Anna stop as well. He raised his sky-blue eyes to meet hers. Their expression changed several times, from hurt to anger to sympathy. Anna found herself captivated, as always, by their intensity. His Adam’s apple bobbed.
She held her breath. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He nodded, his gaze touching her lips before it skittered back up to her eyes. He still held her injured hand, cradling it in both of his own.
Anna’s mouth was dry, but the silence seemed to beg for words to fill it. “I didn’t know today was your birthday. I would have baked a cake.”
His eyes twinkled. His gaze dropped to her mouth again and he leaned forward, bringing his lips down to hers. So strong, so gentle. It wasn’t a deep kiss or a long one, but it held such sweetness that Anna almost followed him when he pulled away.
Jacob’s right hand came up to cup her cheek, his rough fingers stroking it gently. His eyes roamed her face, as if cataloging its features. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’m so glad you’re home.”
His eyes smiled. “Not half as glad as I am.”
He held her gaze for another long moment then leaned back and reached for another bowl to add to the stack between them.
Anna blinked and scanned the area then started to help him. “I’m so sorry about your Ma’s dishes. I know these were special to her.”
Jacob glanced up and let out a little chuckle.
Anna eyed him. “Why are you laughing?”
“Because we’ve broken so many of these dishes, and Ma would get so upset each time. Finally Pa sent off and bought a complete second set so every time a dish broke, we could replace it and keep this collection complete.”
Anna absorbed his words. What a smart man Mr. O’Brien was. She couldn’t hold back a giggle of her own. “You mean there’s another set of this same pattern here somewhere?”
“Half a set. We broke an awful lot before Ma taught us big, rough cowpokes how to be civilized. I’ll show you where we keep them in a bit.” He reached for a chunk of broken dish that had slid several feet away.
Anna’s conscience pricked. “You don’t need to be down here helping me clean up. You’ve just come back from two hard weeks at the line shack and you should be in the den relaxing.”
He shook his head, his square chin forming a stubborn set. “If I’d have been more careful to start with, they wouldn’t be scattered all over the floor.” Stacking the last of the pieces, he rose and extended a hand to help Anna stand. When she came to her feet, he continued the tug and pulled her straight into his chest, wrapping both arms around her waist. He gave her a sly grin. “Besides, this beats talkin’ to myself in a cold little cabin any day.”
Anna burrowed into his strong arms and nestled her head under his chin. It was so wonderful to have him home, safe and sound. She could stay like this forever, listening to his heartbeat.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
As the snow finally melted and the sun began making a more regular appearance overhead, new signs of life popped up everywhere. The grass showed green patches scattered among the brown, and tiny shoots of new growth sprouted on most of the trees. Jacob and his men spent every daylight hour with the cattle, now that calving season had officially begun. Anna stayed quite busy herself, as she and Aunt Lola gave the house a thorough cleaning and airing. She longed to take Bandita out for a nice long canter, but that would have to wait. There was work to be done.
* * *
Edward rode his horse along the river trail, scanning the tree line for cattle as he listened for their low mooing. Monty had assigned him as a line rider along the river that day, searching for cows beginning to calf. When the birthing was imminent, the expectant cow would usually separate from the herd to find a quiet place to deliver. Most times, the cow would labor successfully without help from the cowpunchers, but if the calf was breeched or the cow carried twins, things could go south pretty quickly without a pair of strong arms to help the mama cow along.
Before coming to the ranch, the only thing he’d witnessed give birth was their neighbor’s hound dog, Bessie. This year, though, he’d already helped with at least a dozen calvings. Jacob had taught him how to tell if the calf was facing the wrong way inside the mama, and how to reach in and turn the baby so its front hooves and nose faced first. It was a tricky process and had to be done at just the right time in between the mama’s pushes. Edward still wasn’t sure he was ready to do it himself, but Monty seemed to think he could. He’d give it his best.
So far, he’d been riding the river’s edge for about half an hour and hadn’t spotted any longhorns in the area, but he’d follow orders anyway and ride all the way to where Two-Fork creek split off from the Guadalupe.
Just then, a low moo drifted from the woods to his right. The trees were much thicker here, but he plunged into the brush, dodging branches and hanging onto his hat so it wouldn’t be knocked off.
As he progressed deeper into the woods, the cattle noises grew louder, but they didn’t sound like a cow struggling to calf. Was it a whole herd of cows? But that didn’t make any sense. If a group of cattle were napping in the trees, they didn’t make a lot of noise, just an occasional stomping or tail swishing.
Edward pushed forward and finally broke through the woods into a little
clearing. A huge group of cattle milled around the large open space, lowing uneasily. At first Edward wasn’t sure what was keeping animals in the area until he saw a small group of cowboys circling the outer edge of the herd.
Cowboys? This didn’t make sense, either. The men all had the dark features of Monty and his family, but none of them looked familiar. He hadn’t crossed over Two-Fork creek, so he had to be still on Double Rocking B land. Why were strangers here rounding up cattle? He peered at the closest cows. These animals had the Double Rocking B brand. The confusion began to clear in Edward’s mind as understanding dawned.
A rifle cocked behind him. Edward spun around in the saddle and faced hard black eyes underneath a wide-brimmed hat. They glared at him from behind the double barrels of a Winchester.
“Move and your life is over, gringo.” The words spoken in a strong Mexican accent made Edward’s blood run cold. He’d found the cattle thieves.
Edward opened his mouth to retort but was stopped short when a rope settled around his shoulders and pulled tight. The rope jerked him backward, and he flew through the air, hitting the ground with a thud. A loud grunt pierced the air, but his mind focused on trying to draw breath into his empty lungs. It came in short gulps at first. When he was able to draw a full breath, he realized he was being dragged across muddy, manure-covered ground. Finally, he came to a stop.
Mexican voices called to each other in quick short bursts. Edward’s brain struggled to catch up and couldn’t understand the words. A short, stocky man who stank of tobacco knelt at his side and began binding his wrists with a coarse rope. Edward fought, but with the lariat still tight around his upper arms, he couldn’t gain any leverage. The solid punch of a boot heel in his back forced Edward’s head to the ground, stilling his efforts to resist. The Mexican mumbled something under his breath.
The Rancher Takes a Cook Page 11