Annora rose from the bed. "May I help?"
Mable slapped a hand at her. "Oh, my, yes." There was that wonderful laugh again. "My mother raised no fools. I never turn down help."
"I'll be down in a moment then."
"Take your time. You've bags to unpack."
"I can do that later."
Annora washed up in the bathroom, wishing her parents were there to see that Sheridan had modern plumbing. They no doubt imagined her using an outhouse and washing in the creek. An enormous claw- footed bathtub sat against one wall, with a sink on another along with a commode that flushed.
She descended the stairs before entering the hallway to the kitchen. Part of her wished she was home at her own place. She hadn’t had time enough yet to get used to it, let alone bored with it. She wanted to see how her door was coming along in the office. Boone had promised to ride out once he finished the project. He’d want to be paid so he could head home to Montana.
Elbows deep in pie dough, Mable directed her to sit. "But I came to help, not sit."
"You'll help plenty, believe me. Right now, what needs doing is these pies. You know how to roll a crust?"
Annora gave a rueful laugh. "I'm afraid not. We had a cook, so I've limited experience in the kitchen."
With a soft snort, Mable said, "I'll fix that before you return to town, my girl."
Excited by the idea of learning to cook, Annora sat and watched Mable work on her pies while wondering when Birch intended to begin her lessons on ranch work.
~~^~~
Chance stuck his head in the tack room where Birch was searching for a lariat. "If you're getting ready to fetch Annora from the house, you'd best hurry."
He glanced up. "Why?"
"Because if you don't go now, you'll likely be stuck here arguing with John-B."
"Angstrom?" Birch emerged from the tack room, lifted his hat to wipe a sleeve across his damp forehead. "What're you talking about?"
Chance looked back over his shoulder at something in the distance. "Never mind. Too late."
The two walked out of the barn in time to see John-B Angstrom walking toward them.
"H'Lo, John-B. Something I can do for you?" Too late, he saw the man's tight, grim mouth. Trouble. Charlotte? No wonder Chance had tried to warn him.
John-B gave Chance a glare that sent the High Plains foreman the opposite direction. "You can damn well stop this ride for a bride foolishness. Keep your father’s promise and marry my daughter."
Everything inside Birch went still. He wasn't sure what the man referred to but knew he sure as thunder wouldn't like it. "My father promised you I'd marry Charlotte?"
"That's right." John-B seemed shorter than Birch remembered. Less bulky too, as if his muscles had begun to melt. It made him wonder how his father had looked before he died.
"Did you get that in writing, John?" Birch hooked the lariat from the tack shed over a shoulder to get it out of the way.
The rancher stepped back, a look of shock on his face. White hair showed at his temples. Maybe he was older than Birch figured. John's eyes narrowed. "I heard you became a lawyer while you were gone. Are you going to tell me a handshake between two men no longer counts?"
Birch's gut twisted inside him. He hated to see this kind of feud develop but refused to let John-B trap him in a corner with no escape. "Look, any deal you made with my father ended at his grave. If he'd promised you half the High Plains Ranch, I might honor that, but I will not be pushed into marrying a woman I don't love."
For a long moment, the rancher stared at Birch as if assessing his determination. "Once, you and Charlotte were inseparable. She wasn't much more'n ten the first time she told me you promised to marry her. What's happened to you, Birch? Are you telling me what your father believed in—honesty and integrity—aren’t important to you?"
"Let's leave my father out of it, shall we? No man can be held to answer for things said in childhood. If I loved Charlotte, that would be a different matter, but I don't. You truly want to see her wed to a man who doesn't want her?"
A hiss escaped John-B's crinkled lips. "Well, now, I reckon that would depend on what my daughter wanted, and she wants you. I'd suggest you put your lawyer's hat on, Birch, because you're going to be looking at a lawsuit for breach of promise unless you change your tune."
Birch stepped into John-B's personal space. "Get off my land, Angstrom."
"As I understand it, it won't be your land for long if you don't get married soon."
"That's for me to worry about, not you."
John-B nodded. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I should stop trying to help you. I’ll just sit back, waiting to be handed the deed to the High Plains Ranch when you default on your father's last request."
"Don't wait too long. Time's not on your side."
The rancher smiled. "I'm not so all-fired sure of that. See you in court, Birch."
Spinning around, he marched back to his horse, mounted, and rode away without looking back.
Birch yanked the lariat from his shoulder, tossed it on the ground, and stomped on it.
"Trouble?" Chance asked, appearing beside him with the suddenness of a toothache.
"Hell, no. Not as long as I'm willing to spend the rest of my life with Charlotte."
Chance let out a low whistle. "So that's the way the wind blows, is it?"
"Yeah, that's the way."
Rubbing his chin, Chance pursed his lips and said, "Might be time for you to take a second look at Annora Bostwick, Boss."
Birch poked him in the chest with a finger. "Don't you start trying to back me into corners. Damnit, I might yet decide High Plains isn't worth the effort." With that, he stomped toward the house, leaving the lariat half-buried in dirt.
~~^~~
"Are you ready to tour the ranch?" Birch asked as he entered the kitchen. He squelched the emotions roused by the sight of her standing side by side with the woman who had been more a mother to him than his own. Annora Bostwick came here to learn, not for any other reason. Getting to know her too well, possibly coming to like her, could be dangerous.
Dangerous in what way? She may be your only answer to hanging on to High Plains.
She lifted dough-covered hands. "Can I wash up first?"
"Of course." Grinning, he hugged Mable. "Leave it to you to put a guest straight to work."
"I volunteered." Annora washed up at the sink and dried her hands with a towel. "I'm ready."
He looked her up and down, wondering if he should have her change into trousers. Dresses and ranch work didn't do well together. On the other hand, she deserved to get a dress or two ruined by good, old-fashioned labor. Maybe it would send her running back to New York.
Yeah, then what would you do? Marry Charlotte?
"Let's go." He motioned to the back door.
"Wish me luck, Mable." Annora followed him out of the house and into the sunshine. "What first, Birch?"
He glanced at her. "At last, you used my given name."
"Do you object?"
"No. I told you I would prefer that, Annora." He liked the feel of her name on his tongue, sort of sweet and flowing like thick, fresh cream.
He led her to the stable and handed her a shovel. "I'm a stickler for keeping the stable clean. Otherwise, the horses' hooves can become diseased."
Her eyes widened in horror, her mouth forming an O. "You want me to shovel out all this manure?"
"Yes. Be especially careful to get rid of any little stones. They catch in the horses' hooves, causing painful infections. I'll be back to check on you later."
Before she could stop him, he left, trying not to chuckle aloud. Her expression had been priceless.
He didn't get far before he ran into Chance.
"What are you grinning about?" his foreman asked.
Birch told him. Instead of laughing, Chance frowned. "Don't you think that was sort of a dirty trick to pull on her? She's not strong enough to do that kind of work."
Sobering, he looked bac
k at the stable. "I thought you'd see the humor in it."
"There's little humor in being cruel to people." Chance started toward the stable. "Lissette will have my hide if I don't put a stop to this."
Birch grabbed his arm. "You'll ruin everything if you interfere."
For a long moment, Chance simply stared at him. "Are you sure you aren't pulling her pigtail because you like her and want to get her attention?"
Scowling now, Birch said, "Mind your own business and let me mind mine."
He stormed off, leaving his foreman gaping after him.
Birch told himself being married and expecting a baby was turning Chance into a humorless pansy. The man had a lot of nerve butting into Birch's affairs. He stopped and glanced back. If Chance did anything to help Annora, he'd beat the crap out of him. How could the woman learn anything with someone running in to rescue her all the time?
Pulling her pigtail. What a bunch of nonsense. His only regret was not being there to watch that feminine piece of fluff struggle to move all that horse shit.
~~^~~
Annora straightened at the sound of cursing behind her. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Chance standing in the wide stable doorway.
"You don't have to do that," he said, hands on his hips, a scowl on his face. "Here, give me the shovel. I'll do it."
"No, you will not." She clung more tightly to the handle. "He wants to see me humiliated and humbled. But I'll show him. I'll make this filthy pigsty shine before I'm done."
"I admire your courage and determination, Annora, but this work is too hard for a woman. Let me help."
She slapped her hands on her hips. "No. Nothing will be accomplished that way. Simply tell me where I'm supposed to put this muck."
He pointed to a similar pile of muck in the stable yard. "Add it to that."
She nodded, grabbing the shovel from him.
Swearing under his breath, Chance left her alone.
She realized when Birch assigned her this chore, it had nothing to do with how they cared for the animals. He wanted her to admit she erred and give up her crusade against animal cruelty, which she would do—on a cold day in hell.
Within an hour, the stinky muck caked her skirt hems. She could barely move for the weight of it. She removed the skirt, hanging it on a peg. With her somewhat cleaner petticoats pulled forward between her legs, and tucked into her waistband, she resumed work.
Two hours later, exhausted and ready to drop where she stood, half the stable floor had been cleaned.
And she had an audience.
"You forgot a turd over there, ma'am," a ranch hand pointed out.
Using her shovel, she flicked the ball of manure on top of one of his boots.
The rest of the half-dozen cowboys watching laughed.
She ignored them while she continued her labors. Before long, she realized the stable had become more crowded. Nearly every one of the men who'd been enjoying seeing her struggle had found a shovel or rake to join her effort.
Fifteen minutes later, the dirt floor of the stable appeared almost clean enough to eat off of. Almost. On a cold day in hell.
When Annora objected to the men helping, they solemnly promised their boss would never know from them that she hadn't done it by herself.
"He shouldn’t have done this to you, ma'am," a man called Shorty said. "Seems to me it's time the boss learned how to treat a lady."
The others agreed.
After they'd gone, she lowered her petticoats before collecting her skirt. Instead of the filthy, muck-layered mess she'd hung on the peg, she found a damp but relatively clean garment waiting for her.
Annora smiled. She regretted not having finished the job by herself, but couldn't help feeling good that she'd won the hands' respect. Now, if only Birch could learn to feel the same way.
She sat on a hay bale, clean and appearing refreshed when Birch returned.
His smile faded as he studied her and the stable. He scratched his head. Annora averted her face to hide her smile.
"Well, you did a good job, for a greenhorn. I reckon you're ready for the noon meal."
"I could use some bread and water," she said standing.
His jaw clenched. "Come on then."
"You look unhappy," she said, trying to keep up with his long legs as he strode toward the house. "My work displeased you?"
"Hell no, it didn't displease me." He stopped and faced her. "How did you do it? Who helped?"
"Chance offered, but I turned him down. You really think any of your other hands would have cared about the mess I found myself in?" She lifted a hand. "Let me rephrase that; the mess you left me in."
With his lips pursed, he scratched his neck while staring at the ground. After a moment, he turned and continued toward the house.
Several ranch hands waited in the kitchen, seated at the big table, while Mable added dish after dish of delicious smelling food. Smaller than some ranches, the High Plains hired fewer men and saved money by feeding them along with the family.
Shorty jumped up to pull out a chair for Annora. When the men passed the food, they gave her first choice.
Birch sat in his usual spot at the head of the table and glowered at them. And at her. "I have the feeling I don't need to introduce you boys to our guest, Miss Annora Bostwick. I expect you to mind your manners while she's here."
"I haven't met her," the youngest of the men said, standing briefly. "Little Abe, ma'am."
She acknowledged him with a nod.
"Me either," another older hand added. "Just call me Gus, ma'am."
"Thank you, Gus."
One by one, the men stood and introduced themselves.
Birch tapped a fork on his glass for attention. "Miss Bostwick is here from New York City to establish a branch of the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. I invited her to spend some time with us learning how we treat our stock."
"Good thing she came here rather than the Seven Aces," Gus said, passing her a bowl of mashed potatoes. The other men agreed.
"What is the Seven Aces?" she asked.
"The ranch next to us," Shorty explained. "They aren't known for breaking horses the gentle way Boss uses."
"Oh? Mr. Struthers uses a gentler method, does he?" She swallowed a smile and kept her eyes on her plate.
"Yes, ma'am. Old Angstrom at the Seven Aces calls our way the sissy method."
Annora peeked at Birch from under her lashes, expecting him to object, but he scooped mashed potatoes onto his plate before handing the bowl to the man next to him.
"I'm afraid I know very little about ranching," she said, cutting into her pork chop. "But I'm eager to learn."
Birch coughed to cover a derisive snort. "That's good because, after lunch, we have a dozen calves to deliver in the calving pen.
CHAPTER NINE
"Damn it, Chance," Birch groused. "No matter what task I set Annora to do, no matter what I expose her to, she sets her teeth and accomplishes it without a whimper. What's it going to take to break this woman?"
Grinning, Chance finished rubbing down his horse before setting the brush aside. "Let's face it, pard, you bit off more'n you could chew when you decided to teach her some lessons. I think you might be learning more than she is."
Casting his foreman a want-a-knuckle-sandwich? look, Birch dumped a bucket of oats into Arrow's feed bin and threw the empty bucket across the stable. "You're no help, you know that? Who's friend are you? Mine or hers?"
"Both. I'm sorry, but I like Annora. She might have some screwy theories on animal treatment, but she means well, and she's sweet as honey to my wife."
"Yeah? If you think she's wrong about how to deal with critters, why don't you help me convince her?"
"I'm not the one who's troubled by her ideas." Chance rolled a cigarette, lit it, and took a drag. "You've been bucking up against the old ways of bronc busting all your life, yet here you are fighting the one person who's on your side and doing something about it. Or trying to."
Birch took the cigarette his foreman handed to him and studied the glowing red end. "You think I should switch over to her side?"
"Maybe not switch over, just stop fighting her."
Smoke clouded the air as Birch blew smoke from his nose, thinking things over. "Did you know thousands of dogs and cats are killed every year for having the bad luck of being born?"
"Yeah, I've been getting the same lecture from Lissette. They're ganging up on us."
"Everyone except Charlotte. She never says anything about animals when she comes around."
"Maybe because she's one that needs breaking." After Chance snuffed out the cigarette, he pushed away from the wall he'd been leaning against. “Or a spanking at least."
"I'll let you take care of that. Let her stay spoiled. Doesn't affect me."
Chance laughed. "Doesn't it? In that case, I guess you don't care that she's heading to the house right now."
Turning to look through the doorway, Birch muttered an ugly word. "What's she doing here?"
"According to Lissette, Charlotte's been cozying up to Annora, pretending to be her friend."
"Hellfire, that woman has no idea how to be a friend. I'd better find out what she's up to." He started out the door.
"It ever occur to you that might be what she wants?" Chance said.
Birch stopped cold. "You mean she's doing it to get closer to me?"
"Or to make sure Annora doesn't let you close to her."
"Ha. She's wasting her time there. Neither Annora nor me are that eager to snuggle up together."
"You keep telling yourself that, pard."
Birch kicked over the oat bucket before stomping off toward the house.
Annora and Charlotte sat at the kitchen table with cups of coffee and a plate of Mable's sugar cookies when Birch entered the room.
"Well, if it isn't Birch himself." Charlotte greeted him with a grin.
Annora stood and fetched another cup of coffee, setting it at Birch's usual place at the table.
"What are you two up to?" he asked, taking a sip. It was just how he liked it, strong and hot. "Thanks, Mable. Good coffee."
"I made that, but thank you for the compliment." Annora smiled. "I was telling Charlotte how sweet Hezzie is. We've become good friends."
Ride for a Bride in Wyoming (Rocky Mountain Romances Book 4) Page 8