Stormy Hawkins (Prairie Hearts Series Book 1)

by Ana Morgan

  ~ ~ ~

  Jonathan Vance put down the men’s fashion magazine he’d been pretending to read. He sidled to the nail and bolt display and waited for the cowboy to finish his business.

  “Your wire will go out this afternoon, Mr. Masters.” Abby Farber scampered around the mail counter and trailed Masters toward the front door like a storm-soaked puppy.

  To his surprise, Masters left without chatting or buying any supplies.

  Vance tugged on an open keg of four-penny nails until it teetered on the edge of its shelf. Then, he walked around to the backside of the display and pushed. The keg crashed to the floor, scattering inch-long nails across the wide-planked floor.

  Abby rushed past him with an agonized look on her face.

  Having ensured her preoccupation, he walked to the mail counter and fished in the refuse bin until he found the paper Masters had wadded into a ball. He smoothed it out and grunted with self-satisfaction.

  Masters was scouting for property. To keep or resell was unclear. The pseudo-cowboy was writing to someone with power over his shares. He’d entered St. Louis as the wire’s destination but no specific address.

  Vance knew someone who could find out. He plucked a clean form from the basket, picked up the pen Masters had just used, and dipped the nib into the open inkwell.

  To Edward Peabody Investigations.

  Chapter 9

  Eager to get the workday started, Zed volunteered to saddle and bridle the horses. He walked toward the corral with a spring in his step that he hadn’t felt in years.

  Blade was the reason. He was smart and enthusiastic, not put off by Stormy’s brashness or her intellect. His deep interest in ranching reminded Zed of himself thirty years ago.

  Blade’s mare studied him with soft, brown eyes as he eased the bit into her mouth.

  “He doesn’t know it yet, but he is perfect for Stormy.” Zed patted her neck and raised his voice so the other horses could hear. “Last day on the fence. We turn the cows in this afternoon.”

  He walked back into the house and sighed.

  Blade and Brownie were still sitting at the dining table. Their work gloves rested in their hats, ready to grab and go.

  In the kitchen, Running Bear banged two pot lids together, his stage-two of rousing over-sleepers. He must have already rattled silverware in the big tin dishpan.

  “Think Stormy’s sick?” Brownie asked.

  “She didn’t say she was feeling poorly,” he replied.

  Running Bear started to sing When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again, Hurrah.

  “She can’t be asleep now. Why don’t you boys head out?” He pointed toward the kitchen. “Take him with you.”

  When the house was quiet again, Zed poured a mug of coffee, carried it upstairs, and knocked on Stormy’s bedroom door. “Room service.”

  “Don’t want any.” She sounded cross, just like every morning for the past week.

  He opened her door.

  Her bed was made. She stood, dressed in her work clothes, looking out the window. “We’ll finish tacking wire by noon,” she said. “Then, do a final check. Blade could pack his things after lunch and head out early.”

  “Hold up a minute, Princess.” Zed stepped inside. “Blade’s a good ranch hand. He works hard. Never complains. Keeps the horse trough full of water. Listens more than he talks. He hasn’t asked for a penny.”

  She turned around and spoke through clenched teeth. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m thinking we should ask him to stay on.”

  “What would we—” Her cheeks flushed red as beetroot. “I mean, what would he do?”

  “Fences need to be checked every day. There’s always firewood to split, and we still have to drive the steers to Fort Sisseton in October.”

  “We can manage like we always do. Besides, Blade only wanted to stay for a month. His mind is set on owning his own place.”

  “What if we offer him a piece of land, something he can call his own?” Zed ignored the pained look that spread across his daughter’s face. “Cowboys can’t afford a spread at today’s prices. Ranches like ours don’t pay them enough.”

  She backed up against the wall and stood ramrod stiff. “So?”

  “Think, Stormy. Blade’s helped us to pay for Widow Butler’s section with his labor.”

  “In exchange for learning about ranching.”

  “Yes, but where’s the good if he takes that learning elsewhere? If he uses it here, we reap the benefit.” He didn’t mention the possibility of playing with grandchildren before he hit the grave.

  “Trust me. He doesn’t want to stay.” Stormy avoided his eyes as she snatched up her work gloves and pushed past him.

  “How do you know?” he called.

  Descending the stairs, she raised the fist that clenched her gloves. “When we vote, I’m voting no.”

  Zed sighed. She was as pigheaded as her mother.

  As soon as she galloped off, he saddled Thor and set out for Prosperity. He still had enough time to visit with Ginny at the hotel before he had to pick up Stormy’s dress and return to the ranch.

  He kicked Thor into a run.

  ~ ~ ~

  Stormy didn’t feel proud of the way she’d behaved with Zed, but she didn’t intend to explain that anytime she thought about Blade, her insides fluttered. The can’t-breathe sensation intensified whenever she heard his voice and became almost unbearable when he sat across from her at mealtime.

  She loved that he gathered pretty bouquets of wild columbine and yarrow for the dining table and hated how he apologized every time their hands happened to touch. He’d also started calling her Miss Stormy, like she was his spinster aunt or a gray-haired schoolmarm. ‘Yes, Miss Stormy.’ ‘Right away, Miss Stormy.’ When they nailed barbed wire, if he caught her staring at him, he dropped his hands and turned his back.

  He got along fine with everyone else. Brownie was teaching him to throw knives. Zed pestered him to play chess. Running Bear had nicknamed him ‘Little Brother’ and invited him to sit in his tipi.

  The truth hurt, but she had to accept it. Blade didn’t like her. He could stay until morning. Then, he had to go.

  ~ ~ ~

  Late that afternoon, they rode out to round up the cattle and herd them toward the new pasture. Running Bear took Blade and circled north, while she and Brownie swept south.

  She was almost to the gate when she noticed a bright, chartreuse ribbon tied atop a tall pole that was lashed to the main gate post.

  Zed was still trying to impress Blade. Masking her irritation, she rode in close.

  “What do you think?” Astride Thor, Zed beamed as he pointed up at the three-inch wide, puke-green banner. He’d also spread, way off to the side, a towel on the grass and laid out the big paper-cutting scissors, his half-empty bottle of Abbey d’Lambeau, five shot glasses, and a brown-papered bundle tied with thin white string. A going away present for Blade.

  “This isn’t a Robin Hood festival,” she snapped. “You’re going to scare the calves. Better take down that ribbon.”

  Brownie shushed her. “It looks quite ceremonial, Zed. When we git all these here cows through the gate, I hope you’re not planning to make a long speech. I got stove wood to split, and there’s a busted wire in the west pasture.”

  Behind her, the cows exchanged a volley of moos. Without turning around, she knew Running Bear and Blade had delivered the rest of the herd.

  “We’re burning daylight,” she said. “Brownie and I will funnel the cows along the sides. Let’s move ‘em in.”

  Like the grand marshal of a parade, Zed rode Thor through the gate opening and onto Widow Butler’s land.

  The bravest cows followed and soon kicked up their hooves in celebration of fresh green grass.
Mooing at the tops of their lungs, the rest of the herd moved forward in fits and starts.

  Patience and the occasional arm swing helped the stragglers find their way. Finally, the last calves were reunited with their mamas, and the herd settled down to graze.

  Running Bear and Blade dismounted. Running Bear leaned toward Blade and said something Stormy couldn’t hear. Blade punched him playfully in the arm, and Running Bear laughed.

  Zed waved everyone over to his ceremonial towel. He uncorked the bottle of brandy, poured two fingers into each glass, and passed them out. He raised his glass. “Ahnata-potikki.”

  Blade looked perplexed.

  “It means, ‘The family is blessed,’” Zed said. “Ahnata-potikki.”

  Stormy mouthed the toast while everyone said it aloud.

  Brownie downed the spirit in a big gulp and held out his glass. “A titch more, if you please.”

  Zed went around with the bottle, but when he got to her, she shook her head. Her eye was on the package. She had no idea what Zed had wrapped up, but she was pleased he’d finally come around to her side. Blade was leaving.

  Zed picked up the package. “Blade?”

  Blade accepted it, and then handed it to her. “Open it.”

  “No. It’s for you.”

  “Open it,” he urged. “It won’t bite.”

  “It’s gonna be a surprise,” Brownie cackled.

  Bewildered, she tucked her work gloves under her belt, pulled on the string until it came loose, and handed the string to Running Bear, knowing he’d want to reuse it. The paper wrap parted to reveal lace sewn onto emerald green fabric.

  She lifted the paper and shook out a stunning gown. The bodice had cap sleeves and decorative crisscross lacing. It sloped to points, centered front and back, and overlaid a gently gathered, ankle-length skirt.

  “It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “Zed, have you ever seen anything this fine?”

  “Only once, Princess,” Zed said softly. His eyes filled with tears.

  Brownie pulled his kerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. Blade’s smile grew even bigger when Running Bear thumped him on the back.

  Blade did this?

  “Take it back.” She held out the dress as if it was made of skinned skunk.

  Zed huffed like he’d been punched in the gut.

  “I mean no disrespect. Honest, I don’t. But, you can’t afford this, Blade. You’re saving to buy a ranch.” She folded the dress carefully and rewrapped it in the dressmaker’s paper. “Zed, please tell him I’m right. The dress is beautiful, and you can all laugh over how well you tricked me, but we can’t pay you back.”

  “If you don’t cotton to the idea of a gift,” Blade said, “consider it an investment.”

  “An investment in what?” Her mind whirled as she tried to figure his angle. “The cows don’t care what I wear. The dress will just collect dust, like Zed’s good suit.”

  “How about wearing it tomorrow? I hear there’s a dance in town.”

  She shook her head. “I’m staying home with Zed.”

  “No, you’re not,” Zed said in his this-is-final voice. “I’m going, and so are you.”

  Her shoulders slumped. People might not make fun of this dress, but Calvin Jule was sure to ask her to dance.

  “I’ll dance with you,” Blade said.

  “Do you know how?” She eyed him suspiciously. He boasted about almost everything.

  “Lessons every Saturday morning. My mother made me.” He picked up her right hand, extended it out straight, and slipped his right arm around her waist. “I’ll prove it.”

  Caught off guard when he launched into a gliding dance step, she stiffened. Her boot heel snagged on a tuft of thick grass.

  Blade tightened his hold until his belt buckle dented her belly.

  Her internal flutters exploded into pulse-racing fever. After two turns, he set her, panting, back on her feet.

  “Glad we got that straightened out,” Running Bear said. “Let’s cut the ribbon and call it a day.”

  Chapter 10

  Wearing his best shirt and the jeans that didn’t have rips from barbed wire, Blade sat on the leather couch sandwiched between Running Bear and Brownie.

  Brownie was gussied up in pressed corduroy slacks and wide suspenders. A thick coat of new polish on his boots reflected the late afternoon sunlight.

  Running Bear’s deerskin vest was embroidered with green vines and colorful flowers. Blade didn’t feel comfortable asking if his dead wife had done the intricate beadwork. For all he knew, the big man was handy with a needle and thread. He was good at everything else.

  Running Bear stretched out his legs and scuffed the sole of his boot across Brownie’s boot toe. His eyes gleamed devilishly. “So sorry.”

  Brownie glared at him, and then returned his focus to the stairs. “What’s takin’ so long up there?” he yelled.

  Privately, Blade seconded the question.

  Three knocks sounded from the hallway upstairs. A door opened and shut. Then, it was silent again.

  “Crimeny.” Brownie jumped up and paced around the sitting room. “She knows I need to tune my fiddle. Now we’re gonna be late, and—”

  Zed rapped on the upstairs wall like a majordomo. He wore ironed pants, a bright yellow shirt, and a tailored black jacket. He started down the stairs.

  A step behind him, Stormy followed.

  Blade leaned forward and gripped his knees.

  She looked lovelier than a pampered St. Louis Society debutante. The flowing skirt of the emerald dress swirled around her legs. The top hugged her curves, breasts to waist to hips. Unbraided, her hair shimmered like the western sky at sunset, and her eyes shone with a vulnerability that made him ache to be her protector.

  “Saying goodbye to your heart, Little Brother?” Running Bear asked softly.

  ~ ~ ~

  As soon as he rode onto the field next to Prosperity’s schoolhouse, Blade knew his plan would work.

  Twenty teams and wagons had already formed a wide semi-circle, and more were pulling in behind the Hawkins’ buckboard.

  Women in dancing dresses arranged platters of food on long tables. A short distance away, men dipped tin cups into an open barrel and toasted each other. Roughhousing children raced around poles topped with glowing lanterns, ignoring their mothers’ shouts to stay clean.

  Ginny Dunn waved as Zed set the buckboard brake.

  Carrying his weather-beaten fiddle case, Brownie rushed toward a cluster of musicians, tuning their instruments.

  Running Bear walked toward the food tables with cloth-covered baskets.

  Blade dismounted and helped Stormy down from the back of the buckboard. Tonight, everyone would see her in a new light. The gossip would spread like a wildfire.

  To enhance his plan, Zed had suggested Stormy wear her mother’s light blue cape to protect her dress during the ride into town. With her dress hidden until she started to dance, she’d stun the townspeople who usually mocked her.

  He pulled her into the shadows cast by a tall-sided wagon. “Time for another dance lesson, Stormy.”

  She nodded without looking up at him. He could tell she was nervous, eyeing the growing circle of wagons and people.

  He understood her fear of ridicule. He’d quit St. Louis in the middle of the night, rather than endure Society’s gossip about why Miss Candace Kennedy had discarded him for his younger brother, Jared.

  He went on. “Waltzing requires communication and leadership. I am the man, your superior. You are a woman, my—”

  “What?”

  “Good. I have your attention.” He faced her, picked up her hand, and slid his work-roughened fingers across the silky small of her back. “Put your hand on my arm. When it�
�s time to go backwards, I will do this.” He raised his elbow slightly. “When I want to go forward, I will press like this.” He pushed his fingertips against her back.

  Her mouth formed an ‘o’ of astonishment.

  “All you have to do is follow my lead. Step forward, step to the side, step together.” Fighting her stiff-legged hesitancy, he pulled her along. “Think of it this way, Stormy. We’re a steer. I’m the head, and you’re the tail.” He waited a moment to let the description sink in.

  She smiled half-heartedly.

  “Let’s try again. This time, we’ll go backwards. Back, side, together.” He lifted his arm. “You’re doing great. Now a quarter turn.” He pivoted as he stepped forward.

  Her nose crashed into his chest, and she hopped back. “I can’t do this. I’ll never be good at dancing.”

  “Just turn off your thoughts and listen with your body.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  “You can do anything you set your mind to, Stormy. You’re a smart, talented, beautiful woman.” To convince her, he lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers.

  The soft rush of her sigh warmed his cheeks. Mesmerized, he pulled her close and bent to truly kiss her.

  Before his lips reached hers again, he came to his senses. She was engaged, and his heart was off limits—for life.

  He cleared his throat and reassumed a proper dance position. “Let’s start over. I’m the man, your superior. You’re a woman, my—”

  She squeezed his fingers hard. “You might be the dancing steer’s head, buster, but my hind end will kick you to Kingdom Come if you make me fall. Got it?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He counted aloud to three and moved.

  She followed, responding to his signals with more ease. Forwards, backwards, glide into a turn. Her scowl softened.

  The musicians launched into a lively, welcoming tune. Couples drifted onto the grass and clapped in time to the music.