by Tia Dani
"We can't make it."
Matthew's abrupt words drew Katherine up. "Why not?"
"Because Miss Strammon hasn't quite recovered from her injuries."
Libby, along with Katherine, gaped at him. How did he know whether she had recovered or not? He hadn't once asked how she felt.
"But," Katherine protested, "Libby's fine. Aren't you, Libby?"
Libby bobbed her head up and down in confirmation, and to prove it, she rolled her shoulder several times.
Matthew seemed to study her then replied quietly, "I'm afraid her father hasn't healed enough to go."
That was it? "How would you know?" Libby shot back. "You're no doctor. And, even if you were, do you think I'd listen to you?"
The minute she saw his familiar frown, she pivoted. There was no sense trying to argue with him. It would be like talking to her bowl of green beans. "Mr. Abrams," she said, curtsying. "My father and I would be delighted to attend your party. What day will it be?"
"This coming Saturday." Luke smiled at Katherine. "Can you bring a couple of your mouth-watering berry pies?"
Katherine nodded. "Of course. Libby will help me, won't you, dear?"
Libby hesitated then managed a weak smile. The last time she'd tried to make a pie, the crust turned out tough enough to break a brick, let alone a few teeth. "I'm certainly willing to give it a try."
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Matthew roll his eyes upward. Instantly, she went on the defensive. "What's wrong now?"
"Don't tell me you don't know how to cook."
Before she could respond, Katherine answered for her. "Of course, she knows how to cook, Matthew. It's different here than where she’s from."
"Where did she come from so cooking would be different?" Scorn colored his voice. "If you ask me, cooking is cooking no matter where you go. The ingredients in foods are all the same."
Libby stiffened and muttered under her breath, "If you knew how different things really are where I come from, buster, it'd blow your socks off."
Even though she barely spoke, Matthew must have heard, for he was staring at her with a perplexed look. Not wanting to deal with any further explanation, Libby decided to change the subject.
"Mr. Abrams," she said pleasantly, "I look forward to Saturday. I'd love to see your new barn."
Luke Abrams glanced at Matthew and grinned. It was obvious he hadn't missed her deliberate change of conversation. He made a dramatic bow. To her surprise and delight, he lifted the back of her hand and pressed it to his lips. "Miss Strammon," he said grandly, "I, too, shall await the day's arrival with intense anticipation."
* * *
Matthew ground his teeth and ignored his friend's oozing charm. For a moment, when he deliberately baited Libby about cooking, he thought he was finally getting somewhere. He was certain she was going to say something about where she came from. Only she hadn't. Instead, she muttered something about blowing up his socks.
Matthew shook his head. What in the hell did socks have to do with cooking?
"You coming, Matt?"
"What?" Lost in his thoughts, Matthew realized Luke was talking to him. He looked up and noticed Katherine and Libby were walking toward the house. Luke stood beside him, smirking.
"I said, are you coming to the house with us or not? Katherine offered me some lemonade and cookies."
The last thing Matthew wanted was lemonade and cookies, especially they were served by Libby Strammon. The way things were going, she'd probably dump them on his head. "No, I've got to help Joseph finish the roof."
"Joseph? He's here?" Luke’s eyes widened in surprise. "Why didn't you say so."
"You didn't ask."
"I'm asking now. How come he's here and not with the volunteers?"
"He quit with me. There's no reason for him to stay. Governor Crawford sent word some of the volunteers could muster out early. The attack on Dead Horse Station seemed to be the last. According to his sources, the renegades have moved out of Kansas."
"Good to hear. Then people can come to my place on Saturday without worrying."
Matthew frowned and watched the two women disappear into the house. Now he wished he hadn't said anything to Luke about the renegades. He might have been able to use it as an excuse to keep Libby here. He didn't like the idea she would be around so many unattached males.
"You can't keep her for yourself, Matt, unless you plan on marrying her. There are too many men hoping to snag themselves a wife."
"Dammit, Abrams." Matthew jerked around and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "What is it between you and Joseph? Stop reading my mind."
"Why?" Luke laughed, "It's so easy. Your face gives you away every time."
Matthew snorted. "Remind me never to play poker with you two anymore."
Luke laughed again. "Deal." He turned toward the house. "There she goes. You reckon she's going after Joseph?"
"More likely after her father." Matthew watched Libby cross the yard and enter the barn. "He's inside with James."
"Her father, eh? What's he like?"
"Nice enough." Surprised, Matthew realized he meant it. He liked the older man. There was a pleasant quietness to Theo Strammon, and he knew a lot about farming. Matthew had found several of his suggestions on planting intriguing and helpful. In some respects, he would miss him.
Matthew straightened, thinking of Libby leaving. He wouldn't miss her. She was too argumentative and stubborn. Those were traits he didn't like in women. Granted he didn't care for sweet and docile women either. Too bad she couldn't be in between then maybe he'd...
"Ahem. You going to stand here and stare at the barn?"
"He's at it again, ain't he?" Joseph walked up. "I'm telling you, Luke, the man's gone over the crib."
Matthew turned to both men and noticed their grins stretched from ear to ear. "You two enjoying yourselves?"
Joseph rocked on his heels, his grin stretching wider. "Sure am. Haven't had this much fun since the day you took your first drink of whisky."
"If I recollect," Matthew said dryly, remembering when they had swiped several bottles of whiskey from Luke's father's extensive liquor cabinet. "You were already passed out by the time it was my turn to do a bottle." They not only had gotten roaring drunk, they had gotten roaring sick.
"Naw." Joseph slapped Luke heartily on the back. "That was ole' Luke here. I was the last. I got to watch both of you go under."
Luke winced, either from the pounding from Joseph or from remembering. "It wasn't my fault I drew the short straw." Suddenly, he chuckled. "You should talk, Joseph. You're the one who had to go first with the cigars?"
This time Joseph winced. In fact, his face took on a greenish tinge. "Yeah, still can't stand the stuff. Doubt if'n I ever will."
Listening to Joseph and Luke relive some of their times together, Matthew wasn't sure which one of them he liked best. Every scrape they ever got into was a joint effort. It was when he and Joseph elected to join the volunteers they parted ways. Luke had decided to build his farm instead.
Matthew thought about his own land. He hadn't bothered farming all of it. He only planted enough corn and sorghum to pay the yearly taxes. Working it all never seemed worth the effort as long as he was tending Katherine's acreages. But now, for some reason, he wanted to see it prosper, be worth something. He turned to Luke.
"You send off for the special plow you read about?"
"You bet I did. Two months ago." Luke beamed. "I'm thinking about getting a windmill, too."
"I'll be danged." Joseph rubbed the back of his neck. "Gonna be something to see. How'd ya hear about it?"
"From an Eastern newspaper my sister sent from Kansas City. The article said this guy in Connecticut, Daniel Halladay, figured out how to do a self-running windmill. It works on centrifugal force."
Joseph stared at Luke in confusion. "What's that?"
"Beats the hell out of me. I read the article, and it sounded good. If it draws water like they say, I'm all for it. The article also said the
railroads might use them along their routes. I guess it's a way of ensuring water will be available at whistle stops."
Matthew rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Lord knows, they could use an easier way to get water around the farm. Maybe Theo knew how this type of windmill pumped water. The man knew a lot about farming techniques Matthew had never heard of before. "Why don't both of you go on in and get something to eat. I'll be along shortly."
"Where you goin'?" Joseph was grinning at him.
"To the barn. I'm going to talk to Mr. Strammon about windmills."
"Sure, you do." Joseph snorted. "Wouldn't by any chance be planning on talking with Miss Strammon, while you're there, would you?"
Chapter Eight
From inside the barn, Libby watched James tear across the yard for the house. The boy lit out as soon as he heard there were cookies. In the distance, Joseph, Matthew and Luke Abrams still stood near the garden.
A few feet away, her father leaned against a large wooden chest, folding up his pocket knife.
"Dad, do you feel like taking a walk? I need to talk."
He nodded. "Sure, grab my cane."
Libby picked up the walking stick propped against a support post and ran her fingers across the smooth wood. "Matthew did a nice job on it, didn't he?"
"Sure did. The man has talent." Theo took the cane and gestured toward the entry. "Shall we go?"
She peered out the front and hesitated. "Uh, could we go this way?" She pointed to the side door, leading into the corral.
Her father glanced at both doors then smiled. "Something on your mind you don't want the others to know about?"
Libby returned his grin. "Sort of. I've been thinking."
"Again?"
She laughed at his mock dismay and hugged his arm. His teasing put her at ease. "Yes, again." Even though her dad's limp had improved, she knew his leg still bothered him. She kept her pace slow as they skirted the corral and walked through a side gate. When they were far enough away from the barn, she turned serious. "How long do you think we'll stay here?"
Her father frowned. "I can't answer that, Libby."
Earlier they had agreed to stick with the story they had traveled from the East to visit Katherine. The less complicated they kept things, the less they would have to worry about keeping their stories straight.
"Do you wonder if we'll ever go back?"
He hesitated. "Sometimes. However, I have a feeling the opportunity will present itself."
"I hope it comes soon."
Theo looked at her. "Libby, something definitely is bothering you."
A heaviness in her heart ached. "I want to go home. I feel so useless. My medical skills are based on surgery techniques which aren't available yet. And, besides, I can't do anything right. I can't cook, can't sew. My whole life since age seventeen revolved around becoming a doctor. I didn't have time to learn housewife skills."
She rubbed her arms. "You've been a big help sharing your farming knowledge. I've seen how your suggestions are taken into account. You fit in. I don't."
"Of course you don't fit in." Theo's tone turned gentle. "You were raised in the 20th century where things are different. Farming is more or less universal, no matter what the time period." He turned her to face him.
"You shouldn't worry. Your life has never been ordinary. You were younger than your medical classmates, and you didn't let that stop you. I think you're doing better than you realize. Katherine adores you. She told me so. Not to mention James thinks the world of you too."
"Matthew doesn't."
"Ah, Matthew," her father said. "Now I understand. He's been bothering you again."
Bothering? Libby flushed, remembering when she had watched him climb down the ladder. Her stomach had flip-flopped, and she'd thought her shaking would never stop. “He hasn't made my life comfortable, for sure," she said aloud. "He's always picking on me, doing things to make me mad."
Theo chuckled. "Reminds me of someone else. Remember how David Delicroix picked on you in fifth grade?"
"David," Libby scoffed, remembering the boy in her class who used to ride the same bus, "had a crush on me. He wanted me to notice him."
"I rest my case. It's the same with Matthew."
"Darn it, not you, too." She eyed him suspiciously. "Have you been talking to Katherine about Matthew and me?"
"Both Katherine and I have noticed it. So has Joseph."
"What is this?" Libby threw up her hands. "Don't the three of you have anything better to do?
"We do, but the two of you are more interesting. Matthew watches you all the time."
"Of course, the man watches me. He thinks I'm nutty as a fruit cake."
"He finds you mysterious."
"Mysterious?" Libby snorted. "I'm mysterious, all right. I've come right out of a science fiction novel." She looked at her father. "So have you. If anyone knew the truth, they'd run from us as fast as they could. Or have us committed." Her mood turned serious. "By the way, we're lucky. We could have been found out."
"How's that?"
"The owner of the stage station found the first aid kit in the cellar and sent it to us."
Theo halted. "Did he look inside?"
"I don't know. However, I do know the man who brought it to me hadn't. At least, I don't think so. He didn't seem curious."
Libby frowned at the memory of how Luke Abrams had spent more time eyeing at her than at the case
"Where did you put it?"
"Under my bed."
Her father raised an eyebrow.
"Don't worry. Nobody's going to bother it. It's behind Katherine's small traveling trunk."
What's in the case to give us away?"
"Not much. Except for expiration dates on some of the supplies. The rest of the items would confuse anyone who doesn't understand medical equipment."
"To tell the truth, half the stuff you have in there I don't understand myself. How come I have to carry surgical equipment in my truck? I'm no doctor. I wouldn't know how to use it."
"I packed everything because of harvest," Libby said defensively. "In case of an emergency. Remember the kid from Oklahoma who caught his arm in a combine? I decided I should be prepared for just about everything. After harvest I planned to remove the extra stuff. Hadn't gotten around to it."
Theo glanced around the farm. "It might still come in handy. There's no telling what could happen while we're here."
"It occurred to me, too." A shiver stole across her shoulders and she stared into his eyes. "What do you think they'll do once they find out I'm a doctor?"
"Tie you to a stake and burn you as a witch."
"Dad, I'm serious." She slapped his shoulder playfully. "This is the 19th century. Women aren't thought to be smart enough to become doctors."
"Then you'll have to be a 19th century woman who's ahead of her times."
Libby found herself liking the idea. "Okay, I agree. But, if I'm ahead of my time, where did I get my degree?"
Her father frowned. "Could be a tough one. I'm not sure where women trained to be doctors in the 1860's. We'll play it by ear."
"There's a whole symphony we'll have to play by ear." A breeze blew several locks of her hair into her eyes. Libby tucked them back behind her ear. "We need to create a believable past. At least, one people will readily accept." She thought of Matthew in particular. His earlier comment on cooking suggested his constant curiosity about her past was growing. "Have you noticed anything strange about Matthew when he talks to you?"
"No, not really. He seems to be interested in what I know about farming." Her father’s gaze didn’t waver. "I can't lie to you, Libby. I want to help the boy every way I can. I want to make sure he's successful here. His future is our past."
"I don't think you have to worry about him making a success out of his life." Libby swept her hand wide. "We know the Strammon's, Domé's and Basgal's families survived through the Depression and the Dust Bowl days. What we have today—I mean..." She slapped a hand to her forehead.
"In the 1960s there are three solid, successful farming programs. We both know Katherine, Matthew, and Joseph were instrumental in setting the foundation of our farm lineage—Oh, my goodness—"
Libby stopped walking and looked back toward the farm. "Luke Abrams, his land..."
Her father halted. "Who's Abrams?"
"He's a good friend of both Matthew and Joseph. He's the man who brought the case from the stage station. Katherine mentioned Luke's land was south of here." She frowned. "In our time that land belongs to the Domé family. There's no Abrams mentioned anywhere in the county. I don't recall the name, do you?"
"No. Far as I can remember the land has always belonged to the Domé's."
Libby sighed. "What a shame. He's nice, and you can tell he cares deeply about his land. He’s raised a new barn and wants to celebrate. She shrugged, knowing she had no answers. Whatever caused Luke to sell his farm to Matthew was anybody's guess.
"Oh-oh, here comes Matthew."
Libby groaned at her father's warning. The man had put on his shirt, but hadn't bothered to button it. The two edges flapped in the wind, enhancing his flat stomach and broad, muscular chest. What was it with him?
He joined them, and his smile widened when he caught her eyeing his opened shirt. Jerk. He'd left it open on purpose.
Deciding to give him some of his own medicine, Libby greeted him with a flirty smile. "Oh, my goodness, Matthew...are you still wet from the lemonade? Here, let me help you dry off."
She lifted the hem of her skirt and petticoats and stepped toward him. It didn't bother her at all he could see a fair amount of pantalette-covered leg. Why should it? The mini-dresses she wore back home showed a lot more. Too bad she didn't have a bikini with her. She'd really show him some skin.
To her glee, his grin faded. He stared down at her legs then took a step backward, holding up his hands.
"I'm dry, thank you. You can put down your skirt."
Libby released a loud, dramatic sigh and said quite forlornly, "If you really think so."
"I do. Drop your skirts." Matthew's face flushed red.
Libby obliged then turned toward her father. She noticed the laughter in his eyes. He hadn't missed her intent. Hiding a grin from Matthew, she whined, "You see how it is, Father? He's always yelling at me."