West Winds of Wyoming

by Caroline Fyffe

  “You’re welcome. Now, what about that supper? I have a powerful hunger. Anything hot sounds good.”

  In the shadowy room it was impossible to see his eyes, much less anything else about him. Regardless, she was darn happy he’d returned when he did, and helped her with the house. And calmed my runaway fears.

  She went into the kitchen while he lit the three oil lamps in the living room. Before she knew it, Charlie was finished and stood in the doorway.

  “One last thing,” he said. “Do you have a hammer and some nails in the house?”

  “Why?” She cocked her head.

  “You’ll see” was all he said, and Nell went into the hallway and returned with what he’d asked for. “What’re you doing?”

  “May as well finish what we started. Where’d you put that hat rack that used to be in the corner? I’ll hang it up.”

  Nell couldn’t stop her smile. She hurried to the back porch, where she’d stored the rustic rectangle of wood after bringing everything in from the front yard. Back in the kitchen, she handed it to Charlie, who positioned the contraption on the wall.

  “Is this where you want it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Nell held it in place and Charlie sank the nails with ease. The chore that never seemed to get done was finished in two minutes. From the sideboard he picked up her hat first, and then his, and hung them side by side. He turned. “Supper?”

  Nell went to her pantry shelf and retrieved the two large cans of pork and beans Maude had given to her to try. Something quick and easy. She worked the can opener around the lid and dumped the contents into a pot, scraping every bean from the can with a knife. She repeated the process with the second can, then placed the pot on the stove. Hurrying down to the root cellar for the smoked flank steak she had stored away, her mouth watered thinking about the food. After returning to the kitchen, she cut the beef up into small pieces, then added them to the pork and beans. This should be interesting.

  With the supper simmering on the stove, Nell went up to her bedroom, stripped off her dirty clothes, and dropped them into her hamper. At her washstand, she filled her porcelain bowl as far as the crack in the side allowed and splashed her face several times, soaped it, scrubbed for several moments, rinsed, and dried. Taking her jar of Pond’s Extract she’d purchased on her trip to Cheyenne, she dabbed on two dollops and worked it around her face. She’d originally bought the extravagant luxury for days she’d stayed too long in the sun, but after finding how soft it made her skin, she started using it often, though sparingly.

  Next she bathed the rest of her body, then donned a clean corset, chemise, and soft, white blouse. She didn’t know why but she felt compelled to wear a pretty blue skirt Ben had purchased for her from a small band of traveling comancheros. Finished dressing, she unbraided her hair and brushed her soft curls, examining her reflection. She was taller than most women, slender, her face browned by the sun. What did Charlie see when he looked at her? Another cowhand? A silly bother? Or, a desirable woman yearning to be kissed?

  Yearning to be kissed! Where had that notion come from?

  Agitated, Nell withdrew from her room, closing the door with a soft click, but she stopped on the hallway runner. She listened to the patter of rain on the roof and wondered what Charlie was doing downstairs. Her heart stilled. A rumble of thunder far off made her wish Seth were already home.

  Reentering her bedroom, she picked up Ben’s old guitar and a bottle of red wine she’d been saving for a special occasion. If she weren’t careful, her whole life would go by without any day feeling special. Now was as good as time as any to appreciate a roof over her head and a friend who made her smile.

  She found Charlie in the front room. He’d arranged the furniture pieces back where they belonged and had started the fire in the fireplace. Relaxed in Seth’s chair, his feet were propped on the ottoman as he stared into the flames. When she entered he glanced up. His eyes widened and he stood.

  “Thank you for starting a fire.” She set the guitar on the sofa and went back into the kitchen where she’d left the bottle. Once she found the corkscrew in the back of a cabinet drawer, she opened the bottle and poured two glasses of the dark-red wine into the best glasses she could find, then walked back into the living room.

  She handed a glass to Charlie without asking, seeing he’d picked up the guitar.

  “Thank you. It’s been some time since I’ve had a glass of wine.”

  She backed up to the fire and took a sip, letting the liquid ease down her throat.

  “Me, too. The old owner of this place left two dozen crates in the root cellar when he died. Can you imagine? Why would anyone want that much?” She drank again, liking the taste. “We didn’t find it for a while because the small door leading to the chamber was hidden by several broken crates and a stack of halved barrels.” Sipping again, the wine hit her empty stomach with a weighty goodness. “I’m no expert, but I think it’s good. It came all the way from France.”

  He nodded, then drank from his glass.

  “Besides this one, Seth and I’ve only consumed two bottles in all the years we’ve been here.” She felt a bit lightheaded from the wine, the fire crackling behind her and the sight of Charlie sitting on the couch holding the guitar. “One bottle in a rash moment of celebration on the day we found them, and the second on the day Seth and I buried Ben.”

  She walked over to the window and stared into the night. “The guests had gone and the house was quiet. So Seth and I gathered three glasses and walked down to the river where Ben is buried on the bank by a large oak tree. The grass had just sprouted and was soft. I remember how it tickled my toes when I took off my boots and I laughed until I cried. Seth cried, too. We poured a glass for Ben and set it on his grave. We knew he’d like that.”

  She turned around and smiled. “Ben Page was a good person, Charlie. You would’ve liked him. Always looking on the bright side of things. Always looking out for me.” She took another sip and held the savory liquid in her mouth, enjoying the richness of flavor. “I sure miss that man. And the little one we never had.” She was probably making him feel uncomfortable but once she opened up it was hard to stop. “I’d love to have a child of my own, Charlie. How about you?”

  He shifted, and glanced away. “Sure. Who wouldn’t.”

  She nodded. “As it is, I don’t feel complete. It’s like I’m missing a great big piece of my heart and the pain never quite goes away no matter what I do.” A low rumble of thunder drew her attention back outside to the storm, then a flash of light. As powerful as the tempest roared, the storm couldn’t compare to the razor-sharp feelings flashing around inside her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Charlie took another sip from the long-stemmed glass, wondering on Nell’s peculiar mood. He hadn’t liked dodging her question, but he’d been caught off guard. And with the stranger on the hill, the less he said, the better . . . for now. He held up the crystal goblet and studied it. “Pretty fancy.”

  “Another particular that came with the place. At one time Clarkston Jones was a big name in these parts. Seemed he had an eye for all things expensive.”

  Charlie shifted his attention to the flames. Nell had gussied up. Looked beautiful, wild, and enchanting in the soft, snowy blouse embroidered with soft-looking thread. The garment hugged her body in a way the shirts she usually wore never could. She stood before him at the hearth, her wine glass in one hand and the other reaching toward the flames, enjoying the warmth. She sipped her wine, likely unaware that her cheeks were an alluring warm pink.

  “So,” he replied, feeling a bit nervous at the shift in her disposition. “Do you play the guitar?”

  “No. Ben did, though. It’s his. I was hoping you knew how to play?”

  “I do, a little. Been years, though. I’ll probably break your eardrums if I try.”

  Her lips twitched, then curled up. “Will you humor me by playing a song or two?”

  A memory of Annie asking him
the same thing slipped into his mind. “Anything in particular you’d like to hear?”

  She shook her head, golden curls moving like the wind through a field of ready-to-harvest oats. “Not really. It’s been too long since we heard music in this house.”

  Charlie set his glass on the floor and turned the instrument in his hands. He strummed a few cords with his thumb, testing the sound. He twisted the D, B, and E turners and strummed the strings again. He picked, then plucked, then strummed again. “I’m pretty rusty. You sure you want me to do this?”

  She nodded. The savory scent of whatever was cooking on the stove floated in. He reached for his glass, took another sip, then set it back down.

  He strummed some more, thinking about what to play. He began but after two sour notes in a row he started over. Annie used to like to sit on the floor next to him with one arm draped over his knee. She’d been a good listener, a good wife. She knew how to make him feel special.

  Nell tipped her head. “That’s pretty. I recognize the melody but can’t put my finger on the title.”

  She retreated back into her silence as he played through to the song’s end. Finished, he set the guitar aside. “Did you ever figure it out?”

  She shook her head.

  “‘Somebody’s Coming to See Me Tonight.’” One of Annie’s favorites.

  “I liked it. Thank you.”

  The shadow that flickered in her eyes must be due to her melancholy for Ben. He stood, walked to the window, and gazed out at the rain that showed no signs of stopping. “I think Seth must have stayed over at the Logans’,” he said. “No one in his right mind would ride home in a storm when a dry roof is available.”

  “He never stays out.” Her voice was small.

  “Well, he may have tonight. Thrown in with the bunkhouse hands.”

  Charlie turned from the window and went to the bookcase. He traced his finger over the row of books, spotting several Annie used to love. They’d been young when they married, and he’d had a handful of wonderful years with her. He wondered about Nell and Ben. Seemed Nell’s grief was different than his, tied up more with loneliness and longing, where his need was now about doing right by Maddie. He wished he could make sense of things. Confused, he pushed his thoughts to Brenna. Why couldn’t she bring out this soulful mood that Nell did? Brenna was much more like Annie. A womanly type of woman. One who needed a man. One who wanted to be cared for. Genteel, guarded. Skirt-wearing, butter-churning, hearty-meal-cookin’. Things that would make a good mother for Maddie. He glanced at Nell from the corner of his eye as he drew out a copy of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and opened the novel to the middle. She was so young. He kept forgetting that but it was true.

  “That’s one of my favorites,” she said, nodding toward the book. “I’ve read it twenty times, if once.”

  He remembered his plan to borrow one or two of Nell’s books to lend Brenna. The notion didn’t feel quite so appealing right about now.

  “How was Brenna today?” she asked. “Did you drop off your mending?”

  A rush of heat smacked him. He closed the book, slid the volume back, and pulled out another. “As a matter of fact, I did.” He flipped the pages. “Seems Mr. Hutton has come down with the measles. I ran into her on her way to the inn Mrs. Hollyhock owns.”

  Concern flashed across Nell’s face. “Measles?” She set her empty wine glass on the mantel and closed the space between them, close enough for him to see the gold flecks in her amazing amber eyes. He had to stem these irrational thoughts. His awareness of her was the wine talking, and the fire, the cozy room. It had nothing to do with how close Nell stood or the enticing scent of her hair. “I hope he isn’t too sick,” she said. “What did Brenna need at Violet’s?”

  “Some willow bark for tea. I walked with her from the middle of town and back. After that, I returned to the inn and helped Mrs. Hollyhock with some chores. Split some wood, did her laundry.”

  Nell’s brows rose. “That was awfully kind, Charlie.”

  “Actually, Brenna was worried over the old woman trying to do too much. I didn’t have anything pressing to do back here at the ranch, so I decided to lend a hand.”

  She gave him a smile. “Maybe you’re right and Seth is staying over at the Logans’. I wouldn’t have believed it. But I say it’s time to eat.”

  That sounded good to Charlie. Seemed Nell’s pensive mood had passed. He was glad. He didn’t like all the unsettling feelings growing in his heart. At the stove, he took a potholder and lifted the lid of the cast-iron pot, taking a whiff of the contents cooking inside. “Beans? They smell different from what I’m used to.”

  “Right again.” Nell brought two plates to the table and placed them across from each other. She went back for utensils, and then the bread and butter. “Some newfangled canned beans with pork. I wouldn’t have spent the money on such, but Maude gave them to me for free so I’d sing their praises all over town after I tried them.”

  “Sure smells good.”

  Nell retrieved his wine glass from the living room and set it at his spot, refilling the goblet halfway, then lit the candle. “I do admit to doctoring them up a little. We had some beef in the root cellar. I cut it up and also added some fresh snow peas from the garden, which still may be a little crunchy. So this isn’t a true test of the item. When I poured them from the can and into the pot, the pork seemed a bit skimpy for two hungry men, thus I improvised.”

  “And a hungry cowgirl,” he added with a chuckle. “Whatever you did, they smell mighty good. I’m sure my stomach will thank you.”

  Across the table and overtop the small candle flame, Nell watched Charlie eat. She ate, too, moving her fork from the bowl to her mouth, but the action was one of reflex, not desire. The wine she’d consumed had not only mollified her appetite, but had her head a little fuzzy and her emotions close to her heart.

  Charlie is the handsomest man I’ve ever seen. He stopped shoveling for a minute to wipe his mouth with his napkin and then take a sip from his almost-empty glass. The patter of rain on the roof sounded like music, and the heated air from the living room fireplace, as well as the cook stove, had her skin prickly.

  “I like these. There’re good.” His gaze dipped to her lips.

  She wasn’t good at this. She’d met Ben when she was just a girl, and then grew up talking honestly with him. This was different. An imperceptible dance between two people, led by instinct and desire. She glanced away. “I’m glad.”

  “You’re not eating much.”

  Her lips trembled. “I’m not as hungry as I thought I was.”

  He seemed to accept that and went back to his supper.

  Finished, Nell stood and picked up both their plates and took them to the sink. Anticipation zinged within her, as well as a little fear of the unknown. Charlie came up behind her with the two empty glasses and set them on the drain board. He stayed close. “The kitchen looks nice.”

  “Yes,” she breathed. “I’m going to do the dishes right now. So Seth can see it when he gets home. If I don’t, one item draws another just like a magnet. Before you know it, you have a sink full. I don’t want to fall back into my old ways.” She glanced around the room. “This feels good.”

  He tied an apron around his waist. “I’ll wash if you dry.” He started pumping water into the basin.

  “I’m washing,” she replied, and tried to push him out of the way.

  No luck. He’d already beaten her to it. With three quick swipes, he finished the first wine glass and handed it to her to dry. “You have to be faster than that if you want to best me.”

  Taking the glass, she wiped it dry and set it back on the shelf. Finished with the two bowls, Charlie scrubbed the bean pot and set it upside down on a towel.

  “You’re good at that.”

  “I’ve done my share.” He dried his hands and removed the apron. “Can’t say as when I’ve enjoyed an evening more. As thanks, can I have this dance?”

  He held out his arms expe
ctantly, waiting as she grappled with her feelings. She gazed up into his eyes. One heartbeat later she slipped into his arms and he pulled her close. Her palm against his was heady, sending all sorts of tingles coursing up and down her arm. His other hand, on the small of her back, kept her close.

  They were awkward at first, but kept at it. He hummed as they moved around in a circle, her skirt swishing against her legs and sometimes tangling between his. A slow burn started on her neck. When they finished he let her go and took a small step back.

  “Charlie, I . . .”

  “Stop talking, Nell.”

  His eyes closed and his lips covered hers. The kiss was gentle as he pulled her tighter against him, driving all thought from her mind. His hands moved down and bracketed her waist and he tilted his head, deepening the kiss.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Charlie rolled to his side and pulled his blanket up over his bare shoulder, wondering what had awakened him from his deep, wine-induced sleep. Even with his eyes closed, the thumping in his temples reverberated painfully.

  He could never be a drunk. Didn’t like the way alcohol made him feel the next day. Nell’s red wine indulgence had proven too much for this cowboy. By the time they’d consumed the pork and beans and bread, leaving a generous portion for Seth just in case he came home hungry, the rain had stopped. The lone candle had burned down to the cactus-shaped, carved-wood candleholder and they’d finished the whole bottle of wine. She’d sat across from him, her blue, soulful eyes playing havoc with his mind and heart, while Annie’s memory sat in Seth’s chair, keeping watch.

  He grimaced and rubbed his forehead. Had he really asked Nell to dance? Talk about adding fuel to an already confusing situation. Her pretty skirt and soft-looking blouse must have been his inspiration.

  After the question had rolled off his lips, as if dancing without music in a kitchen was the most natural thing in the world, he’d waited. She’d stood there so long with the towel in her hands that he’d thought she was going to decline. But she hadn’t. She’d slipped into his arms. His fluttering heart had made him feel like a traitor to Annie, but not enough to let go of Nell’s sweetness. They’d waltzed slowly around the kitchen as he hummed. Then afterwards he’d gone and kissed her.