Stolen Little Thing (Little Thing Series Book 1)

by Sasha Gold

  Esme took a bite of the warm cookie. “Why give them money?”

  Consuelo worked masa flat to form tortillas. The steel pan was heated over the flame. In it she cooked tortillas, each one puffing up with pockets of hot air before being whisked into a basket.

  “So they learn about money,” the woman answered. “Miss Eleanor started doing that. Back then she and Mr. Crosby only had one or two boys, but Luke kept it up even though he has so many more. He says that if they never have money, they’ll never learn how to manage it.”

  Esme eyed the stack of tortillas piling up in the basket. “What’s for lunch?”

  Consuelo patted Esme’s cheek, her hand coated with a dusting of flour. “It is a beef stew. Something called Carne Guisada, mi hija. I have it cooking outside over a fire. It’s a favorite of your marido.”

  “My husband?” Esme asked. Consuelo nodded and laughed.

  A blush of warmth filled Esme. Luke. Her husband. Of course he had favorites, and she wanted to know all of them. She took another cookie from the pan. “I’m going to go find him, my, how do you say marido?” She took several cookies from the tray and winked at Consuelo when the woman looked up from her work.

  Consuelo laughed again, shooing her new mistress out of the kitchen.

  Outside, in the middle of the farmyard, boys hung over the corral fence watching Nolan, a bullwhip clasped in his hand. The man stood in the middle of the enclosure, lecturing his audience how to make the whip snap, preferably without drawing one’s own blood.

  Luke, perched on the top rail, dropped down to the sand when he saw her. A wave of warmth washed over Esme. My husband, she said to herself. How could one small word carry so much meaning?

  His gaze fixed upon her. “Esme,” he said simply as he stalked across the yard, pulling off gloves and shoving them under the belt of his chaps.

  If it were possible to melt from a gaze, Esme might have done so right there. His eyes darkened with desire in what must have been remembrance of last night’s love.

  “You’re up. I was thinking of going back to our room to wake you myself,” he said softly taking a cookie from her hand. A few boys glanced over and nodded respectfully to her.

  “How are you?” he asked softly.

  “Fine,” she said. “Better than fine. Wonderful.”

  Luke studied her for a moment and then took a bite of the cookie. “Me too. I’m better than fine too.”

  Esme, overcome with emotion, leaned closer and kissed her husband on the cheek. The boys were watching Esme and Luke, eyes wide with curiosity. Henry ignored them entirely, and kept his eyes fixed on the older man in the corral snapping the bullwhip.

  Nolan explained to his audience that he was a “cracker” from age twelve, which was roughly a hundred ninety six years earlier.

  The boys chuckled, all but Henry. He sat apart from the rest. Occasionally he might try to say a word to one of the older boys, but they ignored him. No one paid him any attention until David asked casually why he wasn’t in the kitchen helping Consuelo. Then every boy’s head turned to wait for Henry’s response. When he didn’t react, David made a show of checking his pockets wondering aloud if he were missing any money. The rest of the boys snickered, not one of them watching Nolan anymore.

  Esme observed the effect of David’s teasing on Henry. The boy’s face went white, his lips thinned and he swung his leg over the railing. He dropped to the ground, thrust his hands in his pockets and walked to the barn as though he had just remembered something that needed doing.

  Luke stood behind Esme, his hand resting on her waist. He could feel the tension in her shoulders as she watched Henry walk away.

  “That right there,” he whispered, “is for the boys to figure out.”

  “But he’s the littlest. It doesn’t seem fair,” Esme argued, “I was always tormented by my older brothers. I know how he feels.”

  “I doubt you ever stole pocket money from them,” Luke said, keeping his voice low to avoid being overheard by the boys.

  “I ain’t out here for my health, boys, so listen up.” Nolan raised his voice. “You might need this one day if you need to push cattle somewhere they don’t care to go, like across water, or a through a stretch of narrow space, the barber shop, maybe Sunday School.”

  The boys chuckled and Nolan grinned, happy to have their attention once more. He was a showman, Esme decided. He told the boys everything they could possibly need to know about cracking a whip while emphasizing practicalities and precautions. Then to make it memorable, he lined up bottles atop an old sawhorse and cracked his whip, making them fall one by one into the soft sand of the corral.

  The late morning sky grew dark as clouds gathered and billowed. Thunderheads reared up, and the sounds of distant rumbling rolled across the hills and pastures. Esme was grateful for the beautiful weather they’d had the day before. Her wedding was perfect, particularly after she and Luke were alone. She shivered with pleasure at the memory. Luke kissed her hair and squeezed her shoulders gently.

  “I’m going to say a few words to Henry,” Esme said as the bullwhip lesson came to a close.

  She hadn’t been inside the barn yet, but Esme knew Henry was looking for the mama cat the boys had been talking about. An expectant mother cat, the pretty calico had made a few shy appearances yesterday during the reception, prompting guests to make several requests for kittens.

  Esme wandered past the empty stalls until she found Henry kneeling next to a cat lying in a pile of hay. The cat yawned and stretched in her nest, purring softly while Henry stroked her head. She flicked her tail with interest as she eyed Esme approaching.

  Henry said nothing, and did not raise his gaze to look at her. His silence made Esme uncomfortable. Children in general made her feel that way, but she couldn’t leave him, even if he was keeping up a front of stoic silence. Had she been trying to comfort a spoiled girl from the school where she used to teach at St. Adelaide’s, Esme would not have needed to think about how to start the conversation. Instead she would have been trying to figure out how to get a word in.

  “I don’t think we should give any of the kittens away,” Esme finally said.

  Henry gave her a sharp look of dismay. “Will you talk to Luke and tell him that? I don’t want him to either. And Lilac won’t want her babies to go.”

  Esme knelt and ran her fingers across Lilac’s head several times. The cat closed her eyes and stretched her claws, digging them down into the musty hay as her purring grew louder.

  “Lilac’s going to be a great mama,” Henry said softly. “She’ll want her babies nearby. And her babies will want to be near her.”

  “I bet I can convince Luke to keep every one of them,” Esme said. “Can you imagine how pretty they’ll be? How many do you suppose she’ll have?”

  The two sat with the dozing Lilac, debating the number of kittens she would have, and then discussed different names for her offspring.

  Esme couldn’t help but be touched by how protective Henry was of the cat. He told her how Consuelo gave him scraps of chicken and scrambled egg left over from breakfast. He kept the scraps in a cupboard with two bowls for Lilac. He showed her his stockpile of provisions, a jug of water, small canvas bags of food, explaining he fed the cat four times day. Henry told her what sorts of preferences the picky mother had shown: chicken was good, eggs even better, but ham, bacon and grits made her turn up her nose. He told her he wished Luke would take in another boy, one smaller than him, so the others would have someone new to pick on.

  Esme listened. It was like happening upon a small waterfall in the middle of a barren desert, this sudden burst of conversation from the sullen boy. His eye still showed signs of the fight he’d the day she’d arrived. Gently, she grasped his chin, and tilted his head to get a better look at the remnants of the black eye Salvador had given him. The bruise had almost faded, but below was still deep purple with green borders.

  “Does it hurt to get a black eye?” she asked, genuinely intere
sted.

  “Not a bit.” Henry’s smile spread across his face. “Least not for a man.”

  “It’s nothing to be proud of.” She gave a stern look, but could see he was undeterred. Esme guessed the black eye was a badge of honor, one he would bring up in conversations for years to come.

  As they walked back to the house, a light rain began to fall. Henry talked about how the boys teased him because he was afraid of the horses and how he’d never get out of the kitchen if he didn’t overcome his fear.

  Henry, Esme observed, had overcome his reticence. The conversation continued later at dinner, where Henry made certain to sit beside her. He expanded his talk about the topic of cats, kittens, and broadened it to include puppies and foals.

  Luke lifted his brows at Henry’s sudden talkativeness. “Does he know you don’t care for children?”

  Esme by then was beginning to feel a little fatigued by the boy’s unending talk. She whispered back to Luke, “Do you think someone could tell him? Soon? He’s working on a treatise about the offspring of the animal kingdom.”

  Luke shook his head. “You picked a complicated one to make friends with.”

  Later in their room, Luke elaborated on his comment. “Henry steals money because he wants to give it to his mother. Henry and Joseph both have mamas. Both of them send their money to San Antonio. Neither one of those women is what you might call a nice lady. Henry’s mother writes him a letter every so often explaining she can’t take care of him because she has no money. So he thinks if he gives her enough, he can go back and live with her. He sends her every bit of his pocket money along with whatever he manages to filch from the other boys.

  “Joseph’s mother, thank God, can’t write.”

  Esme watched the expression on Luke’s face harden as he undressed. A steaming tub of water awaited him as he tossed his clothes aside with disgust.

  “I really dislike these women who discard their kids like yesterday’s newspaper, then come back hinting that maybe they want their children after all. It’s much easier to have a boy whose parents are dead. Easier on the boy. Easier on me. No loose ends.”

  Luke took his shirt off over his head without bother to unbutton it. He pitched it on a pile in the corner and added his undershirt a moment later.

  Esme turned away from him as he undressed, suddenly feeling awkward. She pretended to take an interest in undoing her hair, taking her hairpins out one by one.

  “Henry asked me if I have any money,” she told Luke as he slipped into the bathtub. “I told him that I don’t have a dime. I would have given him some if I had it to give. He asked me so sweetly that it made me wish I could. It might keep him from stealing from the boys.”

  Luke slid deeper into the water and watched her as she worked her fingers through her thick copper tresses. She had money somewhere. Of that he was sure. It was just a matter of finding out which bank her uncle used. With a little luck, one day soon, he would tell her the news about the money she inherited. In the meantime he liked being the one to pay for things she might need, being the one she depended upon for everything.

  “Esme,” he said quietly as he lay back in the water.

  She stole a glance at him. His eyes were closed as he relaxed in the steaming water. Her heartbeat quickened. Her name on his lips made her feel she would do anything for him, especially when he spoke it so softly.

  “Yes, Luke.”

  “Would you wash my hair?”

  She looked away from her mirror and set the last pin on the dressing table while she considered his request. He rose from the water and leaned over the rim of tub, his suntanned arms hanging down, a bar of soap in his hand. He frowned at her, but the glint of humor in his eyes gave him away. “C’mon. I never had a lady wash my hair. I always thought it sounded nice.” He held the bar of soap out to her.

  Esme shook her head and turned her attention to her own hair, brushing it out with long fluid strokes. “You’re naked, Mr. Crosby.”

  His jaw dropped, and he gave her a wounded look. “Certainly not. I have my trunks on. I always do when I take a bath. Lands sakes, Esme! Do you mean to tell me you take a bath in the nude?”

  Esme stared at him, searched his expression, but he only looked more dismayed by her silence.

  “Come wash my hair, Esme. My arms ache from all the work I’ve done.”

  Esme ignored him and took off her earrings, muttering in frustration when a pearl fell from its setting.

  “I don’t even remember my own mama washing my hair.” Luke sighed. “Her dying so young, leaving me behind. In the orphanage.”

  As he expected, Esme became distraught. She rose from her chair, and came to the tub. A smile spread across his face. His girl was as predictable as the sunrise.

  Esme knelt behind him, took the soap, and began lathering his hair. She worked to keep the suds from flowing into his eyes and scrubbed his scalp as he moaned with pleasure.

  “You wicked beast,” she said a moment later after her gaze drifted downwards. “You most certainly are not wearing trunks.”

  Luke chuckled. “Will you wash my hair every night?” He rolled his head to ease the tension in his neck.

  Esme ran her fingers down his head to his shoulders kneading his muscles as she went. She kissed his ear even though she was mortified by his state of undress. Of course no one bathed in trunks. Only Luke would attempt such an absurd tale.

  “Do you know how much I love you,” she blurted, unable to keep silent about her feelings any longer. She closed her eyes. It wasn’t something she had meant to say. The words tumbled out on their own.

  He took her hand and kissed it. He looked over his shoulder to gaze into her eyes. “You’d better love me.”

  Esme slipped her arms around his neck. Her sleeves were getting soaked in the bathwater, but she didn’t care. She simply wanted to draw near him. Luke closed his eyes, grasped her forearms in his hands, and anchored her to him.

  His smile faltered as he remembered tomorrow he was going to San Antonio to speak to her father. He and Nolan were leaving the next morning near dawn. He decided to tell her now.

  “Nolan and I are going to be gone for a few days. Roberto will be here if you need anything. He’ll check on the work at Simon’s house for me. Those boys should be done with it by the time I’m back.”

  She panicked. “Where are you going?”

  “To look at horses for the boys. I don’t want to leave, sweetheart. I promise to make it as fast a trip as I can.”

  Luke’s mind rebelled against not telling her the entire truth. Not only was there more to the story, but he still hadn’t told her he would search for money Simon might have left her. It had to be in a new bank, one the lawyers were unaware of. It was either that or Randolph had gotten his greasy hands on it and spent it already. Either way, it probably hadn’t been much. Simon was better known for his regular church attendance than for his cattle ranching smarts. On that note, the man might have left his niece saddled with a pile of debt.

  “Don’t they already have suitable horses?” Esme asked interrupting his thoughts.

  Luke shook his head. “They’re old. Some of them were here when I came and I was eight. Besides, if they’re going to take care of all that extra acreage, most days, they’ll need fresh mounts midday,

  He sank into the depths of the tub to rinse the soap from his hair. She dried her hands and rose from the tub.

  “Roberto will be here if your father or any of his men show their faces,” Luke said.

  “Now that I’m married, there isn’t a lot my father can do. But I will have to face him one day.” She settled in a chair a modest distance from him. “If you are looking at livestock, can you bring me back a few head of sheep?”

  He grimaced and sat up a little in the tub. “Come again?”

  “Sheep. Can you get me a few?”

  Luke sighed and sank back, closing his eyes. “Nope. No sheep.”

  “About a dozen, I’m thinking. Uncle Simon always wa
nted sheep, saying the thought it would look quaint. Like Ireland.”

  Luke leaned his arms down on the rim of the tub. “There are two things I won’t ever do, follow a plow or herd sheep. I’m a cattle rancher, which is the only respectable thing for a man in Texas to do with ranch land. We’re not in Ireland. Case closed.”

  Esme took a jar of cream and scooped out a small amount to rub on her hands. “Nolan told me you would say something like that.”

  Luke eyed her suspiciously. He was certain of his influence over her and his ability to be the man of his house, but it surprised him how little resistance she gave, especially since the sheep were one of Simon’s notions.

  “You’re dominion is the ranch, and as your wife, mine is the house,” Esme murmured.

  “Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Luke replied gruffly, still keeping a wary eye on his demure bride. He got up out of the tub and dried off. He wrapped the towel around his hips and waited for Esme to continue, to bargain, or beg, but she simply braided her hair. She sat on her chair, dressed in a white cotton nightgown bare feet peeking out from the hem. He loved seeing her there. Esme, his wife of twenty-four hours, sat in his room, dressed in an innocent white gown.

  The table and chair where she sat was a matched set he’d bought when he’d accompanied Eleanor to a furniture merchant in San Antonio. Made of fine wood, the set had come from England. Eleanor Crosby had taken one look in the show-room and told Luke she could just imagine the Duval girl sitting at that very table. Luke, without bothering to ask the price, bought it immediately, even though he hadn’t seen or spoken with Esme in over a year at the time.

  Luke watched Esme as she sat at the table, thinking the sight of her was lovelier than any he could imagine. Any discussion of sheep drifted from his thoughts as he crossed to stand behind her and slipped the braid from her fingers.

  “Would you leave your hair down for me?”

  She gazed at his reflection in the mirror and shook her hair free. Luke drew a deep breath. The waves of copper flowed down her back to her waist.