Straight to My Heart

by Davalynn Spencer

  To his great relief, she did.

  She must have left beans in the oven all day because the pork-laced aroma wrapped around him when he stepped through the back door. Above it lay the crispy lure of calf fries sizzling on the stovetop. Livvy wore an apron over her denims and her loose hair fell down her back like a wild horse mane.

  He’d marry that woman if she’d give him half a chance.

  Disgusted, he stomped back out. Must be as barn-soured as Buck’s horse, having such thoughts. He scrubbed his hands and arms for the second time and splashed cold water on his face and head, then combed his fingers through his hair and met Buck at the door.

  “You’d better wash up if you don’t want a tongue lashin’.”

  Buck grinned.

  Whit swore it was the only reaction the boy had, regardless of the situation.

  ~

  Livvy laid the work table in the kitchen for supper, too tired for the dining room’s formality. She doubted Pop would mind. After he’d told her how to cook the calf fries, he’d retired to his room, where his boots had thumped to the floor and the bed squeaked.

  Poor man. If he were half as sore and worn as she, he’d be needing his liniment tonight. She checked the corner cabinet to make sure they had enough, intending to borrow a little herself.

  Grudgingly, she admitted that what she was frying in the big skillet smelled enticingly good, if only she could banish the knowledge of their origin. When Buck and Whit finally showed up, Buck wore his usual mindless grin and Whit looked about ready to drool.

  Men. It didn’t take much to please them when they were tired and hungry.

  Her heart turned at the thought, and sadness knifed beneath it. How pleasant it would have been to ride beside Whit today if he hadn’t been so certain she couldn’t pull her own weight. Well, she had shown him.

  And what had he shown her?

  Kindness. The knife twisted. He’d noticed her coughing fit and offered to share his water. Insisted, in fact. She scooped more beans onto his plate and topped them with several fries.

  As she set the plate before him, and one each for Buck and Pop, Buck’s eyes darted between his helping and Whit’s, and a rare frown wrinkled his boyish brow. Heat rushed up Livvy’s neck at the obvious favoritism she’d shown, and leaving her own plate on the table, she quickly turned away.

  “You men go ahead. I’ll get Pop.”

  “I think she likes you better.” Buck’s hoarse whisper followed Livvy as she hurried through the dining room, and the flush climbed all the way into her cheeks. At least Whit couldn’t see her.

  Pop’s muffled snore met her at the doorway to his room, and she regretted having to wake him. But if he rode again tomorrow, he’d need every morsel of food for strength. She’d make sure he had several eggs for breakfast.

  “Pop?”

  He groaned.

  Fear took a lick at her heart, and she touched his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  “I’ll be fine. Give me a minute to get my bearings.” He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, flinching with the effort.

  “Would you rather eat in here?”

  An impatient hand waved her off. “No, girl, I’m not dyin’. I’m just stove-up.” He pushed to his feet and softened his tone with a wink. “After supper you can find that liniment your grandmother always kept on hand. It’ll do me some good tonight.”

  Livvy slipped an arm around his waist on pretense of affection, but as she’d hoped, he laid an arm across her shoulder and they walked together. As they reached the kitchen, he straightened and entered under his own power.

  Did men ever grow old enough to not strut and preen?

  Pop slid a chair out and dropped into it with a grunt. “Whit, you say the blessing tonight.”

  Buck’s spoon stopped halfway to his mouth, and Whit coughed on a biscuit. Livvy swallowed her surprise and seated herself next to her grandfather.

  Whit cleared his throat and glanced up as he bowed his head, catching Livvy’s eyes before closing his.

  “Thank You, Lord, for your help today, for keeping us all safe. And thank You for this bounty and the company we have in one another. Amen.”

  Did Whit count her as one of the company for which he was thankful?

  Pop bit into a fry and followed it with a spoonful of beans. “Fine job, Livvy. Fine job. Aren’t you going to try your own cooking?”

  She stirred her beans, watching them swirl around the dish. “Maybe later.” Looking these men in the eye was beyond her, knowing what they ate and relished as they did so.

  Whit chuckled. Buck shoveled. Livvy prayed for someone to change the subject.

  Pop obliged. “Buck, my leg is stiff as a stamp iron. Why don’t you let me take over the fire tomorrow and you flank calves?”

  Livvy bit the inside of her mouth to keep from thanking God out loud. She dared not insult the man’s pride—or good judgment. Sighing, she relaxed her shoulders, and unrealized tension drained away. Thank God, indeed.

  Whit nodded as he chewed, not at all inhibited by his full mouth. “Good call, sir.” He traded his spoon for his coffee cup and took a swallow. “I’m thinkin’ most of the cattle are up the northeast draw, over in the far park. That pole corral up there might hold forty, fifty head at a time, but we could drive ‘em all down, let ‘em graze and rotate ‘em in.”

  No one commented. Too tired, Livvy supposed, and she wasn’t about to say anything. Instead she savored the beans and biscuits and lamented the fact that she could not fall immediately into bed. Not with preparations for tomorrow’s meal awaiting her after the men left.

  “I agree.” Pop wiped his mouth, downed his coffee, and pushed back from the table. “Get me that liniment, Livvy. I’m gonna turn in.”

  Bottle in hand and with a small piece of toweling, she fell in step behind him. “I’ll help you.”

  “No.” The curt hand wave stopped her. “You have enough to do tonight. We’ll be leavin’ tomorrow at the same time and needin’ the same food as you brought today.” He took the cloth and bottle. “See you all then.”

  At the dining room door, he paused and turned his head to the side. “Good job today. That includes you, Livvy.”

  Full of glory at her grandfather’s remark, she watched him hobble through the dining room. At the fireplace he stopped, opened the gaudy French clock on the mantle and wound it, turning the key four times. The same as every other night, he tended Mama Ruth’s favored timepiece.

  Returning to the table, Livvy caught Whit’s dark eyes above the cup he held to his lips. They took in her every move, from picking up her spoon to swallowing the rest of her beans whole. Why did he have to stare?

  “I agree,” he said.

  She met his look head on, steeled by her grandfather’s confidence. “About what?”

  “Today.” Both elbows rested on the table, the cup held aloft in his rough hands. “You did a good job.”

  The compliment shot holes in her defensiveness. She lowered her gaze, lifted a napkin to her mouth. “Thank you.”

  “Got any more beans?”

  God bless Buck Perkins. In his typically awkward manner, he delivered her from what could have been an awkward moment.

  “Of course.” She ladled in an extra-large helping with no doubt in the boy’s ability to finish it off.

  Suddenly fatigued, she wilted beneath the ache in her back and legs and moaned inwardly at the thought of rising an hour earlier than they planned to leave so she could make biscuits and eggs and bacon.

  Whit set his bowl in the dish pan, his gaze traveling the swath of hair that had fallen over her shoulder. He held her eyes for a long moment, then gave a quick nod of thanks.

  Grabbing his hat on his way out, he jerked his chin at Buck. “Hurry up. We leave at daybreak.”

  Buck shoveled, scooted his chair, and sleeved his mouth nearly all at once.

  Livvy shook her head at the boy’s ability to be so effortlessly mannerless.

  “Th
ank you, Miss Livvy.” He handed her his dishes. “Mighty good.”

  A weary smile was all she could offer. Mighty good, indeed. And mighty tired, and mighty frustrated. She just didn’t know which was mightiest.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  On the third morning, the clock in Whit’s head woke him to the tuneless racket of Buck snoring. Snorting was more like it. The kid gagged like a choking bull.

  Their second day of branding had gone much like the first, and Whit hoped today was their last. In fact, he did more than hope—he prayed. The rain held off yesterday, but he’d smelled it on the breeze last night, and didn’t want to get caught in a late storm today.

  He pulled on his pants and boots, knotted his bandana and tucked in his shirt. A hard kick to Perkins’s bunk shut off the noise. “Get up. Daylight’s burnin’.”

  Wasn’t burning, wasn’t even smoldering, but it would be before the kid made it to the kitchen. They had farther to ride today and needed a fast start.

  He gathered their horses, saddled them, and checked hooves, then led them to the hitching rail behind the house. Through the kitchen window he watched Livvy at the stove doing what she did best. One of many things, he grudgingly admitted. She was definitely full of skill and surprises. Maybe he’d get a few moments alone with her before Baker and Buck showed up.

  But he’d not be apologizing for his earlier behavior. He was justified in his concern for his men, for the cattle. For her. They were all his responsibility. Hauling a woman in to do a man’s job was not. Lucky for her it had turned out all right.

  Lucky for him.

  He pulled his hat off, stepped through the back door and into the warm yellow light.

  She looked up from the stove, a pleased expression tilting her mouth in a pink curve. “Good morning.”

  “Mornin’.” So far so good. He straddled a chair.

  “Coffee?” She brought the pot and two mugs to the table, set one before him, and filled it near to the brim.

  He nodded his thanks and took the cup in both hands, then pulled the steamy brew through his lips. Not many things better in a man’s life than strong coffee from a beautiful woman first thing in the morning. He could get used to this.

  She filled the other cup and sat down, catching his glance at the stove.

  “Don’t worry. Breakfast is ready. I’m waiting for everyone to show up so we can all eat at once rather than in shifts.”

  She had pulled her long hair back into a single plait, oddly disappointing him. “Your grandfather not up?”

  She sipped. “He’s up, but moving slow.”

  A faint trace of liniment mingled with the coffee’s strong aroma. He leaned toward her and sniffed. “Did you rub him down?”

  She blushed like the sky at dawn and hid behind her mug. Two laughing eyes peered over the top. “I was a little sore myself after two days, so when he fell asleep last night, I stole in and borrowed the bottle.”

  Another surprise. He chuckled at her admission. “I guess you might be. How long has it been since you rode?”

  “It’s been a while. There was no riding on our last visit for Mama Ruth’s funeral.”

  The memory stripped the smile from her eyes, and he longed to bring the light back, tip her mouth in that pink curve again.

  Baker walked in with a more pronounced limp as Buck came through the back door. Whit looked at his crew gathering around the table and prayed again. This time for a miracle. They’d need it if they were going to get the rest of the calves branded today and not get someone busted up.

  Pop gave thanks and Livvy served bacon, biscuits with white gravy and eggs, and kept everyone’s coffee hot and full. She ate standing at the counter as she packed her larder bag and filled the canteen Whit had given her. Good thing he saw her—he’d forgotten to fill his own.

  “I’ll be right back and then we’ll leave.” He took his dishes to the sink, gave Livvy what he hoped she’d consider a friendly smile, and beat it out the back door.

  When he returned to the house, everyone was mounted. He filled the canteen at the outside pump and draped it over his saddle horn.

  Oro rumbled deep in his chest and pawed the ground. “Enough.” Whit slapped him good-naturedly on the chest, slipped the reins from the rail, and swung into the saddle. Buck carried the irons, Livvy had her bag, and everyone had a canteen. He turned Oro toward the east.

  Dawn peeked above the rimrock, flattened by a dark blanket seeping orange and pink along the edges. Not a good sign. He drew in a deep breath and with it the promise of a storm.

  They rode toward the jagged rock wall, and he scanned its shadowed lip. Near the base they turned north to follow the draw around a low hill. From the rimrock, a scream split the air.

  Another scream behind him, and he whirled to see Livvy with Ranger’s reins pulled to her chest. The horse danced backward, bouncing its front feet off the ground.

  “Let up!” He charged toward her and pulled up next to the rearing gray. “Let up on the reins!” Leaning out, he jerked her hands down toward the saddle horn.

  As soon as the reins went slack, Ranger stopped dancing. Trembling, his eyes rolled white at the fear he’d picked up from his rider.

  Breathless and pale, Livvy held Whit with frightened eyes, her fingers clutching the horn with an iron grip. Whit’s doubts returned and dug in their spurs.

  “Easy, now.” He spoke low, reassuringly, as much to Livvy as to the horse.

  Pop rode over and checked the gray’s headstall. “He’ll flip over backward if you yank on him like that.”

  “I—I know. It just startled me.” Livvy’s chest heaved on every word and her hands shook.

  She released one hand and leaned down to pat Ranger’s neck, then looked to Whit. “What was that?”

  He laid his hand atop hers on the horn and gave it a light squeeze. “A lion. Up on the rimrock. But it’s all right. She won’t come down here.”

  “Why does she scream like that? Did she kill something?”

  Whit withdrew his hand and looked at Pop, who rode off.

  A lot of help he was. “She’s lonely.”

  A bit more than lonely, more like calling a mate, but Whit wasn’t about to get into that.

  Livvy ducked her head. She’d figured it out.

  Buck had ridden back at the commotion. “It’s enough to curdle your blood for sure.”

  Livvy raised her chin and nudged Ranger ahead. “She caught me off guard, that’s all.”

  And that was exactly how Whit felt—caught off guard by a woman out in the breaks where she didn’t belong, nearly yanking her horse over backward. He had never believed in omens, not with his God-fearing folks. But the stormy dawn and cougar’s cry didn’t bode well for the day ahead. He tugged his hat down and loped to the front of their small string. If any other surprises awaited them, he wanted to take the brunt.

  ~

  Livvy’s insides quaked and she concentrated on appearing calm and in control of her emotions. She might be able to fool the men but not Ranger. His neck arched, his ears pricked, and his walk was more of a nervous trot. Truth be told, she wanted to wheel him and run as fast as she could back to the ranch house and hide beneath the quilts on her bed.

  Lord, help her! The fright in Whit’s eyes tore into her nearly as deep as the mountain lion’s scream. Was he afraid for her or because of her?

  The red horizon faded to pink and into a blinding white as the sun climbed above the low cloudbank. Daylight spread over the hills and dripped into the ravines and creek beds. Black birds and meadowlarks called to one another, and hawks screed above them. How could such beauty hide such chilling terror?

  By midday they had driven the cattle down to a new pole corral and had half the cow-calf pairs inside. Whit refused to eat until they finished branding every single calf. Argument danced on the tip of Livvy’s tongue, begging to spring to life, but she bit it back and followed his orders. It helped to believe his sharp words were aimed at the entire crew and not at her pe
rsonally.

  Only twice did she stop for water, and she noticed with satisfaction that the men took a break at the same time. Against Whit’s wishes, she passed out two cookies to each man and quickly downed one herself. She worried more about Pop’s strength than her own, and if Whit gave her any grief, that was exactly what she’d tell him.

  The sun balanced on the western peaks as they loosed the last calf. Livvy pulled her gloves and hat off and sleeved her brow as she watched the youngsters run to their mamas seeking comfort for their burned backsides. She almost felt guilty. But cattle from several different spreads roamed the mountains and parks together, and ranchers had to keep them straight.

  Before each calf was branded, Whit read the markings on the cow. If it didn’t carry the Bar-HB, he’d holler out the brand and Buck would heat the rings. Livvy didn’t know how to handle those things without singeing her gloves, so Buck burned in any neighbor’s brand that matched the one on the calf’s mama.

  But most of what they’d gathered belonged to her grandfather, and at the moment, they all huddled at the east end of the corral. Something about their lowing gave her pause, the way they pressed hard against the far poles.

  While Buck stomped out the fire, she considered the cattle outside the corral, also bunched and facing east with their rumps to the west. Over her shoulder black-bellied clouds spilled off a range in the north, and a deep rumble rolled across the park. A fat rain drop hit her arm.

  The cattle knew.

  Her grandfather opened the far gate and let the penned pairs out. They ran to join the others pressing toward the end of the park, away from the storm that seemed to be circling from north to west. Livvy shoved her hat on, tucked her gloves in her waist, and ran to the gray. Buck and Whit were already mounted and she joined them.

  “Should we ride into the trees?”

  Whit and Pop both shook their heads.

  “No,” Pop said.

  “But we’d be out of the rain, a little more protected.” It seemed the only logical thing to do.