West Winds of Wyoming

by Caroline Fyffe

  “Easy there.”

  Strong arms reached out to steady her and her basket as she struggled to regain her balance. She caught sight of a brown satchel tumbling to the ground and papers flying everywhere.

  Mr. Hutton! The new schoolteacher. Realizing she was gaping into his startled hazel eyes, she snapped her mouth closed.

  They’d met last week in the mercantile. He was new and single—but stern and perhaps a bit unapproachable. She recalled being impressed by his grammar and manners. Having been raised by a dirt-poor, illiterate father, Brenna held book learning in the highest esteem. She preached to her children every chance she got that a sound education would open doors and enable them to achieve anything they set their sights on. The well-educated Mr. Hutton had come to Logan Meadows highly recommended, and the town was thrilled, though a bit baffled, that he’d accepted their modest offer.

  “Mr. Hutton. I’m so sorry.” No sooner had she gotten the last word out than he leaped into action, collecting the white sheets that flittered about on the boardwalk.

  Following suit, she bent quickly and gathered the papers within her reach. The breeze, not helping at all, kicked up, and papers fluttered here and there, down the boardwalk faster than she could move. Chuckles and laughter reached her ears as the scene gathered the attention of a few townsfolk.

  Embarrassment burned Brenna’s cheeks. Finally all the papers—excluding one—were back in their rightful place inside Mr. Hutton’s brown satchel. The one exception, a cream-colored, official-looking document, had sailed out into the street on a puff of wind and landed squarely on a pile of fresh horse manure. A large green stain quickly seeped through.

  With a grimace, the none-too-tall teacher stepped down into the road and carefully plucked the paper from the pile of horse droppings, holding it between his thumb and forefinger.

  Brenna covered her mouth with one hand. “Oh, no.”

  Mr. Hutton blew a tawny-brown hunk of hair out of his eyes, but it flopped back into his vision. “No harm done, Mrs. Lane.” His tone said otherwise.

  Brenna was shocked he remembered her name. Everything about his disheveled state resembled a lost little boy, except his white-knuckled grasp on the handle of his satchel, and in the other hand, the soiled paper.

  Something had to be done. Before he had a chance to step back, Brenna reached up and brushed his hair back so he could see. “There.” She smiled. “Does that help?”

  A burst of laughter made her snatch back her hand and pivot.

  Dwight Hoskins sat astride his roan horse, his hat pushed up on his forehead as if to get a better view. Huskier than he’d been when he’d moved out of Logan Meadows in disgrace last year, he still carried a bullying light in his eyes. “That’s the sweetest picture I’ve ever seen, if I do say so myself.”

  Brenna stiffened. “Be quiet, Dwight Hoskins. Nobody asked you.”

  Mr. Hutton’s face blanched, then a stain of red slowly crept up his neck and onto his face.

  How could she have done something so stupid? Why hadn’t she watched where she was going? School was getting ready to start and Penny was already in a dither about the new teacher from Pennsylvania. The rumor was, he was strict. And hard. Penny wanted to be a teacher herself, and took her studies seriously. She’d be mortified if she knew what her mother had just done.

  With a malevolent laugh, Dwight urged his horse forward, leaving her feeling conspicuous and wondering if there was a way of making this better—for her children’s sake.

  Brenna cleared her throat. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Hutton. I can’t believe I just did that. Can I make it up to you?” She gestured to the yucky paper. “I’d be so grateful if you’d let me take that sheet and try to remove the, er, ah—soiled parts.” She couldn’t make herself say manure in front of such a sophisticated gentleman. “I’m a seamstress and have experience removing stains.” That was stretching the truth just a tiny bit, but she was sure she’d be able to clean his paper at least better than the mucked-up thing was now. “I’ll be sure to be careful and not damage it further.”

  “No, thank you, ma’am. That won’t be necessary.”

  Ma’am!

  Now she was a ma’am. Just somebody’s clumsy mother who’d affected his day in the worst sort of way. All three of her children, plus Prichard, the boy she’d taken in last year, would be this man’s pupils come Monday. Everyone but Maddie, her mystery child. Surely, he’d think of this event each time he looked at one her brood. “If you won’t let me clean your document, at least let me cook you supper some night soon. That’s the very least I can do for the new teacher in town.”

  He took a step back as if the thought could be dangerous. “I assure you there was no harm done. I couldn’t put you out in such a manner.”

  “B-but,” she sputtered, “I want to cook. I love to cook.”

  “No. Thank you. Mrs. Lane.” His words came out stilted. “You have a nice day.” And as her hopes for an entire school year shattered before her, he passed her by and headed for the schoolhouse.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Penny? Jane?” Brenna set her white wicker delivery basket on the floor by the door and removed her light sweater. Where are the children? She stepped into her small living room and shut the front door behind her. Humiliation still simmered inside her breast. What’s done is done, she told herself. “Stevie? Prichard? Where are you? Maddie?”

  Excited voices came from the back door that led to the vegetable garden and small toolshed that served as a coop for their three cuddly chickens. She was just about to hang her sweater on a hook when eight-year-old Stevie burst into the room, skipped the short distance to her and snatched her arm down. His cheeks, two spots of red, needed a good washing. His eyes were alight with excitement.

  “Guess what?” he shouted.

  By now, the others had caught up and were gathered around. Penny had a tight hold of Maddie’s small hand. The blind girl had adjusted nicely to their makeshift family—and they were happy to have her. Brenna still didn’t know any more about the child’s past than she’d learned on the day Nell and Sheriff Preston had delivered the frightened darling to her door along with poor Aunt Cora’s things. But the child was sweet and eager to please. Whenever questioned about her past, Maddie’s only response was that she didn’t remember. Brenna didn’t believe that for a second. But she’d not push her. The child would tell her when she was ready.

  “What? Tell me quick.” She walked into the kitchen with the children following behind like a row of ducklings. Taking the coffee can that served as her bank off the second shelf, she dropped the handful of coins inside, liking the sound the money created. My earnings are getting heavier by the day. That fact brought her peace of mind. Finished with her deposit, she gave the children her full attention. “Well? I’m waiting.”

  Where Stevie and Prichard’s faces were bright with anticipation, Penny stood rigid. Jane was Jane, just happy to be included. She was eleven, only a year younger than Penny, and was the peacekeeper of the group. If a terse word sounded from anyone, Jane moved into action, soothing and placating.

  “What’s this about, children?” Brenna asked, laughing. “I’m about to die from curiosity.”

  Penny stepped forward. “Follow me, Mama.” She crossed the room to the front door. She pulled it open. “What do you see?”

  Mystified, Brenna looked out on her tiny front yard, the wooden fence rimmed with yellow, white, and orange flowers, all of different types and sizes. It was a beautiful sight, a result of many hours of love. “Some pretty flowers that would make any garden gnome a cheerful home?”

  Penny groaned. “Keep looking.”

  Brenna stepped out onto the porch. Nothing seemed out of place. She glanced across the narrow dirt road to the small rental house belonging to Maude Miller, the owner of the mercantile. The well-kept yellow home had been vacant for almost seven months. Today several crates were stacked on the porch.

  “Someone’s moving in.” How exciting. “This is
wonderful news. Do we know who our new neighbors are yet? I hope it’s a family with lots of children. That would be nice. With a woman my age, who likes to knit and bake. Or perhaps . . .”

  She glanced back at the children. Penny’s and Jane’s faces, frozen in an expression between panic and fear, stopped her short. “Who?”

  “The new teacher,” Stevie shouted, piercing her eardrums. “Deputy Donovan was out this morning to deliver his trunks.”

  Dread rippled through Brenna. How? Why? She wished doubly hard now that she could start her day over and not visit the bank until the afternoon. Or at least pay attention to where she was walking—see Mr. Hutton and have a polite but brief conversation when he passed by. Yes, that’s how the exchange should have gone. Anything but what actually happened. When she’d invited him to dinner, he probably thought she already knew about them being neighbors and couldn’t wait to sink her widow’s claws into him. Humiliated, she wanted to slink into her bedroom and never come out.

  “What are you talking about? His house is across town.”

  Stevie jumped up and down. “Skunks got inside. When they went to get ’em out, they let loose. Won’t be fit to live in for some time.”

  Penny must have picked up her agitated feelings, because she touched her arm. “What’s wrong, Mama? I’m not ashamed to say I wasn’t glad our teacher moved in across the street, but I thought you would be. Last week when you met him, you said he was nice.”

  Her daughter had a point. Brenna pasted a smile onto her face, and then patted each child on the head, ending with Maddie, who stood patiently waiting for the problem to be resolved. “Of course I’m thrilled to have Mr. Hutton as a neighbor. Who better when one of you is stuck and needs help with your homework? Lord knows I’m not much good at math, or English, or anything else.” Penny, not used to negativity from her, furrowed her brow.

  Even though Brenna might have fears and insecurities, she didn’t want to instill them in her children. “I think it’s absolutely the best news I’ve heard all week. It’s just a surprise, is all. Mrs. Miller’s home will be perfect for him. Notice how nice and tidy his trunks are even with him just getting settled. He’ll be a good neighbor to have.”

  “Shall we bake him an apple cake, Mama?” Jane asked. “To welcome him to the neighborhood.” Jane’s eyes looked up while she thought. “If Penny and Maddie and me get started now, we can give it to him tonight.”

  Brenna’s stomach tightened up with knots. If she knocked on his door, her brood of children all around like chicks and a mother hen, he’d probably laugh—or slam the door in her face before she did him any more harm. But there was no avoiding it. She’d taught the children to be kind and polite. An apple cake would be a nice gesture indeed.

  “That’s a perfect idea, Jane. I’m so proud of you for suggesting it.”

  Jane’s face brightened like a newly lit lamp, making Brenna glad she hadn’t squelched Jane’s thoughtfulness to cover her own anxieties. Mr. Hutton would just have to get used to the idea of living next door to them. Who knew? Maybe he’d grow to like them.

  Jane started for the kitchen. “I’ll take Maddie and go pick the apples while you get the oven heated, Penny. You’re the only one allowed to use matches.”

  “We’ll help you pick,” Stevie said. He grasped his foster brother by the arm and headed for the door. “I was first to find out about Mr. Hutton. I bet he likes to whittle. He might even want me to show him how to make a super-duper slingshot.”

  Prichard nodded. “I bet he will, Stevie. We both can ask him.”

  Brenna stood back and watched the scene unfold. Mr. Hutton wouldn’t know what hit him. She could see the whole thing in her mind’s eye, and would have giggled if she weren’t so worried. Well, that was just too bad. If he wanted to be grumpy, so be it.

  In the kitchen, she tied her apron around her waist, and then gathered the ingredients for the pastries she owed Hannah at the Silky Hen. She set up her space, leaving ample room for the children and their teacher-welcoming project, thinking how much her life had changed since Hannah had employed her as a baker. She had persevered through the tough times and now God had rained his blessings on her. With her baking and sewing, she’d learned she was capable indeed. Others depended on her, even if only for a few pies for the Silky Hen. She was making a difference, and that fact made a difference to her.

  Penny loaded wood into the belly of the oven and stuffed wadded-up newspaper underneath. It seemed the idea of her teacher living across the street had lost its sting. With the other children outside, now was the perfect time for a mother-daughter talk.

  “You’re ready for school on Monday?” School was always foremost in Penny’s mind. Learning came easy to her. “It’ll be here before you know it.”

  Finished with the stove, Penny washed her hands and picked up the towel. “I think so, Mama. I just have my new skirt to hem.”

  Penny was growing up. Her tight bodices attested to that fact. Sometimes the blueness of her eyes and the expression they held reminded Brenna so much of Carl, it could render her speechless. They’d been happy, Carl working for Win at the livery and her with a new baby practically every year. They’d had little money but a lot of love. Then, six years ago, he’d been kicked in the chest by a horse and killed instantly. His loss still made her ache.

  She’d been lucky to have friends who looked out for her and her children. Just last week, they’d received several items of clothing from Hannah Donovan and Jessie Logan. She and Penny had worked feverishly to alter them to fit. Now both girls would have a new dress and one new skirt and blouse each for the school year.

  Brenna took the sack of flour from the drawer and reached for her well-used measuring cups. “That’s wonderful. I appreciate your help with Jane’s skirt.”

  Altering the boys’ clothes was her job. She’d worked late each evening stitching the pants and shirts. They were a bit more difficult since the hand-me-downs came from Gabe Garrison, the young man who lived with Chase and Jessie Logan and was almost grown. The dress Jessie had sent for Maddie appeared brand new, and by the size of it, must still fit Sarah, Jessie’s daughter. When Brenna had objected, Jessie had insisted that she take it, saying Sarah hadn’t cottoned to it, and it had hung unused in her daughter’s wardrobe for far too long. The garment was perfect for Maddie. How could anyone argue with that?

  The front door slammed. The boys bounded through the kitchen door, their arms overflowing with apples. Jane and Maddie, hand in hand, were not far behind.

  “What have I told you about using the front door after being out in the garden?” Brenna scolded. “Stevie, take the broom and clean up the trail of dirt I’m sure followed you into the house.”

  “We couldn’t help it, Ma. When we turned the corner we noticed the teacher. He stopped at his gate like he was gonna go home, but then he crossed the street. He’s on the front porch now and wants to talk to you.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The sound of gunshots brought Charlie fully awake. Adrenaline pushed him from his bedroll and he leaped to his feet. As he strapped on his loaded six-gun, another shot sounded from behind the house.

  Had someone followed him from Wilsonville?

  Charlie moved silently through the barn to the tall doors. With his back to the wall, he felt for the handle. He carefully inched it open.

  All was quiet.

  Nothing looked amiss.

  Anxiety for Nell sizzled inside him, contracting the muscles in his abdomen. The last thing he wanted was for an innocent woman to be hurt in his war.

  He listened. And watched. The silence wrapped around the barn made the predawn darkness seem all the more dangerous.

  He pulled the door open just enough to accommodate his size, flinching at the loud squeak. Darting out, he took cover alongside the barn wall, facing the house.

  The dog came around the far side of the house, then trotted up the steps. When Charlie recognized Nell’s tall, slender shape ambling along after him as if
nothing were wrong, he let go a breath of relief.

  Holstering his gun, he stepped out of the shadows. “Nell,” he called quietly.

  She stopped just short of the porch steps.

  Striding over, he halted a few feet away. “Is everything all right? Gunshots woke me.” He could see that she wore her pants under her nightshirt. The dog flopped down by the front door.

  “Dog cornered a rattlesnake against the house. Probably drawn to the warmth of the foundation.” Her hand slipped down and caressed the gun nestled in its holster around her hips. “I wouldn’t have killed the poor thing if it had been anywhere else. But so close to Dog, plus the horses and cattle, I had no choice.”

  “And us?” Charlie asked. The sound of her voice stirred his blood. He let his gaze slip over her face. Four years was a long time to be alone—in the real sense of the word. Startled at the direction of his thoughts, he took a step back. “You could have been bitten,” he said tersely, wanting to feel anything except the attraction pulling him toward her. “You should have woken Seth or me.”

  Her stance straightened as if she were looking for an argument. The dog climbed to his haunches and whined. “I don’t think I like your tone, Charlie Rose.” He thought she was serious until she glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. “You forget who’s boss around here?”

  “Maybe I have and maybe not.”

  When she reached out and plucked a piece of straw from his hair, a wave of fire crashed through his body.

  “If you stay on, you best get used to me doing for myself.” Her tone shifted then from teasing to somber. “Sometimes I have problems sleeping.” She pulled her mass of curly hair over her shoulder and her hand trembled. “If I do, I go out.” A coyote yipped, mercifully drawing her gaze toward the horse pasture. “Fresh air helps.”

  He understood that, all right. He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since the accident that had killed Annie. When he did drift off, visions of her body crushed beneath the overturned wagon, or of his three-year-old daughter crying for her mama, troubled his dreams. He should have been driving that day. If he had, Annie would be alive and Maddie would still have her sight. A bitter price to pay for putting his work before his family. Annie had driven the route a thousand times, but this time there’d been a runaway horse and wagon coming in the opposite direction.