by Devine,Carol
Mesmerized, she pushed through the front gate, barely heeding the rusty grind of neglected hinges. In her mind's eye, she saw the clapboards painted white and the shutters in black, while the emerald green of morning glory vines climbed the porch rails. She walked around to the back, struck by how easily she could imagine lace at the windows and marigolds planted in boxes beneath.
Restored in her mind, the house was like one she'd seen in a picture book, evoking the smell of baking bread and harvested hay and the calm presence of a gray-haired woman on the porch steps, shucking peas with blue-veined fingers. If she listened very hard, Sarah could even hear the laughter of children.
She was reminded of the days before Cal had come, when her mother's health was good and her father was still alive. And Granny, who rounded out their little family, living with them in her declining years. Their cabin was much smaller than this, of course, one level with just six rooms. Yet the mountains had been a backdrop much as they were here, and contentment had lived in the home of her childhood, providing a feeling of camaraderie and purpose. It was a feeling Sarah deeply missed.
In the backyard she came upon a large garden, overgrown with weeds but more recently tended than anything she had seen so far. Someone had planted flowers and vegetables the summer before last, for while the annuals were dead, the perennials still grew in wild profusion. She stopped to pick a handful of raspberries and ate them standing on the back porch steps, where sunbeams poured down like honey. Warming herself, she watched Butcher streak among the few remaining dried cornstalks and pumpkin vines, hunting his favorite quarry, squirrels.
The smell of earth and plants was familiar, and the chatter of early birds feeding on the straggling sunflowers made her smile. Imagine having a house and garden like this to fix up and make her own, to do with as she pleased.
Contemplative, she wrapped her arms around her waist. She couldn't envision a more satisfactory way to spend her time than to create a home in such a place. However, much as she might like to, she didn't have time to spend daydreaming. The frost melting on the ground was a reminder of the perils of her situation. The seasons were changing. She had to find a safe place to winter in. She needed a job and a place to stay, a way to support herself, a way to prepare for the future.
She also wanted to put distance between herself and a more immediate threat. Zach. In his own way, he was just as dangerous to her well-being as Cal or the coming winter. Mr. Coburn said Zach wouldn't be pleased to find her gone when he returned to the ranch. The sooner she got to the town of Boulder, the better. She might even do well to head for Denver. Though she didn't like the hustle and bustle of the big city, it was easier to hide in the hordes of people who lived there.
With a sigh, she hefted her pack and whistled for Butcher. He came running and bounded past her, eager to be off. Striding past the garden, she turned for one last look at the house. The upper story windows appeared like eyes to her, eyes in a lonely face. She couldn't help but be reminded of Zach's expression when he'd first realized the lengths she had gone to in order to save his life.
There had been a desolation in him, a desolation similar to what she saw here in the boarded-up windows and neglected paint. She understood loneliness. Indeed, she had lived with it every day since her father had died and her mother had withdrawn into a shell of chronic illness. The house symbolized the feeling perfectly, like a mirror held up to the face of a lost soul.
A soul Zach was about to sell.
In that light, she could understand his restiveness, his anger. She knew how difficult it was to run from your past. This she understood down to the marrow of her bones. Perhaps she should stay long enough to tell him. But they were relative strangers and he'd undoubtedly lash out at her again, and though she knew she had been able to save his life, she didn't have the strength to save his soul. Lord knew, she had enough problems keeping her own self, body and soul, together.
Resolutely she turned and entered a small orchard located behind the garden. Butcher streaked by. Ahead she could see a barbed-wire fence, and beyond that, the road. She walked steadily and heard a sigh deeper than her own whispering through the trees. She looked over her shoulder, a lump in her throat. The house was calling to her as surely as though it possessed a voice.
"Goodbye," she whispered.
Butcher woofed, coming back to circle around her. She slogged through fallen leaves, hunched against the cold. Again she heard the sigh, like her name, singing through the trees. She tucked her chin to her chest, wiped her eyes and kept on, forcing her legs to move. It was foolish to long for something she could not have. The Elders preached that one must be careful of such yearnings, for they often led to sin. The tenth commandment made the dictate clear. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife, much less their house. She had to go now, find a town, a job, a place to live.
A place to live.
Thy neighbor's house.
Sarah stopped in her tracks. Could it be wrong to covet thy neighbor's house if no one lived there? Indeed, if the owner didn't want it at all?
She turned slowly and drank in the tableau of ranch buildings, their shabbiness softened by distance. Did she dare try? She didn't have a good concept of the value of money, but certainly ten thousand dollars would go a long way toward the price of an abandoned house. Even someone as bullheaded as Zach Masterson couldn't argue with that.
But what if Cal tracked her here? She wouldn't be able to bear it if her situation put others in danger. Yet she had no way of knowing when or even if he would appear. Perhaps he'd given up on her. Right now, staring at the opportunity laid out in front of her, she was willing to believe anything was possible.
Sarah called Butcher, picked up her skirts and began to run, retracing her path. Armed with hope for the future, she could take on anything, Zach included. If he wanted to strike a bargain with her, she'd let him. But it wasn't going to be his money she settled for.
Chapter Five
Sarah stood in the bunkhouse kitchen and kneaded the lump of smooth white dough set on the counter, working it with capable hands. The butter she'd added smelled rich, reminiscent of the cream with which it was made. On impulse, she pinched a bit of salt from the canister at her elbow and dropped it on her tongue just to taste the extravagance of such waste. She'd craved salt more than once in the past few months.
Pleasure filled her mouth. Flour rose in a little cloud but she didn't mind the dusting her skirt took, even though it was newly washed. She was having too good a time. Bread making was one of her favorite pastimes.
It had been weeks since she'd prepared a real breakfast. Fondly she eyed the implements she'd used: ceramic bowls, slotted spoons and a wooden rolling pin identical to the one she'd used back home. What a comfort to know that some things never changed. Even the steamy air smelled the same, redolent with the fragrance of bacon and eggs, coffee and biscuits. Butcher was curled up in the corner with a belly full of table scraps, head between his front paws. Behind her came the clatter of cutlery and the busy hum of men given over to the important task of filling their stomachs.
Sarah listened and smiled. Hungry men were hungry men the world over, whether here on a modern ranch or within the rustic confines of the Community. One thing she knew how to do well was feed them.
"More coffee, gentlemen?" she asked.
Ty Coburn squinted up from his place at the head of the table, riding herd on a plate piled high. "You're spoiling us, Sarah."
"Just paying you back for a night spent under a real roof." Out of habit, she wrapped a towel around her hand before lifting the coffeepot from a wondrous machine that took all the work out of brewing a good, clean cup of every cowhand's favorite drink. "It's been a long time since I've had the pleasure of cooking for such an appreciative audience. I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed it."
"Good thing, too," piped in Mel Lawson, one of the other ranch hands. "Haven't had a breakfast like this since Mrs. Barton retired."
"Yeah, Coburn," said Jason Mil
ler. "Those rocks you call biscuits just won't cut it anymore. Why don't we hire this pretty little lady? With all the extra work Masterson plans to have us do, it would be nice not to worry about where our next meal is coming from."
"Yeah, I'm tired of trading kitchen duty," said Mel. "It leaves us less time to get our work done."
Ty leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. "What do you say, miss? Interested?"
"I might be," she said, careful about showing too much excitement. She'd have to keep all her wits about her if she was going to achieve what she wanted, especially if Zach was the one who ended up making the final decision. "I am looking for a job."
"The hitch is, the ranch is about to be put up for sale."
"Really?" she asked, her heart picking up speed. "Zach mentioned that he'd come back here to get rid of it, but I wasn't quite sure what he meant."
"It means the ranch hands are going to be mighty busy these next few weeks rounding up cattle, riding fences and repairing outbuildings. It sure would go faster if we had a hot meal to send us off in the morning and another one to look forward to at night when we come in."
"I did some cooking for line camps this summer, so I know I can handle the work. But I also need a place to stay."
"Room and board, eh?" asked Ty. "What about the trailer?"
"I thought Zach was staying there."
"If you could call it that. He stowed some gear there. No, he likes to sleep outside unless the weather is real bad. Been like that since he was a boy. Under the circumstances, I don't think he'll mind bunking with the men if we get a storm coming in. Not once he tastes your cooking."
"What about the main house?" she countered. "I noticed it's boarded up but it looks like it's in better shape than most of the other buildings. I could live, cook and serve out of there."
There was a small silence while the hands exchanged glances. Ty cleared his throat. "Not possible. Sorry."
"Why not?"
"No one's set foot in the place for years, Sarah. It's a real mess."
"I clean as well as I cook."
Ty shook his head. "You'll have to take it up with Zach. He's the one who boarded up the house after his father died."
"Why? It's such a grand old place."
"Ain't my right to say. What I can do, though, is offer you the hospitality of the trailer. I know it's old, but Mrs. Barton kept it pretty nice. She lived there for nigh on ten years before she retired. And if you don't mind working on a place that's on the sales block, I'll talk to Zach about hiring you on. Sure would be nice to have a woman's touch around the place again."
"I'd be obliged."
The slam of a car door outside brought Butcher's head up. He woofed and sniffed the air. Sarah went to the window. A small car with a taxi sign was backing out of the drive. In the dust left in its wake stood Zach.
His denim jeans were so deeply black she knew they must be new. Above a plain belt buckle, a black t-shirt and leather jacket hid much of his muscular leanness, exposing only the bronzed column of his neck. As before, he was hatless. Sarah was surprised to see he wore no bandage. A breeze ruffled his dark hair and he raked his hand through it. The gesture was quick, impatient.
"Speak of the devil," Ty said.
Butcher barked in earnest.
"Quiet," Sarah said to the dog and pointed to the corner where she'd laid out her wool blanket. Butcher obeyed the command but remained alert, focused on the door.
She shoved the coffeepot into its proper place with a trembling hand, aware of the import of the moment. All her plans would be for naught unless she could get Zach to agree. They hadn't exactly parted on the best of terms.
The door opened. She turned around to face him squarely, willing herself to stay strong, to go after what she wanted. The hard edges of the kitchen counter bit into the small of her back.
He'd shaved. Unaccountably, she recalled the harsh rub of whisker stubble against her lips as she bent over him, exhaling into his mouth over and over again. Her cheeks burned. His gaze swept the room, landing on her. She forced herself to meet his eyes without showing the turmoil the sight of him caused her, steeling herself against more memories of his mouth against hers, this time insistent and demanding.
But what hit her most was the impact of the present, the restless male energy that defined Zach Masterson. Now that he was within feet of her, she noticed the flesh colored bandage showing under the thick hair that fell over brow. She couldn't tell if the wound bothered him. His aura of vitality and indestructibility had been restored.
"You're here," he said. "Good."
"And a hearty good morning to you, too," she said, knowing she could give him no quarter. Not if she wanted to have her way. She folded her arms.
Ty cleared his throat. "Thought we wouldn't be seeing you until this afternoon."
Zach didn't take his eyes off Sarah. "You know how I can't stand hospitals. Made the doctors release me early."
"Head all right?" asked Ty.
"I'll live." Zach jerked his thumb toward the door. "I don't see a whole lot of work being done around here."
The seated ranch hand's chairs scraped back, squeaky on the old linoleum floor. Ty grabbed his cowboy hat, ready to return outside. "We were just leaving, boss. Excuse us, Sarah."
Ty waited as the other ranch hands stacked their dishes in the sink, grabbed their hats and filed out in silence, one by one, each passing Zach, who barely moved aside. Coburn was last. Sarah couldn't see the older man's expression because his back was to her but she did see him pause to speak to Zach in an undertone. Zach listened, his expression unchanged except for a muscle tightening along his jaw and a darkening of his blue eyes. He narrowed his gaze at her.
She immediately busied herself at the sink, heat climbing higher on her cheeks. When the door slammed, she continued scraping dishes, waiting for him to make the first move.
"You're angry at me," he said.
"Shouldn't I be?"
"I thought a good night's sleep might soften you up a bit."
"You're the one who needs softening, not me. I helped you. For some reason, you seemed to think that gave you permission to take advantage of me."
"Would it help if I said I was sorry?"
"No."
"No?"
She glanced at him. "You're not sorry. So, no, it wouldn't help."
"Ouch," he said. "She scores."
His tone teased but underneath she sensed the first tiny indication of concession on his part. She stopped scraping plates and turned off the tap. "Would you care for a cup of coffee?" she asked, unbending a little.
"Thanks."
She retrieved a mug from the cabinet and poured the coffee, remembering this time that she didn't need to use a towel to protect her hand.
"Does this mean I'm forgiven?" he asked when she handed him the mug.
"No."
"Sarah." He touched her arm. Butcher reacted instantly. He lunged from the corner, snarling.
Sarah raised her hand and forestalled the dog with a sharp word. Butcher skidded to a stop but continued to watch Zach like a hawk.
"He gives new meaning to the phrase guard dog."
"I told you yesterday how devoted he is. I would advise you not to provoke him again."
Zach raised his hands in surrender, impressed by Butcher's protective streak and Sarah's ability to control it.
"Would a few strips of jerky be too much for him to handle?" He pulled out a package of bacon-flavored dog treats from the cabinet.
"He won't take food from your hand."
"After what I did to you yesterday, I suppose I can't blame him. Here," he said, sliding the package across the counter at her. "You give it to him."
"Neither will he take it from me. He was trained early on by someone else not to eat anything unless it's in his bowl."
"Try," he said, folding his arms, obviously skeptical.
She selected one of the strip-like dog treats and held it out. "Here, Butcher."
&
nbsp; Zach noted how the dog's gaze shifted from him to the treat. The black muzzle lifted, showing off a nice set of fangs. "I wouldn't get too close if I were you," he said.
"Like most of God's creatures, he would never deliberately hurt someone he loves." She sidled closer to the dog, unfazed by the growl coming low from his throat. "Don't you move, though," she said. "I can't make any guarantees about your safety."
"I wouldn't dream of it." Zach leaned a casual hip against the kitchen counter. There was nothing casual about the way he watched the interplay between the woman and the dog, however.
"Here, Butcher." Sarah held out the treat, coaxing him with soft words and a gentle affect. In spite of his threatening posture, he stretched his nose toward the treat and wagged his stub of a tail. But, true to her word, he didn't take it.
"Throw it on the floor."
"Here you go, boy," she said, tossing the treat at his feet. "Show the doubting Thomas what a strong character you have."
Butcher didn't even bother to sniff it. Instead he had eyes only for Sarah, who rewarded him with her gentlest smile. He wiggled all over and came forward to be petted.
"I'll be damned," Zach said.
"I once tried to give him a slab of raw beefsteak," she said, stroking Butcher thoroughly before picking the treat up from the floor. "He wouldn't touch it."
"He must have been trained by a real expert."
"Yes," she said quietly and washed her hands. "A real expert."
Zach raised an eyebrow. "It was him, wasn't it? Your stepfather."
"Yes."
"Is that why he's after you? You stole his dog?"
"Cal doesn't like to lose anything which belongs to him." Needing to turn the subject, she sent Butcher back to his corner and pointed at Zach's bandage. "Your wound, has it been stitched?"
He tilted his head, lowering it fractionally. "See for yourself."
She didn't quite trust the amused expression in his eyes. He seemed to take great delight in teasing her. "I don't wish to disturb the wound."