He cleared his throat and swirled his coffee even though he had no sugar or cream in it to swirl. He was definitely outnumbered in the kitchen with three women, though Marti hadn’t lit into him yet. She plopped a mound of dough in a crockery bowl, covered it with a towel and then poured herself some coffee. Taking a chair, she tossed her red curls, her long-standing attempt at appearing casual.
“So, is this Tad you speak of Tad Overton?” Marti spooned sugar into her coffee and added a cow’s worth of cream.
“Yes,” Livvy said, finishing her eggs. “Do you know him?”
Whit stiffened.
Marti turned her coffee mug around so the handle was on the left side. “We went to school together before he and his folks moved to Eight Mile.” A slight blush colored her cheeks.
“He’s a no-account fool.”
Whit’s comment deepened the blush. Marti speared him with a withering glare.
“What an unkind thing to say, Whit.” His ma’s reprimand didn’t carry her usual fire. It didn’t need to. Marti’s ire heated the room.
Whit gulped his coffee, waited for his throat to stop burning. “He had no business getting mixed up in the train war. Now he’s got himself shot and his mother will have to do all the chores until he heals up. Not only that, he took me away from the roundup, and the Perkins brothers are sitting on their thumbs at the ranch waiting for me to get back.” He drained the cup. “At least they better be.”
Livvy’s eyes rounded as if she’d never seen him before.
His ma frowned. “Maybe one of them can help Mrs. Overton until Tad is well enough.”
Whit shot her a glance. “They’re doin’ that, too.”
Livvy stood and took her plate to the sink. “I’d be glad to help you clean up.”
“Thank you, but you are in a hurry and we are not.” His ma went into a small room off the kitchen and came back with two jars. She tied them into a dish towel and gave them to Livvy.
“Take these with you. If you don’t serve it every meal to those hungry cowboys, it might last you a couple of weeks before you and Whit get back down.” She snagged Whit with a motherly smile that hobbled him to a commitment.
Livvy hugged her. “Thank you again for letting us stay on such short notice.”
“Think nothing of it, dear. This is home, you know.”
No surprise to Whit that his ma embraced Livvy with her hospitality. Maybe someday Livvy would share more than the apple butter recipe, but they’d best be on their way before Marti busted a cinch. He chanced a sidelong look her way. She had a tight rein on her coffee and was still scowling.
He grabbed his hat off the chair and Livvy’s cloak from a peg, then opened the door and stepped back for her to exit. Beneath his brim he peeked at his mother and caught her approving look. He had to get back to Eight Mile before all these women got him so flustered he didn’t know bronc from broke.
“I’ll tell your father you’ll be back down after branding.”
How could he argue with that? “Thanks for breakfast. And the apple butter.” He planted a kiss on her cheek and looked over her shoulder through the open kitchen door. Marti stuck her tongue out at him.
His ma patted his cheek and leaned closer. “She’s a real sweet girl, Whit.”
He met her eyes for a moment—like looking in a mirror—but held his thoughts in check.
“Oh, Whit, look. Columbines.” Livvy fingered the lavender fringe on the lush green border beneath the porch. “They’re just like those we saw near the corrals.”
“Aren’t they lovely?” His ma descended the steps and stooped beside Livvy. “Caleb helped me dig these from the hills and transplant them our first spring here in the parsonage. I was in the family way with Whit at the time.”
Embarrassed by his mother’s casual reference to such a subject, he made for the wagon. Bess stood patiently where he’d left her an hour ago, dozing in the traces. Livvy followed and gathered her skirts. He offered his hand. She took it without hesitation and climbed into the seat. He joined her, tipped his hat to his ma, and turned Bess in the yard and up the lane.
* * *
Livvy set her satchel on the bench between herself and Whit. She’d have liked to spend the day with Annie and Marti comparing recipes, discussing flowers, even helping them with the bread. But she understood Whit’s insistence that they get back to the ranch. Pop needed them both. Promising herself she’d return to Cañon City as soon as the apple butter ran out, she focused on the busy Main Street.
How much it had changed since she and her parents last visited. Or maybe it was she who had changed, noticing more now than what a younger girl saw. A distinguished three-story hotel claimed an entire block with Fremont Bank in one corner. Meat markets, a haberdashery, several mercantiles, a drug store. The boardwalk appeared to be more even than she remembered, and ladies in fine clothes with parasols walked in groups or on gentlemen’s arms.
She glanced down at her plain day dress. Not exactly what a young woman wore to town. She touched her twisted braid, suddenly aware that she’d not thought to bring a hat or bonnet. But this had not been a social visit. At least she didn’t know anyone in town other than the Huttons. Slight balm for her sudden discomfort.
A man on horseback loped down the street, kicking up dust and pebbles. Empty freight wagons rumbled by, returning from the mining camps and on their way to the livery. Buggy wheels creaked, reins slapped, children hollered. Noise and movement rose around her like a blustery storm. During the last few weeks at Pop’s, Livvy had grown accustomed to the serene mountain setting. She’d nearly forgotten the clutter and commotion of city life.
Pretending to look across the street, she peeked at Whit. His face was a study in stone. Unreadable. His jaw clenched so tight that a muscle bulged just below his ear. That should tell her something, but she didn’t know what.
In all their growing-up days, she’d not seen him angry as he had been today when his sister mentioned Tad Overton. The girl was obviously fond of the young patient, and Livvy did not doubt that Marti might pay Tad a visit while he recuperated at Doc Mason’s.
Well, Whit better not find out about it. For a moment she was glad she didn’t have a brother telling her what to do. Not that Whit wouldn’t try the same tactic on her. But she didn’t see him as a brother.
What did she see him as? Her pulse jumped into rhythm with Bess’s pace. Livvy took a deep breath and peered past her bench partner and through the trees across the river. She caught the top of the Hot Springs Bath House before Whit took the curve at the west end of town.
Bess slowed as she pulled the wagon up the gently sloping road. Whit relaxed. He’d been tense the entire time they were in Cañon City—except for last night when he’d thanked her for coming with him. Her insides warmed at the memory. And he hadn’t teased her once, not that she missed it, but it was so uncharacteristic. Was she getting a glimpse into what he was like as a man?
And man he was, of that she was keenly aware. His legs stretched a good three inches past hers where they sat on the bench, and his hands were sure with the reins, callused and tanned. Strong, yet gentle, too. She smoothed back her hair where he had touched it the night before.
He looked at her. She jerked her hand down, tucked it into the folds of her skirt.
“You thinking about something?” The familiar smirk tipped his mouth.
So much for the grown-up Whit.
She straightened, pressing her spine against the hard seat back. “And exactly what should I be thinking about?”
He huffed, made that scoffing sound in his throat that she hated. The vision of his tenderness splintered.
She looked to her right, followed the jagged skyline that sliced high above the road. A rock-layer rainbow of ocher and red and green stepped down the abutment in wide bands. Such a history the stone mus
t tell, if only she knew how to read it.
“Livvy.”
She jumped at his strangled moan, doubting it was her name she’d heard. Which layer of temperament would he present this time?
He turned Bess off the road and pulled to a stop. The horse immediately bent her head to the bunch grass poking through the rocky landscape. Whit twisted halfway on the bench, pinning Livvy in place with dark, inscrutable eyes.
“What?” She lifted her chin, pressed her shoulders back.
“We’re too old to carry on like children.”
She breathed in through her nose. Breathed out. “Whatever do you mean?”
Whit’s eyes had aged since driving Tad into town last night. The earlier smirk and his throaty huff were the only remaining vestiges of boyhood.
“You are like fire and ice.”
She splashed him with a scalding look.
“See, that’s just what I mean. One minute you are sweet and smooth as my mother’s apple butter, the next you’re as snorty and mean as an unbroke colt.”
Livvy stiffened, stared straight ahead, focused on breathing. She clasped her hands in her lap and struggled to maintain her composure after being compared to a horse. A horse.
“Don’t you think we should be on our way?”
He dropped the reins over the buckboard and leaned closer. “What I think is if we do not clear the air right now, I will leave you here beside the road.”
Her head jerked around and his face was so close to hers that his breath washed over her lips. “You wouldn’t.”
One eyebrow reared. “Oh, but I would.”
Angry tears marshaled in her throat and clawed their way upward. She dug her nails into her hands to distract her disloyal emotions. He could easily pick her up and toss her off the wagon. Or she could salvage her pride by stepping down voluntarily. Then he’d be forced to tell her grandfather that he was so rude and unkind she refused to ride home with him.
Clear the air, he’d said. She couldn’t even clear her thoughts. She drew in another deep breath. Oh, Lord, give me words. Give me a way out. Give me—
Peace. That’s what Whit was demanding. Peace between them. Well, it took two to make peace and she had a few demands of her own. The realization strengthened her, calmed her quaking heart.
“Very well. Let us clear the air, as you put it.” She turned to face him full-on, scooting back a bit to add a small distance between them. Thank goodness for the satchel. “You are not exactly the finest stallion in the herd, you know.” Poor choice of words, but the first that came to mind.
His mouth twitched. He was laughing at her on the inside.
Her finger flew up like a pointed gun and she leveled it at his nose. “See what I mean? You laugh at me. You mock me. You treat me like I am an eight-year-old with freckles and pigtails.”
“Sometimes you are.” His mouth rippled, losing ground against the urge to grin.
“You are doing it right this minute.”
“And so are you. You’re acting like a child, all huff and hooves at the slightest little thing that isn’t how you expect it to be. Life is not like that, Livvy. Life is full of badger holes and rockslides. You have to learn how to ride around them or ride through them and pray you don’t break your neck.”
“You pray?” Immediately she regretted the stinging words and covered her mouth as if she could stop the pain that shot across his face. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean that.”
His eyes hardened into obsidian.
Bess stepped forward in her grazing and the wagon jerked. A hawk cried above them and some small creature in a hidden crevice sent pebbles trailing down the rock face. Livvy felt as heartless and cold as those tumbling stones.
At once she saw the truth in his earlier words—and hers; she’d not deny them. But he was right. She was not living as she’d been raised. And how long had it been since she had truly prayed, set her desires out before the Lord and asked for His guidance?
She laid her hand on Whit’s arm. “Please, forgive me.”
His eyes softened—slightly—but his lips and his muscled arm remained a hard defense.
“You are right. I am fire and ice.” She withdrew her hand. “But so are you. You can be tender and caring and turn right around and tease me in the next breath. I don’t like it.”
He scanned the ridge above them, worked his jaw, squinted as if peering into the deepest fissures.
“I’ll work on it.” The words chipped out like flint, but his gaze returned to her face and he reached for her hand, swallowed it with his own. “Truce?”
He’d asked this once before, in the meadow. His eyes had pleaded once before, last night behind the parsonage. She had granted him the slack her grandfather spoke of and then yanked it back. Unyielding. Unbending. Unforgiving.
His rough hands warmed her, promised protection, help. She’d rather have him as a friend than an enemy. “Truce.”
Chapter 7
The air wasn’t exactly clear, but it was tolerable. Whit wanted clean and pure, like the morning after a summer rain. Instead he got cloudy and rushing, like Wilson Creek after a gully washer. But at least the water was flowing.
At least there was water.
He turned Bess back into the road and flicked the ribbons against her rump. She clopped onto the hardened surface and the wagon wheels found their way into the ruts. Livvy sat more relaxed beside him, as if spent after her storm. He felt the same.
Her comment about prayer bit the hardest, most likely because it was true. He had pretty much followed his own head, not asked the Lord what he should be doing. The family wanted him to take over the mercantile and his pa had hinted at college. But the idea of books and papers and professors made him want to kick and buck. He’d never be a preacher or any other kind of man who made his living indoors. Ever since that first summer he’d worked for Hubert Baker during roundup, he’d wanted to cowboy, learn to ranch, someday own his own spread.
It was in him.
His ma had often talked about his father having a way with horses. Whit believed he had the same, plus a good head for cows.
He’d even sketched out a brand: an H beneath an inverted V like a mountain peak. He planned to register it as soon as he got a chance.
Today would have been the chance if not for Baker and the Perkins boys waiting on his return. He’d have to make another trip to town, an event sure to please the preacher’s wife. A smile tugged at his lips.
She liked Livvy. So did he. But he had to get that hump out of Livvy’s back before they could get along—just like a green-broke colt. They had to come to an understanding.
It took every ounce of grit he had not to look at her sitting beside him, all sweet-smelling and proper. And even more not to toss that satchel in the back, reach around her waist and pull her closer. She’d sure enough scared the fire out of him when she didn’t even flinch at his threat to leave her behind. He’d thought she was gonna call his bluff and jump right off the wagon. But he’d been right in his guess about what set her off—his teasing. He had to break that habit or get her to see it was all in good fun.
He huffed. As fun as Oro crow-hopping across the corral after Whit stuck his spurs to him. A lesson learned.
By the time Bess made the turnoff to the ranch road, she’d kicked up her pace. Knowing that home lay ahead, she took to it on her own without Whit’s coaxing, but he kept her speed in check. He didn’t want her running at it as she had on the way to town. They’d nearly rattled the buckboard apart. He could feel the give in the seat and hear a few extra knocks. He’d check it out when they reached the ranch, make sure the under rigging was still in good shape.
Livvy wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. Unlike him, she had no hat to shield her eyes or protect her pale skin from the sun
. Would she take his if he offered?
He’d better not press his luck.
They’d left last night in such a hurry that she hadn’t brought a bonnet. She’d thought only about Tad and him, not herself. A warm spot spread in his belly like a hot meal on a cold night. He could get used to that.
“You acted like you knew what you were doing last night.” He slid her a glance, hoping she’d know that was a compliment.
“Doc Patterson’s place is next door to ours. I’ve helped him some.” She turned her hands palm up and studied them a moment. “He tried to get me to go to nursing school. Said I had the touch. But I don’t want to be a full-time nurse.”
“What do you want to do?”
Her fingers curled and she turned her head toward the ridgeline that snaked around the valley and flattened into bluffs at the end. “The same thing most women want, I suppose.”
He chuckled. “Pretty dresses and a bunch of beaux calling?”
She huffed and shot him a warning look.
He waited for the steam to burn off and tried again. “A big spread in the high parks and cow-calf pairs as far as the eye can see?”
This time she didn’t look at him, kept her eyes straight ahead. Had he said the wrong thing already?
“That sounds rather nice.”
Her soft answer sent a jolt through him that bounced off his ribs and then settled easy on his heart.
“You do work for my grandfather, you know.” Her voice strengthened. “My mother grew up here, and I learned to ride here. It’s not like I don’t know my way around livestock.”
He couldn’t argue with that. Didn’t want to argue with that. Maybe he could fit a pair of Hs beneath that mountain peak brand. But he was getting way ahead of himself.
The ranch road skirted the creek bottom, leaving the thick, deep grass unmarred by wagon wheels and horse hooves. He spotted several head he could have easily pushed to the corrals. They watched the buckboard without reaction.
Branding the Wrangler's Heart Page 5